Love of the Sun, Moon & Star

by Lawrence Christopher


"Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction." ~~ exupíery

The Sun

In the measures of my life, I would say I am mostly comfortable. Spiritually, I am at peace with myself and I love and praise the Lord. Financially, I have an income from being an art museum curator that affords me a new car, a nice townhouse and a few luxuries when I want to treat myself. Physically, I could stand to lose a few pounds, to feel more attractive. This leads me to the only area I am the least bit un comfortable with in my life. I donít have a man i my life. Not to say that as a woman I need a man to validate my being or worth. It just gets lonely sometimes.

When my girlfriend called saying, "Cynthia girl, I have found the perfect man for you," it sounded too good to be true. A perfect man for me would have to be one who isnít threatened by my job status and independence. Most men are uncomfortable with what I have and can do without them. It isnít a matter of emasculation, simply my independence.

At a dinner party my girlfriend introduced me to Miles Pruitt. He is a fine man to look at and even better to listen to. His six foot, dark chocolate frame bellowed a tuneful boom of a voice. It captured the attention of all the women as he spoke. And I was just as attentive. Miles is an art dealer, about to open a gallery of strictly African American art. I was impressed with his ambition. Miles didnít appear to be just another brother who was settling for whatever hand life dealt him. Our intr oduction was short and sweet.

"Miles Pruitt, this is Cynthia Harmon, Cynthia Harmon, Miles Pruitt."

He extended his manicured hand, which was warm to the touch. The heat from his hand began to travel through mine, up my arm and through the rest of me. I swear it traveled to parts of me that hadnít been touched by the warm hands of a man in a long time.

"Itís a pleasure to finally meet you Cynthia. Iíve heard nothing but good things about you."

"Why thank you. Iím sure my friend may have embellished just a bit."

"On the contrary, from what I see so far I would say she didnít do you justice."

Now donít get me wrong; It hasnít been that long since Iíve been with a man that I would fall for the first one that would come along, saying the right words, but Miles had it going on and I was going with it. From that night, Miles and I had lunch a few times, going Dutch at first. This was an agreement so there wouldnít be any obligation. I appreciated the gesture. We discussed our careers. Miles used to work for an art dealer but decided to be his own boss and open his own art gallery.

From lunches, we moved on to dinners. On our first dinner date, Miles showed up at the restaurant with a white rose.

"This means friendship. Will you accept it?" I didnít want to appear too eager.

"What does being friends mean?"

"Whatever you want it to. Itís unconditional."

"Then I accept."

When our food arrived I nodded my head as usual to say grace, then I silently added a special thanks to God for bringing Miles into my life. After about a month, the frequency of our seeing or talking to each other slowed. Miles became increasingly busy with the opening of his gallery nearing. I understood. After about two and a half weeks of no call from Miles, I called him.

"Hi. I was wondering if you were still alive."

"Yes, barely."

"Whatís wrong?"

"Itís personal."

"Too personal for a friend?"

"Iím running into some financial problems with the gallery. I need five thousand dollars to secure a collection."

"How crucial is this to your collection?"

"This could enhance the quality of the entire gallery. Iím just tapped out. All my savings have gone and the bank wonít extend my credit."

There was dead air silence. Should I offer or should I wait for him to ask? Either way, what would my answer be?

"If you would like, I could lend you the money."

"That would be too much to ask of you."

"Not at all, I have it in my savings. You know, that rainy day money. The weather is pretty nice for me right now."

"I will sign a promissory note and weíll have it notarized."

"That wonít be necessary."

"Thank you Cynthia, I . . . I donít know what to say."

"Meet me at the First Trust bank tomorrow at noon."

I withdrew the money. The promissory note was signed and notarized at Miles insistence. Three weeks later over dinner, Miles handed me a personal invitation to the grand opening of Art Noir. We lifted glasses of wine in a toast to the gallery and our friendship. That night, Miles picked me up at home instead of us meeting at the restaurant as usual. When he dropped me off, he walked me to the door.

"Cynthia, I just want you to know how much I appreciate your friendship. You have brought a ray of sunshine into my life. Thank you." Then he leaned toward me and kissed me on the cheek. Miles stepped back and looked deeply into my eyes, a look that went through me. It was a long and awkward moment of silence. In his mind he must have been saying Ďnoí so strongly that he didnít know he was outwardly shaking his head. He said, "Goodnight."

