One Taste (4 page)

T
he group meeting had gone into overtime. Seemed like everybody felt like spilling their guts today. Being a good listener, Cochise, who was running the meeting, didn’t rush anyone along. He let the men talk about their lives and what led to their addictions for as long as they needed. As for himself, he was a man of few words.

Although Cochise had told his story numerous times, he’d provided only sketchy details about his past. His past was nobody’s business. The most he was willing to admit was that he’d been so devastated by a personal loss that he’d sought solace in a bottle of gin. Self-medicating morning, noon, and night, he drank until he was numb and unable to feel the pain. One day he woke up in a hospital bed, intravenous tubes running everywhere. He was diagnosed with alcohol poisoning and was lucky to be alive. Alcohol ruined his life. He’d lost everything, but he never took another drink. Now he was determined to rebuild. Being gainfully employed was just the beginning.

Cochise had big plans. The way he saw it, the dozens of men and women who lived at the Recovery House, a program with two locations—one for men and the other for women, needed life skills training as well as job training if they were ever going
to become productive members of society. His plan was to write a proposal to get funding for a program that would help the hard-to-employ, recovering addicts get education and employment training. They needed the security of having real jobs with benefits. Bullshitting around with Mr. Wheeler provided a little chump change, nothing more.

Cochise had been clean for a year now and held the position of assistant house manager, which entitled him to his own room in the group home. It was a small room with a bed and a few crates to store his belongings, but it was his own private quarters and he was grateful. With the meeting now over, he returned to his room to get ready.

Packing his satchel, he threw in bottled water and a bandana to keep dust from his hair. He packed his iPod, his only purchase since he’d been working, and stuck some toothpicks in his shirt pocket. Chewing on toothpicks had become a habit, but at least it was a harmless one.

He checked the time. It was getting late; no time to do his regimented one hundred pushups. In fact, he’d have to jog to Shawna’s apartment and hit it real quick if he expected to get to the pick-up spot on time.

Shawna was real cool. A friend with benefits. He’d met her on the subway. She was loaded down with bags and, being a gentleman, Cochise helped her carry some of her packages. They clicked right off the bat. There was an instant physical attraction, but Cochise had made it clear from jump that he wasn’t looking for a committed relationship. Shawna co-signed, telling him that she’d had her heart broken so many times, the last thing she was looking for was another complicated relationship. A sex buddy was all she wanted, she assured him.

Sounded like a plan to Cochise, but before he got involved he had to be honest. “I’m a recovering alcoholic,” he told Shawna. She nodded in understanding. “I have a ten o’clock curfew on weekends,” he added and waited for a response. Shawna gave a nod. “And on weekdays,” Cochise told her with a sigh, “I work from four to nine up in Philly. By the time I get back to Chester, it’s pretty late and I have to check in at the Recovery House.” He looked her in the eyes. “I’m not going try to hold you. My time is pretty much limited,” he said apologetically.

“I can deal with it,” Shawna said, which surprised the hell out of Cochise. “Holla when you can.”

Cochise grinned from ear to ear. Damn, he had lucked up big time. But it was too soon to get excited. He hadn’t told her about his dick. He didn’t have anything to be ashamed of, but Cochise felt it was only fair to warn a potential sex partner that he had thirteen inches of length and his jawn was thick as shit. He had yet to meet a woman who could handle him until he took the time to open her up and stretch her walls out. Yeah, his dick was husky like a mufucka. He could injure a female real bad if he tried to push all his inches up in her. It took a while to open a female up. Cochise had to dole out the dick a little bit at a time, giving up just a few inches per sex session.

Shawna emitted moans of desire when he revealed that he was working with thirteen thick-ass inches. However, a few days later, when Cochise was ready to hit it and tried to ease just the head of his dick into her tight opening, she cried out in pain. “It hurts. Stop! It’s too big. I can’t do it!”

“Calm down, ma. I’m just gonna give a little bit of the head, aiight?”

Shawna nodded uncertainly.

