That night I went to dance class and started new choreography. Jimmie was hell on wheels with a few of the dancers’ lack of ability to remember the first few counts. I succeeded at staying beneath his radar the entire rehearsal. When I arrived home and went about settling in for the night, I felt a twinge of disappointment while lying in bed. I had not heard from Azmir. I fought with every fiber of my being to suppress my discontentment and to fall asleep, which I did eventually.
The following morning went off without a hitch, literally. I had a heavy flow of appointments that forced me to eat lunch at my desk to complete much needed, and slightly delayed, administrative work because my afternoon flow mirrored the morning’s. After work, I took on the dreaded task of doing my laundry. I had to chug several bags of dirty clothes to a local Laundromat since I didn’t have my own washer and dryer yet. While waiting for my loads to finish, I checked my phone for the hundredth time since awakening that morning in case I missed a text or call from Azmir. Impossible! More hopeful, I went into my e-mail, those didn’t alert me when they hit my inbox, but no correspondences from that of A.D. Jacobs. I was beyond sick with disappointment and had even started to doubt my sexual skills feeling he may not have felt the spark that I did the night of his birthday. Was I too passive? Did I start off too aggressive?
I tried having an honest moment with myself and asked if what I missed about Azmir was his remarkable sex or something more substantial. I also had to be real and consider that I was two days away from my period, one of the times during my monthly cycle where I am the most aroused hence my strong desire for intimacy with Azmir. Every time I thought about him lapping up juices from between my legs that night heat coursed through my veins. He was so aggressive and attentive to my body. It was as though he was studying as he was gratifying my body. He made me come vaginally—several times!
All sorts of sensations undulated through my body there in the public Laundromat, I felt exposed. Whenever I got into a concupiscent mode like this and there was a prospect that I could call to help I never had a problem initiating sex. But this thing with Azmir was different. I understood he was a very busy man who traveled regularly and probably had women lined up in every town he jetted off to. I didn’t want to come off as desperate; I refused to. I finished my laundry and even folded it there, not wanting to return home too soon before turning in for bed and further torturing myself with lascivious memoirs of Azmir.
I cooked a warm meal that paled in comparison to what Azmir had arranged for me the previous day. My culinary skills, though something I loved to do, lacked inspiration when I had no one to feed but myself. After eating, I took a very hot shower, more blistering than usual to soothe my bones. It further tormented me when I laid my overly-sensitized skin between my freshly laundered sheets. My nipples hardened and my thighs squeezed together to find relief from the nearly painful throbbing between them. In the flash of a nanosecond I thought of Azmir and decided to go for my phone. Once it was in my hands, my fingers started to tremble. What in the hell is wrong with me? It was useless for me to reach out to him seeing that he was probably still out of town anyway. I rocked myself to sleep that night and dreamed dreams of six feet four inches and two hundred twenty pounds of chocolate blanketing me with comfort and carnal release.
The following morning I slowly rose from the bed. After laying out my clothes, I mounted the treadmill for only thirty minutes, which was half of my usual time on there. I sulked while dressing for the day and even passed on a sit down bowl of cereal, taking a banana and a granola bar with me instead as I headed out the door.