Erotic City (11 page)
He could feel its pulse pounding in waves back at him. He moaned, “Uh-huh. Uh-huh.”
“Damnit!” she yelled loudly. She dropped the plastic cup. The remaining gin and juice formed a small puddle on the balcony floor. He still continued giving head.
And then, Milan’s pussy popped with a stream of juices that seeped and spilled like her drink. She bit her fist to mute her loud screams. “Shit,” she said, making
a point to try to keep it down. Lavender still did not retreat from the strength of her multiple orgasm.
She moved her hips and placed her hand along the top of his head to push him away. The force had created a sensitivity that she could no longer bear.
Lavender looked up at her with smiling eyes and glazed lips and went back down to taste her secretions with his absorbent tongue. He grinned and put his hand on his penis, which was hidden under his clothes. It stood tall like it was next in line, waiting patiently to get in on the action.
She spoke sexily. “Take those off. You juiced this pussy up, now you need to fuck it.”
Lavender came to a stance and pulled off his shirt. Milan moved the chairs back and leaned onto the banister, placing her hands on the rail, facing the voyeuristic beach. Lavender stepped out of his pants and boxers and positioned himself behind her, bending down slightly to secure his point of entry, but not before he inserted his middle finger to locate the exact, cum-laden spot.
“Yep. You’re ready,” he said.
He placed one hand on her lower back, and guided his penis to the entrance of her vagina. He parked it there and put both hands alongside her hips. He first inserted just the head, and gave a few shallow thrusts.
She wiggled him inside. “Deeper, baby. Gimme all that good dick. Fuck me.” She tried to bridle her X-rated volume as she shook her hips back at him.
He teased her for a bit and slowly leaned forward, sliding inside, farther and farther, diving in headfirst. Her swollen opening took him in, hugging his dick with welcoming walls.
Milan held on with all her might, again watching those who seemed to have no idea that their presence made the juices flow even stronger.
“This is some good shit here,” he said loudly.
“Uh-huh.” Milan was being hit hard.
He shook his wide dick in and out of her like he was about to break it off inside.
“This shit is slippery. Damn, baby.” His level of turn on was obvious.
“Uh-huh.” Milan was being dick-dunked.
He thrust his shaft down the throat of her deep pussy, and he, too, looked out along the ocean and the view of the people strolling along. He spotted one single female who looked as though her eyes were fixed upon them, too. She was a young curvy Latina.
His crucifix swayed as he laid the pipe. His dick grew even harder. “You know I’d like to fuck that one right there while you watch.”
“You would?” Milan immediately spotted her man’s object of affection.
“You’d stand behind me and rub my back while I took that from behind like this.”
“I know you’d get it good, too.”
“I would.”
She said, “I see her looking. Go deeper, baby. Get you some.”
Lavender pumped his well-defined ass muscles back and forth into Milan’s willing cunt. He thrust his hips all the way forward and took full advantage. He could feel the extra wetness stirred up by the strength of his stroke.
He kept his sights on the young woman and held tighter to Milan’s hips, slamming into her with every muscle in his body as Milan’s pussy adopted him.
“Get it good, baby.” Milan continued to buck. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Yeah.”
After one extra deep push, his meat had all it could take and it began to surrender. His violent expulsion traveled from his balls to his head. He bit his lip.
He suddenly yanked himself out, holding on to his base, and railed on her viscously as his climax rushed out of him. He let out a long, intense, unintelligible groan. His excess of pleasure slurred his speech. “Oh umh ahhh umph uummmmgg.” Her backside looked like the top of Mt. Everest.
“Uh-huh,” Milan said, looking back at his stream of semen. “That’s my baby. You’re a damn Picasso.”
“Uh-huh,” was all he could say.
He took one step back and held his hand under his stiff dick.
Milan still leaned over the balcony. She noticed the young woman begin to slowly walk away, still seeming to look their way. “That was a long nut there. Damn.”
“Damn is right. You’re my bad girl.” His heavy breathing was obvious.
“Just doing what we do.”
He leaned down to kiss her back. “That’s what I’m saying.”
