Gettin' Buck Wild: Sex Chronicles II (19 page)

I gazed into his eyes. “Sure, you can tell me whatever you like.”

“I used to be so in love with you in high school. You were the end-all and be-all to me, but you never gave me the time of day. Except for once.”

I knew what he was talking about but played dumb. “Once?”

“That night at the movies when we bumped into each other. For a brief moment, I felt close to you, and then you were gone. You probably don’t even remember.”

“Yes, I do remember,” I blurted out. “I felt something for that brief moment also, and I’ve felt it ever since.”

Jerome kissed me, and it was all that I had imagined it would be over the years. He was gentle yet strong, and he handled me tenderly in his arms. We made out on the beach for a little while and started walking again. We ended up at a luau, and it was much fun.

I wasn’t too crazy about the roasting pig. It didn’t look appetizing at all, and it reminded me of the pig pickings my grandparents used to have in North Carolina. I did learn how to hula dance as Jerome looked on and tried to suppress his laughter. Those Hawaiian chicks were cut, and I felt inferior as they worked their hips in the straw skirts.

I had several drinks, and I’m not even sure what the names of any of them were. I know I had quite a mixture. I was so tore up that Jerome had to give me a piggyback ride all the way back to my room, which was really more of a bungalow. Housekeeping had left a fresh plate of fruit on the nightstand, their equivalent of mints on the pillow. The bungalow had an ocean view, and he opened the wicker doors so we could see the waves from the bed. Yes, the bed.

The time had finally arrived, and there we were, lying side by side and speaking our desires with our eyes. It was completely quiet except for the waves crashing against the shore, and the cool breeze was so relaxing that I had to fight sleep. There was no way I wanted to doze off and miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime.

Jerome reached for me and teased my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I sucked in a deep breath and then exhaled loudly.

“Jerome, it’s funny how things change.” I placed my hand on his chest so I could feel his heartbeat. “At first, I had the same opinion of you as everyone else. Mostly because it was the cool way of thinking. But I realized that you were special that night at the theater. There was just something about you that made me want to be with you.”

“Well, I’m glad that we’re here together now. Here in Hawaii where there are no outsiders involved in our business.”

I climbed on top of him and slid my tongue in his mouth, holding it there so I could remember the feeling always. I could feel him growing hard underneath me as I placed my knees beside his thighs and started grinding my pussy onto his dick. “Umm, you feel so good, Jerome.”

Jerome was all into it, but suddenly he held back a little. “Salina, what is it we’re doing here?”

I laughed. “I
think
we’re about to have sex. That’s what you want, right?”

“I want to do what pleases you.”

I began to unbutton his shirt and kissed him on the neck before whispering in his ear, “Then we’re
definitely
about to have sex.”

I climbed off him just long enough to stand up and pull my dress over my head. I was braless because of the heat, but I had on white cotton panties. I slid them down over my hips and let them hit the floor.

Jerome stood up, and I helped him to disrobe. Then I pulled back the bedspread and lay on the sheets. He picked up the plate of fruit and placed it beside me.

“Sweets for the sweet,” he said, taking a piece of pineapple and placing it between his teeth. He leaned over and swiped it across my breasts and down the center of my stomach to my navel, swishing it around inside.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Stop! That tickles!”

He took the pineapple from his mouth. “Sorry. I just wanted to lick the juices off you.”

Watching those words leave his lips changed everything. “In that case, go for what you know.”

He put it back in his mouth and went lower, brushing my pussy hair with the tip and then spread my thighs so he could work the pineapple up and down the insides of them.

Jerome completed his task and then seductively ate the piece of pineapple. I didn’t miss a chew. I craved for him to work his mouth like that on me. He leaned over me and began to lick the pineapple juice from every inch of my body it had landed. I was never a moaner, but the way he meticulously licked me in long, slow strokes had me making all kinds of noises.

He made it down to my pussy and kissed me there. I exploded from the second his tongue landed on my pussy. “Damn, Salina,” he said as he licked his hidden treasure. “You like that, huh?”

“I love it,” I said, pressing his head between my thighs, urging him to explore me further.

He spread my pussy lips with his fingers and buried his tongue deep inside me. I sucked my index finger and then rubbed it across my nipples, elevating my hips to meet his efforts.

“I want to taste you, Jerome. Play fair.”

