Double Dippin'

by Allison Hobbs

  Tariq was always ecstatic whenever he received a letter from his brother. But his heart sank upon opening Shane’s brief letters comprising no more than one to two sentences. The last sentence was always the same, Stay strong, man, I’ll see you soon.

  When was soon? Tariq had questioned his social worker about arranging a visit to see Shane, but he might as well have asked for an all-expenses paid trip to Disneyland, or for a visit to the moon.

  “If Shane were in the Philadelphia area, in a private home, it would be easier to make arrangements. I mean, jeez, he’s over a hundred miles away and he’s in a facility run by the state. There’s so much red tape involved. You’re a ward of the city, but let’s say that you happened to be in a state facility. In a case scenario such as that, the visit could probably be arranged. But the communication between city and state is hopeless; it’s practically nonexistent.”

  Blah, blah, blah was how her words sounded to Tariq. She was just too lazy to weed through the red tape. The social worker, did, however, allow Tariq to make one phone call per month to talk with his brother.

  “If he were in the city, you could get a weekly call,” she said apologetically. “But Barney Hills is a long distance call, and…” Blah, blah, blah .

  Shane was hardly ever available to receive the monthly call. “Shane Batista is in building five or building ten,” a disinterested voice would inform Tariq, who waited so anxiously to hear his brother’s voice that during the wait, he’d bite his nails until his cuticles bled.

  On the rare occasions when Tariq’s call had successfully reached the building where Shane was supposed to be, he was usually told, “Oh! You want Shane Batista? He was just here but he went to the lunch room.”

  Tariq’s bad timing always left him hearing that he’d missed Shane by seconds, that his brother had just gone to the pool, the print shop, or the computer room. The disappointment always left Tariq in a blue funk for the rest of the month, which was why the psychiatrist was pushing the anti-depressants.

  Tariq, however, had a distant memory of numerous bottles of pills that his mother refused. Poison, she’d scream, knocking the array of medicine bottles off the counter top. Damn doctors trying to poison me! Yes, he recalled vividly now how he and Shane would gather the poisonous bottles and help their mother throw them away.

  The bottles couldn’t go into the trash can in the house. Oh no, his mother would say. The government’s spying on me. Therefore, the bottles had to be dispensed in various trash bins around the city. The Batista family would trudge for hours, scouring the city looking for trash bins that Marguerite inspected, pulling out trash and other people’s waste, searching for a hidden camera before deeming the trash can a safe container for her poisonous pills.

  Tariq’s face grew dark at the memory of Shane getting slapped for dropping pills in a trash can that their mother said he should have known had a hidden camera. Instead of a green plastic liner that Marguerite Batista deemed safe, the can Shane had dumped the pill bottles into had been lined with white plastic. Their mother had lifted Shane and held him over the can while he waded through trash and garbage and finally retrieved the pill bottles that had to be secretly disposed into a safe trash bin.

  Not wanting to be poisoned, Tariq began pretending to be in a perpetual good mood and presented himself as upbeat and optimistic during group therapy as well as when meeting with his psychiatrist. His sorrow and his broken heart were well hidden behind a bright smile and hearty laughter. His pleasant disposition and good manners made it easy for the staff at the Children’s Home to think of Tariq as one of their success stories. Tariq was now perceived as a physically attractive, well-mannered, well-adjusted, happy young man.

  Even the social worker was fooled by Tariq’s sunny disposition. She was so impressed that she worked overtime until she found a good home for Tariq, who was now sixteen years old.

  Living in a real home was bittersweet. Mrs. Inez Packard, his most recent foster parent, was a tall, beanpole of a woman with broomsticks for legs. She wore glasses that hung from a chain around her neck when not sitting on the tip of her nose. She reminded Tariq of a strict schoolteacher or a librarian. Her medium-brown face was plain; her lips were a severe unsmiling straight line. She had short curly hair, with a touch of gray at the temples.

  She ran her spotlessly clean home in a militaristic fashion. The clutter-free environment was more regimented than the routine at the Children’s Home. Her husband, Mr. Packard, was a barrel-shaped short man who didn’t say much but he also adhered to his wife’s strict household rules.

