Score two for Jay.
Moaning, she pushed into my mouth. The area moistened some more, smearing my lips with her.
I'm not done yet, baby.
With one lick, I had to make a great impression. I guided my wet length around her throbbing bud. She jerked in the seat, yet held my shoulders with her hands, her fingernails digging into my skin as she groaned.
One lick, but you didn't say how much I could suck.
I devoured that clit, gently sucking on that bud like I was a baby milking a bottle full of breast milk. She stirred like a mad woman, knocking her knee against the window as she whispered my name. “Jay. Damn, Jay.”
Third score.
I tugged on that lovely bud. The plane's floor vibrated against my sore knees. It would be a difficult task to get me out of the position on the floor. My back would probably ache, and my hips would need a chiropractor, but other things needed to be handled.
I lifted my face. “Can I lick you some more?”
She trembled. “Please.”
And I did, the rest of the plane ride, stretching her panties and shorts as I kept them on the side. Both now had torn fabric between the legs. She tasted so good. At the end of the flight, I would have to give her my jacket and tie it around her waist.
Score four.
For that moment, I drowned in her—the slickness of those folds, the salty taste of her, the softness of her center pressing against my face as she humped me in those last seconds and then exploded.
“Jay,” she moaned.
What's the worst thing the airline could do? The stewardess would probably tell us to stop if she realized it. Maybe we can’t fly on here anymore. Or the media will get a wind of it. Who cares? In a few more weeks, Evie will be mine, and it won't be weird that I was licking her up on the plane.
“Oh!” she shrieked.
The seat squeaked. The typing across the aisle stopped as Evie rode my face, oblivious.
“Oh, Jay, baby. Don’t stop.”
A few lights came on in the cabin. The plane was probably close to landing. The no walking signs pinged on.
“Jay, don’t stop.”
The captain explained that we would be landing soon, and I flicked my tongue faster. She rocked into my face. Bruises would be on my cheeks and lips.
A gasp came from the aisle and then footsteps sounded past us. Evie ignored it all as she rubbed that lovely wet mound into my mouth.
She came hard. No one else but us existed around her.
Score five.
She poured down onto my tongue, shrieking my name. “Jay! Jay!”
Score six.
Chapter Eight
Pipe
Rasta music blared in the studio next door. The neighbor played the same song over and over. The first five times the song came on, I wound my body from side to side, found the mellow beat intoxicating. Drums boomed at the right time. An organ dipped in a staccato rhythm. The man’s voice taunted, and his lyrics coaxed me into a gentle surrender of my senses.
When it got on the tenth play, I knew all the words and sang them out loud as I rolled my first blunt for the day.
“We no love tonight. We no love tonight.” The Rasta’s voice carried over the smooth groove. “Although dinner and candle light, we no love tonight.”
I opened the window, let the music drift into my empty studio, and sparked the blunt for the day. I doubted the neighbors would mind. On one hand, they played the music so loud they could never say I was disruptive. On the other, I’d smelled their own fruity smoke drifting my way. They liked ganja as much as me. At times, a fog lingered in front of their door, and the few times I walked by, I spotted long, flowing dreadlocks and copper-toned flesh swaying together to a reggae beat. A garden lay in the front of their studio made up of eight various sized buckets that grew plump tomatoes and wheatgrass, eggplants and rosemary.
Everything pointed to them being stoners.
“Girl, come eat the dinner. Sip the wine. Because I want your body on mine. But we no love tonight. We no love tonight.”
Listening to the music, I took several quick puffs like one would test their morning cup of coffee to see if it wasn’t too hot. Weed coursed through all the places that counted. It traveled along my tongue, drifted down, and uncurled in my lungs. My cells unfolded. The dark purple of my aura brightened a little, but not back to the old shade.
“We no love tonight.”
On the twentieth play of the song, things got a bit heated next door, and their voices drifted through the wall.
“Kush! Are you going to play another song or what?” The female’s voice drifted into my space. “How many times do I have to hear this?”
A smooth male tenor rolled along with the notes of the music. I almost thought it was the singer’s voice, but I’d heard the song enough by now to realize it must’ve been one of the neighbors.
In a mellow tone, the guy said, “Chill.”
“How many times are you going to play this song?” she asked again.
“Chill.”
“We no love tonight. We no love tonight.”
“Are you going to do any art today?” Annoyance rode the woman’s voice.
“Chill.”
“Although dinner and candle light.”
“Why you keep playing that song over and over?” she asked again.
“Because it’s inspiring me,” the other one said.
“We no love tonight.”
“You don’t look like you’re being inspired,” she said. “You just look like you’re smoking as you lay butt-naked on the bed and listen to the same old song over and over all day.”
In still a mellow tone, he responded, “I’m painting.”
“You’re lying in bed, Kush.”
“I’m painting.”
“Where’s the brushes and the canvas?” she asked.
“I’m painting in my head.”
“Girl, come eat the dinner. Sip the wine.”
“You need to be painting,” she said.
