“No, you’re not. You’re more like a girlfriend experience.”
I gasp and clutch my pearls.
“You need to recognize your worth, Ms. Stone, and put a price on that pussy; it should be your most valuable asset.”
Pussy PROPERTY? “Look, Apollo, I never expected to get paid for—”
“I know you didn’t. But now that you have, you need to rethink your pricing strategy. You’re in business for yourself now—if I remember correctly. And you said you wanted to make partner, partner.” He chuckles, and I begin to think this is all a joke until he reaches for the door and says, “It’s worth a lot more than that, by the way. I just took my cut.” He glances at the cash I’m now gripping tightly in my hand. “My clients will pay whatever you ask.” He nods toward the corridor. “And they’re in the building; you’ll never need an umbrella. Just keep the polka dots.”
“But, but, you’re the doorman?”
“Yeah, and?” he challenges. “What exactly do you think my job is all about?”
I furrow my brow, seeing him for the first time tonight.
“You were the one who said my job is to provide a service, right? Well, how is this any different?”
I slowly close my robe and double-knot it as I process what he’s saying. “So you would be, like, my pim—”
“Agent.” On cue, that slick smile resurfaces. “Think about it and get back to me. Just don’t take too long; people with long paper get impatient. They have options.” He reaches out and touches my chin. “But now I can say with certainty that none are as satisfying as you.”
He TEST-drove me!
The cash is heavy in my hands. And he liked the ride! I steady myself against the wall. My eyes are burning. My mouth is dry. My pussy is hot. Hypnotized, I grip the cash in my hands and the tips of my fingers begin to tremble. An escort? I begin to count…my heart pounds as I approach one thousand, my legs weaken as I fly past two thousand. Could I? The familiar scent of the money intoxicates me all over again. My pussy rages as I hit three thousand….
“Fuck! Five thousand doll—twice a week. Ten thousand. Forty Gs a month. Four hundred and eighty grand a year! I quickly did the math, willfully blocking out the way I’d be making rent.
Girlfriend experience. Apollo’s description runs through my head. Funny how a little game of semantics could put a different face on things. I glance down at Penny. Could I fuck my way out of my financial woes? She purrs. Should I? I close my eyes and smell the cash. Would I?
I look up at Apollo. But he is gone.
THE SANGRIA SEDUCTION
Teddy Bell
I love hearing the “F” word.
—Teddy Bell
This beautiful woman needs something sweet and tasty, just like her,” I tell the attractive and smiling waitress at Chevy’s Restaurant. “Two lemon sangrias, please.” I don’t always order for my dates but my gut feeling is that Lissa Lawton is the type of chick who appreciates a man taking control.
“I hope you don’t mind. I think you’ll love it.” Judging by the faint smile on her lips, I can tell that she didn’t.
“It’s okay. I trust you, Chris.”
Trust. What a beautiful word. This is going easier than I anticipated. “So tell me about yourself, but not the Lissa from eight to five. I want to know the after-hours Lissa.”
Whatever she is going to tell me, I already know. Lissa Lawton, thirty-two years old, born and raised in Walnut Creek, California, graduated Magna Cum Laude from UC Berkeley with a degree in finance, and then went on to receive her MBA from the Wharton School in Pennsylvania. She’s worked in executive management at IBM, Charles Schwab, and Microsoft. She was featured in Black Enterprise Magazine as one of the top five future leaders to watch. It’s amazing what you can learn on Facebook, LinkedIn and Google.
Today, Lissa is Senior Vice President of Consumer Finance for Wells Fargo Bank in San Francisco. She’s single with beautiful golden brown skin and light brown eyes. To me, she bears a striking resemblance to Alicia Keys, the R&B songstress, except that her hair is always pulled up in a tight bun or ponytail. She also wears rimless, oval-shaped, prescription eyeglasses that keep her attractiveness on the down low. Her professional and ultraconservative style smacks of Lily Librarian, but my experienced eyes know that underneath that boring business attire hides a naughty girl with a very gorgeous body. I know her type—quiet, meticulous, dedicated, overworked and socially introverted. My educated guess is that she’s probably had one or two relationships that didn’t last long because work always came first. Bottom line: the playah in me says she is the perfect candidate to turn up, around and out. The only question in my mind is, how long will it take for me to turn nice into nymph?
