Maneater

by Mary B. Morrison

  Charlie Baker had muttered, “Fuck the dumb shit, niggah. I’ma get my sisters.”

  Chapter 2

  Nap McAllister stood in the mirror modeling an eight-hundred-dollar off-white Chivaly leather cap, the newest edition in his Nappy Fade clothing line. Nap was a hat man, and he had some of the baddest caps in the country. Hats had been the first item of merchandise to come off his production line because he liked to feel something on his head at all times. He was short for a linebacker, and the few extra inches he gained up top meant a lot to him.

  And so did the other thirty-seven items produced and sold by Nappy Fade for Men. Nap was a true menace on the football field, but he had a magic eye when it came to men’s fashion. What had started out as a secret hobby of sketching men’s clothing during the off-season in college had developed into a lucrative multimillion-dollar business venture that rivaled Phat Farm, Rocawear, and Sean John. But not only was Nap a master at designing trendy menswear, he wasn’t too shabby when it came down to running a business, either. He’d started Nappy Fade for Men with five Filipino seamstresses sewing in the basement of his grandmother’s house, and had parlayed that small venture into a crew of thirty workers sweating over sewing machines in a loft in North Jersey.

  But Nap was cheap. Prices were high as hell in urban centers, and he’d discovered a way to increase his profits by outsourcing his operations to a remote village in India. He’d recently hired a guide and taken a trip over there in search of the cheapest labor, the shabbiest facilities, and the most economically deprived village he could find. Nap had no intentions of bettering lives or fixing shit up. Unlike in the United States, there were low taxes and very few labor laws enforced in the region of India where he wanted to do business, and as long as he made a monthly payment to the right people nobody would come bugging the shit out of him about how many hours his employees worked, or whether they were old enough to be sweating over his sewing machines at all.

  Nap’s initial investment was so small it was almost laughable, and he’d shaken hands with the Realtor and paid it with a smile. He was now the owner of a fifteen-thousand-square-foot warehouse with a dirt floor and broken windows, and as he stood there sneezing and coughing up tiny spores and residue floating in the air from years of accumulated dust, mold, and rat shit, Nap knew his dreams were about to come true.

  The only thing left to do was finalize a few legal documents, hire a staff in India, then prepare his inventory for overseas shipment. When it came to money and details, Nap trusted very few people. He could have paid someone to take care of all this for him, but his motto was, “Why give someone money to do for me what I can do on my own for free?”

  So Nap handled his own damned business. In addition to managing the four slum tenements he’d purchased for pennies in Harlem seven years earlier, he also supervised every aspect of his newest venture and looked forward to getting it off the ground. Since it was football season he couldn’t make things happen as quickly as he would have liked, but working slow was fine with him. He was careful to keep word about the move from getting to his current employees. He didn’t want them to get disgruntled about losing their jobs and start acting crazy. Nap was afraid they might get lazy or vindictive. They might start pushing out shoddy materials or sabotaging his shit. He couldn’t have that, so he kept them completely in the dark, including his managers and suppliers.

  Fuck all of ’em, he thought. He wouldn’t even stick around to give out pink slips. They’d figure it out when they came to work at 4:00 a.m. and found the joint padlocked. Businesses folded all the time and people were always looking for jobs. It was a fact of life for the weak, and Nap’s life was set. He had a college degree, a major National League football contract, and several largely unethical but thriving businesses. Whether or not his employees found other work when he closed shop was not his problem.

  But Nap did have one problem. It had to do with his tooth, and it was the sweetest damn problem he’d ever met. Her name was Sugar, and not only did she have Nap’s sweet tooth throbbing with desire, she had his nose and his wallet both wide open.

  He’d met her at Feel Good, a twenty-four-hour gym right up the street from his house. Like the rest of the team, Nap used the training facilities provided by the NFL franchise, but he’d learned from his boy Blow that true superstars had to push a lot harder. Even when it hurt. Nap pushed his body way past the breaking point. His will was much stronger than his flesh, and he hit the weights like a madman after team workouts and on rest days, too.

