Whos Loving You

by Mary B. Morrison

  Staring at my brother, my dad didn’t blink once. Dad said, “You have one more time to disrespect my wife and you’re outta here.”

  Benito was stupid, but not that stupid. He knew when to shut up. Mom walked back into the room and sat Benito’s plate in front of him. No thank you, no grace, no comment. Benito started chewing with his mouth open.

  “Man,” I yelled at him, shoving his plate to the floor. “If you don’t stop disrespecting my mother, I’ma beat your ass! Show some fucking appreciation for her. She ain’t your damn maid!”

  I stood over him, wishing he would push his chair back. My fists were tight. I wanted to punch him in his face. My dad scurried out of his chair and held my arms behind my back.

  “Son, calm down. Sit. Finish your breakfast,” said Dad.

  Benito slid my plate in front of him and started eating my food. Through a mouthful of my pancakes, he said, “You not mad at me, bro. You pissed because you didn’t know your sweet Honey baby was a hooker. Pass me the syrup, would ya?”

  CHAPTER 3

  Honey

  The morning was three hours away from noon. The sun was too bright to go back to sleep. The red potatoes were in the trash, my finger was aching, and I was still in the kitchen.

  I texted Grant again. I give. You win. I stared at my phone until the time and date confirmed exactly when my message was sent. I waited five minutes, then an additional ten minutes, for his reply.

  “Ughhh. Motherfucker! What or who are you doing that’s more important than me?” I yelled. Again, he had refused to answer. He was lucky I lived in Atlanta and not in D.C., or else…or else…What was his fucking problem? “Forget you, too, Grant. You’re too old for this childish bullshit. A real man would have the decency to give closure to his relationship.” Who was I fooling? I was angry because Grant was a real man. A real man with parents who loved him.

  Lionel Richie’s voice resonating through the kitchen’s intercom created a much-welcomed distraction. One of the girls upstairs had decided to play songs, and since I insisted on the best, we had speakers in every room of the house, including the bathrooms. Softly, Lionel sang, “I do love you…still.”

  As Lionel’s voice faded, I heard Luther singing, “Time rushes on. And it’s not fair. When someone you used to love, is no longer there…now you’re running back to me, to forgive you your mistake. Kinda makes me sad to say…it’s a little too late.”

  Rushing into the spacious white-marbled foyer, I yelled up the U-shaped stairways. “Turn that shit off!”

  Grant had helped me find this eight-thousand-square-foot home in Buckhead, which I’d paid cash for, so my escorts could quit fucking men for a living and for once be comfortable and focus on what they really wanted to do with their lives, and this was how they thanked me?

  Whosoever had decided to play Luther Vandross at nine o’clock in the morning was lucky I hadn’t raced upstairs and slapped the hell out of ’em. They knew Grant and I had recently broken up. I didn’t need to hear that depressing-ass music right now. The feelings of rejection palpitating in my heart fluttered up to my throat, suffocating me. Fanning myself, I could hardly breathe.

  “Damn,” I whispered, wishing I had the courage to hop a flight to D.C., show up unannounced at Grant’s front door, and make him talk to me. But I didn’t. What if a woman opened his door? I’d kill ’em both. For real.

  Clenching my teeth, I scratched my neck. I was so frustrated, I felt like taking my damn iPhone, raising my arm high above my head, then slamming the iPhone on the ceramic floor and watching it shatter, like my heart, into tiny splintered pieces. What good was a communication device when I couldn’t get a response from the main person I wanted to hear from? Trembling, I exhaled heavily, then quietly sat my PDA on the counter and resumed cooking breakfast.

  Flipping bacon in the frying pan, feeling lonely, I stood in my new home, inhaling the sweet aroma of thick strips of sizzling pork and watching grease specks splatter onto the stove. I hadn’t had a normal appetite in almost two weeks. The burning energy in the pit of my stomach had melted away ten pounds in the fourteen days that I hadn’t seen or spoken with Grant. I had gone from a size ten to an eight.

  Outwardly, I struggled to appear calm so my girls wouldn’t think I was going crazy, but inside, I’d lost control of the hatred raging through my body, knowing I could easily slap or curse, for no rational reason, the first person that said, “Good morning.”

