night and was sure that the sweet soulful sounds of Marvin and Teddy and Barry would certainly set the mood for the night she had in store.
“I feel sorry for you, Mr. Townsend. I don’t know when you’ll get a chance to see daylight again,” Sylvia said to no one in particular.
No sooner had she started to relax, the doorbell rang again. “Right on time,” she said to herself.
“Peter stepped into the apartment. Before he could speak, Sill put her hand to his lips and whispered seductively: “Come in Peter, but don’t say a word.” She took his jacket from him and hung it on the coat rack behind the front door. “I have a very special night planned for us but you have to promise that you won’t say a word,” Sill looked straight into Peter’s eyes. “Promise?”
“What’s this all about, Sill?” Peter asked. “I thought we were going out to dinner tonight.”
“There’s been a change of plans, Peter. I’ve planned a very special night for us. A night you won’t forget and all you have to do is relax and go with the flow. The first thing I need you to do is to come in, sit down, take your shoes off and relax. That’s not a lot to ask, is it?” Sill asked as she propped up the pillows behind him.
“Seems easy enough,” he answered. “Would you mind passing me the remote,” he asked.
“Sorry sweetie but there will be no time for television tonight. The only thing you need to be watching tonight is your Sill and that should keep you busy for quite awhile,” Sill said smiling. Peter didn’t realize just how serious she was, however. “Do me a big favor, Peter? Drink this while I freshen up a bit.” Always game for a new adventure, Peter turned the glass up and took a huge swallow of what he thought was
Pepsi.
“Good God Almighty! What are you trying to do to me?” Sill heard the remark and could help but laughed.
“Loosen up, Peter.” Sill, tickled by his reaction refused to give in, “Just drink the damn thing. You promised me that you’d go along with the program and you’re hedging already.”
“Hedging?
What?
Should I let you kill me? That’s straight liquor, sweetheart!” Peter was teasing but Sill was in no mood. Glaring at him now, she asked Peter: “Are you going to go along with the program or what, Peter Townsend? I’ve spent a lot of time and effort setting up this evening for you. The least you could do is play along.” Sylvia said angrily.
“I didn’t know it meant that much to you, Sill. I hope you can carry me home after I pass out in a drunken stupor girlfriend,” Peter said before guzzling the remainder of the glass. “I just
hope
you can.”
Sylvia was smiling, now. “Hold on, sweetheart, let me get you something to chase that with,” she said, regaining her poise. A minute later, she was back with the ice bucket, champagne and glasses for them both.
“Go ahead Peter. Pop the cork. I’ll be right back. Oh, and will you pour me a glass, too? Not too much though, I’ve got a long night ahead of me.”
Sylvia returned to the bathroom locked the door opened the medicine cabinet and found the plastic casing with her diaphragm. It was the first time she’d used it and no matter how she twisted and turned the damn thing it simply refused to fit snugly. She’d been fitted for it before she left Elizabethtown. She’d practiced putting it in on numerous occasions when she was almost positive Peter was going to sex her but it had been all been a waste of time then. Now that she was sure it was going to happen the damn thing wouldn’t fit. Not only wouldn’t it fit it made loud popping noises that were embarrassing as hell. Hell, she couldn’t get pregnant anyway but Dr. Reid had suggested she use it anyway as a contraceptive along with that nasty-ass gel. After another ten minutes of more twisting and shoving, Sill gave up on the idea and came to the conclusion that the gel and a prophylactic would just have to do. Besides, there was no doubt in her mind that as slow as Peter was, chances were good that he was still a virgin at twenty-seven.
“Did you pour me a drink, sweetheart,” she called as she wiped the gel from between her legs.
“An hour ago,” he replied. “What’s the big surprise, baby?”
Sylvia, remembering that she’d left her shoes at the front door wrapped the robe around her waist and grabbed a Food Lion bag to put her shoes in. He obviously hadn’t noticed them when he came in and she wanted everything to be picture perfect. She walked to the front door grabbed her shoes, threw them in the bag then returned to the bedroom where she greased her legs and feet with baby oil and eased into her fishnet stockings and heels. After dabbing a bit of Liz Taylor’s,
White Diamond
perfume behind each earlobe and brushing her hair up in a bun looked into the mirror and smiled. She felt good knowing she was ready to make love as Betty Wright used to say,
“for the very first time.”
