Lead Me Not into Temptation, I Can Find It on My Own

By Robert Radar Holt

Lead Me Not into Temptation, I Can Find it On My Own is the story of Michael Surreal, a troubled thirty-three-year-old husband and father who, up until the day he dies and is condemned to hell, aspires to become the worlds greatest poet. While in hell, Michael becomes disgruntled with what he sees as flaws in the way its decided who goes to heaven and who goes to hell.
Having grown weary of listening to his complaints, the devil allows Michael to return to earth and pursue a life of righteousness. Michaels prayer is that the life he has now sworn to abide and adhere to will ensure him another chance to enter into Gods kingdom. The devils one and only stipulation is that he doesnt break any of the Ten Commandments or violate any of the seven deadly sins.
As fate would have it, the nineteen-year-old girl Michael once vowed to never see again, walks back into his life not long after his return. What unfolds next not even God Himself would foresee, even though both Michael and Autumn knew He watched their every fault with bated breath.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546226079

Robert Radar Holt

Robert Radar Holt is a 1977 graduate of Grand Prairie High School in Grand Prairie, Texas. He studied and played football at Baylor University from 1977-1980, where he was a member of the All SWC Football Team and an Honorable Mention All-American Wide Receiver. In 1981 he was drafted by the Buffalo Bills, where in four years injuries limited his regular-season appearances to only seven games. He received his bachelors degree in Art History from Prairie View A&M University in 1987. In 1998 he received his masters degree in Education from Texas Womans University. For twenty-five years he worked as a Physical Education Teacher/High School Administrator with Grand Prairie ISD before retiring in 2015. Radar has published two books of poetry, written a screenplay, a novelette, a collection of religious short stories, and invented a board game. Presently he resides in El Paso, TX where he is pursuing a career as a standup comedian. You can follow Radar on YouTube and Facebook by searching Robert Radar Holt.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Tuesday, June 14, 11:16 p.m.

The man’s tongue entered the girl’s mouth the same way he had entered the abandoned building to identify the body of his wife. The kiss was bittersweet. A part of him longed to let go—to be swept away into a sea of unrivaled passion. But at thirty-one years old, not counting the two and a half years spent in hell, Michael Surreal had been around long enough to know that for every act of self-indulgence, there were unwelcome consequences. And though he chose not to entertain the notion, he knew that more likely than not his fate had already been sealed. He also knew that lurking just beneath the surface of the sea he once again longed to lose himself in was the assurance that he would spend the rest of his life in hell—not to mention another unavoidable death, which he feared was becoming an epidemic.

It had been less than five months since the body of Alyssa Surreal, Michael’s beloved wife of seven years, had been found nearly decapitated in the basement of the old, abandoned building on Huntington Road. Michael had been overheard crying out to God that if he lived a thousand lifetimes, he’d never again experience such pain. He was wrong. The pain he was now experiencing was no doubt a different kind of pain but just as painful. In some regards, it was the worst kind of pain imaginable—a slow, debilitating pain that one is well aware of, yet can do nothing about. As Michael himself once noted, The kind of pain that births poems.

The night of June 14 was only the second time Michael had been with the young girl who, nineteen years earlier, had been christened Autumn Sinclair Savage. Their first and only other encounter had been prearranged by Autumn’s mother when Autumn was only sixteen years old.

Hattie Burrell-Savage, an egocentric and self-centered woman, to say the least, always had to have what she believed to be the best of everything. She demanded nothing less for her only child. One of Selwyn, Texas’s most sought-after Realtors, Hattie met Michael while showing him a house on the more recently developed south side of town. At the time, she was extremely dissatisfied with her husband’s inability to satisfy her sexual needs, and like the true seductress she was, she managed to coerce Michael into filling the void on her very first attempt. She likened Michael’s lovemaking to the pleasure one gets when reading a good book for the first time. A book laced with drama and suspense. One capable of holding your attention for days on end and taking you to places that had only been dreamt of. A book you can’t wait to share with someone close to you. Hattie yearned for Autumn to experience what it was like to piece together her own adventure, like the one she had lost herself in time and time again. For the obvious reason, she insisted her daughter’s first sexual experience be with Michael, someone she felt would set the standard for whoever Autumn’s future lover or lovers would be. Hattie had come to realize that Michael’s impeccable ability to quench a woman’s sexual desires, whether it was in bed or the back seat of a car, was a talent most men lacked. She knew that introducing her daughter to Michael would not only leave Autumn’s mind, body, and soul fiending for an encore but, more importantly, force her to settle for nothing less from a man than complete sexual gratification. Hattie was not about to sit back and risk Autumn losing her virginity to some immature adolescent boy incapable of satisfying himself for more than a couple of minutes. At one point, she seriously considered making Autumn a woman at the tender age of fifteen. Physically, she felt Autumn’s body had matured, but it wasn’t until she turned sixteen that Hattie felt Autumn’s mind was capable of rivaling her physical attributes. For her sixteenth birthday, Hattie arranged for Autumn to join her and Michael in bed.

