Making the Hook-Up (2 page)

He put up his hands. “You misunderstanding me again. What
if the kiss was like part of an arrangement to fix something in your house? You and your husband so young. Young people always need money.”

She shook her head. “We both have jobs. He is a police officer. We got enough money to fix whatever breaks in our house.”

Docta Love splayed his fingers on the table so she could get a better look at his expensive golden rings. Compared to the cheap bauble she wore on her wedding finger. Hubby loved booty, but he was not, apparently, a wealthy man. “You tryin' to tell me there ain't nothing in your house need fixin'? So young. How many kids did you say you got?”

“Two.”

“Two young people with two kids…ya'll live at home with your parents?”

“We have our own house.”

“Two kids and a mortgage. My, my, my.”

“And we can take care of it.”

“I can too.”

“Good for you.”

“You know how much money I won last year?”

“How much?”

He leaned in and whispered the obscene sum into her ear. He was slain by the whiff of perfume. Her soft skin. He whispered it slow.

“Wow,” she said. She was thoroughly impressed. Three hundred thousand dollars ain't no joke.

“You smell nice,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said.

“You look damned good too.”

He leaned back in his seat, let her check him out real good. Long, strong, lean, and sexy. He looked damned good too.

She dealt a dozen more hands. Even when he got good cards,
he folded them. Just kept looking at her. Making his cheeks dimple. She was thinking it through.

A half hour later, he folded another hand, and she said. “To be perfectly honest, we have a bathroom that needs remodeling.”

He said, “Done deal.”

“But I haven't told you how much it costs.”

He grinned, displaying those perfect, perfectly white teeth. “Money don't mean shit to me.”

“Forty-five hundred.”

“Whatever.” He didn't even blink at the figure, but then he leaned close to her face. “Now let me tell you how we gon' do this. While you had me sittin' here, playin' me with this little waiting game, I been thinkin' it through. The kinda money I'm offering you is worth more than one kiss. One kiss ain't enough. I gotta have three.”

The dealer nodded her head. Three kisses. Okay fine.

Then Docta Love added, “Three kisses across three nights.”

Three nights? The dealer, missing the sly smile playing on Docta Love's lips, considered the expansion but another trivial amendment and she quickly agreed to it.

“Deal?” said Docta Love.

“Deal,” the dealer answered. “Three kisses across three nights, and I want the money in cash.”

Having sealed the deal, Docta Love laughed, folded a losing hand, and got up to leave. He flipped her $500 in chips as a parting tip and strode out of the noisy, crowded casino.

The dealer was thinking,
Well, it's not so bad. It's only kissing. And at least now we will get our bathroom remodeled the way we like.

And Docta Love left the casino thinking,
44DD, my favorite size.

Naturally, the kisses were to take place in the parking lot
of the casino in Docta Love's hooked-up customized van, out of sight of management because a dealer, of course, would be immediately fired if she got caught kissing gamblers on casino property.

On the night of the first kiss, the beautiful, top-heavy, and happily married dealer took her ten-minute break outside in the parking lot.

“To smoke a cigarette,” she explained to her friends, though everyone knew she was a nonsmoker.

Docta Love, sitting behind the tinted windows of his van and watching her approach, felt his heart leap into his mouth. She was a Coca-Cola bottle with glorious hair and shapely legs. She adjusted her bowtie as she climbed into his van, after which she closed the door and sighing, turned to him with her lips in a fixed state of pucker.

Lord, they were juicy lips.

But Docta Love said, “No. The first kiss gotta be with you sittin' on my lap.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I knew you were up to something. I knew this was a trick. I did not sign up to be groped and fondled, sir. I'm a happily married woman and my vows are sacred to me. Open this door and let me out of this van before I start screaming rape.”

