The Graffiti Effect

by Forrest, Perri

  “We’re getting married. So, clearly I’m in love with . . . my man.”

  “Getting married doesn’t necessarily mean ‘in love’. It means you said ‘Yes’ to a proposal. Nothing more and nothing less.”

  “That’s stupid. Nobody is gonna say ‘yes’ to somebody unless they’re ready to be married to that person.”

  “Not necessarily true. And you’re deflecting,” he said, menacingly. He was really trying to get inside my head.

  I noticed movement out my peripheral, then quickly turned to investigate. Just as I thought, Brianna and Wolverine were abandoning their seats. Brianna didn’t say so much as a word, drop a signal, nothing. She just proceeded to walk off. My mouth was fixed to call after her, but for some reason I didn’t think she would even turn around to acknowledge me. That one move . . . bold move . . . by her upped the stakes—for us both.

  “So, now it’s just us,” Graffiti said. “You can turn back around and face me, instead of trying to avoid answering the question.”

  My eyes fluttered involuntarily. I had never blinked so many times in one second.

  “Because I don’t have to answer your question. You’re a stranger.”

  “You’ve damn near seen me naked.” He started to laugh out loud. “Not to mention, I’ve held you in my arms, danced with you on my dick. Sweetheart, we’re not strangers.”

  I damn near choked on my damn tongue! I rolled my eyes at him so hard I almost hurt myself. “You’re not funny,” I spat.

  “And you’re not slick . . .”

  “I’m not trying to be slick.”

  “Right. Keep telling yourself that.” He stood from his seat, preparing to walk away from me for the second time, since we met. He placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table as a tip. “Have yourself a good morning, and a happy marriage, bride.”

  “Wait a minute!” I said, jumping up from the table, and skirting behind him.

  I chased him all the way to the elevators, and just as I reached him, the doors opened. He stepped in with me right on his heel.

  “What’s happening in this monumental minute you’re telling me to wait for?” he asked, pressing the button to his floor.

  “So, you heard me say, ‘Wait a minute’, and kept walking?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Asshole!

  “You can’t just make a comment like that and walk away. It’s rude as hell.”

  “What comment was that? The one where I called you a bride and told you to have a happy marriage? What’s rude about that?”

  “You know damn well that’s not what I’m talking about.” I looked down and shook my head, flustered. “The one where you told me that I was trying to be slick.”

  “Me telling you that you were trying to be slick, is rude? In whose goddamn world?”

  “It’s rude in my world,” I spat, stubbornly folding my arms across my chest. “The hell does it even mean?”

  He looked up at the indicators to see what floor we were on, then said, “Lady, look. You got your thong all in a bunch because I struck a nerve. I wasn’t even tryin’ to strike a nerve. I was just making conversation. But now here you are . . .” His sentence was cut off by the arrival at his floor—which I noticed right then—was my floor as well. “Never mind,” he said, preparing his exit.

  When I got off with him, he turned to me and gave me a look of, ‘What the fuck?’

  “It’s my floor too,” I snapped, answering the question that was written in bold letters across his face. I didn’t even know where my head was in that second. It was like some sort of invisible challenge, that I couldn’t walk away from. I needed him to complete his thought.

  “Oh, okay . . .” he said, when he turned to walk away.

  “But wait, though!”

  “Again . . . what am I waiting for?”

  “Just because I didn’t answer the question didn’t mean that I was deflecting or that I was trying to be slick.”

  He stopped in his tracks, then looked at me with agitation present. “Really? That’s what you followed me for?”

  “Well . . . yeah,” I stated boldly, when I felt anything but bold.

  “Who are trying to convince? Me or yourself?”

  He served me one of those dark stares again. This time it was him that was waiting for a response. One that I lacked. After waiting a few seconds, he turned to walk away again. This time he didn’t look back.

  At that point, I caught myself. I had to because I was acting like some sort of deranged person. I let him go that time. I already couldn’t believe my actions up to this point. I wasn’t being myself. I was off my game. He had me off my damn game. Or was it even him? Was it something bigger?

  I took slow strides to my suite since we were walking in the same direction. I refused to have him turn around, see me behind him, and think that I was following him. It took only seconds for me to realize that my room was two doors over from his when he stopped, slid his card key in and disappeared into his suite.

  “I’ll be damn . . .”

  I made it to my door, but stopped short of going inside.

  Kassidi, go innnn! my inner voice shouted. Just gooo!

  But, I couldn’t let go of the conversation. I’d prepared my answer finally, and I needed to give it to him. I needed to say out loud, that I was in love with Jamie so much I couldn’t see straight. He’d asked me how in love I was, and I needed to tell him. Because not giving him an answer made it seem as though I didn’t know what I wanted. Made it seem like I didn’t love Jamie. I should’ve just answered him when he asked so that there would be no question in his mind.

  Before I knew it, my thoughts had grabbed me by the neck and wouldn’t let me go. I took a few deep breaths and doubled back two doors over. Without consideration, I pounded on his door with an open palm. There was no good angel, bad devil sitting on my shoulders, just my own voice. It told me I had a point to prove and more to say. However, when he pulled the door open and looked down at me, I was speechless. No words came out. Not one!

