“Grey… I’m cum---“
Before I could get the sentence all the way out my
mouth, Grey pulled out. He wiped the film of sweat that formed on
his forehead with the back of his hand and looked at my agape mouth
in amusement.
“Nigga, you can’t be serious!” I screamed.
“You the one that want to play games,” he
chuckled.
I laughed to myself. Grey was going to learn today.
He was riding with a true freak, and if he thought that I was going
to sit up here and play games with him when he was the one that
bust up in my office trying to get nasty, he had another thing
coming. Without taking my eyes off him, I spread my legs wide and
planted my gold Giuseppe sandals up on the desk and eased my hand
down my stomach, over my freshly waxed pussy and inserted two
fingers into the spot he’d just left. I used my thumb to play with
my clit and my other hand to pinch at my nipples. Moans echoed off
the wall and my eyes slammed shut. I continued my show and it felt
so good that I didn’t give a fuck if Grey finished or not; I was
getting mine regardless. Suddenly, I felt my hand being moved and
replaced by Grey’s hard tool and I smirked.
“You a stone cold freak, girl. Fuck.” He smiled at me
and I smiled back.
He continued to deliver long stroke after long stroke
until we both came one after the other. Grey landed on top of me,
and I looked up at the ceiling trying to catch my breath. My eyes
fluttered open after a few moments, and I swore I saw emoji hearts
floating above my head. This man was incredible. Just when I
thought I was going to have to show my ass, Grey popped up and gave
me a dose of act right. He was the yin to my yang, and the calm to
my storm. I was beginning to think that Grey and I were perfect for
each other. I knew it was early on in the “relationship” or
whatever this was, but I was already envisioning a beach wedding,
2.5 kids and a house in the hills. I loved living as a single,
independent career woman, but I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t
give that up to have a man like Grey be my husband. And if I played
my cards right, he would belong to me soon enough.
Grey
July 2014
“So what would my schedule look like?” Niema asked
me. She crossed her legs seductively, leaned forward and propped
her arms up on her knee. Her new position gave me a better view of
her nice sized titties that were threatening to tumble out of her
low cut shirt. I swallowed hard.
Interviewing these dancers for the club was becoming
harder and harder every day. They were coming dressed in less and
less clothing and I couldn’t front; most of these chicks were
Smooth Magazine fine. It had been a couple Draya’s, a few K.
Michelle’s, a handful of Amber Rose’s and a bad ass chick that was
the thicker version of Ciara and she could move like her too. I was
having a hard time focusing on being professional and had thought
about letting Kimani and my club manager, Trickie, come in and do
the interviews for me. Kimani was out in New York for some kind of
photo shoot and I had Trickie doing inventory, so that was a
no-go.
I was really feeling Nakami, and we had recently
decided to make things official, but I couldn’t deny the fact that
I had pussy being thrown at me left and right since I’d opened the
club. Half the chicks I had interviewed in the last day and a half
had been tossing the draws at me non-stop. It was getting more
difficult to shrug off the temptation. It had been a grip since I’d
had another chick, but I was going to try my hand at being a one
woman nigga.
“You would be working the hours of the club which
would be Thursday thru Sunday from 9pm to 2am. Of course if we have
special events during the days we aren’t normally operational, you
would be required to come in on those days as well,” I spoke. The
entire time I spoke, Niema had her tongue gliding across her glossy
lips and I could barely concentrate.
“Ok, that’s cool,” Niema smiled.
“Cool. So did you have something prepared to show
me?”
“Yup. I gave the Dj my music already.”
I signaled for the DJ to turn on her track and a few
seconds later, The Weekend’s
Often
came blaring through the
speakers. Niema shook off her jean jacket, stood from the couch and
ran her hands up the side of her body. I leaned back in the cabana
style booth and watched as she wound her thick and toned body to
the beat. She was an okay dancer; she mostly snaked her hips or ran
her hands through her shoulder length blonde hair, but she had mad
sex appeal. She never broke eye contact and she caressed herself to
the point where I was unsure if she was dancing or if she was in
the middle of foreplay. I was so caught up in watching Niema that I
didn’t know anyone had entered the room until the song stopped. I
looked up and saw Nakami marching over to us from the DJ booth.
