Sexual Healing

by Allison Hobbs

  “Depends,” Cruze responded.

  “I’m hosting a party at Club Seduction and you’re invited to join me in the VIP. Along with Bret and some of my other friends.”

  “Yeah, man. I’ll stop through,” Cruze said absently as his eyes roved around the gym, watching the happy expressions on the faces of his team. The boys were still soaking in the love from family and friends and Cruze felt a sense of accomplishment knowing he was making a difference in young lives.

  “Yo, I’m co-hosting with this stripper bitch from L.A. who’s like a social media goddess,” Marquan continued. “The place is going to be bananas, and . . .”

  As Marquan’s voice droned on, Cruze tuned him out and retreated inside his mind, sending loving thoughts up to his mom, whom he knew was looking down on him and feeling pride now that he was finally doing something worthwhile with his life.

  He smiled inside. For you, Mom.

  Fourteen

  Saturday morning, Cruze’s eyes were glued to his tablet. The reporter had given a commendable play-by-play accounting of last night’s nail-biting game. There was a poignant photo of Barack dunking on the opponent. The image was a testament of his hard work. The camera had managed to not only catch his amazing high-jump, but also captured droplets of perspiration that had been flung from his body and seemed temporarily suspended in midair.

  The ref had allowed those lil’ West Philly knuckleheads to get away with way too many violations during the first half, but Cruze’s boys had miraculously pulled off a win, sparing him the embarrassment of losing in front of a full house of spectators, press, and vising sports icons like Marquan Naylor.

  He decided to reward the team with pizza or dinner at Red Lobster after next Friday’s game. Win or lose, as long as they continued to put their hearts into the game, he’d treat them to a special outing at least once a month. Most of his boys didn’t get many opportunities to leave their neighborhoods, and even though a joint like Red Lobster wasn’t a big deal to most people, the boys would enjoy it.

  Wanting the kids to benefit from every possible opportunity, Cruze had been looking into a summer basketball camp that was located in the Poconos mountains. It was pretty expensive, and although only a few of the boys made good enough grades to qualify for a scholarship into the program, Cruze wanted the entire team to reap the benefits of mingling with kids in a more diverse setting. He’d have to have a talk with Bret and see if there was a way to get additional funding. If not, Cruze wasn’t opposed to anonymously paying the fee for all the boys.

  He’d never imagined that working with children would be so rewarding. But their moms, though. Many of the team mothers had wheedled Cruze’s personal number from him under the pretense of wanting to be able to check on their sons when they traveled to away games. Some of the quietest, most polite moms were off-the-chain, undercover freaks.

  Cruze laughed, thinking about some of the nasty text messages he’d been receiving from quite a few of the boys’ mothers. Not to mention the wet pussy pics, naked asses, and bare titties that had started popping up on his phone. Some of the more sexually adventurous women had sent him videos of themselves cumming while playing in their pussies. A few sent videos of them sucking and fucking their boyfriends, husbands, or whomever.

  One mom named Tanji was a tall and shapely chocolate chick. Every time Cruze saw her, her hair was fixed in an elaborate style with a different vibrant color. It was hot pink one day and neon green the next. Tanji had sent him several videos of her letting some short, muscular dude power-fuck her in the ass. Dude was bulked up like he was straight out of prison. In each video, he rammed the shit out of that bitch’s asshole, and not once had Cruze seen him go anywhere near the pussy.

  But the videos were hot, and Cruze had jacked off to Tanji’s anal escapades numerous times. He personally had no problem sliding his cock between a pair of fluffy ass cheeks, but he’d be damned if he’d devote every dick stroke to a booty hole. He needed to feel a juicy pussy with a good grip, clenching and strangling the shit out his thickness.

  With the moms on the team keeping Cruze supplied with good, ol’ homemade, authentic porn, he no longer had to visit the boring sex sites he used to frequent.

  Still, the moms were starting to go overboard, and pretty soon he was going to have to check their asses and tell them they had to chill. Although many of them looked extremely fuckable, there wasn’t a chance in hell that he would disrespect any team member by smashing his mom.

