Between My Thighs: An Urban Erotic Tale

Naija

Between My Thighs

An Urban Erotic Tale

Between My Thighs
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Brown Erotic Publishing Trade Paperback Original

Copyright © 2005 by Naija

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Brown Erotic Publishing

Library of Congress Catalog Number

2006923132

ISBN 10: 0-9776235-0-5

ISBN 13: 978-0-9776235-0-1

Printed in the United States of America

For Troy, who taught me

to never let bed works confuse me.

Acknowledgements

Thanks Quiet Storm,

my true inspiration.

Naija

Between My Thighs

I got up thinking…

Have you ever found yourself doing things you shouldn’t do? Sexing brothers who have no business between your thighs? Going out of your way to please your man? When I graduated from college back in 1999 with my Ph.D. in clinical psychology, I promised myself that the next man who ventured between my thighs would be equivalent to my tight-ass credentials. My name is Dr. Raquel Howard, and this is how it went down….

Chapter 1|

It was right around Fourth of July 2002 when I first came to New York. The summers in the city were hot as hell, and I should have had my ass in bed, but I yearned to see more of the city lights. I guess that’s why when Troy Thomas called asking me to step out I did without hesitation.

Troy was friends with my girl Dallas Jones who I met in undergrad at Hampton University. Dallas and I continued to keep in touch throughout the years. We had more of a long-distance friendship than anything.

Dallas was infatuated with Troy because he pushed a Lexus RX 300, and his pockets were tight. He didn’t mind dropping C-notes on his chicks. That wasn’t what caught my eye about him though. Honestly, Troy and I, we just clicked.

I’d been getting dressed and was putting on my sneakers when the phone rang. Usually, I didn’t answer my girl’s phone but I was expecting a call from her girlfriend who was going to join me after I finished my errands.

“What’s up, girlfriend?” Troy said.

“Not much. Dallas isn’t home,” I told him.

“I didn’t call to speak to Dallas. I was looking for her friend,” Troy said.

“Is that right?” I asked.

“This is Troy. We hung out the other night. You met my boy Jason, we got a few drinks at the lounge,” Troy replied.

“Yes, I remember.” Dallas and I had run into Troy and his friend at Piece a Cake in Brooklyn when we had gone to enjoy ladies’ night.

“What are your plans for the day?” he asked.

“I’m going sightseeing on a tour bus.”

“I’m in the area. I can show you around the city if you want.”

Dallas was out all day preparing for an event she couldn’t get out of—her family owned a small catering business that specialized in West Indian food. When her mother called and said she was short a server, Dallas was at her service. It was cool with me because I had plans to tour New York on top of one of those big red double-decker buses that hits all the boroughs, allowing you to hop on and off. Troy agreed to give me a much better guided tour of the city, and I got to keep my money.

Dallas lived in Brooklyn. Her neighborhood was hot for the most part—men lounged on the steps, the streetlights were broken and sneakers dangled from where the bulb used to be, and thugs had the territory on lock-down, selling drugs on the corner. Card tables lined the sidewalk, blocking the entrance into her building. At any point of the day, you could find someone playing spades, poker, or bones on the tables and back of cars. Nearby, gunshots, sirens, and loud music filled the air.

Pablo, a nice guy from the hood, sat on the porch with the rest of the neighbors watching passersby. When I first got to town, Pablo pushed up on me thinking he was going to get some pussy. He had been with Dallas and figured she and I were on the same page. Although he was nice and kind of sexy, he wasn’t getting any ass. Pablo was checking for me hard. The day I went outside to meet Troy, Pablo and the street rats were hanging out on the steps.

“Hey, Ms. Detroit,” Pablo said, knowing I was from the Midwest. Dallas had run her mouth about me so much, people and Troy were counting the days until I arrived.

“Hi, Pablo.” He’d been trying to change my mind about giving him a chance the last few days.

Brothers are hilarious. I play the game well. I blow their mind when they ask what I do for a living. To most of these cats, having a high school diploma is extraordinary. A sistah with her Ph.D., her own psychiatry practice, no baby daddies, and sexy as hell, so I’ve been told, damn near have men cumming on themselves.

I wasn’t feeling Pablo that day. His persistence was starting to piss me off. I don’t know if it was because I was going out with Troy or just the fact that because my girl was a ho, I had to be one too. It’s funny, guilty by association.

Dallas was sleazy. She was what I called a tri-sexual. That bitch would try anything once. I never thought she would try me though. Don’t get it twisted. She wasn’t ignorant by any means. When it came to her education, she didn’t slip. The girl may have been dumb when it came to other aspects of her life, but she had her master’s in linguistics and was doing the damn thing.

Troy turned the corner in his Lexus. The wheels on his ride glistened, and that gold tooth of his shone just as bright. He was tall, about six-five, and had that thick Trinidadian accent. At first glance, he looked like a grimy brother who had street credibility, but it was just a look. Troy owned a construction company and was a hard worker. His accent turned me on, but I wasn’t into men with caps in their mouth, thought it was country, ghetto, or a combination of both.

“Damn, girl, it’s like that?” Pablo asked as I ended our small talk. “You’ve been here less than a week and already got niggas picking you up.” Pablo was still running his mouth with the rest of the nosy-ass rats sitting on the porch when I walked off.

