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I pull my fingers outta her sticky snatch. Tell her to lie on her stomach. I lick my lips. I run into the bathroom, then come back out wit’ a bottle of baby oil. When I pour it onto her back, she flinches, then relaxes when I slowly start massagin’ her neck and shoulders and back, then her juicy ass. I’m kneadin’ the kinks outta her body so good that I got her purrin’.
She whispers, “Aaaaah, this feels so good, baby.” My hands slide down to her calves, then back up to her thighs, lightly brushin’ her pussy. She spreads her legs, hikes her ass up in the air.
“Yeah, you want daddy to long stroke this wet pussy, don’t you.” She moans. I run my hand along the back slit of her hole, take two fingers and press on its opening, then slide them into her.
“Mmmm-hmmm…” She bucks her hips. “Stop teasing me. And fuck me.” I eat her from the back, then reach for a condom, slidin’ it on. I plunge deep into her. She gasps. “Ohhh, shiiiiit…” Her pussy clenches my dick, milks it. My shaft strokes her clit as I lift up on my arms and pump in and outta her. I reach in front of her and grab her titties and start squeezin’ on ’em. I dick her down slow ’n deep at first, then pick up the pace and start feedin’ her with long, fast strokes. Pullin’ all the way out, then slammin’ it back into her. Ten minutes later, I pull out, flip her over onto her back, then slide back into her. Her eyes roll up in the back of her head. The bed starts to rock. She clutches the sheets. Sweat rolls down my face, then drips onto her chest. Two minutes later, she is growlin’ and howlin’ and creamin’ all over my dick. I snatch the condom off and start jerkin’ my shit off in rapid strokes. She plays wit’ her clit as she watches me.
Five minutes later, my body starts to jerk. I moan, splash out a hot nut, then flop over on my back, tryna catch my breath. Cherry jumps outta bed, and hops in the shower. Fifteen minutes later, she is dressed and racin’ out the door. I glance over at the clock; 8:53 A.M. It’s almost noon back home. Let me call this ho, I think, gettin’ outta bed. I pull my cell outta my pants pocket, then dial Vita’s number. She doesn’t pick up. I call back. Still no answer. I know this midget bitch sees my number. She’s probably still swoll. This time, I leave a message:
“Damn, baby…I’m sorry for not mak
in’ it out there. I had a family emergency and had to rush outta town…” I pause, then continue. “My grandmother passed away.” Yo, hol’ up…don’t look at me like that. I’m not lyin’. Why the fuck would I say some shit like that if it wasn’t true? She did pass away. Ten years ago. So technically, it ain’t a lie, feel me? “We knew she was sick, but we thought she’d still be here for at least the holidays. I’m sure you’re feelin’ some kinda way ’bout me not hittin’ you up. But, this got us all fucked up. I really wanted to see you, and I feel bad for not makin’ it down there. But this shit right here got me all fucked. The wake is today, and the funeral is tomorrow. I probably won’t be home until next week sometime. I’ma hit you wit’ some paper to pay for that ticket, aiight? Hit me up when you get this. Later.”
I decide to hit Kanika up. She picks up, soundin’ like I woke her. The thought of bein’ up in the sheets wit’ her stretches my dick. I squeeze it. We talk for ’bout fifteen minutes, makin’ plans to meet up ’round noon. I only have a small window of opportunity to make shit pop, so I let her know to be ready and not have me waitin’. I know I’m gonna haveta come up off of some paper today, so I’m glad Cherry left me eight bills up on the dresser. I toss my phone beside me on the bed, then roll over on my side and eventually doze off to sleep.
Twelve o’clock, I scoop up Kanika in front of her people’s spot. The minute she gets in and buckles up, I speed off. It’s sunny and clear skies. I let the top down and the wind is blowin’ her hair all over the place, but she doesn’t seem to give a fuck. I wanna reach over and run my hand through it, sumthin’ I can’t do wit’ Cherry’s weave-wearin’ ass. I can’t front, I was impressed when she came out as soon as I pulled up. I suggested she dress comfortable, and not wear heels. But she laughed, sayin’ heels were her life. However, bein’ the thoughtful cat that I am, I picked out a pair of sneakers for her. Aiight, aiight…I ain’t gonna front. I ransacked Cherry’s shoe closet and found a brand-new pair of white Gucci sneakers in the back of her closet that I brought wit’ me. I even found a Gucci shoppin’ bag to put ’em in. I just hope them shits fit. E’ery so often, I cut my eyes over at her. She has her head back on the headrest.
