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A Tenant Comes Knocking (Damien Dsoul)


A Tenant Comes Knocking by Damien Dsoul

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Tamia Ronan, a middle-aged white woman living in a suburban home who'd just been through a messy divorce is in need of a tenant to occupy the Boys Quarters of her home. Never was she expecting anyone like Clavin Brown, and the swirling emotions she would undergo upon meeting him.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 12 / 2010

We do not recommend this book for readers under 18 years of age

No. words: 18422

Style: Erotica -    Interracial Erotica, Erotic Romance

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  MS Word  Text  RTF  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

Current all-time sales ranking: #1584


Excerpt..

There was the rushing sound of cold air pulling past her face and ears and nothing more. Her ears paid attention only to the music of her heart beating fast, felt the throb in her arms and thigh muscles as she jogged along the gardened pathway of the park in the suburban neighbourhood of Coaster Grove.
Her name was Tamia Ronan, and this was her doing her every day morning jog through her usual early morning route. She was in her early thirties, tall, with striking good looks, with high cheeks bones and blue eyes. Her body shape was supple, not too thin and not too fat as well, and everything about her was well proportioned.
It was a little past six in the morning. The sky was the colour of deep purple, though it was slowly dissipating. A cold, mist hung over the earth, even on the leaves of the tree branches. The full moon shimmered like an old coin above her head. In the next few minutes, the sun will be showing its face, by which time the neighbourhood will be starting to come alive. But all of this was the least of Tamia’s concern as her Reebok trainers bounded along the circular route of the cobbled ground that was the park’s walkway, past the water fountain with the statue of a baby elephant spewing water off its trunk, up a flight of cobbled steps, and then she was out unto Main Street. From here it was a mere two blocks from where she lived and she took it in unhurried stride as she went on with her jogging. She waved a hand at Mr. Rawlins who’s been running his bakery shop and café for the past thirty years, way before she’d ever dreamed of settling down here which was only a couple of years ago. He was sweeping off dead leaves from his front stoop when she went past him, but he managed to catch her wave and returned one to her before resuming his sweeping.
Her legs were starting to wear her out by the time she got into her street. She had worked up quite a sweat – she felt it in her armpits and over her brow – trying hard to control her breathing. She was just in time to receive the mail man as he alighted from his bus with a bunch of letters he was about inserting into her letter box. He turned his head in time to see her approach and smiled at her.
“Hi there, Tamia,” he gave her a brimful of smile, knowing she wasn’t mindful about him calling her by her first name. The mail man was in his mid-forties. He’d been delivering mails to the neighbourhood for more than three years now and was totally familiar with much of the families whom he delivered mails to on a near daily basis. “Out jogging this early as usual?”
“It seems like a fine time to be doing it,” she panted while coming to a stop beside him, collecting her letters from his hands. “Thanks, Mitch.”
“Anytime, lovely lady,” he replied courteously. He stood there for a moment, watching her walk away from him into the driveway of her home, admiring the shape and outline of her body, most especially the smoothness of her legs jutting under her gym shorts. She sure was an amazing-looking woman, he thought to himself, and then he shook his head as he recalled what had transpired between her and her former husband. Coaster Groove was a small and quiet neighbourhood, and in such places any news, aside from talk about the weather and whatever’s happening in some faraway country, is most grabbing to listen to. Folks here tended to prefer minding their neighbour’s business. Especially their neighbour’s business. “Such a sad thing,” he muttered to himself before turning to his mail truck and driving further down the street. Got plenty of letters to delivery, he whistled to himself. Plenty of time to reminisce on that later. Lots and lots of time was all the stuff he had at his age, he shrugged as he went on with his morning ride.
Tamia held the letters in her left arm while she unlocked her door and stepped into the comfort of her home.
She walked into the den that was her living room, flipping through each envelope of letters while she did. Two were receipt payments of her utility bills, three others were subscribed editions from Variety, Vanity Fair, and Cosmopolitan; one was a picturesque post card from a good friend of hers who got married last week, for whom Tamia had been part of her bridal train and was currently enjoying her honeymoon in Hawaii, telling her what a fun time she was having. Tamia sighed at the irony in it – barely one month had gone past since the final proceedings in her divorce settlement had taken place and she was still recuperating from it while here was her childhood friend having the time of her life being a newlywed. She wondered how bitter her friend might end up being if a few years from now she wakes up one morning to the realisation that the man whom she’d taken a vow to love and to cherish all her life had all this time been cherishing someone else ... just as her Jerry had done to her.
The thought died away as her eyes fell on the last letter envelope. It was this one that caught her attention. She turned it over, took in the sender’s name and address on the other side.
Calvin Brown, the envelope stated in bold, slanting letters; the letter was post-dated the day before. She left the others on a coffee table, tore through the envelope and unearthed the letter which was short and brief.