Troy had the whole day planned. We started the tour in Manhattan. We went to Times Square and visited Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum where Samuel L. Jackson stood looking better than ever. While we were in Times Square, we went inside B.B. King’s Bar & Grill for lunch over the sultry tunes of Lizz Wright. I loved shopping. We headed to Madison Avenue, and Troy brought me a pair of Gucci sandals and the matching purse. Next stop: Jamaica, Queens. It was amazing seeing so many street vendors with nice products for sale. After we left Queens, we toured Brooklyn. My thoughts about Troy started to shift as his conversation became mentally stimulating and he opened up about his past.

“How long have you had your own business?” I asked.

“About ten years,” he replied. Troy was only thirty-two years old and his ability to launch his own business so young and remain successful impressed me.

“How’d you get into construction?” I asked.

“I’d been hanging around some older cats when I was a teen, started picking up on how to fix things around the house. From there, it led to building houses and making nice dough. I learned all I could, became real good with my hands, and took on side jobs.”

“That’s wild. So you didn’t go to school for special training or anything?”

“Naw, I didn’t finish school.”

“Why didn’t you finish your degree?” I asked.

“High school—I didn’t finish high school,” he said.

“You’re a talented man to be able to learn the trade without any training and start a profitable business like you’ve done. You must have had some serious support from your family and friends.”

“Not really. My mother inspired me to get off my ass and do something. Construction was a hustle for me because it came so easy. My father was a pusher, and my mother, well, she was being pushed.”

“So, if you don’t have your diploma, how are you legitimately able to do the work? You need a contracting license, right?” I asked.

“Yes. I started the business from the ground up. I have an official contractor’s license. I took the exam and passed. Plus, with my job experience, it wasn’t difficult.”

“What are the various types of services you can perform yourself?”

“Girl, I can build a house or any other structure starting from a blank slate. I’ve laid brick, done masonry work, you name it, I can do it,” he said.

“You said your mom inspired you. She must be proud,” I said, displaying a sincere smile, which soon felt like a frown.

“My mother died when I was twelve,” he replied.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” It was time for me to stop asking questions, I’d hit a sensitive area. Troy read my mind and changed the subject.

“Your girl, she reminds me of that chick from
Vanilla Sky,
when she drove her man off that bridge,” Troy said as we sat in a traffic jam. The film which featured Tom Cruise and Penélope Cruz involved a successful businessman whose friend, sometimes sex partner, develops extremely different perspectives on their relationship. The jaded lover, behind the wheel of the car, decides to drive off a bridge with the guy riding shotgun after the realization that her feelings aren’t reciprocated, badly injuring the man.

Laughing vivaciously, I asked, “What did Dallas do?” I wasn’t about to sit there and talk about my girl, but I knew she was flaky as hell, and Troy had apparently witnessed the same. He told me about how she turned stalker after she tried to throw her pussy on him. He claimed they didn’t have sex although she told a different story. I had been hearing about Troy for years and found he had heard about me too. It’s only natural that the two of us felt like we went way back. Dallas was always fabricating, so it was partially amusing listening to Troy’s stories about me.

Dallas started blowing up my cell phone, wondering what I was doing and telling me about the event her family was catering. She was tired and ready to go home, and I had her keys. When Dallas wasn’t calling, Troy’s friend Jason was leaving messages asking to take me out. I’d given Jason my number at Piece a Cake, but it was no love connection. For some reason, when Dallas asked what I was doing, I lied and said I was with Jason instead of telling her straight up that Troy and I were together. Part of me knew her loco ass would have a problem knowing the man she craved was paying me what could have been viewed as too much attention late at night.

Dallas had proven she was nuts when we were in undergrad. I’d gone downstairs to the main lounge in our dorm to participate in the cultural discussions. I hadn’t been gone thirty minutes when Dallas came running downstairs telling me my Bible had caught on fire. I’d left a small Glade candle burning on my computer desk since she was staying in the room. My Bible was placed on the bookshelf just above the monitor with a few other books. Apparently, it fell off the shelf, landed on the candle, and resulted in a hole fifteen pages deep. She never confessed that she intentionally burned my Bible, but there was no way in hell it happened the way she said.

It was good Troy and I saved Brooklyn for last on the tour because Dallas rang the phone again asking what time I’d return with her keys since she’d be done in a couple of hours. Troy and I headed to Brooklyn Heights for a nightcap while we waited. We had so much fun, walking over the bridge, gazing at the stars and the skyline. There was a nice Italian restaurant just off Montague Street where we enjoyed dinner and champagne over candlelight. Following our meal, we took a stroll down to the Promenade.

The Promenade was magnificent. The scenery was better than any movie ever filmed in New York portraying the view. The skyline was riveting, and lights illuminated the sky where the World Trade Center once stood. The evening had cooled off nicely, and lovers walked as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

“Give me a kiss,” Troy said and moved in without waiting for a response. Before I knew it, his lips were pressed against mine, and my heart fluttered as I tried to catch my breath. From the way I was shaking, you could tell I was completely off guard. The man kissed me with so much passion and eroticism that I felt my pussy begin to moisten. We sat on that bench and opened our souls to each other, sucking tongues like they were the sweetest candy.

As Troy kissed me, his hands caressed my face, trailed down to my chest, and slowly parted my thighs. He felt the warmth of my love as it soaked through my jeans. It was time to get off the bench before we both were arrested for an inappropriate display of public affection. As we walked back to the car, I felt like Jill Scott when her man loved her exclusively. It was in that moment that I knew if Troy sucked my pussy the same way he had my tongue, I’d stop fucking with all these other niggas.