Tuesday’s Love Jones with Author DonnaMae Greaves!


Author DonnaMae Greaves

DonnaMae Greaves goes a long way with us…instant friends ever since Nita Bee and I interviewed her back in 2009 on Steamy Trails Speaks Radio.  The woman is a phenomenal writer!!!  I was more than honored when she approached “me” wanting to share “her” short story on “my” blog!  To say the least, I moved quickly to make this happen!  Have a wonderful Tuesday folks and may you enjoy this story as much as I have. ~ Katrina Gurl

SWEETNESS AND WORDS …

Miguel watched her walk across the campus as he did every morning. He sat at his usual booth in the coffee shop – coffee, pancakes and eggs in front of him, laptop open and paper folded back to the daily crossword – but none of this ritual would begin until he could see her no more. What had caught his attention was the fact that she was older than the little chicklettes. This was a woman – and a woman in every sense of the word.

Twylah had womanly curves. She carried herself with grace and poise, and she had a quiet self confidence that turned him on in the worst way. The other major turn on was the fact that she challenged him in class. When Twylah stood up, all the other students sat down – they were aware that this was going to be some debate. She had re-awakened the love that he once had for Literature – the same love that had made him teach in the first place.

His alarm brought him back to the present. Miguel finished his breakfast and proceeded to his class. He only had the one double session today – it was the last class before the 4th of July holiday and the end of his voluntary vacation make-up sessions. He entered the classroom and moved to the podium.

There were about fifty chattering students in the hall. Miguel’s eyes scanned the room for Twylah.

There she was, dead center of the room, facing the podium, chewing on the end of a neon pink pencil. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She crossed her legs just then and his body’s reaction was immediate. She wore a charcoal colored skirt, slit up the thigh, and opaque black stockings with black patent leather stiletto pumps. Her matching jacket was unbuttoned and he could see her silk camisole straining against her full breasts. She looked up from her reading just then and raised her eyebrow quizzically at him. He cleared his throat and slowly the room settled. Miguel adjusted his glasses and began his class. There was a point when he looked up from his notes and found Twylah looking at him, as if seeing him for the first time. His stomach flipped and he stumbled over a few words in his answer to another student’s question. His eyes sought her again and there was this secret smile on her lips, and he could swear she winked at him.

This is ridiculous, he thought, as he realized that he had broken out into a cold sweat. “Professor Larkin, are you okay?” Wanda had been speaking to him and he had totally lost his train of thought. “That’s what happens when you ask difficult questions about Othello, Wanda,” Twylah intoned from her seat. Miguel was at once embarrassed and then thankful for the hint that he had been given. He smiled as the class snickered at Twylah’s remark. Does she have to make everything so sexy, he wondered, watching her dangle her pencil between her thumb and index fingertip. He looked away hastily and replied to Wanda.

Miguel packed his books as the students left. He was hoping that Twylah wouldn’t hurry off. He looked up just as she was about to leave. “Uhm.. Twylah,” he started, hoping that he sounded business-like.

“Yes Professor Larkin,” she answered, stopping in front of his desk. “I just wanted to thank you for today,” he said.

“Think nothing of it Professor. It’s not easy to think when distracted,” she replied, winking as she did; he blinked and she laughed. It was a rich seductive sound that promised so much more. Some of his tension dissipated.

“So I take it you have an idea of what was distracting me Miss Jenkins,” he bantered. She looked him dead in the eye and smiled the same secret smile that she had at the top of the class.

“I think I have a good idea; and please don’t’ stop calling me Twylah … it would break my heart if you did.” She placed her hand over her heart, drawing his eyes to her generous cleavage as she spoke. Her other hand went into her jacket pocket and produced a business card which she handed to him; she wished him a good day and left before he could respond. He lifted his hand to put the card into his jacket’s breast pocket and caught a whiff of her perfume. Miguel breathed deeply of the scent and reluctantly placed the card in his pocket.

He kept replaying her parting words to him all day and the more he replayed them the less clothing she wore when she said them. This woman had in one day reverted Professor Miguel Larkin to a teenaged boy. His chest constricted every time he thought of her … his jeans now felt ten sizes too small as he sat in his office. Miguel stood up and walked to the window. He scanned the throng of students making their ways home for the vacation break, and wondered what he would do for the rest of the summer. There were always new books to read and critique, or even a road trip to see his brother’s family.

Ever since Regina, his wife of five years, had passed, three years before, Miguel had devoted himself to his work as a professor of literature and a sort after book critic, but today, for the first time in years, he wondered about the summer and the plans that he should have made. Twylah appeared unbidden to his mind. I’m sure she has plans for the summer, he thought, suddenly picturing her in all sorts of sun worshipping scenarios, including lying topless around his pool. Again, his body reacted to his imagined vision of her full beautiful breasts exposed to the sun and to him. He could see himself approaching her welcoming smile and body as he knelt next to her and suckled on one of her erect nipples. Shit, he screamed in his head, this has got to stop.

