Another Time, Another Place

by Zane

  “Nice,” I comment.

  “You like?” he questions as his wet tongue tries to meet mine. I succeed in not slobbing him down like normal. I have to control this situation in order to end it, but I think this is going to be more difficult than I had planned.

  “Yeah, this is cool.”

  “So, how are you today, Connie, my sizzling tamale? You look hot in that dress.”

  “How cute. I’m fine.”

  “Really? You look concerned about something this morning. And the conservative way you reciprocated my kiss is not exactly what I was expecting from you. Anything wrong?”

  I’m trying to hide my thoughts, but I guess I’m not doing a very good job. There’s nothing to do now except get this out of the way. The sooner, the better, right?

  “Well, Bishop, now that you mention it. There is something on my mind.”

  A huge pause occupies the space between us before he replies, “Sounds serious. What’s up?”

  I adjust the way I’m sitting to slightly turn and face him. Damn! This is hard. I look at my ideal sex partner—smart, career-minded, handsome, muscular, passionate—and think, do I really want to give up his ten inches of rock-hard, thick, solid dick that consumes all of my deep cavity? Do I want to give up this Adonis who understands how I like my pearly showers? Keith pops into my mind—a caramelcoated, take-no-shit, intelligent, successful entrepreneur who is handsome, athletically built, considerate, and loving. He does all he can to please me with the six inches he’s blessed to have. But am I happy with him? He makes me laugh in ways no other does, appeases my senses; he always smells so damn good and is pleasing to watch. I feel at ease when we’re together and he’s easy to talk to and always listens to me, no matter what subject I choose to discuss. With Bishop, I never have much to say.

  So, here I sit with a dilemma: Do I give up Bishop for Keith’s sake?

  “Connie, are you okay?” Bishop asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Yeah, uh sure.”

  “Something’s up. Let’s go chat a moment,” he suggests.

  Bishop tries to make small talk as we drive to Lenox Mall where we pick up George. I moderately entertain the conversation but am mostly silent along the way. I see the signs for the Lenox Marta subway but instead of going straight to the Park & Ride to get George, he detours. He drives to a nearby parking garage and parks the Escalade on a secluded upper deck. He turns off the engine, killing a mellow groove by KEM that’s soothing to my ears.

  “Okay, Connie, let’s talk. What’s going on?”

  Everything in me wants to just say, “I can’t see you anymore,” but nothing comes out of my mouth. I merely look into his beautiful hazel eyes and wish I could have him all to myself—no Keith, no wife.

  “Connie, what’s gotten into you?” His tone is changing, becoming stern. I realize I’m frustrating him and that’s not my intention.

  “Bishop, there’s something I think you should know.”

  “What?”

  “I uh, I think today is my last day carpooling. This isn’t working out for me.”

  He looks at me blankly, then out the window and then back at me. I assume it’s to gather his words.

  “Connie, what happened? Did George say something to you ’cause I’ll—”

  “No, George hasn’t done anything. It’s just not working out for me.”

  “How so? Give me two good reasons why not.”

  Without exposing Keith’s wishes, what else can I say? I lie. “Well, it’s just that during the day, I feel trapped at work without transportation. Like yesterday, I could have gone to the post office to update my passport, but I couldn’t ’cause I didn’t have my car.”

  “All you had to do was mention it and I would’ve taken you.”

  “That’s the point. I don’t want to have to ask you or anybody else. I just want to get in my ride and go.”

  “I’m not buying this, Connie. It’s gotta be something else. Is this about my wife? ’Cause—”

  “No. It’s not about your wife. It’s about me and what I need.” Well, actually what Keith needs but I can’t say that. “Are you feeling guilty about your wife? Is that why you ask?” I try to flip the script and turn the attention to him.

  “No. Hell no. I want to be around you as much as possible and don’t want you to pull back because of my wife. I explained where she and I stand to you, and I hope you believe me.”

  “Yeah, but what I don’t get is, why do you stay?”

