Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: Chapter 67

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day


Chapter 67

“Hey, darling—I found a new club—and it’s all about you!” It was a sunny Saturday morning, and the doors were open. I was organizing my desk drawers when Steve walked in with his newsflash.

“Babalou’s, on the corner of 45th and Meridian. Last night they had a great band playing R&B—everyone dancing, some people dressing. The spot is sharp; with big leather couches, crystal chandeliers—and girlfriend, it was packed with your favorite flavor—nothing but brothers and brothers and brothers!”

His timing couldn’t have been better. I had just found the receipt for Wouter’s watch, and tossed it in the trash. I needed a distraction, and I needed a new man. It had been four long weeks since Portland, and my last moment with Wouter. With no word and no warning, he’d never called again.

Today is my birthday and this is the face of fifty-six. New York City, August 2014

Today is my birthday, and this is the face of my fifty-six. New York City, August 2014

First I’d missed him like crazy, and I’d cried like a baby. But it didn’t take long before I hated his guts. Who were these bastards? What was so fucking difficult about picking up the phone to say, “Thanks, babe, but I’m done here?” I had spent a lot of effort learning to accept people for who they were; but this time I was raging; men like Andre and Wouter were just plain evil. Gratefully, I had Lamar, and Paul Sever, whom I’d started seeing that spring, plus the erect attention of my long distance lovers. Once again, I was fortified; I had the bachelor team to ease my trashed heart. But I also felt dumb. I knew he was capable of vaporizing, that was second date information, the night he ditched me at the Century Ballroom. I’d been smart to steer clear, and a fool to let him back in. I was misled by the magic; I thought he had changed. Had I learned nothing from the equally evil Toni Rey?

Steve’s report was good news: a new venue to explore. I had long retired from email dating, and was meeting men the conventional way, in public spaces. And lucky for me, wherever I went, I found black, single men. I could count on it like I could count on the sun rising each morning. I had become a lure for brothers. Out with my girlfriends for drinks, and the handsome brother in the house would snag my eye. If I were alone with the newspaper at the lunch café, the dapper man at the other table would target me with his white smile. If I were cocktailing with colleagues at the charity auction, the fit man with the finest footwear in the room made his way to my side. It happened everywhere and all the time.

On a trip to New York, even my mother witnessed this bounty of biracial attraction with silent wonder. “What is it about you?” she finally wanted to know. It was happy hour at Grand Central Station, and we were drinking champagne. Moments earlier she had witnessed yet another drive-by flirtation on our walk up the grand stairwell. I knew exactly what she wanted to know. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked.

“I’m a brother-magnet,” I answered, because that’s how I’d come to understand it.

“Oh my God, honey, it’s true!” She didn’t need to hear a word more. “You are a brother magnet!

Four years of persistence, and I had crafted a dynamic bachelor rhythm. I simultaneously dated three or four men, and I was always up for a new introduction. I had to be. The one thing I could count on was an inevitable vacancy. I wasn’t measuring my relationships by longevity, but by the quality of the time. There had been treasured short-timers, plus the enduring pleasure of men like Kyle and Lamar. I couldn’t believe how well it had worked out.

There had been significant sore spots, with vapor episodes, family backlash, and downright disenchantment. But even the love that had been stirred by Andre and Wouter hadn’t changed my view; I stood committed to my decision to cultivate multiple partners, because more than ever, I felt the bachelor title could contain the most authentic Vicki Marie.

I had retrained my female brain, believing that the highest satisfaction possible in life only occurred in the present tense. That didn’t mean I wasn’t affected by the fact that Wouter was gone, but I knew the ache of that loss was temporary, because I’d learned to de-emphasize past and future. Adios to the life-sapping rehashing of what had already played out. This change of view didn’t happen overnight. And just because I’d gotten good at it, didn’t mean I was even close to perfect. But living in the present had become the foundation from where I orchestrated dating decisions and expectations—juggling three men, or four men—there were times I had more. As complicated as that may sound, the fact was, by living in the moment, I had simplified my life. I had opened up more space for positive experiences, and the benefits were remarkable. I had continuous access to adventure and fulfillment.

I avoided thinking about a man when I was away from him, but when together, I aspired to be the most interesting and desirable woman in his world. Foreplay was a personalized event, and I became an architect of details. I made it my business to know a man’s business, and I would prep the evening with his made-to-order turn ons. The man liked Stella in an ice-frosty glass?—done. Did he mention he was a fan of old-school R&B?—just let me press play. A little Monday Night Football, with a steak on the side?—the grill is on fire. Red lace panties, the backless dress, mirrors on every wall?—I paid attention to what a man dug, and it was my pleasure to give him exactly what he wanted. A date with Vicki Marie was a walk into the Magic Kingdom, an adult Disneyland, where all dreams come true.

It was my job to get the man’s dick hard, but I raised the bar and aspired for more: I wanted a man to be aroused by the perfect blend of intellect spiced with sex, delivered in the savory package that could only be me. I used his favorite things to target his senses: sight, sound, smell and taste. My four-pronged assault was aimed to stimulate that mass between his ears with hedonistic sensation. That left the fifth sense. Touch was for me. I was banking on the payoff of a smartly designed seduction. Once primed and lit with fire, the burn that followed was mapped out to consume me.

TOMORROW: Chapter 68

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 Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell,, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.