by Cairo
Paris tilts her head, placing a hand up on her hip. “And what is that supposed to mean, ‘she knows how you are’? Explain that to me.”
“She knows you won’t say no to her. It’s not in your blood; especially since she knows how badly you want to have a better relationship with her.”
Paris twists her face up. “And what’s so wrong with that? I’d think you’d want to have a better relationship with her, too.”
“I do,” I admit.
Persia grunts, interjecting. “I find it interesting that she’ll apologize to you for shit she says, but not once has she opened her mouth to apologize to me or to Porsha, for that matter, for anything offensive that has come out of her mouth to us. And she had ample opportunity the day we were all at brunch to do so. She didn’t even call to see if Porsha or I wanted to drive out to Pennsylvania with her. No, she asked you.”
“Oh, please. You’re purposefully antagonistic toward her,” Paris defends. “You like getting into confrontations with her. Look at how you make it your business to smear what we do in her face every chance you get. And she didn’t ask either of you if you wanted to go because she knows both of you would’ve said no.”
Persia glances at the clock. “Oh, please, now you’re sounding exactly like her. Let’s face it. You’re her favorite. Always have been, always will be.”
“I am not,” Paris says indignantly. “She loves all three of us equally.”
Persia pushes out a sarcastic laugh. “Please, you don’t even believe that.”
Paris sighs. “Okay, so she shows it differently. But she’s never done anything extra for me. We’ve all always gotten the same things.”
Persia rolls her eyes again. “It’s not about material things. It’s about the attention and praises she always gave you growing up.” Paris disagrees. And I’m not sure if she’s in denial, or extremely blind to the truth. But the truth is our mother has always favored her over Persia and me. And that’s mostly due to her mild temperament. Persia has always been less tolerated because…well, she’s always been the most difficult. She and Mom have always butted heads. But, of course, I don’t say anything. I sit back and let the two of them duke this one out. Paris remains adamant that she has never been favored. “Whatever, girlfriend, I’m outta here. I have a plane to catch.”
Finally I decide to comment. “Well, regardless of whether you were favored or not, after that stunt Mom pulled at the diner, I don’t know why you’d want to put yourself through it. Besides, you said she started getting on your nerves when you spent the day with her up at the outlets.”
“Well, true. But this time, I’ve made it very clear what I expect from her. And, like I said, she’s really been trying.”
Persia grunts. “Mmmph, well, let her know she has two other daughters she should be trying with. But, let me ask you this, since you seem to be all up on her bandwagon these days. What did she actually apologize for? Does she admit to any of the nasty shit she’s said to us? Has she apologized for taking out her anger toward all of the women who she believes, in her twisted mind, wronged her by fucking Dad on us?”
Paris blinks. “Well, no; not really. But she did say she’d try to watch what she says.”
I clap my hands together. “Bravo, bravo…once again she takes no responsibility for her actions. You already know, no matter how hard she thinks she’s trying, she’s going to say something to get under your skin. It’s what she does. She can’t help herself.”
Persia rolls her eyes. “Oh, puhhhleeze. That woman can help herself if she wanted to.”
“I’m not gonna let her get under my skin. Not this time.”
“You need to cut your losses, honey. And feed her with a longhandled spoon, like I do.”
“I’m not gonna stop trying,” Paris says, eyeing Persia as she pours pomegranate juice into her travel mug. “She’s still our mother.”
Persia huffs. “Don’t remind me.”
“Whatever,” Paris says dismissively. “So which one of you heifers is gonna cover the boutique for me?”
“I can’t,” I tell her. “I have appointments back to back up until eight o’clock tomorrow tonight.”
Paris looks over at Persia. “What about you?”
She huffs. “Well, I guess it’ll have to be me,” she says over her shoulder as she’s walking out of the kitchen. “I don’t know why you don’t hire someone part-time. It’s not like you can’t afford it.”
Paris follows behind her. I overhear her saying, “Now why should I waste money on hiring someone I might not be able to trust when I have two beautiful sisters who I trust with my life?”
