Topless

by Relentless Aaron

  Later, over a turkey club at the Stadium Diner, Mechelle and Nikki brought each other up to date. Nikki was a single mom with two kids. She had a 2-bedroom apartment in Queens and was relieved at the revelation that Mechelle had somewhere to stay. Even if temporarily. Nikki also revealed to Mechelle (the first in the family to know) that she was a stripper at a club in the Bronx called Gilmore’s Fool’s Paradise. Mechelle became even more interested when her sister told her about the money she was bringing home, how the profession was paying her way through college, rent and for child care.

  “Sometimes I make four hundred a night,” was the statement that stood out most in Mechelle’s head, encouraging her with thoughts of a furnished apartment, a car and paying off her own college loan. Nikki gave her sister $150 to help her get on her feet. Mechelle looked at the money, and the stash that it came from, like it was a pile of sparkling diamonds. Nikki’s lifestyle very quickly became infectious.

  A New Friend

  Mechelle joined Nikki on a visit to Fool’s Paradise and she was quick to audition. She wore a cat mask loaned to her by another dancer, and was able to face those initial fears with ease. She did a cute dance routine, more like a deviation from some cheerleader sequences, and caught the attention of Gil’s son, Douglass. Douglass was spinning records that day—just a hobby for him, using the busy lunch hours to improve his music mixing skills—and he immediately took a liking to Mechelle.

  Long story short, Mechelle was hired. And after speaking briefly to Gil, she left with Nikki and returned the next day for a booking on the 12noon to 4PM shift.

  Following his hormones, and contradicting his very own discipline of not fraternizing with the dancers, Douglass approached Mechelle on that second day. On the outside it was Mechelle’s tight body and pretty face that sparked Douglass’s interest. However, once he got to know her and listen to her, Mechelle’s wit won him over. On the other hand, Douglass also won Mechelle’s heart. She saw him as a breed apart from those other men who had already approached her with familiar, played-out pick-up lines; men who were no deeper than a one-slice bologna sandwich. But Douglass was unique and different to her, which is why she agreed to his offer for a ride home.

  “Wanna take the long way?” Douglass asked.

  “What’s that? The long way?” Mechelle asked with a cute, curious smile.

  “Well, the long way means I cook dinner . . . at my house—”

  Mechelle chuckled.

  “No-no . . . don’t judge me yet,” he said. “I don’t have any sneaky plans, I just wanna be a cook tonight.”

  After she came down from the laugh, Mechelle said, “Depends on what you’re cooking.” And that statement came with a raised eyebrow.

  She thought about all this; dinner with Gilmore’s son; his secure approach; and the invite to his home. His home . . . that was another thing, entirely. Mechelle got to wander through the house while Douglass cooked and she realized that she had never been inside of a residence of such magnificence. It was enormous, with more rooms than she had fingers to count. There came a point when she got a little dizzy and needed a seat. Not just because of the house, but for so much else that crashlanded into her life all of a sudden. The events seemed to escalate so abruptly; from being the victim of a rape only days before, to the easy money job she now had, to this new adventure, and how the boss’s son was embracing her with treatment she long deserved, craved and desired.

  “Denworth never even cooked dinner for me,” she told herself. The apparent power and wealth that she was now absorbed in had her ask, Denworth who?? Having another man kiss up to her like Douglass surely reminded her of Denworth. But, then again, it was so easy to erase Den from her mind and to bask in the treasures of the moment. Dinner with Douglass. Mechelle inhaled, then exhaled.

  Once the spaghetti disappeared, Douglass took the initiative to soak Mechelle’s feet in warm salt water. Then he massaged them with a menthol lotion. Little did she know, amidst the dreamy sensuality of the moment, Douglass Jr.’s actions were mostly a case of him missing his water when the well went dry. Stacy had left him only days earlier. She discovered a list of women that he’d been with, along with a 1 to 10 rating he marked beside the names. The evidence was the work of an ass; like Douglass was asking for a breakup. He may as well have taped the incriminating list up on Stacey’s make-up mirror, because there were two names on the list that were new; two women whom he and Stacy met while they were together. What’s more, he had a 5 marked next to Stacy’s name. Not a “10” but a 5, in essence saying that she wasn’t all that hot, not compared to some of the others.

