This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2010 by TRIFECTA Publishing All rights reserved, including the right to Reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address TRIFECTA Publishing, 10945 State Bridge Road, Suite 401-250 Alpharetta, GA 30022 Library of Congress Control Number: 2010928602 ISBN: 978-0-9715158-2-6 First TRIFECTA Publishing Co. electronic edition July 2010 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Manufactured in the United States of America For information regarding discounts for bulk purchases, please contact: TRIFECTA Publishing Attn: Bulk purchases 10945 State Bridge Road, Suite 401-250 Alpharetta, GA 30022 or email
[email protected] Cover model: Jessie Jamez Author photograph: Alex Kaplan
What really goes on... ...Behind closed doors?
The Rebounders Jamise L. Dames
Warm Up...
I can’t do it, her self-respect warned. Not this. Not now. Oh, my God, not here! A warm mouth met her décolletage, began licking away her sensibility, and crumbling the fight in her. Rearing back her head to give him better access, Shaila accidentally opened her eyes. An outdated popcorn-stucco ceiling, no more than four-feet squared, boxed them in the water closet. Especially not here, she told herself as she attempted to untangle her limbs from his. She was brought up highbrow; she was much too good for this. Perched on the back of a toilet with him between her legs, and a house full of people on the other side of the door, she knew better. In someone’s bathroom? But it felt
Bedroom Chronicles good. Natural. So, so dirty. One of his hands massaged her breasts through her lacey bra, while the other gripped the toned flesh just above her knee, making her leg jump. What more could he possibly want, she wondered, questioning if he’d objectified her, and viewed her as having slut tendencies. She’d already given him everything. Well, almost. Did he really have to have her dignity too? “We can’t…” she began, trying to pull her blouse together so she could button the few buttons back that he’d so easily freed from their slits. “Shh, quiet!” he ordered, his tone low and hoarse. Seductive. It was his voice she’d fallen for first. He moved her hands to her sides, stripped off her suit jacket, then unbuttoned her blouse all the way. “But…” she began. He pressed his lips to hers and forced his tongue inside her mouth, silencing the rest of her sentence. He loved to play rough, and so did she. Well, she used to. His hands traveled rapidly. One moved from her breasts to the back of her head, pulling her face closer to his. The other found its way up her skirt, and was shifting her panties to the side before she knew it. Shaila wiggled her butt atop of the cool porcelain, trying to prevent the inevitable from happening. She wasn’t going to just sit there, on top of someone’s toilet, and let this man finger her like a no-self-respect having teenager. “Stop, baby, relax,” he urged, between the flicks of their tongues and the wag of his index finger. The tip of his finger charged her like a thunderbolt, sending the sweetest electrifying shock through her fourthousand-plus nerve endings, housed under a pink hood. She spread her legs to give him better access. He moaned his appreciation.
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Freeing her head from his grasp, Shaila wrapped her arms around his neck, hoping to give in to the moment and steady herself. But the clink of his loosened belt buckle caused her to tense. The whiz of his zipper sliding down made her pause. Him holding the crotch of her panties to her thigh, while he grabbed himself and parted her made her stop, push him away, and jump down from her throne on top of the toilet. “Enough,” she said, when her feet touched the ground. She buttoned her blouse, straightened her blazer, and turned her skirt until it faced front. She was furious, as if it’d all been a surprise. “Enough?” he questioned, adjusting himself back into his pants. He exhaled, clearly irritated. “What the…never mind.” His hands flew up in abandon. He’d conceded, and Shaila won again. “You were just going to…without a condom? Without asking me?” Shaila protested, taken aback, careful to whisper so no one would overhear. “We’re not married, and we’re at your brother’s rehearsal dinner party, in the bathroom.” He shook his head. A wave of emotions controlled his face before dulling into a void, leaving him looking bland and without feeling. “You’re on birth control. And yes, Shaila, here at my brother’s party in a very clean bathroom. Plus, we’re engaged…or are we?” He walked out of the tiny water closet, which separated the toilet from the rest of the bathroom, and made his way to the sink. Shaila tailed him. “What does that mean?” she asked. He dried his hands on a disposable towel, then tossed it into the wastebasket, and walked to the door. Never once did he look at her. “Maybe you need to rethink your status, what you want. How can we be engaged, even contemplating marriage, and you won’t loosen up? You won’t even let
Bedroom Chronicles me feel you. How many times do I have to get tested to qualify?” Shaila shook her head. He just didn’t get it. “You know how this political life is. Plus, it doesn’t help that I’m the daughter of a preacher, who just so happens to be mayor and officiating the ceremony tomorrow, and is right outside of that door,” she ranted and pointed. “I just can’t go around screwing in people’s bathrooms, even if I wanted to. What would happen if we were caught?” He turned to face her, biting his lower lip. His look turned into a gaze, softening and fading. It was clear that he loved her. It was in his eyes. He nodded, kissed her on the forehead, then turned on his heels. Never once did he speak. Shaila watched him from behind as he opened the door and headed back out to the party, apologizing to someone out of her sight. She wondered how long whomever he’d just spoken to had been out there, then dismissed the thought when she saw it was her sister, Vanya. Craning her neck, she could still see Kelvin disappearing into the crowd. He stood out with his gorgeous looks and winning personality. She reminded herself that she was lucky. He was a good man. If they were alone in the house, she would’ve given him what he wanted, she told herself. “Girl, what took you two so long? Never mind.” Vanya threw up her hands, while waltzing in. “I don’t want to know. But do you know how long I had to stand in front of the door so no one would interrupt y’all? And Daddy almost came in too,” she pointed out. Shaila’s eyes stretched into saucers. “You were in front of the door? What did you hear?” Vanya, draped in fine silk, leaned atop the vanity. Her eyes, glossed over and bright, were only outshone by the slick smile that widened her lips. Something was different about her. “Every…thing!” She laughed, staring Shaila
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down. Shaila cringed at the thought of exposure. She turned on the sink’s spigot, wanting to wash off Kelvin’s scent from her hands. Lathering them, she tossed her sister a sideways glance, trying to figure out what was so different about her. “Really, you heard everything?” she asked. Vanya elbowed her. “No, relax, I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t expect to with you in here, Ms. Goody-Goody,” she teased. “But seriously, you two were in here long enough, and Dad really did have to use the restroom.” Shaila dried her hands and forced a smile. What did Vanya mean by Ms. Goody-Goody? “I apologize. We just had a little talking to do.” “Mm-hmm,” Vanya replied, rolling her eyes and hooking her arm through her sister’s. “Tell me later. I didn’t just happen to be at the door, you know. They sent me to come get you two. It’s time for the toast,” she said as they walked out and back to the rehearsal dinner. Champagne bottles popped and poured. Crystal flutes ascended toward heaven. Kelvin’s perfect lips delivered an even more perfect congratulatory speech, making more than a few eyes water. Shaila, moved by the moment, admired him from across the room. Locking gazes with her, a warm glint flickered in his baby-browns, followed by an I’m-sorry-ish smirk and shoulder shrug. Without question, she knew he loved her, and, of course, she forgave him for treating her like a floozy earlier. Guilt bit her then. She knew she could’ve been sweeter in the bathroom, more giving. She should’ve at least let him taste her, since she’d refused to let him feel her the way he’d been begging to since they’d both tested negative for every communicable disease she could think of, and had demanded they take because a girl could never be too careful. She was safe with him, and knew it. Still, she
Bedroom Chronicles didn’t treat him like it. Next time, she told herself. She sipped from the flute, drinking to more than just the bride and groom-to-be. She was celebrating the wonderful life she was sure she and Kelvin were going to have, despite the bathroom incident. “C’mon,” Vanya interrupted, pulling her from the room, “I have something to tell you.” Shaila looked over her shoulder at Kelvin, then followed Vanya into the huge kitchen pantry. Vanya closed the door, washing them in almost complete darkness. “Why are we in here? I can barely see you.” Shaila reached out, feeling for her sister. Vanya switched on an overhead light, illuminating the smile she still wore and the pantry’s can goods and spice collection. She had a juicy secret, Shaila could tell. Her sister’s expressions had always given her away. “Okay, I’m listening.” Shaila crossed her arms, and tried to give her sister her undivided attention. She didn’t like the idea of hiding in a kitchen pantry, and tried not to show it. But her eyes, roaming over the shelves, looking for traces of something she wouldn’t like, gave her away. “Pay attention!” Vanya moved in close, her lips almost touching Shaila’s ear as her elbow kept brushing against Shaila’s breast. She was fishing in her small purse with a purpose, searching for something like her life depended on it. “I’m having an affair,” she said to Shaila, then cringed. “Dammit!” she muttered, “there’s no way he won’t see this.” Who won’t see what? Shaila wanted to ask. Instead, she zeroed in on her sister’s eyes, and said, “And? There’s nothing new or exciting about you having an affair. Tell me something I don’t know.” She waved away Vanya’s confession.
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“Okay, smart mouth. I am telling you something new. Maurice doesn’t know, my friend is my friend, he doesn’t get down with Maurice and I and the others. Get it?” Shaila’s jaw dipped south. Yes, she got it. Her sister’s friend didn’t swing with the rest of them. She pushed Vanya away and stared at her. Vanya’s transgression became clearer by the second. Shaila’s stomach began turning. “What? You’re having a what?” she hissed a little too loudly. Vanya covered Shaila’s mouth with a cupped palm. “Shh! If I wanted everyone to know, I wouldn’t have brought you in here. I could’ve just announced it during the toast.” Shaila shook her head. She couldn’t believe her sister. “Maurice is such a good guy. Why would you do that to him?” Disgust dripped from her every word, like venom. “To save my marriage,” Vanya stated flatly. “Maurice is good, but he’s not great. In bed. He won’t give me everything I need, which is one of the reasons we swing. I need a lot physically, mentally, and emotionally. Physically, he’d please the average, which I’m not, and he’s emotionally constipated. If I don’t cheat, I’ll leave him. Trust me.” “Vanya…” Shaila began. “No!” Vanya hissed, cutting her off. “You don’t understand. How could you? You’re happy. You have everything you need. You’ve only slept with three men in your whole life, and you’ve even admitted Kelvin is the best. Well, Sis, I didn’t marry my best.” She smirked. “I didn’t share this so you could judge me, I told you because I need your help,” she said, reaching in her blouse and pulling out a rectangular violet envelope. It was the size of a deck of cards, but thinner, and glowed a little. “But never mind, Ms. Goody-Goody.” Ms. Goody-Goody. The words stung, but now Shaila was curious. Not curious enough to help, but interested. “Help
Bedroom Chronicles how? What? Do you want me to cover for you, to say you spent a night at my house or something?” Vanya gripped the envelope and shrugged. “Never mind, I’m not going to beg you, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Shaila took a long look at her sister. They shared the same blood, background, and principles, or so she’d believed. But she was wrong and confused. “Look, Vanya, I’m not asking you to beg. I’m only asking you to keep me out of this. It’s too much. I barely knew how to digest you and Maurice having orgies or swinging, or whatever it is you two do. And if Maurice wasn’t your best, you shouldn’t have married him! I know I wouldn’t have. I don’t know how to help you.” She looked from her sister’s eyes, to the violet envelope, to her sister again, then walked out, leaving Vanya in the pantry where she belonged. Don’t people with things to hide, hide in closets? She was going to find Kelvin. It was time for her to go. Walking through the house, she searched for him in the crowd, checked in the restroom. He was nowhere to be found. She patted her pockets and checked her purse to be sure she didn’t have the car keys. He’s got’em. Weaving through the room, she made her way through the throng of people, saying as little as possible. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Not now. Not when Vanya’s news was stealing her breath and making her turn on one of the people she loved most. She’d all but given up her search when she spotted Kelvin through the oversized window, standing out on the front porch with his brother. He looked ready to leave, too. Deciding to let them wrap up their conversation, she took her time approaching. Her hand was on the door, and her foot had all but stepped over the threshold, when her whole world rocked. It’d taken only seconds, but she was through. Twice in fifteen minutes she’d been disgusted and
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hurt. Her arms crossed and stiffened as her back met with the wall next to the door. At first, she relaxed into her lean to take a second to breathe, sure she’d overheard wrong. Then Kelvin repeated himself, and she was positive her ears hadn’t deceived her. Now she needed the wall for support. She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, she just couldn’t help it when she heard Kelvin say her name. That’s what had made her pause; ‘Shaila’ and ‘Hell no, I’m not marrying her’ mentioned in the same sentence. She tried, but she still couldn’t move or stop eavesdropping. “Let me be clear, K. So you’re not getting married?” Kelvin’s brother asked. Someone’s feet shifted, sliding on the porch. “I can’t, bruh. I want to. I love her. She’s almost perfect, but not where I need her to be. I don’t even know what she feels like skin to skin.” Vanya’s words rang in Shaila’s mind. To Kelvin, she was no better than Maurice was to her sister. “Whoa, whoa, stop! I don’t want to picture Shaila like that,” his brother said. “I know, I’m sorry. But do you think I like admitting this? That I like saying I met the perfect woman, but she won’t give it to me right?” Shaila almost fainted. “Won’t or can’t?” his brother asked. “Won’t!” Kelvin answered. “She won’t. Won’t is the difference, bruh. Shaila went hard once or twice…in the beginning. But now, I’m talking no head, no quickies, no nothing outside of missionary. Hell, I don’t even think she cums, and it’s her fault. She won’t allow me to give it to her like I want, like a man’s supposed to. I’m good with her being beautiful, educated, etc. But it’s not enough, I need a
Bedroom Chronicles woman who wants to please me like I want to please her.” “You sure it’s her? ‘Cause, you know if a man doesn’t put it down right, a woman won’t even want it. She’ll stiffen up, turn into…” “It’s her!” Kelvin said, cutting off his brother. “I do my job. Don’t even play.” Shaila couldn’t take anymore. Each of his words were a slap in her face, a handicap to her already waning selfesteem about the extra twenty-three pounds she’d put on. Turning, she pushed herself off the wall, went back the way she came, and pulled Vanya by the arm. She practically dragged her through the house, into the kitchen, and finally, the pantry. “I’m so sorry, Vanya. I shouldn’t have judged you,” Shaila said. A curious smile painted Vanya’s face. “It’s fine, really. How you judged me wasn’t going to make me stop, ball up in a corner and cry. You’re a prude, everyone knows that. I was just sharing to be sharing, because I can trust you, and I know you really want me to be happy…no matter what. And I needed you.” Shaila nodded and tried to swallow the word ‘prude’. “Okay, that’s fair. I guess I am a bit uptight, but you know I’ll help however I can. But can you please just answer something for me? What exactly do you get out of cheating?” A slick smile widened Vanya’s lips again. She reached back down into her blouse and pulled out the violet envelope. She pressed it into Shaila’s hand. “Every… thing,” she teased. “No, seriously. I get everything my body and emotions need, plus some. Sometimes I’m the teacher, other times, the student. It’s good for me and Maurice.” Her eyes were low and her breathing labored. Shaila could feel the change in her sister. “Sis, you don’t understand what this man does for and to me. He has me doing things
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Maurice can’t even imagine, and that’s saying a lot, after all the swinging we’ve done. I think each day of my cheating adds six months to my marriage.” “Can you help me?” Shaila asked, swallowing her pride and gripping the envelope. She was so caught up in her sister’s words, she’d forgotten she was holding it. It took seconds for Vanya to pull herself from her trance. She glanced at the envelope. “I need you to take that key for me.” “This isn’t a key. It’s an envelope,” Shaila said, turning it over in her hands. Vanya nodded. “It looks like an envelope, but it’s a key. Trust me. And, as small as it is, it won’t fit in my itty bitty purse. Maurice is all over me tonight, so I can’t hide it, and he knows what it is. It’s been hell trying to keep it from him these last few minutes. Can you do that, please? It’ll save my marriage and my life.” She shrugged. “You know?” Shaila didn’t know, and was scared to ask. “Okay,” she said. “Don’t spazz. My friend is here now. It’s something he gave me. Something that could ruin my marriage if it’s discovered. Good enough?” Vanya stared, as Shaila put the envelope-looking key in her purse. “I’m sorry, Sis. Weren’t you asking me to help you with something?” Shaila just crossed her arms, and looked from her sister to the floor, then back up to Vanya again. Vanya laughed. “Oh, you need me to help you resuscitate the whore in you.” Shaila winced. She’d never been a whore, never been called one, at least not to her face. But she had to think of something, and quick. She’d just said so herself, that she wouldn’t marry anyone who couldn’t please her, so why should Kelvin? “No, I need you to help me save my marriage-to-be. But
Bedroom Chronicles I’m not loose, I’ve never been,” she said. Vanya placed her hands on Shaila’s shoulders. “Never is your problem. Bay-bee, let me tell you, the right man will turn your nevers into always, in all ways, whens and can-we-do-it-agains. Whore can be a compliment. Every woman should be introduced to her inner whore. And until you’ve met yours, believe me, you haven’t lived. Now let me tell you how this goes…”
1ST Quarter
This is where it gets complicated. Shaila scratched her head, the thought echoing in her mind as she made sure to face front. She fixed her gaze over the pews, the few unseasonal Easter hats, and just beyond the couple who were so into each other that their heads seemed to be attached. She looked past everything in an effort to keep her mind off her intentions. Here she was sitting in church, premeditating sex with a stranger. Blankly, she stayed transfixed, telling herself to keep still, to not let her eyes stray. She was already in too deep to back out, but she couldn’t look. “Will you stop that?” Vanya whispered, elbowing her. “I’m telling you to look over to the left.” Shaila couldn’t move. It seemed so low to shop for a man at a wedding, but that’s what she was doing, browsing for a man she could try and return. “Don’t ask me to help you with something, then get an attitude when I do,” her sister mumbled behind the phony smile she’d pasted on her face. “You want to save your upcoming marriage to Kelvin? Well, here’s the chance. This guy’s on the rebound. Nothing better than a man needing to take out some pent up frustration, and probably a little anger
Bedroom Chronicles on a woman…bedroom wise, that is.” With her head still facing forward, Shaila cut her eyes over to Vanya. “He’s one of the groomsmen?” She clipped her words, hoping her sister would get the hint. “Are you insane? Him and Kelvin have to know one another, they’re both in the wedding party.” Vanya sucked her teeth. “Please, they don’t know each another. The guy I’m telling you about is a swap. The bride included some of the groom’s family and vice-a-versa. He’s not even from the States. Doesn’t even know the groom. We’ll be lucky if he knows how to walk down the aisle. He missed all the rehearsals because he just flew in last night.” Shaila turned, eyed her sister. “How do you know all this?” she asked. Vanya relaxed her shoulders and tilted her head. She wore a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look. “I’m the wedding planner, remember?” Shaila threw her a smirk. “Well, not exactly. But still, my company put it together. As long as I cut the checks, do the hiring, firing and assigning, I’m privileged to know everything. And I’m telling you what I know, Shaila. That über-fine man right there,” she grabbed Shaila by the chin and turned her face toward the aisle, “doesn’t know a soul in the wedding on the groom’s side, is in midst of a bitter breakup, and is from overseas.” “Mmm,” Shaila accidentally purred, imagining his accent. He was fine, maybe even a little out of her league in the looks department. She was cute, above average even, but the extra twenty-something pounds made her puff a little, and caused her to be hard on herself. And this man, this demigod, was delectable. Around six feet tall, his flawless complexion reminded her of honey glowing in the sunshine. His lips spread, showing an even
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smile, and his teeth seemed to radiate. Either that, or Shaila was just mesmerized by her own heat. “You sure?” rolled off her tongue, sounding like the beginning of a melody, while she accidentally kicked her purse, and remembered she’d forgotten to hide Vanya’s envelope key last night. “Un-huh,” her sister moaned back. “Rebounding, waiting for you to catch him,” Vanya purred just as much as Shaila had. Shaila looked at her sister again. Vanya nodded. “I can make it happen. Just say the word.” God, what am I doing? My sister has turned into my pimp. Shaila looked from the man, to Vanya, to the man again. “The word.” -§-
Vanya grabbed Shaila by the shoulders in the middle of the reception hall, and bore into her eyes. “Remember what I told you, don’t act like you’re new to this.” Shaila nodded. “Okay. So is this like a sexual underground thing? And how will he know who I am?” Vanya pulled her to the side, grabbed Shaila’s purse and fished inside it. “Good, you still have my envelope. Just sit it on the bar, or somewhere where he can see it, and he’ll know. Trust me, he will. Not everyone, or just anyone, can get one of these envelope keys.” She looked at her sister crossways. “So the envelope really is a key? Really? But it opens…I’ve opened it. Is it to your swingers union or something?” she joked. Vanya shot daggers into her. “No, this has nothing to do with swinging, nothing like Maurice and I do. That’s why I had to hide the envelope from him. He knows what it is, and it can always be traced back to me. We all have personalized
Bedroom Chronicles colors and codes.” Shaila nodded again. “Serious, Shaila. It’s for people who need an extra pickme-up, so to speak, because they’ve been hurt, or want to prevent hurting their significant other by just messing around. Sometimes all we need is a little extra sex play, not a real side relationship.” Vanya pushed her toward the other side of the room. “He’s over there, go get him.” He was at the bar, swirling a stirrer in his drink, close to oblivious. Staring closely, Shaila could tell he had a lot on his mind, and didn’t care about fitting in. It was clear how he stood alone, distant from the rest of the wedding party, that he was his own man. She liked that, and decided to approach slowly. She wanted to draw his attention, yet didn’t want to seem as if that were her intention. Though she was approaching him for all the wrong reasons, and was sure he was expecting her, she still wanted it to feel accidental and innocent; the same way she’d met the men she’d had relationships with. Making her way next to him, she saw he had a strong jaw line and thick eyebrows. He was slim and defined. Still, even with her close enough to smell him, he didn’t notice her. “’S’cuse me,” someone said, reaching between them to retrieve a napkin. “Shaila!” the bartender greeted. “Jamel-the-intern?” Shaila replied, running his name and office position together, surprised to see him. She recognized him from work, as the overeager intern who she believed would go far. “I didn’t know you tended bar on the side. How are you?” she asked politely, hoping that she’d also snag the stranger’s attention so she could flirt and show him the violet envelope. “I’m good. Thank you for asking. And yes, I tend bar,
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and also do some bodyguarding on the side. You know, whatever I can until I get out of undergrad. Gotta make that money. Now, what can I get the mayor’s daughter?” Jamel winked and flashed a white, slightly chip-toothed smile. Shaila tsked him, and wondered if he was even old enough to drink liquor, let alone serve it. “It’s just Shaila, okay? I don’t get extra kudos because of my dad. He’s mayor, not me. He’s his own man, I’m my own woman. Let me earn my way, just like you’re earning yours.” Jamel smiled and nodded. The stranger at the bar finally turned toward her. “That’s why everyone’s crazy about you,” Jamel admitted. “You’re humble. So, what can I get for you? Red wine? You seem like a wine person...classy.” Shaila laughed, wondering if Jamel was flirting. Quickly, she dismissed the thought. He was always that way, warm and polite with everyone. He was a curly-headed cutie, even if he was a lighter shade of chocolate than she normally preferred. “Cranberry juice with a twist of lime. I don’t drink, I just like to look like I do,” she said. “Well, how do you plan on tasting it?” A voice, baritone and smooth, mixed with just a touch of alcohol, floated from her right, speaking the Queen’s English. Shaila glanced over at the mystery man she’d been waiting for, her smile still plastered on her face. “I set myself up for that. Good one. You’re quick,” she complimented, then turned back and accepted her drink from Jamel. “Shaila,” she said, introducing herself. “Chris,” he said. Sipping her drink slowly, she stared directly in his face and took in his every feature, as if she needed to memorize him. His profile was striking but, face-to-face, where she could see his nostrils faintly contract when he breathed, he
Bedroom Chronicles was even more gorgeous. “I don’t drink alcohol. Is that better?” she said. He swooshed the ice around in the drink he held, then shrugged. “I’m not sure. Is it?” He looked away, out to the crowd. Shaila pressed her lips together, unsure if he was being an rude or not. It was hard to tell with his accent. There wasn’t a trace of joking on his face, yet he didn’t seem serious either. He was hard to read, and she’d always hated ambiguousness. It usually amounted to too much work for too little return. A glint in his eyes met hers when he turned back, and immediately she recognized the jokester he veiled. “I’d like to think, but I don’t know,” she flirted. Chris reached over the bar, grabbed a premium gin, then generously splashed some in her glass. “Well, you’ll only know if you want to. You just need something a bit more toxic to claim your virginity and free you.” She laughed again. She liked him and his dry, semisarcastic wit. Deciding she was comfortable with his genuine interest, she reached into her purse and removed the violet envelope, and set it on the bar. He looked at her and nodded. “Okay, it’ll be my pleasure. I’ve never been approached like this. You actually seduced me with your intelligence and beauty first. I’m impressed.” She was starting to be able to tell if he were being smart or not. She nodded her reply, then slipped the envelope key back into her purse. He held up his glass to toast her and winked. “Gin to make you sin.” They went on that way, laughing and talking, and his being smart-alecky, for two more quick drinks, the maximum she could get away with she decided when Kelvin waved at her from across the room. Vanya had been partially right; Chris
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was from England, but completely divorced, and childless. He was hoping to find his cure in the States, and not a medicinal one, he’d made that clear. The alcohol she didn’t normally drink made her bold. She hiked her purse onto her shoulder. “So, you wanna hookup tomorrow? Maybe for breakfast or lunch?” she asked Chris. He looked back into the crowd, adjusted his tie with one hand, and said, “No.” Hunh? Shaila shook her head, sure she’d heard wrong. Vanya had said she’d set it up with Chris, and now Shaila felt crossed, crossed and stupid. “What?” she asked, surprised. Chris turned and looked her directly in the eyes. Everything about him said he was serious. “Tonight, Shaila,” he ordered, like she was in his charge. “I want to see you tonight. Go circulate the room for a while, make sure everyone sees you, pay attention to your date…if you came with one.” He nodded his head toward the crowd. “Twenty minutes, tops. Then meet me at the penthouse.” He set his empty glass down on the bar like an exclamation. Shaila opened her mouth to tell him that she wouldn’t be able to get away so easily. Not tonight, not after the few drinks she was sure Kelvin had tossed back by now, too. He’d be tipsy and horny, and expecting her to fill his needs, or try to, and she was certain that the gin would help her. But the truth of the matter was she couldn’t. That’s why she was here. Chris held up his finger, silencing her before she could speak. “No excuses,” he warned, then walked off, leaving Shaila alone with her third drink in her hand and a throb between her thighs, while she clutched her purse against her side. His assertiveness made her want him so much, she tingled and feared she’d lose her balance. She circulated, mingled, told Jamel-the-intern that she thought he did a fantastic job at the office, and then
Bedroom Chronicles discreetly grabbed Kelvin’s hardness with her hand while she blew her inebriated breath in his ear, telling him how much she loved him. The alcohol had relaxed her more than she knew. -§Her feet carried her off the elevator and to the penthouse suite before she knew it. A hiccup escaped her mouth as she raised her fist and banged on the penthouse door. “Chris, I’m here!” she yelled too loud, excited that she’d been able to sneak off without Kelvin seeing her. An arm grabbed her around her waist, and a hand circled her wrist before she knew it. Yanked sideways toward the stairwell exit, she cooed. “Hey, how’d you get out here so fast? I didn’t even see you come out of the room. You look sooo familiar,” she sang. “Did you know that? I wanted to tell you that.” She hiccupped again. “Whew, I should do this more often. It feels good. You look good. You know that, Chris?” Suddenly, they were in a sea of beige and the stench of staleness of the stairwell landing. The heavy metal door thudded closed, causing the florescent light to blink, and left them in a deafening silence that made Shaila feel as if it were only she and Chris in the hotel. “Mmm” she moaned, not sure of what else to do. Her purse hit the floor. “So what now, no penthouse?” she began. “This,” was all he said, before he took control of her body. Grabbing her by the waist, he walked her backward until the heels of her shoes met the mini-staircase that led to the roof, then he pushed her. Her body fell back slowly, landing
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on the steps. She wrapped her legs around him when he climbed on top of her, then grabbed his face and pulled it down to hers. She had to taste his lips, his mouth. Suckle on his tongue. She wanted to know what it was like to kiss him since she’d first heard him speak. It was something about accents that made her sweetness ripple with curious pleasure. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered in her ear, taking one hand and sliding it up her thigh. “Tell me!” he demanded softly, pressing his fingers against the sweetest part of her flesh. Shaila exhaled. Chris on top of her, his large hand between her legs. The alcohol. It was all too much. Too much and too sweet and too good to be true, she believed. Chris gripped harder. “I want you to make love to me,” she conceded. “No good. Tell me what you really want, not just what you think you should say. Save that make-love-to-me business for your guy.” He moved her panties to the side, gently bit her earlobe, and flicked his finger across her clit, all at the same time. Shaila arched her back, slightly banging her skull against the concrete step, but too hot to feel it. “I told you what I want.” She couldn’t say it. Not the f-word. She may have been out of her element, but, still, language like that was just too vulgar for her. Chris pushed himself off her, then pulled her to her feet. In a flash, she grabbed her purse from the floor, and he led her up the few steps toward the roof. Shaila’s heart jack-hammered, sure the hotel’s alarm would sound when they exited through the heavy fireproof door. But the only thing that met her ears was the warm quiet of the night sky, accompanied by a majestic, sparkling twinkle that blanketed them and the city beneath. They were over thirty
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stories high, close enough to make the stars seem electric, and it was beautiful. Her panties were damper than she’d thought. The warm air whipped between her legs, giving her a cool tingle. She shrugged. “So now what?” Chris walked toward the edge of the building, never turning around. “Tell me what you want,” he said again, finally turning to face her and leaning his back against a brick column. Shaila strode confidently toward him. The alcohol was thinning, but not completely wearing off. She slowed her walk when he was feet in front of her, then thrust her hips forward. Reaching out, she palmed his shoulders and leaned into him. “What? You want me to say I want you to f me? Is that it, the magic word all you men like to hear?” she asked. Chris pushed her back, and spun her around until her behind kissed the brick column. Grabbing her hips, he lifted her until his mouth was millimeters from her sweetness. “Wrap your legs around my neck,” he ordered, resting her weight on his shoulders, while her back leaned against the column for support. Holding her with one hand, he took the other and grabbed the crotch of her flimsy panties. “Wait!” she winced, feeling the strings of her panties bite into her hips. Chris gritted his teeth and pulled the flimsy fabric until it ripped, popping open at the sides. “Ooh,” he said, breathing hard. He blew his breath on her clit, then inhaled. “Mmm, you smell so good.” The sting deepened on her hips, and she was sure the fabric cut her, but she didn’t care. Nothing of hers had ever been torn off her before, and she liked it. For a second, she was almost embarrassed. Damp between the legs, and Chris being close enough for her to feel his breath every time he
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exhaled, made her a little vulnerable. Sure, he wasn’t the first to be so close, but no one had ever had that much of a view of her, other than her doctor. With just one flick of his tongue, something in her ignited. She wasn’t sure if it was the way he suckled on her clit, or how he managed to keep her elevated while he spread her lower lips and dipped his tongue inside her, or that she was being done on a rooftop by a perfect stranger. But whatever it was, it was heavenly, and she didn’t want him to stop… ever. “Tell me what you want?” he asked, gripping her hips and moving slightly back. Shaila was sure she was going to fall. “Wait!” “I have you, Shaila,” he assured in perfect English. “Tell me!” He allowed her to slide an inch or so, while he unfastened his pants and released himself from his underwear. “What!” she cried out again, hating that he’d stopped, and not knowing what to say to make him lick her again. He already knew she wanted him sexually, of that she was certain. What did he want to hear? “Say it!” “I want you to…” He flashed his tongue over her clit again, making her pause. “to…t-t-to,” she stuttered with every warm lap of his tongue as her hips quivered, telling on her rising heat. Gently, he held her clit between his teeth and pressed down on it. Instantly, her juices rose. She got it now. She knew what he wanted to hear. “Free me!” she said. “Done.” He let her go. Her middle slid down from his lips to his chest, to his erect hardness at top speed. Shaila cried out in pain, sweet, yet stinging pain. She winced as he met her landing, and thrust with all his might deep inside her. Small tears escaped her eyes when her skin tore from her back. She’d had a carpet burn before, but
Bedroom Chronicles never a burn this bad, and not from bricks. She cried out louder, as her heat rose and hinted at full eruption. “Right there,” she directed him, something she’d never done with Kelvin. “Don’t move, right there!” Chris looked in her eyes and laughed, then dipped from under her. He maintained the grip on her hips and pulled out. “What the…” she protested, wrapping her legs around him while he walked her across the roof. Coldness met her behind when he set her down near the side of the roof. “Hold on,” he instructed, moving her arms around his neck, then slid down to his knees, positioning himself between her legs. Shaila did as she was told and rested back a little. She inhaled, as if surprised when he entered her again, then looked up at the stars while he made her cum over and over. “Oh, I can’t stop,” she admitted, faintly embarrassed at her contracting body. He snickered sexily, gripped her thighs and pressed his thumbs on either side of her sweetness, turning on her switch. Shaila convulsed and flowed like Niagara Falls. “Climaxing, love. That’s what it’s called,” he said. No, it’s called rebounding. That’s what their catching each other the rest of the night told her. How they’d used the other to bounce back from a relationship gone awry…if only for the moment.