Okay, before you get your neck all wound up and throw your finger in my face to call me all kinds of bastards, dogs, and man whores, hear me out. I’m not unlike every other man out there who likes a challenge, and I’m not out to hurt anybody. In fact, I’m just the opposite. I, Mr. Christopher Thomas, can be quite the sweetheart. Some may think I’m a thirty-three-year-old playah, but I’d like to think of myself as Mr. Opportunity. True, I brought two Senior Ball dates to the Skyline High School Prom in Oakland; had a hot affair with a Latina counselor at Laney Community College; and had a sexy San Jose State math professor want to divorce and leave her weak-ass husband for me. I had to shut that down quick because I’m not into long-term commitments just yet.
I’m the kind of man that guys praise and idolize while women either can’t get enough of me or hate me because they can’t have me. Maybe it’s my six-foot-three lean but chiseled physique or possibly my smooth, mocha brown skin tone. And ever since I’ve been rolling with this nicely trimmed goatee, I have been mistaken for Hollywood actor Idris Elba, a comparison that certainly doesn’t hurt my game.
I’m educated, successful and easy on the eyes. When given the opportunity, I know how to make women feel good because I’m in tune with their emotions and can read them like a poker player’s face. Consider me as a rescue team of sorts…resuscitating poor, pent-up and inhibited damsels in sexual distress and turning them out. Trust me, there are a lot of happy brothas out there that need to be thanking me.
Okay, now that we’ve got that straight, back to my date with Lissa. I’d just asked her what she did in her spare time.
“Well, I don’t have a lot of free time, but when I do I like to read novels or good poetry. Mostly I just veg out on CNN.”
“You like poetry?” I ask, about to get my sensitive, cultured man on.
“Some.”
“I love poetry. I find sonnets very provocative and…well, sexy. Langston, Maya, Sonya Sanchez, Nikki G and Saul Williams are my favorites. In fact, poetry is kinda a hobby of mine,” I inform her while looking directly into her light browns.
“Do you write any?” she asks, right on cue. I take the opportunity to put my I’m thinking face on as I search the chapbook in my head for an appropriate stanza to throw on her.
“I plant my two lips into your garden of passion with hopes your sunshine eyes will bloom a bouquet of eternal kisses.”
“Omigod. That’s beautiful. Did you just make that up?” Lissa says. The awe is written all over her face.
“You’re quite the muse.”
“That was about me?”
“Yeah, it is,” I tell her, throwing a little aw shucks look on my face.
“Really? Chris, stop messing with me.”
“I’m serious. I hope you like it,” I say while gently caressing her hand.
“But you don’t even know me,” she replies while adjusting her glasses and blushing.
Oh, but I do, I think while giving her a half smile.
Lissa may think it’s a coincidence that we met at the Wells Fargo Bank building in San Francisco two weeks ago, but it was anything but. The first time I saw her was about a month ago at the downtown Oakland 24 Hour Fitness club. She was jogging on a treadmill and didn’t notice me shooting hoops, but I sure did notice her. She wa
s wearing one of those purple spandex body suits and a long blue T-shirt. She was trying to be modest and cover up, but she must have gotten hot because she pulled the T-shirt off to mop her sweaty face and almost blew my head off in the process. She was about five feet six, 130 pounds with a perky set of happy-to-see-you 36Cs. Her stomach was Beyoncé flat with a waistline an hourglass would envy. The guy jogging next to her looked over and made some kind of comment she obviously didn’t appreciate because she rolled her eyes and immediately hopped off the treadmill and split. That’s when I discovered two things about her: one, her body is slammin’, and two, for me to have a chance at tappin’ that I would have to approach her nice and easy. Most times I just go for it, but instinct told me to be patient with this one.
