Knowing Page 22

  Mae Thelma stared up, mesmerized by the heat of the flickering flames as another explosion rocked her house. Red, blue, and yellow sparks circled the brick bungalow as smoke poured out of it.

  She stood next to the neighbors she’d known for the past nine years, who cried for her and issued their prayers of thanks that her sons had been away and no one was hurt. No one but Mae Thelma knew the truth — that she had secretly started the fire. And that this was precisely why she’d sent her boys away to a church member’s house for the weekend.

  “Oh my Lord,” said a voice from the crowd, watching the engulfing flames spread.

  Mae Thelma’s small house sat on a corner lot. There was a larger home adjacent to hers, but fortunately it wasn’t touched by the fire. The firemen worked feverishly to contain the blaze.

  Tears streamed from Mae Thelma’s eyes. But they were tears of joy, not sorrow. A woman standing next to her, mistaking their source, hugged her shoulders as they stood watching the firefighters try to save the little house.

  Going to be butterfly mornings, and wildflower afternoons, thought Mae Thelma. In her heart, she knew she was treading on the thin side of evil. For the time being, she had to be still, patient, and humble.

  It was as if someone had snapped off the lights and, frozen in time, the stars were gazing down, their moonlit reflections gazing up. In the quiet of the night, probing eyes were watching her, while one pair of eyes was watching over all.

  Mae Thelma thought back on the sermon the pastor had preached at the Thursday evening service:

  “God wants for his people to be all that they can be. A seed. It starts as small things, and ends up a big thing. A thorn is another place that resists change. A thorn is hard and resistant to the seed needed for growth.

  “The soil is nothing without the seed. One without the other is nothing. The soil needs the seed as much as the seed needs the soil. The soil is the word of God. We must be rooted in the soil. We cannot realize our spiritual growth without the word of God. Giving you power, strength, and guidance.”

  Mae Thelma thought about the seed and her personal growth in the Lord. She’d felt as if the pastor had been talking directly to her. It was time for a change. She felt it in her heart, her body, her soul. Staring at the flames, she knew she’d done the right thing. It was time. Time for her. Time for her children, and time for him to learn that there were some people put on this earth to care for other people, and there were some people who needed to be taken care of. Jackson needed that from her.

  She kicked a pebble near the firelight with the toe of her house slipper and smiled to herself. Soon, she thought. Soon, there would be seeds planted, and the growth of the richness of her fertile body would be the evidence of the changes and growth being sowed by their union.

  21

  I’m Gonna Make You Love Me

  “Kids okay?” asked Jackson as he hung his suit in the closet. Standing in his ribbed cotton T-shirt and briefs, his dusky physique seemed the perfect embodiment of male beauty.

  Turning her focus away from his body, Ginger took off the red dress. “Fine.” She thought of Ivory Michaels and Sierra’s unwavering crush on him. Ginger had seen him again on the six o’clock news, and noticed his co-anchor, Elizabeth Guest, was back in her spot. She had been on leave for the past four months because of a notorious scandal. They were rumored to be having an affair.

  Ginger told Sierra that she’d seen the two of them at the restaurant where she and Jackson celebrated her closing. Sierra asked a million questions. How did he look in person? Were his eyes as gray, or were they more blue? Were his eyelashes really that long? Was his hair naturally wavy or was it from a Jheri-curl kit?

  Sierra was disappointed when Ginger admitted that she hadn’t gotten close enough to answer most of her questions. Her view of him had been partially blocked, but she had to admit to herself that he was extremely good looking in person despite his fair complexion.

  Ginger smiled to herself as she entered the sitting room. To her dismay, Jackson was thoroughly engrossed in Rio Lobo, featuring John Wayne — one of Jackson’s favorite heroes.

  The sound of a six-shooter banging away on the television wasn’t exactly the musical score Ginger had in mind as the denouement of their evening. Nevertheless, all the grunts, snorts, rumbles, whistling, and cackling seemed to hold Jackson’s attention, thwarting her efforts to create a more romantic atmosphere. She went down to the kitchen.