2ND Quarter
Shaila crept in the house with sunrise on her heels, and an awaiting Kelvin in her bed. Even in the foyer, she could hear his snores sounding throughout her small home. Though she knew he hadn’t heard her pull in the driveway, or enter the front door, her heart still thumped in her chest. She was nervous. Fidgety. And she couldn’t understand why, because it wasn’t as if she hadn’t known he would be there waiting. That had been the plan last night. That’s how they’d always done things since they’d gotten seriously involved. Either he’d stay over her house or she at his, but they were together after an event. Always. Maybe it was guilt, she reasoned, then quickly dismissed the thought. She didn’t regret a thing about last night, other than she hadn’t done it sooner. Shaila kicked off her shoes, then shrugged when one of them slid into the baseboard with a thump. Chris making her cum over and over again, introducing her to climax, made her defiant. One part of her didn’t care if Kelvin awoke, the other cared less about how they’d always previously wound up in one of their beds after events. Their befores, she
Bedroom Chronicles reasoned, were before last night. Before she found out that she wasn’t good enough in bed for Kelvin. Before she slept with another man to save her relationship. And before she enjoyed letting go and freeing herself. She shrugged off her coat, let it pool on the floor next to her shoe, then dropped her purse. She stared at the pile for seconds before rushing to her bathroom to hurry and shower before Kelvin awoke. She was stepping from under the spray before she knew it. It was bad enough she’d come in at sunrise; she couldn’t blatantly rub it in his face that she’d been with someone else. With skin still half damp, she removed her robe from the back of the door and put it on. Collecting her clothes from floor, she balled them up and tossed them into the hamper. “Kelvin!” she hollered, making her way out of the bathroom and stomping through the house. “You want coffee?” Pots and pans banged. Dishes rattled. A coffeepot was filled, set on the stove’s high flame, and allowed to percolate until water spat from the spout. She was angry. Upset that she had to come home instead of lying up with another man. Rattled that she felt obligated to come home to one who’d said she wasn’t good enough. Mad that she couldn’t control loving him still, and wondered if her sister had ever felt the same way. Dirty and feeling cleansed at the same time, a walking contradiction. “Kelvin!” she yelled again, snatching mugs from a cabinet and scooping non-dairy creamer into them, then slamming the doors so hard they bounced back open. She wanted to scare him awake. He walked into the kitchen, scratching his head and looking like death warmed over. The color was drained from his face, his lips were slightly swollen, and traces of sleep crusted in the corners of his eyes. His arms stretched above his head, as he yawned.
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“You just getting in?” he asked. Shaila’s home phone rang. “You want coffee?” she asked, ignoring the loud shrill of the landline, not sure who was calling and why. The few drinks she’d had last night interrupted her memory, and she questioned if she’d mistakenly given her number to Chris, because outside of her job, physicians and utility companies, no one called her at home. And today was Sunday. Kelvin sat down at the small bistro sized breakfast table. “Did you hear me? I asked if you just got in from last night. And where were you? I looked for you after I came out of the bathroom, and you were gone.” The phone continued to ring, stopped, and then began again. Shaila put her hands on her hips and looked at him crossways. She figured if he had to ask twice, he didn’t know. The phone sounded off again. “No, I got in,” she looked at the clock, hoping that a believable time, one that coincided with the time he came in, would jump into her thoughts, “I don’t know, sometime after two. Two-thirty, I don’t even remember. I had a couple of drinks last night and wound up on the roof with Vanya… marital problems, you know. I had to help her out. Why didn’t you just call me?” Kelvin cracked a smile and nodded. Her answer seemed to seal everything for him. “Oh, drinking. That explains it. I had more than a couple, and my head’s paying for it now. You know calling you didn’t even cross my mind.” He ran his hands over his hair, as if he were trying to smooth out the pulses of a migraine. The phone rang again. “Can you please answer that? Or do you want me to?” Shaila walked over to the phone, picked it up, and switched off the ringer. “It has to be a wrong number. You
Bedroom Chronicles know no one calls the house. You want me to go get you a couple of pills to ease your headache?” she asked, thinking quickly. “If you take them with coffee they’ll kick in faster. The caffeine, ya know?” Kelvin nodded, folded his arms across the table, then laid his head down on them. “Bring me lots,” he muttered. Shaila zipped through her small house. She picked up her purse from the foyer, took her cell out, then headed to get the pain medicine. The house phone’s constant ringing still reverberated through her mind, shaking her up a little more with each step. She knew if Kelvin was fully rested and sober, he’d be more than curious, probably suspicious. If she’d been at his place, and he refused to answer the phone, she would’ve questioned him. Before she made it to the bathroom her cell phone vibrated in her hand. She removed it from its holster, and saw it was an anonymous caller. “Hmm, I’m anonymous too,” she said, pressing ignore, and entering the bathroom. The landline in her bedroom rang once, then stopped. Shaila opened the medicine cabinet. Her cell vibrated again. She closed her eyes, squeezed her lids as tightly as she could. She felt trouble. Ignoring the vibration, she selected medicine that would make the morning easier for both she and Kelvin..Codeine. The buzz in her hand started again before she made it back to the kitchen. Shaila snatched the phone from the holster, pressed talk and whispered through clenched teeth, “Call back in fifteen minutes.” She hung up. It was too early in the morning to play games or be pissed, but she felt like a participant of both. Again, her phone vibrated. Shaila stomped, snatching it from its holster again. “Dammit!” It was a text message of an address she didn’t recognize, followed by something that alarmed her.
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Key’s in your mailbox. Answer your phone next time. -§She pulled her car off the main highway and onto the side road. She’d dialed Vanya more in the last five minutes than she’d done all year, and they spoke daily. But she received no answer or call back. Sweat beaded on her temples. She’d been sure of what she wanted when she asked her sister to help her, to let her in, but now she questioned her choice. What have I signed up for, she wondered, when she noticed the little quaint, out of the way hotel. Or was it a motel? She parked, climbed the outdoor staircase, and shook her head as she walked to Room 241. She reached into her pocket and pulled out two keys, the violet envelope key and the generic plastic cardkey that was in her mailbox. The violet one was much too thick to work, so she stuck the other one in the slot. Before she could remove it, the door opened, and there stood Chris. “I wanted to see you before I left,” he explained, looking refreshed and rejuvenated in jeans and a button down shirt. Shaila walked past him without words. She was speechless. As mad as she knew she should be, his fineness disrupted her anger before it rose. She tingled in anticipation, relaxed and welcomed the rush his spontaneity gave her. He’d resurrected something in her last night that she’d lost after being with Kelvin for so long…hotness. She placed her purse and coat on the chair. She walked toward the window, double checked the curtains to make sure they were completely drawn, then switched off the lights. Easily, she began slinking out of her clothes and shoes, tossing them wherever. “Need help?” she asked, walking up to him and reaching
Bedroom Chronicles for his collar. Chris stepped back, rubbing his hands on her body, then licked his lips. “Yes,” he answered, pushing her back onto the bed. “But not with my clothes.” He climbed on top of her, his face to her midsection. He stuck his tongue in the pool of her navel, making her wiggle underneath him. “I want to see you,” he said, getting up. Shaila snatched him back down. Without alcohol she was shy, and didn’t want him to see her naked. “No, just touch me. You don’t have to see me to feel me.” “You have a beautiful body,” he complimented, rubbing her thigh, and following the curve of her hip with his other hand. She shook her head. “No, I don’t. Regular? Maybe, but not beautiful.” Chris reached under the pillow and grabbed something. He climbed over her and sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re beautiful, trust me,” he said, pulling her up to a sitting position. “Remember…free yourself. Let go of all your insecurities.” Shaila nodded. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yes,” she said, more confident. “Okay, so can we cover your eyes so I can admire you? Maybe if you don’t see me looking, it won’t bother you so much. I can’t believe you’re shy, you have nothing to be shy about. Nothing.” Shaila thought for a moment. Any other day she would’ve answered with a resounding no, but not today. Right now she didn’t care. She didn’t know if she was tired of being a prude, or if she just hadn’t had enough sleep, and was functioning like she’d been drinking. She nodded in agreement. He held up a scarf, then handed it to her. In the dimness
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of the room, it looked black and felt like silk. “I’ll let you do the honors. It’ll make you feel more secure, and you can never say I blindfolded you. This is all on you, Shaila,” he said. “Okay,” was all she said, folding the scarf into a blindfold. In the dimness of the room, she could still see him looking at her. “Last night you confided something in me.” What? She didn’t remember anything, other than earth shattering sex. “And though we don’t really know one another, I take it as a compliment that you’d trust me with something so… so…personal.” Omigod, what? She paused, hoping she could figure out what he was talking about. What had she said? “You want to break out of your shell? Well, I’m keeping my word. So, whether I have to help you climb out of it, or yank you out of it, you’re coming out of it. I promised you, and I’m a man of my word.” That doesn’t tell me a whole lot. Shaila nodded. What the heck did I say? She set her hands in her lap, the scarf tightly gripped in one hand. “I know it’s early, but do you happen to have a drink? Something to help relax me?” Chris laughed, moving her hands from her lap. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Put the scarf on. You have to be sober, and want to come out of your shell. What do you want me to do, drug you and take it?” He laughed. Shaila straightened up and blindfolded herself. He was right, she did want it, last night and today. After the way he’d helped her feel, after how he’d assisted her in releasing herself, her sweet juices and insecurities, she wanted nothing more. She needed only to remind herself of the pleasure she’d received because of herself. Chris was only an assistant, she was the boss. That’s what she told herself, and that’s what she believed. This was her show.
Bedroom Chronicles “Let’s do it, I’m ready,” she said. “Anything?” he asked, clicking on the light and getting up from the bed. He turned on the clock radio, turning the volume to high. Coolness flashed through the room. Shaila shivered. “Anything,” she agreed, so sure of what she was saying until she heard something. Or did she? She couldn’t be certain. The second that she couldn’t see, her hearing sensitized, and sounds she’d usually overlooked before now came across loud and clear. Like her heart. It drummed, banged in the back of her throat, thumping louder with each beat. Her pulse raced, and her palms sweated. She was uneasy, and wasn’t sure why. Yes, she knew something was getting ready to take place, a thing she wasn’t all the way certain she was prepared for, she could hear it and feel it. The feeling rushing through her reminded her of fear, not nervousness. It was a different type of fear, one that she was curious about and welcomed, like how she’d felt when she’d cum for the first time. How it had felt so good, yet so awkward, because she’d believed she was going to pee on herself. Closing her eyes tighter behind the blindfold, she tuned in, sure she heard footsteps padding down the outside landing toward the room. But was it really footsteps, she wondered. “You okay?” Chris asked, his weight pushing down the mattress, as he sat next to her. She nodded, then stiffened in surprise when she felt his hand encircle her breast. His fingers were cold at first. She bit her lip when his mouth covered her nipple, warming it. His other hand was between her thighs. She wiggled when one of his fingers toyed with her clit. “Open your legs,” he said. Shaila hesitated at first, then opened them slightly. He
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was right, blindfolded she was more willing because she felt less vulnerable. His hands gripped her thighs, pushed them all the way apart. She squirmed, liking how his thumbs dug into her flesh. Then she almost climbed the wall. Something icy cooled her heat, pressed hard against her clit, then clicked and buzzed. A toy? Fingers parted her lower lips, slid in and out to prepare her for what was next, she assumed. He slid something inside her, something she didn’t recognize. A foreign object. She tensed. “It’s okay,” Chris reassured. “I promise you’ll like it. If not, we’ll stop, okay?” One object began to rotate inside her, while another stayed pressed and buzzing against her sweetness. She hadn’t felt anything like this before, not vibrating and rotating at once. Not something twirling in her, another thing making her clit do calisthenics, and fingers pinching her nipples at the same time. She shook her head. It was too much. All three things were joined by a fourth; Chris sinking his teeth in her neck, nibbling and biting. “Omigod, I’m going to explode.” She was truthful, adding up what was going on. In me. On my clit. Pinching my nipples. Biting my neck. Hands in my hair. And kissing my lips too, she questioned, doing the math. Chris was good, but he wasn’t an octopus. She reached up for the blindfold, trying to pull it off. Hands stopped her. “Ah, ah, ah,” he tsked, making her pause and pay attention. “You asked for this, remember?” Chris said. “But, if you want to stop, we’ll stop. Just say so.” We? Who is we, she wondered. Was Chris referring to him and her, or him and someone else? Was there someone else in the room? She wanted to know, but refused to ask because the answer might scare her. She decided to go with
Bedroom Chronicles it and let life happen. She’d fantasized about being watched, maybe even touched by more than one man. For seconds, she fought with herself and her morals, beliefs and jadedness of what a graceful and respectable woman should be. Tears, magnificent and cleansing tears, streamed down the sides of her face, kissing the blindfold on their way down, as if assuring her she’d be okay. I’m still graceful…respectable. “I’m in the front line of this battle of mine, but I’m still alive…I’m a soldier of love,” Sade’s voice filled the room in song, apropos with Shaila’s feelings and quest. Shaila moved her hand down on top of whoever’s that roamed between her thighs, and pressed her palm against it as hard as she could. Rotating her hips, she ground into it and the toys. “More,” she answered Chris. “I want to go all the way… just don’t unmask me, please.” Her parents’ had always told her “please” was the magic word, and now she believed them more than ever. As soon as the word left her mouth, everything changed. Toys moved and were turned off. Hands slid under her armpits, lifting her up from the mattress, turning her over, and easing her down onto her knees, straddling her over a body. She wasn’t sure if it was the person underneath her, or the one who’d lifted her, but someone parted her lower lips, while the tip of someone’s hardness moved back and forth between them, teasing her until she thought she’d erupt. Now hands were pressing down on her shoulders, making her descend onto the erectness. Shaila cried out in pleasure, as she took all of one whoever, while another whoever pushed her forward until her head hit the headboard. There were a minimum of two, she realized. There had to be. She was riding one, while another’s tongue entered her back door. Uh oh, three?
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Another someone was sucking her toes.
Halftime
Shaila sat alone in front of the café window, watching cars and passersby. Carefully, she cradled the hot mug in her hands, warming to the sensation of the caffeine and her new status. Scrolling through her BlackBerry emails, she smiled at Chris’s. Rebounder. Your new name. Some catch others before they fall. You catch them after they’ve been thrown. Tomorrow? Chris. She reread his email. She’d have to contact him later to see what was up for tomorrow. Would it be him, or a new guy with a broken heart? That’s what she’d started specializing in, people like her, people who were trying to survive a breakup or prevent one. She wasn’t sure how it’d happened, her new status and name, Rebounder, but it had taken off something serious since the day of the blindfold. She shrugged. She did what she had to to save what she wanted to keep…her relationship. And was it so bad that she was also helping others while helping herself? She didn’t believe so. She’d been raised and taught to share, to be a humanitarian. Mending hearts was as humanitarian as
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one could get. “Where’s Vanya?” she asked no one, then looked at her watch for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. She smirked, her sister was late as usual. A pecking on the window drew her attention. Vanya, face pressed against the glass, crossed her eyes like a schoolgirl, and tapped her diamond ring against the window. Stepping back, she smiled and turned toward the entrance, leaving a trail of purple fabric billowing behind her in the wind, as she strutted toward the entrance. Shaila smiled, her sister, lovely as ever, was majestic as usual in business attire and a silk scarf. “Don’t ask why I’m late,” Vanya sat across from her and released her shoulder length tendrils from her cap. “Ask me who and what, then you can figure out why.” Shaila set down her mug and spread her lips into a grin. “You were with your friend, the one you hide from your husband?” Vanya shook her head. “No, I was with your fiancée. He showed up at the house just when I leaving. Kelvin’s worried about you. He said you’re working all the time, and he believes you aren’t well because when you’re not working you’re always tired…drained.” Shaila scoffed. “Ha! That’s what I tell him when I come in late or disappear for a while. The sick thing,” she shrugged, “I just don’t want to give him any. And why should I? I wasn’t good enough, remember? Plus, now that I circulate, network, I come across plenty of men who need me as much as I need them. Rebounders.” Vanya drew her eyebrows together. “Rebounders,” she said, stressing the s. “How many? And who’s rebounding, you or them?” Shaila looked at her sister, then past her. Raising her arm halfway, she waved to someone across the room, then held up her finger in a wait gesture. “Not too many. Chris,
Bedroom Chronicles Trenton, Raffa, and Jamel-the-intern. But don’t worry, I’m not using your key with anyone but Chris, the wedding guy.” She chuckled at how she’d referred to Jamel-theintern, because that’s how she thought of him and his job description, as one word. Shaila winked at whomever was across the room. Vanya followed her sister’s eyes, then turned her attention back to Shaila. “Who’s that? And did you just say Jamel? As in Jamel, Dad’s intern? The little college boy he speaks so highly of and talks about often? The one he’s considering keeping on fulltime after he graduates?” Shaila nodded. “Mm hmm. Yep.” Rearing back her head, Vanya said, “Wait a minute! If I remember correctly, Dad said Jamel’s not in a relationship and hasn’t been for some time. In fact, Dad joked one day that if Jamel were slightly older he’d be perfect for you, because you both are uptight and workaholics. So it sounds to me like he’s not rebounding.” Shaila nodded to the man across the room again. “I know, and he’s perfect for me.” Vanya slapped her palm on the table, snatching Shaila’s attention back. “What? And who is that you’re flirting with over there?” Leaning across the table, Shaila took Vanya’s chin in her hand and turned her around. “That is number four.” “I thought you said you had four already.” Vanya paused, letting the number sink in. “Ooh, I get it. That’s Jamel.” She swatted Shaila’s hand from her chin and sat tall. “Listen, Shaila, he’s a young cutie, but he’s not rebounding. That wasn’t the deal, remember? And it was only supposed to be once, maybe twice, with Chris. I agreed to help you, not harm you. And you’re out of control now. Definitely setting yourself up for something terrible. So, you’re in the rebounding business? Probably have a rebound bat-phone
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and all?” Sarcasm dripped from Vania’s voice. Shaila laughed. “It’s not that serious. I just have a voicemail set up.” Vanya shook her head in disbelief, and disgust swept her face. She crinkled her brows together. “Wait a minute. Why’s your lipstick smeared?” Shaila slapped a twenty dollar bill on the table and stood up. “Jamel-the-intern smeared it in the back…in the bathroom. Can you believe it? I do bathrooms now. That was the reason Kelvin was so upset, because I wouldn’t let him have me in the bathroom the night of the rehearsal dinner. And you’re right, Jamel-the-intern’s not rebounding, and this isn’t a part of the game, Sis. He’s the halftime entertainment.
