Can't Help the Way That I Feel

by Lori Bryant-Woolridge

  Voices in the near distance interrupt our recovery. He abruptly steps away, cum dripping down both of our legs. He pulls his pants back on and is ready to head back to his job within a minute. My breath returns to normal and I stand upright, smoothing my hair, blouse and skirt. The silence continues between us, only it is awkward now. We opt to say nothing, and I am grateful. He turns and walks toward the entrance as I go in the opposite direction toward the exit. Once the sunshine hits my face again, I head toward the cotton candy truck. I receive the pink, sticky froth on a stick, smile broadly and throw my head back with a deep, satisfying chuckle. The tilt-a-thrill: another memorable county fair first.

  THE ACCIDENTAL ESCORT

  Erika J. Kendrick

  Sexiest vacation spot? The G-spot, of course!

  —Erika J. Kendrick

  1

  My inner thighs are wet and my lips are finally starting to tingle. Finally. I try to focus on the hard ribbed dick that’s being thrust between my thighs. It rhythmically massages me. Yawning, I fumble around the legal briefs scattered over my laptop in search of the remote so I can mute Suze Orman.

  I am tighter than normal this morning, I think, exhaling a subpar moan just loud enough that my designer cat, Jaguar, jumps from the bed. I glance at the time—SHIT! Frustrated, I grip the hard dick and peek down at my pampered puss. Damn it, why does this always take you so long? With only three minutes left in the five I’ve scheduled for my morning milk shake, I breathe in deeply, exhaling only after I feel my clit begin to pulse to the rhythm of Cash. That’s Cash…my remote-control dick. I dial up his intensity, force my eyelids shut and concentrate as my fingertips find my clit.

  Come on, Penny! And that’s Penny…my sourpuss of a pussy that’s not worth two cents. But I can’t really blame her, she’s been on a forced sabbatical long enough to make the best cat trap lazy. Penny, make nice with Cash! See, Cash is a real commodity around these parts; besides my ritual workouts with my trainer, my codependent relationship with Cash is the only intimacy Penny’s been getting in nearly seven years—just long enough for me to stay focused on the grand prize and put us both in line to proudly make partner at LCA. LCA, (affectionately known to industry suits as Lights! Cameras! Action!), had quickly become one of Manhattan’s most lucrative entertainment firms and I’d been working my tight tushie off for them. These days I was barely able to catch up on my sleep or even worse, squeeze in my appointment with Kiki, Gotham’s double-jointed weavologist, for my routine tightening. So after putting in twelve-hour days, followed by late nights with prospective clients, I desperately needed this battery-operated release. It was quite possible that I needed it more than the five-star vacay I had my assistant book yesterday.

  Ahhh, Turks & Caicos. My juices finally sizzle at the thought of the romantic getaway (even though I’d be flying solo, unless you counted Cash). Good girl, Penny! I am baking in the sunshine. YES! Stretched out under massive palm trees. YESS! Fanned by the glorious ocean breeze. YESSS! My skin snakes around the 1000-count-cotton Egyptians as my clit begins to beat louder. Congratulations, you’ve made parrrtner. I purr at the thought of the blissful words and my back bends into Cash. Thoughts of the six-figure bonus send an erotic volt surging down my spine, crashing behind my weak knees. Right there. Anticipation of the three-hundred-thousand-dollar bump in salary makes me moan louder. The new tax bracket meant I’d finally be able to pay off my relentless creditors and luxuriate in peace! And Suze Orman could stop yelling at me through my damn TV. My heart pumps faster. Cash is now tweaked to ten (right along with my nipples) and all I can see are Ben Franklins sun-tanning in my head.

  “Cash,” I whisper, gripping the sheet. A pitchy shriek escapes me. The nerve endings around my clit spark fire. “Cash!” A sweat bead trickles over my high cheekbone when I twist Cash under and around in line to my G-spot. The new BMW and the penthouse on Park awaiting my bonus push my anticipated orgasm toward euphoria. “CASHHH!” My toes curl and I cum so hard my kidneys flinch.

