Deception: Betrayed Hearts

by Terence L. Taylor

Contains adult content. Intended for readers 18 and over.

Prologue

My name is Cyn, and my life’s narrative could easily be mistaken for a play Shakespeare forgot to write—filled with as much tragedy, deception, and betrayal. At the tender age of twelve, the streets became my reluctant home, schooling me in lessons of survival, love’s false promises, and the sting of betrayal. In those early years, amidst the backdrop of abandonment and abuse, I learned that affection could be a guise, and trust was often misplaced. This story is more than a mere recounting of past events; it’s a revelation of the scars and veils that time has woven over my heart. It delves into the heartache of deceit, the cold touch of betrayal, and the quest for a love that seemed as elusive as the morning mist. Each chapter of my journey unfolded like scenes from a grand, yet somber play, where the roles of lover and deceiver blurred, leaving me to untangle the truth from beautifully crafted lies. My life was not my own, but a series of acts determined by those who claimed to love me, only to leave me more lost in the labyrinth of their deception.

Yet, standing here, I am not the villain of this tale but its survivor. Bearing witness to the strength that lies in a heart once betrayed, I’ve learned the power of truth, the importance of genuine connections, and the bravery required to open oneself to love again—even when past wounds whisper warnings to guard your heart.

As you journey through these pages, remember that the experiences laid bare are not solely mine but reflect a universal truth of human connection, where we are all actors on the stage of life, seeking authenticity in a world often shrouded in deception.

Chapter One

Our first date at Palisades was a truly special experience, and the breathtaking views of Elliott Bay marina from the romantic and classic restaurant tucked away at the base on Magnolia hill in Seattle certainly added to the ambiance. Downtown was a backdrop in the distance. The Space Needle stood alone, its majestic silhouette outlined against the sky. We were second in line at the hostess station, the sound of hushed conversations drifting through the air. Two twenty-somethings, arm-in-arm, followed behind. The young lady’s hair and make-up were impeccable, revealing that she was hoping for a more thrilling evening. She whispered disapprovingly of her date’s choice of restaurants, “There are only old people here.”

The hostess transferred a senior couple to a young brunette, who guided them off to their seats.

My date stepped forward, and I witnessed the confidence in his stance as he gave his name and the time of the reservation. Her eyes quickly checked the register, and the polite smile slowly melted into a look of discomfort. She tightened her lips into a thin line. Her face reddened. “Sorry to delay you. Would you? Could you allow me a few seconds? I’ll be right back.” Pushing hair from her face, she hastily departed from the podium. My mind was running wildly as I tried to make sense of what could’ve happened to cause the alarm on her face. I was already nervous, and the young lady’s hasty retreat raised my levels of discomfort. Was there a prior disagreement that could explain her abrupt departure? Three other couples join behind us. I dreaded the long absence of the hostess. She was gone for what seemed like an eternity. She returned and walked towards me, a radiant smile playing on her lips. In her hands, she held a magnificent bouquet of long-stem red roses.

The fragrance that emanated from them was intoxicating, filling the area with a sweet, floral aroma. In that moment, time seemed to stand still. Oh, my heavens. With tears of happiness welling in my eyes, I looked at her, my voice choked with emotion. I turned to my amour, Thank you, I whispered, unable to find words that could capture the depth of my appreciation.

It was as though they had crowned me Miss America. The restaurant critic behind us playfully joined in my joy, pinching her boyfriend’s arm. Startled, he cried out in a shrill voice, massaging his arm with a puzzled frown, and asked, “What made you do that?” She ignored his inquiry and murmured softly, “Those are lovely.” I hoped her date got the message.

I felt the rising heat of awkwardness as I stuttered to convey my thanks. The effervescent hostess grinned and said, “This way, please. I’ll take you to your table.” My date gestured for me to walk in front of him. As we passed the diners, heads turned, and eyes followed. Looking up, my gaze unintentionally met the wise eyes of an elderly woman. She smiled broadly and clapped loudly, soon joined by the infectious sound of others clapping. We walked through a gauntlet of cheers and applause on our way to the table. I was sure my face was bright red, though I couldn’t see it myself. Our hostess, Kellie, moved her hands with a flourish, like a showgirl, pointing towards our table. Her face full of delight, she asked, “Is this a significant occasion?”

