by Francis Ray
As she walked around her tiny bedroom, the motion of her thong against her skin was making her moist already. She loved the feel of the thin strip of chiffon down her ass. As a cover, she threw on a fitted leopard-print shirt dress that fell just under her thighs. Fastening each button, she caught a glimpse of herself in the oval-shaped vanity mirror and realized her hair was undone. She was paying so much attention to the rest of her body, she forgot what a comb and brush looked like. Without much ado, she let her black weave tumble down to her shoulders, sprayed on a curl activator, and shook her wet and wavy tresses loose.
In the kitchen she unwrapped a fresh pack of blue sour sticks for Jacques. He already had six in the jar, and she added another one, then put the jar away. Then she heard the car horn outside. Jacques had sent a car to pick her up just on time. She grabbed her bag and her keys and dashed out the door.
As Savannah walked down the long, narrow hall of the W Hotel, she saw Jacques waiting at the door of his room in black silk trunks and a robe. She looked him over for a moment as she got closer to him. He wasn’t the handsomest man; fairly thin, demure, with thick, bushy eyebrows that connected. But he was kind. And he made her feel important and desirable, even if it was only every four weeks. That was the only reason she had more than one man: Each one made her feel a certain way. Chyno made her feel safe and protected. There was a man out there who could be all she ever needed, but she thought, with her issues, that he’d probably slip through her fingers like water.
“Ahhh, my cocoa princess,” Jacques said at the door in his heavy French accent. “Come in, come in.”
Savannah entered the room, spun around, and stood there for him to absorb. He then inched toward her and they embraced. He didn’t waste any time trying to find her pouting lips, but Savannah turned her face away.
“I just got here, let me at least take off my shoes,” she said, as she slipped off her red pumps. She examined the luxurious suite, with its camel leather couches, plush cream-colored carpeting, and cathedral ceiling.
“Your toes are so flawless. I could make love to them alone,” he said, kneeling by her bare feet. He planted kisses on the backs of her knees and thighs. But Savannah was hungry for some food instead.
She took him by his hand and brought it to her face. “We have all night. Now behave,” she said, tapping the tip of his nose. He blushed. She knew what he liked. His type was definitely a pleaser who liked taking orders, and she had an extensive list this evening.
“Or you will spank me like last time.” He laughed. Savannah enjoyed watching his face light up. She thought it made him look handsomer, and younger than thirty-five. Then an image of the firefighter brother she had seen at SugarCane crossed her mind. He, too, had a brilliant smile that showed off shiny, bright teeth.
“Did you hear me?” Jacques said, kissing the space between her breasts.
“Oh, yeah, like the last time,” she said, blinking quickly, and playfully poking his side. She looked over in the next room at a table full of silver platters of food and chilled bottles of champagne. “But the last time we didn’t have all this food.”
“Well, it’s just some champagne, fruits, cheeses, and other treats. I also made them bring up a special order of Buffalo wings, just for you,” he said, uncovering the elaborate chicken-wing platter.
“Now we are talking!” Savannah said as she grabbed a wing and passed one to him.
He put it down. “Come on, I want to eat you first. Let’s get in the Jacuzzi.”
He flung his robe to the floor, stepped out of his boxers, and walked to the Jacuzzi stark naked. Savannah licked some sauce from her fingers and took a deep breath. For a slim man, he has some nice buns. She watched him descend into the swirling water. It was something she forgot, because they saw each other less and less lately.
Her unbuttoned shirtdress cascaded to the carpeted floor. She walked toward Jacques as if she were holding a precious, delicate diamond between her thighs. The spanning view of the city was immaculate from the Jacuzzi room. The lights from the city looked like tints of gold. She stood at the edge of the Jacuzzi, play-modeling for him in the red lace set he had bought her as a gift.
He clapped. “Lovely—I knew that size would be perfect on you,” he said, holding her thighs as she dipped her feet in the water. “May I?” he said, his hands on her panty line.
