Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [21]
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Bartholomew,” I said.
“Is that your last name?” he asked in a very seductive tone.
I prayed he was looking for something more than a last name, but I said, “Dunbar.”
“As in Paul Laurence Dunbar,” he joked.
“The same,” I said as his sensuously full lips mesmerized me.
“Ahh … I don’t want to keep you. Give Sherrie a call tomorrow,” he said.
“Sherrie? Who’s Sherrie?”
“The marketing director. Her name’s on the card,” he said.
“Oh,” I said.
“Thanks again,” he said. I thought I detected some nervousness in his voice, like he might be fearful of my seductive powers. I decided there was only one way to find out.
“Mr. Henderson, in case I can’t get in touch with Sherrie, maybe I should let you tell her what she missed.”
I sat on the edge of the black chair, pulled off my Timberlands, and threw them like they were trick-me-fuck-me boots. I stood up and unbuttoned my skintight black jeans and pulled them to my ankles, then reached up and pulled off both my candy-red sweater and thermal nightshirt with one swoop. I was thrilled I wasn’t wearing any underwear. When I looked at Mr. Henderson with a confident smile, I could tell he was happy as well.
“So what do you think?” I asked as I turned slowly to give him a view of the back. When I turned around, he was leaning back in his chair licking his lips. I stepped out of my jeans, then walked over toward his desk with the speed of a character from The Matrix.
“You didn’t answer me, Mr. Henderson.”
“Call me Basil. Your body is sweet,” he said.
I took his very large hands and whispered, “Touch me.” His hands were both smooth and hard as I placed them on my stomach and then my ass.
“Stand up,” I said.
Basil stood up, surrendering himself as I unloosened his tie. I slowly began to undress him, like he was a long-lost lover. I undid his belt buckle and then allowed his suit pants to drop to his ankles. I slowly unbuttoned each button on his shirt like they were precious diamonds. I removed the shirt from his broad shoulders, then moved to my knees as I slowly pulled down his body-hugging gray-and-black boxer briefs. His dick was swinging like a saloon door, and my manhood was hanging stiff and long. Basil’s body was amazing, every muscle, so perfectly proportioned. I was about to climb on top of him like he was a ladder, when he finally spoke again.
“Do you have protection?”
“No, but I’m clean. I get a checkup every six months.”
“Sorry, dude, but as much as I want to, I can’t swing without a coat.”
“Can I just taste it?” I pleaded like I was a little kid wanting to lick the icing from the cake bowl.
“How bad do you want it?” Basil asked.
“Bad … real bad,” I said.
Basil bent over and pulled up his underwear and pants, then reached for his shirt.
“I think you should put your clothes on. I mean, if you want it … real … real bad,” Basil said.
“What do you mean?”
“If you can get your clothes on as quick as you took them off, then maybe, just maybe you might get to taste something real good.”
I almost tripped over my own boots as I raced for my clothes while shouting, “You ain’t got to tell me but once.”
Stop in the Name of Lust
I imagine it was probably a woman who said men in unexpected situations think with their third dangling leg. And as much as I hate to admit it, she was probably right. I mean, how else could I explain the man, with a banging body, now in my bathroom using one of my spare toothbrushes, pink no less, that I reserve for my female first-timers? Explain to me how I came closer than a condom on my jimmie to smashing this dude in my office without even thinking about how it would look if one of my partners or assistants or the cleaning crew came in unexpected. To make it even worse, I’m pretty sure this Bart is at the very least a white liar, since he told