by Zane
Denver came up from behind and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Thank you for the reading. You’re very good. I bet that you’re good at many things.”
I turned to face him. A delicious, musky scent wafted from his neck into my nostrils. I breathed his essence into my nasal cavities. My pussy began to throb from desire. He stepped closer.
“I’m good at at least one other thing,” I murmured.
He cocked an eyebrow, and before he could say another word, I gave him a deep kiss on those luscious lips. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer. He parted his lips and introduced his tongue to my eager mouth.
We moaned in unison as our kissing became more passionate. We explored each other’s mouth and body. He kneaded the flesh on my thick ass like a pastry chef. I felt his dick get harder through his pants as I grinded against his muscular body. I imagined that he might be big enough to fill up every inch of my deep, cavernous vagina. He rubbed my firm nipples through my sweater and they hardened with his touch.
I am getting ready to fuck a man that I don’t know from Adam or Eve, I thought as he took off my sweater and bra. He grinned like a kid in a toy store when he saw my tits. They are large and generously fill a DD cup. He grabbed both and jiggled them. I didn’t mind because his hands were warm.
“Let me taste your tits,” he commanded as he bent his head down. His tongue’s light tease was the precursor to his mouth. It sent chills up my spine, the way he was sucking my tits. I grabbed his head and watched him ravish my breasts. He grunted and made slurping sounds. I felt warm drool trickle down the underside of my breasts and roll downward toward my stomach. He likes to eat pussy. He wants his dick sucked. He is not forthright about his legal situation.
Suddenly a rush of alarm came upon me. My period! I might already have started. I felt wetness but it could have been from my being aroused. I didn’t know for sure and I grew nervous as Denver moved from sucking on my tits to unzipping my pants. Shit!
“No wait!” I said. “I have something I need to tell you.” He looked at me puzzled, but he did stop. “I might be on my period. I don’t know for sure.”
To my surprise, he smiled and continued to take off my pants. “Let me check it out,” he replied softly. “If you’re on, then we’ll stop. Now, if you are not on…” He grew quiet when he got to my panties. He pulled them down and grinned. “Look, you’re dry.”
I glanced down. My panties were rumpled at my feet, and sure enough, there was no blood; just the wetness of being aroused. I sighed in relief as Denver stood up and suggested that I sit on the nearby sofa.
I sat on a plush sofa that was next to the card table. My heart raced as Denver stood above me and gently parted my bare legs. He then kneeled down between my legs and started to kiss my stomach. He gave me soft kisses over my abdomen and circled my belly button with his tongue. He watched me intently as I moaned and threw my head back. He then headed down to my special honey pot and gingerly pulled back the moist folds until he found the clit. With a groan, he began licking my clit and rubbing my already hard nipples. He bobbed his head as he gave my pussy a good washing. I gyrated my hips in time with his rhythmic cunnilingus so that he could eat me at just the right spot.
The sounds that he made turned me on even more. “Aw, shit. This pussy tastes good,” he whispered in between licks.
He licked, chewed, and gnawed me into ecstasy. I reached my climax within a few minutes of his mastery. He didn’t even stop until he sopped up all of my pussy juices with his tongue. My body trembled with rapture as my mind was being bombarded with intuitive information: He loves the thrill of the chase. He is a skillful lover. He is afraid of telling the truth.
He stood above me and unzipped his pants. His dick was long and thick and engorged with want. It pulsated and quivered in front of me and I was transfixed. The language it communicated in was ancient and appealed to my erotic side. I knew what to do. Denver eyed me sexily and licked his lips while I licked the tip of his dick. I washed his stiff shaft with my tongue and didn’t stop until he moaned, “Suck this shit. Yeah, you like sucking big dick.”
His breathing was staccato as he took short breaths. The way he gripped the back of my head was a signal for me to give him more pleasure.
I entered his dick into my mouth and didn’t stop until his head reached far deep in my throat. He grunted as he moved his hips. Ah, his dick was strong and sweet. It turned me on to feel his manhood in my mouth, baptizing him with the moisture of my hunger.
I must have done my job with excellence, because soon his smooth pelvic movements became jerkier. I felt his rod vibrate inside my mouth. I watched him from below as he squeezed his hands behind my head. “I’m coming!” he yelled, guiding me back on the couch. My back had landed on the back cushions just in time for me to see milky white jism project from his dick and land square on my nipples. He moaned as he rubbed the fluids onto my luscious breasts. I was sprawled out on the sofa, naked, dazed, and physically spent. I smirked as I thought about Genie and her canceled appointment. It turned out to be a good thing because I got to act out a really freaky love scene with a superfine brother.
He soon sat next to me and began putting on his clothes. He kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you for this, I really needed it.”
I blushed from his remark. “I don’t do this often, you know. It has been a few months since my last relationship. I guess I didn’t know how horny I was.”
“You don’t have to explain,” he said, touching my arm. “Life is too short and we have to go with the flow sometimes.”
He made a wave gesture with his hands to add emphasis. What an interesting day this had been for me.
He finished dressing and stood above me. I had already put back on my sweater and was now pulling up my pants. He watched me and smiled.