“I just said that I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
He sighed. “Chill.”
And then her voice made me jump. “You’re a bum!”
The guy just laughed. “I’m a bum until the money come.”
“Money hasn’t come in a while,” she snapped back.
“I haven’t been inspired.”
Whining, she yelled, “You said I always inspired you!”
“I did.”
Her voice rose higher. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing. I’m just agreeing.”
“Agreeing with what?”
“With the fact that I used to say that you always inspired me.”
“Why don’t you say that anymore?”
“Because you no longer inspire me.”
“You fucking asshole!” she yelled.
Something crashed against the wall.
And still, he remained mellow. “That’s not very inspiring.”
Exhaling smoke, I laughed and covered my mouth, hoping they didn’t hear me. The walls were pretty thin, but the music could’ve drowned out some of my chuckles.
Did the guy no longer care about her? Where was this going? And why is he playing the song over and over? Painting in his head? Interesting.
The couple didn’t speak anymore. Minutes later, the song played for the thirtieth time. Their door slammed. I glanced out the window and blew out smoke.
A lush woman stormed by. The most shocking thing was that she barely had any hair. It was a close cut of blonde hair against light brown skin. She was another hair cut from being completely bald, but any man knew she was a woman. She had those thick Evie-hips. The kind a man could clasp onto with both hands right before he spread her thighs apart and thrust inside her. A white sundress draped her body. Long, crimson wooden beads circled her neck and swayed from side to side along her hips. They matched the red glow around her.
Red like the devil, but in a good way.
Adventurers in almost anything, red aura individuals dove into hot water for fun. Crazy competitors, they usually excelled in sports but held hidden agendas in life.
Jay radiated red.
But she glows hotter. You must be a fun girl.
In red sandals and wooden bracelets decorating both arms, she stomped down the rocky path. Trees and other tiny studio huts outlined the trail. She continued while small tufts of smoke rose behind her steps.
The music’s volume increased. “Girl, come eat the dinner. Sip the wine.”
Sun rays lit half of the room and played a film of images on the wall. The sheer curtains altered the light. Each time they swayed from side to side, shadows bent back and forth.
Taking another hit, I lowered to the floor in front of the window.
A cool Miami breeze moved in and freshened the house. This city had odd weather. Rain was nothing to the residents. In the summer and spring, a good sprinkle came and went almost every day. Just short spurts of tropical weather—hot sun, gentle downpour out of nowhere, and then hot sun again.
“I want your body on mine. But we no love tonight.”
Cracked mirrors lay against almost all of my walls in the studio. Last night in a drunken fit, I’d stumbled along the art district, picked up discarded mirrors from the side of the street, brought them back to my studio one by one, and propped them everywhere.
“We no love tonight.”
It was hard to look at my scarred face. But I did it as much as I could, hoping to train myself to love me again.
Did I even love me to begin with? I let that monster cut me. Maybe I never loved myself enough.
Jay would agree. Evie would just hold me and listen.
In my bedroom suite, I sniffed Evie. “Hmmm, you even smell crazy, just like I love it. I think I’m catching subtle hints of lesbianism.”
“Oh, shut up,” she said.
“You know your aura is—”
“Don’t start, Pipe.”
“Seriously, your aura has always been this beautiful shade of indigo mixed with a little sea green. I read a chart that it meant you’re loving, devoted, and accepting.”
“Does my aura say I will be rich one day?”
“I’m not sure. Auras surround all living things. I should get trained in reading them or something.”
“Or something.” She smirked.
“I wish you weren’t so jealous of my powers.”
“I wish you weren’t hurt, so I could punch you in your chest for being so goddamn ridiculous.”
Indigo also meant that she should have psychic abilities, but she never witnessed the things I did. Yet, power radiated around her. She shined bright and beautiful, and whether she understood it or not, people were lured to her energy. They yearned to bathe in her without even getting why. That sea green dripping in and out of her spirit pointed to her being a super friend. Loyal to the end.
In the studio next door, the music shut off. The door slammed again.
Is that Saka woman back?
I jumped up and peeked out of my window like a nosey man. I almost shrieked when I realized the male neighbor stood right in front of my door with a big bag in his hands.
What the fuck?
He knocked three times.
What the fuck?
Coughing, I stamped the blunt out and lay it against the windowsill. I was in no condition to see anyone. My body still hurt. I wore the same old plaid pants I’d had on all week—red, white, and blue. They hung perfectly right under my lower abs, not that I cared about shit like that anymore.
He knocked again.
“Just a minute.” I had on no shirt, so I rushed to get a black jacket I’d stolen from this guy in the hospital, put it on, and pulled over the hood to shield some of my face. Glasses finished it off. “I’m coming.”
I glanced in the mirror really quick and realized I looked like either a really cool doped-up model or a rather charming and well-dressed serial killer.
Hope he leans toward doped-up model. I don’t want no problems.
I opened the door. “Hey, what’s up?”