I was uncomfortable with all the attention and grasped for words. My date answered, “Yes,” his face beaming with a dazzling smile. What girl wouldn’t succumb to its charms? “I’m celebrating my first date with this beautiful lady, and I’m aiming to make the evening as magical and special as possible.”

Kellie clasped her hand over her heart. “That is so sweet,” she said, her voice like a soft melody. “Tyler will take care of you. Please let us know if there is anything else you need. Have a wonderful evening.”

“Wow, that’s really impressive. Thank you, I’m genuinely touched by your generosity.”

“I’m just glad that you liked them. Besides, as I told our hostess, I’m grateful for the opportunity to have dinner with you. Despite only having known each other for a short time, I find your vivacity and compassion to be truly captivating. I was immediately drawn to you at the conference. Your gestures and laughter with your associates caught my attention, and I knew I had to have dinner with you.”

“Just like that?” I asked, snapping my fingers.

“Hmm, now that I think about it,” He snapped his fingers.

“Yes.”

Nervously, I responded, “Thank you.” Water. I gulped it as soon as he pulled the pitcher away. Requesting one more. Self-talking. Okay, calm yourself, Cyn. Tyler cheerfully greeted us as she introduced herself as our server. “Is there anything I can get you to drink?”

I ordered a tall glass of iced tea with a slice of lemon. He ordered a Macallan 15. I inhaled the sweet fragrance of the flowers before placing them on the table. The evening was off to a wonderful start, and it filled my heart with joy. It’s a pleasure to have a man attentive to all the details. His thoughtful gift overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t find the words to express my gratitude properly. “I wasn’t expecting anything that grand.”

“Why?” he had to ask. His eyes were soft and innocent. He said to me, “This evening is an introduction to getting to know you. My desires are that we communicate and enjoy ourselves. Life becomes complex when we place expectations on interactions. To properly know and understand—truly appreciate a woman—a man should take his time to learn and appreciate her heart, mind, body, and soul. The key to love is earning my lady’s love, devotion, and admiration.”

Whoa. I exhaled. “So, you have no expectations?”

He smirked. “No.” He subtly shook his head. “I hope to be straight with you. I am truly captivated by your charm and grace. This evening is an introduction to future engagements—I hope.” He continued, “I believe romance is a lost art. To me, roses symbolize a woman’s soul—the hue of red, fire, and power to consume or spellbind like a candle’s flame: soft, luminous, glowing, and tranquil. It’s powerful yet delicate, and its fragrance is an aroma that tantalizes the senses. If mishandled, one will feel the painful prick of her scorn. Thus, to avoid its barb, a man must be respectful of how he treats and cares for it, just like he should for a woman. If one does those things right, he’ll enjoy its—lustrous beauty and radiant light. All too often, men like to take a rose at the height of its beauty and selfishly cut it off and keep it for themselves. Over time, they ignore it, and the beauty withers away. We should never take the beauty of a woman for granted but nurture and appreciate it. A properly cared-for rose maintains its vivaciousness and strength throughout a woman’s life, and she returns her gratitude tenfold.”

Hmm, how poetic, Mister Romeo, I’m in…. “Wow, those are beautiful words. Why is a man with such a firm grasp of love single?” He chuckled. “Life and love have a lot of moving pieces, and it’s all a matter of perspective, and I believe in universal timing. Love is a quest; you meet people every day. You, like me, I’m certain, have had your share of dates. However, — and I’m not saying I’m the man for you—but you connect when you meet that perfect person for you. Thus, I may have my visions, but my remaining single simply means that I haven’t found the right woman yet. However, we should leave the bulk of the conversation for another time. We’ll learn as we go.”

