by Delia Steele
“You taste impeccable,” he says, moving lower and lower. His head disappears, but not for long. After a few slow tongue trails that never enter me, he slides back up, running his tongue all over me. He pushes my skirt up around my waist and slips my shirt over my head and up my arms. He stops for a second, my arms held above my head, confined by my shirt, and smirks. I get lost in the raw passion in his eyes. I feel him teasing my entrance, asking my permission one last time. I gently rock my hips, and without further hesitation, he sinks into me. The gasp that leaves me astounds me. He moves his hips at a slow pace, allowing his full length to bury deep inside me as he finally releases me from my shirt. I leave my arms above my head and get lost in the rhythm of our bodies. Suddenly, I get brought back to reality when a flash of light snaps. I sit straight up.
“What the fuck was that?” I screech. I hear the low hum of a motor. “Did you bring the toys with you?” I look at him, confused.
“Um, no…” He looks around, trying to find the source of noise. “Mando, I came here to woo you, not turn you into a sexual sacrifice. Last time I checked, I sure as heck don’t drive around with a creepy suitcase full of sexual paraphernalia in the vehicle. I mean, if I were to be searched during a traffic stop, what would I say?”
It’s so funny to me, seeing him get so serious while his man sword is still stuck halfway inside my body. “Maybe you could tell them that you’re a powerful CEO with a sex fetish?” I smile wickedly at him.
“Well, I better pick up a gray tie, I guess,” he says with a wiggle of his hips.
“Oh, please, Clay, you’re more likely to get a good spanking than to give one.” We both laugh.
I force Clay to flip over onto his back, forgetting about the noise. That is, until smoke starts to fill the room. “Oh, hell, Gran, that kinky biotch, done put that damn fog machine in here!” We hug close and laugh our asses off. I push up to look down at him, nothing but my hair covering my body. “You ready to let me rock your fucking boat, baby?” He nods his head, and his shaggy bangs fall into his face. He looks so sweet and innocent, which he is, for the most part. Though I may have corrupted him a little bit.
As I stand and remove my skirt, Clay turns on my radio app and lays the phone down by the bed. I run over and lock the door. Gran may not mind me having grown-up time in her house, but there’s nothing stopping her from bursting through the door to tell us how to do it the right way.
“Backwards cowgirl?” I ask as I strut back towards my male buffet of sexy. His smile is all the answer I need. It’s one of our favorite positions. I hop up on the bed and stand over him, facing backwards. I drop down and shake my ass in his face a few times while he blows cold air towards my already soaked cooter. Then, keeping my feet firmly planted, I slide down his hard shaft like a veteran stripper on her pole. I start leisurely, bouncing with the rhythm of the music, but that doesn’t last long. I can feel the monster thickening inside me, and I start quivering just from knowing he is enjoying himself. He can’t control his nut well this way. He says watching my ass bounce with the sexual sensations is enough to bring a building crumbling to the ground. We both start vibrating from within as the need builds between us. I grab hold of my breasts and ride that bulging bull like a pro. Moments later, we explode together, both of us crying out and shuddering with release. He has his hands dug so deep into my ass cheeks, I’m sure I’ll have bruises. But I’ll proudly wear his branding. I flip around, letting his now limp dick slip out of me. Sweet or on-fucking-fire, our sex is always spectacularly satisfying. We fall asleep with me constricted around his sweaty body, my knees bent up around his waist and his arms wrapped around me, holding me to him. It’s as close as we can get to each other without him being inside me again. I relish the comfort the closeness brings and sleep soundly for the first time in ages.
The phone chirping some stupid animal noise wakes me, and I notice the sun is up. I reach for Clay’s phone and see Rory’s bright red hair on the screen. “He-” is all I get out.
“What the hell, Clay? Is she OK? Did you find her? Did you win her back? Is she coming home? Did you tell her I love her and miss her?” I’m not sure if that was one long question or fifty different ones. I lie back and smile.
“What up, sista from anotha mista? Yes, he found me, I won’t even comment on the winning me back part, I am home, and no, crotch cricket, he didn’t tell me shit about your hidden sexual desires to slurp my liquid lady love.” I burst out laughing.
