Gettin' Buck Wild: Sex Chronicles II (23 page)

For a good time, dial
1-900-694-KANDI

Don’t judge this book by its cover…cuz I’ll look like rated G but do you like XXX! The name is Kandi, and I have more dicks than a mutt has ticks. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I don’t chase after nobody’s man; they come to me. I am always just a phone call away, and when a man calls, he gets to play out the wildest fantasy of his dreams.

There is only one drawback to what I do; I can only do it locally, since I act out live fantasies for my clients. I would much rather be an international lover, but all in good time. I am very particular about the type of men I service. If they are coming at me, they better come correct. If they have problems hanging in the bedroom, they better be taking yohimbe, zinc for men, ginseng, and vitamins plus drinking about a gallon of OJ and a dozen raw eggs on a daily basis.

I hate it when women step to me with all their self-righteous bullshit. Just out of spite, I will fuck their men. While they are out at the hairdresser or getting their nails done, I will be at their houses teaching their husbands, boyfriends, and baby’s daddies the horizontal lambada. Ain’t no shame in my game; chile, please. My legs stay open like 7-Eleven.

Basically, what I do is have phone sex with men and discuss their wildest fantasy. Once we play the whole thing out on the phone, I arrange to do it with them in real life as well. I will give you a couple of examples.

Osaze is this Nigerian guy who is happily married with kids. However, like most marriages, his is lacking in only one department; the sexual one. He had a fantasy about doing it in an adult bookstore, so one night I met him at this sleazy one in downtown NYC.

He was all the way in the back of the store flipping through some porno magazines. He spotted me but turned his back, pretending he did not recognize me. Truth be known, he had never actually seen me before, but I was wearing nothing but a black trench coat and some black stiletto heels, as per his instructions. The idea was to make love to a stranger. That was the big turn on.

I walked up behind him slowly and felt all eyes on me. The various perverts and the clerk at the counter were checking me out because not many women frequent the place. After I got all the way to him, I wasted no time pressing my stomach up against his lower back and reaching around with one hand to caress his dick. I must say I was pleasantly surprised at the size, because you never know. Men say one thing, but some quote numbers in centimeters instead of inches. Osaze was not fronting, though; he had said he was nine inches, and he was at least that.

I kept caressing his dick as I made my way beside him, pretending to be looking at mags as well. He took his hand closest to me and stuck it into the opening in my trench coat so that he could caress my thigh. I opened my legs a little more so he would have no trouble getting his fingers inside my pussy walls when the time came. I unzipped his fly and reached my hand inside his pants. He had no underwear on, so it was just skin against skin, and I loved the way his veins felt as his dick pulsated in my hand.

We never uttered one word to each other as he removed his fingers from my pussy and I, in return, removed my hand from his pants. He took me by the hand and led me over to a booth. A black velvet curtain was the only concealment. The booth was small and cramped, but we both managed to get inside and pull the curtain shut. It was one of those booths where you put a quarter in a slot to see a thirty-second porn movie.

He didn’t put a quarter in the slot but elected to unbuckle the belt of my trench coat instead. He pushed it back over my shoulders and completely off, letting it drop to a floor which was covered with dried-up cum.

Osaze looked deep into my eyes as I undid his pants and let them drop down around his ankles. Then he picked me up in the air and placed my back against the concrete-block back wall of the store. The wall felt cold against my skin, but it made me tingle all over. He started sucking on my breasts and tried to get some tongue action, but I pushed his head away from mine. I had made it clear that I never tongue-kiss clients. That is too personal.

I could hear some footsteps of people gathering outside the curtain, wondering what we were doing—as if their stupid asses didn’t know. Osaze put me back down on the floor and then turned me around so that my breasts were on the cold wall. Then, as agreed, he didn’t fuck in my pussy, but stuck his dick all the way in my ass instead. He could get pussy at home; brothaman came for the ass.

I had never taken a dick that big up my ass before, and I tried my best to keep my composure. However, once he started pumping his dick in and out faster and faster, I couldn’t hold it in any longer and started moaning extremely loud. In fact, my moans ended up drowning out all the other noise in the store. Curiosity got the best of all the men standing on the other side of the curtain, and one of them got bold enough to pull it back. There we were, exposed.

