Читать книгу Booty Call *69 - Erick S. Gray - Страница 6

1

SHANA

Damn, I wish he would hurry up and be done wit’ it down there already. I should’ve never agreed to let this niggah eat my pussy. He’s wack! Done talked all that shit in the club last night. He got this, he got that, he can do this. I was feeling him for a minute, but now I’m at the point where I need to get the fuck outta here and go home. There ain’t nothin’ worse than a niggah that lies on himself, especially when it comes to his dick game. And if he got a small dick, he better know how to eat some pussy.

His first fuck-up was lying about his talents in the bedroom. He doesn’t have any, and probably never will. His second fuck-up was lying about his penis size. His dick is small and all shriveled up. He’s hung like a light switch—three fuckin’ inches, I swear. On top of that, he’s weak. He couldn’t keep his game strong for twenty-four hours. He ain’t no real playa; even his boys be dissin’ him. Now I’m starting to wonder if he really works for Def Jam; he couldn’t even afford to fill his tank up at the gas station. He put in ten dollars worth of gas for an SUV—and a Lincoln Navigator at that. It probably ain’t even his. His wack ass probably rented or borrowed it from one of his friends.

I should smack myself for falling for this stupid muthafucka last night. And right now I’m doing him a favor, being that he couldn’t even afford a hotel. Shit, he got me downstairs in his man’s basement apartment—talkin’ ‘bout he don’t like hotels; they ain’t his thing. If the niggah was really a baller and wanted some pussy, then he would’ve put money up for a hotel and not have me chilling in his man’s basement. When I asked to go back to his crib, he denied. He said it’s under renovation. He probably still lives at home with his mama.

I wonder why he keeps stopping and looking up at me? Now I’m starting to think he’s scared of the pussy, with his goofy fuckin’ smile. He is one huge fuckin’ turn-off.

I lay my head back down on the bed and decide to give him a few more minutes. After that I’m leaving. I know he’s gonna want to fuck, but it ain’t happening—not tonight and definitely not with him. I must have been tipsy to leave the club wit’ this niggah.

He’s finally stopped. I rest myself on my elbows and look down at him. This clown-ass niggah already has his jeans off and a condom in his hand. I quickly get up and pull my dress down. He looks baffled when he sees me reaching for my stuff.

“What…we’re not gonna do this?” he asks.

“No, we’re not gonna do this,” I sarcastically reply.

“I’m sayin’…I done went down on you and shit....”

“And…what? You were expecting some pussy just because you put your tongue between my legs?”

“Yeah, I mean, you got yours; can a brotha get his? I thought you were feeling me?”

“Please, niggah, I didn’t get mine; you’re wack! You can’t even eat my pussy right, so what makes you think you can fuck me right?”

Now he looks really hostile. The condom is crushed between his fist and he’s staring hard at me. But I wish he would try to come over here and assault me; my older cousins taught me how to box and handle anybody who might try to force himself on me. I’ll fuck this fool up, like I’m Ike and he’s Tina. But he does nothing but cuss.

“That’s fucked up. Then leave, you stupid bitch. Your pussy was stink anyway!”

“Yeah, well, you must’ve liked it, because it’s all over your fuckin’ face...and you were enjoying this stink pussy for a few minutes there, right?” I say with a smirk. “Don’t hate on my shit just ‘cause you ain’t stickin’ it. And many niggahs done already appreciated it.”

I collect my things and leave. I’ll take a cab back home; this trip wasn’t worth my time.

My name is Shana, and I’m tired of brothas who claim to be all that but turn out to be totally wack. People say I’m too promiscuous, conceited and sometimes too rude. But I keep it real and like to be straight up with brothas and sistas. If I think you’re ugly, then I’m gonna tell you to your face—not behind your back. And if you’re cute, that’s what’s up; I’m definitely gonna let you know. I don’t keep secrets, and I’m honest with myself and others. I know what I want, and that’s a sexy, wealthy, well endowed, successful black man. Sometimes I slip into other races, but it’s all good.

