Excerpt

The traffic driving home from work was unbearable. Urged by my straining bladder and deflating gas gauge, I figured I should stop to relieve myself, fill up the tank and pick up a six pack. That way I could handle everything in one stop.

Spotting a gas station at the end of the block, I speedily crossed two lanes to the sound of honking horns and pulled up to the first available pump. I jumped out of my car, raced through the door and made a beeline for the restroom.

When I walked in, I saw a tall, caramel-complexioned brotha at a urinal. He was sexy as hell with a bald head as smooth as a baby’s bottom, the build of a basketball superstar and legs that raised damn near chest high.

I walked over to the urinal and pulled out my impatient partner to handle my business. I wanted to catch a glimpse of his meat but I just continued to look forward at the wall with a blank stare.

That’s when I heard, “Sup man?”

I glanced over without a word. I tried to look away but my eyes were drawn closer as I noticed him stroking his hardness.

“Like that, huh?”

All I could say was, “Hell to da yeah!”

Suddenly, he reached over, grabbed my ass and said, “Let’s go somewhere and do this!”

My quivering voice uttered, “Sounds good to me man.”

He was struggling to stuff his hard pole in his pants but with a twist of his left leg, he managed to get it all back inside.

“I’ll be outside,” he said as he zipped up then walked out.

I was shaking so bad that I could hardly maintain my balance. I took a deep breath then walked out of the restroom without giving a thought to washing my hands.

       I noticed him standing out front so I grabbed a six pack from the cooler and headed to the counter. I was greeted by the cashier as she rang up the beer. It seemed a little strange that the cash register sounded like my alarm clock. Damn, it was my alarm clock!

      I reluctantly accepted the reality that it was morning. Laughing about the dream, I thought something like that would never happen to me, not Ronald Davis. It could only happen in my dreams.

      It seemed more like something that would happen to my friend Randy. He’s the kind of person that just doesn’t give a damn. Like it or not, appearances don’t matter to him.

      Randy has told me countless stories of his random encounters; everything from seducing Professors in college to giving in to the lusty desires of truckers at rest areas – that dude has done it all!

He’s a thick guy with average looks; definitely no head-turner. But what he lacks in beauty, he more than makes up for with wit. He told me a coach at his high school approached him about joining the football team. Randy quickly told the coach that he’d rather try out for cheerleader and his ability to do a split proved he had the skills.

I’ve known Randy for seven years but it seems like we’ve been friends forever. I met him one Saturday afternoon while I was trying the cologne testers at Macy’s. I overheard him reduce the obnox- ious clerk to tears by telling her he couldn’t tell where her big lips ended and her tiny ears began. I instantly knew we’d be friends forever.

      I realized I had company as I laid there engulfed in the sheets. My morning wood was begging for attention so I lifted the covers to see my buddy jump in hopes of a morning rub down.

      “Sorry lil’ man but it’s time for work.”

I stopped at the edge of the bed trying to justify spending a few more minutes in my cocoon. I’d wasted enough time so I forced myself off of the bed and headed to the bathroom.

‘Nothing wakes you up like a hot shower,’ I thought staring at the foggy mirror. What I really needed was a cold shower after that frustrating dream. Fortunately, the water was already hot.

I stepped in the shower thinking how much I love my job; it’s just getting up that’s the problem. To be honest, I have a great job as Senior Design Consultant at Brandon Properties.

When I enrolled at Hampton University, I really didn’t know what I wanted to do after college so I settled on a major in Business Administration. It just sounded like a safe route to take at the time.

And then there was Professor Phillips.

Professor Michael Phillips was an instructor in the Architectural department. He was well over six feet with a chocolate complexion, toned body and a gleaming smile you could see from across campus. He was one of the finest black men I’d ever laid eyes on.

I enrolled in Professor Phillips’ Introduction to Drafting course out of curiosity. I thought it would be fun and I’d do anything to sit in class every day and look at that Adonis.

After sailing through the class, I figured what the hell so I took Intermediate Drafting and Space Planning breezing through both. I was really enjoying Architecture so I decided to change my major.

Months before graduation, I snagged an internship at Brandon Properties; an Atlanta developer that was starting to build homes in other cities as well. I started my internship after graduating with a BA in Architecture and was soon offered a permanent position.

Once I was dressed, I grabbed my keys and headed for my car. At least the weather was nicer than the thunderstorms that slammed Atlanta the day before; I just hoped my car would be as cooperative.