Captain Save a Hoe

by iiKane

  As they walked by the stylists, the hungry gazes of the women followed his confident swagger. He could just hear the people calling his name, the stage name that he had thought up for himself when he was twelve: Giorgio.

  An impossibly tall Scandinavian blonde woman on even more impossibly arched heels approached them, carrying a large, gilded appointment book. She and Yvette exchanged pleasantries and air kisses.

  “And please tell me this is not Georgie,” the blonde remarked wistfully.

  “But of course,” Yvette replied, wrapping her arm around Georgie.

  Georgie looked at her but didn’t say anything.

  The big blonde melted into a sigh.

  “And here I was hoping that you had brought me lunch.”

  The two of them shared a naughty giggle, then she escorted Yvette and Georgie to Christophe’s office. Inside, the office seemed to be just as spacious in its own right. It faced the street so that its entire front was floor-to-ceiling windows that sported vertical blinds, which were opened to let the sunshine in. Christophe’s desk was more of a minimalist work area than a desk with a high-back leather chair towering above it.

  Christophe himself, an Andy Warhol-ish looking waif of a man, was dressed in what amounted to an all-black cat suit. His starkly pale, bare white feet provided the only contrast. He was laid back on a black leather recliner as a shirtless Italian rock of a man massaged his feet. He purred, eyes closed, until the big blonde cleared her throat. Christophe’s eyes popped open with a scowl until they fell on Georgie.

  “And you are?”

  Georgie dimpled him.

  “Georgie Mills.”

  Christophe’s eyes brightened, and he began to clap his hands and flap his feet.

  “Shoo! Shoo! Shoo!”

  The Italian stallion rose with a bow then disappeared through a door discretely recessed in the wall behind the chair. Christophe sat up and curled his feet under him, then patted the space his legs were just occupying.

  “Sit, sit, sit, let me take a good look at you,” Christophe gushed, and when Georgie sat, extended his hand to him daintily and limp-wristed.

  “I’m Christophe.”

  Humoring him, Georgie took his hand and kissed it. Christophe giggled and shook as if an electric current had run up his spine.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Oh my! You are a god! Why aren’t you a model?”

  “Because I’m the real thing,” Georgie replied, with a sexy grin that took the snap out of his quip.

  “Yes you are…so tell me, why do you want to work for Christophe?” he asked.

  Georgie shrugged. “Because I love to do hair. I’ve been doing it since I was six years old. My mother has her own shop back in—”

  Disregarding Georgie’s answer with an air of impatience, Christophe remarked, “I’ve never known a man that likes to do hair, unless of course he’s gay. Are you gay, Georgie, bi, curious? Hmmm?”

  Georgie chuckled to bite back the irritation that was beginning to build. “No, why? Is it a requirement?”

  Christophe saw the hard flash in Georgie’s eyes.

  “Easy tiger, roar.” Christophe remarked, making a cattish sound and displaying a cattish claw at the same time, both to mask a nervous twitter. “It’s not a requirement; it’s a prayer!”

  The big blonde and Yvette laughed, whereas Georgie conceded a crooked grin.

  “I’m kidding…No, I’m not. Anyway,” Christophe said, brushing a stray bang from his line of vision. “Yvette tells me you are simply divine and judging from her fab new look, I’m inclined to believer her. But, and there’s always a ‘but’ in there isn’t it, how do you feel about New Jersey?”

  “Jersey?” Georgie echoed.

  Christophe nodded prissily, lips pursed.

  “Wayne, specifically. I have a satellite salon there. Very posh, very upscale, well … as upscaled as you actually can be in Jersey. I’m kidding. No I’m not, anyway…so, what do you think?”

  Georgie glanced back at Yvette with a look that said, “That easy?” She nodded vigorously with excitement. He turned back to Christophe.

  “Jersey’s cool,” he answered, nonchalantly.

  “Then Jersey it is,” Christophe concluded, getting up and heading toward his desk with a gait that showed he admired Grace Kelly. “Just give your license information to Svetlana, and all should be in order.”

