Indecent Cravings

by S. K. Cross

  She’s been egging me on for months, telling me about how much happier I’ll be down here.

  “You are so gorgeous!” she says in a practiced girly voice that betrays her genetic gender.

  “You too!”

  “Carousel is downstairs to get your case.”

  “Oh, I don’t have one. This is it.”

  “That little carry-on?”

  I pat my purse with its secret debit card. “I . . . uh . . . plan on buying some new stuff here.”

  “Okay, let’s go then.”

  She leads me to the parking garage. The heat is un-fucking-believable. I feel like I’m in a saucepan simmering on low. We reach her red 1997 VW Jetta. Well, it’s kinda red, anyway. There are splotches of orange here and there . . . and one door that’s solid black. Two tires are missing hubcaps.

  “Don’t look at my car!” she says. “I’m saving up for a new one. This one only cost me one night of tips.”

  “Okay.” I get in.

  “AC doesn’t work, but I don’t live too far away. Besides, you got to get tempered.”

  “Oh, I’m already tempered, thanks. I think my sweat is sweating.”

  “Welcome to South Florida in July, babycakes.”

  We get on I-95, the same I-95 that passes by Concord, Massachusetts but totally unlike that I-95. This one is several hundred lanes wide with more cars than I’ve ever seen in one place, all nearly stopped except for the ones way over to the left in the Express Lanes.

  “This will clear up soon,” says Karissa.

  “Okay.” Not holding my breath, though.

  “How was your flight?”

  I feel a tug inside my white pants as my clit remembers the firm friction of Mr. Ray-Ban’s thigh. “Um . . . interesting. There was this guy . . .”

  “Oh, girl! Don’t tell me you’ve joined the Mile-High Club!”

  Oh wow, I hadn’t thought about that. Does it count? “Not really.”

  “What did he look like?” A gray, low-slung Acura pounding out bass beats cuts us off. Karissa honks the horn and shoves her middle finger out the window. “Maldito cabron! Mamame la Ñema!” The driver flips her off and shouts back something in Spanish. She turns back to me like nothing happened. “So?”

  I realize I’m holding my breath. “So?”

  “So what did this man you fucked on the plane look like?”

  “I didn’t fuck him. Well, not really. I sort of fell on him and in doing so I, uh . . . came.”

  “You came? What, did he at least finger you?”

  “Not even. I just fell on his thigh and pffft!”

  Karissa smiles a big smile at me. “Girl, you been stuck up in that cold hell zone for too long. You got some fire in you to let out.”

  “Yeah, you may be right.”

  Five hundred years and ten gallons of sweat later, we pull up to Karissa’s building. She gets out. I’m not sure if it’s me or my clothes that have chemically bonded with the old leather seat. I peel myself out carefully. There isn’t a part of me that’s not soaked.

  “What’s that smell?” I say.

  “What smell?”

  “I don’t know. It’s everywhere. At the airport. Here. It’s kind of like mildew or jasmine. Jasmine-y mildew.”

  Karissa sniffs. “I don’t smell anything.”

  “Huh.”

  Carissa lives in a second-floor apartment a few blocks west of US-1 in an old cinderblock complex made up of two, two-story, rectangular, gray buildings with a courtyard in the center. It looks like in better days, it was a rundown motel. The name stenciled on the rotting, second floor, outdoor walkway connecting the two buildings reads Clarion Towers.

  Towers? Since when does two stories make a tower? Kids’ toys and rusting barbecue grills are scattered in the courtyard, which is filled with spotty grass.

  Hm.

  This is where I’m going to be staying, huh? Shit, I should have done a Street View on Google Maps before agreeing to stay here.

  I make a mental note to find another place fast, even though Karissa said I could stay as long as I want.

  “Don’t worry,” she says, “it’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “Yeah, you also said the traffic would clear up fast.”

  “And I was right!”

  “Oh.”

  The heat hits me again as we walk to the stairs. It’s like a steamy whack in the face that never stops slapping you. Wow. I can’t wait for it to cool down once the sun sets.

  “Does it cool down when the sun sets?” I say.

  “No, honey. It cools down in December.”

  “Oh.”

