Diary of A. . . Read online

  Diary of A. . .

  Diary of A. . .

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  Diary Of A...

  Sylvia Hubbard

  Sensual Noir/Romance/Erotic Intrigue

  Published by HubBooks Literary Services at Smashwords

  Copyright 2010 Sylvia Hubbard

  Discover other titles by Sylvia Hubbard at Smashwords.com http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/hubbooks

  Edited by Suprina Frazier

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For information address:

  Sylvia Hubbard | PO Box 43439, Detroit, MI 48243

  Visit her website at: http://SylviaHubbard.com

  Diary of A….

  Transposed by Sylvia Hubbard for for Sheryl Banks

  Author’s Notes to Readers

  First I’d like to thank three special people in my life. My children. They are the encouraging fire that gives me the ability to get my butt out of bed. I think the formula for the fountain of youth is not somewhere in this world, but to have three children of various ages and genders.

  They keep your mind young and your reflexes sharp and “their ceaseless in entertainment” according to my mother. (I think she’s just being sarcastic and having fun watching me pay for what my siblings and I did to her.)

  As for writing this book, this was my first novel in first person. I’m more of a third person kind of writer and I had to fool myself to do a first person. Hence, I made it feel as if the main character, Sheryl is writing her story in a journal and you, the honored reader gets to read it. In her head, Sheryl doesn’t mind you reading her inner most thoughts because she wanted to tell someone, just not someone close. A girl’s got to have some secrets and Sheryl doesn’t tell business to just anyone.

  Just a warning to readers of my previous work, you will meet Lethal Heart in here. Yes, I know that gets you excited (if you’re an old reader). And yes, he’ll have his day soon, but this is just to suffice until I can bring that story into fruition.

  Enjoy, Your Author: Sylvia Hubbard

  Entry One

  I don’t know if I would call myself a whore. Maybe a freak, though it all just seems so nasty to admit, but not nasty to be one. LOL.

  I wasn’t always like this. Matter of fact, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was twenty-one, around my birthday and it was with my best friend. Rick and I had been best friends since sixth grade. He even dated my first best friend, Monica.

  Their relationship ended once we all graduated from high school. Monica chose to leave the state and go to Spellman, while Rick and I had a variety of scholarships to go to Michigan State University. I had taken a lot of accelerated courses and overloaded myself in high school, so I received my bachelors by the time I was nineteen and a half.

  Rick and I moved in together by our third year of college in a one-bedroom apartment to offset the costs. Our parents were cool with it. Matter of fact, my mother thought for sure Rick and I would eventually get married.

  He was damn handsome. Without the moustache, Rick could have been Morris Chestnut’s younger brother and I was the envy of the campus. Yet our relationship stayed platonic. Not because I wasn’t attracted to him, but because I think we both feared that if we took it further we might mess up a really good friendship.

  I don’t really know how it all happened. The day before my 21st birthday, I turned in my master’s thesis and knew I was done with college. I was so elated that Rick and I went out to celebrate. Though I wasn’t a drinker and Rick was just a social drinker, we still knew how to have a good time together.

  Next thing I knew, we were lying on his bed, back at our apartment, kissing. I think we kissed for two days all over each other’s body, avoiding the sexual parts.

  By the third day, we had progressed to deeper oral. Rick was such a good teacher. I wasn’t drunk anymore with alcohol and I wanted to take our relationship to the next level. Rick didn’t mind at all.

  “Take it slow, Sheryl,” he gritted out, so aroused by not having any relief.

  I was taken aback when he erupted in my mouth and almost choked. Yet by the fourth day, I could swallow not only his essence, but I was deep-throating like Linda Lovelace.

  That was also the day I lost my virginity. Rick guided me to straddle him and I slowly lowered down, filling myself up with his thickness. I was so aroused and wanton, but also terrified and scared.

  It hurt only briefly due to my moistness and as I used my weight and was able to control the strokes, I felt more confident in the whole matter.

  He tenderly edged me on; caressing my breasts, whispering my name, instructing me on how to give him pleasure and receive it, , as well.

  I don’t know any woman I’ve ever met that said she had an orgasm on her first time, but I did. Matter of fact, I had multiples! Rick was a wonderful lover and he spent a summer teaching me everything there was to know about sex.

  I was offered a job in Florida and it was an excellent opportunity for me career-wise. We had a long talk about it and Rick said to go ahead and take the job.

  There was the phone, and since we were such good friends before sex, we found a great deal to speak about. We dealt with the separation sexually a little at a time until we were back to friends again.

  I was even comfortable with Rick telling me how he was dating and sleeping with other women. I understood. I had no ties to him. It was okay with me that he didn’t have any ties to me.

