Good Girls Ain't No Fun Boxed Set (The SIX romance and urban fiction volumes of the LOVE, SEX, LIES series)

by Jessica Watkins

“Baby, how did you meet Blood?” Smith was being sarcastic, because he knew damn well how I met Blood.

  “We dated years ago.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But I never slept with him.”

  “Because you never got the chance to.”

  “Because I was celibate!”

  “But Blood was still trying to sleep with you, right?”

  “True.”

  “Exactly. And, had you not been pregnant when y’all ran into each other again, he would have kept trying. And yo’ ass was far from celibate by then, so you would have let him hit it, so stop with the ‘we were just friends’ shit.”

  I simply giggled. “Shut up. You don’t know.”

  Smith simply chuckled and got quiet.

  This was usual. He and I could talk about Blood for a few minutes, but then it just got weird and sad. There was never any closure to Blood’s death; no funeral, no body, and no way to say goodbye.

  “Well…” I replied with a heavy sigh. Yet, there were no words that followed; only memories.

  STAR

  “Hello?”

  “What’s good? Everything okay?”

  It was Benz, so I shut the door to the bathroom. “Everything is fine.”

  “Dude was cool?”

  “Yes, Dad,” I said with a giggle. “He was cool. Horny, but cool.”

  Roxie and I got called to do a client together tonight. It happened often, but this guy was new and had heard about us from one of his friends.

  “What did he want?”

  “A threesome. Then he wanted to watch me and Roxie – the usual.”

  No, I am not bi-sexual. But hey, when duty calls, I answer. I would never eat pussy unless I was being paid to. And, even then, I faked it and Roxie knew it. It was all about the visual with these horny clowns.

  “You charged him four-thousand, right?”

  “Yes, Dad. Dang, I got this!”

  We split escorting services 60/40 with Benz and Scoop since they got us the clients. Therefore, since this was a call that I shared with Roxie, I was getting twelve-hundred for the night. Luckily, this client wanted us for a few hours.

  “So what’s up with DeShawn?”

  Regret and anxiety instantly came over me.

  “You think we can hit him next week?”

  “Next week?!” My anxiety rose to terror. “I thought you wanted me to sit on him for a little longer.”

  “Nah. We need to hit this lick soon. How much you say he got?”

  I suddenly had the bubble guts and felt faint. I thought I had more time to figure out a way to talk Benz, Scoop, and Roxie out of this. Though I had been on the fence about this DeShawn job, now that it was going to happen so soon, I knew whole-heartedly that I didn’t want it to happen.

  “Only about twenty-thousand,” I lied.

  “Twenty-thousand?!” Benz was damn near barking in my ear. “What happened to the hundred-thousand you told Roxie that he had?”

  Shit!

  I lied again. “He had to re-up this week. All I saw was about twenty-thousand.”

  “That’s some bullshit! I use to cop from that nigga all the time! I know he got more than that. The only stash spot you found was the one in the guest bedroom?”

  “Yep.”

  Benz continued to bark about how he knew DeShawn had more money stashed somewhere and how I needed to suck DeShawn’s dick better in order to find out where.

  Times like this made it critical that I quit what I was doing as soon as possible.

  Four

  Saturday, March 6, 2010

  STAR

  Ever since then, I spent most of my time trying to figure out a way to get out of this without jeopardizing the business relationships that I had with Benz and Scoop, and my friendship with Roxie.

  I could have cared less about Benz and Scoop needing the money. They didn’t do shit but get money and jag it because they could always rob the next guy or wait on me and Roxie to give up some ass. However, Roxie depended on this money to survive just as I did, even more because she had more kids and real bills.

  That afternoon, the guilt got worse. DeShawn asked me to ride with him as he ran a few errands. Luckily my mother took Jordan to a children’s play day at her church, so I was able to easily break free and meet DeShawn at his condo.

  “You need a new car,” DeShawn said as he laughed jokingly and watched me get out of the car.