It was a long night trying to sleep. I couldnít be satisfied with just a friendship with this man, I wanted more and I was sensing so did he. I went with Miles out of town to make the purchases of artwork. It was an overnight trip, so we spent the night in a hotel. We slept in separate rooms. The only act of intimacy was our holding hands as we walked to our rooms. He was a perfect gentleman.

The week of the grand opening I received a call from the renowned black artist Carl Massy. Massy and I met at a showing in Chicago and we became phone pals. He was going to be in town and wanted to have dinner. I asked him if he would escort me to the opening as a favor. He said yes. I then called Miles and made sure he had some Massy prints, then I told him I had a surprise for him. He tried hard to find out what it was, but I held firm.

Intentionally, Massy and I arrived fashionably late to the gallery. Miles was busily running about shaking hands and greeting people. There was a large crowd, which Iím sure Miles didnít mind. When he spotted me at the entrance registering in the guest book, I noted the look of puzzlement at who my escort was.

"Cynthia, I thought you werenít going to make it."

"I wouldnít miss this for anything. Miles, I want to introduce . . ."

"Carl Massy. Oh my God. I canít believe it. I love your work."

"Thank you."

"You didnít tell me you knew him."

"I donít like name dropping."

"Please come in, come in."

Miles and Carl spoke and Carl agreed to say a few words to the gathering and sign a few of his pieces. While Carl was at the podium, Miles stood next to me. I felt his eyes on me so I turned to meet them.

"I canít believe this. Is there anything you canít do woman?"

"Nothing I can think of." I responded coyly.

Miles grabbed me fully in a hug and kissed me on the cheek again, missing his mark a second time in my opinion. It was a long night of drinking champagne and eating chilled shrimp. The opening was a success. Plenty of art was sold. Carl sold five of his pieces for $1100 each? He had to leave early because of an early flight he had to catch in the morning. I told Carl I would get home and I thanked him for what he did. Around one oíclock the last guest was gone. Miles was flying high with the nigh tís success and I was happy for him.

"Iím on top of the world and much of it is due to you. Thank you."

"Youíre are quite welcome sir."

"How can I ever repay you?"

"By a cashiers check and giving me a ride home." I gave him a wry smile.

"No problem."

Once again we stood at the threshold of my townhouse doorway. Miles leaned in for another kiss goodnight, this time I helped his aim and turned so our lips met. I opened my mouth and invited him in. He accepted. He grabbed a hold of me and pulled me to him and I went without an ounce of struggle. Miles broke off the kiss.

"Should we be doing this?" He asked.

"Weíre consenting adults. I consent."

Miles was in the bathroom while I undressed and prepared the bed. I lit candles to illuminate the room. I wasnít comfortable being seen by the naked light of a bulb. I put on a gown I thought was flattering to my full figure and climbed in bed. I took that time to close my eyes to ask Godís forgiveness for the fornication I was about to commit. It was a long prayer, so long that I didnít hear Miles come into the room. He stood at the doorway looking at me. He looked beautiful and black. In the sha dows he blended. I could barely see him move on me. He climbed in the bed covering me like a blanket and he warmed me. That night, a friend loved me totally.

The time following that momentous night became odd and tense for us. We didnít know what to talk about over dinner anymore. I refused to bring up that night and what it meant. It had to come from him. The Art Noir gallery was doing so well that Miles had paid back over half of the money he had borrowed in half the time. Our lunches took more of a business tone. With the success of the gallery, Miles even hired an assistant name Tanisha to help run it.

Tanisha was petite and pretty. She looked to be about five foot seven and one hundred and twenty pounds of slender white chocolate. Any woman would feel threatened by her. She was young, single and could buy off the rack. Miles spoke of her emphatically, of the potential he saw in her abilities. "All she need is some grooming," he would say. Visitors to the showroom increased after he hired her, especially from potential male buyers. Miles began canceling lunch with me, saying he couldnít get away or he brought Tanisha to our occasional lunches. He said he wanted Tanisha to benefit from our conversations about art, to help her learn the business

It would be too easy for me to show my jealousy. Instead I didnít show any outward objections.