Osaze didn’t quit, though; he finished his business, and I never asked him to do otherwise. People watching him fuck me in the ass didn’t bother me in the least. In fact, if anything, it increased the pleasure.

He finally finished doing what he had to do and pulled his dick out of me just in time to shoot his hot cum all over my ass cheeks and down the crack. It trickled all the way down onto the floor and joined the rest of the cum spots that were already there. That was the first time I did Osaze, and as far as clients go, he is one of my favorites.

Then there is Wesley, a single brotha who just can’t seem to find a woman to satisfy his needs. So he pays me to do it instead. His biggest fantasy was to fuck on the Staten Island Ferry. We decided to do it late at night so that the ferry would be mostly empty and so it would be dark out and hard for others to see.

He wanted to experience fucking a woman with the waves crashing up against the sides of the boat. I met him there, and we did just that. He was waiting for me on the uncovered area on the back of the ferry when I arrived. As he requested, I wore a skimpy sundress with spaghetti straps and no panties. I was freezing my ass off but figured once we got busy, I’d warm up.

When I walked up to him, he already had his pants undone and dick out, only covered up with a sweater. I looked around to see if any of the few other passengers or crew were looking, and then I leaned my head down toward his lap so I could suck his dick.

I went straight for the corona, a ridge on the bottom side of his dick, which is the G spot for men, and when I licked it, he fucking lost it. Then I started deep-throating his dick and humming on it as it hit the back of my throat and my tonsils. He started to say something but refrained. To me, the fun part of a fantasy is the silence, and we had talked enough on the phone. When most people fantasize, they don’t picture long, drawn-out conversations, so I try to make them as real to life as possible.

I kept sucking on his dick until my own saliva, mixed with his precum, was trickling out the corners of my mouth. He held the sweater over my head so people would not be able to see if they should walk by. After a good while, he came in my mouth and then told me it was time for me to take a little ride.

I got up and sat on his dick backward so that my back was to his chest. I sat down slowly on his dick until it was all the way up inside my stomach. Wesley is another well-hung individual. As I started riding his dick, he stuck a finger in my ass, and that only made me get more into it. He started slapping me on my ass, and since both his hands were busy, I decided to help myself along. Shit, just because I am getting paid doesn’t mean I shouldn’t cum also, so I started caressing both my breasts and lowered the straps on my dress.

I pushed each breast up to meet my long tongue and flicked the tip of it across my nipples. That aroused me so much that I started bouncing up and down on his dick like a pogo stick until the poor baby couldn’t take it anymore and exploded for the second time.

I do a lot of men a lot of different ways, and I love doing it. So I didn’t grow up to be a ballerina or an actress. As far as I am concerned, what I do is even more fulfilling. I give men what they want and what they desire. If you are ever in the NYC area, dial 1-900-694-KANDI, and “Kandi Kan Make U Kream!”

I love movies—always have and always will. I totally lose myself in the characters, become them even. When I was a little girl in Detroit, we lived near a drive-in theater, and I could look out my bedroom window and see the people and images moving around on the big screen. I could never hear the actual words they spoke, but I became quite the expert lip reader.

My mother, who was a single parent, couldn’t afford to take me and my three brothers to the movies so we would cook some popcorn on the stove, the old-fashioned kind that comes in a little aluminum pan with foil that expands as the kernels underneath pop, and then have our own little night out at the movies.

My brothers would only watch the movie once or twice and then go play with their action figures or pretend to be cowboys and Indians. I would watch the same movie over and over again for as long as I could keep my eyes open. I would prop myself up on the windowsill in my bedroom with a pillow behind my back and become enthralled with everything from the love scenes to the bang-bang-shoot-’em-up scenes.

The mere thought that people could become larger than life, with millions of people all over the nation, sometimes even the world, watching them at the same time, was amazing. It was pure magic to me. I remember thinking how beautiful all the women were, with their painted fingernails and lips, thick eyelashes, and fancy hairstyles. The way they moved around the screen with such elegance and grace. The handsome men they got to fall head over heels in love with, sinking into their arms, kissing them passionately, caressing them all over their bodies and, in the R-rated movies, even sucking on their breasts. It was electrifying.

