Deep Throat Diva (21 page)

“Okay, thanks.” As I’m about to walk off, I realize that I left my phone in my car. I sit my things back up on the counter, then head for the door. “I gotta go back outside. I left my phone in the car.”

As I’m walking out the door, I see this thug-type nigga standing across the street, looking over in the direction of the salon not too far from where my car is, like he was standing there waiting for someone, or something. I can’t really make out who he is since he has a brown hoodie pulled up over his head—which I think is odd since it’s almost seventy degrees today. Anyway, the nigga looks like he’s up to no good. However, I don’t put too much attention into it.

As soon as I step to the curb waiting for cars to go by, I glance over my shoulder and see Robyn’s man coming outside as well. He speaks. “How long you been working here?”

“Since it opened,” I answer, eyeing him. I glance back across the street. The hooded man is standing in the same spot, staring.

“It’s a nice spot.”

“Yeah, it is,” I say, moving a strand of hair from my face as I take him in. I can’t deny he’s a handsome nigga. He has a chiseled face with deep, piercing brown eyes, full lips, and a dimpled chin. His hair is cut close and his neatly trimmed goatee makes him look sexier than he already is. He’s wearing a brown, short-sleeved POLO button-up, beige khakis and a pair of brown designer loafers. For some reason, he reminds me of a computer geek.

He looks back toward the shop, then at me. Instinctively, we both step out of the view of the shops window in case someone was looking. “Congratulations to you,” he says, giving me the onceover.

“Thanks.”

He licks his lips, pulling in his bottom lip. “I was hoping you were gonna be here today.”

“Why?” I ask, pretending to be clueless. “James, right?”

He nods. “Yeah. When I initially saw you the other week, you looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I knew you from. I went home and kept thinking about it. Then it hit me. Damn, I didn’t think I was ever gonna run into you again.”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “Umm, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

He smiles. “I’d never forget a face or set of lips like yours.” I nervously shift my eyes, looking around to make sure no one else is in earshot. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna put you out like that,” he says, sensing my uneasiness. “Your secret is safe with me. I just wanted to let you know, I remember who you are. Shit. I actually haven’t stopped thinking about that night in the park.”

I want to ask him which park he’s referring to, but decide against it. The fact is it doesn’t matter where I had sucked his dick. The point is I did it. He goes onto tell me how that was the best mind-blowing head he’s ever experienced in his life. It’s meant to be a compliment, but it has me feeling extremely uncomfortable. I swallow my nerves down, not believing how shit is unfolding right before my eyes. Of all the times I’ve gone out cock prowling, he’s the first man who I have actually run into in public—surprisingly, my goddamn salon.

I decide to be honest with him. “I remembered you when you were here two weeks ago. I’d definitely like to keep this quiet.”

He chuckles. “I’m engaged, remember? Who you think I’m gonna tell?”

I let out a sigh. “Point taken.”

The cell in his hand chimes, alerting he has a text. He looks down at it. “Listen, that’s her texting me.”

I put a hand up, waving him on. “I gotta get my phone out of my car anyway.”

He shoots his future wife a quick text back, then says, “It was nice talking to you. Maybe we can hook up one more time before we both tie the knot.”

I smile. “Perhaps we shouldn’t. With your wife-to-be coming into the salon now as a client, it’s too close for comfort. The last thing I need in my shop is drama.”

“I’m not looking for any drama either,” he says, eyeing me. He smiles, glancing over his shoulder at the salon. “So this is your shop?” I nod. “Wow, impressive.”

“Thanks. So you can understand how another encounter wouldn’t be good for business.”

He grins. “Then again, it may increase your business. Shit, she doesn’t mind spending my money to come here.”

I return the smile. “And I do appreciate the patronage, but that’s as far as I can go with it. Besides, as you’ve heard, I’m about to be married.”

“I understand. And so am I. But if you ever change your mind,”—he reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet—“give me a call, or shoot me an email.” He hands me a business card. I glance at it. He’s an IT tech.

I smile. “Thanks.” He smiles back, then glances down at his cell as it chimes again. It’s another text from his fiancé. He walks off, texting back. And I prepare to cross the street. Dude with the hoodie is still standing by my car waiting, watching—or looking, for something. While I’m crossing the street, I see him lean down, picking up something. As I make my way toward my car, this motherfucker lifts up this big-ass cinderblock, draws his arms back, and hurls the shit at the rear window of my car. He takes off running down the street like a bat out of hell at the
sound of glass shattering and my alarm blaring, yelling out, “Bitch!”

