Past Transgressions

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: March 23, 2018

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Submitted: March 23, 2018

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PAST TRANSGRESSIONS

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

2018

I was in Center City last week at Bloomingdale’s purchasing some jewelry. I ran into a person, whose presence I have not encountered in years. We stood by the woman’s perfume counter and exchanged pleasantries before the topic of our conversation turned more personal.

In the blink of an eye, he had my telephone number, and we will get together real soon.

Fast forward, four days later, my telephone rings, I answer.

“Yes, this is Hernandez.”

A voice that always weakened me from head to toe.

We talked for every bit of an hour. Our conversation boiled down to the necessities one must submit to survive; politics, social economics, and we talked more in depth about our passion, the Fine Arts, and my marathon runs. He made a date with me to go to a private viewing at the Art Museum; he advised me the private event was by invitational only. I smiled in glee, one thing I was certain of, Hernandez, always had a way of surprising me, clothed and unclothed. In addition, it will give me a great advantage to display my marathon body, firm abs, firm legs, and firm tush he loved to admire at every angle, let alone, spoon, and some other wicked things in general.

I took the day off from work; I had my hair done, pedicure, manicure, monthly colon cleanse, and mud facial. Trust me this handsome stud was well worth it, yes indeed.

The Art Museum

Later That Same Evening

There were several cars of the attendees being attended by hired valet.

Hernandez, handed the keys to his Renegade Jeep to the valet.

As we’re walking up the steps to the entrance. Hernandez latched onto my hand, I thought nothing of it, and my hand felt secure in his.

There was a man dressed in a black tuxedo positioned at the entrance door. This same individual dipped his burly hand inside a black bag and pulled out two black satin masks. He handed me mine, and then handed Hernandez his.

I pivoted to look at Hernandez, he winked at me and gently squeezed my hand.

Okay I thought, I’m feeling this moment.

I loosened my hand from Hernandez’s hand and situated my mask over my nostrils; I gathered the satin strings together and tide the covering to the back of my head.

I looked over at Hernandez, a handsome Zorro in a black double-breasted Kenneth Cole suit, if I’m allowed to admit.

We entered, and I had my white silk shawl attended too.

People stood around in clusters of small groups communicating among each other. Several Crystal glasses of champagne were clasped within his or her palm; the hired help was circulating a silver serving tray of appetizers to entice the senses.

Hernandez leaned over and whispered in my ear, “the party for us is in the back, and by the way, that white dress looks good on you, but what’s underneath from what I could remember, screams for my release.”

The past speaking to me, humm…I still had my reservations, how this evening will progress.

Therefore, I held my composure and my tongue.

Hernandez and I walked down a quite winding corridor.

My attention was drawl to the fine art work displayed on both sides of the walls. Some of the beautiful paintings were secured behind a mauve velvet display rope.

Hernandez stopped us in front of a marble door located in the back of the Art Museum, a display room, whereas, you will find the era of Renaissance paintings from some of the greatest painters of all time, and numerous mold sculptures from gifted sculptures within that era.

Hernandez pulled out a small white card from out the inside pocket of his suit jacket; he handed the card to the man who stood at the door.

The man looked down and read the card. He looked up; he reached downward and turned the doorknob. He stepped aside to permit our entrance.

Hernandez looked at me and reached out for my hand. He sensed my hesitancy; he grabbed onto my hand and gently squeezed it; he escorted me into the dimly lit room.

The man guarding the door pulled it close.

This was not quite the neutral scene, I was expecting for someone I have not seen in years, but as they say, once a tiger always a tiger, and tonight, I do not think Hernandez was worried about me changing his strips.

I falsely smiled and glanced around.

Let’s just say, my college days earning a BSN in Nursing was not all rosy.

There we’re masks, nudity, partial nudity, novelty toys I have never seen, or experienced, a dangling sling, a man dressed in an ape costume; his exposed dick pointing north, two canines, please don’t ask for that explanation, you would have had to be there to witness such abnormal fetishes; several massage oil bottles, two hard pool sticks, vying for two holes in one, cash, so much cash. Several Crystal candy bowls of Ecstasy, and Viagra pills, ruled each corner of the private erotic sector for its willing participants. As Hernandez and I ventured farther into another room. There was a Russian Roulette table centered; there were also, several high rollers sitting at a black jack table; with a high stack of chips in front of their presence. Several private cushioned sleigh beds positioned behind white sheer curtains. Numerous, were in usage, wicked liaisons in its purest fantasy form, unbiased showcased.

I looked over at Hernandez, I see some people do not mature as time would allow. I wasted over two hundred dollars on a hip hugging Donna Karan cocktail dress, and a pair of golden-colored Steve Madden stilettoes, for…for… at that moment my mind could not even grasp the concept to mentally form words to come to mind.

The sad part about this entire episode; this was once my life, I lived it, I nightly breathed it, and got paid quite well from it; no financial assistance was offered to me; if you get my drift... Now, the set-up seemed so out of character, so not me…wink.

That doctrine of serving and healing the universe my Haitian great-grandmother handed down to me, sufficed, and to see me standing here in 2018, debating should I continue this presented journey, or fold; would have made her turn over in her grave.

I politely thanked Hernandez for the evening, left a wretched scene of a cold-hearted past, and walked out the Art Museum.

Hernandez, joined me several minutes later. He draped my shawl over my bare shoulder blades.

I pivoted my head upward.

“Thank you.”

 “You’re welcome beautiful. Are you ready to have dinner?”

“Assure me. you are talking about food from off a plate this time.”

“The best kind.”

“I will put that theory to test when you’re lying in my bed much later.”

Still I had to ask.

“Why?”

“I wanted to know where your head is at; is this still the life you embed those beautiful brown eyes and body in.”

“I heal hearts now, not break them, or my own.”

“Then I see a future for us.”

“You think.”

“Yes ma’am, let’s get out of here, and go and find our own intimate party.”

“Certainly.”

We both removed our mask, left them where we stood, and then walked in the direction of Hernandez’s vehicle.

 

 


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