Dear Mrs. Rolan,
My name is Calvin Brown. I am writing to you in response to the advert I saw in the Guardian Times classified section a couple of days ago, regarding your subletting B.Q. apartment. I am very much in agreement with the amount you’re offering and would very much like to express interest in renting it for a limited duration of perhaps a year or two. At the moment, I am putting up at the city, but would like to come down as soon as possible sit with you as well as to take good look at the property
Included in this letter is a photocopy of my driver’s license, along with my phone number through which you can reach me anytime of the day. I’m looking forward to hearing from you.
Yours truly,
Calvin Brown

She glanced at her watch – it said 6:42 a.m. She would put off calling him later in the day. She ought to be in her office by the next hour – a good thing her bosses had seen fit to give her a well deserved promotion. Fifteen years of worthy hard work overseeing the marketing section of Joyce & Glow Beauty House … even when things between her and her husband had taken a turn for the worse, she’d still pushed onward, entrenching herself deeply into her job when she ought to have been feeling her loss. And now, just two days ago, the powers-that-be had appointed her section chief, with pay-package increase and lots of time-off benefits to herself. She should be happy with herself – after all, it was something that was long overdue.
Except what a large chunk of her had really felt on that day when her boss shook her hand inside the conference room while the rest of the staff gave her a cheering ovation was sadness … and utter helplessness. Sad at the realisation that presently there was absolutely no one in her life to partake in the glory with her. Not even a by-the-side lover.
She folded the letter back into its envelope and left it along with the other ones on the centre table, and then went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. While she filled the kettle halfway with water and then kept it on the gas cooker to heat up, she glanced out the kitchen window and stared at the bungalow building that served as the Boys Quarter, situated across her swimming pool, at the north end of the large compound where the fence met with a clump of cypress trees. The building had stood empty since they’d moved into the neighbourhood, and it was out of spiteful indulgence that had made her decide to put the place up for rent; it sure would be nice having someone around the house other than her and her lonely self.
Jerry and she had moved into this neighbourhood five years ago, when they’d gotten married. Things had seemed rosy and tranquil for her – the cosiness and serenity of the place just seemed to match with her spirit. And though they’d put off having children for the immediate future, their life together had been absolute fun. They’d always gotten well with their neighbours, and they’d both been as ambitious about their married life as they were with their respective jobs. But all that had come to an end some months ago when she’d realised her husband’s secret unfaithfulness to her. The fact that Jerry, her supposed husband, had had another wife in the city, who already bore him three kids, and the fact that he was even more dedicated to the other than to her had made things quite unbearable for her to hold unto. She’d gotten a reasonable settlement from him, including the house, but even all that wasn’t enough to stem down the massive throb of hurt she still carried within herself.
The steaming sound of the kettle startled her out of her thoughts. She turned off the cooker, and made herself a hot cup of tea. While she sat there by the kitchen table, her eyes turned to the letter. Vaguely, she imagined what her tenant would look like (depending on if he decided to take the flat. Ever since she and Jerry moved into the neighbourhood, she had only been in there a handful of times). She pictured him to be middle-aged, tall, with a shaggy beard. He’d probably be some college teacher … or even a mail man. She chuckled at her humour as her had once again fished out the letter from its envelope. She read through the words, still trying to unearth an image of what Calvin Brown would look like, or might be in person.


