Succulent

by Zane

  I hesitated, then the little voice in my head said, Fuck it! Go for it, Mona!

  “Actually, there is something else you can do for me, Yemi.”

  “What’s that, Miss Young?”

  “Please, call me Mona.”

  “Sure, Mona. What can I do for you?”

  “You can come see me. You can meet me in my room tonight, after this crazy business dinner that I must attend with the bitch, and you can eat my pussy for me and fuck the shit out of me.”

  I couldn’t believe those words had actually left my mouth, but they had.

  Yemi stood there, grinning and apparently speechless. Then it hit me.

  “You’re not gay, are you?” I blurted out. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. It’s just that, if you are, then I didn’t mean to make a fool out of myself.” I found myself rambling. “Oh, goodness, are you married? Involved? I am so sorry for making presumptions. You might not even be attracted to me. Do you find me attractive?” Before he could even form a response, I kept going, “Of course, you don’t find me attractive. All these beautiful women over here on the island. What was I thinking? I’m so silly. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to…”

  “Mona, what time?” he asked in the sexiest accent.

  Damnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  “Um, around eleven. Is eleven okay, Yemi?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  There was nothing left to add. I started to walk away, then said, “Oh, do you need my room number?”

  He chuckled and pointed to his computer screen. “I’ve got your number.”

  “And the bitch?”

  “I’ll take care of her, and then I’ll come see you and take care of you.”

  I do not even remember dinner; the food, the conversation, the people. Even Jill was invisible that night, but Steven was still kind of hot. We ended the evening right around eleven and I rushed back to my room, wanting to take a quick shower before Yemi showed up. When I put my key card in the door, the red light came on instead of green. I tried again. Red. I kept jiggling the handle, as if that would make the light change colors. I hated it when the cards were demagnetized from rubbing up against another card, but that was not the case. I had left everything in my room but the key card and a tube of lipstick. I hoped that whoever was at the desk would replace the key without an ID.

  Halfway to the elevator, I heard a door open behind me and Yemi’s voice. “Going someplace, Miss Young?”

  I grinned and turned around, holding up the key card. “My card wouldn’t work.”

  “That’s because I had the double lock on. I didn’t want turndown service to show up and turn me in.”

  He had only his head poked out the room as I approached. When I realized that he was wearing only a pair of red silk boxers, I almost lost it.

  “Doesn’t turndown service occur earlier?”

  “Yes, but why take chances? I do work here, you know.”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked as I entered, playing dumb and realizing that as an employee, he had easily made his own key card. “I want to hear you say it, in that sexy-ass voice of yours.”

  “I’m here to eat your pussy and fuck the shit out of you.”

  “Amen, my brother. A-men. ”

  He dropped his boxers down to his ankles and I dropped to my knees in front of him without a second’s hesitation.

  “I’m so hungry,” I whispered.

  “Didn’t you just leave dinner?”

  “Yes, but they didn’t have dick on the menu.”

  “You like dick.”

  “I love dick. I cherish dick.”

  I licked the head of his dick and added, “I adore dick.”

  I lifted his dick up and licked his balls. “And I worship balls.”

  “Damn, I think I love you,” Yemi stated.

  I gave Yemi a blow job that he would never forget, adding in ice and a couple of breath mints for good measure. I told him, “This is what us American sisters call the icy hot.”

  “It’s what Bahamian men call off the fucking chain!” he declared as he fed me his dick for the next thirty minutes or so.

  I had him lie on his back on the bed and placed my bikini-waxed pussy on his lips. “Now eat me while I continue to enjoy you,” I said as we got comfortable in the sixty-nine position.

  His tongue was thick and long, and I could tell that he was one of those men who did not eat pussy so much to please the women as to please themselves. He and I were compatible; we both performed oral sex because we loved it and not as a matter of reciprocity. If a man never ate me out, I would still insist on sucking his dick. Even as a child, I was always sucking on something: lollipops, Creamsicles, dill pickles. Somewhere along the line, in my formative high school years, I graduated to sucking dicks.

