A Possible Reality

By Benjamin L.

This new book tells an engrossing tale about romance, conundrum, deceit, murder, the art of creative manipulation and more.
Twenty-three-year-old James Davis enjoyed his young life. Aside from the joy of serving others, his career choice gave him the opportunity to make the money he needed to pay his rent, insurance, utilities and usually had a little left over to have a casual social life. His ordinary life drastically changed when Mayra crossed his path. From an accidental first encounter, he was caught by her alluring persona and became involved in her enigmatic life. She was an educated woman that had traveled all over the world, but there was one very trivial thing about her. She was a smuggler who shuttled packages for huge amounts of money. As he tried to know the entirety of her being, intense passion and sizzling romance bound them together. Little did he know that his life would soon be dragged into the world she had just escaped and barely survived. Now, James will face a rigorous training.
He must learn the ropes and survive the challenges of his complicated new job. As readers get to know James, they will come to identify and relate with him. They will come to respect and love him as he matures through his experiences to be that nice neighbor we all know and have. Suspense, mystery, deceit and more will hold you captive until the shocking truth unfolds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456858964

Book preview

Chapter 1

I can taste blood in my mouth; my tongue tells me that I have three loose teeth. My nose hurts; it’s probably broken. I can’t open my right eye, my ribs hurt; hell, my body aches, and I can hear the voices of two men. They’re talking in Spanish. What have I done? Where am I? What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Relax. Don’t move. Think. What event has been different from your regular routine? good advice that sprang to mind

Let’s see; I was leaving work Tuesday night. I’m a waiter. That is something my mother isn’t very proud of after paying so much money on my five-year college education. What the hell, serving people makes me happy. Think about it, I always asked her. What other job can I get that allows me to make people happy and they pay me for it? Kind of a stupid argument considering some people just don’t know how to tip. Imagine, leaving 10% or not even leaving a tip. Doesn’t everybody know that we get paid half of minimum wage; we depend on tips.

The argument was stupid, but it worked for me, and my mother accepted it. I worked the hours that I needed and had the freedom to do with my time off whatever I wanted. The absolute truth was that at twenty-three I guess the greatest thing about being a waiter was the lack of pressure. I made the money that I needed to pay my rent, car, insurance and usually had a little left over to have a casual social life.

Anyway, I had a good night. I sold $863 in food and liquor. After paying my 8% tip out for the bartender, food runners, and bus boy, I was walking out with $110. Not bad for a Tuesday night. It was about 12:30 a.m., and I was going to meet the guys for a cold one at our usual afterwork bar.

As I was getting close to my car, while cleaning my glasses, I heard a loud slap and a soft whimper of a woman’s voice. I put my glasses on and discovered that there was a guy carrying a girl right by my car.

I approached them from behind him and loudly said, Hey! When he turned, I cold-cocked him. It hurt my hand, but he collapsed and let her go. I helped her up and asked, Are you all right?

Yes, thank you, she said in probably the most helpless voice I had ever heard, with a slight hint of a Spanish accent. My eyes never left the body on the floor.

No worries, I said. Be safe and have a good life. All I wanted to do was get out of there before the guy got up and kicked my ass. I was too tired to get into a fight. The way I felt, I would be a punching bag, not an opponent.

I walked over to my car, got in, and started to leave when there was a knock on the driver’s side window that startled me. It was her. I pressed the button to open the window. Can you please give me a ride home? she pleaded.

Sure, get in, I said.

What the hell, I thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. When she got in, I just took off.

As I was approaching the street exit of the mall, I asked, Where to?

Make a left, please. She had already started cleaning herself up with the napkins she found in that small uncovered compartment between the two front seats of my Saturn station wagon. I always kept some napkins there to clean my glasses or for any other reason; you never know when you’ll need a napkin or a toothpick. There were some of both in there. "Make a right when you get to the first stop sign and go straight to Kendall drive, and then make a left, she said.

It wasn’t going to be a problem after all, I thought. That’s the way to the bar.