He was just turning from the window when his phone rang. He moved to the desk with great difficulty and answered. “Well, I gave you my card over four hours ago and I’m very disappointed that you haven’t called me,” she said breathlessly. Miguel dropped into his chair and tried to breathe.

“Well,” he began, clearing his throat, “I thought I would call you later.” She laughed – that throaty, sex-filled laugh. He felt like a little boy in the middle of his first wet dream.

“Why would you wait until later? I have plans for you later,” she intoned. Miguel sat bolt upright.

“Oh really … did it occur to you that I might be busy this evening,” he baited.

“Oh I think you’re available, and even if you weren’t you’d make yourself available for me.” His curiosity was getting the better of him.

This woman was very sure of herself, but Miguel felt the need to play with her a little more. “What do you have for me Twylah,” he asked, his question loaded with innuendo.

“Wouldn’t you like to know Dr Miguel Larkin,” she countered. There was something about the way Twylah said his name that caused his insides to melt. This is ridiculous, he thought. I’m a grown man; I know how to flirt … why is this woman such a hard nut to crack?

“Well, it’s one way of assuring that I make myself available for you Miz Twylah Jenkins.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry Dr Larkin, I just let my mind wander for a minute there,” she said, pausing for effect. It was working too. “I just had a vision of you doing things that really hold my attention. You were saying?” With all his might Miguel tried to hold out, but that last statement was the straw that broke him.

“I said what time and where.” Twylah purred like a kitten and gave him her address.

Miguel sat trying to make sense of where he had lost control of the dialogue, and he could hear his inner voice laughing at him. He NEVER had control, and he let himself be out maneuvered . He chuckled as he rose and packed to leave his office. This should be an interesting evening. He had not lived the life of a priest after his wife’s death, but there was never this kind of fire and anticipation for a date. Twylah made him think of his Regina. She was the kind of woman who planned little fantasies for them. He was never sure who he would arrive home to find, and the anticipation would get him home all the faster. That was the exact feeling that he was currently experiencing and wondered how he would make it to nine; it was only four now.

He found himself at the barber’s getting a shave and a haircut. He stayed a little while longer, chatting with the regulars. He then walked two blocks further up the boulevard to the flower shop and spent half an hour selecting flowers for Twylah. This was no ordinary woman – and roses just wouldn’t do. He finally decided on Calla lilies, Birds of Paradise and Orchids. He wandered to the store next door and was assailed by the various scents. He looked around and found that it was an aromatherapy shop. Miguel spent another half hour playing with the candles, incense sticks and cones and oils. The proprietress spoke to him for a while and he found himself describing Twylah in amazing detail. When he had purchased what he thought he wanted, she presented him with a box that bore Twylah’s name on it. She instructed him not to open it and to let Twylah do so herself. He looked at her with curiosity and she just smiled and winked at him. He then asked her if she knew Twylah and she gave him some sort of mystical answer that ‘all women knew each other intrinsically’. There was no arguing with that so he left quietly and made his way home.

Eight forty-five found Miguel driving to Twylah’s home, his insides in a knot. Was I this nervous when I was going to my first prom, he wondered. As he stepped out of the car, he looked around the neighborhood and appreciated the surroundings. He checked his watch … eight fifty-five. He took a steadying breath and took his packages out of the car.

He walked up the front steps and across the porch. He stood as erect as he could, took another deep breath and rang the bell. “I’ll be right there,” she called from inside. She opened the door and smiled. She was wearing a black leather bustier and her hips and legs were wrapped in this diaphanous bright red fabric, tied on her side. His eyes slid over her body and back to her face, but not before they rested briefly on her voluptuous breasts that threatened to spill out of their leather harness. “Hey there Professor … welcome,” she said, allowing him entry. Said the spider to the fly, Miguel thought, smiling as he stepped in.

“Thank you Miz Jenkins,” he said, taking in the ambience. Her taste was exquisite. There were tastefully displayed pieces of African art everywhere – not overdone, just enough to make a statement. Her living room was painted a warm egg plant and this was complimented by taupe leather furniture. There were throw rugs on the sofas and cutesy pillows on the armchairs. Overhead lighting gave way to wall sconces bearing candles, which gave the feeling of a medieval great room. “You like?” she asked as she observed his scrutiny.

“Very much,” he responded, presenting her with the flowers, happy indeed that he had forgone the need for the overplayed roses. She accepted the vase graciously and smelled deeply of the fragrance. As she moved to the coffee table, Miguel watched her body, his eyes traveling down her back, stopping as she bent over to place the vase on the table. He saw through the dim light that she wore a thong under her sarong. He swallowed deeply and smiled sheepishly as she turned toward him. “Uhm … I have something else for you. It has your name on it but I don’t know what’s in it. I’ll give it to you later,” he hurriedly poured out. She walked over to him and winked.

