Baby Girl Part 1: Photo Op
Part 1: Photo Op
“Excuse me, what do you use?” the dude asked.
He was standing in front of men’s shaving products in the supermarket and hadn’t noticed the dude walk up to stand just off his right shoulder. Now he gave him his full attention, that split-second scan one man gives a man unknown to him when they are thrust into each other’s circle:
Early twenties. Maybe six feet tall. Slender (almost skinny) with wiry-muscled forearms. Baggy shirt and jeans and a baseball cap. If it came down to it, a shot to his nose or throat or just below his heart to take away his air. Okay.
“Use for what?” he asked.
“Everything, I guess,” the dude said. “I got a job at a fast foot joint and they said I gotta shave.” He rubbed his jaw, which was carpeted with wiry black hair. A two-inch blocked off beard hung from his chin. “Thing is, when I shave I break out in bumps real bad. I see you’re real smooth, sir; no bumps.”
Okay, so this young brother was just asking for help. No problem. It was a small thing to help with, but the bigger picture was that the dude was working. Advice on shaving to fulfill his employment requirement was a good and right thing to do.
He pointed to his brand of razor and blades. “I use this. The blades are expensive, but they last a long time.”
His phone buzzed in his jeans pocket. As the dude asked about aftershave he slipped it out. It was a text from his Baby Girl. He tapped the screen to open the message and looked at a store shelf. “I use this one,” he said. “But the main thing if you get bumps is to make sure when you shave you shave in one direction, and don’t press down too hard. That cuts the hair off under the skin and causes ingrown hairs, which causes the bumps.”
He looked at his phone’s screen. A photo had downloaded, and more were downloading. He frowned at the first image: Her face in close up, applying red gloss to her sexy mouth. Beyond her bare shoulder a clock hung on the wall above a loveseat.
He reviewed his memory, trying to recall her taking selfies in his living room on one of her visits. If she had, she hadn’t previously shared this image with him.
A closer examination as the dude said something about shaving cream. The time on the clock in the image showed a couple of minutes past noon. Right now it was almost 1:00 p.m.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Most shaving creams are rip-offs. If you shave often you can get away with using a good non-fragranced soap as long as you work up a good lather.”
She had his spare key. But she lived several states away. She hadn’t told him she was coming.
The next image downloaded. Knowing his sexy baby, and with the young brother standing so close, he considered not scrolling to view it. He decided what the hell. He dragged his thumb on the screen, scrolling to the next image.
All it took was a glance, a glimpse at creamy sunlit skin to make his heart stagger over its own beat for him to know he should have waited until he had some privacy to check out her texted images. Oh well, it was too late now.
Standing a couple of feet away, the young brother leaned toward him and said, “Oh snap! Is that you?”
She must have dug his tripod out of the closet, because the shot was a full-body head-to-toe image, taken on his third floor balcony. He could just make out his camcorder’s tiny remote control in her hand.
She was leaning her forearms on the rail and gazing casually out at the sunny day. Whatever clothing she’d worn on her trip was in the apartment. All of it.
“Yeah,” he said to the dude.
Leaning on the balcony rail, she had one forearm wrapped around her breasts, pushing them up into vanilla mounds that looked as sweet as ice cream. Slightly bent over, the rounded swell of her derrière was a call to masculine hunger to come feast. Her rounded calves tapered down to delicate ankles. Bare feet on wooden planks completed the vision, was primal, natural; gave him a sense of Eve transported from the Garden, or some Nordic maiden snatched from the wilds of frozen Scandinavia to bask in summer sun.
“Forget shaving,” the dude said. “Tell me how I can get me a honey like that.”
“I’ve got nothing on that,” he said. “All I can tell you is to be straight with any woman you meet, and hope you get lucky. If she’s straight with you and of a like mind, everything should fall into place.”
There were other sent images from her. Knowing his Baby Girl, he knew they might be hot enough to set off the store’s fire alarms. He decided to wait until he was in his car to view those.
Hopefully he wouldn’t get a speeding ticket on his way home.
In his car, after her gifted images, was a text:
Her: Where are you?
Him: At the store. Just heading back.
Her: Okay. Don’t use your key. Knock.
Fortunately, no cops were out on his route home.
© 2014 The Black