G-Spot

by Noire

  I opened my eyes and again he was staring at me like I was some freak. “You fucking with me or something, Juicy?” he said. He pulled his soft dick out. “What? You can’t tell when the shit is over, or I just don’t keep it going long enough for you? You need more than what I’m giving you or something? What you doing, girl?”

  The good feeling between my legs disappeared. I was laying in a cold wet puddle and it really confused me. G had been really good to me and I thought I loved him. But I now understood my situation like it was written out on the wall. This was what sex would always be like with Granite McKay. There was no escaping it neither because he had declared me to be his, and so I was. Leaving him was out of the question because it would put his rep on the line. Plus, me and my baby brother needed what G was putting out, so I had to do what I had to do. I was in deep with no way out.

  G was still staring at me. “I said, what you think you doing, Juicy?”

  “Nothing, G,” I answered him, and took my hands off his ass. I put them at my sides. “I’m not doing anything.”

  The DJ changed the music and the naked girls cleared the stage. They almost had to drag this skank named Monique off, she was so busy shaking her big ass and playing with those three nipples she had. A sexy beat picked up and the lights went down low. “Here they come!” Brittany started clapping her hands along with the other women in the house.

  This was the best part of my week. I prepared for my normal routine by leaning back into the booth and crossing my legs, squeezing them together as the first man appeared on stage. He was a black god. His skin was dark and every muscle on his body was bulging. And so was his dick inside those skimpy red bottoms he wore. I swung my crossed leg to the beat of the music as I watched him. Already I was turned on. Each time I pumped my leg a jolt of pleasure screamed in my clit. Brittany was still running her mouth and going on about how fine he was. I wished she would shut up and let me concentrate. A minute later he was joined on the stage by three other men, all of them with beautiful bodies that they knew how to move. I kept my eyes on the first guy. He moved the best and seemed to be looking right at me although I knew he couldn’t see me in the darkness.

  “Ahh . . . shit! I like the way you work it!” Brittany was digging his rhythm as much as I was. “Be right back,” she said. She went searching in her purse, then she ran up to the stage and grabbed dancer number one. She was on her knees as he grinded in her face, and she screamed and stuck some money down in his shorts.

  I leaned back all the way in the booth and let my fingers tickle my nipples. I had on pants but I opened my legs and slid my zipper down and quickly stuck two fingers inside my panties. I kept my eye on Brittany as she danced with the guy onstage and let him rub all over her body. I imagined it was me up there, sweating under the lights and getting stroked by those strong hands, hard dick being pushed all up in my face. I could feel his hardness on my lips and smell him, too. A moment later I closed my eyes and my hand moved faster as I hit the rocks and waves washed over me. I caught my breath and zipped my pants as the heat seeped out my body.

  And then the shame hit me. I was tired of masturbating on the sneak tip, but it was all I could do. Living with G I had to learn to get my orgasms quick and quiet. I did it mostly in the shower or laying next to him while he slept, but there were times when I couldn’t help myself. I found out that I also liked to get off in public. There was something about the risk of getting caught that really turned me on. I liked to cross my legs on the subway and fantasize about the men as the train rocked me back and forth.

  One time I was standing up on a crowded train from 125th Street downtown to 34th Street. The lights were flickering on and off and I realized the guy behind me was riding my ass. I didn’t even turn around to see who it was. I had on a short denim skirt and I just gave that ass up to him. I pushed back and worked my hips and let him rub his dick up and down my crack. He put his hands under my skirt and stuck his fingers past my thong. He held on to my hip with one hand and fingered me with the other until I came right there in the middle of the crowd. Part of me wanted him to take his dick out and stick it under my skirt, too.

  When I realized what that meant I jumped off the train at the next stop, even though I still had three more stops to go. I was scared the guy was following me but I didn’t want to look back and see his face. I felt guilty and dirty for weeks after that, and I vowed not to even think about another man touching me. For a long time I didn’t even touch myself. I thought about my mother and wondered if I was turning into her, but I told myself I wasn’t a ho. I was just frustrated because I needed to be satisfied and G wouldn’t do it.