Excerpt..

There was the rushing sound of cold air pulling past her face and ears and nothing more. Her ears paid attention only to the music of her
heart beating fast, felt the throb in her arms and thigh muscles as she jogged along the gardened pathway of the park in the suburban
neighbourhood of Coaster Grove.

Her name was Tamia Ronan, and this was her doing her every day morning jog through her usual early morning route. She was in her early
thirties, tall, with striking good looks, with high cheeks bones and blue eyes. Her body shape was supple, not too thin and not too fat as
well, and everything about her was well proportioned.

It was a little past six in the morning. The sky was the colour of deep purple, though it was slowly dissipating. A cold, mist hung
over the earth, even on the leaves of the tree branches. The full moon shimmered like an old coin above her head. In the next few minutes,
the sun will be showing its face, by which time the neighbourhood will be starting to come alive. But all of this was the least of Tamia’s
concern as her Reebok trainers bounded along the circular route of the cobbled ground that was the park’s walkway, past the water fountain
with the statue of a baby elephant spewing water off its trunk, up a flight of cobbled steps, and then she was out unto Main Street. From
here it was a mere two blocks from where she lived and she took it in unhurried stride as she went on with her jogging. She waved a hand at
Mr. Rawlins who’s been running his bakery shop and café for the past thirty years, way before she’d ever dreamed of settling down here which
was only a couple of years ago. He was sweeping off dead leaves from his front stoop when she went past him, but he managed to catch her
wave and returned one to her before resuming his sweeping.

Her legs were starting to wear her out by the time she got into her street. She had worked up quite a sweat – she felt it in her
armpits and over her brow – trying hard to control her breathing. She was just in time to receive the mail man as he alighted from his bus
with a bunch of letters he was about inserting into her letter box. He turned his head in time to see her approach and smiled at her.

“Hi there, Tamia,” he gave her a brimful of smile, knowing she wasn’t mindful about him calling her by her first name. The mail man
was in his mid-forties. He’d been delivering mails to the neighbourhood for more than three years now and was totally familiar with much of
the families whom he delivered mails to on a near daily basis. “Out jogging this early as usual?”

“It seems like a fine time to be doing it,” she panted while coming to a stop beside him, collecting her letters from his hands.
“Thanks, Mitch.”

“Anytime, lovely lady,” he replied courteously. He stood there for a moment, watching her walk away from him into the driveway of her
home, admiring the shape and outline of her body, most especially the smoothness of her legs jutting under her gym shorts. She sure was an
amazing-looking woman, he thought to himself, and then he shook his head as he recalled what had transpired between her and her former
husband. Coaster Groove was a small and quiet neighbourhood, and in such places any news, aside from talk about the weather and whatever’s
happening in some faraway country, is most grabbing to listen to. Folks here tended to prefer minding their neighbour’s business. Especially
their neighbour’s business. “Such a sad thing,” he muttered to himself before turning to his mail truck and driving further down the street.
Got plenty of letters to delivery, he whistled to himself. Plenty of time to reminisce on that later. Lots and lots of time was all the
stuff he had at his age, he shrugged as he went on with his morning ride.

Tamia held the letters in her left arm while she unlocked her door and stepped into the comfort of her home.

She walked into the den that was her living room, flipping through each envelope of letters while she did. Two were receipt payments
of her utility bills, three others were subscribed editions from Variety, Vanity Fair, and Cosmopolitan; one was a picturesque post card
from a good friend of hers who got married last week, for whom Tamia had been part of her bridal train and was currently enjoying her
honeymoon in Hawaii, telling her what a fun time she was having. Tamia sighed at the irony in it – barely one month had gone past since the
final proceedings in her divorce settlement had taken place and she was still recuperating from it while here was her childhood friend
having the time of her life being a newlywed. She wondered how bitter her friend might end up being if a few years from now she wakes up one
morning to the realisation that the man whom she’d taken a vow to love and to cherish all her life had all this time been cherishing someone
else ... just as her Jerry had done to her.