  Onyx, my personal assistant, peeked her head inside the kitchen. When my eyes narrowed and shifted to the corners, I caught a glimpse of her disappearing into the foyer.

  “Let me know when breakfast is ready,” she blurted, quickly trotting upstairs.

  After my favorite escort, Sunny, Onyx, with her sweet black-cherry pussy, had earned me the most money when I was their madam. Men of every nationality had lost their fucking minds when they saw Onyx in my lineup of whores. I was glad I wasn’t exploiting women anymore.

  I wasn’t proud of my past, but I was one of the few lucky ones that had got out of the escort business before it was too late. I was thankful that I hadn’t been arrested, like my ex-boss Valentino James, who was awaiting sentencing in a Nevada prison for thirteen counts of pimping and pandering, plus one count of first-degree murder. That could’ve easily been me sitting behind bars, facing the same charges.

  There was such a thing called luck. With the help of a woman I barely knew, undercover police officer Sapphire Bleu, I’d escaped the prostitution arena in Las Vegas, and I’d avoided incarceration for the horrible things I’d done. Why she decided to help me, I wasn’t sure. But I’d learned never to question where my help came from. Sometimes the person I least expected to help me helped me the most.

  Footsteps crept over my head, reminding me my girls were safe upstairs in the entertainment room. I prayed none of them would ever have to revert to prostitution. Girl Six was my only escort who’d remained in Las Vegas. She was reluctant to come live with me in Atlanta. Couldn’t say I blamed her, considering I’d kicked her in her stomach and fractured her ribs for showing up at work one day with a pimple on her ass.

  Bam!

  “Madam! Please stop! Don’t! I’m sorry! I won’t let this happen again,” Girl Six had cried. “Pleeeeaaaseeee, Madam, stop!”

  Wham! Bam! Stomp! Kick!

  Girl Six had balled up into a fetal position, holding what I had hoped was a few broken ribs.

  “You are costing us fifty thousand dollars a night every time I have to send your ass home. You’ve got one more time to have a rash, a cold sore, or a pimple, and I will beat your ass into the ground, then fire you. Put your clothes on, and get the hell out,” I’d said, dismissing her.

  Valentino had trusted me to run his multimillion dollar business, and the johns who paid ten grand an hour had demanded flawless women with beautiful bodies. At that time, my reputation meant more to me than sparing Girl Six’s life. Today I felt remorseful. In my heart, Girl Six was now family, and I’d given her a one-way airline ticket to Atlanta, the same as I’d done with all my girls. I wasn’t going to call her. She didn’t need another invitation when she already had a standing welcome to join us.

  Thinking about my top-producing escort, Sunny Day, I whispered, “I couldn’t save them all.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Grant

  “I’m out. Bye, Dad. Bye, Mom,” I said.

  “Bye, bro. I’ll see you later,” Benito’s sorry ass said, gnawing on a piece of my bacon.

  Stopping in the restroom adjacent to the foyer, I took a piss, shook my dick, washed my hands, then left my parents’ house. I got in my car. “Ooh-wee, I wish he wasn’t my damn brother,” I said, checking my messages. Honey had texted again, at nine o’clock. I give. You win.

  “Good. No, great. Me too. I hope you mean it this time,” I said. “I hate when Benito’s fucking ass is right.” I was angry at Honey. She had made me look like a fool in front of my parents. Wasn’t she obligated to disclose beforehand situations
that could embarrass us?

  I pulled into Starbucks to get a grande soy White Chocolate Mocha Expresso, no whip, extra hot. I’d stopped adding the whipped cream after Honey and I broke up. The things she could do with whipped cream made me shiver. Damn. The line was long. I’d wait. Give myself time to cool off before getting to my office. I swear, I wished I could’ve hit Benito’s ass one time, right in his big mouth.

  “Ooh, he’s got a nice big one,” I heard the woman in front of me tell the lady she was with.

  Frowning, I thought, Is she talking about me within listening range? D.C. women didn’t hold back on anything, particularly on pursuing men.

  Her friend turned around, looked at my dick, smiled, then nodded. “He sure does, girl. Good looking out. You don’t miss anything. That’s big enough to share. We could double-dip fuck him at the same time.”