  Later on that night, we fucked in the Jacuzzi. I let the warm water pulsing through the jets soothe me as I sat on Yemi’s dick and cradled back and forth like a mother and child. He was so damn sexy, and I began to regret that I would have to leave. That’s the only fucked-up thing about “vacationships.” Every once in a while you run across someone that you do not want to be a one-night stand. Yemi was one of those. I craved to take him back to the States with me, but that was not to happen. I realized it, as did he, so we made the most out of the next thirty-six hours.

  I still had to work and deal with Jill’s bitchy ass, but once I had the chance to get away from the group, Yemi and I were fucking and sucking. We went to town on each other on the sand, right by the ocean late at night. That had always been a fantasy of mine, and Yemi had made it come true. I tried anal for the first time with him and he made it seem easy. It was nothing horrible, as I had imagined, and when his dick entered my ass, I felt like I was giving him a special part of me. He rode me on the sand, with the waves cascading on us. It was such an incredible sensation; one that I will never forget.

  I asked Yemi not to tell me good-bye. I promised that I would be back when I got the chance. He promised that he would come see me again, but this time in my hometown. None of that ever happened. I will tell you what did happen though.

  Jill got on my last nerve on the plane ride home. I could not wait for her to get the fuck out of my face. When we landed, everyone left except for the pilot and me. I was doing some last-minute paperwork on my laptop, and he said that he did not mind my remaining on board while he performed routine maintenance on the underside of the plane. I jumped when I heard someone get on board. It turned out to be Steven.

  “I’m sorry, Mona. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “Jill left her sunglasses in the cup holder by her seat.”

  “No problem. I’ll get them for you. Is she waiting for you in the car?”

  “No, she’s already at home. I said that I would come back and get them. She tried to insist on making you bring them. I didn’t feel that was appropriate.”

  I didn’t comment as I retrieved the glasses and handed them to him. Our fingers brushed against one another’s and it was like lightning.

  “I apologize for Jill. My wife has this way of turning people off, and I’ve tried to explain that to her.”

  “Well, as long as she turns you on, that’s all that matters,” I stated sarcastically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

  He stared at me. “Actually, you turn me on.”

  “I’m flattered, Steven, but—”

  Before I could finish my sentence, he was all on me. His kisses were sweet. The way he suckled on my nipples was intense. The way he fingered my pussy with an urgency was invigorating. We crash-landed on the queen-size bed in the quarters in the back of the plane. Then we commenced fucking. We’ve been fucking ever since; eight months and counting. Do I regret it? Yes and no. I regret that Steven’s still married to Jill. He denies sleeping with her but I know he’s lying. But I like fucking Steven. It’s comfortable, and in a way I like knowing that I am sticking it to Jill. One day, I believe that I can take him, but do
I really want him? Once a cheater, always a cheater. That’s what they say.

  Maybe, just maybe, Yemi will come see me again one day.

  Trisexuality

  Zane

  When I was in my thirties, you could not tell me shit about my sexual prowess. I “assumed” that I had “been there and done that” and that there was nothing new under the sun for me to experience. I was black, beautiful, successful, happily single, and ready to make my first million by the time I was forty. What can I say? Things change.

  By the time I hit forty, I was married to a complete asshole, I had put on about twenty pounds, my mortgage company was in bankruptcy because of the shitty-ass economy caused by a president who was more concerned with starting wars than taking care of shit at home, and instead of having my first million, I was struggling to make ends meet.

  Carl was wonderful when I first met him over the internet on sisterswhocravebigdicks.com. He seemed to have it all together. Then again, everyone over the internet has their shit together. He claimed to be an up-and-coming music producer with a stable of artists that would put all others to shame, and he boasted about having a lavish home on each coast. I lived in Seattle and he spent most of the year in Los Angeles. Carl was older than me and knew how to play the ultimate game. He had mastered exactly what women wanted to hear and what women wanted to feel.

