Sixty-Nine (7 page)

O
nce Again.

Bed by ten.

She lay in a fetal position.

Mind on her money.

Money on her mind.

Darla’s body was barely covered by a peach, lace-trimmed negligee with elbow length sleeves, front ties in black, and black
panties. It was only one of a ton of lingerie she had in the cedar chest at the foot of her walnut sleigh bed.

She lived in what was a $450,000 condo four years ago when she purchased it, but it was now worth a little more than $300,000.
The eighteen-hundred-square-foot condo was nestled on the eleventh floor of a fourteen-story building. It had been revived
to contemporary standards, but still had all the old charm and glamour of the 1950s in Miami, a city also called New York
South.

Her taste was beige and black, and every piece of her décor reflected the classy contrasts. The fully tiled natural floors
were beige with black borders. The corner balcony exposed the full nuance of downtown Miami, and the Atlantic Ocean, which
served as her backyard.

Darla’s mind luxuriated in the grand fantasy of what the possibilities of her new business could be. And also, she stressed
about where she’d get enough money to open a business, let alone to catch up on her expenses.

She’d found a couple of places she knew were a little too pricey, but the notion of location, location, location kept running
through her head. She kept envisioning her store and what it would look like, who would be the first customer, and how her
“lingerie boutique” would be the talk of the town, curing her from her money woes, if she could just get a loan.

She was thrilled that it was Friday, and that she had the whole weekend ahead of her, which meant two whole days of not having
to deal with the people at the dental office where she worked.

She’d been there for over ten years, working as a dental technician, and even though she had a bachelor’s degree in merchandising,
at the encouragement of her now deceased husband, she went back to get her two-year education at a dental school where she
earned her certificate in dental technology.

But she hated working in the dental field. She was way too creative for that. She loved fashion, and the sexy lingerie she
wore under her clothes. She loved unusual, comfortable, pretty, girlie undergarments. The fabric and look made her feel like
a sex goddess. It made her feel desirable, framing the curves of her queen-sized body. Her unmentionables were not mentioned.
They were on the down low, her own little secret she didn’t dare share.

When Aaron was still alive, she only worked a few days a week, a few hours a day. But once he passed, she had no choice but
to work full time in a field that didn’t fit her. And the day-to-day drama at her office was weighing on her heavily. Even
causing her to eat more, sit around at home and think, simply working during the day and spending time with herself at night,
and occasionally with Rebe and Magnolia. Other than that, she was alone.

The one person she should’ve been spending more time with was her father. But she seemed to make excuses not to see him. As
much as she wanted to spend time with the man who was her heart and soul, for her, it just seemed like they were two pathetic
widowed souls, surviving but not living, experiencing life alone against their will, vowing to be true to the one that God
had other plans for. It sometimes made her sadder. Just like with her mother-in-law, it reminded her of what once was, but
now wasn’t.

And of course she didn’t date. She didn’t even have date options. Last summer there was a man, a handsome Hispanic, who came
in for an appointment. When she walked past him in the lobby, he tried to hit on her. But to Darla, he was half the size she
liked her men to be. He was thin and short. Darla liked them almost heavy, and very tall. Not a man who was one-quarter her
size. It only reminded her how big she was. She liked them to look just like Aaron did. Big.

But now, to her, it seemed as though she couldn’t even get a starving man to look at her even if she had a pork chop dangling
from her neck.

Darla, aside from her financial problems, was lonely.

And as much as she fought the very feelings that sometimes, more than others, slapped her on the ass…she was horny.

For some reason tonight, the tall stranger Rebe met on New Year’s Eve named DeMarius, was on Darla’s mind. Rebe joked that
he fucked her so hard that if she’d gotten pregnant, she would’ve had twins. And the fact that he wore Rebe out till the break
of dawn was taking up Darla’s imaginary mind. She felt the call of the wild tonight. And it was loud.

Darla threw the white cotton sheets off her body, leaned over to look under her bed, and opened her trusty old shoebox where
she and Aaron used to hide their grown-folk toys. She’d gotten rid of some of the items, too many memories she thought. But
she replaced them with a few movies she’d watch from time to time. The one she hadn’t watched before caught her attention.
It was called
Three the Hard Way
.

Darla took it out, got up, placed it in the DVD player on her dresser, and grabbed the remote, snuggling back into bed, propping
up the bed pillows behind her head.

