Dear Summer

by Elliott, K.

  again.

  “Damn, I like the way you hold this ass.”

  “That’s my ass.”

  She laughed. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well handle this ass then.” She lifted her shirt.

  Her pussy was dripping wet. He grabbed her hand and lead

  her to the sofa. He kicked his shoes off; his pants and his shirt came off at the same time. She dropped to her knees, pulling his member from his boxers.

  Inside he smiled and thought about how good the sex would be. She wrapped her lips around his dick quickly.

  “Yeah, baby I like that.”

  She looked up at him, and with the palm of her hand she gripped his balls gently. Pulling her lips away from his dick she teased him with her tongue.

  “Put your lips back on it, baby.”

  She looked up into his eyes. Giggling, she said, “Say please.”

  “Please baby! Please!”

  She took him in her mouth once more. Grabbing his dick she pulled it in and out of her mouth.

  She placed his hand on her breasts, then she began to finger herself. She moaned and his dick stiffened.

  The sound of his dick going in and out of her mouth sounded like a plunger unstopping a sink. She was trying to suck every inch of life out of his dick.

  “I want you to suck my balls.”

  “Yeah baby,” she said, and then licked his balls.

  He concentrated real hard; his mind on the beautiful woman below giving him spectacular oral sex, but he couldn’t seem to cum.

  “Cum, baby! I need you to cum all over me.”

  As hard as he tried, he couldn’t do it. He needed to be inside her. He pulled his penis out of her mouth. She stood up and he grabbed her legs, placing his tool in the middle. She screamed hard.

  “Yeah, baby. Fuck the shit outta me!”

  His hands slid from her legs to her ass. “This is my pussy.”

  “Yeah this is your pussy, Daddy.”

  “You like this dick don’t you? Yeah.”

  “Turn me over and pull my hair.”

  He put her down and turned her around. She bent over while standing, placing both hands on the sofa. He kept pounding away. Finally he slowed down.

  She looked back. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m about to cum.”

  “Cum inside me.”

  He didn’t want to cum inside her, but he didn’t want to take his dick out of that wet pussy either.

  “Pull my hair, Daddy.”

  He stroked her hair then yanked it, wrapping it around his hand. “Yeah.”

  “This is my pussy.”

  “Yeah, Daddy. I like when you talk dirty to me.”

  He slapped her ass, and when her cheeks jiggled it made his erection that much harder.

  Reaching between his legs she grabbed his balls and he exploded inside her.

  Chapter 26

  Scooter was doing about 72 miles-per-hour in a 65 when he got pulled. The cop, a young white guy, clean shaven and about 22-years-old, was looking at Scooter’s license. “I’m going to need you to step out of the car.”

  Scooter knew what that meant from years of experience. He knew they were going to search his car. He was dirty, of course, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle; only 25 pairs of counterfeit Nikes and some handbags. “I don’t understand, Officer. What did I do?” Scooter was trying his best to be polite.

  “Just step out the car, Mr. McKintosh.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  Seconds later the K-9 unit came, and a couple of plain-clothes

  of ficers.

  “I know y’all motherfuckers don’t think I’m no drug dealer,”

  Scooter said.

  A big black cop with a bald head ordered Scooter to step away

  from the car.

  Minutes later, they had his backseat on the street. The young

  cop handcuffed Scooter, throwing him to the ground, scuffing his

  white T-shirt and crisp Air Force Ones.

  “This is some bullshit!” Scooter yelled.

  “Mr. McKintosh, I smelled marijuana in your car,” the young

  cop said. “We’re going to do a quick search. If nothing turns up,

  you can go on about your business.”

  “How the fuck you gonna smell marijuana and I don’t even

  smoke?”

  “We will see.”

  “You wasting your fuckin’ time.”

  “Mr. McKintosh, could you just relax until we complete the

  search?”

  Scooter frowned. “You can’t tell me when to relax.” “One more word out you, we’re going to take you downtown

  for disorderly conduct.”

  “I don’t give a fuck,” Scooter said.

  The big cop with the bald head then stood Scooter and placed

  his hand underneath his chin, cutting off his blood circulation. He

  slammed him to the highway pavement as a car whisked by

  Scooter’s head in excess of 65 miles-per-hour.

  The K-9 officer was a red-headed man wearing a blue

  Charlotte Mecklenburg police coverall suit. His name tag read,

  Manning. He held tightly to the German Shepard as the dog

  explored the vehicle. The third row—25 boxes of Nikes and

  some knock off handbags. The rookie cop pushed that to the

  side. They would explore that later.

  After searching the back and the front seat, the dog turned

  up no drugs.

  “Mr. McKintosh, you were right. There are no drugs here,” the

  rookie cop said.

  “Why the fuck would I lie?” Scooter said.

  “But what we did find was these counterfeit Nikes and some

  Western Union receipts to China.”

  “So what? I ordered some things off the Internet. Big fuckin’

  deal.”

