Category Archives: short story

Her Fantasy

[This is the beginning of a short story/novella that I plan to finish.  It also came about as a result of the Blogging 101 assignment for day 4]

She had to belong to someone.  Her perfectly coiffed hair and fresh manicure confirmed that she was well taken care of.  Trying on shoes in the upscale boutique, Uma couldn’t help but look at her shapely legs and the way she softly placed each foot in a shoe when trying on each pair that was brought to her.  Uma was sure she smelled of some exotic perfume that probably would have cost her a week’s wages but really none of that mattered because in her fantasies that woman deserved all the best things in life.

The first time she’d seen her was in the grocery store one evening after work.  She was leisurely shopping and Uma could tell by the contents of her cart that she took care of her body.  She had fruits and vegetables, all sorts of natural juices and organic supplements and very lean cuts of meat.  Uma imagined she’d be in her kitchen blending all of her cart’s contents while she danced to music in her panties and a t-shirt.  Her shoulder-length hair would be damp from her shower and she’d have it pinned in a messy bun with small pieces of curly hair framing her face.  In her mind Uma could smell the food cooking and she could feel her in her arms as they stood back to front in her kitchen.

As always, Uma stood in the shadows waiting and wondering who she was getting dressed for and making plans for.  She’d been watching her for several weeks now and she’d only seen her go out with friends or with business associates; she’d never seen her go out with anyone one on one.  But that really didn’t matter because she couldn’t watch her all the time.  When she looked down at the green illuminated face of her watch and saw that it was past six o’clock she knew it was time to go.   In the warmth of her car she hugged herself and started the engine thinking about the day.  This was the first time she’d been able to look at her for so long and she had a smug feeling of satisfaction in her gut as she pulled away from the curb and headed back to her apartment.

fantasy girls

Back at home she headed for the bedroom.  She took off her clothes and went into the bathroom to run herself a hot bath.  The steam from the water covered the mirror as Uma eased herself into the tub and leaned back to relax and think about her day.  This mystery woman had consumed her heart and thoughts and she wondered how she was going to approach her.  She was ready to make all her fantasies a reality for good.

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L’amour dans le Bayou -Une Histoire des Gens de Couleur Libres

The humid breeze blew across her face as she made her way up the avenue towards home.  The sound of her boots clicking on the cobblestone street comforted her and the sway of her skirts was a lullaby accentuating her petite feminine frame.  Many white men stole backward glances as she navigated through the crowds on the packed streets.  Her unblemished beige skin took on a reddish tone in the bright sunshine.  Her auburn hair, meticulously held in place by a tight chignon, glistened and the spiral tendrils framing her face were the perfect portrait of femininity.  Lizette was well aware of her beauty but she always maintained an air of grace and humility.

She was a lovely woman and she took great pride in her Creole heritage going back generations in New Orleans.  Her mother had come to Louisiana during the slave revolts from Saint Domingue and become a worker on a thriving sugar cane plantation where the owner, known as Grand Monsieur, had fallen in love with her.  Their clandestine meetings resulted in Lizette’s birth.  When her mother died suddenly and unexpectedly Grand Monsieur took Lizette into his home and lavished her with the finest clothing and education his money could buy.  Lizette was his daughter and, despite objections from the rest of his family, he made sure she was treated with dignity.  When he died he made provisions for Lizette and she was given her own residence and her own substantial plot of land.  She was a free woman.

Her home was modest but decorated with the finest linens, table settings and furniture and it was always immaculate.  Lizette had grown to be an exceptional woman and she was mature well beyond her twenty years.  There wasn’t a subject from the politics of the day to literature she couldn’t discuss and this characteristic added to her mysterious appeal among men and woman alike. It was her demure personality and magnetic allure that had caught the eye of a self-made, wealthy Creole trader Gerrard Xavier Leroux.

Gerrard had been drawn to Lizette the moment he saw her working her modest vegetable garden early one morning on his way to do business.  The way small rivulets of perspiration dotted her forehead causing the soft hair around her face to curl up and the earnestness with which she worked had caught his attention. He knew that he was in love with her the moment he set eyes on her but he set about to court her as a proper gentleman would.  Over the next five months they had grown to know one another and fall madly in love.  He’d asked for her hand in marriage one balmy New Orleans night and she’d tearfully accepted his proposal.

Now as she ascended the stairs to her home she marveled at her good fortune.  She often smiled to herself when she thought about the fact that she was mistress of a lovely manor with a decent fortune set aside in the local savings and loan bank.  Now she had the added pleasure of planning her upcoming nuptials to Gerrard.  Lizette had no living relatives but she was pleased to have been welcomed into Gerrard’s family so she was planning her wedding with his mother, Grand Mamette, and his two sisters.  One week before the wedding they had nearly finalized all the plans including the arrival of Lizette’s hand-crafted wedding dress that had been shipped in from Paris.  She couldn’t wait to become Mrs. Leroux and she was ready to celebrate; laissez le bon temps rouler.

