Sixty-Nine

by Pynk

  Eleven

  “Sex Me”

  Rebe

  INT.—ARMANI’S APARTMENT—HOLLYWOOD, FLORIDA— JUST AFTER TWO IN THE MORNING

  February 14, 2009

  It was Rebe’s fortieth birthday. A Saturday.

  Trinity had left a generic Happy Birthday card on the kitchen counter at home, but said she’d be out for the evening.

  Rebe briefly talked to Darla and Magnolia.

  A girlfriend breakfast was set for later.

  But for now, the apartment Rebe was in smelled like day-old supreme pizza with onions and extra cheese.

  They walked in together after she followed him from the club.

  The man Rebe called Babyface turned on the floor lamp to illuminate his bachelor pad, and immediately picked up a can of Meadows & Rain Febreze, aiming randomly, pressing the lever in every direction like he was spraying an attacking swarm of killer bees.

  Rebe made her cautious entrance, closing and locking the door behind her. Her better judgment said, Speaking of spraying, what you need, Rebe, is that can of pepper spray you left at home. She told him with a reserved look, “I’m not supposed to be doing this.”

  He walked into the kitchen area, which was more like a small L-shaped closet with a three-foot counter that he used as a bar. “Yeah, yeah. You women are so hard on yourselves, with the whole good girl, bad girl, routine. What’s up?”

  Rebe looked around for a barstool that might belong to that counter but there was none. Or something to sit on that didn’t have clothes strewn all over it. She asked, “Oh, we women are, huh?”

  “Yep, you women,” he said, pushing his trash deep into the bag and securing it with the drawstring.

  “What would you know, Babyface?”

  “Oh, I know. And it’s Armani.”

  “Armani. Okay, but you still have a baby face.”

  “You say so.”

  “So I guess it’s no big deal for you since you’re a man. You don’t need to worry about being bad or good. And also because you bring dancers home all the time.”

  “You assume, I see. One thing you need to know is that with me, if you want to ask, ask. But don’t assume.”

  “Okay. Do you? Bring girls home all the time, that is?”

  “No, I don’t actually, Queenie.”

  “It’s Rebe. So I’m the first one, is that what you’re saying?” She looked at him like surely he lied.

  “Yeah, Rebe. Lucky you. You get to see my bachelor pad. Or bachelor room.” He tossed his Nike hoodie and a couple of pairs of sweatpants from the black futon onto the back of a wooden chair.

  “It’s fine.” She eased herself down onto the thin cushion of the raised, framed mattress.

  “It’s cramped, is what it is.”

  “You’re young. You live alone. I had a small place when I was your age, too.”

  “Am I gonna have to keep hearing about how young I am?”

  “You might. You are young.”

  “I see I’m gonna have to show you a few things to shut you up.”

  She furrowed a brow. “Like what?”

  He just gave her the eye.

  “You sure are edgy. Nothing like the Babyface back at the club.”

  He walked back into the kitchen. “You want something to drink.”

  “No. I don’t drink. But thanks.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just don’t. You didn’t answer my question, like what?”

  He reached inside the tiny, round fridge and grabbed a cold bottle of Corona. “Like how a man handles things. A man is gonna be a man, no matter what the age. Manhood is judged by what a person does. And I’ll tell you one thing about me. I am not a boy.”

  “I see. So I shouldn’t trip on the fact that you’re probably my daughter’s age.”

  “No. And I won’t let the fact that you must be just a year or two younger than my mother trip me out. Your wisdom is sexy. But underestimating me, is not.”

  Rebe nodded. “I feel you. So, since we’re estimating, how do you estimate me?”

  “All I know is that you dance like a goddess. And you have a sharp ass tongue. That’s it.”

  “And? What do you think about the fact that I’m sitting here in your apartment? Old enough to be a year or two younger than your mother.”

  He walked back into his living room. “Just hope to get to know more about you.”

  She watched his bowlegs and what looked like a round butt through his jeans, and examined his facial structure and green eyes, all while simply asking, “Why?”

