Cheaters (39 page)

My voice was of surrender. “I want to experience you too.”

Tammy asked, “Will we make love before I go to France?”

I nodded, a simple and silent yes.

“Penny for thoughts,” I said, smiling. “Nickel for a kiss?”

Tammy smiled. “Only if you gimme a dollar’s worth.”

Around midnight my doorbell sang. Keys were jingling.

Rapid, angry knocks. At first I hurried toward the door; then I recoiled in horror, was almost overwhelmed by the fear that Toyomi had shown up to create
Fatal Attraction II.

Whoever it was had put their finger up to the peephole so I couldn’t see much more than a fingerprint.

I asked, “Who is it?”

No answer. Whoever it was tapped on the door, but didn’t move their finger from the peephole. I stepped to the side. I’d seen movies where people put a gun up to the

peephole and blew out a fool’s brains. I wasn’t about to go out like that.

With a rougher, no-nonsense tone I asked, “Who is it?”

“Opportunity.”

I put the chain on and cracked my front door.

Chanté.

I took the chain off, opened the door just wide enough so she could see me standing in my plaid boxers. As she stood under the yellow light, the night behind her was a deep blue shadow being punctuated with the sounds of freeway traffic. The rain had stopped, but the streets were still wet. I could smell the wet earth and damp pine trees in the cool, humid air.

Her hair was wild as the wind that was scattering debris across the complex. Intelligent eyes as tender as a willow in a gale. Brown skin under a tan trench coat that was buttoned up to her slender neck.

Eloquent, odd, unique, beautiful, and unforgettable. A smart woman with life skills. She was all those things. Men should carve her likeness in every mountain.

But I’d never be weak enough to tell her that.

She said, “I called Karen and talked to her on lunch.”

“About?”

“You.”

“And?”

“I told her that I told you I didn’t want a boyfriend.”

“And?”

“She surprised me.”

“How?”

“She said I messed up, in a major kind of way.”

“Okay. So, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I messed up.”

“And?”

“Be my boyfriend. That’s if you think you can hang.”

“I’ll have to think about that.”

“Don’t think too long.”

“Why?”

She eased open her trench coat, let it fall like a leaf, tossed it at my feet.

With red pouty lips she whined, “I might catch cold.”

I said, “You’re naked.”

“Negative. It’s called a negligee. I’m wearing pumps.”

“My eyes didn’t make it down that far.”

“Freshly showered Nubian skin. Just for you. If you want to be my boyfriend. I’ve never done this for anyone else.”

“Chanté,” I groaned. “Chanté Marie Ellis.”

She smiled. “My butterfly is getting cold.”

“Is it?”

“May I bring it inside and warm it up? If you don’t want me to, I’ll go back home.”

“My foot’s holding your coat down. So, unless you have your car keys hidden in one of your orifices, you’re gonna be walking back down the hill to Diamond Bar butt naked.”

I kissed Chanté. Daring. Add daring to that list of things.

She led me into my bedroom, then went over to the television.

She asked, “Where’s your camcorder?”

“In the closet. How did you know I had one?”

“I didn’t.”

She wanted me to connect it to the television, then point it at us, use the TV as a monitor and we could watch ourselves.

Chanté took candles and matches out of her pocket.

“Karen gave me these aromatherapy candles on my last birthday. Lemon is supposed to cast off the chains of confusion and set your mind free.”

“What’s the other one?”

“Ylang ylang. It’s supposed to let you open up to a world of possibilities and leave boundaries behind.”

Chanté sat on my bed, and I adjusted the camera.

She said, “Can I tell you something, and you don’t think bad of me?”

“Go ahead.”

“Today,” she said in a sweet, alluring tone, “I was driving to work in the rain and trying not to think about you, but I did. The rhythm of the windshield wipers moving back and forth in slow motion, well, that made me fantasize about the way you move in and out of me. I’ve been dreaming about having you inside me all day. I got wet thinking about being with you. I want you in me so I can squeeze you with my inner walls. I love the way you hold me tight and say
ugh
when you’re coming.”

Her words turned me on. I was growing.

I said, “Smile.”