  Jackson joined Ginger downstairs as she prepared hot tea. He filled a thermal quart jug of ice, topping it with a generous splash of Diet Pepsi. “Oh, I see we gave up on our V8 juice.” She angled her head slightly, glaring at him. “Perhaps my man has traded sex for horses.”

  He walked toward her, passion in his eyes. With the sleek movements of a tiger, graceful and carefree, he whisked a cool kiss across her cheek, winking seductively as he climbed the stairs.

  Suddenly, from above the stairs, came a slow voice inviting her to hurry and join him. Guessing the evening might be taking on a whole new aspect, she fixed her cup of tea and went quickly up the stairs.

  He always took everything so slow. Ginger admired that in Jackson. He was so methodical in everything he did. She knew he had absolute control over her in the bedroom, though she often tried to deny it. She tried desperately to emulate his cavalier attitude, but it just wasn’t in her.

  Kicking the door shut behind her, the darkness and quiet turned her apprehension into anticipation. She heard him moving . . . no, she felt him stirring in the bed.

  “Baby,” his voice summoned caressingly.

  “I’m coming, sweetheart.” She knew that in a few short minutes that was exactly what she’d be whispering in his ear. Resting the mug on the coffee table, she clicked on soft pink nightlights on each side of the headboard. Ginger hesitated for a luxurious moment to sachet her body with sweet jasmine before joining Jackson in bed. “You forgot to turn on the music, honey.”

  He reached for her, caressing her naked buttocks beneath her gown. “When did I need a stereo to make beautiful music to your body?” His tongue swept the soft column of her neck, trailing kisses along the nape, up and along the bare side of her face.

  “You don’t,” she whispered, closing her eyes. Her fingers trailed the long expanse of his thighs, luxuriating in the softness of his flesh. She toyed with the tight curls that coiled around his manhood, hesitating to touch his throbbing member. Her breathing quickened as he shifted his pelvis, causing his enlarged penis to graze her inner thigh.

  “Ummmm, you smell good. It’s been a while, baby,” he said, aligning his body next to hers and kissing her moist lips with heated passion. His kiss deepened as his probing tongue sweetly claimed hers. Ginger welcomed him into her mouth, teasing him with ravenous strokes of her tongue, and tasted the Pepsi sweetening his mouth.

  As their bodies lay together, Ginger’s hand automatically reached for the vehicle that she knew would take them on a tumultuous journey toward heaven. And knowing that the intimacy from years of being together, caring for each other, and knowing each other, would take them even higher.

  “Let’s take it slow tonight, baby. I want you,” he said, kissing her tenderly, “to want me,” and added huskily, with another sonorous kiss against moist lips, “to want you.”

  “Just what I had in mind,” said Ginger, guiding him to lie on his back. Then she reached into the nightstand for a small vial of oil.

  Leaning over him, she dropped dots of sweet sandal oil over his naked flesh. Now, straddling his long form, her knees touching his, she floated her hands over the surface of his chest. Using the fingertips of both hands, his skin glistened as she gently massaged in the silky oil.

  With feathering, butterfly carresses, she carefully, artfully, began traveling down his body with soft brush strokes until she felt him yielding. Then, leaning over his torso, she pulled firmly with her right hand, drawing it toward his chest, and paused just before reaching his nipple. With her left hand she p
ulled his warm flesh toward her, again ending at the hairy circle of his dark nebula. She continued alternating with both hands lower and lower, dissolving thought into rhythm, until only the rhythm existed.

  “What you doing to me?” asked Jackson lazily.

  “Loving you, baby.”

  Still kneeling over him, she continued the magical pursuit of arousal with her lover. In long, flowing, overlapping strokes, Ginger worked her way down methodically from shoulder to hand, inhaling the scrolling sweet sweat emanating from Jackson.

  Raising his forearm, she held his hand palm up, and kissed it slowly, attentively, as if she were blessing it. She enclosed his wrist in her other hand, and massaged the interior of his hand. With the side of her thumb she created small circles, then larger ones inside his palm. Next, with his palm against the palm of hers, she matched her fingers with his, then slid her fingers upwards toward his fingertips, massaged and stroked the sides and insides of his fingers. She could feel the heat circulating, his pelvis articulating her message. After kissing the tip of each finger, she took each digit slowly into her warm mouth, and sucked.