  “Because I like you.”

  “I’m fully aware of what you’d like to do with me.”

  He swigged from his bottle, swallowed with an ahhh. “I’ve done that in my mind a few times already. If I don’t get to, oh well.”

  “Oh please. Why are you playing off the whole reason I’m here? I say let’s get it over with.” Her eyes grew playful.

  He stepped to her. “Hold up. You’ll take all the fun out of it.”

  She stood and faced him, eye to eye. “Armani. You know what? You are my fantasy. You are young. You are hot. I’m feeling hot for you like it’s a new me. Something about the smell of that club, and the look in your amazing eyes when you see me on that stage, and the feeling I have running through my body, is like an aphrodisiac to me. It’s like a drug. It’s making me high as a kite. No lie.” Rebe’s eyes looked like she was sex drunk. Her words spilled from her mouth like water and she barely blinked, only putting one hand on his shoulder, and one hand on his forearm. “I want to go ahead and fuck you before it all slips away. Before I have to deal with what it would be like to again feel the guilt of this lust or whatever it is, versus jumping on your dick, right here, right now, in your apartment.” She lifted up her top and pulled it over her head, and then reached back to unsnap her bra, never telling him it was her birthday.

  He took a slow sip of his beer and looked serious as a heart attack.

  “Now I’m going to undress. And I want you to do whatever you want to me. I won’t stop you. Just do me a favor and dim the light a little, maybe put on a slow love song, and then get your fine ass back over here, Armani.” She had stepped from her skirt and purple panties, and was buck birthday-suit naked.

  Armani lifted his chin from his chest, his eyes stuck on the sight of her bare vagina. He put the empty beer bottle who knows where and hurried toward the floor lamp like a kid on Christmas, goofy and excited, turning the dimmer switch down to almost off, and awkwardly shuffling through three CDs, picking out Johnny Gill and pressing Play on the title track.

  Rebe’s face was cool, but her heartbeat was quicker than even when she was on stage in front of a room full of horny men.

  Armani took off his jeans, shirt, socks, and underwear in two point two and approached her again, taking her into his arms, meeting her face with his, and he kissed her, sucking her tongue while pressing his lips and his bare body against hers.

  “Let’s get the mood right. Turn on your heart light.”

  He led her and her heart into a slow dance move to the music and kept kissing.

  She held on to his arms, and then stretched her arms around his back, massaging his muscles.

  The mood was sexy.

  He eased his lips away and leaned over to adjust the futon to a flat position.

  Rebe told him with a whisper, “I don’t want to lay down yet.”

  He spoke fast. “I do.” His penis high was obvious.

  “I want you to do something different. Something you’ve never done before.”

  Armani twisted his mouth and began to think, giving in to her demand and picking her up like she weighed two pounds. He placed her on the counter.

  She scooted her bare ass back along the tan laminated surface. Armani knelt down just enough so that her pussy met his mouth at its exact point. She leaned back just as he pulled back her pussy lips, exposing her clit stud, and went to work. He licked and flicked his tongue while holding on to her hips,
pressed his face closer and used his fingers, index and middle, to enter her upward, adding pressure toward her G-spot, pressing against it with a strong force.

  Already, Rebe felt her head spinning but braced herself, one hand on the edge of the counter, and one hand on his head, though the sight of what he was doing to her, along with the pressure on her undiscovered internal spot, was too much. She took a deep breath and focused to allow the feeling to take her away and then, he stopped.

  He said, as Johnny Gill continued to serenade their mood, “I want to make you come with me inside of you.”

  “Baby. Wait.” She fought to not have to come back down from her ninety percent acceleration.

  Armani picked her up and in a rush, his dick standing up so tough it looked like it could walk, he laid her hot body on her stomach, upon the futon and ran to his desk, reaching in the drawer for a foil packet, securing the condom, and hurrying back. She arched her back and raised her hips in the air at just the right level. He immediately inserted himself into her, going in little by little, first to halfway while she flinched inside, and then the other half. His hands were on her waist for cooperative guidance.