“Oh, please. You’re such a kiss-ass.”
I hear Paris laugh. “Love you, too, sweetie. Go seal that deal, then bring ya ass back here safe and sound.” A few minutes later she shuffles back into the kitchen. “I really hope she lands that contract.”
“Me too,” I say, getting up to put my dishes in the dishwasher. “She’s been working her ass off. She’s good at what she does and no one deserves it more than she does. Knowing her, she will not board that plane back here until she has it in the bag.” She agrees. I glance up at the wall clock over the sink. It’s almost seven in the morning. “So what time are you going in today?” She runs her hands through her hair. Tells me she’ll probably leave around a quarter to nine. “Uhhh, then you might wanna get a move on it, Sweetie. You know it takes you almost two hours to get dressed.”
She waves me on. “Yeah, yeah, yeah; don’t remind me. I swear. Today I would love to lie around and do absolutely nothing. Ummm…so what are you doing today?”
I laugh. “Not working the store so you can lay around today, boo. That’s for sure.”
She sucks her teeth. “You’re such a bitch.”
“Yep. But you know I always have your back when I’m not swamped. But, in the meantime, I agree with Persia. You need to put an ad in the paper for a part-time assistant.”
The house phone rings. “I’ll think about it,” she says, walking over and picking it up from off the counter. She looks at the caller ID. “Speaking of the devil; it’s Mom. I’m gonna put her on speakerphone.” Great, I think, rolling my eyes up in my head. “Hello, Mom.”
“Who’s this, Porsha?”
“No, it’s Paris.”
“Oh good; I was hoping you’d answer. I called your cell but it went straight to voicemail. Why isn’t your cell on?”
Paris frowns. “Mom, what difference does it make if my cell is off or not? You called the house. So, is everything okay?”
“Okay, Paris. Let’s not turn this into another mess. I didn’t call to argue with you. Where are your sisters?”
Paris looks over at me. I wave her on. “Persia left for a meeting. And Paris—”
“Hello, Mother,” I interject.
“How are you, Porsha?” I tell her I’m good. “I don’t know why you have me on speakerphone. You know I don’t like being on that thing.”
Paris shakes her head. “Well, Mom, if you call the house phone, you’re gonna be put on speaker.”
She huffs. “Well, then let me make this brief. What time are you going to be ready to head out to the Dutch Country tomorrow?” Paris glances over at me. I sit back in my seat, folding my arms, smirking. Last month it was the outlets in New York. Now this month she’s traipsing out to Lancaster, Pennsylvania to hit up the Tanger Outlets. I’m convinced the woman is becoming an outlet junkie in her old age. “I’d like to get an early start so we can get up there as soon as the stores open. I want to beat the crowds. Afterward, we can have an early lunch, then spend the rest of the day relaxing before heading back in the morning.”
“And we’ll need to leave early in the morning, too. I need to be back by eleven to open the boutique.”
“Oh, that’s fine. But why aren’t your sisters covering for you?” Paris tells her Persia will cover tomorrow, but she still needs to be back to open on Thursday.
“Well, what about Porsha?”
/> “Mother, I can’t. I’m booked all this week. Paris already knows if I could, I would.”
“Oh, I see. Well, Paris, maybe you should think about hiring someone.” I smirk. Paris glances over at me, giving me the finger.
I laugh.
“I’ll give it some thought. Look I gotta get ready for work. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“You never said what time you were going to be here.”
“Like around eight.”
“Make it seven,” she has the audacity to say, “to make sure we’re there the minute the doors open.”
I snicker. Persia sighs. “Mom, I’m the one driving. And I will be picking you up at your house at eight o’clock; period.”
“Well, I—”
“Eight o’clock, Mother,” Paris says sternly. “That gives us plenty of time.” I smile. It’s about time she handles her, I think, getting up to make myself a cup of white tea. I pour water into the kettle, then set it back on the stove, turning the burner on. “If that’s not good for you, then you can drive yourself.”
She huffs. “Fine, then. I’ll see you when you get here.”
