by Tiana Laveen
Sit on my fucking face so I can eat your pussy. DROWN IN IT. Let me flip you over on your back and fuck the life and death out of you. Corpse Bride, I want to fuck your body, your mind, and your soul…
Ending the kiss, they smiled at one another and locked gazes. It felt so damn good to be around great company. She helped him relax. Her energy was just that good. It didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes, either.
“Did you get enough to eat? They’ve got plenty of food.” He gestured to her empty plate. The beautiful woman had scarfed down practically everything she’d been offered. He liked how she didn’t get shy when eating around him. Not just munching salad. She went in. Held no prisoners.
“Yes, I had more than enough!” She patted her stomach. “It was good. Hey, where’s your friend? The owner of this nice home?”
“That’s a good question.” He looked around. “I don’t know where Venzula is. I’m sure she’ll pop up.” Just then, his beer was handed to him. “Thank you.” He took a swig and set it down. “All right, so we already discussed on the phone how long you’ve been in the funeral preparation and planning industry, nursing before that. We discussed your hobbies, Ms. Juggler, in the car.” The woman tilted her head to the side, peeked at him out the corner of her eye, and chuckled.
She’s feeling me. She’s definitely feeling me…
“So now, since you want to ask me a bunch of questions about who I’ve been with, I’ll ask you the same.”
“Google me.”
“You ever dated a White guy?” he asked, ignoring her little joke. “Wait, let me make this clearer because technically, dating someone doesn’t always mean the same thing to everyone. Have you ever dated a White guy and had physical contact with them as more than just a platonic friend?”
“Mmm, sort of.” She tapped her lower lip with her index finger.
“Sort of? You either have or you haven’t.”
“It’s not that simple.” Her complexion deepened.
“It is that simple. This is biology 101. Don’t play games.” He laughed lightly, then slipped his finger in his beard to cure an itch along his chin. “You’re trying to play Bill Clinton semantic games, so the question is: ‘Have you had a White dick inside you before, C.B.? It’s not that hard. Well, it would’ve had to have been hard, but this isn’t a difficult question.”
“Okay, here’s the deal. I’ve gone on dates with several White men.”
“Mmm hmmm.” He took another swallow of his beer and geared up for her bullshit answer. “What else?”
“I’m open. But I’ve only kissed, fooled around, a lot of touching… never third base with a White man.”
“And why’s that?”
She shrugged.
“It wasn’t a conscious choice. It just didn’t work out, go beyond that. The same happened with a lot of Black guys I dated. It’s just so hard to date in New York. Race aside. Hard to date sometimes, period.” The glow in her eyes darkened as she seemed to look past him, drifting away. “After my marriage busted up, I just—”
“That’s right. You did mention you had an ex-husband. Divorced for six years, right?”
“Yeah. So, you’re thirty-two and not married.” She took a sip of her wine. “You said you’ve never been married before, and that you don’t have any children, but have you thought about it?”
“Yes. I want to get married one day. No doubt. Have a few kids. It just has never been at the top of my priorities because of how rigorous of a schedule I’ve kept over the years. Constantly running around, barely any time to sleep. I’m dedicated to what I do, this is a way of life for me, and anyone I get into a serious commitment with would have to understand that. When you live the life I live, your career is your wife.”
“I understand that. I guess that’s why a lot of times, entertainers marry other entertainers.”
“Right. Another singer is going to understand why I must be gone for six weeks at a time, sometimes longer. She may not like it, but she’d get it. The music videos sometimes have a lot of beautiful women in them, but she’d get that’s just business. Most of the big parties I’d attend… same thing. She’d have to trust me, to know I wouldn’t be out here screwin’ other women, disrespecting her like that. I’m not going to lie though, it’s hard to be faithful when you’re young and doing this. The pussy is being thrown at you, left and right, but as you get older, you start to care more about who that pussy is attached to, and the looks are secondary.”
“I hear that a lot. Some NBA player said it, too. I can’t remember which one.”
“You want someone who’s going to be a true friend to you. Someone who would make a good mother…” He paused, trying to get his thoughts together, then shifted his gaze to her. What he saw on her face was some strange sense of understanding. It was hard to explain, for he hadn’t discussed his family situation with her. Yet, it seemed as if she knew. As if she could figure him out. “Do you want to get married again someday?”
“Yeah… I do. I shouldn’t have gotten married to him in the first place, Gutter. I wish I could forget it ever happened. There were red flags all over the place,” she said with a sigh, “so I take responsibility for that. You live and learn. You know what, though? You’re unusual. I mean that in a good way.”
“How so?”
“Most guys freak out about conversations like this, especially on a first date. We just kind of landed here.”
“There’s no reason for me to get tight about this topic because the way I see it, now is the time to see if you’re on the same page with someone you’re interested in. If I didn’t want to eventually settle down, then I probably wouldn’t want to talk about this shit, but because of where my mind is, I know these conversations are important and the sooner they happen, the better. Not after you’ve been together for a year, and then find out, ‘Oh, I’m into open marriages,’ or ‘If you don’t convert to my religion, we can’t be together,’ or whatever it is. Dating is just an interview process, basically.”
