“Damn. Are you talking crazy, or the alcohol has taken over your soul?”
“Boo, I want some of that.” She kissed me. “And I know you want some of this.”
“You wanted to party, birthday girl, so let’s party until the spot closes.”
“Almost longer than my face when hard, almost wider than my mouth. This is mine.” She rubbed my cock. “Let’s go outside. I want to put my mouth on you until you scream hallelujah.”
I hummed in her ear. “Stop playing.”
She sang. “Sucking you is all that I’ve been thinking of. Sucking you is so goooood.”
“Don’t mess up a classic romantic song.”
“Sucking will feel better than kissing. I want to show you how I feel about you. Want to show you my appreciation and forgiveness. Want to suck you and make your brain fill with happy chemicals, prove to you that I’m yours, all yours; then I want you to let me ride you like a boss.”
“Act like a lady.”
She sang, “Fucking you is all that I’ve been thinking of. You fuck me so goooood.”
“Kill the remix.”
“Let’s go outside in the cool air and find a place. Take care of me.”
“I’m nursing my drink. And we’re celebrating from crotch of night to the crack of dawn.”
She took my drink, finished it. “Why are fine men always so fucking dull and boring?”
“That reverse psychology is not going to work either.”
Her phone vibrated again. Again she ignored the juddering.
My tipsy lover pressed against me, her soft breasts all up on me, her hands as busy as the devil. “So, now you’re punishing me? Is this because I didn’t give you some before we left?”
I moved her braids, bit her ear. “Hard to punish you without punishing myself.”
She licked my lips. “Don’t move my hand. I know you want this. You know I want that. Waited all day for that. I still want that. You think I won’t take it right here and right now?”
“Don’t start nothing in this spot; you don’t want to get the Kevin Hart treatment.”
“Let’s go turn this dress into a Lewinsky.”
“Your classy, educated ass has a few drinks and starts acting like a thoughtless thot.”
“Call our UberXL. Be nice and I’ll give you some road head until we get home.”
“In Chicago, Uber drivers get road head, not passengers.”
“Ubers are the new mobile Snooty Foxes. Everybody has quickies in Ubers.”
“Will add that to my bucket list.”
“Did you know that only thirty percent of women swallow? I’m a minority.”
I rubbed her legs. “Talkative. Giggling. Singing. Drinking like a fish. Acting silly.”
“Hashtag, I love your fat penis. Hashtag, that length. Hashtag, girth matters. Hashtag, wider than my mouth. Hashtag, made for a longtime partner. Hashtag, and I’m the longtime partner it’s made for. Hashtag, take me outside, find a spot, ’n’ gimme some balls deep.”
“Hashtag, you must be ovulating. Faded and ovulating.”
“Hashtag, and if you weren’t around, masturbating.”
“You do that while we’re doing it anyway. When you’re facedown, ass up, you have that right hand down there working it out while I long stroke. That shit is your favorite position.”
“I hate you.”
I sucked her tongue. “Ovulating. And you want daddy all up in that.”
She laughed. “When a woman is ovulating, that’s when she’s the horniest.”
I bit her ear again, kissed her cheek. “Stop. People can see what you’re doing.”
“Let me jack you off under the table. Let me see if you can keep a straight face while I help you lower your chance of heart disease, stroke, and diabetes. Sex does that, you know.”
“Stop. Your social media fans are enjoying recording the show with their phones. Someone will end up trying to blackmail you when you blow up.”
“I want to blow you.”
“Stop it.”
“Your dick is amaze-balls. And it’s straight like a baseball bat. No curve.”
“Stop it.”
“I want some of this right here to end my birthday night.”
“Stop rubbing and feeling me up before you make me get hard.”
“Before you set free five million swimmers?”
“Alaska. Stop.”
“I’m going to ride you and make your toes curl up like fists.”
“Keep talking that talk.”
“I’m going to make this a three-hole night for you.”
“Three-hole night?”
“I’m wet.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Touch me, touch me, touch me.”
“Touch yourself.”
“Put your trigger finger inside me and make that ‘come here’ motion.”
“You are an aggressive drunk.”
“We gonna role-play tonight. You will be Black Panther and I’m going to be Storm. You’re going to pull my braids and choke me and long stroke the mutant out of this little bitch. I’ll set my Fitbit and count calories while you slap this ass. Be ready. I want thirty minutes of hot sex to burn off two hundred alcoholic calories, and I want my headboard-banging workout to end with a skeet of nitrogen, fructose, lactic acid, ascorbic acid, and inositol. Hashtag, protein shot.”
“Since you know so much, how many calories will be in that protein shot?”
She Googled. “Twenty-five. You know I have to monitor my caloric intake.”
“Someone is definitely ovulating.”
“I do get nasty every now and then, don’t I?”
“You think?”
“But your nasty Mississippi ass? You love my groceries like a fat boy loves cake.”
“You make me wonder about the rest of the women up in Alaska.”
“And to burn off the alcohol, we can run a 10K tomorrow when we wake up.”
