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Jasmine’s Fantasy

Eric Burbridge

    She excused herself from a boring conversation with Percy. Nature called. Would she return? No. Did she care how he felt? No. For several weeks, she stalked the man of her dreams at Carmen’s Place city employees favorite watering hole. Tonight, she makes her move. Manford was a creature of habit, drinking too much and disappearing to sober up before the local jazz ensembles played. She thought it unwise to sleep it off in the parking lot, but he had a secure spot under a huge tree with massive branches that hung over the roof top of his SUV.
    Perfect cover...now he was where she wanted him.
    Finally, her dream, her fantasy would be reality. He was fully reclined in the passenger’s seat. Smart, a cop couldn’t say he’d been driving. She eased the unlocked door shut, reclined her seat and peeled off her jacket. Take a breath, calm down, cherish and savor the moment. She lifted his hips and positioned him just right. When she decided to mount him, and got a good rhythm she didn’t want any obstacles in the way. Moonlight trickled through the leaves and showed his flawless babyface complexion. She massaged his cheeks and kissed him lightly on that perfect set of lips. He smiled like a baby. “Don’t wake yet baby, not yet.” She whispered and unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over his chest. She was on fire with lust. Her fingertips circled his hard nipples. God, this was a blessing! The movie star like guy lay here at her mercy. He never paid her any attention except for a casual greeting. It wasn’t personal, she wasn’t his type. She got that. Jasmine, by any standard, was not an attractive woman. Tall and boxy, she looked more like her brothers than a sister, her neck was too thick and hands too large with an acne scarred complexion, but she was a gentle woman with a sexy voice and personality. The care she gave her nieces and nephews demonstrated she’d make a wonderful mother. And, that’s where Manford came in. He had a reputation for being a baby maker, that big bulge in his pants, that he refused to hide, kept the females lusting. Rumor had it every woman he was with got pregnant no matter how hard they tried not to. Potent sperm, they said. Jasmine was ovulating, she timed everything perfectly and she knew Manford would deny her and their child and that was okay, but like it or not, she was getting pregnant. When they finished, hopefully she would conceive in a day or so. She’d keep their secret, if she told him at all. As drunk as he was he’d probably forget via blackout.
    She unbuckled his belt and worked his pants down past the jock strap and big bulge. He started to stir. Patience, take it easy. Once he was in her it wouldn’t matter if he woke up. She massaged him, but Manford continued to snore. Down went the strap, she touched it...it didn’t have the feel she expected. Stretch it out, gently so it can get good and hard, but it didn’t. Why? It had no veins she could feel. Her heart raced. Oh no, it couldn’t be. Her fingers descended, his balls felt funny...a funny feeling she couldn’t describe. Turn on the dome light. Wait, what would happen if he woke?
    Oh God, don’t let it be true!
    One way to find out. She grabbed his balls and squeezed, he snored harder. And, his thighs were too soft and smooth.
    Shit! Manford Simpkins was a woman! The man of her dreams who she fantasized, schemed, plotted and maneuvered into position to impregnate her was a fraud. She back handed him, again and again. Spit flew out the side of his mouth. He tried to cover his face. “You fake piece of shit!” She punched him in the throat, he gasped for air and then an elbow to the gut. Vomit shot out his mouth and all over the dashboard.
    Manford coughed and gagged.
    Oh God, did she break his wind pipe?
    Snap out of it...now! She looked around and the windows were foggy. Nobody could see. Sweat poured down her face. Manford was out. Was he dead? She eased away from him. What had she done? She wept and started banging her hands on the steering wheel.
    Stop it!
    Get yourself together, get out the car and make sure nobody sees you. Don’t forget to wipe your prints and DNA off everything. Satisfied nothing remained of her presence she slipped past a couple going at it like two dogs by a dumpster at the back entrance to the bar.
*
    “You look a little rattled to me, puffy red eyes like you been crying,” Percy said.
    Jasmine shrugged. “I’m cool.” Don’t start asking questions, God knows she wasn’t in the mood.
    “Another drink?” He’d signaled for the refill before she accepted.
    She nodded with a fake smile. She didn’t like Percy like that, but she admired his persistence and downed the double scotch. Enough of those would kill the disappointment. But still, was she seen? Carmen’s Place was a dimly lit hide away for couples who wanted privacy. The only video, she heard from a cop friend, was on the cash register. Several more drinks later, the shorter then she, bucked tooth, broken nose with the too close crew cut, Percy convinced her to leave with him and they staggered to his vehicle. The flashing lights snapped her out of her drunken state. “Jesus, what happened to Manford?” Percy said. He leaned against his car while the cops stood by shaking their head. “They’ll probably lock him up, DUI.”
    “Poor thing.” Thank God, he wasn’t dead.
*
    Her eyes closed and she dreamt of Manford. The alcohol brought out the freak in them both. Satisfaction had its price and Jasmine got her wish, but not with the man of her dreams. But, later after it was over, she couldn’t help but wonder, who else knew what she did? His/ her secret was safe with her and nothing came of the beating. Percy turned out to be a loving father to be. She wasn’t all in as far as loving him, but over time perhaps she would.

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