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“Thanks,” he muttered as he made his way closer to Iris’ building.
“Hey, hey you! I’ll suck your dick for twenty dollars.” He kept on walking away, ignoring her. “Okay, ten! Please!” she screamed after him.
He made his way up a series of steps, used to dope fiends and tweakers offering themselves for cash or a fix. It came with the territory.
As he approached Iris’ building, he caught the scent of frying chicken, marijuana, and incense. He opened the front door after checking the list of residents’ names next to dated doorbells and buzzers. He found her and her niece’s place, written across a piece of masking tape in faded blue ink:
Iris Ashford– 3B.
He hiked it up three flights of stairs, bypassing the elevator which was clear down the end of the hall. Once he got in front of her door, he could hear the muffled sounds of ‘Miguel’s, ‘How Many Drinks?’ featuring Kendrick Lamar. He couldn’t help but crack a smile, recalling memories of some great sex sessions to that song back in the day. He rapped on the door and waited, hands on hips, humming to the music. He turned to nod at someone leaving their apartment, then faced the door again, noting a shadow blocking out part of the light from beneath the threshold.
“I know you’re lookin’ out the peephole, girl.” He cracked up laughing when that shadow disappeared just as fast as it had materialized. There was a brief wait, and then, the door slowly opened. Iris had on a white towel loosely wrapped around her head, a pair of tight ass jeans, and a baby pink tank top.
“You got some nerve showin’ up here. I told you not to bring yo’ ass ’round here.”
“That ain’t no way to speak to your boss.” He smirked, getting his jollies from her reactions.
“You ain’t my boss, and I told you I had plans. It’s wash day. I ain’t got time for this, Jude.” She stepped aside, signaling for him to come in. He waltzed right inside, and she shut and locked the door behind him. As he stood there, he quickly scanned her small living room. It was nice, though filled with cheap furniture and bargain basement art. “And wash day ain’t the laundry. I got—”
“I know what it is… your hair. I’ve dated Black women before,” he said. “I’m White, not ignorant.”
The woman rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth. Removing the towel from her head, she revealed tresses that were coated in some sort of whitish ointment. Perhaps hair conditioner. She glared at him as if she were itching to curse him out, but instead, they both burst out laughing. She shook her head and went to her small kitchenette. The counter next to her sink had a few hair products lined up on it, along with a comb and detangling brush.
“You don’t know anything about me or what I’m trying to do right now.” She grabbed a bottle of something and looked at the back of it, as if trying to find out something important.
“I know it takes hours for some of y’all. You got to spray it down with water,” he started to count off his fingers, “detangle, shampoo—and it can’t be just any ol’ shampoo. You base it on all sorts of things, all that 4B and 4C shit, porosity. Then, you gotta dry it, or let it dry on its own, but before that there’s the conditioning part, and that could be two, sometimes three steps within itself. And let’s not forget about the moisture retention and what style you’re preppin’ for. If it’s a weave, gotta braid it up; if it’s a twist out, gotta seal in the moisture by using the right oils and gels. Cornrows are easy, but don’t forget the baby hairs! Owww!” He burst out laughing when she swung a dish towel and snapped it hard against his shoulder. “Now why’d you go and do somethin’ like that?” He kept laughing as he rubbed his shoulder.
“I find it troubling that you know all of this shit and remember it, too. You’ve definitely been screwin’ some Black women if you know all of that…” She arched an eyebrow. “Still, what we do with our hair ain’t none of your business!” She turned on the water in her kitchen sink, then dipped her head under the stream. He stood there for a moment, watching her.Showtime…
“What are you doin’?!” she questioned, clearly not trusting him.
He massaged her tresses slowly, working his fingers in the thick mass of soft curls.
“I’m conditioning your hair.”
“Jude, get offa me!”
“Just settle the hell down and relax. I know what I’m doing.” He pushed up against her, his groin throbbing against her ass as he took over rinsing her hair. When he turned off the water, he rubbed a few of her tresses between his fingers. “It probably should’ve stayed on longer. Let’s do it over. This isn’t enough.”
“You ain’t no professional stylist! Boy, go on somewhere!” She was really cracking up now, but he was serious.
He went for the conditioner bottle she had sitting there, poured some in his palm and worked it between his hands. Pulling sections of her hair, nice and slow, he smoothed the concoction on the strands, from roots to tips, getting the conditioner evenly distributed.
He could initially feel her resistance as she more than likely thought he was goofing off, but then, he felt her beginning to relax. Fantasia’s, ‘When I See U’ started to play. She began to sway her hips from left to right, dancing to the music. Her ass brushed against him, back and forth, back and forth, stirring the monster in his pants. He paused and stepped back to check out her swaying ass. Creamy, coconut scented conditioner covered his fingertips, he stood suspended in time, captive to the sight of her.
She suddenly slowed down, then stopped all together. A slow turn of the neck and their eyes linked as she looked at him from over her shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
He could feel his dick twitching in his boxers as he salivated…
“Dayum, baby… your ass is perfect. Those jeans really bring it out.”
She snatched the water back on, obviously realizing she’d lost herself for a moment, but it was too late. Laughing, he moved her hand out of the way and continued to work on her hair. After a short while, he rinsed it with the sprayer, squeezed the moisture out of her mane, and wrapped the tresses with a fresh towel. She rose up and tightened the towel as they stared at one another. Kane Brown, H.E.R.’s, ‘Blessed & Free’ was playing now.
“I love this song…” she said softly.
Her glossy and full her lips were begging for a kiss. Juicy. Suckable.