  2

  “I don’t really care how much the plane tickets are running me, Reagan! This was supposed to have been handled yesterday.” I whisper ardently into the Blackberry at my assistant as I clack my Louboutins across the marble floor in the foyer of my very white-glove building.

  “But your AmEx was declined too, Ms. Stone!” Anxiously, I fumble with the row of pearls around my neck. They suddenly seem tighter.

  “But that’s not possible,” I deny through frustration. And Denial is my arch-nemesis.

  “Good morning, Ms. Stone,” I hear the new doorman’s tenor bellow over Reagan’s mumbling.

  “Uh, morning,” I say, too caught up in her web of wicked words to focus.

  “Allow me to get that door for you.” The tall, commanding concierge moves with authoritative ease as he glides across the lobby and holds the door for me. “You look good today, Ms. Stone,” he says, polishing off the compliment with a quick review of my pencil skirt and ruffled shirt pairing.

  “Are you sure?” I say into the telly at Reagan, while his words rush between my ears.

  “But I bet you always do.” His sentiment begins to register and I stop in my tracks to look up at him. Bald, with a goatee atop supersmooth radiant skin, he towers over me—even in my four-inch trendy stilts. Casually, he places his hand onto my lower back to escort me to the town car. His touch shocks me back into step. When he opens the back door, I grip the handle on my Birkin bag and duck in. I reach for the handle but he grabs my arms and says, “Let go; I got this.”

  His dimples, lodged deep in his cheeks, are accessorizing an alluring smile, and just as I start to feel my cheeks flush, he bends down and whispers, “Now, make sure you have a good day.” I feel my lips tremble as he closes the door. I watch him turn to walk away and am shaken from my gaze only when the car revs beneath my bum. He glances over his shoulder, tosses me a wink, and I barely catch the telly as it slips between my fingertips. Who was that masked man?

  “—tried to tell you before that the money wasn’t in the account for me to pay it last month.” I hear Reagan’s voice droning on about my financial strain as I struggle to regain my composure. “Or the month before that—”

  “Morning, Ms. Stone,” the driver pipes.

  “Uh-huh!” I reply in a haze.

  “—not after I paid the Saks bill; they were threatening collections. And well, Barney’s was—”

  I dead the line and bite down ferociously on my freshly manicured nails, gazing into the lavish storefronts of Manhattan’s Upper East Side as we ride down Lexington to the firm with thoughts of butt nekkid sex and thievery on my mind. But my thoughts tailspin as I obsess over how I’m going to rob Peter to pay Prada…and who was that masked man?

  “Yes, Reagan?” I reluctantly answer the cell again as it vibrates, snapping me out of my trance. I’d gotten comfortable dodging bills in the last few months when the economic swine flu had begun to affect the number of new clients I was shuffling through the door.

  “Sorry to bother you again, Ms. Stone, but the big bosses have asked to speak with you directly upon your arrival.” Her voice is tighter than the tracks Kiki stitched into my head. She whispers emphatically, “It sounds pretty urgent.”

  3

  “Ms. Stone! Wait!” A well-built, chocolatey man yells toward the cab as I struggle to step onto the blurred curb. “Here, let me help you,” he offers, reaching down for my hand as I tumble from the cab.

  “I, I’m f-fine!” I slightly slur.

  “Take my hand, Ms. Stone!” the man with the strong hands orders, reaching out for me. “Take it!”

  I center myself and interlock my fingers with his. A shock pulses up my thighs. The three dirty martinis had gone to my head and had apparently ventured off to other body parts as well.

  “Looks like you’ve had a pretty good night.”

  I smooth down my tailored charcoal skirt and look him in the eye. “It’s”—dunh dunh dunh—“THE DOORMAN.” I sway a smidge and catc
h my breath, watching his imaginary cape blow in the wind.

  “I just got off, but still…let me help you into your building.”

  “My building? Oh, I don’t think so,” I say, staring up at the fifty-story luxury high-rise. “This won’t be my building much longer.” I look around and point at the old white-haired woman exiting with her handler. “Maybe her building, but it won’t be MY building!”