I found out Lissa’s name from one of the fitness instructors and then, with the help of Facebook and LinkedIn, learned that her office was just three blocks away from mine in San Francisco. The next day, I came to work early and hung around the Wells Fargo building in order to conveniently run into her. Three times that week, we bumped into each other and shared a bit of casual conversation. When it became clear that Lissa was feeling more comfortable with me, I suggested we meet for drinks. I recommended the following Tuesday, just so she wouldn’t think it was a date. She paused before saying yes, but I could tell she was game. No doubt she’s one of those “nothing is a coincidence” kind of sisters. To make her feel even more in control, I didn’t ask for her number or anything, just told her to meet me at Chevy’s—a perfect meet-a-colleague-after-work kind of spot. No pressure.
For the rest of the week, I couldn’t stop imagining how exciting it would be to bring out the freak in her. It’s like clipping a virgin’s wings, knowing you’re the one she will always remember. I kept picturing her standing there looking so pure and innocent, totally unaware that she was the chosen prey. Usually I date attractive women who have no money or rich women who don’t know how to please a man. Very rarely do I find a sexy woman who is rich and pleases me sexually, but there’s something about this educated, overworked, professional and sexually repressed woman that tells me this chick might be the one.
So now, after waiting five days, here we are at Chevy’s.
“Here are your lemon sangrias,” announces the waitress, winking at me with her seven digits on my napkin. I ignore her. I’m on a mission.
“Lissa, I have a problem.”
“Okay…” she says, not quite sure what to think.
“My problem is that I don’t know you as well as I’d like to. We should change that. Spend more time together…”
“I don’t really date much.” she says nervously. “I mean, with work and everything. There’s just no time.”
“You know what they say, all work and no play makes Lissa…”
“Yeah, yeah, a dull girl. I know, but I can’t help it. Work I’m good at. But dating is a whole different thing.”
“You’re just out of practice, because I can’t imagine why a girl as fine as you…” I stop myself, knowing that between the poetry and the gentle compliments, she’s definitely getting ripe for the pickin’. No need to push too hard. “Promise me something.”
“Maybe.”
I take that as a full-out yes. “Promise me that you will have three dates with me.”
“Three dates?”
“Yes, three. And if you don’t have a wonderful time on each one, I’ll never bother you again.”
“Well…I...I don’t know…. I’m in the middle of this project and I know I have to go to Pasadena for a conference in a few weeks…and maybe Spain, and…well…”
“And what?”
“And, uh, well I’m kind of already interested in someone.” I’m not buying that tired line for a nanosecond. All the time I spent scoping her out not once did I see, hear or infer any interest in or by any man other than her fuddy-duddy boss, old man Alexander—and believe me, even to eyes way less experienced than mine, that is all about business.
“Just three,” I say smiling but with sternness. “Come on, live a little. Besides, I’m in a real writing groove and you’re my muse. You can’t leave me hangin’. Trust me, you’ll have a good time. I promise.”
Lissa smiles and sighs. I know it is a done deal.
“All right, three dates,” she says. “Chris, don’t take this the wrong way but I’m not looking to start any kind of intimate or romantic relationship…okay?”
“I’m cool with that. I’m just looking to make a new friend and write a little poetry.” I raise my glass. “To new and exciting friendships.”
She raises hers and taps my glass before taking a sip. My eyes peer over the top of mine, taking her in with the sangria.
“Mmm…this is really good!”
Baby, I want to say to her, you don’t know the half of it.
It’s been a week since I met with Lissa at Chevy’s. As luck would have it, Costco, the company I work for as an operations consultant, decided to do business with Wells Fargo and assigned me to the task. My girl has no idea that we are going to be playing and working together. But let’s not jump ahead. Right now, I’m working on making her feel relaxed and getting her to open up a little on our first date.
We’re at Serendipity’s Hair Salon in Oakland. The moment Lissa enters the salon, my eyes immediately recognize those curves from the gym. She’s wearing some bootylicious Dereon jeans and a blue and gold UC Berkeley sweatshirt with blue gladiator sandals. Her simple weekend outfit is far hotter than her weekday Wells Fargo business suits. Okay, two points for the little lady.
