Between My Thighs: An Urban Erotic Tale (5 page)

I was in denial about my sexual addiction. It started with him. Dontae was my first love. The sex was the best. I’d been trying to replicate that feeling for so many years, to no avail. The cliché, it’s never as good as the first time holds true. I mean, I have been opened up at times, but you never really get that high like when you first have your cherry popped.

For me, it would come with a price. Once Dontae and I moved on and dated other people, it was hard to find a man who could fulfill my sexual desires. Dontae was my high school sweetheart. We would still get it on every now and then. It was two summers ago when he told me he had a baby on the way. I had to cut off the supply completely.

He’d been fucking some teenage girl he didn’t even know. Mixing Hennessy and papaya juice had him thinking he didn’t need a jimmy hat. Anyway, he claimed he didn’t want to sleep with her while she was pregnant, didn’t find her attractive.

I kept telling myself I wasn’t addicted to sex because addiction was habitual, compulsive, loss of control. Me, I wasn’t out of control. Rather, I’d like to say I’m secure in my sexuality. Most men can’t handle that. Men say they want a women who wants to fuck as much as they do, but they can’t handle a woman with stamina like mine. Frankly, once I put the pussy on them, it’s downhill from there. They start off saying they don’t want emotional ties, yet they are the first to become overly sensitive, which never ceased to amaze me, which is why I outsourced my love to more than one man.

Don’t get it twisted. I never let bed works confuse me. I just couldn’t find a man to keep up with my sexual needs. Shit constantly had to be clarified, understandings continually redefined.

It wasn’t long before Dontae noticed me. I saw him approaching out of my peripheral, but didn’t acknowledge him until he was standing directly in front of me.

“Hey, long time no see,” Dontae said.

“Hi, stranger. How’ve you been?” I said, getting up to receive his embrace.

“I’ve been doing well. Just came up here to pick up my little sister. She’s in the program as well,” he replied.

“Which one is she?” I asked.

Dontae pointed to a little girl who was the spitting image of his mother. Had I paid any attention, I would have known when I saw her who she was from the resemblance alone. She was a cute child and very well mannered.

“It’s good to see you,” he said.

“Likewise.”

We kept our conversation brief. He gave me his phone number for the record, grabbed his sister, and left.

“He’s cute,” Kendra said.

“Girl, what do you know about cute?” I said, playfully nudging her on the shoulder.

Kendra and I finished our studies, and left for Dairy Queen to get a strawberry Blizzard with chopped peanuts.

Shortly after I dropped Kendra off, I stopped by the floral shop and picked up an arrangement for my brother’s grave. I frequented his resting place often when the weather was nice, taking flowers, reading, and talking to him. My brother and I had a connection. Even in death we still communicated, which is why I started seeing a therapist since the logical side of my brain told me I shouldn’t be talking to the dead.

Since his murder, I’d have lucid dreams. At times it was too much for me to deal with. In one dream, he tried to reveal his killers to me, but it wasn’t clear. Rumor on the street was our cousin Ronnie was the trigger man. Ronnie had spent most of his life in prison for a number of felonies. When he got out, he returned to his thug life, and apparently overcome by jealousy, him and his boys decided to murder my brother. The truth about what happened to my brother may never be revealed. Our family roots have been twisted since. The dreams, often nightmares, were becoming more accurate, more real. Sometimes it felt like I wasn’t even dreaming. It was difficult to decipher what was reality.

An hour had gone by. I was lying out on my blanket, writing in my journal, when I saw my mother. She had a white rose in one hand and her Bible in the other.

“Hi, Mom,” I said. We kissed, hugged, and sat down on the blanket.

“Hey, baby. How long have you been out here?” she asked.

“Not too long.” I smiled.

“The flowers look nice,” she told me, placing her white rose across his headstone.

We spent a few minutes in silence, taking in the fresh air and floral scents that permeated it. She opened her Bible, and we read a few scriptures from the Book of Psalms. One of our favorites was Psalm 27. After we finished our readings, we decided to grab a bite to eat. Since we were in separate cars, I followed her. I had the habit of looking back as I drove away, and when I did, I saw my brother’s spirit standing there in the same spot where my mother and I had prayed.