“So where are we headed?” she finally asks, liftin’ her Prada shades up and turning her head toward me. She’s lookin’ fly as fuck. I feel like pullin’ my dick out and lettin’ it hang in my lap as I drive to give her sumthin’ to look at while I’m flyin’ down the 405 freeway. On some real shit, I wanna pull over on the side of the road and fuck her bad as hell. But, I’ma keep shit in check. So far, she’s been actin’ like a classy chick, so I’ma continue to treat her as one. But, there’s a part of me that is hopin’ she ends up bein’ a bird, so I can pluck her tail feathers.
I smile, glancin’ over at her. “You’ve been kidnapped, beautiful lady. Do I need to blindfold you, too?” I ask, jokin’. She playfully hits me in the arm. I decide to drive down to Huntington Beach, which is ’bout forty miles south of L.A. It’s pretty much eight miles of beachfront wit’ a buncha shit to do, from hikin’ to kayakin’, from horseback ridin’ to skateboardin’ and surfin’. I’ve been there once ’bout three years ago, and kinda dug its vibe, so I decide to take the thirty-five-minute drive wit’ this beauty sittin’ next to me. I figure I can take her to Huntington Harbour—a part of Huntington Beach that’s made up of five man-made islands wit’ a buncha of channels and canals. Kinda makes you think you in Italy somewhere. That’s the vibe it gives you. We can take a gondola ride, take in the view, grab a bite to eat at one of the eateries, then jet back to L.A.
Right off of Pacific Highway, I pull into Peter’s Landing Marina, then park. “Aiight, pretty baby, we’re here,” I say, pullin’ the key outta the ignition. I slip my cell under the seat. Decide I’ma give her my undivided attention, so I won’t be needin’ it.
“How did you know this used to be one of my favorite places?” she asks, unfastenin’ her seatbelt. I tell her I know ’cause I’m psychic. She smiles. “Whatever. I wish you would have told me this is where you were takin’ me. I would have worn something else.”
In my head, I’m sayin’, “I don’t know why bitches don’t wanna listen. I told her ass to dress comfortably. But she wanna be on some cute shit, wearin’ muthafuckin’ heels.” I can tell her sexy ass is fuckin’ hard-headed. I pop open the trunk. “Don’t worry, baby, I got you.” I pull out the Gucci bag and hand it to her. “I got these for you.”
She peeks inside the bag, then looks up at me. “What’s this?”
“Open it up and find out.”
She pulls the box outta the bag, then opens it. “OMG, you bought these?” she asks, surprised. I nod. “That’s so sweet of you. But why?”
“Because I knew you were gonna need ’em,” I tell her, grinnin’, “so I scooped ’em up this mornin’ for you. Here, let me help you put ’em on.” I walk ’round the car and open the passenger-side door. She follows behind me, then sits in the car. I squat down in front of her, then remove her heels. Word is bond, my mouth starts to water the minute I see her pretty-ass toes. I wanna suck ’em, but a muhfucka keeps his cool. I slip the sneakers on her feet.
“Wow, and they fit. How’d you know my size?”
I flash a wide smile, winkin’ at her. “I told you I’m psychic, baby.”
“Oh, please,” she says, playfully wavin’ me on. “Try another lucky guess. But I’m impressed.”
“Yeah, aiight. Call it what you want, baby. Either way, I’m pretty good at sizin’ up a woman.”
“Is that so?” She stands up, glancin’ down at her feet. I can tell she’s pleased wit’ my selection—compliments of Cherry, of course. I take her shoes and place ’em in the trunk of the car.
“No doubt, baby.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask what else you’re good at.”
I grab her by the hand and lead her toward the dock. “Stick ’round, beautiful, and I’ma show you e’erything you need to know.” She smiles, shakin’ her head.
Two hours later, we’re at Habana Cabana—a Cuban spot— waitin’ for our waiter to come back wit’ our food. Kanika orders jumbo shrimp, and sliced lobster tail simmered in a Cuban red creole sauce. I order a mixed salad wit’ lettuce, tomatoe, avocado, cucumber and onions and the Polla a la Habana, grilled chicken breast cooked in a red sauce wit’ onions and peppers and a side order of plantains.
We’re both kinda sittin’ here in chill mode, sorta caught up in our own thoughts. I’m thinkin’ ’bout the hour gondola ride we had, and how she sat in front of me, laid back on my chest wit’ my arms wrapped ’round her as we went through the channels. Then dude—the Gondolier—pulled up under a bridge and started serenadin’ us in Italian. The whole vibe was sexy as hell. And on some real shit, I wanted to tongue her down, then fuck her right there on the spot wit’ dude watchin’.
She reaches over and lightly touches my hand, bringin’ my attention back to her. She smiles. “Everything okay?”
I return the smile, then hit her wit’: “Yeah, e’erything’s perfect. I was thinkin’ how runnin’ into you at Spago musta been fate. It’s definitely a sign.”