  I found myself using men for pleasure while I devoted most of my time moving up in the company I worked for. Truthfully, men were just time passers, where I could get that inch scratched at will. I never took any of them serious while I worked in Florida. Nor did I pick up any really close girlfriends because I was such a workaholic. I mean, there were co-workers that I hung out with from time to time, but no one that I could really open up to about my personal life.

  I’ve always felt that black people, which is what I am, spent too much time trying to make friends at work. I feel that if you don’t sign my paycheck, why the hell should I share what I’ve been doing in my free time with you? I go to work to get a check and that’s it. Nothing more and nothing less.

  Anyway, so Rick not getting jealous about me sleeping with this guy and that guy made our relationship kind of cool. It was definitely helpful that I could talk to him about stuff like that. And like I said before, it was all-cool when he went into details about his lovers, as well.

  That is until he called me two years after I had been in Florida and told me that he was getting married. That kind of got under my skin.

  “What’s her name?” I asked.

  He sighed, but answered, “Cassie.”

  “How do you like her?”

  “I love her.” He sounded sincere.

  “She’s cool, Sheryl. You’d like her. I think you’d both make good friends.”

  “Does she make you happy, Rick?”

  He teased, “Never like you, Sheryl, but she’l
l do.”

  We laughed about it. By the time we got off the phone seven hours later, I was okay about everything. Thank gawd for free nights and weekends.

  Of course Rick asked me was I seeing anybody, but there was never a permanent guy in my life. Only others. Rick was one of my best lovers. Not just because he was the first, but because he genuinely knew how to make love to a woman. I was positive his wife would never have a problem with his bedroom skills.

  In Florida, before I got into a high-level supervisory position, my co-workers and I loved to go to Thursday Ladies Nights at all the clubs. Free admission until eleven and free drinks, as well. Since I still was not a drinker, I was usually the designated driver for everyone. So of course I was treated to a lot of things and used to being pampered all the time.

  When the company I worked for made some major changes, they asked me to move back to Michigan to oversee a key project three months after my 30th birthday. I would get a great salary and, of course, they would fund my move, along with a company car of my choosing. I chose a light gray Chrysler 500. It was art on wheels and just getting into it the first time made me moist.

  I found a great house in Eastpointe, Michigan, which was only minutes away from Detroit. It was a three-bedroom ranch style house with a pool and a big backyard.

  The neighbors recommended a person to help with the landscaping. Chris was even a great “fixer” around the house. He reminded me of an older version of Colin Farrell without the accent and all the cursing.

  Like any white man, Chris was all business with me and I was all business with him. A white man didn’t intimidate me like they did my girlfriends. I worked with them all day long.

  I was good at my job and taken very serious.

  Being only five foot four, I was stuck on stupid for heels with everything because I was short. Thickly built at a size twelve – fourteen during Aunt Dottie’s visits – with a small waist at a hundred and forty pounds. Even though I worked out, I was thick boned and just accepted the way I was built. I kept my hair very short in an Afro, curly cut and just recently dyed in a dark honey brown that brought out the honey brown in my flawless skin tone.

  With an angelic face, big brown sultry eyes, and sensual dark pink lips, I knew I looked good. I had a nice butt and a medium size chest – not too busty but enough to say, ‘Hey, I’m woman. Hear me roar, mother-fucker!’

  Coming back to Detroit, I was reunited with my high school friends.

  Rick and I had always kept in touch, but he liked keeping his marriage life separate from me. I understood his position and didn’t want to ruffle any feathers in his nest. We mostly communicated through emails, text messaging or long phone calls back and forth to work. I always sent him something for his birthday to his job, making sure I used either a plain white envelope or something from the store for a gift certificate or pass. Every once in a while we got together and had a cup of coffee somewhere discreet, talking and enjoying each other’s company.

  Now that I’ve caught you up, I can tell you why this blog is called Diary of A…. Well I don’t even know yet, but you decide.

  Entry Two

  Not much is happening right now in my life. Since moving to Detroit, my life’s been really hectic.

  On top of that, today I lost my secretary. She got homesick for Florida and changed her mind about staying in Detroit. Being carjacked last night didn’t help matters.

  Since I’ve been so busy just getting my life together while in Detroit, I haven’t been able to post. But Monday, I promise I’ll have more to say in this journal of mine.

  Thank you for enjoying the ride.

  Sheryl Banks.

  Entry Three

  I’ve dated more than one man at a time.

  As a professional single woman, I found that a meaningful relationship while you’re trying to knock everyone off the top in your career is inane and takes up too much time. So I find guys I can date, but I’ve never wanted to have a meaningful relationship with any of them.

  When I started to hit the big 3-0, I began really thinking that I needed to settle down. Maybe even have a few kids…maybe. But after I passed the 3-0, I was like; I could wait a few more years, right?

