TO CATCH A CHARLEY - Excerpt

Slowly she licked up the back of her shapely calves, with her mind’s tongue. “Damn…I need a woman like that to come home to every night…again”. While leaning up against her moist pale white window pane, smoldering visions excitedly moaned, and provoked earth shattering vibrations deep between her inner thighs. She watched as the beauty lengthily walk up the grey wet concrete steps, and disappear from sight into the shadows of the brownstone across from hers.

Breathlessly she sighed and hopelessly sank drenching her large melancholy frame from the moisture beading upon her pale white window pane. The glass was cold to her forehead but her mind and body were combusting into flames of raw passion. Her sighs spewed forth hot foggy circular clouds of wetness, into which she took her index finger, and carved warm sweaty capital C’s. she looked deep into the dripping letters, extracted her pink tongue, closed her eyes, and hungrily licked up and down the cold glass, replacing the letter C’s with sections of dampness. Long, penetrating gazes inside the manmade hearts, snatched her back into the realm of the first time she met…Charley, and the fateful events which led to stalking, lust, love, betrayal and prison.


Three years ago…

The noise of the warm city streets, hushed for an instant allowing the blare of pushy ambulances, boisterous police sirens, and the thunderous blather of large back pack hauling kids loudly laughing playing tag between the exposed gaps of the passerby’s. Moms strategically maneuvered their shielded bundles of joy while loudly chatting on cell phones. Famish men scouting their next prey, all the while heroically holding up weak concrete walls with their backs. Small uneasy dogs on tight leashes intensely focused while frantically dodging between swiftly swinging briefcases, quick traveling legs, and fast approaching carriages.

On the corner perched a mature crimson brick brownstone. Her numbers of years on the block, are ratted out by the condition of her worn down steps, and settled window frames. Her dilapidated, grimy, washed out inside curtains give way to sagas of families upon families who have dwelled deep inside her. Long crack lines display the stress she endured due to the relentless ball playing upon her back by neighborhood brats, as well as the insensitivity, and disrespect dished out by their ghetto infused parents. In spite of it all, she proudly carries statuesque. Her self respect is renewed by the unknowing tourists who visit her neighborhood, and graciously stare in awe as their imagination allows them to visualize the beauty she once possessed. As they smile and move on, all the while looking back at her, she is once again vindicated, giving her strength to carry on despite the cruel adversities of time.

A rather large framed woman occupies her top three windows. She has lived there only a short time, but has lived in this town all her life. She lives alone and never has company. Quiet when she’s there, respectful, works diligently, and comes home late at night during the week. Her neighbors whisper about her, because of her antisocial characteristics, or so they think. However, our magnificently curvaceous JeQuayne never did like to tell her business to anyone, has no friends with whom to discuss them, and she likes it that way.


JeQuayne spends her free time searching for lovers. You read right, I said lover(S). At one point it was a scheme limited to one woman a week. But the gratitude sex was so fulfilling, and her pangs for their lust became so unbearable, she had to double, and then triple her bounty. The five finger shopping wasn’t as gratifying, as the way the women would all openly and earnestly thank her in their own very special way. She was good at her game, but their deep down, heart felt, appreciatively branched legs were better. It wasn’t a wonder she was able to capture them the way she did. She had devised a method of obtaining them the likes of which very few had ever witnessed before. Not saying she was the only one privy to this method…just the only one truly satisfied at the end of the ride.

She gets up every Saturday morning, handles her hygiene business, dresses unobtrusively, and exits before the building stirs. She takes a cab to the Hopencharm Mall, takes the elevator to the Women’s clothing floor, and sits on one of the benches. One by one, the stores slowly crack their eyelids, awaken, and open their doors for business. But before they do there is always a crowd of women milling around waiting to be the first to get at the sale items.

Upon finding the next Mrs. JeQuayne, she follows her into the store, waits to see if she can spot their wallet, and then swipes it. They always make it all too easy. She goes home and looks the wallet over. Photos of new lovers, some male, some female, of old girlfriends, old boyfriends, sometimes of children, sometimes pets, driver’s license, cash, and BINGO! CREDIT CARDS!!