  My heart pounded so fast and so hard that I thought my knees would buckle.

  What the fuck are you doin?! I shouted at myself. But it was too late . . .

  -23-

  KASSIDI

  Kassidi, what are you doing?! What are you doing?!

  What does it matter?!

  You can’t turn back now!

  You can’t!

  The voices were faint. They were almost unrecognizable. They were falling further and further from my conscience.

  I was naked, he was naked . . .

  He stopped to put on a condom, I watched. In awe, I watched.

  I was soaking wet, he was rock hard . . .

  I never left from the door. It’s where everything fell apart, or maybe even came together. I honestly didn’t know, didn’t question.

  Oh God! I didn’t question . . .

  When his hand landed on the base of my neck and pulled me to his lips, it was like magnets locking on each other. The dancing of our tongues was electrifying. Felt good, and in a sense, right. But I knew it was wrong. Even then, I knew it was wrong. But I couldn’t stop. Did I even want to? It felt, dare I say it? Magical. Yeah, that’s it.

  Fuuuuck.

  The kiss was enough to melt me. I felt weak. Too weak to stand on my own. But he had an answer for that. Just as he’d done on that stage, he lifted me off my feet. This time, though, it was for a very different reason.

  He got me over to his bed. That place that should’ve been forbidden. He got me there and he laid me down. Before I could even process my horizontal indiscretion, he was inside. Oh, God . . . he was inside . . . of me. Deep and then not so deep, where he would tease just at my entrance.

  He held me wide open, my thighs captive in his palms while he dove into my juices. It was over and over and over and then over again.

  If there was any doubt that it was real, when I opened my eyes to look down low, that all went away. His sheathed member, almost rod-like peekin
g from my box, was so enticing. The fact that I knew where the rest of him was, and the chaos it was causing inside of me, was something like intoxicating!

  I laid my head back down and threw any little bit of caution I had left, to the wind, and used the heels of my feet to pull him down to me. There we rode a nonstop wave of fucking. My pussy begged for this man, and from beneath him, I gave him as much of the business as I could. I tugged at him, I pulled at him, I bit on his lip as he brought me to not one, not even two . . . but three orgasms!

  Sweat poured from him and onto me as the session began to lose momentum. Our breathing was rapid, our bodies glued.

  My eyes were closed. I felt hotness behind my lids and I knew what it was. Tears. All that happened—what was still happening—crash landed right on me.

  But right on me, was still Graffiti. I’d become his canvas. He’d painted me, inside and out. And I enjoyed it. As much as I wanted to not enjoy it . . . I did. Dammit, I did!

  As if reading my thoughts, he pulled back to look down at me. He didn’t speak any words, just slowly withdrew. I watched him as he walked to his restroom. I heard the toilet flush. I should’ve gotten up. I should’ve run. I could’ve run. I needed to run.

  Yet, when he returned, I was still there. Ready. So ready, that when he went to his box of condoms and turned to me, I simply nodded my approval. No need to stop now. Well, there was a need—I just couldn’t.

  Damn, me . . .

  -24-

  Mandarin Oriental Hotel

  3:00 AM

  Kaia, burst out laughing, loudly.

  There was nothing like an early morning laugh to reset your energy levels. She laughed so hard that she braced her stomach to keep it from aching. It was an uncontrollable laughter, and anybody watching would’ve sworn that nothing could be that funny. Standing guard, off and on for close to three hours, at the peephole to her suite, had been well worth it. The look on that woman’s face when she emerged from the suite was comical. It was a look of regret.

  But what did you regret, girl?! The dick or the event itself, you whore!

  Every time she played the look back in her mind, Kaia laughed more hysterically. Dummies always had regret after they did something foul.

  And sugar, what you did was foul! You, my dear, did the ‘very-nasty’, and got penetrated by a penis that you just met! Why be remorseful, though? Own your scandal! All you had to do was go out with your girlfriends and enjoy the show. But you took it way too far. The intimate conversation in VIP. Trying to act like you weren’t interested, when you really were. I saw you, girl! You were as transparent as a goddamn fish tank. And your girl left you for the set up. What kind of friend is that?! Birds of a feather, girl. Birds of a feather!

  On the tail end of her laugh attack, the woman plopped down onto the bed. She kicked her feet up and sat with her back against the headboard.

  “Whew! I needed that,” she sighed to herself when she was able to regroup.

  She looked around the nicely-sized suite. It was attractive and set up like an apartment. Quaint, but she liked that. She was used to villas and presidential suites, but for what she needed it for, it worked. She wasn’t there to relax, vacation, or even sleep. She just needed to be in close proximity to Marco, and that particular suite, which she had managed to reserve every weekend for the next month, worked perfectly. Management actually got involved, asking her if she knew how expensive it would be to have the suite exclusively. She almost told the man that she could buy the entire chain of hotels if she wanted to, but she let him do his spiel. Money was a non-issue for her, so she half-listened while he talked. She didn’t need logistics. She just needed to get what she wanted. For, in the end, it would get her exactly what she came for—Marco’s life.

