I knew I was too fine for him to pass on this ass. I was looking forward to making a friend that could help me out if I ever got in a bind. The next day he called me back, and we met up. No lunch or dinner. I had a one-night stand with him on Venice Beach on a wild, hot summer night, and my whole life changed. But not his. To this day, I regretted opening my legs in hopes of getting a sugar daddy to give me some money. I hated that I opened my legs and encouraged a man I didn’t know to penetrate me. Maybe I should’ve listened to my mother when she tried to warn me about men. Why did I wrap my legs and arms around him? Kiss him? Go down on him? When I didn’t even know him. Whateva.
Glancing at Mrs. Taylor, I said, “You don’t need a fancy suit to make you look beautiful. You’re gorgeous.” I wondered if Mr. Taylor still loved Mrs. Taylor, or if he stayed with her to honor his commitment to God or to protect his assets.
“Baby, yo’ phone,” she said, pointing this time.
I silenced it again. I had to quit giving up my number so easily, but these older men weren’t into texting, and the younger ones wanted their dicks sucked for free. Not by Velvet.
Depending on which direction you traveled, our row of town houses sat on State Street, two blocks away from Interstate 85 and walking distance from the hotel where I worked. My mother lived next door to me, on the opposite side of Mrs. Taylor’s. My mother was the main reason I couldn’t commit suicide. Burying me would kill her, and then who’d take care of my son?
“I’ma go on inside and get ready for work,” I said, unlocking my front door and throwing my shoes on the floor. Ronnie raced inside to his room, then turned on his Nintendo Wii, as I threw my purse on the sofa, headed to the refrigerator-freezer, removed the bottle of Patrón Silver, poured two shots into a glass, then went to the bathroom and turned on the shower.
Mistakes happened, but why was I the only one who had to pay for our mistake for the rest of my life? I hated to think that way, but honestly, Ronnie was a mistake and a constant reminder for me not to make the same mistake twice. So when I got pregnant the second time, by a different man, one who had no intentions of marrying me or being with me, I had an abortion.
My dreams were deferred, not abandoned.
“One day,” I whispered. I sat on the toilet, massaging my toes. “Damn, my feet hurt.”
I’d believed Alphonso would pull out after we realized the condom was stuck inside of me, and when he didn’t, I’d suddenly realized I was having sex with a rapist. He’d penetrated me as deep as he could, and then he’d grunted, “Velvet, your young pussy is tight like my little princess, Tiffany Davis.” He’d thrusted deeper, then said, “Velvet, your pussy is better than Tiffany’s baby. If my stepdaughter hadn’t run away from home, I wouldn’t be here with you. Thanks, bitch.”
That motherfuckin’ trick was driving teenagers around on his bus every damn day, and his employers didn’t know he was raping women and girls?
I tossed back one shot as I started peeing. “Why me?” I cried.
I’d yelled, “Get the hell up off of me, nigga!” as I felt his pulsation pumping semen inside the walls of my vagina. He called me a bitch? Was he telling me he’d molested his stepdaughter? Shaking my head, I got sand in my eyes and my mouth. I tried to move from underneath him. I couldn’t see. My legs were over his shoulders; he had intentionally locked his arms around my thighs.
Covering my mouth, he shivered and said, “I’m almost done.”
I managed to grab a fistful of sand and throw it in his face. That was when he punched me in mine. That was the worst encounter of my life. I couldn’t move. All I could do was cry and pray. But I endured nine long months of denial and daily wishing. Each night I said, “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. I pray to die before I wake, and I pray the Lord my soul to take.” Each day my prayers were unanswered. I went into labor, and one bad decision to open my legs for the wrong man changed my life forever…forever.
Finishing off the Patrón, I removed all of my clothes. A hot shower always felt good, and I took three a day to make sure my pussy stayed fresh.
The demanding chores of single parenting left little time for me to sleep. A facial, a massage, a hair appointment, a manicure, a pedicure, shopping on the weekends, flying to the All-Star weekend, the Essence Music Festival, and the BET Awards with my girls were all the things I’d done to get a man, until I got fucked over by a man. Now I struggled to keep my appearance up. All of my girlfriends had had babies before me by black men who’d moved on with their lives. I’d sworn to them, “Whatever nonsense you guys are listening to, Velvet ain’t hearing it.”
