Fever
Chapter 1 Geneva
Geneva
This story and more tonight on the six o’clock news.
***
I gave news correspondent Sade Baderinwa one last look before I pressed the off button on the television remote.
I would try to remember to watch the news that evening.
Not that I had a man to use that Cupid stuff on, but I would one day—sooner than later, I hoped—and it wouldn’t hurt to have a little extra ammunition in the bedroom when I finally met that special someone.
I settled myself flat on my back again.
The lights were off and the candles lit, and I even had a little oil burning in a simmering pot on the windowsill. Clean sheets, a little Jean Naté dabbed behind each ear, and Barry White’s greatest hits playing in the background.
Eric was out somewhere, and my baby girl, Charlie, was napping in the other room.
I’d been taking care of myself for some time now. I mean after I got pregnant from my ex-husband and that bastard had the nerve to demand that I get an abortion, I vowed that that would be the last time that man got any more of my good loving! And to sock it to him good—I had that baby!
Not that that lowlife son of a superbitch acknowledges her. When I announced I was keeping the baby, he told me that he wasn’t going to be involved. He said, “Geneva, if you have this baby, you’re having it and raising it on your own!”
I just looked at him and said, “How’s that different from the first time around? I was married to your sorry ass when Eric came along, and I raised him on my own!”
Well, she’s here now, and I gotta tell you, she drives me crazy, but I can’t imagine life without her. She is the second best decision I ever made. Eric Jr. was the first.
Since Charlie’s been born, I’ve been practically sexless.
Oh, there’s been a little stink finger here and there, a little caressing of the breast, some tongue kissing…
but none of the toe-curling booty calls I was used to getting from my ex-husband.
So I had to take matters into my own hands, literally!
And plus, Crystal and I made a celibacy pact.
No more of this senseless sleeping around.
We would save ourselves for Mr.Right and stop giving ourselves over to Mr.Right Now!
I learned about ten different ways to pleasure myself, and that alone has kept me from stripping naked and running through the streets like an insane person!
“Right, Mandingo?” I whispered as I turned. Mandingo was waiting patiently beside me. Well oiled, he glistened beneath the candlelight.
“Okay, baby, I’m almost ready,” I whispered as I stretched my body alongside Mandingo’s and slowly began to caress my nipples. “Ohhh,” I moaned, then glanced over at Mandingo and said, “You should be doing this for me, you know?”
I chuckled as I moved my hand up to the soft mound of flesh beneath my chin. There I allowed my fingers to feather-stroke my skin.
That really turned me on.
“Mmmmm,” I groaned, already feeling moist between my legs. “I’m going to make it nice and wet for you, sweetie,” I told Mandingo, even though I was thinking about the cedar-colored cutie who frequents the diner where I waitress.
He always sits at my station, always orders a decaf, two slices of whole-wheat toast, followed by a glass of orange juice. He reads The New York Times while he’s eating, and when he’s done, he leaves me a five-dollar tip, even though his meal costs only $3.50.
I like to pretend that he comes there just to see me, even though he doesn’t say much more than “Good morning” and “Thank you” to me.
But, hey, it’s nice to dream, right?
Now when I see him coming, I imagine that he’s Mos Def and I’m Alicia Keys, and I start humming the melody to “You Don’t Know My Name” as I reach for the decaf coffeepot.
And he don’t know my name because we don’t wear nametags on our uniforms.
Anyway, it’s just a fantasy; besides, he don’t look too much older than my own son. I probably remind him of his own mother.
Slowly I moved my hand from my breast and pushed it down to my belly and the triangle of black hair below.
My clitoris was already pointed and erect, so when my pinky finger accidentally brushed against it, my body shuddered and my toes curled. “Shiiit,” I squeezed out between clenched teeth. “Okay, Mandingo, I’m more than ready for you, baby.”
Reaching over, I plucked the little red and white striped plastic penis from the pillow, hit the on switch, and set it to HIGH.
Mandingo pulsated into action; vibrating so hard, he almost slipped from between my sweaty fingers. “Aren’t we the eager one,” I laughed before I closed my eyes and guided his pointed head to my pleasure place.
Mandingo bucked as I eased him in and out, in and out, in and—
“What’s going on, Manny?” I asked, my eyes flying open and my head jerking up off the pillow.
Mandingo’s vibrations were becoming spastic.
“C’mon now,” I urged, and rolled the tip of his head across my clitoris. The joy was minimal. Mandingo was losing power.
“No, no!” I screamed, and brought Mandingo to eye level. “What? What? It can’t be your batteries, I just changed them.”
I slapped Mandingo upside his narrow head a few times, but all he did was sputter weakly.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I cried. “Just please don’t do this to me, not now!”
Mandingo coughed, buzzed once, and then died.
“Noooooooooooooooo!”