Darla pressed Play and fast-forwarded to the real action. The shot of two men and one woman. The woman was sitting on a sofa
in an office, one man was going down on her, the other was on the couch next to her, on his knees, and she was sucking his
long, thin dick. The young woman with short red hair could barely get all his length down her throat without gagging, and
he seemed to enjoy the sound and sight of that even more, placing his hand behind her head to align her mouth for her precise
deep throat.

The man on his knees got a good steady tongue groove going, and the woman, who looked like she just couldn’t help herself,
paused her sucking to focus on the supreme oral sensation. She quivered, shook, and bumped her vagina toward his face, threw
her head back with one hand still on the other man’s dick, and she ripped a fast orgasm, shouting to the sex powers that be,
saying, “Thank you. Yes.”

Darla squinted and said, “Damn.” Her eyes, and mind, continued.

The man who’d made her come traded places with the man on the couch, who got between her long legs and inserted his dick all
the way back to her cervix, and she took it, deep inside, all while the pussy eater’s dick was in her mouth. He wasn’t as
large as the other man, so she handled it better, but he gave conniption-fit sounds like he just couldn’t take it. He revved
up, and at the same time, the man between her legs revved up.

By now, Darla, who had pulled her nightgown up and her panties down, had two fingers deep inside of herself, finger-fucking
her pussy slow and deep, trying to get a good angle as deep as she could, and with the other hand, she flicked her right nipple
and twisted it, feeling it get stiffer and stiffer as she played with herself. Darla grinded toward her hand and watched the
two men wind down from their ecstasy.

She closed her eyes for a moment and thought about what Rebe must’ve been feeling, being done by the big man, and she started
to warm up, getting wetter, and the more she pictured them, him inside of her, her taking all of him, the more Darla began
to feel the build up of her own excitement and it felt forbidden.

She slowed down and the fantasy vision was replaced. All she could think about was Aaron, on top of her, grunting and groaning,
exploring the pussy he’d known for so long, that belonged to him and him alone, getting her in a deep missionary, working
Darla just like the last time they had sex. He moved faster and faster, frantically digging inside of her tightness, sperm
shooting from his penis into the crevices of her vagina, when he made a sound like he was swallowing hard, and his mouth flew
open. To her, Aaron was growing heavier and heavier, and more still, and he stiffened from head to toe. She looked at the
side of his face and could tell that his eyes were bugged to the extreme.

He looked shocked and pained.

And he collapsed on top of her.

Dead.

Just as he’d died in real life five years ago.

Tonight, two minutes later, it was panties up, video off, and under the sheets in a fetal position.

Darla’s sex life, even her masturbatory sex life, would have to wait once again.

As well as the exploration of experiencing an orgasm.

Which she’d never had in her entire conservative life.

T
he hot pink sign outside flashed a neon busty burlesque girl with shapely long legs. It read,
Make It Rain Gentlemen’s Club
and was located on a dead-end street of an older Fort Lauderdale business park.

It was a Wednesday night, the most popular night, and the parking lot was full. It was the night when the virgin amateur dancers
would get their introductory exhibitionist chance. And Rebe would be one of them.

The place was speaker-bumping loud.

It was fantasy-mood dark.

And it was cigarette-burning smoky.

The main room was big and round with a circular stage. Three rows of padded stackable chairs surrounded it. Up against the
walls were royal-blue velvet sofas with curvy dancers straddling the laps of hungry men, and hungry women, at twenty dollars
a pop and more.

The music was funky and fast, soulful and trendy, talking about drop it, pop it, bend it, and make it clap. Fit females worked
their moves, making love to the pole while their fans with penis-poles between their legs wished to be her sole focus of desire.

As pasties and rhinestone G-string wearing, six-foot-one Trixie Blue left the stage, Lil Wayne’s “Lollipop” began at full
blast, and Rebe, aka Queenie, who’d been hired the week before, strutted on next, with her long, lean body adorned by a shimmering
silver thong and thick clear platforms. Her mocha skin had a thin glossing of silver body glitter, and she wore a hint of
an insecure gleam in her huge eyes, which were lined with royal blue and black, extreme false eyelashes.

Queenie stood tall at the very front of the stage. She fought to not drop her chin at the sight of the lustful twinkle in
the eyes of those who took in her scantily clad vision. She shook it off by poking out her chest, shoulders back, while flinging
her long braids from left to right, and then she turned her backside toward two suit-wearing businessmen sitting front and
center. She had a mental moment with her old self.
You can do this. You need to do this. It’s okay
. It was her way of talking to the preacher’s kid inside of her, or as Rebe would call it, pseudo-preacher. It was her own
personal self-esteem pep talk that she’d been doing for years whenever she needed to brace herself for what she was told would
send her straight to hell.