  Needless to say, the breakup was hostile. They had made a child together, but to these two young lovers that meant little to nothing. He didn’t know how to put his ego away for long enough to calm her; and she didn’t have a rational bone in her body to get past his infidelity. To add to the confusion, Stacy took the child, moved out of state, and was never heard from again.

  Along with Stacy went all of those conveniences of having a good woman around the house. So Douglass, too, was a man in need, which was why he strongly considered offering a room to Mechelle when he heard of her hollow arrangement in the Bronx. And even if Mechelle pretended to “think about it,” her answer wouldn’t take long.

  Following dinner, Douglass drove Mechelle back to her studio in the Bronx. Out front, their conversation ended with an intimate and promising kiss. She informed Douglass that she was “involved,” and he backed off. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. However, Mechelle subsequently invited him up to see her place. He accepted, and while Mechelle went upstairs Douglass spent close to 10 minutes searching for a parking space. On a block full of apartment complexes, finding a parking space was like mining for gold on a public beach. Eventually, he struck oil about a block away, on a busy street over which Yankee Stadium towered. It was a short walk back to the apartment building, yet long enough for Douglass to talk to himself.

  “Don’t play y’self, big dog. Don’t expect or anticipate anything more than companionship. She’s just a friend. Nothing more.” With that, Douglass stepped through the front gate, pressing in the simple combination which Mechelle provided.

  Inside the foyer of the building to the right, Douglass pressed 5B on the panel. Mechelle buzzed him in without verification and he instinctively moved towards the elevator. On the 5th floor, he found the door marked 5B opened and awaiting his entrance. Douglass simply pushed his way in.

  “Oh, sorry,” explained Douglass. He peeped Mechelle coming from the shower, casually reaching in a closet for a towel, then heading back into the bathroom. Seconds later the shower water was cut off. Douglass immediately appreciated the newness of her studio. A polished wood floor, fresh paint, new appliances, fixtures and plumbing seemed to be the only complementary elements of this Bronx nest. There was a pillow and comforter laid out on the floor in the center of the room. Mechelle answered Douglass from the bathroom.

  “Not a problem, please. You practically watched me all day,” she said. “Grab a drink. I have some things in the fridge.”

  He pulled open the refrigerator door and took a gulp from the quart of orange juice. He began to make himself at home, fiddling through her small stack of cassette tapes, then he turned the knob on her portable radio to WBLS for the familiar mix of rhythm and blues. Meanwhile, Douglass took note of the surroundings. Curious to know how this new woman in his life was living. The view from Mechelle’s window was but a voyeur’s exclusive perspective into the building and window of the couple next door. A fire escape was the only separation between the two addresses. However limited the view of the city, the depth of it all was filled with alleys and pockets between buildings, and all the while there were those monsterous subway cars rumbling nearby.

  “I think they know we can see them,” Mechelle said, catching Douglass off guard, approaching him from behind while still drying her own dipping body off with the oversized bath towel.

  “Uh . . . who? See what?�
�� Douglass was practically tripping over his words, while trying his best to be as blasé as she was about her nudity. Mechelle turned her back to Douglass and handed him the towel to wipe her back. As she explained, he traced her back contours with the towel.

  “The couple . . . I’m talkin’ about the couple down there . . .” Mechelle pointed to a window in the building next door. Douglass had not noticed earlier, but down below there were two lovers feeding on each other in a very involved sexual embrace. From Mechelle, to the couple, and back to Mechelle, Douglass’s eyes couldn’t make up its mind. Then, Mechelle eased her perfectly sculptured figure over to the light switch. She dimmed the lights and stepped over to the comforter to lay facedown.