  But there were perks. Tariq had a bedroom of his own replete with a television and a Playstation, to be enjoyed only at the mandated hours. Daily chores garnered him a weekly allowance, and Mrs. Packard, though strict, was a very good cook. The food enjoyed in the Packard home was a far cry from the institutional packaged meals he ate at the Children’s Home.

  “I don’t allow phone calls longer than fifteen minutes. And absolutely no long-distance calls!” Mrs. Packard informed him the day he moved in. His heart clenched, but when she said he’d be getting an allowance of thirty dollars every two weeks, he brightened. He could afford to call Shane from a public pay phone.

  The downside of life in the Packard home was that he’d acquired two foster brothers. Twelve-year-old Keon and eleven-year-old Eddie came with the deal. They were all unrelated, yet the two boys insisted upon referring to Tariq as their other brother. Their big brother. Ugh! That irked him. He had one brother, and his name was Shane.

  CHAPTER 16

  The day of his first allowance was the best day Tariq had had in a long, long time. After depositing an endless stream of quarters into the pay phone, he was connected to Barney Hills without a glitch. And wonder upon wonders, Shane was on the other end of the phone in less than five minutes. They were both whooping and hollering so loud, Tariq was too excited to listen to the mechanical voice that broke into the line requesting an additional seventy-five cents.

  “Man, put the money in the phone,” Shane had to remind his brother, who was chattering a mile a minute. “So where you staying now?”

  “I’m in Mount Airy. It’s real nice. I live on Boyer Street. It’s nice up here.”

  “That’s cool. So…um…You getting your dick wet?”

  “Man, come on…” Tariq responded, giggling in embarrassment. Shane would never change. “I’m going to call you every two weeks at the same time, all right, Shane?”

  “Cool, man. I’ll be here sitting next to the horn.”

  “They treat you all right in that place?” Tariq asked worriedly.

  “Man, I run this place,” Shane said with much bravado. “These punks up in here better be worrying about whether I’m treatin’ them aiight,” he said, laughing. “That goes for the teachers, the case workers, the cooks, the cleaning crew, my homies, too. Everybody up in this dip knows I’m the muthafuckin’ man.”

  Tariq made noncommittal sounds that he hoped came out sounding like approval. He was actually stunned. Shane had always been tough, but his brother now sounded tougher than tough. His voice was deeper with a real rough edge; he sounded like someone Tariq hardly knew. And that made Tariq uneasy. He didn’t want time and distance to cause his twin brother—his only family in the world—to become a stranger.

  “Well, we only got two more years and we’ll be living together,” Tariq said, using an upbeat tone. “I’m already looking out for an apartment for us. Can you imagine the two us living together in our own place?”

  “Naw, I can’t even picture that shit, but yeah, you do that little brother. Keep on scopin’ out a crib for us—something’s bound to turn up. In the meantime, keep it tight, aiight?”

  Tariq nodded and the brothers were disconnected. Yes, Shane had changed drastically, but that didn’t diminish the joy and love in Tariq’s heart. He felt happy enough to fly. Suddenly hungry, he decided to treat himself to some fast food. Long happy strides led him straight to the McDonald’s on S
tenton Avenue.

  “Can I help you?” The girl was chewing gum, making popping sounds that Tariq found appealing. He never understood how girls knew how to do that. His mother could do it; he remembered fondly. In an instant, Tariq had a flash of his mother ripping a stick of Doublemint gum in half. The memory of her face was shadowy and vague, but he could hear her saying, “One for you and one for you,” with a smile, as she placed half pieces of gum in his and Shane’s anxious, open palms. His mother would push an entire stick in her mouth and within seconds, the popping would begin. It was music. A melody of love. The memory had caught him off guard and since the cashier was responsible for bringing such a wonderful memory to his subconscious mind, he gave her a gleaming smile and placed his order.

  Carrying a red tray, he found a seat near the window, looking out while munching on a burger and chomping on fries. When he picked up his soda, he was surprised to discover, a ripped off portion of the famous McDonald’s French fries container on his tray. He picked it up, turned it over. Scrawled in blue ink was the name Janelle, a phone number, and the words: Call me .

