Heartless

by Al-Saadiq Banks

  “Have a great evening,” the driver says with sarcasm as if he knows the deal.

  An old man stands in the doorway wearing a satin robe. Mr. Antonelli, the owner of the Mercedes dealership, is patiently awaiting her. She gets out of the car and makes her way sluggishly toward the house. Mr. Antonelli waves at the driver, giving him the signal to leave. Butterflies fill her belly the closer she gets to the house.

  He flashes a dazzling smile at her upon her arrival. “Hello, beautiful,” he says with charm. She studies his perfect dentures before focusing on the wrinkles in his face. His smoke-gray hair looks as soft and smooth as silk. Even with the wrinkles and gray, he could still pass for a man in his late-fifties and nowhere near his actual age of seventy-three.

  He holds his hands out for hers. She gives him a fake smile as she grabs his hands with no real enthusiasm. He leads her inside and closes the door behind them. The sound of Frank Sinatra’s voice spills faintly throughout the house, irritating her to no end.

  The housekeeper looks Storm up and down, at her tomboy appearance, and disgust covers her face. She walks past Storm and shoots her a cold look before rolling her eyes. “Mr. Antonelli, will that be it for the night?” she asks as if she too knows the deal. Storm is sharp enough to pick up on that, him having young girls over must be the normal. No one seems to be shocked by her being here.

  “Yes, that will be it,” he replies, “Unless my beautiful guest needs something. Angel, have you eaten?”

  “I’m good,” she replies in her sassy tone. He calls her Angel, not knowing anything of her real name. He calls her that thinking it’s a sweet name for such a sweet girl. She’s expressed over and over to him how much she hates when he calls her that but still he does.

  “Yes. Well, I guess that will be it. Have a good night.”

  “You do the same,” the housekeeper replies with even more sarcasm then before, making her exit out of the room.

  The old man grabs Storm by the hand and leads her through the house. She’s disgusted by the feeling of his hardened and wrinkly hands. His boney, skeletal hands disgust her and remind her of how old he is. The smell of his cologne, so young and so vibrant, smacks her in the face like a breath of fresh air. The aroma takes her mind off his age. She slowly wiggles her hands free of his.

  He opens the door of the master bedroom and the sound of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” is blaring at full volume. The bright room is almost blinding. It’s like a winter wonderland, all white everything. The pure whiteness has an effect. She feels as if she’s floating on clouds. Storm takes a deep breath, taking it all in.

  This is her fourth time here, and still hasn’t gotten used to it. She steps through the plush white carpet, which is as soft and thick as two feet of snow. Elegant lace curtains envelope the canopy bed. It is as big as two eastern king-size beds put together. A tiny staircase sets against the base, which is a foot and a half from the floor. White satin sheets spill over the mattress, dragging the floor.

  Storm shivers as she stands in the middle of the room. Her shivering has nothing to do with the winter like aura of the room. The room alone has a cold, eerie feeling, and she knows exactly what it is. There have even been unexplainable events that have taken place while she’s been here such as objects falling to the floor, strange noises, and even a mirror cracking down the middle and shattering into many pieces.

  The man takes a gulp of the glass of wine that he grabs from his nightstand. He stares at her lustfully as he swallows the remainder. He lays the glass back on the nightstand and then slowly opens his robe, exposing his bare chest and his tiny button sized penis. He wastes no time. He stands there shamelessly for seconds before grabbing her hand and leading her up the staircase to “heaven” as he calls it.

  He lays back on the bed, back propped against the oversized headboard. With his eyes, he signals for her to remove her clothes. She lowers her gaze bashfully before pulling her hooded sweater over her head. Her breasts sit up perfectly in her sports bra.

  He watches as she climbs onto the bed. The way he looks at her makes her feel quite shameful. She looks away from him as she slides her sweats down. He can’t hide his excitement. She kicks her sweats off her leg and moves them toward the bottom of the bed with her foot. She’s on her knees in the middle of the bed, with only her bra and boy boxers on. She hasn’t removed her cap and has no plans of doing so.

  Lust fills the old man’s eyes. In a sports bra and boy boxers, she still is the sexiest thing in his eyes. She pulls her bra off and her perfect thirty-eight-Cs bounce vibrantly. Her nipples, tiny as buttons, are like rich-colored droplets. His heart pounds in his chest as she slowly pulls the boxers down. His eyes follow the thin trail of a bush that leads to the forest.

  The lower the boxers go, the thicker the forest becomes. The sandy color of her pubic hairs is like the color of fall leaves. He stares at her young, tender body in awe. It’s been many decades since he’s witnessed a body so young and flawless. His heart bangs through his chest as she stands up and steps out of the boxers. Without the boxers and sports bra, he now sees all woman, with curvaceous hips, and juicy succulent thighs. He looks upward at her, getting a full glimpse of her breasts. Their eyes lock in between her nipples which are aimed at the wall like missiles.