  She decided the moment she laid eyes on him that he needed to go. No exceptions. It had to happen.

  Any man that held women in such low regard, needed to be removed. It was for the greater good. Yes, the women are wrong too. Stupid, even. However, those very women that allowed him to penetrate their hearts, their souls, their vaginas . . . were more than likely products of men just like him!

  Those types of men were the reason that women oftentimes felt bad about themselves. They were the reason that women had low self-esteem! Felt they weren’t good enough, and so accepted all the bullshit that men came with. It wasn’t fair.

  Graffiti Effect, huh? How fitting.

  Well, that’s all about to come to a screeching halt . . .

  -25-

  Marco

  She wanted to be fucked.

  She didn’t know that it was what she wanted . . . until it was too late.

  But I knew long before it happened.

  So, I wasn’t surprised when she hopped on the elevator after me, under the guise that she had something to say. Not for one minute did I buy that she had words to convey. She didn’t have shit to say. What she wanted was to be seen. She wanted to be forced away from that place that she’d convinced herself that she belonged. She didn’t even realize that I turned the tables on her and made her do the pursuing. It was no shocker when she showed up at my door. I knew she would.

  She was attracted when I pulled her on stage. Probably, even before that. On stage, she clung to me like there was nobody around but me and her. Whether it was the song, or the drinks she’d had, she was all in. She just didn’t know that she was all in until the very moment she showed up at my door. That was the turning point for her.

  Because see, just showing up to finish an argument that she wouldn’t have ever won, would’ve been one thing, but that wasn’t what brought her to my door. What brought to my door was that she wanted to fuck. She wanted to explore what those feelings were, that she felt on that stage. And I was going to let her do just that. But she had to be the one to come for it. I’d tried to lead her there a few times in the VIP, and then again in the bar. But she wanted to resist so badly, she wouldn’t allow it.

  But, then she came back. She had to. The vibe that she gave off was too strong. The sad part about it is that she was in denial. What did surprise me, though, was the fact that she wasn’t sold on the idea of being that man’s wife. That she had doubts. Because the way that Cyn couldn’t let go, made it seem like there was no greater man. Clearly, that’s a myth; and it was debunked in my hotel suite—a few times.

  When I grabbed her and pulled her inside, it was evident that life, as she knew it, would be changing. Her standing there at a loss for words told all her business whether she wanted it to or not.

  She was a beast. Stroke for stroke. Not once did she fight against what I was giving her. She didn’t readily give all that she had either, because first she had to spend a few minutes battling with herself internally. She had to muster enough reason for what she was doing. The problem with that, was the only reason for her doing it was because she wanted to. That’s it.

  Just as I thought, she had nothing on underneath that body layer she wore. Once that was peeled from her, so were the layers of protection. Her nipples were the first to come alive. And her heartbeat thumped against my hand when I reached to take her breast into my mouth. The puff of air that escaped her was like relief. I had both of her mounds in my hand caressing and suckling, when I felt her hands latch onto my hair.

  I came out of my pants and briefs, while she stood with her back against the door. When I had everything off, I watched her tongue do a slow-glide across her full lips. Did she even now she’d done it? Probably not. But she had. Her eyes dropped to my tool and then roamed back up to my face. “You in?” I asked her. Her response was a nod, only.

  So, once I sheathed my dick, I was back with a vengeance, and there was no stopping any of what happened after that.

  Now, how life would be for her after ‘we’ happened, I didn’t know.

  -26-

  KASSIDI

  Even before I walked out of Graffiti’s room, I was in a daze. I was in a complete daze. I couldn’t say not one word. Even when he asked me, “Y
ou good?” I couldn’t respond. My mouth literally wouldn’t move. It had certainly moved during the intense sex session. Without hesitation. I remembered clearly, the “Aah’s” and “Ooh’s,” and even the occasional, “Fuck me!”

  It really happened.

  All of it.

  For sure, it did.

  But once it was over, no sounds came from me. A state of reticence was all I had to give. I was smothered in reality. That reality took hit me hard, taking my voice with it. Had I pumped myself with alcohol to be able to make excuses in this moment of trepidation, that I was trapped inside of?

  I had engaged in an event that would no doubt change the course of my life—if I let it. If Jamie found out.

  But I had let it happen. Not just that, I was the one who initiated. I’d surrendered my body, and at least part of my soul—for hours on end. Yet, I couldn’t even answer him when he asked me that simple question. “You good?” It was probably because I didn’t feel I could say, ‘Yes’, to the question. And saying ‘No’, would’ve meant that I had to provide the ‘Why’, and I wasn’t in any place to do that. Not without doing it with myself, first. Therein lay the problem. There was still an entire conversation that I needed to have with within, that I didn’t even know how to fucking begin!

  My head was a clusterfuck of emotions—guilt and sadness, primarily. But not wholly. That was just it. I felt the guilt—mad levels of guilt. And for sure the sadness because a lot happened in that room, that bed, against the wall—that shouldn’t have. My God! That shouldn’t have . . . but that did. But then there was the immense pleasure that I felt whenever I reflected back on it all. And reflecting back on it all, is what I kept doing.

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  And, damn . . . that’s what we did.