Hittin' It Out the Park

by Allison Hobbs

  She nodded, turned around, and pranced along the corridor.

  It was typical July weather, and despite the air conditioning, the body heat inside the overcrowded party had the temperature soaring. Sexy decided to leave the confines of the crowded frat house where the rowdy celebration was being held and relocate to the quiet and spacious rooftop.

  As she headed for the backstairs that led to the roof deck, she bypassed a twerk contest between three white girls who should have been ashamed to bring attention to their deficient derrieres, but were too intoxicated to care. When white girls competed in impromptu twerk-offs, there was always an overabundance of alcohol involved.

  Continuing her trek down the hallway, she looked over her shoulder and couldn’t hold back a smug smile. As expected, the hot rocker dude was following her like an obedient sheep.

  Upon closer inspection, he was dreamier looking than she’d realized with fine-boned features and sensual lips. He seemed like the overly confident type who could have his pick of women, and she’d observed numerous girls shamelessly trying to divert his attention away from his girlfriend throughout the night.

  But Sexy wasn’t merely any woman. Among her group of friends, she was the only ethnic chick, and she was often referred to as being uncommonly good looking—an exotic beauty with an olive skin tone, large doe-shaped eyes, and dark flowing hair.

  Tonight, Sexy looked extra-hot in a crop top embellished with beads and sequins and she was rocking a teeny-tiny pair of denim, cut-off shorts and ankle-strap stilettos that showcased her perfect pair of long, shapely legs. People often mistook her for a runway model, which she thought was hilarious. Becoming a brainless model was not the occupation she aspired toward. When the day came that she had to consider employment options, she was certain she’d lean toward a career in the CIA or some sort of corporate espionage. In the meantime, she’d continue living off handouts from her parents and the kindness of strangers.

  A slew of bangles and bracelets decorated both her wrists and jangled musically as she sauntered along and turned a corner, striding past a room that was crammed with kids gathered around a giant bong. One girl was bent at the waist, her long hair nearly sweeping the floor as she giggled at a private joke that only she could hear. Another moron with orange crumbs around his mouth was digging his orange-tinted fingers inside a bag of Cheetos, his jaws working overtime as he crunched on the snack while waiting for his turn to hit the bong.

  Drugs had never interested Sexy. She preferred being clear-headed when manipulating and outmaneuvering her idiot friends, her stupid family, and brain-dead society in general. No one was shrewder than Sexy, and she delighted in proving that fact at every opportunity.

  Excitement coursed through her as she heard his footsteps climbing the stairs behind her. She pushed the door to the rooftop open and the evening breeze blew through her hair.

  Holding a frosty bottle of Coors Light, Hot Rocker was right behind her. “Wow! This is so cool,” he uttered, looking around and then staring up at the star-filled sky.

  “It’s an amazing view; I figured you’d enjoy it,” she said, taking his hand and leading him over to the lawn furniture. She plopped down on a wicker loveseat and motioned for him to have a seat next to her. “My name is Sexy.”

  “Perfect name for you.”

  “Sexy Sanchez,” she added with a provocative smile.

  “Cool name. Are you Puerto Rican??”

  “No.” She gave a shrug. “I’m strictly African American, as far as I know.”

  “You have an exotic look, like you could be mixed with Middle Eastern blood.”

  “So I’ve been told. And what’s your name?” she asked, abruptly changing the uncomfortable subject regarding her heritage.

  “Ryan Bellevue.” He looked around. “You must party here a lot.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “How’d you know about the secret stairway leading to the rooftop?”

  “I make it my business to know a lot of things,” she said in a mysterious tone.

  “I’ve sort of had my eye on you all night,” Ryan confessed.

  “I know. That’s why I lured you away from your girlfriend.”

  His blue eyes sparkled in amusement. “You didn’t have to lure me. You could have asked.”

  “That wouldn’t have been any fun,” she replied, reaching out and examining the bronze, medieval pendant that hung from a leather cord. “Interesting piece of jewelry,” she commented.

  “I’m a history buff and rabid collector of historical artifacts.”

  Sexy groaned inwardly. Ryan was providing too much information. She couldn’t have cared less about his personal interests. She let out a sigh of indifference as she released the pendant.