“So you’re going to torture me until then with this knowledge? You’re a bad boy Miguel,” she breathed, taking his hand and drawing him into the living space. She smelled of jasmine – jasmine and something else, but he couldn’t put his finger on it … but there was a faint undertone of something heady. She took his sports coat and sat him down on the rug and walked away. He put the ‘Twylah’ box down next to him and made himself comfortable in the nest of pillows around him. “Take your shoes of ,” she called from the kitchen, at least he assumed that it was the kitchen.

“Yes ma’am,” he smiled and did her bidding.

He had just folded himself into the lotus position when she emerged from what was definitely the kitchen. She carried a large tray in her hands, piled high with all sorts of delicious looking things. He made to get up to help her and she shook her head at him. “You just stay right where you are … I’ll be right back,” she said as she placed the tray on the low table in front of him. Again he was assailed by the scent of jasmine. Twylah had leaned in so close to him that his face was practically in her cleavage – not that he minded. He inhaled and looked up at her. She smiled that sly, catlike smile and walked away.

He looked at the platter then. It bore pieces of fruit, cheeses and roasted meats. The aroma was heady and his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since he had gobbled some saltine crackers and coffee at lunchtime. She returned then with a decanter and two snifters. She placed them on the coffee table and moved to the windows, pulling the drapes closed, and turning on the stereo as she went. Twylah kneeled and then sat on one of the cushions, causing Miguel to wonder at how agile she was. This wasn’t some slip of a girl facing him … this was a full, ripe woman who was very self assured and confident. Not for the first time today he felt the tightening begin in his slacks and he shifted his position. “Relax Miguel; I won’t bite you,” she purred, “At least, not now.” He laughed then.

“Oh there’s biting later? Don’t answer that,” he added hastily. She giggled, deep in her throat, a merry, sexy sound. “Woman, do you know what your laugh sounds like?” he asked her, unable to stop himself.

“What does my laugh sound like?” she breathed as she picked up a piece of fruit between delicate, French manicured fingertips. She licked the strawberry slowly and then popped it into her mouth, licking her fingers as she did. Miguel was acutely aware of the impatience of his body as he observed her.

“Your laugh, Twylah, sounds like pure, unadulterated sex,” he said, leaning into to pick up a piece of meat. She slapped his hand away and picked up a chunk of mango fruit. She bit some of it off and popped the rest into his mouth. He closed his eyes and experienced the feel of the fruit on his tongue, the firm, sweet texture … the juices that slid down his throat. He reached up and held on to her hand. He licked her fingers and tasted the mango and the remnants of the strawberry.

It was all he could do not to grab her, but he wanted to enjoy this foreplay. He heard her sigh and opened his eyes. He looked into her light brown eyes and found that her pupils were dilated. The more he looked the smaller they became, almost snapping as the sexual tension between them increased. She never took her eyes from his as she reached into the tray and picked up another piece of fruit. She leaned in and fed it to him. He accepted it greedily, never taking his eyes from hers. He bit into the papaya, feeling the juice spill over his lips unto his chin. Twylah leaned in and licked the juice from his chin, working her way up to his lips.

He turned into her lips and kissed her hungrily, breaking the connection between them long enough to pick up a chunk of peach. He held it up to her lips. She licked it and bit into it, removing it from his hands; then she offered it to his mouth from hers. Miguel’s senses were reeling as he bit into the peach. They sucked the juices off each other’s lips, both driven crazy by the natural sugars and the discovery of what they had always shared but never knew they should have been exploring.

“Want to taste my meat ?” she whispered into his mouth.

“I want to taste you,” he replied.

“Not yet,” she began, reaching for a piece of roasted flesh, “You have to work for it.” He opened his mouth to the spicily seasoned chunk of chicken breast. He bit into it and suckled on her fingers. There was a heat that encircled him, and he knew it had nothing to do with the spice. Miguel was burning up for this woman, and he could tell that she felt the same way. There was a faint sheen of perspiration on her breasts.

He removed her fingers from his mouth and lowered his mouth to her cleavage. He began to lick the sweat from her skin. She arched her back, giving him better access. He smiled as she moved. His hands roamed freely over her body as he fished for the knot that secured her sarong. He found it and loosed it with one hand as he pulled the cups of the bustier down with the other. Twylah slid down on the cushions and claimed his lips as he hovered over her. She pulled his shirt out of his slacks and began loosing the buttons. She moved her lips then to his neck, her fingers moving to his belt. She worked it free of his trousers and began undoing the fastenings and the zipper.

