It took a little effort, but he finally got his dick in me and started exploring with it. I clamped my hand around his neck and pulled him closer so I could kiss him on the mouth.
“I want to see you again,” I readily admitted.
“I want to see you again, too.” He swept my hair off my face and placed it behind my ear. “I want to see you every damn day if I can.”
We both chuckled, and then all conversation stopped. We were too busy enjoying one another. Randall came in my ass, and I loved it. I wanted to go grab a shower together and go for it again, but the damn doorbell rang.
“Auto Club!” we heard a man shout from outside. “Hurry up, because I’ve got half a dozen other calls tonight!”
Randall stared at me lovingly as he pulled his dick out of my ass. “I better go see about the car. I can get them to tow it, and I can still stay.”
I grabbed his face and kissed him with as much passion as I could muster. “Hurry back.”
I was pissed off when I found out that Randall would have to actually go with the driver when the car was towed. Apparently, they had new regulations. I planned to write his crappy auto club the next day and complain. We shared a brief intimate farewell at my door, and he was gone, just like that.
Fortunately, he came back the next day, and we picked up where we had left off. Thirteen months later we are still picking up where we leave off every morning when we both leave for work. Yeah, we’re shacking, and it is a good thing. I hope to get a ring soon, but I am patient and will let things happen in their own time. Just like things happened the night I met Randall.
Fuckastrated
* * *
Six months without sex. Felt like six damn years. I never knew I was a sex fiend until I had to go without it for a spell. Davon and I had broken up after a four-year serious relationship, and I was determined not to throw myself on just anyone. A sistah does have to be selective in this day and age.
Sure, the propositions came flooding in as soon as the infamous split hit the grapevine in our little Kansas town. That was my first damn problem: being single and living in Kansas. There weren’t exactly a ton of eligible brothers in Kansas, if you get what I’m saying. Finding a decent black man in Kansas is equivalent to hitting the lottery.
At first I was disappointed. Then I was frustrated. Ultimately, I ended up “fuckastrated.” I made the word up for those who have to go without sex when the rest of the world is getting their freak on.
Ironically, Davon wasn’t all that in bed in the first place. I was just used to having him around. He was familiar and comfortable, like a favorite pair of holey jeans on a Saturday morning or a favorite coffee mug. He had become a daily factor in my life, and once he was gone, something felt missing.
The way the breakup came about was partially my fault. Okay, it was entirely my fault. Davon had continuously warned me not to talk about our private matters in the streets; especially when there were only four stoplights in the entire town. But I just couldn’t help myself. I was sitting around the water fountain in the town square, kicking it with my two oldest girlfriends, Stacy and Allison, when it simply slipped out. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I really didn’t.
Anyway, as soon as Davon found out that I had told them about his experimentation with my underwear, he hit the roof. What kind of man wants to parade around the crib in his woman’s panties and bras? He came storming into the little two-bedroom rental house we’d been shacking up in and went from his normal blue-black to cranberry before laying into my ass with a vengeance. I really didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but to him it was everything. His male friends had apparently gotten wind of the situation and teased him without mercy.
Once Davon packed up his shit and rolled out, I was semi-relieved—it had become painfully obvious that the relationship really wasn’t going anywhere. We were definitely not compatible in any way, shape, or form. I liked football. He liked basketball. I liked horror films. He liked comedies. I liked to have sex three times a day. He liked to have sex three minutes a day. It just wasn’t working out.
Yet and still, I did miss the companionship. That’s why I made the decision to make the fifty-minute drive to the state university three nights a week to take a night class about business development. I had always wanted my own business but had never gotten around to starting one. I figured if I ever did, I would at least know the basics.
The first night of the class was straight-up boring. Professor Taylor spent half the class time bragging about all of his accomplishments. I was thinking to myself, Yeah, right! If you’ve accomplished so damn much, why are you teaching night school instead of sitting on the beach somewhere collecting 20 percent?
After he finally finished yapping, he let us spend the rest of the time introducing ourselves to the other classmates. Since my name is Shameika Zales, I knew I had plenty of time to gather thoughts in my head so I’d sound intelligent when I did run my little bio down.
At twenty-six, I was actually younger than most of the class, which totally surprised me. Most of them were in their late thirties, forties, or fifties. Either that, or some of them looked old as shit. I swear one man had to be a hundred ninety, maybe a hundred ninety-one.
One thing I ascertained from listening to them all speak was that they had been out in the corporate world, worked their asses off to build up someone else’s corporation, and were just damn sick of making money for other people. I guess it just took them some time to realize it. I decided right then and there that I wouldn’t find myself in that situation ten years down the road—wishing I had made a change earlier on.
When they got to the P’s, I perked up in my seat as this finer than fine brother stood up to give us the 4-1-1 on himself. If they were giving out awards for sexiness that night, he would have won hands down. He was about five-nine with caramel skin and a bald head that was glimmering under the overhead lights. I could just imagine rubbing his dome in the heat of passion.
