by Avery Aster
“Yes, Lex, yes,” he roared loudly with approval.
Caught up in my enthusiasm, I slid his entire length in, and I sucked.
His hands rested on the back of my head. Slowly, he pushed himself in deeper.
Full. Warm. Wet. My head moved to give him pleasure. I got a rhythm going, taking him, all of him.
“Such a pretty face,” he complimented in a low voice. “Love watching my cock go in and out of your…sweet mouth.”
“Like this?” With two fast strokes, I picked up the pace.
“Oh,” he moaned. His hips thrust. He started to pumped again.
“And that?” I asked, tugging playfully on his nuts. I got this. Rounding my lips on the bulbous head, I flicked my tongue at the tip.
“You’re perfect, birthday girl. Keep going.”
I kid you not, his cock doubled in length and width while inside my mouth.
“Mmm.” In pure delight, my heart lurched madly.
Forget the breast tape. My nipples were on high pointy alert. Every inch of my body came alive. My left hand found its way under my orange pants.
I began to rub myself. “Mmm.” Good god. This, right here, what I was doing to him, with him and for him was amazing.
“That’s it. Get into it. Touch yourself.” He slid in and out of my mouth, smoothly.
More salty flavors laced my tongue. My eyes started to tear. They weren’t sad or happy tears but cock-wedged-in-throat-and-I-effin’-loved-it tears.
Staring up at the ceiling, he rolled his head back. His grunts progressed into growls. Not the scary kind, rather the aroused I-bet-this-cop-makes-love-like-an-animal kind.
I too was purring. Well more like panting. Feeling a sense of wetness, more so than before, I flicked my clit as my eyes went into the back of my head.
“Ohhh Lex,” he cheered me on. His body’s reception to mine complimented me in ways no man had ever done before.
So I put every fiber of my soul and self into his offering. I’d give him the best b.j. of his flippin’ life.
Going forward, I could do without another piece of candy. Cock would become my new necessity. I didn’t need nicotine gum either. Heck no. And I could forget about any prison diet. From here on out—I’d just eat cock.
“Lex Easton,” he shouted louder.
“Cock-cock-cock,” I chanted to myself. I sucked, slurped, and swallowed along.
“Miss Easton!”
Pulled by the vitality zinging through me I gave it all I could and focused on his needs and my clit. “Mmm.” I tugged harder on his swollen nuts and took his cock as deep as I possibly could—into the very back of my mouth. I sunk my fingers into my pussy and kept on chanting to myself, “Cock-cock-cock.”
“Alexandra.” He buried himself further. His beautiful, soft, black pubes ticked my nostrils. Ford’s body trembled. He thrust once. He pumped twice, and then on third and final impalement, he snarled, “Hold it. Right there! That’s it, birthday girl. Now stick out your tongue.”
I tried as best I could to do what he wanted.
“Touch my balls.”
Buried in a sea of musky darkness, I sensed he was about to come…
“Wake up, Easton!” A voice shouted. It wasn’t Ford’s.
Dang.
“You’re being released.”
My eyes snapped open.
A guard stood over me. Officer Gotti was nowhere in sight.
“What did you say?”
“Get up. Get out.”
“Did Vive pay my bail?” I asked, feeling slightly confused.
“No. Mrs. Easton dropped the charges, claiming she set the fire herself and that you and your friends had nothing to do with it.” The guard glared at me the same way Ford had when he’d asked a second time for my admission of guilt. His deep-set eyes said, “LIAR!”
“What?”
“It’s been on the TV all morning. Your mother held a press conference at the hospital with Eddie Easton.”
“Daddy came?” I stood up and rushed to edge of the cell. There on the screen were my parents.
Dad wore a Tokyo promo jacket for his tour. It seemed as if he’d gone straight from the plane to be at Birdie’s side. The headline read “Birdie Sobers & Tells All.”
Odd thing was, it was all a lie drummed up to keep me and the girls out of jail.
Well, happy flippin’ birthday to me. In my head, I started to sing the birthday song. Not like Marilyn Monroe did to JFK, hells no—more in the tune of Destiny’s Child. After last night’s dream, I felt a new melody with my Lady V.