She did. Shifted around and smiled.

“Stephan, go ahead and put a blank tape in it.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve never done this before. Yeah. I want to see what I look like when you do the do. Let’s see how long you can hang.”

“Who gets to keep the tape?”

“Nobody. After we look at it, we’ll record over it.”

Glowing candles, just enough light. Scent just right.

“Stephan?”

“Yeah?”

“Wrap that pickle up.”

I dressed my penis in the latex tuxedo and got ready for the party. She slipped her red lace panties off and stretched naked across my white sheets.

“Stephan, can I ask you something else?”

“Go ahead.”

“Does a man feel anything when a woman comes?”

I winked at her. “It’s like finding another part of the pussy way in the back. A whole new room in the house.”

“C’mon. Come find a new room.”

“You’re horny.”

“Completely. I want to feel your hands under my butt. Explore me. Make it so good that tears come down my face.”

My fingers walked over the silver earring in her belly. I stroked her neck. Her eyes told me that she got a rush from my touch. I slipped two fingers inside, felt what was already humid.

I said, “You’re hot.”

“As hot as Chicago on the Fourth of July.”

She pulled me on top of her. Opened her thighs, wrapped her legs around me. Sucked my tongue while we talked. Then she took a hand and massaged my penis near her sex. Stroked it back and forth across her slit. Her lips made a wet, insatiable sound. First the humidity of her vagina drew me in; then her muscles contracted around me with the firmness of a handshake.

Chanté sucked in, let out hot breath.

Her back arched, my bed squeaked and shifted under

our weight, sang when her hips rocked against mine. I lowered my mouth to her breast so I could let my tongue massage her nipple.

“
Shit.
That feels so good, Stephan.”

I bit a little harder. “Does it?”

“You keep doing that, I’m going to come.”

She shuddered, intense and sweet.

I turned her over and her eyes stayed on the TV screen. I made her get on her knees, watched her backside spread wide.

“All right now, Stephan, what you plan on doing back there?”

“Hold on, let me get my gerbil.”

“
Your what
?”

“I was joking.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Depends on you.”

“There are certain things I want to try, but not today.”

“Relax.”

Her breathing changed, like she was afraid of what I might do. Her fists held the sheets like they were her only salvation.

I smelled her sex. She growled like a hungry woman.

A car bounced over the speed bumps outside my window.

I sank deep inside her. Slipped inside her secret place with the ease of a murmur. Went so deep I almost fell inside her. She hissed, then her eyes closed in pleasure.

Her eyes were back on the TV. Watching and participating.

She moaned, “Fuck me.”

Then she giggled, ran her hand over her breast.

“What’s funny?”

“That was so dramatic. But I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Part of me wanted to make love to her slowly and sweetly.

The animal part of me didn’t.

She growled, “Harder. Give it to me.”

I did.

She turned her head, made a guttural sound, “That…

oh God…the best, mmm…you can, ahhhh…best you can do?”

I smirked. At least I tried to. Moved mercilessly.

“Ooo…slow down…baby…shit…”

She buried her face in the mattress, grunted and shrilled that she was about to come. And when I hoped that she’d had enough, she reached back, pulled me in.

I gripped her hair like it was a horse’s rein, got ready to ride, turned her face up so I could see her expression on the television. I wanted to see her face; witness her vulnerability cast all over.

Her vagina radiated. My penis felt her every throb, sent her sensations through me; her mouth was open, gasping for a spoonful of air. Heat made me swell more than I could stand. I fought the feeling, teased, but everything was swimming out of focus.

It was pain. And pain was good.

The room went black, my eyes rolled inside my head.

She reached back, slapped my flesh, scratched me. I heard her vagina take on its own life, make noises, hiccup, open wider, vibrate. She put her face in a pillow, muffled her screams and grunts, then yelped for me to
come for me baby come for me.

My toes curled, legs locked. Orgasm rippled along my skin, numbed me, made me feel like I was tumbling and spinning, weakened me to the point that I couldn’t keep my balance. Chanté did a bump and grind, swerved her butt against me and rushed me into that place of peace and tranquility.