• • •

Leaving New York had me in a funk, and I missed Troy. Occasionally, I would log on to MochaSingles.com, an online dating and entertainment site for singles of color, and participate in the chat discussions. Two months earlier I had met Dorian on the site. Online dating was new to me, so I ran a background check on his ass before agreeing to meet in person.

Dorian was cool, but we weren’t intimate. He mentioned possibly stopping over after he left work. I was up for a nice dinner and music, and my body was calling. The only good loving I needed and wanted was back in New York.

It had been less than a week since I’d been home, and Troy and I spoke daily. Our conversations were developing, and we were growing closer. He mentioned possibly coming to see me in November, less than three months away. I looked forward to the day we met again.

It was interesting that Dallas’s friend Loren called and left a message. I hadn’t given her my number. She said she would be in Detroit the following week and hoped we could hook up. She was nice to me when I was in New York, so I didn’t have a problem showing her around.

Dorian called saying he was right around the corner. Dinner was simmering, and I had on my sexy hip-huggers and halter top, revealing my vibrant tattoo. My feet were nicely manicured, with eighteen-karat rings on the middle toes. I refreshed myself, splashing Jean Paul Gaultier perfume on my hot spots—the nape of my neck, breasts, inside my thighs, and just behind my knees.

“How was your day?” I asked as Dorian poured the champagne he’d brought with him.

“It was okay. Just busy as usual,” he replied.

I’d cooked a nice salmon dish with rice, plantain, potatoes, veggies, and a side salad. Men loved when I prepared dinner. It was always romantic with candlelight, wine, and pleasant music.

Dorian was sexy, but not as fine as Troy. We agreed to just take it slow and let nature take its course. That was about to change because my pussy was throbbing, and although it craved Troy, I would have to close my eyes and pretend.

Shortly after we finished our meal, Dorian received a call from his boy. His car had stalled on I-94, and Dorian had to pick him up. I wondered why someone else couldn’t get him and why Dorian always jumped when his boys called. Dorian had served in the military, fought wars, and was almost killed, so when he told me about how this guy had saved his life, I dropped the subject.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” Dorian said as he left.

I understood the fact that him and his boy had a bond because of the experiences they shared in the military. What I couldn’t understand was how he would leave a beautiful evening like the one we started when someone else could have easily handled the matter. I did what I always did when I was in a funk. I called Khalil, my homie-lover-friend.

“Speak,” Khalil said.

“Hi, Khalil. How are you, baby?” I loved talking to him. It didn’t matter what he had going on, he always stopped for me.

“Hey, Raquel. How are you? Glad to have you home.”

“In a funk,” I responded.

“What’s up? Feel like company?”

“I would love to see you. Just not feeling like being alone tonight.”

“Alright. I’ll be over in a few,” he said and hung up.

Being around Khalil made me feel sexy. While I waited, I enjoyed the remainder of the champagne that Dorian and I had shared just moments earlier. When the phone rang, I answered, thinking it was Khalil calling with an update, but it was Troy.

“Good evening,” I said.

“Hey, girlfriend. How are you?” Troy asked.

“Hey there. I was just thinking about you.” Truth was I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He left a lasting impression on me. Evidently he felt the same. “What have you been up to?” I asked him.

“Same shit. Working and thinking about you,” he replied. “Have you spoken to Dallas?”

“No, I haven’t,” I responded.

“She denied saying all those things you told me.”

“Well, what did you expect that bitch to say? You already know she’s a liar. Hell, last thing she told me was she was wearing stilettos and you were fucking her from the back.” That caught him off guard.

“She didn’t say some crazy shit like that,” Troy said.

“When we speak from now on, let’s not mention Dallas. I’m tired of this discussion already.”

Although we had decent conversation most of the time, Troy often asked about Dallas or found a way for her to enter our discussions. I was sick of hearing about her ass. As far as I was concerned, Dallas and I didn’t have to speak again.

“I feel like I can tell you anything,” he said.

“You can.”

Troy was telling me about some drama when Khalil knocked on the door.

“One second,” I said to him. We could talk all night and probably would have if I didn’t have company. After letting Khalil in, I returned to our conversation.

“Okay, I’m back. I have to go, but finish what you were saying.”

