“Okay, Mama.”
“Where’s my damn boots?” I said, placing the earpiece back on my ear.
“You gon’ answer my question or make me show up at your ho job tonight and beat your ass? The choice is yours,” said the female voice.
Working at Stilettos was getting old quick, but I hung in there because the money was decent. And Trevor gave me a bonus whenever the bar broke six figures. A few rappers and high rollers, men and women, dropping credits cards and offering to buy a few rounds of drinks or a case of champagne, and I was on my way to making some extra change.
What I couldn’t stand was the guys who claimed to have their shit together, begging to take me out for a drink, translation, sex, and they couldn’t even keep their women in check. I had picked up a few “friends with benefits” to fund my emergency savings account, but whosoever the fuck this chick was who was challenging me, she was way out of line. I wished she would show up tonight at Stilettos, talkin’ that shit to me. She’d end up with this heel right in the middle of her damn clit. I picked up my spike-heeled boots, then put them in the bag with my outfit.
I had to ask her, “Who are you, and why are you wasting my damn time?”
“Don’t worry about who I am.”
“Okay. Then who’s your trick?”
“My what?”
“Your man, bitch! Who’s your fuckin’ man?”
“Oh, Tolliver. But you probably know him as T.”
I had to smile. T was my favorite. We were cool and had fun kickin’ it at the movies and hotels and shit. T was the bomb, or so I’d thought until I heard him get on the phone and say, “Velvet, tell my wife that we’re just friends and we’re not fucking, because she’s tripping. I told you, woman, I go to the strip clubs to relieve my stress. What’s wrong with that?”
No, this too-dark-to-be-white, too-light-to-be-black, punk-ass, biracial motherfucka wasn’t pleading with and lying to his wife and asking me to have his back. He must’ve forgotten Red Velvet was the one on the other end of the damn phone. I swear, I gotta stop fucking these trifling-ass men, I thought. He was probably taking her money and giving it to me, but that wasn’t my concern.
“Yeah, Velvet, tell me, because Tolliver claims you’re just a sleazy stripper begging to ride his dick,” said Tolliver’s wife.
No, those fools did not put me on speaker. This bitch was checking the wrong person. She’d asked for it.
I took a deep breath. “Look, bitch,” I said. “I did not say ‘I do’ to you. Someone else walked down the aisle and said all that for better or for worse shit to you. That’s the bullshit you signed up for. Listen up and you tell me if you think I fucked your husband or not. Tolliver’s dick is eight and a half inches long, it’s thick, it’s circumcised, and it’s beautiful. The lips around his opening, when you look at his dick sideways, are shaped exactly like those succulent lips on his face. He has four flat chocolate moles, one between his nuts and three in a row on the underside of his dick, so when I play connect the dots with the barbell in my tongue, I draw a straight line. He shaves his pubic hairs down to a shadow. His favorite color is blue. Favorite movie, American Gangster. And his favorite pussy is Red Velvet. Hope that helps both of you sick-ass tricks the fuck out. I gotta go. And, T, don’t call me no fuckin’ mo’!”
That bitch didn’t know who she was questioning, and I didn’t know what in the hell Tolliver was thinking by trying to check me. I hated men who couldn’t keep their nosy bitches in check. Let that bitch show up tonight, I thought. I’ve got something for her ass. And T, with his big-ass, country-sized dick could still hit this pussy, but first he’d have to pay for every dollar I’d missed tonight for being late. Plus I was gonna charge him a hundred dollars extra for being stupid. After throwing my fiery red human-hair wig into my bag, I slipped into a green velour jogging suit and flat shoes, just in case I had to kick that bitch’s ass. The last thing Red Velvet did was run from any motherfucker.
“I’m ready,” my son said, walking into my bedroom, with his Spiderman backpack strapped tightly over his shoulders. “Mommy, who was that on the phone?”
“Nobody, baby. Nobody important. At least not anymore. Let’s get you to Grandma’s.”
CHAPTER 9
Honey
My pussy. My pleasure.
Fucking Grant was my preference, but having a man penetrate me wasn’t necessary in order for me to have a satisfying orgasm. I spread a black mink throw on the patio beyond the sliding glass door outside my bedroom. The stars surrounded the moon as I inhaled the cool midnight breeze.
“Ah, every night should be this peaceful.” I bet God got upset whenever He blessed us with a beautiful day that we didn’t take time to appreciate. It was up to me to take advantage of each minute. Tonight, right now, I was doing me. Forget about Grant, I told myself. I wasn’t thinking about the girls. I declared this Honey time.
My pussy was so starved that it felt like she’d eaten my labia minora, sucking it inside my vagina, and like my labia majora had closed, the way a Mimosa pudica flower closed when touched, when cold, or when put in the dark. My pussy trapped and stored the chi energy inside the walls of my uterus. The combustion was going to erupt into an orgasm so explosive, all of Atlanta might get swept underground by my fluids.
I had to stop suppressing and ignoring my sexual feelings. I could go out, find a charity dick attached to a man, fuck him, then forget about him, or I could please myself. Opening my mint green pleasure chest, which I kept at the foot of my bed, I pushed aside my vibrating rabbit. “Nah, fuck that. You’d better come with me,” I said, putting the rabbit on the bed.
I moved my ruby glass slipper aside. Not the kind of slipper Cinderella had, my glass dick was twelve inches long and heated up nicely in the microwave, or I could chill it in a bucket of ice. The extreme sensations inside my pussy felt fantastic. I didn’t want to go into the kitchen. Any room other than the kitchen would’ve been okay.
I buried the slipper at the bottom of the chest, then scanned the edible panties, pleasure pearls, my remote-control egg, and a whole lotta other stuff. I came up holding a silver bullet, dangling from my cyber-skin vibrating tongue, in one hand, and in the other hand was my pink pocket rocket. The toys that solely focused on clit stimulation made me cum in less than two minutes, so I tossed the pocket rocket back into the chest and kept the tongue.
Sitting on the black mink throw, I squeezed a few drops of lube onto my tongue, attached the silver bullet, then put a few drops of lube on the bullet. Lying back, I bent me knees upward, spread my thighs, slipped the bullet in my ass, then turned the vibration on high. The tongue fluttered against my clit, almost feeling like the real thing. At the same time the bullet shot vibrations inside my ass.
Sometimes I’d put the bullet in my pussy or in my ass while fucking Grant. He enjoyed the feel of the vibration. “Ooh-wee! Damn, this shit feels good.” But not good enough. Leaving the bullet in my ass, I placed a condom over my vibrator, lubed the shaft and the rabbit ears, then powered on my fucking rabbit.
Inserting the rotating dick into my pussy, I let the pearls vibrate along my G-spot. The rabbit ears teased my clit. My ass felt wonderful. Gazing up at the moon, I moaned, “That’s it. That’s the spots.”
Thirty minutes later I’d given myself explosive pleasure that made my pussy wet inside and out.
I tossed the toys aside, stared up at the stars, and relaxed for a moment. Fucking myself felt good. Fucking Grant felt great.
Exhaling, I thought, Maybe I’m not good enough for Grant. If he wouldn’t give me the decency or respect I deserved and allow me to explain my side of the story, perhaps Grant was the one who wasn’t good enough for me. The time had come for me to let go.