“OhmyGod!” I scream, running to my car. “Someone stop him! The motherfucker threw a brick through my window!” I quickly unlock my door, snatch my cell out of the passenger seat, then dial 9-1-1. In the meantime, I’m standing in the middle of the sidewalk, watching as this nigga disappears down the street.

“Fuck!” I yell. This is the last thing I need today.

TWENTY

W
hoever came up with the saying: When it rains, it fucking (added for effect) pours never lied. ’Cause right now it feels like I’m being soaked by a monsoon. When I get to the shop this morning I am greeted with a slew of fliers taped all over the front door and window of the salon. Fliers, damnit!!! About me! Each one had a different slogan. Shit like: F
OR THE BEST HEAD IN TOWN
, P
ASHA
A
LLEN’S GOT THE DICK SUCKING GAME ON LOCK
…F
OR THAT 24 HOUR DICK WASH, COME THRU
N
APPY
N
O
M
ORE FOR THAT
D
EEP
T
HROAT TREATMENT
…P
ASHA ALLEN’S A DICK SUCKING SLUT…
V
ISIT
T
HE QUEEN OF COCK-SWABBING AT
WWW.NASTYFREAKS4U.COM
…PASHA ALLEN A.K.A DEEP THROAT DIVA WILL LICK YA DICK AND SWALLOW YA NUT ’CAUSE SHE’S A CUM-SLUT
…

There were literally a hundred or more fliers covering the door and window. When I say my nerves were rattled, they were wrecked. Two weeks ago it was my car, now this shit! Thankfully, I still get here before anyone else. Then the nut has the audacity to call me. I’m sitting here at my desk, trying to push back a throbbing headache as I replay the conversation. “How’d you like the fliers?”

“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask, feeling exasperated. “Of all the people in the world you just have to fuck with me. Why?”

“I told you before. I want my dick sucked.”

“Nigga,” I snap, “you are outta ya motherfucking mind. I’m not sucking shit.”

“Then I’m gonna keep fucking with you until you do.”

I hang up on him. Two minutes later, the nut calls back.

“Bitch, hanging up doesn’t stop me from calling. I’m gonna call ya smutty ass every day ’til you put those pretty-ass lips on this dick, again. By the way, how many nuts you swallow a day?”

I take deep breaths, counting to ten in my head to calm my nerves down. Even though my nerves are rattled, the last thing I should do is let this nigga know he is getting to me. “You’re fucking crazy,” I respond.

“You sucking this dick?”

“I told you…hell. Fucking. No!”

“I guess having the back window knocked out of that fancy whip of yours still isn’t enough, is it ho?”

“Fuck you,” I snap. Maybe talking slick isn’t the smartest idea. But he is plucking my last nerve with all of this psycho shit.

He laughs. “Yeah, like how I’m gonna fuck that throat of yours. I’ma call every day. And I’ma ask you the same shit. And every time you say no, I’ma give your dumb ass something to remember me by.”

“Like I said, bitch-ass,
fuck
…you.”

“By the time I finish with you, slut, you gonna wish I hada fucked ya nasty, trick-ass. Get ready for ya next surprise,” he warns.

“Nigga, do what the fuck you gotta do. I’m not sucking your raggedy-ass dick.” This time, the nigga hangs up on me. I’m telling you this shit with this motherfucking nut is really getting out of hand. And the truth of the matter is I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do about it. I definitely can’t go to the police with this. If I suck his dick, then this motherfucker will have me under his thumb. But if I don’t, then the nigga’s gonna keep harassing me. Either way, I’m fucked. I wish I knew someone I
could call to handle this…him, for me. Some hood niggas who’d track his ass down, then stomp him the fuck out.

Anyway, here we are less than three hours later, and I have the goddamn police here at the salon, again, because someone tossed two big-ass metal pipes through the salon’s window. Glass and shit is everywhere. I’m glad no one got hurt. The last thing I need is someone trying to sue me on top of everything else that’s going on. Of course, no one was able to give a good description of the motherfucker who did this because he, like the nigga who smashed out my car window, had a hat pulled down over his eyes and a hoodie blocking his face. The only difference is he was short and dark-skinned.

