The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception (2 page)

The setting sun streaks hazy rays through the eighteenth century gothic windows. She is a voluptuous silhouette. Chase glances. Her doe shaped, forest hazel eyes smile towards the smartly dressed instructor. He ignores her and returns to packing. She saunters like a model on a catwalk. A thin, white tipped, french manicured fingernail crawls down the taut crease of her chest.
POP
, goes the second button of her blouse. The curved crests of her soft cleavage absorb the warm glow of the room. She steps onto the final landing and pauses a mere two feet from the professor. There is no acknowledgement of her presence. She places a hand on her hip and huffs. Chase still pays her no mind. She screws her bottom lip and drops her bag on his table with a clunk.

"Professor Archibald,” she bellows.

"Ms. Dixon," he says without raising his brow.

She circles behind the table and cozies next to him.

“So, today’s lecture was about Poe’s,
The Tell Tale Heart
. But I have a question. What about the heart that tells tales?” She inches her bosom over his paperwork.

“If you have a question you know my office hours are Tuesday afternoons, Ms. Dixon. That was in the syllabus on day one."

She wedges her body between his waist and the table. The essence of citrus and patchouli, snake from her bare neck into his nostrils. The aroma wraps its fingers around his cheeks and guides his face towards hers. His respiration kickstarts.

“Well, I'm not waiting until next week for an answer Professor Archibald." She slides her ginger hued fingers inside the crease of his vest. She squeezes his petrified pecs. He gulps.

“Look, we discussed your impetuousness before Ms. Dixon.” Chase squirms and peers down at her invasive palm.

Ms. Dixon burns a stare into his dark brown eyes. Her irises seduce his pupils. She smoothes her hands across his chest, around his shoulders and down his arms. She wraps her palms around his wrists like handcuffs and pushes her soft midriff into the ridges of his abdomen. He’s trapped.

“Um, um, Ms. Dixon this is…this is not proper behavior.”

He coils away from her.

"Get back here,” she whispers and strokes his goatee.

“Uh, listen Ms. Dixon. This behavior of yours. You can’t—mmm“.

Mmph.
She smashes her moist mouth on his, like a biscuit sopping gravy. Her tongue slips and slaps inside his cheeks like Cuban palms on congas. His strapping chest surges into her doughy c-cups. He grabs her ample posterior and lifts her up on the table. A long and meaty finger pokes under the front clasp of her bra strap. It unsnaps. His fingers ski up her firm hills and squeeze the ripeness. They plunge into the juicy pools of each other’s mouths, swim with their tongues and come up for air—briefly. They dive again.

“Ooh…you’re being very…um…mmm….oh…so…mmph…mmmhmm…so…inappropriate…Ms. Dixon."

"So why don't you
appropriate
me, professor?”

Chase takes her question as a command. He is an ocean wave crashing to shore. Heavy breaths shoot in and out of their nostrils like snorting cattle. He clutches her throat and unlocks her jaw—with his mouth. Her moans echo in the silence of the cavernous hall. She bops off of the table, pushes her body into Chase and pins him to the podium. She raises her knee to his hip. The hem of her skirt reveals a lavender and pearl lace panty. He buries his fingers into the expansive thickness of her rump and hoists her in the air so she straddles him. His brawny biceps brace her with ease as her heels dangle at his knees. She slings her arms around his neck; they hop like sticky frogs back to the table.

“Am I still being inappropriate professor?” she whispers in his ear as they bounce, bounce, bounce.

“
Very
inappropriate,” he says and splays her on the folding table. Ms. Dixon unbuckles the tight belt of his wool trousers. He hovers above, sandwiched between, her exposed purple panties. He presses his firm—

“A-a-ahem,” gargles a throat at the top of the stairs.

Chase pops up; he freezes like a prairie dog. His mouth drops in horror as he sees who’s leering down at him.

“D-D-Dean Ganges," he says.

Brooklyn University Dean and Chair of the English Department, Dr. Octavia Ganges glares down from the highest row. And as she does so, the folding table shakes and trembles. The sound of slow and steady creaking follows…
CREA-CREA-CREACK…BOOM
.

The table collapses to the floor under their weight. Ms. Dixon’s arms and legs flail in the air like an overturned beetle. Chase's satchel spills its contents. His laptop, earphones, smart tablet, Edgar Allan Poe books, student essays, and files litter the floor. The two of them scurry like rodents. As she attempts to stand, Ms. Dixon’s toe catches Chase between his legs. “Arrgh,” he grabs the swollen arc of his loins and tumbles back to the floor in pain. Ms. Dixon winces and whispers a silent,
Oops
. Chase is a sight to see. His necktie is loose, shirt buttons are popped, belt buckle is dangling, and his gums are flapping as he struggles to explain himself to his boss.

