Sixty-Nine

by Pynk

  She searched and selected and watched, and then another chat request chimed. LeanAndJean. She clicked deny, and then sent them a message. No thanks, LeanAndJean. Maybe when it’s Lean without the Jean.

  She chuckled to herself. Even then. No.

  She turned to her cell and thought about maybe calling someone over who she knew from her past. Someone to do her the way she could possibly now be open to. But the ones in her past were so-so at best. She scrolled through some numbers and got to the G’s, and then saw Neal’s name. A thought came to her head. To again log on to his account at Ocean Bank.

  Don’t.

  Don’t.

  She did.

  Curiosity took her by the hand and squeezed. Before she knew it, she’d clicked the browser and logged in, reading about a debit in the amount of seventy-three dollars and four cents at Charlotte Russe, and a debit in the amount of twenty-nine dollars and ninety-five cents to Grown Folks Finder.com. Magnolia’s antenna shot straight up. She closed down the connection.

  Her computer chimed. LeanAndJean replied to her message. That can be arranged. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. A bell went off in Magnolia’s swift brain that told her maybe, just maybe the name LeanAndJean was really Neal and Keyonna. Neal spelled backward. She looked closely at her own photo and remembered that she wore the black angel charm in the shot. She spoke as if she was not in her bedroom alone. “That sucker is a member of this site. Could he have figured out it’s me? Maybe that’s why he tried that mess and invited me over. He knew I was on this damn site.”

  This time, it was Magnolia who initiated the chat request. The chat box expanded, accepted. And someone typed.

  Hello sexy.

  She typed, Hi.

  Thanks for requesting.

  No problem. I’ve been overwhelmed by the site. It’s hard to maneuver.

  We see. We knew you were pretty new. Never saw you before the other day.

  Yes I am new. Who am I talking to?

  This is Lean.

  Lean, huh? Okay. So you got rid of Jean?

  She’s not home right now. But she liked your photo, too. She’s a breast woman.

  Oh really?

  Yes. But I can tell from your profile you’re only into men. It’s cool.

  Okay. So, you play alone.

  Yes. But you’d like her.

  Really? So why do you call yourself lean?

  I’m tall. Low percent body fat. But I’m a big guy.

  Uh-huh. Big all over, I hope?

  I am.

  Nice. You’re not going to ask what I look like?

  No. I saw enough. We’re both into breasts.

  I see. Well, I do have enough to feed the needy. So you live in Miami.

  Yes.

  Good.

  Do you think we could meet?

  Maybe.

  He just went for it. Like tonight?

  Possibly.

  Say the Holiday Inn Miami Beach. At eleven.

  Magnolia replied as though she couldn’t wait. Sure.

  Cool. Check the front desk. Ask for the room number for Jean Lean. They’ll tell you. I’ll tell them Tangie will ask. No worries.

  Got it. See you then.

  Bye, Tangie.

  And that quick, Magnolia got so excited she couldn’t contain herself. See. This is gonna be good. No worries my ass. She’d set a date to meet a stranger to have sex, only this stranger was her ex-boyfriend. But this time, Magnolia just may have been one step ahead of him.

  INT.—HOLIDAY INN—MIAMI BEACH—LATE

  EVENING

  Four knocks on the door.

  “Just a minute,” a female voice said.

  Footsteps.

  Magnolia heard the door unlock and the knob turn. The door opened.

  She, a white woman with golden eyes and platinum, shoulder length hair, fake black lashes, and skin so brown one would’ve thought she applied an entire bottle of bronzer, stood before Magnolia. “Tangie?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Magnolia said, and then she remembered. Oh no. I just know this is not who I think it is. She gave a cautious sigh and braced herself.

  “I’m Jean,” the platinum woman said. “Come in.” She stepped aside wearing a short red dress, and opened the door wider.

  Magnolia counted to three and crossed the threshold, aligned her canvas bag over her shoulder, and prepared for what lie ahead, holding her inhale and then forcing a release of air.

  The platinum-haired woman told Magnolia, “Glad you came. I know you’re probably a little nervous coming by yourself. I know I would be, too.”

