Knowing Is Not Enough by Patricia Chatman, P Ann Chatman, A Chatman Chatman, Walker Chatman Page B

refrigerator, opened the door, and grabbed a bottle of wine. “What’s this?”
    I leaned back into the kitchen and turned my head toward the refrigerator. Squinting my eyes, I looked at the bottle. “Oh, its wine, drink some.”
    Sanford continued to hold the bottle up. “I know that, but isn’t this the same bottle from the last time I was here?” Sanford stopped and thought about it for minute then asked, “How old is this bottle?”
    I leaned back up and headed out of the kitchen. “I honestly don’t know. It should be okay. There’s plenty of other stuff to drink.” I left Sanford in the kitchen trying to decide if he was going to risk drinking some year-old wine.
    I walked into the bathroom and turned on the water. I glanced at the clock. It was six-thirty. If I hurried we could be out of the house by seven. I took off my clothes, tossed them in a pile on the floor and stepped into the shower. I hit the hot spots and stepped back out.
No towel
. My skindrizzling with water, I ran into the bedroom to get my towel, and nearly ran into Sanford, standing there with two glasses of wine. Like Venus de Milo minus the towel, I froze, my mouth wide open. “I thought you were downstairs!” I stated.
    Sanford’s eyes filled every corner of his lenses. He stepped closer to me. “Um,” he said. “Your body is unbelievable.”
    I went for my towel to cover myself. Sanford stood so close, staring at me. I probably should’ve felt uncomfortable . . . but I wasn’t. I was actually turned on by it. “Amazing,” he said.
    I grabbed one of the glasses of wine and drank it straight down. I knew I should hide my naked body, but I didn’t want to.
    Sanford lifted his drink up to his lips and drank it in two gulps while I looked on. He threw the glasses on the bed and grabbed my head in his massive hands, placing each thumb at my ears, pulled me in and kissed me full on.
    The warmth of Sanford’s tongue emanated through my veins. My breath labored, body pulsated from his touch. Standing on the tips of my toes, I raised my body just enough for Sanford to grab hold and lift me to his waist where I eagerly wrapped my legs. He glided the tips of his fingers on my skin while circulating his tongue in and around mine. Hungry for his touch, I awaited every sensation delivered from the gradual descent of his hands down my back cupping my behind as he slid them beneath me refraining to liberate his tongue from mine. Sanford carried me toward the bed gently resting me on top.
    On my back I felt the strength of Sanford on top of me, my hand navigated down his back and around to thefront of his pants. I wasn’t thinking anymore. Celibacy and emotions aside, I wasn’t about to make love to just anyone . . . this was Sanford.
    I unzipped his pants with deliberate intent unleashing what enthusiastically awaited inside pleased by the realization he was a big man in every way. Sanford’s penis was wet with the anticipation and his uninterrupted kisses sustained my humidity outside and in. Between my parted legs I lowered my hand filling it with him, caressing and guiding him inside of me. The tip of his penis, lured by the touch of my vaginal walls, he smoothly worked his way inside me thrusting in and out, hitting my clitoris with every stroke. I was wetter than I’d ever been before. Sanford awakened every cell in my body in each single uninterrupted stroke.
    No foreplay, no oral, just him inside of me, pulling me closer and closer to him over and over, throbbing with every touch.
    I couldn’t hold my excitement anymore. Every nerve ending in my body cried out, expelling itself through my lungs. Tears streamed down my face as I choked down each thunderous orgasmic eruption. With other men, I could only come once, if at all. This was new. Sanford was new and two was the magic number.
    I knew eventually we would have to figure this out, but for now, after a quick trip to the restroom, I was preparing myself for round two. Sanford