by Selena Kitt
“And he told me, ‘Son, you don’t step into trouble like that if it isn’t yours. Just look away.’”
“What did you do?”
Clay put the car into gear, pulling away from the curb and popping on his headlights. “I looked away. Like you said, I was just fourteen. What was I supposed to do?”
“Did anything happen to you? How did you get home?”
Clay stopped at a red light and Erica glanced up, seeing a crowd of colored people crossing the street. She sank down in her seat without even thinking about it and Clay looked over at her and laughed.
“You’ve lived in this city your whole life. What are you afraid of?”
Erica straightened in her seat, crossing her arms and frowning at him. “Nothing. I was just… getting more comfortable.”
“Sure.” Clay chuckled, giving the car a hard shot of gas as he pulled away when the light turned green. “You ever been to the Blue Haven?”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll show you.” Clay pulled around the corner and parked the car in a dimly lit lot. The music emanating from the back of the building made the ground tremble beneath Erica’s feet. The street was cobblestone and she followed behind Clay as they went around to the front.
“Welcome to Black Bottom,” Clay whispered into her ear as he reached for the door handle of the Blue Haven. The neon sign above the entrance told her that much. A blackboard out front had Sonnyboy Williamson Appearing All Week written in chalk. “The cops won’t even come down here.”
“Okay, now I’m scared.” She grabbed for his hand as he opened the door, the music blasting them both.
“Don’t be. I’m here.” He grinned and pulled her in. “Everyone knows everyone on Hastings Street.”
“Do they know you?”
“Yeah, they know me.” Clay waved to the woman tending bar. She dropped him a slow wink and raised her painted-on eyebrows at Erica trailing behind him in the smoke-filled haze of the darkened bar. There was a band playing up front and lots of crammed in tables filled with patrons slapping their knees and rocking along. They were the only white people in the place.
Clay pulled out a chair for her at a two-person table near the wall and she quickly sat, hoping she might blend right into it. Clay looked like he was enjoying himself, more at her expense than anything else.
“This whole street was jumping in the heyday,” he said over the music. “It’s dying now. They’re killing it with a freeway.”
“Getcha?” The waitress appeared with a pad and a pen and a skirt so short it made Erica blush.
“Two beers. Schlitz.” Clay pulled out his wallet, handing over two dollars. The waitress eyeballed Erica, looking like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She just took Clay’s money and came back with two glasses from the tap, putting them on the table.
Erica wasn’t quite old enough to drink, and she was pretty sure Clay wasn’t either, but they sat at the table and drank beer and talked and no one came over and bothered them or told them to leave.
“We can go in their stores and clubs. But they’re not allowed in ours. Why is that, do you think?” Clay wondered out loud. He leaned forward in his chair toward her and she could smell the beer on his breath. “You know the KKK is alive and well in Detroit, don’t you? Some of our city council members still wear white after Labor Day.”
“Shhh!” Erica glanced around. “You can’t say that in here!”
“Do you think black people don’t know about the KKK?”
“Clay! Hush!”
“Got a sweet home Tennessee born girl like me here to sing the blues and steal your heart,” said the man at the mic. “Please welcome Miss Aretha Franklin.”
The young girl who stepped up onto the stage barely reached the microphone. She had big, dark wet eyes and her hair was wrapped around her head like a small, black beehive.
“She’s not even old enough to be in here,” Erica whispered.
“You’re right.” Clay squinted at the stage as the music started. “That’s the little girl who sings at the New Bethel Church. She’s the pastor’s daughter. I don’t think she’s quite fourteen. What’s she doing here at one in the morning?”
She might have looked small, but when the girl opened her mouth and began to sing the whole place went up in a stunned cheer. How could such a powerful voice be coming from that little bit of a girl? Erica met Clay’s eyes, both of them staring, open mouthed and too stunned to speak.
It was an old gospel song, with Sonnyboy’s soulful blues harp wailing behind, but he couldn’t compete with the girl’s voice. Just when they thought she couldn’t take them any higher, or push her voice any lower, just when they thought she was done toying with them like a cat with its paw on a mouse’s tail, she would come back even harder and knock the whole place on its behind.
She only did three songs, and Erica leaned over to say, “It’s past her bedtime!” to Clay, who laughed, still clapping and whistling in the wake of the young girl’s performance. Sonnyboy picked it up again, knocking his music out of the park. Erica had never listened to much blues, although she recognized the sound. Her father’s gallery had done a whole show on the roots of rock n roll, tracing it back to the Delta blues.
Erica slid her chair closer to Clay’s, feeling her thigh brush his. “This music is hot.”
He nodded, glancing at her, noticing her blouse was still unbuttoned, dangerously low. She saw him looking and fanned herself with her napkin.
“It makes me want to take my clothes off.”
His eyes lit up and he grinned. “Let’s go do that.”