  Returning his gaze to his iPad, Cruze went back to the article about his team’s win. He was proud and pleased that the journalist had referred to Barack as a young basketball phenomenon and someone to watch.

  As his eyes scanned downward, Cruze let out an audible groan. Damned if there wasn’t a big-ass photo of him, Bret, and Marquan kicking it together on the court after the game. He’d clearly told those journalistic sons of bitches not to take any pictures of him. He’d told them to focus their camera lenses on the team, but one of those sneaky bastards had caught him in a candid shot and had also identified him beneath the picture with his full government name.

  Goddamn! Cruze could only hope that the people who would like to put him six feet under didn’t have the kind of idle time that allowed them to be trolling the Internet and perusing a Philadelphia African American newspaper. What were the odds of his enemies seeing that particular article? Slim to none, Cruze convinced himself.

  But he was still pissed.

  And in order to relieve his aggravation, he needed to get up into some intestines. Sadly, his fuck-buddy, Laila, was all the way in New York. He had no problem driving there real quick, but it wouldn’t be easy to get in and out like he needed to. Once Laila’s clingy, needy ass had him behind closed doors, she’d do everything in her power to try to keep him there. Let me fix you something to eat. You want a massage? Wanna watch a movie? He didn’t have time for any of that shit after he’d nutted real good. Besides having to duck killers, the other reason he couldn’t linger in New York was that he had accepted Marquan’s invitation to be his guest at Club Seduction.

  So, dropping in on Laila for a quick fuck was out of the question.

  It was fucked up that he’d burned all his bridges with the Philly chicks he’d smashed since relocating here. It wasn’t that he was a bad guy. The problem was the way the women had all tried to pressure him into a committed relationship immediately after he’d gutted them for the first time.

  Anxious and aggravated over his picture being in the paper, Cruze was horny enough to forget about his moral code and make a call to Take-It-Up-The-Ass Tanji—or one of the other moms on the team. But nah, as a coach, he couldn’t fuck with any of the team moms. It wasn’t fair to their sons.

  He pondered the situation, and concluded that the most convenient piece of pussy available to him was his nutty neighbor across the hall. His dick was throbbing so bad, he was close to trekking over to the Hamiltons’ apartment and banging on their door. If the dumb husband answered, Cruze would simply ask if he could speak to Valentina—alone. There was no doubt in his mind that the jackass would deliver his wife right into Cruze’s horny clutches.

  In the mood to pound Valentina’s pussy until the bitch’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, he gave his pulsing dick a gentle squeeze and massaged it a little. Then he advanced toward the door with his dick hard as a brick as he pictured grabbing that snobby slut by the hair and dragging her back to his place.

  No sooner had he placed his hand on the knob when his phone pinged. He looked at the screen and smiled when he saw that a new video had come through from Tanji. He pressed play and was delighted to see Tanji, the prison dude, and a lil’ shorty with long blue hair, naked on the screen.

  A threesome! Shit, yeah! He unzipped his pants, took out his throbbing dick, and dropped into a chair. His sex drive was off the chain and had been that way since back in the day when Ramona had first t
urned his young ass out.

  • • •

  “I ain’t no kid, so why you always playing?” Cruze’s nostrils flared and his eyes flashed with anger.

  “I don’t know why you getting mad at me. I didn’t put you on a curfew,” Ramona said saucily.

  “Fuck that curfew. I can come and go as I please.”

  Ramona ran a hand through her long hair, smoothing it into place. “Until you can support yourself, you have to follow Miss Beverly’s rules.”

  “I can support myself. My boy got me a job lined up at Blockbuster, but I can’t go in for the interview until his supervisor gets back from vacation.”

  “How much you gon’ make working at Blockbuster?” Ramona asked with her lips twisted in disapproval.

  “Minimum wage, but that’s better than nothing.”

  “Umph,” she grunted in disgust. “You gon’ end up with next to nothing after they take the taxes out of that little bit of money. It wouldn’t be me workin’ at no Blockbuster. Boy, you need to do something that pays under the table.”

