Erotic City (22 page)

Lavender grinned, closed the door, and left. But the erotic party still went on like clockwork.

The orgy room members were fucking without feelings.

Strange hands against unfamiliar bodies.

The sign on the door said No Jealousy Allowed.

The song “The Freaks Come Out at Night” was playing over the speakers.

The sweet scent of group sex was thick.

It smelled like a threesome.

Or a foursome.

Or a moresome.

With some who were bi, tri, or quad.

Big, beautiful titties jiggling in circular motions to the sound of wall-to-wall, sweaty, flopping flesh.

Big, beautiful dicks were slinging deep and then shallow and then deep again, being milked to the liquid sounds of creamy feminine secretions.

Some were your everyday, friendly, neighborhood Joe and Jane Average.

Your bankers.

Your bus drivers.

Your day care workers.

Your coworkers.

Half were single.

Half were married.

But all were down.

For whatever it took to get them off.

It was an appropriate mix of about six couples, as well as two single vanilla women and one single chocolate man, sprawled out on wall-to-wall mattresses. Against one wall there were purple velvet drapes and another wall was all mirrors . . . mirrors of darkened glass for the Peeping Toms. Clothes were left at the door in assigned lockers.

The fifteen swinging members were engaged in a game of passionate and playful fucking, all huddled together, screaming with excitement, humping vigorously, getting off wildly. All of the uninhibited clutching and digging was accompanied by roaring screams that signaled the height of their frenzied spasms.

Two women formed a pink taco stand, pressing their pussies together, grinding against each other’s opening. They had the exact same equipment. One of them moved from the grind to offer a pound of tongue to her temporary, same-sex mate, even eating her out from behind.

One sandy-haired woman was a biggun everyone was sho-nuff diggin. Her ass was the color of hot buttered rum. She looked butch but one would suppose she was a dick hound, as she appeared to be about ready to collapse into unconsciousness with a long, stiff one up in her.

One of the accountant-looking husbands had her bent over the mattress to fuck her in the ass in front of his wife. Her right hip read Georgia Peach. And his gloved joystick was deep into her anal cavity.

She looked back at him with her smoky topaz eyes and said, “Yeah. Fuck that ass.”

The tight grip upon his dick signaled that he had reached his entry limit. His cave dwelling fetish was on high.

He tried his best to break her back, pumping in and out in the exact measure of her hysterical wails. His blonde wife was wide-eyed while in the middle of a missionary fuck by a long and slender, blue black dick, as one of the single, macadamia-colored women sucked her right nipple like she was lactating. The wife looked over at her husband while he wore out the big girl’s ass, much like he’d worn out his own wife’s pussy. The wife spanked her own clit and closed her eyes at the onslaught of cumming, ripping a squeal. She hit a high note like Mariah that showed itself between her legs, coating her strong lover’s cock as it oozed from her extrahairy vagina.

Her husband took in an eyeful of her never-before-seen excitement and held on to the got-much-back, wonder-woman ass that was bent over before him. He continued to pound and his excited dick trembled. He shot a nut that was more intense than any nut he’d felt in all of his forty-something years. He looked like someone squeezed the wetness from him like a dishrag. The condom was full.

There was an older black couple on a nearby mattress. She wore extralong French braids. He had a head full of hair, a little more salt than pepper. They laid a few white towels under the woman’s healthy butt while her boyfriend inserted a lime green Popsicle inside of her. As he pulled it out, she sighed repeatedly. The frozen treat came out much smaller than it went in, and the green juices traced a path down the crack of her ass. He again inserted it in and out until finally, there was nothing left. Her heated cave had melted it down to liquid that coated her sweet lips, and onto the towel beneath her.

He sucked what was left on the wooden stick and then tossed it. His face found her split and he cleaned her up, licking her juices and placing pussy kisses against her skin. Within one minute, he sat up and inserted his dick inside of her to feel what was left of the cold juices that had permeated her insides.

He pressed her legs back. “Fuck. That’s so nice.”