Dimming the lights in the bedroom and the hallway, Sylvia Shipp emerged from the darkness into the living room, radiant and glowing and ready for anything Professor Peter Townsend had to offer. This was her night. This was the night where all schools of etiquette would be dismissed early. This was the night she would rock Professor Peter Townsend’s world and make him forget all notions of going anywhere without her. Tonight was the night Sylvia Shipp would make him hers or die trying in the effort.
After thirteen months of longing for this man Sill wasn’t looking for good manners and proper protocol. She didn’t want feels and foreplay. She wanted raw, unadulterated sex.
She wanted to know—needed to know—that Peter Townsend desired her physically as a woman.
Up until now, the jury had been out but if it meant her getting on her knees to beg for his love then beg she would do. But she had to know.
It was immediately apparent the Peter was stunned, shocked beyond belief
“Oh my goodness! Damn, Sylvia!”
“You promised not to say anything, Peter,” Sylvia said, placing her finger to his lips in an attempt to silence him. Leaning over, she kissed him gently at first and then harder, pushing him backward onto the loveseat and unbuttoning his shirt. Smelling the sweet scent of masculinity, she grew savage in her desire, ripping the final two buttons when they refused to come undone as quickly as she desired. She wanted him now and decided that if he wasn’t going to take the initiative then she certainly had no problem with showing him how that was done as well.
At that moment, Sylvia Shipp wanted Peter Townsend more than she had ever wanted anything in her entire life.
Anything!
Sylvia licked and nibbled at his chest as she made her way down to his belt buckle. She was hot now, feverish. Grabbing his belt buckle she pulled with no regard for the man and then straddled him when it took too long to unfasten the buckle and began grinding slow and hard and exotically against his genitals in hopes of arousing him. But if anyone was aroused by the lap dance now being performed it was she. Sylvia could feel the fire in her loins and all signs of an orgasm crying for release. It was no longer about Peter and she wondered if she’d really ever loved him or even liked him. She wondered if she was using him as revenge for what those animals at Tech had done to her. And then she laughed as she pressed even harder against his pelvis with every ounce of strength she could muster hoping, then praying that he would beg for her so she could administer the same thing that had been administered to her. She laughed although she hardly knew why and felt warm tears cascading down her cheeks at the same time. She tried to understand her feeling, tried to understand why she felt this about a man who obviously loved her. She thought of Dr. Reid suggesting that she continue therapy and knew now that he was right about it not going away on its own but now was hardly the time to think about it. Despite the tears she felt a strange sensation, a warmth she’d never known before. And although it was all new to her she knew that she was on the brink of an orgasm. And no matter how she felt about the man beneath her at that very moment he was going to help her feel this thing that men felt was so goddamn important that it took twelve of them to hold her down and beat her to achieve. Sylvia laughed again then screamed out desperately as another warm rush descended over her.
“Help me, Peter!” she cried. “Oh, God, Peter, please help me. I think I’m coming. I don’t know what to do. Take me now, baby. Show me. Oh please take me, Peter!”
The lap dance Sylvia tried to perform with the hopes of seducing Peter rendered her weak, almost helpless and Peter had yet to move or utter a word. Not noticing and not caring, Sylvia slid down to the floor and knelt between his legs. She was trembling with desire. Her hands shook but she managed to finally undo his buckle. As she reached for his zipper, he grabbed her wrists firmly.
“You promised me, Peter. You promised me that you wouldn’t say a word,” she protested. “The only thing I want to hear from your lips tonight is you calling my name and telling me how badly you want me. That is all I want to hear my love, that and nothing more,” Sylvia said.
Peter sighed, looked into her eyes and said: “Sylvia, you are truly a beautiful woman. But before we go any further, throw your shawl around you, I’d like for you to take a quick ride with me. Don’t worry about getting dressed there’s really no need to get out of the car. Hurry now, I think it will answer a lot of your questions a lot better than I can.”
Sylvia’s loins were still aflame with hunger. She burned with desire but her curiosity forced her to put everything else on the back burner and she soon found herself, fishnet stockings and spiked heels, pulling up in the driveway of a palatial estate on Atlanta’s perimeter. Peter stopped the car at the gate, fed several numbers into the gates security system and waited for the gate to slide open. A long black Mercedes stood parked in front of the arched front door. Peter parked the Lexus got out and opened the passenger door.
