The Delicious Escape

By Marlon S. Hayes, Venessa Cerasale and Gordon Bonnet

When it comes to dating woes and issues, Renz has dealt with more than his share. One-night stands and steamy afternoon trysts have left him feeling vulnerable, used, and lonely. He decides celibacy may be what his life needs.

Lauryn walks into his life and his plans go quickly out of the window. She's beautiful, smart, loves baseball, and

• Language: English
• Publisher: Delicious Escape Publications
• Release date: Jul 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088225653

Marlon S. Hayes

Marlon S. Hayes is an author from Chicago, Illinois, who is happily married to 'What's-her-name,' and has two daughters and a grandson. His hobbies are cooking, barbecuing (proud owner of five grills), reading, watching old movies, listening to music, and traveling. He's pleased to say he's visited all fifty states and intends to try for fifty countries as well. His current count is sixteen.He can be contacted at [e-mail] and followed on Facebook at Marlon's Writings, Voices marlonshayes.com, and Delicious Escape Publications.

Book preview

THE DELICIOUS

ESCAPE

Also by Marlon S. Hayes

11:59

Nights of Wine and Rosa

The Last Haircut

The Next to Last Pitch

Jointly Connected

In the Pale Moonlight

Sippin’ Life at Lucky’s Bar and Grill

Watching for Pot Holes

Branches and Leaves

Marlon S. Hayes

THE DELICIOUS

ESCAPE

Delicious Escape Publications, LLC

The Delicious Escape is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

Copyright © 2023 by Delicious Escape Publications

All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-1-0882-2398-7

eBook ISBN 978-1-0882-2565-3

Printed in the United States of America

Cover and interior design by Venessa Cerasale

This is for my muse, whose whispers keep me going.

THE DELICIOUS ESCAPE

Part One; Falling

Chapter One

Out of My League

When older, married men say they envy my unencumbered lifestyle, I want to tell them being a single man is overrated. I know they think my life is nothing but naked women, one-night stands, and not having to answer to anyone. They’re partially right, I guess. The part they don’t realize is that it’s mostly a lot of lonely days and nights, when I wish I had a woman of my own, someone to make plans and with whom to daydream. Unfortunately, she hasn’t found me yet.

My government name is Clarence, but my friends and family call me Renz, which is what I prefer. The name Clarence brings to mind a bespectacled bank teller or a scruffy old janitor. Clarence is not the coolest name to have in the twenty-first century. Renz sounds much better. In fact, a woman screaming out Clarence during sex has never happened, and probably never will. Every man I know named Clarence has a nickname. Every single one. Pootie, Big C, Little C, Nook, etc. A woman moaning Renz over and over is much more of a turn-on.

I’m tired of dating. There, I said it. It’s a merry-go-round of unfulfilled hopes, unwanted discoveries, and the realization of how much time I’m wasting. I have dating tales which make me wince remembering them. The situations always start out promising, stoking my hopes and daydreams, only to crash and burn in a myriad of unforgettable ways. I’ll share a few examples of the rollercoaster that is my romantic life.

My friends laugh at my dating woes—or rather my one friend, Mike, and my sister Jean. Jean is only a year older than me and we’ve always been close. I’ve avoided her suggestions of female friends she’d like to introduce me to because I think it would be invasive and creepy to date one of her friends and associates. She always shrugs in response, because she knows I’m hard-headed and prefer to continue to struggle. I probably should let her introduce me to someone, because it’s not working for me on my own.

I met Christine at a restaurant while waiting on a client. The restaurant was pretty busy, and there was a half-hour wait time for tables. My client wasn’t there anyway, so I wasn’t in a hurry. In front of me waiting for a table was a beautiful, attractive woman in a two-piece business suit, which is always a turn-on for me. We struck up a conversation and by the time she was seated, I had her name and telephone number. Christine had a pretty smile and an amazing walk. I called her later that evening, and we went on our first date a couple of evenings later.

Since it was a first date, we met at a bar, instead of me picking her up. Christine looked good and smelled delicious, and over drinks we flirted with non-stop banter flying back and forth. She was witty, smart, and sexy, and I had visions of something beautiful blossoming between us. Somehow, some way, we ended up leaving the bar and going to my apartment. The alcohol and the flirtations had made the temperature rise, and the process went much faster than I wanted or expected.

To sum up this misadventure, twenty minutes after arriving at my house, Christine was performing reverse cowgirl on my couch. Her nakedness was incredible to witness as she gyrated her thickness side to side and up and down on my hardness. The condom didn’t prevent me from feeling and enjoying the wetness of her pussy. I held onto her hips, content to let her control the tempo and rhythm of our mating. It was incredible and I had visions of enjoying this and her for the weeks and months ahead. I should have known better.

After a crazy, steamy, sex-filled night, Christine left my apartment around three in the morning. I went to sleep sated, content, and with a smile on my face. My doorbell rang about noon, and I opened the door to a smiling Christine… and her three small children. Even in my sleepiness, I knew somehow there had been some kind of disconnect between us, maybe some miscommunication somewhere along the way. The kicker? At no point during our date or the aftermath had Christine mentioned she even had kids.

Um, hey, what’s going on? I asked, not sure of my footing in this situation.

