Memories of A Mortician Part 6 Birth in Death Washed Ashore
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A couple of weeks after Lauren left for good, our company was acquired by another company, a company based in England. The next few months after that were filled with travel back and forth across the Atlantic. I guess it was good to be so busy, so I wouldn't have much time to think about Lauren. Because when I did think about her the tears would come, and I'd have to make excuses to be by myself for a while.
I couldn't get the picture out of my head, not that I wanted to, mind you, of the scene in the training room as Lauren was leaving: the puddle on the table, the smell of sex in the air, the stains on the fronts of our pants from our leaking fluids, how beautiful she looked after just having made love. I had wanted to tell her I couldn't live without her. That if she would only stay I'd worship her and devote the rest of my life to her happiness. But she had her mind made up, and she was gone. I knew it would take a long time to get over her, if ever I could. And at that moment months later, I was as in love with her as I had ever been -- maybe more.
Six months after the acquisition our parent company opened a new office in Houston. And over the next few months after that I helped get the new office set up. I knew Lauren was in Houston somewhere, and I fought the strong desire to look for her, to try to find her and see if we could have a life together. But as much as I wanted to I couldn't do it. Lauren had chosen to stay with her husband, and that was that. I kept rationalizing that I had to let her have the life she had chosen for herself, and that life didn't include me.
Houston is a great town for food. There are so many cuisines to enjoy: Mexican, Tex-Mex, Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai, Lebanese, and of course, good old Texas barbecue. And during the months I was in Houston I made it a point to eat as much of that great food as possible, sampling all the assortment of ethnic varieties.
My favorite restaurant was a Chinese place named Yao's. It takes its name from the owner, a basketball player for the Houston Rockets, Yao Ming. I liked to go there at least once a week. I'd either go with people from the office, or just go by myself. All the food there was great, but I almost always opted for the combination fried rice. I'd eat part of it there, then take the rest home and eat it for breakfast.
One night after working late I decided I needed another dose of Yao's fried rice. Several other people were also working late. I asked if any of them wanted to go with me. Only Jasmine Franklin was up for it.
"Yes. I'd really like that. Thanks for asking. Let me get my stuff and I'll be right back."
I watched Jasmine's sumptuous ass as she walked away.
"What a butt," I thought to myself. For a moment a vision of her naked ass popped into my head. I could feel a familiar reaction that I hadn't experienced in quite a long time when my penis thickened a little.
Jasmine is a young black woman, born and raised in Houston. She's very smart, as well as very pretty with a killer smile. And she wore her perfume in just the right amount. I hate it when some women wear perfume so thick that you can still smell it long after they've left the room. In Jasmine's case I couldn't detect anything until she was standing right next to me.
"OK, I'm ready." Jasmine had come back, carrying her purse and also sporting that deadly smile of hers.
"Thanks for asking me to come to eat with you," she said again as we rode the elevator down to the parking level. "I love the food at Yao's."
"Yeah, me too. I'm glad you could come with me. The thought of eating by myself again just didn't seem appealing."
"You often eat by yourself?"
"Pretty much. I work so late most nights there's no one around to ask."
"You're almost always here when I leave. And almost always here when I come back the next morning. It's like you never leave. Do you ever go home?"
"Yes, I actually do go home. I stop to eat somewhere before I go home. Then all I do is wash up and go to sleep. Pretty boring."
"I can drive if you want," Jasmine asked when we arrived near where our cars were parked.
"I'm the one who asked, you. It would be rude if I allowed you to drive."
"And a gentleman, too," she smiled sweetly as she said it.
I opened her door for her, then went around and got behind the wheel.
"Who says chivalry is dead," Jasmine remarked as we hit the street and headed for Yao's. "I mean, my last boyfriend never did that for me. What a jerk. Even though men and women were created equal, I still think it's a nice touch when a guy holds the door for a woman."
"I think so, too. It's not that I'm living in the past or long for the old days. I just think it's nice to be polite. Besides, it all comes back to you eventually. You know, what goes around comes around, or something like that."
Jasmine threw back her lovely head and laughed freely. It was a marvelous thing to see.
"No, silly. It's what comes around, goes around."
"Oh, I had it backwards?" I started laughing along with her.
"That part you did. The rest of it looks pretty straight up to me, though."
I wondered what she meant when she said that. And when I looked over at her to see her reaction I thought I saw a look I hadn't seen in a long time.