Lizette sat quietly in her great room going over the menu for her reception when she heard an unfamiliar sound coming from the balcony of her bedroom.  Only briefly concerned she reckoned the sound to the wind and went back to her notes.  When the sound seemed to intensify she laid her plans aside and made her way to the stairs leading to the second floor of her home.  No sooner than she rounded the banister when she was assaulted by the most intense pain in the small of her back as she was struck with such force that she fell on her face and slid across the hardwood floor.  She had barely caught her breath when she was yanked up by her hair and pushed into her bedroom.  Before she knew it a burlap sack was stretched over her head and her hands were tied behind her back, she was thrown on the floor and her clothes were ripped from her body.  Lizette tried to scream but was immediately silenced and stunned by the fist that came down hard on her mouth filling it with the warm, metallic taste of her own blood.

She tried with the bit of strength she had left to fight her assailant but to no avail.  He crushed her with the full weight of his body and, over and over again, he violated her reveling in the sheer, sick pleasure of the whole thing.  Several times she lost consciousness only to be revived by the attacker subjecting her to more of his masochistic torture.  After what seemed like an eternity Lizette finally gave in and allowed herself to surrender to what surely would result in her death.  The last thought she had was of Gerrard and her wedding.

Evening had set in and Lizette woke disoriented.  She awoke to Grand Mamette cleansing her many wounds and comforting her and she allowed herself to be nursed as she looked with incredulity at the bowl of water mixed with much of her blood.  In a wave the memory of what had occurred washed over her and she began to tremble with fear and hurt.  Why had this happened to her?  Grand Mamette began to soothe her softly and reassure her;  reposer mon cher sa va bien se passer, that everything would be just fine.  Mamette had dressed her in a long cotton gown and had prepared a light stock and tea for her.  Unfortunately Lizette wanted nothing to eat or drink, the memories of her waking nightmare returned and she was overcome with gut-wrenching sobs of dismay.

Tears streamed down Lizette’s face not so much because of the assault she had experienced alone but because, most importantly, she had been robbed of the purity that she had guarded with tenacity so that she could give it to her husband on their wedding night.  Grand Mamette sat next to her on the bed and cradled her in her arms and rocked her as she continued to console her and stroke her hair.    When she was sleeping comfortably Grand Mamette eased out of the room and went to console her grief-stricken son who had been the one to find Lizette.

Gerrard seethed with anger at the thought of Lizette’s ordeal.  He wanted so badly to absorb her pain and restore her feminine innocence.  Though he could do neither, his love for her had instantly grown stronger and he knew that he would not rest until he had avenged this travesty.  His mother did her best to calm him and assure him that Lizette would come through this.  She convinced him to return to work while she watched over his beloved.  Reluctantly he left and returned to his store to finalize records for the week’s transactions.  Having finished his business Gerrard headed to a nearby tavern to have a few drinks to calm his mind after the morning’s events.  Thoughts of what had been done to his fiancée refused to leave his mind and he needed to release some tension.

As he sat at the bar listening to the atmosphere around him he couldn’t help but overhear one particular conversation.  A Spaniard was talking about the way he’d taught one of the native Creole women to respect men and stay in her place.  He talked on about how proud she acted just because of her fortune and good upbringing and the way she walked the streets as if she were better than anyone else.  He described his escapade in detail and Gerrard knew, without a doubt, that this was the man who had done the horrible things to Lizette.  Gerrard rose from the bar slowly and went over to where the Spaniard was retelling the accounts of the morning to a group of men playing cards.  In one quick motion Gerrard grabbed the man around his neck from behind and slammed him head first onto the table sending cards and liquor flying.

The man began cursing in Spanish flailing about trying to get a foothold from the attack but to no avail.  Gerrard was much bigger and stronger and his anger over what had been done to Lizette gave him strength like never before.  He held the Spaniard and began choking him from behind until he began to turn ashen from a lack of air.  Gerrard had it in his mind to do the man in by choking but the more he thought about what had led up to the moment the more he knew how it would all end.  He reached in his belt and pulled out his knife and, in one sweeping motion, cut the man from ear to ear.  With blood rushing from his neck the Spaniard stumbled about as his life slowly ended.  Gerrard wiped the knife on his pants and replaced it in its sheath.  The man fell to the floor dead.

No one made a move as Gerrard walked to the bar and finished his drink before leaving the tavern for home.  He didn’t fear any sort of repercussions or authority looking for him for murdering the man who had raped his soon-to-be wife.  Here in their corner of the world justice ruled and that is what he’d gotten.

Lizette and Gerrard were married in a ceremony that was talked about for miles around.  As they danced their first dance she looked him in his eyes and smoothed his hair knowing that he was her husband and her savior.  His chivalry let her know that true love still existed in the hearts of men and there was no question that she would give herself to him fully when the time came.