  On our first date, he flew me to meet him in Chicago. That should have been clue one, that he did not want to show me either of his homes. We stayed in a three-star hotel—I was expecting a five-star—and we went to restaurants like Uno and Applebee’s throughout the weekend, which should have been clues two and three. He rented a Toyota Corolla and I was expecting some sort of luxury vehicle. Clue four. Granted, I had heard all the horror stories about women who had met men via the internet and found themselves caught up in some complete bullshit. However, Carl seemed halfway decent at the time, even though everything that he had told me was not adding up.

  By the time the weekend was over, I was addicted to the dick and nothing else mattered. We were married less than six weeks later. That’s when I began finding out the truth. Carl did not have a home on the East Coast but he did have a grandmother in Brooklyn who lived in one of the last buildings in New York with rent control. He would visit her twice a year, only because she gave him money to come and spend time with her. Carl’s home in Los Angeles was a duplex, and he shared it with three other trifling-ass men. Instead of us living there, he moved to Seattle with me since I had my own business—and my own home. Mind you, up until the time we got hitched in a chapel in Vegas, he was insisting that I would have to relocate so that he could build up his music empire. Oh, yeah, the stable of artists. Check this out. He did have some artists, but none of them had a lick of talent. One woman, who called herself Isis, could not sing her way out of a paper bag. This dude Pookie Poo was a rapper who looked like he needed to keep a paper bag over his head at all times. There was not a chance in hell that women would swoon over him. He looked like he had so much sugar in his tank that the only way women would throw their panties at him would be for him to borrow them and put them on his own ass.

  Needless to say, my life went downhill after that. Carl would lounge on the couch while I went to my office day after day trying to acquire mortgage loans in a housing environment where prices had fallen an average of 10 percent, foreclosures were at an all-time high, and things were pretty much at a standstill. I finally had to file bankruptcy for my LLC and do something else. But what was something else?

  It took me all of two weeks to figure it out. Because of all the stress that my marriage and failing business had put me through, I had put on some weight, but I was still above par in the looks department. One of my friends from college had been urging me to join her in a lucrative business venture. Dawn had always been sex-crazed. I had no idea how far she would take it though…until she started dawnsdelight.com and did sex shows over the internet. Dawn had her town house decorated like a brothel, and she—along with a few other women—were making a mint fucking for the voyeuristic people of the world. I had no idea how much they were making until Dawn broke it down for me. She said that if I came there two days a week, I could make six figures a year with ease.

  Now, Carl’s dick was still good, but he was unappealing to me, lying up on the couch playing video games and eating kettle corn all day and night. There is nothing worse than a man trying to kiss you with remnants of popcorn all up in his grill. That shit is not sexy at all. The prospect of getting back at him for all his lies was intriguing. He had lied about everything that he was about. Why shouldn’t I fuck for money? It wasn’t like he was paying any bills, and I was nobody’s mother so I did not have to worry about my offspring finding out about it.

  I called Dawn up and told her that I would accept the position on one condition. I had to wear a mask. She said that shit was out. Men—and women—wanted to see boldness, they wanted to see what true freaks looked like, and I would look plum silly with a mask on while everyone else was “baring their souls.” She made it sound like some kind of love story. It was pure fucking.

  I had watched them “perform” a few times to try to convince myself to do it. All my life I had fucked one man at a time. Well, I did date two men at once back in the day, but it got confusing because I could not keep my lies straight. I have to give it to men. Keeping up with a pack of lies with various lovers can be a full-time gig. I had spent fourteen hours over this dude’s house once, and three weeks later, he asked me when I was going to give him some more pussy because he had not gotten any in months. I was like, “Um, excuse me, but do you not remember me in your bed a few weeks ago?” He replied, “Damn, I had a memory lapse for a second. Of course I remember. That shit was good, too. I was on point that night with my dick action, wasn’t I?”

