Nasty (11 page)

Trying to make small talk, he commented, “I made good time on the FDR Drive…no traffic at all.” He looked around her tastefully decorated brownstone. It was on equal par, if not more extravagant than his mother’s home in Brooklyn. Jonathan walked around her living room admiring her exquisite collection of Haitian and African-American art.

“Your home is beautiful, Nicola. I…what?” Nicola had slid up behind him and totally caught him off-guard. Having her so close was extremely disturbing.

“I’m sorry, did I scare you?” She playfully stared into his eyes. A tremor went through his body that was off the Richter scale.

“Just startled,” he mumbled.

“Did you tell Carlos we had met earlier in the club that night?” She was almost on top of him now. Any closer and their bodies would touch. The old “brainless” one below his waist was about to take off from the launch pad any second. At the first sign of contact, it would be no holding back, and Jonathan knew it. He pulled away from Nicola, and sat back down on a chaise lounge covered with genuine leopard skin.

“I would have if you had said something to back me up.” He sounded childish, blaming her for his reluctance to be honest with his brother.

“It was just an innocent meeting, Jonathan.” Nicola was wearing a sheer Japanese kimono. She twirled around modeling it for him. “Do you like?” The material easily revealed her body. Of course he liked what he saw. “I purchased this last year when I visited Japan. Ever been?” Jonathan was having difficulty keeping a growing erection from embarrassing him. He shook his head and repositioned himself on the couch.

Trying to refocus, he picked up an ornament off the mosaictiled coffee table and asked her about it. Why did he do that? She had to sit next to him and describe it to him as it was indeed a show-and-tell piece.

“It’s an obelisk made of pure jade. It has a…” She pressed a button. A secret drawer popped out, startling Jonathan. “Oh, I didn’t want to scare you.” With that Nicola stroked his thigh. Jonathan did not, could not do the decent thing and pull away from her. He sat there paralyzed with pleasure; unable and unwilling to move.

She gazed into his eyes, looking for signs of disapproval. Finding none, she traveled to his inner thigh. “That’s right; I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable with me. After all, I am your brother’s little girlfriend, aren’t I?” Parking her hands
over home plate, she stroked his dick back and forth in a sensuous motion.

Jonathan had waited his whole life for the first time someone would stroke him other than himself. As his penis reached granite-hard status, Nicola patted his leg and smiled the smile that got all men in trouble and asked, “Is your whole family endowed like this? First Carlos, now you. What a terrific gene pool.”

What happened next, Jonathan would remember the rest of his life. He decided right on the spot that it would be the last thing he saw flash in front of his eyes the day he died. In one swift motion, before he had opportunity to object, Nicola pulled down his zipper, reached inside his boxers and liberated his cast-iron hard dick. It sprang to attention.

Nicola, Jonathan’s high priestess of pleasure, squealed with delight as she surveyed his treasure. “Now isn’t this special.” Jonathan watched Nicola bend down before him, between his legs, in what he imagined to be geisha-girl style. She took control of his penis as if it was a scepter, stroking it up and down in royal fashion. “So special, Mr. Basketball Man. You’re a special young man indeed.”

Under his breath, hoping that it would give him strength to pull away from Nicola, Jonathan chanted the Teens for Abstinence mantra…“No Ring; No Sex.” He repeated the words over and over, but they had no meaning. The only thing he understood was Nicola’s hands kneading his dick expertly, coaxing his hot blood to fill deep, tortuous, cavernous spaces. Then she did the unexpected.

“This looks good enough to…” Without any request from him, she planted gentle kisses along the shaft of his penis. Jonathan’s eyes bulged out. He was very near to exploding. When she
whipped out her wet tongue and slid it up and down his massive expansion, Jonathan’s brain and body seemed to detach from his penis. He was just one big dick, waiting for Nicola to send him off…and send him off she did.

“Stand up,” she ordered. Jonathan obeyed. Nicola frowned. “Umm, you are tall. I know what. Bend on your knees and I’ll sit on the couch.” Like a slave, Jonathan obeyed once again. “This is more like it. Now, put it right here in Mama’s mouth. She wants all of it.”

