by Deena Bright
AT THE SPA, we both decide to have a 60-minute hot stone massage, an exfoliating facial, a seaweed body wrap, and eyebrow and lip waxes. I hadn’t told her, but I was planning on using Marcus’ credit card for everything. I figured that he’d realize soon enough that he needed to cancel it and get another one. I might as well have fun with it while I could. He and Lauren owe it to me. Man, did they owe me, owed me more than anyone in my life had ever owed me before. Char questions the receptionist, wondering if there’s enough time for us to both get Brazilian waxes.
“There is no way in God’s name I am getting waxed there!” I bellow. “You’ve lost your mind, you crazy bitch.” I’m not about to spread-eagle and let some stranger pour hot wax all over my… my… stuff.
Staring at me as if there is snot dripping out of my nose, the receptionist verifies that there will be plenty of time for Brazilians for both of us. Taking me off to the side of the counter and around the corner of the lobby, Char starts in on me. “Listen Nelle, you need to do this. You’ll love it. Plus, it’s time you heightened some of your sexual prowess.” Sexual prowess? What in the world is she talking about it? I have a very active sex drive and remind her of such.
“Not drive honey, your ‘go get ‘em’. You need to feel a little sexier, so you don’t miss blatant opportunities right in front of you. Opportunities with hot, willing black men. Brazilians make me so horny, I want to jump on the first guy I see after I get them, and I usually do.”
“I don’t need to lose all of my hair to feel hot. I feel hot and sexy enough… well, at least horny enough,” I stammer. I suppose I could use a little more help in the vixen department.
Then Char goes in for the kill, “Plus, you know that the young girls that Briggs is banging are all getting Brazilians; they all get them now.” She knows that I hate feeling old. She’s playing the decrepit card to get me to do what she wants. I hate that she knows me so well. Too well.
Agreeing to “think about it,” Char squeals with delight. Char loves feeling like she’s conspiring to get me to do something that I wouldn’t normally do. She loves bringing out the naughty in me—in anyone actually. She usually does too.
Just as she’s getting her credit card to pay her portion of our spa treatments, I stop her. “Hey Char, today’s pampering is on Marcus.” I wiggle his credit card at her. She immediately changes our 60-minute massages to 90 minutes, and adds body salt glow scrubs to our daily packages. Then, Char tells the receptionist to add on a bottle of champagne and strawberries to the bill. We laugh as we hand the receptionist Marcus’ American Express card. It’s freeing and liberating. Right before the receptionist swipes the card, I agree to the Brazilian wax. What the hell…
“IT HURT LIKE hell.” I’m yelling at her in the cab on the way home. My stuff is on burning fucking fire. I swear to God they might have ripped a chunk of my clit off too. Very fucking painful.
“Well of course it hurt, you dumbass. They rip hair from your crotch and asshole. Did you think it was going to feel good?” The cab driver glances at us in the rearview mirror. I shush her. She just laughs until she snorts and laughs even harder. She does have a point, but I had no idea how badly it was going to hurt. Like hell—like hell with burning fireballs being thrown at your cooter. I’m not about to tell her that it may have hurt, but she was right about one thing, I feel as sexy as shit. Nelle’s naughty nugget is soft, smooth, cleaned, groomed, and oh so ready, just waiting to be nibbled… Man, Char knows things. She knows things that I should know. I’m vowing right now to know and memorize and retain for-fucking-ever.
We’re both a little tipsy, no not tipsy, crazy drunk. One bottle of champagne, led to two, which led to a couple glasses of wine. All compliments of Marcus. We left Char’s car at the spa, and we’re in a cab on our way back to Jasper’s pool house, my new home. I think out of 365 days a year, we have to pick up Char’s car somewhere at least 100 times in that year.
Char asked the cab driver to drop her off at some guy’s house she’s currently seeing. She felt that he needed to sample her new sexy self. I couldn’t believe she was seeing someone and hadn’t told me. “I only tell you about them when they’re going beyond the bedroom.” So clearly this guy was a bedroom-only boy. Char and her men, I couldn’t keep them straight, but she sure had fun. More fun than I ever had.