“Um, uh, see, I, er, uh, what we um.”

Chase stammers to his feet, hurries to buckle his trousers and tuck in his shirt. Dean Ganges folds her arms and strokes her chin as if she had the whiskers of a Shaolin kung-fu monk.

"Would you like a paper towel for that sloppy mouth as well Professor Archibald?" she says.

“Sloppy mouth? Huh?” Chase wipes his mouth. “Um, yes, I mean no," he says.

"Well which is it? Yes? No? No? Yes?” she says, as she bobs and weaves like Muhammad Ali.

Ms. Dixon rises, fastens her lavender and lace bra, and calmly buttons her blouse.

Dean Ganges trots down the steps and halts in front of Chase. Her stubby, four foot, eleven inch frame, is as elegant as it is authoritative. She dons an amber J. Crew pant suit with forest brown cuffs and trim. Her luscious, rich chocolate skin has a smooth,
black don’t crack,
flawlessness. She appears twenty years younger than her sixty-three birthdays should indicate. Her dimpled, globe-like cheeks showcase a powder white smile. She has the kind of smile that can be deceptive. It can be fireplace warm or ice queen mean—at the same time. Which is she giving Chase now? She doesn’t let on.

"Nothing to say Professor?" she says.

“I-I-I," he stutters.

“My, my, my he sure is squirming isn't he Ms. Dixon?"

“Well, I heard you can have that effect on men, Octavia.”

“Girl you ain’t never lie,” Dean Ganges replies. The two women rock back, grab their bellies in laughter and wrap each other in a familiar embrace.

“Girl, it’s been months since I’ve seen you. So tell me Ms. Attorney Jenae Dixon, how have you been?" Dean Ganges says.

“I’ve been good Octavia. How’s English department life going?" Jenae asks.

"Not bad. Just dealing with the occasional bratty student or some frisky, six foot something professor…with his fly still open.” She cuts her eyes toward Chase’s trousers. He turns and zips up.

"What brings you by today?" Dean Ganges asks Jenae.

"One of my clients had a personality issue with his probation officer. I was able to free up some time to have a nice little chat with him about New York penal code law and department regulations regarding ex-offenders. My meeting was on Nostrand and Flatbush. So since I was in the neighborhood…”

"So since you were in the neighborhood you decided to drop in on tricky dicky over here,” Dean Ganges says.

Jenae laughs. “Octavia you’re a mess. It’s just that Chase and I have been so busy. We hardly see each other during the week. And this past summer was hectic for both of us. He taught classes, I was back and forth to D.C. working on three major cases. And now with the start of this fall semester, Chase is teaching four courses, doubled office hours, treats the gym like a job he just
must
go to, and he mentors at the group home. So I thought I'd surprise my handsome, professor boyfriend by slipping in the back and catching the remainder of his lecture.”

Jenae strokes Chase’s cheeks.

Chase clears his throat.

"Dean Ganges I must apolog—“

Dean Ganges raises her palm like a stop sign.

“Chase, it's okay. Jenae is quite the temptress. Especially in that incredible, courtroom winning
en-sem-blay
. Girl I need that outfit. But only if they make it in petite but sweet, thick, divalicious? ‘Cause you know these hips bring the all the boys to the yard, girl.” She slides her gem studded fingers across her curvy hips and does a twirl.

“Octavia, I can't with you. I just can’t,” Jenae chuckles. "But listen, I do need to get going. I have a couple of errands to run and I have to stop at
Junior’s
on my way home. You know a sister been fiending for some
Junior’s
cheesecake all day long.”

“I hear that. But looks to me like you already had some beefcake,” Dean Ganges says.

“Octavia stop. I just can’t with you. You’re too much. Let me get out of here. It was so good seeing you again."

"And so good seeing you too, sweetheart,” she says.

Jenae bends down to kiss Dean Ganges’ cheek.

”Wait, actually, you know what? Let me walk out with you," the Dean says.

Jenae places her hand on Chase's chest. She tilts her chin up and gives him a peck.

"I'll text you later babe,” she says. The two women walk up the carpeted steps. As they reach the exit door Chase shouts up.

“But wait, Dean Ganges. Did you stop by to talk to me about something?"