  The bald guy stood Scooter up again.

  “Yeah, counterfeit. This stuff is illegal,” the rookie cop said. Scooter looked the man in the eye. “So you gonna take me

  down for this bullshit?”

  “It’s illegal, Mr. McKintosh,” the black cop repeated. He then

  walked Scooter to the squad car.

  Scooter couldn’t believe that these cops were this fanatical

  over some damn Nikes. He thought about the Western Union

  receipt. He had sent thousands of dollars to China for counterfeit

  goods during the past three years. He knew that if they checked

  thoroughly, they would find it was not just an Internet buy, but a real illegal business that he had organized. He vowed he would never sell drugs again after he was released from the feds, and he had made thousands of dollars in the counterfeit goods game. He had sold knock-off cell phones, golf clubs, guitars...never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d be going down for this.

  ***** At the police station Scooter was in a familiar place—the interrogation room. He had been there many times before from the age of fourteen. He sat across from two detectives, a black and a white. He knew the routine so well. They would play against each other to get the results they needed. The white cop wore a plain white shirt with jeans, and had identified himself as Myles. The black cop wore jeans as well. He was a light skinned man; well built. He didn’t identify himself, nor did he smile. Myles started the conversation. “So you’re in the shoe business?”

  Scooter looked the man in his eyes. “Yeah, I sell shoes sometimes; a few pair here and there.”

  “The Western Union receipts were totaling about $30,000 this month.”

  “What’s your point?” Scooter said.

  The black cop still didn’t say anything. He placed a yellow legal pad on the desk. Then he placed his pen there. Scooter noticed that it read Drug Enforcement Agency. Scooter made up his mind, right there on the spot, that he wasn’t saying shit.

  Myles asked, “Do you know
selling counterfeit goods is illegal?”

  “Yeah,” Scooter said, not a hint of nervousness in his voice. He’d been in the interrogation room for far worse crimes then this. They weren’t going to break him.

  “Yeah, it’s a federal offense.”

  Scooter looked confused. “Yeah, but it’s not a serious charge.”

  “Anything federal is serious.”

  “Yeah, but it couldn’t carry much time—maybe none at all,” Scooter said confidently. The first time he was locked down he had been caught with two kilos of coke. He would gladly march into federal court for a few pair of counterfeit Nikes.

  The black cop finally spoke. “So, you’ve researched the guidelines?”

  “No…”

  “Okay. Well, let me tell you, if this were your first offense, you would be right. But guess what, it’s your third and we can consider you a career criminal.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am with the DEA.”

  “What the hell are you doing here anyway? I don’t sell drugs.”

  The man laughed, dug into his briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope then set it on top of the notebook.

  Scooter said, “I don’t want to see no pictures. I don’t know nobody.”

  “You want to do thirty years for some Nikes?”

  “I’m not telling you shit.”

  “Your problems are more serious than some stolen Nikes,” Myles said, smiling.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Myles pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his drawer—Pall Malls. He lit one then offered it to Scooter who turned it down.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Scooter asked again.

  “That nice Escalade of yours has been reported stolen.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Scooter said.

  “Who sold you the car?”

  “Hey. I don’t want to talk,” Scooter said, knowing the car was stolen.

  “Tommy sold you the car, huh Scooter?” said the black cop.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I watched him sell you the car.”

  “Watched who sell me what?”

  “Tommy Dupree sell you the Escalade.”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m Agent Mark Pratt of the DEA.”

  Scooter asked for a cigarette. Myles gave him one and lit it.

  “So you want to help us, Scooter?”

  He didn’t say anything. He just breathed heavily and blew two large smoke rings out. He wondered if Tommy had given him up. Had he set the other guy up? Scooter had talked to Tommy about knocking Q off. He wondered how much of this the feds knew. Scooter reached for the ashtray. Pratt picked up his pen. “So, you know how it works; the first one comes forward with the information gets the best deal.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you knew that the car was stolen why didn’t you bust us then?”

  “I didn’t know what was going on. I actually thought it was a drug deal.”

  “So what do you want to know?” Scooter said.

  “I want you to help me get Tommy.”

  “Get him for what?”

  “Anything. I want to know what he’s up to…is he selling drugs or what?”

  Scooter stubbed the cigarette out. “I don’t know anything.”

  ***** Scooter’s bail was set at $20,000. He bailed out. He had sixteen voice messages—fourteen of them were from J-Black, who wanted the money for the jobs he had completed. Scooter listened to the last message. “Yo Scooter, this is J, man. Y’all niggas are playing with my motherfuckin’ money. I’m telling you, man, if you don’t answer your phone, I’ma pay your mama’s house a visit and when I leave it ain’t gonna be good.” Scooter called Tommy.

  “Yo. What up, Scooter?”

  “Long night.”

  “What happened?”

  “I went to jail, nigga.”

  “For what?”

  “I need to talk to you in person, man.”

  Seconds passed by. “Is it serious?”