Now I had to find time to let my nail polish dry while microwaving dinner. Sew in my own tracks to save a few dollars to pay the rent, utilities, after-school care expenses, and my Sidekick bill, and to compensate my mother for graciously watching my son all the time. Not one penny of child support did he have to pay. I had no idea where to find Alphonso, nor was I about to try. I didn’t have an address, and I’d erased his cell phone number shortly after I told him I was pregnant. Determined to make it on my own and provide a decent life for my son, I’d taken on a second job, working nights.
Toweling off, I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. What good would that do?
I was tired of living dollar to dollar and struggling to take care of Ronnie. He deserved better. Hell, I deserved better, too. Mrs. Taylor was retired, and if she knew the truth about her husband, who had offered me money in exchange for letting him taste my pussy, Mrs. Taylor—married to her husband for forty years—wouldn’t have thought my suits were beautiful. Instantly, I would’ve become the whore, slut, and tramp next door. Women of all ages were ignorant like that. Always blaming other women for the affairs their husbands had.
“Damn. Can I wash my ass in peace?” I said, making my way to the living room. “If one mo’ horny motherfucker calls me when I’m already running late for my second job, I swear I’ma scream at the top of my lungs.”
Every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night, I barely made it in the door before the men started calling. John always tried to beat the rest and convince me to hook up with him after I finished stripping. I tried telling John’s cheap ass that being with me was a relay race, not a marathon. Until I found the right man for Ronnie and me, all men were a financial means for me to quit stripping. Pressing the button on my Bluetooth, I didn’t bother looking at the caller ID. I went into my bedroom, opened my lingerie drawer, then placed a soft, red, furry bra with strings and a matching thong in my oversized purse before answering. “Make it quick,” I said.
“I want to know if you sucked my husband’s dick,” a female voice yelled in my ear.
“What! Who in the hell are you?” Moving the earpiece away from my ear, I shouted, “Ronnie! You hungry, boy?”
“No, Mama.”
“I’m walking you over to Grandma’s in exactly twenty minutes. Go make yourself a sandwich.”
“Okay, Mama.”
“Where’s my damn boots?” I said, placing the earpiece back on my ear.
“You gon’ answer my question or make me show up at your ho job tonight and beat your ass? The choice is yours,” said the female voice.
Working at Stilettos was getting old quick, but I hung in there because the money was decent. And Trevor gave me a bonus whenever the bar broke six figures. A few rappers and high rollers, men and women, dropping credits cards and offering to buy a few rounds of drinks or a case of champagne, and I was on my way to making some extra change.
What I couldn’t stand was the guys who claimed to have their shit together, begging to take me out for a drink, translation, sex, and they couldn’t even keep their women in check. I had picked up a few “friends with benefits” to fund my emergency savings account, but whosoever the fuck this chick was who was challenging me, she was way out of line. I wished she would show up tonight at Stilettos, talkin’ that shit to me. She’d end up with this heel right in the middle of her damn clit. I picked up my spi
ke-heeled boots, then put them in the bag with my outfit.
I had to ask her, “Who are you, and why are you wasting my damn time?”
“Don’t worry about who I am.”
“Okay. Then who’s your trick?”
“My what?”
“Your man, bitch! Who’s your fuckin’ man?”
“Oh, Tolliver. But you probably know him as T.”
I had to smile. T was my favorite. We were cool and had fun kickin’ it at the movies and hotels and shit. T was the bomb, or so I’d thought until I heard him get on the phone and say, “Velvet, tell my wife that we’re just friends and we’re not fucking, because she’s tripping. I told you, woman, I go to the strip clubs to relieve my stress. What’s wrong with that?”
No, this too-dark-to-be-white, too-light-to-be-black, punk-ass, biracial motherfucka wasn’t pleading with and lying to his wife and asking me to have his back. He must’ve forgotten Red Velvet was the one on the other end of the damn phone. I swear, I gotta stop fucking these trifling-ass men, I thought. He was probably taking her money and giving it to me, but that wasn’t my concern.