I like to have fun and enjoy life. I’m only nineteen, and I live like a nineteen-year-old partying, meeting guys, admiring the cute ones and dissin’ the ugly ones, having sex, roaming the streets and being cool. I’ve already graduated high school, and I’m in no rush to go to college. Whatever I own or have, I get it from guys who willingly buy it for me. They offer, I accept. I’m not going to turn nothing down; everything I get goes to good use.

I live with my mother and aunt, who are just as promiscuous and conceited as me; that’s where I get it from. My mother’s only thirty-five and my aunt is only twenty- eight. They’re still young and doing their thing. We all go clubbing and hang out sometimes. Most of the men think we’re all the same age, but when I tell ‘em that one of them is my moms and the other one is my aunt, they freak out. “For real?” they always ask.

I don’t have any sisters or brothers, but I have a shitload of cousins. My grandmother gave birth to seven children. My Aunt Tina is the youngest. She’s the one who lives with us. The oldest is my Uncle Tommy, who’s forty-nine. He lives out in Seattle, Washington. I haven’t seen him in years. I get along with my family overall, even though we often argue and fight and want to sometimes kill each other, but that’s a regular black family for you. And we all grew up in the projects.

My mother always told me that I was born to be a model. I don’t argue; I get compliments wherever I go. I got guys wanting to take me away on vacation—Jamaica, Bermuda, Barbados, you name it—all expenses paid. But so far, I’ve always turned ‘em down. I really don’t know why. Maybe it’s the type of men who ask me. I’m not really feeling them like that. And you know if they’re paying to take you to some tropical island, they’re going to want some pussy in return. I’m not at all for fucking a niggah just because he paid for my plane ride so I can lie on a beach in the sun. Don’t get me wrong, I do like to fuck. But I just don’t give my pussy up to any niggah with fat pockets and a cute face. I can be a bitch, but I’m no ho or slut—don’t get it twisted!

I arrive home and quickly jump in the shower, pissed the fuck off. That niggah wasn’t worth my precious time. My friends tell me that I’m very picky, but I have the right to be. I feel that my body is my temple and my time is precious, so a brotha must be about something. He must be honest, funny and smart. And also, one of the most important things of all, he must look good. I want my kids to be cute, so you know the niggah I’m with gotta be attractive. They say it’s what’s inside that matters. Bullshit! I know I don’t want to be waking up every morning looking over at some butt ugly man for the rest of my life, and worrying about what my kids are going to look like when I give birth. Looks have everything to do with a relationship. The first thing that attracts you to someone is their appearance and the way they dress and talk. Then you get to know the personality and attitude, see what they’re about.

My mother, Denise, knocks on my door and then walks into my room to tell me that Jakim is on the phone. I look at the time. It’s eight o’ clock in the morning.

“What he want?” I ask.

“He wants to talk to you.”

Jakim’s my ex-boyfriend. We broke up a month ago. After being together like Barbie and Ken for two years, he started to act like a jerk. I guess he thought he was a mack or something, ‘cause a few bitches wanted to give him some ass. What really made me mad was that he was paying more attention to them than me. I’m sorry, but I’m not the type of girl to play second to any bitch; if I can’t be first, then I won’t be anything. Now he’s calling, trying to seduce and romance me over the phone. Just a week after we broke up, four of his friends tried to talk to me. But of the four, I’m only feeling one of them—Tyrone; he’s definitely a cutie, and he drives a BMW.

“Shana, did I wake you?”

“No. I was gonna call you,” I say being sarcastic.

“You were?” he asks.

“No, stupid. You woke my ass up. What do you want?”

“I wanna talk to you.”

“Jakim, it’s eight in the morning. I ain’t get in the house till five.”

“Where were you?” he asks.

“What? That’s none of your business; we’re no longer together. Remember, you wanted to fuck with them other bitches around the way….”