I allowed some days to pass before I gave Miles a late night call, but he seemed reluctant to talk right then. He did invite me to his house, saying we had something to discuss. I thought, this was it, we are going to come to terms about our friendship/relationship. Anxious, I arrived early at his house in the afternoon the next day. When I pulled into his driveway, Tanishaís car was there. My heart felt as if it was trying to climb out of my throat, while rapidly beating. It took three rings of th e doorbell before Miles answered. A look of guilt flashed across his face. There was no immediate sign of Tanisha.

"Youíre early."

"I was in the neighborhood."

"Ah . . . Come in."

We walked into the living room where I sat on the couch. Tanisha came walking down the stairs. She was caring and smelling a white rose, though I was seeing red. Quickly, I remembered that there was a bathroom in Milesí house on the first floor, ruling out that that is where she was coming from. She politely smiled and spoke. I responded in kind and said it was nice to see her again. I lied. From the side of a chair, she picked up an overnight bag.

"I have to be going Miles. Iíll call you later."

"Okay."

His uneasiness was showing. Miles followed Tanisha to the door, then returned to the living room after a few minutes. He stood in the middle of the floor. I could tell he didnít know what to say. So once again I helped him out.

"So what is it you wanted me here for? To see if you could have two on the same day."

"Itís not what youíre thinking at all."

"Then what am I to think?"

"Tanisha is just . . . someone I work with. A friend."

"Iím a friend too, but I donít bring an overnight bag when I visit. Cut the bullshit. Why did you invite me over here?"

"This is probably not the time to ask this. - - - I have an opportunity coming up. I have to fly to Chicago. I want to take Tanisha with me. - - - I was hoping you could spend some time with her at the museum and teach her a few things about African Art."

If Miles said anymore after that, I didnít hear a word of it. I could see his mouth moving, his hands gesturing, but I was deaf and numb. I rose from the couch and walked right passed him. My hearing returned to hear my car door slam shut.

The Moon

When I was introduced to Cynthia, I had no idea she would be all the woman she was. I donít mean because of her full figured prowess. Iím a big enough brother who can handle a healthy woman. Pleasingly plump, with plenty of rump, I can deal with. Cynthia turned out to be the exemplary package of bountiful beauty and the accomplished woman. We were introduced at a dinner party, where a number of women tried to get my attention. Those re like all the rest who hovered a round me to bask in my light.

Being Miles Pruitt has been the ideal life. I have had the good fortune to be successful in business endeavors and Iím a decent looking guy. My parents were able to pay for me to have the best education their money could buy from private schools to an Ivy League college. As for my personal life, I have been more than fortunate.

Being able to get a woman has never been a challenge for me. That may sound vain. It isnít. Itís the truth. The catch is, every offer of companionship isnít always worth the effort or trouble it could bring. Most of the women I come up against arenít a challenge for me because theyíre too eager and willing to please me, just to be with me. Also, they have little to offer me that I donít already have or can get for myself.

Something to offer was the difference I had hoped Cynthia would bring. A mutual acquaintance had filled me in on Cynthiaís life. Though she was a successful woman in her own right, she didnít have a man. Maybe, just maybe she was in search of the same thing I was. We had plenty in common. She is a top curator for a nationally recognized city art museum. I am a dealer in art and at the time we met, I was on the verge of opening my own gallery.

From our initial meeting we began having lunches. It was a slow ride, yet a sure one. I insisted that we paid for our own meals to keep the relationship platonic and non-committal. For the first time in my life I was looking for friendship with a woman first. My decision had nothing to do with Cynthia being a full-figured woman. In fact, I found her voluptuousness, rather attracting. She wore clothing to complement her figure. I sensed her physique to be solid and shapely in muscle as oppose to fa t.

At our first dinner I decided to show my genuine intent by presenting Cynthia with a white rose. As I hoped she would, Cynthia asked what my intentions were. Any other woman would have accepted the flower and the terms however I set them and without query. There was one other immediate gesture that impressed me about Cynthia. She was so confident and assured of herself that she had no problem in bowing her head to say grace before eating. I had never been with a woman who was spiritual minded. Maybe that was what I was missing in my life and in the women to make me whole.