Jerome didn’t stop eating me, yet he managed to turn around on the bed and place his dick within target range. I circled the head with my tongue at first, relishing the fact that I was finally with him after so many years. Normally, when you fantasize about sex, it is never as good as the dream. This was better than anything I had ever imagined.

I took Jerome in my mouth an inch at a time until I was working all of him in and out with a rhythm. He tasted sweet, even without the pineapple. I sucked on him until he came and then asked him, “Fuck me, please.”

He got off me and gazed into my eyes. “I don’t want to fuck you, Salina. I want to make love.”

He picked me up and carried me out onto the balcony, placing my ass on the rail. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he entered me. It was there that Jerome took all of me and I took all of him.

We made love throughout the night and woke up to Fiona banging on the door the next morning. Even though I had been concerned about her, the timing was all bad, and I secretly cursed her for showing up then. When I opened the door, she immediately thought I had been whoring around with some stranger, much like her. I explained that I had known Jerome in high school and that we were kindling a flame that should have been ignited long before.

Fiona was elated for us, even though her Mr. Right had skipped out on her for an island beauty. She made herself a ghost for the rest of the trip anyway, so that Jerome and I could continue to get reacquainted.

Now I have a private practice in Hawaii. It was never in my game plan, but love is stronger than ambition. It’s funny how things change, but I’m damn sure glad they do. So for all you ladies out there who won’t give a brother the time of day because of opinions and peer pressure, you might want to take a second look.

“Keisha, I need to run out for a few minutes!” Rapheal exclaimed, almost tackling me like a linebacker for the 49ers before the tip of my acrylic nail could make contact with his doorbell.

I glanced down at my watch. It was ten minutes to three. “Rapheal, I thought you said the shoot was at three?” I asked, smacking my lips.

“It is at three. It was, rather.” I watched him toss a leather portfolio in the passenger seat of his gray Porsche convertible. “I have an emergency,” he added as he ran around to the driver’s side, swung the door open, and hopped in. “A corporate client is demanding to see these proofs right away, or I might lose the business.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” I asked sarcastically, throwing a hand on my hip and working my head from side to side. I was disgusted and not even trying to fake the funk. It had taken me almost two hours to get up to his loft in Del Mar, it was hot as hell outside, and I had to drive my roommate’s hoopty because my own rinky-dink piece of shit was in the shop getting a new tailpipe.

Rapheal flashed me one of his cinematic smiles while he revved up the engine. Fine or not, I was pissed, and his good looks weren’t going to work magic on me that day. “The other girl is already up in the loft. You two keep each other company until I get back.”

“Keep each other company doing what?” I inquired.

“Whatever!” he hollered and then pulled off, almost side-swiping a delivery van that was headed in the opposite direction.

“SHIT!” I couldn’t believe Rapheal’s skank ass. It was bad enough I let him talk me into doing this low-paying photo spread in the first place, but he had the audacity to leave me hanging like that after all I went through to get there. I stomped up the steps to his loft, changing my mind back and forth fifty-eleven times on the way up. I started to just turn around, get back in the hoopty, and take my ass home. Then again, low pay or not, I needed the exposure.

It had been two years since I left Boise, Idaho, for California to pursue my dream of becoming a model/actress. Instead, all I had become was a cocktail waitress/exotic dancer. If something didn’t break for me soon, I was going to have to head back to Idaho and take up where I left off; stuffing russet potatoes into cellophane bags at dirty old Mr. Wilson’s factory. He was such a pervert. Always trying to feel up some damn body.

Then there were my parents—in particular, my mother, who swore if I walked out of her house, I better not ever come back. My sister called me two weeks after I left and told me that I no longer had a bedroom. My mother turned it into a sewing room and donated all of my belongings to the church flea market. No, I was going to wait for Rapheal and do the shoot. No way was I groveling back to Idaho.

Once I got to the top of the steps, I almost fell back down them when I caught a glimpse of the other model. She was sitting on Rapheal’s black leather sectional drinking a glass of wine and flipping through a photo album. She looked so exotic—long, flowing reddish brown wavy hair, smooth caramel skin, deep-set sienna eyes, and full, luscious lips. I figured she must have been from Paris or maybe an island in the Caribbean and had a flamboyant name like Genevieve or Dominique or something like that.

She spotted me and gave me a warm smile. Before I could even say hello, I just had to know, “Where are you from? Paris or Rome or some place like that?”

“Chile, please!” she exclaimed in the most countrified accent I have ever heard. “I’m from Lexington, Kentucky!”