“But I’m sayin’, though…”

“You’re saying what, Jakim? Just do you and I’ll do me. Look, I’m going back to sleep.” I hang up the phone. A few seconds later the phone rings again. “I’m not here!” I shout out. I know it’s Jakim calling back. He doesn’t like to be hung up on—not that I care. As far as I’m concerned, he can kiss my ass.

I don’t get out of bed till one in the afternoon. Besides Jakim calling me so fuckin’ early in the morning, I had a good sleep.

Like the other women in this house, I get money from men, so I don’t stress employment. You’d be surprised how much cash brothers like Jakim, Tyrone and a few others will hand over when they think they gonna get some ass.

My mom’s on public assistance and sometimes works different jobs here and there. But like me, she gets men to support her wants and needs. They swarm around her, just wanting to taste a piece of the action. My mom has long, gorgeous, silky black hair that hangs down her back—as mine does—and it’s not a weave either. She’s red-boned, pretty and sporting the hell out of a terrific, full-figured body. The only difference between me and my moms is that I’m taller, slimmer and have light brown eyes. My Aunt Tina’s a fuckin’ gold digger. I be hatin’ ‘cause she be doin’ her thang out there.

I walk into the living room and see Danny on the couch watching TV. He’s my mama’s man, five years younger than she is and got it going on. He has neat, well kempt, long dreads, muscular arms and a strong-looking chest—something a female can definitely work with. He’s tall, handsome and has a nicely trimmed beard. He goes to the barber to get his shit shaped up like once a week. He also got money! He drives around in a green Range Rover. They say he’s a big-time drug dealer, but he owns his own barber-shop and a nice little bar on Merrick Boulevard. I be envying my mother sometimes; she got the kind of man I dream about every night. I know he be doing her right in the bedroom, too; I be hearing her through the walls. Shit, Danny makes my pussy wet every time I see him. But I keep my affection and hormones to myself. I mean, he is my mother’s man.

I walk past him as he sits there flipping through the channels with the remote. My robe covers me, but I’m wearing nothing underneath. A part of me wants to jump on this fine man’s lap and fuck the shit out of him. But I just smile and say, “Good morning.”

“What up, Shana?” he replies smiling back at me.

He watches me as I walk toward the kitchen, where my mom is cooking up a late breakfast—scrambled eggs and sausages. I go to the fridge and grab a pitcher of orange juice. I then pour myself a cup.

“Late night last night?” my mother asks.

“My night sucked,” I tell her, leaning against the sink drinking my orange juice.

She’s in her robe, too. I know she just finished getting her groove on with Danny. “So, Aunt Tina left already?” I ask.

“No, that bitch got a date with Michael tonight.”

“Michael? What the hell she doin’ goin’ out with that faggot? What happened to T.J?”

“He got locked up last week.”

“Oh! I know she’s mad.”

My mother nods her head in agreement. “So what’s up with you and Jakim? Y’all getting back together again or what?” she asks.

“No. He had his shot, and he fucked up a good thing. Shit, I’m over that muthafucka now.” Yeah, I curse in front of my mother.

“You know, y’all do look good together,” she says.

“We used to, but now I’ve moved on.” My mother doesn’t say another word to me. She fixes Danny’s plate and serves it to him as he continues watching television. She then snuggles up to her man as he eats his breakfast. That dick must have been real good to her earlier. I grab the two pieces of sausage left on the stove and head back to my room.

I sit in my room and contemplate on where to go or who to call. I’m not about to stay in the house today. I turn on my stereo and listen to some Mary J. Blige. Soon after, the phone rings and my mother picks up and shouts that it’s for me. I pick up. It’s Sasha.

“What’s up, bitch?!” she hollers.

“Nothin’. What’s up with you?”

“Yo, Shana, you know there’s a party tonight over at that new club on Merrick, right?”

“Word? Who’s poppin’ there tonight?”

“Everybody, you ain’t heard? There’s supposed to be mad cuties rolling through,” Sasha says excitedly. “So you rolling or what?”

“Yeah, I’m rolling. Come pick me up now, though. I ain’t got shit to do for the rest of the day.”

