by Cairo
“You,” he says.
I roll my eyes dramatically and say, “Oh, please. How many times have you used that tired line?”
He laughs. “Including you, three. But those other two times don’t count since I didn’t mean it.”
I smile. “Oh. And now you do?” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, glancing up at the flashing numbers of each floor, trying to keep my eyes focused on anything other than him.
He steps in closer, lowers his voice. “I mean everything I say when it comes to you, pretty baby…”
I slowly begin to fade out of this conversation. I quietly inhale, hold the air in for a few seconds, then slowly exhale. At this moment, there’s a battle going on in my head. My ho voice is fucking with me, whispering shit like: “Ho, fuck him one good time; then be done with it. The nigga is practically throwing you the dick…you know you wanna wet his dick up, so stop acting all shy ’n shit. Fuck him already. You’re a ho, damnit! Let’s do what we do, ride that nigga’s dick. Let ’im feel how good that pussy is…”
Then there’s my other voice, the one that is milder, tamer, and a bit more logical in its ho thinking, saying: “Stay focused, ho. Fucking him would be your biggest mistake. We don’t shit where we eat, remember? Keep it cute, and keep it moving…”
Both of you bitches shut the fuck up, I think as Everett’s baritone voice forces my attention back to him. I hear him saying, “…all you need to do is give me one night to show you.”
“Big daddy,” I say, allowing my eyes to linger over his body much longer than I should. “You couldn’t handle me in one night.”
“Try me,” he says, in a tone full of dare.
In my mind’s eye, I see myself yanking his black boxer briefs—assuming that’s the color or kind he wears, or that he wears any at all—down to his ankles, watching his soft and surprisingly fat cock plop out. Before he can speak, I grab it at the base, then shove my open mouth around it, slowly slurping and sucking and slobbering all over it until it begins to lengthen and thicken. He looks down at me in delicious delight as his dick hardens, hitting the back of my throat. I moan, and continue to take his dick, inch by inch, into my mouth. I can tell he is turned on watching his dick disappear each time he thrusts. Streams of spit drizzle out of my mouth and roll down onto his big, heavy balls. I cup them, and begin massaging and gently tugging on them while increasing the suction of my sucking, causing a popping sound to echo around the elevator car. And then…and then…
The bell dings, and the elevator doors open. I step out, and turn to face Everett. I give him my most seductive look, and just when the doors are about to close, I blow him a kiss. He quickly sticks his hand in the doors, causing them to reopen.
“Is that a yes?” he asks, sticking his head out.
“Nope,” I say, walking off, glancing over my shoulder.
“You need to stop playing with a brotha’s emotions,” he says jokingly, clutching his chest.
I ignore him and continue sashaying down the hall. I feel his eyes on me and purposely throw a few extra shakes in my hips, glancing over my shoulder to catch his eyes lustfully locked on my perfectly shaped ass. I shake my head, laughing. “I hope you’re enjoying the view.”
“You know you’re wrong for saying that, right?” he says, laughing also.
“I’m sure you’ll survive,” I respond over my shoulder as I head toward the cafeteria.
Fifteen minutes later, I am sitting at my desk back in my office drinking a bottle of Lipton Green Tea, and going through my emails. There’s one from Everett. I click on it, and wait for it to open.
It reads: It was nice “bumping” into you. We’ll have to do it again. How about later today, before, during and after lunch?
I type back: no, not interested!
Five minutes later, another email comes through. Oouch! Thanks for putting the steak knife through my heart.
I respond: Enjoy your day!
So you’re gonna let me bleed to death?
Yep, I type. Now stop harrassing me. I have work to do.
My office line rings. Its tone tells me it’s an internal call. I pick up. “Bianca Rivers speaking. How can I help you?”
“You can help me by letting me take you out. Give me one night. I promise you, I’ll be on my best behavior. Gentleman’s honor.”
I laugh. “Everett, don’t you have work to do?”
“Of course I do,” he says. “But right now, trying to get a date with you is more important.”
“Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought,” I say, laughing even harder. “Stop wasting company time trying to fraternize or I’m going to report you to HR.”
He chuckles. “I’ll take my chances.”
“’Bye, Everett,” I say, hanging up on his ass, knowing he’s not going to give up his quest for some of this good pussy easily.
Thankfully, the rest of my day at the office is uneventful until Nahdirah stops by with another round of foolishness. “Hey, girl,” she says in singsong, sticking her head in my office.
“Oh, hey,” I say, looking up from my laptop. “Where you been?” I ask the question, but I honestly don’t really care. She walks in and closes the door. “I haven’t seen you around in a few days.” I watch her as she makes her way across the room.
“Yeah, I had to take a few days off.”
“Vacation?”
She sighs, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of my desk. “Not really.”
“Oh,” I say, staring at her. I take her in a few seconds longer, then blink.
I blink again, attempting to keep my face from revealing what I’m thinking: Jake done went upside her head.
She has what look to be the remnants of a black eye, and a lump on the right side of her forehead. “What happened to your eye?” I inquire, pretending like I don’t see the knot on her head.
She shifts in her seat, touching her cheek area. “Oh, I accidentally got hit in the face with a van door.”
I tilt my head, giving her my “you-really-don’t-think-I’m-believing-that-shit” look.
“Whose van was it?”
“Uh,” she says, searching for a lie, “a friend’s.”
“Really? Hmm. How did it happen?”
I purse my lips as she begins to give me her distorted reality of what happened. She claims she was helping “a friend” move. When she went to open the back doors, they were stuck, so she pulled on the latch, and one of the doors swung open and hit her in the eye.
Now, I don’t know a lot about domestic violence, but I know enough to know when someone is getting their ass beat. And this chick’s face has definitely met a punk nigga’s fist.
As I sit here looking at her, this whole scenario reminds me of an incident that happened almost eight months ago down the street from my house. Early in the morning, I had walked out of my front door trying to leave for work, and I spotted this young girl a few houses down from me fighting with her baby’s daddy. Dude had his hands wrapped around her neck, strangling her while she tried to claw him and fight him off. The crazy thing was, there were other niggas outside watching this mess and not one of them sorry-ass punks did anything to help her. I guess they weren’t ’bout to get caught up in someone else’s drama, then have it flipped on them. ’Cause I’ve seen that happen too. You go to help someone who appears to be in distress, then they turn around and jump on your ass for trying to save them. Well, fuck what you heard. I called the police on his ass any damn way. Let them handle it. And that’s exactly what they did.
You want to fight, keep that shit behind closed doors. Don’t bring that mess outside where I have to see it, especially first thing in the damn morning, and definitely don’t do that shit in front of your child. He was actually beating the mother of his child right in front of the poor thing. I couldn’t believe it. Oh, no the hell you won’t! I thought. Not on my watch. The little boy was in his car seat screaming and crying at the top of his little lungs. I slowly drove by while the cops were arres
ting his ass, and taking her too. Go figure!
Long story short, she ended up right back with him, and has the nerve to be pregnant by him again. Now her ass will really be stuck. But someone pleeeeeeeease help me understand how the hell a man can put his hands on a woman, then come out of his face talking ’bout he loves her. No, nigga, you love trying to control her. That shit ain’t love, not healthy love, any damn way. Then what drives me wild is the fact that she continues to take his disrespectful ass back. Talking ’bout he didn’t mean it. Come again, bitch? So, tell me, when he stomps you into a coma, or kills you, will he mean it then? Ugh! I will never be able to wrap my mind around that craziness. I don’t care how many times someone tries to rationalize it, or psychoanalyze it, I will never accept it.
I stare at Nahdirah long and hard, look her dead in the eyes, and say, “You don’t deserve to be hit.”
“Hit?” she repeats, letting out a nervous chuckle. “Ain’t nobody hit me. I told you what happened. I got hit with the door.”
