Nina had identified nearly every characteristic of the horny people around us. A twentysomething Hispanic couple sat in the far right corner, and a bare-assed male was seated on the couch, a woman straddling and bouncing on him, her ass smacking his groin with each thrust. An older lesbian couple lay next to them, and the woman with short, cropped hair had her face buried in the bosom of the voluptuous lady beneath her. There was a group of individuals who were dry humping each other on the small dance floor, and there were many like us, who drank and watched the activities about them.
“You came here with Amber as well?” I asked.
Nina leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Yes.” She lifted my shirt and kissed the skin around my navel.
I leaned my head back and allowed her tongue to dive into the small peephole of my stomach. “I’d like to meet her.”
Nina stopped. “Amber?”
“Yes.”
Nina sat back, biting the nail of her index finger, deciding. “She would like that. I am protective of her, you know. You can look, but don’t touch.”
“I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.”
“You better.”
“Let me know when you plan to meet again. I’ll stop by.”
Nina smiled. “You sure learn quickly. Me, you, Layne, Amber, and all these people around us, we have one thing in common—pleasure. We’ve all been blessed with these beautiful bodies that respond to others visually and physically. I watch that couple over there, and I get wet.” Nina stroked my lips with her index finger. “I touch you, and I get wetter.”
I took Nina’s finger inside my mouth and sucked it. She moaned as my tongue licked her skin and under her smooth fingernail. Suddenly she stood, took my head in her hands, and thrust her tongue deep into my mouth. We kissed hard, angrily and passionately, our teeth clicking against the other’s. She bit my tongue, and I bit hers back. I tasted blood and kissed deeper, again feeling frenzied at the thought of hurting her. I felt a hand on my behind.
“May we?” the gentleman next to us inquired.
Nina and I broke apart. Breathless, I wiped my mouth.
Nina smirked. “No, not my specialty. Sorry.”
“Well, what about her?” he asked. The blond woman grinned excitedly.
“Let’s see.” Nina walked over and leaned the woman’s body against the bar. “Take off your panties,” Nina instructed and held out her hand.
The woman lifted her short, faux leather skirt and stepped out of a white lace thong. She gave it to Nina, who placed it over the man’s head. The crotch area rested on his nose.
Nina ran her hand over the woman’s brown, stubbly pubic hair. She reached lower and, judging by the woman’s sharp inhale, placed fingers inside her. The woman’s head rolled backward.
“If you want it, you have to get it,” Nina told her. She then placed her left foot on the rest that circled the bar and leaned her left hand against the bar. The woman began to grind and circle her hips over Nina’s fingers. “That’s it.”
Nina then turned to me and tilted her head in a “Come here” gesture. I moved to Nina’s right side.
“Lift her shirt,” Nina instructed.
The woman wore a white T-shirt with a ragged-cut V-neck. I raised her shirt and unhooked the front clasp of her bra. Her large, heavy breasts fell against her rib cage. The woman continued to rub against Nina’s palm, her legs bent, the muscles in her thighs flexed. She lifted her head again; her green eyes were half closed.
I positioned myself so I could assist Nina. I leaned forward and placed a pink nipple in my mouth. The woman responded with a soft sigh, and then a pleased exhale escaped from her lips. I felt moist. Layne had rarely permitted me even that simplest of acts, and here a stranger, a woman whose name I didn’t even know, wanted me to have her. I licked her areola, my tongue tracing the outer circle. I opened my mouth wider, taking as much of her fullness inside as I could. She rocked her hips, fucking Nina’s fingers, while I stimulated her breasts. She panted and moaned and squealed high-pitched, nasty words of delight.
“Yeah, yeah, fuck my pussy,” she repeated.
Nina’s breath was hot against my ear. She too was panting and whispering her thoughts. She called the woman a bitch, which the woman accepted, informing us she was “about to cum all over” Nina’s fingers. Her body stiffened, and then she collapsed against the bar. Her head hung limp, and her eyes were shut tightly. She never reopened them while we were there.
