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Though he’s seeking more from a business standpoint. Which is completely understandable. Who wouldn’t want to be rich? Especially in this economy. I just want to make sure at the end of our tunnel, there’s some assurance we’ll at least consider parenthood. That’s all.

It’s one of those tough conversations we need to have. Again. Sometimes it feels like we’re avoiding it. I guess until then, we’re the nasty newlyweds looking for our next third. Life could be worse. I’m married to a great man who loves me unconditionally. Our sex life is amazing.

We’re both running successful, innovative businesses. Everything else will figure itself out. Funny, I was so on his neck about learning to live in the moment. Guess I should do the same.

Finally getting to the liquor section, I’m instantly transformed into a kid in a candy store. Stuck, indecisive, and easily captivated by everything. My mind might’ve said pink Moscato, but every brand looks so good. So many colors. So many sizes. My indecisive nature keeps me in the aisle longer than initially planned.

Come on, Morgan, you literally own a bar. You’ve been a bartender for years. Choosing liquor should never be this hard.

Normally it isn’t. Usually, I’m pretty tactful with decision making. I knew which location would be perfect for my lounge at first glance. It took about ten seconds to point out which Jeep I wanted to drive out of the dealership in. Not to mention, I’m pretty good at knowing exactly

what I want to eat. Unlike some women. There’s just something about wine, though. That always takes time.

I have to treat every bottle like a carton of strawberries, inspecting each for their potency level. The stronger the brand, the better. Newborn babies have graduated high school by the time I finally settle on one. I’m practically in a trance staring at it on the shelf, sitting all long and pretty like Damien’s dick. Using both hands, I pull it from its designated spot before reading its label. XXL Guava Fruit Moscato.

Hmm. Never had it before, but it seems like a good time. With a sixteen percent ABV? Whew. I can feel my pussy thumping already just from having it in my hands. It’s just what’s needed for a night of reading…or creating some stories of my own in the sheets. Satisfied by my choice, it’s gleefully placed in the cart right before another woman’s voice suddenly comes out of nowhere.

“Girl, that’s going to tear you up.”

My head pops up instantly, looking right in the direction of the commentary. Not long after, an absolute goddess comes completely into view. She’s carrying a pretty full grocery basket in hand, strolling through the aisle with an artistic exhibition of high confidence. I’m understandably captivated by her fineness within an instant. Chestnut skin, bouncy kinky twists, almond-shaped eyes, and a sexy tattooed body of curves covered by a tight black dress. Pedicured sky blue polished toes. Nails to match. A real one hundred out of ten. Unlike the young mother from before, we’ve definitely never met. I’d remember a woman like this for decades. We’re on opposite ends of the aisle, eyes focused. It’s just us here. Sizing each other up like we’re each other’s next meal.

“That’s exactly what I want,” I reply back, completely immersed in her energy. So locked into a trance, I don’t even realize how hard I’m smiling.

She giggles in a slow ripple, showcasing perfect teeth, “Last time I had a bottle, I was butt naked on the floor of my own house. With one sock on and two people lying on each side of me.

Neither of which were my actual man.”

“Oop, okay, girl. I see you. You’re a little wild, huh?”

She’s blushing, “I can be…sometimes.”

A very modest answer followed by a sinister gaze. Telling me everything I need to know in just four words. The “sometimes” is the key. I know her type. Shy until she’s full of liquor. Then she becomes a bigger freak than Jada Fire in her prime. Probably grew up in the church, held to a certain standard until she finally created enough distance to act out a little. Those two men seem to be her bragging right. Proof that an inner freak exists, just not in its final form, yet. Definitely a Capricorn. Made clearer by three numbers tattooed across her left titty. 12-22-93.

I’m growing warm with intrigue. She’s too fine to truly describe in the English language. A truly breathtaking angel, sent to Earth to heal us all with her presence. How could anyone not love a Black woman? Maybe that’s why I wanted to open a women’s only lounge in the first place.

Because I’m no better than a man. Baby girl’s only been in my presence for the span of a cough yet my mind is already running with erotic fantasies.

“So, I’m guessing this is one of your favorites?”

“Hmm, yeah. One of my favorites. But…” Miss Lady saunters closer before stretching her petite arm across my cart, pointing out a box of White Russian Cutwaters, “These right here will really rock your world.”

She smells so fuckin’ good. Like a mix of sweet vanilla and fresh laundry. Elegant, rich, and tempting. I bet she could rock my world too. With those long legs, she’s probably a scissoring champion. Damien would love her. I’m starting to throb envisioning him in our recliner, watching me put her to sleep with my tongue.

“Really?” I grab the box she’d pointed to, scanning it over, “Hmm. Surprisingly, I’ve never actually had one of these before.”

She releases a theatrical gasp, eyes wide, “Wait, what?” “Yeah, I know. I’ve been slacking.”

“Whew, Chile. Heavy on the slacking. You should try them. Trust me, those will have you doing shit you would’ve never imagined doing before,” she throws sharp, seductive daggers my way, “Or maybe things you’ve always wanted to do.”

The urge to know what she means by that is killing me slowly. It’s right on the tip of my tongue, struggling to stay between my lips. She’s laughing while my inner demon is yearning to come out to play. Mentally, I’m thinking back to Damien saying he wanted to find a new third. If shorty doesn't fit the bill, I don’t know who will. It’s all about getting there.

“Hmm, I guess I will then,” I concede, tossing them into the cart, “Besides, I love trying…new things.”

“What a coincidence. Same here.” She smirks after saying that, with her body pushing forward.

Tension fills the aisle like wet cement. Rising higher as we stand together. She treats me like a Long Island Iced Tea, consuming me slowly with her eyes. A multitude of languages are spoken through seductive theatrics and long gazes. It’s clear we’re reading the exact same book, same page and chapter. Neither of us is backing down. Her eyes are like lasers, running a stream of warmth down my body as she studies every inch of my skin. I even catch her biting her bottom lip once she gets to my waist. If this bitch isn’t trying to eat my pussy, the Earth isn’t round. I just need true confirmation.

“Are you in the mood to try something new today?” “Are we still talking about the drinks?”