“Aiight, then. I’ll be through there in a half. Be ready, bitch.”

“Bitch, just hurry your ass up…Danny’s here,” I blurt out. She has a crush on him, too.

“Word, what his fine ass up to?”

“You know, chilling with my mom.”

“Damn, your mom is a lucky bitch,” Sasha says. “Look, I gotta go. See you soon.”

I hang up and rush over to my closet to throw on something to wear. I know there’s no reason to rush; Sasha ain’t gon’ be here in no half hour. Shit, I’ll be lucky if she shows in an hour. I jump into the shower and fantasize about having Danny in here with me. I wonder how big his dick is and what he could probably do with it. I get so carried away dreaming about him that I slip my hand inside my pussy and begin to play with myself. Once I get good and started, there’s no reason for me to stop. After my shower and a good nut, I walk to my room and leave my door ajar, just in case Danny walks by. Oh, well, that idea’s a bust; he’s with my mother in her bedroom.

I throw on my tight-fitting, blue Guess jeans, my gray Guess sweater and a gray baseball cap—just something casual for the day. All I’m going to do is hang out with my girls.

It’s going on three, and this bitch, Sasha, still hasn’t come around. She got me sittin’ around watching afternoon talk shows. My mother is still in the bedroom with Danny, which is making me even more impatient. Shit, I wish this bitch would hurry up, I say to myself. Soon after, the doorbell rings. I jump off the couch and go answer the door. To my surprise, it’s not Sasha. Jakim decided to stop by—unannounced.

“What’s up, Shana?” he says standing there smiling.

“What the fuck do you want, Jakim?”

“What, I can’t stop by no more?”

“No, you can’t just be stopping by. Why are you here?”

“I just came to see how you were doing,” he says.

“Niggah, I’m doing fine without you. I know what you want, and it ain’t happening. Go get your dick wet with one of your trifling hoes down the street,” I angrily state.

“Shana, it ain’t even like that….”

“Niggah, didn’t I hang up on you just this morning?! Didn’t you get the fucking hint? Bye!” I shout. I try to slam the door in his stupid-looking face, but he blocks it with his foot.

“C’mon, Shana, I’ve been thinking about you. I’ve missed you, baby,” he says with his foot still jammed in between the door.

“Move your foot, Jakim!” He’s still standing there, pleading. Damn, is my pussy that good to niggahs? I can’t really get that mad with him, because I know I still love him. He’s my heart, but he needs to know that I should come first in his life. He thought we were going to break up and he’d be able to fuck other bitches. Then when he got done, he’d come running back to me, begging for forgiveness. No! It doesn’t work that way. I got too much respect for myself. I’m not one of these stupid bitches in the street he can game and have his way with. After being together for two years, he should’ve known better. He should’ve known how I get down. But I guess he wasn’t taking notes.

“Jakim, I ain’t playing with you. Please move your fucking foot!” I continue to shout.

“What’s going on out here?” my mother asks, coming out of her bedroom tying her robe together.

“Fucking Jakim won’t leave the door!” I scream.

“Jakim, respect my daughter’s wishes and leave here,” my mother calmly tells him.

“But I just want to talk to her, Ms. Banks,” Jakim says.

“It’s obvious that she doesn’t want to talk to you right now, so do yourself a favor and come back and speak to her another day. Don’t get her more upset than she already is,” she tells him.

Jakim backs off, removing his foot from the door. He apologizes to my mother for the noise and disturbance he’s caused. He then stares at me and leaves. I stand in the doorway and watch him drive off in his black Nissan Maxima before closing the door. I turn around and see my mother standing there watching me, and watching Jakim leave.

“You still love him,” she says. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Yeah, right,” I try to deny.

“It’s okay, Shana. We all go through the same problems with men. It’s just knowing when and how to deal with them,” she advises before going back to her bedroom to her own damn man.

My mother sees right through me most times. She knows that I’m still in love with Jakim, and she knows how stubborn I can be. But he fucked up and needs to be taught a lesson.

