Keyboards of Love

He watches me as I am stroking the keys of my keyboard, my fluffy curls all over
the place, my red night shirt covering my voluptuous size 22 body. My glasses
resting on my nose, my mind jumbled with words and for good reason. I ignore his
presence on purpose, the fullness of his lips, his gray eyes, and his wide smile
that is made to make you melt like a chocolate bar on a hot day. His biscuit
brown complexion, height of 6’6, the scent of his cologne smells of musk arouses
me, the way a few buttons on his shirt reveal his chest hair and a man that
handsome should be illegal in all fifty states. Why would you not want him you
ask? You see I could fall in love with him, I could see myself making love to
him at the drop of his commands, slaving in the kitchen cooking meals and
bringing it to his office. Dr. Alexander Randolph could become the elixir to my
undeniable loneliness and need for companionship. This handsome breast cancer
specialist could make me break every rule in my book and I won’t allow him. I
think!


I have been focus on my writing my mind is not jumbled with
the L-O-V-E word. I have been drama free, lost twenty-five pounds to date and at
one with myself. My name is Ocean Daniel, a recently accomplished author and
owner of the popular Blog “ Blue Butterfly Chronicles”, an erotica experience
for the curvy woman. Writing is my first love it allows me to give my characters
what I don’t have a life, a man who falls madly in love with them regardless of
her size. I have yet to find that King that I can rave about.

I type “I
am out of the love business” on the screen so his kindness and charming smile
won’t suck me in. I feel his breath on my neck, his scent waking up every sexual
desire in my fiber and for a moment I let his fingers massage the knot in my
shoulders, and I sigh. He whispers in my ear,  “ I want to make you cum hard.
May I do that for you?”


The sound of his voice makes me shiver. I
feel my sugar walls contract, my inner thighs moist, and nipples harden. The
thought of him stroking all the stress and locked up frustration out of me would
be so beautiful and so needed. I jump up because I am falling under his magical
spell.
I want to look away from him to avoid falling under his trance that
could clearly hypnotize me and have my legs in V-formation.
Before I can
utter the response “no” his fingers are tracing my lips, my body ignites, and
the air-conditioned room feels like an inferno. I want him I can admit that to
myself and though no words are coming out my mouth I have a dozen sentences
screaming out loud.

“Say something to me, Hun.”

He kisses my
lips and I swear this man is breaking down every fiber of my being. I become
fixated on every angle from his head to his feet. I look at us in my mirror and
we are the picture perfect couple. Today when he enter in he had denim color
shirtsleeves rolled up, tan pants and fedora hat. I love the way he dresses,
even in scrubs he is sexy, the way he folds his hands when he’s deep in thought,
his hands are large, finger nails manicure and when he bites his lips nothing
makes me wetter.

The silence is killing him but Alexander is a man of
action. He takes charge by kneeling before me, pushes my seat back, spreading my
legs wide open now this is the point I am suppose to stop him. I don’t because
the feel of his hands pushing my skirt up my thighs is the best feeling in the
world, the fact that I don’t have on any panties is reveal and I gasp.

“
I’m celibate, I made a….” I pant he ignores me let’s his hands roam, massage and
his lips kiss my thighs.

“You smell like peaches. I bet your pussy is so
juicy and sweet.”

His long tongue now is licking the inside of my left
thigh, his long finger massaging my clit and the scene in my dining room slash
office is one hell of a one. I hold on to the chair and let him into my secret
garden and do whatever it is he wants to do. I finally after he plunges his
tongue and finger deep into my coochie and causes mini eruptions of pleasure. I
muster up the courage to say,

“Please stop.” I whimper. He looks up at me
and sits on the floor leaning his head against my desk. He licks my secretions
off his fingers.

“ You want all that I am offering you but you are scare
to be liked and loved by a man. Afraid to feel anymore so that’s why you stop
me.” I hate when he does that read me like a book as if I have written my life
autobiography and sold it on Amazon.