3rd Quarter
Since they’d met up that day at the restaurant, he’d asked her to the movies, then lunch. That was the problem, she’d told him. His liking and catching feelings for her. The no-no she’d warned him and Chris and the others about. She did what she did for pleasure, and to help herself and them. To rid them all of the sexual frustration and unwanted feelings their significant others’ had clouded their lives with. But she couldn’t expect him to know better, she chastised herself. Jamel-the-intern was a young boy. A young, single man who wasn’t ready for her and her let’s sweat-till-we-dropbut-not-bond-or-talk mission. “How about the art museum?” he asked now, his voice droning through the phone, as if the museum was any different from the movie theatre or bistro or stage play or weekend getaway she’d already declined. A date was a date, no matter how he titled it. Shaila bit her lip, and banged her fist on her steering wheel. “I’m afraid I can’t. I’ve already explained this to you over and over. We can have fun, but that’s it. Now if you
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couldn’t handle that, you should’ve said so. But really, I have to go now. I have plans I can’t get out of. Rain check? Work lunch on Monday?” she offered. “Okay, but remember, Shaila, I love you,” he said. She hung up on him. Pulling a tissue from the pack, she wet it with her mouth, then wiped away the lipstick he had helped her smudge again, then got out of the car. A gust of wind swept against her back, pushing her toward Kelvin’s brother’s front porch. Shaila looked around, up and down the street, and didn’t see Kelvin’s car anywhere. He must not have made it yet, she thought, as she dug her heels into the ground to keep her balance against the angry wind that kept trying to push her down. Vanya’s car was parked in the driveway in front of the trail of cars belonging to the other dinner party guests who were attending Kelvin’s brother’s soirée. The same dinner party Shaila didn’t want to attend, but had to. She’d been missing in action a bit too often, and the fact of the matter was, she admired and respected Kelvin’s family too much not to show up and support them. Yes, Kelvin had rubbed her the wrong way, but just this once. His good outweighed his bad, which is why she was going to do whatever she could to save her relationship. All in all, he and his family had always been good to her and everyone else. Grabbing the railing, she held on as she climbed the few steps. The wind whipped again, sweeping by and taking her hat, flinging it down the block like a Frisbee. She put her hand on top of her head like she couldn’t believe it, then followed the hat down the street with her eyes. There was no way she could catch it, but had to, she surmised. It floated and spun so fast, it resembled a spaceship on a cartoon. “Oh, well,” she said, backtracking and kicking off her heels. She stepped down onto the dry, cold sidewalk. Kelvin
Bedroom Chronicles had bought her the hat for her birthday the first year they’d been together, and it meant a lot to her. She had to go after it, even if it took miles to track. Hiking up her skirt a little, Shaila ran down the street against the wind as fast as she could. Avoiding loose rocks and anything that caught her eye that could potentially harm her, she did her best to focus on her mission, but it was hard. The wind was merciless, blowing into her eyes, carrying particles and minute debris. What the…what was that, a stick?A tree root, she wondered, as her body lifted and soared through the air for what seemed like a small eternity. Sticking out her arm to break her fall and cushion her landing, she knew she was in trouble the minute she hit the dirt and rolled like a stuntwoman. Her thigh stung and her skin ripped. Shaila gritted her teeth, examining the wound. She grunted, pressing her hands down on the painful spot. Footsteps sounded, loudly clacking against the ground, then slid as they slowed, suddenly stopping by her side. “That looked like one nasty fall. You alright?” Chris asked, helping her up. Shaila forced a smile and threw him a sideways look. He hadn’t told her he’d be in town. “What are you doing here?” she asked, hobbling as she tried to gain her balance. She winced. She was more hurt than she’d believed. “Come on,” he said, bending slightly and scooping her up in his arms. “The party. I guess you forgot I was flying in. I told you.” He walked with her in his arms. Shaila wrapped her arms around his neck for support. She held back a laugh when she heard his breath becoming more labored with each step. She was also a little embarrassed, because she hadn’t done anything more than sexual aerobics to lose the extra weight she’d put on, and he was slim.
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Strong back, but slim. “You don’t have to carry me. We’re almost two blocks from the house,” she said. Chris did his best to shrug under the weight of her arms around his neck. “Ah, you must have hit your head or lost count. We’re one block away, and I can manage. You know that. How many times, and how long have I held you in the air before?” He made his point. “Besides, I can’t put you down. You have no shoes on. And I can’t put you on my back because of your skirt’s lack of length. If I put you back there you’ll catch a cold between your legs.” Shaila dug her elbow into his shoulder and joined him in laughter. “You’re amazing. You know that.” Chris nodded, speeding up his pace and covering half a block before they knew it. “Of course. Don’t tell me that you’re falling for me. That’s a sin, right?” he teased, almost out of breath. “Well, I already fell on you.” She returned the taunt, admiring his profile. He was a handsome man. A fine and fun guy, who was supposed to be safe because he didn’t live in America. But every time she looked up, he was present. He reared back his head. “Correction, you slid down on me,” he said. “Shaila! Chris?” a voice bellowed from behind. A voice Shaila knew only too well…Kelvin. Chris stopped not far from the house and turned, pivoting them both around to face a quickly approaching Kelvin. Chris pressed his lips together in thought. “Kevin, right?” Kelvin jogged up on them. “Kelvin, man. How could you forget?” he corrected. “But close enough.” He looked from Chris to Shaila. Shaila held his stare. She was unsure of how to respond. On the one hand, she was in another man’s arms with her arms draped around him. On the other, she shrugged, she’d
Bedroom Chronicles hurt herself. “Hey baby,” she greeted Kelvin. Chris looked from Shaila to Kelvin to Shaila again. Shock was painted on his face. “My fault, mate…about the name.” Mate. She loved his accent and his words. Kelvin held up her hat. “This blew into my door as I was getting out of the car. I knew it was yours. It had to be.” He turned to Chris. “Don’t worry about the name.” “There it is!” Shaila managed a smile, then nodded toward her thigh. “Of course it’s mine; you had it made for me. The wind blew it away and I was chasing it. That’s how I hurt myself, and this wonderful gentleman was nice enough to help me back to the party.” “So, this is the guy you were bragging about? Him?” Chris asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He handed Shaila over to Kelvin. “I think she’d much rather you carry her.” Shaila froze. Something bad was going to happen, she just knew it. Kelvin nodded, handling Shaila like she weighed two pounds. He laughed a little. “Fiancé,” he corrected. “And yes, me, I’m the man!” He shook Chris’s hand. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight. I’ve been wanting a chance to win back my money for the last couple weeks. Oh, and thanks for the ride to my baby’s house that night. I try not to mix alcohol and blurry roads, you know,” he said to Chris, then looked down at Shaila, his eyes spoke louder than his words. “Are you okay, baby? Let’s hurry up and get you inside.” He sped up, and said, “We’ll catch you inside, Chris. I can’t have her catching a cold. I need her well,” he joked. “Oh, I bet you do,” Chris joked back. Shaila was stunned. He’s been to my house with Kelvin? She had no idea how
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that one slipped by. She knew that they had to have known each other from the wedding, but she’d never pictured them as really knowing one another. Maybe it was that she’d opted not to tell Chris who she was with the night of the wedding, or that she’d been so busy avoiding Kelvin that she’d missed a major detail, him becoming gambling buddies with her new playmate. However their getting to know one another better happened, she regretted it already, and felt more like a betrayer of Kelvin’s than before. It was just something about him and Chris shaking hands that caused her dirt to surface. “Chris! Honey, I’ve been waiting on you,” some woman yelled from the top of the porch. Shaila whipped her head around quickly. The woman’s voice had taken her by surprise, and she was a bit peeved. Chris wasn’t her man, but he certainly wasn’t supposed to be anyone else’s either. Shaila eyed the woman, looking for a familial resemblance, but found none. The woman had the same honey complexion as him, wild and fabulous hair, deep eyes, and was twice her size. No wonder he didn’t think she was heavy, because he clearly liked his women thicker than she’d ever been. As the woman said Chris’ name again, Shaila tilted her head and wondered where the woman was from. Her accent was clearly an American one. Midwest? The shuffle of Chris’ feet gave away his eagerness to get to the woman. He caught up with her and Kelvin in seconds, then bypassed them, explaining. “Gotta go, my wife calls! You understand, Kelvin.” Shaila numbed. “Yeah, he understands. Happy wife, happy life!” -§-
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It was her third drink. Three. Tres. A delicious trio of martinis, strengthened with an extra shot of vodka, followed by straight chasers of jealousy. Shaila leaned against the kitchen island, glass wrapped in her dainty hand, gulping her cocktails and watching it all play out. Some hussy who’d come with Chris’s wife was hanging around Kelvin, dangling on his every word and feeding his ego. Shaila sneered and rocked her leg. He was eating up the attention, and if she were in her right mind, she wouldn’t blame him. But she wasn’t thinking straight, and wanted to toss the glass across the room and bust him in the head. If her martini hadn’t been so delicious, she would have. “So you see it, too,” Vanya said, easing up on the other side of the island, scaring Shaila a little. “It’s innocent.” “Yeah, right.” Shaila looked over her shoulder and glared. “Nothing innocent about that.” She blatantly pointed. “She might as well throw him down and molest him. And he might as well pretend to be interested, just like Chris pretended not to be with his wife,” she said, digging into her purse and sliding the violet envelope to Vanya. “I won’t be needing that anymore.” Vanya laughed and put the envelope key in her purse. “Trust me, it’s nothing. That shenanigan over there, or Chris and his whatever-she-is. I wouldn’t say wife though.” She looked over at Kelvin and the hussy again, then turned back to her sister. “How do you know?” she asked. Vanya winked. “’Cause you’re not going to let it turn into nothing, right? Go get your man and act like you care. Act like we’re related. I wish some wench would get up in Maurice’s face.” Shaila nodded. Vanya was right, Kelvin was hers, and she wouldn’t let him or anyone else forget it. She’d come too far, and had gambled her reputation and self-respect to keep him. She’d be damned if anyone took him because
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she’d forgotten how to pay him any attention. Setting down her glass, she looked at her sister one last time for encouragement, then strutted across the room. Thrusting out her pelvis, she rocked her hips ever so slightly as she walked and held her head high. “Excuse us,” she said to Kelvin’s newfound cheerleader, whose expression fell when Shaila approached. Kelvin straightened up. “Hey, baby, this is…” “Come on,” she told him, ignoring his trying to introduce her to the woman. She grabbed his tie, and led him where she wanted him while he quietly protested, telling her how rude she’d been. “How much have you had to drink?” he asked. She opened the bathroom door and pushed him inside. “Not enough to miss that woman all in your face. What blatant disrespect.” A puzzled looked washed over his face. “What? Shaila, she’s…” “Not important! That’s what she is.” She walked him backward toward the water closet that housed the toilet, the same cubicle that she’d refused to let him seduce her in before. She unfastened his pants, freeing his manhood. Her cell phone loudly vibrated in her purse. She pushed him down on top of the seat. “Watch,” she directed. She dropped her bag to the floor, pulled up her skirt, and slid out of her torn pantyhose, and panties. She grimaced in pain when she passed the cut on her leg. “That doesn’t look good, baby,” Kelvin said, reaching out his hand to examine the cut. Her purse vibrated across the tiled floor. Kelvin looked at it, then nodded his head toward it. “That might be important.” Shaila cupped her hand over his mouth, then straddled him, ignoring his words. She rocked her butt in the empty
Bedroom Chronicles space between his long legs. Reaching down and forward, she grabbed his girth in her hands and squeezed it to life, making the blood rush until he was granite hard. “You wanted it in here before,” she whispered, taking his tip and parting herself with it. Inching forward, she made her way onto his hardness. Her purse stopped and then started buzzing again. Kelvin reached up and lifted her chin. He stared in her eyes and bit his lip. His having a lot on his mind was obvious in the creases in his forehead. He nodded. “I did, but that was before.” “Before” slapped the breath out of her, and broke her concentration on getting all of him inside her in the little box of a toilet area that would’ve normally suffocated her. “What?” she hissed, still riding him. Kelvin lifted her off him. “Where’ve you been for the last few weeks, Shaila? You disappear, don’t answer your phone. Now you have me in the bathroom, trying to ride me like a racehorse, something that repulsed you to no end just weeks ago. What happened to you? Better yet, who are you? Because you certainly aren’t the woman I asked to marry me.” Her purse did the cha-cha again, vibrating this way and that. “And your damn phone keeps ringing and you won’t answer it! What’s up with that?” he asked. “Ha!” She was entertained. Shaila looked down at him, still sitting on the toilet with his pants down and his penis lying across his leg. The man was gifted in that department, she couldn’t deny that. Her panty was half on the floor, half still around her ankle. Of all the times they could’ve had this conversation, he had to pick now. She drew her eyebrows together and sucked her teeth. “You wanna know who I am?” she asked, losing her
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prim and properness. “I’m the one who used to not be able to screw you right. Or, better yet, in your words, I’m the one who didn’t give you “no head, no quickies, no nothing outside of missionary”. I’m the one who won’t allow you to give it to me like you should. Yeah, I heard you on the porch that day. But you know what, Kelvin? You were wrong about one thing; I do cum. I’m multi-orgasmic, and cum like there’s no tomorrow. Niagara Falls all the way, you just can’t make me do it. So, now, who’s not good enough in bed to marry whom?” she spat, hiking up her panties and fixing her clothes, grabbing her purse, and walking out of the water closet, pulling herself together as best as she could. Kelvin reached her before she put her hand on the knob. “What is that supposed to mean, Shaila?” She shrugged from under his hand. “You tell me. What man pushes his woman off of him during sex? What man would do that to any woman he’s inside of, relationship or not?” Kelvin just stood there. “I’ll tell you. One who’s obviously been getting it somewhere else…like maybe from a hussy outside this door.” Her purse buzzed again, and she ignored it. Kelvin reached over, snatching it off her arm. He dug inside with one hand, and kept her at bay with his elbow, turning his body away from her. Shaila jumped for it. “Give me my bag!” she demanded. Kelvin held up her BlackBerry as high as he could, and kept his eyes glued on the screen. He said, “Someone is texting and calling to confirm that a working lunch is good for him on Monday as long as you promise to work him out like a Hebrew slave, and let him have you as his main entrée again.
4th Quarter
Shaila rolled over and stared at the ceiling for the umpteenth time. She’d been in bed since Friday night, and had practically slept the rest of the weekend away, tucked tightly under the covers. As if hiding from the world would actually make it and all of her problems go away. She’d only gotten up to relieve her bladder, cry, or fuss at the ceiling, while she tried to make sense of it all. Here, she’d been trying to save her marriage-to-be, and ended up ruining it. Vanya had warned her to be careful, not to get too caught up. Now there was no wedding date, engagement ring on her finger, or man in her life who’d loved her enough for either. Kelvin had called it all off; wedding, relationship, friendship, her love life as she’d known it. The alarm clock sounded. Shaila turned her head, and looked at it like she’d never seen it before. She was so well rested that she saw no use in needing an aid to rouse her. She was up now, and not just awoke, she was alert and aware of herself and actions. She knew she could hide from life, but there was no dodging work or her dad’s expectations. She had to show up and show out like the rest of her family,
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and maybe slap some sense into Jamel-the-intern-turnedstalker, his new name after contributing to her ruining her relationship by sending the detailed text to her phone that Kelvin had read. Exhaling, she pulled back the covers, got out of bed, and powered on her cell and home phones. The BlackBerry had been powered off since Friday night, and it came to life, buzzing and chirping like crazy. Suddenly, the landline started singing too. Shaila rolled her eyes. “Not the tornado drill again,” she said, referring to how she’d thought of her cell phone’s incessant alert at the party. To her it was like the bell that rang right before the tornado drills in elementary school. The bells of doom she and her friends had once referred to them as. “Okay. Okay,” she said, reaching for the home phone, knowing whoever was on the other end could be trusted because no one knew her number…not really. Before she could press talk the doorbell chimed. Shaila opted to answer the phone first, as she padded out of the room and down the hall. “Where you been? I’ve been trying to call you for the longest?” Vanya practically yelled through the receiver. “In bed, hiding from the world. Where did you think I was, on vacation?” She paused before she made it to the door, careful to stay away from the windows. “We need to talk, Shaila. It’s about Kelvin,” Vanya whispered. Shaila could hear her brother-in-law’s voice in the background, and assumed that’s why her sister was whispering. At least she hoped that was the reason. “Talk about him for what, Vanya? We’re through.” “I can’t get into it now, Maurice is listening. But it’s about the key.” “The what? Stop whispering. Did you say the key?” Her
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voice trailed off when her doorbell rang again, and footsteps scurried down her porch steps. She rushed to the door and unlocked it. She yanked it open, then disconnected the call without saying goodbye. Vanya could call her back when she could talk. A plain, small white box was on her doormat with a card attached. Shaila picked it up, shook it gently, then looked up and down the street. No one was around, and there was no movement. Quickly, she ducked back inside, out of the cold. She removed the attached envelope from the box and tore it open. There was a Thinking of You card in it with roses on the front and someone’s handwriting inside. Shaila smirked and sniffed back tears. Chris. Meet me at the hotel where we met, 8 o’clock. Top floor, penthouse suite. No roof this time. I heard about what happened, and care too much about you to let you be alone. I’m here for you, Shaila. She walked to the sofa, sat and opened the box. A black blindfold was inside, along with a black envelope key like the one she’d returned to Vanya. “He gave me his key, how sweet. How did he know I don’t want to be alone?” she asked no one, tears running down her face, glad that she did have someone to turn to. Then curiosity plagued her. Vanya had told her each key was customized, and had said Maurice could trace Vanya’s back to her. Shaila now wondered how. Fiddling with the flap, she opened it, then stretched the envelope as far as she could. Centimeters. It only opened slightly, and when she turned it upside down, nothing came out. Shaila shook her head, then began to close it. Suddenly, she saw something etched on it. Upon closer inspection she noticed her initials, the year of her birth, and the date of when she and Chris had first gotten together. It wasn’t hard to figure out, it was the date of Kelvin’s brother’s wedding.
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This is my envelope key, not Chris’s. -§Her envelope key had allowed her entrance into the penthouse suite, the same penthouse suite that belonged to the door she’d knocked on the night she and Chris met. On her way there, he’d explained it all to her by phone and given her directions. Where to park. What entrance to use. How to slide the real key out of the envelope key that it was so expertly hidden in. He’d also explained that he couldn’t bring her into the suite the night of the wedding because she wasn’t an official member. Official members were recommended and only invited after they’d proven themselves. And, just like she would tonight, she’d proven herself time and time again, never questioning whose hands were on her body, and never telling anyone of her experiences. Only key holders passed the threshold to the suite, and invitees as their way of accepting the invitation. She had accepted. Readily. Her body smelled of citrus and felt like oiled silk. She reached between her legs, ran her hand over her freshly shaved vagina, surprised that she liked the feel of it. She’d never shaved it all off, or had more than a bikini wax, so it was new to her, and she’d thoroughly enjoyed Chris shaving it for her in the shower. He’d undressed her, bathed her, and oiled her down. Now he stood in front of her and she couldn’t wait to feel him. She sat on the edge of the bed, looked at his white envelope key on the nightstand, then turned her attention to him. She admired his almost nude body while he stood in front of her. He bent down, kissed her on the cheek, then
Bedroom Chronicles assured her in barely a whisper that it was going to be fine. That she had nothing to worry about, and only pleasure to look forward to. He held his finger to her lips, when she inquired if it would be just she and him. “It’s always just me and you, Shaila,” he began, smoothing out the blindfold. “I know…” she lied. “Let me ask you a question. About the envelope key—” “The Rebounder’s key,” he interrupted. Shaila froze. “Okay, I guess. Yes. The Rebounder’s key. Why the dates?” “One is your birthday, obviously. The other is the day you were reborn. You’re initiation day…the first time we were together was yours. You came to me on your own because it was something you wanted. No relationship, just a fix,” he explained, tying a blindfold around her head. “Now, back to what we were saying earlier… Every time we’ve been together, it’s just been us, right?” he coached. “I mean, who else have you ever seen?” “No one,” she answered truthfully, but knew that wasn’t the truth. She may not have seen anyone else, but someone had been there before, because the last time she checked, Chris wasn’t an octopus. “Picture whomever you want, and that’s who you’re with,” he said, over the soft music wafting in the background, before quickly silencing the room with the earplugs he fit snugly into her ear canals. Shaila tensed. Not being able to see or hear was a bit much, but she knew she was safe. She felt it. Inhaling as deeply as she could, she was happy to still be able to smell the cinnamon candles burning, their scent filling the room with the perfect amount of spice. He pushed her back on the bed, spread her legs, then pulled open the folds of her sweetness and licked, flicking
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his tongue just enough to make her want to cry out. Shaila gripped the sheets and bit down on a pillow. There was to be no talking. No moaning. No noise. Period. Those were the instructions. If she made a sound, the game would begin all over again and the invitation risked being revoked. The flash of cool air on her exposed sweetness, almost the same as before, suggested to her that they were no longer alone. She was almost sure she could feel another’s presence in the room, then was certain when she felt the bed bend under someone else’s weight. Or did it?Am I tripping? The bed evened out again, and Shaila felt around with her hand. She relaxed. There were only one set of legs on the bed besides hers. One pair of strong, muscular thighs, and two hands that were now expertly turning her over into a doggy-style position. On her knees, she hiked her behind in the air, reached back and spread her cheeks for him. If he wanted it from the back, she’d give it to him like that. On all fours was her position. It may have seemed like a submissive one, but she knew how to dominate it. A bounce of her hips and twirl of her pelvis always worked. She sucked in her breath when he slid into her, stretching her tightness as he pushed slowly, then eased out. Gradually, he repeated his stroke, taking his time, teasing her along the way. She bucked up her hips, trying to catch his rhythm and dominate it with hers, but he wouldn’t allow it. He answered her eagerness, pulling almost all the way out, leaving just the head of his hardness between her lips. Shaila punched the bed, wanting to scream out. He gyrated, rotating himself in circles, then he stopped. Shaila hit his leg, hurrying him up. He didn’t budge. Dammit! He rammed inside of her until his hips smacked her
Bedroom Chronicles behind, making it and the bed shake. In and out. Up and down. In circles. He moved into her body as if it belonged to him. Shaila bit her lip. He felt so good and knew her body so well. She tried to contain herself, but couldn’t. She should’ve known by now that climaxing controlled her, not the other way around. Quaking and shivering, she lost her balance when her knees weakened, and she balled up in a fetal position. She moaned. “Dammit, that feels sooo good!” she sang aloud, breaking the no-talking rule, and hearing a mumble in the background through her earplugs. The mattress bounced underneath her as the weight on it lessened. He seemed to leap from the bed, shaking her up a little. What just happened, she wondered, as she turned around to see what was wrong and pulled at her blindfold at the same time, but it was on tighter than she’d believed. Fingers swiped the top of her head, pulling her hair. Was he attacking her? She scrambled backward on the bed, feeling helpless because she couldn’t loosen the blindfold fast enough. Everything was happening too fast. He swiped again, yanking off her blindfold and saying something she couldn’t understand. Shaila looked to the side and saw a blue envelope key, identical to Vanya’s and Chris’, except in color, setting on the nightstand. She pulled out her earplugs, turning around further to see who’d yanked off her blindfold. She froze. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The owner of the blue envelope key. Snapping out of her trance, she hopped off the bed, snatched up the blue envelope key and pried it open. Initials. Birth date. A few weeks ago. She just stared at what she held in her hands, Vanya’s words stinging her soul.
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“It’s for people who need an extra pick-me-up, so to speak, because they’ve been hurt, or want to prevent hurting their significant other by just messing around. Sometimes all we need is a little extra sex play, not a real side relationship,” “Official members have proven themselves,” Shaila mouthed. Kelvin just stared.
Overtime.
The Experiment Brenda L. Thomas
Prologue
Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, MySpace, Match.com, eHarmony, and a million other social networking and dating sites, Christian and very non-Christian alike, I’ve tried them all. None have resulted in anything worthwhile. Still, I keep trying. At first, I was dishonest. I lied about my looks, and posted an altered photograph of myself, but that didn’t feel right. It felt even worse when I would meet my dates and see the disappointment on their faces. Call it a case of desperation, but as long as a man can prove he’s genuinely interested in me, I’m open to any race or culture. So, to make this work, I’m choosing a different route. I’m going to be honest about my lifestyle, occupation, religious background, and even my loneliness. However, this time I won’t post a picture.
BRENDA L. THOMAS
You would think that with all my professional success as an anesthesiologist I’d have a husband, a man, or at least someone to satisfy my womanly needs, but no one wants to hear about the overachieving woman who can’t find a mate. But, actually, that isn’t my story. My success attracts men, it’s my looks that chase them away. At this point, I’m not trying to find a husband, or even true love. All I’m looking for now is companionship, at least that’s what I keep telling myself. However, even with such a small need, I keep coming up empty. My only other option seems to be sex, and with that having become a rarity in my life, I’ve devised a foolproof experiment to get a little bit of what I want…pure sexual gratification. -§I locked the door to my lab, checked the calculations on my sheet, and then shut down my computer. I removed twelve vials of the perfect mixture from the cooler. Two parts liquid Viagra, combined with one part Diprovan. If I were a researcher I would’ve tried it on a lab rat or something, but I knew what I was doing, I’d been on my job for eight years. After I packed up my supplies, I carefully bubble wrapped the vials of what I’d appropriately named My Juice. Nobody knew about it, as it wasn’t something I could discuss with my co-workers. But if it worked like I think it would, I could easily package it and sell it on the black-market, then commercially, if approved by the FDA. But I wasn’t interested in sales; it was simply a matter of getting what I want. Tonight would be different, because attracted to me or not, I had the antidote to make any man want me.