  “But you’ve lived here seven years.”

  “How would you know, you just started here.” I fumble through the door and he steadies me in his arms. “You asked about me?” I can’t help but notice the bulge in his bicep and the other one quickly hardening in his pants. “Ooh.” I tighten my grip around his muscle.

  Blushing, he says, “You can’t leave me now; we’re just getting started.”

  “Are you flirting with me?” I ask, and swivel my body around to face him.

  “I was just saying that—”

  “Who are you anyway, Mr. Doorman?”

  “Your new concierge, transferred from the Soho property last week,” he smiles that same killer-watt smile from this morning. “Apollo.” Epic!

  I look past his hazel eyes over his smooth bald head and into his grown-man stance. Wow! Magically delicious. I suck my teeth and purr. “Apollo the Doorman.” He blushes and I take that as my cue to slink farther into his personal space. Feeling fiery and fast, I gently press my breasts against his chest. “Well, Apollo the Doorman, I guess you’re just going to have to make yourself unforgettable.”

  “How about l start by seeing you upstairs? Make sure you get in safely.” Then he slides the palm of his hand past my ass and rests it in the small of my back, leading me toward the elevator this time. “After all, it’s part of my job to make sure nothing happens to you.”

  I eye him and step into the lift.

  “Looks like you’ve been doing some serious celebrating tonight.”

  My slick smile turns sour. “I don’t know if that’s what I’d call it, unless you can celebrate the end of the big dream, the end of the big career, the end—”

  “What?”

  “I got fired today!” I roll my eyes and fold my arms across my chest.

  “Ms. Stone…I’m sorry to hear—”

  “Dream killers!”

  “Oh, no, you’ve got it all wrong! I give life back…I don’t take it away.”

  4

  The air is warm in the elevator as the doors begin to close. I press for the penthouse.

  “I gave them the best seven years of my life, sacrificed everything, and when it’s finally my turn, they push me out the door for a blond boy named Biff,” I growl into the cramped space. “Said they couldn’t make me an offer. ‘Our time together has come to an end.’ Just like that!” I punch at the steel elevator wall. “Owww!”

  Apollo grabs my fist and immediately begins soothing my hand until I calm somewhere between the twentieth and twenty-second floors. “I’m sure you’ll find something else.”

  “There is nothing else.” I exhale. “That’s all I know…all I can do…” My voice dives into a hush. “Practicing law is all I’ve ever been good at.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at my long legs. His eyes take me in slowly, moving up my thighs and settling on my breasts. He tilts his head slightly and licks his lips.

  The sight of his tongue distracts me, shooting another hot flash up my thighs. I chase it. “You like what you see, Mr. Doorman?” My words are slippery, my thoughts push past racy.

  The corners of his seductive mouth turn up. The doors open and he steps aside. “This is where we get off.”

  “Yes,” I ooze back, unsure of where the intense urge to pounce on him is headed, “it sure is, isn’t it!”

  Apollo’s commanding hand brushes against my ass this time as he leads me. The wallpapered hall spins in slow motion, and his grasp steadies me as I slink down the carpet. Swiveling my body around to face him, I lean against my front door and rasp coyly, “Well, aren’t you the gentleman…walking me all the way home.”

  “It’s my job to make sure all my tenants are very well taken care of.”

  “Is that right?” I arch into him, suddenly aware that I haven’t had a dick date that didn’t require batteries in many moons.

  “Yes,” he says, without hesitation. “That’s right, Ms. Stone.”

  “And just how much effort do you put into making sure they’re satisfied?”

  “Well, like you, I’m very good at what I do.”

  “How good…exactly?” I ask, totally channeling my inner Eartha.

  His voice is deliberate, his tone confident. “I’ve never entertained a complaint.”

  “And I bet you’ve serviced your fair share of women in your line of work.”

  A slick smile appears. “I take my job very seriously.”