I couldn’t help but fall out laughing. She reminded me of the people I used to watch Saturday mornings on
Hee Haw
. How could someone who looked so spectacular be such a country bumpkin?

She shut the book and got up off the couch so she could meet me halfway across the loft to shake my hand. She had on this revealing spaghetti-strap sheath, making me look extremely underdressed in my jean shorts and my “I Wasn’t Born a Bitch. Men Made Me This Way!” T-shirt.

“I’m Betty,” she announced. So much for Genevieve or Dominique. “And you are?”

“Keisha,” I replied, feeling a little more at ease, even though I was alone with a stranger. I had met some very, how shall I put it, freaky people during my short stint as a model/actress/cocktail waitress/exotic dancer. Betty seemed like she was cool peeps, though, so I decided to keep it real. “So, how ’bout that Rapheal bastard bouncing on us like that?”

“Rapheal’s a trip. I don’t even know why I deal with him,” Betty stated with disdain.

“That makes two of us,” I concurred.

I dropped my duffel bag on the carpet, plopped down on the couch, and threw my feet up on his marble coffee table. Etiquette went out the damn window. “Do you even know what this shoot is about? He didn’t tell me much when he called me the other day. Just that he wanted me to get here on time or else.”

“I’m not sure. I think it’s for one of those nudie magazines.
Black Asses
or something.”

“Say what!” I exclaimed, sitting up on the edge of my seat less than five seconds after I had gotten perfectly situated. “You mean we’re supposed to be taking coochie pics?”

“Coochie pics.” Betty chuckled. “That’s cute. I’ll have to remember that one.”

“So are we?”

“Are we what?”

“Taking coochie pics?” I reiterated.

“Oh, come on!” she squealed, throwing her hands on her hips and walking over to the wet bar to pour me a glass of wine I never even asked for. “Don’t tell me you’ve never posed nude before! Aren’t you a stripper just like me? Rapheal said you were.”

“Yeah, I’m a stripper. I dance down at the Black Rose.”

“Oh,” she sighed, handing me the wine and looking down her aquiline nose at me. “That’s a trashy joint. I danced there for a couple of weeks when I first hit Cali.”

She made me feel like something off the bottom of her shoe. I knew it was trashy. She didn’t even have to rub the shit in. “So where do you dance now?”

“Chile, I’m at Paradise,” she boasted in her country accent. “Those men up in that joint tip big-time.”

“So I hear,” I mumbled. “I auditioned at Paradise once. They threw me and my itty-bitty titties right back out the door.”

Betty made no comment. There was none to make. Anyone could see that her 40DDDs put my 34Bs to shame, even a man who was blind in one eye and couldn’t see a damn thing out the other one. My breasts looked like thumbtacks compared to hers.

She must have known I felt shamed, because she finally said, “I wouldn’t sweat that. Look at you. You’re gorgeous!”

She sat down so close beside me that her knee was rubbing up against my thigh. “You never answered my question.”

“What question?” It had honestly slipped my mind somewhere between our skin making contact and her rubbing her index finger around the tip of her wineglass like she was fingering a nipple.

“Have you ever posed for nude pics before?”

“Not really,” I hesitated, not sure whether the naked pics my two cousins and I took one Fourth of July behind my grandparents’ barn would qualify. “I have no problem being naked though,” I added, trying to save some face. “That’s obvious. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be dancing.”

“True. So why are you acting so nervous, then?”

“I’m not nervous. It’s just that dancing in a club and posing in magazines are two different things. Out here in California, I don’t have to worry about being recognized. Nobody in my family ever leaves Idaho, but what if my daddy spots my ass up in a magazine? I would never be able to live that shit down!”

“Oh, does your daddy jack off to skin mags?”

The mere thought of that made me want to hurl. Then I realized that my daddy would never get off on nudie magazines. Hell, I remember eavesdropping through the paper-thin bedroom walls and hearing my mother practically beg him for a little nookie nookie. “No, my daddy doesn’t, but I’m not too sure about some of his friends and a couple of my uncles on my mother’s side.”

“I hear you.” Betty took her red high-heeled pumps off, and I noticed her toenails were painted the same color as mine. At least we had something in common. “Well, my daddy did see me when I did the cover of this boobs mag.”

I was shocked. My mouth fell wide open. “You’re kidding? I would have died. What did he say to you?”

