3. A Man's Craving

Dexter Lee had been exhaustively writing lyrics for hours Friday afternoon until late evening. After a long week of writing and recording music, nothing sounded on point to him. Everything he attempted to write this week he deleted from his IPad. Dexter also had a pile of balled-up papers on which he had scribbled ideas, tossing them in the wastebasket. He sighs, running his hand through black-silky strands, feeling depleted. He couldn't understand at first why nothing he wrote had that intense driving force. His music always purposely accomplished two things after hearing it. The beat made you want to dance in the middle of the floor or between the sheets. Right now, neither one was happening to him. Frustration penetrated his soul. He rubbed his temples to relieve the tension that bothered his eyes as he slowly closed them. He could tell that something was off.

Dexter's POV

"Ah, that's where this frustration is coming from this evening. But, boy, I've been so engrossed in my music I didn't realize that so much time had passed and it went fast. Wow! How long has it been since I had female companionship? About a week, maybe longer? Now that I'm thinking about it, some time has gone by since I've entertained female company. Well, I know the remedy for that. " The Niche nightclub is where the beauties will be swarming."

Whenever my music and lyrical writing are off-keel, I know what to do to get my inspiration back. So, I shower, and a few minutes later, I stroll from my bathroom with only my towel wrapped around me. I press my remote, walking through my revolving doors into a sizable closet. I love fashion and unique shoes and clothing styles. My love of fashion is an occupational habit since public relation is the crust of my multibillion-dollar business.

The vents inside my closet are on a timer to release my favorite scent, unlike most people who select clothing by maybe their favorite color. The selection of what I will wear was about smell and touch. I determine what I want to wear by how it feels to my touch. I rub my hands over my silk shirts and cashmere sweaters, trying to decide which fabric will work for tonight. All my clothes are gray and dark custom-made to fit my slender solid physique perfectly. I inhale the scent permeating every single thread of the outfits in my closet. Finally, I selected what to wear tonight. A three-piece designer black suit with a mid-thigh jacket, skinny leg slacks, a Scottish skirt, and leather combat boots.

I go to my jewelry table and carefully select three pure silver chains and two black pearl hanging earrings. I spray my hair with a sensual-smelling mousse, slicking the perfectly jet-black hair off my face. I pick up the remote to my car, head downstairs, and get in my sleek black, imported, top-of-the-line Ferrari.

I speak, and the systems in my Ferrari automatically respond to my voice. The seats and the temperature, visible lights are adjusted, selecting the song and volume of my choice.

I press the remote to open the garage. The snow is falling a little heavier tonight as I take off. First, the GPS directs me down the mountain heading into the city. Then the GPS changes direction only two miles down the hill. Finally, it gives guidance to take a detour. I quickly calculate the risk of going on an unknown road and the fact it will take me fifteen minutes longer to get to my destination, the "Niche."  

The music blaring inside my car as I listen to my latest songs will help me absorb the extra fifteen minutes. My fingers tap to the beat of my steering wheel, making my lips curve into a smirk, thinking of my need to feed this craving for new lyrics. Keeping the perfect songs coming provides me with this lifestyle. I realize if I view it as part of my work, I can have a good time as a single man.

 I must admit that seeing the hunger in girls' eyes and the lust pounding in their hearts to offer pleasure stirs something unnatural inside me. I dive into their satisfaction with only one purpose in mind, and that is to advance my music. What I do has nothing to do with money because I have more of that than I could ever spend. It's about staying on top and the next big hit. I never let anything come between me and my one true love, my music, not even my secret.

No one but my family knows that I am visually impaired. I love being out on the roads at night. The night is what I can relate to the most. No matter what time of day it is, I favor the night. I don't have to contend with the bright light from the sun burning my eyes or having to keep sunglasses on at all times or heavy traffic because I also love speed. With fewer cars on the road, I could get pure pleasure out of my many sports cars. So tonight, I'm in my black Ferrari, visually equipped. My baby has everything in it for an excellent ride.

Driving at top speed at night is my clearest vision. I glance at my GPS, another 12 minutes on this back road in an unfamiliar area. Tonight due to the weather, I noticed more road closures than ever. The snow now fell at a steady pace. The dark road begins to curve. My Ferrari tires make traction on the wet pavement. It looked like a plow had been through at some point during the daylight. It seems like I'm getting further away from my destination than closer. It is my first time visiting Colorado in February; the winter weather is no joke.

Piles of dirty snow pushed to the edge of each side of the road. The snow falling heavier didn't look good, but when I decided to purchase a house, mountain living was what I wanted to experience and all that came with it. There was snow - and lots of it! Even though it didn't affect my eyes. The heavy snow and falling temperature are both steadily dropping. No good, I thought.

Coming around the curve at top speed, I see a car almost diagonal on the side of the road. I see a shadowy dark figure on the side of the road with their hands in the air, waving vigorously at me as I approach the accident. I slow down a little, wondering what to do; I'm not too keen about stopping in the dark on an unfamiliar road. So I passed the car, thinking everyone these days has a cell phone, the person can call for help. But whoever the individual was, they were frantically trying to get my attention. 

My conscience wouldn't let me keep going, even though this neighborly gesture would interfere with my plans for tonight. I knew if it were me, I would want someone to stop and help. So I hit the brakes! I shifted my car in reverse, smoothly driving backward. Looking at my rearview mirror, I see long hair whipping and flying in the wind. 

"Oh, it appears to be a female. I think the figure is shadowy. I have to get closer." I'm somewhat slightly surprised but concerned. I park my car park several feet away from the accident. No, I didn't want to get too close in case this was some crazy guy with long hair.  

I slow down just ahead of the accident. The person still has their arms raised, waving their hands to get my attention. Cautiously I proceed, trying to figure out what I should do next.