“Yeah, Velvet, tell me, because Tolliver claims you’re just a sleazy stripper begging to ride his dick,” said Tolliver’s wife.
No, those fools did not put me on speaker. This bitch was checking the wrong person. She’d asked for it.
I took a deep breath. “Look, bitch,” I said. “I did not say ‘I do’ to you. Someone else walked down the aisle and said all that for better or for worse shit to you. That’s the bullshit you signed up for. Listen up and you tell me if you think I fucked your husband or not. Tolliver’s dick is eight and a half inches long, it’s thick, it’s circumcised, and it’s beautiful. The lips around his opening, when you look at his dick sideways, are shaped exactly like those succulent lips on his face. He has four flat chocolate moles, one between his nuts and three in a row on the underside of his dick, so when I play connect the dots with the barbell in my tongue, I draw a straight line. He shaves his pubic hairs down to a shadow. His favorite color is blue. Favorite movie, American Gangster. And his favorite pussy is Red Velvet. Hope that helps both of you sick-ass tricks the fuck out. I gotta go. And, T, don’t call me no fuckin’ mo’!”
That bitch didn’t know who she was questioning, and I didn’t know what in the hell Tolliver was thinking by trying to check me. I hated men who couldn’t keep their nosy bitches in check. Let that bitch show up tonight, I thought. I’ve got something for her ass. And T, with his big-ass, country-sized dick could still hit this pussy, but first he’d have to pay for every dollar I’d missed tonight for being late. Plus I was gonna charge him a hundred dollars extra for being stupid. After throwing my fiery red human-hair wig into my bag, I slipped into a green velour jogging suit and flat shoes, just in case I had to kick that bitch’s ass. The last thing Red Velvet did was run from any motherfucker.
“I’m ready,” my son said, walking into my bedroom, with his Spiderman backpack strapped tightly over his shoulders. “Mommy, who was that on the phone?”
“Nobody, baby. Nobody important. At least not anymore. Let’s get you to Grandma’s.”
CHAPTER 9
Honey
My pussy. My pleasure.
Fucking Grant was my preference, but having a man penetrate me wasn’t necessary in order for me to have a satisfying orgasm. I spread a black mink throw on the patio beyond the sliding glass door outside my bedroom. The stars surrounded the moon as I inhaled the cool midnight breeze.
“Ah, every night should be this peaceful.” I bet God got upset whenever He blessed us with a beautiful day that we didn’t take time to appreciate. It was up to me to take advantage of each minute. Tonight, right now, I was doing me. Forget about Grant, I told myself. I wasn’t thinking about the girls. I declared this Honey time.
My pussy was so starved that it felt like she’d eaten my labia minora, sucking it inside my vagina, and like my labia majora had closed, the way a Mimosa pudica flower closed when touched, when cold, or when put in the dark. My pussy trapped and stored the chi energy inside the walls of my uterus. The combustion was going to erupt into an orgasm so explosive, all of Atlanta might get swept underground by my fluids.
I had to stop suppressing and ignoring my sexual feelings. I could go out, find a charity dick attached to a man, fuck him, then forget about him, or I could please myself. Opening my mint green pleasure chest, which I kept at the foot of my bed, I pushed aside my vibrating rabbit. “Nah, fuck that. You’d better come with me,” I said, putting the rabbit on the bed.
I moved my ruby glass slipper aside. Not the kind of slipper Cinderella had, my glass dick was twelve inches long and heated up nicely in the microwave, or I could chill it in a bucket of ice. The extreme sensations inside my pussy felt fantastic. I didn’t want to go into the kitchen. Any room other than the kitchen would’ve been okay.
I buried the slipper at the bottom of the chest, then scanned the edible panties, pleasure pearls, my remote-control egg, and a whole lotta other stuff. I came up holding a silver bullet, dangling from my cyber-skin vibrating tongue, in one hand, and in the other hand was my pink pocket rocket. The toys that solely focused on clit stimulation made me cum in less than two minutes, so I tossed the pocket rocket back into the chest and kept the tongue.
