Erotic City (4 page)

“So I can’t go into the silver room and get some head then?”

“You try it and see what the fuck happens.” Her hardworking pussy escorted her firm reply.

“I guess I’ll just keep watching everybody else while they fuck strangers. But I can’t have any, right?”

“Fucking me right here is all you need.”

“You are greedy, aren’t you?”

She spoke with a deep but soft roar. “Damn right and so are you. That swinging shit is over for your ass. We’ll leave the fuck parties to the rest of ’em.”

“You say so.”

“I fuckin say so.” Milan leaned forward and her tits grazed his chest. She pressed her fists into the mattress and bounced her backside against him. She raised and lowered herself from his pee hole to his sac, over and over again, taking time to look back to catch the view of her grinding skills in the oval dresser mirror. Her ass wasn’t the biggest, but she definitely knew how to show him what she was working with.

“Fuck, that shit feels good.”

“This is my dick.” Her sentence was serious.

“Ride it like you could break it off.”

Milan twisted her grind, rolling it slightly, almost like a clockwise stir, pressing her weight onto her left knee and then her right. She made a motion as if she was walking straight up on the dick like a StairMaster.

“Damn.”

She said, “Give me that circle fuck. Fuck me in a damn circle. Harder.”

He did just that and grunted.

“I can’t believe you’re still talkin like you wanna fuck a stranger. You’ve got a damn stranger right here. Who do you want me to be? I can be Conchita and say, ‘Ay, Papi,’ and talk about cabalgue este pussy. I can be Inga and speak German to your ass. Nimm diese Muschi. Hell, I can be Gina and speak Italian. Prendie questo pussy. Who the hell do you want me to be, damnit?” Her accents were precise and erotic and angry.

“I want my woman to fuck me like she won’t be satisfied until I come all through her ass. I want you to take this big dick deep down into the back of your pussy, right there, where I feel that sweet spot I love to hit. I want you right there, pumping yourself along my dick so I can explode.”

“Like this.” She worked it like she was getting paid.

“Hell yeah.”

“Then cum for Mommy. Give Mommy her stuff, baby.” She bucked and shook and pumped and choked his dick with the force of her gyrating vagina, bouncing her tig-ol-biddies like rubber balls to the sounds of raw skin hitting raw skin. The scent matched the erotic audible.

“Fuck.” Lavender squinted his eyes as though trying to find himself in the back of his own head.

Her voice was now a provocative whisper. She aimed her words toward his ear. “Gimmie my stuff. And I want all of it. Make it squirt so hard I can taste it in the back of my damn throat. Shoot that shit, Lavender. Christen your woman right, like you know you can.”

He froze in place and raised his ass from the sheet like his dick was a missile. His legs flexed straight out in front of him. He fully extended his dick and shot his warm ejaculate into his woman at a hundred miles per hour. “Uhggghhhhgh. Fuck.” His eyes shot open lightning fast upon the very last squirt.

“That’s it, baby. Yes. Damnit.” She still rode him like a cowgirl, leaning back and placing her hands on her own pointy nipples, rubbing the tips with a fast motion while she squinted her pussy in preparation for her own approaching orgasm. She squeezed her pubis muscles, or her sex muscles, as hard as she could just before the spasm of the orgasm hit. And then it exploded. “Yeah, yeah, awwww, uuggh.” Milan threw her head back in direct measure of the strength of her burst. She then draped her upper body upon him.

His discharge and her juices blended together along the trail of his testicles. They truly did fuck so pretty.

Lavender lay beneath her. The weight of her smooth, satisfied body was his pleasure to support. He was, as usual, in awe of his woman’s freaky ability to please him, and please herself. His not-so-willing-to-deflate dick still filled her up. To him, she was simply a-fucking-mazing. Way more amazing than his ten-year relationship with Ramada, the mama of drama.

“I’m going with you,” he said as he kissed her along her ear.

She leaned upward. “Okay, with your bringing-other-women-into-the-bed self. I’m leaving those words right where they are. You definitely need to go to church. We both do.”

Milan rolled off, came to a naked stance, and headed to the bathroom.

He watched her walk away. “Good Lord. Simply amazing.” He turned his head away, shaking it in awe, and picked up the television remote. “Any more coffee?”

“Yeah.”