  Maybe it’s the dirty martinis or just the dirty little girl who’s been locked in her room far too long without any sexual healing, but somewhere in this soft porn flick, I decide to just go for it! I reach out for him and run the back of my hand against his finely sculpted face, down the side of his neck and across his nipples, both now erect. My heart is pounding when I whisper my name: “Phoenix.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I clear my throat and say it with assurance this time. “Phoenix Stone.”

  He exhales, inches from my neckline. “Such power behind a name like that.”

  I turn to the door, fumbling with the keys. The effects of the dirty martinis were making a departure, but a dick date with the doorman would be the purrrfect after-party. Go for it, Penny, you’ll never see him after you move out anyway, the horny red devil on my right shoulder coaxes. This is hot dick on a stick! I fight the uncooperative lock that much harder.

  “I can help you with that, you know,” Apollo offers, leaning down to take the keys from me with ease. His lips brush against my neck as he whispers into my ear, “All you have to do is let go.”

  Without resisting, I release the keys into his hand. I close my eyes and listen as he successfully unlocks the door. My knees wobble.

  “Very good,” he approves, seductively. “I can take it from here.”

  5

  The front door swings open and Apollo catches me in his arms before I can fall any farther. God, I miss the touch of a man. His arms feel like a lifesaving cure wrapped around my seven-year illness. Why have I punished Penny so long? Bad Mommy!

  “Thank you for seeing me up to my apartment. I appreciate all the VIP treatment; I’m sure I’ll miss that when I’m gone.” I drop the Birkin bag to the floor and fight the urge to yank my blouse open. “Who knew the amenities here were so indulgent?” I throw my arms around his neck. What am I doing? A hint of leftover cologne has settled into the fibers of his white cotton shirt and its intensity is now more intoxicating than Belvedere. My eyes are heavy as I breathe him in. Slowly, he pulls away. I cling to him and boldly say, “Why, uh—why don’t you show me some of the…amenities while you’re here?”

  “I don’t think that’s part of the agreement.” He struggles to release himself from the semi-choke hold.

  “Agreement?”

  He chuckles, coolly, as he frees himself. “Your lease, Ms. Stone.”

  “It’s Phoenix. Remember?” And why is he trying to forfeit our game now, a game I’d just joined after nearly a decade of sitting on the sidelines? I steal his hands and press them against my taut ass, pulling his shirt from his pants and awkwardly running my fingernails over his hard defined abs and up to his nipples. I squeeze them gently and let out a moan the instant I feel my pussy purr. He closes his eyes. His hard-on warrants a deep breath. Must. Fuck. Him. Now!

  “Now that you’re safe and sound, Ms. Stone,” he recovers, “I think I’ll see myself out.”

  Say what now?! My inner beast had been released and she wants to roll around in the hay! “Isn’t it in your job description to service my needs?” Pouting, I undo the top button on my s
ilky blue blouse.

  “Slow down with that.” He unravels himself from me again but this time he turns toward the front door. “You’ve had a lot to drink and your day has you feelin’ a little vulnerable right now.” He glances at his watch. “This is where I say good night, Ms. Stone.” Stopping in his steps to leave me hot and a lot past horny, he says matter-of-factly, “But I really do hope tomorrow works out better for you.”

  Yeah… NO! This isn’t at all how I saw this playing out in my mind. “Apollo!” Frustrated and admittedly stalker-ish, I stomp my stiletto into the hardwood.

  He doesn’t blink. “You’re not ready.” Without acknowledging my quick dissent into bitch, he turns the doorknob. “And Ms. Stone, you can’t just order me to fuck you! That’s not at all how this works.”

  Leaning against the bookcase in the foyer, I feel myself begin to unravel. The only reminder of my tragic evening spent getting dirty with Belvedere is the pounding sound between my ears. “Okay. So just tell me; what exactly do I have to do to get ready?” I reach around to unzip my skirt. “Really, just tell me, ’cuz I’m a bit of an overachiever and it doesn’t take me long to get ready.” I tug at the skirt and drop it like it’s hot. “I mean, I’m superspeedy and I can turn this all around in no time flat, just tell me what, how, who…what, how—”

  “Look, I’m sorry you had such a fucked-up day, really I am, but this isn’t what you need to make it better.”