Gettin' Buck Wild: Sex Chronicles II (26 page)

They were known as the Dick You Down Crew. Women across the nation spoke of them in whispers and sometimes even in code. Women who had actually experienced them sometimes resorted to speaking about them in tongues. There were three of them: the Wishmaster, the Lickmaster, and the Dickmaster. The Wishmaster was the one who granted your every wish and helped you to live out your every fantasy. The Lickmaster was just that: a master at licking you wherever and whenever it pleased you. The Dickmaster was, aw Lawd, what can I say? He was the master of pleasure, pure and simple.

I saved up for eleven months to acquire their services. Once I hit twenty-nine, it became painfully clear that the man of my dreams was not going to come along. The thought of turning thirty without ever really having an earth-shattering orgasm was too much to bear. So I saved and I saved until I had accumulated the necessary five thousand to hire them for the evening. I know five grand is extravagant, but after all I had heard, I felt it was well worth the investment.

I made the initial contact through their Web site,
www.dickyou downcrew.com,
and received an instant reply from an auto responder. It informed me that my inquiry had been received and that someone would contact me within forty-eight hours. I actually fabricated half the information on the form I was required to fill out. I don’t trust the Internet, no matter how secure they claim it to be. I am one of those sisters who prints out the mail-order form instead of ordering online at those e-commerce sites. Sure, I can get things faster if I do the real-time credit-card processing, but I prefer to wait the extra time and play it safe.

I lied about my name. I said it was Chiquita Locksley instead of Laura Connelly—same initials but reversed. I used my free e-mail address instead of my regular one with my real name attached to the end of every message. I had to put down a phone number, so I put in my cell phone. If things got out of hand, changing it was nothing but a thing because less than a dozen people had the number in the first place. Besides, my live-in boyfriend would have had a fit if someone called me from dickyoudowncrew.com and left a message on the voice mail.

I know. I know. I said that the man of my dreams had not come along, and he hadn’t. That didn’t mean I was determined to go without sex altogether. Puleeze, that was not even an option. I was living with Scott, and most of my girlfriends were crazy jealous—but if they only knew. Sure, Scott was fine, brilliant, successful, and drove a seriously fly car. The convertible Jaguar had always been in my top three for the bomb-ass-car-of-all-time award. That’s how he managed to pull me. I was walking down the street during rush hour, and he almost ran my ass over in the crosswalk. My first instinct was to cuss his ass out, but when he got out of the car and I got a look at him, the sun started shining even though it was forty degrees and dismal a moment before.

He was fine. True, that. Six-one, tight body, deep chocolate skin, and a smile that could light up a room. Little did I know that he was seriously lacking in the sex department. The first time we threw down, I wasn’t even sure that his dick was in until he started yelling, “I’m cumming!” I wondered how the hell he could be cumming when I hadn’t even begun to get my freak on.

It must seem strange that I ended up living with him, huh? Well, to be quite honest, Scott was good at some things, like sucking on my breasts—which happened to be one of the greatest turn-ons to me—and sucking on my toes. Besides, I adored his mother and the rest of his family. His sister and I had become the best of friends over the three years we had been together. Yet and still, I needed something extra in my life. I needed to be fucked six ways from Sunday.

I only made thirty grand a year at my administrative job, but I managed to come up with the five thousand I needed. I asked Scott to cover all the bills for a few months, and he happily obliged. I think it made him feel more like a man, having a woman dependent on him. I realize my methods were shady, but hey, I needed the money before I lost my damn mind for real.

For the next two days, I patiently waited for a phone call. One time my battery went dead on my shitty-ass cell phone. Why do they lie and say that a battery has a long life when they know it sure as hell doesn’t? As soon as I had it up and running again, I checked for voice mail messages, and there was a message from this dude named Joe. I didn’t feel like being bothered with his ass.

Joe had been my first “creeping” experience during my lackluster relationship with Scott. He talked big game but turned out to be just that; all mouth and no action. I got naked, and he acted like a scared bitch. For a second, I thought the fool might have been a thirty-three-year-old virgin, but he got his act together and did a little sumptin’ sumptin’. Still wasn’t worth my time, effort, or ribbed condom, though.

I was juggling three paper grocery bags and my briefcase up the stairs to our second-floor apartment when my cell phone rang, exactly forty-eight hours after I had hit the submit button on dickyoudowncrew.com. In my haste to catch the call, I dropped one bag and heard the carton of eggs splatter on the outdoor carpet.

“Hello,” I breathed heavily into the phone in disgust.

“Is this Chiquita Locksley?”

What the hell was this? There was a woman on the other end of the line. Surely, she couldn’t be the Wishmaster or Lickmaster, and she damn sure couldn’t be the Dickmaster unless she was working with a strap-on.

“Who is this?” I demanded to know.

“This is Robin.”

“Robin. Hmm, I don’t think I know a Robin.”

Looking back, I don’t know why I was frontin’. The odds of some sister ringing my damn cell phone, having the wrong number, and happening to ask for my recently created alter ego were slim to none.

“Once again, is this Chiquita Locksley?” she asked in a pleasant enough voice. “Did you fill out an information request form on dickyoudowncrew.com?”

“Umm, yes I did.” I put the bags down and put my key in the lock, making sure to avoid stepping in the egg yolks that were all over the place. I hesitated for a moment and peeked over the balcony to make sure Scott’s Jaguar wasn’t in his assigned space. I didn’t want to go inside if he was home, because he was the nosiest brother on the planet. “I filled out the form, and I’ve been waiting for you to call.”