“You think you know me but you
really don’t Dr. Randolph.” I cross my legs and they are moist trying to
extinguish the small fire he ignited. I fold my arms and begin typing anything.
He takes the papers off my desk reads it and nods his head in
agreement.

“ You write what you feel.  You are the writer of the heart
and not the head. When you write from the head you make mistakes it as if you
are lying to yourself trying the make the world believe it. The problem is the
reader can read right through the lie.”

“All fiction writers make up
stories. There you go again analyzing me.’ He chuckles and continues reading the
novel.

“Are you writing about me in this novel?  The William
character is the type of man you want. You want me; Hun and you show it in your
writing. I am your William.” He winks at me and rubs my thighs.

“Stop
flattering yourself. He is fictional.” 

I snatch the first draft from
him and I want to shout to him you get me as a writer, as a woman and where have
you been all my life. I instead tend to the unfinished manuscript on the screen.
I write a line and he is right I created William in the image of him. I am
falling for the character in front of me and on the screen. He reads word for
word until he is at the last page. How refreshing to find a man who loves to
read something other than the local newspaper.

“ You make him too perfect
which is the part that will make your reader not believe in him.”

“ I
don’t make him perfect. I flaw him like every man.”

I push my glasses off
my nose and wipe the sweat off. I feel like kissing him but distract myself by
reading over what I wrote. I haven’t met a man like him in well never. Most
people who read my writing tell me it’s good or avoid the discussion all
together. What I do is not glamorous to many people and unless you love the
craft of writing it can be quite boring to some.  He listens to me allows me to
babble on for hours about literary world and sit just gazing in my eyes. I talk
about my love affair of what I do the process, the plot, the characters, and the
business of it. He snaps his fingers and waves his hands,

“Earth to Ms.
Ocean.”
“ I’m sorry I dove into a writer’s world. I have to be honest you
make me think, make me want to prove something to you.”
“I do believe that
you are exceptional writer but I also want you to respect the reader. You love
what you do and as a writer you sensitive about your shit.” We both
laugh.

“ Do you feel that way about being a doctor? He licks lips and
runs his hand over his face.

“ No, I do it because I am great at it and I
have saved many women lives. My true passion is playing the piano. Man, when I
tickle the ivories it’s like making love the best feeling in the world.”


“Will you play for me one day?”

“When you admit you want me in your
life.”

He kisses my hand and winks. He has a confidence that speaks with
out him saying a word. I love this man’s charm, his gentleness, the way his
hands move from my thighs to my feet. I slid down on the floor sit in between
his legs, lean against his solid chest, let his fingers rub up and down my arms
and his lips kiss my neck. I thin k back to how we met at Roswell Park Institute
he is caring for my best friend. She has breast cancer and he is the man working
to keep my bestie alive and well.

“ No fair. I let you read my stuff all
the time and I can’t get the pleasure of your musical talents.” I pout and fold
my arms.
“ You are so damn sexy when you pout?” I wave off his
compliment.
“Big girls are not consider sexy, cuddly maybe, cute even but
sexy is a Big no!”
“Sexy is an attitude not a look or a body type. I’ve seen
women look sexy in rollers and a bathrobe.”
“ Okay now you’re just lying
because you know no man wants a girl 250 and up.” He shakes his head and rubs
his hand on his face.
“I don’t like the way you feel about yourself, your
body and the person God created. You have no clue how beautiful you are. Why do
you that yourself?”
The sound of the doorbell saves me from answering his
question he helps me up and kisses my hands. I swear I can fall in love with
him. I answer the door.
“Who is it?” A tall man holding flowers.
“
Delivery for a Ms. Ocean Daniel’s.” They are assorted in colors of red, yellow,
lavender, coral, peach and pink it must be three dozens of them. I sign the form
and open the card.