Bedroom Chronicles My first case study was the owner of a wealth management company. He claimed to be intrigued with my lifestyle, occupation, honesty about being lonely and, of course, after we spoke, my sultry voice. He never asked for a picture, only a description. I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell the entire truth. You see, I don’t exactly fit the mold of what defines sexy. For one, I’m a little too swollen around the colon, and well, let’s just say, I won’t be taking any head shots. Though I spend ridiculous amounts of money on expensive clothes, cars, bags and shoes, the material things never do anything to enhance me. And makeup, I have a trunk full, however, I always get the application wrong. But tonight, if I can keep this man interested long enough to get him back to my house, things have no choice but to go my way. I made dinner reservations for the Firecreek in Downingtown. And to avoid him getting a good look at me right away when he picked me up from my house, I concocted a plan. I was going to keep the lights low, and as soon as he rang the bell, I was going to head straight out the door toward his car. From the dining room window, when I saw him pull up, I moved to the side because I didn’t want to seem too anxious. I waited for him to ring the bell twice. “Hi,” I said, opening the door and shielding myself in the dimness of the house. “Good evening, Cherise. You ready or you want me to come in?” “I’m ready.” I stepped outside and closed the door, my head slightly bent so he couldn’t look directly in my face, which was mostly covered by the swoop of my hairdo. He held the car door open as I got in, avoiding his stare. On the way to the restaurant, he still tried to get a good look at me while he drove, but I kept my head turned at an angle,
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appearing to be looking out the window. With a side-glance, I noticed his shoes, his hands, and when he wasn’t looking my way, I looked at his skin. It was brown and mostly smooth, with a few razor bumps, and a small scar was under his left eye. He wasn’t perfect either, but it didn’t matter much with men. Their imperfections added to their appeal. Inside the lobby of the restaurant, as we waited to be seated, I could no longer disguise myself. He saw me head on, and even though he was doing his best to hide it, I could tell he was disappointed that I wasn’t what he’d expected. I must admit, he was doing a better job at feigning his disappointment than the others. For that, I had to give him credit. During dinner, he never really looked directly at me. We mostly talked about our respective professions, and he got up at least twice to take calls on his cell phone. When the waitress asked if we would be ordering desert, in order not to prolong the date, he barely let her finish saying what they were offering before declining for both of us. That annoyed me. Walking toward the car, he began to tell me about the busy day he had planned for tomorrow. I knew it was a lie, and I didn’t care about tomorrow. My only goal was to get him inside my house, if only for one drink. We pulled up to my house and he was still lying, this time about how much he enjoyed my company. “Do you want to come in for a drink or some coffee?” I asked. “No, I should get going. I have to drive all the way back to the city.” I lowered my head. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked. “It’s okay. I know I’m not what you expected. I know I’m not beautiful and sexy, but I never lied to you. I just never really answered those questions, as you can see, for
Bedroom Chronicles obvious reasons.” “What are you talking about? You’re a nice lady.” I think, nice lady, I’m not even 40 yet. “I’m sorry you drove all the way out here to get disappointed.” A fake tear drops from the corner of my eye, and I see him reach for the ignition and turn off the car. I reach for the door handle and his hand lands on mine. “Here, let me get that for you,” he said. “I’ll be okay,” I said, realizing I was getting a step closer to my first experiment. “No, I want to come in…have a drink.” “You don’t have to feel sorry for me.” “Believe me, its not pity. Come on, I’d like to see your house.” Once inside, I turned on the lamp in the living room, and asked him what he’d like to drink. Instead of the red wine he ordered at dinner, he asked if I had anything stronger. Now I really knew he wasn’t attracted to me. I fixed our drinks, and then we sat on the couch. The music I’d left on earlier was still playing. If he really liked me this would’ve been the perfect romantic setting. As close as I was to him, there wasn’t even the slightest rise in his pants. He drank half his drink in one gulp. I knew he wanted to leave, so if I was going to do this, I had to make my move now. “You said you wanted to see the house,” I said, getting up. “Oh yeah, then I better get going. Can I use the bathroom?” he asked. I pointed to the powder room, and said, “Sure.” While he was gone, I fixed us another drink, but this time I made his special. When he returned, I handed him his glass, and then took him on the tour as he sipped his drink. My house is my pride and joy, with a lot of rooms to cov-
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er. It’s a detached home, almost 6,500 square feet, including the surrounding acreage. I lead him through the first floor. I show him the kitchen, family room, and even take him to the greenhouse, where we glance out at the pool. Within fifteen minutes, I hear his steps beginning to slow behind me, and I know My Juice is taking affect, which makes me giddy. I picked up the pace and headed to the second level. I lead him to the guest bedroom and its adjoining office, making sure to save my bedroom for last. In my bedroom, I guide him over to the seating area and the window that overlooks the pool. “Give me a sec, I need to use the bathroom, then I’ll show you out.” Then with real feelings, I add, “Thanks for coming in.” I tapped his glass with mine, and swallowed the remainder of my wine. He followed suit and finished off his drink. I watched him as I excused myself. Now it was all about timing. I stayed in the bathroom exactly three minutes, giving him enough time to sit down. Finally, I came out and found him on my bed. I took a moment to look at him, with his slightly bowed head. He was relaxed, but not asleep. Why couldn’t he have wanted me? Why couldn’t the others? If any of them had, I wouldn’t have to resort to this, but sometimes rejection forces us to take what we want. I stepped toward him to do exactly that. “This is a nice bedroom,” he said, his words slurred. “Thank you. Can I show you something?” “Can I get another drink first?” Now I wasn’t sure what to do. He was supposed to be ready by now. Maybe I hadn’t given him enough. If I gave him more he might fall asleep, and then my night would be wasted. But if I didn’t give him another drink he was gonna leave, so I took my chances. Walking up to him, I removed my blouse to reveal my
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full and perky breasts, and then buried his face in my cleavage. He moaned. I reached down between his legs, and before I could check to see if he was hard, he said, “Where’s my drink?” Shit. I stepped back, and removed my skirt. Rather than be too forceful yet, I decided to get him that drink. “I’ll get it,” I said, taking his glass. He eased back against the headboard, and said, “Bring the bottle.” After I got his drink, the first thing I noticed when I reentered my bedroom was the bulging of his dick against his pants. He took the drink containing another drop of My Juice and guzzled it down. Now he was putty. With one gentle push, he fell back against the bed, and I began to remove his clothes. I watched his face and, even through the intoxication of My Juice, I could see the question in his eyes. Making one last attempt, he sat up and said, “I think I gotta go.” “No you don’t, you wanna be here. And you wanna be fucking me. Look at your dick. When has it ever been this hard?” I asked, surprising myself at the words I was using, and how easily I had transitioned to the person I wanted to be. “But, but,” he said, trying to protest. “Shut up, we’re gonna have some fun.” I pushed him, and again he fell against the headboard. I opened the second drawer of the nightstand and got the ropes I kept there for times like this. First, I tied his hands to the posts of the headboard, then his feet to the footboard. He was too juiced up now to even argue, and his dick was so hard, I’m sure I’d never seen anything like it. He was looking up at me with those same glassy eyes that were turned off by the sight of me at the restaurant. Struggling against the ropes, he said, “Come on, fuck
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me.” “Shut up, I’m in charge,” I demanded. My Juice normally lasted two hours, and I wanted to get all I could before he fell asleep. With that in mind, I started sucking his dick. It was an easy way to make him forget who I was and what I looked like. All he knew right now was that a woman’s lips were on his dick, a dick he didn’t know could get this hard. His hips jutted forward, as he tried to push himself further down my throat. Why are men always in such a hurry, like if they don’t cum right away they’re going to lose it? I slowed him down, because now I could taste droplets of his cum, so I decided it was time to see what he felt like inside of me. Facing him, I climbed on top, and rode him furiously, as if he was going to get away, as I’d forgotten what it felt like to have a hard dick inside me. After one, maybe two orgasms, I knew it was me who was moving too fast, but it had been so long. I had to tell myself to slow down, dismount him and kneel over his face. His opened mouth readily taking in my dripping juices, and then I smothered his face with my pussy until he gagged. I returned to riding him, backwards now, and he screamed at me to fuck him harder, which I did for at least another hour. It was almost funny that a man who had absolutely no interest in me was begging to have all of me. His face had questions, but I just kept fucking, sucking, and letting him eat my pussy until finally, even with his dick still rock hard, he fell off to sleep. I wanted to sleep too, but this was my first experiment and I couldn’t let anything go wrong. I lay there with my head on his stomach, his hard dick against my neck, and realized that, even though I unfortunately had to resort to My Juice, this had been the most satisfying sex I’d ever had. I mean, who needs love and all its heartaches, when sex is this good? 68
Bedroom Chronicles But still I panicked. What if he had health problems that I didn’t know about? I got up from the wet bed and retrieved my bag. I checked his blood pressure, heart, pulse, all his vitals, and he was fine. At 5:30 am I showered, made a pot of coffee, and sat on the side of the bed, waiting for his eyes to flicker. When they did, he tried to pull his hands toward him. Feeling the resistance of the ropes, his eyes flashed open. “Good morning, you ready to get those off?” I asked. His eyes darted around the room. “Where am…what the hell happened?” he asked, unsure of where he was, or what was going on. I untied him. “You said you wanted to have some fun. Remember you tied me up, and then I tied you up.” “I came into the house to have a drink because you said…” he began. “Wait, don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it,” I said, cutting him off and pretending to be offended. He reached for his dick. “Ow, shit,” he said, rubbing it gently. “Yeah, you were pretty rough. I’m sore, too. You must’ve done it to me for two hours,” I said. I saw him trying to remember, and knew he did, because not only was his dick sore, but the taste of my orgasm was still on his mustache. Plus, I didn’t give him too much juice where he couldn’t remember. What would be the point? “You wanna take a shower?” I asked. “No, I have to go,” he said. “Here’s some coffee.” “Listen,” he said, stepping into his pants, “I’m going to call you, okay?” Clearly, that was a lie, but I didn’t care because I knew for certain that he would never be able to forget what I did to him or how good it was.
Chapter One
The next day I was off to church, playing my role, singing in the choir, serving Danish at coffee hour, and making plans with the Pastor’s anniversary committee. Afterwards, I went home to clean up from last night’s rendezvous, which wasn’t much to do since I’d already thrown away the sheets. I always threw away the sheets when I was done with a man because I didn’t like having a tangible reminder of them in my bed. I went back online to see if anybody had responded to my inquiries. There was nothing new, but I did notice the gym instructor, who I’d been conversing with, had left me a message, saying he wanted to meet. I’d been reluctant to meet him because his expectations of a woman’s body were probably too high, as he’d already expressed how he appreciated a woman who took good care of herself. His pictures, as he’d sent me quite a few, showed him with all those rip-
Bedroom Chronicles pled muscles working out at the gym. I had no doubt I’d be a disappointment. But after last night I felt confident that, given the right opportunity, he would prove to be great for my second experiment. Before confirming a date, the first thing I wanted to do was check in on the man from last night, to see if he was okay, both physically and emotionally. The question was if he would take my call. I pondered all the things he might say, the questions he might ask. But I reasoned that more than anything else, he’d simply be embarrassed. He took my call, but he was abrupt to the point of almost being rude. All this told me that no damage had been done, except for a bruised ego. Hell, I’d had plenty of those, so I was certain he’d recover. Monday morning at work was filled with consultations with patients who had questions about how long they’d be out, and if they’d feel anything during their various surgeries. Patients didn’t realize that once I put them out they were comatose from whatever I chose to use to make sure the surgeons had the appropriate amount of time to do their job. Not once during my eight years as an anesthesiologist had a patient been under past their allotted time. But today I didn’t mind their questions because I was filled with energy, unable to stop thinking about the satisfaction I’d received on Saturday night. All of which made me anticipate my possible date with the gym instructor, and how I could improve on my experiment. That night, after I’d had my dinner and watched my shows, I signed onto LinkedIn and began dialoguing with the gym instructor. He was suggesting we meet in the city for dinner, but that wouldn’t work because he’d have no reason to come back to my house. Instead, we opted for an early dinner in Radnor.
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-§On Wednesday evening, I showed up early at the Radnor Inn, waiting for him to arrive under the dim lights of the bar. He was easy to spot, and I watched him scanning the room for what he thought would be a gorgeous woman with the sultry voice and, of course, someone in as good a shape as he. And he was in great shape, maybe not as muscular as his photo, but certainly taller, and he looked strong. In my head, I quickly thought of how much juice I’d have to use to get what I wanted. Looking at his body mass I probably needed to change the ratio, but it was too late to return to the lab. After giving him a sufficient amount of time to search for me, I got up from the bar stool and walked toward him. I could see his facial expression begin to change. He thought he was being inconspicuous, but I knew the look, as if he wanted to say “oh shit”. I shook off the feelings it gave me, keeping in mind that by the end of the night that look would change. “Cherise?” he asked, probably hoping that it wasn’t me. “Yes, hi, how are you?” I asked, as he kissed me on the cheek and shook my hand simultaneously. “Wow, you are…you sound just like you do on the phone,” he said, unable to come up with a better response. “Thanks,” I said. The hostess showed us to our table and we ordered our meal, during which time we engaged in small talk about our jobs. I did notice that, even though he claimed to be a healthy eater, he was also a heavy drinker. But, on second thought, the reason for his drinking could’ve been the disappointment of having to sit through dinner with me. He asked lots of questions, but none about me personally.
Bedroom Chronicles I discovered that he wasn’t a gym instructor, he actually owned two gyms; one in Cherry Hill, the other in Villanova. His inviting me to get a membership clearly suggested that he thought I needed to lose weight. I was sure he was being as gracious as possible, probably having realized I was desperate. Somewhere, in all my mixed up emotions, I began to feel guilty that I was setting him up for something he didn’t even want. But my choices were so limited, which led me to change my mind about administering him My Juice. However, I couldn’t let him totally off the hook because I still needed a ride home. We both skipped desert, because with all his talk of vitamins and running marathons, I began to feel fat. When we were outside, and he offered to walk me to my car, I told him I hadn’t driven. “How’d you get here?” he asked, a bit of frustration in his voice. “I took a cab because my car wouldn’t start,” I lied. “Damn,” I heard him mumble. “Listen, you don’t have to wait with me. I can go back inside and have the hostess call a cab,” I said. “Hey, if nothing else, I’m a gentleman. How far do you live from here?” he asked. I wanted to say, “if you were a gentleman it wouldn’t matter how far I lived,” but instead told him I lived in Malvern, and he agreed to take me home. First base. When we pulled up in front of my house he turned off the car, which surprised me, until he asked if he could use the bathroom. That’s when I realized with all that he’d been drinking, he’d only gone to the men’s room once during dinner. Inside the house, without his asking, I fixed him a drink, minus My Juice. He seemed to be taking long so I walked
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toward the bathroom, and that’s when I noticed he hadn’t closed the door all the way. Feeling guilty about eavesdropping as he talked on his cell phone, I began to walk away until his words stopped me. “Man, I’m about to get the hell out of here. She’s no way my type. You know what I like. I was just being nice. Fuck no, are you kidding, that broad can’t even suck my dick. I’ll meet you at the gym in the morning.” My feelings busted into tiny little pieces. I crossed the room to the bar, took out a vial of My Juice, and squirted two drops into his glass. He’d pay for those words. “One for the road,” I told him, holding up his glass. Looking around the room, he said, “Yeah, because I have to get going. Nice house.” “Would you like to see the rest of it? I can give you a quick tour,” I said. “I don’t want you to think I’m running out, it’s just that I have to get up early.” “I understand. You can go if you have to.” “No, no, let me see your place.” And so we went on a tour. Once we were in my bedroom, he plopped down on my chaise, which indicated that My Juice was beginning to take affect. “My turn to use the bathroom, then I’ll see you out,” I said. Two more minutes was all I needed for the juice to kick all the way in. Also, during those two minutes, I got completely undressed. When I came out the bathroom, he was sitting there with his dick out, holding it. Astonished, I’m sure, at its hardness. “What are you doing? Something wrong?” I asked. He was so amazed by the hardness of his own dick, that he didn’t even notice I was naked. “I don’t know how it got like this. I wasn’t even turned
Bedroom Chronicles on,” he said. I swallowed his insult, and asked, “Why don’t you come sit over here?” I led him to the bed where, on the way, he stepped out his pants and boxers. “You’re not that big,” he told me, finally noticing I was naked. “And neither are you,” I say, noticing his dick didn’t have nearly as much muscle as the rest of him. Once I had him seated on the edge of the bed, I could see he was still fighting My Juice. That’s when I looked over and saw he hadn’t finished his drink. “You want the rest of that?” I asked. “Yeah, get it for me. Hey, you live here by yourself?” I nodded yes, and realized that as much as I didn’t want to suck his dick after he’d hurt my feelings, that would be the one thing that would begin to render him helpless. Kneeling on the floor in front of him, I unenthusiastically began to suck his dick, and that’s when I realized I simply didn’t like him or the taste of him, but that’s not to say he didn’t have to pay for his mean words. After a few back of the throat gags, with him holding onto my head, I realized he still had too much control. So I removed his dick from my mouth, and said, “I need a drink.” “Get me one too, and hurry back, you were doing a good job.” As I went downstairs, I thought to myself, you have no idea how good a job I’m going to do on you. When I returned to the bedroom, I found him playing with his dick, plucking it and pushing it around. I gave him his drink, and in two gulps, he finished it off. “I’m ready. You ready?” he asked, motioning for me to lie down. That simply wasn’t happening. I was in control of this
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little party. “Here, you lay down, let me finish what I started,” I said, taking his dick in my hand. “I might cum. I don’t want to cum yet,” he said. “You won’t cum, I promise. At least not for a while, trust me.” After only five minutes of rubbing his dick across my lips and tongue, his body fully relaxed, except for the incredible hardness of his dick, which now was mine to conquer. With him now under my control, I took his dick out of my mouth and spit on it, since, according to him, I wasn’t good enough to suck anyway. I went to my dresser with him watching, and said, “You want me to tie you up so you can get fucked real good?” He didn’t answer, but watched me with that begging little-boy-look in his eyes. If I’d given him too much juice, well, it was too late. I tied his wrists to the top posts, and his legs to the bottom ones. His words slurred, when he asked, “Whatchu doing, girl?” “I’m going to fuck you, that’s what you asked for. Or do you think I’m not good enough? But first you’re gonna eat my pussy, and a lot of it,” I told him. I spread my cheeks and smothered his face with my ass. Somewhat satisfied with his performance, I changed positions and began my ride, which was much longer than Saturday night, because he was so much harder than my first experiment. After cumming five or six times, I left him tied up and begging while I went to take a shower. When I returned, he was practically crying for me to fuck him so his dick could go down. I made him sweat it out. His torture was payment for shattering my feelings, which was worse than breaking my heart. Because to have your heart broken you have to love someone, and these men, well, I
Bedroom Chronicles didn’t love them. Actually, I didn’t want to love anybody ever again. Then I got an idea. I went to my closet and got that stupid $575.00 Gucci belt that had never really fit around my waist. After wrapping it around my fist, I began to beat him across his chest and on his thighs. This fool was actually getting off on it, and so was I. “Oh gurl, you got me, gurl, what you doing,” he cried out, begging to be fucked, to have his dick sucked, anything. Finally, I gave him what he asked for, for another fortyfive minutes, riding him until I heard his breathing slow down and I felt him erupting. He was done. Afterwards, I so badly wanted to fall asleep, but I had to follow up with my due diligence. I checked his blood pressure and vital signs, and then laid down beside him. At 7:45 am, my internal alarm went off and I got up and made coffee, bringing two cups to the bedroom. That’s when I noticed that the rope had cut into his wrist. He shouldn’t have fought My Juice for so long. He began to wake up, and when he attempted to turn over, he realized he was tied up with me watching him. “Oh shit, what the fuck? Get this shit off me, bitch,” he demanded. “Excuse me? You’re the one that begged to be tied up. Not my fault we both fell asleep. But if you’re going to talk to me like that and hurt my feelings…” “Look, I’m sorry. Please take this shit off me. What time is it?” I untied his feet first. “Nine o’clock.” “Nine o’clock? Damn it, I missed my meeting. What the hell happened last night?” he asked. “You wanted to see the house, and when we got to my room…” I began.
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Then he said, “I started playing with my dick.” He looked down at it, limp and worn. “Damn, shit, where’s my clothes?” “On the chair. You want some coffee?” “Fuck no. I mean yeah, I just need to wash up.” He took the cup of coffee from me, and that’s when he noticed the laceration on his right wrist. I thought, how will he explain that? “You were pretty drunk even before we left the restaurant.” “Look, I gotta go,” he said, looking at me almost with fear, yet knowing it was the best lay he’d ever had. “You’ll call?” I asked, but he never even took the time to respond.
Chapter Two
On Thursday night, I went into the city to have dinner at Eclipse with my girlfriends. Their lives always sounded so exciting and fulfilling, that most times I lived vicariously through them, but not anymore. Tonight, I wanted so badly to share with them my experiences, or maybe with them I would’ve referred to them as relationships. They had no idea how, over the last week, I’d had the best sex ever imaginable. But I stayed in my place, the one in which they were comfortable. These were girls I’d gone to college with, two of them were married, one divorced with two children and the owner of a concierge service, and the other just a single whore living in a South Philly condo, where someone else paid the rent. I was practically in my own world, reminiscing about my last two dates, when all of that came crashing down, because coming toward me was the gym owner and his date. As I suspected, his date, probably his girlfriend, was gor-
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geous. A Hispanic beauty who resembled J-Lo, had a toned body, and perfect hair and skin. I hated her. Our eyes met, and I could tell he was afraid to speak, as much as he was afraid not to. His thoughts, I’m sure, were that if he didn’t I might embarrass him, but I had way too much pride for that. Plus, in this case, I felt I had the upper hand. It was funny to me, because I couldn’t ever recall having made a man nervous. He stopped at our table, and we did the fake hellos and intros, and within moments, I noticed that not only was she his girlfriend, but she was wearing a very large engagement ring. However, on his wrist he wore an ace bandage. He’d deserved every bit of what he’d gotten. After he’d walked away with the J-Lo twin, and her firm butt trailing behind him, my friends went into a frenzy. They simply couldn’t believe that a man as good looking as the gym owner, not only stopped to acknowledge me, but it was obvious to them that there was an intimate connection. “Who the hell was that?” “How do you know him?” “Please tell me he’s a possibility!” “Calm down, ladies. I met him at church, he’s nobody,” I said. That, however, didn’t stop their comments about what they’d do to him if they could get him in bed, or what I should’ve done to him. If I only could’ve told them the truth, but I knew I had way too much to risk by telling anyone about My Juice. They probably wouldn’t have believed me anyway. That night at home, while I checked my various dating sites and tried to decide which man would be the subject of experiment number three, my phone rang. It was one of my girlfriends. “Listen, we were thinking, why don’t you have a girl’s
Bedroom Chronicles night? You know, like a sleepover with just us girls, no kids and no husbands.” “Y’all would come all the way out here?” I asked, wondering if maybe they were just looking to use me as an excuse to get out the house and go elsewhere. “Sure, we could use a break from our hectic lives. You’re all the way out there in Malvern in that big house all by yourself. What do you think?” “I guess. But when do y’all want to do it?” I asked, surprised that she was serious. “How’s next weekend?” “I don’t see why not.” “Great. I’ll let the others know, and we’ll see you on Saturday.” I was ecstatic that I was going to have company, a small dinner party, no less. I began to make plans. At first I thought I’d cook a big meal, but then I’d be slaving in the kitchen and have to clean up. Instead, I called Feastivities and made arrangements for catering on Saturday night and breakfast on Sunday. I put an order into Netflix for ten movies and then headed down to Delaware, where I purchased almost one thousand dollars of alcohol, mixers, wine and champagne. As I prepared for my sleepover, I found myself insanely horny, and I only had one option because there was no time for me to plan one of my special dates. I logged in to a site, and found one of the men I’d met online, then began to have online sex, which took away some of my anxieties. I couldn’t wait for my next experiment. The day before the sleepover I received a call from the girls, who asked if it would be all right for them to invite some additional people to the party. Of course I readily agreed, as I had more than enough of everything. On Saturday, around 6 pm, the girls began to arrive, and
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that’s when I learned that the additional people they’d invited were men. One for each of us they told me, but how could they do that? They were married, supposedly happily, and they had no idea what kind of man I liked, or what man would even want to be with me. But then I had to remember that they believed I was desperate, and they were always after me to find somebody. For me, it wasn’t that easy and, at this point in my life, I knew my place and no longer had false expectations of men. All that mattered now though, was I was hosting a party and, if nothing else, I planned for everyone to have a good time. By 9:00 pm we were all dressed, and with the help of my girlfriends, even I felt sexy. When all who’d been invited had assembled, I wasn’t really sure who was there for me, because all eyes were on my friends. There were five of us ladies and eight of them. I tried my best not to feel rejected, and kept myself busy by servicing everyone’s needs until they all got a little too intoxicated, and the wrong things began to get said. My friends, and I’m sure they meant well, noticed that I was being neglected, and they started talking with their drunken mouths about how bad I needed some, how I never got any, and actually tried to push those uninterested men on me, who thought it was funny. To me it was hurtful and embarrassing. Did they really believe they were that sexually satisfied that they could offer me their leftovers? This was going wrong, until I came up with an idea to make it right, at least for me. I mixed a pitcher of margaritas, poured them into glasses, a tray for the men and a tray for the women. Guess which ones held My Juice? Within the hour the mood began to change. The crowd was so horny and unable to control themselves that they began to fuck right around the pool. It was hilarious. They should’ve never teased me about what
Bedroom Chronicles I wasn’t getting. Without their permission, I got out my video camera and began to tape them, and rather than any of them being embarrassed or afraid of being on tape, they encouraged me. You see, when you’re not used to being fucked on My Juice you don’t know what to expect, and if you’re not careful, you can hurt yourself. These partygoers had no idea it would be hours before they’d be satisfied. In the morning, I couldn’t wait to see their reactions when I replayed their night on my 64-inch television. They saw themselves doing things they probably hadn’t even done with their husbands. They’d brought those men to my home to just tease and have some fun, and they’d gotten their brains fucked out. My girls night had turned into an orgy, they’d even taken turns with each other. More than anything else, they were devastated that I’d allowed them to sleep outside. However, the question was why I hadn’t joined in. My answer was simple and honest; none of the men had turned me on.