I thought it would be a good idea if you hung out with me and my kids, she replied. I think it would be a good idea if they got to know you.

Now, we’d only been on one date, and yes, the sex had been spectacular, but I couldn’t figure out how we got to the instant Daddy moment. One of the kids was looking at me suspiciously, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. Trust me kid, there’s nothing to be suspicious of with me. I don’t want the job. My only problem was how could I extricate myself from the situation.

Today’s not a good day for me, I stammered. I promised my mother I’d come cut the grass and do some other stuff for her. But I’ll call you later and we can talk then.

Christine beamed at me, her hopes for me and her kids being friends showing through her smile. I felt like a piece of shit, but it really wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t ready for a commitment, especially not to a single mother with three kids. I loved and respected my own mom, and playing with the emotions of a single mother was something I’d never do. She leaned forward and kissed me on my cheek.

Okay, she said. I’ll call later. Have a great day. She turned and walked away, her rear end looking both soft and amazing. Her bespectacled child watched me over his shoulder as they walked away, and I sighed with regret. I’d never know that kid’s name, and I’d never watch his mother’s ass jiggle as I went in and out of her. Life just ain’t fair.

Later that evening, Christine’s tone on the phone was not as sweet. I explained my feelings to her, and told her I didn’t think it was in the cards for us to be together. I didn’t realize until that moment that certain four-letter curse words could be strung together so eloquently and vehemently. My ear hurt from her words, and she slammed the phone down as a goodbye. It could have been worse. Suffice it to say, I never heard from her again.

After the Christine fiasco, I tried not to get entangled with any woman. The irony is that when you try to avoid women, you’re inundated with them. I started working out, trying to sweat out my sexual appetite, while attempting to tighten up my muscles and abs. It was a valiant effort and what I thought was a pretty smart decision. I had not factored in how many women work out at the fitness center.

I found it curious and interesting that there are all types of women working out, some who seemed to enjoy walking around in next to nothing, exchanging flirtatious glances with men and wanting to be seen. Then there are the others, whose demeanor showed how serious they are in their personal quests for better, more toned bodies. These are the women who couldn’t care less about anyone seeing them or watching them. They’re focused and determined, and that’s how it should be.

As a man, going to the fitness center is a way of blowing off steam, and getting a good workout. I just hate the men’s locker room, and I’ve always hated it. There are rules of etiquette for men’s bathrooms and locker rooms, but these rules are often overlooked and ignored in the locker room of the fitness center. Men aren’t supposed to talk to each other while their dicks are out. Not at the urinals, not in the showers, and definitely not while telling a story.

Man, she was something, fine as wine, and I tried my best to get next to her, but she wouldn’t give me the time of day, said the pudgy, naked man to my left. He was clad only in flip-flops, his prepubescent penis immobile above his balls, too small to even flop. He didn’t seem to know the rule, or maybe he didn’t care. All I know is that I’d have been covered up if my member was almost invisible. I kept my eyes averted as he talked.

I know her name is Lauryn, and she comes in on Mondays, he continued, still unaware of his etiquette breach. If y’all get a chance to see her, please talk to her, and hit it if you can. Do it for the team, because I wish it was me.

I hurried and dressed, in order to flee the uncomfortable locker room, but subconsciously, the woman named Lauryn stuck in my head. Most tales told in a men’s locker room linger, whether we want them to or not. It would be awhile before I ran into Lauryn. In fact, I ran into a buzz saw named Yvonne first.

I was on the treadmill at the fitness center, while listening to Prince. I was caught up in a world of purple, thinking about the intricacy of his lyrics. I grinned to myself as I sweated, because the music of Prince was probably responsible for more sexual conquests and trysts than any online dating site. The debate as to whose songs were more responsible for intimate liaisons—Luther Vandross, Barry White, or Prince—would probably rage on forever. As for me, Luther’s songs made me want to be in love, Barry made me want to be mellow in front of a fireplace, and Prince made me want to be buried deeply in the hot wetness of a woman’s volcano. I guess that settles that debate.

As a song about a nymphomaniac named Nikki massaged my ears, a woman dressed in purple yoga pants bent over a few feet in front of me to adjust the settings on her weights, and I stumbled in my walking. I tried to correct my steps, but to my chagrin, I fell off of the treadmill. I was more embarrassed than hurt, and I tried to scramble to my feet unnoticed, but it was too late. A hand on my arm made me look up. It was the woman whose backside had distracted me. I knew it was her because she wore purple yoga pants.

Are you okay? she asked, a concerned look upon her face as she helped me up.

I’m fine, I mumbled. I might hurt tomorrow, but today the only thing hurting is my pride.

What happened? she asked, her hand still on my biceps.

I got distracted, I said, my eyes inadvertently going to the space she had occupied a few moments before. Her eyes followed the path of mine, and then she grinned up at me, understanding full well what had happened.

That’s a shame, and now I’m feeling a bit guilty, she said. Why don’t you shower and get dressed, and I’ll buy you a lemonade from the juice bar down the street? It’s the least I can do for causing you to fall.

I should have said no thanks, and continued on my path of celibate thoughts and actions, but I couldn’t help myself. I was powerless and witless whenever a pretty woman started flirting with