  So I’ve never told a man, I love you, except to Rick. But at the time, I couldn’t make up my mind whether I loved him as a friend or as a lover. I think I loved him as both, but I never took the time to really examine it.

  Could that be why he didn’t wait for me? Or even come to Florida?

  It’s way too late to think about that now. Plus, it’s not worth wasting the little time we spend on the phone to ask.

  In any case, I’ve never dated more than two men at a time. That was my limit because in some crazy sort of way, anything more than that would be sluttish and that I’m nevah! LOL.

  Now I can be monogamous. If he ASKED and I really liked him, I would.

  I always find it amusing the way a man will ask you to be monogamous. This conversation usually takes place after we’ve had sex for the first time and he really enjoyed himself. And oh yeah, I had a good time too, cause he’s got to come correct if he wants me to save this sweetness just for him.

  “You know I’m digging you, gurl,” he will say.

  “Yeah, I know,” I say, already knowing what’s coming, but trying to pretend like I don’t. The male species - in my opinion - can be so predictable.

  He’ll move his hands to caress the front of my moins. Or sometimes men will stick their finger in my wetness at this point. (Why don’t they just pee on me? LOL) “This is mine, right, Sheryl?”

  If I liked him, I would smile coyly and say, “Yeah, boo. All yours.”

  We’d end up making love again and I’d really blow his mind.

  I can be very monogamous to a man, when I really like him.

  But coming back home, I wasn’t seeing anyone, so I wasn’t monogamous or felt a need to be. But I wasn’t a freak either. I can go without sex, which is what I was doing.

  I take my job seriously. Upon coming back to Detroit, I had to do a whole lot of work on the project my company assigned me to. On top of that, we also did some work for the Detroit International Auto Show – one of the largest auto shows in the world – and I was looking for a great bonus for Christmas.

  So sex was put on the back burner, while I focused on getting my feet wet back in town and getting my ass in gear at work.

  I knew coming into work today was going to be a bitch because I didn’t have an assistant anymore. On top of that, Erin Nabors, the east coast Vice President of the company was looking for someone to bitch at.

  Today was the last day of the Auto Show and I wanted to make sure that things got back to normal and all our ducks had been in a row. Instead of heading into work, I headed over to Cobo Center.

  I forgot that I left my pass on my desk, so I went over to the V.I.P. desk for another.

  “Hi,” I said pleasantly to the teenage looking attendant. “My name’s Sheryl Banks. I need to check on my exhibit, but I forgot my pass.”

  The attendant looked at me as if I was making it up. “There’s no more temporary passes, ma’am.”

  “What do you mean there’s no more?”

  “Today’s the last day. They’re taking most of this stuff out of here. They said we gotta break down fast and-”

  “Look,” I said, cutting him off because I didn’t have time to deal with idiots. I never had patience for stupidity. “Why don’t you do me a favor and get your manager down here, because obviously you have no idea who you’re talking to.”

  The attendant used the walkie-talkie as I impatiently waited for the supervisor to come down. A guy in a security outfit that looked like it had been painted on him, because he was so damn big and brawny, came by as I stood tapping my $300 dollar Manola Blancs.

  “You know you could scuff your shoes doing that.”

  I whirled around at him. He was a hefty big black man. Not fat, but he was thick, about six feet six and a half, with a wide bui
ld. He talked silky, but rough – real deep and as if sandpaper was over his voice box.

  “These shoes cost more than you’ve ever made in a day,” I sneered. “Go do your job and mind your own business.”

  He looked up at the sign, as if he just realized he was standing at the V.I.P. section, and then he looked back down at me. “What’s your deal, lady?”

  “My deal is that I want you to get the fuck out my face and mind your own business.”

  He ignored me and leaned on the counter. “What’s her story, Poe?” he asked the attendant.

  “She forgot her pass, but Mr. Mason already took the temps up, plus I don’t see her name on the register.”

  The cornbread fed security guard looked at me sharply as if I was telling a lie. Matter of fact, his light brown eyes looked from my face down to my toes and back up again. He licked his thick dark pink lips as if he was a wolf about to feed on his prey.

  Now I know I’m a good-looking sister. In one word – luscious. Men love to look at me no matter what I am wearing, because I seem to accentuate whatever they like about a woman’s body. My flawless soft honey brown skin, size 36 C cups (not too heavy and just right for gawkers), and round ass that perfectly curved at the bottom often made a man scream “damn” whenever I walked by.

  But today, I was passed pissed and didn’t care for this man’s admiring looks. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I snapped, but those eyes were making me hot and not just around the collar. He was definitely going to make me mess up my silk underwear very soon.