Fuck!
“Why did the music stop?” Niema looked at me with an
eyebrow raised.
“Niema, I’m going to give you a call…”
“No, the fuck he ain’t. You can take ya Baby Gap
jacket and Ross heels and carry your ass out my man’s face!” Nakami
flung Niema’s jacket in her face, almost knocking the girl
over.
This shit was starting to become a problem. Nakami
and I had been dating for almost two months. I swear I might have
even been falling for her. Everything was cool right up until
business at the club started picking up and I started spending a
little more time at work. Nakami started with little snide comments
about spending more time at work than with her, and then it
escalated to her doing drive-bys and pop ups. I’m not the type of
nigga to hide shit because I ain’t ever felt the need to lie about
what I do as a grown ass man, so I had told her all about the
interviews last week. That’s when shit really got out of hand.
At first, she tried to make it seem like she wanted
to help vet the girls. She claimed that she used to help Blu run
Clappers when it first opened and she had an eye for talent. I
quickly found out that her lil’ jealous ass just wanted to be
nosey. The first day of interviews I had a list of ten girls that
were supposed to come through the club. I looked up and it was 1
o’clock, but not one of them had showed up. I ended up calling the
next interviewee and found out that she had received a call from a
woman stating that the interviews had been cancelled until further
notice. What type of shit was that, man? I was 38 hot!
But I had to play it cool. Nakami’s father had been
out of town for the last month or so, so I still hadn’t been able
to kick it about getting back on. I was feeling Nakami, no doubt,
but she was starting to show signs of a crazy bitch and I wasn’t
ready for those type of problems.
“Yo! What the hell is your problem?” I pulled Nakami
to the side and raised my finger, asking Niema to give me a
second.
“I know you not out here fucking Kmart ass hoes
now?” she shouted as she eyeballed Neima.
“No. I’m interviewing dancers for the club, like I
told your ass I would be! What reason do I have to lie to you?” I
asked.
“Every reason, nigga! I looked through your phone
this morning and a bitch named---“
I cut her off. “You went through my phone?!” I
yelled.
She had definitely crossed the line. I could feel
myself ready to fuck some shit up, and if Nakami didn’t get out my
face soon, she was liable to become collateral damage.
“It was ringing incessantly this morning!”
“Fuck that, Nakami. You don’t pay my fucking bill.
Stay off my shit and I’m for real,” I said seriously. “Secondly,
I’m at work. I don’t have time to be arguing with you about some
frivolous shit that you can’t seem to understand. I’m interviewing.
That’s it. I’m not explaining this shit to you again.”
Nakami looked at me with fire burning behind her
eyes. I knew that even if she left right now, this wouldn’t be the
end of this conversation. And I was going to have to put her in her
place gently because I still needed her to set things up with her
father. I couldn’t mess that shit up.
“You know what Grey? Fuck you!” she pushed me in my
chest and ran out of the front door of the club.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep
breath. I walked over to Niema, who was still standing there trying
to process the scene she had just witnessed.
“Look, I’m sorry about that.”
“No worries, boo. Trust me, I’ve seen worse. We gon’
finish this interview or nah?” She grinned.
I smiled back at her, knowing that after that
comment, she already had the job. If she could handle Nakami, she
could handle anything she might encounter at the club. Now the
question was, could I handle Nakami and for how fucking long?
Blu
July 2014
I stood in front of the mirror, a nervous wreck;
me
, Blu Buckley, the bitch who used to twerk sum’n for a few
bills, the chick that used to get on a stage surrounded by drunk
and horny men and fulfill every single one of their fantasies, the
broad that never gave a fuck was about to go on a date and I was
sweating bullets like I was testifying in open court.
Something about Kimani scared the shit out of me.