He grinned directly at me, and I almost creamed in my bloomers. I had taken to wearing big-ass granny bloomers since I was manless. No need to ruin the good stuff on myself.
Anyway, he grinned at me and then faced Professor Taylor.
“My name is Thomas Phillips,” he said. “I’m the vice president of marketing for a start-up technology company based here in Kansas. I’m originally from Detroit, and I’ve been living here for about a year. I hope to gain some serious knowledge in this class because knowledge is definitely the key to success.”
And your dick is the key to my success, I thought wickedly to myself from my third-row seat. I should’ve known that his ass wasn’t from Kansas; they didn’t grow men that fine. I stared at him throughout the rest of the introductions until it was my turn.
I almost missed hearing my own name when the professor yelled it out. I came around and stood up. I suddenly became conscious of my appearance, and I straightened out the back of my skirt in case it was wrinkled.
“My name is Shameika Zales, and I currently work for the government as a human resources recruiter. However, my true ambitions lie in starting my own company.” I glanced over at Thomas. “I really want to get into the technology field, since that seems to be the wave of the future.”
I sat back down in my seat, knowing good and well that technology had never crossed my mind before that night. But I had contemplated opening a catering business, since my ass can burn some damn food. I had considered opening a restaurant but figured a smaller-scale business like catering would be better. Then there was my nightclub idea. I asked around about it, and people scared the shit out of me when they started talking about kickbacks for liquor licenses and payoffs to the mob so they wouldn’t set your place on fire in the middle of the night. No, thank you, I said. That would not be the move.
Much to my dismay, class ended too soon. I was enjoying checking out Thomas Phillips. I lingered for a minute as people poured out of the classroom, hoping that he would mosey on over my way and holl
er at a sister. It didn’t happen, though. He got bum-rushed by these two women who looked like they were my age when my mother was born. What a damn shame it was that they were throwing themselves at him like that. He was surely older than me—probably in his mid-thirties—but he was young enough to be one of their offspring.
I gave up and walked on out to my car, Nicki. I called the Pontiac that because it was banged up with nicks all over the hood and trunk. There wasn’t a single mark on the sides of the car, but the top of it looked like someone had just taken a knife and tried to punch holes in it.
I got in and tried to start the engine, but it just pooted and died.
“Shit, not now!” I screamed at myself.
It was the dead of winter. At least, what you would call the dead of winter in Kansas. Every time it got cold, Nicki would start tripping. I popped the hood and got out to get a bomber jacket out of my trunk.
I decided to try again to get Nicki started. If I failed, I planned to head back inside and see if the professor was still around. I didn’t seek him out for help at first because I hated the thought of listening to his mouth if he had to assist me with my car. But I had no intention of spending the night out there in the middle of the parking lot.
There were a few cars still scattered around, and I wondered if one of them belonged to Thomas Phillips. He seemed like a sports car kind of brother. There was a BMW Z3 in the corner slot, and I pegged that one to be his. Start-up company or not, the brother was dressed in some serious gear and carried himself like he had some sense.
I turned to get back in my car, and there he was, standing so close to me that I could see his eyelashes.
“Having car trouble?” he asked in his sexy-ass voice.
“Actually, I am. Stupid thing won’t start,” I replied.
“Would you like me to take a look?”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Not a problem.”
We gazed in each other’s eyes, and it was definitely a heated moment. In fact, I wanted to jump his bones. Finally, he broke the stare and chuckled.
“Mind popping the hood?”
I giggled. “Oops, I guess that would help.”
“Tremendously.”
I opened my door and reached down to disengage the hood.
“Wow, look at all these dents on your hood,” he commented as he lifted it. “Were you caught in a hailstorm someplace or something?”
I was so embarrassed. “No, I don’t know what it is, but my car seems to get nicked all over the hood and trunk for some reason.”
“Just a stroke of bad luck, I guess.”
I stood beside him as he bent over the hood. Damn, what an ass!
“What was your name again?” he asked.
I started to cop an attitude but recognized that my name was not exactly a common one. Peeps often had to hear it a few times before they caught on.
“Shameika Zales.”
“Aw, that’s right. I’m Thomas Phillips.”
“I remember,” I said seductively and licked my lips, even though he couldn’t see them.
“You’re interested in technology, right?”
“Oh, yeah, very interested,” I lied again.
“Cool. Maybe I can show you around my operation sometime.”
“Or maybe you can just operate on me.”
He stood erect and faced me. “Excuse me?”
I lowered my eyes to the ground. “Damn, did I say that out loud?”
He chuckled. “Yes, you did, but it’s cool. I like aggressive women.”
I was up to that challenge and did something totally out of character for me. I reached out and caressed his dick through his pants. “Is that right?”
He jumped for a second and then relaxed. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Can I be completely honest with you?”
“Please. Feel free.”
“I came out of a long-term relationship about six months ago, and I haven’t had the benefit of sex since.”
“Aw, poor baby,” he replied. “I haven’t had any sex in a while myself.”
Yeah, right! I thought to myself. A while for men means two weeks instead of months, like it does for women.