Docta Love fanned the thick wad of hundred-dollar bills in his hand, kissing it, waving it under her nose so she could smell it, resting the wad on her ample chest. “I promise I ain't gonna fondle you and I ain't gonna grope you, but for forty-five hundred dollars, I gotta at least be able to smell you when we kiss. I ain't no animal. I'm a sensitive man. So let's go in the back of this van so you can sit on my lap and kiss me as this kinda cash deserves. My money is honorable, too, girl. As honorable as a wedding ring.”

The young dealer glanced down at the bills in his hand and then peered into the back of his customized van, which was set up like a bedroom.

Draperies on the walls. Velvet paintings over the draperies. Leopards and panthers. Supple, long-limbed black-skinned people in various poses of sexual suggestion. A velvet painting of the Last Supper—Jesus, Judas, Peter, the disciples, all of them, with brown skin, curly hair, and thick noses and lips. There was a long bed with satin sheets and satin covers for the big, soft pillows. Over the bed, a velvet sign that read “The Love Mobile.”

She said, “Okay. I'll sit on your lap, but no more than that. And hurry up. I only have another five minutes of break.”

With that, she went into the back of the van, the good Docta Love following behind.

She was thinking,
For a remodeled bathroom, it's worth it. Let's get it over with.

And he was thinking,
That ass. Lord, you know I gotta tap that ass.

And she did sit on his lap. And he did inhale her perfumed essence. Closed his eyes. Kissed her. Tongue to tongue. One of those real good kisses. Lips all slopping together. Teeth all crushed together. Tongues wrestling.

After that, her voice was breathy when she spoke—“All right. I did it. That's kiss number one. And if you were a fair man, you would call that number forty-three or forty-four, as much as you kissed me, but whatever, I see your little game. I see how you're going to play it. Fine. Just give me my money and let me get back to work.”

She was heated, he noted, and seemed in a rush to leave the van. Her lipstick was all smeared.

Docta Love gave her that night's portion, fifteen hundred
dollars in cash, and watched her walk back to the casino. Her booty swayed when she walked, but she seemed groggy on her feet, rather than rushed. She stumbled twice.

He nodded his head.

Docta Love went to bed that night remembering that she didn't like anal, it hurt too much, but she did it from time to time to please her husband. Such a good wife. Docta Love went to bed smiling.

The next night when she got there, the dealer went straight into the back of the van where he was waiting.

She sat upon his lap, as she had done the night before, and he surprised her by placing his hand (the one that was not holding the hundred-dollar bills) upon her bosom.

She sprang up from his lap and cried, “No groping, sir! I'm not kidding about how sacred my vows are to me!”

Docta Love said to her, “For the second kiss, I need to feel you. What good is it to smell you if I can't feel? I promise I won't grope you or fondle you. I ain't no animal. I'm a sensitive man.”

“But my marriage vows!” she roared

“I ain't no punk, and this is not negotiable!” he roared back. “Now all I'm gonna do is rest the palm of my hand and the tips of my fingers on your tiddies with such a light touch you ain't even gonna notice 'em there. When they get tireda being on one side, they gon' move to the next side, but I swear I ain't gonna fondle you because I was married once upon a time too, and I believe in marriage vows. I can tell you're a good wife. You believe in your vows and I respect that. But I believe in my money. And my money is sacred to me. I respect your beliefs if you respect my beliefs.”

Sighing, the dealer sat herself down upon his lap, and Docta Love placed his hand on her bosom.

She puckered her lips for the kiss, but he was not ready to kiss yet, because his fingers and palm resting on the right tit had not yet grown weary of the acreage of that great mound.

Long minutes later, when his palm and his fingertips roamed at last to the other tit and began to fondle that new one, and his lips removed themselves from the sensitive part of her long, beautiful neck where they had been feasting, he kissed her mouth with his mouth, tongue against tongue. Fiercely.

When his hand grew weary of the other tit, it came back to the first tit, and she muttered somehow through the warm, wet clench of their twelve-minute kiss, “My break is over,” and he released her.