Just as I’m about to give up on that bitch, Sasha, showing up, the doorbell rings again. I go open the door, and there’s Sasha standing in the doorway smiling.

“Bitch, you know what time it is?!” I shout.

“Yeah, and your day ain’t wasted,” she quickly responds.

“Fuck you!”

“Yeah, I love you, too. C’mon, let’s go.” She grabs me by my shirt and pulls me out the door.

As we’re driving, listening to music and staring at cuties, Sasha says, “I saw Jakim turn off your block. What’s the deal wit dat shit? I thought y’all broke up.”

“Yeah, we did. But you know, he’s still sweatin’ a sista.”

“Word? I saw him with that bitch, Theresa, the other day,” she says, sharing unimportant news with me. “He was all hugged up with her in the park and shit.”

“Well, thank you for that useful bit of information,” I unpleasantly say to her. She could have kept that kind of news to herself.

We pull up to Mickey D’s, because I haven’t had anything to eat since those two sausages I had for breakfast. Sasha wants to pull through the drive-thru, but I prefer to go inside; the drive-thru always fucks up my order. I persuade her to park and eat inside; we’re in no rush to go anywhere. As soon as we enter the restaurant, three niggahs start clocking me. I just turn my head and ignore ‘em. Only one of ‘em is cute, but his shoes are jacked up. Sasha pays them no attention either. She just stands on line with me and looks up at the menu. I turn around to see if they’re still gawking, and yes, all three of them still are. I just sigh and continue to stand on line. As we approach the counter, I can feel the bitches who work here hating already, some of them staring and screwing up their faces at us. I place my order with the cashier, who has a bit of an acne problem on her face.

“Yo, do they still got that game where you connect the dots?” Sasha says loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“You’re wrong, bitch,” I say laughing. The cashier looks up at us in disgust and continues to take our orders. She looks like she doesn’t want to be here. Me, personally, I could never take a job at McDonald’s and get paid minimum wage.

“I don’t wanna see any foreign skin floating in my Pepsi,” Sasha goes on, causing me to laugh again. We’re so wrong, not much caring that we’re probably hurting her feelings. But she never says anything back to us; she just keeps on being polite and filling our orders. A few people on line with us think we’re funny, while others look on with disapproval and shame.

We receive our food and go and look for a table. “Yo, shorty, let me holla,” I hear someone whisper. I know which one of the three guys is trying to call me out, but I don’t answer. I just sit down at a table and look the other way.

“Yo, Shana, look at them three sorry bums over there clocking us.”

“Yeah, I already saw ‘em.” We continue to eat, laugh and make fun of the three guys who’ve finished their meals a while ago but remain at their table, probably trying to cough up enough courage to approach us.

“It’s a damn shame how some men can be so soft when they see pussy. A scared man can never get none,” I say.

Sasha is dying laughing, almost choking on her drink. She gobbles down her last bit of fries and we’re ready to leave. We get up and head out the door, still ignoring the three guys. They follow us out into the parking lot, and one of them finally gets the courage to shout out, “Yo, shorty, come here. Can I chat with you for a minute?” And it’s not the cute one. It’s the black, monkey-lookin’ muthafucka!

I just keep walking to the car. He should’ve been figured it out, but he keeps coming toward us, thinking he’s going to get some play. As I’m about to get in the car, he grabs a hold of the passenger door, preventing me from closing it.

“Excuse me!” I yell.

“I’m sayin, though, a brotha can’t get no love from y’all?” he asks.

Seeing him up close is even worse. His lips are dry and cracked. His skin is so black it looks purple. His clothes are wack and dirty, and his hair is nappy. Shit, I could go on with so many things that are wrong with him. “Ee-ill, niggah,” I say looking up at him in disgust. “Did I look like I was interested?”

“Blackie, please don’t touch my car,” Sasha adds. He looks over at her for a second and then focuses his attention back on me. I don’t even want him near me, and he has the nerve to be trying to talk to me as his two friends stand by and watch.