“Oh no, Peter, you told me that I wouldn’t be getting out.
I can’t be seen in public dressed like this,”
she stammered. It was obvious that Peter wasn’t taking no for an answer and held his hand out.
“You wanted answers, Sill. Come on let’s see if we can’t answers some of those questions I know have been eating away at you all of this time,” Peter said as he led Sylvia to the large mahogany door.
Sylvia was prepared for the worst. She prayed that Peter hadn’t set her up for a confrontation with another woman instead of just having the guts to tell her he was married. Sylvia wasn’t given long to agonize. No sooner than they arrived at the door, it swung open and Sylvia drew a deep sigh of relief as an elderly white gentleman with more hair under his chin than on top of his pate greeted them.
“Dr. David Marchus, I’d like you to meet my good friend, Ms. Sylvia Shipp.” Dr. Marchus grabbed Sylvia’s hand, anxiously.
“Ms. Shipp, I’m truly honored to make your acquaintance. Peter has told me so much about you. He, however come close to describing such beauty as you possess. Welcome to our happy home,” Dr. Marchus said. Then he turned to Peter, grabbed him, and kissed him deeply, passionately.
Stunned, Sylvia experienced a range of emotions. At first, shock, disbelief, nausea and then rage followed by a host of words that she had never used before in her life and then when she’d cursed him and vented and blamed him for every ill in the world today she ended the barrage the way she’d started. “Why you—you flaming faggot! You cocksuckin’ bastard! Tell me you’re not gay, Peter! Oh, Peter, please tell me that you are not gay. Please tell me that I haven’t spent the last year and a half with some raving poop scooper. You’re not even bi-sexual, are you? That’s why you cringe every time I put my hands on you. You’re one hundred percent slurpy, just as soft and sweet as you wanna be. Ain’tcha, boy? Lord! Lord! Lord! Someone please tell me where all the strong Black men have gone? No wonder you enjoyed going fishing with daddy so much. Probably just wanted to sit there and stare at his ass. Boy, if daddy knew this, he’d beat your ass straight. Just the thought of you two makes me wanna’ puke.”
Sylvia took a deep breath and just stared at the two men. Peter dropped his head. Dr. Marchus, unperturbed by the whole incident, pulled his pipe from the pocket of his smoking jacket, filled it with tobacco, lit it and then inhaled deeply before speaking, “I warned Peter about telling you Sylvia but it seems you have quite an influence over my friend here. He was sure that you would somehow understand his dilemma.”
“His dilemma,”
Sylvia laughed. “What dilemma? Oh, I’m sorry, please continue, Dr. Marchus. I’m sorry I didn’t know that Peter was in such turmoil. How difficult it must be for poor Peter to get up each morning with such pressing issues,” she said. “My God, how insensitive I must seem.” Sylvia turned, fixing her gaze and her conversation on Peter. “I’m so sorry, hon, I just didn’t realize the trials and tribulations, the sheer agony you must be going through each morning. What do you say to yourself? Here, let me see if I can put myself in your shoes, Peter, darling. Let’s see if I can be a little more empa-thetic, a little more understanding,” she said. “When you get up each morning and look in the mirror, I guess you must say this to yourself. “Let me see, Pete ol’ boy, shall I go see my sweetheart this evening after work for a quiet candlelight dinner and some soft music. Perhaps I’ll stay until the wee hours of the morning with a woman willing to cater to my every need. A woman whose body beckons me with it’s every move. Should I make mad, passionate love to my woman, a woman most men crave to be with whose body exudes sensuality, whose every orifice is at my disposal? Then when it’s over, sex her until she screams for me to stop. Should I fondle her breasts and she mine until we are both bathed in the heat of passion then enter her once more to complete our union. Hmmm. Decisions, decisions. Let me see. What are the alternatives? Perhaps I should go up to the big house and let some bald, wrinkled up old white man old enough to be my father, bend me over and stick his wrinkled-assed dick in my butt? Hardly a dilemma if you ask me.” Sill laughed aloud at her own cynicism. In reality, she saw no humor, not to mention a dilemma.
“Sylvia, your depiction of what possibly could have been a rather breathtaking evening with Peter was eloquent. Your depiction of me, however, leaves a bit to be desired and at best is rather inconclusive, I’m afraid.” Dr. Marchus said with little or no emotion.