As the cab pulls into the driveway, I notice an unrecognizable car in my driveway. I may not recognize the car, but I definitely recognize the man on my front porch. Briggs. Looking at Char and back at Briggs, Char says, “You’ll thank me in the morning.”
“What did you do?” I ask, trying to open the door. As I get clumsily out of the car, he confidently saunters up me. Reaching for his wallet, he asks if I’m okay.
“Briggs no, I got this.” I’m fumbling through my purse, looking for my wallet. I want to pay for my ride as well as Char’s. I’m still rummaging through my handbag when the cab begins backing out of the driveway. “I wanted to pay.” My protest comes out like a school-girl whine. I finally sigh, and say, “Thanks again. What’re you doing here?”
“I got your text,” he replies, nonchalantly. Huh? What text? I look at my phone. There it is—right on the screen of my phone—a text from Briggs.
BRIGGS: I’m here. Waiting.
I scroll back up through the conversation. I invited him over. Damn it Char! Thankfully, she did not say anything skanky or promise anything. She just said that I was on my way home and would love to see him. She gave him Jasper’s address. I didn’t know how to tell him that it wasn’t me. If I told him that, then he’d know that my friend knew about him in the first place, about what happened. He’d know that I’ve been talking about him, thinking about him. He knows anyway, supposedly, I just invited him over. Char!
Briggs follows me to the front door. I notice immediately that Leo had come back and started the weeding. Leo’s a nice kid. I’m glad he’s doing our yard. Jasper’s yard. But now, Briggs is here. How in fuck’s sake am I going to get out of this? Briggs helps me unlock the door. Apparently, Briggs is now the official “help drunken-ass Janelle open doors” superhero. He must think that I am some kind of idiot—a lush and an idiot. I really can open my own doors, but when he’s around, I get flustered and unsure of myself. Plus, keys and locks are some hard shit. We walk into the pool house. I show him around. Short tour. It’s a pool house.
“I’d offer you something to eat or drink, but I don’t have anything here, yet.” He isn’t talking. He’s just staring at me. Those eyes. “Hey, give me a sec, I’m going to go change. These clothes are gross from the spa.” I leave the room, quickly and self-consciously.
I need to change quickly. I take off my clothes. It’s shocking. I don’t have any hair… anywhere. I touch myself. It’s smooth, very soft. I tingle. Great. Not good for the fire I’m desperately trying to extinguish. I throw on some jeans, a tight tank top, and brush out my hair. My skin’s flushed and glowing , soft from the treatments. I feel… I feel… good. I look good. No, not good. I feel and look sexy. Char’s always right.
I WALK BACK into the small living room and Briggs is drinking a beer on the couch. I don’t have beer—not one beer. I glance over and notice that he has a 12-pack on the coffee table in front of him.
“Do you always travel with beer?” I ask. Briggs smirks, opens another one, and hands it to me. I spin the can around in my hand, taking a quick drink, grateful for something to do.
“Nah, I just picked it up when you texted me. I was heading over to my buddy, Vince’s, place,” he responds, taking a drink, not taking his eyes away from me. “I detoured and came here. I’m sure it’ll be more fun here than playing Madden at Vince’s.” His gaze is lustful and indicates so much. I sip my beer, slowly. I hate beer; the taste is bitter. However, it’s cold, very cold, and I suddenly feel very hot.
When Briggs is around, the temperature in the room seems to sky-rocket. I can’t possibly try and deny this much longer. Briggs stands up and starts walking toward me. Oh G
od. I take a giant drink of my beer and nearly gag when I gulp it down.
He laughs, “Why Miss Garrity, you seem a little nervous.” That cocky son of a bitch…
“Nope, not nervous at all. Why would I be nervous?” My voice betrays me. It catches and cracks in my throat, showing my unease. Briggs knows that I can’t resist him. I bet there isn’t a woman out there who can resist this man.
He stops right in front of me, standing as close to me as he can get without actually touching any part of my body. “Janelle,” he says in his raspy whisper, “I can’t stop thinking about you. You‘re the sexiest, most sensual woman I’ve ever known. My body and mind won’t rest until I taste and touch every part of you.”
Briggs still isn’t touching me, but he’s noticing me. He’s watching as my chest rises and falls, as my breasts heave, and as my breath catches and releases. I don’t know how to respond, what to do. I lick my lips slowly. That’s apparently all the encouragement he needs. He grabs me and pulls me into him.
