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He licks around my labia and I fight the urge to let him have me for breakfast. I push back on my elbows toward the headboard and force him to lose his position over my moist box.
“Keith, I can’t this morning. I have to be at work early and don’t have time to serve you my biscuit. I’m sorry.”
As I leave the bed, a disappointing look consumes his face, even though he tells me that he understands. I feel strange, not because I’ll miss out on his good, pussy-eatin’ skills, but because today I need to tell Bishop no more carpooling and no more hot, crazy sex.
I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, thinking I must be nuts to let go of Bishop’s big, ten-inch, pussy-satisfying penis for Keith’s small rod. How in the hell am I going to do this? Just thinking about Bishop and the fire we create is getting me excited. Shit, to tell the truth, I can’t wait to see him. I’ll wear something extra special today so that when I tell him my news, he’ll crave me, but can’t have me. I’m gonna drive his ass crazy with my control and power over our lustful affair. Yeah, I know, some would say this is teasing, but do I care? Hell no. If I gotta let him go, then I’m gonna do so in a fashion that will leave him desiring me. This way, if ever I have an itch, I know he’ll be willing to scratch it.
Thirty minutes later, I kiss Keith good-bye and I’m ready to walk out of the house with just one thing on my mind—Bishop Thomas.
I arrive at Perimeter, waiting for the silver metallic 500 Mercedes to pull up. I know wearing these four-inch heel sandals with my mid-thigh, wrap-around dress is going to make him drool. I love how the material feels against my skin, especially since the only undergarment I have on is my bra for perfect cleavage. I have a thong in my purse for wearing after I complete my mission this morning.
At seven-thirty a.m., an immaculate 2005 Black Escalade slowly rolls up to the curb. The SUV is outfitted with a serious chrome grill, sparkling spinner rims, and dark-tinted windows, looking like it has been spit-shined from the rooter to the tooter. I commit the license plate, “THA BLKNT,” to memory in case the person inside is up to no good. But I gotta admit, “The Black Night” does suit this armored vehicle. I stand on guard as the right passenger window lowers. I hear, “Mornin’, precious,” and am relieved to discover the driver of the Black Night is Bishop. I open the door and slide in, admiring the interior of the pimped-out ride. This is far more impressive than the Mercedes.
“Nice,” I comment.
“You like?” he questions as his wet tongue tries to meet mine. I succeed in not slobbing him down like normal. I have to control this situation in order to end it, but I think this is going to be more difficult than I had planned.
“Yeah, this is cool.”
“So, how are you today, Connie, my sizzling tamale? You look hot in that dress.”
“How cute. I’m fine.”
“Really? You look concerned about something this morning. And the conservative way you reciprocated my kiss is not exactly what I was expecting from you. Anything wrong?”
I’m trying to hide my thoughts, but I guess I’m not doing a very good job. There’s nothing to do now except get this out of the way. The sooner, the better, right?
“Well, Bishop, now that you mention it. There is something on my mind.”
A huge pause occupies the space between us before he replies, “Sounds serious. What’s up?”
I adjust the way I’m sitting to slightly turn and face him. Damn! This is hard. I look at my ideal sex partner—smart, career-minded, handsome, muscular, passionate—and think, do I really want to give up his ten inches of rock-hard, thick, solid dick that consumes all of my deep cavity? Do I want to give up this Adonis who understands how I like my pearly showers? Keith pops into my mind—a caramelcoated, take-no-shit, intelligent, successful entrepreneur who is handsome, athletically built, considerate, and loving. He does all he can to please me with the six inches he’s blessed to have. But am I happy with him? He makes me laugh in ways no other does, appeases my senses; he always smells so damn good and is pleasing to watch. I feel at ease when we’re together and he’s easy to talk to and always listens to me, no matter what subject I choose to discuss. With Bishop, I never have much to say.
So, here I sit with a dilemma: Do I give up Bishop for Keith’s sake?
“Connie, are you okay?” Bishop asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yeah, uh sure.”
“Something’s up. Let’s go chat a moment,” he suggests.
Bishop tries to make small talk as we drive to Lenox Mall where we pick up George. I moderately entertain the conversation but am mostly silent along the way. I see the signs for the Lenox Marta subway but instead of going straight to the Park & Ride to get George, he detours. He drives to a nearby parking garage and parks the Escalade on a secluded upper deck. He turns off the engine, killing a mellow groove by KEM that’s soothing to my ears.
“Okay, Connie, let’s talk. What’s going on?”
Everything in me wants to just say, “I can’t see you anymore,” but nothing comes out of my mouth. I merely look into his beautiful hazel eyes and wish I could have him all to myself—no Keith, no wife.
“Connie, what’s gotten into you?” His tone is changing, becoming stern. I realize I’m frustrating him and that’s not my intention.
“Bishop, there’s something I think you should know.”
“What?”
“I uh, I think today is my last day carpooling. This isn’t working out for me.”
He looks at me blankly, then out the window and then back at me. I assume it’s to gather his words.
“Connie, what happened? Did George say something to you ’cause I’ll—”
