Read Between My Thighs: An Urban Erotic Tale Online
Authors: Naija
Between My Thighs: An Urban Erotic Tale (3 page)
With Dallas drunk, no other option really existed. I didn’t know how to get back to her house, and in New York, taxi drivers were not the nicest people. They would drive right past our black asses. One time we got in a cab and the driver had the nerve to ask us if we had money. So taking a taxi wasn’t an option. Besides, I didn’t know the cross streets to even begin giving directions. We were with Marcus until he decided to take us home or Dallas came down from her high.
Dallas and I slept in the same bed anyway while I stayed at her spot, so it wasn’t a big deal. It was more the principle because I didn’t know this man.
Marcus should have had a guest room. After all, he was living in a nice-ass house and flossing plenty of bling. Funny, all the bedrooms except his were unfurnished.
I decided to remain fully dressed. I wasn’t about to entice him by removing articles of clothing that would reveal more of my voluptuous and toned frame.
Dallas should have had enough of exposing me to her male friends. Back when we were roommates in college, I was lounging in my Daisy Dukes and bra one day when she and this dude walked into the room without warning. Before I could grab something to cover up, it was too late. He had seen enough, and apparently liked what he saw because the next day he called the room asking to take me out. History had a way of repeating itself because I swear the same shit happened with Troy and me.
Marcus was cool with my decision to sleep in my clothes. He put on his boxers and climbed in the bed.
“So what’s your profession?” he asked.
“I’m a clinical psychologist,” I replied. Marcus seemed to have decent conversation throughout the course of the evening, although I wasn’t feeling his trick to spend the night at his house.
“What does that consist of exactly? What’s your typical day like?”
“Wow, that’s a tough one. Well, most the time my days are very atypical. My clientele is in the upper echelon of the financial class. That can be more demanding at times as their expectations are just as outrageous as some of the problems they feel they have.” Marcus laughed as I went on.
“Seriously, I’m involved in integrating scientific knowledge and utilizing various research and clinical findings to promote the welfare of my clients. Often I assist with intervention and prevention. For some, it’s too late, and at that point, I make recommendations for institutionalization.”
Marcus was impressed and asked more questions about my career. When he opened up the discussion to talk about his problems, he got a free session out of me.
“So can I talk to you about a problem that I have?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied. He got comfortable.
“My life growing up was no pretty picture. My mother was a junkie ho. I was conceived out of a side job gone wrong. My sperm donor, well, he came around as I got older and after my mother overdosed on that shit.”
The animosity in his voice made me focus more on what he was saying and feeling.
“The day my mother died was the happiest and saddest of my life. Happy because I didn’t have to put up with raising her and that lifestyle, and sad because there was no coming back from the dead.”
Marcus reached over to the nightstand and opened it. I wasn’t sure for what he was reaching when he pulled out a joint, lit, dragged, and exhaled.
I realized Marcus wasn’t looking for a consultation. He just wanted someone to validate his pain. I was trained to hear, feel, and relate, so when he asked, “Is there something wrong with me for feeling the way I do?”
I simply replied, “No, there isn’t.” Marcus wasn’t the only one who had demons from his past. For me, drama started when I was in the fourth grade. My daddy promised he would pick up me and my half sister Kayla and take us shopping. Kayla was so excited. After the divorce, our father never came around. It was rare if he called. Kayla believed anything he would tell her, only to be let down and discouraged. I knew better. That day we sat and waited for our father to arrive. He never came.
My mother always told us not to get our hopes up. She was right. It’s interesting how similar situations affect individuals differently. The lack of a father figure in our lives strengthened me and corrupted Kayla. Her mother died during childbirth and since our low-life daddy had both women pregnant at the same time, my mother took her in and raised her as her own. Kayla was an ungrateful bitch. She eventually went to live with our father when she turned sixteen. I hadn’t seen her since. Rumor had it, our father had one more child out there around the same age as us.
Death, it surrounded my family like the plague. My brother Juwan was my mother’s firstborn. His dad died before I was born. Juwan and I did everything together. I was eighteen years old when he was murdered by our cousin. Our family was tainted, and for some reason, he was never charged with the crime.
Something in that ganja Marcus was smoking must have made his dick hard because I felt him bump my leg, mistaking it for Dallas.
