by Carl Weber
“Um, hello, I’m First Lady Monique Wilson,” she said, forcing the formality into her tone.
“Pleasure to meet you, Monique. You certainly are a beauty. Are you by chance an actress?” He was grinning at her like she was the only person in the room.
Her cheeks were still red, and I swear she looked like she was about to start fanning herself. “No. What would make you think that?” she asked, sounding on the verge of giddiness.
“Sorry, your beauty has me so mesmerized, I forgot my manners. I’m Jackson Young. I’m a talent agent at the Johnson Morris Agency.”
“Oh, really? What exactly does a talent agent do?”
“We make beautiful women like you into stars.” That fool was smiling so hard you could see every one of his teeth, including his molars.
“Well, no, I’m not an actress, but I have acted a little in plays here at the church.” By this time it was pretty obvious that she was falling prey to his game.
“Oh, I bet you were the star of the show,” Jackson said, reaching into his pocket for a business card. “We should have dinner tonight and discuss me being your agent.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the bishop rising from behind his desk. Dignified or not, no man could sit by and watch some other dude hit on his wife without speaking up.
First Lady Wilson didn’t seem to notice her husband at all. “Are you serious? You’d like to represent me?”
“I’d love to represent you. I think I can make you a star.”
She looked like she was about to burst wide open with glee, but then the bishop stepped up to stand beside her, and her whole demeanor changed. “I’d have to talk this over with my husband, of course.” She gestured soberly toward the bishop. “Have you met my husband, Bishop TK Wilson?”
Jackson glanced over at the bishop then back to the first lady. “No, I haven’t, but he’s really not relevant to this conversation. I’m not interested in making him a star. My interest is totally in you, so please give me a call so we can have dinner.” He reached out for her hand again, leaning down to kiss it for the third time. “Monique, we have so much to talk about. You have something. Even a blind man can see it. I just hope you allow me to help you reach your full potential as an actress.”
Bishop Wilson finally spoke up. “She’s not interested.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Jackson replied.
“But I was talking to you,” the bishop snapped back.
“TK!” the first lady scolded her husband.
The groomsmen, who’d been standing in the corner leaned against the wall, were suddenly standing at attention. We were all gearing up to break up a fight.
“I didn’t marry any actress. You are plenty busy around here being first lady of this church,” Bishop insisted. His eyes were focused on Jackson. “Mr. Young was just leaving when you came in. I think it’s time he left.”
Jackson shook his head and shot the bishop a look of pure arrogance. “You know, it’s a shame when a man tries to hold back a woman just to coddle his own ego. I guess it’s true what they say about all you preachers.”
“And what exactly is that?” the bishop growled.
“You all wear panties under your robes.” While Jackson was laughing at his own joke, the bishop lunged after him. Before he could get a good grip, Aaron and I grabbed him. He struggled, out of control. Pippie pulled Jackson toward the door.
“Monique, you have my number. Please give me a call. Anytime.” Jackson left the room looking every bit as confident as he had when he entered.
Tia
4
It was supposed to be the best day of my life, but sometimes things don’t turn out the way you plan. Breaking up with anyone was tough, but this breakup was especially hard considering the amount of time we had both invested. Still, I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t second-guess my decision to walk away—not today, not tomorrow, not ever—so instead of sitting around wallowing in self-pity, my girl Kenya and I headed over to this new club in Long Island City to see what kind of trouble we could get into. I’d never heard of the place, but Kenya told me they’d recently been featured in both Vibe and XXL magazines as one of the hottest dance clubs in the country.
It looked like the club was going to live up to its reputation when we showed up and saw that the line to get in was snaked around the block. Kenya seemed to know everybody, and judging by the fact that no one complained when she grabbed my wrist and led me straight to the front of the line, they all knew her too.
“Kenya, how’s it going?” the doorman, a big bruiser of a white guy, asked as he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. My girl Kenya has this petite body and these big huge tits that seem to drive white guys crazy.