Then, to add to my already pounding headache, I have these nosey ass police asking me a bunch of questions: Have you made any enemies recently? Have you had any disagreements with anyone? Could this have been a scorned lover? Do you know why someone would target you? My answer: No!

Now everyone here is all up in my business, asking me a ton of questions. I’m sure out of concern. But, still…it’s embarrassing to say the least. First, the shit with the nigga coming to my shop, next my car window being smashed out, then the fliers. Now this shit. I’m convinced this nigga is not going to give up until he breaks me down.

To makes matters worse, my paranoia has me thinking I hear bitches snickering as I walk by. I know how messy hating ass hoes can be, especially Shuwanda, so it wouldn’t surprise me if their laughter is at my expense. But come to find out Felecia tells me that while I was outside Shuwanda was in here running her mouth about Alicia giving everyone in earshot a play-by-play recap of how Alicia carried on at that party she took her to. Shuwanda was only being Shuwanda—a messy, backstabbing, two-faced bitch.

Then, coupled with everything else happening around here, Stax walks through the door with Jasper as I’m sweeping up glass.
Shit, shit, shit
, I think, trying to keep my face from cracking.

“Yo, what the fuck happen here?” Jasper asks, frowning as he points at the window. His jaw tightens as he looks around.

I stop sweeping. “Some crazy ass threw a pipe through the window,” I tell him, cutting my eye over at Felecia. She lowers her head, busies herself looking through the appointment book. She keeps her mouth shut, but I know her. She wants to say something about my car. I have Jasper thinking it’s in the shop for repairs because someone sideswiped me.

“Did they catch this nigga?” he asks, staring at me.

I tell him no. Look over at Stax who’s standing by the counter, eyeing me on the sly while talking to Felecia. “Hey, Stax,” I say to him.

He nods at me. “What’s good, Pash? You aiight?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Oh, aiight, that’s wassup. I was telling ya peoples if you need me to set up a goon squad up over here, all you gotta do is say the word.”

That’s the last thing I need here. I force a laugh. “Oh, no. We’re fine. It was only some idiot acting a—”

“So what this nigga look like?” Jasper asks, cutting me off. A few of the stylists see Stax and Jasper and make their way to the front, smiling and grinning and shaking and popping their asses for attention. I give him what little information I know, tell him the people were coming out to replace the window, then change the subject.

“Umm, what are you doing here?” I ask, trying to mask my nervousness as I walk over and give him a quick kiss.

“I came to see my woman,” he says, pulling me into him. “Why, I need a reason to come through?”

“Not at all. I’m surprised. That’s all.”

“Yo, let me talk to you for a minute,” he says, taking me by the arm. “Yo, Stax, I’ll be ready to roll in a minute.”

“No doubt, playa,” he says. “Do you.”

Jaspers leads me to my office. All eyes are on him as we walk past the stylists’ stations. A few of the girls speak. He acknowledges them with a nod. As soon as we get inside the office, he shuts the door behind us, then locks it. He’s all over me.

“Yo, what’s good wit’ ya sexy-ass? I came through for some quick pussy.”

OhmyGod, is this nigga crazy?
I have glass and shit all over the place. The last thing on my mind is fucking. However, I already know if I don’t give him a taste there’s going to be problems. And it’ll end up with him asking me a bunch of questions that I can’t answer honestly. Beefing with him today is definitely not what I need.

I reluctantly give in as he pulls me into him and starts kissing me and cupping my ass with both hands. He slips his tongue into my mouth, and we go at it until we’ve both gotten ourselves worked up. I’m stroking his dick, squeezing the thick bulge in his sweats as he kisses my neck, then tweaks my nipples, massages my titties. Slowly my pussy starts percolating in anticipation for what’s to come. I forget about the phone call earlier, the fliers, and the smashed out window. I block out the nigga’s threats, blank out the nigga telling me to suck his dick. Nothing else matters, but feeling my man’s dick deep inside of me. I squat down and yank his sweats down around his ankles before unleashing his beautiful black dick from out of his boxer briefs. I wrap my lips around the head of his dick, then slowly take him all the way to the back of my throat. I breathe through my nose, then swallow him past my tonsils until I have my nose buried in his pubic hairs.