Free dances! Now, Lexi knows she’s wrong. However, for some reason Chanelle decided to let it fly. Though it was her nature to gripe and bitch endlessly when she believed someone was trying to exploit her, Chanelle merely shrugged and said, “Okay, I’ll hook the groom up. What’s his name?”
“Trevor.”
“Okay, let me know when Trevor’s ready. I’m gonna give him a bangin’ send-off.”
Lexi smiled. “Okay, but look…Brad is the one who specifically requested a black chick,” Lexi added.
Chanelle wasn’t aware that anyone had specifically requested a black girl. The request seemed racist, but she was feeling too good to let it bother her. Determined to put a smile on Brad’s face and some extra cash inside her purse, she sexily wound her way to the back of the room.
Dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt, Brad was tall and muscular. He looked more like an Eagles linebacker than an investment broker. He was the only man in the room not wearing professional attire. With a brooding look, he stood slouched against a wall chugging down a Heineken. His eyes kept darting worriedly in the direction of the kitchen where the whizzing sound of a blender could he heard.
Then his green eyes landed on Chanelle. He broke into a huge, appreciative grin and seemed instantly to forget whatever was going on in the kitchen that seemed to trouble him.
“Hey, handsome. Havin’ fun?” Chanelle asked as she moistened her outlined and glossed full lips.
“I am now.” He looked and gave a bashful smile. “You must be Sensation?”
“That’s what they tell me,” she said sassily. She stared into his eyes; the shade of green reminded her of the pictures she had seen of the ocean in the Cayman Islands. His eyes were so pretty, she wondered if he was wearing contact lenses.
Mandy’s next song came on—something by Hilary Duff. Though Chanelle was definitely not into white girl music, she found herself inexplicably locked into the bass line of the song.
And another weird thing was happening to her. The sporadic movement of Brad’s Adam’s apple had her mesmerized. For some reason, Chanelle was intensely, yet pleasantly aware of everything! It was so weird, but in a good way.
She was ready to start dancing. Hell, as good as she felt, she’d dance for free. That strange admission put an amused smile on her face. Poking out her chest and rotating her hips, she rubbed up against Brad. And for the second time, he blushed.
Not being under the roving, ever-watchful glare of the bouncer at Lizzard’s, the attendees at the private bachelor party took many liberties with the dancers. Brad, smiling sheepishly like a shy little boy, was no exception. His naughty intentions became apparent when he suddenly thrust one hand beneath Chanelle’s gown and cupped a breast with his other hand.
Chanelle gasped in surprise. Seemingly ambidextrous, Brad simultaneously squeezed her right butt cheek and her left tit. In the grip of some mystifying euphoria, she wasn’t resistant; she didn’t jerk away. Instead, she moved dreamily from side to side. With her eyes closed blissfully, Chanelle gave in to the enjoyable feeling of Brad’s self-assured hands.
As unthinkable as it was, Chanelle, now enraptured, forgot about collecting tips. She concentrated completely on her own pleasure. Brad worked his hand under her bra and began to circle her nipple with an index finger. The friction of his fingertip was powerfully stimulating, causing her to utter a small moan.
Taking that sound as a green light to proceed to uncharted territory, he slid his hand to the front of her thong, caressed her mons pubis through the fabric, and then boldly slipped his hand inside.
He raked his fingers through the abundance of crinkly hair. The crackling sound of fingernails against pubic hair sounded melodic, sensual, and stirred her passion. Chanelle inched closer to Brad’s musical fingers and breathed out contentedly.
“It’s your turn, Sensation,” Lexi called, breaking up the sexually charged moment.
Chanelle was at first unable to tear away from Brad’s skillful fingers, but when she heard the first few bars of her theme song, she felt an overpowering urge to dance.
“Be right back,” she assured Brad, and blew him a kiss.
Welcoming her with whistles and a cacophony of whooping sounds, the male audience had become much more energized. Chanelle assumed the stiff jerks were finally feeling the effects of alcohol.
Chanelle strutted to the front of the room. The moist stickiness between her legs made her very much aware of her sensuality; she felt eager to give a dazzling display of her erotic dance moves.