  “Yes,” was all Magnolia said as she stepped inside the narrow entryway, her feet cooperating but her mind suddenly told her not to go farther, yet the large off-white room was before her, and lying across the king poster bed at a six-foot-six angle, wearing only boxers, with the remote in his hand, looking like Michael Jordan himself, was lean Randall Richardson, Rebe’s ex-husband.

  There was the sound of the door closing, and the audio of Fox Sports on the flat screen.

  “Hi, Magnolia.” His voice was deep and friendly, and slow. He smiled like they were at a family reunion.

  That damn face. That damn voice. Damn. “Randall.” She nodded. Her expression was even more stressed than her voice.

  “Surprise, huh?” He had to have known her answer.

  “Yes. To say the least.” Magnolia stood still. “What in the world are you guys, I mean you and Kandi, doing here? It is Kandi, right? Not Jean,” she asked, expecting Randall to answer.

  “It is,” Kandi said from behind her.

  Randall said, “Small world.”

  Magnolia blinked her sight back to Kandi. “I knew you looked familiar. I’ve only seen you in photos from when Trinity came by for your daughter’s birthday party.”

  “Yes. I saw you on Trinity’s Facebook page.”

  “So you knew who I was when you opened the door?”

  Kandi nodded and gave a soft grin, looking like she wanted to say more.

  Magnolia looked at Randall as she readjusted her purse strap. “I’m going to go.”

  Randall spoke up. “You don’t have to.” A half-empty bottle of bourbon was on the nightstand. He sat up along the corner of the bed. His muscular legs went on forever. His chest was defined and hairy. His six-pack was an eight-pack. His biceps were chiseled.

  Magnolia looked down to fight the sight, and then looked at Kandi and then back at him. “Oh, yes I do. This really is not turning out the way I thought it would. I mean, I’m open to new things in my life, but being here. No.”

  “Magnolia, as far as Kandi and I are concerned, it turned out just the way we wanted it to.”

  “So, you knew it was me?”

  “Your description, your breasts, and that ladybug on your neck.”

  Magnolia touched her neck. “You are kidding me. You saw that in the photo.”

  His speech was unsteady. Almost a slur. “Barely. But if not for the tattoo, I’d be able to draw your cleavage in my sleep if necessary. I’ve noticed everything about you from the first day Rebe brought me to your house to meet you.”

  Magnolia was half surprised, half not. She glanced over at Randall’s wife, ready to duck if necessary.

  Kandi added, “I saw you online first, and then he looked closer. He wasn’t one-hundred percent sure but, actually, I’m really glad he was right.” Kandi kept her sights on Magnolia’s chest. “Nice.”

  Magnolia noticed her notice. “Oh my goodness. Really, I have to go.”

  “Please don’t,” Randall said.

  “You of all people know that Rebe is basically my sister. I just can’t.” She turned back toward the door while her devotion skills were still intact.

  “Don’t run away. Stay. Just for a minute.”

  “Please,” Kandi said, now sitting on the settee at the foot of the bed, spreading her legs, pantieless.

  Magnolia faced them and paced her breaths, eyes saying she was in a place where she didn’t belong. She watched
, and Randall came to a tall stance and then knelt down to his wife, meeting her waxed vagina as she opened her legs. And he went to town, keeping an eye on Magnolia, who looked frozen in place. Randall kept up his mouth between Kandi’s slender legs and ate her. Her white tan surrounded his dark, bald head. He did his oral thing and she squealed, tossing her head back. And by the time they changed places, Magnolia had dropped her bag onto the floor and stood closer to the bed, watching Kandi suck Randall’s tall dick all the way down to her tonsils.

  The sight was forbidden.

  Magnolia watched the kinky goings-on, similar to Neal and Keyonna getting freaky, and this time, she asked permission for her internal self to let her witness the act for herself. Seeing two people get down like that had her absolutely mesmerized.