  I picked up my purse and Brittany’s, too, and went into the ladies room to wash my hands. When I looked into the mirror I saw a little girl they called Juicy-Mo staring back at me and she looked sad as hell.

  Chapter Two

  I was born and raised in the heart of Harlem, but the way G dressed me and kept me looking people thought I was big money from the suburbs somewhere. G hired a professional stylist to do my hair once a week and another girl to do my nails. I got a massage twice a week at the G-Spot from Ursula, a blond girl G had turned out when he was vacationing in Sweden.

  Ursula was really nice, but I got the impression she wanted to do a lot more than just massage my muscles. As soft music played over the speakers, I would lay on my stomach with my eyes closed as she worked her hands down my back to my lower spine. But she wouldn’t stop there. She loved to massage my ass, kneading my buns like dough as she stroked my cheeks with both hands. I hate to admit it but I loved the way it felt. So erotic and sexy. G never touched me like that.

  “You have beautiful body, Juicy,” Ursula would tell me in her Swedish accent. “You smell delicious, you have pretty color and soft skin. Your ass is magnificent. Many people would love to be G.”

  Sometimes I would feel my pussy get soaking wet as she rubbed my butt into a rhythm, and I’d feel so confused! I would jump up and take my towel and run out the room. Ursula would be laughing as I left because she knew I’d be coming back for more.

  I was so frustrated I didn’t know what to do. I obeyed G because, like everybody else, I was scared of him. Plus, being raised by old folks had made me obedient. G had enough years on me that I just naturally did anything he said. Grandmother said we were lucky she’d taken me and Jimmy in after our mother got killed for dipping in Big Sonny’s pot. Mama’s jive little trick game coulda got us all shot, so it was only natural that Grandmother accepted us with a reluctant heart. She was scared I’d turn out to be a no-good street ho just like her daughter, so she whipped my ass on the regular and made damn sure I minded her.

  Everything I did as a child, I had to sneak and do it. I didn’t do nothing more than hide candy under my pillow or listen to 98.7 KISS FM when she left the house, but at least once a week Grandmother would anoint my whole body with holy water and pray over me until she got hoarse. But maybe I was my mother’s child, because by the time I was twelve my female urgings had come on strong. I kept a notebook called the Juicy Journal that was filled with my sexual fantasies, and I couldn’t even see a man without my panties getting wet—and he didn’t necessarily have to be fine neither. Grandmother could pray all she wanted to, I’d vow as I hid under the covers and explored the softness of my insides. I was gonna get me some dick if I had to buy me some.

  But I never did. Grandmother was real strict on me and she had to be, because the streets of Harlem were nobody’s joke. So I fantasized and masturbated my ass off, careful not to make enough noise to disturb Jimmy, who slept on the love seat across from my sofa bed.

  But while Grandmother was busy watching me, she tried not to press Jimmy too hard. Our father, James Joseph, was a mental case and had been locked up on the crazy ward at Bellevue ever since Jimmy was a baby, but his genes must have been real strong because Jimmy was something else. A real live piece of work. Grandmother feared he might get sent to the crazy house just like our daddy, and j
ust the thought of losing Jimmy sent chills through me because as much mess as he got into, I was Jimmy’s heart and my baby brother was my soul. I’d lay down and die for him without a second thought.

  Don’t get the idea that Jimmy was a bad boy or nothing, because he really wasn’t. He couldn’t help the things we’d been through no more than I could. Life had really shit on us, so of course Jimmy bore scars from it. When he was little he had to be watched all the time. Grandmother would send him to the Spanish store on the corner and that boy would be out there throwing rocks through car windows. On check day Grandmother would tell him to go downstairs and wait for the mailman, and we would find him on the roof hours later. Striking matches and watching them burn out.