With great pride, she watched the faces of her audience as she swiveled, undulated, and twisted to the pulsating rhythm. Unlike Mandy, Chanelle was not standing before them merely shaking her ass, fondling her breasts, and swinging her hair. No, she was giving the men something neither Mandy nor Lexi could give: uninhibited dancing from the soul of a sexy black woman.
They gaped at her with awe as if she were some rare exotic creature they could only dream of capturing. Gazing at her audience with narrowed, seductive eyes, she lowered one thin strap of her gown and then slowly lowered the other. The men gasped as if baring a shoulder was the equivalent of parting her vaginal lips and inviting them all to explore the mysteries of her dark and forbidden womanhood.
Feeling extremely powerful, Chanelle unhurriedly removed the fringed dress, exposing her beautiful blackness as she stripped down to just a slinged thong and a push-up bra. The uptight bunch of brokers went wild, blanketing the floor with cash. A pelvic thrust as she cupped and caressed her crotch sent the crowd into a frenzy that inspired another shower of greenbacks.
Strangely, she was falling head over heels in love with a profession she thought she despised. She couldn’t imagine why she had considered the privilege of displaying her beauty and talent as something unwholesome and demeaning.
As a finale, Chanelle whipped around and worked the muscles of each buttock. In other words, she gave the audience her spectacular ass—to kiss.
After stashing her cash, Chanelle rushed to the rear to continue the sex play with Brad. She found him in the kitchen having a heated argument with a short and rather scrawny man who was holding a pitcher of a pastel-colored daiquiri he’d concocted in the blender.
The drink looked delicious. With her mouth feeling as dry as the Sahara desert, she was about to ask the short man to give her a glass of the exotic-looking drink. But there was something in the icy look the man gave her that made her change her mind. That look and the tone of the quarrel between the two men made Chanelle raise a puzzled brow. She left the kitchen to look for another male playmate.
Someone placed a single chair in the middle of the dance area. Lexi pointed to the chair and announced gaily, “And now, it’s time for Trevor to have his last hurrah!”
“Trevor, Trevor, Trevor,” the intoxicated attendees began to chant as they craned their necks in search of the guest of honor. Chanelle stopped working the crowd long enough to catch a glimpse of the elusive Trevor.
Annoyed, Trevor emerged from the kitchen, gave the drunken crowd an impatient look, and said, “Give me a second.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.
Chanelle couldn’t have been more surprised that the disgruntled “Daiquiri Dan” was Trevor, the guest of honor. She took a few seconds to ponder what was going on in the kitchen and decided that Trevor and Brad were probably having a dispute over the thing people argue about most—money.
“Sensation,” Lexi called. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Trevor, but the boys are getting restless. Would you be a dear and give another performance?”
“No problem,” Chanelle replied, feeling uplifted and unusually happy.
“Mandy’s gonna join you,” Lexi quickly added.
“Okay.” Chanelle smiled brightly. All was well in her world.
It was hard to catch a groove dancing to Mandy’s ridiculous music, but Chanelle rode the bass line and then started moving as if she owned the song.
In fact, she forgot Mandy was a part of the
performance until Mandy sidled up to her and attempted to match the swings and sways of Chanelle’s womanly hips. It was an impossible task. Mandy quickly gave up and got the attention of the spectators by brazenly stroking Chanelle’s private parts.
Revved up and sexually aroused, the guys started sticking five-dollar bills in Mandy’s G-string, encouraging her to escalate the sex play. Taking a surprisingly willing Chanelle by the hand, Mandy took a seat in the designated bachelor’s chair and invited Chanelle to join her. Chanelle bent over and pushed her ample derriere between Mandy’s thin white thighs.
It was a totally new feeling. Feminine softness replaced the hard dick Chanelle was accustomed to feeling against her butt. Moreover, the sheer decadence of the routine was a turn-on. As Chanelle grinded her ass into Mandy’s crotch, Mandy groped around and unhooked Chanelle’s bra, exposing her breasts. The contrast of Mandy’s white hands fondling Chanelle’s dark breasts drove the men even wilder.