  With each grind she groaned in a way that sounded like a porn movie was being watched or made.

  The CD played subtle female moans in the intro of the next song, “Bring It On.”

  “Girl the night is so young, girl you look so ready.”

  Armani was talking shit from behind her. “Your body’s so damn fine. And your pussy is on fire. It’s hot just like an oven. Damn.”

  Her head was turned back toward his face, watching him do his thing.

  He dug deep and kept poking the upper part of her insides. She mumbled inaudible sentences as he said, “Yeah. Your freak is on tonight. Young ass dick got that pussy surprised, huh? Tight pussy don’t know how to act with a dick that knows its way around. Come for me like you made me come after I met you that night. When I came home and jacked the fuck off in your name. Come like a bad girl. You know you’re a bad girl. I sure know you are.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Oh yeah, you are. You’ve been a bad girl, Rebe. You know you have. Showing all of us horny men your stuff up on that stage. Teasing us. Sounds like a bad girl to me. Does it to you?”

  “Uh-uh.” She played along, knowing he was right.

  As his dick dug in and then out at a fast pace, you could hear the wetness of her insides, as well as his pubic area slamming against her ass cheeks. “I can feel that pussy clenching up. Dang, got a grip on my shit. Girl, you need to stop lying. Pussy don’t lie. You’re about to come for me, aren’t you?”

  “No.” Her eyes began to tear from the full penetration pounding. She looked straight forward, riding the rhythm of his fuck current.

  “Yes, you are. Me too. Come with me, Rebe. Get this young ass dick. Come.”

  “Ahh, Ahh. Oooh. Ahh. No. No. Shit.”

  “Oh fuck,” was all he said.

  And they came together, unraveling from the plateau of their muscular contractions.

  His post-orgasm face went from tense to serene.

  She slipped into deep thought, wondering how she’d, for the second time suddenly in her life, and this time on the very night of her birthday, managed to be turned on and turned out, again.

  She collapsed onto her belly and looked behind at the flawless sight of his toned body, and gave him the stud salute with her eyes out of respect for the intensity, his skill, and his nasty shit-talking.

  With him still on her back, his breathing downshifting from his massive expulsion, their bodies breathed the same. He said, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  She’d forgotten. “You, too.” She sounded spent.

  All was quiet except for the slow serenade “It’s Your Body.”

  And then his cell rang from the floor near the futon.

  She glanced at it halfway through the first ring as her head hung over the edge of the futon.

  Just as the BlackBerry screen lit up, she turned her head the other way, adjusting her neck to get comfortable.

  He reached down to press the Ignore button, and turned back to adjust himself along her backside.

  It had read, Trinity calling.

  Twelve

  “That’s What Friends Are For”

  Girlfriends

  EXT.—THE NEWS CAFE—MIAMI BEACH—MORNING

  February 16, 2009

  Magnolia and Darla and Rebe planned to meet for breakfast on President’s Day just to have some girl chat time, and to celebrate Rebe’s birthday, though Magnolia and Darla needed to follow up on the business loan talk, so they arrived a few minutes early.

  Darla walked up, looking like it was summer in her jean shorts, tank, and flip-flops. Magnolia, in black pants and a white blouse, had already about finished her cup of coffee, and was seated at a cozy courtyard table for three. Her tiny red clutch rested on the edge of the square table.

  Their meeting place was the News Cafe, a quaint sidewalk restaurant on the corner of 8th and Ocean Drive in Miami Beach’s Art Deco District.

  The sun shone strong, even though it was February, offering a bit of spring heat upon the many restaurant patrons who filled the tables, enjoying the energy and ambiance of the well-known eatery.

  Located along the glittery stretch of coastline, originally the café was known as a local news kiosk, and heralded for its award-winning breakfast dishes. It was a cozy, garden-like spot with white trellises adorned by shiny green ivy. Large clay pots of pale flowers aligned the white cement ledges.

  Darla, who had to duck her spiked pixie cut to keep from hitting the dark green table umbrella, took a seat next to Magnolia.