She said as though drunk, “Oh, baby, you have no idea.” She looked to her left side. “I want him to fuck me, too,” she said as her long braids flung over her face. One of the brunet husbands stood over his wife who was sucking a long one while he masturbated. After hearing the black woman’s request, he looked over at her and stepped toward the couple. Her boyfriend pulled out and his eyes said
go right ahead.
The husband slipped on a Trojan and stepped up to her, inserting himself while her boyfriend went around toward her face to masturbate.

The man’s Indian-looking wife saw him getting a taste of another woman’s pussy, and she backed away from the dick she’d hardened on contact, turning around on all fours to watch her husband, while the man stuck himself in her hole. She received him deep. She was aroused. He was aroused.

She growled like she had a tiger in her tank. “Get that pussy, baby. Fuck her good.” She flung her long, dark brown hair to and fro.

Her husband looked back and said, “You know I will. You know how I do it.” His dick was white but he spoke with soul. It wouldn’t be long before he shot his load.

The black woman began a rhythmic holler as she turned to watch her boyfriend yank himself. She gripped the sheets and took the long ride to fuck-dom cum. She fucked the man like he was a G-spot dildo. Arousal engulfed her. Her boyfriend continued self-pleasing as the white dick dove into the course-haired brown muff of his woman of ten years. She pressed her curved, Bordeaux nails into the stranger’s defined back and licked her abundant lips that matched her nails as she rode through her loud, tornadic cum.

Her erotic sex sounds of cunt choking cock were animalistic. They were barbaric. They were cavernous. And they were turning everyone in the room the fuck on. It was orgyville. The residents were living the fuckin “life.”

35

“Let’s Go Crazy”

Saturday, May 24, 2008
9:31 a.m.

T
he next morning, Lavender took a moment to return a few calls from home. As was usually the case, he rarely answered his cell when he was at the club.

He made a call that he dreaded. His words were bland. “What, Ramada? Why do I have seventeen calls from you in a row? Is something wrong with Taj?” He was willing to bet Taj was fine.

She spoke loud and fast. “Do I always have to continue to wait until the morning hours of the following day for you to call me back when I leave messages? My God. When I woke up this morning, I was about to call that house I know you’re probably at right now. Seems that’s the only way I get your damn attention.”

He frowned. “Milan changed her number a while ago since you just couldn’t seem to show some damn respect. What’s the big emergency?”

She popped her tongue. “Yeah, well, whatever. I need you to watch Taj today.”

“What’s up?”

“I have an appointment. A job interview. Like I said in the message, it’s really important.”

“A job interview on a Saturday?”

“Yeah. And? You got a problem with that?”

Lavender wanted to tell her what he really had a problem with was the fact that he even met her in the first place, but that would have meant no Taj. Instead he asked, “What time and for how long?”

“I can drop him off at your house at noon. My meeting is at one-thirty.”

“So you’re saying watch him for a couple of hours?” he asked, thinking to himself that would not be enough time to spend with his son. He didn’t want to feel like a babysitter.

“I guess so. Unless it takes longer. Dang, you’re usually beggin for more time with him.” She acted like she knew him well. But she was wrong. “Now it seems like I have to convince you to see your son. Feels like I’m sellin something to you, like I’m peddlin Avon products, damn.”

“I’ll come and get him at noon and drop him off at eight.”

“Well, excuse me.”

He hung up without replying to her usual sarcasm.

That afternoon at Lavender’s house, Milan walked into Taj’s room just two minutes after Lavender left to get them something to eat from Checkers. “Hey, Taj. What’s been up with you?”

“Not much.” He stood from sitting upon his bed and walked quickly to hug Milan. He held a Nintendo DS in hand.

She bent down and hugged him tightly. “Boy, you’re gonna be taller than your dad soon, that’s for sure.”

He spoke as he backed away and headed back to his bed. “I hope so. I eat a lot. I’m trying to play football. But, I can’t play sports. My mom doesn’t want me to get hurt.”

Milan leaned against the doorway. “Do you think you’ll get hurt?”

“No. I’ll knock ’em down.”

Milan laughed at the way he used his right hand to demonstrate his strength. “I’ll bet you would.”

“Is Dad bringing me a lemonade?”

“I don’t know. I’ll call him and see, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Okay. Thanks, Milan.” Taj sat on his bed and turned to insert his iPod earpiece, bouncing his head to the beat.