  Jackson shuddered with pleasure.

  Carefully, she released his arm, then lowered her head farther down Jackson’s quivering body. Ginger’s tongue toured Jackson’s abdomen with wide, wet strokes, down, down, until it touched his navel. She pressed her tongue inside the hollow of his stomach, alternately blowing into and kissing it. Her mouth and hands traveled from navel to nipples and back again; sucking, biting, licking, gripping, squeezing, kneading the supple skin.

  “Oh — yes,” Jackson murmured.

  “Close your eyes, and tell me your deepest fantasy,” said Ginger, now stimulating his lower torso. She tugged and pulled at his crotch hairs with her teeth, coming close to, but not touching, his burgeoning tower of manhood.

  “Mmmmmm,” he said sultrily. “To have an orgasm that lasts ten minutes, then being bone-deep inside you, and loving you all night long.”

  “Sounds like we’re working on the same fantasy.” Ginger said, her eyes melting into his.

  Kissing him now, she arched her body to straddle one of his thighs as they embraced. Jackson raised his leg to rub her crotch back and forth, forcing then releasing pressure until he felt the creamy fluid signaling her passion.

  Taking the lead, Jackson eased Ginger back onto the bed, glided her knees up, then pushed them open like broken butterfly wings. While softly kissing her, he inserted one finger, a second, stretching her open for the third, inside the folds of her flaming lips.

  As Jackson stimulated her clitoris, working his fingers expertly inside her silken casing, Ginger felt like an orgasmic butterfly, her breath like the flutter of wings soaring higher, higher and still higher than she could imagine, until finally, she cried out in painful ecstasy.

  Outside, the wind sang through the billowing pines, the delicate tracery of branches brushing against the windows. Then it began to rain.

  Sharp cracks of thunder coupled with shrieks of lightning echoed in the sky above them. The rain fell in torrents while they made quiet love.

  Moments later, the rain paused, creating patterns of moisture on the windows, tracing, lacing lines of wet trickled down the panes. A small shelf of water buildup formed a ledge on the sill.

  Still holding the keys to the melody, Jackson and Ginger embraced each other as if they were stepping inside each other’s bodies. Like a mixture of gin and juice, the energy between them flowed from body to body as the suede smoothness of Jackson’s penis pressed breathlessly inside Ginger as deep as it would go.

  Like a dancer, he was in complete control, but knew how to lose himself in the music. He trained his mind to regulate the rhythm of his breathing with slow, deep breaths. With each stroke of his manhood, more pressing than thrusting, they moved together in concert. Together, with the thunder, the wind, and the rain, the orchestra was building between them. Her body was like music harmonizing with his, the melody, harmony, rhapsody building, and still building to an emotional peak, their consonances timbred. Their pleasure drowned out every sound but the music they heard inside their souls.

  Bold with love, Ginger’s moist fingers cupped Jackson’s buttocks, pulling him deeper into her burning heat, loving him as he loved her. Their melded bodies moved provocatively, hip pressed against hip, gasping, in an accelerated rhythm. And their passion heightened with every crash of thunder outside. Through the pleasure and pain, the wind and the rain, their bodies shuddered. There was rapture.

  Outside, the beats of the rain softened, suddenly, then stopped.

  “Jackson!” Ginger cried out in ecstasy.

  He answered her with electric kisses on her lips before moving onto his knees and bringing her ankles over his shoulders. Jackson gracefully kissed the spines of both her heels while tucking a pillow beneath her buttocks. Their bodies wet with sweat, Jackson easily slid inside her silken casing, and began rotating his hips, accompanied with equal beats of thrusts. Each gasp from Ginger fueled Jackson’s desire to satisfy as he angled his hips from side to side, taking care to touch the outer walls of her vagina.

  “Am I hurting you baby?”

  “No, sweetheart. Please don’t stop,” Ginger whispered.

  Ginger eased her knees up a little closer on Jackson’s shoulders. She knew the sensation was heightened for him as she squeezed the muscles of her pulsating vagina. She pressed her thighs together, playing him like a precious Stradivarius.