Stopping her black ’98 Ford Mustang on the side of the dark, deserted road just shy of Selwyn’s oldest highway was no accident. Autumn knew that during this time of year the sprawling cornfields on either side of the road stood almost eight feet tall, making it nearly impossible for passersby to see anyone or anything hidden behind them. The heavy rain that had begun falling only minutes after she had pulled over also made it difficult to be seen. Autumn found the complexity of the rain both intimidating and soothing, both emotions leaving her longing to be kissed passionately and without reservation. But in the back of her mind, she knew Michael was still mourning the loss of his wife. She could see it in his eyes each time he peered through his drawn eyelids to reassure himself that it was Autumn’s mouth still loosely pressed against his. Nevertheless, she began to undress.

I promised my father I would never wear this dress again, Autumn announced sarcastically, right before lifting the short black dress with over one hundred dollars pinned to it over her head.

The sultriness in her voice appeared to come from someone twice her age rather than a nineteen-year-old just completing her freshman year of college.

Out of the corner of his eye, Michael could see that Autumn wasn’t wearing a bra or any panties and that her body had developed substantially since three years ago when they were last together. He was also able to see that Autumn had not forgotten how unsettled he had previously become with certain unshaven parts of her body.

Autumn had practically tossed aside her razor as far back as middle school, using it sparingly after several of her male classmates admitted to being aroused each time she raised her arm to answer a question. She relished the irony that, what some found disgusting, others looked upon as erotic. Unlike most young girls her age, she had never been embarrassed by the onset of puberty. She liked the attention she received once others noticed the curly hair tucked beneath her arms. As an errant middle schooler, she would often wear sleeveless tops to silence any naysayers who questioned whether she had already gone through puberty. But as a desperate and determined nineteen-year-old who had spent the last three years cultivating her mind, her soul, and especially her body for her day of reckoning, Autumn had come to realize one thing for certain. She knew that, no matter how erotic she felt the hair underneath her arms and around her vagina was, if she were to ever be with Michael again, first and foremost she would have to shave.

And shave she did. Nearly her entire body was completely void of hair.

My daddy would be very proud to know that for once I am doing exactly what he asked of me, she continued, once again referring to the dress Wallace Strangeways had insisted she never wear again.

Michael, sensing the onset of his demise, sat motionless in the front passenger’s seat, staring straight ahead at the endless drops of rain pelting the windshield. His expression mimicked that of a pedophile—a remorseful pedophile once he eventually comes to terms with the heinous act he has committed. Perturbed with Michael for ignoring her sarcasm, Autumn, for once acting every bit her age, threw her dress at him. The dress hit him in the face and then came to rest in his lap. The sheer audacity of the act startled Michael, allowing him to momentarily elude the obscurity posturing as the truth. For the second time since entering the abandoned building to identify the body of his wife, Michael noticed his heart. It was pounding uncontrollably.

Autumn briefly thought about offering Michael an apology but opted instead to scan the radio. She settled on a familiar song by Phyllis Hyman that reminded her of a time when life was a lot happier and a lot less complicated. She slithered her naked body into the back seat directly behind the driver’s seat. It had been three long years since she had given herself to Michael, and not a day had gone by without her recalling each stroke of his hands. He had been remarkably attentive and gentle, yet stern and strong. A connoisseur no doubt, as meticulous as a seasoned matador. Autumn couldn’t have forgotten Michael even if her nineteen years depended on it. Not only had he been her first, he was by far the best fuck she had ever had.