I was experiencing first-date butterflies. Looking for a distraction, I picked up the menu. Thinking about what to order, hoping not to be judged by my dinner choice, I peeped up from the menu, inhaled deeply, and looked into his eyes. He had a tranquil glow, soft like the light of the candle, with enough warmth from the flame and a tinge of arrogance to warn of cautions; the innocent blaze can start a fire. But his polite mannerisms enhanced the ambiance, and I felt comfortable—attracted to his presence. I was concerned that my trepidation made me appear awkward. I’d been out of the dating game for two years after ending a two-year emotionally unrewarding relationship and throwing myself into completing my residency. In that relationship, we kind of fell out of love, leading me to question my appearance, wondering if I’d lost my ability to please a man.

There was nothing I wouldn’t have done for him… in the beginning. I questioned my appeal to a man as we drifted apart. Initially, I thought it was me failing him in the relationship. He and I came together while we both started our first year of med school. We found hanging on to each other academically fulfilling. He was an attractive man; I would call him a genius. He was taller than me, with unkempt blonde hair and amber eyes. He preferred the outdoors and spent more time hiking around the Puget Sound area than studying. He didn’t really need as much time practicing and studying as I did. It all came so easily to him. It’s as though he was born into the profession. I remember pushing him to use his gift to excel in the medical profession and maybe support struggling classmates. I appealed to him to think of all his future accomplishments. “You have a gift that will help you do great things in this profession. Use it.” However, he was like a teenager more interested in hiking trails, mountains, rivers, lakes, and streams. I guess I was the nag in the relationship, constantly pushing him out in front of me… maybe hoping he’d drag me along. Not that I’m dumb. I was jealous that it came so easily to him, and I wanted him to share his magic. The arrival of our dinner interrupted my thoughts.

He barely touched his steak while I devoured my Dungeness crab-stuffed colossal prawns. He sat back in his seat with a look of amusement, poised with his drink raised, which triggered a heart-racing moment of self-doubt. Dear God, he’s going to think I’m a pig. Pushing my plate aside, I leaned forth. “You didn’t touch your dinner. Is something wrong?”

“No, no, it was great. How about yours?”

“It was delicious. But you barely touched yours.” I was curious about what was behind this man’s subconscious curtain and asked, “Do you mind sharing your thoughts?”

He responded, looking at my empty glass, “I will—you mind if I get you a refill?”

I smiled, thinking the last thing I needed was more pressure on my bladder. While I was trying to coax him to share his thoughts, I was doing my best to read his body language, wondering what triggered the sparkle in his eyes. I emboldened myself to relax and have some fun with him. Thinking creatively, two can play the game of attraction, mister. I seductively put the straw to my lips, toying it with my tongue, slowly placing my lips around the straw.

Glancing at him for effect, then back to the straw, humming my pleasure, pulling the sweet, soft liquid into my mouth. Wow, this was really stepping outside of my norm. I haven’t felt sexy in a long while. I still had a little game in me.

During my play of seduction, I suddenly felt the need to pee. I feigned comfort trying to hold back my internal dam from bursting. Finally, my amour reached for my hand, about to share his thoughts, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you nervous with my admiration. I’m distracted by the radiance of your beauty.”

Damn, he’s charming. I pressed my legs tight, not wanting to leave the table. The air between us grew thick with anticipation, each second stretching longer than the last, weaving a silence that pulsed with unspoken yearnings and curious desires. Then, breaking through the tension with a voice soft yet laden with emotion, he uttered, “And I just want you…”

“Excuse me.” I felt the first warning pulse of an impending burst. Excellent timing, Cynthya. I fast-walked to the bathroom, doing my best not to break into a full sprint.

As I made my way back to the table, a wave of relief washed over me, only to be quickly overshadowed by a sight I hadn’t anticipated. He was deep in conversation with the server, whose smile radiated a warmth that seemed all too familiar.

The moment she caught sight of me, her hand swiftly retracted from his—an action that did little to quell the storm brewing within me. I found myself grappling with a surge of jealousy, a feeling I would normally dismiss as utterly irrational. Yet, the image before me spoke volumes; it’s one thing to step away from a man poised to whisper sweet nothings, but entirely another to return to find him intertwined with another, her smile as bright as daylight. No woman ever wishes to witness her date’s hands clasped with another’s, regardless of the circumstances. As I stood there, her blue eyes met mine, shimmering with an unspoken narrative.