  He jerked his head in the direction of the counter, but Janelle was busy filling orders; she didn’t bother to look in his direction. He tried to catch her eye, to let her know that he’d gotten the message and would definitely give her a call, but Janelle continued to take and place orders as if Tariq didn’t even exist.

  Trying to prolong his stay until he could catch her attention, Tariq chewed slowly, took small sips of soda, arranged and rearranged the ketchup packets on his tray. But it was to no avail, because Janelle refused to look his way.

  After numerous stolen glances in her direction, Tariq had to accept that Janelle wasn’t particularly pretty. She was brown-skinned with a greenish-colored birthmark splashed across her right cheek. Her short permed hair lacked luster and style. It looked as if she’d run a comb through her hair without fussing over it the way most girls did.

  But there was something about Janelle that made her attractive without being pretty. She had an attitude that defied anyone to mess with her. She was a brittle young woman—no soft edges. Besides his old girlfriend Shiree, who was light complexioned, Tariq had a fierce attraction for brown-skinned girls.

  The work uniform—formless slacks and the unattractive boyish shirt hid the figure of most girls, but Janelle had a body that the shapeless McDonald’s uniform couldn’t conceal. And she popped gum so loud and with such rapid-fire precision, it was turning him on. It sounded like she was speaking to him through Morse code.

  Tariq interpreted her message with a smile. She was saying: I love you, Tariq. Look no further, I’m all the woman you need.

  He didn’t wait a day or two like some boys would do when given a number. Unsophisticated in playing love games, Tariq called Janelle the evening of the same day he’d met her. Janelle could talk up a storm and Tariq liked listening to her, but the fifteen minutes’ phone time he was allotted wasn’t enough.

  “Um…I have to go, but would it be okay if I called you around this time tomorrow night?”

  “Why are you rushing off the phone? You bored?”

  “No! Not at all. It’s a long story, but I only get fifteen minutes on the phone.”

  “Dag. Well, are you allowed out of the house for more than fifteen minutes? If so, why don’t you come over?”

  Feeling embarrassed, Tariq chuckled uncomfortably. Janelle didn’t beat around the bush. “Yeah, I can come over. What’s your address?”

  “I live on a little street near Wadsworth Avenue, but you’re new around here. You’ll never find it. Tell you what…meet me in front of the Cheltenham Mall in ten minutes.”

  “Okay,” Tariq said enthusiastically. “See you in ten minutes.”

  Janelle didn’t respond; she just hung up.

  Tariq was intrigued. He liked the way she took charge; he liked the way she got straight to the point. So far he liked everything about her. Even the odd birth mark on her face.

  He could see Janelle as he waited for the traffic light to change. She was leaning against an ATM machine outside the mall wearing a short denim skirt and a white tank top.

  “Hey,” she said, giving only a hint of a smile.

  “Hi.” Tariq felt dumb because he couldn’t think of anything to say. He was shy and that was a major problem when it came to girls.

  “My house is around the corner.” She started walking toward Wadsworth Avenue and Tariq followed her. “I meant to tell you…” she paused.

  “Tell me what?”

  “I like your name.”

  He blushed. “Thanks.”

  “And I think you’re fine…”

  Tariq started grinning and turning red.

  “Yeah, you’re real nice lookin’, but don’t let that go to your head. Are you conceited?”

  Tariq looked at her indignantly. “No, I’m not conceited.”

  “Good. I didn’t think so.”

  As they continued walking, a tense silence hung in the air. Tariq wasn’t good at setting the mood, so he hoped Janelle would start another conversation. Or an interrogation. He didn’t mind answering her questions. He didn’t mind at all.

  “I live here,” she said, stopping in front of the shabbiest house on the block. She stuck a key in the lock. “My parents aren’t home, so we have the entire house to ourselves.” She gave Tariq a sly grin.

  Should he return the sly grin? He didn’t know what reaction would please Janelle, so he simply shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets uncomfortably.