My cousin Peaches loaned me her shop for a couple of hours. For our first date I’ve planned a Sunday afternoon pampering session. She is reluctant at first; I guess seeing the shop lit up with scented candles, with smooth jazz music and homemade lemon sangrias set off her “this looks like a date” alarm. But she quickly becomes receptive when she sees Peaches, just as I’d planned, here to help break the ice.
“Just relax and let Peaches take care of you. Clear your mind. The only thing you should be thinking about is being free,” I softly whisper in Lissa’s ear while my cousin slowly massages a rosemary and peppermint hair conditioner into her scalp. Her head is lying back in a sink while her body is comfortably reclined in Peaches’ salon chair.
“…Free from work, free from stress, free from everything.”
“Mmm…” Lissa murmurs. I smile. That’s the sensual sound I love my women to make!
“Shh. Close your eyes.” She happily obeys. “I want you to imagine a summer breeze blowing through your hair, releasing all negative thoughts and lingering tension,” I command softly as I pull my cell phone from my pocket.
The peaceful atmosphere is broken up by my phone calling the salon. “Cuz, can you take over while I get the phone?” Peaches asks with a wink in her voice. She’s not the best actress in the world, but at least she’s down with helping a brother out. As per our plan, Peaches won’t be coming back, leaving me alone with my beautiful freak in the making.
“Lissa, you don’t mind?” I ask, knowing she’s already too far gone to resist.
“Mmm…” is all she can manage.
My hands start at the back of her neck and slowly work up to the top of her scalp. My finger massage technique is working its magic. Lissa’s eyes remain closed and I can tell her mind is completely open to my touch. I can measure her pleasure quotient just by the way she is breathing. “...And now I want you to imagine warm rain washing your long beautiful hair.”
Damn! I’d underestimated how striking Lissa’s face is. It is so soft and angelic. Lissa never wears noticeable makeup but I am imagining her kissable full lips coated in red lipstick. My lustful eyes can’t stop caressing her entire body and I have to admit that the sight and my accompanying thoughts are making my big magic stick stiff. As sexy as I thought she was, she’s even sexier right in front of me.
With my right hand I begin rinsing the conditioner out of her hair with warm water while my free left hand con
tinues massaging suds out of her scalp. The more I pamper Lissa, the more I am really getting into what I am doing. The excitement of her beauty has streams of blood rushing to my willy, but I have to remain cool and calm.
“That was wonderful, Chris. Thank you,” Lissa gushes as I sit her up and towel dry her hair.
“I’m not done yet. There’s more. Well, there was but Peaches had an emergency. So if you don’t mind me finishing up…”
“More? That hair washing was amazing. As they say, you got skills,” she says, already beginning to twist her hair back into a knot.
“Your hair is so beautiful. Why don’t you ever wear it down?”
“I don’t know. It’s just easier to keep it up and out of my way. I don’t like fussing with my appearance.”
“Well, reconsider. You’re already gorgeous but when it’s down, even wet you look prettier and more radiant. Don’t think I’m BSing you, but Alicia Keys could be your sister.”
She blushes with gratification as I move her salon chair straight and upright and give her a glass of lemon sangria, then grab a stool and place it right next to her feet. I remove Lissa’s sandals before rubbing some jasmine-scented massage oil on my hands. I can tell by her bright eyes that she is getting excited. That and the fact that she’s let her hair back down.
“Close your eyes,” I command.
As soon as Lissa closes her eyes, I move my stool closer and elevate her feet to my lap. I begin rubbing the heels of her sizesevens with oiled hands. Her feet are well cared for but are dying for the affection that I am more than willing to give. I gradually massage upward to the middle of her arches in small circular motions. After several minutes her lips part and I can hear small but potent sighs of pleasure leaving her mouth. Lissa’s drink is slowly tipping over as her hands become as relaxed as the rest of her body. I take the glass of sangria, pour what is left in my hands and massage it into her feet and toes. Amorously I begin sucking each of her toes, now flavored with lemon sangria. I lick her toes so well that Lissa’s satisfied purr is a signal to push farther.
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