  My mother handed down her 2003 Intrepid to me last year when she upgraded, so of course according to DeShawn it was an old piece of shit. I could have easily bought a newer car and just stayed in my mother’s house a little longer, but turning the key to a place where my mother did not live was so much more important to me than riding clean to impress others.

  “Whatever, DeShawn,” I told him as I giggled. “Everyone can’t be balling like you, okay? If you have an issue with my ride, buy me new one.”

  As I met him at the curb, he grabbed me around my waist and, surprisingly, kissed me softly on the lips. It was a sweet, loving, and slow kiss. Then he told me, “If you keep acting right, I will.”

  Before I could even get excited, I got depressed and uneasy.

  Every girl’s dream is to run into that guy that can and will spoil you. For him to be attractive was a plus. When I met DeShawn, I knew that he was that dream come true, but I immediately dismissed the idea because, at the time, it was so farfetched.

  Now it looked like I was about to risk possible long-term comfort and happiness for money that Benz and Scoop would probably throw away in weeks.

  Rather than taking on the impossible task of talking Benz out of hitting DeShawn up all together, I began to think that maybe it would be easier to figure out a way that Benz and Scoop could take very little from DeShawn without DeShawn suspecting me at all. That way, there would be some opportunity left for this door to stay open that DeShawn seemed to be opening for me.

  On the way to our destination, I figured out that DeShawn was taking me on a run.

  He kept saying weights and amounts of money while on his cell phone, and suddenly his mood went from flirtatious to serious. When we arrived at an apartment building on the West Side, he turned off the ignition and I stayed put as he got out of the car.

  “C’mon on, babe. What are you doin’?” Then he looked at me curiously through the window as he chuckled. “Get out.”

  I was confused, but I did what I was told. DeShawn never actually asked me to come with him when he did stuff like this. The most he did was talk in front of me.

  Obviously my confusion was written all over my face, because he then looked at me and smiled as he told me, “You’re good.”

  Ron, the guy that DeShawn was meeting, buzzed us up, and once we climbed the stairs to the third floor and Ron opened the door, he was just as confused about my presence as I was.

  With obvious irritation written all over his face, Ron asked, “Who is she?”

  “My woman. This my baby. She’s good.”

  I guess that was good enough for Ron, because he immediately moved to the side and let us in. Once we entered the apartment, Ron excused himself to the bathroom.

  No sooner than Ron was out of sight, I looked at DeShawn, even more curiously than before. “Am I your woman, or were you just telling Ron that?”

  DeShawn began to look at me bashfully as his light-caramel skin began to turn a hint of red. Then he gave me this cool ass answer. “Hell yea. You think I would let you into my business like this if I didn’t want you to be my girl?”

  Everything went blank after that. I was feeling butterflies in my stomach and trying my best not to grin and squeal like a little girl. A few seconds later, Ron came back. Then DeShawn instructed me to wait in the living room as he and Ron disappeared to the back of the apartment.

  Finally, I was able kick and squeal quietly.

  LYRIC

  I stood in the full-length mirror in my bedroom as Cory, my other best friend, cackled on the phone as he lay across my bed l
ooking through the Essence magazine.

  “Bitch, get off the phone and help me,” I fussed as I threw a shoe at him.

  As Cory squealed and tried to catch the pump, he began to rant. “Giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirl, if you make me break a nail, we gone fight and you ain’t makin’ it no where!” Then he rolled his eyes and told his friend on the phone, “I gotta go. This bitch is throwing me shade. She need help lookin’ sickening. You know real fish don’t know how to drag themselves out.”

  Finally Cory joined me in the mirror once he ended his call. “Okay, girl. You have my fullest attention. How may I help you?”

  Tonight’s Black Swinger’s Club party was Rock Star-themed, and I was having the hardest time with my outfit. BSC parties always have themes, and usually only the women dressed up. It gave us a reason to dress up in sexy costumes outside of simple lingerie and Halloween.

  “Does this look rock star-ish?”