  Karissa’s place is on the second floor toward the back. An old man with a white beard and a big stomach over what looks like a towel stares up at me from his cheap plastic white chair.

  “Don’t mind him,” says Karissa. “He never moves. Be there all day. You could go up and poke him and he wouldn’t get up. Swear he doesn’t even eat.”

  Once inside in the air conditioning, I take a deep breath. Oh God, that feels good. But the smell is still thick. It’s not unpleasant, just different. What the fuck is it? And why can’t Karissa smell it?

  Karissa’s place is surprisingly neat and clean, thank God. If I saw stuff strewn all over, I think I may have run to a hotel.

  The countertop and cabinets in the kitchen are cheap, but new. A round, white plastic table with two matching chairs graces the dining spot. The couch is a black fold-out that I expect my lower back to hate. There is a black, plastic coffee table and a flat-screen TV on a black, plastic stand.

  Hm.

  “I know it’s small,” she continues. “And I know it ain’t Palm Beach, but I’m working on it, honey. I’m going to be rich, you know. This ass of mine is going to make me money.”

  She shakes her butt at me and places her hands on her hips. I chuckle.

  “Mind if I shower before I do anything else?” I say.

  “Wash off the taste of your airplane man?”

  “Something like that.”

  The shower is old, but not rotting. By the time I emerge in my panties, it’s nearly three in the afternoon. Too early for dinner, even though I’m ravenously hungry.

  “Oooh, baby,” says Karissa as she gazes at my chunky thighs and nowhere-near flat tummy. My hands go up to cover myself as I move toward my suitcase to grab a pair of shorts and a top.

  “Yeah, right,” I say. “I have to get into a gym and out into the sun. Look at this whiter than white flabby skin.”

  “Un-uh, girl, you sexy. You just don’t see it. And you a natural blonde, too. Mmm-mmm.”

  For a split second, I see the genetic male in Karissa. The look she’s giving me is horny teenage boy.

  I can’t help it. A nudge of intensity flushes through me, causing my clit to wake up, yawn, and stretch. My girl’s cock-detector has gone off, even if the cock in question hides under a coral dress. I gotta admit, there’s something incredibly hot about Karissa. I’ve never had sex with a girl. Not that Karissa is a girl. But she is. And yet she’s not. I don’t know. Me and my pussy are confused. And intrigued.

  But yeah, in that moment I realize I’d like to try a girl. Like Karissa. A girl with a cock. Fucking me.

  God, maybe I am just a slut.

  I get my clothes on and turn to Karissa. “So what’s on the agenda?”

  “Mojitos!” she says.

  “But it’s only three in the afternoon.”

  “Girl, you on vacation. It’s always time for a drink on vacation!”

  Now, this part I could get used to.

  Chapter 3

  We’re at the Mandarin Oriental on Brickell Key, sitting outdoors on the deck looking at the water and the skyscrapers. I’m sweating again. I’m sitting fucking still and I’m sweating! I feel like I need another shower. Not sure if I’m into this furnace shit. Karissa doesn’t even seem to notice.

  I sip my mojito. Damn, that’s strong! That’ll make me forget the heat.

  “Mmm-mmm,
look at him,” she says, ogling a tall shirtless guy with a chiseled chin and defined muscles sunbathing. “Bet he’d like my cock in his ass.” I laugh. “What are you laughing at?”

  “You’re even funnier in person,” I say.

  “I tell it like it is. Most guys want to try a dick in the bum, but they won’t admit it. Most love it when they let go all that ‘people-will-think-I’m-gay’ bullshit.”

  My logical brain tries to wrap itself around that statement, but the mojito gets in the way.

  “Your current boyfriend likes it?”

  “Ha! Jaxon won’t have it any other way now.” I laugh again and take another sip. “It took time, though. I let him top me the first few times but then I slowly got all up into him. Now he’s my bottom bitch, the way I like it.”

  “So you’re the man?”

  “Hell no, honey. I’m the girl. He still the dominant one. I just do the inserting, that’s all.”

  “This is so cool. I could never have this conversation with anyone back home. You have no idea. Everybody up there has sticks up their asses too, but not in a fun way.”

  “Isn’t that where gay marriage started?”