  “It wasn’t all his fault. He had no idea that I had just turned eighteen. The phony license I had stated that I was twenty-two. When he called me days after we left the dealership, I thought for sure he was calling because he was on to us, but that wasn’t what his call was about. He stated that he wanted me to come over to the dealership. I was hesitant at first, thinking it was a setup for me to be arrested. When I denied, he expressed to me that he knew all about the fake paperwork that we had presented. He stated that he didn’t care because it was the bank’s problem and not his. He discreetly made the threat that if I didn’t meet with him he would report us. Once I met up with him, he explained to me how I shouldn’t involve myself in such nonsense and told me how I deserve more in life than what criminals offer.

  “He told me that he had bigger plans for me. I was in no way as naive as he may have thought. I knew all about what plans he had for me. Just like he was planning to use me, I was planning to use him. The first month or so, we only indulged in phone conversation and dinner dates here and there.

  “It was like free money. It was like he was paying me for my time. Before even touching me, he would give me fifteen hundred a week. By the time we had any physical contact, I was already nine grand into his pocket. Then it was time for him to cash in on his investment. I was invited to his home, and he explained to me how he has needs and demands and he only expects me once a twice or month. It still wasn’t as bad as it seems because all he ever wants to do is to drink from my ‘fountain of youth,’ as he calls it.”

  The old man lays flat on the bed as Storm sits on his face. He eats from her box like it’s a gourmet meal. She braces herself by holding onto the throne-shaped headboard. Many mixed emotions occupy her, preventing her from experiencing any pleasure.

  She sees it all as business which helps her erase the guilt and disgust that she feels. The creepiness that she feels at allowing such an old man to touch her in this way is something that she can’t get past. It’s gotten easier for her since their first intimate encounter, but still it’s tough. She closes her eyes and just pictures money and it all makes sense to her.

  As she blocks out all the thoughts and lets herself go, she finds pleasure in it all. She loosens her grip on the headboard, allowing herself to rest totally on his face. The weight of her body suffocates him and he enjoys every pound of her. With very little sexual experience under her belt, she doesn’t know what it is she should be doing up here while he’s doing what he does. She just sits there, feeling awkward.

  He hits a high note, and her eyes pop open with pleasure. Upon her eyes opening, they land on the portrait of an older woman whos
e eyes appear to be looking right at her. She tries to look away, but the woman’s eyes have hers magnetized. Guilt overpowers her, causing her to look away. She looks to her left and to her right and she can’t shake the woman because her pictures are posted all over the wall.

  “The guilt was overbearing at times, but I managed to appeal to his demands. It all was strange to me, but I eventually got used to it. He had a weird fetish that I never really tried to understand. His wife had died in his home, in that very bed a few years earlier. His fetish was to have me in the bed that they shared together, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. It was as if she was watching every second of it, and in the beginning of our arrangement, it was hard for me to deal, but as time went on, it started to excite me, just as it did him. The cold eerie feeling of death was always in the air, and strangely enough I grew to love it. It turned me on!”

  Her body tenses up like a stiff board. With very little control of herself, she fights to lift her body up. She stares down into his eyes as he awaits her impatiently. This is his favorite part. He looks up at her with anticipation in his eyes.

  “Yes, my angel, give it to me,” he begs.

  With no further warning, she squirts in his face. “Nasty, old pervert,” she mumbles under her breath as her box sprays the clear, sparkling shower.

  He closes his eyes tight as he allows her juices to shower his whole face, taking his breath away. She stands up in the bed as the last of it spills from her. Sprinkles drop onto his mouth and he swipes them with his tongue, mindful not to miss a drop.

  He watches with great satisfaction as she shivers. This is the only time he sees her lose control of herself and he looks forward to it. Any other time, she’s so tough and firm. During this time, he sees her give up her power to him and he loves it. It’s that power that she hates to give up which is why she fights so hard to control it.

  Storm stands over him as she regains composure. Anger quickly replaces the pleasure as she faces that she has again, given up her power to him. She feels transparent to him right now and hates that he’s seen her so vulnerable. The few sexual experiences she’s had she’s managed to retain control of herself. Her vulnerable state is never exposed. Mr. Antonelli is the first man that she’s allowed herself to let go with. The only reason she lets go is because she’s paid to do so.

  “Over four times my age and, although the average person would frown upon it, I appreciated him. I learned so much from him. Most of our time together was spent talking. We talked about everything — life, business, relationships, and everything in between. It was like he was a father figure more than anything, as weird as that may sound. One of the most valuable things that I learned from him was that sex ruled the world.

  “Before him, I had a few sexual relationships that really meant nothing to me. It was always for the gain or benefit of the man and I got nothing from it. I did it solely for them with no enjoyment of my own. With him, it was different. Although it was for his own selfish gain, he made me feel like he cared whether I enjoyed myself or not. He did everything in his power to satisfy me.

  “Before him, I saw my squirting condition as a disease or a curse. I always felt like a freak of nature and was ashamed any time it happened. It was him who taught me that I had the magical fountain of youth, and just like he was willing to pay any amount to drink from it, I knew there would be so many others who would be willing to do the same.

  “Never in a million years did I expect the business arrangement with the old man to last for so many years. In my mind, he was sucking me dry of my youth, and I was merely trying to suck him dry for every dollar I could get out of him. Years flew by but I never lost sight of it all. To me, he was still just a dirty old perverted man. At least I had to tell myself that just so I wouldn’t catch feelings for him.