“Yellow is for friendship because these past few
months you have become my friend. Pink is for my admiration for you. Lavender is
because I find your beauty breathtaking and that I’m falling for you hard. Coral
is for the warmth you bring to me whenever I am around you. The peach because I
appreciate every moment you allow me to spend with you. Lastly, I am asking you
to let me love you and don’t be afraid to receive the love you deserve.
Alexander.” I close the card and he looks deeply in my eyes as the tears well up
in them.
“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
“ You deserve this and you are
very welcome.” I smell the flowers and smile. I kiss him lips softly let my
heart weaken and I look into his eyes.
“Dr. Randolph why don’t you let me be,
please.” His lips curled up and he takes the flowers from me and puts them on
the table. He wraps his hand around my shoulders. He kissed the nape of my
neck.
“Because I don’t want to leave you alone. I want you so bad and you my
love are afraid that a man will love you like you deserve. You can’t run me
away.” I melt in his arms and he rocks me. See what I mean? He always says the
right shit at the right time.
“You don’t want a woman like me. I am messy,
unorganized and can devour a whole chocolate cake.”  He whispers.
“I’d teach
you how organize and clean up after yourself. I’d take that chocolate frosting
from the cake painting it on your body with my tongue. I have flaws I am not a
perfect man. I smoke ganja and I am a stubborn ass mule and I don’t quit until I
get what I want which is you.” He folds his hands behind his head.
My mind
was stuck on his long pink tongue eating the chocolate off my body and smoking a
large spiff, blowing smoke up my pussy. That’s the crazy, needed some dick in me
woman trying to escape. I clear my throat and the dirty thoughts still
lingered.
“You smoke ganja. You are just saying that? And why do you have to
have an answer to every thing?”
“Because I do. Come with me to your
bedroom? I’ll be good I promise.” He smirked. I knew that was a lie. Dr.
Randolph was always planning and plotting to get to my coochie.
I hesitated
because he loves to make love with his lips and the last time he had me ripping
up my sheets and screaming obscenities in seven languages. Yet, I follow him he
lays down, taking off his pants, his shirt and shoes.
“Lay with me.”
“
No. You think you are so slick and I told you I am celibate.” I sit on the chair
to my vanity and turned my back to me.
“I know that and all I ask is that you
lay with me. I want to be held and nothing more.” She raises her eyebrows and
smirks. I pull the cover down and lies down next to him. I put my arms around
him and I was breaking rules, going beyond boundaries. I was weak for him but
strong enough to say no. My no’s where weakening to strong yes. Every time he
touched or looked at me I was willing and ready to give up my heart to
him.
“So what made you stop playing the piano?”
“I play everyday like
you write everyday. I just don’t play for the masses or glorification of it. I
am good, damn good, but like many artists I feared rejection. The masters are
often well hidden for a reason.”   He runs his hands up and down my sides as if
he practicing a note.
“ I want you to play for me.”
“ I want you to be my
woman. I want to eventually make you my wife and have 2.5 babies. When I become
your man then I will play for you.” He replies. I shake my head and close my
eyes.
“You just want my coochie. You just want to fuck me. Stop with all the
charade, okay.” I snapped.
She jumped up and he held her arm. His eyes are
wide, he frowns, and he spat out the words.
“I do want to fuck you but I want
also want your heart. You want me too, Ocean. What because other men have hurt
you so you assume that I am too? That’s not right and unfair. I want to love you
but you have steel bars around your heart. Ooh you piss me off, woman.”
I do
want him but I’ve been there before. Open up and got railroaded. I love hard and
I breakdown hard too.  He sits on the edge of the bed; he is beak red and
tapping his feet. He is so damn handsome even pissed off.
“When did you start
playing the piano?”
He looks at me knowing I am an expert at avoiding
situations.
“Seven. My Poppa taught me but it came natural to me. And stop
avoiding the situation at hand.” He spoke through clench teeth.
“ I am afraid
okay. Here I am around you and I want to love you because I deserve love. But
then I think nope be safe and stay in your lane. Love is not my friend. I can’t
hurt again it takes me too long to get it together. I like you, I dream about
you and miss you when you are not here. Dammit, Alexander you suck because you
play unfair.” I wipe the tears from my eyes and look in the air there I go being