  “Oh, as long as it’s a social justice issue, it’s all cool. But when it comes to actually talking about sexy fun, everybody says ‘ewwwww.’”

  “Nobody say ‘ewwwww’ down here. They say ‘oooooh,’ as in ‘oooooh that’s good . . . don’t stop.’”

  I laugh again. I think I love this girl.

  I finish my mojito and motion for another one to the waitress.

  “You should stay,” says Karissa. “Maybe look for a job.”

  “Funny you should mention that. I have a . . . uh . . . secret plan to do just that.”

  “Oh, you should! We’ll have a great time! I’ll get you all loosened up, don’t you worry.”

  “Can I work in your place?”

  “At the strip club? Sorry, honey, where I work you need a cock. And not just any cock. A big one like mine.”

  The waitress places a new mojito in front of me. I take another sip. Holy fuck, even stronger. My buzz is buzzing. “So, I’m thinking I’ll maybe waitress somewhere until I figure out my next move. Maybe around here, or South Beach. That’s behind us over there, right?”

  “I don’t know if you noticed, but I live on the other side of hell. How will you get to South Beach from my place?”

  “Um, is there a bus?”

  “There is, but make sure you carry a weapon.”

  “Well, I’ll just get a job there and then find a place around here to live.”

  Karissa frowns. “Apartments expensive out here.”

  I pat my purse again. When the $100,000 plopped into the account two weeks ago, I knew I had to make this move. I just wish I could forget how it got there and what happened to Zander because of it.

  “I’m following your lead,” I say as I raise my mojito. “My ass is going to get me rich down here, too.”

  Karissa lifts her glass and clinks mine. “To our asses.”

  “To our asses.”

  Two stunning girls in tiny bikinis scream by on roller skates holding hands.

  “Damn,” says Carissa. “Wouldn’t mind being in the middle of that tittie sandwich.”

  I nearly choke, then laugh. “Oh right. You like girls, too. I forgot.”

  She turns and looks at me with a devilish smile. “Honey, I love dick, pussy, and ass. Everybody got at least two of those.”

  Chapter 4

  “I’m thinking of switching my name to something sexier,” I say. Although “switching” comes out as swishing. That’s what two atomic mojitos will do to you on an empty stomach.

  We’re back at Karissa’s apartment. Her boyfriend Jaxon is coming home from work to shower. Then we’ll get dinner at some expensive restaurant named Bogart.

  “Switch your name to what?” says Karissa.

  “I don’t know. Abigail Trowbridge is so stuffy, so hoity-toity. Sounds like I have a yacht in Newport and another one in Palm Beach. Down here¸ I want to be someone else.”

  “How about a porn star name?”

  “Like what?”

  “Alexis.”

  I laugh. “Alexis Texas.”

  “Yeah. Or Tori, like Tori Black. You could be Tori White.”

  The alcohol makes me laugh again. “Jayden Jaymes.”

  “How about combining two names? Tera Brooke. Mia Jameson. Oh, I know . . . Jayden Raye.”

  “Oooohhh . . . I like that. Jayden Raye. I’m Jayden Raye, porn star. Sexxxy. Jayd for short.”

  There is a knock at the door. Karissa gets up and opens it, revealing a sweaty, studly, dark-haired Adonis in a cowboy hat, ripped gray T-shirt, jeans, and work boots. His arms are covered in tattoos. I reach down and pick my tongue up off the floor. His shoulder muscles bulge through the shirt, a tribal design pulsing along the striations. My pussy screams hell yeah!

  “Jaxon,” says Karissa. “This is Abigai . . . no, I mean Jayden.”

  “Jayd for short,” I say.

  “Nice to meet you, Jayd for short,” says Jaxon in a deep Southern drawl that sends vibrations straight past my entrance to the inner walls.

  He puts out his hand and touches mine. Hot damn.

  “Snice,” I say. “Um, I mean, um, it’s nice to meet you. Sorry, I’ve had a couple of mojibos.”

  “Mojitos,” says Karissa.

  I feel my face turning fifty shades of red as he and Karissa both stare at me.

  “She been drinking,” says Karissa.

