One Taste

by Allison Hobbs

  The malnourished cat wandered over and climbed on the mattress. Onika, uncomfortable and angry, swung a tightly balled fist at the cat, sending it skidding across the room. She glared at the cat and then turned a hard look at Nazier. “Damn, Naz. Whatchu waiting for? Hurry up and bust. You said we was gon’ take care of some business.”

  “Whatchu think I’m doing,” he snarled, pumping dick without mercy.

  “I’m talking about the rocks you promised to give me,” she said between painful gasps.

  “Yeah, I’m talking about rocks, too.” He gave a malicious chuckle. “I probably could get my rocks off if you would shut the fuck up.” Nazier embedded his dick and then yanked it out, viciously. “I like to take my time when I’m fucking,” he explained as he repeated the process.

  “That shit hurts. You acting like you gon’ keep this up for hours. Hmph! You crazy if you think I’m gon’ just lay here and let you bang out my pussy.” Onika lifted herself up and rested on her elbows. “If you’re having trouble getting off, you need to pull your dick out and let me suck on it.”

  Nazier slowed down and then came to a stop. Looking down at Onika, he said, “Aiight, I’m gon’ let you get on it for a minute, to cool it off. It feels like your dry-ass pussy is burnin’ the skin off my jawn.”

  “Fuck you, Naz.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered. “But when I’m ready to bust, though, you gotta lay your ass back down and spread your legs.” He tightened his grip on his steely manhood, aiming it at Onika, threateningly. “Big boy,” he said, referring to his penis, “don’t like to waste no seed. He wanna be deep up in that pussy hole when he’s ready to bust.”

  Onika nodded. She got on her knees, prepared to guzzle Nazier’s dick with enthusiasm and passion, giving him no choice but to quickly ejaculate. Her plan was delayed by her ringing cell phone. “Hold up,” she told Nazier, pulling the phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. She frowned at the screen, put it on vibrate, and tossed it on the mattress next to her clothes. Mr. Wheeler had better leave me the fuck alone while I’m handling my business.

  A few moments later, Nazier groaned and yanked his dick out of Onika’s mouth. He pushed her onto her back and roughly drove his saliva-slick dick into her aching vagina, quickly filling it with semen.

  Nazier got up and adjusted his clothes and then turned his back to Onika. He unzipped yet another secret pocket in his baggy sweatpants, then turned and faced Onika. “I ain’t giving out no more freebies tonight,” Nazier warned. Onika sucked her teeth, snatched up the plastic bags, dressed hurriedly and then rushed downstairs to rejoin the party.

  Running out of supply, Nazier left the crackhouse for about a half hour. When he returned Onika could see the bulging pockets that were filled with miniature plastic bags containing the object of her desire. Sexily, Onika sidled up to Nazier again.

  Nazier looked at her with contempt. “Man, you got to come at me with a better offer. I ain’t feeling you like that right now.”

  She presented her new cell phone.

  “Fuck outta here. I got about twenty phones,” Nazier barked. “You gon’ have to step up your game.”

  “Oh, my game is tight,” Onika bragged. “I got my whip parked around the corner on Third Street. But you gon’ have to come out of pocket if you want to rent my ride.”

  “You pushin’ something fly?”

  “Nah, just something to get around in.” She described Matt’s van. Nazier didn’t look impressed. “Well, fuck it. It’s more than you got. You ain’t pushin’ shit,” she reminded him. “Look, my van is sturdy and I just filled the tank. That’s a helluva deal.”

  Nazier nodded in agreement. “I can dig it. So, how long you gon’ let me hold it for?”

  “Couple hours,” Onika offered.

  Nazier tossed her four bags and Onika tossed him the keys to Matt’s van.

  When her drugs ran out, Onika auctioned off her cell phone to the highest bidder. Someone waved a ten-dollar-bill, and Onika quickly snatched it.

  Finally tapped out and possessing nothing else to sell, Onika felt angry at the world. Exhausted and hungry, she was ready to leave the drug den, but Nazier hadn’t returned with the van.

  Tired of waiting, she left the house, walked a half block, and flagged down a cab.