  Randall’s eyes were filled with lust. “Touch her back. Just put your hand on her back while she sucks. Go ahead,” he urged, looking at Magnolia’s hand and then at his wife, as if drawing an imaginary line to guide her.

  Magnolia took a deep breath and placed her fingertip on Kandi’s lower back, standing behind her, and then she used her whole hand. She noticed the smoothness of Kandi’s skin, unlike any man she’d ever touched before.

  She had a bird’s-eye view of Kandi’s dick-sucking skills, and preferred to look at the deep throat action as opposed to into Randall’s familiar eyes. That would have ruined her self-talk, speaking to her better judgment, trying to convince it that it was not really Randall. It was only a black dick, getting some head, that it really wasn’t the dick of her best friend’s former husband.

  Within thirty seconds, Kandi was on all fours, backed up to Randall who was deep inside, delving and pumping his stiffness, looking back at Magnolia, who watched closely. Kandi’s lower back was tramped out with a scripted stamp that claimed her as his, that read, Randall’s.

  Now caught up in the allure of erotic voyeurism, Magnolia was at the point of no return, and she lifted her own dress, put her hand inside her panties and fingered herself. She was soaked.

  Randall reached back and took her hand, placing it on his back. He found her other hand and placed it on his shoulder and brought her closer to him so that her full breasts pressed against his back. He smelled of alcohol. She smelled of gardenia.

  She found herself moving in the same motion as his fucking.

  And it was as though another person, a vixen disguised as Magnolia, suddenly said, “Fuck her. Get that pussy. Let me see how you fuck her. Show me what that big dick can do.” She’d gone further into the sin den, and played along.

  And Kandi moaned a long moan like a cat in heat. She looked back with her golden, bedroom eyes, and arched her back, taking in the sight of Magnolia behind her man. Kandi fucked Randall back faster and harder. Her intense wetness meeting his thrusting penis made sultry sloshing sounds.

  Randall grabbed the back of Magnolia’s head, bringing her face to his neck. He instantly yelled. “Ahh, yeah. Ummgh. Ummgh.” His frame tensed up and he lost control.

  Magnolia spoke along the skin of his shoulder. “That’s it. That’s how you come inside of that pussy.” Her words came from a mind that was caught up. Caught up into the newness of the freaky.

  Randall wound down his release and also wound back up just as fast.

  Magnolia rose from the bed behind him and stood, shaking her head. It was like at that very instant, her guilt had gotten over its amnesia. And her sanity hit hard again.

  Randall reached out his hand toward her to see if he could again reach her new side. His eyes, half-bloodshot but lust filled and hopeful, invited her out to play just a little longer.

  Kandi lay still, rubbing her pleased vagina and offering a look of you’re next, you lucky girl.

  Magnolia looked at Randall’s large right hand and saw the bling of his Dolphins Super Bowl ring on his long, thick middle finger.

  And she was gone just as quick as he came.

  Completely and utterly bothered.

  Fourteen

  “Better Days”

  Darla

  INT.—DARLA’S FATHER’S HOME—DAYTONA BEACH, FLORIDA—LATE MORNING

  March 7, 2009

  Darla’s father lived in Daytona Beach, Florida, in the same mid-century home Darla grew up in.

  She hadn’t actually taken the time to drive up and see him in about five months. And she knew better. It just seemed that each time she had intentions of seeing him, she just couldn’t motivate herself to go. Seeing him lonely reminded her of what it’s like to be frozen in time.

  The day was in the mid-seventies. Not a cloud in the sky. The perfect day for a four-hour drive to the place she’d called home. A drive away from her life of trying to make ends meet, trying to find a way to live her dream.

  In her black jeans with a coral top and bronze sandals, Darla walked in after her father opened the screen door.

  Wearing khaki pants and a dark plaid shirt, he headed back barefoot across the parquet floor to his favorite place in his house, the right side of his hunter green sofa in his sunroom, the side with the cushions that, through the years, had conformed to the shape of his backside.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said, with a sweet tone.

  Though he walked like he was forty, he sat back down in slow motion and gave a grunt. His sciatic nerve had always acted up, radiating down his right side for years. He stretched out his legs. “What’s going on with you, darlin’?” His television was tuned to a gardening show.