"Was she coming on to me?" I thought to myself.
I parked the car and we walked to the restaurant. Maybe I was imagining it, but something had changed in Jasmine. She seemed to walk closer to me. And then she brushed up against me as we went through the front door. And as we were shown to our table she leaned into me a little.
I held her chair for her. She looked at me and smiled sweetly as she sat down, mouthing rather than saying audibly "thank you."
Dinner was delicious as it always is at Yao's. We talked about almost everything: our jobs, our lives, although nothing too private. Jasmine was a wonderful and engaging conversationalist and I found myself really enjoying her company. I realized as we were getting up to leave that I hadn't thought of Lauren once.
I went around the table to pull her chair back as she got up, and as we turned to head for the door she reached down and put her hand in mine. Her palm was warm and soft and she interlaced her fingers with mine. And as we walked to the car she put her other hand on my arm, only letting go when we got to the car. Of course, I opened her door for her.
"I don't want to go home yet," Jasmine said as I drove to the parking lot exit. "Let's drive around a little. Do you mind?"
"No, not at all. Do you have any place in mind?"
"No, not really. All I know is that I'm not ready yet for the night to be over."
I thought I heard something in her voice, similar to the look I thought I saw on her face earlier.
I don't know where we were going. I just drove, taking streets that looked quiet and dark. Jasmine leaned back in her seat and let out a sigh of contentment. Her chest and breasts rising and then falling.
"This is so great, Carlos. Thanks for such a lovely dinner. You really know how to treat a girl."
"You're welcome, Jasmine. It's been my pleasure. You're easy to be nice to. I've really enjoyed your company. Well, I still am enjoying your company."
"Take me home. She said suddenly."
"I think I should take you to your car first. Shouldn't I?"
"Not my home. Your home."
"Huh?" I tried not to look too stunned.
"I want to see where you live. I want to spend the night with you. I want to wake up with you."
"I don't know what to say, Jasmine. I'm speechless."
"Say OK. And please call me Jazz."
"Jazz. That's nice."
She looked at me quizzically.
"OK." I added quickly.
She smiled sweetly again, and moved over to lean against me, taking my hand in hers.
I don't remember much of the drive to my place, what streets I must have taken or how long it took to get there. But suddenly there we were in front of my apartment complex.
Wordlessly I opened the door for her and we walked up the stairs to my second floor flat, arms around each other. I barely got the door open and closed before she pulled me around to face her. The look in her eyes announced where this was all headed.
Her lips were instantly on mine. And all four parted to let two tongues dance and play. I had never kissed a woman of color before, and her lips were almost prehensile, moving in ways I never thought possible.
My penis had grown to gigantic proportions, and I was pressing it against her pelvic mound, grinding it against her as she ground against me.
Our clothes were off and on the floor as if by magic. Our naked bodies came together and we both looked down to marvel at the difference in our colors. Yin and yang. Salt and pepper. Different, but a perfect fit. Like they were meant to be together.
She pulled me into the bedroom and we fell onto the bed, her coarse but curiously soft pubic hair smashing my penis between us. We kissed for a moment more, but I knew I had to have her vagina and its glorious juice all over my face.
I kissed and licked my way down her chest, biting and tonguing her nipples playfully before taking them each in turn into my mouth. Jazz thrust her chest up in response. I licked down her stomach and poked my tongue into her navel, causing her to giggle.
I could feel a small trail of tiny hairs with my tongue, extending from her navel down to her pubic thatch, and I buried my face in it, luxuriating in its exotic musky scent. She let out a gasp of pleasure, perhaps sensing what was to come.
I could feel the cleft of her slit with my nose, the scent getting stronger and more sexually intense. Then I encountered wetness and inhaled deeply before tentatively tasting her with my tongue.
I don't know how to describe her flavor. It was wild and exotic. Maybe it was taste you get only from a black woman. Or maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me because this was the first time I'd ever had a black woman's pussy juice on my lips and tongue.
Jazz writhed beneath me as I pushed my tongue down her labia and inserted it into her hole. I greedily lapped her juices, slurping and sucking until I had her worked up into a frenzy. Then I found the button of her clitoris.
I licked around her nub, heightening her pleasure, yet denying her what she really wanted. And when I had tortured her enough, I centered my attention on the hardened center of her womanhood. It didn't take too many flicks of the tongue to push her over the edge.
