Making the Hook-Up (4 page)

“Yeah!” Janice hollered as the first stirrings of an orgasm began to tickle her core. She pushed her thighs tight against Derek's head.

“I see you two have started without me,” said the other man, who had been sleeping on her right side. His name was Junior, a name that she would never forget. Her first boyfriend was named Junior, only this Junior was cuter.

“You better come on then, man,” Derek said. “We can't wait for you!”

Janice smiled just as big as she had in the bar the night before.

Charles had thrown the pan of meatloaf on the floor, angry that Janice had burned his dinner. Normally, Janice would have cowered in the bedroom. But this time she dressed and left, leaving Charles to scream, “Where the hell are you going?”

Weeks before, Nita had taken her to a club that catered to African Americans. So Janice had returned to the place, walked in, ordered a diet cola from the bar and then sat alone at an empty table.

Sometime that evening, the two most attractive and youthful men in the club whisked past all the much younger women and stood right next to Janice.

“You sitting here all by yourself?” Junior had asked. He was the tall one, skinny, built like a basketball player, wearing a black pin-striped suit. “Can we sit here, too?”

“Yes.” Normally, she would have been too shy to speak. But that was before she had found enough courage to leave her house and go into a bar by herself. That was before Charles had reduced her to nothing.

Junior grabbed a stool and brought it close to the table. Derek did the same.

Derek was bigger, but still lean. Dressed in a blue business suit and dark Gucci shoes, it was obvious that the brother had money, or at least he looked like he did.

“Can I get you another rum and coke?” Derek had asked, looking at Janice with those big brown eyes.

“No rum, just diet please.” Junior stared at the cleavage she had deliberately revealed once she was out of the house and her sweater was off. She had enough courage to walk out, but not enough courage to walk out with cleavage showing. Interesting.

“Are you two a set?” Janice had asked. “Where are the women?”

“I'm looking at the woman,” Junior responded.

All Janice could do was smile.

Two or maybe three hours later, Derek and Junior were on either side of her. They sat close. Derek had even found her knee. And she imagined his fingers crawling up her thigh. She wore panties, but they were soaking wet.

They talked about a variety of topics. Derek and Junior listened to her. They asked her questions. Even if ultimately all they cared about was getting in her pants, they treated her like a Nubian queen. The attention was nice. She had missed it. She had opened up about her marriage and why she was in a club alone on a Friday night.

“From what I can see, it seems to me that your husband is crazy,” Derek had said. “He doesn't deserve a fine-looking woman like you.”

The men lived in her city, but on the other side of it, about an hour away. They had rented a hotel room for the business convention that was happening in her neighborhood.

“Take me to your hotel,” Janice demanded

When those words came out, she barely recognized herself.

“You sure?” Derek asked.

“I'm sure. Take me to your room.”

“We can do that,” Junior had said.

She had excused herself to go to the restroom and while there she dialed Nita.

“Girl, they could rape you! Put you in a closet and leave you for dead! I'm coming to get you!”

“Nita, I'm fine. I drove, plus I've been drinking diet cola all night. They won't hurt me. This is something I've fantasized about.”

“You're crazy!”

“I'm not crazy!”

“You just better call me when you're done with that shit. I need to know you're okay.”

Why wasn't she afraid? Why didn't she excuse herself and leave the bar? Why didn't she screw up her happiness like she always did?

She thanked Nita for that. Every time she came to visit, Nita dropped off a new book. With each book, with each wise word, Janice had grown stronger.

And now it was morning and here she was, in bed with two of the finest black men in town. Janice screamed in pleasure as Derek and Junior worked on her body. The way she reacted to their touches seemed to turn the men on even more and further ignite their ferocious libidos.

Junior grabbed Janice's breast, his hold firmer than Derek's. Meanwhile, Derek continued to devour Janice's pussy. She opened her legs wider. Derek was working her hard, her juices flowing heavy on the sheet. She was so wet she could hear his every slurp.