I put my hands between her thighs. “We can burn another two hundred calories in bed.”
She hummed. “That will work. But I’m still going to the gym. Can’t let myself get fat.”
I traced the outline of her vagina. “Happy birthday, boo.”
She quivered, brought her lips to mine, butterfly kisses. “Best birthday ever.”
I sucked her lips while my fingers did the walking. “Best girlfriend ever. Love you.”
“Love you too.” Arms around my neck, she hummed. “You gonna make me cry.”
“Let me see if you can keep that straight face.”
She leaned into me, did Kegels on my finger. “You’re gonna make me come.”
“Want me to stop?”
“You gonna make me come you gonna make me come you gonna make me come.”
I stirred her, and she bit her bottom lip as she rubbed my cock, held on to it, stroked me through my clothes, kept it hot until our round of drinks and shots came.
She was near rapture, licking lips, rapping. “Not gonna hide from that d. Too big. Stroke strong. Make me moan for that dick.”
“Yeah?”
She rapped on. “I’ll skydive for that d. No parachute. Legs open. Trying to land on that d.”
“Ouch.”
“Wake up for that d. Cooking breakfast. Butt naked. Mouth ready for that dick.”
I laughed at her inebriated, off-beat, improvised rapping.
She kept rubbing me, said, “Do one for me. Make up one for me.”
“I’ll fly for that p. First class, dick hard, feenin hard for that p.”
“Not too bad. One more. Please, please, please. One more.”
“Hmmm. I’ll catch a case for that p. In jail. No bail. What? Now another d in that p?” I stopped and shook my finger like I was a Jay-Z meme come
to life. “Hell naw! Oh, hell naw.”
She laughed. I laughed. We kissed. We were tipsy and silly.
She said, “I’ve had a Being Mary Jane life, but I want a This Is Us kind of love.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“We can do this, you know. We can do this.”
This was what a good love felt like. She was with me. Not with the Russian.
She asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“All primal.”
“That body.”
“Not the dress?”
“The body in that dress is what makes the dress worth looking at.”
“The dress is mine, but this body is your body if you want to get me bodied tonight.”
“Oh, you’re going to get bodied, then I’m going to be all up in that body.”
A Cardi B song came on, and the room was once again set on fire. Every sophisticated woman went hood rat, and every Pussycat Doll rapped the lyrics to “Bodak Yellow” like it was their national anthem. Rachel Redman was up in my face, pointing in my face, making antagonistic faces, acting it out while I did the Milly Rock. Women all over the spot were trying to outdo each other. A few Barbra Streisand–loving men were in their hard-leg lovers’ faces doing the same. Rachel made me feel twenty-one again. Reminded me of back in the day when I was in the club with Jimi Lee and Ice Cube’s “No Vaseline” came on and we turned it out. I did the Humpty Hump with Jimi Lee, did the Running Man with her. I had to move beyond being the divorced man who couldn’t get over his ex. I wished those nights with Jimi Lee had been spent with Rachel instead.
Everything here reminded me of Jimi Lee. That apartment. And now Margaux. Maybe I needed to leave and go to London. Just take a chance on a new life. Maybe I needed to swipe left on everything. Because everything I had loved had swiped left on me a long time ago.
I looked at Rachel and my heart was on fire. She glowed when she looked at me.
That aroused me. The way she loved me aroused me.
When we sat again, I put my finger inside Rachel, stirred her. Made her leg tremble.
Rachel’s eyes tightened with desire and she moaned. “I want you down my throat.”
“No.”
“I’ll swallow. Hell, I’ll gargle if that makes my boo happy.”
“Stop being nasty.”
“You’re fingering me like you’re a pervert and I’m nasty?”
“Look at me. Keep a straight face.”
“If you don’t get too rough, when we get home you can double-cross my pussy.”
“You’re drunk and vulgar.”
“I’m affectionate when I’m being finger fucked.”
“Let the d go. Stop fluffing me.”
“I will when you stop fingering me.”
“No one can tell you’re turned on.”
“Shit. My fat nipples are hard; they look like baby dicks growing out of my boobs.”
“Don’t get me hard.”
“I don’t care if they see your dick print. I want them to know what I’m working with.”
“You like this.”
“I love this.”
“Look at your face. The way you bite your lip is so sexy.”
She moved my hand from between her legs, put my finger in my mouth, fed me, then leaned and kissed me, sucked the taste of her arousal from my tongue, then sucked my finger.
She sang. “You love putting me on my belly so you can invade Africa when you come.”
“Can you be a little louder?”
She sang louder, “I’m horny and tonight I want to ride my man and make his toes curl.”
People near us laughed and applauded. I laughed and shook my head. Rachel Redman laughed the hardest, moved her braids, and kissed me again. She was impossible not to love.
She said, “I’m ready for some leg shaking, cursing, nails in skin, booty being slapped, oh yeah, baby don’t stop. I want three orgasms before you bust a nut, and you can nut all over me.”
“Damn, boo.”
“Or in my ass. You love to nut in my ass.”
“No pregnancy scares that way.”