  “Could you massage me?” Mechelle placed a bottle of lotion beside her and laid her arms at either side of her head. Douglass shrugged humbly and approached her. He knelt down beside her and began to lotion her neck and shoulders. Meanwhile, Vaughn Harper’s Quiet Storm theme music filtered through the room. That meant it was 10 PM and that the next 4 hours would be all slow jams and dusties.

  Douglass was fighting discipline now, realizing that he had fed, chauffeured and touched most of Mechelle’s body, all on one day. This was slowly affecting him as he kneaded and caressed her curves and contours. The electricity was very personal, very intimate. Douglass became excited and aware of his erection. Mechelle also noticed him, in spite of his jeans. Eventually, without words, the two molded and tossed on the floor, sharing each other’s tongues. Lips volleyed for positions. Mechelle was soon caressing him as much as he was her. He softly fondled her breasts and she laid back on the pillow, loving this, breathlessly stretching herself out for his full access. Douglass began to kiss her, progressing from her cheeks and neck, to her breasts and nipples. Teasing, gentle and unselfish, until he realized an immediate need. A condom!

  “You gotta excuse me for a minute,” he told her, leaving Mechelle and himself titillated. His pants were unbuckled and pushing down off of his hips, but he ignored the indiscretion and rushed through the front door. He hobbled down the staircase, not wanting to wait for the elevator, and left the door to the foyer ajar. Mechelle was in no position to buzz him in. Besides, he wanted nothing to mess up that image that he left in 5B. Molten, sweet chocolate on the floor, ready for him to eat until he was sloppy with her affection.

  Fortunately, Douglass’s oversized hockey jersey covered his erection all the way to the glove compartment of his car and back. When he returned to the apartment, Mechelle was still dreamy-eyed and filled with anticipation.

  Thank God!

  Feeling the overwhelming heat in the room, Douglass lifted the window a few inches and reclined back to Mechelle’s side. He reignited their fire with tender kisses from her forehead to her toenails. Just in time, that phat jam “Long As I Live” put their action on blast. Mechelle was beginning to erupt when Douglass reached her toes. There was some pain below her tummy, and she realized what was about to go down. She wanted him inside her, but she couldn’t. Not yet. And she didn’t want to let him down. Her intentions had nothing to do with his position, or who his father was. It was that she wanted to give herself to him . . . he was a good man, and she wanted him to have her vote.

  Mechelle put her palm to Douglass’s chest when he came up to hover over her. She switched positions with him until he was under her. Shamelessly, with tears falling, Mechelle took him into her mouth. She stroked him and massaged him and made her mouth as wanton as her walls were. It seemed as though he was holding back and that he didn’t want to cum in her mouth, but she encouraged his orgasm. When he eventually came, Mechelle took every drop down her throat. With no words shared between them, this was her way of showing him her passion for him. And in the cool night air, the two embraced until the morning.

  Over breakfast, Mechelle agreed to move in with Douglass. Late that morning, they packed her things and she was on the move again. This time, to the Gilmore home in New Rochelle.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Queens, New York

  The overall talent of David Turner could be best described as networker. Not only did he scout out vagabonds at Port Authority, not only was he a frequent flier with a few of the hot properties from Fool’s Paradise, but he also had his claws sunk into the web. The Internet was where he came to know Debbie. It wasn’t too long before Moet’s murder that David would finally get to meet his “long lost love.”

  It was during an autumn rush hour that David waited there at LaGuardia Airport for Debbie. All he had to go by was a digital photo, loads of e-mails, and almost as many phone calls. All of the technology helped him create a mental picture of Debbie. His perfect 10. And now, he praised his imagination for not failing him as he sifted through the many heads and eyes of the crowd milling up the airport corridor. Debbie was one of the last to emerge. But when she did, David turned on his charm. He called her name, smiled and went as far as the metal detectors to embrace her. Debbie felt relieved within his hug, as though she was soaking into his arms. A perfect fit, thought David. She was shorter than David. Almost a foot. Her Camay skin was just a shade lighter than his own complexion. And even with jeans and a jean jacket on, David recognized her shapely contours. He disregarded her body for the moment (almost certain that it would soon be his to explore), and allowed himself to become a victim to her wide, attractive smile.

