Turn It Loose

by Danielle, Britni

  He crouched down, still pulsating with the bass and let his hands work their way up Jaylah’s body. He traced her calves, ran his fingers over her thighs, and momentarily paused at space between her thick legs. Jaylah held her breath, unsure if she was excited or afraid.

  She turned to him, “I need a drink,” she said, slightly breathless. “I’ll be right back.”

  “No, no. Allow me. What would you like?” he asked, before turning to Jourdan. “And you?”

  “Two Pimm’s Cups…lots of gin,” the blonde responded for the both of them.

  The olive-skinned stranger smiled and kissed Jaylah on the cheek. “Don’t leave, yeah?”

  All she could muster was a nod.

  “Well, I see you and Bin Laden are getting along nicely,” Jourdan said when he was out of earshot. “How hot is he?”

  “I know!” Jaylah dabbed sweat from her head with the back of her hand.

  “I can’t believe you let Ali Baba feel you up like that,” Jourdan slapped her friend’s hand, “Naughty, naughty, Jaylah!”

  The pair giggled like schoolgirls in the middle of the dance floor.

  “Oh please. Don’t think I didn’t see you and that red head over there. Was it me or were you kissing him?”

  “I know him from around. I think we slept together once.”

  “You think?” Jaylah said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes love, I think. Can’t be too sure. It’s not like I keep a list or anything,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Anyway, are you taking Saddam home or what?”

  Taking him home? Jaylah thought to herself, I don’t even know his name.

  “No,” she shook her head, “I don’t do one night stands.”

  “Jaylah, you’re only here for a couple of months. The whole summer is a series of one night stands waiting to happen. Live a little.”

  The handsome stranger returned carrying the drinks. He handed the ladies their fruity cocktails, before taking a swig of his beer.

  “Thanks,” Jourdan said. “I’ll leave you two alone to…talk.” She mouthed the words “call me tomorrow” to her friend before disappearing into the crowd.

  Jaylah sipped her drink, trying to find her voice and figure out what she wanted to do. She couldn’t deny the man looked like he was drenched in sex, but she wasn’t quite sure she was ready to abandon her rules against sleeping with a man she’d just met. Still, it had been so long since she’d given in to her desire. Wasn’t she trying to get laid, after all?

  “So, what’s your name, love?” he asked, breaking through her thoughts.

  “Jaylah,” she said, taking another swallow of her drink.

  “Beautiful name. I’m Faraj,” he said, smiling so brightly she nearly broke to pieces.

  “Faraj? What does that mean?”

  “It’s Arabic, means ‘relief,’” he said, sipping his Guinness.

  Jaylah laughed, “Relief, huh?” she said, thinking to herself that if she needed a sign, Faraj was a big, beautiful, flashing reminder that she needed to give in.

  She pulled him closer. Her tongue parted his lips and hungrily explored his mouth. Faraj traced the top of her breasts, then drew her deeper into him. He ran his lips across the nape of her neck planting electric kisses along her shoulders that ignited sparks inside her belly. She almost lost her balance, but leaned further into him while he continued to nibble her skin.

  The whole room seemed to tilt on its axis; a soft moan escaped from Jaylah’s throat. “Let’s….go,” she whispered, but Faraj couldn’t hear her above the music.

  She pushed him away. “Where do you live?”

  “Clapham,” he said, coming up for air.

  “Too far.”

  She grabbed his hand and led him outside. Jaylah hailed a cab, pulled him inside, and told the drive to take them to Highbury Square. They made out for the entire 15-minute ride, tasting every bit of exposed skin. Faraj parted her thighs with his hand; this time Jaylah was not afraid of what would come next, she welcomed it.

  When they got to her building, he quickly paid the driver before hurrying to wrap his arms around her waist while she fiddled with the door. He stole another hungry kiss and they nearly fell on top of each other when the buzzer clicked and the door flung wide. They stumbled down the stairs, still refusing to let go. As soon as they got inside, Faraj hiked up her dress like a ravenous man dying to be fed.