Chapter Three
I never made it to church that Sunday morning, but work on Monday proved to be interesting. I was just finishing up a consultation when I was stopped in the hallway by a patient’s brother, who’d been visiting the hospital over the last two weeks. He wanted to know his sister’s progress. I explained that I wasn’t the attending doctor, just the anesthesiologist, so I couldn’t tell him anything, and that’s when I think he flirted with me. Actually, I know he did. Later, while I was in the cafeteria having lunch, without being invited, he came and sat at my table. I wanted to ask if someone had put him up to this, it wasn’t as if the nurses didn’t know I was single. The man wasn’t bad looking, maybe 5’8”, very light complexioned, almost red, and his ears turned crimson when he thought he’d said something clever. To pass the time, I ingratiated him, that was, until he asked for my number. I couldn’t recall the last time, besides
Bedroom Chronicles the strangers I met online, when a man, having met me in person, had asked for my number. I didn’t want to appear desperate and give it up right away, so I asked if we could trade numbers, more so to see if he was married. He gave me both his cell and home numbers. With that, he went back to his sister’s room, leaving me to ponder why he’d been interested in me. Maybe, I thought, just maybe, it was finally my turn. That night, instead of going directly home, I went to Mt. Airy because I’d promised my sister I’d come into the city for a birthday celebration for my six-year-old nephew. My family had never understood why I was still single, but more than anything else, they knew I was dependable, and there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for them. While sitting there stuffing my mouth with birthday cake, a man sauntered in, a young one, maybe twenty-nine or thirty. He had the look of the streets on him. My sister introduced us. He was my brother-in-law’s cousin. Of course, my sister found it necessary to tell him my occupation, and offered the fact that I was single. I’m sure he saw me as a cash cow, but even I wasn’t desperate enough to date him. He waited maybe an hour or so before he started flirting, but really what he was doing was annoying the hell out of me. My thoughts were occupied by the man to whom I’d given my phone number earlier in the day. The mere fact that my brother-in-law’s cousin’s cell phone kept ringing was clearly an indication that he was a drug dealer, and probably the father of many bastard children, I assumed. But the one thing that I couldn’t deny was the sexy swagger he held. When it was time to leave, I learned from the man with the sexy swagger that he lived in Malvern, too. My sister had neglected to tell me that, and I wondered how was that so? Could he have possibly sold that many drugs? We
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wound up leaving at the same time, and it was a good thing I knew he lived near me, or I would’ve thought he was stalking me in that green Jaguar. We parted ways at the exit, and when I got into the house, I was disappointed there weren’t any messages on my phone. I had just showered, and was about to get in my pool when the doorbell chimed. I peeked through the glass, and it was him, the drug dealing cousin with the sexy swagger. “What do you want? And how do you know where I live?” I asked through the glass door. “I locked myself out. My house keys are on a different key ring than my car key, and your sister called and asked me to make sure you made it safe. I thought you knew,” he said. “What do you want?” I asked again. “I figured we could have a drink while I wait on a call back from the locksmith.” “You don’t have anywhere else to go?” “Well, your sister also told me you live out here alone, so I thought it’d be alright.” “And you assumed I needed your company?” “Hey, it’s a drink. What, are you scared of me? Here, call your sister, let her know I’m here,” he said, holding out his cell phone. Then it hit me. I had once again become the charity case, and I was sick of it. He had no idea whose house he was entering and what I was capable of. If he said one wrong thing to hurt my feelings, I was going to serve him My Juice, an entire vial. “Just come in,” I said, before realizing I was in my robe, with my hair pulled up in a ponytail and no makeup on. Well, what did it matter? I was certain he wasn’t interested in me. I told him I was about to get in the pool, and that he could
Bedroom Chronicles sit out there or in the family room while he waited. Initially, he played with the car key while I swam a few laps naked, knowing that at the sight of that he wouldn’t be interested, even if it was for charity. When I stepped out the pool for a break, he was watching. I knew I should’ve put on a robe, but I simply didn’t care anymore. “What do you have to drink?” he asked. “Over there,” I said, pointing to the pool bar. I sat on the side of the pool. “Why are you really here? I don’t believe the locksmith story.” “Besides waiting on the locksmith and the drink, I needed some company, didn’t want to be alone.” “A guy like you, I doubt you’d have a problem being alone. What do you do anyway?” “I do what you do, except a little differently,” he said. “Yeah, I bet,” I said. “Where’s the Tequila?” “In the fridge over there at the bar. I like it cold.” He left the pool, headed toward the bar area, then hollered, “What are you drinking?” “There’s wine on the bar. Red, please,” I answered, wondering if there was even the remote possibility that this man could be lonely. “You know your sister thinks you need a husband,” he said, putting my drink on the side table. “Fuck her!” I yelled, then covered my mouth with my hand, and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I meant to say my sister doesn’t know what I need.” I realized I’d let myself slip in front of someone outside my bedroom. That bothered me because I’d always been recognized as a good girl. I’d never taken drugs, only drank wine, and until I was nineteen, I’d been a virgin. “You can cuss, be yourself. I won’t tell anyone,” he said. “Using foul language isn’t necessary.”
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“Do you go out?” “When I want to.” I finished off my wine and dove back into the pool, this time making long graceful strokes, even feeling somewhat sexy. Probably because, not only was the water at the right temperature, but the wine had warmed me from the inside. I went under water, swam to the other end, and when I emerged, he was there waiting for me. He had both the wine and Tequila bottles at his side. “You’ve already figured me out, haven’t you?” he asked. “I’m not interested in figuring you out.” “Here.” I took the bottle, but didn’t see my glass. “Where’s my glass?” I asked. “Down there,” he said, pointing to the table at the other end of the pool. I wanted to swim to get it, but my body was tired and I was a little too high. “Here, you can drink out the bottle. I won’t tell anyone.” I looked around foolishly to see if anyone was there, and laughing, I guzzled down some of the wine, right out the bottle. A first. “Be careful, you might curse again,” he said, laughing. Surprisingly, the wine sent a blast of heat through my body. “I need to get out the pool.” “Let me get out the way,” he said, sitting there half in the water, his clothes on, the bottom of his pants wet. “You know I wanna fuck you, right?” he confidently told me, as I attempted to get out the water. “What did you say?” I asked, surprised. “You heard me. I wanna fuck you, and I already know you wanna fuck me.” “I don’t need no man to fuck me, I fuck when I wanna
Bedroom Chronicles fuck.” “Well, from what I’ve seen, somebody’s been doing some fucking. So I’m telling you to plan on having yourself a good time tonight,” he said. With that, he hoisted my ass up out the water, his pants sticking to him, and he carried me into the house. “What are you doing? Put me down!” “Let’s go. Where’s your bedroom?” “Wait, wait, what are you doing? I need…” “What you need to know is that the tables have turned,” he said, then dropped me onto the couch, and began making his way up my stairs. I found myself anxiously following him up the stairs and down the hallway until he reached my bedroom. “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked. He turned to face me, his lips almost touching mine, and said, “Bitch, you know what I’m doing. I’m fucking you. Now get up on that bed. I want you on all fours.” At that point, even with the fuzziness of my head, I knew something was wrong. Could I have become the victim of my own juice? Impossible! Either way, I wasn’t horny enough to get fucked by this drug dealer, at least that’s what I was trying to tell myself. But what was even scarier was that, for some reason, I felt I didn’t have a choice. I wanted him. I got up on all fours, and I heard him undo his chunky belt and it drop to the floor. Initially, there was no foreplay, licking or sucking, he just rammed himself inside of me, causing me to scream out from an immediate orgasm. If only I could’ve understood what was going on. I hadn’t even been interested in him. I mean, yes, he was sexy, but he wasn’t my type. Yet, I had this uncontrollable urge to be fucked by him. When he pulled out his dick, I was the one who begged
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for more, which he gave me by ramming it inside me again. In and out, he did this, and each time an orgasm ripped loose from my body. After about the fourth orgasm my knees buckled, and rather than let me collapse onto the bed, he gripped me with one arm and continued to ride me. He was relentless. Finally, unable to hold me up any longer, he flipped me over, spread my legs and let his tongue loose inside of me. I screamed so loud that if I’d had neighbors they would’ve phoned the police. Obscenities streamed from my mouth. I wanted to tell him to stop, but my head was too fuzzy, and quickly my throat became desert dry. I began to cough. “Oh, you thirsty,” he said. I shook my head yes, almost afraid of him. Instead of allowing me to sit up, he took the Tequila and poured it over my mouth. I hated this man, but I loved that he’d been able to get at my center and take advantage of me. Not in a way like other men had, but in a way that I was enjoying immensely. He’d taken away all thoughts or cares of what I looked like, or how I appeared to him. Didn’t he know I wasn’t one of the beautiful girls? But he was ruthless, and when I tried to collapse onto the bed I heard him say, “Wake up, bitch. I ain’t finished yet, and we both know how this shit works.” Why does he keep calling me that? I knew it wasn’t right, but I also knew that every time he called me a bitch I wanted him to fuck me even more, like an animal. Then I felt his thick belt strapping my wrists together. Instead of fucking me, he began to lick me, and wouldn’t stop even as I begged him, even when it felt like there was no more of me to be eaten. And just when I was all dried up, he shoved a dick so rock hard into me that I was sure he’d split me open. With that, he came. He came loud and hard. Violently, he shivered. And afterwards, we slept.
Chapter Four
I missed work the next day, but I did call in after drinking the cup of coffee he’d left on my nightstand. By noon, I managed to literally crawl out of bed, and too drained to stand up, I sat in the stall of my shower and let the water run on me. From there I went into my guest bedroom and slept until two in the afternoon. Finally, I gathered myself enough to take a real bath and get into my robe. Another cup of coffee and my head was finally clear. I went to my bedroom. A half bottle of wine and an empty bottle of Tequila were on the nightstand. I threw them both in the trash, along with the linens and the mattress cover. Then panic set in. What if the drug dealer had set me up and robbed me while I’d been asleep. I went out to the pool to retrace my steps. No damage, just two glasses. I checked my purse, wallet, money, credit cards, everything was still there. It seemed the only thing the drug dealer had stolen was my pussy.
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That evening, as I lay in the family room nodding off yet again, the phone rang. “You okay?” “What?” I asked. “You okay. You know, last night.” I sat up. “What the hell happened last night?” “I gave you what you wanted.” “I didn’t ask you for anything, especially for that.” “Baby, I gave you what you obviously been giving somebody else. You call me when you’re ready for some more.” He hung up. What did he mean by that? I wanted to call him back, but his number came up private number, and for the sake of me, I couldn’t remember his name. I called my sister and tried not to sound too anxious. “Hi Sis, listen. You know your husband’s cousin, the one that was there last night?” “Yeah, what’s up?” she asked. “What does he do for a living?” “Don’t tell me he played that game on you?” “What game?” “He told you he was a hustler or some drug dealer, didn’t he? That man is gonna get himself in trouble one day.” “Well, he did say something like that. I hope he isn’t, because he knows where I live, remember?” “Silly, he’s an anesthesiologist like you. He works at the hospital, your hospital. He just transferred there,” she said. “You can’t be serious,” I said, all the while dread and panic setting in. “Don’t believe anything he says. He plays that stupid hustler role because that’s what the young girls like. He says that’s what they understand.” “I have to go.” “Wait.”
Bedroom Chronicles “I’ll call you later.” I jumped up from the couch and went to my living room bar, the last place I’d had the vials. They were gone. He’d discovered My Juice and used it on me. What was I going to do? I could lose my job. What if he blackmailed me? I had to call him, but I didn’t have his number, and I didn’t want to ask my sister. Just when I was thinking of calling my brother-in-law at work and asking him, my phone rang. “Hello!” I answered, sounding desperate. “Yes, is Cherise there?” “This is she. Who is this?” “It’s Justin, from yesterday, from the hospital cafeteria.” Dammit, why’d he have to call now? He probably could hear the frustration in my voice. I couldn’t ask him to call back, I might lose him. “Justin, I’m sorry. This is Cherise. Someone has called three times in a row, and I’ve told them they had the wrong number, so excuse me for sounding so irritated,” I lied quicker than I could’ve ever imagined. “No, it’s alright. I clearly understand. How are you?” “I’m good, just watching a little television,” I answered, as I made my way upstairs to get dressed. “Is that what you like to do?” “Yeah, and I like to cook.” Shit, why did I say that? I’m sure that was obvious when he met me. “Really, I like to cook, too. You know, get creative. I’ve even taken some classes,” he said. I had to get off the phone. As much as I wanted to talk to him, had been waiting to hear from him, this wasn’t a good time, but I couldn’t afford to be rude. I’d give him five minutes, then come up with some excuse. “I was hoping if you didn’t have any plans for this weekend that maybe we could go out. I know it would be our first date, so I wouldn’t expect anything too much, maybe
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dinner, a show,” he said. This is what I’d wanted, had been waiting for, a man genuinely interested in me. But my mind was focused elsewhere. If I quickly said yes, then I could get off the phone. “Justin, that would be nice. What night were you thinking about?” I asked. “How’s Friday?” “Friday’s good.” “I could pick you up around six.” “That’ll be perfect. I’ll see you then.” “Cherise?” “Yes?” “I need your address, plus don’t you want to know what the show is?” Now I felt stupid, and was sure he could tell I was rushing him off the phone. I had to think quickly of what plays were in the theatre, something I would’ve gone to see alone. “The new August Wilson play, or did I assume wrong? I know that’s a hot ticket,” he said. “You’re right, so I’ll see you Friday.” I gave him my address and hung up. Next, I got dressed and drove around Malvern for nearly an hour, looking for that green Jaguar in every driveway and open garage. I went to the hospital, but since I’d called out I couldn’t go inside, so I drove around the parking lot. It was useless. -§On Wednesday I returned to work, fielding questions from my co-workers about my absence. Had I been that predictable not to have taken a day off? But I had questions, too. However, I didn’t know who to ask. Instead, I was looking
Bedroom Chronicles
around every corner, every hallway, patient and lab rooms for the cousin whose name I didn’t even know. I was lost. That evening, it was late when I was leaving to go home, and when I got to my car he was there. “Long day?” he asked. “Why’d you trick me like that? You’re not a drug dealer,” I said. “You are.” “I am not!” I snapped. “Then what were you doing with this in your house?” he asked, waving one of my vials of juice in front of me. I reached out for it, but he held it behind his back. “Give me that! You had no right to take anything from my house,” I demanded. “You had no right to take it from the hospital. I tested it today, and you have a good thing here.” “Give me that,” I said again. “Speaking of ‘give me’, how did you like what I gave you the other night?” Embarrassed, I turned my head. “Do what you want. I’m going home.” “And I bet you want me to follow you.” I whipped around. “Let me tell you something, you thief, fake drug dealer, or whatever you call yourself. I’m not that desperate to need you to follow me home. I was doing fine. I don’t need you or any other man. Just leave me alone. If you’re going to report me, then just do it and get it over with.” “It would seem you’re desperate by the looks of this.” “Fuck you!” “So you do have some fire in you outside of the bedroom.” I got in my car and sped off, immediately regretting my actions because I still didn’t have any of his information.
Chapter Five
On Friday evening, a charming Justin picked me up, and he was just what I needed to take my mind off the pending doom that might soon be brought on by My Juice having been discovered by a fellow anaesthesiologist. He made the night even better when he told me I looked pretty. For the first time, I actually believed a man, because I’d taken the time to get dressed in something that showed my cleavage. Then again, maybe that was all he was looking at. Whatever the reason, it immediately lightened my mood as he opened the car door and I slid inside. We drove into Center City talking incessantly. He was a Realtor of highend commercial and residential properties. He was divorced with a teenager daughter, and lived in a Center City condo. Justin even owned a house in Cape May, New Jersey. Finally, a man with something to offer, I thought. Dinner at Union Trust was exceptional, and the show at the Merriam Theatre was phenomenal. On the way back to
Bedroom Chronicles
my house, my plan was to invite him inside and ask him why he’d chosen me. There’d be no juice though, not only because I didn’t have any, but also, for the first time, I felt like I didn’t need it. If he was going to get in my bed, I wanted it to be because he desired me. When we rounded the corner to my street, before I could extend the invitation for him to come inside, I was dumbfounded by the green Jaguar parked in my driveway. What was he doing here? He was ruining my life. Justin’s car had barely stopped and I was already out. Sensing something was wrong, he jumped out and followed behind me up the driveway. “Cousin, I’m sorry. My girl and I had a big fight. I need to chill out. I didn’t know you had company. I needed somebody to talk to. I’m sorry, my man, to ruin your date.” Cousin? What the hell was he talking about? This was a nightmare. I didn’t even know his name. “Umm, I do have company. Justin, I’m sorry,” I said. Cousin reached out to shake Justin’s hand. “Like I said, I’m sorry. I’ll get outta here.” “If it’s okay with Cherise, I don’t mind. It’s been such a good night I hate to see it end already. What do you say, Cherise?” Justin asked. I looked from one to the other. The fact that he didn’t want our night to end was music to my ears. “What you say, Cousin?” “Umm sure, come on in,” I said. Feeling like I didn’t have a choice, the three of us went inside. “I’ll fix the drinks,” Cousin said. “Can I use the bathroom?” Justin asked. As soon as he was gone, I said, “What the fuck are you doing here?” “There goes that nasty mouth of yours again. Does your
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sister know you talk like that?” “Please don’t play games. This is serious,” I said. “Really, I was on my way home. I didn’t know I’d catch you on a date. Nice guy, Justin.” “What do you want?” “Nothing. Justin, my man, what are you drinking? How about a little Greygoose on the rocks?” Cousin asked, when Justin walked back into the room. “Sounds fine,” Justin said. “I’ll pour.” I needed a minute, so I went to the bathroom just to look at myself in the mirror, and to ask what the hell was going on. First, there was no man in my life, except the ones I used as experiments, and now I was faced with two of them in my house at the same time, who I hadn’t planned on giving My Juice. I didn’t want to leave them alone for too long, so I returned to join them in the living room. “Your cousin was telling me about your house. I hear its fantastic, out of a magazine. Do I get a tour?” Justin asked enthusiastically. “Would you like to see it?” I asked. “Sure.” “You two do your thing, I’m going to watch some TV.” Cousin was acting way too friendly toward Justin, which made me nervous that at any minute he might tell him that we weren’t really related, and that just a few days ago he had me on all fours, calling me a bitch. But right then I had to give him a tour; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I took him through the formal living room, dining room and sunroom, and allowed him to get a glimpse of the pool. But Justin wasn’t in a rush and wanted to see the kitchen, where he talked about how he’d like to cook me a gourmet meal. Then he wanted to go out to the greenhouse, and asked me about the flowers and herbs that I grew. Finally, I
Bedroom Chronicles was beginning to believe that Justin really did like me, so I had to remember he was no longer a test case, he was a real possibility. By the time we made it to my bedroom, I was telling him things about my house that I’d never taken the time to share with anyone because they’d never been that interested. While we were standing in the window, overlooking the garden, I was shocked to see his dick had hardened in his pants. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how this happened, you just…wow, you must turn me on more than I realized,” he said. Once again, another surprise. Not only did he like me, but I’d actually turned him on and it had been natural, no juice, just me. “Can I kiss you?” I didn’t bother to answer. I just leaned in and allowed him to wrap his arms around me and kiss me deep, arousing so much emotion I almost came to tears. It was finally happening. “Excuse me, you two want some more juice, I mean another drink?” Cousin had tricked us both, and for that, my mood changed instantly. ”I’m sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, backing out the door. “Justin, you have to go,” I suddenly said. “Cherise, I can’t leave you like this,” he said. “Please, you don’t understand, I can’t help you.” “You have to, look at what you’ve done to me,” he said, his eyes longing for me as much as his dick. He was making it so tempting because, even though he’d been given the juice, I knew he really did want me. “But he’s downstairs.” “Your cousin? He doesn’t care. Please, please do something about this before I go.”
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He was right. I couldn’t let him leave my house with his dick like that. What if he took it somewhere else? But how could I comfortably have sex with him while Cousin was downstairs? However, the more he begged, the more I wanted to. I mean, hadn’t Cousin set this up in the first place? It was only right for him to have to listen. Why should Justin have to suffer? And so I did it, for me as well as for Justin and my fake cousin. I tied him, I fucked him, and I sucked him like all the others until we both passed out. In the morning, just when I was getting out of bed, I smelled the coffee, and, on a tray, Cousin brought it into my room. I was embarrassed for him to see Justin tied up, lying naked in my bed. But wasn’t that what he’d wanted? How much of My Juice had he given him? I couldn’t ask those questions just yet, because Justin might wake up and hear us. “So that’s what you do, you tie them up and punish them? What are you punishing them for?” Cousin asked. “Get out! Get out of my home and stay away from me,” I told him between clenched teeth. Shaking his head with an insidious grin on his face, he closed the door and left the room. I sat up and sipped my coffee, wanting Justin to wake up so I would know that he was okay. I untied him and he began to stir, so I offered him coffee. Surprisingly, unlike the others, he wasn’t embarrassed in the least, he was more happy and grateful. He was so innocent in all this. I felt bad now for what I’d done, and that wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Cousin had turned the one thing that had been satisfying me in my dreary world into something ugly. And now that I’d had a chance with Justin, I prayed he hadn’t ruined that too. I liked him, I really, really did, and I believed he liked me, even after one night. I meant he’d
Bedroom Chronicles flirted with me, asked me out, and we’d had a good time. Now, though, I wasn’t sure if his feelings were genuine, all because of My Juice. “Justin, are you hungry?” I asked. “For you I am,” he said. “Seriously, do you want some breakfast?” “Sure that would be nice. Mind if I take a shower?” “No, go ahead.” While he showered, I went downstairs in search of Cousin. He was gone. I fixed bacon, eggs and grits, and even mixed a batch of mimosas. It had been a long time since I’d had a man for breakfast, which turned into a full day. Justin and I talked about so many things. He shared with me his past relationships with women who’d used him just for his money, and admitted that because of those experiences, he found it hard to trust women. I could relate to that. I wasn’t ready to be that open, and only shared with him about how I was a workaholic and a fashion misfit, but didn’t divulge my bad relationship experiences, even though I’m sure it was obvious. Justin was also very interested in my work, and how and why I’d become an anesthesiologist. Trusting him more than I thought possible, I kind of told him about My Juice without saying I used it on him, just that these were some of the things that were possible. He joked about how we could make a fortune by slapping a patent on it, and even more money on the black market. After breakfast, we went back upstairs and made love again, but I knew some of the intensity was because My Juice probably remained in his system. Regardless, we both enjoyed it. Once again, I felt bad because he kept talking about the night before. Agreeing to help me with learning how to coordinate my clothes, Justin went through my closet and was amazed by
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all the clothes I had, many of them still with price tags on them. I admitted that I purchased expensive clothes in an attempt to cover my flaws, but my lack of style always made them look ridiculous. Much to my surprise, Justin began to give me a lesson on how to coordinate my clothes, which led to my putting on a fashion show for him of the items he’d put together. He made me feel comfortable as I showed him how I’d put together an outfit, and then watched him recreate it. I’d never had this much fun with a man. By the time we were finished I was sure we were falling in love, at least I was. Justin didn’t stay over that night because he had business to attend to, but we made plans to see each other during the week. He kissed me so many times at the door, we almost made love right there.
Chapter Six
With nothing to do, I checked my messages. My mother had called to say my father was barbecuing and they wanted me to come down. I was feeling so good I decided to go and put up with my family because now I could tell them I had a boyfriend, a man. I knew it was being presumptuous since we’d only spent one night together, but Justin and I fit, and we both knew it. At my parents, it was the usual crowd, along with some extras as it always was when you lived in the city. I was actually enjoying the afternoon, when through the back gate came my brother-in-law and his cousin. A bad thing I thought at first, but probably a good thing, because this would give me the opportunity to see what was really going on with him. “Wow, you look different than when we first met,” Cousin said, loud enough for others to hear.
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“Yes, I noticed that too,” my aunt said. “Did you do something different?” “I think your niece has a boyfriend,” added Cousin. “Is that true, Sis?” my sister asked. I wasn’t sure how to answer. Was Cousin trying to embarrass me in front of my family, or did I really have the afterglow of a good night? “Actually, I do have someone in my life,” I said. “Well thank you, Jesus! You’re finally getting some,” my aunt felt the need to add. Embarrassed, I laughed and walked into the house, hoping Cousin would follow, and he did. “What’s up with you?” I asked. “What is it you want from me?” “What makes you think I want anything? I mean, what you gave me the other night, I doubt if you can top that.” I didn’t want to remember my night with him. I only wanted to remember Justin. “If you tell me what it is you’re after, then maybe we can stop playing this game. And, by the way, what is your name?” “See, that’s how uninterested you were in me when we met. My name is Alfred.” I shouldn’t have laughed. “Alfred? You’re kidding. I never expected that.” “And I never expected you to be a drug dealer.” My body tightened. “Why do you use that stuff?” Alfred asked. “You wouldn’t understand,” I said, turning away from him. “Your sister already told me you were lonely.” “I am not lonely!” “Why, ’cause you got fucked last night by your new boyfriend? I mean, that was thanks to me, or at least it should be.”