I look at her and think, Sweetie, you don’t have to lie to me ’cause I already know how you got your goddamn eye knocked. She forgets I remember her coming to work last year with her face lumped up, and that time her excuse was that she tripped and hit her face on the edge of the table. I think to remind her of her stories to cover up what is really going on in her household, but I keep my mouth shut, and listen to the poor thing rattle on about how her man would never do anything to hurt her. Unfortunately, I know she’s desperately trying to convince herself more so than me. Whatever!
“Jake loves me too much to ever want to hurt me. Sure he gets a little mad sometimes, but who doesn’t?”
I sigh. “Um, Nahdirah, there’s no such thing as being a little mad. Either you are or you aren’t. And you’re right, we all get mad. But it doesn’t give us the right to put our hands on someone else.” I pause, studying her, hoping what I say sinks in. Already knowing the answer, I ask, “Has Jake ever hit you?”
She shifts in her seat. “Of course not,” she answers quickly. “I mean, he’s pushed or shoved me around a few times when I wouldn’t stop nagging him about something, but other than that, he would never beat me.”
No, just blacken your damn eyes. I will myself not to roll my own eyes. Uh, duh, ho…pushing and shoving is physical contact, and a form of hitting someone. Anyway, I am absolutely speechless. I want to snatch her by her damn arms and shake her ass like a rag doll. But, what do I know. When she gets sick and tired of being sick and tired, and realizes she deserves better than having someone go upside her head, she’ll find the strength and courage to get out of it. I hope.
All I know is it wouldn’t be me. The first time would be the last time, ’cause after I finished gouging his ass up with my fingernails, then punching him dead in his throat, I’d blow a hole in his chest without blinking an eye. I hear the lyrics to Jazmine Sullivan’s song “Call Me Guilty” playing in my head. Get that Glock and take his life. Hospitals and bloody noses, this would end all that I suppose …
It sure the hell would, I think, shifting in my seat. I feel myself getting pissed off. I’m sorry, but, no man should be putting his hands on any woman. And that goes for women as well. I’ve heard of a few chicks that have no problem stepping up in a man’s face and putting her hands up. That’s a no-no, period!
Oh my God, I’m telling you. A motherfucker can try it if he wants. He’ll be pushing up daisies before dawn. That’s a promise!
I get up from my seat and walk around my desk. I sit in the chair next to Nahdirah, then reach for her hand. I clasp both of my hands around it. “If there’s anything you ever want to talk about,” I offer sincerely, “I’m here for you.” Like I’ve said many times before, she’ll never be someone I’ll embrace as a friend, but I would never turn my back on her in a time of need.
She stares at me, her eyes glistening. I think I see pain, fear, perhaps relief. She opens her mouth to say something, maybe confess, but stops herself. “Girl, I appreciate that. But I’m good. Like I told you, I got hit in the eye by the door. So, please don’t make this out to be something more than it is.” She quickly gets up. “Listen, I gotta go.”
I watch her, dumbfounded, as she hastily dashes out of my office, closing the door behind her, leaving me with the memory of her black and blue, swollen face. I shake my head, thinking: Silly bitch!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It’s Friday, and I am glad to be out of that damn office and in my car, driving home. I am so preoccupied with sex, and dick, and having my guts dug out that I almost run a red light. I slam on my brakes, clutching my chest. I can smell burning rubber.
“Whew, that shit was close,” I say aloud, wondering which one of my sex charms I want to come through to fuck me tonight. I already know I’m not in the mood for Mitchell’s drunk ass. Besides, he’s on the verge of being terminated early from his pussy and ass-eating duties for coming to my house unannounced the other night. I don’t feel like seeing Wade or Jamil. And I’m not up for Garrett or Ian either—particularly not Ian.
I think for a minute, then decide to call Nelson, a dude I met a few months ago at Livingston Mall. He’s a six-foot-four, two-hundred-twenty-five-pound, milk-chocolate man with a wide nose, thick neck, and big, round brown eyes. He’s not officially one of my sex charms since I haven’t fucked him yet, but I promise you, if he performs as good as he looks, he will be before daybreak.