“Wrong leg, nigga,” I said as we burst out laughing. The secondhand smoke must have had me buzzing, too, because when he climbed on top of Dallas and started fucking her while she was asleep, it took me two seconds to realize that he’d invited me to join.
Once I snapped back into reality, I got my ass up, went to the living room, pulled out my cell, and called my boy Khalil back home.
Khalil and I had an excellent relationship. He was my homie-lover-friend. When it came to licking my pussy, he was the best. No other man could work his tongue like Khalil. He knew how to eat it like the delicacy it was. He worked the dick nicely too. He would have my ass climbing the walls. My neighbors always knew when he was at my house. They could hear us fucking, and the sound of people making love, well, let’s just say by the time Khalil and I hit round two, the neighbors had made their late-night booty calls and jumped on the bandwagon.
Khalil answered the phone, “Speak.”
He was so damn sexy. We should have been an item, but we settled on the fact that we were good together and didn’t want to ruin that by complicating matters.
“Hey, baby. How are you?” I asked.
“How are you is the real question, love? At this time of morning, what jumped off? You still in NYC, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, babe. I’m in the middle of some bullshit right now. My girl Dallas got us up in this nigga’s house trapped. He didn’t feel like taking us home, so we crashed at his place.”
“Oh, okay. Well, why aren’t you sleep?”
“I was in the bed, but they started fucking, so I came to the living room.”
“Your girl is in the bed with dude? He started fucking her while you were lying next to her?” Khalil asked.
“Yeah. That’s basically what happened,” I replied.
“Is your girlfriend bisexual?” he asked.
“Not that I know of. Hell, she knows I’m not, so even if she was contemplating, she wouldn’t cross me like that.” I started to think about what Khalil was saying. I had known Dallas for more than ten years. I knew she wasn’t trying to drag me into a ménage-a-trois.
“Trust me, baby. Your girl set you up. That dude was expecting you to get horny and join in. They were looking for some action for sure. He was hoping you’d start playing with your pussy. You know you sexy as hell, got these women and men turning heads.”
Khalil educated me to something new because I never would have thought my girl intentionally set this shit up. His next comment sent me in a frenzy, and I started to get pissed, reflecting on how things went down.
“How did it end up just being the three of you anyway? Wait, let me guess, his boy was supposed to originally go out with all of you, right?” Khalil had hit a sore spot, but I knew his words were true. Marcus entered the living room as I submerged myself in the conversation.
“Please come back to the room,” he said. “I’m sorry about what happened. You don’t have to sleep out here.”
Marcus stood there looking at me with the same respect and compassion he had earlier when he shared his childhood.
“I’m alright, Marcus. I’m on the phone anyway, so do your thing,” I said and returned to my conversation with Khalil.
It wasn’t long before our conversation was interrupted again. This time Dallas was grabbing her jacket and motioning for me to get up. I ignored her ass.
“I’m taking you home,” Marcus said. He had returned to the living room, walked right past Dallas, and opened the front door, indicating it was time to go.
“I’ll speak to you later, Khalil. Thank you, baby.”
“You my girl, Raquel. Watch that bitch, and enjoy yourself, ma.” We hung up.
The ride home was a long one. I spread out in the back of that Rover, pretending to be asleep.
“Raquel? You up, Quel?” Dallas called out in that desperate way she did when she felt I was upset with her or knew she had fucked up.
“Leave her alone,” Marcus said, and she did.
Before getting out of the car, Marcus pulled me aside to apologize once again. I accepted his apology because he was a man doing what men do, and he didn’t know me, but my girl Dallas, that bitch had crossed the fucking line, and I was ready to whoop her ass.
We entered the apartment, and Dallas apologized. I was too tired to argue with her, so I did what bothered her the most, ignored her ass.
The next morning, Dallas was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. “Good morning,” she said. “Look, I’m sorry about last night. I don’t know what Marcus was thinking.”
“What the fuck were you thinking, Dallas? Don’t put that shit on Marcus. That nigga only did what you allowed him to do. And what’s worse, you had him thinking he was fucking both of us.”
Apparently shocked by my remarks, Dallas retaliated. “What the hell you mean I had him thinking that? I didn’t tell him any bullshit like that.” Before Dallas could finish more of her fake-ass commentary, I was in her face and backing her up against a wall. I didn’t like the situation she had put me in any more than her attempt to have me believe she didn’t set the shit up from jump.