When Cochise started stirring up her juices with his rounded cap, Shawna relaxed. Trying to be brave, she parted her legs a little wider. Cochise was tempted to force the entire bulbous head of his dick inside her moisture, but exercising self control, he kept his word and inserted just a portion of the rounded tip.

After a few moments, Cochise withdrew from her too-tight opening. He slathered lubricant on Shawna’s soft, warm inner thighs, and guided himself into a space between them. As his long appendage glided in and out of Shawna’s moisture-slick flesh, the shaft stroked her pussy lips and the huge, mushroom-capped head caressed her clit.

With his dick cushioned between her thighs, Cochise worked up a pulsating rhythm and Shawna matched every driving thrust. Ready to explode but not wanting to leave his partner unfulfilled, Cochise stopped pumping. He sat up and gently spread her female lips. “Mmm!” The sound came out in a throaty growl. The pussy was hot and juicy, looked like it was begging for some dick. Maybe Shawna could handle a couple inches. Looking at her soft pinkness made him bite his lip to suppress a loud groan. His pulsing dick had him so disoriented, he grabbed his manhood and started aiming for the source of warmth, momentarily unconcerned about inflicting pain or causing bodily harm.

“No,” Shawna yelled, jolting Cochise to his senses. Looking frightened, she bolted up. “I can’t do it. I can’t take all that dick!”

He looked at the monstrous dick in his hand and released it. “I’m sorry. I know you can’t handle all this,” Cochise said soothingly. “I promise I won’t hurt you,” he assured her. “I just want to make you feel good. Aiight, ma? Trust me. Aiight?” His voice held a pleading tone.

Warily, Shawna eased back. Her legs were tense and trembled
in fear. Cochise kissed her neck, softly grazed each nipple with his teeth, and then moved downward, his long hair sweeping Shawna’s torso, giving her an intense tingling sensation as if a dozen feathers caressed her body. Urging Shawna to trust him, Cochise kissed her pussy and then separated her labia even wider than before, as if preparing her tunnel for deep penetration. She shuddered and murmured sounds that were a mixture of fear and anticipation. “Relax, ma,” he whispered, his breath warming the pink flesh of her opened pussy, causing it to contract with desire.

Cochise slid his shaft against her moist opening and massaged her swollen clit with the colossal helmet of his dick, giving Shawna dual pleasure.

Motivated by pleasure, Shawna threw her legs tightly around Cochise’s back, pulling him closer, gaining better access to the tantalizing friction. Losing possession of her rational mind, she screamed, “Give it to me hard!” Shawna wasn’t thinking clearly. Hot pussy had a way of making a woman talk shit she couldn’t back up. Cochise, now in control of his libido, knew better than to give in to Shawna’s desire. Without having her pussy walls sufficiently stretched, he knew she could end up in the emergency room with internal bleeding or badly damaged female organs.

Cochise allowed himself to be pulled in by Shawna’s insistent thighs, but he refused to penetrate. Maintaining self-control, he stroked her parted pussy until he created friction that was so intense, Shawna moaned and clawed at his muscular shoulders and then raked her nails across his well-developed back. Her body trembled. Her creamy nectar coated the head of his dick and then trickled down his shaft.

“Please,” she murmured, needing sexual release so badly she was willing to endure the pain of penetration from his mighty
weapon. Unwilling to risk fucking up her insides, he licked the pussy until her body quaked. After Shawna’s heart rate slowed down, she sat up, intending to return the favor. She guided Cochise’s thickness to her mouth. He entered the warm, moist place slowly, rubbing the cap of his dick against the soft insides of her cheeks. With her tongue, she circled the portion of his length that fit inside her mouth and put a suction hold around his girth.

Her lips puckered around his rigid flesh. Though she could take in only a little more than a quarter of his length, her mouth worked on his hard meat, slurping and contracting like a vagina. Cochise wished he could push his dick all the way in. He’d never experienced the sensation of having his entire dick inside a woman’s mouth. He took rapid breaths, imagining Shawna’s lips wrapped around the base, his nuts brushing against her chin. The mental picture excited him, made his dick thump in preparation of jetting out a rush of cum. It would have been polite to ask if she swallowed, but Cochise was too far gone to think about good manners. Groaning, he ejaculated inside her warm mouth. It felt so good, he had to restrain himself from verbally thanking her. Speaking those words would have been corny as hell, so he let his loud moan convey his gratitude when he received the added pleasure of feeling her constricting throat as she swallowed his gushing load.