Jacques proceeded to slide her thong off and tossed it to the side, after he inhaled the crotch. “Mmmmm, let me taste,” he said, as Savannah arched her back and stretched her legs open as she sat on the Jacuzzi’s edge. He flicked his tongue inside the folds of her lips and directed the pulsating water to run down the sides. He turned the water to cold, to numb any feeling she had. Then Jacques covered her fleshy mound with his entire hot mouth and she literally melted on his tongue.
“Aaaaawww,” groaned Savannah, as she twisted her body in a moment of pure primal delight. Jacques pulled her thighs toward him and completely covered his face. Savannah lay back, still twisting around at his unimaginable skills. She just couldn’t stop moving, as if something possessed her. Her clit twitched with every movement of Jacques’s tongue as if it were talking back to him. Then he spit on it. She loved that erotic feeling that came over her each time he did that. He sucked it off, and she couldn’t help but reach down and taste herself. She had to have some of what was driving him just as wild.
“I just want to consume all of you,” he said, dragging her into the water. He pulled off her bra.
“Suck these titties good,” she panted as she played with herself. He lost his face inside her bouncing C cups, making her nipples hard as black pebbles. He bit and gently suckled them like a baby, sending Savannah into an orgasm that nearly knocked her silly.
Then Jacques crept up from behind and lifted her ass up.
“There you go.” She laughed, pleased that she could rest on her stomach while he entertained himself.
She lay on the side of the Jacuzzi. Jacques squeezed her ass cheeks together, talking to them in French, which he used when he got overly excited. She couldn’t understand the words, but she understood his fascination. She poked her behind out farther and tried to relax as he stuck his nose, face, and tongue between her cheeks. He bit and slapped it a few times so hard, she jumped. It was all a part of their game.
“Slap this big black ass harder. That’s all you got?” she asked, shoving her behind up against him. “Let me show you how someone gets slapped.”
“Oui, oui, oui,” Jacques said.
“Yes, yes, yes. Now bend over that chair over there,” Savannah said, as she watched Jacques crawl, wet and dripping, from the water.
“Good,” she said, as she dug in her bag for her leather whip wrapped in silk. “Get over there now!”
Savannah bit her tongue to hold in her giggles. It was always funny seeing Jacques like this. She wondered what he got out of it, but didn’t laugh, afraid of ruining their fantasy moment.
Savannah lifted the whip high into the air and let it come down hard on Jacques. He flinched. She did it again. He flinched some more. His light brown skin was red and raw. Getting down on her knees, she rubbed his blotchy red behind and took a good look at it. She could see his sweet balls and his massive hardness dangling from the other side. She massaged the back of his balls, her mouth ready to explore them.
“So are you ready for more?” she whispered in his ear. She stroked his hardness with her hand and smeared the juice coming from his slit into her fingers.
He nodded, keeping his head down. She cracked the whip on his sore behind a few more times. “There, now you see how it’s supposed to burn. Now I am going to swallow your dick whole and suck it like a straw. Sit by the Jacuzzi.”
Jacques happily obliged and crawled his way to the Jacuzzi.
“You forgot my toes today,” Savannah said, sticking her feet out and digging them in his face. “Suck them first.”
And Jacques did just that, sucking her toes like they were chocolate syrup. “Okay,
enough,” she said, and she descended into the bubbly water.
Savannah massaged his thighs as he kept his eyes closed, waiting. He was as hard as a cucumber, dripping at the tip. Unlike Giselle, Savannah loved giving a man oral gratification. It gave her the ultimate feeling of power and control. A man’s penis in her mouth seemed natural to her in all its glory. She poured some warm water on his hardness and outlined the mushroomed tip with her tongue. His eyes still closed, Savannah flattened her tongue against his balls while the tip of his hardness poked at her for more attention. She worked her way back up and sucked his entire length into her mouth to the back of her throat. Jacques had lots of length and girth, and with practice she had been able to deep-throat it without gagging. Moving her head in and out, she kept her breath warm and her tongue light against him. He ran his hands all over her hair, encouraging her as she sucked on him.