“You’re supposed to be my girl, bitch. Don’t ever fucking cross me like that again. If we were in Detroit and you pulled some shit like that, both of our asses would have been on the five o’clock news.”
It was true. Detroit was the murder capital of the world. The city was trying to make a comeback but didn’t stand a chance as long as it was being run by gangsters. The black men were some of the worst too. They would kill your ass in a second, for no reason, and violence against women was customary.
I remember one night my girlfriend and I were out at a club. Granted she had a big mouth, but she didn’t deserve to get smacked in it. It seemed like yesterday. She was standing there looking at some chick when this gay guy thought he heard my friend say something about them. He turned around and blasted her ass right in the mouth. Now that was a fight. It ended with me bailing her ass out of jail.
That should have been the last time, but it wasn’t. My boy threw a VIP sports party, and somehow my girl made it on the list. I hadn’t invited her to attend with me because trouble followed her everywhere she went. Her attitude kept her in mess. Leaving out, she hit this dude’s Harley Davidson truck, trying to fly around him. He’d been blocking the street, talking to some ladies who were exiting the party. All hell broke loose once she pulled over to the side. They exchanged words and were headed for blows when I intervened. He was one of the nice guys and squashed the matter since the little scratch could easily be buffed out.
Dallas realized I was really pissed off and became hysterical, ranting and raving about how she hadn’t intended for the evening to turn like it did. Then she started blaming the alcohol for her fucked-up actions. Before she could say anything else, I headed out the door to meet Troy.
Chapter 3|
Troy looked sexy as hell standing in the distance. I visualized him naked and inside me as I had multiple orgasms. His silhouette was masculine, like he could do some damage if need be. His skin was a beautiful mocha. He was clean cut with fine curly hair. When he opened his mouth, his teeth were stunning. Even that gold one was attractive. Troy was a handsome man. I enjoyed sizing him up and fantasizing about the things we could do.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he said and sealed it with a kiss to my lips after he held the door for me.
“Good morning, baby. Good to see you again.”
I looked lovely in my low-cut jeans, strapless Gucci shirt, and the sandals Troy had given me.
We stopped at Lindenwood Diner for breakfast. Troy, as usual, had the day laid out for the two of us. He was good at planning. I just let him surprise me.
After grabbing a bite to eat and much shit talking about shooting pool, we hit a local billiards hall to see what we were working. It was a lot of fun playing with Troy. He was into his game, had me believing he couldn’t play in the beginning. When he beat my ass over and over, I was ready to throw in the towel. I was a good pool player, but not like Troy. He didn’t make me feel too bad though. Troy was a gentleman. We got in the car and jumped on the Belt Parkway.
Dallas had been calling all day. My voice mail dealt with her. We weren’t speaking after the bullshit she pulled the night before. I couldn’t help but tell Troy about the stunt.
“How close are you and Dallas?” he asked.
“Pretty much, we have a long-distance friendship. We don’t do well in person. Dallas is a selfish, conniving bitch. She’s only out for herself, and talking to her is like talking to your damn self,” I said.
“Yeah, she doesn’t listen well,” he said.
“Over the course of the years I’ve realized that our relationship is one way. I’ve always been more of the friend to her, listening to her dumb shit about how this dude done beat her ass, how she was pregnant once again and needed to get an abortion, how she could only date niggas who were poison but dished out small notes, which made her sell her soul.”
“That’s interesting,” Troy commented. “So why continue fucking with her?” he asked.
“That’s a good question. If it weren’t for you, I would have flown out today after our escapade the other evening.”
Honestly, I’d gotten tired of the routine with Dallas. We spoke every other week on the phone, but in person, it was crazy. Primarily, she would call me ranting about the next dramatic event in her life. Troy was the topic of conversation for the longest. She was obsessed with him for all the wrong reasons. She put claims on something that wasn’t hers—hell, wasn’t anyone’s. Troy was a loner.
“What happened last night?” he asked.
“Long story short, that dude you saw us with at the lounge, he pulled some shit about not taking us home. We ended up at his crib, and Dallas was drunk as hell. He went up in her, started fucking right there while we were all in the bed. Tried to invite me into the shit.”
Troy glanced at me with a look of disbelief.
“Get the fuck outta here,” he said, now laughing. “Why would she put you in some shit like that? You get down like that?”