They left their beers half full on the table and rushed out the door, both of them in desperate hurry to get to the car. Clay unlocked her side and Erica didn’t give him a chance to go around to his.
“Where do you think you’re going?” She grabbed his collar, reaching through and pulling up the lock on the back door of the passenger’s side.
He shook his head and protested as she slammed the passenger door closed and opened the back door, but he let her push him in and crawl in behind him.
“We really should park somewhere else,” he said before she kissed him full on the mouth, throwing her arms around his neck and letting him take her full weight.
“What’s the matter? I thought you liked living dangerously.”
“Is that a challenge?” Clay took his gum out of his mouth and pressed it to the glass with his thumb. “If we get arrested, I’m telling them this was all your idea.”
“You’re such a gentleman.” Erica laughed. “Now shut up and kiss me.”
It didn’t matter, in the end, where they were parked, because the windows were steamed up completely by the time they had stripped down to their underwear, kissing with thrusting tongues, limbs entwined, bodies slippery with sweat already in anticipation. The whole car smelled like sex and Erica loved it, wrapping herself around Clay, feeling him hard between her thighs, the bulge in his boxers rubbing against the crotch of her panties, creating the most delicious friction.
“You like that?” Clay watched her face, seemingly delighted by what he found there.
“You know what I’d like better?”
“Hm,” Clay mused. “Another beer? The Tigers to win the World Series? The end of the Cold War?”
She shook her head, grinning. “Something far more miraculous.”
“Well now you have to tell me.”
“Let me show you.” Erica slithered down onto the floor, settling herself amidst their discarded clothes, centering herself between his thighs.
She slid his boxers down, letting him spring free, and Clay watched her with growing interest as she took him in her hand, stroking him lightly, nice and easy, liking the way he moved his hips in response, eyes half-closed, mouth slightly open.
When she put her mouth on it, Clay nearly jumped out of his skin, thrusting up involuntarily, making her gag.
“Holy hell!” he gasped. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Y
ou just surprised me!”
Erica cleared her throat, blinking her watery eyes. “It’s okay, I’m fine.”
She kissed around the head, soft kisses, little licks, teasing, blowing, rubbing it against her cheeks, her lips, and then, slowly, taking him back into her mouth again. This time he was ready for it, and the low, incredulous groan her slick mouth and tongue elicited from him was immensely satisfying. Erica settled in, leaning on his thighs and sucking him deeper, taking more and more, until she had him almost all the way to the back of her throat.
“Oh my God!” Clay moaned, his hand moving in her hair, sliding down and finding her breast, nipple prominently hard through her bra, and that just made him moan louder. “Erica! Oh that’s so good. Am I dead? I think I died. I think I’m in heaven. Ohhh my God! What are you doing down there? Jesus Christ!”
Erica lifted her head, smiling. “Nice girls don’t do this either.”
“Did I ever say I liked nice girls?” Clay asked, panting. “I don’t recall I ever said that.”
She took him back into her mouth, working mouth and tongue and hand together, faster now, looking up at his face, the way he licked his lips, feeling his thighs tightening under her arms.
“Oh, Erica, you better stop doing that before… before… oh wait, stop… before I… stop before… oohhhhhh don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
And that was it, just like that. Clay thrust up, clearly no longer concerned about her gag reflex, and bathed her tongue with white hot lava. Erica swallowed the first blast without a second thought, working for the next, feeling it erupt up from the base of him where her hand was tightly wrapped and still stroking, milking him completely.
“Oh wow.” He blinked as she kneeled up and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his collarbone, feeling his body beginning to relax. “That was… wow. Definitely wow.”
She giggled at his reaction, nuzzling his ear. “Now it’s my turn.”
“Absolutely,” Clay agreed. “It is most definitely your turn now… your turn for what?”
Erica situated herself on the seat beside him, putting her feet over his lap, her knees tented over his pelvis, lifting her bottom so she could slide down her panties. Clay watched this development with growing interest, picking up the panties she tossed onto the seat and bringing them to his nose.
“Do you like it?” she asked, smiling at the way he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.
“Yeah,” he croaked, opening his eyes and looking down at her knees in his lap, following the seam of her closed legs to the dark blond triangle between them.
“Ever come home from school, and your mom’s baking something so yummy, like your very favorite thing. Like brownies or chocolate cake?” Erica asked.
He snorted. “My mother doesn’t bake.”
“Okay your nanny then.”
“Sure. Brownies. Love brownies. Good stuff.”
“Have you ever been able to smell it, like, before you even got to your house. You’re walking down your street, and you can smell something… mmmm. So good. And your mouth starts to water. Now you’re thinking about brownies. Warm, yummy, gooey, chocolaty brownies...”
“Now I’m hungry,” Clay said, licking his lips. “Did you ever think about a career in advertising?”
