Politics. Escorts. Blackmail. (12 page)

Wednesday—October 12, 2011

K
emba and Beryl’s penthouse suite in Harlem had the ambiance of an erotic love nest. Juniper breeze candles burned along the fireplace in the bedroom. The flames of the black oak log threw off a romantic shimmer of light. And seductive music by Marvin Gaye serenaded their movements.

It was sexual healing time.

And Beryl howled.

Her head met the floor.

Her back was against the wall.

Her legs were wall-to-wall, similar to the off-white shag carpeting.

Her split was an upside-down equator.

Kemba was northbound, bending his legs to just the right height to hit it.

His ten-inch pole did some serious deep-sea fishing. He held onto her thick thighs, keeping her legs wide open.

He drilled his fullness and length and power and might as far inside of his woman as he could get, tightening his glutes and working his legs to get as deep as she wanted. He even wore his Air Jordans for traction.

Her years of gymnastics came in handy as she raised up a little higher, much like she was doing a handstand. The definition in her arms showed the strain of her weight, but the pleasure on her face said it was worth it.

She did a full split with glee, aiding his ability to cut her white bald vagina in half with his massive black dick.

She spoke upside down, sounding soulful. “Oh, yes. Fuck the shit out of me. Get that. Make it cry. Fuck that cunt like I slapped your momma. You Kenyan, Egyptian, Mandingo, Swahili, stud ass, sex king, tall, dark, hung Negro mothafucka, you.”

He grinned at her thrill. “Look at you talking shit upside down. Got your ass prone.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet none of those bitches who pay for your big dick can handle all this pipe without being scared out of their minds.”

He didn’t dare answer her, for real for real, so he said, “Nope. They can’t. Only you, babe.”

“Yeah. I’m serving you a deep-ass pussy on a platter while standing on my head. Beat that. Freaking like this makes me wanna buy you that damn black Jag you want.” She was a notch away from yelling, even upside down.

“Oh really?”

She was hella loud. “Really. Make me come. You know what to do.”

He pulled out and she adjusted herself from up against the wall, flipping her legs over and coming to a stance from her position. Her face was flushed and her body was hot. He picked her up like it was nothing, even though she weighed over one-sixty, and placed her on her back at the very end of their poster bed.

He stood before her, moved her ass all the way to the edge, nearly hanging off the end, and pulled her legs toward him with his forearms. He aligned her just right and penetrated her again.

She followed his rhythm and at first, kept her hands along her chest, playing with her breasts, in full control of what she was doing and what she was saying.

She kept up her fuck talking. “Yeah, that’s it. Do that. Standing there looking like a king. Fine-ass pussy killer you. Hit that spot. Work that spot. Make me squirt like a damn faucet, God damn it.”

He said, “Oh, I hear you. I think you’re ready.”

“Oh yeah. I’m ready. Shit yeah.”

He readjusted his grip on her legs, leaned forward a bit, and got his footing right so that his shoes were positioned along the white carpet, and he got a motion going so smooth, it was in the exact beat of the next song, “Let’s Get It On,” playing in the background.

Kemba sped up and bucked and fucked, while Beryl made a noise, a long moan that revved up to a deep groan, and then she spoke short, unrecognizable words, sounding like she was speaking in tongues. Her voice got shakier the more he poked a steady stream of friction at the right angle, over and over, dipping down to make sure he aimed upward, keeping his rhythm.

Her hand had moved from her breasts, to somewhere above her head, one hand cupped and then relaxed, the other hand gripping the sheet and then letting go.

She sounded like she was losing her mind as he started to grind her into stupidity. She rambled on as her titties flopped every which-a-way, and the sound of his skin hitting her ass was loud. She closed her eyes, and then just as she said, “Uuuuuhhnn, uuuuhhnn, uuuuhhnn,” Kemba reached down and yanked his dick out. She bore down, and he swatted her large clit with his long dick and beat it senseless. A stream of liquid expelled from her middle that shot so high it hit his chest and ran down his belly. She yelled like she was either dying or being born. It smelled of sweet clover and was semicloudy. It was nothing like his granny lover’s spill. This was the real thing, female ejaculate.

He reinserted and she said, “No. Yes. No.”

Mind-blowing.

He bucked again and she made those crazy sounds again. He pulled out and beat her clit and she released her stream again, first a short one, then a long one. He inserted again, but this time Beryl sounded like she was crying.