  “Wait…wait…” Jaylah said, moving his hands away. “I should freshen up. We danced so much at the—”

  He pulled her close and smiled, “You really think I’m worried about that?”

  Faraj dropped to his knees and skimmed her stomach with his tongue. He fingered the top of her leggings, then looked up at Jaylah. “May I?”

  She nodded, giving him permission to undress her. He slid her leggings off and stared up at her. For a moment she felt self-conscious, her red bra and panties the only thing shielding her voluptuous body from his gaze.

  “Mmmm…” he groaned his approval, before rising to kiss her. He let his hands wander to her breasts, gently fondling her nipples as his tongue probed the depths of her mouth. Jaylah grabbed wildly at his chest, trying to latch onto something that would keep her from drowning.

  He pulled off his shirt and unhooked her bra in one smooth motion before bending down to take her dark areola in his mouth. She noticed it then, the gigantic swell in his pants, a signal that he was ready—and from the looks of things more than capable—to fill the longing building inside her.

  Faraj gently pushed two fingers inside her, oiling her sweet spot, before kneeling to lap her up with his tongue. She held his head as he dined on her nectar like it was the most precious delicacy in the world.

  “Oh…shit…” she whispered, as he hoisted one of her legs over his shoulder and continued to slurp up her juices.

  She braced herself against the door. “I’m…gonna….cum,” she whined.

  “Not yet, love. Not yet,” he cooed. “Wait wait…”

  Faraj fished through his crumpled jeans for a condom, then carried Jaylah to her bedroom. He laid her on the bed and entered her, slowly stroking her moist walls.

  He watched her the whole time, his brown eyes smoldering with an intensity she wasn’t used to. When she tried to look away or close her eyes or kiss him, he would pull back to stare at her again.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh….” she moaned, ecstasy threatening to spill over her shores.

  “Yeah, love…yes, yes, yes,” he sighed. “Ride…me…please,” he begged.

  They rolled over and Jaylah got on top of his taut stomach. She moved in slow, concentrated circles that caused him to writhe beneath her. She quickened her pace and enjoyed feeling in control. This time she was in charge and he was the one calling for God.

  While she bounced atop him, Faraj let out a loud groan. “Oh shit….I’m cumming. Jaylah, I’m—”

  She bucked harder, tightening herself around him. He bit her neck before grabbing her hips and pounding into her. He grunted like a wild animal unable to control himself any longer. She exploded, sending sizzling ripples through her body.

  “Faraj….oh shit…mmm…mmm...mmm…” she yelled, unable to form a coherent sentence.

  She collapsed on his chest and tried to catch her breath. Unable to move, all he could do was brush Jaylah’s hair away from her face and caress her back.

  She tried not to think about what would happen next. She didn’t want to consider the possibility of awkward moments, and she wouldn’t allow herself to get caught up in how she might feel if he made up an excuse to leave her alone in bed, or worse, if he wanted to stay.

  No. All she would do was enjoy the moment and the sense of relief she finally felt.

  She broke into a wild grin. Relief, she thought to herself. Faraj certainly lived up to his name.

  * * *

  The phone rang for the third time, jolting Jaylah awake. She’d managed to sleep through the first two rounds of chiming, but scrounged around for her mobile w
hen she finally heard it the last time.

  “Hello?” said asked, barely audible.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re not chopped up in a rubbish bin,” Jourdan said. “Thought I told you to call me in the morning?”

  “It’s not morning?” Jaylah asked, her eyes half closed.

  “Not hardly. It’s nearly half past two.”

  Jaylah sat up in bed a little too quickly. “Ugh, I feel like I got hit with a hammer.”

  “Sounds about right,” Jourdan chuckled. “Listen, I have a meeting with one of my clients at four. She just happens to be an editor at Glamour and I told her about my brilliant American writer friend who’s trying to break into the UK market and she suggested you pop in to meet us.”

  “Brilliant, eh? How can you be so sure?”

  “Google,” Jourdan responded, without missing a beat.