“Good. I love you. Now you enjoy the rest of your day. I have to get ready for work.”
“Love you, too. You, too, Porsha.”
“Love you back,” I say before she hangs up.
I burst out laughing. “Ooooh, she’s hot with you right about now.”
Paris shrugs. “She’ll get over it. I mean, really. I’m the one driving. And she’s…” She stops herself, shaking her head. “She’s still our mother.”
“Who is never gonna change.”
“Maybe not, but I’m still hoping it’ll change how I deal with her so that I don’t keep letting her disrupt my day.”
I wave her on. “Good luck, boo-boo.”
She sucks her teeth. “Whatever. Let me go jump in the shower so I can get out of here on time.” I watch as she walks out of the kitchen, shaking my head. Bless her heart, I think, getting up to remove the whistling kettle from the stove. I glance up at the clock. It’s time to get my day started, I think, dropping a teabag into my cup, then pouring hot water over it. Yup, she’s our mother alright, but she’s still a mess!
Persia
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“Paradise Boutique, how can I help you?” I answer into the phone, glancing over at this chick messing up a table of assorted designer T-shirts that were neatly folded until her ass started ruffling through them. I want to charge over there and smack the shit out of her. But the deep, dreamy voice on the other end distracts me from kindly swinging Miss Messy Ass out the door.
“Hey, beautiful…I’ve been thinkin’ about you all morning.”
I blink. “Who is this?”
He laughs. “Oh, here you go wit’ this again. You done forgot me that quick, again?”
It doesn’t take long for me to realize that this deep, panty wetting voice on the other end isn’t calling for me. It’s for Paris. But, curiosity creeps up in me. And since he can’t tell our voice patterns apart, I decide not to tell him he has the wrong one. Instead, I start to wonder if he’s as sexy in person as he sounds on the phone. Wonder why Paris hasn’t mentioned him. I need to see what this man looks like in the flesh. I smile. “Maybe, maybe not,” I answer, coyly. My pussy comes alive.
“Yeah, aiight. Well, check this out. I haven’t forgotten you; especially not after that last ep we had together.”
My cunt purrs. Ohmygod, that sneaky heifer has fucked this delicioussounding motherfucker and hasn’t said one word about it. “Is that so?” I ask, keeping my eye on Miss Messy, wishing she’d get the hell on up out of here while I talk to this dreamy delight on the other end. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking about?”
“Yo, don’t front. You already know.”
“Tell me, daaaady,” I coo into the phone.
“I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout that good pussy. My dick’s been hard all day.”
A tinge of jealousy sweeps through me, but is quickly replaced with lecherous thoughts of fucking him myself. I moan. “Mmmm, and I love me some hard dick.” I wonder how big it is. Is it fat and long, or short and stumpy?
“And my dick loves how you make it feel. Damn. I wanna come to Paradise and get some more pleasure.”
A smile creeps across my face. An opportunity presents itself. How can I resist?
I can’t.
No, I have to.
Hmmm. I wonder why Paris never mentioned this one.
It’s obvious. She wants him to herself.
Or maybe she’s waiting for the right time to bring him to us so we can all feast on him, together.
Maybe not; maybe she’s interested in him for herself.
Then she would’ve told us about him. She would’ve said he’s off limits.
But we share everything. No one has ever been off limits.
“Why didn’t you call my cell?” I ask, fishing to see exactly how well Paris and this mystery man know each other. Even though it’s obvious she’s already fucked and sucked him by the way he’s talking, if Paris was really interested in him, he’d have her cell number, and he would’ve known she was out of town. I hold my breath. Wait for his answer.
He laughs. “Yo, you know you been frontin’ hard. All the sexin’ we do and you still haven’t hit me with it. It’s like you wanna see a nigga beg. Is that what you want, baby?”
Hmmm…she can’t be too interested then.
But she’s fucked him more than once.
That doesn’t mean anything.
She still hasn’t given him her number, so that says to me she has no intentions of giving it to him. And I can fuck him, too.