“Let’s see some chick-lick! Chick-lick!” the audience chorused. Ever obliging, Mandy leaned forward, reached over Chanelle, and took a bottle of Heineken from one of the guys. She dribbled beer over Chanelle’s breasts, then turned her around and began licking the brew off.
One of the drunken spectators decided to get into the act. He nudged Mandy out of the way and boldly poured beer over Chanelle’s shoulders. Beer ran down her chest and arms. And that’s when things started to get out of hand.
The oversexed group of men went into their bizarre chant again: “Chick-lick! Chick-lick!” Looking perplexed, Mandy froze and moved away from Chanelle. Lexi tried to enforce crowd control, but couldn’t.
In a matter of seconds, the bawdy men had drenched Chanelle from head to toe with beer, vodka, and gin, and shouted for Mandy to lick Chanelle.
Shocked out of her euphoric state, Chanelle screamed for them to stop. Her yelling did not deter one ambitious attendee from pouring the entire contents of the daiquiri pitcher over her head, coating Chanelle’s face and body with the cold, mushy mixture.
Temporarily blinded by the combination of alcoholic beverages, Chanelle stumbled toward the stairs. Neither Mandy nor Lexi came to her rescue with a towel or even comforting words. As if she weren’t humiliated enough, she heard titters of feminine laughter as she stumbled up the stairs.
Chanelle stopped mid-climb, struck suddenly by the knowledge that those two bitches had put something in her drink. It was probably Ecstasy—what else would cause her to act as wanton as she had? There was no other explanation for her behaving like such a happy hooker.
It took every bit of restraint not to run back down the stairs and kick some white ass—Mandy’s and Lexi’s as well as those of the bastards who’d disrespected her by dousing her with their drinks. But the desire to clean herself up had a more powerful pull. She’d deal with those two bitches later.
Oh God, she thought as she rushed up the stairs, besides allowing Mandy to slurp beer from her breasts, she’d even let that pumped-up muscular dude put his nasty fingers all up inside her pussy. She felt her heart pumping with rage. Damn, she wanted to fight everybody, but her biggest concerns at the moment were to take a shower, put on some clothes, and get the hell out of there.
Wiping muck from her hair and her face, she groped for the door handle of the changing room. But to her surprise, she quickly realized that she was in the wrong room, and was even more surprised to see that two men were together in bed! Her eyes blinked rapidly in disbelief.
The groom was wearing one of her prized costumes, a sheer one-piece micro-mini dress. He was lying on his back with both legs held up by the crook of his arms. “You like black bitches?” she heard the groom demand in a mean, raspy voice.
Sitting on his haunches, with his dick rubbing against Trevor’s ass, Brad hissed, “Shut up, Trevor; I was only fucking around. You’re the cheat who’s actually getting married. I can’t believe you’re gonna marry a goddamn cunt.” Brad’s final words were accompanied by a violent anal thrust, which caused Trevor to groan in what sounded more like pain than passion.
Chanelle shuddered at the sight of such debauchery. The male lovers seemed not to notice her standing there. She scurried from the raunchy scene and rushed into the dressing room where she snatched up her belongings. Fuck the sullied micro-mini. That bitch Trevor could have it as a wedding gift.
Chapter 8
“What have I ever done to deserve such callous treatment?” Pamela Hinton asked her daughter through mournful sobs.
Before answering, Dayna took a moment to think about the situation. It was Mother’s Day; her father had invited her mother to brunch at the Four Seasons and then cancelled at the last minute. Dayna switched the phone to her other ear and then cleared her throat as she searched for a tactful response. “Well…Mom, you know…maybe it’s time to let go,” she advised meekly. “You’ve been divorced for years, yet you and Dad are still carrying on…I mean…it couldn’t be healthy to have to sneak around with your ex-husband.”
“I don’t consider myself sneaking around with the man I was married to for thirty years,” Pamela added petulantly.