  Georgie frowned slightly.

  “License? What do I need a license for?”

  Christophe stopped, turned and looked at him.

  “Surely, you have a cosmetology license.”

  “I don’t need one. I told you, I’ve been doin’ hair since I was—”

  “Yes, yes, but be that as it may, I cannot allow you to work in my salons unlicensed. Now, while you get one, I could maybe let you do washes, inventory, things like—”

  “Naw yo, I didn’t come all the way to New York to be a fashion busboy! I’m nice! The best! Put me up against any licensed muhfucka.”

  Christophe came and sat down beside him, wearing an indulgent smile.

  “Georgie really, there’s no need for such language. It’s simply the way things are. Now, years from now, I would love to say I gave you your first break in New York, but you must give me a break now, okay?” he said, patting Georgie’s hand. “Come back when you have your license.”

  With that, Christophe headed to his desk, saying over his shoulder, “Svetlana, hold my calls. I’m famished.”

  “Yes, Christophe,” Svetlana replied then looked at Georgie with a polite smile. “If you would come with me please.”

  “What’s the big deal with getting a license, Georgie?” Michelle asked as she stood at the stove sautéing vegetables.

  “Exactly!” Georgie concurred, munching on a carrot.

  “No, I mean not having one. Having one is the law!”

  “Fuck the law.”

  “Michelle shook her head, chuckling.

  “Boy, I swear you just like your mother. That’s why she opened the shop in her house, because she felt like nobody could tell her nothing either.”

  Georgie never knew that was why his mother never got her cosmetology license, so the information only strengthened his resolve.

  “Then that’s what I’ma do—open my own shop.”

  “Well, if you had your license, or at least got in school, you could really make some contacts at the hair expo next month,” Michelle remarked, pouring a little red wine in the skillet.

  “What hair expo?”

  “At the Jacob Javits Center. They have it every year. Some of the biggest names in the industry will be there. It’s a helluva networking opportunity. Pass me the prosciutto out of the fridge.”

  Georgie opened the refrigerator and looked around. “Ain’t no more.”

  “You sure?” Michelle checked then glanced around at him. “Baby, do me a fave.”

  “Yeah, I got you.”

  Georgie grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

  The neighborhood store was bigger than a bodega, but much smaller than a supermarket. They specialized in gourmet foods, fresh fruits and vegetables, and weed. The latter was on the hush hush and very discrete.

  Georgie spotted Anya as he grabbed the prosciutto. He came around the aisle and encountered her in the fruit section. Before she glanced up and saw him, he drank her in. She was dressed in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt and biker shorts. It made Georgie wish the sweatshirt didn’t cover her ass. He glanced at her flip flops and saw that her toes were painted the same color as her hair. It made him smile to know that was because of him.

  “So this is where they keep the fresh peaches, huh?”

  At the sound of his voice, a smile spread over her face even before she looked up.

  “Hello, Georgie.”

  “How you, Ma? You think you can fit on this scale? I wanna see how much your peach weigh.” He flirted, reaching for her waist.

  She bashfully brushed his hand away, laugh
ing.

  “Boy, you are so stupid.”

  “I ain’t seen you in a few days. You tryin’ to make me miss you?”

  “I was out of town. I had to work.”

  “Out of town?”

  “A convention.”

  Their eyes met. He knew what she did. She knew that he knew what she did. Her glance said, You asked. His said, It’s cool.

  They began walking toward the register. She was rung up first.

  “So, did you miss me?” Georgie dimpled.

  “No,” she replied, with sass in her tone.

  “Did you think about me?” he probed as he paid for his purchase.

  “No,” she answered, walking backward towards the door so she could maintain eye contact.

  “Yes you did. Every time you looked in the mirror, you saw my smile, ‘cause I left it in your hair,” he charmed, leaning in to muzzle her neck as they spilled out the door.

  Anya hunched her shoulders and leaned away.

  “Stop,” she whined sweetly, enticingly, hypocritically.

