Captain Save a Hoe

by iiKane

  Blah!

  Before either of them could move, the female rapper looked straight into a sucker punch that dazed her.

  “Skye!” Georgie yelled, totally surprised.

  But Skye was too busy whipping the female rapper’s ass. Georgie quickly grabbed her, struggling to pull her off.

  “Get off me!” the female rapper squealed.

  “Let me go, Georgie!”

  “Skye, let her go!”

  He finally pulled Skye off and carried her out of the lobby, screaming, kicking and cursing. Everyone in the lobby was stuck on the spectacle.

  As soon as he got her outside, Skye struggled loose and turned on him.

  “I can’t fuckin’ believe you, Georgie! I fuckin’ hate you so much right now! On Valentine’s Day?! You do this to me on Valentine’s Day?” she huffed, pacing until the last word made her punch him in the chest. The release felt so good, she tried to hit him again. Georgie was quickly getting irritated by her rants. He grabbed her by the wrists.

  “Skye! Calm the fuck down!” he growled, eyes leveled on hers firmly. “Now listen to me! This ain’t about Valentine’s Day and you know it! You wanna talk, then talk and say what’s really on your mind!”

  Skye snatched away from him.

  “You’re right, Georgie; you’re absolutely right! It isn’t about Valentine’s day; it’s about every day! I’m sick of your shit, of you fuckin’ whoever and whenever, and I’m supposed to take it?! Look at me! Look at me, I can have any man I want!”

  “You’re right, you can. I agree. And you’re sick of my shit. Now what?”

  “I can’t take it any more!”

  “Or what? Or what, Skye?” Georgie questioned, voice low and in control. She looked him in the eyes and said, “It’s either me or them.”

  Without hesitation, Georgie coldly replied, “Them.” He then turned to walk away.

  The swiftness of his response felt like a punch to her stomach. The ease of his reply seemed to make a total mockery of everything she felt.

  “Just like that, Georgie?! You can walk away just like that?!” she gasped, gut wrenched.

  Georgie stopped and looked at her, his grey eyes colder than steel.

  “Skye, listen to me. I’m only going to say this once: I love you, with EVERY. THING. IN. ME., but don’t ever give me an ultimatum! There ain’t a woman born that can fit me in her box of expectations! I am who I am; you can either deal with it or you can’t. If you can’t, I respect that, so even if you walk away, I’ll never stop loving you,” he concluded, his glare softening to a gaze.

  Tears lined Skye’s cheeks.

  “You don’t love me, Georgie; you don’t…”

  Georgie stepped over to her, taking both her hands in his, and her eyes in his.

  “Ma, I swear to God the love I feel for you leaves me breathless, you my heart…but you gotta love me for me. You can’t change me. If we’re going to grow, we grow together, but you have to let me be me. If you can’t…walk away.”

  Looking into his eyes, Skye couldn’t have walked away if she wanted to. But she didn’t want to. She already made that decision in a New York alley.

  “I…can’t,” Skye whispered, but deep down, her heart didn’t know if she could.

  For the next few months, Georgie and Skye ping ponged back and forth between New York and L.A., between setting up her first tour and taking meetings and schmoozing on behalf of getting “Bad Habits” turned into a movie. Georgie got a crash course in Hollywood 101, and Music Industry Rule Number 4080: Movie industry people are also shady.

  At every meeting, party or power lunch, he could see all the sharks, snakes and cutthroats trying to move in, but since he was a Philly-born hustler, he didn’t miss a beat joining their dance.

  The project changed producers three times because Stan had to check himself into rehab. The second producer wasn’t as crafty as the third producer, Benny Greene, who convinced the second producer to turn over the project, in exchange for Benny’s help in green-lighting an artsy-fartsy film the producer’s director wife was obsessed with.

  Benny may have been a sneaky snake—and some said, a closet racist—but he was an A-list producer, so once he got involved, things began to move at breakneck speed. He invited Skye and Georgie to his mansion in West Malibu overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He literally lived in a glass house and it reminded Georgie of where the South Africans lived in the movie Lethal Weapon.