“There is a Blake Morgan waiting for you outside. He’s been here since late last night.”
My body sang with relief when I grabbed my purse and other belongings from the claims area. A few minutes ago, I’d been allowed to change back into my clothes. I never wanted to see neon nectarine again.
Looking at the time, the clock read 10:25 am. I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long to get out of jail.
Blake waited for me. Dark circles evident, his tired, yet still handsome face stood on the other side of the Plexiglas.
I was released.
The police told me I could claim Vamp at Impound Lot Pier 76. The thought of my scooter parked out by the docks overnight pissed me off. Crap on a stick, that’s all I needed was for Vamp to get rusty.
“Happy birthday!” Blake shouted across the lobby. “Did they serve you cake for breakfast?”
“I’m starving.”
“Gurl, you owe me, big time.” Blake’s arms came wide.
“Oh…Blake.” A soft gasp escaped me. Standing in the jailhouse lobby, I buried myself in his tall, lanky frame. He was the closest thing I had to a brother, a sassy one at that. I collapsed, only on the inside, and just a little. It was from all the stress of the whole ordeal.
“Lex, Love. Don’t get all emotional on me,” He whispered in my ear, trying to be funny.
“No, I’m not.” I shrugged to hide my emotions and wiped my eyes. “Things could always be worse, right?”
“Everything’s fine. Birdie took the blame. She’s going to get fined but it’s all good, boo. I’ll explain all of it when we get in the limo. First things first, let’s get you changed.” Making a crinkly noise, he held up a large brown bag.
I recognized what was inside immediately.
My escape!
“Mr. Morgan, you are—amazing.”
“In this bag you’ll find a gift from the Raquel Welch wig collection, clothes and sneakers. There’s also a fuck-it bucket for you in the limo.”
Wow, now that was effin’ love. “How did you know to do all of that?”
“Taddy told me. If it wasn’t for Vive having another one of her episodes, she’d be here too.”
“I was afraid of that.” Yesterday in jail trigged a dark storm in her head and heart.
We made our way down the narrow hall toward the public restrooms. They were located right past the “Most Wanted” wall and payphones.
In order to get to Vive’s place safely, I’d have to disguise myself.
“How bad it is out there?” I bit my lip and glanced toward the front doors but couldn’t see much.
“Horrible. Every TV station is lined up on the sidewalk.” He scratched his chin and continued, “Let’s see, there are all the local and national stations, Germany and Italy. The Soho arsonist is popular in Japan too. Apparently, there’s some Japanese horror movie where a girl goes around blowing stuff up when she gets pissed off. That’s what they’re associating you with.”
“It’s an American book made into a movie you goof. And you’re thinking of Carrie by Stephen King.”
“No. That ain’t it.” He knocked on the handicap bathroom door.
“Out in a second,” someone shouted.
We waited.
“Firestarter, same author though. Drew Barrymore starred in the movie adaption?”
He nodded a confirmation. “That’s some scary shit, boo.”
“Forget the pre
ss. What about Mom’s groupies?” I asked uneasily.
“Birdie’s fan club camped outside overnight. I slept in here, on the lobby floor.” Blake put his hand on his hip as if his back hurt him. “I wasn’t sure when they’d let me see you. Anyways, those groupies kept holding up the nastiest signs about you too.”
“What’d they say?” This was a new low in my life, for sure.
“Not worth repeating. Besides I took pictures. Don’t worry the fans are all gone. Once Birdie held her press conference, their tunes changed. They fled when they realized you are innocence.”
“Thank god. I thought for sure I’d be lynched. Then I don’t need the bag.”
“Yeah, gurl, you do. The fans are gone. But, like I said, every journalist in the world is waiting on the steps.”
“Why?” Shock flew through me.
“To ask you if you really tried to kill your mother.”
“They don’t believe Birdie?” I leaned up against the wall feeling faint.
“Miss thing…the press ain’t Birdie’s fan. Her groupies will do whatever she says. If she tells them to leave you alone, they will. But the media—” Although his lips parted, he appeared hesitant to tell me what I already knew.