Betty grinned at me. “All he did was call me up and tell me that he didn’t know I had gotten a boob job. He wanted to know the name of my doctor so he could make an appointment for my mother.”

We both fell out laughing. I don’t know when I finished the entire glass of wine, but my glass was empty, and I was feeling a little buzz.

“You mean you have fake tits?” I exclaimed.

“Yeah,” she replied, looking down her own dress at the top of her mounds. “Everybody’s doing it these days. You should get some.”

“Naw, I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head. I was curious though, so I asked, “Can you still feel anything? I mean, when men are sucking on them?”

“Sure, I can feel it when men suck on them.” She reached out and started caressing my hand. “Of course, I get even more stimulation when a woman sucks on them.”

Oh, shit, she was coming on to me! I jumped off the couch and went to the wet bar to get some more wine. Hell, I needed the entire bottle. Not because she was coming on to me—it happened all the time down at the club. A lot of the dancers went both ways. I guess seeing other women shake their booty in front of you day and night can do that. I had never been attracted to any of them, though. I admired some of their beauty but was never attracted. Not until Betty, and that was making me sweat.

Before I could turn around to head back to the couch with the wine, I felt her right hand reach around my waist and land on my belly button. “You’ve never been with a woman before, have you?”

“No,” I quickly replied, taking a huge amount of wine in my mouth and swallowing hard. “I get the impression you have been, though.”

“Just my roommate, Dominique. She’s a model, too.” Betty starting sucking on my earlobe, and I could feel my love coming down in my panties. I had to hold in a giggle. I knew there had to be a Dominique in there somewhere. “She and I have done it a few times.”

Fleeting thoughts of my own roommate, Shontai, rushed through my head. I couldn’t even picture doing such a thing. What would I say to her? “Hey, Shontai, want to go get a manicure, do some grocery shopping, and then come back to the crib and suck on each other’s coochie-coos?” Now picture that for a Saturday afternoon!

“You never answered my question,” Betty cooed in my ear, letting her other hand explore my ass cheeks.

“Damn, you sure have a lot of questions!” I polished off my second glass of wine and then started drinking straight out of the bottle.

“And you sure know how to avoid them,” she came back at me with sarcasm.

After that, we both got quiet. I was wondering if I actually had the guts to experiment with another woman, and I have no clue what she was wondering. All I know is it was so quiet in there, you could have heard a mouse pissing on a cotton ball.

She took the bottle out of my hand and set it back down on the wet bar. Then she grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the middle of the floor. “Let’s dance.”

“I don’t hear any music,” I said, stating the obvious.

She let go of my hand, went over to Rapheal’s bookshelf system, and started flipping through his CD collection. A couple of minutes later, some smooth reggae started emitting from the speakers, ricocheting off the high ceiling and falling onto my ears. I was so used to dancing, I couldn’t help but get into the groove, and the alcohol didn’t hurt.

I started swaying my hips to the music, and Betty joined me, putting her arms around my waist and drawing me in to her until our legs were intertwining as we bent our knees up and down to the music. Our pelvises met and rubbed against each other. So that’s what they mean by “bumpin’ coochies.”

She was tall, probably close to five-ten. Even in my three-inch heels, we were looking each other dead in the eye, and what mesmerizing eyes she had.

Then she just blurted it out. “I love itty-bitty titties.”

I didn’t reply. I just drew back a few inches, just far enough so that I could pull my T-shirt up and off. I wanted to find out just how much she loved them. It didn’t take long to find out.

She seductively started rubbing my nipples in between her thumbs and forefingers. My nipples were hard enough to cut diamonds. She knelt down so she could suck one of them into her mouth and tickle it with the tip of her tongue. I shut my eyes and ran my fingers through her long, wavy hair while she partook of my pearl.

By the time the first song ended, I was lying on the couch, and Betty was pulling my jean shorts off with her teeth. She expertly repeated the task with my white satin panties. I massaged my own breasts while she started in on my clit, licking it up and down and then spreading my pussy lips open with her fingers so she could get to it better.

She was gentle with my pussy. Much more than any man had been. She moaned and oohed and aahed, telling me how sweet I tasted. All I could do was stare at the designer moldings on the ceiling and try to prevent my body from having spasms. Yes, her oral sex was that damn good!

In fact, it was so impetuous that I let her devour me for close to an hour. Rapheal still hadn’t reared his inconsiderate head, and frankly, I didn’t care if he ever did at that point in time.