“Much better, Paulie, now that I’ve seen you,” Kenya flirted.
“Who’s your friend? I thought you rolled solo.” He gave me the once-over but didn’t seem impressed. I have a dynamite ass, but I’m lacking in the breast department.
“I usually do, but this is my girl, Tia. She just broke up with her man. We’re celebrating the end of an era and the beginning of a new one. I’m about to get her drunk and laid.”
I joined in with her laughter, although I was only agreeing to the getting drunk part. The getting laid part I wasn’t so sure about. Kenya was the slut, not me, which was why my ex had always made it his business to keep us apart.
“Well, you brought her to the right place to do it.” His eyes were feasting on Kenya’s cleavage as he opened the rope and allowed us to enter the club. “Hey, Kenya, save me a dance, will you?”
She turned around and smiled. “I’ll save you more than that if that girlfriend of yours isn’t around tonight to block it.”
There was no doubt in my mind that she was serious. If she had a chance, she’d be screwing that white boy later that night.
“She’s here. I’ll take a rain check on that and settle for a dance,” he said with a wink.
Kenya squeezed my hand and led me into the crowded club, which was already jumping. I had to stop myself from displaying a wide-eyed, gaping-mouth expression, because I’d never been to a club like this. There were raised platforms with half-naked dancers simulating sex acts. On the dance floor, hot, sweaty bodies were pressed up against each other, grinding to the beat as the DJ served it up.
We got lucky and found seats at one of the bars when a couple got up to dance. Five minutes later, Kenya was on the dance floor with some guy she’d obviously been screwing, and I was left sitting there by myself, nursing my drink. Justin Timberlake’s “Suit & Tie” hit the turntable, and I felt my body swaying to the beat when I noticed a really hot white guy leaning against a pole, giving me the eye. He wasn’t trying to hide the fact that he was looking, either. I gave him a smile when our eyes met then turned away to order a drink. Before I could get the bartender’s attention he had slipped into Kenya’s seat.
“I’m sorry, but that’s my friend’s seat,” I shouted over the music.
“Your boyfriend?” he shouted back, looking disappointed.
I shook my head, pointing at Kenya on the dance floor. “No, my friend!”
“It’s okay. I’ll keep it safe until she gets back. Can I buy you a drink?” He flashed a flawless smile at me. I wanted to say no, but I had to admit he was easy on the eyes and, well, one glance at Kenya told me that she had no plans of coming back to her seat anytime soon.
“Sure. You can buy me a drink.” I tried to play it cool, but inside I was nervous as hell. After all, less than twenty-four hours ago I wasn’t even single.
Now, normally white boys weren’t on my radar, but this one was all kinds of fine: green eyes, dark hair, and a body his tailored shirt couldn’t hide. Besides, maybe after what had happened this afternoon with my ex it was time for a change. “I’ll have an appletini.”
“Appletini it is.” He moved in closer so he wouldn’t have to shout. “My name’s Michael.”
My first thought was to give him a fake name, but my
mouth betrayed my brain and I told him, “My name’s Tia.” I looked over at Kenya on the dance floor, wishing she would come over and rescue me before I said something stupid to this fine specimen of a man. She was grinding all over the guy on the dance floor, though, so I would have to fly solo.
“Tia. That’s a very pretty name,” he said with a charming smile that made me want to melt in my seat.
Michael flagged down the bartender, and three drinks later we were still sitting there talking—or, rather, I was talking. Maybe it was the alcohol loosening my tongue, or the fact that I had just broken up with a man who never seemed to shut up and let me get a word in edgewise. Whichever it was, it was working for us. I talked about the death of my parents and how my brother Kareem had pretty much raised me since I was thirteen—things I normally didn’t like to talk about, but this guy was such a good listener. As time passed, I realized I wouldn’t mind seeing him again.