  From the beginning Skye hated his guts. Benny’s favorite subject was Benny: who he knew, who knew him, who owed him favors, who owed him their careers. He talked endlessly, as if trying to impress upon these two young people how fortunate they were that he got involved and how a meeting with him was akin to a meeting with God.

  “Skye, baby, did you hear me? I asked if you were familiar with Niia Akimbe’s work?” Benny asked, chewing his fish then washing it down with some red wine.

  They were sitting at Benny’s huge mahogany dinner table that seated twelve. He was at the head, while Georgie and Skye sat across from one another.

  “Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Greene, I—”

  “Benny. Call me Benny.

  “Benny, I’m sorry. Jet lag. What did you say?”

  “Niia Akimbe.”

  Skye scowled slightly, as if trying to remember something.

  “Britain. By way of Africa. Cameroon, I think. She’s really a talented actress. She’s done a lot of theater over there. But I really think she can be a big star over here. She doesn’t look African; not that there’s anything wrong with looking African, it just… doesn’t translate well on the screen,” Benny stumbled and explained.

  His maid walked in, stage right.

  “Mr. Greene, Mr. Schwarzenegger is on the phone,” she announced.

  “Arnie? What the fuck does Arnie want. Cigars? Doesn’t he know I’m eating?”

  “Yes Mr. Greene, I told him that. He said it’s important.”

  Benny sighed with feigned exasperation in an attempt to play up his importance by being irritated by it.

  “Please, you kids excuse me,” he said, wiping his mouth and pushing his chair back. “Have some more wine; it’s Château Latour Pauillac 1990. He followed the maid out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Skye’s face grew animated.

  “Baby! I’m soooo fuckin’ bored! Let’s sign the contract and go!” Georgie chuckled.

  “Baby, be easy. He’s just giving us his spiel.”

  “Shh, spill it already,” she snickered.

  “This is how they do business.”

  She bit her lip, seductively.

  “I wanna do business with you.”

  “Oh yeah?” he smirked. “What kind of business?”

  Before she could answer, he heard Benny in the other room say, “Arnie, relax. I’ll take care of it. Go bone Maria or the maid, whoever you see first.”

  Benny walked back into the room, chuckling.

  “That fuckin’ Schwarzenegger, what a shmuck! You gotta love ‘em,” he said, then looked around. “Hey, where’s Skye.”

  Georgie looked across the table and saw that she was gone. He was dumbfounded for a second until he felt his zipper go zzzzzzzzz…

  “Umm…” He gulped. “She went to the bathroom.”

  “Oh. I could’ve shown her.”

  He felt Skye pull his dick out of his pants. Georgie coughed, almost choking on the wine.

  “She, uh, couldn’t wait.”

  Benny sat down. Skye took Georgie’s dick in her soft, wet mouth, her tongue ticklish and probing. Georgie fought back a reaction.

  Benny downed his wine, then leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table.

  “Enough of the foreplay; let’s get down to business, okay?” Benny began.

  “Mm-hmmm,” Georgie nodded with a flimsy grunt, because he couldn’t talk. All he could feel was the back of Skye’s throat.

  “I love this fuckin’ book. I want to see it become a movie because I know the audience will love it.”


  “Love it,” Georgie growled, trying desperately to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head.

  “Exactly! And I’m prepared to take care of Skye on the front, a piece of the back end, and—between you and me—maybe a little under the table,” Benny explained, with a wink.

  Skye took Georgie’s balls in her mouth, one at a time, while jerking his dick with firm strokes.

  “Yeah, yeah; fuck yeah!” Georgie grunted, his hands balled tightly.

  Benny was pleasantly taken aback.

  “Excited? Okay, excitement is good.”

  Skye started working her neck, her mouth suction the perfect replica of her pussy. Georgie yelped; Benny frowned.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m – I’m, it’s hard, this chair is hard,” Georgie struggled to make a complete sentence.

  “We have been sitting down for a while. You want to go?”

  “No!” Georgie blurted out. “No, No, I’m good right there, right there; I mean here.”

  He was so close that his stomach fluttered.

