wouldn’t have.
Her father had the same gap and said it was a Cain family trait. He said it added character to her face.
As Candy had never met any other Cain family members besides her father and her older brother, Corey, she could only take his word.
When she was a child, other children had teased her because of the gap between her teeth, among other things.
She remembered her father telling her the small imperfection was something to be proud of, not ashamed of. It was a part of who she was, and no matter what, she was never to be ashamed of who she was.
As usual, his words had helped ease the sting of their cruelty.
She smiled in remembrance and the deep dimples she’d also inherited from her father flashed in the mirror as she did so.
She missed her dad. It had been too long since his last visit. Too long since he’d breezed into town and made her couch his bed.
But she knew it was only a matter of time before he’d come around. When he grew bored with his current job or he got fired. Either way, she knew she’d see him soon.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t a hard worker. It was just…hard for him to stay in one place for too long. As a child she’d seen it all as one big adventure, she remembered with a melancholy smile.
She grabbed the washcloth from the bar attached to the wicker shelf and ran warm water over it. She added a bar of her favorite homemade rosemary-scented castile soap and got a good lather going. She gently wiped her face clean. The warm water and pleasant smell helped to invigorate her, fully waking her up.
After she finished, she draped the washcloth over the side of her vintage, cream-colored porcelain pedestal sink in order to tackle her hair.
She deftly unbraided the thick French braid and allowed her kinky mass of hair free rein. She eased her fingers into the thick tresses and massaged her scalp and moaned.
It always felt good when she unbraided her hair and allowed it to breathe.
Candy loved wearing her hair natural and chemical-free. She enjoyed the sense of completeness, of wholeness, she’d gotten when she’d kicked her creamy crack pusher, formerly known as the relaxer, to the curb.
Within moments her hair was a wild mass of riotous kinks and curls all over her head. Candy laughed at the image in the mirror.
She opened the door to the small, old-fashioned mirrored cabinet mounted on the wall and removed a few of her favorite natural hair oils.
She poured a quarter-sized dollop into her palm, rubbed her hands together and began to massage the fragrant oils into her hair and scalp.
Candy had learned how to make her own soaps and oils during the course of one summer, as a young girl, from an older women who’d babysat her as her father worked.
The woman hadn’t had much money and the small change her father had been able to give the old woman to watch Candy had been needed and appreciated.
The skills the older woman had willingly passed on to Candy, she’d not forgotten.
It was a skill that came in handy when she began to create her own concoctions as a young teenager and sell them, often helping to make ends meet.
She was more than happy to share that talent with the girls at the youth center where she was the director, knowing many of them came from poor backgrounds.
Since wearing hair natural and using natural hair and skin products was the latest cool “nouveau culture” thing to do, she could teach them a useful skill. Also, they wouldn’t be made fun of by others because they couldn’t afford store-bought products.
Instead it was seen as cool to make something uniquely designed. Candy chuckled out loud about the change in times.
She continued to stare at her reflection, the smile sliding from her lips as she kept on massaging her scalp. She noticed how the movements of her hands on her hair caused her small breasts to rise and gently slap against each other.
Her gaze hesitantly dropped to her plum-colored nipples. They were beaded and stood stiff and proud, right in the middle of her dark areolas.
Slowly she dropped her hands and allowed them to brush over the small mounds, before she cupped their light weight in her hands. She imagined that was just how he would do it.
He’d never actually touched her breasts in real life. But in her dreams, he’d come close.
Deliciously so.
In fact, he’d come close to doing more than caressing her breasts this last time.
But not in real life. In real life her dream lover was a man who saw her as little more than an irritant. Someone he was forced to have dealings with. At least it was the impression Candy always got from him.
Whatever. His loss.
She forced negative thoughts away. She didn’t feel like treading down that path of no fulfillment from her dream lover, or his real life counterpart.
It was time to get ready for work anyway. No time for thoughts along those lines or she’d have to turn to Big Billy.
However, of late, Billy had provided her with little or no relief as she craved something more than what the plastic toy, no matter how many vibrating levels it boasted, could provide.
After she’d taken her shower, Candy grabbed the thick cotton towel and dried herself. She pulled out a small, lidded crock that sat in one of her baskets near her bathtub.
After she opened the lid to the crock, she scooped out a generous portion of the cocoa butter/shea butter blended smoothie she’d made herself.
The dry weather would ash her skin to death if she didn’t keep it moisturized, and her own homemade products kept it nice and supple, better than anything she could find over the counter.
She loved how the blended creams felt sliding over her skin as she anointed her arms, torso and legs, before recapping the crock and returning it to the basket.
She rewrapped the thick towel around her oiled body and walked back to her bedroom and toward her closet.
Candy stared at the contents of her closet for long moments, just trying to figure out what she’d wear for the day.
It wasn’t like she had that many choices. Her closet was filled with all very similar clothes. The main differences were the pattern and color.
The closet was filled with an assortment of long, loose-fitting dresses, a few pairs of jeans she’d had forever, what looked like a hundred T-shirts and tons of various colored and textured fabric.
Just fabric.
She wore her various fabrics most often. She’d stand with her legs spread apart so when she finished wrapping it, the fabric would swing natural and loose on her body. Holding both ends of the fabric in each fist, she’d then start wrapping the cloth around her body and end when the tips met, and knot it.
She’d first started wearing