“Oh, it can wait until after next week's department meeting,” she says.
Chase, still feeling somewhat embarrassed says, "Are-are you sure Dean? I mean we can—“

“No, it's fine lover boy. Next week, next week," she says flipping her hand as if she were shooing a fly. The two women exit arm-in-arm. As the wooden door shuts behind them, Chase hears them burst into a roaring cackle.

He bends on one knee and starts to gather the papers and books strewn about the floor. He mumbles to himself:
stupid, that was so reckless,
and shakes his head with a frown. As he stuffs the final items from the floor into his bag, the door creaks back open.

“Oh, Chase one more thing?” Dean Ganges says with her head poking through the door.

“Yes, of course Dean,” Chase replies.

"Next time? Save your little kinky adventures for your office. Preferably with the door locked. Or better yet, save it for that beautiful brownstone of yours, okay?” She raises one eyebrow like Mr. Spock from
Star Trek
and then exits catching up to Jenae in the hallway.

Chase can hear their heels click-clack down the corridor. They giggle like schoolgirls. He tightens his necktie, smoothes the wrinkles of his vest, and grabs the tan cloth handle of his leather bag. Before leaving, he feels inside his front pocket to make sure he has the thin plastic MetroCard for the subway; he jogs up the lecture hall steps. As he presses the handle to leave, he looks down at the folding table that he and Jenae collapsed. He grins.
Yeah. It was reckless…anyone could have walked in…but damn that was hot.
He drops his bag, kneels to remove his cellphone from the side pocket, and composes a quick text to Jenae:

CHASE

Babe. No need for you to make an extra stop at Juniors. Headed there now for you. Come to my place tonight if you want it. The cheesecake that is :)

#beefcaketoo #heehee

He smiles, taps send, and heads downtown to pick up a special dessert for two.



O
pen flaps on the cherrywood windows usher light into the master bedroom. A delicate wind slips between the shutters of the high arched windows. The crisp autumn breeze wisps over the three melted soy candles that are perched atop the antique birch dresser. Below the handmade Ghanaian bookshelf is a thin trail of grey ash that has flecked off of the incense holder. A faint aroma of Nag Champa, and midnight copulation, lingers in the air like the limbs of drunk lovers. Lovers whose alcohol was, and still is, the liquor of love.

Jenae slumbers on the black silk sheets. Wind and sun caress her golden nakedness. Last night’s covers were a nuisance. The street sounds of bike pedals and pedestrians, potholes and patent leather shoes are drowned out by the shower in the master bath. Hot steam ekes from above the cracked door; two metallic squeaks silence the
SWOOSH
and return the room to quiet. Chase opens the door, unsheathed. He parades into the light; shower mist trails from his skin like a cotton tether. He creeps across the fluffy alpaca rug. He doesn't want to disturb her, at least not yet. He halts at the edge of the mattress…dripping. Streams of vapor snake from his head towards the ceiling. He gazes. His pupils play with her soft sable and sienna locs as she sleeps. His smile caresses her smooth shoulders, toned arms, ample thighs and bulbous bottom. But it is not her ravishing physique, nor even the memory of her explosive screams from last night's pleasure that brightens his face. It is simply...her. The totality of her being. The tingly teenage excitement that bubbles into a manly desire to touch her heart…with his own. It is the joyful noise that erupts in his soul when he ingests the very thought of her. He has no choice but to smile. Perhaps sensing her lover’s presence, she shifts position and arches her shoulders back. Her arms stretch wide with a sleepy yawn. Her eyelids squint, then flutter as she notices her buff beau’s loving stare for the first time.

"Mmm, well look at you standing there just floppin' and drippin’,” Jenae says.

She startles Chase from his daydream of admiration. He snatches the plush cotton bath towel from his neck and wraps it snugly around his waist. He marches to the dresser to find a pair of shorts.

"Oh honey, I don't know why you get shy like this," she says. "It's cute but we’ve been together for over three years. You don’t have anything I haven’t already seen, and felt, and tasted. Like last night in this bed, last week in the lecture hall, that weekend in—”

"We're not going to bring up the lecture hall last week. I was so embarrassed. I mean we were in front of Dean Ganges?"

“Oh, babe come on. You’re the one that texted me about cheesecake and beefcake
later on didn’t you?”

“I know, I know. I think I was still a bit amped up. Didn’t have my wits about me yet.”

“Oh, so you didn’t have your wits about you when you plopped me on that table? You regret being with me now?”

“No, no, no. It’s just we kind of got caught by my boss you know? Most people would consider that a big deal.”

“Chase, Octavia told me later that she was watching us for like two whole minutes before she cleared her throat. I think she enjoyed the peep show."