  “Yeah it really is.”

  Tommy sighed. “Okay. We can get together later tonight, maybe like nine.”

  “Cool. Also, that nigga J-Black been calling the shit out of me.

  I mean, I think he might have completed the job. He’s making threats and all kinds of shit about his money.”

  “Okay, bring him with you when we meet.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  ***** “Summer, this is bullshit and you know it,” T onya said, wheeling her BMW in and out of traffic. They were headed to the mall.

  “What’s bullshit?”

  “This shit talking about you not liking Q.”

  Summer didn’t say anything. She just continued to flip through an Essence magazine with Nia Long on the cover.

  “Shit sounds like it’s getting serious to me.”

  Summer looked up from the magazine. “I mean, he’s just a booty call.”

  “But you like this booty call.”

  “You know what I like? I like his confidence.”

  “Yeah, and I know it don’t hurt that he’s a bad boy, too.”

  “Well, you know I like a little thug in them.”

  “What’s up with Tommy?”

  “The last time I talked to him he was pretty upset that his pops had stolen some money from him.”

  “Wait a minute. I thought his pops was rich…thought he had inherited some money or something.”

  “No, he was paid some money because he was falsely imprisoned.”

  “What happened to the money?”

  “Tommy said he’s on drugs.”

  “It’s a damn shame to see black people come into money then don’t know how to act when they get it.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  Tonya turned into the mall parking lot and put the car in park. When both women were out of the car, Tonya asked, “So, is it over for you and Tommy?”

  “Over? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  They reached the door of the Nordstrom’s department store. Tonya stepped inside first. When Summer was inside, she said, “We were never together.”

  “Yeah, but he was kind of like ya man.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He was the closest thing you had to a man, that’s what I mean. He was kind of like ya man.”

  “I guess so,” Summer said. She walked to the women’s department and picked up a pair of black skinny jeans. She liked them, and wondered if Q would too.

  “So, you know Tommy likes you.”

  Ignoring Tonya’s last sentence Summer said, “Do you think these jeans will make my butt look big?”

  “Get a size smaller,” Tonya said.

  Summer put the jeans on the rack and grabbed a size 6. She was really a size 8.

  She always wanted to make sure her ass looked spectacular, even if it meant being a little uncomfortable.

  “Summer, what are you going to do about that man’s feelings?”

  “That man has a live-in girlfriend.”

  “I know he does, but he still considers you his girl.”

  “I don’t belong to nobody but Bobby Lee and Veronica, and they live in Missouri City, Texas.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Summer flagged a salesperson and asked to be let into the dressing room. She wasn’t in the mood to talk about Tommy. She stepped into the dressing room and stepped out with the jeans shellacked to her ass. “What you think?”

  “I like them,” Tonya said.

  “Yeah. I need to pick out a blouse and a nice pair of heels to wear with these.”

  “So, which one of your men are you trying to dress up for, Tommy or Q?”

  “Why you keep talking about Tommy?”

  “Because you know that man love you, Summer. And it seems like it’s started to get serious with this Q guy.”

  Summer knew Tonya was right, and
she knew that eventually she would have to tell Tommy about Q. She remembered the last time he visited and how she had to warn him not to show up at her apartment. He had acted a little suspicious. “So what do you think I should tell him?”

  “Summer, do you think this Q guy is better for you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you think that he’d do the things that Tommy has done for you? Do you think he’d be the kind of friend Tommy is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you like him don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Summer said, walking over to a rack of blouses. She wondered could she really depend on him. Tommy had proven himself time and time again.

  Chapter 27

  W

  hen Summer got home, she pulled her Blackberry from her purse because it was vibrating. The caller ID said Tommy. At the last moment, Summer said, “Hey, baby!” “Who the hell is this?” a female voice asked. She knew that it was Tommy’s live-in, Angie. She wanted to hang up in the woman’s ear, but she didn’t.

  “Who the hell is this?” the voice repeated.

  “My name is Summer,” she said as she laid across her bed. She could hear pain in the woman’s voice.

  “What the hell are you doing texting Tommy?”

  Summer contemplated. She hadn’t text Tommy in a while. Tommy must have had old messages on his phone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m sure you don’t. Just to let you know, Tommy is mine and he ain’t going no where.”

  Who did this bitch think she was? She certainly didn’t intimidate Summer. She wanted to laugh in the woman’s face but she kept her cool. “Tommy’s your man…really?”

  “Yes, my fiancé.”

  Though Summer was now sleeping with Q, she became furious, not because what Angie said, but because it was obvious Tommy had been promising that he was going to marry this woman.

  “Yeah. We’re getting married next year.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Just call me the side bitch,” Summer giggled.

  “Leave him the fuck alone.”

  “Who the fuck are you to tell me to leave anybody alone?” “I’m his future wife.”

  “Hmph. That ain’t what he told me.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “He ain’t tell me nothing about you, that’s for damn sure.” “Really?”