“Stop. I can’t take it. Dammit.”

He inserted again anyway and fucked her, feeling her pussy clench. Her groans were loud and nasty as her intermittent shudders vibrated along her spine. He shot his own orgasm deep inside of the woman who he turned out each and every time they fucked.

She was bonded from her orgasms, saying “I love you,” while sniffling.

He was in Erotic City. “Ahhhhh, shit. Yeah. Uuuuhhh. I love your ass, too,” he said, just as he waited for the stream of sperm to finish its journey through his lengthy dick. He pulled out and stood over the bed before her, as she scooted to lay flat on her back, panting.

Beryl and Kemba could fuck so pretty. It was award winning, deep, intense, and 100 percent mutually satisfying.

He knew Beryl felt it was the way it was because they kept it new and fresh, and because they had the freedom of an open relationship.

Kemba felt it was the way it was because he was the only one who was ever able to bring on the aerobic waterworks of his freaky sugar momma.

Her next sentence got his attention. “I want Ryan to join us.”

“What the hell?” He stepped away from the wet spot on the carpet—even his Jordans were wet—and he rubbed her liquid from the skin of his abdomen.

She said again, wiping a tear that had fallen along her face, “Ryan. I want him to see what you do to me.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m dead serious. He’s down if you are.” She didn’t even blink.

He asked, looking astonished, “You invited that dude to our relationship? To be with us?”

“Please, we fuck other people all the time. I thought it’d be cool to go to the next level. Have a threesome.”

He looked at his dick as it went down. “Not with some dude. Oh hell no. Two hard dicks in a room is one too many.”

“Kemba, you’re acting like a prude.”

“I’m not.” He stepped over to the dresser, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

She stretched out the kinks in her legs and rubbed her thighs. “I thought you were more open-minded than that. I thought pleasing me was something you enjoyed doing.”

“I do. But I can please you all by myself. I don’t need any damn help.”

She explained, “I’m saying let’s spice it up. Not you and him touching. Both of you pleasing me.” She looked excited by the thought. “I’ll bet I can take it.”

“I bet you can.” He looked sure.

“He is black, but he’s not as big as you.” She offered a smile like she felt she needed to stroke his ego.

His expression stayed firm. “Beryl, please. I really don’t wanna hear about Ryan’s penis, black or white. Conversation ended.” He headed toward the hallway. “I’ll be right back. You want something to drink?”

“I’ll have a sip of whatever you have.”

He turned back, giving her a look. “Okay. While I’m gone, you get that freaky shit out of your head.”

“Please. Most men are a drink away from it.” She rubbed her eyes and adjusted the pillow under her head.

Kemba yelled back, “Well, this man is the exception to your silly-ass rule. Guaranteed.”

Something in him wanted to agree to her threesome suggestion, but he was more worried about what she’d think if he went for it. That maybe he really was okay with two dicks in the room. That he liked men. So he said no. But in his head he remained curious.

Thursday—November 10, 2011

C
NN’s Political Ticker reported:

Virgil looked disappointed as he sat in the family room of their home, watching his stepfather on television. “Ha! What about his views on prostitution? I’d love it if someone would put a microphone in his face and ask him to address that topic. Hypocritical ass.” He’d had an afternoon business meeting at the Google offices, then came home early to continue more research and development on the business side of his own anti-hacking venture.

Virgil switched channels but kept finding more political buzz about the presidential campaign. On nearly every channel he saw his stepfather, and most times his mom, Ursula, was by Darrell’s side. He also saw a video of his stepfather’s biggest opponent, Philadelphia mayor Kalin Graves, in a black suit with a red tie, and his lovely wife, Sasha Graves, in a red suit with pearls. They were both offering continuous Colgate smiles, looking conservative and energetic. And they had a beautiful biracial teenage daughter by their side dressed in pink. The media often addressed the fact that silver-haired Kalin Graves was white and his sophisticated wife was black, making mention of how it was a first in political history to have an interracial couple as candidate and wife. Virgil still wondered if the rumors that Kalin Graves was really a racist were true. But his gut told him that he knew enough, just knowing he patronized Lip Service. He decided to let it all go. For the time being.