“Just say it!” My anxiety soared.
Then he finished, “—every network from ABC America to the BBC England has aired the video of you and Vamp following the Bentley.”
“So what…” Forgetting that I wasn’t innocent, I scolded him as if otherwise. Note to self, you are a guilty twat.
“Honey, I could give a witch’s tit if you set fire to the penthouse or not. You may have been dismissed from the legal system, but to the world, ya look guilty as sin,” Blake warned half seriously.
“So they’re buzzing around out there waiting to get at me?” Terrified, I poked my head down the hall again hoping to get a better glimpse.
My childhood fears about being made fun of in the press came back stronger than before. I realized being the daughter of Eddie and Birdie meant paparazzi would be following me for the rest of my flippin’ life. I hated that.
Would I ever know normal? What was normal anyways?
“Like a pack of bees ready to sting.”
An elderly lady came out of the bathroom. Blake held the door open and nonchalantly greeted her as if she hadn’t taken the stinkiest dump of her life.
“Let’s hope no one recognizes me.” Snatching the bag from him, I pulled it into my chest.
“Man. It smells!” He clenched his jaw.
“Make sure no one comes into the bathroom, please.”
“Oh trust me, it reeks so bad in there, no one will.” Waving under his nose, Blake shut the door.
Holding my breath, I had to make this quick. In the bag was a black wig. The shiny straight fibers reminded me of Asian hair. I pulled my blonde hair up into a bun, stretched the skullcap on, and then adjusted the strands to appear natural. Taking a look at myself in the mirror, I resembled Katie Holmes on Dawson’s Creek.
Move over Lex Easton—here comes Joey Potter.
My lips puckered with annoyance. Alright, I’ll admit I was a tad plumper than Joey or Katie.
Also inside the bag was a shirt and a pair of faded denim overhauls, in a plus size. Damn Blake was good. No one in their right mind would guess this was me. I stepped out of my designer stretchy pants into my disguise. Then I swapped out my boots for the pair of Converse.
Ughhh. They were half a size too small. I squeezed those effers on my left and then my right foot. “Ouch.” Making it work, I walked out gratefully inhaling the lobby air.
“Ready?” Blake held out his arm.
“Let’s roll.” Slipping a New York Giants baseball cap over my head, I pushed a pair of sunglasses over the bridge of my nose as we left. I glanced back over my shoulder; no one noticed.
Blake wasn’t in the public eye, not like Taddy or Vive. Born and raised in Connecticut, his picture hadn’t been taken for anything other than their family album. I adored his unassuming ways. He’d called it his New England roots.
We held hands and stared ahead at the reporters. A quick and upsetting thought struck me. What if they all turned around, at the same time, and jumped me for questions while taking photos. Leaning in to Blake, I put one foot in front of the other and started to walk past them. A suffocating sensation tightened my throat with every step.
“Where is Alexandra the Great?” one of them asked.
I gasped in panting terror, but kept moving.
“The Soho Arsonist should be out any minute,” another reporter replied.
Frickin-A, the warning voices screaming in my head said to run like mad.
Two and half blocks later, we’d made it to the limo.
“You don’t think anyone followed us, do you?” Blake held up his hand, blocking the sun from his light eyes, and looked around.
“Don’t get cray on me please. Come on.” I reached for the car door.
We piled into the back of the Bentley. The camel-colored leather interior and cushy seats felt comfy on my bum compared to the jail bench I’d slept on last night.
Once we closed the doors, a visual of Taddy in this very limo, drinking with Vive—their heads bobbing back and forth, right before we got pulled over—came to mind.
Nah, we’ll be fine, I thought.
“The Sherry Netherland, please,” Blake said to the driver.
I noticed he wasn’t the same chauffeur we’d had before. I’d feel horrible if Mr. Farnworth had fired the one who’d been arrested with us. Poor bastard, probably quit. I made a mental note to ask Vive later.
“How many Bentley’s does Vive have?” I tapped my hand on Blake’s knee. Maybe this wasn’t the same limo.
“Four or five, it’s hard to say. With that FF logo on the back, they’re all identical. Why?”
The car pulled out onto Centre Street and headed north.