  “Let’s not dwell on that. What I care about right here, right now, is you. So tell me the truth. Why don’t you want to carpool with me anymore?”

  Umph, the truth, the truth is what I get from Keith even when it’s brutal. I don’t think Bishop is a truthful person, but he sure is hellasexy. Do I care about his honesty? Not really, his sex is what I’m after.

  “Well, Bishop, the truth of the matter is, I’m not comfortable in this situation with you.”

  His perplexed expression indicates he’s totally confused. So, I continue, “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” I lean forward just a little to let my 36DDs put an exclamation mark on my statement.

  “Stop playin,’ Connie. You know we are equally yoked.”

  “Maybe I don’t want an equal. Maybe I want an opposite.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Maybe I don’t want a corporate eagle like myself. Maybe I just want an educated roughneck.”

  “Oh, I see where this is going. Some other nigga is tappin’ that ass, or you want to start seeing somebody else, huh?”

  “Bishop, time out. I don’t need your permission for nothing and I don’t have to tell you shit. We don’t have any strings attached.”

  “Fuck that, Connie. What hoodlum nigga are you sleeping with?”

  He catches me off guard with his jealousy but I’m quick to reply, “Hoodlum? Who said I’m sleeping with a hoodlum? Besides, just because a brother can be thuggy doesn’t mean he’s stupid or insensitive. I know brothers who have just as much as you, and some who have more, and their ass didn’t have to go to West Point to get it.”

  “Those street mothafuckas can’t touch me. And that’s what you want, huh? A thug.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Suddenly, somehow, we get into a heated discussion about our so-called relationship. I call it a “fuckship.” For the first time, I witness Bishop’s temper.

  “Shit! The very time I find someone I want to be close with who is my equal sexual partner, you want to stop seeing me for a thug. Ain’t that some shit.”

  “He’s not a thug,” I retort.

  “That might be so, but can he make you feel like this?”

  Bishop suddenly dips his tongue into my mouth and grabs my breasts. He then reclines my seat to the level with the rear ones that are already folded down. He runs his hands under my dress and discovers my bare ass and pussy. He breathes heavily in my ear, “Damn, you’re so fine. I know you still want me because you wouldn’t offer yourself to me like this if you didn’t.”

  I say nothing and kiss him back with the same degree of passion his tongue demands from my mouth. He pulls apart the bow that keeps my wraparound dress together, exposing my mostly naked body. He reaches down and unsnaps my bra, then tosses it aside.

  “Yeah, now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He views my entire naked body, and then engulfs my breasts and I’m turned on even more.

  “I know that nigga doesn’t make you feel like I do. And I guarantee you that he doesn’t have this.”

  He unzips his pants and exposes what I love best about him. I can stop now and end this, but I’m again under his wicked spell. I jerk his pants and boxers down and become more animalistic than ever, biting at his penis. I then rip open his freshly pressed, Sean John business shirt and lick his six-pack abs.

  “Move your fine ass to the back,” he orders as he slaps the side of my hips. I like being in the midst of his aggressive side. He makes a fe
w adjustments to the seats and presto, we have good-sized flat surface.

  As our heated, naked bodies touch, and I feel the exhilarating pulse of his heart against mine, and the warmth of his breath on my neck, sudden thoughts of consequences enter my mind. They are thoughts about Keith and the loyalty he expects from me.

  “Bishop, do you have a condom?” I hope he says no and I can end this right here, right now, no more excuses. I can honor Keith’s wishes.

  “Uhhhh. Hold on a sec.” He rises off of me and searches inside his center console.

  “Got one right here.”

  Damn! He holds the super-sized Trojan pack in the air like a trophy that he’s proud to have on hand and quickly returns to hovering my body. I try to bring Keith back to my forethoughts, but our chemistry takes off like a dragster racecar, engines roaring, wheels churning, full combustion, racing to get to the finish line. Bishops holds the Trojan pack between his teeth and tears it open with one hand while his other continues to find the center between my wet labia. I squirm with excitement, spreading my wetness upon his fingers as I gyrate my hips in a circular motion. I want him, got to have him, and let him whip that thang on me one last time.

