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No, you dumb fuck. I want to play ice hockey.
“Yes,” I said sweetly.
This was definitely not my dream encounter. The brother was turning out to be less Richard Roundtree in Shaft and more Jethro in The Beve
rly Hillbillies. His behavior was unfathomable . . . either he was gay, stupid, or had a tiny little weenie that he was too embarrassed to show me. My crush on Victor Bell was fading.
“Lead the way,” he said.
All the lights in my bedroom were off but we could see each other in silhouette by the light streaming in from the hallway.
There wasn’t much in the way of foreplay but I didn’t really care. Victor’s unclothed body was magnificent. He pulled the straps of the slip and I wriggled out of it. Gently, he pressed me back on the bed and hovered above me on his knees, licking my breasts, shoulders, stomach. His muscles rippled every time he moved. I pulled him around the waist and our bodies melded together.
“Victor, Victor!” My breathing was ragged and my pulse was racing.
He made a sudden move with his hand and the framed picture of me, Annabelle, and Denzel fell off my nightstand. It hit the hardwood floor and the glass made a little clink sound as it broke. Victor murmured, “I’m sorry,” as he reached over me and picked it up. He looked at the picture and groaned. His erection deflated.
I took the picture from his hand and threw it across the room. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get a new frame.”
He nodded and stroked himself for a few seconds as I kissed him all over the face and chest.
“It’s not working,” Victor replied desperately.
And “it” certainly wasn’t. I reached down and touched his dick. It was as limp as a used dishrag.
He pushed me off him and lay flat on his back. “I’m sorry.”
Concealing my frustration, I pulled the sheet over our nakedness and put some pep into my voice. “The night is young, handsome. Don’t worry about it.”
“Forget it, Jackie.” He sounded disappointed.
I laid my head on his chest and my fingers played in his pubic hair. He lay still as stone. “Victor?”
“Yes?”
“Would you kiss me?”
He gathered me up in his strong arms and pressed his lips to mine. That wasn’t good enough for me. I managed to part them and stuck my tongue right into his warm mouth. All of a sudden, Victor tossed the sheets aside and leaped from my bed. I watched miserably as his perfect body ran away from me and into the bathroom. I could hear him retching and coughing through the closed door.
This was a nightmare and I had no one to blame but myself. I had pulled out every trick in the book to gain Victor’s interest and he had let me know in every way possible that he was not interested. Now he had touched me and the experience was making him throw up. I pulled the covers up to my chin and just lay there with my eyes closed, not knowing what else to do.
There was the sound of running water—he was rinsing the taste of my tongue and the vomit from his mouth.
Tears stung the back of my eyelids and I’d never felt uglier or more worthless in my whole life.
I sat up when Victor came out of the bathroom. “Are you all right?” I asked politely.
He started putting his clothes on without looking me in the eye. “No. I’m not feeling well so it’s best if I go home.”
Even though I had finally gotten Victor out of my system and only wanted him to leave, he was still a sick guest in my home and Mama had raised me right. “Do you want something to settle your stomach . . . Maalox, Alka Seltzer?”
“Thanks, but no.”
There was nothing left to say.
23
BLACK FINGERTIPS