He realized what was about to happen. He’d seen enough videos. He placed his missile between her lips. It was tight as a visor.

Instinctively, in piston-like style, he rammed himself into her mouth. She was indeed able to handle all of him. He held on to her head and controlled the rate. Faster and faster. He kept banging his love crown against the far reaches of her throat. His balls slapped against her chin with each thrust. Approaching the inevitable end a scream escaped from his mouth; a bloodcurdling primal scream. His first orgasm with a real live woman! It was nothing as he had imagined. It was indeed better than he had imagined.

Swallowing what she could, thick copious fluid erupted from her mouth, dripping over her chin.

“Mmmm…virgin protein…I just LOVE IT!” Not wanting to miss a drop of the precious fluid, she licked the remains off of his penis.

“How’d you know I’m a virgin?”

Her only response was to wink and say, “Little messy here. Let me wipe this up for you.” She took tissues out of an attractive brass elephant dispenser on her coffee table. She gently patted his glistening dick till it was dry. Jonathan stood there in a trance-like state. Tiny aftershocks rippled through his penis,
causing his body to jerk. Nicola planted a kiss on his crown. “Guess I’ll get dressed now.”

It was over. Nicola rose and disappeared out of the room, leaving behind a confused and very fulfilled young man. One question troubled him as he stared down at his dick. His penis was still rock hard. What was he supposed to do with it? He’d never had a real woman do what Nicola had just done. He was scared. With great difficulty, he stuffed himself back into his pants. Would his dick ever shrink back to normal? He’d heard about men who had erections that lasted so long they had to go to the emergency room for treatment.

An absurd thought flashed through his mind—to call and ask Carlos, but he knew how that would go over. The vision of Carlos giving him advice and kicking his ass at the same time, did help to cool him down. Finally, his erection faded.

Alone, waiting for Nicola to get dressed, he wondered how he was going to deal with Carlos. The “guilties” were beginning to haunt him. He wanted to blame everything on Nicola. After all, he had not provoked her. On the real side of truth, he was guilty of not pulling away. She hadn’t exactly raped him.

What really made him feel lower than the crud between his toes, was that he wanted it to happen again. Not only did he want a repeat, he wanted more from Nicola. He wanted to make love to her. In fact, at that moment, having sex and worshipping at the feet of the one woman he knew to be a genuine Black Goddess Queen of Love, was his only goal in life. Fuck college…fuck basketball…but most of all, fuck the Teens for Abstinence Club. He needed to fuck Nicola.

Nicola’s entrance into the room shocked the young basketball player back into the present. Wearing an Edward Williamson original, a snug-fitting, fuchsia-colored pantsuit that advertised
her goods without giving them all away, she was nothing short of fabulous. Jonathan, impressed, whistled loudly. Nicola twirled and modeled her outfit.

“You think Carlos will like this?”

Now it was his turn to straighten things out. “Nicola, about what just happened, I don’t think…”

“You mean that little massage? That was nothing, Jonathan. Something between new friends. Don’t even worry about it. Just act like it never really happened, okay?” With that, she opened the front door. “Time for the concert.”

They rode back to Brooklyn chatting about simple, benign, everyday life. Anybody listening would never guess that anything other than a platonic relationship existed between the two. And, as Jonathan regretfully admitted to himself, that was indeed all that they had…that and the memory of his very first blow job.

E
li looked at the clock. It was 5:30 in the morning. He pulled back the curtain and saw the sun rise up into the sky to start a brand-new day. Today was his boy’s show. He reached out and grabbed the Bible off his nightstand. He turned to the twenty-third Psalms and pulled out the meticulously folded news article he’d placed there for safe keeping. In the center of the first page of the entertainment section of the
Amsterdam News
, was a picture of Tarik. Since he got the flyer a week ago, an article about Tarik appeared in the weekly newspaper.

For the thousandth time he read it. He’d memorized almost every word. The journalist had given many details of Tarik’s career. He particularly beamed with pride when his boy was described as a “genius poet/songwriter.” What really made Eli happy, was that an itinerary of his show dates revealed he’d be performing in Prospect Park. It was only a short cab ride away. He was elated. Nothing in this world would keep him from attending the event today.