  “Bishop,” I moan.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Put your scrumptious dick in me.”

  I wrap my long, dark-brown legs around his waist and pull him toward me. He seals the remaining part of his long shaft with the condom just in time as I guide him straight into my opening. He works his big cock into me, one inch at a time, with slow, intended down strokes until his base reaches my labia. He stirs up my juices, getting our genitals soaking wet, and then he puts a hurtin’ on my pussy. I know he’s going to have rug burns on his elbows and knees, but he doesn’t seem to care.

  The Escalade rocks with the force of our humping bodies. Bishop continues to blow my back out. I return the favor by making him lie on his back while I ride his black stallion.

  “Damn, Connie, your shit is good!”

  “Yours, too!”

  “Turn your ass around,” he orders.

  I ride his stallion backward. With one hand, he grabs a handful of my hair for his reins and spanks my ass with his other—the entire time, one slap after another.

  “Ride my dick, Connie. Harder. Harder,” he commands.

  I pounce up and down on the long, thick pole until I concave and cum so hard that I see flickers of glitter about my sight. My cum drains down his latex shaft with each thrust I give. My orgasmic juices reach his pubic hair and balls.

  “Damn, you’re so wet. Don’t stop, baby,” he orders. I try not to but my body has just experienced the hardest orgasm ever. I continue to give enough of myself to keep him excited and satisfied. After a few moments, he sounds off, “Oh shit! I’m cummming!” Just for kicks, I rise to the tip of his penis, spin around, face him, and then slam my pussy to his base. The spin sends him into a frenzy.

  “OHHHH SHITTTT!”

  His body seizes and I feel his penis pulsate and grow that extra thickness just prior to ejaculating. I watch his eyes roll upward inside his head, then close with each contraction as his body releases an abundance of cum. I’m glad he’s wearing a condom ’cause this would be a serious mess. I look around the SUV and discover that the tinted windows are completely fogged. I can’t see shit and that concerns me. We can’t see if anyone is walking up on us. I let Bishop enjoy a few more seconds of my insides, then I suggest, “We should get going. We’ll already late getting George.”

  “Forget about George. He can wait.”

  “Bishop, stop playin.’ Come on, we gotta get to work.”

  I remove myself off of him and search for my clothes. He slowly gets up and does the same.

  “Damn, it’s hot in here.” He climbs to the front, butterball buttnaked, and starts the engine to initiate the A/C.

  “Shit!”

  “Bishop, what’s wrong?”

  “I got a cramp in my leg.”

  I watch him grab his hamstring and press his head against the headrest.

  “Open the door and stretch it,” I suggest.

  “In a sec. I can’t move right now.” His face displays the discomfort and tightness of his muscle spasm. I feel sorry that there’s nothing I can really do. He grunts more. I quickly put on my undergarments, wrap my dress, exit the vehicle, and race to the driver’s side. I open the door and he practically falls out. I try not to laugh, but here he stands naked outside of the SUV in broad daylight.

  “Bishop, you gotta pull yourself together and get dressed.”

  “Woman, you don’t understand. I can’t until this shit goes away.”

  “Woman”? Who does he think he’s talking to? I turn and leave his ass leaning alongside the Escalade and climb back into the truck. That did it for me, no more. I hear the sound of screeching wheels like a car is steadily coming up the ramp. I see Bishop fighting to get back in the Escalade. I feel sorry for his ass and gather his clothes and button his shirt while he puts on his pants. We see the yellow lights reflect off the concrete wall as the security car approaches further up the ramp. I do a final check in the visor mirror.

  “How do I look?”

  “Fine,” Bishop replies.