I ran into some financial problems when it came to acquiring some art for the gallery opening. My bank account was close to being empty and they (the bank) wouldnít extend my credit. My parents were out of the country. I purposely didnít call Cynthia because I didnít want to look like a failure. It was too soon in our relationship for me to go to her for help. I sat in my house calling so called friends for money. Either they didnít have it or they had it tied up in CDs or some excuse like that. I was too close to opening to turn back. Cynthia called me. At first I was reluctant to tell her of my woes.

She only needed to ask in a most concerned tone, then I told her what I needed. I needed five thousand dollars. This was not a sum of money that I expected from someone I just met. It may have been my pride, but I couldnít bring myself to ask. With only a momentís hesitation Cynthia offered me the money. I had no choice but to accept, with a promise to pay her back as soon as I could. I insisted on signing a promissory note. We went to the bank and made the transaction.

That night we had dinner and I picked Cynthia up at her apartment. I donít know if it was what she had just done for me or if it was the way she had combed her hair back, that made her seem more appealing to me. Never before had I been with a woman who was in the position to do for me as Cynthia had. In my experience, it was normally me who was asked for money. When I took Cynthia home, I escorted her to the door. She looked so lovely. I wanted to say so much.

"Cynthia, I just want you to know how much I appreciate your friendship. You have brought a ray of sunshine into my life. Thank you."

Having been in the situation countless times before, I knew that night I could have seized the moment and gone to bed with Cynthia. It wasnít the time. We were friends, now business partners. Lovers would have been too much too soon. I took charge of my hormones and directed my kiss away from her lips and placed it on her cheek. I felt her exhale maybe a sigh of disappointment. Little did she know that I breathed it in.

That next week Cynthia accompanied me out of town to acquire the artwork I needed to complete the gallery. She used her influence to get me a tremendous deal for the pieces I purchased. More and more I was impressed with what Cynthia had to offer. Again that feeling of appeal consumed me as we walked hand in hand to our separate hotel rooms. I didnít want to trade our friendship for sex.

The grand opening was a complete success. My gallery the Art Noir was filled with guests. But the most important attendee was a surprise guest. Cynthia had called me and told me she had a surprise for me. At the same time she nonchalantly inquired about some prints. Little did I know that she would arrive at the opening with Carl Massy, one of the most recognized black artist alive. That night I wasnít going to deny the obvious. Cynthia and I were meant to be; as a complete package we would have co mpanionship and partnership.

Later that evening, actually early the following morning at her home, I knew I wanted to consummate a deal. On Cynthiaís porch, we began kissing. Rather than being aggressive, I asked Cynthia if she thought we should go further. She consented. No night of lovemaking meant as much to me or placed me under so much pressure to perform well. I mentioned that Cynthia was a spiritual minded person. As she was known to do, Cynthia said grace before eating each meal. She could have either been thanking Go d for providing her with the meal or for the blessing of the nourishment to her body. When I walked out of the bathroom from washing, Cynthia was in bed in the midst of a prayer. I didnít know if the prayer was for my being there or for how good I was to be to her body.

The sex was as good as any I had ever had, better than most. But the act alone would change the complexion of our relationship. I knew when I looked into her grimacing face, hopefully filled with pleasure, that I was committing myself to this woman. Yet, I had not developed any feelings of love for her. Until this point it was more about being friends then business partners. We had not shared one intimate moment or expression of passion for the another. As much admiration as I had for Cynthia, it w as not yet love.

For the next couple of weeks I immersed myself in the business of running the gallery. Infrequently, Cynthia and I would meet for lunch when I could get away. It was now obligatory for us to be together. I didnít feel the ease in our conversations as they once had. We knew that we had performed the most intimate act two people could share, but we didnít know each otherís mind on the same level.

The gallery was very busy, being right after the grand opening. It had been so busy that I hired an assistant to help me. Her name was Tanisha Johnson. She was exquisitely beautiful; slim in the waist and pretty in the face. Without question, runway models caliber. She was young, funny and she exude sensuality. Immediately I was attracted to her. I knew hiring Tanisha was the worst thing I could do. Mixing business with pleasure rarely works. Against my better judgement I did it anyway.

It was difficult to concentrate on work with Tanisha in the gallery. She wore borderline provocative outfits. I found myself doing things which I knew werenít right. Whenever we were standing close, I would do what ever I could to touch her. Sometimes I would go so far as to put my hand on her slim line waist. She never pulled away or showed any objection.