Briggs pauses, looks into my eyes, bends me slightly backward, and waits. He eyes me carefully. I sigh and nod. I can’t and won’t resist any longer. How can I? His lips meet mine. A moan escapes his mouth. I push my tongue further into his mouth, exploring his tongue, teeth, and lips. My tongue tugs his tongue deeper into my mouth. I suck his tongue, mimicking what I’ll do when his penis is in my mouth. He groans and pushes his pelvis into mine. I can feel him hardening and straining to get out of his pants. He kisses my neck, licking my ear and collar bone. In one swift motion, he removes my tank top. I stand there in just my bra and jeans, watching him watch me.
Briggs stands back and stares at me. He’s admiring me? Me? He takes a deep breath and comes back to me. His palms are on my breasts, covering them with his strong, large hands. He squeezes them, pushes them together, and kisses the tops of them, licking the flesh, and whispering “gorgeous” as he kneads and caresses them more. He dips his tongue further into my bra, just slightly touching my taut nipple.
Carefully, he eases me back onto the couch. I watch as he quickly removes his clothes, all of them. He stands proudly in front of me, naked, beautiful, and so large and ready. I’ve only been with two men, none of them as large, as gorgeous, and as perfect as this man. My breathing increases with anticipation. I lick my lips again as he unbuttons my jeans and strips off both my underwear and jeans in one movement. Moving up my body quickly and urgently, Briggs begins thrusting himself between my legs. He’s thrusting his penis, pounding at the opening of my vagina.
What the Hell?
Hello?
What the mother fuck?
He loses me. I lose all concentration and arousal. What the Hell in Heffner’s good name is he doing? Did he just forget I’m a part of this too?
I lie there, using my vaginal muscles to restrict him from further probing; he’s not getting anywhere near there.
Access denied.
Game over.
Do not pass go.
I stare at him, perplexed, figuring this all out. Finally, after what seems like a Monopoly tournament’s-length, he looks at me, notices my obvious deflated and desire-less mood. He slows down, still jackhammering away. Then he slows some more, and finally comes to a complete stop. Thank God, this thrill-less ride is over.
His face contorts. Briggs appears hurt, confused. “What did I do wrong?” he asks, putting on his underwear and t-shirt. I grab my own shirt and underwear and put them back on. “Forget it. I’ll just go.” he replies, getting up and bee-lining for the door.
“Briggs, don’t go. Ummm—” I don’t really know what to say or even how to say it. “Briggs, honey, ummm did you forget I was here?” There is no easy way to tell someone that he sucks a cat in bed and seems beyond clueless.
“What do you mean? I was doing what I do. I thought you were into it,” he answers, mortification outlining his features.
“I was. I so was. More than I have been in a long time. But then, you just lost me and gave up on me.” Still looking baffled, Briggs paces the living room.
It took some time and some convincing, but Briggs confessed to me that he didn’t think he’d ever pleased a woman. He said that he got a lot of women, many women, too many women, to go to bed with him, but they never seemed satisfied or acted like they wanted a repeat performance. They all seemed into it and turned on, wet and ready, but once he entered them, they didn’t respond or react well. He admitted that once he knew it was a sure thing, that he just went straight for it, not stopping until he was finished. For a while, he thought that maybe he was too big and that he was hurting women. He’d ask them, but they all said there wasn’t any pain.
“You told me tonight that you wanted to taste every inch of me. You didn’t come close to that,” I explain. He looks embarrassed and shy, not like the Briggs I’m so used to.
“I just get carried away. I wanted to be inside you. So bad.” His eyes flash with desire and want. The look makes me tingle all over again.
“I wanted you there too. I really wanted you there, but you made promises you didn’t keep.” I walk over to him—still honing in on his nervousness. This is quite a switch. I’m testing some boundaries now. “I think you want to keep those promises, don’t you, Briggs?” I can’t believe I’m talking to him like this.
“Yes Ma’am,” Briggs answers, nodding his head and lowering his eyes submissively. Ma’am? Alright, I like this a little more now—a lot more.