  The woman who’d checked me out first handed me her business card. “Call me, on my cell. We’re having a private party tomorrow night. We’d love for you to come with us.”

  I didn’t want to embarrass her by saying, “I’m not interested,” so I took the card and said, “Thanks,” putting it in my pocket.

  Her opening line reminded me of a cheerleader I’d met in Las Vegas damn near fourteen years ago. I was fourteen years old at that time.

  “Ooh, you got a nice big one. Please let me suck this pretty dick,” she’d pleaded. “That is why you invited me over, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “No buts, silly. Come here and shut up,” she’d said, peeling the plastic off of a small square pack of…peanut butter?

  Frowning, I’d stood by the edge of my hotel bed, looking down at her. “What’s that for?”

  “It’s my favorite,” she’d said.

  A devious grin had crossed her face. She’d scooped the peanut butter onto her tongue, smeared it all over my dick, then jokingly asked, “Got milk?” Then she’d opened a small packet of strawberry preserves. Layering the preserves over the peanut butter with her wet tongue, she’d put both of my nuts in her mouth at the same time.

  “Ooh, my lord that feels good,” I’d said, trying to control my shaky teenage legs.

  Gripping my dick like a microphone, she’d spat on it, started singing like she was on stage, then licked everything off, including my cum. I’d recalled thinking, Girls in D.C. don’t swallow.

  “Sir, you’re holding up the line,” the cashier said. “May I please”—her eyes darted down to my dick—“take your order.” She smiled a little too hard.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said, ordering my drink. I had to see what they were seeing. Damn! Those freaky-ass women. I had to start wearing underwear. One of them could’ve told me my dick was out. Tucking myself away, I dug into my pocket and pulled out a twenty.

  The cashier held her hands up in the air. “Uh, that’s okay. The ladies in front of you paid for whatever you wanted,” she said, grinning. “Here’s your Starbucks card. You have a ninety-five-dollar credit.”

  I was flattered but not convinced to call. Waiting for my mocha, I continued thinking. I’d never forget my first blow job. That shit felt ooh-wee! incredible, but I couldn’t say I loved, strongly liked, or even knew the girl who’d done it. In fact, I lost respect for her because she didn’t respect herself by going around and sucking dicks for fun while all the guys on our sophomore field trip in Las Vegas talked bad about her.

  “Man, she’ll suck your dick in the bathroom, in the hallway, in the stairway, anywhere you want,” one guy had said. “All you have to do is pretend you like her ass, give her a few compliments, and that trick will drop to her knees and let your nuts bang against her chin until you cum in her mouth.”

  To see if they were telling the truth, I joined in the experience. I felt like shit immediately after I’d cum in Tiffany Davis’s mouth. I doubted the other guys even knew her name. From that day forth, I promised myself I’d never disrespect another woman. If I didn’t care anything about her, I wasn’t putting my dick inside any part of her, no matter how attractive she was.

  Tiffany was definitely not the type of woman I wanted to call my own or invite to my house to meet my parents. Damn! What made that girl do that shit? At times I wondered who or what had made Tiffany that way. What was she doing now? Probably somewhere prostituting. What had made my Honey fuck strange men for money?

  “I guess I’ll never know,” I said aloud.

  CHAPTER 5

  Red Velvet

  The only thing better than having sex was getting paid to have sex. I lived for the next orgasm. Cuming, squirting, and sucking dick was my natural high. Masturbation was a satisfactory last resort. I was born that way. Sexy. Sexual. Overachiever. I had shown my cleavage the minute I grew big, beautiful, perky breasts, had worn the shortest shorts I could find to show off my boo-tee-licious ass, which made me popular with all the guys, and had experimented with make-up until I found the products that were a perfect blend for me.

  A few months after I started stripping for Trevor Williams, all the men wanted a stroke of my Red Velvet pussy. Trevor had propositioned me, offering me a special relationship with unique benefits. Our agreement was I kept him and his clients happy, and he made certain I got compensated with movie auditions, clothes, jewelry, and some cash.

  “Velvet, image is everything,” Trevor had said. “If you look like money, people treat you like royalty. If you look poor, people ignore you. I’m going to make sure you have the best opportunities to become a star. Remember good pussy ain’t never broke. You’re a complete package.”