Nina released her fingers and wiped her hand with a napkin. The man, with the panties still on his head, had unzipped his pants again, and his exposed penis rested in his sticky hand.
“You’re welcome,” Nina told him before she turned to me. “Let’s go.”
We put our coats back on and exited the building just as a woman and a man were entering. The woman’s face was familiar, like that of someone I had seen in passing on more than one occasion. Her expression showed that she had recognized mine as well, and then I realized she was a client at the salon where every two weeks I got my hair washed, deep conditioned, and flat-ironed. I turned my head and pulled the hood of my coat over my face.
“What happens if you run into people you know?” I asked Nina, feeling panicked during our walk back to my car. “Does that happen?”
“It does from time to time, and there’s nothing to do but acknowledge the fact that we all were in the club together. We all keep one another’s secret. At least that’s the silent code.”
“Who have you run into?” I wanted to know.
“Now, Taryn, that would be defying the code, wouldn’t it?” She chuckled.
“Yes, I suppose it would.” Inside, I had become paranoid about the woman we saw. Would she tell my stylist? I hadn’t considered the possibility of encountering someone I knew, not during my first visit, given the fact that Layne had escaped recognition for seven years. Or had she? Were the exhibitionists bound that tightly by the code of confidentiality?
“So tell me. What did you think?” Nina asked.
“It was almost everything Layne described, but nothing compares to being there. I see why Layne got hooked,” I admitted. “I can’t wait until we visit the next place.”
“That was a two-star hotel we just left. Where we’re going next time, that’s a five-star resort. You’ll fit right in.”
We reached our cars. “Come over?” I asked. My body was too hot for the night to come to an end. I needed more.
“I’ll follow you,” she agreed.
We reached my home in thirty minutes, good timing considering Chicago’s never-ending traffic jams. Once inside, I wasted no time. I knew exactly what I wanted.
“Follow me.”
I headed toward the staircase. Nina remained still, and only when I turned around did she start to follow me. She moved carefully, slowly, like she had been forbidden from entering this territory. I guessed I was right in my assumption that Layne had intentionally kept Nina out of our bedroom. That meant that I would have her in a way that Layne hadn’t, which gratified me further.
Upstairs, Nina walked behind me down the short hallway to my bedroom. I placed a hand on each handle of the white double doors and paused. Nina was quiet; her breath had halted with anticipation. Finally, I opened the doors to the massive room, whose decor was sleek, modern, simple, and all white. Before us, waiting, was the king-size bed. I threw our coats on a chair, took my shoes off, and nestled comfortably against the pillows at the head of the bed.
“Lie with me,” I requested.
Nina took small steps to the edge of the bed and crawled onto the side on which Layne used to sleep. We faced one another.
“I’ve never been in here,” she stated, her eyes devouring the space.
“I know. Can we finish what we started at the bar before we were wonderfully interrupted?”
Nina’s bottom lip dipped inward into a sheepish smile. I was learning firsthand that she was sexually flexible, playing passive and shy when preyed upon,
and dominating and forceful when in her voyeuristic element. She seemed to like it both ways.
“Take your pants off,” I instructed her in the same tone she had used when making demands of the blond woman.
Nina unbuttoned and unzipped her slacks and slid them down to her feet. She used her toes to peel them from her ankles. Again, she wore no panties.
She’s sweet. She’s salty. She’s my palate’s favorite flavor. . . .
“I want to taste you.” I raised my arms and removed my wool sweater, then unbuckled the belt around my waist. I lifted my hips, lowered my pants, and tossed them on the floor. Next to Nina, I lay in my pink lace bikini panties and bra. She removed her blouse to reveal a satin black bra with a diamond setting in the center. Nina stretched her body into a receiving position, placing her arms above her head and opening her thighs to me.
“It’s yours if you want it,” she eagerly conceded.