  They came together; she became him, and he became her. And then, she trembled.

  Outside, it began to rain . . . again.

  “Hello,” Ginger said sleepily into the mouthpiece, automatically checking the time. She sat upright in the bed, held captive by Mae Thelma’s tearful version of her heart-wrenching loss.

  Nudging the peaceful body next to her, Ginger shook and shook, until finally Jackson let go of his dreams and recognized the urgency of her voice. “What time is it, baby? What’s wrong?” he asked, mumbling.

  She handed him the receiver, and he listened intently. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he picked up the phone and walked to the window, staring out into the darkness. As he placed the receiver back onto the cradle, he let out a deep breath.

  Ginger followed behind him as he dressed. “You want me to go with you, honey?”

  “No, you stay here and get the upstairs bedrooms ready. Wake up Jason, and ask him to help you.” She could see his brain racing, thinking, yet all the time he was moving as slowly and gracefully as a leopard. Pausing at the door, he blew her a kiss, giving her a sweet, church-door expression. Suddenly, she felt a stab of fear.

  As she turned the door to Jason’s room, she stood stock still, praying silently to God to erase the jealous thoughts that were playing through her mind. Mae Thelma was saved and sanctified, wasn’t she? She didn’t have to worry about that gorgeous woman coming into her home and trying to steal her man as her mother had warned, did she?

  She reflected on the pastor’s message last Sunday. His words rang in her ears:

  “If you do not love your fellow man that you have seen, how can you love the God whom you have not seen?”

  She pushed the bad thoughts from her mind as she willed herself to do God’s work and execute his will helping those in need.

  As they slid beneath the covers, Jackson reached over and kissed his wife tenderly. “That was sweet of you, honey, to get those clothes for the boys. Thank God they weren’t home tonight. They’re going to need them when they come tomorrow.” Pulling her close to him, her buttocks fitting neatly into his abdomen, he lined her shoulder with kisses.

  Her body tensed.

  “Ginger? Something wrong?”

  “No. Nothing.” She pulled the covers tightly around her shoulders, warding off further affection. “How long do you think they’ll be here?” Her voice was filled with trepidation.

  “It don’t look good. The entire inside of the house is burnt. I don’t know too much about fires, b
ut if the insurance company decides to repair it instead of paying her off, it’s gonna take months to get it in livable shape.”

  Months? “Oh. Well, we have plenty of room. They can stay as long as they like,” she lied. God, she hated lying like that, but if he knew how she truly felt, he’d accuse her of not being saved. Lord knows she was trying as hard as she could to be humble and serve the Lord the best she could. God willing, she’d make it through the next few months.

  Ginger tossed and turned all night, seeing visions of Jackson running his fingers through the long silky tresses that were Mae Thelma’s only care, as she lay before him, nude.

  Mae Thelma smiled smugly to herself. She was in his house. Looking around the modest surroundings of the maid’s quarters, she knew she wouldn’t be there long. It paled pitifully in comparison to Jackson’s beautiful bedroom suite. Soon. Soon, she’d be walking through these double doors, her toes sinking into the plush peach carpeting, and reclining onto the king-size bed, awaiting the loving arms of her man.

  With her right hand, she rubbed her inner thighs, running her finger through her waist-length hair until the silkiness feathered the peaked nipples of her full breasts. Reaching down, she placed her fingers between her legs. Imagining that those fingers would soon be replaced by the warmth of Jackson’s manhood, it took only minutes for her to climax.

  Ginger awakened in a cold sweat, as a pain, sharp as steel, stabbed at her heart. A small choir of birds chirped noisily outside her window. Wrapping her housecoat around her, she tiptoed downstairs. The first light of day streamed through the leaded windows . . . the outside world was wet and still, as dew clung to the grass. Delicate wisps of fog blurred the landscape.

  She sipped her tea, talking to herself, trying to shed the ludicrous images that had held her from a sound sleep. Sighing, she leaned back in her chair and listened. Outside the breakfast room window, the little birds had gathered in the rosebushes, sparrows singing sweet and loud, bold bluebirds interrupting their melody.