  That fat–ass niggah Ribs was watching though, and he was always screaming on somebody about overtraining and stress injuries. So Nap did his most brutal and punishing workouts on the sly, away from Ribs’s bitching eyes. Feel Good catered to a high-profile clientele, and he could pound his body in privacy as hard as he wanted to.

  The first time Nap saw Sugar he had just walked into the weight room.

  “Yo! Yo! YO!” Nap had squealed in excitement, nearly backhanding a nearby towel girl to get her attention. Sugar was walking past him killing a pair of hot pink workout shorts and sporting crazy sexy cleavage in a white tank top. Her light perfume trailed behind her and infiltrated his nose, and her phatty rump had taken command of his eyes.

  The towel girl stumbled, then looked around rubbing her arm. She’d been filling a small icebox with bottled spring water and bright red apples, and Nap’s blow had nearly knocked her down.

  “Who the fuck is dat?” Nap shrieked, pointing at Sugar’s wiggling ass. “Yo, she working up in here now?”

  “Er—she’s our new manager.”

  “Well introduce me, goddamnit! I drop some heavy bills in this joint every month. She needs to know the name of one of her biggest clients!”

  They were introduced, and Sugar had been cool on him at first, which only caused Nap to work harder.

  “How can I help you?” she’d asked in a disinterested, professional voice.

  Nap was bent. Everything about her was perfect…her eyes, her smile…she was beautiful. So beautiful, it made his muscles weak. With his mouth wide open and a puppy-dog look on his face, Nap had taken her hand to shake, then tried to hold on for a few seconds more.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, easing her hand from his grasp and turning away. “If it’s towels you require, or beverages and a light snack, Lana here can assist you.”

  “Wait—” Her fingers had felt perfect in his large hand. Nap wanted to touch her again. Everywhere.

  “Um, I know you know me. Everybody does. I’m Nap McAllister. New York Giants football.”

  Sugar blinked, unimpressed. In fact, her glare became one of extreme distaste.

  “Sorry, I’m not a football fan. I find it a dangerous, violent sport. But pleased to meet you, Mr. McAllister, and thank you for patronizing Feel Good. If you have an administrative issue please make an appointment with my secretary. If not, then Lana can assist you in all other matters.”

  It took Nap two weeks, but eventually he got what he wanted. Sugar’s phone number. He hung around the gym every available moment until he wore down her defenses and was treated to first a smile and then a short conversation about weight training. Sugar gave him her number and Nap memorized it, then sat staring at the phone for half an hour before he worked up the nerve to call her.

  “Stop playing yourself,” he said out loud, chiding himself for acting like a punk. “You a celebrity, niggah! You pull fine bitches all the time!”

  But it was more than Sugar’s gorgeous face and blockbuster body that had Nap open. It was everything about her, from the way she walked to the air of class and superiority she held in her eyes each time they met. Whether Nap was a rich celebrity or not, Sugar definitely wasn’t sweating him. Unlike most chicks who found out he was a professional athlete and were ready to get naked in the middle of the street, Sugar didn’t give a damn if she never saw him again. Nap liked that. He started visiting Feel Good on the regular. He autographed a few head shots and posters for her staff
and found out Sugar’s work schedule. Unless there was team business going on, Nap stayed in the gym like a big rat, following behind Sugar like she was running on the green with a football under her arm.

  And when he finally caught her, Sugar proved that she was more than worth the chase. They’d been dating for a few weeks and even though he knew it sounded crazy, Nap thought Sugar might be the one to lead the dog in him off the porch and bring it in the house for good. He was catching all kinds of crazy warm feelings for her every single day, and for the first time in his career he’d found something more important to him than football. Nap had found Sugar, a smart, gorgeous bombshell with a body that was both fit and sexy at once. The first time they got it on Nap was taken by surprise. The girl was hungry. She had more energy and drive than a little bit.

  “Slow down ’fore I come,” he’d whispered, popping sweat.

  Sugar was riding him damn near to death. Her big titties bounced and quivered above him, and a bead of sweat dripped from her upturned nipple and landed on his nose.

  “Deeper,” she urged, and Nap grasped her slim waist and raised and lowered her onto him while thrusting upward with all his might.