Milan stepped away from his room and into the kitchen. She took her phone from her purse on the counter and prepared to dial, when she heard a knock at the door. And then the doorbell sounded. Over and over. And the knocking got louder.

She headed through the family room and into the foyer to the front door.

“Who is it?” she asked. But her view through the peephole answered her question. She gave a sigh and twisted her lips.

“It’s Ramada.” Ramada’s voice was strong.

Milan turned the doorknob and opened the Blackwood door halfway. She kept her hand on the knob. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Erotica. I saw your car, dumb ass. Your man doesn’t make room for you in his garage? Bad sign. The real question is what are you doing here? This was supposed to be Taj and his dad spending time together. Where is DeMarcus anyway?” Ramada peeked behind Milan’s back.

Milan stepped out onto the brick, portico porch and pulled the door to. She stood barefoot in a light blue JLo sweat suit with her blood boiling. “Lavender’s not here right now.” She talked herself into keeping her words civil. She noticed Ramada’s black car parked in the circular driveway behind Milan’s Benz.

Ramada took in the close-up look of every inch of Milan, from the top of her long hair, all the way down to the tips of her French-manicured toes. “So, are you telling me you’re here alone with my son?”

Milan fought to keep her voice down. “I’ll ask you again, what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to get my son. Just like I said. Damn, you’re a dumb ass.” Ramada shifted her weight while her hand joined her hip. Her dark blue jeans and short black leather jacket were both fitting tight.

Milan shook her head and crossed her arms. “No you’re not.”

“I am.”

“Taj is here until eight o’clock.”

“Taj leaves when I say he leaves.”

“That’s not what Lavender told me.”

Ramada took one step toward her car. “Screw you.” She waved her hand at Milan. “I’m gonna call DeMarcus. Leaving my son here alone with you. Where’s my damn cell?”

“Why do you throw stones, Ramada?”

Ramada stopped in her tracks.

Milan continued, “Because those are the same stones that could be thrown at your crazy ass?”

Ramada stepped back. “You run the damn whorehouse, not me.”

Milan positioned her cell and began to dial. “Considering you were one of my members, what does that make you?” She held the phone to her ear. “You need to be locked up.”

Ramada used her eyes to point to Milan. Her voice went up a notch. “You’re the straight-up freak. Everybody knows that. He must have you dick-drugged. And I’ll have you know that I keep my personal sex life separate from my son. You do not. You live off of the sleazy, dirty-ass money you make. I make an honest living. You are feeding my son food that you bought with fuck money.” Ramada watched Milan’s every movement.

“Oh really?” Milan spoke into the phone but kept sight of Ramada. “Lavender, your son’s insane mother is here. We’re standing on the porch.”

Ramada said, “I’ll call him myself.” She looked back toward her car.

“No, here.” Milan pressed a button. “He’s on speaker. Talk to him.”

Lavender’s tense voice sounded into the air. “Ramada, what are you doing there?”

Ramada twitched her nose toward the phone. “The question is, what’s your problem, leaving my son with her?”

“Taj is at my house until eight. What I do in my home is none of your business.”

Ramada’s hand again made its way to her waist. She leaned forward. “Who you have around my son is my business. I was his full-time parent while you ran around living your playboy lifestyle. All I’m asking you now is to watch what you do around him. Otherwise, both of you will pay.”

Milan looked back toward the door and pulled on it, making sure it was closed.

Lavender said, “You need to leave. I’m not about to have Taj think I’m the reason he can’t stay until eight like I promised. And you can call whomever you want and do whatever you want. But he is staying. Milan, go in the house.”

“You’re gonna be sorry for this, DeMarcus.”

“Leave.”

Ramada asked with a look of tattletale in her eyes, “Did you ever tell her about us fucking Dee?” She asked him but stared at Milan.

Milan jumped on her question. “Yeah, he did. Anything else?”

Lavender said, almost in slow motion. “Good-bye, Ramada.”

“DeMarcus, a year ago it was only an argument. But you had to run off with her and cause all this interference.” She gave Milan a sneer. “And as for you, I’m checking my son for bruises when he gets home. Wit-cha fake ass, weave-wearing self.” Ramada sliced her eyes at Milan’s head.