  “That’s how I like my new girls,” he says as he closes the door behind him and kisses Karissa on the lips. What the fuck does that mean? “I’m going to grab a beer and shower up.”

  “Sure, boo.”

  “Okay.”

  The kitchen furniture seems to move out of his way as he walks to the refrigerator, removes a beer, opens it, takes a swig, and then smiles at me.

  Yeah, it’s one of those smiles. Straight to the cunt. Shit, I need some cock soon or somebody’s getting jumped.

  Once he’s in the bathroom and the shower is running, I turn to Karissa and take both her hands in mine.

  “Omigod, omigod, omigod! Your b.f. is a hottie. Damn, girl, you done good!”

  “Told you,” she says. “Now you know why I keep him a secret. Not that it matters anymore. My teeth are firmly implanted in him.”

  “You are a lucky girl.”

  “You going to be a lucky girl too. In no time.”

  “I hope so.”

  Once Jaxon is done showering, we get in his truck, which is slightly larger than Rhode Island, and head to Ocean Drive.

  I feel like a third wheel with them. And yet not. He seems very straight. And why not? Karissa is a girl . . . even though she’s told me her cock is two inches longer than his. But she’s a girl. I remind myself to stop over-thinking everything and just try to have a good time on my first night in my new life in Florida.

  Like she heard me, my mom calls. I wonder if she knows I’m gone yet. Did she come by my apartment in Newton?

  I stare at the word “Mom” on my screen and watch as it goes to voicemail. Can’t deal with her shit now. No, not right now. I’m having fun . . . and I’m a little drunk.

  I laugh.

  Karissa looks back at me from the front seat. “You okay?”

  “Better than ever,” I say. “Hey, isn’t that the hotel from Scarface? You know, the chainsaw scene.”

  “Don’t know. We don’t come over here that often. Too expensive. But we celebrating and I got a two-hundred dollar tip last week so tonight’s on me.”

  “Oh no it isn’t!”

  “Oh yes it is.”

  Jaxon drops us off in front of a restaurant with a low awning, then drives off to park his truck.

  “Table for three,” says Karissa to the chestnut-haired girl with the thick lips in the tight shorts with the round ass who greets us.

  I don’t know if it’s the vibe, the heat, or the gender-bende
r influence all around, but I seriously want to climb up that tight little ass in black tights as it sways us to our table. She even bends over as she puts the menus down, exposing the top of her luscious crack.

  Oh yeah!

  She shoots me a smile as she walks away. Back home, girls like her roll their eyes at me, or laugh at me.

  “The vibe is different down here,” I say.

  “You noticed,” says Karissa.

  A waiter named Javier comes by in an all-black outfit. He has dark eyebrows, dark eyes, and slicked back black hair.

  “Hello, ladies,” he says in an accent that would put Antonio Banderas to shame, muscles bulging out all over the place. God, even his wrists are thick.

  “Good evening,” says Karissa.

  Javier shoots her a knowing smile loaded with suggestion. She flips her thick lustrous black hair and adjusts her dress. Her legs are stunning. I catch myself staring at them. Then, my gaze travels to Javier’s crotch where I swear I make out a short but thick one.

  “And what would you like?” says Javier.

  A short but thick one is on my lips, but then I realize that Karissa ordered a drink and I didn’t even hear her, what with the legs and crotches all around. Whew, is it hot in here?

  “She’ll have the same,” says Karissa.

  I just nod. Javier nods, shooting me a smile loaded with pulsating manliness, and disappears. I picture impaling myself on him when he returns.

  “What did I just agree to having?” I say.

  “A glass of wine. You need to take it easy . . . I think those mojitos went straight to your head.”

  “I’m not sure that’s exactly where they went.”

  Karissa leans forward and whispers, “So tell me, have you ever been with a girl with a cock?”

  My head spins. Not that I don’t know the answer, which is a definite no, but I’m such a horndog at the moment that the very thought is lighting up brush fires inside me.

  “Um . . . no.”

  “How about a GG?”

  “A what?”

  “A genetic girl. Have you ever tasted pussy?”

  I blush. “Once,” I lie.

  “Ooooh. What did you think?”

  “I loved it.” That was convincing, wasn’t it?