I really wasn’t paying any attention to her as I was driving, just listening to Y100, a local radio station, and the music they were playing. That’s all I was doing.

She kept going in and out of her bag and using the mirror on the back of the passenger-side visor. When we got close to the bar, she said, A left at the next light, followed by a quick right will put us in the complex. Her voice was no longer a whimper. It was more relaxed, more mature, more ladylike.

When we approached the third building, she leaned over and pointed toward a stairwell. Park right over there, please, she asked, pointing at a parking space. I pulled into a space reserved for apartment 201. She opened the door and turned to me.

The car was still in gear; because as soon as she got out, I was going to leave. I was tired and in need of a nice cold Stoli screwdriver. I really have no way to thank you for helping me sir, she said, sitting there waiting for my answer.

No worries, I said as I turned to look at her. I expected to see a swollen and/or bruised face. Wow! What a surprise. What a babe! Light olive colored skin, deep brown eyes; features that made every woman I had ever met pale by comparison—not that I’m the kind of person that compares, mind you. Thick black hair combed to one side, a long luscious thin neck that didn’t have any veins sticking out. She had it adorned with a thin gold chain from which hung a delicate crucifix. Wow! What a babe! Thank you sir or ma’am who thought of putting in that little dome light that comes on when the car door is opened.

Would you like to come upstairs and have a drink with me? she asked with a welcoming smile in her voice that went hand in hand with the delicate innocent smile on her face.

Sure, but I can’t stay too long, I said. My friends are expecting me. I put the car into park as she got out and closed the door. It took a great deal of effort to conceal the smile that wanted to burst onto my face. Later, guys, I thought. I was tired, but I would have to be dead not to want to spend some time with this fine-looking woman.

Apron and tie off and thrown in the backseat, car door closed, and alarm set, I turned toward the stairway where she was standing on the second stair waiting for me. The stairway was well lit and it showed me a body that was very nice. Skintight black pants covered long legs and a very nice round butt. She must have brushed off the dust when she got out of the car. She looked clean and there wasn’t a wrinkle on her. Her blouse looked as if it hadn’t even been worn, and she had been in a fight. She walked up the stairs in front of me, and, man, that ass looked nice. I don’t know what you got in that bag. I said, trying to start a conversation. I’ve never been very good at talking on a one-on-one basis with attractive women; I’m shy that way. It’s done wonders. It doesn’t even look like you’ve been slapped.

She stopped at the door for apartment 201 with the keys in her right hand and said, I wasn’t slapped.

What are you talking about? I asked, confused. I came to your rescue because I heard him slap you.

I slapped him, she said as she opened the door. She turned on the lights as she stepped inside. Holding the door open with her back, she motioned for me to enter.

I stepped into what appeared to be a mansion. From the looks of the outside of the building, it appeared to be a middle-income family apartment complex. This place, however, was nothing like what it appeared. It had a marble floor. Looking around, there was a staircase inside of this apartment going up to the third floor with a fine crystal chandelier. The living room that I was standing in was bigger than the living room, bedroom, dining room, and kitchen of my condo. Hell, it was bigger than my whole place. The furniture and paintings on the walls were breathtaking. Guessing, I would say that any one of those paintings by itself cost more than all of the furniture in my place and that of my two neighbors put together.

She closed the door, put her hand on my shoulder, and pointed to the left of where I was standing dumbfounded and with my mouth hanging open. The bar is right over there, she said and continued with, Would you make a Cosmopolitan for me, please? Help yourself to anything. I’ll be right back. And up the stairs she went.

As I went to the bar, I saw the fireplace. In Miami, where the average year-round temperature is 84 degrees, it is not common to see fireplaces. But to see a fireplace large enough to park a VW Beetle in, is unheard of.

The bar itself was about fourteen feet wide, solid marble that seemed to be a continuation of the floor. It just grew out of the floor. Eight bar stools of brass and fine leather stood before the bar, waiting for patrons. You could see the wine chillers on either side of the glass rack that was against the wall behind the bar. Under the glass rack there were all kinds of liquor bottles. All were the expensive brands, and there were some I had never even seen. Some I had never even heard of.