  The windows unfog just in the nick of time. The security car approaches us slowly. A well-fit Caucasian man sits behind the wheel. Bishop lowers his window and places both hands on the steering wheel so they are visible to the guard.

  “Is there a problem here?” the guard asks, looking across Bishop’s seat at me.

  “No problem, sir,” Bishop answers. The guard looks at me again like he needs reassurance. So, I give a slight wave, indicating everything is fine.

  “Well, you can’t loiter here,” the security guard informs with a condescending tone.

  “I understand,” Bishop complies.

  “You folks have a nice day.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Bishop mumbles. He then puts the Escalade into gear and drives away. He reaches across the console and holds my hand. Before I get a word out of my mouth, he kisses the back of my hand and I say nothing. Sometimes you just have to let a moment be.

  We arrive at George’s pickup spot twenty-five minutes late. Bishop lowers his window and instructs George to get in. He looks miffed. I know he’s going to talk about this all the way to work. He opens the rear passenger door and gets in admiring the SUV. Bishop watches him through the rearview mirror and tries to take George’s mind off of the tardiness.

  “You like my new ride?”

  “Damn that. B, man, where the hell have you been?”

  Bishop smiles and puts the car in “drive” and looks at me.

  “Oh, I see, late on the lady’s behalf. Good mornin,’ Connie.

  “Mornin,’ George.”

  “Tell me something, Connie. Why do women always take too long getting ready in the morning?”

  “George, before you get started, I was on time.” George looks at Bishop with frowned brows and asks, “Well, B, if she was on time, why the hell you twenty-five minutes late getting my ass?”

  “George, man, ease up. We’ll be at work in no time.”

  “Yeah right,” George snarls as he stares out of the window. He settles in but just like I suspect, he questions Bishop the entire way to work.

  The day zooms by. Thank the Lord; it’s five o’clock on a Friday. I can’t wait to leave Clark and Howard—no more contracts to write and review, no more conference calls, no more negotiation meetings, and no more filling-in for boss lady, who I’m still reluctant to say will be back in the office on Monday. Nothing left to do now except take my final ride home with Bishop and George.

  We all meet at the car in the garage at five-oh-five. This time on the way home, George entertains us about the latest gun laws in Congress. Being an attorney, I debate with him about some of his wacky points of view. The ride home is full of conversation, probably more than Bishop wants this time of day. But that’s okay—after today he won’t have to hear George and I go a
t each other anymore.

  We arrive at the Lenox Marta subway station and George exits the SUV. I must admit I won’t miss riding with him.

  “Later, B. Later, little Miss Missy.”

  “Whatever,” I announce out of my window. He squints his nose at me and I squint mine back at him.

  “You two are a trip,” Bishop proclaims as he drives away.

  “At least I don’t have to deal with his crazy ass anymore.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Bishop, we talked about this this morning. I don’t want to go through this again.”

  “Don’t worry, we won’t. Do you mind if I make a stop on the way to your car?”

  “That’s fine.”

  Twenty minutes later, Bishop drives into the archway of the Ritz-Carlton in midtown.

  “I’ll be back,” he announces with a kiss to my hand.

  “Bishop, wait. What are you doing?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He leaves the car and walks through the entrance of the hotel. About fifteen minutes later, he returns.

  “Everything is set.”

  “Everything like what?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He signals for the valet to park his SUV. He then walks around to my door and opens it in his gentlemanly fashion. I’m curious about what he’s up to, but I also need to get home. Maybe a quick peek won’t hurt.

  We reach the twelfth floor and Bishop leads the way to suite 1220.

  “Close your eyes,” he requests and I oblige without hesitation. I’m more curious than ever. I suspect that the surprise is for me and I’m dying to know what it is. He opens the door and the sensual scent of roses fill my nostrils. I smell the aroma of vanillascented candles.

  “Bishop, can I open my eyes?”

  “Not yet. Walk this way.” He guides me from the entrance and I notice my heels no longer click on marble flooring but are silenced by plush carpet.

  “Now?”