a sucker for a man. My emotions raw and out there all in the open I am going to
be in therapy for another six years. I lean against the wall and he stands up.
He walks towards me and he kisses me slow and sensual. He sucks on the bottom of
my lip. He does that repeatedly until I am gasping for air.
“You have to
trust somebody, you have to trust yourself.  Trust me, please!”
“ I can’t
because I don’t know how. I don’t trust myself around you. You know what let’s
go please. I told you I am wreck and you won’t listen. I am being openly honest
which by the way I never do and you won’t hear me.” I scream
“Why do you
sketch ugly pictures of yourself? You think I don’t know you have issues, woman?
You don’t think people haven’t said stay away? Look at me!” I turn my head and
his gray eyes are filled with tears. He continues,
“ But I see what they
don’t see in you. I see your heart, your need for love. I see a woman who has
craved for it since she was a little girl and now as a grown woman she stills
craves to be loved and liked. It’s here and I am willing to love the wreckage
but the problem, the major problem is YOU DON’T LOVE YOU! I can’t teach you how
to love yourself.”
He sniffles and wipes his eyes. He puts on his shoes, his
hats and buttons up his shirt. I feel weak as I am watching what I want walk
away. I walk into the dining room walking towards my keyboard. I sit their
writing, weeping, and heart aching.  I write anything and my fingers glide
across the keyboard.  I wait for the door to close it would be the goodbye I am
used to. I push people away and I am brilliant at watching people walk out the
door. It is easier to say goodbye first.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and I
look behind me.
“Come with me somewhere, please and Ocean don’t give me a
hard time.” He snapped.
I save the rest of my work and walk into my bedroom
I throw on a pair of jeans, tee shirt, and jacket. I pull my hair into a
ponytail and grab my keys. He is on his cell phone and his accent is heavy. He
is from Belize. He speaks seven different languages Spanish, Kriol, Garifuna,
Maya Mopan, French, Chinese, and Japanese. Raised in Brooklyn by his grandmother
and Pop Pop. Migrated to Buffalo because he wanted to work at Roswell Park
Institute and the Witness project. He takes me by the hand and he kisses
it.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To my sanctuary. The place that brings
me peace and tranquility no one has ever come here. I see that with you I have
to show you better than I tell you.”
The scenery of the city change through
the drive, the music he played was classical and Mozart.  He and I didn’t speak.
A part of the countryside was beautiful, the trees, the cows, the never ending
sky, be able to see the sun set and the homes. In my mind I am formulating a
story to write and maybe in his mind he was writing a song to play in private.
He pulls up to a house it was white, plain and only two other houses where in
the area. I tremble a little because my luck wasn’t on the high peak. He could
be planning to cut me up and barbecue my fat ass. He opens the door and extends
his hands.
“Are you coming? Are you going to trust me just this one time? You
said you wanted to hear me play then come inside.” I said a silent prayer and
took his hand. He opens the door and in the living room was a beautiful black
piano. The room was painted in a beautiful burgundy and beige. Pictures of his
country, his grandmother, his Pop Pop and of marijuana.  He sits by the Piano
and he pats the stool.
“Sit by me, please.” I slide in and he looks me in the
eyes. He kisses me and I melt. I am falling and in this house with just a piano,
a handsome man and two hearts needing love. He breaks the kiss and he turns to
the piano, he stretches his fingers, shakes them out, and places them on the
keys. He begins to play, he bites his bottom lip, closes his eyes, and he plays
an unfamiliar tune. It is beautiful, intoxicating and he leans his head back.
The music flowing was pure genius. He played a few minutes and I thought of
words that could go to the song. So I notice on top is a pen and paper so I grab
it and begin to write.
“ This sounds so beautiful.” He doesn’t respond as he
continues playing and I continue writing. It doesn’t matter if the words match.
He finally stops and takes a deep breath. He inhales and exhales.
“What the
name of your song?”
“What the name of what you just wrote?”  He and I
smile. I kiss him, our tongues dance and I realize I am not going to fight his
love. I deserve to take a risk and yes, I am scare of this feeling. He takes me
to another room and we sit on the bed.
“ I bought this house a year ago just
to play my piano. Like you, I need solitude, peace and tranquility. As you know
I am on call 24/7 but this house, my piano and music is where I am my best.”