  I only had on a simple pair of jeggings and a wife beater, but I accessorized the outfit with lots of shiny and blinged-out bangles, earrings, and a necklace. My boots were five inches with a lace and buckle front closure, so they gave off a “rock” appeal.

  “Rock enough, hunny,” Cory told me. “Bitch, you’re cute and you got body; you don’t need to do much.”

  Cory was always good at making me feel like I was soooo cute, but I wasn’t all that. During the past seven months of James feeding and laying up with me, I gained about fifteen pounds. Tricey calls those “love” pounds because she has gained just the same. However, as always, Tricey’s extra weight went straight to her hips and ass, when mine was sitting in my chest, but, luckily, it had given me a little more booty.

  Since I am 5’7”, and was only about one hundred and seventy pounds to begin with, the extra weight wasn’t that bad. However, I still wasn’t use to it, so to make myself feel better, I colored my hair mahogany last week. Against my light bright skin, I looked like a Faith Evans rendition.

  “Are you sure?”

  Cory dismissed me as he sat back down on the bed. “Girl, why does it matter anyway? Isn’t all that coming off anyway?”

  “No. You know I don’t play at the parties.”

  “I don’t see why not since ‘Mister’ be getting it in.”

  I giggled as I lay across the bed. ”Mister”, James, text messaged me ten minutes ago saying that he was on his way to pick me up, so I had time to chit chat with Cory.

  “He doesn’t play that much.”

  “More than you do. You’re too square to.”

  “I don’t need to.”

  If it were up to me, James and I wouldn’t play at the parties at all. I mean, I am a lifestyle person and enjoy playing with others, but, lately, James has satisfied me so completely that I only played with women for his pleasure, not mine. The thought of playing with another man didn’t even enter my mind anymore.

  Since James and I were running a bit late for the party, the place was packed once we got there.

  Phoenix, half of the pair that owns BSC, threw these monthly swinger’s parties at this club called The Plethora, one of the few licensed swinger’s clubs in the city. I loved being there because, unlike other groups that throw swinger’s parties in vacant houses converted into swinger’s clubs, Phoenix took the time to create a swinging environment worth the seventy-five dollars couples spent to get in them.

  As soon as we entered and paid our cover, James and I went straight to the bar.

  “Hey, Chocolate. Hey, Nicky. You want the usual?”

  The bartender greeted James and me by our usernames on BSC’s website and the other social networking sites that we used to communicate and socialize with other lifestylers. Many lifestylers use aliases online to maintain discretion. James’ alias was Chocolate Wonda. Mine was Flirtatious Nicky. We call the bartender Julips because of her big, juicy lips.

  Though, after so long, we learn one another’s real names, out of habit, we still refer to one another by our aliases.

  “Yes, ma’am,” James answered.

  As soon as I spotted Phoenix, I greeted Julips, told James to bring my drink over to the pool table where Phoenix was, and walked over to say hi.

  I adored Phoenix. She was a sexy ball of sunshine. She was always so pleasant and loving to her guests. And as expected, when she saw me walking towards her, she through her hands in the air and screamed, “Nickyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!”

  I giggled and replied, “Hey, honey,” as we embraced. “You look too cute.”

  Phoenix was such an exotic beauty. She was of African-American and Dominican descent, so she had this beautiful lightly tanned skin that covered about 5’8” of long legs, big breasts, and an itty bitty stomach of pure and raw sex appeal. Though she prayed to God daily for a booty, she oozed so much sexuality that a booty wasn’t even necessary. She didn’t know it, but Phoenix was my sexuality mentor. Listening to and watching her, and being a part of Black Swingers Club, helped me understand what it was to be a part of this lifestyle and a swinger. You can often hear her saying, “I am a fucking swinger!”, and that she was. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, Phoenix was every bit of a swinger. I think if she couldn’t enjoy the different sexual opportunities that being a swinger had to offer, she would just curl into a ball and wither away.

  “Where is Chocolate?”

  I glanced over to the bar and James was nowhere to be seen. “I don’t know. Let me go find him and my drink.”