“I would like to see you again, if at all possible,” he suggested, helping me zip up the fly to my pants. I detected some genuine warmth from him and it made me smile. He thinks before he acts. He cares about people. His judgment is not sound.
I mentally shooed the annoying random thoughts as if they were flies. Something felt amiss about his situation, but we had already fucked so what was the use of crying over spilt milk? Besides, the brother was fine and a good lover…. It may have been the start of something special. I am the best psychic in town; if he was up to no good, then I would have found out by then. Believe that.
Suddenly, the sound of the front salon door swinging open and my coworkers’ laughter ushered out the previous settling quiet. Denver and I looked at each other and laughed. It was all so funny to me. There I was earlier that day, bitching and complaining about some random chick who’d canceled her appointment. Now, I found myself finishing up a freaky scene worthy of a trashy romance novel with my tits covered with cum.
It’s so good to be home! I exclaimed after turning off my shower faucet. I dried myself, lotioned up, and put on my robe. I walked to my living room and sat on the couch next to my phone. I live alone in an apartment, which is fine because I get to walk around with my robe open. I wished that I had roommates though, so I could have regaled them with the thrilling fairy tale of Denver and me. I kept thinking about him. He was so nice that he gave me a ride home after our “frolic” in the employee lounge. We exchanged numbers. He paid for my reading, and you know what else? He even paid for what I would have earned if Genie had kept her appointment. That’s right…two hundred big ones. And we were going out the following week. He was single, free, and interested in me! Could things have gotten any better? Whoever said that sleeping with a man too soon would never amount to a lasting relationship could go and kiss my black ass.
I was about to call because I was thinking about him when the phone rang. It was Genie, the chick who’d left me hanging earlier today.
“Aine, I’m so sorry that I canceled today.” A distinctive strain was in her voice. It even sounded as if she had possibly cried before she called. “I’d like to make another appointment at a differe
nt time, but I also called you because you told me when we first met that you do readings. I need some help with a situation.”
I smiled. Yep, the damn best psychic in town. That’s me. “What’s your situation?”
“Girl, I’m going to kill that motherfucker!” she shrieked. “My stupid-ass husband. He said that he wanted a divorce but we still live in the same house. I thought after five years, we could make it work but I guess not.”
I felt a slight pull in my stomach as she spoke, her voice choking up. “Not only have I found out that he wanted to end our marriage, I discovered that he stole a couple of hundred dollars from my purse this morning. That was the money that I was gonna use to pay for you to do my hair.”
I felt bad for her telling me her story, but my stomach was still aching and it bothered me. I felt a curiously sinking feeling as she spoke on the phone. No, that can’t be right…something is not right, I thought.
“And, girl,” she continued, “he took the car while I was asleep this morning and his monkey ass used it all day! Then he had the nerve to come home and take a shower. Probably fucked some bitch! I confronted him about the money and he denied it. We’re the only ones who live in this damn house! I bet he spent it on some dirty heifer!
“That’s what I get for marrying a no-good, broke-ass boy! I pay for everything! He was a street hustler when I met him. Thank God for the prenup!”
I pulled the receiver away from my ear because she was yelling so loud. My stomach was still aching….
She finally calmed down. “Basically, that’s my situation, Aine. I didn’t call you because I was so upset by everything today. I know that we don’t know each other that well, but I feel comfortable talking to you about this because you’re psychic. So what I wanna know is, is my husband dating or has he fucked someone new already?”
I felt queasy. I am the best psychic in town. Nothing should get past me. A lump formed in my throat as I asked her, “What’s your husband’s name?”
“His punk ass is named Denver, girl,” Genie snarled.
Pain shot through my body as I dropped the receiver. I held my stomach and bent down from the pain just in time to see a tiny stream of crimson fluid trickle down my leg.
My period had started.
Fondling My Muse
Randy Walker
The week ended with my head in a daze, stories circling my brain. I could still feel a slight cramp in my hand from all of the homework assignments I’d struggled to complete over the week. I had known that the Black Writers’ Workshop would be exhausting when I applied several months ago. Like many others in attendance, I had felt the need to do something affirmative to prove to myself that I was in fact taking myself seriously as a writer. This was my chance to be around people and call myself a writer without being ridiculed. I wasn’t a computer programmer anymore. I was just someone who was working on his short stories, aiming at getting a book completed by the end of the year. So when I packed up my things for a week in New York, I had no idea that I would meet her, the muse who would get me through the week.
I first saw her during the opening-dinner meet and greet. She didn’t really stand out much either. She had a funky Afro, kind of like N’Bushe Wright’s do in Dead Presidents. Her Stevie Wonder T-shirt hung lazily from her body, and if it had not been for her shorts riding up those long, sculpted legs, it might’ve taken me a little longer to really notice her. She had a casual beauty like that of Sanaa Lathan, the kind of beauty that was subtle in drawing attention. I had always found that type of woman irresistible.
After introducing myself and learning that her name was Meredith, I began to keep an eye out for her during our workshop breaks and during the meals we ate at the university cafeteria. On the second day, while having lunch, I spotted her at a table with several of her classmates.
