Chapter 8
Marcel
Frustration and fatigue dogged Marcel as he walked through his front door. He’d spent eighty-five dollars on the ticket to the dance and another forty-five on valet parking. And he had absolutely nothing to show for it.
He hadn’t even stayed long enough for a drink. A couple of women openly flirted with him and he could’ve collected their phone numbers, but those chicks paled in comparison to Sharla. Hers was the only number he really wanted.
After hanging up his suit, Marcel threw on a pair of sweats and poured himself a glass of wine. Settling into his recliner, he turned on ESPN and muted the TV.
The house was so quiet now that Camille was gone. He could’ve used one of her blowjobs right about now. Better yet, he wished he could’ve brought Ms. Sharla home with him tonight. He imagined himself undressing her and running his hands up and down her muscular legs.
Marcel regretted not pushing a little harder with Sharla. He’d intended to shake her up when he cut their conversation short and walked away. Chicks like that are used to calling the shots and rarely face rejection from men.
He was confident that he would cross her path again. The black legal community in L.A. wasn’t all that big. He could probably find out her last name and where she worked in two or three phone calls. That had been his plan when he walked away and left her hanging.
Marcel hopped up and retrieved his laptop from his briefcase. He Googled Black Women Lawyers Association and pulled up the organization’s website. He carefully perused each page. He didn’t know if Sharla was a lawyer or not, but odds were in his favor that she was. He estimated that more than three-quarters of the women at the dance were attorneys.
Studying the list of the association’s officers, he hoped to run across Sharla’s name. No luck. Then he clicked on the Photos page, which contained dozens of pictures from the association’s various events. Marcel carefully examined the faces in each of the pictures. Sharla wasn’t there. He was encouraged when he ran across a photograph from last year’s dance. But again, no luck. Just as he was about to shut down his laptop, he picked out Sharla in a photograph with four other women at the BWL Annual Retreat.
There she was dressed in shorts and a cropped T-shirt that provided just a peek at her navel.
Wow! Those damn legs!
There was no caption with the photograph, so he still didn’t know her last name. But this was a start. The picture confirmed that she was indeed a lawyer. Once he found out her last name, he could look her up on the California State Bar website, which listed all California lawyers and their current place of employment.
On Monday, he would ask one of the black female associates at his office if they knew a lawyer named Sharla. Of course, he’d have to come up with an innocuous reason for asking. The black female attorney network was close-knit. Someone was bound to know her.
Marcel grinned. He couldn’t wait to come face to face with the beautiful Sharla again. And the next time he approached her, he was going to push past her attitude and take charge.
A buzz from his cell phone interrupted his daydreaming. He picked it up from the end table next to his chair. He grunted when he saw that it was a text from Camille. Against his better judgment, he opened it.
THINKING ABOUT YOU.
WERE YOU THINKING ABOUT ME?
Nope.
The phone buzzed again and a photograph of Camille appeared. She was naked, on her hands and knees, in the middle of his bed with her ass pointed at the camera. He’d taken the picture at her suggestion. It didn’t spark an ounce of arousal.
Marcel set the phone back on the end table and stretched out in his recliner. Closing his eyes, he imagined Sharla posing doggy style.
As a vision of those fantastic legs of hers came into view, he slipped his hand into his sweats and began massaging himself. He imagined Sharla on all fours right there on the floor of his den. He slithered up behind her and started licking the back of her thighs. He dipped his tongue in and out of her pink well, which tasted as sweet as honey. The more he licked, the louder she moaned and the more turned on he became.
Circling his hand up and down his shaft, Marcel accelerated his speed. He tried to slow down so he could extend the fantasy, but in seconds, he was spraying his cum all over Sharla’s firm ass.
In reality, however, he’d just exploded into his own hand.
Once his breathing returned to normal, he had a big smile splashed across his face. If the real thing felt half as good as that, he didn’t care how much work it took to get with Ms. Sharla.
It would be more than worth it.