Nude Awakening (9 page)

“Why you trippin’?” he asked as a white overweight lady ambled by holding a baby.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“You know what I’m talking about.” He nodded at the flowers. “You don’t like flowers?”

She shrugged, looking away. “These are . . . mushy things. You didn’t have to buy them.”

Trevon knew it was going to be hard to break her walls down. “Kandi, I mean, LaToria. Just because you do porn doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be treated nice. I got the flowers as a way to say thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?” she asked, looking into his eyes.

“Be serious.”

“I am being serious. I don’t know! Shit! Is it ‘cause I got some bomb head? I just don’t know, okay? All this shit you’re doing. You got me off balance.”

“And what is this shit I’m doing?”

“Actin’ like . . . you really feeling me. This is a business, Trevon, and that’s all it is. Dealing with emotions in this business is like selling dope and trying to smoke it at the same time. It don’t mix. I don’t deal in emotion, not anymore. Besides, you just met me yesterday. Once you do your first film, you’ll change and I promise that. All this mushy shit will be the last thing on your mind.”

Trevon sensed the hurt in her voice that she tried to conceal. He wanted to get to know her. Even though she did porn, he felt he could overlook her job. At least he would try. Maybe I do need to slow down. I have not been with a woman in so long. Now I’m free and her fine ass got me so wide open. Damn, she just so damn cool. Why can’t I be the man in her life? She gave that skinny ass nigga, Swagga, some play. Wait, I can’t forget that he has money and I don’t.

“So it’s just business, huh?” he said after running his thoughts through his mind.

“That’s all it is, Trevon,” she lied. Girl, this nigga is uugghhh! Now I know what Nicki Minaj meant by that nigga seeing right through her. Youuu seeee right through me. How do you do that shit! Now I’ma be stuck with this damn song in my head all fucking damn day. I can’t be real with you, Trevon. Lord knows I’m feeling you too, baby. And I ain’t even got a shot of the dick!

TWELVE

September 8, 2011

Thursday 11:10 a.m. - Miami, Florida

Twelve days later, Trevon found himself filled with a strong urge to fast forward to tomorrow. He was still sex free, no pussy, and still living with Kandi. Strictly business. Tomorrow would be the first day of filming. Kandi suggested a week ago that she stop her regular oral favors so he would be ready to bust on film. He agreed. They both placed their emotions aside and fronted like it was only business.

Trevon was slowly adjusting to his freedom and the speed of things. When he was not going over the movie script, he was chilling with Kandi. She showed him how to wash his own clothes and how to cook basic meals. Their friendship grew, but each refused to act upon anything that dealt with emotions. Trevon had bought a year old car with some of his advance money and had obtained his driver’s license. If he was not at home, he was out cruising the streets in his pearlescent white 2010 Jaguar XJL. He kept it clean and with Kandi’s help, the MP3 player was loaded with old school classics ranging from Biggie Smalls to the Lost Boyz.

He was cruising down 54th Street with the system thumping, leaning hard in the black leather seat. I’ma be a star! A porn star! He nodded to the music. He had yet to tell his mom and sister of his new career. He only assured them that the money he wired was earned legally.

With Kandi ignoring his wants to become closer, he began to flirt more openly with women he met randomly in the street. He had close to ten different phone numbers and pictures of new women stored in his cell phone. At times, his communication skills came to a halt when he dealt with older women. He had yet to go out with any of the women. One reason was his unfairness to compare them to Kandi. Being exposed to this new life had him wanting more. Coming up on 12th Avenue, a shapely female caught his eye. Her back was toward him as she pumped gas into a tinted forest green brand new Jeep Grand Cherokee. Her heels showcased her leggy stance in the tight-fitting blue jeans.

I got to see who she is. Damn, look at those hips! He switched lanes to slow down and turned into the gas station. Feeling himself, he quickly changed up the music then thought about what he would say to this new honey. Even if she turned out to be ugly, he would still give her a call just for the view of her ass and legs. He hit the button to lower all four of the tinted windows.