I was like a high school teen when it came to my feelings toward Tanisha, all hormones and very little thinking. I was jealous of the men who would come in the gallery to browse. They made their little moves on her right in front of me. Invitations to lunch were the most used approach. Some of the men showed interests in prints that were only available by order. That way they had an excuse to come back or to leave their pager numbers with Tanisha to call them when their order came in. Yeah right.

To compete, I found myself buying lunches and bringing it to the gallery. I spent one hundred and sixty dollars on an ink pen just to impress Tanisha. I knew I was out of control and I didnít know what to do about it. To make up for Tanishaís limited knowledge of art; I invited her to lunch with Cynthia and I. It didnít take a psychic to know that that wasnít the best of ideas. What I saw in Tanisha was the potential to be the epitome of brains and beauty, given the right tutelage. She had the abil ity to learn and I was willing to be the teacher to groom her in every aspect I could.

Then came the phone call that would force my hand in to making a decision over body and mind. A friend called me with passes to a private showing in Chicago of an African art exhibit. Cynthia came to mind first, within milliseconds followed the idea of Tanisha on my arm at the showing. I rushed out of my office to tell Tanisha of the news, realizing I hadnít made up my mind as to who would go with me.

Tanisha contended she might be an embarrassment if she went, because she wasnít as knowledgeable about art as either Cynthia or I. I found her admission touching. Then she suggested going to the museum to study some pieces with Cynthia. Again, I found her initiative to be admirable. I suggested that we make it a threesome. Talk about having your cake and eating it too. This would be gluttony.

Tanisha asked if she could come to the house to see some of my private collection of art. It was my chance at personally teaching her. I said yes and offered to cook dinner. Tanisha accepted. When she arrived, everything was hot and on the stove. I cooked my specialty of baked lamb chops over white rice and mixed steamed vegetables. In the refrigerator were two bottles of wine. We managed to finish both bottles. During the course of the meal, I presented Tanisha with a white rose for the start of our friendship.

The hour had gotten late. A surprisingly late phone call came from Cynthia. I had forgotten about her. Tanisha and I were in my study when the call came. I felt like a married man cheating on his wife, caught with the mistress in the house, while the wife called from out of town. I didnít have much to say, but I asked Cynthia if she could come by the next day to talk. I wanted to ask her face to face about Tanisha coming to the museum and to tell her about the trip.

Tanisha asked me about the call and I snapped at her, hurting her feelings. It was the guilt that caused me to respond the way I did. I went to console her and to apologize. I put my arms around her and pulled her to me. I kissed her, first lightly, then more passionately. It was passion that was leading me with Tanisha in tow to the bedroom. There, we spent the night lovemaking being attentive, responsive and submissive to each otherís whim. At one high point of excitement, I even called out Tani shaís name. That had never happened with any woman.

I had not intended to have an overnight guest. The next morning we had an eye opening hot sex session in the shower. Normally, Iím up and dressed early. Tanisha kept presenting herself to me, which delayed me putting on any clothes.

The sounding of the doorbell reminded me once again of Cynthia. I ran downstairs and finally got to the door by the third ring. I asked Cynthia in and we walked into the front room. I was hoping Tanisha would stay upstairs, but she didnít. She came down the stairs with the rose I gave her. The women exchanged greetings. Tanisha then took her overnight bag and left. I hadnít given it a thought until that moment that she came with the bag. That meant she had intentions of staying. I walked Tanisha to the door, pausing a moment before returning to the waiting Cynthia.

As soon as I walked in the room, Cynthia began.

"So what is it you wanted me here for? To see if you could have two women within twenty-four hours."

"Itís not what youíre thinking at all."

"Then what am I to think?"

"Tanisha is just . . . a friend."

"Iím a friend too, but I donít bring an overnight bag when I visit. Cut the bullshit. Why did you invite me over here?"

"This is probably not the time to ask this. - - - I have an opportunity coming up. I have to fly to Chicago and I want to take Tanisha with me. - - - I was hoping you could spend some time with her at the museum and teach her a few things about African Art."

It was like she wasnít hearing me. Cynthia simply stood up and walked out of the house. I was pleading with her to listen to me and to give me a chance to explain. She walked out of my house and my life.