Slowly rising from bed, Eli prayed his frail health would hold out. He didn’t have to speak to Tarik. He just wanted to see him. He was so proud of this young man. Ophelia and the man who had adopted Tarik had obviously done a wonderful job
raising him. He no longer regretted signing the papers that officially cut him out of his only child’s life.

Trying to look as presentable as possible, he decided to trim his scraggly gray beard. Completely bald, he’d lost his hair when he participated in an AIDS drug trial while in jail. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. A gaunt, scary face stared back. When Eli entered prison over five years ago, the scaled tipped in at 165 pounds. For a six-foot-two man he was thin then. This week, he weighed a whopping 130 pounds. The disease had reduced him to skin, brittle bones, and according to his last round of tests, a blood profile so abnormal it was damn near incompatible with life.

After five years of fighting infections, the tuberculosis that refused to respond to standard treatment, and the anti-viral meds and their crippling side effects, Eli was nearing the end of the battle. This time, he would not emerge the victor.

Brushing his teeth, a comforting thought visited him and temporarily pushed aside the curtain of gloom that so often darkened his waking moments. There was one thing he had done right. Heroin no longer ruled his life. Didn’t even need the methadone either. Life and the hope he would one day see his Ophelia and Eli, was enough high for him.

He was close to completing the yellow rose painting he had started in prison. Another few sessions and he’d be through. When he’d arrived at Hilton Arms, an abandoned building the city rehabilitated for residents suffering with AIDS, he planned to one day present it to Ophelia. It was his way of expressing both his gratitude for raising their son and apologizing for his utter failure as a husband and father.

Suspecting there was a slim possibility he’d run into her at the concert, he thought about bringing it with him. He looked
over at the painting. Unfinished. He frowned. He couldn’t give it to Ophelia in that condition. His inability to complete tasks was one of the main reasons their relationship suffered.

No, today he was just going to see his son perform. Hopefully, one day soon, he’d finish the painting and have an opportunity to meet with her. Realistically, as he assessed his declining energy, the odds were against him. More than likely he’d have to give Ophelia her finished painting when they met on the other side. He smiled. He could almost see glimpses of the “light” some mornings. It was probably his eyes deteriorating, but he spiritually understood it to be divine illumination. One day soon this light would bathe and cleanse him before he reached the other side. The thought calmed him and gave him strength for his day’s journey.

The meals on wheels lady dropped off his nourishment for the day. He was not hungry, as usual, but today he forced the food down. He needed fuel for the long journey ahead. This was probably his last trip alone.

P
rospect Park was a beautifully landscaped area located in the heart of Brooklyn. Generations of African-Americans, Latinos and the new crop of gentrifying whites had visited over the years to swing in the swings, play basketball and listen to some of the best music in New York City. For the summer, there was no better place to be.

The place was packed. Surveying the huge crowd of over ten thousand people, Carlos was glad he invited record company executives to the park’s annual Fourth of July festival. It was a natural choice to display Tarik’s talents at the outdoor amphitheater. His brother had headlined the event for the past two years. Tarik knew what people liked and the crowds loved him for it.

It had been a steamy, hot day that, thanks to a brief shower, had finally decided to cool down. Folks arrived more than anxious for a good time and a slammin’ show. Vendors sold everything from incense to Jamaican jerk chicken. Early summer breezes carried the smell of food from all over the world. The unmistakable aroma of ganja weed was so strong most of the crowd enjoyed a mellow contact high.

The sounds of wild fireworks, cherry bombs and other incendiary items popping and crackling added to the festive atmosphere.
Families, friends, and lovers sat on wooden chairs, the grass or each other. At twilight, it was time for the show to begin. An expectant hush fell over the crowd.

In the small dressing room behind the amphitheater stage, Tarik and his entourage formed a circle. Always apprehensive before a big concert, Tarik’s heart pounded with anticipation. Small droplets of sweat beaded up along his hairline, waiting for the signal to slide down his forehead.

Trying his damn best to kill the colony of butterflies attacking his stomach, Tarik led his fellow musicians in a moment of prayerful silence. It was a ritual that helped him merge with the creative universe. It mellowed him out and prepared him for the job he’d been summoned to do.