“Now Briggs, there are times when teachers drop their curriculum for a short time to teach something worldly and worthy for a moment—something that pertains to an event going on at the time—maybe within the classroom, the community, or even in the country.”
He nods, eyes blazing.
I walk toward him, running my finger under the collar of his shirt. “They’re called teachable moments. This is a teachable moment—probably the most important teachable moment, or life lesson you will ever learn, so you better pay careful attention to my every word, my every instruction,” I order, placing my finger on his lips.
“I’m going to teach you how to satisfy a woman, how to make her beg for you, how to make her cry for more—until your name is the only word that her lips can say, and your face is the only face she can see,” I say, getting closer to him, rubbing my body against his. Whispering in his ear, I add, “You like the sound of that, don’t you, Briggs? You like it a whole lot, don’t you?”
Who am I? What the Hell happened to Janelle? I’m not sure, but I know one thing for damn certain: I sure as Hell like it. I like this kind of control. This kind of superiority and domination.
“Yes, yes please.” The tables have suddenly turned. Do I have any clue what I’m talking about? Well, I certainly know what I like and what makes me feel good. Do I know how to dominate a guy? Eh, probably not, but I’m going to die trying.
I lie back down on the couch again, beckoning him to me. I moisten my lips, signaling him to kiss me again. We begin kissing, slowly and deeply. He stands up, and starts taking off his shirt again.
I shake my head. “I’ll take that off when I’m ready, if I’m ready,” I admonish. He lets his shirt slide back down his stomach, standing above me, looking down at me.
I sit up and take off my shirt. I lift my hips and take my underwear off again. I lie naked before him. This is going to be the best damn lesson I’ve ever taught. It’s about time I get an eager learner to teach. Briggs reaches for me. I shake my head and push his hands away. “Briggs, don’t touch me.” His eyes widen.
I place my own hands on my breasts. His breath catches in his throat as he licks lips. I begin to circle my nipples between my fingers, staring into his eyes. His eyes cloud with lust, smoldering in desire. I whimper slightly as he kneels down next to me. He starts moving in closer to my breasts, his tongue darts out of his mouth. I stop him again.
“If you touch me before I tell you to do so, then your private lessons are over.” Groaning, Briggs sits back on his knees. “Understand?”
He nods, breathing hard.
I continue pulling and tugging on my nipples. I allow him to suckle and tongue one nipple, then the other. I stop him abruptly. I love the frustration I see in his eyes and hear in his breathing. I spread my legs apart. I gyrate my hips and suck one of my fingers into my mouth. I trail my dampened finger down my chest, over my stomach, and down between my legs. His eyes never leave my fingers, watching everything. I open my legs further, letting him see. I put one finger inside of me. Briggs adjusts his himself, rubbing slightly.
I shake my head, “This isn’t about you Briggs, don’t touch it again.” Oh. My. God. I can’t believe I’m doing this in front of a man, a former student.
I trace my finger around myself “See, I didn’t touch it. I’m teasing myself, prolonging the pleasure. Are you experiencing pleasure right now?” His breathy, nearly inaudible “yeah” ignites me even more. “Briggs, I want you to kiss my feet and suck my toes as I pleasure myself. Can you do that?”
He doesn’t answer me. Briggs just eagerly begins kissing my feet, rubbing and kneading the bottoms of each foot. I put another finger inside of me, feeling just how excited I truly am. Briggs’ eyes are devouring my every move. I put my finger into my mouth, licking it dry. Briggs squirms on the ground next to me, lightly biting my toes.
“What’s the matter, Briggs? Do you want to taste me?”
Briggs moves closer to my thighs, to move in between them. I close my legs. “I said taste, not eat. I’ll feed you.” Again, he sits back on his heels, frustration flashing on his face. I put my finger inside me once again, I stroke it in and out, assimilating a fucking motion, while I allow my hips to meet each thrust. I can see the desire and want in his eyes. I take my finger out and put it up to his lips, and whisper, “Slowly.”
Briggs slowly sticks his tongue out and licks my finger, then sucks the entire finger into his mouth, never stopping the kneading massage of the soles of my feet. I’m on fire. I’m so close to release. I’m ready. “Briggs, you’re going to make me finish, and I want you to feel it, really feel what happens. You’ll never have to wonder again if you’ve satisfied a woman.”