  “So let’s get the lawyers together, cross the t’s and dot the i’s, and I promise Georgie, when you see the numbers, you’re gonna… Georgie, are you sure you’re okay?”

  Keeping the ejaculation spasms from the waist down took all of Georgie’s willpower, so much so that the strain squeezed a single tear drop from his eye and it trickled down his cheek.

  “It’s just… I’m so happy to be here,” Georgie sighed, feeling like a bag of jellybeans.

  Benny beamed, thinking that his schmoozing had wooed the young Black man.

  “I am too, Georgie.”

  “Here’s my earring,” Skye announced loudly, holding her diamond teardrop in her hand.

  “Oh Skye, I didn’t see you come back,” Benny commented, surprised.

  Skye waved him off with a casual wave.

  “You were talking, so I didn’t want to disturb you. Then I dropped my earring and—” she held it up, “here it is.”

  “Oh,” Benny said, pausing as if trying to process the image, then added, “well, I was just saying how we’re going to get you signed on as a gross player. Do you know what a gross player is? Well…”

  As Benny droned on, Georgie looked at Skye, shaking his head, a “you’re amazing” grin on his face.

  I love you, he mouthed.

  I know, she mouthed back with a smile and a wink.

  The next day, Georgie was relaxing on the hotel bed in his boxers, scratching his nuts and watching the Bulls–Lakers game. They were taking a much-needed day off. Life became a cocaine blur of whirlwind activities. Georgie wanted to spend the day doing nothing, while Skye spent it shopping.

  As he watched the game, Phil Jackson led Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Dennis Rodman and the boys on an all-out tirade against a young Kobe Bryant and Shaq, putting on a spectacle of pure wizardry. Seeing Jordan fly through the air, tongue hanging out, ball cocked, he couldn’t help but think of K.B. and what could’ve been.

  “Georgie, I’m back” Skye called out, jolting him out of his trance.

  She was carrying a gaggle of bags from various boutiques on Rodeo Drive. She kicked the door closed with her wedge sandal, put all the bags down except one, and then walked over and looked at Georgie.

  “Look at you…all that’s missing is the fat and lazy,” she snickered.

  “I’m workin’ on it,” Georgie deadpanned, eyes glued on the screen. “And I thought you were bringing me something to eat.”

  “I did,” Skye grinned, reaching into the bag then pulling out a pair of red panties that looked like they were made of licorice. “See?”

  He reluctantly looked away from the screen.

  “What is that?”

  “Edible panties.”

  “Who gonna eat ‘em?” he chuckled, turning back to the game.

  She huffed then went and stood in front of the screen, her demeanor screaming for attention.

  “Skye,” Georgie said, scratching his nuts, “the game.”

  “I’ve got a better game,” she replied, naughty little girl written all over her face.

  She slid the spaghetti straps of her yellow sundress from her shoulders, then the dress itself fell from her body. She stood sexily, hand on cocked hip, candy panties extended from a finger of the other hand. Her naked bronze body seemed to glow.

  “You wanna play?” she purred.

  “Ma, could you spread your legs a little? Jordan’s about to slam that” Georgie joked, with a monotone delivery eyes still on the screen.

  She sucked her teeth and shut off the TV.

  “Fuck Jordan; fuck me,” she growled, like a panther in full stalk.

  Georgie had noticed how needy Skye had been the past few months, but he knew it was his fault, so he accepted the responsibility.

  He dimpled her.

  “You know I can’t tell you no, baby. Put them panties on and c‘mere. They better not taste like watermelon Now and Laters.”

  She stepped into the panties, replying, “they’re cherry.”

  “Then let me taste your cherry,” he smirked, flicking his tongue out.

  “Wait, there’s more. I got you…these,” she announced, holding up a pair of handcuffs with pink fur all over them.

  “No. No, Skye. Fuck no, Skye,” Georgie instantly started shaking his head.

  “I thought you couldn’t tell me no?”

  “I ain’t; I’m tellin’ you hell no.”

  “Please, baby,” she pouted, crawling up on the bed and straddling him. “We never do what I want to do. I let you fuck me in the butt.”

  “That’s ‘cause you wanted me to.”

  “No, you wanted to.”