Unbeknownst to any of her immediate family or anyone else in her small inner circle, Autumn, lauded for her accomplishments as a classically trained violinist and her numerous achievements on the tennis courts, had been dancing as a stripper at a quaint little gentlemen’s club tucked away on the outskirts of Selwyn. Strings, the nickname she readily embraced in lieu of Lil’ Red, the nickname she deplored as a child growing up, had been dancing the past two years at the club patrons dubbed a hole in the wall. Contrary to what some might have believed, Hattie Burrell-Savage would have turned over in all her haughtiness to learn of her daughter’s exotic dancing, especially in an establishment known more for its illicit and illegal activities than its dancing. And that’s not to say what Wallace Strangeways, a reasonably reserved man, would have done had he known of his daughter’s unsavory dancing.

During Autumn’s three-year trek in search of a viable replacement for Michael, she sought solace in far too many men, had her heart broken far too many times, came close to being raped far too often, and did far too many other things she’d dare not tell even God Himself, though she knew He watched her every fault with bated breath. All the while, she still managed to maintain a 4.0 GPA while attending one of the small community colleges not far from where she lived.

It’s kind of tight back here, Autumn continued. Turning his head ever so slightly to the left, Michael could see that Autumn had inserted her middle finger inside her vagina. The mere thought of how much she had matured sexually, coupled with the fact that she wasn’t wearing any clothes, made it difficult for him to breathe.

Recalling Michael’s infatuation with her feet, Autumn raised her long, shapely leg resembling that of a ballerina’s so that her foot came to rest against the nape of his neck. Michael cringed in ecstasy. Her toes, comparable to those of an Egyptian queen carried throughout her day so that her feet never came to rest against the ground, were adorned with flesh-colored nail polish and an assortment of tiny mood rings that never seemed to be able to reach a consensus when it came to determining Autumn’s mood. Michael could feel the urgency in each one of her toes as they methodically massaged the back of his neck the way a warm cup of coffee massages one’s throat on a cold winter’s morning. He knew the most sensible thing to do would be to take Autumn’s foot in his hand and move it away, but he couldn’t. Like Samson, Michael was no match when it came to unsavory women, even if wielding the jawbone of an ass, or a makeshift slingshot using fortitude as his stones.

His eyes, drunk with passion, scurried to and fro before finally succumbing to eyelids taking the first of many curtain calls to come. He rolled the window down about halfway, savoring the fresh air and each drop of rain that pelted his face.

You do like tight spaces, don’t you? Autumn asked, continuing her relentless assault as she inserted a second finger inside her vagina. Once again, Michael failed to summon a response. He wasn’t sure if he was even capable of speaking. He was finding it difficult to fathom that Autumn, at such a young age, was able to exude so much control over him. And though Autumn had yet to realize it, Michael had realized long ago that she and her mother shared one distinct quality—an innate ability to get what they wanted once they set their mind to it.

Autumn knew that in addition to Michael mourning the death of his wife, he had yet to forgive himself for taking her virginity at the tender age of sixteen. But once again, like Hattie Burrell-Savage, Autumn was strong-willed and hell-bent on getting what she wanted.

Managing for only the second time to temporarily break away from the allure that consumed him, Michael leaned slightly forward, attempting to distance himself from the bewitching effect Autumn’s toes clearly possessed. He shook his head, attempting to clear it, then gazed down at the dress still lying in his lap. It was at that moment time seemed to become disoriented, indecisive as to whether to continue its relentless assault or retreat. Michael slowly picked up the dress and used it to wipe away the rain that entombed his face like a widower’s veil. As he held the dress closer to his face, his eyes began to scamper once again. This time like adolescents engaged in a game of hide-and-seek before finally being forced to take refuge for the second time behind his closed eyelids. He could smell the vulgarity and innocence from Autumn’s vagina held captive in the black dress. The sweet and the sour, the disenchanted and the content. Its allure was intoxicating, causing each breath he took in to grow twice as deep as the previous. Michael inadvertently fell back into the seat as if it weren’t even there. He marveled at how long it had been since he had last been with Autumn. He pressed the dress even closer to his face, this time against his open mouth so that it too could join in his indulgence. Drifting in and out of consciousness, Michael was as helpless as an addict reuniting with an old habit he had only momentarily managed to walk away from. It seemed as if it were only yesterday when he lay with Autumn.