  Sugar bent forward and covered his lips with hers, growling deep in her throat as her ass bucked and quivered. Switching positions, she lay flat on top of him and squeezed her thighs together, trapping his dick in a grip so tight it made him yelp and spurt. Sugar fucked him like she was the one with the pole, and Nap lay beneath her, massaging her damp, gyrating ass and moaning her sweet name.

  Laying there trapped in Sugar’s deep pussy lock, Nap was a happy man. He thought about his boy Blow and screamed inside; Suck my dick, niggah! Nap and his boys had been competing for bitches for the longest time, and Blow always went for the baddest chicks and thought Nap and Tomere should take whatever was left. Well, there was no way in fuck Blow could outdo him this time because they didn’t make ’em any better than the girl rocking her hips on top of him. Nap felt blessed and bankrolled. Sugar had a nice career going so it wasn’t his money that she was after. She was business minded, too, even more so than he was, and that stunned him. He’d laid out his intricate plans for expanding his clothing line and was knocked off his feet when Sugar not only understood his angle but made a few suggestions that could cut costs even further and reduce his overhead. Nap was on cloud nine. Already he was thinking about introducing a new line for women called Nappy Dugout, and he wanted Sugar to be his model and his spokeswoman. She had it all, this girl did. Body, looks, and above all, brains! Nap couldn’t stop feening for her, and he couldn’t wait to introduce her to his homeys neither.

  Chapter 3

  Have you ever seen a chick so fine that you gotta run to the bathroom?

  Well, that’s what happened to me the first time I saw Nap’s new hottie, Sugar. We were partying with the team in Newark and everybody there was hooked up with somebody soft and pretty, except me.

  Nap’s girl sure had the right name. Sugar was sweet, all right. Sweet enough to make you sick. Somebody introduced us and I couldn’t stop staring at her. I followed her around on the sneak tip, bent by her low-slung blouse and the heart shape of her ass. Every now and then I positioned myself so I was standing in front of her so I could eyeball those thick breasts with the million-dollar nipples, that threatened to poke through her blouse. I knew the girl could feel me stalking her, but I couldn’t get enough. Not even when Nap crept behind me and stepped deep on the back of my foot, then clowned me right in front of her.

  “Man, pick up ya lip, and tie down ya dick,” he laughed, pointing as I used both hands to try and cover the big piece of wood that was rising in the front of my pants. “C’mon, son,” he said, shaking his head in disgust like I’d just dug up my ass in public or something. “Gone in the bathroom and take care of business.” Nap pushed me toward the men’s room. “Gone, Ribs. You got your lotion, right? Gone in there and take some of that pressure off, homey.”

  All them cats stood around and laughed. I didn’t think that shit was funny, but Nap was right. There’d been more than a few occasions in college that him and the frat brothers had bust into the bathroom and caught me slapping the hell outta my ten-inch snake. I kept a small tube of lotion in my pocket because I had no dick control to speak of, and sometimes the sight of a real sexy broad could send me right over the edge. I was pitiful with that shit too, because I couldn’t always dig out my lotion and make it to the bathroom in time. Like a young boy going through puberty, my dick would nut at the drop of a dime, and if I ran across the right girl it really didn’t matter where I was. My man Oscar would jump up outta the basement and start spitting right in my drawers.

  I stood there and took Nap’s joking like a champ, but I wasn’t pressed though, because every one of them hard-dick niggahs was feeling the same thing I was feeling. All of them shoulda got a tube of lotion and joined me in the can ’cause they was bent on the sight of Sugar, too.

  Still, Nap didn’t have to do me like that. Wasn’t no need to shine that kinda light on my problem and embarrass me in front of his girl. He knew all about my situation and he knew I couldn’t control it. I mean, it was a blessing to have been born with such a heavy package, but it would have been nice to have a little dominion over that shit! I was worse than a thirteen-year-old. If the wind blew too hard my shit jumped on rock, and believe me, as much meat as I was packing down there, my johnson was hard to hide. Let a fine chick so much as stand too close to me, I’d be in trouble. My snake would be so hard my tighty-whitey drawers would be restraining it like a straitjacket, choking it all around the head and cutting off my circulation. Damn right I’d have to find a private spot and deal with all that. I couldn’t get a woman when I needed one, so what else was a horse-dicked ashy fat boy like me supposed to do? I got multiple erections all day long, and they didn’t go away on their own. And hell nah, if you thinking something like that, you’re crazy as fuck. I didn’t wish for less dick. I wished for more pussy!