  “No, Skye. Remember the last muhfucka you put handcuffs on? He probably still under the table.” Georgie laughed.

  “Bob!” she gasped. “Or was it Bill? I wonder what happened to him.”

  “He probably dead,” he laughed.

  She hit him. “Don’t say that. It’ll be my fault and anyway, I’ve got the key this time.”

  “No. N–goddamn–O! You ain’t puttin’ no handcuffs on me! Never!”

  “Ohh Georgie, right there, baby! Oh fuck, I’m about to cum!” Skye squealed, riding him reverse cowgirl style.

  The edible panties she had been wearing were totally eaten away from her crouch to the seat of her ass, giving Georgie a perfect view of his dick vigorously pumping in and out. Her milky juices began gushing out, coating the base of his dick and making him explode inside of her at the same time.

  Exhausted, Skye fell back, lying beside him, her right leg thrown over him.

  “Damn,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “I can feel my pussy still shaking,” she arched her back, body trembling, cumming again. “Damn.”

  “That’s the afterbirth,” Georgie boasted, jokingly.

  Skye giggled, cuddling up to him.

  “Damn, I love you boy.”

  “I love you too…but Skye.”

  “Hmmmm,” she hummed, ready to go to sleep.

  “You got your way; now take the cuffs off,” he said, looking at how he was cuffed to the headboard.

  “Whyyy,” she whined. “Don’t you think they’re cute?”

  “No, Skye, I don’t think they’re cute. Now where’s the key?”

  She sat up, waving dismissively. “Somewhere,” she snickered, picking up her cigarettes off the night stand and standing up.

  She looked down at his body, spread-eagle and naked, his face fuming and red. “Besides, I kind of like the idea of you being my love slave.”

  She lit a cigarette, mumbling, “At least I’ll know where you’re at all weekend.”

  “Weekend?! Hol’ up, hol’ up, hol’ up! Fuck that! Take these goddamn handcuffs off!” Georgie bassed, jerking uselessly against the heavy head board.

  She cupped her lips to bite back a smile, walking backward.

  “These panties feel sticky. I’m going to take a shower.”


  “Skye!”

  “Yes?” She said it so sweetly you would’ve thought that she was answering the phone.

  Georgie saw that the bullshit wasn’t working, so he changed his approach.

  “I – umm – want to take this opportunity to say…if I ever, in any way, ever did anything that – umm – I should’ve apologized for, I’m apologizing now,” Georgie said, tone restrained. “And I want you to know how wonderful you are.”

  “Awww, thank you baby; I love you, too.”

  “So you gonna take off the cuffs?”

  “Sure, when I’m finished,” she giggled, going in the bathroom. She paused and took one more look. “So sexy.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have let her put these fuckin’ handcuffs…Skye!”

  The first day of spring is in March. When the air smells like love and imaginations are fertile; it’s called Spring Fever.

  He met her on the first spring evening. When the L.A. night threw on a silky, black dress and the stars sprayed across it like celestial diamonds. He met her at a restaurant on Sunset. He and Skye had arrived in a vintage Rolls Royce with suicide doors. Boomer opened the door for them. As soon as Georgie’s ostrich and Skye’s Gucci hit the carpet, the pictures started flashing like a thousand suns. Georgie was so high the champagne tasted like coke and the coke tasted like champagne. Coupled with his ever-present painkillers, his every step was smoother than Fred Astaire’s.

  “Georgie. I don’t want to stay long. Benny just wants us to meet and get a vibe going for the set,” Skye told him, feeling anxious for reasons that she couldn’t explain.

  “No problem,” he replied.

  Until it was.

  The first impression he had of Niia was that he was eight-years-old again, and his doll baby had come to life. Her skin was smooth and as dark as a Hershey bar, her hair long and silky, hanging down to the small of her back, but worn over one shoulder, with the type of shine that you only see in commercials. And her figure…

  She had the kind of body that should never be dressed, a body that could start a war or end one.

  As first, he thought it was the cocaine, because he could’ve sworn someone exclaimed, “goddamn,” but when he saw the look on Skye’s face, he realized that he was that someone.