She stood there on the stoop trying to adjust to the dark and then she saw him pacing back and forth looking so out of place; one white man in an all black neighborhood. Juicy quickly headed across the street and he watched her with quiet anticipation.
“Why didn’t you come up?”
“Ugh,” came his one word response…if that could be considered a word.
“Huh?”
“Too many people. They come in, but I don’t see them coming out. They stay for hours, then I think, ‘Juicy is busy.’” He shrugged. “So I thought I’d wait until you weren’t busy.”
Her brow went up in surprise. “Troy…you could have come inside and waited.”
He looked at her calmly. “I don’t think so.”
“Well how many days have you been waiting for me?”
He laughed merrily. “I don’t stay all day. When your light goes out I leave.”
Juicy paused and considered his words. “Oh.” She then stared at him when the unspoken question did not illicit an answer. “Why?”
“Because I wanted to come up when you weren’t busy, but you’re always busy until well after midnight.” He gave her an accusing look. “And you promised that you wouldn’t work too hard. I knew that if I came up too late, you’d try to stay up for me. So I left so that you could get some rest.”
She closed her eyes thinking about the nightmares and how she would have loved to snuggle in his arms. She looked up at him again. “But if you would have let me know that you were here I could have sent them bitches home.”
“Them bitches is how you make your money,” came his sincere response. Juicy’s serious expression changed to one of amusement. Shyly she closed the space between them and placed her arms around his body. His arms came around her to hold her tight. He pulled back abruptly and gestured up when she gave him a questioning look.
Them bitches were crowding her apartment window watching her every move. “Damn!” She grabbed his hand and dragged him towards her apartment. She had momentarily forgotten about them.
When the two of them returned to the apartment, the front room was suspiciously empty of nosey customers. She went to the back room where her three remaining customers were pretending to be reading magazines.
“Oh hey, girl.” Miss Brenda feigned a surprised look. “Who’s that white man?”
“This is Troy. He’s the man that took me to the hospital.”
Troy raised a hand. “Hi.”
“Hi.” The three women responded in unison. Good thing Miss Barbara Jean had already left or she would be scowling at him. She didn’t trust white people just as much as Momma hadn’t.
Troy nodded his head, more like it bobbed up and down, and then he turned around and walked away.
“Be right back.” Juicy held up a finger to the room of women, closing the door after her. Troy was pacing slightly in the living room.
“Ok, don’t leave. I just have to finish up, ok?”
He nodded.
“Troy?” She didn’t like his quiet nervousness.
“Yes?” He had a distracted look on his face.
“I’m happy you’re here. Help yourself if there’s anything you need; food is in the kitchen, television in here, shower if you want…or hang out in my bedroom. I’ll be finished as soon as possible.”
He stopped pacing. “Okay. Juicy, you better get back in there.” He spoke anxiously. “Those women look mean.” They kinda scared him the way they stared at him like he was the police. He could picture them ready to fly out of that room, demanding to know why she was out here with him instead of in there with them.
Juicy wished that he wasn’t so odd about things. She wanted him to come inside and cop a seat until she was finished. But she already knew that he wasn’t going to be comfortable until the apartment was empty of her clients. She tried to finish them up quickly but they kept asking questions.
“Who is that white man?”
“I told you that he is the man that saved my life.” But then the shower began.
“Uh-huh.”
She didn’t know how to answer the questions. She still didn’t know who he was to her—other than her friend; beyond that she just didn’t have any answers.
When the last head was finished she quickly ushered that woman out the door. It was just a bit after midnight and she had been going since the crack of dawn. Yes she was tired, but anxious, too. She went to the bathroom and showered. The apartment was quiet which meant Troy would be in her bedroom.
Knowing Troy, wasn’t just about having sex; he wasn’t her boytoy. But she couldn’t help how horny she felt at the idea of him in her bedroom. The memory of his body straining over hers was enough to create a pulse between her thighs that she seldom had time to acknowledge. Opening the door softly she saw Troy in bed sleeping; the covers concealing his lower body, his upper torso enticingly nude.
She slipped into the bed nude as well, and he stirred, turning towards her with a sleepy smile on his face.
“Sorry. I tried to stay up but I guess it takes a long time to do hair.” He reached out and touched one of her dreds; not necessarily because he wanted to feel a dredlock, but so that he could have contact with her; safe, non-pressure contact. He didn’t want her to think that he was a pervert just because he was lying in her bed naked. But one thing he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt is that women did not like homeless men lying in their bed with their street clothes on. So he was careful—with her more than with most, because despite her tough exterior, he could see that she was more hurt than most.
“Tired?”
“Not too tired…” She tried not to look too anxious.
“Not too tired for…?” He smiled slightly.
Her eyes hooded and she reached beneath the covers and ran her hands over his nude body. He shivered, his eyelids fluttering closed.
“Ok.” His sigh sounded like a purr.
She pushed back the covers because she wanted to be familiar with his body. He needed a tan—No. He was pale but he was fine just the way he was. She bent down and kissed his flat nipple. Troy reached out and stroked her hair. Her warm tongue caused his nipple to perk up and soon he felt her teeth lightly grazing his sensitized flesh.
He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her mouth on his body. Mmm, he thought, when he felt her lips travel down over his abs. Her tongue flicked and then her teeth nipped and he shuddered. Her felt her fingers wrap around his shaft. Troy’s breath caught in his chest as he arched upward.
“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.