“Excuse me,” I said as I approached. “Do you mind if I sit here?”
She looked up at me and smiled. “No. It’s cool.”
I sat down diagonally from her, introducing myself to the two other women seated nearby. Since I was the only man at the table, the women quickly directed their attention toward me.
“So where are you from?” the woman named Rachelle asked.
“Mississippi,” I responded.
“Ooh, you probably had to escape slavery to get here,” said the one named Diamond.
“And I ain’t never goin’ back. Nah, sur. I’s likes my freedom!”
They laughed, but I hardly noticed anyone except Meredith. She had a sexiness that danced just beneath the surface, and at that moment, all I wanted to do was undress her, lay her down on her stomach, and plant kisses all along her chocolate, moon-shaped ass.
“You here for poetry or fiction?” Meredith asked.
“Fiction.”
“Really? Me, too. Whose your workshop teacher?”
“Jonathan Cadet.”
“Man, I was trying to get him for my class. I’m taking Cynthia Wordley. She’s great though.”
“Well, I’d love to read some of your stuff sometime,” I said.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Like Erykah Badu says, ‘I’m an artist, and I sensitive about my shit!’”
Her smile made me smile, and from then on I found myself mysteriously sliding into this groove, writing the same kinds of stories all week long for my workshop. The first story was about a man and a woman who met at a sex anonymous meeting and fell off the wagon soon afterward. The second story was about a guy having repeated wet dreams about the same woman every night. The third story was about a woman who caught a man jacking off at a stoplight late one night and offered to finish the job for him. It had gotten to the point that when I came to class, Mr. Cadet would have an assuming smirk on his face. One day he flat out asked if I was trying to accomplish something thematic with my collection of randy stories.
“I don’t know. I think I’m just following where my muse leads.”
He nodded. “Well, it’s good to have a muse. Stirs the creative juices.”
Creative juices? I wanted to swim in those.
But I was a little too nervous to really step up and put it out there with Meredith, so I lay low and chatted with her during the brief moments when we’d connect during the day. Nothing special. Just enough to keep my imagination sparked. Before I knew it, the last day of the workshop had arrived, and the realization that I would probably never see her again began to sink in. I had written all of these stories about being with her, all of these fantasies, and it was about to be over. Just like that.
Another realization dawned on me, too: I had spent the entire week writing out my sexual frustrations with stories that I would probably never be able to use professionally, not unless Zane found one of them worthy of publishing in an anthology. If I didn’t put it out there with Meredith, then I would have wasted a week.
That night I didn’t see her at the banquet, and when a group of my classmates decided to go out for drinks, I kept an eye out for her, hoping our paths would cross going in and out of pubs. When I didn’t see her out and about or hanging out in front of the dorm with other students, I began to question whether she had already left, headed home. When the thought that I had completely blown it set in, I promised myself that if I should see her before the program officially ended the following morning, then I would put it all on the line.
I knew that she was staying in a room at the end of the hall on the floor above mine, so in a final attempt to contact her, I went up to her dorm room a few minutes before eleven that night and knocked on the door. I could hear shuffling as the door opened slowly.
“Yeah,” she whispered, squinting her eyes against the light of the hallway. It was pitch-black in her room.
“Just wanted to see you before you dipped out tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, barely coherent. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good. And you?”
“Just tired. I gotta catch a flight at eight in the morning, so I have to get up at
the ass crack of dawn.”
“Oh,” I said, chuckling at her joke.
She would be at the airport in a few hours, and I wanted to kick myself for not coming by her room earlier or even trying to get at her before the last day. I could just have wished her well with her writing, but I knew that if I didn’t tell her how I felt, I would never get the opportunity to. The words came out in a blur.
“Meredith, I know that this is really bad timing, but I just had to let you know that I’ve been feeling you all week. I can’t stop thinking about you. Hell, all of the stories I wrote this week were about you.”
She looked at me for a moment as if I had told her that Malcolm X was really a Baptist preacher.
I continued, “I hate that it took me this long to tell you, but I couldn’t let you leave without knowing that I am really attracted to you, your voice, your smile, your personality. On that first day when I saw you, something in me wanted to connect with you.”
The more I listened to myself, the cornier the stuff I was saying sounded. I was messing up big-time, but at least I was getting the basic idea out there. She had an expression on her face like “This nigga is crazy,” and I couldn’t blame her.
“Well. That’s all. I was hoping to talk with you a little bit before you left, but I didn’t want to cut into your sleep. I guess I should lay it down myself.”
She nodded her head.
As I started to walk away, she said, “You wrote stories about me?”
“Yes,” I said, turning around.
“Well, were they any good?”
“I don’t know if they were, but it felt good writing them.”
She smiled as she closed the door.
A half hour later, I was lying on top of the covers on my bed listening to Raheem DeVaughn on the portable boom box I had sitting on the desk in my room. Although the lights were out, I could still catch a mild glow of light through the blinds, reminding me that the city was right outside my window. I had been staring at the ceiling so long, lost in my thoughts, that I had assumed I was asleep.