  “Only when you stop lyin’…I thought about you,” he admitted, taking her plastic bag and carrying it for her.

  “Really?” she returned, skeptically.

  “Why you say it like that? Yes, really, wit’ your ugly self,” he smirked. Anya didn’t expect that. Her mouth dropped open and she laughed, hitting Georgie on the arm.

  “You ugly.”

  “Least I ain’t cockeyed,” he joked, crossing his eyes and walking in a clumsy, pigeon-toed manner.

  Anya threw her head back, laughing.

  “I ain’t hardly cockeyed!”

  “Yeah…you gonna be,” he replied, looking her dead in the eyes with a provocative challenge.

  She sucked her teeth.

  “Please, little boy.”

  Georgie howled. “Oh, I’m a little boy now, huh?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked him up and down and came back to his eyes. “Are you?”

  They had reached their apartment building, so Anya punctuated her statement by looking over her shoulder before going inside. Georgie smiled to himself then followed her in.

  When they reached the third floor landing where Michelle lived, Anya reached for the bag.

  “Naw, I’ma carry it for you,” Georgie told her.

  “You don’t have to,”

  “I want to.”

  When they reached her apartment and entered, the first thing he asked was, “Where you want me to put this?”

  “Just put it in the kit--,” she started to say, but Georgie pulled her body to his.

  “Naw, I meant this,” he said, kissing her gently on the lips.

  “Here?” he kissed her on the neck.

  “Here?” he kissed her on the collarbone. “Or here. Where you need it most?”

  A soft whimper escaped her lips. “Show me that you know.”

  Georgie lifted her sweatshirt over her head in one smooth motion. Underneath, she wasn’t wearing a bra; she didn’t need one. Her breasts sat up, full and firm. Her chocolate nipples were so hard, they throbbed. Georgie took one in his mouth and sucked it until she grabbed the back of his head, then bit it just hard enough to make Anya suck in her breath.

  “Fuck,” she breathed.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this since I laid eyes on you. I wanted to pull up that little skirt and make you take every inch of this dick,” he growled, while he continued to kiss her from head to toe.

  “You talk too much,” she stuttered, but her body betrayed her, letting him know that every word was going right down her spine and exploding between her legs.

  He pulled her biker shorts down over her soft, juicy ass to find her panty-less underneath. As soon as he did, the bouquet of her sweet aroma tantalized his nostrils.

  “It even look like a peach,” he remarked, eyeing her clean-shaven pussy, sitting fat and plump between her legs.

  Georgie pulled one of Anya’s legs over his shoulder and took her clit in his mouth hungrily while he gripped her ass firmly with both hands. Anya threw her head back to scream but nothing came out. She looked like the picture of ecstasy, frozen in time. Her nails dug into his shoulders and her leg stiffened on his back. Georgie cupped the bottom of her ass cheeks, spreading them so he could penetrate her with his middle finger from the back.

  “Oh Georgie,” she gasped, hoarsely.

  The sensation felt like too much, but at the same time, not enough. She wanted him deeper, harder, faster. The sounds of his lips feasting on her wet pussy turned her on, and she felt the throbbing building in her belly, until it exploded into hot flames that shot through her thighs and left her gasping for air and trying to push him away.

  “I…I can’t, wait,” she whispered as he gently laid her on the cold, hard floor.

  The cool surface felt good on her hot skin, as Georgie continued to kiss along her thighs, trailing his tongue along the wet tracks that her juices had left, lapping it up as he went.

  Anya ground the heels of her hands into her eyes, squirming, her head thrashing from side to side.

  “Georgie, put it in please. I want to feel you.”

  “Shhhh,” he said, his soft whisper leaving goose bumps in its wake. “You talk too much.”

  She could feel his smile between her thighs. He kissed along her thighs until he came across sensitive areas that made her jump.

  Fresh cigarette burns.

  Just thinking how she got them made him burn with a murderous rage, a rage that he channeled into passion, kissing each one, all six—the last one on her calf—as he said, “Never again…never again…never again.”