  “Want a sip?” Ryan slanted the beer bottle toward Sexy.

  “Sure, if I can sip it from your finger,” she said in a sultry tone of voice.

  “Oh, wow!” He chuckled nervously, and then inserted his index finger into the mouth of the bottle.

  Grasping his hand, Sexy guided his dripping finger to her mouth and drew it inside, closing her eyes and murmuring, “Mmm.”

  “Damn! You’re wild! Who are you and where have you been all my life?”

  “Shut up and kiss me.” She took the beer bottle from his hand and set it on the ground. Snuggling close, she looped her arms around Ryan’s neck and pressed her lips against his. As her tongue snaked inside his mouth, her hand slid between his legs. She caressed the erection that strained against his jeans.

  He broke the kiss and stared at her through eyes that were heavily lidded with lust. “You’re so beautiful. Man, I want you so bad,” he said hoarsely.

  “What would you like to do to me?” she whispered, her lips curved in a taunting smile.

  “Make love to you,” he whispered.

  “Make love? You can do that some other time.”

  Panic surfaced in Ryan’s blue eyes. His forehead creased. “Why not now?”

  “No time for lovemaking, I want you to fuck me.”

  “Oh, yeah! That’s exactly what I want to do.” He groped her, hastily feeling her breasts and rubbing her inner thigh.

  The wicker loveseat was too small and wasn’t sturdy enough. They’d have to get down on the dirty floor of the roof or stand up. Opting to stand, Sexy rose and Ryan immediately leapt to his feet. Sexy led him to the concrete ledge that bordered the roof. She stepped out of her shorts, and he dropped his jeans.

  Already wet with anticipation, Sexy didn’t require any foreplay. She grasped Ryan’s hand and guided his fingers to the warm, sticky moisture between her legs. “See what you do to me?”

  “Oh, damn.” His chest heaved as he struggled to penetrate her in the awkward standing position.

  Actually, it wasn’t Ryan who had her so hot and bothered. It was the idea that she’d snagged another woman’s man with hardly any effort. Ryan’s girlfriend was probably looking for him at that very moment. Your man is preoccupied, dumb bitch, so stop trying to hunt him down! The idea of the girlfriend searching the frat house in vain filled Sexy with so much excitement, goose bumps began to spread up and down her arms. And her pussy reacted by going from slightly moist to heavily drenched.

  “Ooh! You’re so wet,” Ryan said between gasping breaths.

  “Don’t talk. All I want you to do is fuck me,” she urged with a note of steel in her voice.

  Backing her against the concrete wall, he thrust himself deeply, grunting as he slammed into her. Sexy clung to him as he rammed her over and over. A sly smile formed on her lips. She’d won the bet she’d made with her roommate, Arielle, who claimed Ryan was known to be unreasonably faithful and would never cheat on his girlfriend.

  As Ryan grunted and groaned, Sexy thought about the hundred bucks and lunch at Chipotle that Arielle owed her. Her nitwit roommate could have saved herself some money had she listened when Sexy told her that no man remained faithful once she’d set her sights on him.

  * * *
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  Fussing with his hair, trying to get it back to its original windswept look, Ryan asked Sexy if she had a mirror.

  “Sorry. No,” she replied as she dug around in her clutch, fingers deliberately glossing over her compact mirror. She wanted Ryan to look disheveled, as if he’d been fucking on the sly, and she wasn’t about to assist him in making himself presentable.

  “There isn’t any lipstick on my face, is it?” he asked, wiping at imaginary red streaks.

  “You look fine,” she assured him. “You should go down first and I’ll stay up here for like, another five or ten minutes,” she suggested, pretending to be helpful.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.” The lust that had been in Ryan’s eyes was now replaced with guilt. “My girl is probably looking for me, so I’d better get back to the party. I, uh, suppose I’ll see you later,” he said sheepishly.

  “Yep. See you later,” she said nonchalantly, fluttering her fingers.