“I’m sayin’ though, you look too good, boo. I can’t get your number and call you sometime?”

“Hell, no, muthafucka. Please get away from me,” I say.

“Oh, it’s like that, boo?”

“Yeah, it’s like that, ugly—leave,” Sasha chimes in.

His two boys laugh, seeing him get dissed. I guess he was trying to impress them or something. He tries to play it off. “Fuck y’all bitches!” he says.

“You wish you could!” I reply.

I know he feels stupid. We drive off laughing. Ee-ill… me and him— never in this fuckin’ lifetime. “Next time, we’re going though the drive-thru,” Sasha says glancing over at me. I can’t argue.

We shop for the rest of the day on Jamaica Avenue. I buy a few outfits, including something to wear for tonight. Sasha buys a pair of fly, three-hundred-dollar, Donna Karan shoes, and they break her pockets. It’s going on seven, and it’s time to leave and get ready for the party Sasha was talking about. The only reason I’m really going is to get my mind off of Jakim. I’m not stressing him like that, but I still have feelings for the man. Sasha drops me off at my front door and promises to pick me up around nine, nine-thirty.

I don’t rush to get dressed. I talk to a few people on the phone, take a shower and do my nails. I’m home alone, so I walk around the house butt naked. It feels good to just let my body breathe every once in a while. I stop and look at myself in the hallway mirror. “Damn, bitch, you got the perfect body,” I say, posing and admiring every aspect of my figure. Noticing the time, I run to my room to get dressed. I already know what outfit to sport tonight—my black leather mini skirt, my slate blue, stretch silk shirt and my open toe heels. I let my hair fall down past my shoulders and comb it out briskly. I put on just the right make-up and spray on some Michael Kors fragrance.

It’s twenty past nine when Sasha comes to pick me up. Latish and Naja are in the car with her. Naja’s already riding shotgun, so I climb into the backseat and greet everybody. I’ve only known Latish for two years, but Naja and I go back to the sixth grade. She’s one of my closest friends. Latish and I had our little feuds back in the day, because she always tried to talk to Jakim when the bitch knew he was my man. She said they just talked, and that it wasn’t intimate. But deep down I know she fucked him; they just aren’t telling. I’ve kept it cool with her so far, and I try not to have any beef wit’ her.

We arrive to the club at a little past ten. There’s already thirty to forty people lined up outside. Sasha parks the car two blocks down, around the corner from the club. We all step out of the car and straighten out our clothes, make-up and hair. I know I’m looking good, so I don’t stress too much.

“Fuck this!” Sasha blurts out.

“What’s wrong, girl?” I ask.

“This fucking line, that what’s wrong.” She steps out of her place in line and heads for the front entrance. “I’ll be right back.”

About ten minutes later, Sasha makes her way back to us. “C’mon, y’all, we’re getting in,” she says.

We all look at each other, thinking, what is this bitch talking about? But we follow her to the front of the club anyway, causing many who are still standing in line to hate and begin to bitch and moan. I hope this bitch don’t embarrass us—we get to the entrance and get sent back to the end of the line—not tonight in front of all of these people. We get to the entrance and to my surprise, we’re easily escorted in by a 6’2”, dark and muscular man. We pay the ten-dollar admission and strut our way into the party. I look at Sasha in amazement. “What did you do? Who hooked you up?” I ask.

“I gave the main bouncer my phone number and promised to suck his dick before I leave tonight,” she says smiling at me.

“You serious?”

“Hells yeah. We got in, didn’t we?” I have no other words for her. She’s definitely bugging the fuck out. I’d rather have waited on line for two hours. But it’s all good. We step into the dimly lit club. The music, the crowd and the scenery is bumping. The deejay has everybody hyped. He plays that new jam by Ja Rule and Ashanti. I glance around the place, checking out the cuties. And I look around for a familiar face, but I don’t see one.

“I’ll be back,” Latish says. She goes straight to the bar. It figures. She always has to get her drink on before she can get her party on.