Dayna’s parents didn’t seem to realize that it was very difficult for her to come to terms with their divorce and current torrid affair. She couldn’t quite define her own personal feelings, but if pressed to come up with a word to express how she felt, she’d have to admit she felt…abused.
Her parents had raised her with a strong set of values, stressing that she must always conduct herself in a manner that would never cause them embarrassment. But their mid-life, socially unacceptable behavior seriously clashed with the morals they’d instilled in her. They were both hypocrites and having to view them through adult eyes was extremely painful.
“Mom,” Dayna said in a tone as gentle as she could manage considering her own conflicted emotions, “Dad’s remarried—”
“Oh, Dayna, please stop stating the obvious,” her mother cut in. “If you don’t have anything positive to add to this discussion, I might as well just hang up and wallow in my sorrow alone.”
Ugh! Dayna hated when her mother did the guilt-trip thing. As much as she tried not to, she always caved in. “Okay, Mom. I have an idea! Why don’t I take you to brunch?” Her mother stopped sniffling for a moment as she silently considered her daughter’s offer. When the sniffling resumed Dayna concluded that her mother had found the idea unappealing.
“Come on, Mom,” she persisted. “We’ll have a good time. Do you want to try that new place in Manayunk?”
“What new place? There’s always some new restaurant opening in Manayunk. You know I’m not impressed with those trendy places,” Pamela Hinton said curtly. “Your father was taking me to the Four Seasons. We always go to the Four Seasons on Mother’s Day. I can’t believe he would just stand me up like this.”
“He didn’t actually stand you up, Mom; he called and cancelled, right?” Dayna felt compelled to defend her father despite being annoyed with him for causing her mother such grief. In fact, she was annoyed with both parents and irked as hell by her forced participation in their illicit liaison.
“He made those reservations for Mother’s Day brunch months ago,” Pamela Hinton fumed. “I’m the mother of his only child and he’d rather spend Mother’s Day with that bitch!” Anger and indignation strengthened her mother’s voice. “If I find out he took her to The Four Seasons on my day, I’m going to—” Her mother paused abruptly.
Curious, Dayna waited for her mother to finish the sentence. Divorcing her father was no longer an option, so what would she do? What could she do? Absolutely nothing!
Her mother gave a huge sigh when the futility of her threat sank in. In a choked and anguished tone, she said, “Honey, I know you’re trying to help, but honestly, I don’t feel like going out. I’d rather stay home.”
“Mom, please don’t sit home alone on Mother’s Day. Let’s go out and have some fun.”
A tense silence hung in the air. “No thanks, baby,” her mother fina
lly said. “I know you’re trying to help and I apologize for bothering you with my problems.”
“You’re not bothering me,” Dayna began to protest. “I don’t mind—”
“It’s just so hard to accept that the man I spent my life with could turn out to be such a liar.” Her mother spat out the words as she revved up for another tirade. “I know that bitch is responsible for this. She knows we spend every Mother’s Day together. Why wouldn’t we?” Pamela Hinton asked, incredulously. “Your father is just despicable. Such a lying, spineless, and poor excuse of a man.”
Ow! It hurt to hear her father so badly maligned. However, her father’s mistreatment of her mother also hurt. They were both breaking Dayna’s heart.
The uncomfortable lull in the conversation pulled Dayna away from her thoughts. She quickly shifted into pacifier mode. “I know you’re going to get hungry later on; I can bring something over. How about your favorite? Do you want some seafood lasagna?” Dayna spoke gaily, with a forced upbeat lilt in her voice.
“Honey, I don’t have an appetite. I’m gonna hang up now; I’ll talk to you later.”
“I’m here if you need me, Mom.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll be all right.” Her mother’s words caught in her throat, a clear warning to Dayna that she would not be all right.
The click on the line terminated the conversation. Dayna’s face crumpled into a frown as she tried to think of a solution. However, there was none. Wasn’t it painful enough that her parents had divorced? The agony of the day her father dropped the bomb on her mother, telling her that he was leaving her after thirty years, was still a strong memory. Dayna had shared her mother’s emotions; they both felt frightened, abandoned, and betrayed.
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