“Yes! I say the same thing all the time.” She reached for her wine.
Just then, he felt his phone vibrating. He slipped it out of his pocket, and noticed it was his brother.
“Baby, I’m going to answer this. It’s my brother. I won’t stay on long.”
“No problem.”
“Hey, Zach, what’s up?”
“Hey, man How are ya? Did Mom or Dad explain that I can’t get there right now? I just wanted to make sure you knew, so you wouldn’t expect me this week.”
“Yeah, I know about it.” Zachary had always referred to Jennifer as his mom, while he did not. “I’m out with someone right now, so can I call you back?”
“Yeah, yeah. Call me back whenever you have time. Uh, are you okay? You know… with everything…”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” He leaned back and took a puff of his cigar.
Zachary hesitated, then said, “Okay, just asking. Call me when you have time.”
“I will.”
Gutter slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“You want to learn how to juggle?” she asked out of the blue, mischievousness in her eyes.
“Nope.”
The lady burst out laughing. Snuffing out his cigar, he grabbed her arm and playfully dragged her out of the booth.
“Wait! My wine!”
“There’s more where that came from. Leave it alone. Come on, let’s go to the other side. It’s time to dance.”
“I’m not a fantastic dancer. Average at best. Don’t laugh.”
“This isn’t a dance contest. I don’t give a shit about that. Come on.” He intertwined their fingers and led her into a large room with spinning lights, thumping music, and wall-to-wall people. The glow of red and gold lights bathed her face, moving and floating like illuminated kisses against sweet skin.
She looks magical.
You’re made of all the shit I want, but can’t have… Like something worth saving from the best wet dream ever.
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He began to write a song about her in his head as he watched those lights spinning across her face, her beautiful eyes sparkling and the way she swayed to the music.
…Went out with this girl, who burned dead bodies.
She was kinda goth, kinda rock, a real hottie.
Half hood, half class, Be my lover and my friend.
I’m going to make sure, I’m her first White man…
The Fat Boy’s, ‘Can You Feel It’ was blasting through the sound system. The music was so loud it stirred his insides, just how he liked it.
“Oh my God! They are playing the old jams!” Promise yelled at the top of her lungs, rocking back and forth to the beat. He led her to the middle of the room, carving out a space for them. It wasn’t long before they were dancing their asses off, laughing and having a damn good time.
Okay, she’s got some rhythm… not bad. “You can dance just fine to me.”
He spun her around a few times, then caught her as she seemed to get dizzy at one point. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lowered his forehead to hers. When Post Malone’s, ‘Wow’ started, they rocked to the beat, laughing and having fun. They danced the night away, each song bringing a new layer of emotions. He felt okay with her—no, better than okay.
I haven’t been all right since the night my mother called me during my tour. Right now, I feel almost normal. It’s her. She helps me forget…
Her face glistened with sweat, and she didn’t seem to care. Her hair had become wild and frizzy, and she was just as beautiful as the moment he’d picked her up from in front of the funeral home. Her dark red lipstick was gone after their feast of meats and tangy wines, and her lips looked so sweet and luscious. He reached for her cheek and caressed it, down to her chin, then kissed her, needing that connection with every fiber of his being. Sweaty souls glided together as MC Lyte’s, ‘Poor Georgie’ came on. Hands all over each other… slow grind… He unwrapped her in his mind, picturing her naked beneath him as he tore her to pieces with ravenous thrusts.
‘Smack a Bitch’ by Rico Nasty tore the mood up, causing her to erupt in laughter as they pulled back from one another, the grinding coming to a stiff halt.
A couple of guys broke out into a hilarious little dance to the insane but catchy song. He and some of the other guests egged them on, jumping up and down and clapping. He could hear Promise cheering beside him and yelling the lyrics, word for word.
“Zake… ZAKE… GUTTER!” He looked in the direction of the voice calling out to him.
Venzula stood nearby, wearing a sheer white robe that exposed her tits, thigh-high white boots, and that notorious thick, kinky hair of hers in a huge afro. Black lipstick lined her mouth, and her slanted hazel eyes seemed to practically glow from beneath the strobes.
“Venzula! Hey, baby!” He kissed her cheek, wrapping his arms around her. She kissed him back and looked him up and down.
“It’s been a long time, baby. So glad you could come!” she shouted over the music.
“Yeah… had to be here.”
Looping her long, thin arm around his neck, she whispered in his ear, “I’m so sorry. If you need anything, let me know.”
So she knows about Jenny, too? Damn!
He pulled back and caught Promise looking at him. He grabbed her by the hand. “Venzula, this is Promise. My date.”
“Hello, Promise!” Venzula clasped her hands together. “I love your name. That’s pretty.”
“Thank you. You have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you, baby. Any friend of Gutter’s is a friend of mine, so make yourself at home.”
Q-Tip’s, ‘Vibrant Thing’ now blasted through the speakers.
“Look, you two have fun, and Gutter,” she pointed her light brown finger at him, “call me, motherfucker. SOON.”
“I will. I know about the concert. You know I’ve got you.”