Jazz was a screamer, and scream she did. Her entire body seemed to fill with air, and it all came out in a lengthy wail, deflating her like a balloon. Then filling again to start the process all over. And along with her vocalizations came a massive stream of fluid from her pulsing vagina. When she filled her lungs with air again, the fluids stopped. Then started back up as she wailed again. Finally her body went limp, and she panted, her chest heaving up and down.
I felt her hands on the side of my head, pulling me up to her face. Our lips met again and we kissed hungrily, smearing her juices all over our lips and cheeks. My penis was impossibly hard and I felt her hand between us to guide me into her. I slipped into her well-lubricated depths easily.
It wasn't going to take long to get to the point of no return. Her pussy was so hot, wet, and smooth. Jazz wrapped her legs around my back, forcing me into a position for greatest clitoral contact with my pubis. I could feel her working up to another climax, and I wanted to climax with her. I wanted to feel with my penis what I had felt with my face and tongue a few minutes before.
"Oh god, Jazz. I can't hold back any more. I'm gonna come."
"Me, too. Come in me, baby," she gasped.
She clenched her teeth and I could feel her body tighten and her chest fill with air. My brain hazed over as the orgasm began to posses me. It seemed to start at my toes and work its way up my body. Then it all came out in a huge rush.
"Jazz, oh Jazz, oh Jazz," I cried as I emptied myself into her and she began to wail again. Stream after stream jetted out of me into her slickness, mingling with the rush of her own fluids. It seemed the flow would never stop for either of us.
But it did. And I collapsed on top of her, heaving with exhaustion. We kissed again and again, not able to get enough of each other. I pumped in and out of her a few more times, marveling at how much fluid came out of both of us, until finally my spent penis had softened completely and slipped out of her.
Rolling off of her I settled down next to her, our sides pressed together.
"Oh my god, Jazz. That was so fantastic. You have such a perfect body. We fit so well together."
"I was thinking the same thing myself. Where did you learn to eat pussy like that?"
For the first time that night, visions of Lauren passed through my mind. She had asked me that same question.
"I'll never tell," I joked.
"Well, wherever you learned it, don't you dare forget it," she said with a giggle.
"Forget what?" Jazz slapped me playfully.
Jazz got her wish. She spent the night with me, and woke up next to me in the morning, and I woke next to her, naked and sticky with our dried sex fluids from the night before. And the next night and morning. And the next one after that. And the next. And the next. And the next.
Each night, and sometimes again in the morning we made slippery, wailing love, kissing and licking each other everywhere, fluids all over us. And those prehensile lips of hers worked their magic on my penis, sucking such streams of sperm from me I didn't know I was capable of shooting.
While I hadn't forgotten about Lauren, she no longer occupied my thoughts so front and center like she used to do. I had fallen completely for Jazz. And she for me. We were in love.
One night when we were making love, I was on top of her thrusting in and out. Our arms were extended straight out over our heads. Our fingers were interlaced and we were looking passionately into each others' eyes. I could feel our passion building to its peak, about to be pushed over the edge in the next few seconds.
"I love you, Jazz," I whispered, meaning every word of it more than I had meant anything I had ever said before in my life.
"I love you, too, baby," she whispered back. "Marry me." She had a pleading look in her eyes. I must have looked surprised to her.
"Our baby is going to need a daddy."
"Yes, Jazz. Yes, I'll marry you."
As we came together tears fell from our eyes.
I almost couldn't believe it. I was getting married! And to the most beautiful woman who ever lived. The fact that she was black and I was white never factored into our thinking. But it did her family. At least to one of them.
When Jazz introduced me to her mother and father for the first time I thought they'd either die on the spot or kill me.
"Mommy, I'd like you to meet Carlos, my boyfriend," Jazz said hesitantly when she noticed the look on her parents' faces. "Carlos, this is my mother, Claire."
Claire gave me a curious look before holding out her hand tentatively.
"You don't look like a Carlos," she said as our hands met. It was firm and soft, just like Jazz's.
"I'm not Hispanic at all. When I was born my parents' best friends were Mexican-Americans, the Rivas'. And they named me in honor of Carlos Rivas. I used to play with Johnny Rivas, and Carlos was his father.
"What would have happened if you had been a girl?" Claire asked. I thought I saw the beginnings of a smile forming on her pretty and smooth face. Maybe she was playing with me.
"I guess I would have been named after Mrs. Rivas. Her name was Louisa."