  Darla’s father had robbed the cradle. Her mother was about ten years younger. But gray hair just barely made its visit, even though he was almost seventy. He was a sepia tone, almost five-ten, and had a slight beer belly.

  Darla walked to him and leaned down to kiss his high forehead that matched hers. “Missing you. I need to get by here more. And missing Mom.”

  “Me, too,” he said, offering a sad smile. “You want anything to drink or eat? There’s some Kool-Aid and orange juice, and some leftover turkey chili.”

  “Oh, I’m fine, Daddy. Thanks.” Darla took a seat next to him on the sofa, patting him on his thigh. “So. You look good.”

  “Thanks. I feel good. You look good, too. Still wearing your hair short I see.”

  “Yes. It’s easier.” She patted the back of her head and then fluffed up the top strands along her forehead. “And you know I love my bangs.”

  “It’s nice.”

  “Thanks.” She inhaled his compliments, which was his usual nature to offer. The nature she’d grown to love. And another thing she loved about him was that he never talked about her weight. She was getting to be about the same size as her mother, but he never said a word. He liked a woman with a little meat on her bones.

  Darla exhaled, wondering why she didn’t make the drive more often, and slipped off her shoes, crossing her legs at the ankles.

  He looked back toward the TV screen.

  Darla watched him closely. “Do you get lonely sometimes? Any friends or anyone you spend time with?”

  “No. I don’t get lonely and I don’t have any friends.”

  “Okay. And no ladies?”

  He looked at her with a raised brow. “Especially not that.”

  “I know.” Darla glanced all around. It was a three-bedroom house with the master on the main.

  He rarely even went upstairs. It was basically going to waste, but the home was paid for and he took care of himself fairly well. Even when she was little, he was always the one to cook and clean. He loved to barbeque so he grilled all the time years ago. Today, his place looked tidy, but his furniture, drapes, and televisions were old. They were the same items he and Darla’s mother had when Darla grew up. He was old school. He’d never think of getting a cell phone or a computer. In his mind, he lived just fine. He was just missing his wife. It was just that simple.

  Darla asked, almost as though she was just checking, “Daddy, if I needed to move in with you, could I?” It was her plan B solution. She dared not ask him for money. He’d worry.

&n
bsp; His bushy eyebrows reacted as he looked at her. He asked, “Why? Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay. It’s just that I’m thinking about opening a store, or some type of business. If I do, I might need to save as much money as I can, and staying here would let me do that while I run the store and see how it goes.”

  “What kind of store?”

  “A clothing store.”

  “Really? I didn’t know you knew anything about that.”

  “Other than a merchandising class in college and that summer job at the Gap years ago, not much experience, but I think I could do it. Didn’t you and Mom own a burger joint for a minute when I was born?”

  “We did. Your mom knew about the restaurant business from managing one before we met. And me with my accounting, we worked it out, darlin’.”

  “That must be where I get it from. My independent spirit.”

  “Yes, you do have that. Where would you open the store?”

  “I was thinking Miami, but if I moved in, it would be a place out here. Not sure if it’d be cheaper. Just thinking though.”

  “I see. The answer is yes. You know that. Having you here would breathe some life into this old house.”

  “Well, thanks. Looks like this house is just fine though.” She sat back and crossed her legs, facing him. “But who knows, maybe I’ll settle down again and won’t have to bother you.”

  He resumed his focus on the TV screen, but took her hand. “Maybe.”

  She looked down at his wide hand, his aging fingers and pronounced veins that ran from his wrist and up the back of his hand. And he still wore his gold wedding band. She held his hand with both of hers. “One thing’s for sure, I won’t be having any kids, so, sorry I never gave you any grandkids.”

  “You and Aaron weren’t meant to have any, so being that God took him home, it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “True.”

  “Don’t apologize to me for that. I’m fine. You just do what you need to do to make yourself happy. And if that’s opening a business, then fine.”

  “I’m trying. I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m trying to make you proud.”