“I hate you, Mando, but I love you. And, you brown booger, I am not a crotch cricket…whatever that is. You’ve obviously not caught a vocabulary yet.” I roll my eyes because Rory knows my GPA was as high as hers; I just didn’t brag about it. Couldn’t have. Being a bookworm cramping my cool factor.
“Your mama is a crotch cricket,” I say, yawning.
“No, my momma is a two-faced, lazy, piece of shit, trailer park whore who deserted her children.” Kudos, Rory.
“Truth. What’s up, hooker? I mean, I’d love to sit and talk weather with you like old fuckers with coffee and shit, but I need to go soak my coochie. I mean, DAMN! Last night I rode that Mandoconda like a wild mustang. I was determined to break his ass.” I lower my voice for emphasis. “I think I did.”
“TMI, skank, T.M.I.!” Rory exclaims with a groan. Though, I am grateful to hear you two have reconciled your problem. I guess that means Chico is out of the picture?” I roll my eyes.
“Chico was never in the picture; he is just my friend. I wouldn’t fuck him with your stretched-out mommy cooter, OK!” I look over and notice Clay watching me with question in his eyes. “Anyhoo, fire crotch, I gotta go. Clay is looking at me like he wants Round Two, so I need to go cause some more lady part problems.” I don’t give her a chance to comment. I drop the phone without ending the call and wonder how long she will listen before she hangs up.
I give Clay my best horny hooker look. “Come to Mama, big boy, and give me all you got. I dare you to break this crotch!” The concern in his eyes switches to desire, and he devours me all morning long.
After humping and rolling around with my penisaurus rex all morning, my mother was the last person I expected to see sitting in our living room. Dad has never once been here, but Mama stops by every week to check in on Gran, except for when I’m here.
“Mother,” I say in acknowledgement as I pass her, heading for the caffeine. I hear her start talking to Gran in Spanish, and as quickly as she begins, Gran swats her.
“Do you feel that? That’s me pressing ‘1’ for English. In my home, we speak the language fluent to the country in which we live. No Spanish, Rosaria. It’s about time you embraced your life here. I know you miss Mexico, as do I, but we made our beds. Now, crawl your stubborn ass in yours and get comfortable.” I smile because Gran had a hard time with English, too, but now she is as fluent as I am. Her accent is thick, but she is the strongest bilingual I know.
“Amandolette, we sorry,” my mother struggles to find her words. “Papi, too. He sorry.” I roll my eyes. I know she is lying. The only time they have ever worried about me is when my reputation is staining their name.
“No, he isn’t. Don’t lie for him. I needed you, and you turned from me to please him. You don’t have to explain to me why. Just don’t lie to me,” I say, sliding in beside Clay on the chair in the corner. “You two never cared about my promiscuous ways growing up, so why now? Oh, I bet someone said something about my slumming it down here. Who was it? Mrs. West? I bet it was that two-faced, Bible-thumping, monkey-training, wicked ole bitch.” I turn my soda can up and drink half of it. I feel like crap after the drinking, fighting, and fucking all night, but I won’t give anyone the pleasure of knowing that.
“No, Mija, I love you. Miss you, too.” She looks sad, and she likely is, but it’s not my fault. I can’t be her backbone anymore.
“You’re a grown woman. Act like it! Besides, he cut me off. I’m no longer welcome in your prison of Hell.” I see Clay jerk his gaze to me, but I try to igno
re it.
“He cut you off?”
I look down and see he’s mad. “Yes, but it’s fine, Clay. I have money saved from all these years of working, and my car is in Gran’s name. Always has been. I’m fine, I promise.” I stand and walk towards my room. “Mama, I love you, but I won’t watch you hurt anymore. I can’t.”
I leave them all there to ponder while I get ready to go eat some lunch. I’d like to breathe some fresh air and grab a six-pack or something. That soda was rank and didn’t satisfy me at all.