“ You save lives. You make miracles happen everyday. You are one of the best in
your field.” He smirked, pulled out a brown stick, and lit it. The aroma stunk
in the air; he took a puff and coughed.
“I am just God’s instrument. I don’t
make miracles happen every time a patient lives is because of God’s will. I am
tool and he using all of us. You with your writing because whether you realize
it or not. You inspire a plus size woman to believe in love even when you
don’t.” He smoked some more, his eyes low, and he passes it to me. I put my hand
up and push it away.
“True. Do you know why I push you away?” He put the
brown stick in the ashtray.
“No, tell me.”
“ I have always felt cursed. I
mean like I am a bad luck charm or something. I use to hear as a kid that when I
come around bad things happen. I would get with a guy their life would turn
upside down, he turn to drugs. I don’t want to be anyone’s curse or bad luck
charm. I felt like once I was born things went down hill for my mother, my
sister’s died, my brother raped my sister, and life trickle down effect was
because of me. I mess up everything I touch.  Sounds crazy right?”
I look
away from him because he knew my secret. He knew why I called myself a wreck. He
would run now because it made sense at least to me. I didn’t want this well off,
accomplished piece of perfection to fall because of the curse over my head. He
starts laughing, coughing, and his eye water.
“Who’s high you or me? Ocean,
are you God or Satan?”  He hugs me and kisses me. I push him away.
“I open up
and you are laughing at me. I’m serious Alexander I am cursed.” He takes another
pull of the blunt and blows out circle. He shakes his head. I am balling and he
wipes my tears with his lips.
“You think you are cursed and because you
believe it. A woman thinketh so she is so. You’re family, friends and ex carry
their own fate. You being in their presence have nothing to do with THEIR
CHOICES.  Woman, you are carrying burdens that aren’t yours. You are not Jesus
and you can’t bear every ones cross.”
I feel like my head is swarming, I
take off my shoes and lay in his bed. He takes another puff and puts it out. He
kicks off his shoes and lies next to me he pulls me into his arms and holds me
tight. The song he played earlier is playing in my head.
“You think I am
insane?” He kisses me on my forehead and holds me.
“No, I think you are
afraid to see the good in life. I see different women sick. I see the survivor,
the quitter, and the one who welcomes death. The one who welcomes death is
because she is simply tired and I can respect that. She has made an alliance
with God. The survivor just is resilient is always smiling, pushing and doing
all she can. She too has made an alliance with God to accept the test. The
quitter comes in asking when will she die, she tells me all of her ailments and
why the medicine is going to kill her. She is defeated before she walks in my
office. She doesn’t say a word but her attitude speaks volume. She is afraid of
the possibilities of living another day. She too made an alliance to not even
seek faith because she has made an alliance with Satan that he has won. You are
the survivor. You think you are the quitter but if you where you wouldn’t write
about hope. You would encourage women to press forward or that love is real.” He
pauses and brings her hands to his lips. He kisses it and continues.
“You get
up thinking you are curse but you don’t believe that. You just need reasoning
why bad things happen to you, your family, and the loves that went sour. You
need understanding why a man like me would want to love a wreck as you call
yourself. I love you because you are so much more than the thoughts you filled
in your head. I see your heart, your spirit, and your soul. I’m willing and have
no problem going deeper because I genuinely love you.”
He could be blowing
smoke up my ass but I needed to hear that. I play with his chest hairs and my
teardrops. I spread it and share my sorrows. 
“Thank you for listening and
always being my voice of reason. I love you too.”
“It’s the best voice I can
be and the song I wrote is called keyboards of love.”
“The love story is
called the keyboards of love.” We both laughed and hold one another.

The
End

© 2012 Tamyara Brown- Tamluvstowrite


 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 

 
   
 


 
 
  

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