Milan reasserted, “You and your damn fuck fantasies. Don’t get your ass in trouble.”
“She Get It from Her Mama”
M
ilan and Tamiko’s mother, Ming Li Kennedy, had been free spirited and extra wild in her younger days. She was born in Miami, but her Japanese mother and Chinese father divorced when she was ten. They divorced because Ming’s mother had an affair. Even though Ming’s father had many women before that, he left her and went back home to start a new life without them.
Ming’s mother was reared in Japan with an emphasis on a woman’s physical pleasure being a means to encourage women to have many children. The traditions accepted the fact that men would be away from the family, visit brothels or bordellos, and Ming’s father did just that. The women did not stress their men about their absence. The traditional belief was that women didn’t enjoy sex as much as men, and women’s sexual needs were for purposes of procreation only. Ming’s mother did not agree.
Ming and her mother rarely agreed on anything. She had raised a radical daughter. Ming left home when she was sixteen. She did what she had to do to take care of herself, living here and there until she found an older man who fit the title of sugar daddy. He wanted her all to himself. He took care of her as long as she would play the role of trophy woman.
Ming looked the part. She was breasty and five seven, both of which were unusual for the women in her family. She always wore her straight black hair in a sophisticated precision cut just above her shoulders. Her bangs were short and thick. And she was never seen without makeup, not even lipstick.
By the time she was twenty-seven, she left him and started working for the first time in her life. She spent another ten years getting to know herself and exploring life and having fun, but she never did experience love. Not with him. Not with anyone. That is until she was well into her thirties when she met the rich and famous entertainer, Charlie Kennedy.
Charlie was a playboy for years and never had any kids that he knew of. His focus was being a single man on the road, enjoying all that life had to offer the well known. That included having as much sex as he could, whether it was from a semiregular girl, or a complete stranger. He believed men just wanna have fun. And the money he made allowed him full privilege of doing just that.
He would go to underground nightclubs in every city. He was always recognized and was one of the last ones to leave. But he never left alone. For Charlie Kennedy, there wasn’t much he hadn’t tried.
One weekend Charlie traveled to Hawaii for a concert, and he met Ming. She was actually lounging out on a beach called Bottoms Up while on vacation from her dreaded job as an executive assistant for a marketing company. The stretch of beach in Maui was clothing optional, and both Ming and Charlie took that option.
Charlie walked up to Ming after noticing she’d lowered her oversize sunglasses past the bridge of her tiny nose to get a better view of his generous anatomy, and he made a spot for himself on the towel next to her. Within six months, the two were married.
After years of enjoying being single and without children, Ming quickly found herself pregnant at the age of thirty-eight, giving birth to Milan while they were in Milan, Italy, for one of his performances. She also gave birth to Tamiko two years later in Atlanta, where they had bought a second home.
It was a given that Charlie would be gone most of the year, and Ming would assume the role of homemaker and mother. She was somewhat familiar with that concept even though she didn’t stay around her mother long enough to really get a good grasp of it. She didn’t agree with anything old-fashioned. But, despite her sometimes radical nature, she respected her man as the head of the household in Miami or in Atlanta.
Ming enjoyed being a mother. She was more progressive and hip than most moms. Milan’s and Tamiko’s friends always saw Ming as the cool mom and envied the girls for their mother’s easy spirit. Milan inherited her mother’s attitudes about sex. That it was not a sin. That men would be men. And that women, too, could be women.
On the regular, Ming would walk around the house in her white cotton underwear, sometimes without a bra. And she had been a chain smoker for thirty years. It was a fact that when she was at home, she’d have a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
The one-quarter Japanese and one-quarter Chinese mixture in both Milan and Tamiko were physically obvious. They had almond-shaped dark eyes, high cheek-bones, and jet-black hair. Their black father’s genes were more obvious in Tamiko.
Charlie was crazy about all three of them, and he’d shower them with gifts, though over time Ming’s gifts became less frequent. After about fifteen years of life with Charlie, Ming received a call from a woman who said she’d been in love with Charlie for years and that it was time Ming knew. She said she had met Charlie at a law office where she worked. Ming listened and calmly hung up. She never confronted Charlie about it. She knew he’d recently been gone twice as much as before, even though everyone knew his career was starting to dwindle.