“Good. We need to talk about it, and I don’t want your manager calling me, trying to get a cut or fuck everything up. He’s sus.”
“He is not, Venzula. You think everyone is sus!” The woman rolled her eyes and grimaced. “Quit talking smack and just relax. It’s taken care of.”
“I want to punch him in his fucking throat for how he disrespected me last year. Punk bitch.”
“He responded to you goin’ in on him, Ven. You know how you do…”
“I was nice to that mothafucka.”
“You said his girlfriend looked like an inverted vagina with the mumps, and that he looked like the type of motherfucker who’d jam lit Newport cigarettes up his ass for shits ’nd giggles … End quote.”
She rolled her eyes, dismissing him. “This is a Brooklyn thing. He wouldn’t understand. If I can put your name on that flyer, officially, it’ll be sold out in five minutes, son. This is important.” The woman gave him one more kiss, winked, then walked away.
He and Promise danced some more, until she complained about her sore feet. It was almost three in the morning, but he realized the entire night seemed to be packed in thirty seconds, it went by so fast. There was no way to stop the clock.
“Let me take you home.”
Moments later, they retrieved her phone and made their way outside. His head was throbbing from all the dancing and laughing. His throat felt raw, but it was all worth it. He felt incredible. After walking up the block and getting situated in his truck, he turned on his personal playlist, starting with ‘Donald Glover’s, ‘3.15.20.’
“I had so much fun, Gutter. That was lit. I loved how unique it was. First the nice, fancy dinner with wine, cigars, and waitstaff, and then that big back room was like an old-fashioned house party. That was incredible.”
“I knew you’d like it. I’m glad you had a good time, baby.”
He lit a fresh cigar, cracked the window, and rode out. Cool air brushed through his hair, feeling so damn good. When he glanced over at Promise, her eyes were closed.
Traffic was oddly light for a Friday night in the city. When he finally pulled up to her apartment building on Amsterdam Avenue, the woman was fast asleep. He nudged her awake. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, smiling, then grabbed her purse from the floor. He helped her out and walked her to the front entrance.
“Again, I had a great time, Gutter. It was an amazing date. One I won’t forget. I hope—”
He cut her off by claiming her lips in a searing kiss. Sliding his tongue in her mouth, he held her so tight he could feel her heartbeat. His dick twitched in his pants, throbbing with need, begging to come out and play in her garden. He rested both hands against her ass and gave a little squeeze, but then, he reluctantly pulled away.
“I want to see you again—soon. When?” he asked.
“I want to see you, too. Let me check my schedule. Call you tomorrow?”
“Make sure that you do.” He looked up at her building, then back into her eyes. “I give amazing foot massages.” He smirked as she rolled her eyes and put her hand on her hip. “Are you sure you don’t want to find out for yourself tonight?”
The woman shook her head, and her lips curled.
“You never give up, do you?”
“Nope.”
She pressed her lips to his one last time, then turned and walked away.
“I’ll be talking to you soon. Be safe.” And then, she was gone.
He stood rooted to the spot for a moment, then walked back to his truck. After sitting there for a minute or two, smoking his cigar, he checked his text messages and missed calls. Too many to count, but one caught his eye.
JENNIFER (womb donor) 1:46 A.M.: Zake, if you can, please come by tomorrow afternoon. I want to show you something.
What the fuck does she want now? Every time I try to forget her, she pops back up. I can’t drink her away. I can’t work her away. I can’t smoke her away. I can’t sing her away. I can’t fuck her away, and no matter how loud the music is, it won’t drown her out of my mind. My heart keeps making me pay attention. My mind wants her gone.
He t
ossed his phone down, started up his truck, and headed home to his penthouse.
CHAPTER TEN
Monster in a Dress
The rhythm of Billy Idol’s ‘Eyes Without a Face’ bounced off the suffocating walls of Jenny’s home, flowing through the halls and various rooms from an old scratchy radio turned on high volume in her bedroom. Neatly stacked newspapers she used for her artwork sat in the kitchen corner, along with a bright blue plastic tote chock full of paint brushes and old towels.
Hot coffee percolated on the green countertop, the scent mingling with that of the cheap citron candles, the powdery perfume wafting off her frail form, and sandalwood incense. The mixture created a nauseating concoction. Today, Jenny had on a baggy green poncho, large red and gold hoop earrings, neon pink leggings, and an enormous Native American turquoise necklace. Her hair was brushed away from her heart-shaped pale face, showcasing a broad forehead with not one wrinkle, set over sunken dark eyes devoid of lashes. A white scrunchie struggled to hold on to her thin blonde tresses. She stood by her kitchen table with something tucked under her arm, and a rather proud smile on her face.
“These are of you,” she said, placing a worn yellow leather binder onto the kitchen table and taking a seat. His name was written on the front in faded black marker.
“What’s in there? A few baby photos Dad already has copies of? I don’t want to see it.”
Her chin began to tremble, and she hung her head.
Sitting down across from her, he folded his arms.
“When you were nine years old,” she coughed into her fist, then continued, “I left the house for the first time. It tore me to pieces, so I returned against my better judgment. I left again three years later, for good, when you were twelve.”
