calling him Randle and wanted this Randle to make love to you. Next thing you blacked out.”
“Oh my God, Wilma, I’ve ruined everything. We were flirting pretty heavy, and I found myself thinking of Randle. I must have crossed a line somewhere.”
I couldn’t believe it! I had just screwed up the only chance I had with him.
Damn Randle, you wouldn’t let go, would you?
“Wilma, has he gone?” I prayed she would say no.
“No, honey, he’s downstairs with Ronnie. Said he didn’t want to leave until he knew you were okay.”
“Was he mad?”
“No, I think he was just concerned about you.”
“I need to go downstairs to explain to him.” When I started to get up, I fell back on the bed. My body just didn’t have the strength. “Wilma, promise me one thing. Don’t let him go! Please keep him here. I’ve got to see him. Promise him anything! Tell him to come sleep with me, so I’ll be able to see him in the morning. Anything … just keep him here!”
“I’ll see what I can do, sugar. You go to sleep. I’ll take care of it.”
I already had my eyes closed as Wilma tiptoed out of the room.
Wilma, you promised!
Chapter Twelve
I couldn’t go to sleep. I kept replaying the evening, over and over. I couldn’t believe I just scared off the only good man I’ve seen in years. Physically he was picture perfect, but he was also sensitive and caring. Damn, damn, damn. I was starting to feel sorry for myself and wept a little. I haven’t had a good cry in a long time.
My pity-party was about to roll into full gear when I heard a noise. It sounded like the door to the apartment, the one I never locked. It creaked open and was gently eased shut. I heard soft footsteps coming down the hall. I was sleeping with my side facing the door. The living room light was on, so I could see the shadow of the visitor lengthen with each step toward my bedroom. I wasn’t afraid, because no one could get up the stairs without passing Wilma and Ronnie in the kitchen. I suspected it was Ronnie, coming up to check on me. Still I didn’t move, as the visitor stood in the door, with the dim light blacking his identity. I could tell it was a man. But I couldn’t tell who.
The man tiptoed past the foot of my bed, and headed for the bathroom. I heard him using the toilet and wash his hands. Instead of coming out of the bathroom, I heard the man open the door to the shower.
My heart skipped a beat as I heard the shower turn on. That isn’t Ronnie; he wouldn’t take a shower up here. It wouldn’t be anyone else in the restaurant. At long last it hit me! It must be PJ! Wilma must have convinced him to spend the night.
Thank you Wilma.
Now what do I do? Do I rush into the shower with him? Do I strip off my nightgown, and welcome him as he comes out of the shower? Or, do I stay in bed and pretend to be asleep. He may be planning to sleep on the sofa in the living room. Or he may be planning to sleep with me, but not want to do more than sleep.
So I lay there and listened to that beautiful shower. I knew that shower inch by inch, and could visualize PJ’s six feet four lean frame standing under the rain showerhead. The soap and water was mixing up as he rubbed it over his body. He would probably wash his face and neck first, and under those muscular arms. He would soap his arms, and his chest. I could see him in my mind’s eye, as he soaped the wash rag and spread his legs a little … and washed himself. I saw his magnificent ass sticking in the air as he bent over and washed first one leg then the other. He would put the wash cloth down, and stand under the shower with his arms raised in order to rinse his short black hair. I could see as well as if I were in there with him, the water flowing on his head, down his face, pushing the soap suds and water over his body and running down the valleys created by the rippling effect of his muscles.
Not fair, I haven’t seen him naked; but he’s seen me.
The
“Oh my God, Wilma, I’ve ruined everything. We were flirting pretty heavy, and I found myself thinking of Randle. I must have crossed a line somewhere.”
I couldn’t believe it! I had just screwed up the only chance I had with him.
Damn Randle, you wouldn’t let go, would you?
“Wilma, has he gone?” I prayed she would say no.
“No, honey, he’s downstairs with Ronnie. Said he didn’t want to leave until he knew you were okay.”
“Was he mad?”
“No, I think he was just concerned about you.”
“I need to go downstairs to explain to him.” When I started to get up, I fell back on the bed. My body just didn’t have the strength. “Wilma, promise me one thing. Don’t let him go! Please keep him here. I’ve got to see him. Promise him anything! Tell him to come sleep with me, so I’ll be able to see him in the morning. Anything … just keep him here!”
“I’ll see what I can do, sugar. You go to sleep. I’ll take care of it.”
I already had my eyes closed as Wilma tiptoed out of the room.
Wilma, you promised!
Chapter Twelve
I couldn’t go to sleep. I kept replaying the evening, over and over. I couldn’t believe I just scared off the only good man I’ve seen in years. Physically he was picture perfect, but he was also sensitive and caring. Damn, damn, damn. I was starting to feel sorry for myself and wept a little. I haven’t had a good cry in a long time.
My pity-party was about to roll into full gear when I heard a noise. It sounded like the door to the apartment, the one I never locked. It creaked open and was gently eased shut. I heard soft footsteps coming down the hall. I was sleeping with my side facing the door. The living room light was on, so I could see the shadow of the visitor lengthen with each step toward my bedroom. I wasn’t afraid, because no one could get up the stairs without passing Wilma and Ronnie in the kitchen. I suspected it was Ronnie, coming up to check on me. Still I didn’t move, as the visitor stood in the door, with the dim light blacking his identity. I could tell it was a man. But I couldn’t tell who.
The man tiptoed past the foot of my bed, and headed for the bathroom. I heard him using the toilet and wash his hands. Instead of coming out of the bathroom, I heard the man open the door to the shower.
My heart skipped a beat as I heard the shower turn on. That isn’t Ronnie; he wouldn’t take a shower up here. It wouldn’t be anyone else in the restaurant. At long last it hit me! It must be PJ! Wilma must have convinced him to spend the night.
Thank you Wilma.
Now what do I do? Do I rush into the shower with him? Do I strip off my nightgown, and welcome him as he comes out of the shower? Or, do I stay in bed and pretend to be asleep. He may be planning to sleep on the sofa in the living room. Or he may be planning to sleep with me, but not want to do more than sleep.
So I lay there and listened to that beautiful shower. I knew that shower inch by inch, and could visualize PJ’s six feet four lean frame standing under the rain showerhead. The soap and water was mixing up as he rubbed it over his body. He would probably wash his face and neck first, and under those muscular arms. He would soap his arms, and his chest. I could see him in my mind’s eye, as he soaped the wash rag and spread his legs a little … and washed himself. I saw his magnificent ass sticking in the air as he bent over and washed first one leg then the other. He would put the wash cloth down, and stand under the shower with his arms raised in order to rinse his short black hair. I could see as well as if I were in there with him, the water flowing on his head, down his face, pushing the soap suds and water over his body and running down the valleys created by the rippling effect of his muscles.
Not fair, I haven’t seen him naked; but he’s seen me.
The
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