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I wake up halfway with the covers around my waist and the floor-standing fan blowing on me. I frown without opening my eyes, because I don't leave the fan on all night because it makes me stuffy. With my eyes still closed I reach and fumble around on the headboard shelf, feeling for the fan's remote control.

I click the fan off, and get a sense that something isn't right. I open my eyes, and my brain goes on alert because my bedroom door is open. I sleep with my bedroom door closed and locked. It's my phobia, I guess. I bolt upright, and all my senses and my memory kick in before my alarm turns into panic.

Through the open bedroom door I smell coffee. I hear a feminine voice at the front of my apartment, humming. Now I remember.

The cookout at my sister's house.

Lovern.

I spot her sundress, folded on the seat of my exercise bike. Her sandals sit neatly together on the carpet next to the bike. I remember offering her a hanger for her dress, and her shy smile as she said, "This is fine."

No, she was fine: Pretty face; dark doe eyes and full, soft-looking lips; skin a shade of brown that put me in mind of a Milky Way candy bar. Thick. Not obese-woman-wishful-thinking thick, but true thick, with her thickness packed on her hips and ass, on her chest and shapely legs. Hourglass body thick.

Lovern.

I remember her walking away from my exercise bike; the gentle, sensual roll of her hips in her powder blue lace boy short panties. Her matching lace half-cup bra looked filled to bursting; her cleavage threatening to erupt and spill over.

With her dress off she'd walked to where I was standing between the foot of my bed and the dresser, and put her arms around my neck. She gave me more of the kisses that began in my living room last evening, before I knew she wouldn't be leaving.

I wonder when she knew. Was it when she agreed to follow me home from the cookout so that I could burn her a copy of the party CD I'd mixed for the event? Was it when we danced in my living room to Guy's Groove Me like we did in the clubs back in the day? Was it as we sipped pinot noir between dances? Was it when our slow dance to Luther's If Only For One Night turned into a slow grind, and then slow kisses?

By the time we climbed into my bed her boy shorts and bra were on the carpet. Remembering that, I move down to the end of the bed and look over. Two pieces of powder blue lace are still there, where I dropped them when I peeled them off her luscious body.

Dress over there. Undies over here. Her out there, in my kitchen. Morning wood becomes morning want.

Before introducing us at her cookout, my sister, aka the superhero known as The Matchmaker, told me that Lovern was a nice woman, a fortyish divorcee. She told me that Lovern was shy and kind of quiet, so I'd have to carry the conversation if I was interested. She told me that Lovern was active in their church, and a good Christian. The latter was my sister's way of warning me to not corrupt her God-fearing friend.

I'm going to Hell.

Curiosity makes me yank on a pair of sweatpants and leave the bedroom in a hurry. My question is answered when I find Lovern in the kitchen. She's been in my closet; she's wearing a black robe that I'd forgotten I owned.

On Lovern my robe is dragging the floor. Of greater interest to me is the way it hugs the curve of her hips, and that even with the sash tied the robe is broad enough in the shoulders that it hangs loose up top, and I can see a large portion of lush purple fruit, almost to her nipples.

Lovern smles at me and says, "Good morning." She's holding a mug of coffee in her hand, and takes a sip. It's my favorite mug, the one I use every morning. I let it go. She doesn't know.

"Hey, Lovee."

"How do you like your coffee?" she asks.

"Just a dab of sugar," I say. "I'll get it."

"Oh, you don't like people in your kitchen?" she asks. I see the tease in her eyes.

"You look good in my kitchen. And I never knew my robe could look so sexy."
Her eyes change. Her smile fades. She says, "I think I should say that I don't do this kind of thing... like this. It wasn't my intent. I'm not that kind of..."
"I'm not judging you, Lovee. You came over to get a CD. We had a nice time, and things happened. We're both grown, and we're both single, so there's nothing to be judged. That's as far as it goes. If we want to blame somebody, we can blame Luther."

Lovern's smile comes back. "And that wine," she says.

She sits her mug on the counter and reaches up to the cupboard where I keep my cups. The robe stretches open, and I see a plump tittie in full, to include a semi-erect dark chocolate nipple.

I grasp Lovern's wrist and ease her arm down. She looks up at me, surprised and curious. I yank the robe's sash loose, and she lets out a little gasp, but she doesn't resist. Her eyes are on mine as I peel my robe off her shoulders and let it drop around her feet.

Lovern's lips are soft and full. Her tongue is electric in my mouth. Her body - God's gift to man - is Heaven in my arms.

When I let her come up for air she gasps, "You're the Devil." Then she slips her hand under the waistband of my sweatpants.

 

Okay, I'll be that.