Sitting on the black mink throw, I squeezed a few drops of lube onto my tongue, attached the silver bullet, then put a few drops of lube on the bullet. Lying back, I bent me knees upward, spread my thighs, slipped the bullet in my ass, then turned the vibration on high. The tongue fluttered against my clit, almost feeling like the real thing. At the same time the bullet shot vibrations inside my ass.
Sometimes I’d put the bullet in my pussy or in my ass while fucking Grant. He enjoyed the feel of the vibration. “Ooh-wee! Damn, this shit feels good.” But not good enough. Leaving the bullet in my ass, I placed a condom over my vibrator, lubed the shaft and the rabbit ears, then powered on my fucking rabbit.
Inserting the rotating dick into my pussy, I let the pearls vibrate along my G-spot. The rabbit ears teased my clit. My ass felt wonderful. Gazing up at the moon, I moaned, “That’s it. That’s the spots.”
Thirty minutes later I’d given myself explosive pleasure that made my pussy wet inside and out.
I tossed the toys aside, stared up at the stars, and relaxed for a moment. Fucking myself felt good. Fucking Grant felt great.
Exhaling, I thought, Maybe I’m not good enough for Grant. If he wouldn’t give me the decency or respect I deserved and allow me to explain my side of the story, perhaps Grant was the one who wasn’t good enough for me. The time had come for me to let go.
CHAPTER 10
Grant
Entering my D.C. office at 8:00 a.m., I paused in front of my receptionist long enough to say, “Good morning, Beverly. Hold all my calls until eleven a.m.”
Beverly was five feet eight. Her short brown hair was neatly tapered to accentuate her beautiful, big brown eyes. The mesmerizing curves of her hips matched those of her lips each time she smiled, which was often. She held a broker’s license but didn’t like sales or managing people. Beverly was dependable and flexible. She’d visit a few properties when I needed her to. But generally, I had other employees handle on-site management.
“Certainly, Mr. Hill, and good morning to you. You have—”
Walking away from her not-so-bright smile, I said, “I know. Another message from Ms. Honey Thomas. Trash it.”
If my wanting to be with Honey was worrying my parents, I had to do the right thing. Why did this woman repeatedly call me at home, at work, and on my cell, then text me in between? Didn’t she get it? She was a murderer, and I was done with her, and thankfully, I’d found out the truth before making the same mistake I’d made with Valerie by giving my heart to a black woman who didn’t know how to care for me.
Clicking on her computer, Beverly dragged a file to her trash can, smiled, then said, “She hasn’t called you today.”
/>
Oh, she must be still sleeping, I thought, feeling embarrassed.
“What I was getting ready to say was you have a visitor, who invited himself into your office.”
“What! She showed up instead! She had the audacity to show her face without my—”
Holding her open palm toward me, Beverly slowly said, “Hold up. Calm down. No, Mr. Hill. I said, ‘Himself.’ Actually, it’s a man, and he refused to give me his name.”
Frowning, I felt like a fool this time. I wasn’t listening well, and I was hurt that Honey hadn’t called or texted since the day before yesterday. Maybe she had sensed I’d let Velvet fuck me. Had she found another man to replace me? Or was it like my dad said? Would she call in a week or a month? I wanted her to call this morning, like she’d done almost every day for the past eighteen days.
“Is it one of my evicted tenants? Did you call the police?”
“I wasn’t sure what to do. He wasn’t unruly. He just invited himself into your office.”
Banging my fist on her desk, I yelled, “What! You should never allow anyone to invite themselves into my office! Ever! You got that!”
Beverly’s eyes widened. “Mr. Hill, I apologize. I’m sorry. You want me to call the police?”
“Yes,” I said, slowly approaching my office. People who had nothing to lose sure as hell didn’t mind taking other people down with them. What was Honey’s fucking problem? Fuck her! She was probably laid up with some other man.
Peeping through the crack in my door, I saw it was trifling-ass Benito. “Beverly, never mind,” I yelled over my shoulder. “I can handle him.”
Whos Loving You Page 5