Somewhere around one in the morning he asked me to dance, and when we hit the floor, that white boy put me to shame. He had moves on top of moves, and my stiff behind could barely keep up. I mean, he could really freakin’ dance. After I made a fool out of myself for about twenty minutes next to this John Travolta clone, the DJ slowed the tempo down and put on a slow jam. I was about to walk off the floor in shame, but Michael took my hand and pulled me in close. I didn’t resist. It felt good to wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and lean my head on his chest.
This trip to the club had been the perfect way to take my mind off of the day’s events. I was really enjoying myself. I glanced up at Michael and smiled, and to my pleasant surprise, he leaned down and kissed me, ever so gently pressing his soft lips against mine. As his tongue slipped into my mouth, I could feel an electric current going through me, as if our bodies were meant to connect this way. When our lips parted, I returned my head to his chest, holding on to him even tighter as I savored our first kiss.
When the music changed back to a more up-tempo beat, Michael leaned in close, whispering in my ear, “Hey, you wanna get out of here? Go for a drive?” The feeling of his breath against my neck sent a shiver of arousal between my legs.
I looked around for Kenya, who was nowhere to be found. I’d be violating every rule in the girlfriend handbook if I left without telling her first, but knowing her, she was probably off with some guy in the bathroom or something. Technically, she had left me first, I reasoned. I was not about to miss the opportunity to spend time with Michael just because I couldn’t find Kenya’s ass. I was really feeling a connection to him, and if that first kiss was any indication of what was to come, this guy had the skills to make me forget all about my ex.
“Yeah, I’d love to go for a ride with you,” I said with a smile.
He wasted no time leading me out of the club, holding the door open like a perfect gentleman. At his car, a beautiful Porsche 911, he rushed over to the passenger-side door and helped me in. I slid into the leather seat thinking, Damn, I could get used to this.
Before we pulled away from the curb, he leaned over and kissed me again. To be very frank, it was that kiss that convinced me I wanted to sleep with him, and I think he knew it.
We drove around for a while, listening to music and holding hands. There was very little conversation, but I didn’t mind. After the banging bass in the club, it was a nice break.
After a while he said, “Do you smoke weed? I’ve got some really good hydro back at my place. You wanna go back there and smoke?”
I laughed, but not because he asked if I smoked weed. I wasn’t a big pot smoker, but I had been known to indulge from time to time. I was laughing because it was a pretty slick-ass way of getting me to his apartment.
“Sure.” I turned my head toward his so he could kiss me again. At that moment, we both knew where this little joyride was going to end up. There was an undeniable chemistry between us. Even if it only ended up being a one-night stand, I wanted to be with this guy.
Twenty-five minutes later we pulled up in front of a house. I’d been so busy daydreaming about the two of us making love I hadn’t paid much attention to the route he took. “Where are we?”
“My house,” he said.
I glanced up at the two-story colonial. “Your house as in ‘you own it,’ or your house as in ‘you stay here with your momma’?”
Michael chuckled. “It’s my house. I bought it, but I do have roommates.”
I looked at the large house again, impressed. “You own this place?”
“Yes,” he said as he opened his door to get out.
I’d only slept with four guys in my life, but there was no doubt he was going to be number five—and my first white boy. I still couldn’t believe my luck. He was cute, ambitious, and owned his own home. I must have died and gone to heaven, because I didn’t know anyone our age who owned a house. Heck, I didn’t know many people of any age who owned their own homes after the recession.
I turned away, imagining him reading my dirty thoughts.
Once again he walked around the car and opened my door. He held my hand as we entered the quaint house. His roommates, two black guys who looked like athletes, were playing on an Xbox in the living room. I could tell they were in the middle of some heavy competition since they barely acknowledged us. That was fine with me, because all my attention was on Michael, who quickly guided me past them, up the stairs and into his bedroom.
I was even more impressed by Michael when I saw his room. It was far from the typical messy, mattress-on-the-floor, twentysomething-year-old male’s room. His room had style and taste and, surprisingly, it was neat. Everything was in the right place, and the covers were smoothed over the big-ass water bed that dominated the room. I couldn’t control my grin. Sure, I’d seen water beds on television and always thought they were cheesy, but now that I was standing in front of one, it was actually intriguing. This was about to be a long series of firsts, I thought as a laugh escaped my lips.