  CHAPTER 17

  Ordered by Onika to sex Puddin with his tongue, Matt had never felt so victimized or helpless in his life. Puddin had to be the most disgusting person he’d ever come into such intimate contact with. While straddling him, not only did the slovenly young woman dribble mayonnaise on Matt’s head and face, but she practically smothered him with the heft of her body. Disgust coursed through him, yet oddly, Matt felt his sluggish penis spring to life. Lapping Puddin’s juices, Matt closed his hand tightly around the base of his rigid shaft to prevent himself from ejaculating too quickly.

  “Oops!” Puddin exclaimed as a sudden burst of air was loudly expelled from her vagina into Matt’s open mouth. “My bad,” she apologized, but continued gyrating on his face. “Ain’t nothing but a pussy pop,” she casually explained. “You was workin’ that tongue so good, you had my pussy bubbling up and popping and carrying on.”

  Repelled, Matt bolted up, toppling Puddin off of him. Momentarily stunned, she lay flat on her back, arms splayed out on top of the air mattress. Matt couldn’t help but notice her heavy breasts and hard pink nipples that jutted outward. Inexplicably, revulsion turned to sexual desire.

  There was no mistaking the lust in Matt’s eyes. Puddin’s eyes shot down to his rising penis. Excited by Matt’s arousal, Puddin drew up her knees and slowly parted her fleshy thighs, flashing a pair of fat, pink pussy lips. “You wanna sex a big girl, Mr. Wheeler?”

  Matt consented with a grunt. Puddin pulled him on top of her and guided his small shaft into her soggy entrance. Incredibly, Matt stroked Puddin for ten minutes before his dick went soft.

  “Sit on my face,” he whispered urgently.

  Without hesitation, Puddin straddled him.

  “Can you do that thing again?” His perverted request embarrassed him, but he was desperate for assistance.

  “You want me to shoot off some more pussy farts?” Puddin asked, surprised.

  In his normal mindset, Matt would not be aroused by a gross bodily function, but Matt was not working with a rational mind when he opened his mouth wide, nodding his head in consent.

  Puddin lifted up slightly, arched her back, and sucked air into her vaginal canal.

  Amazingly, Matt was able to maintain an erection with Puddin. Though she possessed neither Onika’s bossy nature nor her predisposition to violence, there was something about her that made him rigid with desire. He supposed it was her big bosom and her crude behavior that kept his dick hard, motivating him to fuck her five times in a row.

  But that was hours ago and the pride he’d felt at his ability to perform like a young stud had dissipated. At present, Matt was worried sick about his van and pissed at himself, Onika, and Puddin.

  Puddin, oblivious to Matt’s anger and stress, was sprawled out on the air mattress, sound asleep and snoring loudly. The smell of sex permeated the bedroom.

  Though Matt felt that he’d done an admirable job of fucking Puddin’s brains out, he honestly couldn’t take credit for her being stretched out and dead to the world. She was in an Oxy stupor, which was fine with Matt. He would not have enjoyed being forced to make polite after-sex chit-chat after participating in such vulgarities with someone he found beneath contempt.

  Matt paced frantically back and forth from the kitchen to the living room. Every ten minutes or so, overwrought with anxiety, he’d slump down into the paint-splattered metal chair. Each time he heard the sound of tires rolling into the parking lot, he’d spring from the chair, and rush to the window, and peek through the blinds. Disappointment would escalate to rage, and as he again dialed Onika’s cell phone number, he would push the buttons with such force, he was surprised his phone didn’t sha
tter.

  Matt had already left a series of angry, urgent messages, but after another half hour had passed without hearing from her, Matt became so incensed he flipped open his phone again, this time intending to leave Onika a profanity-laced message. At that moment, his phone rang. His heart lifted in relief. But seeing his home number on the screen, he quickly turned off the phone and snapped it shut. He couldn’t deal with his wife. Not right now. He’d return her call when he’d retrieved his van and was headed toward Philly.

  How had he allowed Onika to get him into such a tight spot? What had he been thinking when he turned over the keys to his van to the reckless young girl? Filled with self disgust, Matt had to admit that he’d been thinking with the wrong head.