"That's a nice name. Too bad you weren't a girl."
"Mommy!" Jazz warned, but giggling, too.
"I'm very pleased to meet you. May I call you Claire?"
"Yes, I'd like that." I realized I was still holding her hand.
"Carlos," Jazz interrupted. "This is my father Joseph. Daddy, this is Carlos."
"So I've heard," Joseph said, grabbing and smothering my hand in his huge vice of a grip. Even today so many years later I can still feel the pain of that first handshake from Jazz's father.
"You can call me Joseph," he said, with a solemn look. "But if you ever call me Joe..."
He let this trail off, clenching his other hand in a fist and holding it up. I think he meant it, but Jazz intervened.
"Daddy!" She turned to me. "Don't mind Daddy, baby. He might look and act tough, but he's really like a big teddy bear."
Joseph threw his head back and let out a big roar, obviously pleased that his tough guy act had hit the mark.
We went inside and Claire showed us to the kitchen where we sat at the island bar in the middle of the room.
"Would you like something to drink, Carlos? I can offer you unsweetened tea, or something stronger if you like."
"Some unsweetened tea would be very nice. Thank you."
"That's good, because we don't keep sugar or any sweeteners in the house."
"Mommy and Daddy really watch what they eat. No sugar or candy, everything low fat, low sodium, the works. That's why they both look so good."
"That they do. Now I can see where Jazz gets her good looks and healthy shape and lifestyle."
"You better not tell me I look like her sister, Carlos. I'll pop you one good," Claire said, although I could tell she was playing with me again.
"Well, now that you mention it..." I smiled and pretended to duck, holding my arms up in feigned self-defense.
Claire laughed as she headed to the refrigerator to get the tea pitcher.
"Mommy, where's my..." A young man had burst into the room, clearly taken aback by seeing someone he didn't know.
"Neil, I'd like you to meet Carlos, my boyfriend."
"Your boyfriend? I didn't know you knew any boys. And he doesn't look like any boy to me, anyway."
I could tell there was a long history of sibling rivalry between Jazz and Neil. Maybe they actually fought now and then. But the ribbing Neil was giving her was certainly done in fun.
"Oh, Neil. When are you going to accept the fact that I'm all grown up now and actually have a life of my own. And yes, I know plenty of boys -- and men -- but I'm interested only in this one."
"Hi," I said, holding out my hand. Like his father, Neil was sizeable, his grip like a vise. But not a trace of fat anywhere. Just big rippling muscles.
"I'm pleased to meet you," Neil said with a smile, putting the death grip on my poor hand, already in pain from Joseph's damaging handshake.
"Mommy," he turned towards Claire. "Have you seen my tennis shoes?"
"They're right where you always leave them. And I'm long past done telling you, or picking up after your messes."
But I could tell Claire was giving him a good-natured hard time. This was a solid, well-adjusted family in which everyone got along and was comfortable with who they were. No problems in this household, at least not now. Jazz and Neil had been raised right, by parents who cared and provided a good home.
"Carlos. You will stay for supper, won't you?"
I saw Jazz nod hopefully out of the corner of my eye.
"I'd be delighted, Claire. Thank you for asking."
"It's not going to be a free supper. You'll have to earn it."
I'm sure I looked like a stunned deer. They all started laughing.
"You sure got him going on that one, honey," Joseph laughed.
"Oh, Mommy," Jazz shook her head.
I did help with the dinner preparations, setting the table and carrying the dishes in as Claire finished making them. And it was a fantastic meal, too. How she made all that delicious soul food with only minimal fats and oils I'll never know. I promised I'd get the recipes from her so I could make all the food Jazz loved whenever we got married and started making a home together.
"Carlos, I hope you don't mind me asking," Joseph began to speak after dinner was finished. I had prepared myself for some hard and maybe embarrassing questions. After all not only was I white, but quite a bit older than Jazz, too. I hoped that wouldn't make a difference, but was prepared for if they raised some objections. "But I can't help noticing the way you act toward my little girl.
"You opened the car door for her. You held her chair for her. I see the both of you looking at each other from across the room. And I saw you sneak a kiss in the hallway just before we all sat down for dinner. So I have to ask. What are your intentions with my little girl?"
I had prepared myself for the race and age questions, but this had never entered my mind. Everyone at the table was looking at me. I was clearly in the glare of Joseph's spotlight. Jazz grabbed my hand under the tablecloth.
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