Derek was on her clit, but soon Junior moved down and took
over. He did more than just lick and suck. His fingers moved deep inside, pulling her pussy lips apart as he stuck his tongue in as far as he could.

“I want you to fuck me, Junior!” Janice screamed. “Fuck me now!”

“Fuck her, man!” Derek breathed heavy at the sight of Junior planted between Janice's thighs.

Unopened condoms, and several used ones, were scattered all over the floor due to the previous night's tryst.

“Get a rubber!” Janice screamed. Obedient, Derek threw one to Junior. Junior ripped it open and slid the rubber over his swollen cock.

He plunged his dick deep into Janice, harder than he had done the night before. If Derek was large, Junior was obscene. His balls were the widest she had seen, bouncing and hitting her skin with every powerful thrust.

Ravished, Janice looked up at Derek. “Give me your cock, baby!”

He shoved it into her mouth and she held it steady with her hand, working her lips up and down his shaft. Then Derek moved his pelvis back and forth as Janice grabbed his ass and swallowed his cock.

Time seemed to stand still and the only sounds were the various moans that each of them made as Junior pushed into Janice, while Janice gave Derek a blow job.

But it wasn't Derek or Junior that came first; it was Janice, stronger and louder than she ever had come before.

 

Later that day, she drove home. Charles was there, but he refused to open the door or come outside. He had changed the locks and thrown a large amount of her clothes, shoes and other belongings on the front porch and even on the sidewalk. Had he
discovered what she had done with the two black men she met in the club?

She called Nita. “Did you tell him?”

“Girl, you know I don't speak to Charles.”

Janice lived with Nita after that and enjoyed the observation, watching the way Nita lived her life and carried on her days, so organized, so in control. Here was a woman who did have her shit together.

Charles didn't fight the divorce. In fact, soon after the papers were signed, and barely after the ink was dry, Janice learned that another woman had moved into his bed. He had been seeing her for the past year. As cruel as Charles had been, Janice never suspected.

She continued to go to school to study court reporting and before long her course work was complete. She was such a good student that an instructor hooked her up with a job immediately after graduation. It felt good to get out of the house and work. It felt good to make her own money.

But the relationship between Janice and Nita was changing. There was tension, unlike anything they had experienced before.

“I don't know why you keep seeing those men.”

“Because they make me happy. I think it's time I was happy.”

“But you're acting like a whore! Look at you. You've got a new job, a new body, but you're a whore.”

“I am not a whore! Derek and Junior are my friends.”

It was conversations like these that forced Janice to move out. She had always wanted her own place, and now was the time to go for it before her friendship with Nita deteriorated beyond repair. Nita had never spoken to her harshly before, and she didn't want to stick around for any more of it.

Janice made sure her new apartment was exactly the way
she wanted it. The gold on her bedspread matched the gold she had sprinkled on the molding. The mahogany desk included a mahogany chair.

Sometimes she fucked Junior and Derek at Junior's condo, across town on the north side of the city. Sometimes it was at Derek's fancy townhome on the lake front. But eventually, she convinced them to come to her place—her own place.

“I like this little crib,” Junior said. They grew fond of the Jacuzzi bathtub, a feature that Janice was willing to pay a little extra rent for. Often, they all climbed into the tub and fucked there after having dinner at a local Italian restaurant or that little seafood place down the street.

Sometimes Derek bought ice cream, and they lay naked in the living room, eating vanilla or chocolate, topped with caramel.

“What kind of black men are they? Why are you sleeping with two gay guys?”

Janice tried to explain to Nita that Derek and Junior were not gay. She tried to explain that they were two black men who treated her well. But no matter how hard she tried, Nita's mind was made up. Janice was a whore. She might look good and have a job now, but she was still a whore.

One morning, after a particularly luscious evening with Derek and Junior, the sunlight woke Janice. She had stopped reading the books Nita had given her, had moved on to reading other things. But she thought about the last book Nita had brought over, one that said to make peace with those who can't forgive you.