“No, I don’t get down like that and never thought she would drag me into her bedroom theatrics. Never.”
“That’s too much excitement,” he said. “I’m not into all that nonsense.”
It was good to know that Troy and I were sexually compatible.
“I’m not either.”
Silence fell between us for a brief moment before Troy continued. “I heard so much about you, it’s like I already know you,” he said.
“Really? The feeling is mutual,” I replied.
“I couldn’t wait to meet you, pictured you in my mind, how you would look, act, and feel,” he said.
Dallas talked too much. She always told her business to everyone. I’d been hearing about Troy for years as well. He was one of the many men about whom she talked, but I was baffled to learn Troy’s feelings for me, someone he’d never met or seen, yet thought about and looked forward to the day we crossed paths.
“I won’t lie, I pictured you as well from all the stories I’ve heard,” I said.
That aroused his interest, and he adjusted the stereo volume in his ride.
“What type of stories?” he inquired.
“Where do I begin?” I laughed. “Dallas told me you were a handyman, changing lightbulbs, installing air conditioners, and other miscellaneous shit around her house.” Now he was laughing.
“She told me how you hang out in your drawers on the sofa, reading the paper and sipping on Guinness while she prepares your meal after long nights of fucking.”
“Long nights of fucking? Girl, stop playing,” he said.
“Yeah. That’s not the case?” It was never clarified if they’d slept together. Dallas constantly changed her story. This was my opportunity to find out what really happened.
“Yo, I never fucked your girl,” Troy replied. “She told you that shit?”
“That isn’t all she told me,” I said. I’d been laughing so hard my stomach ached.
“Continue,” he said.
“According to my girl, the two of you are in what could be construed as a serious relationship, especially after you met her parents.”
Troy looked astonished. “She’s a fucking liar, girlfriend.”
I knew Dallas exaggerated on most occasions. It wouldn’t be long before Troy confronted her.
“Here’s what happened. Yes, we were hanging out one day and she was cooking. This girl was trying to sell me on some pussy and food. I’m not fronting, I thought she was sexy in the beginning, so I was giving her some time here and there. She became attached quickly, obsessing over me and ringing my phone every second of the day. She was working so hard to give me the pussy that she just wasn’t attractive, and I didn’t want her pussy anymore. The particular day you referenced, yeah I met her mother and stepfather, but it was only because she needed to pick something up. She asked me to give her a ride. I didn’t realize the whole family was there. She introduced me like we were dating or some shit.”
I listened attentively as he discussed his relationship with my girl, and in the back of my mind, decisions were being made. To fuck or not to fuck was the million-dollar question.
I could tell Troy was into games. The two of us started playing from the moment we met. Troy was slick with his.
Usually, I’m on point when it came to men, but I missed the original plot Troy put out when we first met. He brought his boy Jason along as bait. Troy had his eyes on me the whole time. While his boy and I were conversing, Troy was watching my every move and response. He had planned the shit thoroughly, waiting for the day he could fully execute. That time was now.
“Listen, Troy, I’m not stupid. Don’t try to fuck me and I don’t cum. Let’s clear some shit right now. You need to be straight up and honest about everything. Expect the same in return.”
“For sure. Some people just can’t handle the truth,” he said.
“I’m not some people. I’m strong, independent, and secure in my sexuality. You want to fuck, say you want to fuck. Don’t beat around the bush with me, and most importantly, don’t compare me to Dallas.”
“I can tell from your conversation that you’re nothing like Dallas. I feel connected with you, and I’m curious how far we can take this,” he responded.
The evening approached quickly. We were riding around Brooklyn, headed toward Coney Island when Troy swung by one of his construction sites. He’d gotten a call from one of his workers, and since we weren’t far away, we took a quick detour. It was great seeing his work. He’d built a two-family home, and his crew was putting the finishing touches on the inside.
We stayed a few minutes, and we were back on our expedition. Troy loved to talk. He decided to tell me about an incident that happened to his boy.