  “You looked me up?”

  “It’s what I do, Jaylah. Anyway, wear something smart casual.”

  “Can I get that in American English, please?”

  “Look pulled together, but not overly so.”

  “Gotcha. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it, though. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion. Actually,” she said, realizing she was still naked, “make that no motion at all.”

  “Look, opportunities like this don’t come ‘round too often. Don’t make me come over there and drag you out of bed.”

  “You want me to show up hung over?”

  “Here’s what you do: find the biggest cup you’ve got, fill it with coffee, down it. Then, take a hot shower and jump in a cab.”

  “I can’t afford a cab.”

  “Then you better put a move on.”

  Jaylah let out an exasperated sigh. Jourdan was right; she couldn’t pass on an opportunity to meet a magazine editor, especially if it meant possibly padding her bleeding bank account. “Fine, I’ll be there. That is, if I can find my clothes first.”

  “Shut up! You slept with Mr. Arabian Nights! What happened?”

  Jaylah looked around wondering if he was still there. “Do you want me to get dressed or tell you all about it? I can’t do both.”

  “Ok, but after you meet Hillary, we’ll grab a drink and you can give me all of the sordid details. And I do mean all of them,” Jourdan said.

  “Deal. See you soon.”

  She walked through the flat searching for a sign that last night’s lover was still around. “Faraj?” she called, peering into the bathroom before continuing down the hall.

  “Faraj?” she yelled again.

  He was gone.

  On one hand she was relieved he slipped out and they wouldn’t have to trade clumsy hellos and iffy promises to hook up later. But on the other, she was a bit disheartened he left without at least saying goodbye.

  “Don’t be silly, Jay. This is what you wanted, right?” she reminded herself. “Operation Get Laid, remember? Well, congratulations, it worked!”

  Jaylah headed to the kitchen to make a pot of too-strong coffee before jumping in the shower. She needed to shake her ambivalence about Faraj, and get her mind together for her meeting with Jourdan and Hillary. If she was going to transform herself from barely functioning drunk (which is how she felt) to amazingly talented writer (which is what she hoped Hillary would believe) she needed something more than a cup of Joe.

  “Dear God, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I really, really need this,” she prayed. “I know it seems wrong asking for your help after what went down last night, but I don’t know what else to do. Please help me be—“ she hesitated to find the right words, “the best me possible today. Ok?”

  When she opened her eyes, Jaylah noticed a tiny slip of paper with her name on it.

  Jaylah,

  I didn’t want to wake you, but I had to go to work. Last night was incredible.

  I’d love to take you to dinner sometime. Call me. Please?

  xx,

  Faraj

  0203 538 6595

  Jaylah did a quick cha-cha around the kitchen. Even if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see him again, it was nice to know she left him wanting more.

  * * *

  “Jaylah Baldwin, this is Hillary Clarke,” Jourdan said, introducing the women. She had managed to get to Jourdan’s office five minutes before the meeting, giving her just enough time to calm her nerves.

  “Pleasure to meet you Ms. Clarke,” she said, trying her best to mimic the pomp and circumstance of the Queen’s English.

  “Please, call me Hillary,” she said, shaking Jaylah’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Jaylah wondered how much Hillary could have possibly heard given she’d just met Jourdan and hadn’t ever bragged about her bylines. Perhaps Hillary Googled her as well? “Likewise,” she said, being polite.

  “Jourdan tells me you’re looking to write for UK publications. What brings you to our side of the Pond?”

  “As you know, the publishing world is quite hectic at the moment. I’ve been working like a maniac at The L.A. Weekly for the past five years, and just needed a bit of a change.”

  “And why’d you pick London?”

  “For one, I already knew the language. Or so I thought,” she smiled, hoping Hillary would appreciate her attempt at humor. “But seriously, I’ve lived in New York, I needed a break from L.A., and London is so vibrant and full of culture, it just seemed like the perfect place to regroup.”

  “Have you been freelancing since coming here?” Hillary asked.