Miguel shifted lower on her body and began suckling on her breasts. His hands searched for the straps of her thong, sliding them down over her well shaped thighs. Twylah’s hands worked his slacks off his hips and he nudged her legs open with his knees. His lips never left her body as he placed a cushion beneath her hips. “Oh sweet damn,” she muttered incoherently.

“You have no idea,” he muttered in response.

Miguel blazed a trail of hot wet kisses down her body as he removed her bustier, stopping only to kiss the palms of her hands as he captured them in one of his. He lifted her parted legs and placed them on his shoulders. He looked up at her and smiled his enigmatic half smile. He lowered his head and kissed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, trailing his tongue along the sensitive path, but never touching her mound. She whimpered unsatisfied and tried to pull her hands away. He held her tighter in place. She protested, but he wouldn’t let up his assault. Her entire body trembled in anticipation of what he was about to do. “What do you want,” he asked her, tormenting himself as much as he was tormenting her. His body craved her … he needed to be inside her, but he wanted to please her as well.
“I want you,” she whimpered, “Now.” He smiled and lowered his head to her exposed clit. He licked her and she shuddered. He kissed her, suckled at her, tasting her now flowing juices on his tongue. She dug her heels into his shoulders, lifting her hips to his mouth.

Miguel was vaguely aware of the moans coming from Twylah, so lost was he in his task. He lapped up every last drop of her juices, suckling on her as if she was his last meal. “So good,” he murmured as he did. He felt her body shake as she climaxed again, and again, and moved up her body to her lips. He kissed her deeply as he entered her, letting her taste herself on his tongue. She wrapped her legs tightly around him as her body coiled around his swollen manhood. Their souls seemed to connect with each thrust of his body into hers. “Oh God,” he cried out as he felt himself approaching completion. She held onto his body with her legs and ground her hips into him, feeling his seed spill into her.

“Uh huh,” she whispered, “Cum for me baby.” He gave up the fight and his body thundered like an earthquake.

“Oh my fuckin’ word,” he whispered as they lay entangled in each other on the rug. He reached up and grabbed one of the throws on the sofa and covered their bodies with it. Twylah shifted, and he pinned her to the floor. “Don’t move Twinkie. I want to stay inside you.” She shifted her head to look at him, wondering where ‘Twinkie’ had come from.

“Why would you call me a Twinkie,” she asked him. She was at once on the defensive.

“Why do you think I called you Twinkie,” he countered.

“Well,” she began, feeling all of her childhood insecurities come roaring back to her. “I guess it’s about my body. I guess it’s because I’m a big girl who’s not afraid of her appetite. I just didn’t expect that…” Her voice trailed off as she refused to finish the sentence … not with him still inside her … not with them lying entwined as they were, but she was hurting.

“Stop. It is about your body, but not the way you think. It’s about the sweetness of your beautiful womanly body. It’s about the way you feel on my tongue and in my mouth. And as for your appetite – I mean your sensual, sexual appetite baby. You’re MY Twinkie baby – no one else’s. I own you now.” He kissed her deeply as he spoke, and felt her body relax.

Slowly he began to move against her, and she kissed him back with renewed fervor, having had her fears allayed. She rolled with him and sat up, riding him like there was no tomorrow for them. He sat up, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth. He held her breasts together in his hands and moved his mouth from one to the other. Twylah cried out in ecstasy as they came together. She collapsed in a heap on top of him, unable to catcher breath.

Some hours later Twylah woke up and stretched her aching muscles. She was wrapped tightly in Miguel’s arms. He was still inside of her. The candles had burnt out and the only light in the room came from the crack in the kitchen door. She shifted and felt his arms tighten around her. “I’m here,” she whispered. He mumbled nonsensically in his slumber and she smiled. Something glistened just out of her reach and she stretched and touched the box that he had brought with him. She remembered him saying something about not knowing what it contained. Gently, so as not to wake him, she maneuvered the bow with one hand and finally got it loose. Her nostrils were at once filled with the scent of jasmine, vanilla and mint. She smiled, knowing exactly where he had purchased this ‘gift’. It was the same place where she had bought the bath oils earlier that week. There was a note in the box and she unwrapped the little scroll, grinning as she read the words: “Isn’t it amazing how two hearts can fish each other out and not know how? He came to me today, speaking with gentleness and care of the woman whom he wanted to gift with something unique … of the woman who had so captured his interest, and even his heart … not knowing that the very woman had wanted to make herself beautiful for him. Listen to the sweetness of his words and feel the truth of his heart. He is yours just as you are his. Be blessed, dear Twylah.”

She reached up and kissed his cheek, letting herself drift off to sleep once more.

Ain’t life funny some days? END.

To find out more about this amazing writer visit: DonnaMae Greaves on FB

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