by Tiana Laveen
He began to analyze himself then… and do it closely, with an internal set of binoculars. Like a game of Operation, he was going to go in deep, and he might scrape along the side, causing the loud, red buzzer to go haywire. Was this really in his blood as Dad had alluded to? How could it be when he’d barely even stuck his tongue in a girl’s mouth, let alone his dick? He thought back long and hard about his views of girls, sex, everything. He liked girls… loved how they smelled, their high pitched voices, the way they moved. They kept coming to him, but he remained elusive. It got to the point that a group of assholes at school began to tell others that he was gay. He knew for certain that wasn’t it, but for some reason, he rarely acknowledged the females’ advances. This caused internal frustration that reached a sexual peak. He was forced to jerk off in the mornings due to the mounting physical desire, praying to God his mother didn’t burst through his bedroom door and find him in the throes of self-pleasure. However, jacking off did not a pimp make…
He leaned back in his bed, and thought a bit harder about himself. Did he exploit his female peers? In a way, he supposed he had. Brent didn’t have any money, and the rare times he did, it usually came from some girl at his school in Monroe that had designs on him. He was too mired in his own little world to see the shit for what it really was at the time, but he was naturally good at talking to females. He talked Mama down off a cliff, one time too many, too. He had a way about him, but he never went the extra mile. He smiled as his diagnosis of it all began to come together. He’d received food, cash, music CDs, all sorts of things from Monroe girls. They went to school with him, or he just met them out and about. Like some light above his fucking head, it all became crystal clear. Never before had he put the shit together until that very second while sitting on his comfy new bed, in his father’s haven.
He’d be asked, ‘Who are you dating?’ and he’d lie or God forbid, blush. The shit was shameful. There he was, sitting on the genes of self-made men, and not doing a damn thing about it. He attracted women to him with little to no provocation, and he had wasted the precious gift. He didn’t have smooth game or a way about him. He wasn’t slick with words; he was just himself. Even Mama didn’t want to let go of him. No wonder Dad left. They must’ve had addictive personalities. Dad had something Mama couldn’t live without, and he must’ve had it, too. He would sometimes look at himself in the mirror and shake his head, believing these chicks were putting him on. Tall. Aloof. Tongue-tied. Some of the cool, hip guys at his school would make fun of him, mock him…but the girls rarely did. Hmmmm…maybe they were jealous? He never believed that to be a possibility before. They were poor just like him, but possibly not as bad off. In any regard, he saw himself differently now that he stood on his father’s turf. He held his head a bit higher, his back a bit straighter. He was a Patterson.
He possessed nice clothing, and got along with people at school ever since he’d come to California. Occasionally someone would laugh and say he sounded like he belonged in the back woods somewhere, which in his mind was preposterous considering he was from the Midwest and Dad had been working on him, but other than that, things went fairly well.
During the summer break, he had time on his hands, so he decided he’d get a summer job, and it just so happened, a restaurant down the street was hiring. Dad said he’d get him a car when he turned sixteen in. A job would be the icing on the damn cake. It would give him something to do, help him earn his own keep. He didn’t like just taking; Mama didn’t raise him that way.
Life was golden. This self-discovery shit wasn’t half bad, even if Mama wasn’t all that she was cracked up to be. He shrugged.
Life is a big ass lie anyway…make the best of it…
Smoke snapped out of the memories and wrapped himself tightly in his thick, black sheets. He gripped his pillow so hard, he thought he might tear the damn thing open with his bare hands. He looked at his cellphone on the nightstand and reached for it, but then thought better of it. Paris was busy; he knew her schedule inside and out, so he didn’t dare bother her with his trivial troubles. Instead, he swallowed the shit whole, as he’d taught himself to do so many years ago. Only this time, he experienced foul, relentless stomach pains afterward, and he felt them pounding from the inside out. He acknowledged them, understood their existence and internally cried a bit due to the excruciating pain the memories inflicted upon him.
He couldn’t escape; there was nowhere to run. This thing would always be a part of him, a nightmare he could never part with, no matter how much it tore him apart. He’d been robbed, and he’d never retrieve his missing soul again. Taking a few deep breaths, he closed his eyes. Sharing his secret with Paris had unlocked the incestuous Pandora’s box…and no matter how he tried to shove the damn thing back under the rug, it clinked and clanked, demanding to be seen, heard and dealt with…
*
“THIS IS ALL your fault!” Paris screamed at the top of her lungs as her rubber soles pounded over rain puddles.
Smoke couldn’t keep a straight face; the shit was just too funny. The weatherman had predicted a storm, but he’d encouraged her to take a jog that early morning with him anyway. She tried to wiggle out of it, but he turned on the charm; after all, it was his forte. They’d both been eating way too much as of late, going to fancy restaurants and chowing down on food as if there was no such thing as tomorrow. Now he understood it when he heard people say, ‘I didn’t get fat until I fell in love.’ That was definitely true. They both still looked good, but he’d gained about five pounds, and he prided himself on looking a certain way.
