Juicy

  “Please…” he whimpered.

  “Please, what?”

  He struggled to think of the right words.

  “Do you want me to taste you?”

  He nodded his head rapidly, his face was flushed. “Please…”

  Juicy rubbed the head of his cock against her lips before allowing her tongue to circle him. Troy arched even more and his breath came out in pants. She was very tacticle and loved to touch and taste. Juicy marveled at the sight of his perfect cock. It wasn’t huge, it wasn’t small, he was just right, and his tight testicles fit very nicely in her mouth.

  Troy didn’t know how much longer he could last but he wanted to show her that it would never be one-sided between them. He pulled from her mouth and when she looked at him curiously he said,

  “I want to do you, now.”

  She lay back and Troy showed her just how much he enjoyed the taste of her as well.

  ***

  The next morning Juicy had more clients. She explained apologetically that Saturday morning was busy and she had regulars that couldn’t get to her during the week. But usually she was done by one.

  “I’m just so busy this week trying to get caught up.” She was lacing up white Keds, wearing flare bottom jeans and two sleeveless t-shirts; one purple, the other light blue. Her make-up was flawless because she had sworn a long time ago that she would never look like a slouch just because her business was in her home. She was wearing big wooden earrings and several colorful bangles and her long dreds were pulled into a ponytail that ran between her shoulder blades. She still wore a doo rag to cover the bandages but despite that and the fading bruises, Juicy knew she looked good. She checked her watch; her first client would arrive at eight which was in about twenty minutes.

  “You work too hard.” Troy scowled. He had made coffee and now walked around the apartment in his bare feet, shirtless and holding a mug that said DIVA. Even rushing around to get things in order, Juicy had to pause to admire him and the way the muscles of his flat stomach stood out, and the cut of his pelvis…as well as what was concealed by his jeans. What lay within those jeans had provided her with hours of pleasure last night and once this morning…and there had been absolutely no nightmares.

  He stopped pacing and stood right in front of where she was sitting at the kitchen table finishing up with the lacing of her shoes. “You went to the doctor and he said you were ok?” She had already told him the story about the doctor’s total disbelief of her treatment. Her doctor worked in a REAL hospital and not a charity hospital. Still, why didn’t he know that people were treated like animals; worse than animals in other hospitals?!

  “He at least took the time to check out everything. So yeah, I think I’m ok.”

  “I went to emergency once and was released later that night. I walked out the door and blacked out.” He gave her a grim look. “I had a ruptured spleen and they didn’t even know.”

  “Oh my god! How do you get a ruptured spleen?”

  You get kicked in the stomach hard enough and long enough then that’s what happens. It was the second times that the cops had caught him where he shouldn’t have been…and that time there was no officer Kelly around to help him out. That time had been very bad. That time it was just him and both cops had taken turns beating and kicking him. They had said, ‘Don’t cross those railroad tracks, boy!’ and he had learned his lesson very well.

  The distant look cleared from his eyes. “Ju-ju-ju…” He exhaled long. “Never mind. Just take care of yourself. You are more important than money.” His words struck home more because of the look of frustration in his eyes.

  “Okay.” She conceded. She didn’t forget that he had not explained how he got a ruptured spleen but she let it rest. “What do you do?” She asked curiously.

  He had walked to the sink and was washing out the used mug. “What do I do? What do you mean?”

  “When you weren’t with me…or waiting across the street. What do you do all day?”

  “Oh.” He dried his hand on the dish towel. “I needed to go back to the building and check on my things.” He also wanted to look around the alley for any of Juicy’s belongings. Maybe they had thrown away her wallet or maybe some of her belongings had dropped out of her purse. The alley was clear of anything that might belong to her. His abandoned building contained evidence of her assault. This was something that he didn’t like to think about and definitely had no intention of recounting to her. Her blood had stained the dirty wood floor and that along with the fact that she’d been sick had attracted vermin, making it necessary for him to pick up and move his belongings to another place. This time he moved them to a locker at the YMCA, which is where he went to shower—when he cared enough to do so.

  “I went to my church for our weekly potluck dinner.”

  “Oh cool. What did you eat?”

  “Well I cooked.” Juicy tried not to look surprised. He went to church AND he cooked? She was impressed. She hadn’t been to church since being a little kid wearing an Easter dress. “I made chicken pot pie. I used biscuit dough for the top, instead of a pie crust. People seem to really like when I do that.”

  “What church do you belong to?”

  “Now I’m with Allen Temple AME. Once I told them I cooked at my last church, they recruited me to be in charge of the potluck dinners we have weekly for the homeless.”