"She what?" Chase freezes as he puts one leg through a pair of black boxers.

“Oh, look at you. You’re so cute when you get all conservative.”

Jenae slinks out of bed and sashays to him. She massages his firm shoulders and whips him around. His boxers drop to the floor. She glides an open palm across the razor stubble above his loin and rubs in a slow winding circle. His stomach shivers as her warm, delicate fingers crawl south.

“Well now. The sun’s not the only thing rising this morning huh?” she says.

Chase's mouth pops open and his eyebrows skyrocket. He grapples her pear bottom. His eyes travel the long, smooth ridge of her collarbone and to the contours of her golden chest. He licks his lips as he can almost taste her robust orbs. Jenae has a creamy, butterscotch, bosom topped by two dollops of velvety chocolate. She presses her cushiony firmness into his steel torso. He lifts her chin and sears his gaze into the whites of her eyes. “I am so in love with you,” he says as if it were a song lyric, and cups the nape of her neck; he seals his mouth onto hers.

“
Mmph,
Chase,
mmph,
babe, babe,
mmph
, wait,” she says, finally able to slop her lips away. "I haven't brushed my teeth yet. I still have morning brea—
Mmph…Mmph…Mmmhmmm
”. Her morning breath is of no concern.

Chase lifts his tongue into the roof of her palate and massages it with the tip. Her hands course up the back of his neck and grip the sides of his head. Her hungry fingers knead his dome like dough, as her yummy lips tantalize his taste buds. His wooden paddle like palms smack both of her cheeks with a mighty
POP
. He mashes both of their thighs together and grinds into her clockwise…and then counter…and then clock, and counter, and clock, and counter with an assembly line rhythm. She unlocks her lips, lifts one knee above his hip and squashes her damp flesh into the bottom ridge of his stiff thickness. Jenae’s flesh is moist and warm. He slides up and down on top of it. “Ooh,” she says with twitch and a tingle. She nips at his earlobe with her front teeth.

“So, am I still being inappropriate Professor Archibald?" she whispers.

“Ms. Dixon.
Mmph
…
Mmph, “
he says. He kisses
.
“I think you need to come to my extended office hours.”

“So start
extending,
big boy,” she says.

“Well aren’t you quick with the slick talk,” he says.

She snickers like someone who’s about to be bad. Using her tongue like the hand of an abstract artist, she paints across his mountainous pectorals. Her sensual strokes lick away the tension; her tongue laps its way to his navel. She kneels and grips his pelvis. Chase pokes his fingers into her lush forest of curls and clenches her hair; it interrupts her descent. Jenae's eyebrows contort as she looks up from above his waist in confusion. Chase fish hooks the cleft of her chin with his index finger and stands her up. It is
he,
that wants to paint
her,
with his tongue. Chase plants a peck on Jenae’s forehead. He nibbles on her nose. He kisses the underside of her jaw and clamps down on her throbbing jugular. He slurps her thick and juicy vein as if it’s a sauce drenched spaghetti string. He wants that sauce. So he sucks harder. Jenae moans; her breaths gallop. He sucks down the center of her rib cage. He leaves blush colored marks of his presence on her nutmeg skin like lovers graffiti. His palms squeeze her champagne breasts. He sips the brown bubbly. She shivers. He continues traveling south. Her voice vibrates, “Oooh Chase.” Her legs buckle. Chase can sense a rising chill in her spine; she tries to fall backward onto the bed. He won’t allow it. He drops to his knees and props his hands under her armpits to keep her erect.

SNIFF SNIFF

His nostrils inhale her sweet, animal musk. The tip of his nose tickles the freshly mowed pile of her pyramid. He opens…
HUFF HUFF
…and blows two hot breaths. Her entire body rumbles like an aftershock.

"Oh my God," Jenae says.

She bites her bottom lip. He clutches her hips and hovers. His mouth is only millimeters from her epicenter.

“Oh, oh, Chase,” she whimpers.

He hovers above the sticky lips of her arousal. Her thighs tremor. He can feel the heat from her boiling volcano.
Wait for it,
he says to himself.
Wait for it
.
Wait for it
. She scowls down at him and clutches his head. She thrusts her tingling moistness towards his lips; he jerks back. She grits her teeth and tries to force his mouth down. He stiffens his neck and refuses to budge.

"Damn you Chase. Stop…stop teasing me like this," she cries between hyperactive breaths.

“Do you want me?” he says.

“Yes.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes, Yes. Chase, baby please.”

He unlatches his locked jaw, and breathes another hot cloud at her crevice, like he’s about to wipe a pair of eyeglasses.