He turned his head slightly to the left once more, this time much slower. His eyes, for all they were worth, stood still as Autumn once again brought her foot to rest against the nape of his neck. For what seemed like eternity, she used her toes to gently brush aside the rain that had pooled at the crest of Michael’s upper lip. Though every emotion inside him summoned his advance, he knew it would be unwise not to tread lightly. He also knew that his ill-advised advance would more likely than not, lead to his demise. As much as he longed to take Autumn’s toes into his mouth, he somehow managed to find the strength to once again resist the slowly building tide that patiently awaited his advance.

Four Years Earlier

In addition to being married, raising a four-year-old daughter, struggling to make ends meet as a substitute science teacher at a middle school, and struggling as a poet, Michael, who had once studied to be an anesthesiologist, managed to find time to pleasure a couple of older women who were unhappy in their marriages. According to Michael, neither of the women meant anything to him other than the opportunity to make some extra money. Michael stumbled upon his second occupation purely by accident. While viewing a home during a brief separation from his wife, he happened upon the flamboyant Hattie Burrell-Savage. At fortysomething and holding, the curvaceous, extremely light-skinned Hattie still possessed what many of her coworkers and clients referred to as a body stacked like a brick shithouse. Had it not been for her exaggerated features, she could have easily passed for white. She had purposely crossed the color line marrying white, in hopes that her child or children would retain her color and her husband’s keen features. She felt the world would be much more receptive to her children if their skin were light.

In her one and only child, Autumn Sinclair Savage, she got her wish—not to mention a couple of other welcomed features she hadn’t counted on. Autumn, who stood right at five two, had been born with a bright reddish complexion—as bright as her dreams and aspirations before she would be damaged and left to sift through a multitude of untruths in hopes of finding true love. Her long hair was also red and loosely curled, and her hazel eyes, depending on the way the light reflected off them, more often than not appeared possessed.

In Wallace Strangeways, Hattie’s quiet, unassuming husband of seventeen years, she found security in his complexion as well as his features. But in Michael, who was as dark as Wallace was light, she found someone who would force her to reconsider the very thing she had chosen to ostracize, the sweetness the darkest berry exhumes, like blackened apples harvested from the Garden of Eden. Or better yet, the irony in the phrase, Once you go black you always go back.

Michael was as handsome as he was dark, and as tall as he was handsome. And because of his athletic build, it seemed it would take minimal effort on his behalf to hoist the world upon his shoulders he had grown so bitterly opposed to.

While Hattie checked upstairs to make sure the three-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath home was ready to be shown, she insisted Michael wait downstairs. It had been a little over a month since she had endured a three-hour operation to tighten her vagina after a year of Kegel exercises failed to shrink her pelvic muscles. This was her first time testing the waters since her procedure, and she was as eager as a child reuniting with her favorite toy after desecrating it and having it repaired. For no reason other than to help create an air of romanticism, Hattie moved the thermostat as far to the left as it would go. Then she lit the fireplace.

Once she gave Michael the green light to make his way up the stairs, he discovered her in the master bedroom nestled beneath a sea of blankets. Her clothes had been strategically strewn across the floor, weaving a seductive path directly to the seventeenth-century cast-iron bed where she awaited his indecisiveness. Michael’s wall of resistance was immediately dismantled when Hattie offered him cash to take her somewhere her husband had been unable to take her for years. Nevertheless, the emptiness Michael felt inside after pleasuring Hattie made him realize just how much he still loved his estranged wife. He was consumed with so much guilt he hastily returned to Alyssa, confessing what he had done and begging her forgiveness. With God as his witness, he promised he’d never again sleep with another woman. However, there was one thing he did fail to mention, and that was the amount of money he had received for his efforts. Hattie had gladly handed him five bills, each bearing a portrait of Benjamin Franklin. Although the act itself left Michael longing to return to his wife, the notion of being paid five hundred dollars for a couple of hours of work lingered. And when Hattie offered him twice the amount to pleasure her and a friend, the money eventually forced him to reconsider the promise he made to his wife and compelled him to discuss with her his uncertainty.