She took a deep breath and bent over, sliding her thong down her hips, dropping it to her ankles, and kicking it off near
the pole. The club’s policy was that it was sexier to not take it all off, so what she wore underneath was a skinny black
G-string that was barely enough fabric to shield her fat, waxed, brownish-red pussy lips. She stood still for a moment, again
taking in the full attention from all eyes on her, and forced a major breath through her nose along with a forced weak smile.

Though to her the word
sinner
buzzed in her head, her heart told her she was the woman. It actually pounded beats of excitement for her as though giving
her two thumbs-up like it was enjoying the powerful adrenaline that was rushing through her veins. It hadn’t felt the feeling
enough.

And her admirers agreed with her heart. Just as she accepted the odd feeling of her own thirst of the moment, their naughty
faces spelled a matching hunger of approval for more. When they hooted and called with dollar bills in hand, she took three
big, sultry steps to the golden pole that awaited her skills, and leaned back along it, immediately doing her mastered, martini
spin move, sliding her limber body around and around, then lifting her legs higher and higher toward the top until she was
upside down. Her braids hung and swayed and her scissor move exposed a tad bit of what she was working with, even her new,
gold-studded clitoris peeked through and winked. She pulled her legs together and flipped to her feet, rubbing on herself
with passion while she approached a young man on the side of the stage who was holding a crisp new twenty.

Queenie got down on her knees and crawled closer like a cautious feline, arching her back and poking her ass out as far as
she could. She felt a sensation that made her flinch all over. The heated turn on was foreign but friendly.

She pressed her tits together and eyed him down while he examined her cleavage. His green-eyed gaze was locked. He had a face
like he was barely old enough to drink, no facial hair whatsoever, and his hair was short and curly. His skin was so light,
he was banana-beige. He wore chocolate diamond studs in his ears.

She admired the sight of him and moved in even closer.

He inhaled the smell of her skin, the scent of Escape, and folded the crisp bill, inserting it in and out between her breasts
like a credit card, like the twenty was getting its own tittie fuck. He then placed the bill inside the string of her skimpy
undies, just along her hip bone and said, “Damn. Umm, umm, umm.” He unglued his eyes and scooted them to her face. “If I could
have you to myself, I swear I’d never set foot in here again.”

She grinded her hips and replied, “Oh, you wouldn’t, huh?”

He spoke low. “Never. And just so you know, there’s more where that came from. When are you on the floor?”

“Hang around and find out. I’ll find you,” she whispered.

“You do that, Queenie.” His sights shifted toward her pussy. “You got the right one there.” And then to her ass. “Your body
is so sick. You are definitely the queen of this place.”

She blushed and blinked. “Thanks, Babyface.” Queenie slowly backed up her crawl and rose to her feet, pulling the twenty from her G-string, stepping to the pole where she placed
it along the floor as she began rubbing her hands along her nearly forty-year-old flat stomach, making sure to glance back
at him, giving him a look as if to say she could take him right there on the stage if he’d dare to try. Her eyes spoke the
dirty actress dare only for a few moments, and then she looked away at the waves of men who gave lustful stares, men sure
to use her visual image for their own sexual mind-rendezvous later. Some shook their heads like she was the goddess of their
worlds, and some whistled like she should come to them and give them a whiff as well. There were even three women who sat
in the second row with their legs crossed, saying nothing to each other, just admiring, one looking at Queenie’s tits, licking
her lips.

A few of the men in the front row stood and all at once released their handfuls of cash onto the stage in front of her, literally
making it rain. She watched the money fall to the floor and said inside her head,
Damn. That was easy
. She felt an odd sense of approval.

The song wound down and she ended her striptease with a money stroll, sexily picking up all the cash that was sprinkled along
the floor of the stage.

The DJ spoke loudly from his booth by the door. “Let’s hear it for Queenie. Our newest dancer here at Make It Rain. She looks
like a sexy pro if you ask me. No amateur there. And up next we have Loveliness, who sure is that. Give her a big hand of
appreciation,” he yelled, as if the next contestant, who was a pretty, butch dancer, were coming out for an
American Idol
audition. He played “Seduction” by Usher. The ladies in the crowd, especially, stood tall, bills ready.

Rebe looked over at her baby-faced friend.

Her first-time admirer.

He gave a wink with his thick, long lashes.

She winked back.