  “Sh-shut up,” I told Nap, then pushed my hands in my pockets and tried to make a quick adjustment. I glanced at sweet Sugar, and she was smiling. It wasn’t one of them “oh shit, that nigga is so nasty” smiles neither.

  “It was nice meeting you,” she said, then held her head slightly to one side and waved with three fingers.

  I eyed those hard nipples and round hips and almost bust one right then and there. Struggling for control, I pulled one hand from my pocket and waved back, then hurried toward the bathroom so I could moan Sugar’s candy-sweet name into my lotion-slick palm.

  The next time I saw Sugar, Nap had come by the crib to chill and she was standing in my kitchen, chopping vegetables with a big knife.

  “Pork Ribs!” Nap shouted when I walked through the door. He was chilling on Blow’s brown leather sofa with one of his muscular legs draped over the top. I stared down at him and shook my head. Nap looked swole. Like he was bulking up pretty heavy with muscle. I’d already been on him about overtraining, and from where I stood the niggah looked like he mighta been dabbling in ’roids or something.

  “Man, tell me you ain’t messing around with nothing, Nap. You looking kinda mean and pumped up, my man.”

  “It ain’t about drugs,” he said, jumping up and sliding up behind Sugar and making me jealous by biting on her earlobes. “It’s about life, niggah. It’s about good sex and a good woman. What you know about that shit?”

  I frowned. He had me there ’cause I didn’t know jack about any of it.

  Embarrassed, I dropped my briefcase and opened the cabinet where I kept my stash. I took down a full bag of Doritos, some frosted lemon cookies, and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl. I was pouring a glass of Diet Coke when I felt a warm hand touch me from behind.

  “Close your eyes,” Sugar demanded.

  I turned around holding my glass. “Whattup?”

  “Don’t look, Rishawn. Just close your eyes. I promise you can trust me.”

  Nap laughed and I closed my eye
s.

  “Okay,” she said. Her voice was warm. I would have trusted her fine ass with a butcher knife at my nuts. “Think about all the toxins you’re about to put into your body. I can tell you’re a sugar addict by the food choices you just made.”

  Uh-huh, I wanted to say. Damn right I was a sugar addict, and if I could just get a little taste of her I’d volunteer to be the poster boy for sugar diabetes!

  “Open your mouth,” she demanded, and I obeyed.

  Nap laughed again. “Ribs, she got you lookin’ real stupid standing there with your lips hanging open, my nig!”

  She placed something cold and sweet on my tongue.

  “There…Taste that. It’s so much better for you than those empty calories you’ve been taking in.”

  “Stoooopid…,” Nap sang.

  “Don’t be silly,” Sugar said. “Rishawn, you look just fine to me.”

  Sugar made me smile inside. I ain’t never been one to go for fruits or vegetables, but I shocked myself as I stood there crunching a sweet hunk of chilled pineapple and digging it, too.

  “How’s that taste?” she asked softly, her fingers on my arm.

  “Yo!” Nap bitched. “Why you over there hand-feeding the hog?”

  “Tastes kinda good,” I admitted. “Can I open my eyes now?”

  Her laughter was real sweet and even though I couldn’t see her, I was getting hot just knowing she was standing so close to me.

  “Not so fast. Take a sip of this.”

  I felt her hold one hand under my chin like I was a baby, then press the edge of a cup to my bottom lip.

  “Aw, hell!” Nap bitched some more.

  “Sip it slowly,” Sugar urged. “Enjoy the way it coats your tongue and slides down your throat.”

  Her voice was like a warm silk glove stroking me. My mind took me exactly where I didn’t need to go, and I stood there in front of her with my dick growing bigger by the second, and with nothing except my hands to hide it behind.