  She contemplated him quietly. “You belong to an African Methodist Episcopal Church? And let me get this straight; you cook for the homeless?”

  He shrugged. “Or whoever; the church, the homeless, guests, friends…” He sat down at the table with her. “I don’t do all of the cooking myself. We have seventy or eighty people that come through. During winter or holidays it’s twice that. One of the ladies made banana pudding, too. Someone else made salad.” He shrugged. “A couple people help out.” He didn’t know why this surprised her so much.

  He didn’t mention this, but after the dinner he’d taken the bus to her apartment and saw that people were still showing up even though it was night time. He’d sat in the grass with his head between his knees when he felt a seizure approaching, then he’d gone back to the Y. Troy kept busy, there was always something to do. The next day he had gone to the free store for another pair of shoes. He had also found a perfectly good denim shirt there that could double as a light fall jacket.

  Later he had seen a friend who sometimes got very confused about things, so Troy had helped him find some cans and they took them down to King’s Recycling and he had made sure that his friend didn’t get cheated. A lot of other people were hanging out there so he got caught up on the happenings around the city. Sometimes Troy kept off to himself. He had been diagnosed as being bipolar; a diagnosis that he didn’t necessarily agree with, but his condition did tend to cause him to avoid being around people.

  One of his friends had a small apartment and he made them chili…it was the worst chili that Troy had ever eaten but his friend had been nice enough to stretch it for the four of them. Again he went on to try to visit Juicy and again she was evidently very busy. He thought about her everyday and wished that he had her phone number. Then he could just call instead of pacing around hoping that she was ok.

  He returned his focus on her again, not realizing how distracted he sounded. “Yesterday morning I did some work at a grocery store owned by an older couple that I know. They need me to do some light repair, clean gutters and such.” Sometimes they don’t have money to give him, but that’s cool. They give him food and things that he’d normally have to buy anyways.

  Troy shrugged. “I just hang out, do stuff, make money, eat…whatever.” Think about you…

  Juicy watched him with interest, and then she glanced at her watch and jumped up. “I need to straighten up the back room!”

  “I’ll help you.” He followed her and he quickly and efficiently got the sink cleaned out, wiped off the shelves and straightened the bottles of shampoo, conditioners and other potions. The doorbell rang a
nd Juicy hurried off to let her first client inside. Troy began to panic.

  It wasn’t that he was afraid of people. He just didn’t like the idea of being in the way. When the woman entered the back room, chattering away with Juicy, she stopped and looked at him curiously. Troy rushed past them and out into the living room.

  “I’ll be with you in a sec.” She spoke to her client before shutting the door and following Troy to the living room. “Troy-”

  “Juice, I’ll come back at one.”

  “You’re not going to stand outside the building are you? Because I have to tell you that my neighbors are finding that pretty suspicious.”

  “No.”

  “Well come back at two. Or better yet call first.” She hurried to a sheet of paper and wrote down her phone number. He took it gratefully and hurried out the door.

  Damn, she wished that he wasn’t so nervous.

  Troy called Juicy at two but she told him that she had fallen behind because of something to do with micro braids, but it was ok because she had charged the heffa two hundred thirty dollars.

  “Did you stop to eat?”

  “No time. These micro braids are whipping my ass.”

  He didn’t know what a micro braid was but he wasn’t happy to hear that she’d been going non-stop since eight that morning.

  “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

  “McDonald’s? There’s one around the corner.” She gave him her order and then the other ladies wanted him to bring them something and soon he found that he had to go to the ATM to withdraw some cash. When he reached Juicy’s apartment he was laddened down with two large sacks and a tray of super sized drinks.

  What really surprised him is that there were only two other women sitting in the backroom and he didn’t understand why three women needed two huge sacks of food and four drinks. But he didn’t ask. He had learned a long time ago that men shouldn’t comment on things like that. He doled out the food and they actually paid him with twice as much as he had spent. Wow…maybe he should be a food deliveryman for beauty shops!

  Juicy didn’t actually get finished with her last client until close to five o’clock. She gave him an apologetic look, but it was filled with so much fatigue that he didn’t chastise her. He sat on the couch and rubbed her feet, watching the way her eye lids began to lower as she finally relaxed. Troy had already figured out that Juicy needed someone to take care of her despite what she thought.

  ***

  “Juice, can I talk to you?” She had been pressing Miss Barbara Jean’s hair in her small back room. Three other customers were waiting semi-patiently. Even though it had been weeks since she’d been attacked, it seemed that she was still trying to play catch-up to get to where she had been before her attack. She over-booked but only because people begged her to do their hair, or their daughter’s hair and etc. Troy had gotten the wonderful idea to bake muffins which reduced much of the grumblings of those left waiting for hours.