Still seated upon his lap, the dealer gently pushed the large erect nipples back under the cups. Refastened her brassiere. Rebuttoned her shirt. Accepted his assistance in reattaching her snap-on bowtie. Checked her makeup in the mirror. Stumbled out of the van and began her groggy swishing, swaying walk across the parking lot. She got halfway to the doors of the casino before running back to the van to collect that night's portion of the money, which she in her drunken haste had forgotten.

“My bad,” she told him.

“Your tiddies are incredible.”

“I told you they were real.”

“I could suck on them nipples all day.”

“Bet you could.”

“I want to make love to you.”

“I'm a married woman.”

“My dick is real big.”

“I got to get back to work.”

“You wear panties or thongs?'

She smiled wickedly. “Thongs.”

“Ohmygod.”

“I got to get back to work.”

Their eyes locked in understanding, and they licked their lips to a great wetness in anticipation of the night to follow.

She raced back to the casino, running through excuses in her mind to tell her shift manager about why she was late getting back from break, and thinking,
He looks like he can keep a secret. Maybe I will let him hit it. At any rate, it's going to be a beautiful bathroom when this remodeling is finished.

And he was thinking,
Wait a minute—she told me that night that she had never cheated on her husband with a man. Oh, I see what she sayin'. Oh, my god, honey girl is a freak. She kissed a girl? She ate pussy? She let some other girl eat her pussy? Hahaha. She's a straight-up freak. I'm gonna spank that ass. I swear to god, I'ma spank that ass.

The third kiss on the third night did not occur in Docta Love's customized van because it was the dealer's night off, though that is not what she told her good husband.

The good husband was led to believe that she had been called in to work mandatory overtime.

The third kiss on the third night took place in an anonymous room of an anonymous hotel, and it was accompanied by good wine and digitalized song from the hotel's vast selection, which could be piped in for an additional $19.99 added to the bill.

Most importantly, there was the application of tongues to all the members of their bodies so that there might be taste.

He had told her, “How can there be smell and feel, but no taste? I ain't no animal. I am a sensitive man. I need to taste you. I need you to taste me. I know your wedding vows are sacred, girl, but my money is sacred too. What I'm saying is if you want this money for that bathroom you gon' have to let a brother get some satisfaction. Let me be frank with you. I need to see that pussy. I need to see that ass.”

As he went through his little speech, she laughed, undressing.

She thought to herself, as she unsnapped her bra, releasing her enormous breasts,
I guess he has to say those things. I guess some men have to say things like that to convince themselves that they are in control. That they are making you do it. Oh, well, I'll play along with his little game as long as he has a big dick. As long as he knows how to work it. What a beautiful bathroom it is going to be. Large gothic mirrors. Italian tiles on the floor.

He kept on talking—“I need to see that pussy. I need to see that ass”—as she stepped out of her tuxedo pants, releasing her luscious luscious Thank-You-Jesus thighs and her big brown-skinned booty. She wiggled in front of him, then turned around and bent over. The thong was lost deep down the crack of that enormous ass.

“Help me take this off,” she said.

He reached out a hand to that bounteous booty.

She wiggled and jiggled it, and he heard her say, “Not with your hand. With your teeth.”

The view from behind as he set about rescuing the thong. The twin honey brown loaves. Fresh-baked morning buns. The golden winking eye of her tightly puckered ass. The meaty lips from behind. Seashell red. Pouting, drooling lips. He plunged in with lips and tongue. He licked. He sucked. He bit and chewed. His mouth filled up and he drooled. It was so beautiful. She mewed with lust, and she fed him. Slapped his face with her delicious back end.

The dealer, Docta Love came to learn, tasted sweet in all of her parts.

The good Docta Love, the dealer came to learn, had a weakness for sweetness and a vigor that matched her own.

He ripped off his clothes. Flipped her over. Climbed over her.
Inverted. Placed his dick over her mouth. Placed his mouth over her dark patch of hair curling up her stomach. A golden-brown button of flesh sticking up out of it.