It had been years since Layne had allowed me to touch her, and at times I felt like a novice in the art of pleasing another woman. But I had been an attentive apprentice and had taken mental notes of the way Layne’s tongue sweet-talked my body into a climactic surrender.
I positioned myself over Nina, anxious to graze her with my lips. I first touched her knees, showering delicate kisses on their bony ridges and alongside the caps. From what I had read, Layne and Nina never made love. They fucked. They had aggressive, forceful, daring sex in reckless places. I wanted to have Nina like Layne hadn’t, coupled with her tenderly and gently, making love to her on Layne’s side of the bed. Nina yielded to my wishes.
When I finally tasted the sweet tang that fell against my tongue, I laid eyes on the black-and-white photo of Layne and me on the night table at Nina’s side. Layne gazed at me with her round eyes and watched the woman she loved wrap her legs around my neck. Nina’s hips swayed into a slow grind beneath me, and as she clutched the pillowcases and murmured “Taryn,” I stared back at Layne, satisfied, superior even, having savored her woman in a manner in which she never had.
Chapter Seven
Ms. Sheila and I stood together outside the center’s gym to greet players, parents, volunteers, and spectators from the community as they arrived at the fund-raising basketball game. It had been a busy week of finalizing details to ensure the night went as smoothly as in prior years, as the game was one of the center’s most popular annual events, attracting hundreds of people.
I had noticed that Ms. Sheila had been short with me ever since our conversation in Jimmy’s office. While she remained cordial when we saw one another, her old eyes scrutinized me. She looked me up and down with the same demeaning gape she had accused Layne of perpetrating. I didn’t know if her shortness had anything to do with her words in Jimmy’s office and the private conversation I had overheard.
“We haven’t had an opportunity to talk and catch up,” I said casually to her after welcoming a group of teenage girls. “How is everything with you?”
“I’m fine. Blessed to see each day.”
“How’s Mr. Robertson?” Mr. Robertson was her husband of fifty-one years.
“He’s better now. Finally, after all these years, got himself saved at church this past Sunday.”
“That’s good for him. You both must be happy.”
“Yes, child, we all need saving of the soul.” Her eyes popped wide behind her glasses. “How have you been?”
“I’m healing. It’s getting easier day by day to deal with Layne’s passing.”
“Uh-huh.” She clicked her dentures with her tongue.
I pressed her to find out what she disliked about Layne. “What was it about Layne that you didn’t care for? She was far from perfect, I know. What had she done to you?”
Ms. Sheila peered at me as if she couldn’t believe I didn’t know.
“I ain’t tryin’ to start no mess.”
I became anxious, though I continued to smile as each attendee passed into the gym. “What do you mean? What is it?”
Jimmy appeared in his annual getup, a black suit with a white shirt and a white bow tie. The black leather loafers on his feet shone from a fresh polish. He interrupted our conversation. “Taryn, time to start the game.”
Ms. Sheila looked relieved.
Before the game started, I took to the center of the gym, and with a microphone in hand, I welcomed the guests and thanked them for their attendance and support. I reminded them through their participation at the game, whether a ticket purchase or an additional donation, they were supporting various programs that benefited the center and the community as a whole.
We Are One’s drill team performed a dance routine before Sabrina, a sophomore high school student who assisted with some of the younger kids, sang the national anthem. Ms. Sheila had disappeared to the concession stand, where she was assigned to monitor the volunteers. During the first half of the game, Jimmy and I sat courtside with some of the city’s well-known supporters, including several politicians, the mayor, two Chicago Bulls players, and Sugar, a famous homegrown talent, who was set to perform one song at halftime. After Sugar’s performance and few words spoken by some of the honored guests, all the well-known supporters left, missing the second half.
With five minutes left in the fourth quarter, Ms. Sheila met me again at the gym’s exit. I had hoped she would then confess her angst about Layne, but she had brought a young man named Lewis back with her. Lewis was one of the young people from Ron’s church who had volunteered to sell hot dogs, chips, soda, and snacks at the concession counter.
