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“Nah, girl. I don’t think I’ll be done by then,” I lied, knowing good and well the style Amani wanted should only take me an hour and a half, max.
“Okay then, sweetie, I’ll catch you at yoga class tomorrow night?”
“Oh, fo’ sho, gurrrllllll. I’ll be there.”
Amani must have closed his eyes and gone into full-on chill mode while I was on the phone with LaTonya. I half wondered if he was actually asleep, which would be okay by me because I wanted a chance to drink in that sexy man without having to pretend anymore I wasn’t staring at him. And I wanted more time to feel on him. I started braiding real, real slow, redoing sections that didn’t need to be redone, shifting from one foot to the other. Oh, my feet didn’t hurt or nothin’, don’t get it twisted. I just had to shift because the very smell of him (the coconut oil mixing with some kind of warm patchouli scent he was wearing) was making my crotch twitch like a muthafucka. Amani noticed my restless movements and looked up at me seductively. So, he wasn’t sleeping after all.
“Kiki, you getting tired?” Aww. He sounded genuinely concerned.
“Naw, I’m okay, boo. My back is just a little achy from spinning class earlier today,” I lied.
“Aw, that ain’t no good. Want me to sit on the floor so you can get more comfortable?”
“You don’t mind?” I cooed. “Yeah, that would be cool.”
I sat on the edge of my bed and positioned Amani on a plush, velvet Moroccan poof on the floor in front of me. Wrapping my legs around the sides of his finely sculpted torso, I began braiding down the last remaining section of his unruly ’Fro. I could feel Amani’s body heat radiating through the fabric of his tight white T. My legs burned with anticipation of I didn’t know quite what…yet. When he breathed or stretched, Amani’s shirt tugged upon the exaggerated outline of his magnificently worked-out chest. Was it my imagination, or was his body getting hotter by the second, too? My question was answered moments later, when I felt a man’s hands drifting up and down the back of my calves. Warm, coarse palms wandered over the flesh of my thick, curvy legs for what seemed like an eternity. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, Amani turned himself around so that he was kneeling between my open thighs. With one hand he slowly eased my body down toward the mattress, while the other spread apart my willing limbs even farther, as far as they could possibly go (without morphing into Dominique Dawes, that is). I could feel Amani’s warm breath against the fabric of my panties, then the insanely delicious brush of his lips grazing their white lace edges. Exquisite torture as he slowly nibbled at the lace, working his mouth ever so lightly across my snatch, like a butterfly fluttering over the petals of a flower. Tenderly, his fingers pushed aside the satin crotch of the panties and spread open the lips of my anxious pussy. My healthy brown legs quivered uncontrollably as soft, pillow-light lips brushed my vajayjay just once before I felt his warm, sensual mouth begin to explore the wet folds of my coochie. He groaned softly, that unmistakable mmmmm, you know, the mmmmm we reserve for sexual pleasure and eating Krispy Kreme doughnuts? When his tongue shot inside the walls of my cunt, I reached for the closest pillow I could find and screamed into it like a white girl at a Dave Matthews concert. Not a good look. It was one of my Eastern “decorative” pillows from Pier 1, and though it did an okay job of muffling my cries of pleasure, I ended up with a mouthful of silver sequins. Before I had a chance to reach for another, more practical pillow to shri
ek into, Amani had grabbed me by both legs and yanked me even farther over the bed’s edge so that my dripping cunt was practically sitting on his long, hard spear of a tongue; a melting chocolate Häagen-Dazs bar skewered on top of her own personal Popsicle stick.
Amani threw my legs up over his shoulders and continued to eat me so, so, so, soooo good, as I admired my glossy new Asphyxia pedicure behind his head. Damn, but that boy could eat a coochie. And he didn’t seem like he wanted to stop… ever. Typically, I can almost sense that “I’ve done my duty, now it’s your turn to do me” vibe coming over a brother, but not Amani. Oh, hell, nawww. This sweet thug was acting like he had found himself the juiciest peach in the farmers’ market, and he wasn’t ’bout to let it go until he had sucked every last drop of nectar and sweet flesh from its pit, which was fine wid me. I had to pray those sequins I was swallowing weren’t too terribly toxic, ’cause this man was fixin’ to keep me squealing into my “purely decorative” pillows all night long. I couldn’t take it. I threw my head backward in wild abandon as he suckled at my screaming honey trap, and there, looking down on us with a vaguely approving, serene little smirk, was Sarasvati, the golden goddess. I swear, it was almost like she was talking to me as Amani lapped at my pussy. Like she was saying, “Mmmm-hmmm, girl. That’s right. That is where a man belongs…on his knees, prostrate, between our legs, worshipping the pu-nah-ny. Don’t fight it. Let him bow down. Let him lick, let him suck, let him nibble, let him bite, let him rub, let him fondle, let him taste. Let him give the almighty pussy its due, sister.”