The thought died away as her eyes fell on the last letter envelope. It was this one that caught her attention. She turned it over,
took in the sender’s name and address on the other side.

Calvin Brown, the envelope stated in bold, slanting letters; the letter was post-dated the day before. She left the others on a coffee
table, tore through the envelope and unearthed the letter which was short and brief.



Dear Mrs. Rolan,

My name is Calvin Brown. I am writing to you in response to the advert I saw in the Guardian Times classified section a couple of days
ago, regarding your subletting B.Q. apartment. I am very much in agreement with the amount you’re offering and would very much like to
express interest in renting it for a limited duration of perhaps a year or two. At the moment, I am putting up at the city, but would like
to come down as soon as possible sit with you as well as to take good look at the property

Included in this letter is a photocopy of my driver’s license, along with my phone number through which you can reach me anytime of
the day. I’m looking forward to hearing from you.

Yours truly,

Calvin Brown



She glanced at her watch – it said 6:42 a.m. She would put off calling him later in the day. She ought to be in her office by the next
hour – a good thing her bosses had seen fit to give her a well deserved promotion. Fifteen years of worthy hard work overseeing the
marketing section of Joyce & Glow Beauty House … even when things between her and her husband had taken a turn for the worse, she’d still
pushed onward, entrenching herself deeply into her job when she ought to have been feeling her loss. And now, just two days ago, the
powers-that-be had appointed her section chief, with pay-package increase and lots of time-off benefits to herself. She should be happy with
herself – after all, it was something that was long overdue.

Except what a large chunk of her had really felt on that day when her boss shook her hand inside the conference room while the rest of
the staff gave her a cheering ovation was sadness … and utter helplessness. Sad at the realisation that presently there was absolutely no
one in her life to partake in the glory with her. Not even a by-the-side lover.

She folded the letter back into its envelope and left it along with the other ones on the centre table, and then went into the kitchen
to make herself a cup of coffee. While she filled the kettle halfway with water and then kept it on the gas cooker to heat up, she glanced
out the kitchen window and stared at the bungalow building that served as the Boys Quarter, situated across her swimming pool, at the north
end of the large compound where the fence met with a clump of cypress trees. The building had stood empty since they’d moved into the
neighbourhood, and it was out of spiteful indulgence that had made her decide to put the place up for rent; it sure would be nice having
someone around the house other than her and her lonely self.

Jerry and she had moved into this neighbourhood five years ago, when they’d gotten married. Things had seemed rosy and tranquil for
her – the cosiness and serenity of the place just seemed to match with her spirit. And though they’d put off having children for the
immediate future, their life together had been absolute fun. They’d always gotten well with their neighbours, and they’d both been as
ambitious about their married life as they were with their respective jobs. But all that had come to an end some months ago when she’d
realised her husband’s secret unfaithfulness to her. The fact that Jerry, her supposed husband, had had another wife in the city, who
already bore him three kids, and the fact that he was even more dedicated to the other than to her had made things quite unbearable for her
to hold unto. She’d gotten a reasonable settlement from him, including the house, but even all that wasn’t enough to stem down the massive
throb of hurt she still carried within herself.

The steaming sound of the kettle startled her out of her thoughts. She turned off the cooker, and made herself a hot cup of tea. While
she sat there by the kitchen table, her eyes turned to the letter. Vaguely, she imagined what her tenant would look like (depending on if he
decided to take the flat. Ever since she and Jerry moved into the neighbourhood, she had only been in there a handful of times). She
pictured him to be middle-aged, tall, with a shaggy beard. He’d probably be some college teacher … or even a mail man. She chuckled at her
humour as her had once again fished out the letter from its envelope. She read through the words, still trying to unearth an image of what
Calvin Brown would look like, or might be in person.


Excerpt..

