This is the story of Det. Jake Whitfield and his romance with a gangsters sister, Ashley Boykins.
Too Many times I’ve found myself in the position of not knowing what to do, where I am going; and worse yet, where I was coming from. Everything seems distant, vague, confusing, and muddled.
Every now and then a moment of clarity would come through, but just as quickly as it came, it vanished into oblivion. Mostly to the account of fake friends who only wanted to use me for money or to laugh at.
Confusing as it may sound, the second that she walked into my life there was one of those moments of clarity. Her beauty was timeless and distinct. So strong, in fact, that all else faded and for a moment I felt purpose in my life. And that was to make her happy.
She dressed casually tight blue jeans, a T-shirt with the Nike logo on it, and basketball shoes that she left untied with wide shoestrings. Her hair tied in a pony tail that she pulled through the back of her cap that was black with a white Nike Logo. Her lips were full and voluptuous, almost begging me to kiss them. Her eyes had a simple calmness that drew you into them every time she blinked. The softness of her peanut butter skin seemed so creamy that you would have sworn that she had a label on her ass. She was all woman, though she dressed like a Tomboy.
This was alright with me , because it showed that she was adventurous and playful, two characteristics that provide a hell of a lovelife. As she walked past me her hips on her petite frame began to sway as if she were skipping past me, but her gaze froze her eyes on mine while her head swiveled by.
"Take a picture it will last longer,” I torted. Her shyness created a sexy pause that ended in her melodic voice saying,
“I might just have to do that.”
I could tell by her nervousness that she was interested in whatever I had to say. Her smile was ear to ear, her eyes wide and inviting; I knew immediately she would be a warm, fun, enjoyably easy conquest. But something about her made me tingle inside with a confidence that I rarely felt. I mean I wanted badly, and there in that instance was my chance to change the course of my monotonous routine.
"I’ll do better than that, My name is Jake and I would like to take you out to lunch,” I said invitingly, ” What is your name, beautiful?”
“Ashley, Ashley Boykins,” she responded assuredly “I would love to go to lunch with you!” I held my hand out as to grasp hers and she gently laid it in mine. Our fingers interlocked and we began to stroll down Harvey Ave. Since Quiznos is right around the corner from the courthouse I suggested a sandwich, but she quickly dismissed that notion, saying that she would prefer some pasta so we walked the few extra blocks into Bricktown to the Spaghetti Warehouse.
Ashley was not much younger than me, but she had a childlike inoscence that was a complete 180 degree turn from the environment in my profession as a CSI processing agent. Her soft voice was only rivaled by the softness of her skin. Brown eyes that could send out just as much as they could take in. You could tell by the way she carried herself that she was intelligent.
"So what do you do for a living,” I asked.
She answered, in a sweet melodic tone, ” I’m a Librarian.”
"A Librarian, so you must have been an English Literature major in college.”
"Very good! Most guys can’t get that.”
”Where did you go to college?”
”The University of Oklahoma, Boomer Sooner!” she said with an impish pride.
”Really, Class of 1998. When did you graduate?”
"I graduated in ’03. What was your major?”
"Anthropology,” I said just as our food arrived. The steam rose up off of the hot over-filled plates with an aroma that came straight from Italy. The pasta primavera that Ashley ordered smelled tangy, and my fettuccini alfredo looked creamy and delicious. I have always liked going to restaurants that over-filled there plates, though I am not a big man.
“Looks great,” she said anticipating her first bite.”
"Smells good too!”
"So what do you do with your degree in Anthropology?”she quizzed.
I hesitated almost afraid she would stand-up and have once I told her that I was a police detective. Women usually don’t want to be up all night waiting for their police husbands to either die or come home.
But I answered, “forensic science, I work for the Solutions Research Group.”
"So you’re a detective?”
"You are correct, I am a verification specialist. That means that I check the facts that my superiors pay me to, They bring all the info back to me and I try to find the evidence.”
"So that makes you the observant type,” She responded without the slightest hint of apprehension about my profession.
“Gotta be, people depend on me in order to keep the real criminals off of the streets and not have the innocent locked up for no reason. Like if you were to…”
”I get it, I get it ! You are obviously very good at what you do, I mean it was very thorough explanation of observancy, she interrupted jokingly. The next thing she said checked me as being awkwardly forward for a woman, but I like that kind of thing.
“Are you as thorough in bed as you are with your work,” she said seductively.
Half shocked, half horny, I said “Most definitely, what do you have in mind?”
”Let’s get a hotel room and fuck the afternoon off!”
”Cool with me. It’s Friday, I don’t go back to work until early Monday morning, and I have had that thought about you since I saw you.” I said relieved.
”You finish eating and pay for the food, I’ll get on my cell phone and reserve the room.”
I obliged her notion with a hesitant approval and quickly finished my meal while she called information to get the number for the Renaissance Hotel and reserved a single room in her name. I didn’t think twice about paying for the food, I guess because her eyes and bubbly breasts had me running laps between the two in her room. I paid and we got up and left.
I had always found that when women were the instigators to the first act of sex that they were the best and wildest times you will ever have in bed. I couldn’t wait.
A man who isolates himself seeks his own desires; he rages against all wise judgement. Proverbs 18:1