For a while, Shawna accepted their no-strings-attached sexual encounters, assuring Cochise that commitment was the last thing on her mind. But that was a few months ago. Today, judging by the look on Shawna’s face after they’d had sex, the situation had clearly changed.

“Are you leaving already?” Shawna sounded disgruntled as she lay naked, curled on her side.

“Yeah. You know I have to go to work,” he responded casually though he could tell Shawna was getting heated. While he stepped into his jeans, Shawna watched, her eyes filled with a combination of hurt and fury. Her shoulders rose as she inhaled anger and then sagged as she gave a long, sad sigh. “What’s wrong?” he asked, though he knew the answer. It was obvious Shawna had caught feelings for him. Cochise was running late; he didn’t have time to pacify her, to gently remind her that they’d both agreed to a friendship and not a love affair. He had to hustle out of her crib if he expected to meet the van on time. He knew Mr. Wheeler wouldn’t leave him behind, but Cochise didn’t feel like hearing the man give a speech about the virtues of being organized, the virtues of being prompt, the virtues of hard labor, and yada, yada, yada. Mr. Wheeler had a lot of nerve complaining about anything with the way he was carrying on with Onika. What a hypocrite. A married man getting it on with a young girl half his age.

Shawna sniffled, demanding Cochise’s attention.

“Yo, what’s wrong?” he asked again.

“
You’re
what’s wrong, Cochise. How do you think I feel, watching you jump into your clothes two seconds after you bust a nut?”

“I gotta go to work, ma. Why you trying to have beef with me like I’m doing something wrong?” Cochise gathered his blanket of dark hair and pulled it back into a neat ponytail.

She poked out her lips. “How come you never do anything nice—like bring me flowers or take me out to dinner?”

“Yo, we cool and everything, but you know it’s not like that. I thought we were on the same page.”

Shawna looked at him askance. “Give me the page number. Since I can’t even get a real kiss me or any type of affection, I know I’m on the wrong page. Shit, I doubt if we’re even on the
same chapter. You treat me like I’m some type of sex toy—a blow-up doll—or pocket pussy,” Shawna complained, showing a feisty side Cochise had never seen.

Cochise checked his watch. He had to roll out. “Look, I thought we had an arrangement. I guess I was wrong. Maybe we should stop seeing each other.” His words came out sounding cruel, so he tried to soften them. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Shawna. I’m not cold-hearted like some dudes, but I told you what it is from the door.” Cochise refused to let Shawna guilt him into something he wasn’t ready for.

“Oh! It’s like that? The minute I speak my mind, you want to put the brakes on our relationship. I can’t believe you want to end it, just like that!” Shawna snapped her fingers for emphasis. “You have a lot of nerve treating me like crap after all I’ve done for you.”

Cochise frowned. “We gave each other pleasure. I didn’t take anything I didn’t give.”

“Oh no? Well, your dick’s not bent out of shape, is it?”

Cochise frowned, not comprehending.

“Yeah, your dick hasn’t changed at all, but my pussy is all beat up. You’re walking out the same way you came in but I’m left with damaged goods. I should’ve stuck with letting you bust a nut between my thighs. I must have been crazy to let you put your big-ass dick all the way up in my pussy, stretching it out so wide, a regular-sized man won’t be able to feel shit when he’s up in it. He’s gonna feel like he just dropped his dick inside the Grand fucking Canyon! Who do you think is going to want to have sex with a gutted-out, deformed pussy? When a nigga pushes up in a bitch, he wants to feel some tight walls clenching up around his shit.”

The degree of Shawna’s anger was disturbing. Cochise felt guilty. He walked over to the bed and rubbed Shawna’s shoulder. She misunderstood the gesture. Thinking he’d had a change of heart, Shawna reached for his other hand, kissing his fingers and the back of his hand with fervent devotion.