  “Like what?”

  Ramona stared at him long and hard.

  “What?” he repeated, holding out his hands.

  “You need to get your butt out on the block like everybody else. If you want, I can help you get your first package.”

  “You talkin’ about selling drugs?” Cruze scowled and looked at Ramona like she had sprouted an extra head.

  “What? You too good to sell drugs?”

  “It’s not that, but . . .”

  “But, what?”

  “When my mom was on her deathbed, I promised her I would never sling drugs, and I can’t go back on my word.” Cruze wore a pained expression as he stared off in the distance.

  Ramona let out a sigh. “Do you think your moms would expect you to keep that promise if she knew how hard it’s been on you having to live in a bunch of different foster homes over the years?”

  Feeling pressured, Cruze wiped sweat from his brow. “You don’t understand, Mo. My mom didn’t play when it came to her son selling drugs. And I can’t break my promise . . . I just can’t, man.”

  “I’m just saying . . . your mom ain’t here to protect or provide for you. And your ass is too old to be rocking bobos and wearing secondhand clothes that don’t fit your tall ass right.”

  Cruze winced as if he’d been slapped. “So, what you saying, you ashamed of the way I dress? Is that why you only sneak around with me after dark?”

  “We have to sneak around because you’re an underage ward of the state, and I’m a twenty-four-old woman. I’m not tryna do time for fucking around with you. So, you goddamn right I’ma keep it on the low ’til you’re legitimate and living on your own.” Ramona suddenly shot Cruze a curious look. “What happens after you turn eighteen? Do you get housing and a check or something to help you get on your feet?”

  Cruze shrugged. “Nah, not really.”

  “So what do they do for you?”

  “Nothing that I know of.”

  “That’s crazy. So they just gon’ put you out on the streets?”

  He lifted his shoulders again.

  “Boy, you crazy if you just sit back and wait for Miss Beverly to take back her house key.”

  Cruze smiled sheepishly. “I was hoping I could stay with you.”

  Ramona turned up the corner of her lip. “Fuck if I’m taking care of your big, grown ass.”

  “I’ll be working by then.”

  “Right. Making minimum wage at Blockbuster—before taxes. I don’t know how you gon’ support yourself off that lil’ bit of dough,” she muttered bitterly.

  Cruze let out a groan of distress. He jumped up and started putting on his pants. “Okay, fuck it. Instead of throwing slurs, why don’t you just admit you don’t want to be bothered with my broke ass. Tell me the truth, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  Ramona patted the bed. “Sit down, Cruze.”

  “Nah, I’m good.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “I’m waiting for you to tell me it’s over.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Say it, Mo, and I promise you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  Ramona rolled her eyes and sighed. “Cruze, it’s not that I want to break up, but you need to understand that sometimes in life, we have to do things we don’t want to do. Do you think I enjoy going to the strip club and letting niggas paw all over me? I hate it. But I do what I gotta do to pay the bills and survive.”

  Cruze furrowed his brows. “Whatchu mean by ‘paw all over you’? I thought you danced on a stage and niggas threw money at you. You never mentioned that muhfuckas was rubbin’ and touchin’ on you.”

  “I do dance on stage for tips, but that’s only part of my job. Sometimes I have to do a little extra.”

  “Extra like what? I know you ain’t tricking, are you?”

  She frowned. “Lil’ nigga, please. I ain’t trickin’ shit. But a bitch got bills, so if a man wants a lap dance, then that’s what I give him. It’s when they start tryna feel all up on my titties and ass that I have a problem.”

  Visibly distressed, Cruze cursed and palmed his head. “Yo, word is bond. I’ll fuckin’ kill a muhfucka for putting his hands on my girl.”

  Ramona looked at Cruze intently and then eased off the bed. Naked, she paced over to him and looped her arms around his neck. “I’ve been dancing since I was eighteen. That’s a long time to be waiting for someone to come along and take me out of the strip club. I only have one question to ask you, baby.” She eased up on the balls of her feet and pressed a kiss against the corner of Cruze’s mouth. Then eyed him intently. “Is that man going to be you?”

