TEARS OF DELACROIX - PART 3

I can't even begin to tell you what I was thinking when I wrote this. Then again, I probably could. But I won't. I'm sure it would only serve to get me in some trouble. Enjoy!

She sat on the side of the public pool, Lycra pretending to be a bathing suit stretched over her ample frame. Her thighs flapped thick like two sides of ham, breasts pushed up and out like large watermelons threatening to burst free and flap in the wind. Dark shades covered her eyes so no one would know who or what she was watching. But everybody knew. Aretha lusted after them teenage boys with their very manly bodies who played ball in the water at the other end. She’d sigh with much appreciation whenever one or more of them would race from one end to the other, hormones raging in bikini bottoms that nicely outlined candy Aretha longed to taste. Smooth flesh in shades of midnight, chocolate, burnt sienna, toast and honey caused Aretha to breathe heavily with wanting.

Aretha heaved a heavy sigh, air rising from deep in her midsection and swelling through her ample chest before blowing hotly past her full lips. Closing her eyes she shook her head, shaking the clouds of fantasy that threatened to consume her attention. She sat alone today, no sister by her side. It felt unnatural to her, Aretha thought as she twisted against the vinyl lounge chair, the plastic leather sticking to the flesh along the back of her legs and across her shoulders.

On any other day, Roberta would usually be with her, but sister and her boy toy had left early that morning, boarding American flight #267, non-stop to John F. Kennedy Airport. Aretha smiled. Her sister had gotten sure ‘nuff lucky with Butch Williams. Nine years younger than Roberta, Butch Williams was one nicely packaged man. Glossy skin the color of salt water toffee lay tightly over muscles that rippled into tense bulges. Aretha had salivated with envy the first time Roberta had taken her to watch Butch lift weights. He’d lifted the metal barbells as though they were metal Q-Tips being tossed upwards into the air. His tight shorts had penciled the outline of his manhood with bold, even strokes and Aretha had wanted some of what her sister had. Not all of it, but just a little taste. She’d even been so bold as to try to tempt Butch with some of her own honey, but Butch had taken no notice and Roberta had soon called her on her game, putting her squarely in her place.

Aretha sighed again, reaching to pull her bathing suit out of her posterior cavity, the material starting to rise up into her crack. On the other side of the pool, a thin woman, waved frantically in her direction, calling out her name.

“Hey there, Aretha!”

Aretha flipped a weak hand back. “Hey there, Tina.”

“You comin’ to class today?”

Aretha shrugged, wanting to tell the petite blond to go drown herself. Instead she lifted herself from where she sat, dropping her shades into the beach bag by her side.

“I’m comin’, Tina.”

Tina Phelps was the water aerobics instructor for the local health club. She’d made the two Moten sisters her mission and anxiously sought them out every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for her ten-thirty class. She was glad to see at least one of them on any given morning.

Aretha threw her body into the pool with a large splash, quickly immersing herself beneath the icy water. “Hot damn,” she cursed, swimming over towards Tina. “When you people gone put some heat in this damn water?”

Tina laughed. “You know it’s only cold for the first few minutes. I’ll have you sweatin’ up a storm before you know it.”

Aretha grunted, rolling her eyes.

“Where’s your sister today?”

Aretha shrugged, rolling her eyes again. “Didn’t put no leash on her this morning. She could probably be anywhere by now.”

Tina chuckled as the familiar faces that made up her morning class dropped into the water to join them.

Aretha smiled and nodded her hellos as each of them greeted her. Irene Hill was the only one who didn’t have anything to say to her, not even bothering to look in her direction. Irene knew better, Aretha mused, the thought crossing her mind just as it did each time she was in Irene’s company. It wasn’t Aretha’s fault that Irene’s husband had chased her those many years ago. Aretha had just let herself be caught and when it hadn’t been worth her energy, she’d let him go, hard. Irene still burned hot with spite.

Aretha could have understood if the man had possessed something worth Irene being hot over, but what he had to offer didn’t amount to more than a bland frankfurter with no bun. Two bites and you were done with it, the taste not even lingering against your tongue. Aretha liked a man who came with the works: chili, spice, onion, and slaw. A man who left you wishing you had ordered just one more of him with a side of fries and a thick milkshake. What Irene needed was to slip out and get herself a real meal instead of settling for that snack she was married to. Aretha laughed softly as she propelled herself through the water behind Tina. Yes, yes, yes, she thought to herself, glancing toward the boys at the other end of the pool. There was nothing like a full meal to satisfy a girl’s appetite.

Excerpted from The Tears of Delacroix - All rights reserved © Deborah Fletcher Mello