One day, the day he was to return from a flight to Chicago, he didn’t come home. He’d returned to Atlanta but moved into a home with Nancy Clark. Nancy was young, she was white, and she was known as being a Hollywood groupie. She’d caught a big fish in Charlie Kennedy. Even if he never performed another day in his life, he was a multimillionaire.
When the girls were still in high school, their mother got sick and within ten months, she passed away from lung cancer. But not before she’d gotten herself hooked up with a boy toy of her own, who was twenty years her junior. She was never one to sit around and cry over spilt milk. From the moment of her death, they saw Nancy as a home wrecker who they were forced to live with, hopefully for as short a time as possible.
Milan moved out first, getting an apartment with her dad’s money, yet wasting it any way she could. She got deep into the pipe and ended up getting evicted. Not from lack of money, but from staying too high to remember to pay her bills. The first time she smoked a blunt was when she was only ten. At the age of twenty, she moved in with a man she’d met in a nightclub and he kicked her out a few months later. She lay around all day and spent money all night.
Tamiko got her own place in Stone Mountain and Milan moved in with her. Tamiko couldn’t stand seeing her sister do nothing but sleep and party. She encouraged her to go to school or find a line of work or invest her money, but Milan refused.
One night, they got a call that their father had a stroke. He recovered but only performed two more times, as his voice was never the same. He lived another three years. Milan stepped up to take care of him. She bought a home in Atlanta and spent half her time with him around the time she opened Erotic City.
Tamiko became his personal assistant, handling all of his business matters.
Meanwhile, instead of taking care of her husband, Nancy was running the streets. Charlie believed Nancy was having an affair or two and wanted a divorce. Nancy refused to move out until the divorce was final. And the day it was, Milan called the moving van herself. The divorce agreement stated that she would accept a six-figure amount and waive her rights to any of his property and earnings. One month after that, Charlie died of a heart attack.
Suddenly, Nancy Clark Kennedy wanted her fair share.
Her fair share for spending so many years of her life with a rich and famous man.
Her just monies in spite of the fact that she was left out of her dead ex-husband’s will.
“Like Father, Like Son”
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
4:44 p.m.
I
t was late afternoon. Milan and Lavender had just returned from their relaxing stay in Panama City. They both picked up Taj from school and headed to Lavender’s house for the night.
“Milan, can I please have some cake?” Taj asked as he sat on the black velvet chair at his father’s breakfast nook. His wide, hungry young eyes were stuck on the crystal cake dish on the counter. His fourth-grade homework was spread out along the glass kitchen table.
Taj was the spitting image of Lavender. He had curly hair and was very muscular for his age. Even a little stocky. He looked like a football player in the making.
Milan wore a long, rose-colored robe, searching the cabinets to see what she could throw together for dinner. She’d never made it to the grocery store to stock up on items for her home, or Lavender’s. Her hair was up in a banana clip, and she was barefoot.
Milan said with a smiling face, “Taj, we’re about to eat dinner soon. How about if we have some dessert when we’re done?” She headed to the refrigerator and checked the freezer.
Taj peeled his eyes away from the cake and looked down at his work. “Okay. Did you make the cake?”
“No. Your dad bought it at a place on Memorial Drive. It’s really good.”
“I love caramel cake. I love all kinds of cake.”
“Join the club.”
Lavender walked into the kitchen wearing a white wife-beater and jeans after taking Taj’s bag into his bedroom. He rubbed the top of Taj’s head as he walked by. “Hey, little man. I see you’ve jumped right into getting your homework done.”
Taj nodded. “Yeah.”
Lavender stepped up to a stack of mail that he’d placed on the sink when they’d walked in earlier. He made a point of placing a kiss on Milan’s cheek along the way. “Hey, baby.”
“Hey. How about some spaghetti for dinner? You’ve got ground turkey and some Ragù. Do you have any noodles?”