By the time I was ten, I was hooked on a dream. I wanted people to someday stand in line to pay their money and watch me on the silver screen. I wanted to capture the hearts of men everywhere and gain the envy of women. I wanted to be larger than life, to have people run up to me, ask for my autograph, and scream out my name. I wanted to travel the world and have people cater to my every wish and obey my every command. I wanted to be a movie star.

Now, fifteen years later, at the age of twenty-five, I am indeed a movie star. Men of all ages and races want to take me to bed, women and teenage girls want to mirror my image, and I am worth millions. I am now in the position to give my mother and brothers everything they ever dreamed of, but unfortunately, I can’t.

My mother died from breast cancer when I was nineteen. I was devastated. For two years, I thought of only one thing: suicide. I used to sit in the dark and cry for hours and hours, analyzing the quickest and most painless way to end my own life. Only three things dissuaded me from going through with it: my brothers. I am the oldest, and it is my responsibility to ensure that they make it in this world. We have no grandparents. They all went to heaven a long, long time ago.

When our mother died, I was working in a video store in the daytime because I loved the fringe benefits. I got free movie rentals and the privilege to see videos the day they were released. Once she died, I was rudely awakened to the fact my minimum-wage salary wouldn’t even begin to cover the expenses of clothing and feeding the four of us. I couldn’t stand the possibility of my brothers becoming wards of the state.

So I did what I had to do and became a stripper. It was cool because it gave me the opportunity to cook breakfast, see my brothers off to school, be there for them when they got home, help them with their homework, and cook their dinner. My brother Paul, fourteen, was old enough to watch the younger ones, Jonathan, ten, and Reggie, eight, when I went to work at night. The entire situation worked out pretty well, but it would have been better if our mother was still there.

I was so-called discovered during one of my performances. A theatrical agent named King James—yes, that is really his name—approached me after the show and told me he wanted to represent me. I thought he was full of shit, of course, and he halfway was. He expected me to fuck him for his representation, and I did. I fucked a lot of men to get where I am; producers, directors, agents, whoever. It’s all a game. Bottom line is, when the smoke cleared, I was on top. Most women give it up and never land even one role for all their efforts. I have made six movies so far, and this is only the beginning.

When it comes to acting, I take it very seriously. Since I never had the opportunity to take formal acting lessons, I have learned to improvise. In fact, I developed a fool-proof method for acting my ass off in any role I am challenged with. No matter what the role is, no matter what it calls for, I prepare myself for the task by acting out all the vital scenes for real. Life imitating art, so to speak.

My first role was the easiest; it was as an exotic dancer, so no role-playing needed there. My second role was a bit more trying. I had to play an invalid, so I got in a wheelchair and pretended to be handicapped for a month to portray the role more realistically. I even participated in a wheelchair race to raise money for birth defects, and the publicity was great. It worked, because it was the role that made me a star. I became a household name and got nominated for several awards, even an Oscar. I still say the only reason I didn’t win them is because of the melanin in my skin.

Once my third acting role came along, things began to get interesting, to say the least. I landed a role as an escort, so I put on a wig, some colored contacts—a disguise, if you will—and went to an agency and became an escort on the real. It was interesting, word up on that, and I only did it for a few days to get the gist of the role I was portraying. The three men they sent me out with were true freaks, and of course there was no publicity. I am not that fucking crazy.

The first man took me to a boring-ass opera and then wanted to spend the rest of the evening sucking on my toes. He had a serious foot fetish. I couldn’t believe his ass paid to suck some toes, but hey, my dog Spot used to lick my toes when I was a little girl, so no skin off my back.

The second fool took me out to a fine restaurant, followed me to the ladies’ room when I went to go take a leak, and then ate me out in the bathroom stall. He was all right at it, but I wouldn’t nominate him for any pussy-eating awards or anything.

The third man, who was also the reason I quit after three days, was a straight-up freak. He had the agency send me directly to his hotel suite. When I got there, it was cool at first. He was attractive and had a nice seafood dinner ready and waiting for me by candlelight. After dinner, he went in the bedroom and came out in the sitting area of the suite dressed as a drag queen.

He started talking like a woman who sounded like she had a dick stuck in her throat and wanted to play out a lesbian scene with me. I told him to get the fuck off me and left. I called the agency from my cell phone, cussed the owner, Devina, the hell out and quit. She was this old-ass hoochie with tits that rested all the way down on her stomach and a sagging ass to match.