  “What’s up, Foxy Brown?” Magnolia joked, checking out her conservative friend who was wearing those shorts extra short.

  “Hey sis,” Darla offered a kiss on the cheek.

  Magnolia returned it to the air, making a smooching sound, still eyeing Darla down. “Look at you, showing those shapely legs.”

  “Big legs is what they are. I just felt like, whatever. A little bit of sun today. I’m wearing these.”

  “I see. One thing about you, you have quite the waistline, girl. You look good.”

  “Well thanks. The thing for sure is, red beans and rice didn’t miss my butt.” She joked, but still, her mind was focused. “So what’s the verdict?”

  Magnolia shook her head and looked sorrowful. “Girl, I couldn’t get it done. I talked to the branch manager and she said it was your credit score. Suggested you wait a year or two and work on repairing it. I can’t pull strings when it comes to that, any more than I can with income requirements. The underwriters are way stricter than ever before. It’s just the times we’re in, with all of the failed loans. It’s tough.”

  “I figured.” Darla adjusted her hips and sat back.

  “What happened? I mean, was your score always an issue, even back when you bought your condo?”

  “No. Just stuff since Aaron died.”

  “Darla, now, I know you. I know how private you are, so I won’t delve, but there’s got to be another way for you to start a business. Some type of program where the state allows more flexibility. There should be more government-type programs for those who want to be business owners. I know there’s the Ladies Who Launch organization for female entrepreneurs. I can check it out and let you know what I find out.” Magnolia reached into her handbag and pulled out her BlackBerry, making notes on her to-do list.

  Darla forced a smile. “Thanks. Bottom line is, I think it’s about time for me to get a second job and clean up my mess.” She took a deep breath and shook her shoulders. “Heck, maybe I’ll start stripping with Rebe. She did send me an email, too. Said something about some place called Make It Rain or something? What the heck does that mean, anyway?” Her tone was a bit lighter.

  Magnolia pointed near the walkway. “Speaking of Rebe.”

  Rebe came over and pulled back a chair. “Hey ladies. Smooches.” She gave air kiss
es, too, wearing white Dior sunglasses. Her peach, sequined tank matched her lips and cheeks. Her floral sandals were tan. Her linen trousers were bright white. She sat.

  Magnolia said, “Hey Rebe. We were just talking about you.”

  “Really? Talking about me literally?”

  Magnolia replied, “No, not about you, about you. Happy belated Birthday.”

  Rebe said, “Thanks. Hey, Darla.”

  “Howdy. Yeah, Happy Birthday, girl.”

  “Thanks.”

  “This is for you,” Magnolia said, taking a tiny blue gift bag from beside her chair and placing it before Rebe.

  “And this too,” said Darla, reaching into her purse and putting a small box on the table.

  Rebe adjusted her studded bag along the back of the chair and removed her shades, placing them on her head. “Oh, you two are so sweet. Wow.” She grinned. Right away she reached inside the gift bag, underneath the baby blue tissue paper, and inside to find a sterling silver BFF key chain. “Awww, how cute. Where’d you find this?”

  “This little store in the mall. They engraved the back.”

  Rebe turned it over. It read, R,M,D 4ever, the letters of their first names. “Oh, how sweet. Thanks, Magnolia. This is adorable. Muah,” she said, leaning to her left to give another smooch.

  Darla eyed it. “That is cute. Where’s mine?”

  “It’s no longer our birthdays, Darla.”

  “Oh, okay. So I’m gonna have to get my own, I see. Or wait until next year. I got it. So, it’s like that, huh?”

  “Ah, yeah.” Magnolia gave her a comical, duh look.

  “And what’s in here?” Rebe asked, lifting the top of the small white box. “Ohhhh, excuse me. Sexy, sexy.” She lifted a frilly pair of pink ruffled panties, and looked proud.

  Magnolia looked around to see who saw. No one.

  “You can leave them in the box,” Darla said, looking around, too.

  “Oh who cares? Adorable.”

  “Anyway, they’re from Marshall’s. Nothing too fancy.”