Zisa
For the hundredth time, I stopped myself from answering Sara’s messages. I knew why she wanted to know where I lived and my last name. It was because of Moose. And for the thousandth time, I thought of him, and the night we spent together. It had been four days, and rather than the memory fading, it was worse.
I’d never spent a night with a man like the one with him. The talking and sex had been incredible. I’d felt closer to him than men I’d dated for months. And the sex was off the charts in comparison to anyone I’d ever been with. So why did I run before he woke up? Because the doubts assailed me when I woke up to go to the bathroom. As he slept, I watched him, and I grew anxious.
No one said anything about it being more than a one-night stand. What if he woke up and ignored me before leaving? Or worse, he thanked me for the night and then walked out. Would he dread staying and wondering how to get away from a clingy woman? Those and more had crowded into my head. Before I knew it, I’d packed my suitcase and dressed. I tiptoed out and practically ran to the front desk to check out. I was on the road home by seven. It was over a six-hour drive from Frisco to Salina, Kansas, where I lived. I hadn’t originally planned to be home until evening, but I pulled into my driveway after one. I’d only stopped long enough to pee and gas up once.
My sleep had been crap ever since getting back. I couldn’t stop thinking of him and that night. I was constantly horny, and I’d been getting off to memories of him every night. It had to stop. I didn’t read anything into Sara’s request other than that he was upset I left him rather than letting him leave me. He no doubt wanted to tell me off. I didn’t need that, so I kept quiet.
Since my return, I’ve thrown myself into keeping busy. I unpacked my car and put away my stock. I worked online on the orders I had. I went to see how Mama and my nieces were doing and spent time with them. I tried to pretend everything was alright, but Mama had asked more than once if I was okay. I kept telling her I was just tired from the trip. The girls were oblivious. At nine and ten, Imani and Milan were in their own world.
I loved how happy they were. I knew if my older sister, Zuri, was raising them, they’d be unhappy and a mess. Zuri was five years older than me and had always had a wild streak. However, we never thought she’d lose it like she did. After having Milan and Imani with her loser of an ex, we’d tried to help her and get her to leave him. He was bad news, and everyone knew it. We both tried to talk her out of dating him before she had the girls.
Mama and I blamed him for getting her into the drugs, which ultimately destroyed her life and made it necessary for Mama to take the girls away from Zuri to raise. I would’ve done it, but I was still a teenager when it happened. She insisted I needed to live my life. Mama took Imani straight from the hospital after she was born.
When it was time to do the legal work, she found a lawyer willing to do it pro bono. Instead of becoming their legal guardian, she adopted them. Zuri signed away her legal rights to them, and so did their worthless father without a qualm. However, every so often, my sister would float in to see them, hang around for a week or so, and then disappear for months. The girls didn’t call her mom even though they knew she was their birth mother. I would always love my sister, but she infuriated me. She couldn’t see that the way she acted and lived wasn’t hurting only her. She thought it was the best life. As for her ex, he came by upon occasion demanding to see them and to try to get money. We’d sent him packing more than once.
Zuri didn’t hold down a job. Mama and I weren’t sure where she got the money for her drugs, but we suspected she sold herself to do it. To see my once beautiful sister, who’d always dreamed of being a model, reduced to a drug addict who looked used up and older than her age killed me. We knew one day we’d either get a call from the cops that she was dead or she’d disappear, never to be heard from again. We dreaded that day.
Even if I hadn’t adopted them, I still helped Mama as much as possible with the girls. I loved them as if they were my kids. I regularly took them to dance and sports or made things for school bake sales and other fundraisers. They’d come and spend the night with me, and we’d have girls’ weekends.
As with everything life threw at her, Mama took this in stride. She had plenty of practice. Our dad left us when we were small. He just up and didn’t return from work one day. Mama had somehow tracked him down to send him divorce papers that he signed, and that was the end of it. We never saw or heard from him again. Or if Mama did, she never told us. I didn’t even know if he was still alive or not. Being left to raise two children on her own had forced her to work two jobs. Dad hadn’t been one to pay child support. She was still working her ass off.
I wished Mama had someone in her life. She was still a gorgeous woman who was only fifty-three. And she didn’t look her age. She was bright, loving, and full of light. Any guy would be lucky to have her. I knew it was complicated that she had the girls, but surely someone would be willing to take on a package deal to have her.
I was lucky that my job allowed me to be flexible, which, in turn, let me be available to do those things for the girls. Mama had recently stopped working two full-time jobs. She did one more as needed. My income from my business had begun to earn more than ever, and I insisted on financially helping support the girls despite her protests and attempts to give back money. After she did the first few times, I learned to make it impossible. I’d spend it on them directly. I’d buy their clothes or things they needed or wanted, so she had no way of returning them. I refused to tell her where I bought them or give her receipts so she couldn’t return stuff. She grumbled and bitched at me, but I didn’t care.
I had never thought my quirky business would become as successful as it had. I sold my things online. My dream was to one day have an actual physical store. I sold more than the toys I took to MMM. In addition, I sold barely used books. They could range from romances to self-help. The one thing all my stuff had in common was they were geared toward women. So many things were about men, especially sexual gratification. I knew so many women who complained they hated sex or couldn’t get off. I’d wanted to change that.
Whether it was by my hand, a toy, or a man, I enjoyed sex. I offered up tips and article discussions in my group. For in-depth discussions and a small monthly fee, they could sign up to be part of my exclusive group. I would probably never get rich, but it allowed me to live and help my family, so I was satisfied. Or I was until a chance meeting in Texas. God, how long before I forgot about him?