Troy had been in some domestic shit with his baby mama. From what I knew about Troy, he was a good father to his son.

We wrapped up our conversation and agreed to speak again the next morning.

“Good night, girlfriend,” Troy replied as we said our good-byes.

“Sorry about that,” I told Khalil.

Khalil had slipped into something more comfortable and joined me on the sofa. He had been massaging my feet the whole time I was on the phone. I loved his hands on me. It wasn’t long before I had wiggled out of my halter top and hip-huggers, lying on the sofa inviting a massage.

Without hesitation, he caressed me. All the tension that resided in my neck and back slowly exited as he pushed each knot and kink out of me. The innocent massage turned into a full-body rub. When I felt his tongue flickering in and out of my wet pussy, I knew it was on.

Khalil placed his fingers inside my ass while his tongue manipulated the fold that surrounded my clit. I enjoyed making love to Khalil. He didn’t care if I threw the pussy back on him or just rested and took him in. Either way, he aimed to please. Khalil and I escaped into our dreamlike world where his dick met my g-spot, and together we climaxed and produced enough fluid to grow a village.

That night I fell asleep in his arms. I fantasized back to the time Troy and I shared, and in that moment felt unfulfilled.

• • •

The next morning came quick. I showered, slipped on my Nike sweat suit that proudly displayed the pink and green colors of my sorority, put on my sneakers, and grabbed my duffle bag containing my change of clothes for later. I was headed to join my sorority sisters for a twenty-five-mile walk to support breast cancer research. Immediately following the walk, we were scheduled to pick up trash in the streets and parks throughout the City of Detroit before heading over to another neighborhood for Paint the Town, an annual event where volunteers painted run-down houses for low-income families and attempted to restore beauty to the district.

When all the service work was completed, we concluded with an awards ceremony, which honored over achieving high school seniors with scholarships as they prepared to enter college. We’d raised funds all year, hosting a number of parties and fundraisers. It was a success.

Khalil was at the ceremony with his frat brothers. We all lined up in the middle of the floor for a step show. We sang our sorority hymn and started our performance. I was a natural when it came to dancing, stepping, and ballroom. I coordinated the routine we performed and it was a show stopper.

Khalil’s fraternity was bringing in a new line. I was stunned to see Dorian sitting at a table with five other men. He looked scrumptious in his suit and tie. He was scared to speak when he saw me. They probably told him to sit there and be quiet.

It was getting late, and I was tired from all the activities earlier in the day. I spoke to Khalil briefly, let him know I was kidnapping Dorian, and we bounced.

• • •

You know Dorian and me had to get it on. It was crazy because it wasn’t all I wanted it to be. After waiting a few months and visualizing how it should have been, I felt disappointed. I knew it was my desire to be with Troy that had me tripping on Dorian’s inability to meet my expectations.

Even though the sex wasn’t all that, I still cared about Dorian. We shared so many commonalities. I think that’s why I overlooked the fact that his dick didn’t fill my pussy, barely touched my spot, and the oral couldn’t compare to the treatment I was used to getting.

It’s true what they say, once it’s popped, you can’t stop. Although Dorian wasn’t putting it down like the back breakers to whom I was accustomed, I managed to find a position that made his dick feel five times larger than it was.

Chapter 6|

On the day Loren flew in, I agreed to pick her up from the airport. She was staying at the Crowne Plaza near Metro Detroit Airport. Loren was a gold digger looking to connect with any of my athletic friends. She’d been screwing a rookie player for the Miami Dolphins and searching for the next best thing.

“Hey, girl. Good to see you again,” Loren replied as she loaded her Gucci luggage in the trunk of my BMW.

“Hi, Loren. Likewise,” I responded as we hugged.

My friend owned a club in downtown Detroit, and it was the night to be in the spot. I took Loren by her room so she could shower and change clothes. Friday night you could catch all of Detroit’s football and basketball players in the club. A girl could get rich quick if she played her cards right. I knew too many of the players personally—hell, several were my clients—and I never mixed business with pleasure. Nor would I divulge the details of my relationships with some of the guys. After we arrived at the club, when Loren looked at me for approval, I had nothing to say. I wasn’t Visa or MasterCard and wasn’t extending credit to anyone.