  As I walked away, Phoenix grabbed my ass and said, “I want some of that!”

  I simply giggled and continued to search for my Long Island Iced Tea. The front door and bar were in the front room of The Plethora. The set up was much like a party room when you first enter the club. There was the bar and a pool table in a corner. Connected to that area was a lounge type of room with a flat screen and a long leather couch. There were also four sets of pub tables and bar stools behind the seating arrangement and chairs along the wall to allow for additional seating.

  I didn’t see James anywhere, so I continued through the lounge area and peeked inside one of the oral sex rooms. It was empty because it was still early and most people had yet to start playing. The Oral Sex Room is called that because it is equipped with benches only, which are set at just the right height that the giver is able to bend over and give oral sex comfortably to the individual that is sitting on the bench. There is also a window that those in the room can leave unlocked so that individuals in the other oral sex room can watch or vice versa.

  James wasn’t in the Playroom either. The Playroom is a simple bedroom full of beds where people can have group sex or watch while others have sex. However, if you come in this room just to watch, you have to take your clothes off. It makes those who are actually playing more comfortable with your presence.

  I didn’t see James in the Bondage Room either. The Bondage Room is equipped with whips, chains, handcuffs attached to the wall, a sex swing, and two beds. “Flower,” who I have learned to know as, legally, Stephanie, was in one of the beds sitting on some unknown man’s face, and sucking her boyfriend’s dick.

  I tiptoed on out and continued my search.

  I found James by the dance floor and Dj booth. He was sitting and holding our drinks while talking to Raven. I didn’t know Raven personally, but I often saw her at the lifestyle events in the city. She was a straight girl and single. Most single girls that are in the lifestyle are bisexual or like group sex, gangbangs, etc., but I never saw or heard of Raven in either situation. A lot of single girls also used swinger’s parties as ways to get dick or to get a man.

  Many times, it worked.

  When James saw me coming, he handed me my drink, but continued sitting.

  To be polite, I greeted Raven. “Hey, Raven.”

  “Hey…”

  “Nicky,” I informed her.

  “Right. Hey, Nicky.”

  Then I noticed James’ face. It wasn’t his expression that sparked my interest. It was the fact that he wasn’t even loo
king at me. He was gazing at Raven. I couldn’t recall if he had ever met her before, but he watched her as if he definitely did not want this to be the last time that he saw her.

  James was a quiet man. He didn’t chit chat. He barely talked online. I usually had to do the courting for him. He hardly had to do any talking anyway because the women at these parties loved him. When he smiled, deep dimples appeared like large craters in his cheeks. He was a very dark man with rich ebony skin similar to dark chocolate. He was 6’3” and had also gained “love” pounds over the last seven months, making him over two hundred and seventy-five pounds that were proportionately distributed over the exact football build that many women are attracted to. He wasn’t “pretty,” but his distinct and full facial features, including light eyes and suckable lips, coupled with his overtly cool swagger gave him a very rare sex appeal.

  Additionally, he has a big dick and is a great fuck.

  Hence, he had a reputation in the lifestyle, so he need not be gazing at this bitch! He was so into her that it made my presence very awkward. To sit with him would have been intruding on what seemed like a very personal moment, and to walk away would have been embarrassing.

  So I opted for offering my exit. “Do you want a plate, babe?”

  “You read my mind, baby. I’m starving. Raven, do you want something to eat?”

  I had to catch myself to keep from checking him with my eyes. Talking to a woman and offering to get her a plate is not out of the ordinary, and it is something that a man should do, especially at a swinger’s party since he has probably had sex with her at a party or two. If it was Phoenix, Juilips, or any of the other ladies that James was friends with by now or has played with, I wouldn’t have been tripping. However, he was seemingly courting this chick when courting was not necessary at a swinger’s party. All that was necessary was that you eat, drink, mingle, and fuck. People come to swinger’s party to fuck, so sweet talking the pussy is unnecessary.