The chiller on the left only had red wine and was at a nice 56 degrees according to its digital thermometer. The one on the right had white wine and its digital thermometer read 36 degrees. One of the ten rows in the white wine rack only had bottles of Dom Pérignon champagne.

Standing in the position of the bartender, I could see that under the bar there was a line of coolers, three of which were full of beer, two had expensive imported beer, one with domestics, and the next two kept glasses cold. Above those two coolers were the three little sinks, then came the ice maker, and on the other side of it a cooler with juices and sodas. It also had a full fresh fruit tray inside. The bar was ready for business.

I found a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, had a shot, then began to make a cosmo in a nice chilled martini glass. I placed the drink on the bar and prepared a double-shot vodka with a splash of what appeared to be freshly squeezed orange juice for myself.

I heard that little voice inside of me ask, What the hell are you doing?

Paying attention to my little voice has kept me out of lots of trouble. That wasn’t about to change. Setting my half-drunken screwdriver on the bar, I started toward the front door. I had to leave.

Where’s my cosmopolitan? she asked, which made me stop and turn.

On the bar. I heard those words coming out of my mouth. I’m sure I looked like a complete fool with my mouth open, staring at this beautiful woman standing about five feet away in a see-through black negligee. Had I been blind that I didn’t notice until that moment those firm, round, full breasts that were staring back at me? I didn’t notice the expression on her face because I didn’t look at her face. I could not get enough of her body, that flat tummy, trimmed pubic hair in the shape of a heart; every detail of her body was being chiseled in my brain. What a great image.

She must have known exactly what my reaction was going to be. She walked toward the bar and there was no such thing as personal body space as she passed by me. I could smell her perfume. I can still feel the delicate touch of her hand on my arm carresing me as she walked past. She reached the bar and took a drink. Her backside looked even better in the flesh than it did inside those black pants. She turned toward me, looked me in the eyes, and said, Very good. She took another drink, paused for a few seconds, then said, Are you planning to do anything with that? Her arms were open and she was leaning on the bar behind her. She lowered her eyes from mine to my crotch, one of the best body-language invitations I have ever received. That smile was a welcome beacon.

I was tired, but with her in my sights, dressed the way she was, looking the way she did, smelling the way she did, using that welcoming tone in her voice, even after being dead I’m pretty sure my body would react the way it did. I was erect.

Approaching her very carefully, ready to tear off that negligee and tear into her body, I heard my inner voice state, Holy invitations, Batman! We’re going to have fun!

I took off my glasses and set them on the bar next to her drink. I took her hand in mine. Her fingers were trembling. Eyes closed, I lowered my head and began to kiss her softly below her right ear, enjoying the taste of her skin. My right hand was caressing her left breast. I was moving my mouth slowly from her neck toward her mouth, her very hungry mouth surrounded by luscious sweet lips. She started unbuttoning my shirt, kissing my neck, and taking off my clothes. When I bent down to take off my shoes, she striped off her negligee.

Within seconds we were rolling around on the very expensive, plush, and comfortable rug in front of the fireplace. Our hands and mouths were all over one another for a few minutes before she sat on my face. Both pairs of her lips were very juicy and sweet. A few minutes of moaning went by before she reached down and grabbed my head. She looked me right in the eyes and said, Please… penetrate me.

No worries, I replied.

She lay down beside me on her back, feet planted on the floor, knees high and wide. I took position, lay on top of her, and slowly began to penetrate her completely. A perfect fit, her nails penetrating my back told me she agreed. Don’t know how long I lasted, but she felt great, and I finished hard. That, however, wasn’t enough for her. Her hungry mouth and body made my tired body do things I didn’t think or even imagine possible. The woman knew what was good and how to please.

When I awoke, she was nowhere around. My Casio watch told me it was 8:03 AM. I had to find a bathroom right away. My bladder felt ready to explode. It was the first door on the left in the hall located past the stairwell. The bathroom was solid white, spotless, without a speck of dirt anywhere. It was so clean that it made me feel a little awkward using it.