He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Hello, Nelson?” I ask, not sure if the voice on the other end is his or not since this is my first time calling him. My phone number flashes as private, so he will not know who I am. I never allow a man to have my phone number until after I ride his dick at least once—and then, only if I decide to fuck him again.
“Speaking,” he answers. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Janaye…”
Don’t give me that look. I know that’s not my name, geesh! I’ll explain later. But, for now, simply go with the flow. Oh, alright, already! Janaye is my middle name, and one of my aliases. So, depending on the nigga I’m fucking at the time, it may be Janaye or Briana, another alias. That’s who I am to them. Please. Why would I give any of them my real name, especially when I know they’re creeping? Now when a chick does try to check for me, she’s looking for either one of the two, not Bianca, trust me. The ones who claim to be unattached, well, I take my chances and give ’em my real name. And that depends on whether or not I think they’re trying to run game on me.
“…I’m not sure if you remember me,” I continue, “but we met at the mall a few months ago.”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, sounding excited. “I know who you are. You were the one talking real slick that day. Had my dick all hard ’n shit. What’s good with you? I didn’t think you were gonna call.”
“I misplaced your number,” I lie. Hell, men do it all the time. “I was cleaning my car out this morning and found it stuck on the side of my passenger seat so I decided to hit you up to see what you been up to.”
“Oh, that’s wassup. For a minute there I thought you mighta got scared or something.”
I laugh. “No, baby, I’m a grown woman. I don’t scare easy.”
“Don’t start talking too fast. I don’t wanna have you running from me.”
“And I don’t run easy. You got me confused, big daddy.”
“Oh, yeah…is that so? So, what you getting into tonight?”
“The question is: What do I want getting into me tonight.”
“Oh, it’s like that? I can dig it. So tell me, then. What do you want in you tonight?”
“A stiff dick,” I say, getting right down to business. I have no time to waste going around in circles. Either you want to fuck or you don’t. “Can you handle that?”
“Oh, word? That’s what it is. You think you ready for me?”
“Neeegro,” I say, laughing. “I was born ready.”
“Yeah, right,” he replies, laughing with me. “I betcha can’t ta
ke no dick.”
“Think what you like, baby. You’ll have to get up a little earlier to get me to fall into that mind trap. Not gonna happen. Make no mistake, I’m skilled at what I do,” I tell him, veering off onto Route 280 west. “You can savor on that for a minute, then decide in what area you believe I’m talking about.”
“Yeah, okay,” he responds. “So when you tryna get this stiff dick?”
“Tonight,” I answer, smiling to myself. For some reason, tonight I’m in the mood to role play. I want to pretend I am having an anonymous pump and dump session with a thick, chocolate dick. I want this faceless man to walk in and find me naked on my bed, on my knees, face down, all wet and ready. There’ll be no words exchanged. In my fantasy, he comes in, drops his pants, rubs his dick up and down the crack of my ass, then slides it into my hot hole and fucks me. He pounds and pumps away until he dumps his thick load of cum deep inside me. Then he gets up, zips up, and leaves me with his nut dripping out of my aching pussy without me ever seeing his face. But in reality, he will pull his dick out of me, remove his condom and toss it on the side of the bed next to me, then walk out.
I tell Nelson this, and it gets quiet on the other end. For a moment, I think he’s hung up on me. “Hello, you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m still here. I’m taking it all in ’cause you really fucked me up with that. Whew! I ain’t never heard no shit like that before. I see you a real freak.”
I grin, imagining him squeezing and pulling at his dick. “You got a problem with that?” I ask coyly.
“Nah, baby. Not at all.” He pauses, I’m sure to think over what I have said. I allow him his moment. “So, let me get this straight,” he says, making sure he has heard me clearly. “You want me to walk up in your spot and take the pussy from the back without saying shit to you, then bounce.”
“Exactly.”
He chuckles. “Damn, you’re really something else.”
“And there’ll be a face mask on the glass table next to the door for you to put on. Now tell me. Exactly how much dick you holding?”
