Deep Throat Diva (17 page)

We are both trying to outsuck and face-fuck the other. We are both frantic, trying to outplease the other. It has become a race to see who can make who nut first. In the end, I win—as I always do, bringing him to the finish line in multiple waves of ecstasy. His body shudders as I continue nursing on his dick. I let his baby batter slide down in my throat, then pull his dick out of my neck
and begin sucking on the head while rapidly jerking his shaft. He has another nut ready to erupt and I am determined to coax it up. After tonight’s rendezvous, this nigga will never forget being with the Deep Throat Diva. And no matter whoever else he gets to suck his dick outside of “wifey,” none of them hoes will ever compare to me.

A few minutes later, I start creaming on his tongue. Not long afterward he lets out another loud moan and nuts in my mouth again. I swallow him. Then he shifts his body around and collapses beside me, breathing heavy.

“Whew,” he says, catching his breath. “I ain’t gonna front. I ain’t tryna leave my girl, but I damn sure don’t wanna stop this shit, either.”

“Trust me, boo. I’m not asking you to leave her, either. Nor do I want you to. And I’m not going to front. I enjoy sucking your dick. And you’re the first nigga in a long-ass time who I’ve let bust in my mouth and I swallow that shit.”

“Word?” he asks, seemingly surprised.

I nod. “I’m a dick sucker, baby. But I’m not a messy one. Most niggas get the latex treatment, so consider yourself one of the lucky few.”

“That’s wassup. So, what’s really good with you? You single? Gotta a man? The last time we kicked it, you was actin’ all secretive ’n shit. Dig, I’m discreet, too. I’m not tryna disrupt my home situation. And I’m definitely not lookin’ to disrupt your groove either. But I dig you. And I wanna know more about you. This shit we got goin’ is a no-strings arrangement between us, and I’m good wit’ that. Just two peeps freakin’ it on the low.”

“Good,” I say. “And that’s how it should remain. But, after tonight, this is it for us. I have to chill out.”

“Oh, word? I guess that answers my question. I can dig it.”

For some reason I decide to keep it real with him. I break down my situation and tell him all about Jasper without telling him who he exactly is. Explain to him how I got caught up in this internet shit. When I am finished, he stares at me, stunned. “Damn, so how many dicks have you sucked off since you started going online, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Shit. The truth is I don’t exactly know how many niggas I’ve topped off. But I can guesstimate. And in my approximation, I count at least—including him—thirty-seven dicks…in two years. As embarrassing as this is, I tell him. And it feels like a ton of bricks have been lifted up off my shoulders. I am relieved to have someone to share my dirty little deeds with. Besides, I don’t see him as a threat. He has as much to lose as I do, if not more.

I watch him intently as I tell him this, gauging his reaction. There is none. But I can tell he’s thinking—something. “Go ’head. Say it.”

“What?”

“What you’re thinking. How trifling I am.”

He strokes my cheek, then kisses me on the forehead. “Nah, actually that’s not what I was thinking at all.”

“What were you thinking, then?”

“I was thinking, what ya man will do if he ever finds out.”

I inhale a deep breath. Hold it in my lungs as if it were going to be my last, then slowly exhale. I close my eyes for a few seconds, then open them. “Kill me,” I whisper.

SIXTEEN

S
even
A.M
., Monday morning, I am at the shop handling some last-minute things before the place starts buzzing with people. And as usual, Felecia is here in diva style, done up in all of her finery: white gold tennis bracelets, two carat diamond earrings, and a diamond choker. She’s wearing a sexy black and white BCBG Max Azria tunic dress and a bad-ass pair of four-inch black L.A.M.B. leather and suede strappy booties with twisting straps. Then to top it off she has on a damn multi-toned color bob style wig with a sweeping bang. I glance over at her sixteen-hundred dollar Ferragamo satchel she has propped up on the counter, shaking my head. This bitch is worse than me when it comes to handbags and wears. I swear she has enough clothes and accessories to open up her own boutique. Not that I have room to talk.

“I see you serving up another new look.”

“Oh, please,” she says, waving me on, “I just rolled outta bed and threw this on.”