Due to his height, he carried his weight well, but he wasn’t getting any younger, and soon his metabolism would slow down if he wasn’t careful. The frequent sexual interludes were definitely burning calories, but they needed a bit more. As soon as Paris started complaining about the Southern style restaurant he dragged her to, and blamed him single handedly for crashing her diet, he realized he could always offer to get them both back on track. No, not that track, the ho stroll, but the other track that ran along the back of one of the local high schools. After which, they’d run along the sidewalks, then down a taxpayer bought and paid for bike path. Changes in scenery always kept things fresh, crisp, and the work out more effective.
But it all ended, came to a crash when the predicted rain fell upon them as if the sky were doing nothing more but shooting harsh, watery bullets. It hit hard, not giving a fuck that they were saturated from their heads down to their Nike covered feet. He found it a tad bit refreshing, and liked being out in the rain every now and again. Never mind that it also reminded him of his old bedroom with the leaky roof. The rain would fall through the hole in the place, making a mean percussion as he slept; he always slept better when it rained. Ms. Prima Donna however was cursing his name, as if she hadn’t just screamed it earlier that morning, her voice soaring high as the rafters, while he rode her pussy into the goddamn ground.
“Where’s the damn car?!” she said angrily. The sharp-tongued woman he’d argued with at the bank had returned, and all that did was make him burst out laughing as she looked around frantically, her hair practically glued to her beautiful face. “It’s not funny, Smoke! Come on before I get sick out here!” She stomped her little foot, causing the water on the ground to jump and bite her on the ankle. She squinted one eye, while the other blinked frantically.
Look at her!
“I’m not sure,” he lied.
“Liar, and you’re laughing at me you son of a bitch!”
She was having a full-fledged fit now, racing around like an enraged chicken until he caught her around her waist. She twisted and turned, trying desperately to be released from his grip. Picking her little ass up, he slung her over his shoulder and raced away with her behind to La Mascata, a popular bakery on Whittier Blvd. Once he got her alone, and checked the scenery, he pushed her against the wall.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, delivering light blows to his chest as she swallowed rain, h
er clothing bonded to her body.
He reached low and tugged his soaked gray jogging pants down and pulled his cock out of his underwear, eliciting a gasp from her. He let it sway and swing as he ran his hand slowly up and down the shaft. Then, when he pushed her up the fucking wall, the scent of fresh baked bread and tamales engulfed his nostrils.
“Mmmmm!” he moaned as he nestled close to her neck, smelling her perfume that hadn’t quite been washed away by the rainfall. He drew her flesh into his mouth as he tugged at her waterlogged jogging pants, until she took over and reached down, letting them fall to her ankles. Knocking her legs apart with his knee, he shoved himself inside of her, causing her to stifle a scream as her teeth pierced his shoulder blade.
“Uhhh!” He began to thrust; the sweet, wet confines of her pussy called his damn name. The rain felt like dry, Sahara sand compared to the oasis that wrapped snugly around his cock. “Uhhh!” He worked fast, not wishing to once again go to jail—this time not for sex trafficking, but for committing a lewd act in public. He hastened his pace, her sweet, tortured moans a melody to his ears. Gripping her shoulder, he pushed her further down on him, making her shake and curse.
“Ahhhh!” She ran her fingers through his saturated hair as he burrowed his face in the crevice of her sweet neck. “Ahhh, I’m cumming!” she screamed out as he kept going, grinding into her, pushing her pussy into his groin. A few moments after she’d arrived, he followed suit, exploded within her.
“Uhhhhhhh! Uhhhh, shit!” His teeth clenched; his ass tightened with each final thrust. “Uhhhh…” He placed her back down on her feet, then took note that the rain had gotten much slower. Quickly redressing, the two retreated like children on the run for toilet papering a tree. She giggled as he gripped her hand, and they raced in the direction of his parked car.
“You’re running too fast!” she protested as he dragged her along.
So, he did what any gentleman would do—he picked her up, eliciting a scream, and cradled her in his arms. Finally, they made it to their destination. He unlocked the car and sat her inside, then ran to his side and started the engine.
“I’m wet.”
“Just how I like you…”
“Full of surprises…”
“Indeed I am. Did you have fun doing it? That’s all that matters.” He kept his eyes on the road, but knew damn well the answer to his question. Nevertheless, he just wanted to hear her say it.
“You know I did.” He could hear the smile in her voice.
“Good. Let’s go to my house and get washed up. We have to get back to work. You want anything to eat?” he offered as he pulled away from the curb and merged with traffic.
“I’d like a tea, toast and eggs.”
“I can hook you up then, if that’s the simple order. After we take our shower, I’ll cook it for you and make you some tea. Does that sound good?” He quickly looked in her direction then faced the street once more.
“You’re going to cook for me? I thought you were kidding the last time you offered to do that.” She brushed her hand against her chest and smirked. They came to a red light. “You know, we could have just went inside La Mascota. We owe them one for using their place as a bed.”
They both laughed, while Smoke nodded in agreement.
