He reaches down and slowly puts the tip of his dick head inside me.
I flinch.
He takes it out.
He slowly maneuvers the head inside me again.
I relax.
“You want more?” Quincy asks.
I nod my head.
He knows I am hungry.
I need to be fed.
Each time he inches a little more in and then pulls out.
“Please, Quincy,” I beg. “Baby, please.”
He grins at me. “That’s right, beg for this dick,” he demands. “This time when I put it in I want you to work your body with me.”
I do just what he commands.
I thrust.
Rotate.
Open my legs wider.
Quincy loves it.
He moves slow, then fast, and then slow again.
He rotates.
Dances.
And strokes his entire dick inside me.
My body starts to shake violently.
I moan loader.
Faster.
My breathing increases.
My chest is heaving up and down.
He muffles my screams with his juicy kisses.
“No more,” my voice trembles. “Oh, this is so good.”
“You like this?” He pumps faster.
“Yes…I…do,” I say breathlessly.
“You want me to stop?” He is going faster and faster. His breathing grows rapid.
“No, no, no, don’t stop,” I pant.
“Baby, you feel so good,” Quincy says. “Oh, baby, this is mines?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” I say.
“I can get it whenever I want?” I feel Quincy’s body jerking.
“Yes. Anytime.” I move my body in sync with his.
He pumps faster.
Deeper.
He moans loudly and throws his head back.
Pumping faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Then he releases his hot juices.
His sweaty body goes limp and he collapses on top of me. I kiss his neck and ears.
Quincy is breathing heavily. “That was good!” he says. I stroke his wet back and steamy head. “Now it’s your turn.” He grabs my dick and smiles at me.
Chapter Fifteen
My prayers have been answered. All of my dreams have become a reality.
There is a man in my life.
And his name is Quincy.
I am overjoyed.
Happy.
Loved.
I cannot believe it’s with a younger man.
I keep thinking I am going to wake up and realize it’s a dream.
This is one of our reality shows and the scripted plot is part of the grand scheme.
But it isn’t.
For the next month and a half I am with Quincy.
Every morning.
We wake up together. Our naked bodies entwined. Legs and arms entangled. Refusing to let go and be free. Our bodies warm and sticky from the love juices smeared on our chests, stomachs, and crotches from our night of passion.
In the afternoon.
We work silently and discreetly, not giving away our secret. We snatch glimpses of each other. Smiling. Winking. We both agree to maintain our professionalism. No time together, alone. Only if it’s an arranged meeting. No outside lunches together. No fraternizing. I am his boss. He is my intern.
Then at night.
We make dinner together. Chopping, cutting, searing, and plating. Eating from one plate, sharing our food cooked from our hands. Our love. We curl in one another’s arms on the sofa. Flipping through the channels. Caressing, stroking, and kissing. We fall asleep wrapped in our world.
When we are not together I find myself thinking of him constantly. Yearning for his deep voice. The gentleness of his strong arms. The greeting of his juicy lips.
Then we reunite later and laugh, smile, constantly grabbing hands, touching, and kissing.
His affectionate manner is extremely comforting.
Endearing.
Longed.
On some weekends, when he is not playing basketball at the local courts, we explore the city, going everywhere from Central Park to SoHo to Harlem.
Every other weekend we take long romantic walks in Central Park. We start in the early afternoon, walking from One-hundred Tenth Street to the middle of the park. We stop at the summer stage. We take in the featured weekend concert, events like Dwele, Erykah Badu, Jill Scott, and Ledisi.
My type of music.
We dance and sing with the crowd.
Waving our hands in the air.
And Quincy drapes his long muscular arm over my shoulder.
I reach up and put mine around his.
We rock from side to side with Quincy pulling me close to him.
In the middle of the park among thousands of people I completely let go of my inhibitions. I feel a gravitational pull so strong I know it’s a love that binds me closer to Quincy.
After we explore mature grown-up music, Quincy drags me to Virgin Records in Times Square to share his version of lyrical geniuses.
Jeezy.
Lil Wayne.
Drake.
Gucci Mane.
Young Dro.
He even updates my iPod with these inspired great musical selections.
I put them on my iPod under the playlist—UHM, OKAY!
One Sunday we sat in the Studio Museum of Harlem for two hours just observing the paintings and sculptures. Whenever I ventured off to a different part of the museum admiring a piece of art Quincy would gently brush against me, or bump my shoulder then smile and wink at me.
After leaving the museum Quincy took me to Best Buy department store. He was trying to convince me to buy a Wii video game. “I don’t play games,” I said as he attempted to teach me how to play the basketball video game on display.
“Come on. Give it a try.” Quincy jumped, and moved his hands and arms quickly from left to right, then up and down with the game’s remote.
“You’re an expert at this.” I clumsily jerked and twisted from left to right.
“I have one at home and at school,” he said, maneuvering swiftly and precisely.
I couldn’t quite get the hang of it. My coordination was off. I was stumbling around the showroom making a fool of myself. I was moving my arms left instead of right to dribble and shoot. “I am too old for this,” I said, frustrated. I wanted to throw the remote