Knowing the reality of both Kalin Graves’s and his stepfather’s infidelities turned his stomach. He wondered how both could be so careless. But still and all, his mother continued to be the priority. The absence of Midori had been more and more noticeable. It had been four months. She was very quiet. He did leave messages and sent a few e-mails, but no reply. He knew she was angry, but in his heart, with all that was going on, her absence was missed. In spite of it all, no matter what, she was someone he could talk to. And he needed to talk about everything right now, from the realities of his stepfather’s infidelities, to the possibility of him having to move, to the excitement of his new business venture, to his feelings about what he and Midori had been through. The fact that he got so close to someone who could also be part of the demise of his family, and the demise of the business she worked for, had him conflicted.

With the house extra-quiet and the squeaky-clean expectations of the political life feeling like the enemy, he gave in and placed another call.

This time he got a “Hello.” But Midori did not sound welcoming.

“Hi there. How are you?” Virgil sounded both surprised and elated that she answered.

“Fine.”

“Where’ve you been? I called you a few times. Left messages.”

She sounded edgy. “I was out of town a couple of times. But, honestly, I really don’t know why it matters. Even if I was in town, I wouldn’t have called you back, Virgil.”

“Be nice.”

She interjected, “Oh, be nice? You weren’t being very nice when you cussed me out and stormed out of here.”

“You’re right. Just wanna be nice now.”

“So, you wanna be friends? After all that, is that what you’re saying?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It was apparently all wrong for you to even be associated with me. I’m surprised you’re risking the possibility of living in the White House by calling me. Besides, considering that you record people by using your little spy gadgets, why would I even want to talk to you?”

He wondered himself, saying, “I understand. I’d just hoped you would.”

She said, sounding cautious, “You’re not recording this call, are you?”

“I’m not.”

She had much attitude. “Whatever, Virgil. I’ll never trust you again.”

He decided to say what he really thought. “I could be saying that, too. You lied to me yet you’ll never trust me? Ms. Real Estate Agent.”

“Oh please. Virgil, what do you want?”

“I don’t know. I was just sitting here. My stepfather’s face and name are everywhere I look. Things are getting crazy. Plus, my mother and I talked about me moving out. I’m thinking about it. I just needed to talk to you, that’s all. I miss us.”

All she said was, “Oh really? So they’re mad at you? What’d you do to them? Spy on them, too?” Her sarcasm was clear.

He wasn’t surprised. “No.”

“And she doesn’t know about him?”

“No.”

“I’ll bet she does.”

“Believe me, she doesn’t.” He aimed the conversation in another direction. “But what I called for was just to say that I miss you. It’s been a while. And I was wondering if we could see each other, you know, have a cup of coffee or something.”

“Why?”

“Like I said, I miss you. Still can’t believe how things went down. It’s like something’s missing, though. And seeing you would be good, you know?”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

She actually asked, “When, Virgil?”

He smiled so big that it could be heard in his reply. “Oh, I was thinking, today maybe. I’m gonna meet my real estate agent in SoHo this afternoon. Gonna look at some properties. Wondered if you could go with me.”

She replied without hesitation. “To look at places? No thanks.”

“Why not?”

“Because, I just can’t. I have an appointment.”

“Where?”

“Gramercy,” she replied dryly.

“Good, then you can meet me.”

“I can’t go with you. I don’t wanna do things like that. It just seems too couple-ish. I’m still coming to terms with everything. My whole life. Losing you. Lying to you. You recording me. It’s too soon to be friends.”

“Okay.” He knew he deserved it, but he stayed insistent. “Well, maybe we can just meet for a minute. Maybe at the spot we went to the first day we went out. Little Cupcake Bakeshop on Prince Street.”

“You want to meet for cupcakes?”

“I do. What time can you be there?”

She was quiet.

“Please.” He wished for her heart to soften.

“I don’t know about you.” She thought for a minute. “Maybe 2:00. Just for a second. Then I have to leave.”

He pumped his fist into the air. “Good. I’m meeting my Realtor at 3:30. Perfect.”

Midori sounded anything but thrilled. “See you there.”

“Bye.”

Midori wore her white linen dress, cropped leather jacket, and red heels while at the quaint bakery in trendy SoHo. She sat inside at the tiny round table for two. She was halfway through a cup of banana pudding, with a cup of strong black coffee to wash it down.

Virgil walked up and pulled out the other chair, in his gray pants and white shirt. He even wore a pocket protector with three pens inside. “I see you got a jump on it, huh, gorgeous?”

She said, after sipping her coffee, “I can’t come here and pass this up. It’s sinful.” She looked at him as he sat down and leaned back.