  With a troubled expression, Cruze matched her stare, nodding his head. “Yeah, Mo, I got you. I’ll do whatever I gotta do to get you the fuck up outta there. I mean that shit, girl. On e’rything.”

  Fifteen

  Saturday night, Arabia stepped from the town car in front of Club Seduction—a trendy Philadelphia nightclub on Sansom Street, and for a moment she stood there at the curb taking in her surroundings, while allowing onlookers to take in her.

  Swathed in red—the color of seduction and sin. The fabric of her slinky dress clung dangerously to her body, outlining every single curve and dip of her voluptuous five-nine frame, cinching at the waist, then flaring out. Its hem fell a few inches from her ass cheeks, showcasing her long, sultry legs while leaving very little to the imagination. Beneath it, she wore a red lace thong.

  It was nights like this—nights of prowling—when she was most bold, daring. And it showed in her dress, in her walk. It oozed from her pores. It swirled around her. Heat and passion and animalistic need hummed through her body.

  A sensual club beat pulsed, spilling out into the night air every time the door opened, as partygoers eager to get inside stood in a line that extended down the sidewalk and wrapped around almost two blocks. Arabia was damned if she’d be standing in that. She waited on nothing, or no one.

  She hadn’t known of the club until two hours ago, when she’d asked the six-foot, twenty-something-year-old man/child behind the Marriott’s concierge desk for a list of clubs in the City of Brotherly Love. He’d eyed her slowly, before licking his lips, then ticking off a list of hotspots. Nothing had stuck out until he rattled off this one. Club Seduction. Mmm—yes. How apropos, considering she was feeling seductive tonight. And she wanted something hot and dirty.

  Hell, after the bomb Eric had dropped on her yesterday—what an inconsiderate asshole—she really did need a night out to let her hair down and do a little finger popping, after all. Still, Philadelphia was the last place she expected to come for her great escape when she’d gassed up her Benz and driven the Interstate, heading out of the Big Apple.

  Yet, here she was.

  Maybe, if the night heated up, like she hoped, and someone caught her eye and made her pussy
tingle, she’d bend over and pull her thong to the side. Maybe.

  Her cell phone buzzed, and she fished it out of her clutch. It was from a blocked caller. She swiped a fingertip over the screen and answered. “Hello?”

  “I’ve been trying to reach you all day,” said the gruff voice on the other end. “We need to talk, baby.”

  Arabia frowned. “Eric, I told you I’d be out of town. And why are you calling me from a blocked number?”

  “Where are you?” he asked, ignoring her question. He had been trying to reach her all day and she hadn’t answered any of his calls, or replied to any of his text messages. But, surprisingly, she answered a blocked call. He had to wonder had she been avoiding him.

  Irritation scorched her veins. “Away,” she said impatiently.

  “Yeah, I know all that. Where?”

  “Why, Eric? I told you I’d be with my sisters.”

  He scoffed. “No actually you didn’t. And you never called me back after you ended our call. Nor did you respond to my text messages.”

  “I got sidetracked,” she quickly said. Yeah, trying to get the hell out of town.

  “Wel,l when will you be back?”

  “Tuesday,” she lied. She didn’t need to have her weekend disrupted by his “I’m Leaving My Wife” news.

  Eric snorted. “Ugh. Tuesday, huh? Just yesterday you said you’d be back Sunday. Now it’s Tuesday? Yeah, right.”

  Oops. She’d forgotten that she’d told him that. See. This was why she didn’t lie. She could never keep up with its deceitful trail. Lying was too much damn work trying to remember every minu-scule detail. She simply wasn’t cut out for it.

  “Well, what’s the urgency, Eric?” she said sharply.

  “There’s no urgency. Last night I told Gwen about us.”

  She shook her head. Sadly, there had still been a part of her that had hoped he wouldn’t have done so. “And why would you do that?”