Alyssa Surreal, a soft-spoken, petite, brown-skinned woman who stood no more than a few inches above five feet, had never felt threatened by anything Michael had done, including his extramarital affair with Hattie. For one thing, he had always been honest with her. It was Alyssa who would eventually encourage him to pursue the foolish old women as long as they were willing to pay him with ridiculous amounts of money. She also knew that neither of the women meant anything to her husband, and the money allowed them to do things they had only dreamt of. What neither Alyssa nor Michael were able to foresee was Michael eventually becoming involved with Hattie’s much younger daughter, who, unlike the others, Michael would find impossible to resist.

Tuesday, June 14, 11:22 p.m.

So, are you going to join me back here or what? Autumn asked. The sharpness in her tone rivaled that of a fencer’s sword the more impatient she grew with Michael’s idleness.

Despite the continuous rain that at times seemed as if being tossed from buckets aboard a sinking ship, Michael seriously considered getting out of the car. He longed to lift his face to the heavens, to have his mind, body, and soul cleansed by the pouring rain. But for reasons even he found disturbing, he slid between the two front seats as if they were opposing lies at odds with each other’s quest for the truth. No sooner than he settled into the back seat next to Autumn did she mount him the way an experienced rider mounts her favorite horse. Her large breast absorbed his guilty facial expression like fond memories from his past. He could feel the lips of her vagina as they moved slowly back and forth against his erection. He could feel her tongue as it wandered aimlessly in the dark in search of his ear. His entire body shuddered the moment it found its mark. In less time than it took for Michael to reconsider joining Autumn in the back seat, her tongue unmercifully began its descent, delving deep past corridors where sound itself had seldom traveled. His entire body began to tense and tremble even more, as if he had suddenly found himself in the direct path of a firing squad anticipating the crackling of guns when his blindfold slipped from his eyes, forcing him to watch each bullet race toward him in slow motion. Michael felt faint as Autumn’s fingers slowly interlocked behind his head, causing everything between them to become imprisoned. His breathing was once again labored, some breaths seemingly stealing air from his lungs rather than replenishing them. He felt that at any moment he would lose consciousness.

As Autumn leaned back just enough to analyze the despairing look on his face, both of his hands instinctively began to rise. He placed them against her breasts the same way he methodically placed them along each side of his deceased wife’s face right before unleashing one bloodcurdling scream after another as he attempted to reattach her head to her body. Like Alyssa Surreal’s face, Autumn’s nipples were rigid to the touch.

Is something wrong? Autumn asked, sensing uneasiness in Michael’s touch. Her hands were cupping his face.

Again, Michael offered no response. Autumn knew the answer to her question before she even asked it. Michael was there in body, but his mind was miles away. He wanted nothing more than to give Autumn his undivided attention, but too many demons consumed him. Whether he was willing to admit it or not, he was starting to find it impossible to resist someone as beautiful and seductive as her.

Hoping not to implicate himself any more than he already had, Michael immediately took back his hands, placing them on the outside of Autumn’s thighs instead, where he felt a lot less vulnerable.

You like my birthday suit? Autumn asked in a deep, almost hypnotic voice. Her lips were once again pressing against Michael’s ear.

When Michael was much younger, his mother taught him to always count to ten whenever he was at a loss for words, in hopes of preventing himself from saying something he would later regret.

Since today is my birthday, Autumn continued, her lips still brushing against his ear, I didn’t think you’d have a problem with me wearing it again even though you’ve already seen me in it once.

Michael immediately began counting quietly to himself. While doing so, he eventually came to realize that the advice his mother had given him as a young boy didn’t come without exceptions, especially when the exception came in the form of a beautiful and seductive young girl hurling one provocative question at him after another. No matter how fast, how slow, or how many times Michael counted to ten, he found himself at a loss for words each time Autumn asked him a question, or left to sort through words he knew he would later regret.

Which birthday suit do you like best? The one I’m wearing now or the one I wore three years ago?

Despite modifying his mother’s advice by counting well beyond ten, Michael still found himself speechless.

I hope you don’t mind the two holes in it, Autumn persisted, widening her legs even farther apart than they already were. "Especially the one in the back. I try to make sure it’s always accessible because I’ve come to realize that some of us colored folks still prefer entering certain venues through the back door