Gently, Cochise withdrew his hand. “I just wanted to tell you,” he said awkwardly, “um, your vagina will shrink back over time. It’ll shrink down to the size of the next man—”

Shawna flinched as if his words had scorched her ears. “Fuck you, Cochise,” she exploded. “Get out!”

B
lackouts
was the name given to new admissions who were fresh off the hellish streets and who were still lethargic from detoxing. The haggard-looking and poorly attired women looked at Onika and her fancy cell phone with the yearning of morbidly obese young girls watching Rihanna prance half-naked across the television screen.

“I’m out,” Onika yelled to the house manager, who was in the kitchen overseeing the preparation of the evening meal.

“You got your key?” the woman bellowed from the kitchen.

“Yup,” she said, jiggling her keys. “See you when I get off from work tonight.” Before bouncing out the door, Onika turned to the dull-eyed
blackouts
and gave them a triumphant smile, informing them that her world was much better than theirs.

Mr. Faison and Theo were already sitting in the van when Onika arrived at the corner of Ninth and Central. She eased into the front seat, her unspoken designated spot. “Where’s Cochise?” she asked, turning to the two men in the back. They responded with mumbles and shrugs. She gave Matt a questioning look.

“I don’t know what’s up with Cochise and his moody self,” Matt said. “But if he wants to stay in this program…”

Strolling toward the van, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed in his pockets, brows furrowed, Cochise looked mad at the world.
Without an apology or explanation for his lateness, he got into the van and maneuvered his large frame into the seat behind Theo and Mr. Faison. His facial expression forbade anyone to question him.

And no one did. There was a collective sigh of relief among the three workers. Cochise’s arrival assured them of a lighter work load.

Matt was relieved as well, but didn’t let it show. He demonstrated his disapproval of Cochise’s tardiness by making a wide and screeching U-turn into oncoming traffic. Onika let out a cry and grabbed the overhead handle while Mr. Faison fell across Theo’s lap. Theo pushed the man off and took a quick nip from his flask.

“Yo, man. You don’t have to try to kill us to get your point across,” grumbled Cochise. “I’m five minutes late, so sue me.” Cochise snapped on his headphones, closed his eyes, and ignored everyone for the duration of the ride to Philly.

On Fridays, Matt and the crew cleaned a building on Germantown Avenue, a building where a host of black professionals rented space. There was a black law firm, an accounting firm, an optician, a dental practice, and a chiropractor. Matt hated the place. There was always some stuffed shirt, some pompous-ass Negro roaming the premises, following Matt and his crew, pointing out what required special attention. On one occasion, the chiropractor, a wizened old kook who didn’t look like he had the strength to crack anyone’s bones, sauntered up to Matt and pointed out a smudge on the doorknob to his office. Matt couldn’t imagine how a busy professional had the time to inspect a damn doorknob. Now, his white clientele…they left him alone, allowed his crew to work in peace. If they had complaints, they put it in writing.

For Matt, however, the worst part of cleaning that building on Germantown Avenue was that he had no private time with Onika. And being alone with Onika had quickly become his top priority.

Matt swung up to the building. “Listen up, fellas. I have a new contract up in the Tioga section. It’s light work, so I shouldn’t be more than an hour or so. You guys know the routine…start with the dental office and work your way up,” Matt instructed. “Onika’s gonna take the ride with me and handle the dusting and polishing and whatnot.”

Onika frowned. “What? Why do I have to go with you?” She stretched her neck anxiously to the back of the van. “Take Mr. Faison,” she urged.

“No, I need him to handle the lobby,” Matt said.

Cochise usually put up a fuss about the unfairness of Onika getting all the easy assignments. But not today. He and the other two workers seemed resigned to the favoritism that was bestowed upon her. Cochise bobbed his head to the music, giving no sign of his usual righteous indignation.