There was the rushing sound of cold air pulling past her face and ears and nothing more. Her ears paid attention only to the music of her

heart beating fast, felt the throb in her arms and thigh muscles as she jogged along the gardened pathway of the park in the suburban

neighbourhood of Coaster Grove.


Her name was Tamia Ronan, and this was her doing her every day morning jog through her usual early morning route. She was in her early

thirties, tall, with striking good looks, with high cheeks bones and blue eyes. Her body shape was supple, not too thin and not too fat as

well, and everything about her was well proportioned.


It was a little past six in the morning. The sky was the colour of deep purple, though it was slowly dissipating. A cold, mist hung

over the earth, even on the leaves of the tree branches. The full moon shimmered like an old coin above her head. In the next few minutes,

the sun will be showing its face, by which time the neighbourhood will be starting to come alive. But all of this was the least of Tamia’s

concern as her Reebok trainers bounded along the circular route of the cobbled ground that was the park’s walkway, past the water fountain

with the statue of a baby elephant spewing water off its trunk, up a flight of cobbled steps, and then she was out unto Main Street. From

here it was a mere two blocks from where she lived and she took it in unhurried stride as she went on with her jogging. She waved a hand at

Mr. Rawlins who’s been running his bakery shop and café for the past thirty years, way before she’d ever dreamed of settling down here which

was only a couple of years ago. He was sweeping off dead leaves from his front stoop when she went past him, but he managed to catch her

wave and returned one to her before resuming his sweeping.


Her legs were starting to wear her out by the time she got into her street. She had worked up quite a sweat – she felt it in her

armpits and over her brow – trying hard to control her breathing. She was just in time to receive the mail man as he alighted from his bus

with a bunch of letters he was about inserting into her letter box. He turned his head in time to see her approach and smiled at her.


“Hi there, Tamia,” he gave her a brimful of smile, knowing she wasn’t mindful about him calling her by her first name. The mail man

was in his mid-forties. He’d been delivering mails to the neighbourhood for more than three years now and was totally familiar with much of

the families whom he delivered mails to on a near daily basis. “Out jogging this early as usual?”


“It seems like a fine time to be doing it,” she panted while coming to a stop beside him, collecting her letters from his hands.

“Thanks, Mitch.”


“Anytime, lovely lady,” he replied courteously. He stood there for a moment, watching her walk away from him into the driveway of her

home, admiring the shape and outline of her body, most especially the smoothness of her legs jutting under her gym shorts. She sure was an

amazing-looking woman, he thought to himself, and then he shook his head as he recalled what had transpired between her and her former

husband. Coaster Groove was a small and quiet neighbourhood, and in such places any news, aside from talk about the weather and whatever’s

happening in some faraway country, is most grabbing to listen to. Folks here tended to prefer minding their neighbour’s business. Especially

their neighbour’s business. “Such a sad thing,” he muttered to himself before turning to his mail truck and driving further down the street.

Got plenty of letters to delivery, he whistled to himself. Plenty of time to reminisce on that later. Lots and lots of time was all the

stuff he had at his age, he shrugged as he went on with his morning ride.


Tamia held the letters in her left arm while she unlocked her door and stepped into the comfort of her home.


She walked into the den that was her living room, flipping through each envelope of letters while she did. Two were receipt payments

of her utility bills, three others were subscribed editions from Variety, Vanity Fair, and Cosmopolitan; one was a picturesque post card

from a good friend of hers who got married last week, for whom Tamia had been part of her bridal train and was currently enjoying her

honeymoon in Hawaii, telling her what a fun time she was having. Tamia sighed at the irony in it – barely one month had gone past since the

final proceedings in her divorce settlement had taken place and she was still recuperating from it while here was her childhood friend

having the time of her life being a newlywed. She wondered how bitter her friend might end up being if a few years from now she wakes up one

morning to the realisation that the man whom she’d taken a vow to love and to cherish all her life had all this time been cherishing someone

else ... just as her Jerry had done to her.


The thought died away as her eyes fell on the last letter envelope. It was this one that caught her attention. She turned it over,

took in the sender’s name and address on the other side.