He turned on the forty-inch plasma. The sound of a Geico commercial could be heard.

Milan yelled from the bathroom as she turned on the shower. “Please don’t turn on the news, honey. Not this morning. Not just yet.”

He spoke like he was still trying to snap out of his postlust state. “Why?” He remembered. “Oh. No problem, baby.” Lavender clicked the TV back off. “No problem at all.”

Milan closed the shower door.

The ring of his titanium iPhone sounded while he came to a stance. He reached over to the nightstand to pick it up and touched the screen.

His face shifted to a smile. “Hey, Great Mama.”

“Hi, DeMarcus. How’s it going out there in Atlanta?”

He spoke while standing in the buff. “Oh, pretty well. We’re about to head out to church. The late service.”

“You and Milan?”

“Yes.”

“Good. She’s a nice girl.”

He looked around for his boxers and asked, “How are you?”

“I’m good. I’ve been thinking about you a lot though. I had a dream about you early this morning and wanted to check on you.”

“You did?”

“Yes. And it kept me up.”

“I’m sorry. What was it about?”

“Oh, about you being down. You know, just you having problems with Taj’s mom. I had a dream she got you in some trouble and we were all worried. Something about blaming you for something you didn’t do. I don’t really remember but I do know we were worried about my sweet little great-grandson, Taj.”

“Nothing like that’s going on here. Everything’s cool.” He picked up his boxers from the foot of the bed and stepped into them.

“That’s good. I’m glad. But after that, I couldn’t wait to get back from church myself so I could call you. That dream had my heart heavy, you know?”

“You just relax and don’t worry about anything. Taj is fine. I’m fine.”

“So what’s been going on with Ramada anyway? Has she moved on yet?”

“I have no idea.”

“I hope she has. She used to call a lot when you two first broke up. You know she tried to talk bad about you so I had to cut her off. I’m not having that.”

“I know that’s right.”

“When are you coming out here to see me? I miss you.”

“We’re gonna try to get to Miami soon to check on Milan’s house out there.” He reached over to make up the bed with one hand.

“Oh, that would be nice. Real nice. Well, tell Milan hello. I’ll let you two go ahead on and get to church. I said a prayer with your name on it at service this morning.”

“Thanks. We’ll do the same. I’ll call you soon, okay?”

“Okay, DeMarcus. You know I love you.”

He fluffed up the pillow as he spoke. “Yes, and I do you.”

“Bye.” As usual, she was the first to hang up.

He wondered if his God-fearing grandmother really did feel something in her spirit about what had happened. She was usually very in tune to his emotions. It had always been that way, even when he was going through tough times back in the ring. He and his grandmother just had a connection that was unbreakable.

Milan stepped out of the bathroom smelling like tea rose.

He told her, “That was Great Mama. She says hello.”

“Oh, okay, good. She always does know just when to call.”

“That’s true.”

“Let’s just hope the news doesn’t make it down there. You might need to tell her first just in case.”

“Maybe so. But then again, maybe not. Lord knows she’s been through enough.”

He stepped past Milan, popping her rear while he headed to the shower next.

Milan turned to keep an eye on Lavender’s muscular physique as he passed. She smiled from ear to ear at the man she called hers. “You know best,” she said. And she really hoped that he did.

5

“Mama Said Knock You Out”

Saturday, September 13, 2003
10:42 p.m.

I
t was evening in Las Vegas, the city of sin, gambling, and sex, and don’t-ask don’t-tell. Las Vegas Boulevard was on fire. The lights that set ablaze the city of perpetual motion reflected along every square inch of the never-ending strip. It was a dry, desert heat. It was fight night.

It was fall of 2003 and Lavender Lewis was a strong specimen of a twenty-five-year-old with a bright future ahead of him.

He stood in the ring at the glorious Mandalay Bay Hotel among the busy chatter and piercing cheers of the postfight commotion. The huge, multipurpose arena was packed. Celebrities who had filled the first few rows of seats of the sold-out house were on their feet, along with nearly everyone else. The standing ovation was electric.

Lavender was surrounded by his Team Lavender manager, and his trainer slash grandfather, Cedric Lewis, as well as his bodyguard. The referee and announcers stood before him. And by his side was his girlfriend of five years, Ramada Hart. His cherished grandmother, who he nicknamed Great Mama, stood in the front row, holding Lavender’s four-year-old, curly-headed son, Taj George Lewis.