The Star

The way it started between Miles Pruitt and I was like it always is, with the men I work for or with. At first itís about business, then it gets personal. I answered his ad in the paper for an assistant at his art gallery Art Noir. True, I donít know all that about art, but I know how to be an assistant, talk to people and sell. During the interview with Miles, I made him laugh. Maybe thatís why I got the job. He asked me what I knew a bout art. I was honest and said "no t much. But I know JJ on Good Times didnít paint that picture." That sent Miles into hysterics.

I could immediately tell that Miles liked me. Not to sound conceited, but Iím somewhat of an attractive woman. Iím sure most women feel that way about themselves, but with me, Iím told that constantly. Being pretty and small, with a nice shape can be more of a curse than a blessing sometimes. This would soon be the case with Miles. Every chance he could Miles would touch me somewhere, mostly on my waist when we would be working closely. His hands hold a lot of heat and I could feel it through my clo thes. It felt good.

Sells in the gallery were good. Quite a few men would come in to browse. Lots of them were men I met who tried to hit on me and asked where I worked. I told them, and they would show up to look around. Later, they would ask me out to lunch. My answer depended on what they bought. For those who did buy, I accepted their invitation. For those who didnít, oh well. Miles noticed the increase in traffic and sells. He also noted that mostly men came in to buy. I could sense he was a bit jealous, but I had no problem when the women would ignore me and go to him for help. The difference was men would openly flirt with me, leaving business cards with their pager numbers on them.

Men have a tendency to want to promise me the world. I canít count how many times men sung that song "If This World Was Mine" to me. This was nothing that I would ask for of course. If I mentioned I liked a piece of jewelry or saw an outfit I liked, the man would buy it. And no, I wouldnít have to give something in return, unless I wanted to. Miles was the same as the other men. He would buy me lunch all the time. He bought me this expensive Mont Blanc ink pen. I found out it cost over one hundred dollars. He said it would look impressive if I used it when I hand wrote receipts.

Now with all this attention Miles was giving me, I thought it would be just a matter of time that he would try to hit on me sexually. But he didnít. Miles kept saying I had potential and that he was going to be my teacher. I didnít care about art. Working at Art Noir was a job. My perk was working for a good-looking man, who drove a nice car, who might see me as a potential wife. With Miles I couldnít tell.

There was this woman named Cynthia that he always talked about. They were friends from what I could tell nothing more than that. But Miles spoke highly and often about her knowledge and connections in the art field. She lent him money to buy some art for the gallery, so she was obviously doing well. I felt a little threatened during one of his "Cynthia praise hours" when he once mentioned that a man could go far with a woman like that behind him. So I thought maybe I should meet this Cynthia. So I made the suggestion.

"Miles, when are you and Cynthia having lunch again?"

"I donít know. Why?"

"Oh, I thought it would be nice to meet her. Maybe I could learn something from her. She sounds like a smart woman."

"Thatís an excellent idea. When will you be available? Iím sure you have a full lunch schedule."

"I think I have an opening next week." I said snottily.

Seeing Cynthia didnít ease much of the threatening feeling. She was quite attractive in her own right. If it werenít for her size, I would consider her a challenge. But I still did to some degree. After all, she knew Miles before me and she was his friend. She had a lot more to offer him than I did. Cynthia spoke very high class and proper. It wasnít to talk over my head or anything, I think it was just her style. I was willing to take lessons.

Miles seemed to enjoy the relation between Cynthia and me. If she felt the least bit threatened by me, she was good at hiding it. After a couple of lunches, I had enough of playing schoolgirl. Iím not that scandalous to learn everything from a woman then take her man, if that would be the case. My mind was made up, Miles was going to be mine.

Miles came rushing out of his office one day excited about a phone call. It was about attending an exclusive showing of African art in Chicago. He said he didnít want to go alone. I could see the question on his face as if he was making a choice between Cynthia and me. I had to act fast.

"I would love to go with you Miles. But . . ."

"But?"

"I wouldnít want to embarrass you."

"Donít be ridiculous. You could never do that. Iím learning myself. Thatís the point of the trip."

"Still. Isnít there an African exhibit at the museum where Cynthia works? Iíll ask her to show me around. Maybe we can make the trip to Chicago a threesome. How about that?"