“You look so sexy. Let me see your face,” he said, pulling her hair away from her. But Savannah knocked his hands off her and said, “I suck the dick while you sit. Now relax.” And with that and few more slurps and gentle strokes of her mouth, Jacques exploded his liquid cream on the side of the Jacuzzi. She just was glad he didn’t get any on her.
About an hour and a short nap later, still naked, Jacques and Savannah made their way to the food and wine. Jacques fed her strawberries, pieces of Gouda cheese, and chicken wings with champagne. He ordered her not to lift a finger and to keep her eyes closed. It wasn’t until about three A.M., when Savannah heard the crinkly sound of a condom wrapper, that they finally had sex. She was so exhausted, but she just wanted to get it over with. It lasted just five minutes of mostly Jacques yelling French expletives at her. Maybe that was why she liked the hours of foreplay more. When it was through, she went back to sleep for four hours. She showered and left, not wanting to get too comfortable with him. He called her a car. She thought comfortable partners had comfortable sex, which to her meant she might as well be married. Instead she went home and slept all day Saturday. She dreamed of being saved from a burning building by a burly black firefighter. And she wondered if her dreams could become a reality.
Savannah didn’t wake up until well after noon on Sunday. Her house was a mess from leaving it since Friday night and sleeping most of the prevoius day. The sheets she slept on were the same ones on which she had sex with Chyno. As she lay in bed, she felt tired—not physically, but emotionally. With each man she had to be a different woman, and it was getting hard to keep up with. She just wanted to be herself and stop controlling everything. There was a part of her that was bad, she thought, and felt unwanted because of her troubled past. Even though she wanted to be loved more than anything, she was afraid of how much that would change everything around her. But her brain was too tired for analytical prodding. She stumbled to the kitchen and swung open the refrigerator door. There was a pack of molded Swiss cheese, week-old milk, a bowl of wilted salad from McDonald’s, and a rotten banana on the bottom shelf. She slammed the door shut. She wished there were someone around she could send to the store. It was steamy hot outside, and she was in no mood to fuss with soccer moms and their busy toddlers at the local supermarket. But she had to. Like everything in her life, if she didn’t do it, it just wouldn’t get done.
Savannah pinned up her hair and threw on jeans shorts, a black tank top, and shades. Packs of people coming out of the local church down her street blocked the intersection. She had to dip and dive between wide-brimmed hats, hefty pocketbooks, and little children running around. Some people looked at her with their noses turned up. She felt somewhat envious when she saw couples her age, arm in arm, walking together. The last time she had been in a church was when she was baptized at ten years old. Her grandmother always told her that was ten years too long, and that was plenty of time for demons to take over her soul. Maybe they did, she thought. Maybe she’d never be a “good girl” or “good wife.” She was always reminded of how bad she had been since then.
At the Pathmark, Savannah picked up boxes of Corn Pops cereal, Lean Cuisine frozen meals, fresh bread, a few packs of steak, potatoes, an already prepared rotisserie chicken, and macaroni and cheese. The line wasn’t as long as she had expected, and she was out of there in no time, hustling up the street with two heavy, drippy bags of food. As she waited to cross the crowded intersection, a car raced down the block and pulled up in front of her. Savannah quickly kept walking.
“Excuse me, Ms. SugarCane,” said a voice she had heard once before. “Still like mango martinis?”
Savannah nearly dropped her bags when she turned around. It was him. She didn’t know whether to run or to act like he had the wrong person. She looked like something someone dug up.
“Hi,” Savannah said as she looked on. Ignoring another car beeping at his double-parked vehicle, the man walked over to her. She fidgeted with her sunglasses to keep the direct sunlight from driving her crazy.