  “Let me help you with your bag,” said David, as he took hold of her shoulder bag. Then he led the way through the airport lobby, to the baggage area. After picking out 2 pink and black suitcases and then loading them onto a baggage cart, the two glided out through 2 sets of sliding glass doors onto the walkway outside of the airport’s “arrivals” terminal.

  David’s jeep, with its dull-platinum finish and worn tires, was parked across the pavement and close to the curb. While Debbie waited by the cart, David started the jeep and maneuvered it backwards and diagonally to meet her at the entrance. Moments later, the couple were weaving through the maze of roads and byways that led out of LaGuardia Airport with Debbie melting into the leather seat and blushing with her big, glossy eyes and round cheeks.

  “So . . . finally.” David cut through the awkwardness of their first physical interaction.

  “Yeah. Seems like forever, huh?”

  “Well, it has been a while since we’ve first met . . . or communicated, anyway. But somehow it seems like we’ve known each other for much longer.” David tried to be as cool and manly as he could, working hard on creating a good first impression. This is what mattered, even more than their year on the Internet and the lil’ chat room rendezvous that frequently took place.

  “This trip even seemed like forever,” said Debbie. It had been an hour and a half flight from Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. But instead of weightlessness and jet lag, other things occupied her thoughts. To some degree, Debbie felt that she was abandoning her mother. On the other hand, she knew she had only one life to live. And she was determined to live it to the max. For her mom, and even for her brother, Ray Ray. The thoughts in her mind spun once again, and she thought about Jackie.

  “Do you know where Ninty-fifth Street is?”

  “Actually, I’ve already been by your friend . . . Jackie’s?—house. We’ve met and everything. Didn’t I tell you?” David knew he hadn’t told her. He was just being cute.

  “No. You didn’t tell me. What did you guys talk about?” Debbie uttered a hint of jealousy. Tempering her words.

  “We talked about Southside Chicago and . . . your old boyfriends.”

  “Boyfriends?” Debbie was sure that the neighborhood knew about the high school jock turned college hunk, Robert Bass. But what they knew exactly, she wasn’t sure. And what else did they know that she didn’t know they knew? Debbie was suspicious and skeptical too.

  “Well, not really boyfriends—as in many—but there was one guy.”

  “Oh really?” Debbie felt a bit betrayed, folding a mood with her arms.

  “But Deb, it was all good, baby.
She just gave me an idea of the kind of guys you like.” David consoled her.

  “Oh . . .” Debbie softened her anger into guilt. His saying “baby” helped a lot, reminding her of their Internet chats.

  “Debbie, relax. Jackie can’t wait to see you, okay?”

  “Well . . . I just . . . you know us girls.”

  “No, not really. What about you girls?” David uttered his lie with a playful sarcasm and a raised brow.

  Debbie took a dive into the subject, revealing some of the ghetto in her. David never picked that up on the Net or through the phone calls. It was all nostalgic to him, arousing even. He’d met a full string of attractive women and grew a talent for stereotyping them. Even if they’d hide their characteristics. Meanwhile, he allowed Debbie to be talkative and used the opportunity to take closer looks at her. Great skin. Well kept hair. The perfume was counterfeit, but David could sense that Debbie was trying hard to fit into the groove of big city essence. Even though she wasn’t quite cutting it.

  While she conversed with David, Debbie kept an eye on the landscape of Queens. A lot of small homes stood in close proximity to one another. Meager lawns, many trees, and that equal mix of both city and suburban. It almost seemed like back home, which made her all the more comfortable. As they arrived at Jackie’s home, Debbie instantly sized the residence and surveyed the block. The house was a small, brick one-level, identical to those to its right and left. The surroundings were stapled with well manicured shrubbery and lawns. There were no children in the streets, like she was accustomed to on her block in Chicago, and there was a certain ease and seclusion that was infectious.