Chapter Seven
It’s been two days since Clay showed up here, and I know he needs to get back to work soon. He would never leave Rome alone for too long. Bad for business relationships and all. But I’m not complaining. It’s hard to give up when he is standing guard. I need some down time; I need a drink without questions every time I turn it up. I’ve resorted to beer the last twenty-four hours because it raises less awareness with Clay. I can have six and claim it’s two, and he is none the wiser. As I stand in the kitchen about to pop the next top, I hear someone coming my way. I twist and throw the top quickly. I need to down some fast so it doesn’t look newly opened. Gran walks in to grab some tea from the fridge, gives me the stank eye, and turns on her leopard print house shoe-covered feet, never saying a word to me. I slump back against the counter. Gran has never said anything about my drinking, but with Clay around, she seems pissed about it.
I remember the top I threw and go to search for it. After a solid five-minute hunt, I find it halfway down the sink drain. If I hit it wrong, it’ll go further down, and my fingers can’t quite reach it, but it’s not like I can ask Clay to dig it out. I spend the remainder of my beer trying to wiggle my fingers in the small crevice and grab it, but to no avail. It falls farther down the drain.
“Fuck my life!” I scream and kick the cabinet under the sink. “Everything I fucking touch breaks.” Letting my anger get the best of me, I slam the bottle down on the counter and the bottom shatters. No worries. I drank the beer, so not a drop was wasted.
Gran runs in and stops when she sees the glass. It’s not anger I see in her eyes—I could handle that. Instead, I see concern. I’ve upset her, but for the first time in my life, I couldn’t care less.
“Are you OK?” she asks, checking for blood.
“Fine, but I clogged your sink.” She turns and walks away, only to return with a plunger.
“Then I suggest you sweep up your drunken mess and unclog my sink.” She starts to walk away, but I can’t leave well enough alone. I mumble at her back, being a smart mouth copycat, and she swings around.
“One more time, Amandolette. I am not your mother. My backbone is intact, and I will be on your ass like a spray tan on a Jersey girl.” She walks out, leaving me alone to stew in my anger. The solitude doesn’t last long. Clay walks in and picks up the broom, sweeping back and forth, never saying a word or looking at me. Once the glass is swept into a pile, he stands and walks to the sink, grabbing the plunger on the way.
“Move over, and I will fix this.” As he starts working on the sink, something engulfs me—something evil. I think they all see me as a weak, spoiled, undeserving rich bitch that can’t plunge her own sink.
“I can do it. I don’t need you. I’ve been just fine.” I jerk the plunger back and go to work on the sink. I don’t get far before I work myself into a frenzy. Turning, I see Clay sweeping the pile of glass into the pan, and I chunk the plunger at him, knocking the pan from his hand and spilling the glass again.
“What’s your problem, Amandolette? You’re so damn bipolar lately.” I don’t acknowledge him. It’s childish of me, but, again, I couldn’t care less.
“You need some serious help, before you burn all your bridges.”
I stop, livid at his comment. I turn with nothing but hate fueling my actions. “I don’t need help. I’m fine! You need to nut-up and stop acting like a bitch, Clay. You’re on the ground sweeping up my mess, yet I have the problem. Please, you fucking loser, I’m not the submissive little bitch boy in this on-again/off-again bullshit relationship. You beg for every bone I throw you.”
I watch him closely. I see the hurt as I say the words, but I’m so angry I can’t stop them from falling from my lips. I don’t mean them, but I broke my reasonable bone when I broke that bottle. Maybe before.
“You don’t mean that. You have a problem. I know what addiction looks like, or have you forgotten?” he asks, watching me closely.
“I’m not your sister, Clay. I’m not kin to you, and we owe each other nothing. Why don’t you just go the fuck home where you belong. I don’t need any one else babysitting me.” I turn and walk out the door, kicking the plunger on my way out.
(CLAY)
I watch her walk out the door,, and I feel so torn. I want to run after her, but I know pushing her when she’s mad is pointless. She’ll only push me further away. I know apologizing will only make her mock me, and I know that with one wrong move, she will be lost to me forever. She’s wrong, though. She’s not my sister, but she is my family. She’s been mine since our first Christmas together. She’s a part of who I am, and without her, I’m not whole.
“Clay, I’ve ‘bout had my fill of that child. I thought you coming here would reboot her ass, but she is spiraling out of control. Acting like no one sees her ass staying drunk and making poor choices. I won’t stand for it. If I have to beat her little brown ass myself, I will.”