“I ain’t complaining. The way you eat mom’s pie, I ain’t complaining about nothing.”
“Eat you so good I drive you crazy.”
“And you body me so strong you had me breaking in your house and waiting for that d.”
We laughed and she rubbed me, masturbated me through my pants. That was why the Russian was buying her presents and blowing up her phone. Men wanted a woman like this.
She sang, “When we get home, I want to master-blaster. Smoke while you stroke.”
“What do you have now? Sativa or indica?”
“Hollands Hope. Indica-dominant hybrid. My fans hooked me up big-time.”
“Don’t get addicted on the shit that had black folks getting put on lock for decades.”
“Boo, I’m addicted to your loving. Got me breaking your locks to get me some cock.”
I gave her soft, gentle kisses, not too much tongue at first. Then it was as if we were famished, bit by bit losing control. Rachel Redman was the woman I should have been with two decades ago. I’d marry her tonight. Alcohol had me feeling that way. I kissed her eyes, worked down her cheeks and licked the edges of her lips. Made her chase my tongue, and when she finally caught it, she sucked it gently, and we lingered awhile, nibbling and playing. I sucked her tongue like I was sucking her clit, and that made her lose it. She sucked my tongue like she was talking to the mic. Blood rushed from my brain and it was all down south.
Rachel downed her alcohol, chugged mine, did our shots, grabbed my crotch, dragged me through the crowd, blew farewell smooches to her fans, and hurried me toward the exit.
* * *
—
A MOMENT LATER, we were outside, in the open air, hidden in the shadows, cars, buses, and metro trains zooming by in the distance, the glow from the dramatic lights at the Staples Center not far away. We kissed and kissed. She held my stiff cock, rubbed me, masturbated me through my clothes while I nibbled at her neck, sucked on that spot that made her croon. Her knees buckled and her inner thighs shook. She let my cock go, shivered, then exhaled in a way that told me she wanted more. I worked her breasts out of her dress, licked one, then sucked the other nipple. My hand moved between her thighs. I massaged her heat through that red dress. Her legs opened; then I pulled her dress up, moved her panties away, got a finger inside.
She was damp, heat rising like the morning sun over Acapulco.
I was harder than times in 1929.
She moved against my hand. I fingered her, suckled her breasts and massaged that pearl, then looked in her eyes as she wiggled on my digit. She took my finger from inside her, sucked it hard, sucked until the juice was gone, kissed me as she reached for my pants, undid my belt. I hiked up her red dress and we tried to have sex perpendicular. Doing it standing up, between buildings, fully dressed, wearing hard shoes, tipsy, with a drunk Afro-Alaskan, that shit wasn’t as easy as it looked in the movies. I was almost back inside her, then paused when a dozen people walked by. They didn’t see us. I lifted her up, and the horny drunk wrapped her legs around me. She pulled her panties to the side, then cooed when I broke the skin. She said my name like I was her greatest sin. She made sounds like she was drowning, then opened her eyes, looked in my face, smiled, swallowed. I held her, made her bounce up and down, made her jewelry sing, made the change in my pockets join the choir on the break. I looked into her eyes and sang the “Happy Birthday” song to her. Cool desert wind blew across our damp skin.
“Let me down, boo. Let me down.”
She eased down, meandered in a circle, took a lighter out of her little clutch purse, flipped the Zippo open, lit her cigar, made the air smell like we were in Snoop D-o-double-g’s home,
put the Zippo back, then puffed. Rachel Redman laughed, happy, then staggered and put her left hand against a wall. She puffed, made smoke rise around her like she was the boss of all bosses.
Rachel came back to me, stroked my erection while she smoked, masturbated me, then got down on her haunches, squatted, inhaled her Kush, then took me in her mouth as she exhaled smoke.
“You like that?”
My vocabulary was reduced to indecipherable sounds and curt moans.
She whispered, “That’s right, baby. I got your ass singing like Peabo Bryson.”
She played me like Coltrane playing his horn. It was beautiful, like a love letter written by Shakespeare. She sang, “Sucking you is all I’ve been thinking of. Sucking you is so good.” I moaned like I was her background singer. She made it sloppy, made my toes curl inside of my shoes. Her head bobbed, and she licked and sucked like it was National Ice Cream Day. Then she moved her hands to my thighs for balance, her gag reflex getting the better of her.
She hummed. “I want some of this holy water.”
“Yeah?”
“Quench this fire. Pour it all over me.”
“You got the fever.”
“And I got it bad. You know how I get every now and then.”
“Nature takes control of you right before your period.”
“Period?”
“You heard me.”
She laughed. “They should call mine a sentence. Once a month, coochie on lockdown.”
A group of intoxicated Korean tourists stumbled out of nowhere, caught Rachel on her haunches, my shaft down her throat as her braids swayed with her wicked rhythm. They yelled in their language, then cheered and applauded as they guffawed. Rachel looked at them, my cock in her hand, stroked me as she told them, “Fuck off. Go somewhere and do some calculus, or mechanics and special relativity.”
Bad Men and Wicked Women Page 19