  Sexy had heard that Ryan’s girlfriend was a jealous bitch who was known for creating scenes even when there was no reason for her to be suspicious of Ryan. Eager to witness the big blowup, Sexy didn’t plan on waiting around on the rooftop—not even for two extra minutes. As soon as she heard the door to the stairs open and close, she checked her reflection in her compact mirror. She reapplied lip gloss, brushed her hair, and then bounded down the stairs while simultaneously texting Arielle: Cough up my money and meet me in the kitchen.

  Beer was stocked inside the fridge as well as multiple coolers in the frat house kitchen. There were so many people jam-packed inside the room, Sexy was only able to distinguish Arielle by her ghastly, purple-tinted hair.

  “Pay up, bitch,” Sexy demanded with laughter when Arielle approached her.

  “Where’s the proof, whore?” Arielle retorted.

  With a smirk on her face, Sexy searched through her purse and pulled out Ryan’s medieval pendant. “What do you think about this?” Sexy taunted, holding the pendant by the leather cord.

  “Wow, I’m impressed.”

  “As you should be. Now, hand over the dough, and don’t forget lunch tomorrow.”

  “I don’t have any cash on me, but we’ll stop at the ATM tomorrow—on our way to Chipotle.” Arielle eyed Sexy with admiration. “How was he?” she whispered conspiratorially.

  “Quick.” Sexy and Arielle burst out laughing. “There was nothing spectacular about him. Ryan’s merely another notch on my bedpost.” Sexy pulled out her phone and took a picture of the pendant and then began tapping the screen.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Tweeting about my conquest and posting the evidence on Instagram.”

  “Ohmigod, you’re so malicious.”

  “I know.” Sexy smiled and returned her attention to the screen of her phone.

  From the corridor, Sexy and Arielle could hear Ryan’s jealous girlfriend accusing him of cheating, while Ryan proclaimed his innocence.

  “What’s that insecure bitch’s name?” Sexy asked Arielle.

  “Cyndi Waters.”

  “Thanks.” Sexy tapped the screen a few more times. “She’ll find out that I fucked her man when she follows me back on Instagram.”

  Cheryl

  Valentine’s Day – 2014

  “Oh, my God, you are unbelievable.”

  Randy had been saying it all morning, but Cheryl couldn’t hear it enough. After all, she agreed with her new husband. So, once again she leaned over in their king-size bed and rewarded him with a kiss and a “Thanks, babe.”

  “Uh-uh, thank you!” Randy said, running his fingers through her disheveled hair. “I thought my Valentine’s Day present to you couldn’t be topped. But, boy, was I wrong.”

  Cheryl glanced over at the five-carat pink diamond ring lying on the night table beside the bed. She had expected jewelry—most husbands gave their wives jewelry for Valentine’s—but the trinket had exceeded all of her expectations. “Honey, believe me, I’m not complaining.” She moved closer so that their naked bodies melded into each other, then wrapped her arms around his neck for an even more soulful kiss, when her Valentine’s Day present to him popped up from under the sheets.

  “Good morning!” the gorgeous, raven-haired woman said in a cheery voice, making Cheryl wonder how long she’d been awake. “Oh, man, what a night. Right?”

  Cheryl watched as the woman scooted up to snuggle against Randy’s back, and noted with satisfaction that when she did, Randy moved closer into Cheryl. And when the woman tried to once again snuggle against him, Randy actually sat up in the bed and leaned against the headboard, pulling Cheryl up with him.

  “Morning,” Randy said with a self-conscious smile.

  “Actually, it’s afternoon.” Cheryl pointed to a digital alarm clock on the night table. “It’s almost one-thirty.”

  Cheryl watched as the woman languidly edged the sheets from her body, slowly exposing a pair of 38DD’s, a remarkably flat tummy, a voluptuous set of hips, and an incredibly full round butt.

  “Well, then,” the woman said, trailing her hand down to her pubic mound, and then playing with her clitoris, “anyone up for some afternoon delight?”

  Cheryl glanced at Randy and noted the slight hardening in his expression. “No, I think we’re good, Vonda,” she said sweetly. “But thanks for a wonderful night.”

  Initially, surprise spread across Vonda’s face, but the woman quickly composed her mouth into a little pout, and then in a baby-doll voice said, “What about you, Randy? You feel like a little playtime with me?”