  “Have a seat.” She pointed to a rather old sofa that was covered with a gold cloth. “I didn’t get a chance to ask you your age while we were on the phone,” Janelle said casually as she clicked on the TV.

  “Uh, sixteen.”

  “I’m nineteen. Do you like older women?”

  Before Tariq could respond Janelle was on his lap kissing him, with one hand under his shirt massaging his neck and his back. It felt good. So good he put more tongue into the kiss, trying to show her that he really liked her a lot.

  Her hand moved around to his chest, rubbing softly, making him utter soft groans. Shiree had never touched him like that; she always monitored and controlled his groping hands. Although he was nervous as hell, this was a new and exciting experience.

  Janelle didn’t fumble around when she undid his belt and unzipped his pants. Experienced hands eased gently inside his boxers and began to caress his stiff member. Closing her palm around it and holding it in a loose fist, she stroked him until pre-cum moistened her palm. Tariq pushed in and out, fucking her hand as if he were inside a moist vagina. It felt good, real good, just like in his dreams. The kind that caused him to cum all over his sheets.

  Tariq was sweating and breathing hard when Janelle halted his movement by withdrawing her hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  As she sat down on the bed, she asked, “Are you a virgin, Tariq?”

  “Um…” Technically, he wasn’t a virgin, but aside from the bad sexual experience he’d had with Shane’s girl, LaDonna, Tariq’s penis had never been anywhere except inside his own hand.

  “Yeah, you are,” she said knowingly. “But not for long.” Her lips twisted into an amused curl. “Come here.”

  Tariq stood in front of Janelle. She reached out and worked his jeans down to his thighs. “Take ’em off.”

  He did.

  “Take those off.” She nodded toward his boxers.

  Tariq’s eyes darted to the lamp; he wanted to tell her to turn off the light.

  As if reading his mind, she shook her head. “Let’s keep it on, I want to see the dick I’m sucking, and I want to see your face when you cum.”

  Tariq didn’t think his dick could get much harder, but her sexy and extremely bold words had him throbbing in sexual pain. He quickly took off his boxers and closed his eyes. The touch of her hands on his buttocks as she pulled him to her lips gave him an internal tremor.

  The smoothness of her lips, her warm tongue
put shivers up his spine. The inside of Janelle’s mouth felt like paradise. When the head of his dick accidentally pushed into the moist inside of her cheek, Janelle deftly used her tongue to guide it back to the center of her mouth. It wasn’t his first time experiencing oral sex, but was nothing like the terrible time with LaDonna. This was beyond his expectations.

  She sucked softly at first and then with great urgency, which had Tariq pumping into her mouth fast and hard as if the orifice were a vagina. He made guttural gasping sounds and, feeling on the brink of insanity, he began to pull her hair, cried out her name and told her he loved her. In fact, he told her he loved her repeatedly.

  “I love you, Janelle,” he shouted as he exploded, feeling deeply that his admission was true. It didn’t matter that he’d just met her that very day. The intense emotions were like nothing he’d ever felt before. He loved her and would do everything he could to prove it.

  Janelle’s smug smile of satisfaction went unnoticed as he covered her mouth with a passionate kiss. Her mouth tasted salty but he didn’t mind; she’d done something for him that diminished some of his emotional pain. For the first time in months, his thoughts weren’t focused on missing Shane.

  “I really love you.” This time he whispered the words in her ear.

  When his heart rate returned to normal, Tariq checked the time; it was past his curfew. Embarrassed that he had to tolerate such a strict and old-fashioned rule, Tariq lowered his head and confessed, “I have a ten o’clock curfew; I’m sorry but I have to go.” He felt humiliated and couldn’t control the pained expression that took over his face.

  “For real? You have a curfew?” Janelle asked and sucked her teeth. “I wasn’t finished, but it’s cool,” she said with a shrug. “We’ll just have to finish what we started the next time we get together.”

  Tariq’s heart soared; he couldn’t believe his good fortune. Despite all the corny restrictions his foster parents forced on him, Janelle was actually willing to see him again. She hinted that they were going to have intercourse the next time. Now that would be a real first, but he hoped with all his heart that she’d also give up some more head.