  No, I wasn’t a complete package. No one was. But I did have big dreams and high hopes. After I graduated from high school, my mother paid for me to attend a one-year hands-on program at the New York Film Academy. At one of the workshops, I met an agent based out of Los Angeles who said I had tremendous potential. I felt good saying, “Call my agent.”

  I visualized myself on the big screen one day. Not as a porn star. I was destined to become a famous movie star. All of my sexual free-lancing would help me get my big break, meet the right producer, and become huge in Hollywood. I wanted celebrity neighbors, limo drivers, and I wanted never to have to show ID again, because everyone would instantly recognize my face and they’d know my name. Trevor had promised to help me if I helped him.

  On a day like today, I couldn’t say no to Trevor, so I begged my mother to keep my son for a day while I accompanied my boss from Atlanta to D.C. on a business trip. Our two-hour direct flight arrived at Dulles Airport at about eight in the morning. It took almost another two hours to get our luggage and for the driver to get us to our hotel on Connecticut Avenue. The lobby was huge, with an elegant circular bar centered underneath the largest chandelier I’d seen.

  “Have a seat while I check us in,” Trevor said to me, handing the receptionist his credit card.

  Browsing the lobby, I peeked over my sunglasses and into the gift-shop window. On every trip, after I got paid, I bought something for my mother for watching my son. Usually nothing over a hundred dollars. I usually got her a nice scarf or a black figurine to add to her collection.

  Trevor walked by me, dialing his phone. Motioning for me to follow him, he handed me my room key while speaking into his Bluetooth. “Yeah, Grant. How far is your office from Dupont Circle? Meet me at my hotel for a cup of coffee. Twenty minutes.” He repeated the time, then said, “Perfect.”

  “So what does this one look like?” I asked.

  “You’ll see in a few minutes. I need you to take extra special care of my man. I have a lot of money riding on this deal.”

  “So he’s already said yes?”

  “Velvet, if Grant had already signed the papers, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I thought I was his congratulatory present. You sure you want me to do this before you get a commitment?” I asked him. I was going to have fun regardless, but I knew pussy didn’t persuade every man. In fact, my fucking this Grant guy might dissuade him from becoming Trevor’s par
tner.

  “Give him the Red Velvet special,” Trevor insisted. “Be ready in thirty minutes. I don’t want to keep my man waiting.”

  I held out my hand for my money. If this deal fell apart, Velvet was getting paid. Whatever other perks I’d get would be lagniappe.

  Trevor handed me five one-hundred-dollar bills while the bellman unlocked my door and handed me back my key. I followed the bellman, watching him place my suitcase on the luggage rack. Then he took the other bag inside Trevor’s room next door.

  Locking the door to my room, I unlocked the connecting door between the two rooms, so Trevor could eavesdrop on his client. Trevor opened his side, peeked his head inside my room, and said, “Hurry.”

  “You can’t rush good pussy,” I said, picking up the phone. “Yes, I’d like a bottle of champagne, a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, fresh red grapes, and plain yogurt.”

  “We’ll have your order up in thirty minutes, Mrs. Trevor,” said a room-service attendant.

  They should train hotel staff not to make assumptions. I had no desire to be Trevor’s wife. “There’s nothing to cook. Have it here in five minutes, or keep it,” I said, hanging up the phone. I couldn’t wait to become a celebrity and have someone else order for me.

  Waiting for room service, I debated whether to wear my leopard-print bustier and black boy shorts or my red outfit. “It’s too early for leopard,” I said, walking to the door. “That was quick. Thanks,” I said, adding the attendant’s tip to Trevor’s bill.

  Quickly, I smashed the red grapes, mixed them into the yogurt, then stood in the kitchen smoothing the mixture all over my body. I let it dry for ten minutes, then headed to the bathroom. I enjoyed a hot, steamy shower. I stuck my finger deep inside my pussy, making sure she was extra clean; then I rinsed with cold water to tighten my skin. While my body was still dripping wet, I saturated my skin with almond oil, lightly toweled off, then slipped into my red silk lounging halter and my stripper pants with the breakaway sides. Sitting in front of the vanity mirror, I applied fresh eyeliner, eye shadow, and my special glossy, red, velvet lipstick.