  Whatever! He never saw my ass again and I refused his calls.

  Anyway, now I was about to embark on some new-frontier madness. I was about to open myself up to fuck strangers for cash. I was about to do things that I had never conceived of doing before. I was about to become a “trisexual.”

  On my first day “at the office” Dawn introduced me to a brother named Adonis. He was already naked and chilling on a sofa when I walked into the room. I had never met a man while he was nude, with his dick sticking straight up in the air, while he was smoking a joint. I started trembling. His dick was fourteen inches if it was a centimeter, and I had never experienced more than nine. I had never broken out a ruler but I was comfortable with those figures. What I was not comfortable with was the thought of having to limp back to my car at the end of the day.

  Cornelia, one of the “worker bees,” came in the room wearing a nightie. Before I could even say, “Girl, what’s up? I haven’t seen you in a minute,” she was on her knees slobbering all over Adonis’s dick like it was her life force. Dawn had taken her position behind a camcorder and was moving around like she was an award-winning director, catching the action from various angles. I stood there in amazement, wondering how in the hell Cornelia could get so much dick in her mouth.

  This went on for a good fifteen minutes, until Adonis shot off a load that would have impressed even the biggest porn star.

  Dawn looked at me and said, “Your turn. Take off your clothes and get jiggy with it.”

  “Get jiggy with it?” I asked, appalled. “What do you mean?”

  Cornelia, who had a faceful of semen, gawked at me. “Oh, so now you’re gonna play dumb?”

  I pointed at Adonis. “You expect me to suck dick after her?”

  All three of them answered in unison, “Yes!”

  “But I can’t suck that dick!” I stated in shock. “Look at the size of that thing!”

  Cornelia stood up and put her hands on her hips. “I just sucked it. What, you think you’re better than me?”

  Adonis smirked. “Look, if you didn’t come here to get fucked, take your dead ass home.” He was imitating the Parliament/ Funkadelic phrase that p
eople chanted at concerts: “If you didn’t come here to P-Funk, take your dead ass home.”

  Before I knew it, another half dozen people were in the room, chanting, “If you didn’t come here to get fucked, take your dead ass home!” Apparently this was a regular routine because they really got into it. It was like when someone is celebrating a birthday at a restaurant and the entire wait staff comes over to sing “Happy Birthday”; except they were mocking me, daring me.

  That shit worked like a charm. Next thing you know, I was naked, sitting in between Adonis’s legs with a toss pillow under my knees, and doing my best to suck the skin off his elephantine dick. I never even liked to drink after other people; now I was sucking dick after other people. I gagged, I choked, I had trouble breathing, but I kept going. He told me to play with his balls; I nearly yanked them off his body. He told me to finger his ass; I stuck two fingers up there and tried to give him a prostate exam.

  By the end of that day, I had “discovered myself.” I now knew my true calling. I was a freak by nature, a woman of greatness when it came to throwing down. I was the one who would be dubbed the Trisexual.

  For months, it went on. I had my pussy eaten. I ate pussy. I had my ass eaten. I ate ass. I rode more dicks than every other woman there. I loved dick. I even loved pussy, and before then, I had hated to even look at my own pussy. I never realized that every dick and pussy had its own individuality. I used to buy into the premise that dick was dick and pussy was pussy, but nothing could be further from the truth. Each one has its own special look, special taste, and special ability to give pleasure to another.

  Poor Carl didn’t have a clue. I would still break him off once or twice a week for good measure, but things were not the same. Instead of working at Dawn’s two days, I was over there all the time, waiting for some action. I was ripping off men’s clothes the second they walked in the door, making sure that I got to the dick first. I became so popular on the website that men—and a few women—emailed Dawn trying to set up private sessions with me. They did not want to be plastered all over the internet with a webcam, but they wanted to fuck me nonetheless. They wanted a try at the Trisexual, and if they looked even halfway decent, I was down.