  “For the next few years, life as I knew it changed right before my eyes. The lifestyles of reality television housewives and ex-wives of basketball players; I was living just like them, if not better. Expensive cars, jewelry, and clothes from designers whose names I couldn’t spell. I had it all.

  “What I appreciated the most, of all the gifts the old man provided me, were the vacations. A local, neighborhood girl who rarely left the city growing up as a child now had the chance to see the world. For years, I was content with doing all the things I dreamed of doing. He did everything in his power to keep my mind occupied and me entertained.

  “He could never keep my full attention though because, even with all the places I traveled, my heart and soul was always in the hood. In between trips and everything else he had to give, I always found myself in the middle of some type of madness. It was like I couldn’t help myself. I was always searching for that rush.

  “Although he would give me any and everything I desired, I’ve always been the type to get out and earn my own money. I could never see myself depending solely on a man, an old man at that, who may not even be around in the next year or so. For those two reasons, I always stayed in the hood and on my grind. He was my ace in the hole, but I always hustled and made my own moves like I didn’t have him.”

  9

  Indianapolis

  Four Years Later

  February 5, 2012

  It’s Super Bowl weekend, and Storm arrived this afternoon. She’s here for the New York Giants versus New England Patriots game. Having the old man, Mr. Antonelli as her lover has many perks. He worked his magic to make this trip possible. It was hard getting flights here the last minute. The actual game attendance and the short notice flights are just half of the strings he pulled.

  Not only was she granted the privilege of this experience, but so were Toy and another friend. Mr. Antonelli gave Storm no hassle at all. She merely told him how badly she wanted to attend the Super Bowl, and he pulled his juice card to make it happen. Earlier today the three girls were granted entrance to the NFL Awards Ceremony, sitting front row with the many celebrities.

  Sitting among the many actors, models, and singers, they were treated like royalty. No one knew who they were but knew they had to be part of the elite to be there. They played the role and fit right on in. Being around all the money put them in the right position to make some.

  Storm, not being a fan of football or any other sport, sees the event for one purpose. Toy, on the other hand, is ecstatic to be here to witness her favorite team in the Super Bowl. It goes without saying that she has work to do to repay Storm for the free ride. She’s wise enough to know that nothing in life is free and she looks at the trip as business with the perks of personal enjoyment.

  This evening she got off to a great start by raking in a few grand already with a client she met at the ceremony. She’s come a long way since the first time she ever tricked in Virginia Beach. As much as she hated it at that time, she learned a lesson from it. Since that day, she has been making men pay like they weigh. She has Storm to thank for her game, so anytime Storm calls on her to make a move she’s down.

  Thanks to Mr. Antonelli, Storm is no newbie to travel. Being away from home is nothing new to her. Before him, she was just a local girl, but now she considers herself international. In the four years they’ve been together, she has had the pleasure of visiting five countries, including seven different islands. She’s so addicted to travel that she gets sick if she’s home for too long. Of all the places he’s taken her, the trip to Paris last year was her favorite. Not only has he enhanced her passport, he’s enhanced her quality of life.

  Right now they are at the official after-party for the awards ceremony. Any and everybody who is somebody is in attendance. The celebrities have stripped themselves of the formal attire they wore to the ceremony and all are dressed in something more comfortable. Storm and the crew not only fit in but outshine most of the celebrities, getting much attention.

  Storm is the most modestly dressed of the three, not exposing her body at all. Both her friends are scantily dressed in designer d
resses and stilettos. She’s dressed quite casually compared to them but still her appearance demands attention. She’s wearing simple jeans and a T-shirt under her three-quarter chinchilla coat.

  She has more diamonds on than the biggest celebrity in the building. The pink faced Presidential Rolex on her wrist and the diamond fluttered Wonder Woman bracelet are her most noticeable pieces for the ghetto eye. Those pieces were bought for her at her own request. The classier pieces, such as the flawless diamond pendant necklace, princess-cut earrings to match as well as the subtle but prestigious diamond rings, were all the choice of the old man.

  Coming from nothing she just has to have certain things to get them out of her system, but he’s persistent about showing her how to appreciate the finer things in life. Over the years, he’s built her layer by layer and has shown her some things that she never imagined seeing. Although she has gained some love for him, she still doesn’t call him her man. She forces herself to keep looking at it like a business situation, even when he makes it seem like more.

  Storm funded her friends’ attire from head to toe. In total, she’s spent a few grand just to have them looking presentable for this weekend’s festivities. She’s sure she will make her money back a few times over, so she sees it as a small investment. She charges it all off as a business expense. She plans to, at least, triple her earnings before the weekend is done.

  Storm sits at the center of the table, wearing a long, silky black wig that shows no trace of her hair. Over the years, she has done away with the baseball cap and replaced it with the wig that now acts as her security blanket. Her attention is locked on the table directly across from them. A beautiful waitress steps over to the table with yet another bottle of champagne. “This is from the gentleman over in the corner with the yellow shirt on,” the waitress states as she points to the corner of the room.