Bedroom Chronicles “Don’t talk to me like that. That’s not what happened.” “I saw you in action. You might be able to fool your family, but not me.” “You watched us?” He grinned. “You watched me and Justin? You’re sick!” “No, you’re the sick one. Are you going to even tell him the truth?” “Of course not,” I said. “You better tell him.” “Listen, if you’re going to report me to the hospital, please do it and get it over with.” “Is that what you think I am, some snitch? Hey, you can have the shit back. Better yet, why don’t you make up a new batch? But if I were you I’d be careful.” “I won’t be making up any batches because I don’t need to.” “That’s even better. Good luck with Justin.” “You motherfucker,” I mumbled. He got up close to me, and said, “Now that’s how I like to hear you talk.” So it was done. Alfred was out of the picture, or at least I hoped, because I didn’t trust him. When I went home that evening there was a message from Justin. Seemingly, he didn’t want to wait until midweek to see me again, he wanted to come up the next night, and I agreed. But it also made me think that he would be expecting the same type of intensity during sex, and I knew I couldn’t produce that and probably neither could he, so I considered telling him the full truth. In the meantime, there was still Alfred who, though an anaesthesiologist for years, I’d never noticed or met before because we’d only been working at the same hospital for a few months. Somehow though, he’d managed to find me and was all of sudden there, waiting around my office the
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next morning when I got in. “Good morning, Cherise,” he said. “Morning, Alfred.” Then I whispered, “What are you doing here?” “I work here. Remember?” “Listen, are you sure this thing is over, because I feel like you’re stalking me?” “You sound paranoid.” He was right. I was, and that’s why I knew I had to tell Justin the truth. But I also recognized while standing there with Alfred, that at work, he looked nothing like he did in street clothes. He was very clean cut, Ivy League almost, like the degreed man he was. But I didn’t have time to play around with men who misrepresented themselves. That evening, as planned, Justin came up and we went out to Plate for dinner. He had no problem being seen with me, and no problem being affectionate in public. That night, after we made love, even though it was awesome, I could tell he was slightly disappointed at his performance. It was then that I felt I had to take my chance with telling him about the first experience with My Juice. I led into it by talking about my insecurities as a result of past relationships, hoping that when I got to the part about My Juice, he’d better understand my reasoning. “So, was there ever anyone who you felt loved you?” Justin asked. “Yes, I was in love once. We met through mutual friends, and initially it was fun and he treated me good. He was an out of work engineer, but I never felt used because he paid for everything when we went out. But, eventually, I began to notice that we rarely had sex, and when we did, it was always lights out and over within minutes. Since he didn’t want to admit anything was wrong, I did some investigating.”
Bedroom Chronicles “Why do you women do that?” I ignored his question and continued. “What I discovered was that, even though he’d stuck around for eight months, during that time he became engaged to another woman. When I’d confronted him about his indiscretion, he blamed me for not being the kind of woman he needed. What’s more, he said he wasn’t sexually attracted to me. I was crushed. I’d loved this man, would’ve done anything for him, and now he was throwing me out with the trash. So, on what was to be our last few days together, as he was packing to move out, I gave him My Juice.” “Juice?” Justin asked. I waited to see if he would remember. “You mean that stuff you were joking about at breakfast the other day?” “Yes, Juice. My Juice. I gave him My Juice, tied him up, and left him with a hard dick for two days,” I said. “I can’t imagine you doing something like that. He must’ve really hurt you. I’m sorry to hear that. But damn, I know that brother was in some serious pain.” “It gets worse than that,” I said and then sat up, hoping to muster up the courage to continue. “After not having a man or decent date in two years, I decided to make up a batch of My Juice again, and this time I used it on the men I met online. None of them really liked me once they saw me because, like I told you, I’m not the kind of woman a man can be proud to have on his arm. And sometimes, well, they say things to hurt my feelings.” “How many times did you use it?” he asked. “Three, maybe four times. I know it was wrong, but for once I felt wanted, like I was in control and they couldn’t tell me no.” “And you used it on me?” he asked. “Actually, no, it was Cousin who put it in your drink, thinking it was Alize,” I added, not sure why I was covering
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for Alfred. He was quiet for a while, digesting it all, and then he asked some questions about what it took to put My Juice together, and how powerful it really was. Finally, he began to laugh, and said, “I knew something was up that night, my dick hasn’t ever been that hard, but it was good, Cherise. I can’t lie to you about that.” “Justin, I’m sorry.” “It’s okay, it might come in handy one day.”
Chapter Seven
After that, Justin and I began to spend lots of time together at my house. Then one afternoon he called and asked me if I had any of the juice left, and I told him no, but asked why. He said he had a friend who was having some issues with impotency and wondered if I could help. I was reluctant at first because I couldn’t understand why his friend couldn’t go to his own doctor and get a prescription for Viagra or Cialis. Justin claimed his friend was out of work, and thus, didn’t have any medical coverage. During the day, I thought about his request, and how easy it would be to mix up a batch of My Juice. So, wanting to please him, by the time he arrived at my house that evening I was able to give him two vials. He was so appreciative and said that his friend would be also. He even joked about us using again, but I wasn’t interested because I liked the lovemaking we did, and I wanted it natural and drug free. However, three days later, when Justin came to visit he asked me about the juice again, saying it had worked so
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well that he had another friend who wanted to try it, and this friend he said would be willing to pay for it. At that moment Alfred’s words resounded in my head…was I becoming a drug dealer? “Justin, I can’t do it. I did it that time as a favor for you, but I could get in trouble.” “Didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t make just one vial? I’m sure you have some more around here,” he said. He was right, I did, but I didn’t want his asking for it to become a habit. “Justin, I’m sorry, but I can’t get involved in your friends’ impotency problems.” “Look, Cherise, I told him I had it. He already gave me $200. for one vial.” “I don’t need his money! I can’t believe you would think I’d be tempted by that. Justin, please don’t ask me to do this again.” “Forget about it.” That night he stayed with me, but he fell asleep before I was even out of the shower, so there was no sex, no cuddling, none of our usual lovemaking. This was a first, and he slept all night facing the wall. I wasn’t sure if I’d really begun to turn him off, or he was simply disappointed that I wouldn’t help him out. The next morning before he left, he told me he was sorry he’d asked, but that he would at least like us to try the juice again because he didn’t want us to get bored with each other. That statement alone made me panic at the thought of him becoming uninterested in me. Returning to my lonely life wasn’t something I ever wanted to experience again. I mean, Justin and I had even talked about living together, and now that he’d mentioned the word bored, well that scared the hell out of me. Later that day, I called and found him in a crappy mood,
Bedroom Chronicles sounding almost depressed. “Justin, what’s wrong? Are you still upset because of my not wanting to sell your friend the juice?” I asked. “No, and I’m sorry I acted that way. I gave him his money back.” “Well, what’s wrong, you sound depressed?” “Bad day, I just found out I’ve taken a significant loss on a property.” “I’m so sorry.” “It’s cool. I’m just going to hang out with the guys tonight.” “Justin.” “Yeah.” “Why don’t you come up? I think I can make you feel better. Plus, I have a little surprise for you.” Now I knew why he was trying to sell the vials, he’d lost money on a property and probably needed to do some liquidating. If I was going to be his woman, possibly his wife, then I had to help him out. Anything was better than returning to my lonely existence of picking up men from Internet websites just to have sex. When he arrived at the house that evening, I fixed him dinner, and afterwards, I surprised him again by adding My Juice to his drink. That night we made love endlessly, passionately, and I thought it would never end. In the morning, before I left for work, I gave him a tray of twenty-four vials. He was so grateful, and promised he’d never ask again. Funny thing was, as much as my life was coming together with him, I also felt like something was missing. Those feelings of being used were creeping up on me again, but I fought them by saying it was just my ridiculous insecurities that cropped up every time something was going good in my life. But then I wondered about Justin’s business, and why
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he never really talked about it, besides saying he worked at home to cut back on overhead. I’d never been to his condo in the city, because each time we’d made plans for me to come into town, something changed and he’d wind up at my house. Even his family and daughter I had yet to meet, but I couldn’t complain because he hadn’t met mine either, but that I could easily fix with a nice dinner party at my house. Over the next two days, when talking with Justin, he thought it was a good idea that we have a dinner party so our families could meet. However, by that weekend, when I wanted to give him the date and details of the dinner, I was unable to reach him. His cell phone was going straight to voicemail, and the number he’d given as his home number had been disconnected. Had things gotten that bad for Justin? Or had he used me, which I didn’t want to believe because things between us had been too good. That evening after my shift, rather than go straight home, I continued to work and that’s when I ran into Alfred, who was stopping by the hospital to pick up a package before leaving on a week’s vacation, going nowhere in particular. I don’t know why he was able to sense my mood, but upon speaking to me, he knew something was wrong. “What’s wrong, Ms. Cherise? Why are you still here?” Alfred asked. “I was backed up with work.” “Now we do the same job, so it beats me how you can get backed up if there are no patients for you to knock out. Or are you in here mixing up another batch of your special formula?” I glared at him. “I’m sorry, but I can tell something is wrong. Is it the boyfriend?” I couldn’t answer, because if I spoke, the tears that had filled my eyes would have dropped onto my cheeks. “You want to get a bite to eat? I know a great place, and
Bedroom Chronicles it’s in our neighborhood,” Alfred said. I agreed to dinner, but rather than go to a restaurant, he had me follow him to his house. Alfred lived in a beautiful community filled with townhouses and single homes. His townhouse, in particular, was larger than it appeared. It had three bedrooms, two fireplaces, and a huge kitchen that led into a family room. It struck me that this was the first time I’d been invited to a man’s house. “So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to give you some truth serum?” he asked, while pulling items out of the refrigerator. I took a seat at the counter and watched without answering. “Nothing’s wrong, I’m just overreacting. What are you cooking?” I asked. “Linguine, crab meat, some white wine, and a little EVO. You’ll love it. You know what? I think I’ll add a Caesar salad,” he said, washing off the romaine lettuce. “That nigga is fucking over you, isn’t he?” “How do you do that?” I asked him. “What, come home and fix dinner?” he asked. “You know what I mean, change like that?” “Cherise, I don’t really change. I’m always me. Sometimes I’m just the more street me than other times. But I’m always Alfred.” “Yes, but that night at my sister’s you were acting like a drug dealer.” “I wasn’t acting. You assumed that just because I had on jeans and a t-shirt that I was some drug dealer. That was your assumption.” “But my sister said you do that to get women.” Now he’d been put on the spot. “Alright, so maybe I do. But it’s easier when a woman assumes you’re a hustler, even you professional
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types, because you have to admit you like the grittiness of it rather than me saying I’m an anaesthesiologist. But it’s not about me tonight, it’s about you.” “I don’t know. I guess I’m just not that smart when it comes to relationships. Justin’s been acting different lately.” “You still juicing him up?” “Actually, I took your suggestion and told him the truth about My Juice, which now I think was the wrong thing to do.” “What do you mean?” I was hesitant at first, but whom else could I tell? I went on and told him the story about how I’d helped out Justin’s friend and how, eventually, I’d supplied Justin with twentyfour vials when he’d been so depressed about losing money on a property. Alfred went ballistic, and initially blamed me for being stupid, that is until I began to cry. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it sounds like he took advantage of you.” “I should be use to it by now. I’ve never been able to see through people for what they really are. I’m so fuckin’ desperate. When is it going to end?” I said sadly. “Hold up, nobody’s talking about ending anything around here.” “My love life has been horrible, you have no idea. I’ve never really been loved by a man, and then Justin showed so much interest and treated me so nice. He told me he didn’t care that I wasn’t beautiful. It didn’t bother him that I wasn’t a size eight and sexy like other women.” “Wait a fuckin’ minute! Is your self-esteem that low? When is the last time you really looked in the mirror?” “Alfred, you don’t have to do this. It’s my fault, I know it. All I wanted was for a man to want me, and, well, with My Juice, it was happening. Even if it was planned, at least I was the one in control. But now it’s all ruined. I ruined it
Bedroom Chronicles with my stupid experiment, and now Justin is gone.” “I understand you’ve been hurt, but right now let’s deal with Justin and his having access to that juice. If that shit gets into the wrong hands, we’re fucked. I need to figure out how to handle this.” That night, after we had dinner, Alfred spent a lot of time in his office on the phone, and when I was getting ready to leave he invited me to stay over in the guest bedroom. I was happy, because I really didn’t want to be alone. The next day, while I was at work, Justin called apologizing profusely for disappearing on me, but said he wanted to come out and talk. When he arrived, he told me that things were going bad for him, and he really appreciated my giving him the juice because it had gotten him out of the red. But all of that led up to him asking for more vials. I told him I couldn’t give him anymore, that it was wrong and that I could lose my job if anybody ever found out. That’s when he told me that if I didn’t give it to him that he would be forced to find another alternative which, to me, meant he’d leave me. His threat was very real, even as he swore to me that if I could get him about 100 vials it would be the last time and we could move on with our lives together. I was scared, so without telling Alfred, I went to the hospital that night and began to make My Juice. However, while I was making it Alfred showed up. I tried to lie to him and say that I’d gotten called in on emergency but he didn’t believe me, so I was forced to tell him about Justin’s visit. He insisted I go to his house and wait for him, saying that he would handle Justin. But I didn’t listen, I took the vials I’d already packed, went home, and gave them to Justin, who went back to the city. I knew Alfred had warned me, but I was scared. My job was all I had. If I lost that I’d have nothing, and worse still,
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I’d be prosecuted and sent to prison. As for Justin, I now knew I’d been used, and that the relationship was over. It was time to climb back into my shell. Two days went by and I didn’t hear from Justin or Alfred, both of whom I tried to reach many times. On Saturday morning, while I was outside washing my car, a furious Alfred showed up. First, he cursed me out for not following his directions, then he told me how he’d followed me home that night, and subsequently him and a friend followed Justin. He discovered that Justin didn’t live in a condo, nor did he have a real estate business of any value. That he was actually a low life, a single man who’d never had a wife or child; he was a manipulator of women, who’d created a fake life and preyed on women who were desperate and rich. When his sister was in the hospital, he’d seen me several times, and could tell that I was lonely. He had inquired about me, and that’s when he’d made his move. His only goal had been to get a free ride until he got bored, that was until he’d found out about My Juice, which turned into blackmail and a great source of income for him. When I asked Alfred how he’d gotten Justin to confess, he told me that was none of my business, that all I needed to know was that he would no longer be a threat. I assumed that meant he’d had him beaten up, or maybe even killed because Justin had disappeared.
Chapter Eight
With Justin gone, I was ready to go back to my empty life filled with work and family, but Alfred wasn’t having it. At first it was nice having him as a friend, but as we began to spend time together, walking around his complex and going into the city, it began to grow into more. The main thing he insisted on was helping me with my insecurities. Alfred made me look at myself differently, because what I’d been seeing wasn’t what was in the mirror, it was what was inside of me. Here I was embarrassed at being a size fourteen when I was really only a twelve, and had just worn size fourteen clothes. My feelings are what made me feel so ugly, and that was transparent to others. So I stopped hiding behind my hair, makeup and expensive clothes, and allowed myself to be comfortable with whom I was. It wasn’t so important anymore to be in control, however, that’s not to say that on some days Alfred didn’t let
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me. You see, with the two of us in the same field, we knew how to play with fire now without getting burned. So, once our friendship was solid, we began to work on other areas of our relationship. Our lovemaking went from passionate to reckless, and at no time did I feel guilty about anything I said or did with him. And I had no problem allowing him to be in control because he made me feel safe. However, he had his insecurities too, as I discovered. The reason he didn’t tell women his real profession was because he didn’t want to be seen as the nerd he’d always been called throughout his life. Luckily, through a strange course of events, we’d found each other and were learning to have an honest and open relationship, even if that meant that sometimes after dinner we spiced up things by adding a little of My Juice to the mix.
Obsession
Amaleka McCall
Prologue
”You can’t leave me! No one tells me no! Do you know who I am?” she yelled in desperation. Denim grabbed onto him to prevent him from leaving. “Denim, it’s over, this has gone far enough,” he told her, softening his voice. She thought they would be together forever. “You tried to trick me into thinking you would love me forever! You don’t really love me!” she shrieked, slapping Amare in his face and throwing punches at his body. He grabbed her wrists in self-defense. “I’m leaving,” he gritted, releasing her with a shove. Denim stumbled backwards and dropped to the floor. She rocked her body back and forth, digging her nails into her thighs until she broke her own skin. Her chest heaved. This wasn’t the end. No one ever told her no.
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No one, she thought, remembering that day. She gripped a large mustard envelope, and poured out its contents onto the passenger seat. Her heart pulsed as tears of anger ran down her cheeks. Yes, she remembered, and Amare would pay. She picked up the pictures and the information from the seat that the private investigator had delivered. She read the memo over and over again. “Married! From the ghettos of Brooklyn! Fucking liar!” she screamed out loud, although she was alone. She softened as she examined the close up shots the investigator had taken of Amare’s face. Her expression quickly changed, as she flipped to a picture of his wife. Denim looked down at the weapon she had purchased. Amare would definitely have to pay for being a liar.
Chapter One
One Year Before
Denim squinted her eyes, wincing from the stabs of pain that shot through her eye sockets. She had just awoken after a hot night of New York City party hopping. It was already two o’clock in the afternoon, her regular wakeup time. Denim pulled the cover up over her head to shield her eyes from the light. Her day was starting just as it usually did… mundane. After deciding she couldn’t go back to sleep no matter what she tried, she rolled out of bed with nothing pressing to do. Frankly, at twenty-five, Denim had grown bored with her life. Since she’d left prep school, and gotten full control of her trust fund, her life consisted of partying, shopping and sex. But how much of that could one person do? Denim probably had everything all of the exclusive bou-
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tiques in the tri-state area got in, not to mention whatever Neiman Marcus, Saks Fifth Avenue and Bergdorf Goodman had to offer. It was so extreme that the clerks called her whenever something new came in, and she’d even become the personal client of some of the top designers, like Michael Kors, Roberto Cavalli and Donatella Versace. She let out a long sigh, exasperated. She reached over to her nightstand to retrieve her BlackBerry. She scrolled through the calendar to see what event she was expected at tonight. “Just another Diddy party? Ugh, you’ve been to one you’ve been to them all,” she mumbled. Throwing the device down, Denim touched her erect, bare nipples with the tips of her fingers. This made her vagina pulse. She knew what she needed. She had been feeling overwhelming sexual urges since she was a little girl. She couldn’t really remember at exactly what age they had started, but by the time she was sixteen, her desires were uncontrollable. For years, she had masturbated at least three times a day, in between her carefree sexual encounters with the men of her choice. Before she left elementary and prep school, Denim had slept with every boy in her class. Those little boys could not satisfy her, so she had moved on to older men, but found them to be just too quick to cum. She had not really been fully satisfied yet. Shit, she thought her iVibe rabbit did more for her than some of the dudes she screwed. It didn’t take much more than a strong wind to wake up her sex drive. Denim licked her fingers and slid them down between her legs. She began rubbing her clitoris roughly, and moving her hips as if she were dancing to reggae music. Breathing hard, she slid two of her fingers into her flesh. Feeling her own warm juices saturate them, she closed her eyes. She rubbed her clit with the palm of her hand as she
Bedroom Chronicles pulled her fingers in and out of her hotbox rapidly until she was ready to explode. Rolling her eyes, she felt the uneven pulses of an orgasm building. “Ahhh,” she said, letting out a soft hiss, as her vaginal walls jerked. Her natural juices escaped, dripping onto her bed. Denim let out a long sigh, relieved for now. She knew that the quick orgasm would only hold her over for a few minutes. She needed real relief. Then she remembered that her masseuse, Edmund, would be coming over in a few minutes. Just the thought of his sexy Brazilian ass gave Denim chills. He had become the highlight of her days lately. She eased out of the bed gingerly, wrapped herself in a fluffy white chenille robe, and walked downstairs to her private spa to await Edmund’s arrival. Just like a hungry dog, when she heard the doorbell ring, she began to salivate in anticipation of her daily meal. “Good afternoon, Ms. Nelson,” Edmund chimed, as he walked in and immediately began setting up for their session. “Would you please call me Denim already, I think we know each other well enough,” she chastised, while seductively licking her lips. “Yes, Denim,” he obeyed, as he moved closer to her. “Lie down,” he instructed, firmly, yet seductively. “Mmm,” Denim moaned, as he removed her robe. “So what area do you want to concentrate on today?” Edmund asked, peeking out of his little squinty coal-black eyes. “You always know what I need,” Denim cooed. As he began to sensually knead the flesh on her slim back, he worked his way down her spine, toward her perfectly toned backside. Next, she felt his tongue, it was soft and warm. The strength of his strong hands sent electric
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shocks through her entire body. Denim curled her toes in response. “Aghh,” she sighed, as he spread her ass cheeks apart and tasted her. “Oh, you taste like candy, Denim” he complimented, with his thick Portuguese accent. “I have something new I want to try, hold on a second,” he continued. “No, don’t stop,” she pleaded. Edmund ignored Denim’s pleas and walked to the far end of the room. Suddenly, loud knocks resounded through the room. Denim and Edmund jumped at the annoying interruption. They were both caught off guard. “What is it?” Denim shouted, frustrated that the damn inane hired help would have the nerve to interrupt her massage. “Denim Nelson, it’s your father! Now open up!” he barked from behind the door. “Señora Nelson, I tried to come first, but he continued into the house!” the maid yelled through the door. “Fuck!” Denim cursed, jumping off her custom made massage table and wrapping her robe around her body, all in one motion. Edmund began frantically placing his accessories back into his bag. He was visibly shaken, his hands trembled fiercely. Denim pulled back the spa door to face her father. Their eyes met as he barged into the room. “What do you want so early? Can’t you ever call first?” Denim asked, folding her arms across her chest in a rude display of frustration. “I want to know what the hell the meaning is of all of this, Denim? And no, I don’t have to call first!” her father spat, simultaneously throwing a stack of entertainment gossip magazines down on the massage table. The pile consisted of the Enquirer, Sun and Us maga-
Bedroom Chronicles zines. Denim graced the cover of all three. One picture showed her in the back of her custom made Aston Martin with her legs open and no underwear to cover her goods. Another picture had her tongue kissing a much younger pop star on the hood of her Mercedes Maybach. And the last one was a picture taken at an awkward angle that made it seem as if Denim was giving a blowjob to a well-known NBA star. “Are you off your medications again?” her father asked, tapping his foot, waiting for an answer. Hiram Nelson was a big, strapping six-foot tall man that commanded attention when he stepped into a room. His huge barrel chest, large athletic legs and arms, distinguishing baldhead and thick silver mustache, made it hard for people not to notice him. He ran an entire company, but had never been able to have much control at home, not over Denim or her mother, a secret prescription pill popper. Hiram cleared his throat. Still waiting, he stood over his daughter and cast uneasy glances in Edmund’s direction. Denim was reviewing the magazines. She wanted to smile at the pictures, she found them amusing. But she knew smiling would just piss her father off even more, not that she cared. “Well?” her father asked, eyeing her angrily. “I can’t help what the freakin’ paparazzi writes about me. What do you care anyway? It’s none of your damn concern about me and my medication,” Denim replied heatedly. She wasn’t a fan of her father butting into her business. Their relationship had become strained once she became a teenager. Denim didn’t respect him because she felt all he did was throw money at her and any problems she’d ever had. Therapist, stints at different types of camps, long trips to Europe, even celebrity rehab, had all failed to cure Denim of her wild side and unmanageable lifestyle.
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“You have a family name to uphold. Your grandfather built this company on pride and respect. The Nelson name should not be…” her father began, but his words were cut off. “Shut the fuck up! Don’t talk to me about the family name, and don’t tell me shit about pride!” Denim screamed, her eyes hooding over. “I’m sure if I revealed what you have worked so hard to cover up, the family name wouldn’t mean shit, would it? Did you have pride then, huh Daddy? I won’t take your fuckin’ psycho medications…they are supposed to make me forget. Well, maybe I don’t wanna forget!” she continued ranting as she walked over to her father with her finger pointing at him for emphasis. Hiram was struck silent. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and stared at his daughter in disbelief. He knew she had several manic episodes whenever she was off her medications, but he had never seen her get this indignant with him. Edmund knew that was his cue to get the hell out of there, so he gathered his things and snuck out the door. “Now, Daddy, I think you better show yourself out. And I will be expecting my regular extra deposit into my trust or else,” Denim said evilly, turning her back on her father.