“How is everything?” she asked as I sat.

“Wonderful,” I replied disdainfully.

“Excellent!” Her face was a mask of innocence. “May I bring dessert menus?”

I declined the offer. But Mister Charming said yes, inviting me to share the “Trio of crème brûlée.” Sounds delicious. My mouth watered, so I said yes. But the thought of adding additional pounds to my ass made me consider a resounding no. However, this was a date, and I should enjoy all of it… including the dessert. The warm and alluring fire of conversation he was about to start before my jaunt seemed to have passed. I want him to pick up where he left off. “So, you were saying?” He chuckled, asking me if I was okay. I assured him that all was well. Now retake my hand, you fool, and finish what you were going to say.

However, the moment of deep conversation shifted. Perhaps his talk with the waitress had distracted his thoughts. He asked, “So tell me more about you.”

I gave an appreciative smirk. His question jolted me. What do I tell him? What’s the proper dating conversation etiquette? I contemplated his request. Other than work, I have little to say. All I could think was to share openly, reflecting on my past relationship. I told him, “I’m a simple woman. I have my career, for which I busted my butt. I had a few life hiccups—but who doesn’t? I will not share those on the first date. However, my life has worked out to my satisfaction. The medical profession is perfect for me. I’m a heart person. Which means I enjoy pleasing and taking care of others. I’m very close to my family and friends.” He raised a curious brow. Our waitress returned with dessert just in time to save me from going overboard about myself. The two spoons lay positioned, waiting for us to dip into the enticing dish. “That looks deliciously inviting. But I better not.”

The hours leading up to this evening were spent in a flurry of anticipation and excitement, meticulously searching for the perfect dress that would strike the delicate balance between conservative allure and captivating beauty.

The unanimous choice, heralded by Lexi and Gina, was a stunning black ensemble that seemed to tick all the right boxes: sleeveless, with a midi length that spoke of elegance, a halter neck tie closure that added a touch of sophistication, and a daring low back that promised a hint of intrigue. The dress’s pièce de résistance, a thigh-high slit up the left leg, flirted with the boundaries of boldness. Initially, I harbored reservations about its audacity—was it too much? Yet, the way it embraced and flattered the curves of my hips and ass, areas I often scrutinized, left me feeling nothing short of breathtaking.

Despite its perfection, a shadow of reluctance lingered; the dress, as beautiful as it was, underscored my insecurities about my figure. Now, as dessert was being offered, the temptation of its sinful sweetness seemed like it would only exacerbate my concerns, intensifying my self-consciousness about my ass. Hence, I was reluctant, caught in the moment, worried that succumbing to the allure of dessert would betray my efforts to present myself in the best light.

However, my kind amour coaxed me, “Ah, come on. Please share it with me.” He leaned forward, his eyes darting left and right as if preparing to share a confidential secret. In a hushed tone that hinted at conspiracy, he whispered, “This is very important. I need us to keep this just between us.” My curiosity piqued, I leaned in, my voice tinged with mock seriousness, “What?” He moved even closer, the corners of his mouth twitching with a suppressed smile. “I promise not to tell anyone. It’ll be just our little secret,” he murmured, a playful glint in his eyes. “Even your friends won’t know we indulged in dessert.” The solemnity of his vow, juxtaposed with the triviality of the secret, was both absurd and endearing, turning the moment into a shared joke, a tiny bubble of complicity amidst the evening’s ambiance. “You better not.” I chided, picking up the spoon to share the sinful decadence.

My mind told me, loosen up, Cyn. Thus, I decided to have my fun, toying with the spoon, taking a small scoop, raising it to my mouth, slowly parting my lips, and savoring its sweet, smooth sensation with my tongue. I hum, rolling my tongue across my lips, teasing him to share. I whispered seductively, “Now, mister, share your thoughts with me, or else.” I wanted to drink more of his thrilling romance, just as the hot coffee sat between us.

He said, “I was admiring you and studying the night. I was thinking after dinner—but the perfect moment has passed.”