"That sounds great."

The plan worked too well. I had to do something to make Miles want to take one of us. I remembered Miles mentioning his personal collection of art in his home. That would be my invite and step one of my plans.

"Before I go to the museum why donít I come over and look at some of your pieces. That way I will know a little something before I see Miss Everything."

"That would be okay. Why do you call Cynthia, Miss Everything?"

"Iím sorry, I shouldnít have. Itís just she has everything. I can see how impressed you are with her. Iím not ashamed to admit it. Iím a little intimidated by her and I donít want to appear stupid when weíre walking around the museum."

"Cynthia isnít like that. She would be more than glad to teach you anything you want to know. Me too."

That evening I went to Miles house. He promised to make me dinner. His house was big, three bedrooms and two and a half bathroom two-story home. I brought my overnight bag just in case it got too late for me to go home. Dinner was delicious. Miles cooked lamb chops with rice and steamed vegetables. Of course we had wine, at least two bottles. At dinner he presented me with a white rose. He said it symbolized friendship and that this was the start of ours. That touched me. No man claimed a frien dship with me before wanting to go to bed with me. As planned, the hour did grow late by the time Miles got around to showing me his art collection in his study. The night was going beautifully, until it happened. The phone rang and it was Cynthia. Miles didnít say much, but I heard him say he wanted to talk to her. Then he stood staring at the phone after hanging it up.

"Is everything alright Miles."

"I wish you wouldnít call her that."

"I was asking about you. Are you alright."

"Oh, Iím sorry."

"Never mind. Forget it." I pretended to be more upset by his assumption than I was.

Miles walked over to me and put his arms around my waist, placing his warm hands at the base of my back. I let my head hang, forcing him to ask me to look up hopefully to kiss him. He brought one hand beneath my chin, raised my head and kissed me. From there we climbed the stairs to his bedroom where I gave him the loving that would surely make him forget about any other woman he had ever been with. In return, Miles was attentive and sensitive and just as passionate in his love making to me.

The next day, Cynthia came over. I think she was early in her arrival. I personally didnít want to be there when she came, but it did establish my position. I spoke to her and she replied. I felt no need to explain anything; this was Miles situation to handle. I picked up my overnight bag and said my good-byes.

The Eclipse

"First of all, I want to say Iím sorry and I know thatís not going to be enough."

"Alright, you said it. Now good-bye Miles."

"Cynthia, wait! I realized what was happening to me and why I did what I did."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. You see, . . . in relationships I have always been the sun. What I mean is the women looked to me to bring some light into their lives. Not because I am all that, but because of what I have going on. Whatever it is, it seems to be more than what they have.

"So when you came along, all that changed. You became the ray of sunshine in my life. You could do more for me than I could do for myself. And you did, freely. Instead of being grateful or appreciative of what you could do, I felt my manhood threatened. I know it wasnít your intent."

"Right!"

"But that is how I felt nonetheless and I know now I was wrong for feeling that way. In fact, I had become tired of being the sun and was looking to be the moon to someone else. Going from a sun to a moon isnít easy."

"So what does this have to do with you know who?"

"Everything. When Tanisha came along, she was like a shooting star. I was amazed by her and I wish upon her to bring things to my life that I was missing."

"Um hum, but you did more than wish."

"Thatís because of what I was going through. She took my eyes off of you and even off of me. All I could see was her. She was like an eclipse. Even though I thought was tired of it, to her I was the sun and I became important to someone."

"You were important to me. I saw you for who you were. Eventually, your star is going to burn herself out."

"Exactly! I know now what it is I want in a relationship."

"And that is?"

"If a person is a sun to a moon in a relationship, then they are not equal. One is looking to the other for a reflection of them. The sun gives light to the moon otherwise you wouldnít see it. The sun would be alone if it didnít have moons and stars to shine upon.

"What I want is to be in a relationship where we are two moons revolving around the same sun. Whether that sun is God, the love in raising a family or some other goal to be the reflection of our lives. And Iím asking that you be a moon with me Cynthia."

"Maybe. First I want you to do something for me."

"And that is?"

"No more star gazing for you mister."

"I promise."


Love of the Sun, Moon & Star by Lawrence Christopher

© Copyright 1999. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.


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