For a hot second, I consider my salacious thoughts. Think about Paris. Entertain the notion that perhaps she might really be interested in him, for herself. Think about how she might feel if she found out that I’ve sampled him, too. But then suddenly—I don’t care. I want, need, to see who this man is. And why Paris has kept him a secret.
“No, I don’t want you to beg.”
“Then what you want me to do?”
I lower my voice. “Come here and fuck my pussy real good, and I’ll make sure you finally get my number. But don’t think I’m gonna make it easy for you.” Miss Messy glances over at me, holding up a black Donna Karan dress. “Umm, can I help you?” I ask with more attitude than I probably should have. But, this bitch is trying to ear hustle on my time.
“Yes, I’d like to know if this dress is on sale.”
Bitch, do you see a red tag on it? Is it on the sale rack? “Hold on,” I tell him, annoyed that this bitch is fucking up my phone time.
“No, you good. Go handle ya business. I’ma come through as soon as you close. And you can finish all that slickness you were talkin’ then.”
“Ma’am,” I say, holding a finger up. “Give me one second.”
“Take your time,” she says snidely.
I return back to my conversation, feeling my panties sticking to my pussy. “Oh, trust me. I’m gonna do more than talk. You make sure you’re ready to put up, or get shut up. I want you to beat this pussy up.”
He laughs. “Aaaah, shit. You done got my dick extra hard talkin’ all that slick shit. I got you, though. We gonna see what’s really good when I get there.”
“Yes, we shall. Oh, and by the way, you’ve got my panties soaked.” I hang up on him, pull down my panties and step out of them, sticking them in one of the drawers. I make my way over to Miss Messy. “Now, how can I help you?”
And this bitch better buy something, too!
Pain
CHAPTER FORTY
“Damn, baby, you miss big daddy like that?” he asks the minute I pull him into the back office and pounce on him. The moment he walked through the door, grinning at me, I wanted to fuck and suck him. Envy swept through me. This is Paris’s secret. Fine, dark chocolate wrapped around thick, bulging muscles. Her guilty pleasure would now become mine. It has been years since I’ve p
urposefully fucked a man who thought I was either Paris or Porsha. Boyfriends who loved them, or lusted them, wanting to be their firsts. But they weren’t fucking. They weren’t sucking. I was. And I was always eager to give them what they thought my sisters would. Good pussy, some ass, a good dick suck. Paris and Porsha were virgins doing boring shit—still making out, grinding, and kissing, and dick teasing. I was the one who gave the boys want they wanted. I’m the one who knew how to make them feel real good.
“Aaaaah, shit…suck that dick, baby…”
I look up, flutterin’ my eyes and moanin’ as I slowly run my tongue along the underside of his dick, then around the head. His dick pulses. I let go of it, standin’ up. “Yo, why you stop? You got my dick hard as steel, right now.”
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him, walking into the office closet to get my cherry-flavored head gel out of my purse. I scoop some out with a finger, put it into my mouth. He’s now sitting on the sofa. I walk over to him, then drop down between his legs. I take his dick into my hand, then suck and slurp him until it starts to stretch and thicken. He closes his eyes. “Aaaah, fuck…that’s right, baby…suck daddy’s fat dick…”
He winds his hips, slow. Allows me to control the amount of dick I take into my mouth with my hands. “There you go…wet that shit…” I spit all over it, coating it with a glob of slob, then start jacking him off while I suck on his balls.
“Yeah, that’s right, baby…”
“You like that? You like how your little cum-slut is sucking all over them balls?” I ask. I lift his dick up and lap at his balls, then roll my tongue around them.
He grunts. “Fuck yeah. Suck them balls for me.”
I take his balls into my mouth. Pop them in and out, stroking his shaft.
“You want me to be your personal dick sucker? You like the way I coat your dick with my spit?” I ask, spitting on his dick, stroking it. He moans. “Tell ya little dick-sucking bitch how you want it.” I tell him to grab my titties, twist them. Slap them.
He looks at me, seemingly shocked by my aggressive demeanor. “Damn, ma, you real wild tonight. I didn’t know you like gettin’ it in like this.”