“Why has it passed? We’re still here.”

“It was a beautiful sunset when we sat down. I had hoped to take a walk and enjoy the beauty of the night. However, the perfect opportunity appears to have passed. It looks like pending rain.

“That was a very nice thought.” I wanted the evening to continue for a while. I daringly suggested, “Great, let’s go for a walk.” I smiled as he fumbled for words, flabbergasted, saying that we were ill-equipped for the rain and would get wet. He looked so adorable at that moment. I asked if he was afraid of getting damp.

“No!”

I jibed, “Yes, you are.”

“I mean… ah, I mean, no, I’m not afraid, but I’m looking at you and thinking I wouldn’t want to ruin that sexy outfit. I’m okay with another time.”

I challenged, raising my coffee and taking a sip, looking over the brim. The more comfortable I got, the cheekier I became. “I may not be wearing this sexy outfit another time. Who knows what may befall us tomorrow? Besides, I’m a seize-the-moment kind of girl.”

“Well, let’s check your flowers with the hostess, and you’re on.” The server returned with the bill. He’d been a marvelous man, and I wanted to express my gratitude for reaching for the check. I don’t want it taken for granted that a man will pay. But, unfortunately, he grabbed it before I did. “Please… allow me. I respect your ability to pay, but let’s be old-fashioned this evening.” I pondered his statement, curious about the definition of old fashion. Then, resting my face on my hand, I asked, “Define your version of old fashion for me.”

Long silence. This is where I learn if he’s just using words or if there’s a meaning behind them. He reached for my barely touched coffee across the table, asking, “Do you mind? It’s cold.” I raised a brow, curious if this was a delaying tactic, as he searched for the right words. “Not at all, please.” He took a sip of coffee. Staring into my eyes with a heave of air, he said, “Old fashion is when a man appreciates the honor of a woman: her beauty. It means respecting you as my equal, not as my competitor. Though we have unique differences, I know the planet would be bleak without a woman’s prettification, attention to detail, and adornments of colors, styles, and class. The world would be navy blue and battleship gray if left up to men. The date was my request. Therefore, I chose the honor of paying. Unless you’re planning this to be the last date.”

Clearing my throat, I was speechless. I stood up and curtsied.

“By all means, my kind gentleman.” He rose and complimented me with a gentleman’s bow. I like it when a man doesn’t take himself too seriously and appreciates the little joys in life. Outside, a stiff wind blew. He gave me a look of apprehension. I asked, “Are you ready to change your mind? Perhaps afraid of the rain, getting wet and melting away like Frosty the Snowman? Or is it sugar? I forget.” He said to me he was more concerned about me. I replied, “I’m a big girl. I am not worried about a few water particles in the air.” He laughed and said, “I don’t want to be blamed for your sniffles later. Thus forcing me to bring you hot soup—not that I would mind.”

I laughed. “I think I’d make the house call bringing you hot soup and various other necessary prescriptions.” A tingle of intrigue rushed through my body from the warm grasp of his hand. I know this was our first date, but taking ahold of his hand felt so natural. We strolled along to the marina admiring the array of boats: large and small sails, medium and giant pleasure crafts to rich-man massive. Unexpectedly, a streak of lightning crackles across the sky, followed by a thunderous boom—the precursor to a torrential downfall. I shrieked in surprise—I was expecting more of a mist— as the chilly raindrops fell relentlessly from the clouds. I cried out, “No, this can’t be.” Though I was adept at running in my heels, I didn’t want to take any risk that would send me face-first to the ground. I pressed close to him, absorbing his warmth, and buried my head close.

We were soaked in a matter of seconds. So much for being the courageous girl... We made our way to the valet stand, looking like drenched pups crawling out of the dark. The young blonde whisked away the wet strands of hair dangling from underneath his hood. He hesitated before taking the ticket. “You know… we have umbrellas inside, right?” I smirked and replied, “Thanks, bud.” I felt like a chaotic mess, with my hair matted and damp.