Later that day, she walked into a grocery store and bought a sunflower. If there was one flower that Nita loved more than anything, it was the sunflower. She also bought yellow paper and bright markers.

At her kitchen table, she created a greeting card, while Junior
and Derek munched on popcorn and watched the baseball game on her flat-screen TV.

When she was finished, she held up the card so that they could see. “Pretty?” she asked.

They nodded their heads in agreement.

Sunday night, after Junior and Derek headed home to get ready for another work week, Janice drove over to Nita's. She quietly left her car, carrying the sunflower in a vase, the card she had created taped to its side. She placed the vase on Nita's porch, then returned to her car and drove home.

It was a thank you for Nita, for showing her how to change her life. She might never have Nita's friendship again, but Nita would always be in her heart.

 

 

 

 

 

I
woke up to the glaring whiteness of new-fallen snow peeking through the openings of my curtains and groaned. I hate snow. The pristine whiteness that delighted others simply signified discomfort, cold and wetness, not to mention the misery of driving in it, to me. But what the hell, it was Sunday morning, and I wasn't going anywhere. Glancing at the alarm clock, I realized it was an hour later than the time I usually got up. I yawned, stretched and fell back on the bed.

An emptiness gnawed inside me. I had been in this podunk Midwestern town for six months, and my life had degenerated into a routine of work, home and back to work again. I needed a man: a nice, big hard man. The thought immediately brought my dream man to mind and caused my hand to drift down in between my brown thighs. I stroked my warm moist cleft slowly, feeling the growing dampness at the thought of the dream man and the hard cock attached to him.

I imagined stroking its hot silky skin, feeling it grow and
harden beneath my fingers. I swirled my thumb over my wet clit and imagined my thumb moving over the hole in his red swollen cock head, wet with his precome. I wanted to taste it. I slid down his long hard body and hungrily took his cock between my generous lips, and my dark brown hair fell over my eyes, obscuring my features. I don't know exactly what my dream man looks like, only that he was fine. Soooo fine and all mine. My tongue swirled around the tip of his dick, and my hot mouth engulfed him. He tasted heavenly, sweet and salty, all man.

My fingers dipped deep into my pussy. A soft sigh escaped my lips. Now, his tongue was lashing my clit in a regular tireless rhythm. Ahhhh, it felt so good. I shoved my fingers as deep as they would go into my wet slickness, working my sex furiously. My hips bucked as I imagined his cock plunging…

The doorbell rang right before I rolled over the precipice of desire and came. I cursed with frustration. It rang a second time, insistently. I rolled out of bed in one smooth motion, grabbed my white terry cloth robe and drew it over my body, my pussy wet and dripping, my large brown nipples hard and tingling. If this was someone I didn't want to see, I'd be pissed. Hell, I was already pissed. Too bad I wasn't the type to ignore a demanding doorbell. It sounded again and I cast one last regretful glance at my rumpled bed, resentful that the man I had dreamed up wasn't it.

I pulled open the door, not bothering to rearrange my features into a mask of politeness. My neighbor stood there, and I frowned at him. He'd just moved in a few weeks before. He'd spoken to me once or twice and I had responded, but he was hardly my dream man. My dream man was at least six foot two, with rock-hard conditioned muscles. He possessed the type of face and body that made other women cast envious glances at me.

This was not my dream man. The white guy standing in
my doorway was an average height, probably around five ten, average build, not fat, not skinny, but hardly buff.

“I'm sorry to bother you,” he was saying.

I raised an inquiring eyebrow at him. I usually made guys nervous. My brother once told me it was a combination of my looks, my brains, and my “don't give a damn” attitude. It was true. But I didn't give a damn about my looks. I rarely looked in a mirror, except when I brushed my teeth. I knew I looked all right: long, wild brown hair, smooth brown skin that only needed a touch of makeup, if any. I shopped for clothes only when necessary, and rarely got dressed up, wore jewelry and full makeup, or did all that other stuff all us women are supposed to not be able to live without doing. Perhaps once I met this dream man, I'd frill up a little, but until then it was simply too much trouble.