Chapter Two
Amare stood with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, as he rocked back and forth, trying to stay warm. He looked around at the fifty or more men standing on the East New York, Brooklyn corner with him, and thought for sure his chance of getting picked up for a job today was slim. He could still hear the words of his parole officer loud and clear, “Get a job or get violated.” He had been to stores, mechanic garages, even fast food restaurants, and no one would hire him. He had heard about the day laborers who stood outside, from the break of dawn, hoping and praying to get picked up for odd jobs like construction and street cleaning. Amare looked up and down the line of men. There were all kinds; tall, short, fat and skinny, and almost every ethnicity. A white truck finally pulled up to where they stood. Amare stood up straight and watched as a fat white man struggled to get out from behind the steering wheel. “I only need five bodies today, so don’t come rushing
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over here. I will pick who I want,” the white man wolfed out. He was so fat he was out of breath just talking. He walked down the line of anxious men, like a slave owner picking out the best field hands. “You…you back there… and you,” the man called out, hand selecting his crew. Amare felt his heart drop. The man had already passed him. “Shit,” Amare grumbled, his feet feeling like two blocks of ice. Then he saw the man doubling back. “You, high yellow. You look like light enough to work in the neighborhood we’re going to, c’mon,” the man said to Amare. Shocked, Amare looked around at first, and then when he was sure the fat man was speaking to him, he rushed toward the truck. When the truck finally stopped moving, the man opened the back to free his crew. Amare squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight after being in the dark for the entire ride. He felt like an illegal alien sneaking into the country, riding in the back of the truck like that. “Let’s go,” the fat boss called out. Amare and all of the guys jumped down from the truck’s elevated cab. Amare looked around at their surroundings and was astonished. They’d pulled up to a huge estate, surrounded by tall golden gates, with the initials DN emblazoned on the front. “Alright, enough star gazing. We ain’t gonna get paid to gawk. Let’s unload the tools,” the boss wheezed. When the boss rang the intercom that sat to the left of gate entrance, he called out his name, and the gates automatically began sliding apart, allowing them entry. Amare was the last one in. “Hey, you kid, we’re here for the gardens. Don’t even look at the misses if you see her. I know you pretty boy types,” the boss warned Amare.
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Amare crinkled his eyebrows in confusion, wondering why he was being singled out. Although, he had been told all of his life that his butter colored skin, cat-green eyes and jet-black curly hair made him look like a model, his looks hadn’t done shit to make his life any easier. He had very little memories of his mother, who had lost him because of her addiction to drugs. He had grown up knocking around from foster home to foster home until he was old enough to age out of care. He took to the streets at eighteen, and his short-lived life of crime landed him in prison for a six-year bid. When he came up for parole, and it was granted, Amare made the decision to go straight. He was in awe of the estate. He couldn’t believe how tall the front door was, and the columns at either side of it made it resemble a castle. The circular driveway seemed bigger than his entire block. Although it was freezing outside, the grass and greenery on the grounds appeared as if it were a warm summer day. Amare was assigned to dig up the flowerbeds at the back of the house near the pool, outdoor Jacuzzi and manmade waterfalls. He took the tools he needed and got to work. This will probably be as close as my ass could ever dream of coming to a house like this, he reasoned. -§Denim was still upset that her father had come barging into her home with his self-serving bullshit. She thought he had some nerve…considering. She needed a way to occupy her mind. Thinking made her angry, and when she got angry, she did things that were self-destructive. She picked up her cell phone, and padded through the
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house until she reached her huge glass patio doors. She looked out of the glass, wishing it was summer so she could lay out by the pool…that always relaxed her. The indoor pool wasn’t the same. Standing at the doors, staring out, Denim dialed her newest BFF, Tabitha Manley, daughter of one of the biggest rock band stars of the eighties. “Hey, girl. You still going tonight, right?” Denim asked, putting her phone on her shoulder as she fumbled with a cigarette. Another bad habit she had picked up at the early age of thirteen. She listened to Tabitha ramble on in her Valley girl voice. Puffing on her cigarette, Denim squinted her eyes when she noticed him. Who the fuck is that? Moving the phone from her ear, she opened her eyes wide, thinking they were deceiving her. Nope, there was a fine ass Shamar Moore looking dude digging up her backyard. “Bitch, I gotta call you back,” she whispered, cutting Tabitha’s speed talking short. Denim stared at the curly haired stranger. Frosty breath escaped his nose and mouth, as he inhaled and exhaled with every heave-hoe of his tools. He had taken off his coat, and his thermal undershirt hugged every curve of his muscular chest and rippled arms. “Dayum, his dick gotta be at least ten inches,” Denim whispered to herself, sizing him up. She was definitely intrigued. She was just about to make her presence known when her eyes met with his. She quickly pulled the belt on her robe, letting it fall open to expose her naked body. The man hesitated at first, and then quickly averted his eyes back to his task. Denim didn’t even have time to flash her perfectly white smile and show off all of her goods. Suddenly, the gorgeous stranger began walking toward the side of the house, and soon he was too far for her to
Bedroom Chronicles see from the patio doors. Just like that, he was gone. Denim thought about rushing outside to find him, but decided against it. Obviously, he was the hired help, she remembered. She shrugged her shoulders. She had a party to prepare for, which meant her stylist had to find her an outfit and get her hairdresser and makeup artist there to get her jazzed up for the night’s events. -§Amare looked at the one hundred dollars he had been paid for a day of work. It wasn’t the best situation, but it would at least put a little food on the table at home. He and the woman he married while incarcerated were living in the projects with her mother. He just wanted to get a job and enough money for them to get their own place. He wanted to prove that he could provide, since his wife had done so much for him over the years. “Be out here tomorrow and I will pick you up. I like your work,” the boss told Amare, when he dropped him back on the corner he had picked him up from. Amare smirked and nodded. That was a good look, steady work. He still kept going over the scene with the woman at the patio doors over and over. At the time, he thought he was hallucinating. But the more he thought about it, he was pretty sure he saw a beautiful woman showing him her body from inside that big ass mansion. He shrugged it off and headed home to his wife.
Chapter Three
Denim stumbled out of the club on the arm of her catch for the night. When he had arrived at the party, she knew he would be on her all night. She had whispered to Tabitha that she thought he was pussy whipped. Denim had screwed him a few times before, and thought that his sex game was barely average, but tonight it didn’t matter. With high levels of MDMA surging through her veins, she needed to be hit off and that was that. Denim laughed at nothing in particular as the man helped her to his CLS 500. “Ewe, you’re moving up in the world,” she commented on his car, laughing again. Denim found the newly rich amusing. She thought they always broke the bank to prove their wealth. But real wealthy people could walk the streets and no one would even know. The man helped her into the passenger seat of his ride. Once he settled her in, he raced around to the driver’s side. It was no secret in the industry that Denim liked
Bedroom Chronicles to get her freak on. When he got in, she was already leaning over the gearshift between the two front seats, and her head hung halfway into his seat. Denim was so high off the ecstasy, anything went. The man pushed her head slightly. “You a’ight?” he asked. “What’s your name again?” Denim asked, laughing loudly. “Big Dick Willy,” the man commented sarcastically. “Well let me see what’cha working with,” Denim said, still giggling. He reached into his pants and released his captive flesh. “Um, I wouldn’t say Big Dick Willy, maybe Medium Marlon,” she slurred, laughing again at her corny joke. She plopped her head in his lap and took him into her warm mouth. She moved her head up and down, making slurping noises until his skin was wet with her saliva. Denim rolled her eyes into her head and laughed again. Then she lifted her head, took her mouth off of him for a minute, smiled, and let a huge glob of spit leave her mouth. The warm juice landed on his rock solid shaft and dripped down the tip. She grabbed his manhood, jerking it roughly. Lowering her head again, she licked under the hood of his dick head ever so slightly. The man grunted. In response, she lowered her mouth all the way down on him until she felt him at the back of her throat. Denim gagged at first. Then she got it under control. She had long since learned how to control her gag reflex. She bobbed up and down roughly, her lips almost touching the hairy base of his pole. She continued until he began gurgling so loud she knew he would be erupting soon. Sure enough, as soon as she moved her mouth, he spewed his juices all over her hands.
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“Dayum, girl, Superhead ain’t got shit on you,” he gasped. “I’m next, so hurry up and get me home,” she said, flopping her head back on the headrest. When they reached her front door, Denim fumbled with her automatic door opener as she forced her tongue between her prospect’s plump lips. Her breathing was labored and uneven, a combination of the alcohol, E and surging adrenaline. She felt heat climbing from her feet up to her chest. She was so hot she couldn’t control herself. They roughly pulled and tugged at each other’s clothes until they clumsily made it inside. Stumbling to the stairs, he gathered Denim up like a rag doll, and rushed up the spiral staircase as she licked his ears and bit his neck. He knew where her bedroom was, it wasn’t his first visit. “Hurry up,” Denim whispered, her breath hot on his ear. Busting through her French bedroom doors, he rushed her over to the bed and threw her down. Denim kicked off her Louboutins and hoisted up her dress. He fumbled with his jeans, his dick feeling like it would take on a life of its own and break through his boxers. He looked over at her freshly shaved triangle, and settled into position below her belly button. Denim opened her legs wide, thrust her hips forward, and pressed her clit on the man’s tongue. He licked her wet flesh vigorously, moving in sync with her as she grinded on his face. “Ahh,” she moaned, pinching her chocolate Hershey’s kiss nipples until they hurt. The man continued his tongue massage, spreading her labia with his thumbs as he lifted his head and blew on her dripping wet hotbox. “Stick your tongue in it deep,” Denim demanded, push-
Bedroom Chronicles ing the top of his head down. He went deep, extending his tongue, and driving it into her sloppy wet opening. He flicked it in and out of her flesh, as her salty juices saturated his lips and chin. “Mmm,” she moaned, moving her hips more vigorously now. “I’m right there,” she mumbled, grabbing a handful of bed sheets. He moved back up to her clit, sucking gently on the swollen flesh, while driving two fingers deep into her. “Urgggh!” Denim growled. She felt her vaginal walls involuntarily pulse in and out as she climaxed. The man removed his soaking wet fingers, looked up at Denim, and placed his fingers into his mouth and sucked her juices off of them. She smiled as her body relaxed. “Your head game is no joke,” she gasped, reaching over to her nightstand for a cigarette. That climax had sobered her up a bit. “But it’s still not good enough for you to want me all the time,” the man commented, stroking his manhood like he was ready for more. “Well, I like variety. It’s the spice of life,” Denim said, blowing a smoke ring in his direction. She wasn’t really impressed with his sex game, but she’d take the cunnilingus any day. The last time they had fucked, she felt him slipping out of her with every pump. That had annoyed the shit out of her. Tonight, Denim had gotten what she wanted…it was time. “I guess that means you want me to leave,” he said disappointedly. “You’re a big time music producer. You can have any woman you want. Would you really want me to lock you down?” Denim commented, throwing her beautifully sculpted caramel legs over the side of her huge custom made bed.
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“You’re a fucking Black Widow. A nigga better be careful not to catch feelings for you,” the man grumbled as he wrestled with his jeans. “Don’t be sore about it, at least I didn’t kill you afterwards. I had a good time and so did you. If you ever need anything just call me,” Denim called out from her bathroom suite.
Chapter Four
Amare had gotten picked up for another day’s work. He drove the frost chipper across the huge expanse of land that comprised Denim’s estate. When he reached the back of the house, he instinctively looked over at the patio doors. He had developed a habit of doing that since that first day. He was secretly hoping to get another glimpse of her. Amare was sure that she had exposed herself to him the day she stood at the doors, but then he started thinking he was crazy. Obviously she was super rich, so why would she be looking at him? he questioned. He made his way around the estate. When he finally pulled up to the front, he noticed her. His breath caught. He thought his heart would stop. He watched as she sashayed down the front steps. Damn, she is beautiful. She wore a floor length Chinchilla coat, and her hair was flowing. Her eyes were covered with oversized shades, and she seemed to float as she walked with more confidence than Amare had ever seen any woman exude. She looked like an angel to him.
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He couldn’t help but stare as she disappeared into the backseat of one of her luxury cars. Amare continued to stare as the driver pulled the car around the circular driveway and headed out. The windows were tinted so dark he couldn’t tell if she could see him or not. Denim removed her glasses and eyed the familiar worker from the car. She got an even better look at him than before. She decided right then and there that she would have him… no matter what. -§When Amare arrived at the Nelson estate the next day, he was told by his boss that it was planting day. They would place seeds deep in the ground, and by the first sign of spring, beautiful flowers would emerge. Amare had been glad to hear that, since he thought that his fat ass boss had made him dig those trenches for nothing. Amare and two other workers were assigned to the pool deck again. Force of habit caused him to glance up at the glass doors. This time, he was not disappointed. “Oh shit,” he whispered. There she stood, butt naked, playing with herself. Amare looked from left to right to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He also wanted to see if anyone else noticed. The other two men were oblivious; they were focused on getting the job done. They spoke to each other in Spanish, and weren’t even paying attention. Amare watched her for several minutes until she finally smiled. He smiled in return. She closed her robe and slid one of the doors open. “Excuse me, can you help me with something?” she
Bedroom Chronicles called out, looking directly at Amare. He looked around, confused. This time, she had gotten the attention of all of the men. They all looked like they’d seen a ghost. “You, in the black shirt,” she called out to Amare. The other men stretched their eyes wide. They had been warned to stay away from the house. Amare put down his seed spreader and walked toward the doors. “Don’t do it man,” one of his co-workers said. Amare ignored him and ambled forward. “Hi, I’m Denim Nelson. I need some help reaching something upstairs, and my butler is out today,” she lied, smiling slyly. “O...okay, I can probably help you,” Amare stammered, instantly regretting that he had disobeyed his boss’ warnings. He thought Denim was beautiful. She reminded him of a lighter version of Naomi Campbell; her slanted cat eyes and long hair the most striking resemblances. “I have to hurry up,” he said, his voice cracking. He started thinking about his wife, and guilt crept up on him like a ghost. “Why? Did Stroikos tell you not to speak to me?” Denim asked, laughing. “Yeah, how did you know?” Amare asked, relaxing in response to her laughter. “That fat Greek bastard is just afraid I’ll get someone to replace him. He’s afraid of his own shadow,” she replied. “If he fucks with you about this, you tell him I personally requested you to fix something for me,” she continued. “I hope your request doesn’t land me on the unemployment line,” Amare commented. “And if it does, I’m sure I can find some odd jobs for you,” Denim said seductively. Her body was calling. “My
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problem is right up here,” she said, leading Amare through the house and up the stairs. “Your house is off the chain,” he complimented, looking up at the expensive artwork and custom draperies. Forget MTV cribs, Amare thought, her shit was straight out of Forbes. “Thanks,” Denim replied. Finally making it up to her bedroom, Amare stood at the threshold in awe. “Damn, now this is a bedroom,” he said, looking into the huge suite. “Come in, I won’t bite unless you want me to,” she said. As soon as Amare stepped into the room, Denim wasted no time. The overwhelming urge was welling up in her loins and she wanted it satisfied. “Here is what I needed you to reach,” she said, dropping her robe to reveal her exquisite body. Amare furrowed his eyebrows. This was like some shit out of a movie. This bitch must be crazy if she thinks I’m touching her. This is a set up. His mind raced, but he couldn’t will himself to turn and leave. She was absolutely flawless. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, and her breasts were so perfect, they sat up on her chest like they were drawn on. “What happened? You’ve never seen a naked woman before. Oops, I’m sorry. Are you gay?” Denim said snidely. “Look, I’m not sure what you want, Ms. Nelson. Or, why out of everyone, you chose me, but I can’t…” Amare started. Denim rushed over to him. His mouth was open in midsentence, so she took that as her opportunity to slip her tongue between his lips. She grabbed him around the neck, and thrust her tongue in and out of his mouth roughly. Her hot breath sent stabs of heated sparks down Amare’s spine and into his toes. He tried to pull away, but Denim was
Bedroom Chronicles determined. She released his neck and grabbed one of his hands, placing it over one of her firm breasts. “Touch me. I’m not one to take no for an answer,” she wolfed out. Amare’s throat was desert dry. He swallowed hard as he followed her lead and rubbed her breast. “Good,” Denim cooed. His mind told him to run away and never come back, but his body told him something totally different. “What’s your name?” she whispered. “Umm, Amare,” he managed to say, embarrassed that his dick was bulging through his jeans. “Amare, I like that,” Denim said, pulling his hand down to her bare pussy. “I don’t think I should,” he said, shaking his head from left to right. “Shhh, I already told you I’m the only boss around here, and I need you to do something for me.” “But why me?” Amare asked as he felt his hand getting wet from her juices. “Because I always get what I want and, today, Amare, that is you,” Denim replied, dragging him by the arm to her bed. He followed like a little kid being led to the front gates of an amusement park. Denim reached down and unbuckled his belt. His oversized jeans immediately dropped around his ankles. Her eyes grew wide when she saw the hunk of flesh that peeked through his boxers. “Mmm,” she moaned, licking her lips. “I want that.” Amare couldn’t help himself anymore. He would surely be considered gay if he didn’t take what was right in front of him; a beautiful, naked woman practically begging for his dick. He stepped out of his Timbs and then his jeans. Denim
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threw a condom at him. Then she stretched out on the bed. “I’ll go easy on you today, Amare. If you’re any good, I’ll invite you back,” she whispered. He climbed onto the bed and she invited him between her legs. Denim felt his love muscle dangling up against her thigh as their tongues performed a wicked dance with one another. Amare reached down, grabbed his swollen member, and drove it deep into Denim’s fiery hole. “Ahh,” she said. She hadn’t felt pain during sex in so long, she’d forgotten that it could hurt so good. Amare pulled his hips back slowly and drove them down again. “Yes!” she hissed, grabbing his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him closer. “Fuck me harder,” she whispered in his ear. This drove him wild, and he began pumping at her flesh with vigor. He could feel the rim of his dick head being suctioned by her tight skin. He continued to pump, as Denim moved her hips in rhythm with his. Amare placed his hands on the bed and lifted himself up slightly, he wanted a better angle. Denim grabbed her breasts and pushed them up toward his face. Still fucking her fast, he bent down and took a mouthful of her left breast. The more he pumped, the harder he sucked the delicate chocolate skin of her areola. “Oh my God,” Denim shrieked. Her breasts were her weak spot. She felt electric shocks surging through her buttocks up to her clit. “I’m about to cum,” she growled. Amare suddenly stopped and pulled out of her. Her pussy made a loud sloppy popping noise. Denim’s eyes popped open. “What are you doing?” she asked. He didn’t answer. He roughly flipped her body over and pushed on her ass, urging her onto her knees. Swiping his muscle up and down her ass, he finally let it fall back into
Bedroom Chronicles her waiting hotbox. “Don’t tease me,” she wolfed. Amare slammed into her from behind. Denim whirled her head in circular motions and grabbed onto her sheets. “Fuck!” she growled through clenched teeth as she felt a hot feeling building in her loins. He pulled his ten inches almost all the way out of her, and then, without warning, slammed into her again. Her ass cheeks made a noise as they slapped against his muscular hips. Denim could feel his balls hitting up against her, almost hitting her clit from underneath. She knew she wasn’t going to last. The urges were overwhelming. She reached under her body and fingered her clit. That was it. “Ahhh!” she screamed out as her pussy squirted her juices all over him. “Oh shit!” Amare said. He had never seen a woman squirt cum like a man. That shit turned him on so much, he was next. “Urggh,” a growl bubbled up from his chest as he spilled his semen into the condom. Denim collapsed under him. He pulled out of her and fell at her side on the bed.
Chapter Five
Months had passed, and Amare’s new line of employment, catering to her needs, was pleasing Denim. He had been fired from the landscaping company because he was spending most of his time inside the house. Denim had slowed her usual every night partying down so she could be around to have sex with Amare. She was obsessed; she wanted him morning, noon and night. They had started meeting at hotels in the city after Amare admitted that it was hard for him to get to her estate. Denim had asked him questions about where he was from, and where he lived, but he always avoided answering her by pulling out his ten-inch distraction. Denim paced up and down her family’s private penthouse suite at the Waldorf Astoria that was usually occupied by one of her relatives. Being in the suite alone was making her crazy, too many memories from her childhood trips there. Everything had been updated since she was a kid, but there were little things that still sent her spiraling
Bedroom Chronicles backwards. She glanced at the large grandfather clock that sat near the door and bit into her lip. “Where is he?” she screamed, clenching her fists so tight her knuckles turned white. Denim wished she had her own meds now and not just temporaries. The anxiety made her unable to keep still. She lit cigarette after cigarette…nothing helped. She picked up her cell phone and called the phone she had provided to Amare exclusively for the purpose of communicating with her. He didn’t answer. “Urgghh!” she yelled, throwing her phone across the room. She’d have to resort to the few Oxycontins in her purse. She’d stolen them the last time she visited her mother. Denim turned her Briken bag over and rummaged through its contents. “There you are,” she whispered, her hands shaking in anticipation. Denim needed to relax before she did something crazy. The last time she’d felt like this, she had axed huge holes into the walls of her father’s office. -§Amare punched in the numbers that Denim had given him to unlock the door to the suite. He inhaled deeply, afraid of how Denim would react to him being so late. He was caught up and he knew it. Each time he promised himself it would be his last time seeing her, they would connect in a way that made him come right back. He had told so many lies to his wife that he was running out of stories. He tipped into the suite to find Denim already in bed. Removing all his clothes, he climbed in next to her. “Mmm,” she moaned gently, feeling his presence. She had on one of his t-shirts, even though he hadn’t remembered giving her one. With her back facing him, Amare
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began kissing her neck with small gentle kisses. “Mmm,” Denim moaned again. He knew that if she’d been fully awake, she would’ve turned right over and expected him to “just put it in”, but not tonight. He had other plans for her. Amare continued kissing her neck, lifting up her t-shirt and running his tongue down her spine. He would make it up to her. “Ahhh,” Denim sighed. She was awake, but didn’t dare move. She was still upset with him. He traced her spine with his warm tongue until he reached the crack of her ass. Once there he stopped. Denim, feeling crazy with anticipation, arched her ass towards his face. She’d never experienced this with Amare before. Placing his strong hands on her thigh, he gently shoved her onto her stomach. Her thick ripe ass was now in his full view. He placed his hands on her ass cheeks and spread them apart. The light scent of her sweet musk wafted into his nostrils. “Yeah,” he whispered, bending his face into her ass crack and taking a deep breath. The scent made his dick pulsate. He stuck his long tongue in the top of her crack, and traced it down and up, down and up, down and up …until she was soaking wet. He took the tip of his tongue and pressed it into her anal hole, exerting slight pressure. “Aggh!” she screamed out, gripping the sheets. Amare wasn’t done making it up to her yet. He forced Denim up onto her knees, still holding onto her beautiful ass. “Spread your legs,” he instructed. She obliged. He turned on his back, slid under her, and pulled her dripping wet pussy over his mouth. Barely able to breathe, he engulfed her clitoris, moving his head up and down, sometimes placing his entire tongue inside her pussy. It was too much for her to take. Denim came over and over again, lit-
Bedroom Chronicles tering his face with her slick white juices. This was foreplay at its best, but Amare wasn’t done yet. “Please, put it in, please,” Denim begged. The anticipation of his ten inches was killing her. “Not yet,” he gasped. He got up off the bed and wiped his mouth clean. He then placed his sweet thing flat on her back. Pressing his body against hers, he grabbed her hair, turning her head toward him, and placed his face in front of hers. He pulled her face to his mouth and forced his tongue between her lips. She opened her mouth to accept him. She could still taste her own pussy juice on his tongue, and she gladly lapped it up. Their tongues did a wicked dance together, sending their hormones into overload. Yet, it wasn’t time. Amare slid off her and maneuvered his way under her, he moved from her mouth down to her perfect size 34 C breasts. Taking the nipples between his lips ever so gently, he suckled them, first hard, then soft, then hard again. This sent Denim into a wild frenzy, she had forgotten that she was angry with him. She pulled away from him, grabbed his dick, and guided him into her steaming hot pussy walls. Amare grinded into her so far, Denim swore she could feel him in her intestines. She bucked wildly as she had another orgasm. Finally, she collapsed from exhaustion. When the sun streamed through the suite, Amare jumped up out of his sleep. He rolled off the bed and began pulling on his clothes. Startled, Denim turned over and came up on one elbow, letting the sheets fall off of her bare breasts. “Where you going, baby?” she whined. “I have to go,” he said. “Ugh, I’m so sick of you leaving me like this. Come back, I need more,” she continued, speaking like a baby. Amare was astonished. They had literally fucked all
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night. He didn’t even think he could get an erection at that point. “Nah, I really gotta go,” he said. Denim got up and walked over to her bag. She rushed over to him and threw a rubber band stack of money at him. “Here! If you have to leave to find work, I’ll pay you triple of what you could ever make from any manual labor job,” she informed. He stared down at the stack of money sitting at his feet. He crinkled his face and pursed his lips. “I’m not a fucking gigolo, a’ight! I don’t need ya fuckin’ money,” he growled. “You’re taking it the wrong way. I know you’re a hardworking man, but you don’t have to be. I just want you to be with me,” Denim whimpered, feeling anxious. “You don’t have to pay me, I’m a man. Either I wanna be with you or not. You can’t buy me,” Amare replied, shrugging his t-shirt over his broad shoulders and six pack abs. “Then take it as a gift. But let me know when you’ll be back,” she said, picking up the cash and stuffing it in his back pocket. This time Amare didn’t protest. He thought about his home life, and knew he needed the money. Denim grabbed him in a bear hug from behind, her small arms barely able to close around his broad back. “Amare, I’m in love with you,” she whispered. The words stung in his ears like someone had screamed into them. “You don’t love me?” she asked. He was silent. “I guess you don’t,” she whined, holding onto him like he was a life raft. “I never said that,” he whispered, then headed toward the door.