  Grandmother used to throw rent parties every month, and one day we left Jimmy at the house while we went to get some fatback to go in the collard greens. That crazy boy took and threw my kitten Fee-Fee out the bathroom window. “Where’s Fee-Fee?” I ran around the house crying when she didn’t meet me at the door like she usually did. I saw Jimmy’s eyes slide toward the bathroom. I ran in there and the window was pushed open and my cat was bleeding on the ground in the alley downstairs.

  “I thought she had nine lives,” Jimmy cried like a damn fool when I jumped on him. I kicked him in the balls then punched him on the arm so hard he got a frog in his muscle.

  I cried for weeks over that cat. Grandmother prayed for a while, then said that was the last straw, and she put Jimmy in a special day school so the doctors could find out why he did so many crazy things. Like she didn’t know! It took all the money we had to pay for Jimmy’s new school and his doctors, but we did it. Jimmy was a lot better now, but every now and then it seemed like he had a flashback that made him do something straight to the left. I tried to keep him as close to me as I could, praying like hell that that crazy bug wasn’t still living in his head because except for G, me and Jimmy were all alone in the world with only each other to hold on to.

  So even though I felt cheated, I thanked God for sending G our way. He took good care of me and Jimmy, and without him we probably would have ended up in a shelter someplace. G was the father we never had, and he gave us everything we missed having when we were kids. The only difference between G and what I imagined having a father was like, was that I slept in the bed with him and he climbed on top of me twice a month. But even that part was over with so fast I sometimes thought I had dreamt it.

  The apartment we lived in had four bedrooms. I shared the largest one with G, and Jimmy had a nice one that was down the hall on the other side of the kitchen. G gave us the best of everything. Jimmy had a wide screen television in his room, Xbox, and all the latest games that came with it. He was only seventeen, but he was as almost as tall and fine as G. Everybody in Harlem knew what had happened to my mother, so G understood the problems Jimmy had and didn’t mind paying for his special school or the medication my brother took to keep his brain straight. In fact, G didn’t mind paying for anything we wanted, and when I stepped out in the street people didn’t know what to do with me. I was just that fly.

  G was like that with his people, too. Everybody who worked for him, from the cleaning ladies on up to Greco, who was in charge of the staff, and Moonie, who was the chief of security, got paid out the ass. G was conniving and cutthroat, but he believed in sharing the sugar, and his philosophy was that when everybody got fed, everybody stayed happy. I guess he was right because he’d been running things in Harlem for years and, while one or two had tried, none of the young bucks out there were bad enough to take him down. The wall of soldiers surrounding him was just that solid.

  The only thing G asked his people for was exactly what he expected from me. Honesty. Honesty and loyalty. He was hip deep in hustlers and hoes every day, and in a woman he wanted somebody who had been touched only by his hands. And for what he was putting out, that should have been a simple request. But in the back of my mind I knew it was only a matter of time until I failed him. G was forty-six and I was only nineteen. He liked it cold and I liked it hot. There was just too much wrong with that picture. It wasn’t even a matter of if I would mess up, but when, where, and with who.

  Chapter Three

  There were twenty-six students in my dance class, including me. I didn’t socialize with most of them because I didn’t want them asking questions about my life. I could tell we were different. They lived in the dorms and went to campus parties at night. I had a Samoan driver named Pacho who dropped me off at school and picked me up after my last class. Then I hung out with strippers and hoes until the sun came up.

  I liked school and would have been a better student if G would let me stay home and study sometimes. I was failing my science class. I could not get the hang of chemistry with all those symbols because I did not study. When I told G he said not to worry about getting an F in the class. Just take it again next semester.

  There was a guy in my dance class named Vincent. We got paired up together a lot because we were both so good with our bodies. G said men who danced in tights were all gay, but I thought he was wrong. Vincent had a strong body and nice eyes. He smiled a lot and I liked the way his hands felt when he held my waist or lifted me up in the air. Sometimes it seemed like we moved so good together it was almost like we were only one body.