“How’d it go, Lewis?” I asked him.
“A’ight.” Lewis was a short guy, about five foot four, and he wore washed-out jeans and an oversize navy-blue Polo T-shirt. He was fidgety, bouncing his feet from left to right, kicking the heels of his white Nikes together.
“A’ight?” I said, mimicking him. “What is that?”
“I mean, I had a good time. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Now, that’s better.” I patted him gently on the shoulder, and he jumped. I had learned years ago that some of the kids were unaccustomed to affection, as I had been while growing up, and reacted to touch differently. Some were hostile; some welcoming. Lewis looked at me as if I had offended him, but he quickly softened, casting his eyes downward and biting his bottom lip.
The buzzer soon sounded, signaling the end of the game.
“I gotta go,” Lewis told me and Ms. Sheila.
“Thanks for helping out tonight. We’ll see you again?” I asked him.
Without answering, Lewis vanished in front of the crowd of people that began to exit the gym. Ms. Sheila and I repeated “Thank you” many times before we heard gunfire about two minutes later. There were two loud pops back to back. The noise caused the many people who were exiting to run from the gym into the already packed hallway. Security guards rushed past frightened individuals while I grabbed my cell phone from my pocket and called 911.
Jermaine, one of the guards, and I managed to escort Ms. Sheila into one of the small janitor’s closets, and I told her to wait there. Jermaine and I then tried to keep the panicked crowd under control on our way out to the parking lot. Everyone outside was screaming as they stood around a boy who lay on the ground. By the time we reached the limp young victim ourselves, several police cars had already arrived, sounding their horns and sirens to break through the thick crowd. Teenagers yelled obscenities, damning the shooter. Others cried for the victim.
“It was Lewis! It was muthafuckin’ Lewis. We gon’ get his ass!” a young man named Harold yelled.
“No! I can’t believe this. Not Eddie!” Sabrina cried.
The officers jumped out of their vehicles and swiftly took control of the crowd, backing the stunned and angry gapers away from the body. They then began their investigation by interviewing the witnesses. For several hours, the center was on lockdown. Some of the attendees were questioned, and Jimmy and I did our best to keep a growing number of antsy and impatient people calm. By the end of the night,
we learned that there had been a squabble between Lewis and Eddie. The word on the street was that Eddie had been bragging about having sex with Lewis’s younger sister, who was just thirteen years old. Lewis had had his friends meet him outside to give him a gun and then to drive the getaway car.
Over the years, the center had had its share of fights and troubles and had taken careful precautions to keep the kids safe. We hadn’t, however, experienced an escalation in violence as severe as a shooting. The media got wind of the shooting, and in response, two reporters arrived to take statements, which Jimmy handled.
Before locking the doors to the center, Jimmy and I sat in his office and completed an incident report, one that we kept on file for the center’s records. We also sent an e-mail to Ron, informing him that we needed to meet with him the following week and asking that he adjust his schedule to accommodate our request.
It was almost 4:00 a.m. by the time I got home. After a hot shower, I got into bed and stared across the room at an outfit hanging on the outside of the door to the walk-in closet. After the night’s chaos, I was ready to unwind, and that ensemble and what came with it would provide me all the release I needed.
Chapter Eight
Nina described the mansion as a hedonist’s paradise. It was located in a secluded, discreet location, buried at the end of a dark two-mile road in an upscale suburb on the far west side of Chicago. It was midnight when we pulled up to the dimly lit, massive modern-style home. The windows were draped in black coverings, with only a peek of light creeping through the corners. The sight was ominous, yet alluring, I had a feeling of anticipation and trepidation, like one might expect when approaching a dark haunted house.
Men in black tuxedos greeted us after we reached the top of the driveway. One on each side of the car opened our doors. An olive-skinned man with eyes the color of nutmeg took Nina’s keys. She handed him a fifty-dollar bill, and he placed a small ticket in her hand.
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