Hours and countless screams into my poor, poor mangled pillow later, I gazed down upon Amani’s beautiful, brown face still nestled between my moist legs. Stroking my hands over his neat, pretty cornrows affectionately, I said, “I think you missed your basketball game, boo.”
Amani smiled up at me mischievously, his face still gleaming with my juices. “Mmmm-hmmm. I know,” he replied sarcastically. “Sisters is always trying to keep a brotha from enjoying his NBA game. That’s okay though, Shorty, ’cause I was doing a little goaltending of my own down here.”
“Goaltending what?” I asked, playing dumb and giggling.
“This juicy little cunt of yours,” Amani responded, plunging first his fingers and then his tongue back into my waiting yoni.
I thought about reciprocating. I thought about getting on my knees and unzipping that man’s pants with my teeth, taking his pretty brown cock in my mouth and sucking on it long and hard until his cum trickled down my lips like honey. I thought about blindfolding his sexy ass and taking him out to the back alley behind my apartment, letting him fuck the hell out of me on the steps of the fire escape, fuck me hard against the cold, redbrick walls of my building. Yeah, lying there on my back, this beautiful black man’s face buried deep inside my grateful cunt, I thought about a whole lot of things. But, in the end I decided to just lie there like a queen and savor this rare moment of complete female selfishness. I decided to let him just do his thang. Besides, with the way Amani was moaning with the pleasure of giving me pleasure, I was quite sure there would be plenty of other times in the future when we could try out some other tricks. But, even if there weren’t any “other times,” even if I never heard from this sweet, chocolate prince again after tonight, it felt so good and so right to simply receive this one time; to accept the adoration that was being given to me. I realized at that moment that it wasn’t merely the “touching” I had been missing so desperately, but the being touched. And this amazing young brother with his talented tongue had touched me to my very core.
Almost Identical
Linda “Sunshine” Herman
I don’t know why I listened to Joy. Even though I was born ten minutes before her, she was the bossy one. Everything was always about what she wanted, and I always gave in. Over the years we had shared everything from toys to friends. Now she wanted to share something more personal. She wanted me to pretend to be her while she traveled to the Bahamas with her “sugar daddy.” That meant I had to entertain her live-in boyfriend, Roderick, while she was away.
“Just tell him you’re on your period.”
That’s the best she could do? I was supposed to tell him that I was on my period for seven whole days?! Joy and I were identical but we were as different as night and day. Roderick, who had only met me once, should have been smart enough to know the difference. He and Joy had been living together for a few months. He should have known when she got her period. We were twins but not everything was the same. If you had ever watched Girlfriends, it was easy to see that she was Lynn and I was Joan, even though we resembled Toni. I just wished I had more of Maya’s attitude though.
“Joy, that man ain’t no fool. He knows when you get your period. Besides, I don’t know what the two of you do for fun. What does he like to eat? What’s your pet name for him?” I was giving in.
“Faith, you know me. I call every man Pumpkin. As far as eating is concerned, you’re on your period, remember?” she teased.
“Ha! Fucking ha! I meant, what foods does he enjoy, freak!”
“I’m not much for cooking, so, he normally brings home takeout.”
I learned as much as I could about Roderick Ford. After all, I would be Joy for the next week. Luckily for her I could request vacation without jeopardizing my job, and her sugar daddy, Hiram Sanders, was paying for my plane ticket. Of course I was traveling light. If I was going to be Joy, that meant wearing her skimpy clothing as well.
Joy and I have traded places before. I was the one who took all of our important tests in school. The teachers couldn’t tell us apart. So, on test days, we were sure to dress exactly alike. Thanks to my study habits, we both graduated with honors. Thanks to Joy, we also graduated with reputations for being easy because she pretended to be me with my boyfriends. Even though I wouldn’t go all the way, she would.
Now we’re both twenty-four-year-old adults. I live in Atlanta, Georgia, where I work as an editor. Joy lives in Miami, Florida, and her job is being pretty and having fun. Every now and again she may take on a job as a waitress or a hostess. For the most part she is taken care of by men like Hiram Sanders.
Hiram, from what Joy has told me, is damn near fifty years old. He is widowed and has two sons, both of whom are older than Joy and me. Hiram is filthy rich and loves nothing more than the company of a young, beautiful woman on his arm. He’s not looking for another wife, which is fine with Joy. She’s not looking for a husband. She simply wants someone to pay her bills when they’re due.
I don’t know how she and Roderick met. He actually seems like a decent guy. He’s a painter and works full-time teaching art to youths. Even though he’s thirty-three, he has never been married and has no kids. He seems to think the world of Joy, but I’m sure she only moved in with him because she needed a place to live and was between men like Hiram.