After I emptied my bladder, flushed, washed my hands, face, and rinsed out my mouth, I wiped everything down again. It looked as if it hadn’t been used. I stepped out of the bathroom ready to start the day. I heard noise coming from behind the stairwell. With my underwear, pants, and glasses on I took a few minutes to look around. This place was even more beautiful than I thought it was the night before. The sunlight illuminated all the beauties that were placed all around. The colors, the decor, and layout of the place made it look like no one lived there. It was very sanitary, very new, very business like. It spoke and it said, Look but do not touch. I obeyed.

The painting that hung on the wall at the landing of the stairwell, before the stairs continued to both sides of it, was breathtaking. It was a painting of an Aztec or Mayan warrior holding a golden bloodstained sword in his right hand, a maiden on his left, with his left foot dressed in a sandal, above a slain Spanish warrior. It was a life-sized image. It was so clear that I expected the warrior to step out of the painting or see flowing blood on the floor below the dead Spaniard.

Paying attention to every detail would take way too long; I had to find her. I began to follow the noises I had heard. It led me to the top of another staircase located behind the stairwell I had already seen.

This building was supposed to have twelve three-bedroom, two-bathroom apartments, but it must have been gutted and made into the castle I found myself wandering in.

Coming down the stairs, the sounds that I had heard began to take form. There was music and splashing water. There she was, swimming in an indoor thirty- to forty-foot pool, with what appeared to be a waterfall on the far side. Somebody to love by Queen was playing all over in what sounded like surround-sound stereo. The music was so clear it was like wearing headphones.

I stood on the side of the pool, enjoying the music, enjoying the view, and loosing myself in thought. Last night was better than I ever expected. I had fun, made some good money, did my good deed for the day, and got thanked by getting laid. Definitely a good night. My attention was brought back to the pool by her splashing water at me.

What does a naked girl have to do to have you join her? she asked, and then just as casually, she licked the middle finger of her right hand and lowered it to caress the nipple of her left breast.

I never thought that I could be easily manipulated, but with her actions and that welcoming smile, my body and inner voice spoke and acted before my mind could think. I was naked, erect, and in the heated pool on my way to do her again. Listening to Queen and my inner voice letting me know, This is better than winning the lottery. She’s insatiable. We did it again.

I have had several women in my life, but I had never had one use my body to provide herself with pleasure while pleasing me more than I had ever been pleased before. She was hungry for pleasure, for satisfaction, and she was using me to get it. I was being used and I can’t remember ever being happier or more physically satisfied.

We were sitting in the Jacuzzi, which was at the top and the source of the waterfall I had seen, making out like a couple of teenage kids alone for the first time. That’s when I realized, it dawned on me, that I was hungry. It had been over ten hours since I last ate. I needed food, sustenance, energy. I just knew we were going to do it again, I needed fuel. So I asked, Are you hungry?

She pushed away, looked at me with despair, disappointment in her expression and tone of voice when she asked, Are you saying that I’m not enough for you?

I felt pain in my chest; my heart was being squeezed. Before I could say anything her broken expression vanished with the return of her smile. You’ve worn me out. I’m starving, she said.

I remember thinking, A good sense of humor. Nice.

She took me by the hand and led me to a closet where she pulled out towels. We dried off. She wrapped one around her hair and put the wet ones in a basket. When she opened the second closet to turn off the music, I was startled by what I was looking at: a state-of-the-art music system surrounded by hundreds of CDs. I got closer while she was putting Queen’s greatest hits back in its case and proper place. I had the chance to see that there was everything imaginable: classical, country, rock, rap, hip-hop, dance, jazz, blues, Spanish music, titles I couldn’t even read, titles of CDs or names of bands in letters or languages I couldn’t even figure out. what language they were in.

She closed the doors, took me by the hand, and said, Come on, the kitchen’s upstairs. We were walking around this place naked. As we passed my belongings near the pool, I bent down and put on my glasses. She delicately folded my underwear and pants, took me by the hand, and we walked side by side upstairs.