  Cheryl’s eyes widened as a wave of rage rushed over her. “Look,” she said, leaning over Randy to get closer to the woman. “Didn’t you hear—?”

  “My wife said, we’re good,” Randy said, cutting her off. “Baby,” he said turning to Cheryl, “Do you want to call a car service to pick her up, or would you like me to take care of it?”

  “I got this, babe.” Cheryl pulled Randy into a long kiss; opening her eyes, though, to glare at the woman over his shoulder. “You wanna go hit the shower, Randy? Maybe we can go to Havenwood for a post-Valentine’s Day lunch. I want to show off my new ring,” she said when they broke the kiss.

  Cheryl waited until Randy wrapped himself in a plush burgundy robe, and disappeared into the bathroom before jumping out the bed, and pulling the sheets off Vonda. “Okay, up and out! Thanks for the night, but your services are no longer required.”

  Vonda tugged back part of the sheet to partially cover herself as she got up. “You’ve got some fucking nerve trying to treat me like some kind of whore. Please remember, you approached me. I did you a favor, sleeping with you and your husband.”

  “First off, you did me no favor. I may have approached you, but you are getting paid five thousand dollars for the night, bitch. So, in my book that does make you a whore.” Cheryl stood over the woman, not caring that she was totally naked in her fury. “Secondly, I wouldn’t be treating you like the gold-digging whore that you are if you didn’t make a play for my husband.”

  “Oh, please,” the woman said, yanking on her clothes as she talked. “So, big deal, I asked him if he wanted to go another round this morning. You didn’t mind last night when I was sucking his dick and you were eating my pussy, now did you?”

  “Last night was last night.” Cheryl walked over and grabbed her new ring off the night table and put it on. “When I said enough was enough this morning, you should have left it at that. But no, you have to try and establish your own little relationship with him.” Cheryl sat on the edge of the chaise lounge and crossed her long legs. “That shit doesn’t fly, bitch.”

  “Well, it wasn’t anything personal, and I’m sorry you took it that way. I wasn’t making a play for your man.” Vonda was dressed now, and was pulling her purse strap over her shoulder. “You don’t need to get me a car service; I’ll catch a cab outside.”

  Maybe the woman wasn’t trying to cozy up to Randy to try and establish a side relationship—but why chance it, Cheryl thought as
she watched through the window as Vonda climbed into a taxi. There was no way she was going to lose her new husband, whom she loved, and the new lifestyle that she loved just as much.

  No, she reasoned, she wasn’t a gold digger; after all, it wasn’t money that made her take Randy home that first night. It was quite plain he didn’t have any. She didn’t even know he had the potential to make it to the upper economic stratosphere until after she had turned him out. If she hadn’t decided to grant him a pity fuck, she wouldn’t be living in a $2 million condo in trendy SoHo, wouldn’t be driving a Maybach that matched his, nor would she be sporting a five-carat pink diamond that likely cost a cool $2.5 million.

  True, they had pretty much gone through Randy’s $5 million signing bonus. But that was okay, she reasoned; with a five-year contract with the New York Yankees, there was plenty time to put money away in savings. And since that five-year contract was worth $120 million, there was also plenty of money to save.

  Cheryl still couldn’t believe her luck. After Randy left the apartment she shared with Stephen that morning, he texted her three to four times a day and called her on the phone every night for an hour-long conversation—each ending with another marriage proposal.

  “Cheryl, I know we haven’t known each other long, but I ain’t never felt like this about anyone,” he begged each night. “It’s so hard to believe that someone as together as you would even want to talk to someone like me, ya know? I don’t want to lose you, girl.”

  It took two weeks of his pleading before she consented to rent a car and drive down to Scranton to watch one of his games. It was a ninety-degree August day, so she wore a white halter top and tight linen pants, and her hair was swept into an up-do, with a thin wisp hanging down either side of her face. Randy made a big deal of introducing her to all of his teammates before the game, and the envy on their faces was evident.

  “Boy, you’d better be sure to hit a home run today in honor of this fine young filly,” his coach told Randy after shaking Cheryl’s hand.

  “Coach, I think I’m going to have to hit two,” Randy responded.