“Sorry for the delay, but we get a ton of requests, and sometimes the staff gets a bit overwhelmed.”

I managed to get myself and the groceries in the house, opting to clean up the mess in front of the door later.

“Hmm, you have that many women asking to get put on, huh?” I asked, wondering if it was such a good idea after all. I mean, damn! How many sisters had these dudes knocked off?

The sister on the other end of the line started laughing. “Well, the men are rather popular. It seems that the word has really gotten out lately.”

“So, how much is it?” I already knew the price but decided to ask anyway, in case they were running some specials. In fact, I asked, “Are you running any specials?”

She laughed again. “No, sorry. We just have the flat rate of five thousand a night.”

“What exactly constitutes a night, and what services are performed for the five thousand?”

I could’ve sworn I heard a lip smack on the other end of the line. No, she wasn’t tripping on me all of a sudden. We were talking about five thousand damn dollars.

“Didn’t you read the description of services on the Web site?”

“Yes, I did but it didn’t define ‘night’ to my satisfaction. Are we talking a certain amount of hours, sunset to sunrise, or what?”

“You get eight hours. Additional hours are available upon request, but there is a fee.”

“And how much are the extra hours?”

“Five hundred an hour.”

“Damn!” I exclaimed into the handset.

“Is there a problem, Chiquita?”

“No, no problem.” I collapsed onto the sofa, wondering if I was doing the right thing. After all, five grand could stretch a long way at my favorite mall. Fuck it, I was going for it. “So, when can I get an appointment?”

“Hmm, let me check.”

There was a brief silence, and I could hear paper shuffling on her end.

“We have Tuesday, July ninth, available.”

“That’s a month from now.”

“Yes, I know, but it is our only available date. Would you like to be scheduled or not?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll take it,” I answered excitedly. This was going to be more interesting than I imagined. July 9 was my thirtieth birthday.

“Cool. I need to get some further information from you, like where you would like the gentlemen to meet you. I’ll assume you want them to come to your place?”

“No, no, no! They can’t come here!” I yelled in a panic. Imagine that. Scott coming home with roses and a birthday cake, only to find me ass out with three men slapping skins.

Robin didn’t skip a beat. “What city and state are you in?”

“Chicago, Illinois.”

“Not a problem. We have various hotels that we work with throughout the country. We have several there in the Chicago area. I will e-mail you a list, and you can make the appropriate arrangements.”

“Hold up. Are you saying that I have to pay for the room?”

“If you want a room, you have to pay for it. The five thousand simply covers the sexual favors and travel expenses.”

“Fine,” I stated nastily. At least they weren’t trying to take me for plane tickets, meals, and all that shit.

“Wonderful. You will have an e-mail within the hour detailing our rules and regulations, a list of local hotels in your area, and payment instructions. All monies must be received at least seven days before your appointment.”

“Okay, whatever.”

“Thank you for your time, Chiquita.”

Just like that, Robin was gone.

July 9 was the strangest day of my life. Scott woke me up with his tongue. Now Scott had licked a lot of things in three years, but he had never licked my pussy. But there he was with his head buried between my legs, going to town on my coochie. I didn’t have a lot of experiences to compare that one to, but he seemed to be doing okay with it. He wasn’t making my thighs tremble or anything like that, but it was interesting.

“Happy Birthday, baby,” he whispered about ten minutes after I’d opened my eyes to his surprise. “Thirty years old. You’re about to be over the hill.”

“The hill you crossed over four years ago, huh?” I asked jokingly.

“Hey, that was a cheap shot.”

Scott tickled me until I was screaming for mercy.

“See, that’ll teach you not to make fun of a brother’s age,” he said after finally letting me go.

“You started it,” I childishly replied.

He reached over and retrieved a small black velvet bag from the drawer of the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“Seriously, happy thirtieth, Laura.” He handed me the bag. “This is something special for someone special.”

I took the bag and just stared at it. What on earth was he up to?

“Laura, open it already.” Scott laughed.

I undid the drawstring on the bag and pulled out a black velvet box. At that moment, I knew the thing I had most wanted and dreaded at the same time was about to happen. I tried to think quickly, but instead my mind went completely blank.

Scott took the box from my hand and snapped it open, revealing a two-carat diamond ring. It was stunning.

“So, will you?”

I was speechless. My eyes fluttered from the ring to his face and back again.

“Laura, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I said the first thing that made sense. “Can I have some time to think about it?”

The look of disappointment on Scott’s face was nothing short of depressing. We sat in silence for a couple of minutes before he asked, “How much time do you need?”

“Just a day or two,” I replied hesitantly. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting this.”

“But what do you have to think about, Laura? We’ve been together for three years.” He set the ring down on the comforter and gently took my hand. “Don’t I make you happy?”

“Yes, Scott, you make me happy,” I said halfheartedly. “I still just need a little bit of time. Cool?”

“Cool.”

Scott got up from the bed, and while he didn’t exhibit anger in his movements, I knew he was fired up inside. He had taken the ultimate step to commitment, and I had shot him down.

He got dressed, and as he was leaving, he asked, “Do you want to go out to dinner tonight to celebrate your birthday?”

“Umm, I can’t.” My lies were about to begin. “I promised my mother that I’d spend tonight with her. Like you said, this is a big day, and she really wanted to do something special for me.”

“Kind of like I tried to do this morning,” he said.

I ignored his comment. “In fact, we might be out kind of late, so I’ll probably just spend the night and head to work from there in the morning.”

“Laura, all I can say is, enjoy your birthday, and I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

Scott walked out the bedroom, and a few seconds later I heard the front door slam.