A few more people came out of the building, including Professor Taylor, but I still didn’t let go of the dick. I simply moved closer to him so nobody could make out what we were doing.
“Good night, students!” the professor yelled from across the lot as he made his way to the Escort. Yep, he sure was accomplished.
We both waved at him, but I still didn’t let go of the dick. I used my free hand.
The professor pulled off, followed by the two older women who had earlier accosted Thomas. They were in a Camry, and I could see their eyes rolling from fifty yards away. That’s what they get for trying to pull up on a man so much their junior. The parking lot was now empty, which was just fine by me.
“Shameika, I have a proposition for you.”
“Really?” I asked, full of curiosity. “What might that be?”
“There’s nothing I’d rather do than take you home with me and sex you down right now.”
I drew his bottom lip into my mouth and sucked on it. “Sounds like a winning plan to me.”
He startled me by pushing me away and forcing my hand off his dick. “However, I have certain rules that must be followed.”
“Rules? In the game of life, there are no rules,” I challenged.
“In my life, there are plenty of rules, and rule number one is that I get to know the women I become intimate with before the act and not after.”
Okay, I must admit that I was stunned. On the other hand, it was kind of arousing to have a man insist on getting to know me. Especially considering the way I was willing to give up the drawers.
“Fine,” I responded. “I’d like to get to know you first also.”
“Let’s just leave your car here and head over to town to grab a late dinner.”
“I could use a bite.”
“Great!”
He slammed my hood closed, and I grabbed my purse and locked my car.
“You learn something new every day,” I commented as we waited for our food to arrive at our table.
“What do you mean?” Thomas asked.
“I had no idea there was a bona fide chicken and waffles place in Kansas. I’ve heard of them in Los Angeles and Atlanta, but here in Kansas? Stop the madness.”
He laughed. “I was shocked to find it here myself.”
The waitress delivered the platters of fried chicken wings and gigantic waffles to our table along with large glasses of fresh lemonade. Let’s just say there was no shame in my game. I threw the hell down on that food.
Thomas and I had a wonderful conversation throughout dinner. He shared his background, and I did the same. We had a lot in common. By the time the apple crisp à la mode we ordered arrived at our table, the conversation had turned to sex.
“Shameika, I must admit that I tend to get kinky in bed.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Kinky? Do tell.”
“Well, I like to experiment.”
“Experiment with what?”
“Just some of the gadgets I’ve either designed myself or helped to design over the years.”
Now my interest was really piqued. My days of being fuckastrated were about to be over. Thomas was a straight-up freak. What luck!
“Well, are you going to tell me about these gadgets?”
“I’d rather show you,” he said, eyeing me seductively.
I knew what time it was. “What happened to your rule about getting to know a woman before you become intimate?”
“Rules are made to be broken.” He chuckled. “Besides, I realize this might sound strange, but it seems like I’ve known you for a long time. You ever get that feeling?”
“From time to time.”
“Do you feel that way right now?”
I was about to answer when my eyes landed on the door and the couple entering
through it. No, the hell Davon wasn’t up in there with another woman, I thought—a straight-up slut at that. Now I might have had a tendency to wear hoochie momma clothes on certain occasions, but sisterfriend had issues. She had on this tube top in the middle of the fuckin’ winter with thin-ass leggings and sandals. Who the hell wears sandals in January?
Granted, Davon and I were splitsville, but he had no business bringing that whore up into an establishment that he had never brought me to. I didn’t know whether it was his first time there or if he was a regular, but it didn’t matter.
“Earth to Shameika,” I heard Thomas say as he snapped his fingers in front of my face.
“Sorry about that,” I stated sullenly. “I saw a ghost from the past.”
Thomas glanced toward the entrance. “Old boyfriend?”
“Something like that.” I reached across the table and took his hand. “How about we blow this joint so you can show me some of those gadgets you keep bragging on?”
He grinned at me. “I wasn’t bragging, but now that you put it that way, some of them are quite spectacular.”
I slipped off my loafer, lifted my foot up between his legs, and commenced with a quick foot job. “I bet your dick is spectacular also. I could tell you were holding when we were back there in the parking lot.”
“I can handle mine,” he replied with a blush.
Davon’s eyes zeroed in on me as they were led to a table on the other side of the room. I wanted to scream out, “Yeah, I’m here with a real man, you panty-borrowing, sissified mutha fucka!” Looking back on it, that was some truly sick shit. He rolled his eyes and smacked his lips in my direction. I returned the favor.
Even though the foot action was turning me on and Thomas was getting this glassy look, it was time to roll out. I slid my foot back in my shoe and rose from the table.
“You ready?”
“Yes, just let me drop some cash on the table.”
Thomas peeped the check and then plopped two twenties down. As we were walking out, I made a point to make it clear that I was on a date. I grabbed Thomas, stood on my tippy-toes, and kissed him passionately on the lips. He got into it, because the next thing I knew, he was slipping a sistah the tongue. It was thick and juicy and tasted sweet from the syrup.