I’m standing alone, and this chubby niggah walks by and stares me down from head to toe. I hope he doesn’t come my way. The only thing he has going for him is the piece around his neck. It’s kind of fly, and I know it’s real—Cuban links with the phat diamond cross. His stomach sticks out too much, though. But he only checks me for a moment from the corner of his eye and walks away. Thank God.

After about an hour, the place is packed tight like sardines. Drinks are being spilled on people bumping into one another, and a fight breaks out between two guys on account of this. A few punches are thrown and they’re both put out of the club.

I’ve been dancing with this cutie for the past half hour. He gets love, with his hazel eyes and fade. He smells good, too. Too bad I can’t say the same thing for the majority of the niggahs up in here; muthafuckas don’t believe in cologne. But my newfound cutie is cool. He buys me two drinks at the bar and asks for my number afterward, but I don’t give it to him. I tell him I already have a man. He doesn’t take it to heart. He still chills with me for a while.

Latish is now a little tipsy. She’s on her sixth drink, and she’s with some chocolate, fine-looking brotha by the bar. Sasha’s doing it up on the dance floor, grinding and hugging up on a few men. Naja chills with me at the bar.

I need a little break; with each passing minute that goes by, a different guy grabs me, touches me or wants to dance or talk. I tell Naja that I’m going to the bathroom, and she comes along with me. I barely make it there when I feel someone grab at my arm. Now totally fed up, I angrily turn around, only to see Tyrone, Jakim’s best friend. He is a cutie.

“What up, baby girl?” he says smiling and gently takes my hand.

“Oh, what’s up, Tyrone? I ain’t know you was up in here,” I say to him. I can’t help but show my excitement. It’s all over my face.

He’s chilling with three of his friends, all of ‘em looking thugged out, wearing hoodies, jewelry, Timberlands and attitudes. He continues smiling and gives me a hug. “Damn, you look good, Shana,” he says gazing at my outfit.

“You’re not looking bad yourself,” I reply. He’s wearing a blue and gray Sean John sweatshirt, blue denim Rocawear jeans and black Timbs. His braids are freshly done and his diamond earring sparkles brightly. Damn, he is too fine!

“Can I get this dance with you?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, forgetting about the bathroom and forgetting about my girl, Naja.

We stroll over to the dance floor. It seems as though room is being made especially for us as we pass through the tight crowd. He grabs me and grinds his pelvis against mine. His moves on the dance floor are so smooth and coordinated, like he practices them every day. He knows how to move his feet, hips and shoulders. He has so much rhythm and energy that it’s hard for me to keep up with him. I notice the other ladies on the floor checking him out, too. They’re looking mighty interested as he grinds up on me. I’m getting wet and aroused and I’m starting to feel guilty.

We eventually stop dancing, and he asks me if I want a drink. I say yes, and he escorts me over to the bar. We talk and laugh until Sasha interrupts us. She says hi to Tyrone and gives me this weird look.

She then pulls me a few feet away. “You know you wrong; that’s your ex’s best friend,” she says.

“So!” I reply.

“What do you mean so? Jakim will kill you if he finds out you’re flirting and playing touchy-feely with his boy.”

“Did you forget that we’re no longer together, that I can do whatever the fuck I want?! Besides, I’m just trying to get my itch scratched tonight, and he seems like the right one to do the scratchin’.”

“You are so wrong, Shana,” Sasha says, finally leaving me to my business. She doesn’t understand. Shit, the last time I had sex was two weeks before Jakim and I broke up. That was a while ago. Tyrone will understand; it’ll be just sex. He’ll get what he wants, and I’ll get what I want. I know he’ll do me right tonight; I’ve heard stories about him from my girls.

I go back to the bar and tell Tyrone that I want to leave with him tonight. He doesn’t even ask why. He gives his boys dap and leaves with me under his arm. Sasha glares at me as we walk past her, but I don’t give a fuck what she thinks. That bitch is no angel; she does her dirt, too.