  His crew was stranded at the job and if he didn’t remedy the disastrous situation quickly, he could lose the contract he had with the Recovery House. Hell, he could lose his business if something happened to one of the men while left unsupervised. Imagining the worst-case scenario, Matt envisioned himself being hit with a lawsuit and losing everything he owned trying to pay off legal fees. Feeling a bad headache coming on, he removed his Eagles cap and anxiously rubbed his forehead.

  Suddenly, Matt heard the jangle of keys. With great relief, he jumped up and hurried to the living room.

  “Mr. Wheeler!” Onika shouted as she burst through the door. “You ain’t gon’ believe this shit.”

  Matt gawked at her. Terror gripped his heart.

  “Your van got jacked!”

  Matt’s stomach dropped. His frantic eyes searched Onika’s face for a sign that she was playing a prank.

  “Some doped-up young buck held a gun right up to the window. When he told me to give up the whip, I did what he said. I wasn’t tryin’ to argue with a nut aiming a gun in my face. Feel me?” she added, dashing Matt’s hopes that she was joking.

  Looking grim, Matt flipped open his cell. “I have to call the police.”

  “Wait a minute, Mr. Wheeler. We gotta get our story together before you drag the cops into this mess.”

  “Are you crazy! I’m not fabricating a story. I have to get my van back. Tonight!”

  “It ain’t like the cops are gon’ rush out and search for your van. They just gon’ make you file a report.”

  “Then I’ll file a report!” Matt retorted.

  “Yeah, but you’ll make out better if we go out and search for it. I think I know where it is.”

  “You do?” Matt exclaimed, marveling at the absurdity of the situation.

  “Uh-huh. The young buck who jacked it probably sold it to this drug dealer named Naz. I know where Naz sets up shop. Grab your coat, Mr. Wheeler; I got a cab waiting for us in the parking lot.”

  This was a matter for the police. But, too desperate to listen to the warning alarms that went off in his head, and against his better judgment, Matt followed Onika out the door.

  Onika sat up front with the driver while Matt situated himself in the rear.

  “Take us to Third and Ward,” she told the driver. The driver twisted around and took a look at Matt and then turned to Onika. “You owe me seven dollars. I’m not moving this cab until you pay.”

  Onika sucked her teeth. “Ain’t nobody trying to rob you.” She looked over her shoulder at Matt. “Give this nut the cab fare, Mr. Wheeler.”

  “I’m not a nut,” the cab driver said, sharpening his tone. “You’re very disrespectful. And why do you insist on sitting up front when I already told you it’s against regulations?”

  Onika flipped her hand at the driver and turned to Matt. “You got the money?”

  The situation was progressing from bad to worse. Helplessly, Matt groped in his pants pocket and extracted a ten.

  “Lemme hold your phone for a second, Mr. Wheeler. I need to call one of my peoples to see if anybody knows anything about your van.”

  Too distraught to even wonder why she didn’t make the call with her own phone, Matt listlessly handed Onika his phone. As luck would have it, Matt’s phone rang the minute it touched Onika’s hand. And Onika answered it as if the phone were her very own.

  “Some lady—your wife, I guess—wants to speak to you,” Onika nonchalantly told Matt. “Here you go, boo,” she said, handing the phone to Matt.

  Waving both hands and shaking his head in terror, Matt refused to speak with his wife.

  Onika repositioned the phone next to her ear. “Yo, we ’bout to get into something right now. He said he’ll call you back,” Onika told Regina and then disconnected the call.

  “Why’d you have to open your mouth? Why didn’t you just hang up?” Matt yelled at Onika.

  “Oh, now you wanna put that bitch in front of me! Fuck it, then. After we get your van back, you ain’t gotta worry about me no more.”

  Slouched in the backseat and deeply troubled, Matt tried to process the distressful situation. Before hooking up with Onika, he’d never cheated on his wife. He’d place his hand on a stack of Bibles and testify that his involvement with the rough, young girl was totally out of character; he’d been temporary insane.

  And it wasn’t his fault. Regina had been hounding him, telling him he needed to see a doctor, urging him to get medical help for his sexual dysfunction. It was a low blow to be told by your wife that you couldn’t satisfy her needs.