And in one second she was backstage. “That shit made me hot,” she said to another dancer who was bent over in the mirror backward
to check the correctness of the opening of her own vagina.

“Oh, you must be new,” the tall, tanned dancer—a mix of German and Sudanese—sounded totally amazed, almost disgusted.

Thirty minutes later, the champagne room was occupied by four other men, and Babyface. The men were getting private dances
from their chosen ladies, at least for the current song, “Sexual Seduction,” by Snoop. And Queenie was Babyface’s choice.

He asked while sitting on an armless chair, scooted back, strategically wearing loose gray sweatpants without underwear, with
his legs spread wide open, “So, where’ve you been?” in a low, slow voice to the curve of her long back as she did a reverse
cowgirl, moving her shape in a dance of erotic, simulated intercourse.

“What do you mean? Like why haven’t you seen me here before? Is that what you’re asking?” She worked her ass cheeks along
his crotch. His member was at full attention, and she could feel every inch of it. Queenie was wet.

He said while fidgeting as though battling himself to not put his hands along her slender waist to guide her X-rated grind,
“Exactly. Newbie. This is amateur night.”

“Okay, so then why did you ask where I’ve been then?” She had a hint of a smart-ass tone to her words, like she’d been around.

“I meant all my life.” His vision stayed on her cheeks that pressed against his lap. He looked like he had imaginations of
his dick deep inside her while he’d play lazy, letting her do all the aerobic work.

“I’ve been in my skin, how’s that?” She still spoke spunky, and raised her body inch-by-inch, enough to bring her leg around
to straddle him, facing his torso. Her neck was right around the area of his mouth. He got ready to speak, but instead she
said, “You talk too much.”

“No rule against talking. Makes it seem more like you’re my girl, for real.”

“Okay.” The tone of her reply hinted that his words were corny, but her body moved like he was a stud, saying all the right
things. She readjusted herself so she could feel his total thickness between her legs. He smelled like manly mango. She breathed
hard and exhaled soft. In her mind she said,
Please song, don’t end yet.

“Yeah, you’re new all right.” He pumped back and rubbed back as she slid along his dick. The fabric of his sweats was moist,
and not all from his seepage alone.

She talked near his ear, pressing her full breasts along his chest. “Well, I guess you’d know because I’m willing to bet you’re
a regular.”

She could feel his breath along her collarbone as he spoke. “You could say that. Been coming here for years.”

She backed her chest away slightly and gave his virgin face a good once over. The full-grown occupant living below his waist
didn’t match the puberty-like look above the neck. “Since you’re what, about twelve? ’Cause you certainly don’t look legal.”

He raised his bushy eyebrows, looking assured. “I’m old enough, believe me.”

She put her hands on her own thighs and raised her hips up and down, shoving her vagina to his dick, and moving it back, shoving
it forward again. Her thighs flexed. “Just barely, I’ll bet.”

“Speak for yourself.” He looked at the definition in her legs. “Youngster.”

“Please. I’ve got bras older than you.” Queenie adjusted herself to turn around again and bent down to the floor with her
hands grasping her ankles, making sure the exact point of her opening met his shaft.

He sucked his teeth and said, “Ooooo.” And then spoke after a sigh. “I doubt that. But even if you do, I’m down for what I
see. I’d put a ring on this, no doubt.”

She giggled softly.

He groaned and let her do her thing, looking like he could simply explode in his pants.

She leaned her back against him, bringing her hands to the back of his neck, interlocking her fingers, with her long micro-braids
draped behind the both of them.

He smiled and sniffed her again, and his dick pulsated. He said with his eyes closed, “You like me, don’t you?”

Her eyes were half-closed, “Feeling what’s in your pants, I’d say
you’re
the one who likes me.” She sat straight up just as the last beats of the song wound down. “But like I said, you talk too
much. You’re done.” She stood and ran her fingers through her braids, readjusting her thong.

He reached into his Nike shirt pocket and pulled out a hundred with a Post-it stuck to it, folding the bill into quarters.
“I’ll see you later.” He handed it to her. “Take this and make sure you keep the note. Queenie.”

She did, and kept it up in her hand. “Maybe so.”

He looked down at himself, shook out all three legs, and stood up, readjusting his placement.

She asked, eyes looking baby-girlish, “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

“Yes.”

She walked on and he followed. She knew it.

His eyes zoomed in on her orgasm-prompting behind. He simply watched, looking like he was taking a mental snapshot.

Rebe’s eyes said without blinking,
Oh no
, to him leaving, but Queenie simply said a carefree, “Bye.”