Sheets were still clasped in her hands, almost yanked off the bed, when my eyes finally rolled back to where they belong.

I floated away, drifted into a feeling I wanted to embrace as long as I could. Felt absolutely ethereal. I pushed deeper, like I was trying to get back into the womb of a woman, and she moved in invitation, maybe she was daring for me to try.

She was whimpering. Making noises like a cat. A lioness. Her body quivering, sensual eyes viewing me on the tube.

Chanté lay flat. Sweat was all up and down her spine, puddled in the curve right above her butt. I eased my dank body down on her damp and insatiable wiggles, angled her

head so we could tongue each other down. Her lips trembled when mine smothered hers with hot, sloppy kisses.

I choked on our saliva, then panted, “God, that was intense.”

Chanté winced, contracted her muscles around me, made sexy noises, wiggled slow and easy. “I’ve
never
come that hard.”

“Tell me anything.”

“Stop trying to get your ego stroked.”

She held her groove. I tried to keep from getting soft. But my body was already starting to feel heavy.

“Stephan, I wish you could be a woman for a moment.”

“What, you trying to tell me you go both ways?”

“No. So you could feel how good our orgasms are. It seems like a man comes in this quick spurt,
spoosh
, then you’re done, but our orgasms come in waves. Beautiful waves that make me feel like I’m drowning. Mine keep coming and tingling and rousing, feels like they could go on all night.”

I slipped out of her a bit, she made sure the condom was still on, then jiggled me back inside. I held her hips, pushed.

She moaned, “You ever wish you were a woman?”

I was keeping an eye on the TV, enjoying and envying the ecstasy that was gleaming in her face: “Nope.”

“Boy, you said that real quick,” she said, rubbing her nose, then went back to arching her back and rolling her butt. “Sometimes I wish I was a man.”

“Why?”

“Men can sleep with as many women as they want and still get respect. A sister is—mmmm, I think I’m coming again—expected to hibernate until Mr. Right—mmmm, hold it right there right there, ahhhh, oh God, don’t move—comes along.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“Nope.” She sounded intoxicated and exhilarated. “I was just saying. Let me be quiet. I have a habit of chattering after good sex.”

“You chatter during sex.”

“Do I yadda yadda yadda?”

“You yadda yadda yadda all the time.”

She laughed. Her muscles tightened around me when she did.

She said, “I feel like running outside and yodeling.”

“Please don’t.” I asked, “Thirsty?”

“Yeah. I could use some water.”

“Me too. Yodel your way into the kitchen and get some.”

She slapped back at my arm. “Sexist.”

She reached and made sure the condom was intact, eased me out of her refuge, pulled the latex off me, staggered into a wall, dropped the condom in the trash, collapsed on the carpet.

“Stephan, partner, I feel drunk as hell.”

“I’m too dizzy to move.”

She panted, “Is it stuffy in here?”

My heart was beating in my neck. “I’m about to suffocate.”

“Open a window.”

I tried to stand. It had been a helluva day, part fantasy, part atrocity, and my eyes were too tired. The last of my energy had been drained from me. I took a step, then crumpled on the carpet near her. The room smelled like musk, sweat, satisfaction, and scented candles. She wiggled my way and put her bushy head on my chest.

She rubbed her fingers across the sweat on my belly. “My hair is gonna be a mofo in the morning.”

“You bring clothes?”

“Negative.” She shook her head. “This was impulsive.”

She was crying. Smiling and crying.

I hate it when women do that shit.

Soft tears dripped onto the hair on my chest.

“So, you going to be my boyfriend or not?”

I thought about Jake. Those dreams that were driving him crazy. I thought about Brittany’s woes. How Samantha had had some other brotha answering her phone in the middle of the night. About Toyomi and her psychosis. Pops rambling about common sense, and other things.

Darnell was searching for peace, and I had peace right here in my arms. And rain, just like snow, was God’s way of telling a man he needed to slow down.

I responded, “Yeah. We can give it a shot.”

“Well, you don’t have to sound enthusiastic about it.”

I trailed my fingers over her tears, licked my fingers. Then I helped her up, and we crawled back on the bed.