  “No, I’ve just been wandering around doing all of the touristy things and trying my hardest not to be the rude American.”

  Hillary nodded a reserved smile. “I see. I’m sort of in a pinch. I had a girl defect to Vogue, so I’m looking for a freelancer who can cover the lifestyle vertical. Basically she’d run ‘round to shows, pubs, and things of that nature, then write about the best things to do in London.”

  Jaylah’s heart dropped, another gig covering shitty unsigned bands and horribly made films? Did she really leave L.A. to do what she did back home? “I see,” she replied, trying to keep disappointment from edging into her voice.

  “I read through some of your clips and I noticed you did quite a lot of that back in L.A., although we’ve already got a music writer. So this would be sort of a ‘girl about town’ feature,” Hillary explained.

  Jaylah let out an inaudible breath before nodding enthusiastically. “So I’d be able to see a bit more of the city as well.”

  “Exactly! How about you write one article and we’ll see how it goes from there? We pay £250.”

  Jaylah tried to do math in her head. How much was that in American dollars? “Sounds great,” she said, knowing it didn’t matter how much it was; she needed the money.

  “Perfect. Call me tomorrow and we’ll get you set up, I already have an assignment in mind,” Hillary said before turning to Jourdan. “I’ve got to go, but your proposal sounds great. I think it’ll be the way to go.”

  She beamed, “Glad to hear it. I’ll draw up the contract and send it right over.”

  “Ladies, it was a pleasure,” Hillary said heading out the door.

  “Aren’t you glad I convinced you to get out of bed?” Jourdan said, grabbing her bag. “Now, let’s go grab a drink. You’ve got a story to tell!”

  The thought of drinking made Jaylah nauseous. “I don’t think I can stomach any liquor today.”

  “You know what the best cure for a hangover is?” Jourdan asked. “Another drink! Now let’s go.”

  * * *

  Day 27, my flat.

  I’m starting to get the hang of this place. It took a little while, but I feel less like a clueless visitor and more like I belong. I even gave an old woman directions to the Tube yesterday; that counts for something, right?

  It’s crazy how quickly so much has changed. Last week I was beginning to panic because I have a little less than $1000 left and it has to last me for the next two months. I decided to get by on sandwiches and do as
many free things as possible (and only splurge on the really important stuff like chocolate or vodka), but things are looking up. Jourdan (how amazing is SHE?) introduced me to Hillary Clarke of UK Glamour and she agreed to give me a shot. They were looking for someone to write about events around town, and considering I can’t afford to go to any of them on my own and I need the money, I jumped on the gig!

  I filed my first story yesterday, and it went much better than expected. They sent me to see “The Amen Corner,” a play about a female pastor whose church is turning against her. And, get this, it was by James Baldwin, my favorite writer in the history of writers. Coincidence? Methinks not. Anyway, the play was AH-MAY-ZING and I said as much in my article. I was prepared for Hillary to hate it, but instead she emailed to say it was “brilliant” (apparently, the Brits love that word) and only needed a bit of editing to switch my American spellings to British ones.

  Jourdan is taking me out to dinner at some restaurant in Notting Hill to celebrate. Who would have thought a total stranger would end up not only being one of the coolest people I’ve ever met, but also hook me up like this? She’s like my long-lost white twin sister. We’re both tall and curvy, sarcastic as hell, she gets my jokes, and she can tear up a dance floor! The only difference? She’s much ballsier. I don’t think Jourdan goes through the mental gymnastics that I do; she just goes for what she wants. Hopefully a little of that will rub off on me while I’m here.

  From the looks of things, I should have moved to London a long time ago. I might be on staff at a major glossie and married to a beautiful man by now.

  Speaking of beautiful men. Faraj—OH MY GOD—how hot was that? I still haven’t called him and I’m not quite sure I want to. I dreamed about him bending me over and other hot scenarios, but I don’t want to get too close. The last thing I want to do is fall for some guy, then have to leave. Plus, something about Faraj tells me this isn’t his first time at the rodeo.