The slightly balding, middle-aged Fox Sports journalist held the rounded microphone just under his own chin and spoke extra loud with his finger to his ear, fighting to hear himself above the bustling, boisterous crowd.

“Lavender Lewis, here you are, the second youngest heavyweight champion in professional boxing history, and all after only two years. Your amateur record is twenty-four and six, and last year you won twelve out of fifteen bouts, all knockouts. Now here, in only round five, you knock out Lorenzo Gomez to win the WBC Heavyweight title. What’s going through your mind right about now?”

Lavender stood proudly with his new gold championship belt in his hand. He was drenched in a slick coating of his own sweat, wearing his trademark lavender satin trunks. At the moment Lavender began to speak, his manager proudly threw his lavender satin robe over his shoulders. The back of it read LL. The crowd cheered even louder. His face looked unscathed, other than a small red nick on his chin. He smiled out loud. “First off, I want to give thanks to God for my blessings and for my gift. I knew I wanted to fight ever since I was thirteen years old. I trained in the gym at the boxing club in Miami where I grew up, the same gym where my father trained before he died. My grandfather retired from boxing but trained fighters there and I’d go with him. He and my grandmother basically raised me. But today, here I am having been trained by the best, and I stand in this ring with the heavyweight belt in my hand. The same belt I used to dream about. I’d lose sleep thinking about this day, man. I love this. I’m honored and I want to thank everyone who’s been a part of this so far.” The applause grew louder and then dissipated.

“Would you say Lorenzo Gomez underestimated you?”

“I’d say Lorenzo is a fighter. And he’s definitely powerful. He came at me like an ox. He stood strong, and one time when I threw a right hook that connected to his head, he didn’t even flinch. He barely blinked. I was like, look at this.” Lavender rubbed the sweat from the bridge of his nose. “He’s tough, man. I just think I was able to dodge most of his punches, and maybe it’s because he had his guard down a few times, I don’t know. But I have a lot of respect for him as a man. He’s a true fighter.”

“Looks like he got a couple of good shots in before you knocked him out though. Tell us about those.”

“Well, one was a right cross to my chin. On that one, I felt like I was about to pass out. I’m telling you, he’s a strong dude.”

“Will you give the Macho Man Gomez another shot?”

“That’s tomorrow’s news. I want to celebrate tonight. I’ll talk about that when the sun comes up. I do plan on a long career though, I’ll say that much. I’ll look back ten years from now and will have won all three titles.”

“Anything else you want to say?”

He added a rhythm to his speech. “Just that I am, the smooth as silk, Lavender man, brilliant and vivid, a mixture of purple and white. My dad, George Lewis, wore purple trunks and my grandfather wore white. I come from a long line of Lewises. And I will continue the legend of the Lewis fighters in this sport. We thank you.” He flashed his trademark smile and held his wide, flashy WBC belt high in the air. The crowd again erupted in cheers.

“Well, congratulations, Lavender Lewis. Back to you, Jim.”

Lavender turned to hug his woman, Ramada, and their embrace was firm. Her hair was in a ponytail and she had on a tight, pale yellow halter dress with jeweled high heel sandals. Her back was strong and her face was flawless. She dabbed a small, slow moving tear that traveled down her right cheek. The photographers’ bulbs bounced off Lavender’s and Ramada’s faces as they kissed on the lips, trying to keep it clean. Lavender turned to follow his manager’s lead and stepped down from the ring to the beat of “Mama Said Knock You Out,” making the trek back to his dressing room. He took a moment to blow a kiss to his dear Great Mama and loving son, then disappeared beyond the dark curtain. The crowd still cheered, “LL! LL! LL!”

Within two hours, Lavender, his manager, and his bodyguard were in the penthouse suite of the hotel. The three men were having sex with three different groupie women in the same room, and then they swapped. And the women were happy to oblige, as long as they had their chance to fuck the amazing and talented Lavender Lewis.

Three days later, early one morning once back home in Miami, a conservative-looking Italian doctor in a white coat stood over Lavender and his grandmother as they sat in a small examining room at South Miami Hospital.

The doctor’s face was blank. He spoke slowly. “The magnetic resonance imaging scan shows two subdural hematomas.”