Between the door we had entered and the bar there was a pair of doors that I had noticed the night before but thought nothing of. We walked toward them. She put my clothes on the floor next to her negligee, then walked to those doors and swung them open. After about five steps we entered a formal dining area. There stood a long rectangular table for twenty-two people. It had two very large candle holders, each held about twenty candles at three levels, and each was located on either side of a giant fresh bouquet of flowers. Funerals that I have attended, of cherished people that were truly loved, did not have as many flowers as this one bouquet had in all of their arrangements put together. It must have cost more than what I make in a week of hard work.

This place was a waste. I was thinking as we were walking, How can anybody have this much money just sitting around going to waste? Fresh flowers, fresh juices, and all that freshly cut fruit in the… We walked into the kitchen.

Stainless steel as far as the eye could see. There was a walk-in freezer, walk-in cooler, two refrigerators, a six-burner gas range, an indoor grill, three ovens, a bright shiny hood system, counter space for a ten-person prep crew. Damn, this kitchen was better equipped than the restaurant that I work at, and we produce enough food to have close to $100,000 worth of food sales on a weekly basis.

Who is this woman? I thought.

My little voice started asking questions too. Who is this woman? What’s her name? Is she playing with you? Is she married? Did you hit her husband? Does this place belong to her husband? Have we met the woman of your dreams, rich and insatiable? Those were all good questions with no answers.

She led me to a small table located on the far right side of the kitchen. I sat down and she said, I hope you’re in the mood for scrambled eggs. It’s pretty much the only thing I can make. She reached into one of the closets we had passed on our way to the table and removed an apron. Before it was over her head, it was in my hands.

No worries. I’ve been in the restaurant business for years. I’m not a great cook or a chef, mind you, but I’m sure I can come up with something. While I was putting on the apron, I opened the nearest refrigerator. It was fully stocked. What immediately caught my attention were the New York strip steaks. They looked cooked, sitting in some kind of sauce. I found a frying pan, turned on a burner, and heard a very low hum come from the hood fans that turned on automatically. While waiting for the pan to warm up, I returned to the fridge to see what else I could find.

I pulled out some freshly cut fruit that was in a bowl, a nice little snack to start with. Everything I could think of for breakfast, lunch, or dinner was there. Within ten minutes we were at the table with a feast sitting before us fit for a king and his queen. There was enough food for a pair of kings and queens. Freshly brewed coffee was her contribution.

She had worked on drying and combing her hair while I was preparingb the feast. Her hair was still wet but there before me sat a stunning naked woman. No makeup was needed. Her skin was smooth, without a blemish. Under the florescent light, and with the sunlight filtering in from the window next to the table, I was put in a state of awe by this naked woman’s beauty. We were both hungry. We feasted.

I have tasted a lot of fine food during my years in the restaurant business, but I have never had an almost one-inch-thick steak melt in my mouth and taste so good. The steaks were cooked to a perfect medium well. They were so tender I didn’t need a knife; the fork was enough. I made a mental note to find out what was in that sauce and how those steaks had been cooked, seasoned, and prepared.

She had a good appetite. I’m six foot one; she was five foot five or six, tall but slender. I had to be at least seventy-five pounds heavier than her, and she ate almost as much as I.

The list was growing. That was one more thing that I liked about her; she was real. She had no fear of letting me see who she really was. My list so far had several good qualities she possessed, active libido topping the list, followed by her great looks, she was physically fit, gentle, had good taste in music, a good sense of humor, very ladylike manners, she was real, and have I mentioned that she was naked.

When I was full, I looked at her and said, By the way, in case you’re interested, my name is James.

Pleasure to meet you, James. My name is Mayra. She reached out and we shook hands.

The pleasure has been truly mine, Mayra. May I ask a favor?

Anything, she said. By the way she said it and by the way she looked at me, I could tell that she really meant it. I could have anything she had to offer.

It took me a few seconds to regain my composure and remember what I was going to ask. "Would you be kind enough to tell me what I’ve gotten myself into? Who owns this place? Who was that guy? Why was he after