  "Sweetie, I'm kinda busy right now-" Juicy swiped at her sweating brow. Her back hurt and she still had a bandage over her head. She'd been on her feet non-stop for the last six hours.

  "Uhm..." Troy entered the room while four sets of eyes glared at him. Having a white man breech their hair secrets was a huge no no. And though he fed them tasty baked goods, that would only get him so far.

  He boldly removed the curling iron from Juicy's hand and tugged her arm until she was out in the living room. It made him nervous that it took so little effort to get her to follow.

  Miss Barbara Jean’s creased face seemed to wrinkle even more as she pouted. "Juicy, girl, I been here all day. I got things to do! Don't be out there fooling around with that white man all day!"

  "Give me one minute!" Juicy called over her shoulder. "You old bitch..." The latter was mumbled under her breath. "Troy! I'm really super busy-"

  "Ok." He grimaced. "I know. But you're sick. You shouldn't be doing this-"

  "This is how I make my money, baby-"

  "I know, but you need some help."

  "No shit-"

  "No. I mean yes." Troy sighed. "I mean...I can help you."

  "No no no. Those women aren't going to let you touch their hair!"

  Miss Nita yelled from the other room. "I don't want that white man doing my hair!"

  Juicy closed the door to the small room. And that's when Troy told her about the city's Urban Redevelopment plan. He and his friends had been booted from many boarded up buildings because someone had bought them for one dollar. He had discovered a way that he could take care of Juicy, and this was it.

  "One dollar?

  "One dollar...well...and proof that you can fix it up. Usually the city gives you a low or no interest loan-"

  Juicy was already shaking her head. "I don't have any collateral. That's why I couldn't get a loan before-"

  Troy placed his hands on her shoulders and stroked them gently. "I have nearly forty thousand dollars in a Trust. And I'm going to invest it in a business endeavor..." Juicy stared at him with opened mouth. "I'm investing it in you...us...our business."

  She stared at him in amazement. "Jesus, Troy." Juicy flopped down onto the couch burying her head into her hands. "I can't take your savings!"

  "You betta take that white man's money!" Miss Barbara Jean opened the door standing there with half straightened hair.

  Troy picked up the tray of muffins from the breakfast bar and shoved them into her hands before urging her back into the room and shut the door again. She gave him an insulted ‘hmph!’ from behind the door. Troy hurried back to Juicy, kneeling down on his knees in front of the woman that he'd grown to love in just the few short weeks that he'd known her.

  Juicy smiled and stroked his kind cheek. She'd grown to love him very easily; and this was exactly the reason why. He was completely self-less. What kind of woman would she be if she took money from a mentally ill person, though?

  Seeming to read her mind he answered her unspoken question. "Let's face it Juicy. It will take you years to make the money to open your own shop, especially doing it by yourself. And you know that I'm not fit to work a nine to five job. We can be business owners. It's what we both want, right?"

  After a moment she nodded. "Right." Then she was able to push back her fears as excitement began to take root. A partnership might work...

  CHAPTER 8

  He was more tense than ever. He didn’t like Juicy to see evidence of his mental illness. It made her nervous which then made him nervous. This time the source of his tension was the knowledge that in order to get the money, Troy would have to go home for the first time in seven years. He was scared. He remembered what Blue had said all of those years ago; that they could have him committed because he wouldn’t do what they wanted.

  Of course, he didn’t want to worry Juicy with these facts. He knew that ‘normal’ people didn’t really want to know about mental illness. They could accept it as long as it didn’t come too close. She was a good thing in his life and he didn’t want anything to mess it up. So he told her only the bare minimum about life on the streets. He had told her about his illness and issues with the medication but downplayed the severity and frequency of his attacks. And he had never told her that he hadn’t spoken to his parents since his eighteenth birthday.

  “Juice, gather information on exactly what we’re going to need to open a shop. And I mean real research using a computer, at the library. We’re going to need suppliers and equipment and a real list of prices. When I get back from Connecticut, I’m going to need phone numbers and an up to date price chart for comparisons.”

  She gave him an amazed look. “Well I can get most things from the beauty supply shop-”

  “Chairs, sinks, those big hair dryer things?”

  “Probably not-”

  “That’s what I mean. Shop around for good prices, wholesale, secondhand if possible.” He was pacing anxiously. He had a small duffel pack containing nothing more than a change of clothes and some toiletries. He
expected to be gone no longer then two days.