“I’m not a chef by any means; matter of fact, as you know, I have one come in for me from time to time. But I can cook some damn eggs, shit.” He shrugged. “It’s not that hard.” He leaned over, swiped a wet strand of hair out of her face, and planted a kiss.
“Well, thank you, baby. I appreciate that.”
He clicked on the radio. Color Me Badd crooned an oldie but goodie—‘I Wanna Sex You Up.’
Amazing how something so simple made all the difference in the world. He was starting to believe that love wasn’t complicated at all. Maybe he had made it a problem all on his own. Maybe love was pure, comprehensible and good, but once people tried to change it, make it bend in unnatural ways, that’s when things became a soiled, stinking, fucked up mess. The truth of the matter became apparent to him. He wasn’t afraid of being in love with Paris, or any other woman for that matter. No, he was afraid of his love not being returned. But it had been, tenfold. Once she let him inside her, emotionally, physically and mentally, they became one, connected, together and whole. For that reason he kept on, even through the frustration, for he knew if he could gain her trust, she’d be the type of woman—the type of partner—that would make his life more beautiful and pure, flourish like roses in a garden. The fear had dissipated and slowed, just like the rain, until it existed no more…
*
Chapter Ten
PARIS HAD BEEN inside Smoke’s lavish home several times. However, this was a new sight for her, a complete surprise. The dark, rich wood in his study, with its domed ceiling, reminded her of a small-scaled Vatican City. Boasting an indoor water fountain with slabs of steely rock, it gave the perfect coming together of studious man, impeccable taste, and sense of relaxation. His style screamed subtlety, simmered right under the surface, though his thirst to explore and receive new knowledge shone through in the way he surrounded himself with the understated luxuries of life. Illuminated by soft, blue light and a sitting area in colors of rich burgundy, black and touches of pewter, the room looked like a place to which one would come to study Shakespeare. The man simply wasn’t gaudy in any sense of the word. He thrived in elegant environments and drifted towards quality, where many others missed it. He told her how he’d lived inside of his head so much as a child, he had even imagined what his dream home would look like. In that dream home, he envisioned an office similar to the one she was sitting in.
“Please, have a seat, baby.”
He closed his Mac laptop and stared at her as she sat before him in her light blue pinstriped pantsuit. He looked so damn serious. What was this about? She’d been doing some background checks on a few new clients when her cell phone rang.
“As soon as you’re finished doing whatever it is you’re doing, I need you to come by my house,” he’d told her. And that was it.
No explanation, no nothing. Her imagination raced as she drove over, uncertain what the man had up his sleeve or what was so pressing that it couldn’t wait.
“Now.” He clasped his hands together. “I’ve been doing some thinking. I think it would be advantageous for us to merge, to become a conglomerate if you will.”
She ran her fingertips down the arm of the paisley patterned black and cream chair. It was smooth to the touch, just like his delivery.
“Continue.”
“Okay.” He picked up his cup of coffee and took a small swallow. “There is safety in numbers. In our case, if we look out for one another, combine our income and resources; we can bring in more revenue. You see, once word gets out to the regulars and potential new tricks that they have even more girls to choose from at one time, and don’t have to keep going through the screening process because they will be in both of our databases, it will attract them, and they will tell others about it, at least some will who aren’t ashamed of what they’re doing. My expertise is in my surveillance system and security that I organized and set up myself. Your expertise is in fielding potential johns.”
“Hmmm, interesting,” she offered as she swung her foot back and forth and crossed her arms over her breasts. “So, would this mean that we would go to one building, and one building only?”
“No, we’d stay just as we are and have different settings and offerings in each one, which would appeal to a number of clients. That is where the second part of my plan begins. As it stands, all of our women have their apartments done up how they want them. However, I have two vacant apartments and from your records, you have one. We can theme these rooms out. For example, your one vacancy is a two-bedroom apartment that you’ve been using for storage. Three rooms can be used for staging from that one apartment alone. For instance, for those interested in BDSM, we can set up the room appropriately. Another room could be like an ou
tdoor retreat in a rain forest and another could have a huge champagne glass whirlpool. These are just ideas, but with a little investment, we can triple, maybe even quadruple our money, Paris. We want to make this an exclusive, premium experience for well-paying clients, not just a room to bust a nut in. It would be a Disneyland for adult entertainment…this could be huge.”
“Well, that sounds interesting, Smoke. However, when it comes to affairs of the heart and business, I’d prefer to keep them separate.”
“What if I signed a contract?” He pulled open his desk drawer and smiled, as though he’d anticipated her response in advance. She picked up the sheets of paper he handed her—a multi-paged agreement, freshly printed, still warm to the touch. He slicked an ink pen out of its leather holder, and placed it gently down in front of her.
“What we do is illegal.” She cleared her throat, gearing up to pose her concerns. “You know that if I take this to a judge or magistrate, it won’t hold up in a court of law and most probably, we’d both be arrested on the spot.” Still, she narrowed her gaze on the papers in her hand, and began the process of reading his well-drafted paperwork.