"I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond the daily life."
― Virginia Woolf, Moments of Being: A Collection of Autobiographical Writing

(PING)

I had received a notification. A short text to go along with a four-second long video clip. I checked the time on my nightstand, comparing it to my phone. Same. 7:10 am.

Sinclaire: This is the effect you have over me. Still.

The video clip partially exposed his lips and lower jaw area, slowly scanning his mid-chest and soon his sheet that gave rise to his morning wood. My amusement conflicted with my better judgment. I fought with my pussy that was eager and wanted to respond with heart emojis, but my sore ass won out. I had to get up and start my day. I was running late. The dull ache from my behind began to intensify. I had to locate some pain pills fast.

What was interesting, it took a couple of weeks for me to eventually remember and go back to his video clip—the perfect reminder. And after a while, it was my evidence that what happened between us wasn't one-sided, especially after a significant amount of radio silence.

I stood with my children in the driveway until their school bus arrived, and they were safely on their way to school before turning to go back inside the house. Mabel was in the kitchen. My husband was in his wheelchair facing the television. I went to grab my purse and keys, stopping only to lightly touch the top of my husband's head before leaving for work.

"Hey, before you go, you need to know, we got the surgery scheduled. We won't be here to take care of the kids when the time comes. I plan to stay at the hospital with him. I have to make sure those nurses and doctors do right by my son."

I was surprised by this assertion that there would be no one to take care of Marty and Abigail. And it was also news to me that a surgeon was willing to actually perform a revolutionary surgery that could have Mike walk again.

"But I will. I'll be here." My Bigmama replied, coming in from the hallway where her bedroom was located. The sound from the tip of her cane against the tile was more audible, the closer she came into the kitchen. It seemed always to be loud when she spoke up for me as if I could not speak for myself.

"Old woman, I'm talking to the woman who birthed my son's children, not you." Mabel dismissively waved at my Bigmama.

"Well, Big Bully, I am talking to you. Please make no mistake about it. Micheal will have his surgery. You will be by his side like the dutiful mother you have proven yourself to be, and Michonne will earn money like she has and continues to do, and I will be right here for my Grandbabies when they get on and off the bus. One thing I ain't is a cripple, nor am I senile. Now, take that how you want."

"Micheal, when is your surgery?" I retraced my steps to speak directly to my husband. I was concerned that he was going to go through with something that could potentially make him worse off by agitating an area that should be left well enough alone.

"In two weeks."

"Two weeks?" I stood in front of the television to obstruct his view. I knew this would agitate him, but I didn't care. I was going to stand there until I got the clarity I was seeking.

"Come on now, Mich, I am watching tv."

"When is your surgery, Mike?" I insisted.

"October 15th. 8 am."

I gave my husband a long hard look. Within seconds he broke eye contact, preferring to see what he could of the television screen instead of me. I clarified for him my reasoning just in case he wasn't connecting the dots that I still cared about him. "I wanted to know which day, so I can rearrange my scheduled meetings at the office so I can be there."

"Now we don't want you to go out of your way to be there for your husband. We don't want you to stop earning for one second. Being you the breadwinner and all." Mabel lit the match.

More and more, I began to find Go Stop to be my sanctuary. I had my own office and had just been given authority to bring on two more attorneys of my choosing. I spent my time trying to woo Rosita Mendez and Andrea Corbett. It was a long shot over lunch at a nearby restaurant. Across the dining area sat three people I could positively recognize from the office, Abraham Marsh, the big burly ginger from Accounting, Morgan Washington, the lone black guy from the Actuary department, and Shane Walsh, the vice president. The fourth person I positively assumed was Mr. Grimes from the view of the back of his head.

I spent less than five minutes trying to sweeten the deal to recruit two of my Harvard friends, and the rest of the time was spent catching up with each other's lives over fresh salad before receiving our lunch entree. Our conversation came to an abrupt halt once I noticed Shane Walsh, who was in his group's lead upon their exiting the establishment. Without slowing down, each gave a customary nod as they walked past. For whatever reason, this impressed Andrea and Rosita. Especially the slight pause that Mr. Grimes made.

"Good Day, Ms. Benton. Ladies."

Andrea was bursting at the seams.

"Michonne, I want. Who was that?"

"The CEO of Go Stop," I said, trying to remain neutral, unaffected.

"Is he married?" Andrea asked.

Rosita responded. She was always astute with a person's appearance and dress or the lack thereof, "There was no wedding band. A faint tan line." Rosita kept her eyebrow raised.

"Make of that what you will." I shrugged.

There was a rumor going around the office. I was privy to a bit of the gossip even though most of it came from eavesdropping on Jessie. Mr. Grimes was separated. Possibly getting a divorce. There was no way I was going to divulge what was pure hearsay. The removal of his wedding band was recent, and I had already noticed.

After a few days, the pressure became unbearable. I found myself back at Rick's penthouse, hoping that the codes were changed—a sign to move on. I stepped out of the elevator. The same series of numbers opened the penthouse door. Nothing was out of place. I stepped up the three stairs to where the platform bed was raised from the floor. I sat. I placed my purse on the nightstand. I began to slip off my heels when the front door opened. It was strange that he wasn't surprised nor startled. It was like he expected me to be there. What was worse was I wanted to be there. The only sound was from the door shutting closed, his key fob on the kitchen granite countertop, and the soles of his shoes being kicked off. He placed his suit jacket on one of the barstools. His cufflinks were removed and placed next to the fob. His eyes were locked on me.

I watched him decrease the distance between us as he pulled his shirt out of his pants and began to unbutton and remove his trousers. Within no time, we were both naked. I used my mouth to place a condom on him. Successfully stretching it down his member. He hissed since I had to use my teeth lightly. He grabbed a fist full of my hair before covering my mouth with his. Moments had gone by, or maybe time stood still after being kissed passionately by him. Never once did I lose sight that I was on a mission to be fucked. He released enough of my strands to allow me to guide him to get on top. It felt like a lifetime before he entered me. There was something in his eyes that reflected what I desired the most as our bodies began to join...to finally be seen.