I laugh. “Yeah, right. And you popped the tags, when? This morning?” She laughs, knowing I’m right. That’s the one thing we definitely have in common—our love for high-end fashion. The only difference—well, two differences—I’m not into all the different wigs and hairpieces, and I can now afford to buy my own shit. She, on the other hand, has a different type and style of wig for every day of the week and she still relies on her man, Andre, to keep her laced. I’m not hating, though. I was that same chick once.

The conversation shifts into her filling me in on all the things she forgot to mention last night when we spoke on the phone. She feeds me drops of new gossip. And for some reason, I cling onto every morsel. Like Alicia getting pissy drunk over the weekend and sucking off some stripper nigga’s dick in front of everyone at some chick’s bachelorette party. The image flashes through my mind and I feel myself becoming turned on. Then pictures of that nigga who walked up in here looking for me to suck his dick flash through my head and my mood shifts, but I don’t let on.
My man said if I came through you’d hit me off with one of ya deep throat specials…Suck my dick, bitch!

I buck my eyes, shaking his words out of my head. “You have got to be kidding me,” I say, feigning disgust. But I know more than anyone that I am no better, or no different, than she is. At the end of the day, we’re both two dick-sucking whores.

“Now you know I don’t kid when it comes to the street news. And baby, Miss Hotbox was in rare form, I hear.”

“Well, how’d you hear about it?” She tells me Shuwanda was there, too. That they had gone to the party together. “Hmmph,” I grunt, knowing how Shuwanda’s messy ass moves. If she sees it, she’s telling it. “Say no more.”

She flips through the appointment book. “Alicia is my girl and all. But she really played herself. And I gotta say if what she did is true, I’ma be looking at her real sideways from now on.”

“Why?” I ask, twisting my face up. I’m surprised she would say something like that. Since she claims to be so nonjudgmental, believing people should be able to live and be who they are.

“Because…one, she has a man; two, she’s sucking off a nigga she doesn’t even know—a stripper at a party, no less; and three, it’s just straight nasty.”

“What? Sucking dick?” I ask, trying to play stupid.

She looks over at me, sucks her teeth. “No, sucking dick isn’t nasty. Topping off a nigga you don’t know is. Then to have a man on top of that…” she shakes her head, frowning. “…what kind of bitch would suck some nigga’s dick off, then roll up on her man like shit’s all good?”
A bitch like me,
I think, shifting my eyes. “Chile, that’s grounds for an immediate beat down.”

“I guess.”

She slaps the leather book shut, putting a hand on her hip. “You guess? Bitch, what kind of mess is that? Wait. Please tell me you don’t think that shit isn’t trifling?”

Now, I’m standing here trying to act as if I’m equally turned off by the whole random dick-sucking thing, but who am I to pass judgment on Alicia, or anyone else when I’m just as messy—or worse?

Felecia and I are very close and there’s typically no topic of discussion off limits between us, with the exception of my extracurricular oral activities. That’s a subject she and I will never have, especially now. It’s bad enough she recently asked me—again, which I found quite strange—if I’ve ever cheated on Jasper since he’s been locked up. And of course, as I did the first time she asked me this—I looked her dead in the eyes and told her a bold-faced lie. “Nope. I have no reason to.”

“Girl, good for you,” she said, sipping on her third Agave Margarita. We were at P.F. Chang’s for their happy hour, eating and drinking. “I don’t know how you do it. Personally, I’d be pulling my damn hair out if I had to go without sex. I’m sorry, I love Andre. But if his ass ever got locked up I’d have to have me some dick on-call until he got out. Fuck that. I’m not about to deprive myself of some cock just because a muhfucka can’t keep his ass out on the streets to handle his business in the sheets.”

I chuckled, licking the salt from around the rim of my Margarita
glass, then taking a slow, deliberate sip. It was also my third drink, and I was starting to feel the effects of it. “Well, I’m not saying it’s been easy because it hasn’t. But with the help of a whole lot of batteries and a collection of toys, I get by.”

“Hmmph,” she grunted, scooping out another helping of brown rice, then arranging several shrimp over it. She puts a forkful of food in her mouth, then points her fork at me as she chews. “Girl, if the shoe were on the other foot, do you actually think Jasper would be so quick to keep his dick in his pants?”

“Of course not,” I say, grabbing a shrimp from her dish, then popping it in my mouth. “He’d probably be slamming his dick into something the same night.”

“So if you know that, why wouldn’t you want to get a little side action until he comes home?”

Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if she was asking me this to bait me—call it paranoid if you want, but I knew better than to give her anything other than my scripted truth. “Because it wouldn’t be worth it. I don’t need the headache.”

She stared at me, took another sip of her drink. “So, tell me this. Did Jasper tell you that you better not fuck around on him, or was he open-minded enough to realize that you’re a woman with needs and that if you’re going to do it, then do it discreetly and responsibly?”

I gave her a crazy-ass look, raising my eyebrow. “Girl, what you think?”

She laughed. “I know; stupid question. He probably said,”—she deepened her voice—“’Pasha, let me find out you giving up my pussy, and I’ma beat the dog shit outta you.’”

I crack up. “Exaaaaactly “

She sucked her teeth. “Niggas kill me. They can fuck and do whatever they want, but the minute they think we’re letting someone
else get what they think belongs to them, it becomes a damn problem.”

“You ain’t never lied. You know how these niggas are.”

“Yep,” she said, eyeing me. “And Jasper’s the type of crazy-ass nigga who’d be more than happy to go back to prison if he ever found out some extra shit about you.”

I started choking on my drink. “OhmyGod, girl, don’t say no shit like that.”

“Well, it’s the truth.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “And you’re probably right. Hopefully,” I slipped, hoping she didn’t catch it, “That’ll never happen.”

“Hopefully
? Bitch, whaddaya mean ’hopefully’? I thought you said you’ve never cheated on him.”

“I haven’t,” I quickly stated. “I was only saying. You know what I meant.”

She eyed me, then grunted. “Mmmph, let me find out…”

“Bitch, please. There’s nothing to find out. This pussy is sealed tighter than a fortress.”

She laughed, taking another sip of her drink. “Girl, you don’t have to convince me. I believe you. The question is: does ya man?”

“Want another round of drinks?” I asked, avoiding the question.

“I sure do,” she said, gulping down the rest of her Margarita. And for the remainder of the evening we ate, drank and laughed until it was closing time.

I bring my attention back to Felecia. “Girl, please. It doesn’t matter what I think, or you for that matter. Alicia’s a grown woman, making whatever choices she makes by her own free will. What she’s done or is doing has nothing to do with me.”

“Whatever. The shit’s still nasty to me.” She stuffs her bag into her drawer, then locks it. “Annnnnway, I meant to ask you. When’s the last time you went on Facebook?”

“It’s been months, why?”

“Girrrrrlfriend, you are missing out on the dirt. That chick who cut up Big Booty has been reading her for filth on Facebook, posting all kinds of messy shit about her on her wall. Somebody musta tagged Big Booty, and that shit got her cranked up. She turned around and posted all types of shit about what chick’s man used to do to her in bed, challenging her position as his woman and whatnot. And she even got the video of that chick getting stomped down by her kids posted on YouTube.”

“Are you serious?”

“Baaaaaaby, as a heart attack. They’ve been going at it hard for the last two days.”

I roll my eyes, disgusted. I mean, really…grown-assed women carrying on like dick-whipped school girls is beyond my reach. Whatever beef the two of them have, they need to handle that shit like adults instead of airing out each other’s personal business on some public site for all to see. I have two Facebook pages; one for me, and the other for the salon. And I rarely go on either. I think the last time I actually logged onto my personal page was about two months ago. That’s how far removed I am from it all. And, when I did go on it, half of the people who had requested me as a friend, I declined. And any notes I had, if they didn’t pertain to making money, I ignored.

“If you ask me,” I state, pulling open my BlackBerry and scrolling through my messages, “they both sound like two stupid bitches. Hmmph, I’m glad I don’t waste my time on that shit. Only sick bitches and niggas air out their personal business online.”

And only a sick bitch posts sex ads online, then goes off and has random sex with them. But that hasn’t stopped you. Now has it?

“Well, girl, as true as that may be. I looooove it!” she says, getting up from her seat. She glances at her profile in the mirror
hanging on the wall behind the counter. “It keeps me in the loop with all the minute-to-minute details of the latest hood gossip. Them messy bitches make my day, boo.”

“Hmmph. Well, you can have it. And while you’re at it, how ’bout you make yourself useful and maintain the salon’s page, too, ’cause you know I can’t be so bothered with that mess.”