  Before Regina started complaining, he hadn’t paid Onika any attention. He was feeling less than a man when Onika first came on to him. When he couldn’t perform, she coerced him into giving her oral sex and that one taste turned out to be the magical elixir that solved his problem. In his heart, he hadn’t been trying to hurt Regina, he was simply trying to prove to himself that he was a real man. After tonight, he fully intended to leave Onika alone. He’d kick her out of the apartment and then try to figure out a way to break the lease without too much damage to his pockets.

  Regina! It pained him to think of her going through the phone book, searching for a divorce attorney. Matt shot daggers at the back of Onika’s head. Why’d she have to answer his phone? Onika had caused some major damage in his marriage and it would take a miracle to keep Regina from filing for divorce.

  The cab stopped in front of a house on Ward Street, and Matt could hardly believe his eyes. Parked at the curb was his van! “There it is!” Matt shouted.

  “Fall back, Mr. Wheeler. You better let me handle this. You don’t know nothin’ about the streets. I might have to bargain with Naz. How much cash can you come up with? Naz ain’t gon’ give you your van back for free.”

  “You sound like a lunatic. I’m not intimidated by some street thug!” Matt jumped out of the cab and rushed toward the driver’s side of his van.

  “Yo, dude. What’s your problem?” Nazier snapped in surprise when Matt suddenly yanked the door open.

  “This is my van, get the hell out!” Matt demanded, too indignant to fear the hardened younger man who was sitting in the driver’s seat of his van.

  “Aiight, money. But you ain’t gotta come at me like that. You lucky I ain’t pull out my burner.”

  “Get out of my van!” Seething, Matt spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Aiight, aiight.” Lazily, Nazier leaned over and reached for the handle to the glove compartment.

  Matt grabbed Nazier’s shirttail and yanked hard, forcing the young man’s fingers to slip off the handle. “Who do you think you are, rifling through my glove compartment? Get out!” Matt was amazed at the audacity of the young punk.

  Nazier twisted around. “Get the fuck off me,” he yelled as he fired a series of punches to Matt’s face and head.

  Stunned as he was by the unexpected, powerful blows, it took Matt a moment to comprehend what was happening. Then he fought back, swinging wildly, but doing no damage to the young hoodlum. Frustrated, Matt used all the strength he could muster and yanked Nazier out of the van. With Matt still holding on to Nazier’s shirt, the two scuffled until Matt mustered the strength to shove the drug dealer to the ground.

  With his opponent momentaril
y down, Matt swiftly jumped into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut, and locked it. As Matt revved the engine, Nazier scrambled to his feet, pointing fiercely and shouting epithets. Matt shot out of the parking spot and floored the accelerator.

  To hell with Onika and everyone associated with her. Speeding through the streets of Chester, Matt vowed to cancel the furniture delivery, evict Onika from the apartment, and never stray from home again. Somehow, he’d patch things up with him and Regina. Resuming a normal life with his wife would be heaven after the harrowing hell he’d experienced with Onika.

  Still speeding as he practiced the speech he’d give Regina, he was suddenly blinded by an array of flashing lights that filled his rearview mirror. The police. Damn, damn, damn! Matt pulled over, his brain in overdrive as he tried to figure out how to talk his way out of a speeding ticket.

  The police officer approached the van. Matt slid down the window. “Is there a problem?” he asked, grinning sheepishly.

  “License, registration, and insurance identification,” the officer said dryly.

  “Sure thing,” Matt said cheerily. He pulled open the glove compartment. His eyes widened in sheer disbelief. A gun lay next to a quart-sized, sealed plastic bag filled with what appeared to be a couple dozen small packs of crack. His heart dropped to his stomach. Time seemed suspended.

  “Hands up!” the cop bellowed. With his hands up and trembling, Matt turned toward the officer.

  “It’s not mine! I swear—” His mouth clamped shut as he gazed inside the barrel of the officer’s gun. One false move, a jerky, nervous reaction, and Matt knew he could instantly become a statistic, the victim of a trigger-happy cop, shot in self-defense for reaching for a loaded weapon. So Matt sat perfectly still, kept his hands where they could be seen, and waited for permission to speak. He was certain that after he told the cop about the harrowing evening he’d had, how he was forced to hunt down his stolen van, and had to resort to fist-fighting with a young thug to get the van back, after he explained to the cop that he was a law-abiding citizen with a business to run, there was no way he’d be detained on the side of the road for very long.