After our initial encounter at Grey’s grand opening, we’d exchanged
phone numbers and kicked it via text and FaceTime. He was
observant, smooth, aggressive, and confident bordering on cocky. He
had this sexual aura that bled through the phone, and I couldn’t
count how many times I felt my grown ass blushing after the things
he said. He was refreshing, sexy and mad cool.
So why was I nervous? Because this nigga seemed too
good to be true, and I could definitely see myself falling for him.
And that was a big no-no in my book. I had done the relationship
thing a time or two, but most niggas thought my job defined me as a
person. Because I was a stripper I was expected to be their
personal sex slave, their blow-up doll, their 24/7 fantasy. But
fuck that! I was a person too! I wanted to be wined, dined and made
love to. I grew tired of the constant fucking and late night chill
sessions.
Besides the fact that niggas never thought I was good
enough for more than a quick nut, I never believed that I was worth
more than that either. So once I realized that I deserved better, I
sought out better. Or so I thought. Enter Ronelle Kurt. Standing
5’11” with skin the color of a Hershey’s bar and smooth dark hair,
I thought Ronelle was it. I loved that man to the edge of the earth
and back. That was until I found out the nigga was married with a
kid on the way. My dumb ass didn’t take the lack of public outings
and the consistent late night rendezvous as signs that something
wasn’t right with our relationship before it was too late.
I’d always talked shit about the girls who acted like
the earth was ending when their nigga broke up with them, but I
finally understood their pain. It was excruciating and unlike
anything I’d ever felt before. So I said fuck love and changed my
mentality back to being focused on the money. Now the fact that
love, feelings and dates were things that were all back on the
table terrified me. I was terrified of the set-up and the letdown
that was bound to happen. But on the other hand, me and my money
were getting lonely. I just wasn’t sure if I was ready to get back
in the saddle yet. Kimani was a hard man to resist and, because he
had been so insistent on taking me out, I finally caved and we set
a date. Now the day was here, and I wanted to throw up the fear
that was bubbling in my stomach.
“Miss Buckley, you have a guest in the lobby named
Mr. Kimani Summers. Would you like me to send him up?” The
doorman’s voice boomed through the intercom system.
I walked over to the speaker and pressed a button to
speak. “No, tell him I’ll be right down.”
I took a deep breath, grabbed my phone from its
charger, and exited my luxury pad. I took the elevator down and
used the time to check my reflection again to make sure everything
was on point.
Dressed in a pair of skin tight white jeans by AG
Jeans, a white knit turtleneck crop top with no bra, and a peach
colored leather motorcycle jacket by Rebecca Minkoff, I looked
fresh and flirty. The white open-toe fringe sandals by Charline De
Luca added “umph” to my outfit, and my long blue extensions were
pulled up in a high ponytail with a few loose pieces pulled down to
frame my face. I had to admit that I looked stunning and cool,
without looking like I was trying too hard.
Butterflies fluttered around my stomach as the
elevator began to slow. 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, G… I took another deep
breath and stepped off the elevator. I smiled wide at the sight of
Kimani holding a large bouquet of purple orchids. He smiled that
sexy ass grin when he saw me, and my panties got wet right on
cue.
“Hey, beautiful.” His voice was raspy and deep; it
was a tone that made you want to close your eyes and wish that he
was using it to whisper sweet nothings right in your ear.
“Hi,” I said shyly. I walked up on him, taking the
flowers from his hand and giving him a church hug. He was
not
with that. Kimani grabbed me by my waist firmly and
pulled my body into his. I could feel his lips lingering near my
ear, and I swear I turned to putty right there.
“Don’t try and play me like I’m that ugly nigga with
no game that’s always pressing you for a hug. Give a real nigga a
real hug, girl,” he whispered.
I blushed so hard that I thought I had permanently
changed skin tones. I wrapped my arms around him, giving him the
real hug that he requested. His hands roaming my ass didn’t go
unnoticed, but I didn’t say anything about it.