  For our dance midterm we were giving an evening performance on the school stage. I wanted G to come because I wanted him to be proud of what I had learned. But I should have known better. G had a front row seat, and waiting in the wings I could see him sitting there twirling his onyx ring.

  The lights were shining on me and Vincent as we danced to Latino beats, then brought the tempo down easy with a few jazz routines. For the finale Vincent lifted me in the air and slid my body down against his until I reached the floor. We had been practicing this move for weeks and each time I slid down his front I felt his erection. At the end of the dance I put my leg up on his shoulder and bent my back until my head almost touched my ass. We stayed like this with our crotches touching as the audience clapped and the music faded. When I turned around to take my bow, G’s seat was empty.

  I didn’t bother changing my clothes after the show. I just grabbed my bag and ran outside but there was no car waiting for me. No G, no Pacho, no ride home. I wanted to cry as I walked slowly back inside. I didn’t have any money to call a cab so I would have to change clothes and jump the turnstile to catch the downtown train to the G-Spot. This was the first time G had ever let me go home alone, and I knew it meant something bad.

  Vincent walked out of the men’s locker room as I was going in the door.

  “Good job, Juicy,” he told me. “You felt good out there.”

  I corrected him. “You mean I looked good out there.”

  “No, Juicy. I meant just what I said. You felt good. Your body always feels good to me.”

  I didn’t know what to say. But I knew what the look on Vincent’s face meant. I had been seeing it in men’s eyes from the time I was twelve. Back then it used to make me feel nasty. Grandmother told me I didn’t have no control over how I was shaped. She didn’t know where I got all my titties, but said hips and ass ran on her side of the family. At twelve a stare like that from a man could make me run and hide in shame. At nineteen it made me feel hot.

  “Are you going home?” Vincent wanted to know.

  “Yeah, I have to take the train because my ride left.”

  “Oh!” He looked at me with those eyes of his. “That was your father sitting out there, right? I saw him watching you. He looks like one of those back-in-the-day brothers. Sharp dresser for an old head. He didn’t wait for you?”

  I was so embarrassed. “Yeah, that was him. He had to leave. He had to check on his business.”

  “Then can I walk you to the train?”

  “Okay, let me change my clothes first.”

  I walked with Vincent to the station. I told him I had lost my wallet and he gave me his MetroCard. Although we had danced together I still felt sh
y with him. It also felt nice to be with a man my own age who was interested in the same things as me. We got to the train station far too quickly, and when Vincent said good-bye he kissed me on my cheek with soft lips.

  I didn’t know how to act. I ran down the stairs and jumped on the first train that came. Good thing it was the local instead of the express because that gave me enough time to cross my legs and have three silent orgasms before I reached my stop. All I had to do was think about how Vincent’s hands felt on my body and the touch of his lips on my cheek.

  When I walked into the G-Spot Pacho was sitting at the bar. He gave me a funny look as if to say, Beats the hell out of me what just went down. Moonie was behind the bar drying glasses. To those who didn’t know, Moonie looked like the average bartender. He was a short narrow-faced brother with eyes that saw everything that moved, and a lot of stuff that didn’t move, too. But I knew the scoop. Moonie was G’s right-hand man. His position behind the bar was just a front. He took care of security for G’s entire operation, and even in the middle of a big crowd, Moonie knew exactly who was in the Spot and what they were doing at any given moment.

  “Hey Moonie. You know where G is?” Of course he knew. He was real soft-spoken and looked downright harmless. But Moonie kept his shit understated on purpose. That’s why so many niggers slept on him. They usually didn’t even see his Glock until it was pressed against their foreheads.

  He grinned at me with all them big-ass teeth. “What’s up, Juicy. I think he went back to his office a minute ago.”

  I walked to the back of the club to where G’s office was located. I passed by the Jacuzzi, the sauna, and the cinema room where they showed skin flicks all night long. On the far side of G’s office was a stairwell that led down to the Dungeon, two words I’d been warned never to even whisper. I don’t know what all went on down in that basement, but I’d heard it was soundproof.