My dress was heavy with water, clinging to my skin. If things couldn’t be any worse, sudden winds were so cold my nipples throbbed fully erect, and my teeth chattered like an old-fashioned telegraph machine. “Brilliant idea, Cynthya, daring a man to a walk in the chilling rain.”

As the black BMW glided forward like a majestic lion, its headlights cast a warm glow on the rain-slicked pavement. The patter of the raindrops against its polished exterior was like music to my ears, but it was the deep rumble of its engine that truly captivated me. It spoke of power, confidence, and sophistication. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched the young kid behind the wheel, his face beaming with pride as he revved the engine before stepping out of the car.

My amour, always the gentleman, handed the kid a generous tip before opening the passenger door for me. As I stepped inside, I was struck by the lavish leather seats, and I couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious about my own soaked appearance. But then I heard his soft voice, barely above a whisper, as he gestured for me to take a seat. “Please,” he said with a smile. As he closed the door behind me, I felt a warm and comforting sense of security, as though I was right where I belonged.

The engine purred as he rolled out of the parking lot. As soon as he turned on the heater, I let out a grateful sigh, appreciating the warmth that enveloped me. The heated seats were an added comfort, and I found myself relaxing into their embrace. Glancing over at him, I smiled, my expression silently conveying my thanks for his thoughtfulness. When he asked if I was okay with listening to some old-school music, I nodded eagerly, welcoming the nostalgic melodies that promised to fill the car.

With a flick of his thumb on the steering wheel, the radio panel came to life, and the smooth and sultry voice of Barry White filled the car. The song, Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, sent shivers down my spine. It was as if the music was made for this moment, this drive. As we glided down the road, the car’s movements were so fluid, so effortless. The heated seats provided a cozy and comforting embrace for my body, and the warm air enveloped me in a soothing embrace. I could feel myself slipping into a state of deep relaxation, and I knew it would be a struggle to stay awake for the rest of the long drive to Gina’s house. But for now, I was content to bask in the warmth of the moment, lost in the magic of the music and the company of the man beside me. The city lights blurred past us, twinkling like distant stars, as I found myself moving subtly to the rhythm of the song. My body relaxed to where I was falling asleep. My lips craved a loving kiss, but that would be too forward of me. “Thank you for the evening. I apologize for the downpour.”

He chuckled. “I’ll have to go shopping tomorrow.”

“For what?”

He smiled. “I don’t know… maybe I’ll get an umbrella and towels to keep in the trunk for random walks in torrential rains.” I mocked, “Not funny, mister. Besides, you triggered the thought of taking a moonlight stroll. I only accommodated you.” My mind was longing for him to take my hand. I tried to reach for him but stopped myself. Too soon. I didn’t want to give in to a moment I could later regret by violating my never-promises— Never-ever engage in sex on a first date. Never rush into a relationship.

Bruce Springsteen’s slow intro to Fire melted me away.

“Excellent selections,” I cooed, though they were songs I’d never really listened to. But I loved their titillating vibes. I had pegged him as a fan of various rap music genres, assuming his playlist would be a plethora of rap. However, it was the saxophone interlude in Maxi Priest’s The Art of Seduction that finally overcame my efforts to stay awake. The stimulating playlist won out, and as my eyes grew heavy, I drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Two

I awoke as the car slowly rolled to a stop in front of Gina’s house. Gina and I had established a rule: always return to one another’s home after a first date. This was for safety, to avoid any overly persistent suitors, and, most importantly, to share the juicy details of our evenings. Gratefully, I thanked him for a wonderful night but declined his offer to walk me to the door. I didn’t want him to leave the comfort of the car, feeling I had already made quite an impression on him that evening. Moreover, I wanted to sidestep an awkward, prolonged goodbye at the door. Given my long-standing lack of intimacy, even a simple kiss might lead to an unintended escalation of emotions, especially on Gina’s porch. So, I chose to spare myself the disappointment rather than him.