He saw a small box. “I see you got some to go.”

“The lemon and strawberry ones.” She watched him carefully.

“Oh, okay.” He stared at her, admiring her face.

She looked him up and down with caution, like she was reluctant to engage.

“What? You want to check my pockets? All I have is my cell and my wallet.”

“No.” She looked away and then asked, “So, you’re not getting anything?”

“No.”

She looked him up and down again. “Why come here and not order anything?”

“I didn’t come here for cupcakes.”

“So, you lied…again.” She gave a frown.

“I deserve that. Bring it on.”

“Are you on some guilt trip, Virgil?”

“Not even.”

“You sure? Not sorry that you acted like an ass when you broke up with me?”

He asked, “Are you on a guilt trip for lying to me?”

“Not even. I’m just saying, with you being a man, I’d think you’d be hanging out, dating, going hog wild, hitting everything that walks by. You’re free to do whatever you want to do.”

“I want to be right here.”

“Yeah, right. You’ve probably been out with someone.”

“I haven’t. You?”

“Me? Who’d want me? I’m a hooker, remember?” She sipped her coffee and smiled.

“So you went out of town for work?”

“Yes. Real estate.”

He cleared his throat instead of laughing. “Did you like him?”

“Honestly, yes, I did. But why are you all up in my business?”

He leaned forward. “Just asking. Wondering if maybe we can talk every now and then. Be honest with each other. Be up front. Be real. No judgment. Especially now that we’ve got all of the crap out of the way.”

She took a small bit of the pudding and spoke while eating. “Hard not to judge my life. Don’t be so sure you’ve got my crap out of the way. And I won’t be so sure I know about all of yours.” She licked the spoon.

“My life is nothing to be proud of. I’ve got problems like everyone else.”

“Oh, please. You’ve got it made. You’re about to be the son of the next president of the United States. What’s so bad about that?”

“Let’s just say, I didn’t live the type of life people would think. My birth dad treated me like crap. He cheated on my mom one time too many and then he died. After that she met my stepfather. It took me a minute, but I convinced myself that he treated her good. Though now that I know about his indiscretions, I can see more clearly. It’s some bullshit. But hey, whose life doesn’t have some shit going on?”

She eyed him down. “You really are a mama’s boy, aren’t you?”

“If she’s happy, I’m happy.”

“Virgil, she’s your mom, not your woman.”

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even look offended. “I know that.”

“Maybe it is a good idea that you’re looking for your own place. Maybe you need to cut that cord. Be independent. Be on your own.”

“I agree. Start my own family one day. There’s nothing like family. Like blood.”

“Humph. Sometimes, some make the cut and some don’t.”

“I get it.” He smiled. “Talking to you reminds me. One thing we had going for us was that we could always talk. After all these months of not speaking, I want you to know, I hope we can still at least talk to each other.”

She looked serious. “I trusted you.”

“And I trusted
you
.”

She said, holding her coffee in her hand, “We broke that.”

“Yes, we did.” He leaned his elbows on the table and said, “Listen, my Realtor asked me to come over to Brooklyn, to the Williamsburg area. I’m thinking about that area because I realized some of the listings he e-mailed me here in SoHo are too expensive. Like over two million. I’m paying cash but want to spend half that, or less.”

“Half of that? Cash?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She looked surprised and impressed. “Excuse me. I didn’t know you had it like that. Didn’t know Google paid their engineering directors that kinda money.”

He told her. “They don’t. I have a little money saved up. So, anyway, there are a couple of condos. One is seven hundred thousand in an area that’s like a mini SoHo, and one is over nine hundred thousand. I think it’s a two-bedroom waterfront condo, view of the skyline beyond the East River. I’m pretty sure it has panoramic views. I want you to go with me. Please. Just help me decide.”

She replied, setting her coffee mug down. “Virgil, I think the East River condo sounds nice. But I can’t come with you. I have that appointment near Gramercy soon. I’m sorry.” She sounded like she was trying to let him down easy. “The waterfront would be great, though. It sounds beautiful. You’ll make the right decision.” She then pushed her chair away, stood, and took hold of her purse and to-go box.

He stood. “Okay. Well, thanks for coming. I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna run. It was good seeing you. If you need any real estate tips, let me know.”

He laughed. “I’ll do that,” he said, as she stepped away. “I missed you.”

She turned and waved, saying only, “Good-bye. Good luck.”

And just like that, she was gone.