"Dammit Chase. Stop teasing me,” she yells to the ceiling.

Chase chuckles like a villain.

“Okay baby. Wait for it…Wait for it.”

“Chase!”

Chase opens like a drawbridge, extends his long, thick, sloppy tongue and shoehorns it insi—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Chase...Eh yo Chase you in here?” a youthful voice barks at the bedroom door.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"Hello? Hello. Chase?" repeats the voice. The bedroom door creaks.

"Whoa, wait, wait,” the two nude lovers shout in unison. Jenae rushes toward the closet but stumbles and knees Chase in the groin. He falls to the floor grabbing himself. She extends a hand to him.

“Oops. Baby, sorry I—,”Jenae says.

“Ouch. Again? What is it with you and the groin kicks,” he grimaces.

“Oh, honey I’m sor—“

“Chase, Chase it’s me. I'm coming in now okay?" the voice says.

“No!” Chase and Jenae yell.

“Damn. Babe, what time is it?" Chase whispers.

Jenae shrugs her shoulders in annoyance as she rifles through the closet. "How is he knocking on the bedroom door anyway, Chase? How did he get in the house and all the way up the stairs?" Chase grabs a pair of knee length athletic shorts socks and a tee from his dresser.

"I have no idea how he got in. I totally forgot I switched my day with him from Sunday to today."

“Yeah, okay I get that part but—“

“Shhh, not so loud babe,” Chase whispers. “He’s been opening up more lately. These group home kids have been through a lot. Don’t spook him.”

“Okay, okay,” she hushes as she squeezes into a crisp new pair of black, Ralph Lauren jeans. “You gave him a key to the house or something?"

“No, of course not. I just said that I don’t know how he got in didn’t I?”

“Chase, can I come in
now
?”

"No!" They both scream.

"Ugh. Come on Chase. Them other dudes gonna claim the court like the last time you was late. Then we gonna have to wait behind like a gazillion other teams.”

"Gimme a sec Devantay I’m almost dressed," Chase says in his knee length, nylon shorts and ankle high, white cotton socks. “Babe, toss me my basketball shirt please.”

"Oooooh, you got a female in there or something? I heard some nasty noises," Devantay says.

“Hush little man. Jenae is here. And you’re being a bit too nosy for a twelve year old," Chase says.

“Oooh,
tee hee hee
. Heeey Miss Jenae,” he says, puckering his lips through the crack of the door.

"Hi Devantay,” Jenae yells back with a stern stare towards Chase.

"So what y'all doin' in there anyway? Y'all taking
way
too long. Like
waaay
too long,” the boy says.

"You
sooo
owe me for this one Mr. Tease," Jenae says to Chase.

She fluffs her soft natural curls in the mirror with a wire red, black and green afro pick. The one with the power fist.

”I’ll make it up to you,” Chase says.

“
Hmph,
”
she shrills.

They mirror one another, inspecting each other’s appearance. Chase finally opens the bedroom door. Devantay falls through the entrance and almost lands on his face. Under the boy’s left armpit is a brand new Spalding basketball. He smiles as if he knows something naughty was going on.

“Hi, Miss Jenae,” he says with too happy of a wave.

“Hello Devantay,” Jenae replies.

"Hey there little man get back in the hallway. This room is off limits to anyone not named Jenae Monique Dixon."

“Wow, I ain’t never been in a room like this before.” His eyes circle the cavernous bedroom. “Dang, Chase you got a phat crib yo. I could be straight flossin' in this spot. For real though,” he says.

Chase nudges him out.

"The only thing you're
flossing
are those teeth. And what did I tell you about the slang?"

Chase escorts Devantay out of the bedroom and down the spiral steps to the second floor. They walk down the crimson and cream hallway, which was decorated by Jenae. To their right are three recessed shelves. They are home to three Senegalese wicker baskets filled with conch shells and a Kenyan ebony-wood sculpture of interlocking lovers. They reach the end of the hall. Devantay looks up at the 24x36 inch framed parchment of a quote painted in Arabic calligraphy. It was gifted to Chase by an old mentor. The translation’s meaning reads…”there is no superiority of one race over another. God distinguishes humankind only by righteousness and good deeds.” He bounces his ball once. Chase taps his shoulder and shakes his head, no.

The final staircase leads to the first floor. They walk into the living room. Devantay drops the basketball on top of the mahogany coffee table. Chase sneers. The boy whisks it off and sandwiches it under his arm. He flashes an
Oops
grin. His puffy brown cheeks dimple with the sort of cuteness prepubescent boys despise.