After the guys unloaded the equipment, Matt swung the van into traffic and headed for North Philly. Onika rode in hostile silence. He parked in front of a cheap hotel on the corner of Broad and Poplar that rented rooms by the hour. Onika was quite familiar with the hotel; it had been one of her haunts back when she was hustling for rock, but goddamn, she was in recovery now. Didn’t she deserve a come-up? Would it kill the cheap bastard to get a room in a real hotel?

She recognized the clerk at the front desk and he recognized her. He gave Onika a wink as he handed Matt the key to room 207.

The musty-smelling shit hole of a room brought back memories—exciting memories that put goose bumps up and down her arms as she recalled the euphoric feeling of being high. Suddenly, Onika felt antsy; there was no way in hell she could put up with Mr. Wheeler’s bad fucking without some assistance. A couple of hits off the pipe shouldn’t hurt.

“I’ll be right back; I have to go to the bathroom,” she said anxiously as she exited the room under the pretense of going to the restroom at the end of the hall. She detoured down the stairs and rapidly headed for the front desk. Batting her lashes at the clerk, she leaned across the desk. “Whassup, Duke?”

“Whatcha need?” Duke asked.

Onika held up two fingers.

In exchange for two balled-up ten-dollar bills, Duke stealthily handed Onika a piece of white rock wrapped in a torn corner of a sandwich bag that was tied at the end—a makeshift crack container.

“You gotta pipe?”

Duke stared at her in disgust. “Where’s your shit?”

“I’ve been clean for a minute.”

“I ain’t got no pipe for you to borrow, but I’ll sell you a kit for ten bucks.” He reached under the desk and brought up a cylindrical glass tube and a mesh screen.

Frowning, Onika examined the pipe. “That cheap shit will probably bust the minute I put some heat on it.”

“Whatever,” Duke said, “You can walk around the corner to the store if you think you can get something better, but I can guarantee you, they gonna sell you the same shit. You know the deal, Onika. How they gonna get return customers if they sell sturdy-ass, unbreakable pipes? You gotta work with what you got.”

“That’s fucked up,” she said, tossing Duke an additional ten dollars before trotting off to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, she was back in room 207. She scowled as she examined her fingertips, which were charred from repeatedly flicking the flame to the pipe.

“What happened? I was starting to worry about you,” Matt said, looking flustered.

“I’m straight.” But Onika sounded far from straight. Her words
were slightly garbled, like she didn’t quite know where to place her tongue.

Horny as hell, Matt didn’t notice. Naked and lying prone, he beckoned her. “Come on, baby, we ain’t got a lot of time. Sit on my face real quick so my dick can get hard.”

Feeling high enough to be able to put up with her limp-dick sugar daddy, Onika glided over to the bed, pulled off her panties, and straddled Matt’s face.

Matt flicked his tongue against Onika’s clit and then gently trapped it between his teeth, tongue lashing it until Onika moaned. The sexy sounds that escaped her lips prompted Matt to jut his tongue into her opening. His tongue caressed her vaginal walls, licked places inside her pussy hole that his small penis could never reach. Using his tongue the way he wished he could use his dick, Matt jutted it in and out at a frenzied pace.

“Fuck me, Mr. Wheeler; I need your big dick up in me.” Onika spoke the words without emotion, like a poorly trained actress in a porn flick.

Matt knew his appendage was far from being big, but he loved that Onika found it to be so. “Here I come, baby,” he exclaimed, turning Onika on her back and spreading her legs. “I’m gonna give you all this big dick!” He started groaning and spurting cum before he even touched her vagina.

Making the best of his quick ejaculation, Onika got up and raced to the bathroom to get a couple more hits. “Gotta go wash up; be right back.”

“Hey, baby, what’s that smell?” Matt asked when she returned a few minutes later.

Onika shrugged. “What smell?”

“I don’t know.” He sniffed at the air. “Like a burning cigarette, but stronger.”

Fury distorted her facial features. “How the hell am I supposed to know what goes on in this shit hole?” Glaring at him, she folded her arms in irritation. “Can you let me hold something?”

“How much?” he asked warily.

“A couple beans.”

“You know I don’t speak that ghetto language, Onika. How much are you asking for?”

