O T M
N E W Y O R K , N Y
J U N E 2 6 T H
I opened the door and let Megan out of my office. My eyes scanned from that thick fro down to her jean clad ass. She looked back at me to wave and I snatched my attention away from her figure.
"See you next week?"
"Next two. The entire floor will be shut down for renovations."
Once she was gone, I met Danielle at her desk. She looked up at me and smiled.
"Is there something I can do for you Ms. Maraj?"
"Could you tell me if Beyonce made another appointment?"
She began to type and I leaned over the desk, having flashbacks of my body on top of my own desk.
"I think you proved her point," She mumbled.
"Huh?"
"Before you got here, she spoke so highly of you. She said she saw you in Times Square and all that. Said she came for you to fix her. So I think you proved her point."
"Was I really that loud?"
She giggled, "Yes you were. Beyonce will see you next week."
"Thank you Danielle."
"Isn't the floor being renovated?"
I sauntered back to my office door, "Yes."
The renovations on my office floor were pushing my clients into the arms of a rebound sexologist. They had homie hopped and settled for less.
I would be angry with them, but I was lying straight to their e-mails. A renovation was no hiccup for an overachiever like myself. Upon previous renovations, I had taken appointments in other unoccupied offices, and though they were across the city, that was better than having no appointment at all. When they expressed their disdain for that idea, I even took appointments virtually.
Today though, I opened the doors of my home to a special client. A client that forced me to walk back most, if not all, of the judgmental thoughts that I wouldn't say.
I judged her the way I told her the world would judge her. Then I ate my words, and I wanted her to feed me until I became gluttony personified.
This time I would be much more prepared than the impromptu groping session that we'd had a week ago.
My thong didn't match the brassiere that I didn't even wear. My button down was too thin and my skirt was only worn because I was doing laundry that day.
To prepare, I had done my laundry one to two days in advance just to hit up the boutique at the end of my street to look for something perfect.
Something with a texture that would arouse her to feel, something that would cause an altercation inside her brain, a duel between fabric and bare skin. Something that wouldn't take long to slip out of, but would take enough time to allow her to breathe me in. Something that was so beautiful that she gave in to the temptation of her flesh without an ounce of regret.
Then I realized that that was too much detail for a garment that she wouldn't even spend five minutes looking at. Then I promised myself that I would not give myself to her the moment my doors opened.
I was going crazy wondering to myself what it would be that she liked. I was rewinding our time together and reading into every single second that we spent together.