I watch Gran as she makes her way back to her chair to watch her daily shows. I head to the bedroom to pack. I need to get back, but I’m so worried about her. I pick up my cell and dial the only person who may know her better than me.
“Hello?” I let out a sigh, unaware I was even holding my breath.
“Hey, Rory. How are the kids?” I hear her pop her gum. This obsession is no better than the suckers.
“They’re fine. I’m fine. Rome’s OK. Shop’s good, too. How about your end?” I don’t even know where to start, so I just tell the truth.
“Not fine, not OK, and definitely not good. She’s out of control. I need help.” I hear the ding of a door chime. I should’ve known she was at the diner. She’s always at that diner.
“OK, give me a few hours to make arrangements, and I will be there. Don’t try to stop me either. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t try.” I smile a half smile, knowing I won’t stop her. I need back up. With me, Gran, and Rory on the same team, Mando doesn’t stand a chance to fight us off. In her words, we are her “ride-or-die crew,” and I’ll be damned if we lie down and die on her. Or let her do it to us.
“Thank you. See you soon. And, Rory, be careful. There’s a storm rolling in, so it may get bad on the trip. Do not bring your ass on that bike!” She loves that thing, and still drives it every chance she gets.
“Clayton Dewayne, the biggest storm of my life was Hurricane Carol. I survived that cataclysmic blowhole; I can survive some rain. See you tonight.” She hangs up, and I lie back on the bed to wait, unsure what else to do.
A few hours pass, and I finally hear the door open. I walk out, hoping it’s Mando, but it’s not. Rory stands there, shaking the rain from her hair, smiling at me. Rory has always had this way about her. Nothing can bring her to her knees. She has to be the strongest minded female I know. She apologizes when she’s wrong, fights when it’s needed, and in the end, she would starve to feed the person next to her, no matter whom that may be.
“Hey, you.” I try to smile when I say it, but I can’t.
“Why is that drama queen hanging out at the potheads’ pit out there?” She points towards the door. “I mean, they have some tarps pinned up in a makeshift awning, and they are just sitting around by a barrel fire, drinking and being stupid. She doesn’t do that crap.” I look at her, confused.
“You mean to tell me, this whole time she’s been gone, she’s been sitting out there in the rain? I thought she ran off. Shit! I should’ve gone after her. But nooo…I sulled up and pitied myself into a nap.” Rubb
ing my hands down my face, I motion for Rory to sit down so I can fill her in. She hugs Gran and puts her bag by the sofa.
“It’s OK, Gran. We got this. She’s going to be OK.”
For the first time in my life, I see Gran look away like she’s giving up. She may be wild, but she’s still old, and at some point, she has to burn out.
After about forty minutes, we hear the door slam, and Mando walks in, soaked from head to toe. She’s so drunk she can barely stand, and she smells like smoke.
“Hey, Rorilicous, you look like…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, just hums and starts swaying side to side.
“Alright, Mando, let’s get you dry before you get sick.” Rory takes her hand and helps her to her room.
“You know, Rory, it isn’t my fault people can’t handle me.” She falls back on the bed and starts laughing. “I mean, it isn’t my fault this delicate world can’t handle a glitch like me. I wasn’t meant for this place. I should fly.” She makes a flapping motion with her arms and smiles, eyes rolling back in her head. “I may be a glitch, but I’m a glitzed up one. I sparkles like a diamond, bitch. I’m a shiny ass glitch.” She is rambling on and on. I can’t watch this mess; I have to walk out.
“Holler if you need me,” I say as I go to leave.
“Yeah, Clay, just leave me like always.” I turn back, looking incredulously at Amandolette. Surely she doesn’t believe that… “You all think I hate y’all, but I don’t. I don’t hate you; I love you so much that I want you happy. I do this to me so I don’t hurt because I want you guys to be happy.” I think she is just rambling again, but then she says something that makes me believe she is aware of everything she is saying. “You think I hate you, but I don’t; I love you. I just want what you both have. I deserve to have my dreams come true, but I can’t, not at the risk of hurting you people. I just want to be worthy of being loved.” She starts to cry, and we both watch her. Then, like a streak of lightning, she jumps up and takes off, running for the door. This time I follow her, refusing to let her go.