Chapter Six
Denim looked at the numerous missed calls on her phone. Most of them were from her parents. She listened to a voicemail from her father, wishing it were Amare instead. She hadn’t spoken to him in a few days, just long enough to arrange her surprises. Another message from her father interrupted her thoughts. “Denim, please call us. Dr. Harkowitz called and said you have not refilled your prescriptions, nor have you been there for your sessions. Denim, you know what happens when you come off of your meds. Please call us.” She sucked her teeth as she packed the last of her things. She was too excited about surprising Amare with a surprise vacation to St. Tropez to worry about her hypocritical parents. She had her vacation with her dream man all planned out. They would go away to paradise, and she’d have him all to herself to act out all of her sexual fantasies. She also planned to tell him their happy news. She just knew Amare
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would sweep her up into his arms and cover her face with sweet kisses. He might even ask to marry me, she reasoned. Amare showed up at Denim’s newly purchased midtown loft with his mind heavy. He was only there because he needed the money. This was going to be it. After he saw Denim tonight, he would tell her that it was officially over. He knew once he told her the truth, she’d probably kick him right out, which would be better than keeping up with his double life. Placing the key in the lock that she’d given him, he wondered why she bought another place so close to her other home. He shrugged. He’d never understand he wastefulness of the rich. “Denim?” he called out, entering. He was right on time for what she had planned, she thought. Rushing into her master bathroom, Denim closed the door. She could hear Amare’s strong footsteps coming up the steps, and her pussy pulsated with excitement. She looked at herself once more in the vanity mirror. Perfect. Looking around for her, Amare walked into the bedroom. The scent of lavender immediately filled his nostrils. This was strange; Denim hadn’t ever wanted to be romantic. Their thing was all about straight up kinky fucking. Now, here it was the middle of the day, and she had candles lit. His heart started thumping; the scent was driving him crazy. “Hey you,” she whispered sensually, stepping out of her hiding place. Amare spun around on his heals to find her dressed in a fire red lace bustier with the nipples cut out, no underwear, and hot red patent leather shiny platform stilettos. His heartbeat quickened even more, and just as she approached him, he noticed the silver pole she had put in the middle of the bedroom, and wondered how he’d missed that. “What’s this?” he gasped. Although Denim looked delicious, Amare had other things racing through his mind. He was conflicted.
Bedroom Chronicles “Sit down right here,” she instructed, pointing to a chair covered with velvet material that she’d strategically placed front and center. Denim walked around him, running her hand ever so gently over his neck. This sent stabs of heat straight down his spine. Fuck, why am I so weak for her? Amare questioned. She hit the remote and her song started to play. It was her time. She straddled the pole with her bare pussy. She moved up and down, the cold metal causing her clitoris to swell. Amare moved uneasily in his chair, his dick so hard he couldn’t take it. Denim suddenly jumped up on the pole, spun her body around, and turned her bare ass upside down. Exposing her goods, she suddenly made her booty cheeks clap. Amare had full view of her dripping hotbox. Small white beads of her love juices glistened from between her legs in the candlelight. “Ahh,” he cried out, rubbing his dick through his pants. He could smell Denim’s pussy scent from where he sat. She wasn’t finished. She removed her bustier, leaving her body completely naked, with the exception of her stiletto heels. Like a hungry lioness, she crawled over to her prey. Still on her knees, she looked up into Amare’s eyes and removed his swollen dick from his pants. He threw his head back, the anticipation was too much. She opened her mouth wide and let a huge glob of warm spit escape her lips. The liquid dropped gently onto Amare’s engorged member, and that’s when she took his entire throbbing dick and placed it in her warm mouth. The wet mess made it easy for her to suck and blow, suck and blow, suck and blow…then she deep throated it. “Urggh,” she gagged. He could feel her tonsils tense around the head of his dick. The slight squeezing was all he could take. “I’m about
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to cum,” he panted. “No…wait,” Denim said, but it was too late, Amare shot his load straight into the back of her throat. At first she choked, but she kept on swallowing…she sucked it clean. She jumped up and straddled him where he sat. He was still hard. She lowered herself onto him, and thrust up and down on him until she exploded. She was not finished. Tonight, Denim aimed to show Amare just how much she loved him. She climbed off of his lap and pulled him up out of the chair, and led him over to the bed. “Lay down on your stomach, baby,” she instructed, licking her lips seductively. She loved being in control. Tonight she would take the dominant role, a fantasy she had harbored for some time. Amare was excited. Thinking he was getting a hot, full body massage, he obeyed. He stretched his butter colored body out and folded his arms under his head. He knew telling Denim no was useless. She was going to get her way no matter what. Breathing hard, Denim opened her thick caramel colored legs and straddled him from behind, letting her neatly trimmed triangle and wet labia kiss his muscular ass cheeks. Moving sensually, she began kneading his shoulders gently. Then she leaned down and spread her naked body over his, pressing her firm C cup breasts into Amare’s back. Wetting her lips and extending her unusually long tongue, she started with the back of his neck, and licked her way down his spine, grinding her swollen clitoris up against his ass as she made her way down. “Ugh.” Amare let out a soft grunt, his swollen manhood pressed into the mattress until it hurt. Finally, Denim moved her legs, inching down until she was on all fours, at her destination. She let her tongue dance down his crack. She wasn’t sure how Amare would react to this new freaky act, so she hesitated a minute. She stopped
Bedroom Chronicles to watch him arch slightly. Oh yeah, she thought. The excitement of what was to come made her hot box even more soaking wet. She placed one hand on each of Amare’s firm, muscular ass cheeks, and gently spread them apart. He grabbed a handful of the bed sheets in response. He knew he wasn’t too comfortable with anyone playing around near his exit, but he felt so hot he couldn’t protest. Starting at the top of his crack again, she licked her way down until she found his anal hole, then she blew on it gently. “Ohhhhh,” he cried out. He felt a little tingling sensation in his balls. Denim licked at his hole roughly, moving her head from side to side. She grew more excited as she ravished him with her tongue…in and out…in and out. Amare began involuntarily pumping his ass toward her tongue. He didn’t know what had come over him. Denim bent further and flicked her tongue from his ass to the area near his balls. “Oh shit!” he screamed out, feeling his juices welling up in him. Denim abruptly stopped, smiling slyly, making him whimper and beg for it. “Please, baby, give it to me.” “Gladly,” she smirked. She grabbed the anal lube from the nightstand, pouring it all over his ass…over the cheeks and inside. “You ready?” she whispered. Amare was in another world, he couldn’t answer. “I guess that means yes,” she said, as she slipped her middle finger inside, penetrating his virgin asshole ever so slightly…in and out. Amare punched the bed. He felt violated, but it felt so good he wouldn’t dare tell her to stop. Denim used her other hand to hold onto his balls. She could feel them hard and engorged. “Turn over,” she said, giggling. Her inner thighs were soaked with her own juices. When
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Amare turned over, Denim lifted his balls and licked the sensitive area between the balls and the anus. This drove him even crazier. “Urrrgghhh!” he screamed, he couldn’t take it. He loved every minute of it. The more he screamed, the further she inserted her finger. The next thing she knew, Amare was panting, “Huh, huh, huh.” Then his eyes rolled back into his head. His high yellow face was red, and Denim could see a large green vein throbbing at his temple. “Ooooohh!” he screamed as he came, erupting like a volcano. “Mmmm,” she moaned, as she lapped up his creamy surprise. That was the hardest she had ever seen him cum. His body relaxed and his head lolled to the side. He was exhausted. Denim smiled. It was her turn. “What was that all about?” Amare asked, still a little winded. “I had to show you that you’re not the only one that could please.” “Point taken,” he said, smiling. “I have something else to tell you, baby,” she said, jumping up. She rushed over and picked up her surprises, placing them behind her back. “I ain’t all that fond of surprises,” he told her. The shit she had just done to him was enough of a surprise. Amare knew that fucking with Denim was getting dangerous for him. “First this,” she said, extending the hand that held their travel plans. Amare reached out and took the paperwork. He read it and looked up at her with his eyes wide. “Yo, what’s this? I can’t go to another country for a month!” he screeched, standing up.
Bedroom Chronicles “Sure you can. Whatever money you will miss out on from work, I’ll pay you,” Denim assured, not getting his point. “You’re not understanding me.” “When you see my next surprise, you’ll change your mind. Here,” Denim said, smiling as if he hadn’t just told her he couldn’t go with her. She extended her other hand, holding a pregnancy test proudly like it was a medal. Amare looked down at her hand and suddenly felt hot inside. His stomach muscles clenched, and a wave of nausea overcame him. “You can’t be pregnant by me!” he growled, suddenly feeling enraged. “Don’t be silly. We’ve been making sweet love for almost a year now,” she stammered, her smile fading. “Look, you don’t even know me. You better get rid of that baby. I’m not the father,” he barked, putting on his clothes. “Where are you going? Our private plane leaves in a few hours,” she said, panic lacing her words. “Look, this has gone too far. We can’t see each other anymore.” “No, you belong to me! I own you! You work for me!” “No, I was your fucking gardener. I worked for the landscaping company that took care of your fucking estate! You don’t even know me…or where I’m from!” he roared, pushing her away from him. Denim had grabbed onto him to prevent him from leaving. “You can’t leave me! No one tells me no! Do you know who I am?” she yelled, in desperation. “Denim, you’re a beautiful girl that can have any man you want. I’m not who you think I am. It’s over, this has gone far enough,” he told her, softening his voice. Denim stared at his gorgeous face. She thought they would be together forever. “You’re just like everyone else! You don’t really love me! You just wanted to use me! You
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tried to trick me into thinking you would love me forever!” Amare was shocked. He had no clue what she was talking about. He had never told her he loved her, or that he would be with her. “I hate you! You ruined my life! I hate you! You did it for years and years and years!” she raged, her pent-up childhood pouring out. Feelings and time that had nothing to do with her and Amare. “You lied to me! You never loved me! I love you so much!” she shrieked, slapping Amare in his face and throwing punches at his body. He grabbed her wrists in self-defense. “Years? You’re crazy, Denim. I’m leaving. You need to pull yourself together. It was just fucking,” he gritted, releasing her with a shove. Denim stumbled backward and dropped to the floor. She rocked her body back and forth, digging her nails into her thighs until she broke her own skin. Her chest heaved, and she moved her head awkwardly, in and out. This wasn’t the end. No one ever told her no.
Chapter Seven
Denim picked up the pictures and the information that the private investigator had delivered. She examined them over and over again. “Married! From the ghettos of Brooklyn! Fucking liar!” she screamed out loud, although she was alone. She softened as she examined the close up shots the investigator had taken of Amare’s face. Her expression quickly changed, as she flipped to a picture of his wife. Denim looked down at the weapon she had purchased. Amare would definitely have to pay for being a liar. Denim jumped, startled out of her reverie by a car speeding down the city block. She slammed her hands on her steering wheel, just thinking about some of her sexual escapades with Amare. “Bastard,” she grumbled, as she eyed the front of the house. She didn’t even know why she was really there on an inner city Brooklyn street, stalking a man who never really
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was hers. Denim was well aware of her status as a wealthy heiress. She also knew, and had proven, that she could buy virtually anything she wanted…including men. Yet, here she sat in front of Amare’s house falling apart because he had broken things off with her. Her chest began heaving just thinking of Amare’s dismissal. She checked inside her Birkin bag to ensure that she was ready. Then she looked up at herself in the rearview mirror. Even with her eyes obscured by the huge oyster shell Jackie-O style Gucci shades, Denim could see that she definitely didn’t look like herself. Her slanted chestnut brown eyes had large dark rings under them from crying. Her usually perfectly shaped eyebrows were growing wildly, and her usually flawless caramel complexion appeared ashen, absent of its usual flawless appearance and glow. She had her expensive hair extensions pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. If it had been a few months earlier, she wouldn’t have been caught dead out of her home without freshly coifed locks. Right now, she didn’t care. She was on a mission. Denim couldn’t even understand her own obsession with Amare. What she did know was that he was the first man that had fully satisfied her insatiable sexual desires. Amare doesn’t know who he fucked over. I always get what I want, she thought, as she fumbled with the door handles on her Mercedes Maybach, which she had never driven herself. She scrambled out of the car and rushed towards the front door she had been watching for the past two hours. With her heart racing wildly, Denim lifted the tarnished metal knocker and banged it three times. The door swung open and their eyes locked in on each other. “What the hell are you doing here?” Amare whispered, stretching his eyes wide.
Bedroom Chronicles He had his jaw opened so wide, his chin almost touched his chiseled chest. He had never told Denim about where he was from, and he never questioned the fact that she had never asked. She eyed him evilly; craning her neck to get a glimpse of the woman she considered her nemesis inside the house behind Amare. “I always get what I want. I told you that I owned you. Do you know who I am?” she gritted loudly, as Amare tried to use his body to obscure her view into his home. “You better get the fuck away from here right now. I’m warning you,” he whispered harshly, stepping out of the doorway towards Denim to block her view and to keep her from trying to get inside. Denim let out a loud maniacal laugh. Although Amare was 6’2” and built of solid muscle, she sent a cold chill down his spine. His heart thumped wildly behind his chest bone like it would break free at any minute. “You underestimated me, huh? Didn’t think I’d find out about your lying ass, did you?” she yelled out, attracting the attention of some of the busy bodies on the street. “What the fuck are you talking about? We weren’t a couple, it was just fucking,” Amare growled, biting down into his jaw. His fear was turning into pure anger. He was about to go up top on Denim’s ass. He didn’t care about being violated by parole. He clenched his fists at his sides. “I just want to be with you,” Denim whined, and extended her hands like she wanted a hug. Her mood had suddenly changed. Amare felt like he was dealing with two different people. “Look…what,” he started, but just then, they heard the woman inside yell out and ask who was at the door. Amare nervously turned his head to answer his wife, taking his eyes off Denim for less than a second. Denim took
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that as her opportunity, and pulled out her newly purchased H&K .45. “I have never loved anyone else. You told me that you loved me,” she whimpered like a hurt puppy, with the gun in front of her. She went from angry to soft, and back to angry again like a real nut case. Leveling the .45 at Amare, she screamed, “Amare, didn’t you say you loved me?” “What the fuck?” he screamed out, his eyes stretched wide. He started backing up with his hands in front of his chest. Denim charged forward, waving the gun menacingly, backing Amare into the doors of his home. “Get dressed, you’re leaving this bitch and coming with me!” she screamed, her caramel face turning red. Amare’s wife came running towards the commotion to investigate. “What the fuck is going on?” she shrieked, furrowing her eyebrows, thinking they were being robbed. Denim was in the hood where guns weren’t a big deal and women fought for their men. She sucked her teeth at the sight of Amare’s wife. “This is my competition, this raggedy bitch?” she asked, turning towards Amare. “Raggedy bitch? Who the fuck you talkin’ about?” Amare’s wife screamed out. It was like she didn’t even see the gun, she was so angry. “Get back, it’s okay. I’m going to take care of it,” Amare called out to his wife. He knew Denim had sometimes been unpredictable, borderline unstable, but he would’ve never guessed this. “Wait! You…you are…” the woman started, recognizing Denim from her many red carpet appearances and paparazzi shots. Denim Nelson had put Paris Hilton to shame in that aspect. She was a media magnet and a party hound. “Yes, I’m that bitch. You’ve seen me on every red carpet,
Bedroom Chronicles blah, blah. Your bitch is smart, Amare. Now tell her how smart I am in bed! Tell her what you did!” Denim screamed, waving the handgun in front of her with unsteady hands. “Amare, what the fuck is she talkin’ about? Somebody better start fuckin’ talking now! You ain’t the only one with a burner, bitch!” Amare’s wife screamed out. She didn’t even realize that she was dealing with a mentally unstable person. “Listen, Denim, we can talk about all of this. Just put the gun down,” Amare pleaded, his hands still up in surrender. “You are mine! Now let’s go home!” Denim screamed, her eyes bulging and the vein in her neck pulsing fiercely against her skin. A baby started screaming from the other room. Amare swallowed hard, and his wife instinctively turned towards the sound. “Don’t fucking move!” Denim instructed, turning the barrel of the gun towards his wife. “How old is the baby?” she asked in an unnervingly calm voice, tilting her head slightly to the right, with tears welling up in her eyes. All she could think of now was the medical procedure she was forced to have because she would’ve never been able to explain to her family being pregnant by the gardener. “C’mon, I’ll go with you. Let’s just go wherever you want to go,” Amare pleaded, sensing that things were getting worse. “Amare, what are you saying? What is really going on?” his wife screamed, shaking all over as she finally realized that the woman in front of her was certifiably seven-thirty (nuts). “I said how old is the goddamn baby?” Denim screamed again. “Three months,” Amare gulped. Denim doubled over slightly, like he had punched her in
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the stomach. Tears fell from her eyes like a rapid waterfall. She turned towards the baby’s cries, the gun extended out in front of her. Her hands shook and her vision was clouded with tears. “How old would our baby have been?” she whimpered, pointing the gun at his wife. Denim started inching forward. That was it. Amare had had enough. He finally decided to make his move. He couldn’t stand there and allow Denim to harm his wife or his baby. He lunged towards her. “You bitch!” he screamed out, grabbing onto the gun. Denim struggled with him over the weapon, her finger slipping into the trigger. “Ahh!” the wife screamed out, as Amare and Denim struggled. His wife wanted to move, but she was seemingly rooted to the floor. She screamed out Amare’s name, and just as the scream left her mouth…BANG! A shot cut through the air. “Oh my God!” she shrieked. Denim and Amare crumpled to the floor, a tangled heap of twisted arms and legs. Neither of them able to understand how things spiraled out of control so fast. There was blood everywhere. Somebody wasn’t going to make it. “Amare!” both women shrieked. Amare grabbed his chest as blood leaked from the hole in the center. He looked from Denim to his wife and back again. He opened his mouth, but he could not muster enough breath to speak. He moved his lips and mouthed, “I’m sorry.” That was his last movement. “No!” his wife screamed. Denim was still trying to move, but she felt like her leg was broken. “You bitch!” Amare’s wife shrieked, kicking the gun away from Denim’s hand. She kicked Denim in the stomach and then the chin. Denim cried out in pain.
Bedroom Chronicles Amare’s wife continued her brutal assault until she heard the police racing up her sidewalk and yelling for her to stop. Somebody on the block had to have called in the fired shot. -§“Today on Oprah, Denim Nelson. The wealthy heiress of the Briggs-Nelson empire who was convicted of killing her former lover, Amare, speaks candidly to Oprah live via satellite from the Bedford Hills Women’s Prison about how obsession led her to murder. Denim stared into the satellite television screen and listened to Oprah’s questions. “What could possibly make a woman who has everything in the world become so obsessed with a man that you’d kill him in cold blood?” Denim was anticipating this question, and she was not going to keep the secret anymore. “Oprah, having everything means absolutely nothing when you grow up being abused. Money can’t take away the nights that your own father crept into your bedroom and had sex with you at the age of ten. It also can’t fix no one ever hearing you scream because your home was so huge and your bedroom was so far from others. Having every material thing couldn’t cure the hurt I felt when I told my mother and she slapped me because she didn’t believe me. My family’s name couldn’t erase the shame I felt that my own father ignited a sexual desire in me that was so strong I had to have a man in my bedroom for sex every single day. And when I didn’t have a man, I masturbated three times a day. See, Oprah, I became obsessed with a man who I thought finally loved me. But he didn’t love me, I was in love with him because after all the years of harboring a different kind of obsession, one that would cure my sexual
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desires, and make them go away for at least a day, he had finally done that for me. I no longer had to wonder what being satisfied was because of him. He fixed that part of my obsession,” she said, finally letting go of the pain.
The People vs.CelesteWilliams Anna J
“It wasn’t a crime of passion, Your Honor,” my ruggedly handsome attorney spoke with a deep baritone voice as he pleaded my case. I should have been paying more attention to the goings-on during the trial, but watching him work the courtroom proved to be a bit of a distraction. I could feel my clit pulsate between my tightly closed legs as I fantasized about him working me around my bedroom. Charles Anthony Hawthorne, III was a tall glass of chocolate milk. He stood about six feet five inches tall, and he was muscular. He had smooth dark skin that emanated a slight glow. Probably from his bright white smile and gorgeous brown eyes. His stance commanded attention. I was sure any woman would’ve delighted in giving him whatever he wanted. As I watched the few female jurors’ facial expressions, it was evident that they, too, were having the same thoughts as I. I just wanted a small taste of Philadelphia’s most powerful relationship attorney. He was single, and I wondered why no one had snagged him yet. “I will present several pieces of evidence that I have
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already shared with the prosecutor, as well as witnesses, that will attest to both my client’s character and the wonderful relationship she had with her late husband, Byron Williams. By the end of this trial, you will agree that my client, Celeste Williams, loved and adored her husband and would never have purposely tried to hurt him.” The male jurors’ faces said they couldn’t wait to put me behind bars. The female jurors, however, weren’t that concerned with me. Their faces said they would readily agree to an orgy with Charles if it meant speeding up this case. He reminded me of the type of man a woman didn’t mind sharing because there was too much of him for one person. Although I missed my husband, I couldn’t help picturing Charles naked, more often than not. If he had any bodily features remotely similar to what I’d imagined, he would be a keeper for real. Just in case you’re wondering, I didn’t kill my husband… on purpose. Byron and I had a wonderful relationship and ten year marriage. We were one of those rare couples, who, on any given night, would go outside at three in the morning and make love by the pool. Because he knew how much I loved receiving cunnilingus, he wouldn’t hesitate to prop my ass up on top of a pillow and feast for days. He had this technique where he would part the lips of my vagina with his tongue, then suckle the hood of my clit before licking his way back down to the opening of my honey pot. Once there, he would tongue fuck me until I screamed out in ecstasy. He loved when I spread my legs and held my lips open for him so that he could use one hand to finger my pussy while fingers from his other hand were in my asshole. His neatly groomed goatee would soak up all the juices I squirted, and his tongue would never leave my clit, even if I pleaded with him to stop. He liked me to beg, and I liked it just as much. I met my husband at a military ball I’d been invited to
Bedroom Chronicles by a close friend. Her husband was in the Navy, and every year there was a ball honoring those who went above and beyond their call of duty while they protected and served our country. At first, I wanted nothing to do with any of those “boat boys” because they had reputations of whorish dogs, and many were suspected of having side families in other countries and faithful wives right here in the United States. “Come on, girl. It’ll be fun. And, besides all that, what are you doing tonight? School is out for the summer, so let’s enjoy it before the semester starts back up. John would love for you to go,” Leslie, my best bud of over twenty years, spoke into the phone, trying hard to convince me to join her and her husband that evening. We were both nursing students, and had both opted to take off for the summer and enjoy ourselves since the past semesters had been so intense. She had mentioned the ball to me months before, and I had gone out and bought something sexy to wear for the event. But I never confirmed that I would actually go. I didn’t feel like being a third wheel…again. Not that Leslie and John ever made me feel like an outsider. If anything, jokingly, it would be as if John had two dates. At one point, we’d all entertained having a threesome, but none of us wanted to risk destroying our friendship so we never went through with it. I guessed it would been fun…going to the ball. The only plans I had for that evening were painting my toes and giving myself a mud mask while watching reruns of Martin. “Okay, okay…stop pressuring me,” I laughed into the phone, appeasing my friend and agreeing to go with them. I glanced at the clock, then rushed Leslie off the phone so I could get ready. I only had four hours to polish my toes, do my hair, get my make-up together and slide into
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this sexy red number I picked up from S.H.E. Boutique, an upscale establishment in Old City that specialized in one of a kind pieces. It could’ve been done in less time than that, but I didn’t want to rush. I wanted to take my time. I had also purchased the sexiest pair of ostrich feather stilettos to perfectly compliment the outfit, and I wanted to break them in. Of course, like so many other nights, I decided to go panty-less. Over the next few hours, I scrubbed my cinnamon skin with a brown sugar scrub from Carol’s Daughter until my skin glowed. Afterward, I massaged my thick frame with Mango Mélange Shea Soufflé. The soufflé left me smelling delicious; the massage made me feel the same. Noticing the clock, I realized I still a had a good amount of time before I had to meet up with Leslie and John, so I took it upon myself to release a little pressure. In the top drawer of my nightstand is where I kept Hector and Pablo, a vibrator and a thick dildo that I played with every so often. I often envisioned them attached to a sexy Spanish man as I stretched my walls to accommodate either one. I grabbed them both, then spread out on top of my Serena & Lily one thousand thread count comforter that made me feel like I was wrapped in a cloud, and contemplated. My walls tightened and my clit pulsated as I measured the weight of the respective toys in each hand, trying to decide how I wanted to play. Did I want to use Hector, the vibrator, and allow him to take me to ecstasy without having to do much work? Or did I prefer to indulge with Pablo, the eight-inch crystal dildo with a beaded base and five-inch circumference that always made me work up a serious sweat? It was a hard decision, but I chose Hector since I didn’t want to ruin my hair, then lovingly tucked Pablo back away in the drawer, promising to get with him when I got back home.
Bedroom Chronicles
Applying a few drops of KY Warming Liquid to my already soaked slit, I enjoyed the weight of Hector as I slid him up and down my opening, dipping his head in every so often. Once my juices started to really flow, I took the liberty of turning Hector on to a medium speed, smiling as the head began to spin and the pearl beads began to rotate and jump around, seemingly in anticipation of pleasing my pussy. The Bunny Ears on the clitoral stimulator vibrated, and I took my time pushing in Hector until he was all the way inside. The ears wrecked havoc on my clit. I moaned loudly, not caring if the neighbors heard me as I slowly moved the toy in and out of my tight walls, thrusting back as I spread my legs as far as east and west as they could go. A puddle formed under me. With my free hand I teased my nipples, occasionally inserting one into my mouth and wishing I had a man to do it instead. My eyes were closed tight as my orgasm began to slowly build, and I had to fight to keep Hector in place because my clit had become so sensitive I could barely take the Bunny Ears vibrating against it. The butterflies in my stomach were out of control as my pussy made slurping sounds. I was sure my moans penetrated the walls, making their way out onto the street. My orgasm made me feel like I was falling, and I could barely catch my breath as hot honey oozed out around Hector and ran down the crack of my ass. My entire body trembled and I forced my legs shut after turning up Hector as high as he could go to aid in