  Tears bubbled from her eyes and ran down her temples, making puddles on both sides of her head. By the time he started sucking her toes, she was done. She felt like she would lose her mind if he didn’t fuck her.

  “Georgie now, I’m about to explode,” she cried out.

  He wasted no time pushing inside her, making her cry out again and again with each punishing thrust.

  “Just like that. I want to hear you,” he groaned in her ear. “Tell me what I’m doing to you.”

  “It feels so good, oh, so fuckin’ good,” she screamed.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “Harder,” she gasped.

  The sounds of their clapping bodies punctuated every grunt, every groan, every scream, every moan.

  “Cum, baby. Please cum with me,” Anya begged.

  Georgie got in push-up position and Anya held herself behind the knees so she could cock her legs back to her chest and he could go deep enough to cum in her stomach.

  “Say my name!”

  “Georgie!”

  “Say it!”

  “Geooooo—” was all she got out before her body convulsed and spasmed, releasing her juices with a hard, satisfying squirt.

  Georgie only lasted a few more seconds, then he came—hard and long—body jerking and toes curled.

  “Damn,” he gasped, as he collapsed on top of her.

  Anya giggled.

  “What you talkin’ about, damn? You did it.”

  They laughed, and then he dropped his head. When he looked back up, his eyes were crossed.

  “Wait a minute, Georgie. Let me get it together,” he jokingly imitated.

  She laughed so hard that she pooted, then playfully hit him.

  “You make me sick! I am not lookin’ cross eyed!”

  He twisted up his lips with unbelief.

  “Much,” she admitted. Then they laughed again.

  When the laughter subsided, Georgie’s expression changed. He started to speak, but Anya put her finger to his lips, and smiled softly.

  “Don’t spoil it.”

  He hesitated then nodded understandingly.

  “Come on.”

  “Where we going?” Anya inquired, eyebrows arched.

  “To the bedroom,” he smiled wickedly.

  He helped her up, then right before she started to walk down the hall, he slapped her on the
ass.

  “Oy, boy!”

  “Now walk like you on the goddamn catwalk,” he joked.

  Anya smirked then strutted so hard, Georgie couldn’t do anything but shake his head and holler, “Goddamn, I love New York.”

  When he walked in, Michelle was curled up on the couch, watching Casablanca and sipping zinfandel. She took one look at the smile plastered on Georgie’s face and shook her head.

  “I don’t even want to know. Did you at least buy the prosciutto?”

  Georgie held up the bag. Michelle pointed to the kitchen.

  “Refrigerator. And try not to get lost this time.”

  While Georgie went into the kitchen, Michelle took a sip of wine and then remembered to add, “Oh, and Steph called. She said to call her.”

  Georgie was coming back into the room drinking a Goya juice, something he had fallen in love with since he moved to New York. He picked up the cordless phone and dialed the number as he walked down the hall to the back bedroom. He sipped and sat on the windowsill that had a view of the street below. Overhead, a large, full moon seemed to shine like a spotlight on New York.

  Stephanie picked up, and the first thing he heard was Teddy Pendergrass’ “Turn Off the Lights” in the background.

  “Hey baby, ‘bout time you call your Mama,” she huffed playfully.

  “And every time I do, you either got on Luther or Teddy, which means you either got somebody over or about to have somebody over,” Georgie surmised. “Let me find out you put me out just so you could have the house to yourself.”

  “Oh you ain’t know? I’m about to get my woo woo woo on with some burning hot oils, baby!” she sang, the voice strong and on key.

  Georgie rubbed his forehead.

  “Ma, I ain’t need to know all that. That’s nasty.”

  “That’s what you get for talkin’ stupid. Now, how is my baby?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Michael told me about the license thing. Believe me, you know if anybody understand, I understand, but you have to get one. That’s probably my biggest mistake. I could’ve had mega salons, but my hardhead got in the way. That’s my daddy in me.” Stephanie shrugged, like c’est la vie, and puffed on her Newport long.

  Georgie sucked his teeth.

  “Ma, I told Michelle—”

  “Who is Michelle?”