Calvin Brown, the envelope stated in bold, slanting letters; the letter was post-dated the day before. She left the others on a coffee

table, tore through the envelope and unearthed the letter which was short and brief.





Dear Mrs. Rolan,


My name is Calvin Brown. I am writing to you in response to the advert I saw in the Guardian Times classified section a couple of days

ago, regarding your subletting B.Q. apartment. I am very much in agreement with the amount you’re offering and would very much like to

express interest in renting it for a limited duration of perhaps a year or two. At the moment, I am putting up at the city, but would like

to come down as soon as possible sit with you as well as to take good look at the property


Included in this letter is a photocopy of my driver’s license, along with my phone number through which you can reach me anytime of

the day. I’m looking forward to hearing from you.


Yours truly,


Calvin Brown





She glanced at her watch – it said 6:42 a.m. She would put off calling him later in the day. She ought to be in her office by the next

hour – a good thing her bosses had seen fit to give her a well deserved promotion. Fifteen years of worthy hard work overseeing the

marketing section of Joyce & Glow Beauty House … even when things between her and her husband had taken a turn for the worse, she’d still

pushed onward, entrenching herself deeply into her job when she ought to have been feeling her loss. And now, just two days ago, the

powers-that-be had appointed her section chief, with pay-package increase and lots of time-off benefits to herself. She should be happy with

herself – after all, it was something that was long overdue.


Except what a large chunk of her had really felt on that day when her boss shook her hand inside the conference room while the rest of

the staff gave her a cheering ovation was sadness … and utter helplessness. Sad at the realisation that presently there was absolutely no

one in her life to partake in the glory with her. Not even a by-the-side lover.


She folded the letter back into its envelope and left it along with the other ones on the centre table, and then went into the kitchen

to make herself a cup of coffee. While she filled the kettle halfway with water and then kept it on the gas cooker to heat up, she glanced

out the kitchen window and stared at the bungalow building that served as the Boys Quarter, situated across her swimming pool, at the north

end of the large compound where the fence met with a clump of cypress trees. The building had stood empty since they’d moved into the

neighbourhood, and it was out of spiteful indulgence that had made her decide to put the place up for rent; it sure would be nice having

someone around the house other than her and her lonely self.


Jerry and she had moved into this neighbourhood five years ago, when they’d gotten married. Things had seemed rosy and tranquil for

her – the cosiness and serenity of the place just seemed to match with her spirit. And though they’d put off having children for the

immediate future, their life together had been absolute fun. They’d always gotten well with their neighbours, and they’d both been as

ambitious about their married life as they were with their respective jobs. But all that had come to an end some months ago when she’d

realised her husband’s secret unfaithfulness to her. The fact that Jerry, her supposed husband, had had another wife in the city, who

already bore him three kids, and the fact that he was even more dedicated to the other than to her had made things quite unbearable for her

to hold unto. She’d gotten a reasonable settlement from him, including the house, but even all that wasn’t enough to stem down the massive

throb of hurt she still carried within herself.


The steaming sound of the kettle startled her out of her thoughts. She turned off the cooker, and made herself a hot cup of tea. While

she sat there by the kitchen table, her eyes turned to the letter. Vaguely, she imagined what her tenant would look like (depending on if he

decided to take the flat. Ever since she and Jerry moved into the neighbourhood, she had only been in there a handful of times). She

pictured him to be middle-aged, tall, with a shaggy beard. He’d probably be some college teacher … or even a mail man. She chuckled at her

humour as her had once again fished out the letter from its envelope. She read through the words, still trying to unearth an image of what

Calvin Brown would look like, or might be in person.



Keywords - click on word to search for more titles

Divorced white woman  middle-aged  suburban neighbourhood  tenant  boys quarter flat  black man  interracial sex.  

Reviews

A wonderful story of love. 5 out of 5 (Scented Pa)

Slow 3 out of 5 (JBC)

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Author Information

Damien Dsoul is in his early thirties, born and raised in Nigeria, and is a published author and has been writing erotic stories since the millenium began.

 


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