“What’s so funny?” Michael asked as he leaned in and kissed the back of my neck.
“Before you came along I thought today was going to be the worst day of my life,” I confessed.
He walked over to the dresser and pulled out his weed and started rolling a blunt. “Really? Well, the day’s not over, and you have no idea what I have planned for you.”
I couldn’t help but blush. “I can’t wait to find out.”
Michael took a hit, leaned in, and blew the smoke into my mouth before he planted a deep, passionate kiss on my lips. I held in the smoke as I enjoyed the feel of his body pressing against mine. When he broke our kiss, I exhaled then took the blunt from him, drawing on it until my lungs were full. I exhaled, and he kissed me again, exploring my mouth with his tongue. I had no idea one kiss could make my body tingle like that, but I definitely didn’t want him to stop.
He sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to him. I plopped down beside him and nearly fell backward from the motion of the water bed mattress. He caught me in his arms and held me close as I tried to control a sudden case of the giggles. Whatever we’d been smoking was some really good shit, because there was no doubt I was high now.
I usually wasn’t the aggressor in sex, but the combination of the alcohol I’d had earlier, the powerful weed, and Michael’s sexiness had me hornier than I could ever remember. When he leaned in for another kiss, I pushed him back on the bed and crawled on top of him. Our lips locked in the most deliciously lustful kiss.
He moved his hand slowly up my thigh, raising my skirt and causing my pussy to throb in anticipation. As he reached a finger into my thong and skimmed it over my short hairs, I felt my juices begin to flow. Slowly but surely he worked my clothes off, turning me on with every touch and every kiss.
Michael rolled his body on top of me, and I felt a big, thick, rock-hard dick pressing against my thigh. This boy killed all the stereotypes about white men. He felt like a true Mandingo. I arched my back, feeling sexy and horny. My legs opened, inviting, anxious for him to t
ake me, but without any warning, he stopped.
I opened my eyes and looked up at him in confusion. “What’s the matter?” Was he not feeling this the way I was?
“Condom. I need to go get a condom,” he told me, and I nodded, relieved and impressed. I’d been on the patch for almost a year, but we all know a patch can’t keep you from catching a disease. At least he was thinking responsibly. Yeah, I had scored with this one.
As he walked out, I lay there in his bed wanting to pinch myself. I couldn’t believe I was about to have sex with this man and had absolutely no regrets. I had gone from zero to ho in no time flat, and I didn’t care one bit. If the way Michael moved on the dance floor was any indication of how good he’d be in bed, all I could say was holla! I giggled at the thought of all the nasty sex we’d be having, imagining him inside of me as we rode the waves of his water bed.
I heard the bedroom door swing open and looked toward it eagerly, only to get the fright of my life. One of his roommates was standing in the doorway—totally naked.
“Oh my God! What the fuck are you doing? Michael! Help!” I called out just before the roommate lunged toward me. The motion of the water bed made it impossible for me to get up quickly, so he was on top of me in no time.
I heard Michael’s voice when he came to the room, but I was confused because rather than sounding upset or angry, he said “Yo, dude!” like he was on the verge of laughter. Although I was pinned under this huge man, I managed to move my head and catch sight of Michael. What I saw made me want to vomit.
Michael was in the doorway, also buck naked, and he held a video camera, capturing everything that was happening to me. His roommates were nearby, and no one was wearing a stitch of clothing.
“Happy birthday!” Michael said with a laugh, still pointing his camera at me. “You did say it was your twenty-first birthday, didn’t you? Well, we’re here for the party.”
I was suddenly stone-cold sober, as I realized that these guys were about to gang-rape me. With tears blurring my vision, I struggled to get free. The huge guy on top of me deadened his weight, making it impossible for me to move.