“Two or three hundred dollars, or as much as you can give me.”

“What for? You know I planned to put a down payment on that apartment Saturday, and you’re going to need furniture. Baby, I’m not rich; we’re going to have to tighten up a little.”

“I need my hair done,” she said huffily. She frowned down at her nails. “All this cleaning and polishing I do on the job is fucking with my fingernails. I need a manicure, too.”

Against his better judgment, but unable to refuse her request, Matt dug into his pocket and brought out a twenty and a ten. “Baby, this is all I have on me right now. You can get your nails done with this, can’t you?”

She sucked her teeth. “What about my hair?” she asked sulkily and then snatched the bills from his hand.

“I’ll have more cash tomorrow.” Matt sounded grieved.

“How much?” Onika perked up.

“I’ll try to get my hands on an extra hundred.”

“That’s all?” Onika poked out her lips.

“Or two,” Matt added. “Baby, please get back in bed. You’ve got me in the mood again. You look so sexy when you’re angry with me.”

Onika rolled her eyes to show him just how angry she was. “I have to pee.”

“Again?”

“Yeah,” she responded with defiance. “Do you think I like walking all the way down the damn hall to take a piss?”

Matt watched in silence as Onika sashayed out of the room. Two minutes later, she made another purchase from Duke and this time she stayed in the bathroom for twenty minutes.

Onika came back to the room wearing a more pleasant expression than when she’d left. Taking advantage of her improved mood, Matt made a bold request. “Get on your hands and knees for me, baby.”

His words drew a look of disbelief from Onika. “Why? You wanna try to hit it doggy-style?” As high as she was, she knew there was no way his little dick could accomplish that feat.

“No, I want to do something else,” he said eagerly, breathing hard as he assisted in positioning her on all fours. He pried her legs apart, creating a lot of space between them. Then he crawled up behind her and began slowly licking her pussy from behind. Onika pushed her tiny ass up in the air to accommodate the pussy-licker, giving him plenty of access to her love hole. She could feel frenetic movement behind her and knew he was jerking himself off, which was fine with her.

His tongue, in sync with his hand, worked at a feverish pace. He licked her pussy so fast and so deep, Onika seemed to vibrate until she released a glob of sticky honey. Matt lapped up every drop; he even sucked off the stickiness that was embedded in her pubic hairs. Making a young girl climax boosted Matt’s ego. He raised his head, beaming with pride.

“You’re a freak, Mr. Wheeler,” Onika approved with a lazy grin.

Back in his room after work later that night, Cochise, trying to forget the pained look in Shawna’s eyes, the hysteria in her voice, decided to work on his proposal. He wished he had access to a computer, but since he didn’t the proposal was handwritten. In a
black and white composition book, Cochise had outlined a proposal to apply for a grant to train and provide gainful employment for recovering addicts, ex-cons, the outcasts from society who most often returned to unhealthy lifestyles due to their inability to earn a decent living.

Cochise opened the top dresser drawer and groped around for a pen. As he rummaged through the drawer, his fingers touched upon a sharp edge. Curious, he pulled it out and instantly wished he hadn’t. It was a cheap metal picture frame. Instead of a glass covering, a dented dusty plastic square protected the photograph.

At first he smiled sadly at the photograph. The painful memory slowly crept into his mind and then struck like a blow that made Cochise grunt in agony and stumble backward until his large, muscular body fell upon the creaky narrow bed. Rocking and moaning, Cochise cried out her name.
Tierra
. God help him…the pain was intense. He needed a drink.

Raising up slightly, he looked around his barren room, his arm outstretched as if it were possible that a bottle of gin might miraculously materialize in his hour of need. He thought of taking his few dollars and hitting the nearest bar. But he endured the emotional turmoil until it passed and clear thinking returned.

Instead of replacing the picture in the dresser drawer, Cochise carefully wrapped the photograph in a pillowcase and placed it on the top shelf of the closet. He pushed it into a far corner behind a pile of old T-shirts, seldom-worn sweaters, and other old clothing, where he wouldn’t likely come across Tierra’s picture anytime soon.