My fourth role was as a blind pianist. Just like all the other roles, I took it seriously, and the publicity was even better than it was in the invalid role. I donned a pair of dark glasses and wore patches on my eyes underneath so I couldn’t see. I also took piano lessons and became pretty dayum good with the eighty-eight keys in a couple months, but most of the actual scenes from the movies involving playing were still done with trick photography.

My fifth role was the one that turned out to be downright dangerous—not during filming, but during my quest to portray it in real life. The role was as a member of a female gang. Once again, I put on a wig and some contacts, changed my appearance around a bit, and thought I had it all covered. But I was seriously mistaken.

One night I was hanging out with some of the girls from this gang on the Lower East Side, trying to get them to accept me and jump me in. Yes, I was actually going to go that far to see what it was all about. They told me to come to a party with them at someone’s house, and I told them I was down.

We got to this house, and there were drugs and guns and liquor everywhere, along with several male undesirables. One of them, nicknamed Smoke, was fine as shit, and he and I got to drinking together. He convinced me to try some weed, something I had never done, but I figured it was in my best interest to pretend I was experienced with such things.

It must have been laced with something, because I started freaking out and shit, hallucinating and seeing three of everybody. Smoke carried me into one of the bedrooms, and we started getting nasty together, kissing and licking and sucking until we were both undressed. He ripped my wig off, which I had partly covered up with a bandanna, and told me he knew who I was all along and that we were going to have a real good time together.

Before I knew it, he called all the rest of the people in the room to watch. I was attracted to him big-time and feeling nice, so I went along with the game plan. I had never fucked someone in front of a group, and now I was about to fuck this stranger in front of gang members—gang members who could expose me at any second to the press and destroy my career. It was pure insanity, but nothing was going to prevent me from fucking Smoke that night. Not a damn thing.

I got lost in his touch and blocked everyone else from my mind as he swiftly removed my clothing and then slipped out of his own. He was cut like an Adonis and hung like a bear. I was taken off guard when he handcuffed me to the bed but didn’t protest. If I was going to let it all go, I might as well go for the ultimate experience.

Smoke forced my legs open and told two of his buddies to hold them open, and they did. I had no idea what he was going to do to me, but it excited me. He climbed in between my legs on the bed, grabbed both of my breasts, and sucked on them roughly one at a time. After several minutes of that, I came with a vengeance.

I could hear people laughing at me and saying things like, “Damn, Smoke, you can suck a titty till a sister comes!” and “Look at this shit! Smoke is doing a movie star! Ain’t nobody got a camcorder up in this bitch?”

He stuck his long, thick dick in me, and I succumbed to the ecstasy of it all. If I hadn’t been drugged up, I would have worked my ass all over his dick, but I could only lie there and enjoy. I had always been an undercover exhibitionist but never had the nerve to actually go there.

Smoke slammed me so hard with his dick that I could feel it in my abdomen. His friends implied that they wanted to take a turn with me, but Smoke made it clear that the shit wasn’t happening. He fucked me for a good hour, and I lost count of my orgasms. I’m not sure if it was the dick, the situation, or a combination.

Once he was about to cum, he pulled out and jacked himself off until he came all over my tits. Then I sucked his dick something fierce. He fed it to me while I was still handcuffed to the bed, and tasting my pussy juice on him was the greatest turn-on. There was a moment when I almost gagged, but I relaxed my throat just enough to get it all in.

Smoke and I fucked until sunrise. All of the others eventually cleared out of the room. Half of them were stoned, and the other half just had better shit to do or needed to go someplace and fuck around themselves. That morning, he cooked me breakfast, and I found out a lot about him. He was in a gang, but he was also smart as shit and quite the entrepreneur. People can say what they want about drug dealers, but name another profession where someone can make upward of ten grand a week by word of mouth and zero paid advertising.

Smoke and I got along so well that we started dating officially. In fact, he lives with me now in my mansion, and the newspapers and tabloids are having a field day with the story, but fuck them. This is my world!

Now, I am in the process of making my sixth film. I portray a serial killer. This is the first time I can’t act out all the vital scenes in the real. This is the first time life can’t imitate art. Or can it?