“He was making a run for a cat out in the Bronx. His instructions were to drop off a package to a connection in Crown Heights. The guy handed him a silver metal briefcase. He asked the guy what he was delivering and was told none of his fucking business. On the way to drop it off, his ride stopped. He knew he still had to make the delivery, so he walked a few blocks before catching a dollar van. Shortly after he got in the van, he noticed a black Benz following closely. Gunshots broke out, hitting the van. The driver noticed my boy clutching the briefcase. He asked who the hell was shooting and what he had in the case. My boy told him none of his fucking business and to keep it moving. The man kept driving, dodging bullets. He pulled out his piece, pulled the rope that opens and shuts the door to the van, told my boy to get out and slowed just enough for him to jump out at the corner of Troy Avenue. My boy hit the ground running. The shooters followed. He dipped and dived between parked cars, almost at his checkpoint. He wondered what was in the briefcase his damn self that had people shooting at his ass. Once he lost those niggas, he decided to open it. When he did, he couldn’t believe his eyes.”
“What was in the briefcase?” I asked.
“None of your fucking business,” Troy said before bursting out in laughter.
At first I didn’t get it. I sat there staring at Troy, wondering what the hell happened to his boy and what he saw when he opened that briefcase. Then I realized I had been bamboozled. This was a dumb-ass joke, and I soon discovered Troy was infamous for telling them.
“You’re silly as hell,” I said, finally joining in on the cackles. “I really thought you were going somewhere with that corny story.”
If it had been anyone else telling me that shit, I would have immediately been turned off. But just the fact that Troy could tell a busted joke like that, hold my attention, and still look so damn sexy afterward held me captive.
“Let’s play a game,” he said.
“Oh, another one?” I responded.
“Yes. This is how it works…”
Troy gave me the details of the game. Basically, one of us asked a question or made a statement and the other completed the missing piece. This was his was of discretely saying what he had been thinking since the moment he laid eyes on me.
“First question. What are you thinking right now?” he asked.
“I’m thinking your jokes are dumb as hell,” I replied, smiling.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Okay, what do you want to do next?”
“The same thing you want to do.” I knew where he was going, but if he wanted this pussy, he had to ask for it.
“I want to spend some more time with you,” he said.
“Yeah?” I replied.
“Yeah, I would like to…” he said, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“You would like to kiss me again,” I replied, finishing the statement.
“Yes,” he said, reaching over and pulling my face toward him.
His touch was much more intense than the first time. He traced the outline of my lips, parting them with his tongue and penetrating deeply. It was warm and seductive the way he worked his tongue around the inside of my mouth. The powerful kiss ignited my pussy, and I immediately responded to his touch.
“How long are we going to play this game?” I asked.
“As long as you want,” he replied.
“I want to…”
“Sit on top of my dick and make passionate love tonight,” he replied.
“Exactly,” I said.
“Can we get a room? We’re pretty far from my place,” he said.
“Of course,” I replied.
It was late, and most of the motels in the area were booked solid. We did see one with vacancies, although under any other circumstance I wouldn’t have been caught dead in there. Tonight was unusual. Exceptions had to be made if we were to become acquainted before I left in two days.
“Is this spot cool?” he asked as we pulled up to a motel.
It wasn’t a nice one, more the kind you went to when you were going to fuck and bounce. Since that’s exactly what we were doing, I wasn’t concerned about the amenities that didn’t exist.
“It works,” I said.
Like most men, Troy had me get the room. When a guy wouldn’t register a room in his name, it was my indicator he had something to hide—usually a woman. They didn’t want advertisements showing up at their home from hotels where they had stepped out. In Troy’s case, he didn’t have his license on him, so I took his cash and checked us in.
We spent an hour or so talking. Mirrors covered the wall, and I imagined how the sex would be once we got busy.
I admit the motel was tasteless, reminding me of those you see in porn flicks. It wouldn’t surprise me if cameras were rolling behind all those mirrors and what we were doing was being played in a room down the hall.
Troy entered the restroom, turned on the shower, and invited me in. Steam and lust filled the air. I joined him. He washed my back, chest, and arms before handing me the soap. I lathered the soap, stuck my hands between his legs and gently cleaned his balls, dick, and ass before squatting to wash his legs.
By the time we finished our shower, we really craved each other. Slightly nervous and tense, I got in the bed with him. I had an opportunity to see what he was working with in the shower and looked forward to the pleasure and pain he was about to cause.
He placed me on the bed and explored my body. He moved his hands over me as if they’d been there before. Each touch made me juicier. We kissed deeply for the longest time, watching each other’s response. His mouth wrapped around my nipples, suckling them in a way that made me think he was trying to draw milk. They stood erect, reacting to his every kiss and stroke.