“We probably should’ve taken a cab or the subway. Not this limo.”
“Why not?”
“When we got arrested, this ostentatious set of wheels was on TV with us, hello.” I snapped at him. I didn’t mean to.
“Ohhh, right.” Blake’s face flushed. He glanced out the back window. “All I see is a white SUV behind us.”
“Could be reporters.” In fact, I’d bet my fuck-it bucket that they were the press.
“I’ll keep my eye on ‘em.”
Leaning forward on the bench toward the driver, I said, “No sir, actually we need to go to Pier 76 over on Thirty-Eight Street and Twelve Avenue, please.”
“Kindly ignore her.” Blake scolded. “Taddy and Vive gave me strict instructions to bring you straight to the Sherry Netherland.”
“We gotta pick up Vamp.”
“No ma’am.” Acting butch, Blake crossed his arms. It was cute. “That’s why last night I got you this Dylan’s candy. No stops. I’ll get your scooter later.” From the far seat, he plopped the bucket on my lap.
“Just cause you’re a top with your boys in bed doesn’t give you the right to boss me around, Mr. Morgan.” I gritted my teeth.
“Gurl, you deaf? I said no.” He always acted like he knew best. Usually he did.
I put my hand over his mouth to shut him up and repeated the address of the impound place to the driver, who then began to turn a corner taking us west.
Leaning near Blake’s ear, I whispered, “My mom fucked my boyfriend. I spent the night in jail. While I appreciate the fuck-it bucket, Blake, I need to take Vamp for a ride and release some birthday steam before I blow up your dorm at school. Okay?” They weren’t calling me Firestarter for nothing, I thought.
“Fine,” his eyes narrowed. “But if anything happens on the way home, I’m not to blame. I don’t need Taddy coming after me.”
“Deal!”
We shook on it.
Then I reached in the bucket and pulled out some Sour Patch Kids. “There’s nothing better than this watermelon flavor.” I popped one, two, three, four pieces in my mou
th and chewed.
Closing my eyes, I felt a slight rush. I chanted, “sugar” to myself, as I had “cock” in my dream.
“Hahaha,” I laughed, thinking about my Ford fantasies. Wouldn’t that be nice if they were real? I swallowed and then popped more pieces in groups of two’s, four’s, and six’s in my mouth. I needed a fix. I didn’t care. I couldn’t eat the candy fast enough.
“Aren’t you going to ask me about Birdie?” Blake adjusted the air vents.
“Heck no. Kelle and I are done. I’m outta jail. Mom is alive. Dad can deal with her. Case closed. I’m gonna eat my candy and go for a ride on Vamp. Who know? Maybe I’ll end up in Canada today.”
“Say what?”
“I’m gonna ride Vamp till I run flat out of gas.” I took an orange Sour Patch Kid and stacked up a green one, then yellow, and lastly, red. I glared at Blake’s beautiful blue eyes and then bit their heads off, hoping to make my point.
“Birdie is very sorry Lex. She wants to make it up to you.”
Shaking my head, I chewed, then swallowed. “Oh no siree…don’t you start defending her. Hey, I know. Why don’t you try being her daughter for a few weeks and see how it feels. I’ll take Paulina Morgan as my mom, and you can have Birdie.” Admiring the sneakers which had started to become more comfortable on my feet, I crossed my legs.
“Fuck no, my mom rocks.”
“Paulina totally does. You’re the only one, out of the four of us, who has normal parents. I love your daddy too.” I popped two more pieces in my mouth then tore into a box of Nerds. Strawberry. Grape. Deliciousness.
“Thanks,” Blake said faintly, almost as if he were afraid of my candy-eating capabilities.
The gummy texture stuck to my teeth. With my nail, I discreetly scraped, swallowed, and said, “Okay, let’s hear it. How did you get Mom to change her frickin’ mind?”
“Well—”
“Wait.” I held up my hand. If I was going to listen to this dribble, a real sugar buzz was totally in order. Flipping the lid back, I downed the entire box of pink and purple irregular-sized bits. I crunched. Dang this tanginess is sweet. My heart sped up. “Alright, go.”