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Short Story

Scene 1

“Ugh I hate when you do that shit!  We do this over and over it seems like every other damned day!  Like I told you the situation is what it is so just fucking deal with it!”

She was at her breaking point with the roller coaster of emotions she was forced to deal with so many times, actually, too many times a day, a week, a month.  Whenever it started it was always too much and too many.  The scowl on her face was unmistakable.  The rage was sitting on the cusp of her soul waiting to be unleashed.  She hated that she had to be so angry but coping was something she wasn’t equipped to do, she only knew fight or flight and for some reason she didn’t think this time she would be able to walk away.

“You have the audacity to sit there and act like I don’t have a reason to be upset,” she said with venom dripping from her words, “this is all your fault!

They stood looking at one another face to face both seething with anger.  The air was thick with resentment and apprehension as they both weighed their options ready to strike faster than the blink of an eye.  This wasn’t the first time and there would never be a last.  They were stuck.  Stuck with one another, stuck in a fucked up situation, stuck in a whirlwind of destruction and uncertainty…just stuck.

“Bitch please.  Do you think that shit fazes me anymore?  Do you really think that line holds any power anymore?”  Her partner’s sinister smirk made her blood run cold and she was visibly shaking.  She could see it in her eyes; she felt it in the intensity of the breath that brushed her face when she spoke.  This was it, it was going to happen at any moment so she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders and she waited.  Out of the corners of her eyes she took in the room checking for a way out or, more importantly, the best way to fall.  She really didn’t care one way or the other so she just wanted her to do it and be done already.

Like lightning it came and like lightning it went.  It happened all in a flash.  The only way she knew it’d happened really was the trickle of blood running into her mouth from her nose.  She used the back of her hand and smeared the warm liquid away leaving a streak like lipstick after a passionate kiss.  Ironic she thought maybe that was her partner’s way of showing affection anymore.  Maybe it was intended to be a kiss…of sorts.  Of death because surely this was going to kill her.

“Do you feel better now?  Is that what you were waiting for, what you wanted from me?  You’re a sick bitch.  For real, sick”

She had no words for her now.  They would come later.

As one solitary tear left her eye she turned to walk away robbing her partner of the victory.  She would not be pitied nor did she want to play the part of the martyr.  She knew she would get through this, but would they.

Scene 2

It seemed like a lifetime since they’d last fought.  Life had gotten back to normal, whatever that was, and they’d resumed their relationship.  There was no more talk of blame and the accusations had grown stale.  Like she always said; it is what it is.  That became her mantra and it made life easier to swallow.  When the electricity that preceded her tears surfaced she immediately suppressed them with the anger that had come to fuel her existence.  There were no more silver linings and definitely no weeping that led to sunrise joy, she had learned to shit when necessary and get off the pot when the battle wasn’t worth the effort.  Over time they had started healing themselves the best they could.

“Why are you so quiet?” her partner asked with hesitation in her voice.

“I’m not being quiet, just thinking and getting in touch with myself is all.  Sometimes it helps to just be still.  That way you don’t get into trouble.”

They both knew that the statement was intentional and for the briefest moment it hung in the air like the brass ring on a carousel.  Neither seemed interested in the prize and as quickly as the tension came it was gone.  Internally for them both the war was still raging but the battles and instantaneous skirmishes had become fewer and fewer.  There was almost an unspoken unanimity when the time was right to fight.  Sick had taken on multiple meanings in their life.

“You feel like talking?” she asked her partner

“What’s there to talk about?  Remember, it is what it is.  You got something on your mind?  I’m listening.”

“Why do you have to sound so angry all the time?  It’s really not the end of the world you know.  I understand how you feel and I know you’re scared but we’re in this together.  I’m scared too but I don’t know what else to do.

“Well I don’t know what you want from me?”

Finally, finally she’d gotten it.  This was the window she’d been waiting to have opened when the final door had closed on their relationship.  Realization had finally set in and in that moment she knew that they were going to make it.

She got up from her chair and went and sat by her partner on the couch.  She’d never seen her look so tired or defeated and she was able to forget everything in the past and open herself to the forgiveness and love she’d been waiting to give for months.  She could let go of all her anger and move forward so they could start healing together.  She’d prayed for this day and now that it had come she was filled with emotion.  This time she would allow herself to cry”

“All I ever really wanted to hear you say was I’m sorry.  That’s all I needed from you.  If you’d just apologized then everything else would have fallen right into place.”

Her partner was sobbing openly now and for the first time in a long time she allowed herself to be hugged.  As they rocked one another she heard her partner whisper, “I love you so much and I’m so, so sorry.”

At that moment she had no doubt they were going to be just fine and she no longer feared being HIV positive.  All they had to do know was focus on life.  Everything else was going to be okay.

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