A slow jam mix CD plays in Tyrone’s BMW, and his hand is deep between my thighs. He’s fingering my pussy, and it feels so good. I spread my legs apart even more so he can get a better feel. “You’re bugging, but I’m feeling you, boo,” he says smiling.

We’re heading to his crib for the night—not his mama’s, but his shit, which he shares with his roommate in Rochdale Village. I’ve been there once with Jakim. It’s real cool. It’s a two-bedroom, with the phat entertainment center. We stop at a red light and begin to kiss, tonguing each other down passionately. The light turns green and we pull off. I’m so horny, and my panties are so wet that I end up pulling them off and throwing them in the back seat. I think I’ll leave them there.

We’re at his crib fifteen minutes later. His roommate is still at the party, and he’s not coming home any time soon. We begin to do our thing. He pulls up my leather mini skirt and lays me down on the carpet. He begins eating me out. He spreads my legs wide apart and sticks his tongue deep inside me. I moan with pleasure. He lifts his head up for air after several minutes. I’m done with the oral action anyway; it’s time for us to move on to the next stage. I want to fuck him. I get naked, and he gets to his feet and does the same. He has eight inches to play with, a chest like Tyson, the model, and a washboard stomach. I push him down to the floor, mount him and start riding that dick. I’m definitely feeling him up inside me; he’s so big and hard. It feels as though his cock is reaching into my stomach. He palms my ass with a tight grip, and he thrusts himself into me harder and harder, absorbing my juices and fulfilling my needs. He then turns me over to lie down on my stomach. He rams his rod into me from the back. I want to bite down on my tongue; he’s banging me so fast and so hard, and it feels so good. I claw the carpet and begin to pant. He speaks not one word as he fucks me vigorously. Position after position, the dick is feeling too good; it puts me in tears. This muthafucka, Tyrone, has strength, stamina and endurance. Thank God for him.

We feel no regret after we’re done. I needed exactly what he just gave me. My pussy has definitely been scratched. I get up and begin to get dressed. I zip up my skirt as he buckles his jeans, but we don’t leave right away; Tyrone has other treats in store. He goes to his bedroom and comes back out with a phat blunt—some bomb Haze. We smoke and talk as we continue to get high and fondle each other. I am definitely feeling this niggah’s groove.

Tyrone drops me off at my front door a few hours later. He kisses me goodnight. “Whenever you need that favor again, you know who to call,” he says.

I nod my head, get out of the car and walk to my front door. I turn around and watch him drive off the block when I finally begin to feel guilty. Damn, Jakim would trip right now if he knew his man kissed me goodnight and dropped me off at my door. My eyes dart about nervously, looking to see if his car is parked anywhere on the block. Luckily for me, it’s not. I’m in the clear—not that it really makes a difference; we’re not together anymore , I try to convince myself.

I go inside and see my aunt all over some man on the living room couch. His pants are down, and her blouse is fully open. She smiles at me and asks if I had a good night. I smile back and tell her that my night was too good to me. She feels where I’m coming from and continues doing her thing with her male company. The one thing about us females in this house is that we aren’t humble or shy when it comes to getting our freak on in front of each other. I remember the time I came home early from school and caught my moms ass naked on the floor, with some red-bone niggah in between her knees. It didn’t take a miracle to know or see what was going on. She looked up at me, grinned, asked why was I home from school so early and then went right back on with her business—not giving a fuck that I caught or interrupted them both. Shit, there were a few times when my mother caught me and Jakim doing our thing. She would always ask if I was using protection. That’s the only thing she was concerned about.

I get ready for bed, but I can’t stop thinking about Tyrone and it’s bugging me. I don’t know what it is—maybe just the good dick and get-high afterward…or maybe I’m catching feelings for the man. Shit, I hope not; that would cause problems. Yet and still, no matter how hard I try to stop thinking about him, he keeps creeping back into my head. I throw the sheets over myself and try to get a good night’s rest—without Jakim, Danny or Tyrone in my thoughts.