He didn’t say anything at first, just sort of stared at me with his mouth open, and probably slowly studying what I had on. It gave me a chance to check him out. I’d already seen his sexy woman, although not getting a glance at her face.
My view of him was breathtaking.
How odd that he was a painter when he looked as if he’d stepped out of a masterpiece. Long light brown dreadlocks outlined his face. They hung around his huge shoulders and fell past his waist. His green gaze peered at me within caramel skin.
What is he?
He had that special mixture that some people possessed, hard and softness. Warm skin and cold eyes. Chiseled jaws and lax chin. A woman’s pointed little nose with a man’s dark brooding forehead. His hotness annoyed me. For one, all men could die in a pool of blood. Two, he liked women and from what I heard, didn’t represent a smooth gentleman. Three, I just wanted to be left alone.
And all over him, that creative green glow swarmed, spilling onto me and several yards past.
He’s been abused somehow. He’s got that huge aura, but it’s not darkening like Cynthia or Malcolm. What does that mean?
“I’m Kush.” His chill tone from earlier shifted to concerned as he raised his eyebrows. “What’s up with your face?”
“That’s a bit rude, Kush.” I rolled my eyes under the sunglasses. “Don’t you think?”
“It’s not rude if I care.”
“You don’t know me long enough to care.” I thanked God for wearing glasses as I drowned in that glow.
What the hell happened to him?
He surrounded me in that bright green. “People don’t need to know someone long enough to save them.”
“I don’t need saving.”
“Clearly,” Kush muttered.
“Did you want something?”
“Naw.” He gestured to the big plastic bag in his hand. “I was actually seeing if you want something.”
“I’m not trying to buy anything.”
He targeted me with a hard gaze. “I’m not selling.”
I pointed to the bag. “Then what’s in there?”
“Sausages.”
“I don’t eat sausages.”
“They’re beef, not pork.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He grinned, and his color brightened. “You’re a health nut?”
“No. I just don’t like them like that.”
Kush smirked. “Like that? What does that mean?”
“Me and sausages have a weird relationship.”
“How’s that? Someone die when you ate one?”
“No.”
His aura darkened. “Someone abuse you with a sausage?”
“Are we really going to have this conversation?”
“I’m just wondering.” He raised his arm on my doorway and leaned in. “You said relationship with sausages. That’s odd.”
“How?”
He formed his lips into a wide grin and showed off the whitest teeth. They sparkled. “It’s like you had an actual relationship with sausages.”
Leave me alone.
His voice lowered into a seductive tone. “Are you going to tell me?”
What is he doing?
I decided to test him with the truth, see if his aura would brighten or darken. “When I was a teen, I would do the nastiest things to polish sausages.”
“Yeah?” Kush leaned in closer.
Too close. The scent of him drifted around me. His fragrance was cinnamon and honey. I could almost taste the sweetness in the air.
“What did you do with the sausages?” His gaze moved around as if he was trying to see my eyes through my glasses.
“I told you. Nasty things.”
“You don’t look like the type of guy who would have been a pervert as a teen.”
“Who said I was a pervert?”
“You fucked food.”<
br />
“No.” I pouted. “Food fucked me.”
He chuckled. “Were you a geek in high school?”
“I was popular but shy.”
He tossed me a skeptical look, the one that everyone gave when I admitted that. People thought I was the type of person to never have gone through an awkward stage, but I did. I played football just like Jay. It was one of our loves we’d carried with us through childhood.
My body remained fit, long, and muscular for my age. Girls looked. Mothers drooled. A few fathers stared longer than they should have. Everyone had thought I was a rising star.
But the boys did nothing. And the boys were what I craved.
That kept me shy. During my high school years, I shielded a lot of who I was due to that. I mumbled around cute guys and tried to pretend to be straight. I even attempted to start a thing with Evie because she was the only one who could get me semi-hard and I absolutely loved her. That never worked out. And Jay probably would’ve killed me.
But I’d been a shy kid and very much alone.
During the day, I entertained my classmates, studied every now and then, bothered Evie, and snuck off with Mrs. Elaine’s good southern cooking, whenever possible. At night, in my father’s huge empty home, I lay up for hours imagining the sensation of something warm and hard inside me.
Dad worked a lot. He provided a mountainous house and gave me a huge budget, but time ran short for me. Others raised me. Our dialogue represented difficult phone conversations. Most holidays I spent with Evie or Jay’s family. Once I got older and dealt with my love for males, things got even harder.
I lived as a parentless child.
At some point, people stopped raising me. At some point, a boy no longer needed a nanny. At some point, the housekeepers had to go home. At some point, my voice echoed and bounced off bare walls and inside of me grew hollow.
And then I’d sought out other things to fill that emptiness.
I touched myself, thrilling in the swelling of pressure at the tip of my cock. The numbing high. The throb that drummed all through my body. I wanted to try it, but a gay teen was not a bold one in a city that floated in anti-homosexual ideals. I didn’t have other gay friends, just awesome people who accepted me for me.
The COMPLETE Coventon Campus Series: Books I, II, & III Page 37