Usually, I’d be the one staying awake for Gina to arrive at my place. But tonight, it was her turn to eagerly wait for my stories. As she opened the door, her initial delight quickly turned to concern when she saw me shivering and drenched. “Why are you wet?” she asked, her mind racing with all the things that might have gone wrong. Before I could even respond, “What happened to you?” she demanded, ushering me inside swiftly. No sooner had she tucked me in than she was out the door in her boxers and midriff shirt, marching determinedly toward his car. It was as if she and the car were performing a coordinated dance; him reversing in a hurry and Gina, all five-foot-four of her, striding right up to his vehicle. My friend can be quite over-reactive, and that’s an understatement. It took a while to soothe her and calm her concerns. I mentioned that the situation was partly my own doing, as I had suggested—dared—going for a walk after dinner. This left her looking puzzled and slightly concerned, wondering about the choice to walk in such weather and at night. Sensing the need to change the topic and address my discomfort, I quickly excused myself, mentioning my desire for a hot shower.

“Oooh, one of those kinds of walks?” As I headed into the bathroom, I answered, “Not in the slightest.” Slamming the door and stripping off my killer dress that I had bought for tonight’s occasion, I turned on the shower, and the water burst from the spa showerhead. I stepped into the glass enclosure, appreciating the warm pulsating jets rolling down my naked, sex-starved body. I closed my eyes, remembering the last track played on the car’s radio, The Art of Seduction. Another curious hum briefly ignited my suspicious thoughts.

I glided my hands over my lathered body, biting my lower lip, trying to quell my desire to take self-indulgent liberty. My hand slid from breast to stomach, slowly touching my clit. Oh, God, I’m so horny the mere touch ignites my sensation. I tried to deter the temptation, moving away and washing my legs. But my lust beckoned me back to my pleasure zone, teasing, passing over my clit. I craved an orgasm but feared my scream of pleasure would reverberate through the walls. Then, just as I was about to engage my Gloria (our girls’ code for vagina), I was interrupted by a hard knock on the door. Gina asked if I was okay. “Hurry! I want to hear the wicked details about the date.”

I grabbed the shower handle, wrenching it to cold. I squealed from the shock, quickly extinguishing my internal wildfire. “Yes! I’m okay.” I had just stunned my body, going from hard-on arousal to dead-stop numbness in seconds.

Gina sat on the sofa with her legs crossed, sipping a glass of wine. A cup of tea was on the table for me. I sat at the opposite end. Her devious mind churned with curiosity as she asked, “Okay, so?” waiting for erotic details.

Playing naïve, I responded, “So? So what?”

“Come on, Cyn, you know what! Tell me what happened— why were you all messed up?”

I huffed, pretending I was about to reveal the sordid details of our evening. “Okay, I’ll tell you. But it’s not what you think.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” she countered.

I rolled my eyes at her rhetorical question.

I explained that we had arrived at the restaurant right before the sunset. The sun gave way to a splendid full moon. I dared him to brave the elements and take a walk with me. He changed his mind at the sight of the rain, the droplets cascading down like a light curtain. I persuaded him to take the risk. The sound of the rain crashing against the pavement was a surprise interruption to my plans.

Gina grumbled, “Girl, it was too cold to go walking at night.” I was too tired to keep up the charade of the lustful events that had taken place.

My self-denials of satisfaction had drained me. My body yearned for sleep. “I’m too tired to tell you the rest. Let’s save the rest for brunch with the girls tomorrow.”

After our sophomore year of college, instead of joining a sorority, the four of us, Gina, Courtnee, Lexi, and I made a pact to always honor each other and set aside Sundays for brunch at Salty’s on Alki. We all got tattoos of an adorable little mouse embracing a shamrock on our right ankles with all our names in a circle. The only excuse not to attend our meetings was death; not boyfriends, future husbands, or kid drama could prevent us from keeping this tradition, a tradition we’ve cherished even through our rigorous med school and residency. Gina snapped her fingers, jolting me back to reality – the reality that I was too exhausted to indulge her curiosity about my evening with Mr. Romantic. So, off to bed I went, leaving her craving the spicy details.

Want to keep reading?

Cyn, Gina, Lexi, and Courtnee are waiting at brunch.

Excerpt from Deception: Betrayed Hearts. © 2024 Terence L. Taylor. All rights reserved.