“I’m Clinton. I think we almost met at SugarCane about a week ago,” he said, extending his large brown hand. He was dressed in white linen pants and a cream-colored shirt, looking especially cool on this hot day. Savannah wondered if he was just coming out of the church like the rest of them.
“Oh, that’s right,” Savannah said, “I almost forgot.” Damn right, I did.
“Sorr y if I startled you, but I told myself that if I saw you next time, I’d approach you . . .” he said.
“Savannah. Nice to meet you,” she said, adjusting a bag on her hip. Her underarms were damp with sweat, and she had just remembered she forgot to wear deodorant.
“Mind if I help you with your bags? Do you live far?” he asked, already taking them. Savannah liked his assertiveness, and she felt it was nice of him to ask.
“I live just a few blocks away. But if you insist.” She was relieved that she didn’t have to walk any farther, moving around like a tipsy curvy in the heat.
Clinton placed both bags on the backseat, and some of the sauce from the chicken dripped onto his shirt.
“Oh, my God,” Savannah said, covering her mouth.
Clinton looked down at his shirt and grinned. “It’s seen worse than some chicken grease. Don’t worry about it. I’ll send you my dry-cleaning bill.” He smiled as he opened her side of the door.
As she waited for him to hop in, she felt awful, but he handled it so well. If it had happened to her, she knew she would have been pissed-off.
“So this is the part where you tell me you really live in Long Island, right?” He smiled, again.
Savannah laughed. “No, I just live on Willoughby and Myrtle. It’s not that far,” she said. “All you have to do is turn on—”
“Vanderbilt and go straight down,” he said, completing her thought. He revved up the engine. “I live on that street.”
Savannah’s heart skipped a beat. “Really? Well, I live on the corner of Myrtle.”
“So do I.” Clinton kept his eyes on the road and didn’t once look at Savannah’s exposed legs in her cutoff jeans shorts. She wanted him to look, and now she was even more insecure. She must really look tore up, she thought.
“Okay, where exactly?”
“One Seventy-five Willoughby,” he said, turning the corner to their street.
“Get out!” Savannah said, slapping her thigh. “You’re lying.”
“Well, one of us is. And it ain’t me,” he said with a belly laugh.
“What floor?”
“Eleventh,” he said.
“Seventh.” Savannah’s stomach turned.
“I knew you looked familiar when I saw you that night. There is this one other girl in the building who looks like you. Each time I see her she’s with some new guy,” he said, looking at her sideways.
Savannah clammed up and looked out the window. “Wow, must be some new girl who moved in. I haven’t seen her.”
“Hmmmm,” he said, as he parked his car in front of their building.
Clinton took the bags out of the car as Savannah opened the door to the building.
She didn’t know if it was good or bad that he lived so close.
Clinton and Savannah took the elevator to her floor. There was little room between them, and Savannah could feel the heat radiate from his body, or maybe it was hers. Since he had told her he lived there, her forehead had broken out in a sweat. She stood in front of Clinton and could feel his eyes looking down at her back. She was relieved when the elevator doors flew open.
“So here I am,” Savannah said, turning the key to her door.
“Mmmm, the chicken in one of these bags sure smells good,” he said, putting her bags down beside her door.
“Yes, it’s the rotisserie chicken. It’s my dinner today.” She wanted him to come in just as much as he did. And as fine, handsome, and ebony brown as Clinton was, she would be kidding herself if she thought she could turn down his advances.
“Mind if I come in? Just for a few minutes. I can help you unpack,” he said, his eyes softening.
“Sure.” Savannah stepped to the side, and let him walk in with the bags.
He walked to the kitchen and immediately started to unpack. Her place was still a mess, but where the kitchen was situated he couldn’t see the rest of the apartment. Savannah slipped off her shades and did nothing but watch him. She was sort of in awe of this man who had just appeared in her life out of nowhere. One minute she was looking at spoiled cheese, and the next minute she had a handsome fireman in her apartment putting away groceries.