Erica laughed. “Now you’re smelling brownies and thinking about brownies and you can’t wait to get a brownie in your mouth.”
“Uh-huh. Damn, I’m salivating.” Clay wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“And you run up onto your front porch and open the door, and the smell of brownies envelopes you, it’s like your whole house is made of brownies, it smells so good, and you run to the kitchen and there on the kitchen table, there you find it...”
“Please don’t tell me it’s an empty plate.”
“No.” She smiled. “Brownies. All you can eat. A whole pile of them, still warm.”
“Mmmmm.”
“So you go over and pick up a brownie… now what do you do?”
“Oh this is an interactive story?” Clay cleared his throat. “Ummm… I gobble down the brownie in two seconds flat, in fact, I just eat the whole damned batch, gulp, in one glorious sitting.”
“Noooo!” Erica kicked her bare feet on the seat, rolling from side to side in protest. “Wrong answer!”
“Damn. No $64,000? No brownies?”
“You have to take your time,” Erica emphasized. “You’ve been thinking about the brownie, smelling it, looking at it, and now you finally have it in your hand and you want to taste it… but you want to savor it. You want to really, thoroughly enjoy it. So lick a little bit of the frosting. Nibble. Go slow. Savor it.”
“Wait a minute, you aren’t talking about brownies are you.” Clay tickled her knees, making Erica laugh and squirm. “This is a metaphor isn’t it?”
“You’re very quick.”
“My bananas are all in a complete bunch, I tell you.”
“That’s what it’s like,” she said, taking his hand and placing it over her mound. “To put your mouth down here.”
Clay groaned when she parted her swollen lips using his fingers, her hands guiding him.
“See… soft, warm, gooey...” She grinned. “But I have to tell you about the secret spot. When you finally get to that spot, it’s less like savoring the brownie and more like licking a Tootsie Pop. You just lick, lick, lick until you finally get to the middle.”
“I’m confused,” Clay murmured, his fingers starting to move on their own, exploring the pink labyrinth of her sex. “Am I nibbling or chewing? Or licking? Oh wow, it’s so hot in there...”
Erica slipped his fingers inside, moving them in and out. “Like that. Mmm hmm. Good. Now, how coordinated are you? Can you walk and chew gum at the same time.”
“
Uh I think so… do I have to try it? And are we switching candy and dessert items here? From brownies to Tootsie Pops to gum… I’m still confused.”
“Feel this?” Erica used his finger to brush over that little sensitive bud of flesh at the top of her cleft. “That’s the spot. That’s the center of the Tootsie Pop. That’s where you stay and lick and lick and ohhhh yes… if that was your tongue… oh God...”
“Okay, to hell with the dress rehearsal,” Clay said. “Let’s do this thing.”
Erica happily opened her legs for his eager mouth, and Clay spent a long time kissing her thighs, her mound, parting her with his fingers first, then his tongue, teasing, nudging the spot with his nose, his tongue delving lower.
“Wow, you take direction well,” Erica complimented him as he finally, oh sweet Jesus in heaven, finally flickered his tongue back and forth over that magic little button.
“Yes, I’m sure I’ll have a long, successful career in the armed forces, taking orders from my superiors. Or maybe I’ll be a Tootsie Pop licker. That’s a job, isn’t it? Someone has to do it...”
“Stop talking.” Erica moaned, undoing her bra and flinging it off so she could play with her own nipples. “Lick.”
He had teased her so long and so well, she was more than ready for her climax, and Clay did just as he was told, lick, lick, lick, his fingers moving in and out, the wet squelching sound filling the car as Erica thrust her hips up toward his delightfully torturous tongue.
“Ohhhh, Clay!” Erica cried. “Now! Ohhh, Clay now, now, lick it! Now!”
She shuddered, her orgasm lifting her pelvis off the seat with a thick, wet sound, her bottom peeling away from the vinyl, and Clay made a low noise in his throat as she quivered in his hands, under his lightning fast tongue.
“Wowwwwww.” He lifted his head, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, and asked, “Can we do that again?”
Erica giggled as he climbed on top of her and she pulled his head down so she could kiss him full on the mouth, her tongue thrusting, tasting herself.
“Mmmm.” She met his eyes in the dimness. “I taste good.”
“That’s very wicked and incredibly arousing. Why is that
?”
“Oh goodness, feels like you’re nice and ready again. What are we going to do about that?”
“Go make brownies?”
“Okay.” Erica reached for her clothes and Clay sat up, stunned until she burst out laughing. “Your face! Oh that was precious!”
“Ha.Ha.” Clay grabbed her and pinned her down on the seat, holding her wrists above her head while he tickled her ribs and under her arms, making her howl with laughter.
“Bad girl,” he chastised, kissing the tip of her nose. “That’s what bad girls get.”
Erica pouted. “I thought bad girls got spankings.”