Kendra Paige kept her eyes on the digital counter. Gas is too damn high! The price was $50.72 and counting. Suddenly, a soft mellow thump from a car system made her turn her head. She hated all that bumpity bump shit, but at least it was one of her favorite songs.

When the pump clicked indicating the tank was full, she again glanced over her shoulder. Kendra wanted to be sure it was Trevon Harrison before she walked over. Yep! That’s Trevon. She eyed him hard as he pulled up to a pump. Now she knew he was up to something illegal!

Trevon almost drove into a light pole when he locked eyes with his parole officer. “What the fuck!” He eased the British sedan to a stop with the system still playing The Dream, “Falsetto.”

Damn. Here come the parole officer from hell. This is what I get fo’ chasin’ a piece of good looking ass! Trevon stepped out of his ride and tried to front like he was surprised to see her.

“Ms. Paige! What’s—”

She held up a hand, shutting him down. “Show me your driver’s license, Mr. Harrison. I seriously hope you’re not driving without one.”

Trevon was not in the mood to be dealing with her salty ass. He reached into his loose black Gucci jeans and pulled out his wallet. “I got it last week,” he said and held the license out between his two fingers.

“I know how to read!” She swiped it from his hand. Please let it be fake so I can lock his ass up! Seeing it was authentic, she handed it back. She looked at his ride and the big chrome rims wrapped in thin glossy rubber band tires.

“Can I get some gas?” he asked since she stood in his path.

“This your car?” She had to squint from the gleam sparkling off the polished chrome rims.

“Yeah,” he answered, hoping she would stop tripping.

“Oh really, Mr. Harrison?” She crossed her arms. “Please enlighten me how you can afford a ride like that? Wait! You’re about to tell me you found a job. And even if you did, I doubt you would get a check so soon. Not one to afford that.” She nodded at the sleek four-door Jag.

“I—” he began, but stopped himself. Fuck her! Ain’t doing shit wrong. If she wanna act stupid, then fuck it.

“I what?” She pulled her cell phone seemingly from out of thin air. In truth, it was so small that Trevon had not noticed her holding the tiny flip phone. “I’ll tell you what I can do and what I’m about to do since you can’t explain this car. How about I get on this phone and call the police, huh? What will they find if that car is searched?”

“Leather seats!”

“Oh, you still wanna be funny with me?”

“Listen. You want to call the police, do it! Ain’t got no place to be.”

Kendra flipped the phone open. This nigga think I’m bluffing! I’ll show his ass ‘cause I ain’t the—”

“Mommy!” a tiny voice whined from the back of her SUV.

Kendra scolded herself, having forgotten about Carmelita, her three year old. Shit! I’m really out here tripping! What if this fool was on some dumb shit? I got my baby in the ride and I got her around this ex-con. What if . . . he has a gun? Okay, calm down and fall back. I’ll just file a suspicious activity report on his ass. At the rate he’s going, he’ll get popped for whatever he’s doing. Let me take my baby to the park. “Coming baby,” she said, closing the phone. “You need to get your shit together, Mr. Harrison.”

“What?” Trevon pulled out his cell phone. “Your phone dead? Need to use mine?”

“Don’t push me!” she warned.

Trevon glared back, holding his ground. She cute. Just stupid. When she turned to stomp away, he had to admit that she had a nice country thick frame. Without effort, he compared her to Kandi. Kandi was still that top-notch-dimed-out-fly-ass-all-around-the world-DIVA.

Bayview Condo, Fisher Island

“Girl, where ya been?” Cindy said while out on the balcony sunbathing. She lay on her back wearing nothing. The sun was basking her tone to a deep golden hue that would drive Swagga silly. In her ear, hidden under her dreads was a tiny wireless earpiece.

“I’ve been out of town,” Chyna responded with a true Asian accent.

“For two whole weeks?”

“Two and a half. So what’s up? I got your message on my Facebook.”

“I need a small favor,” Cindy said, reaching for the peach scented tanning lotion.

“A favor? Uh-oh.” Chyna giggled.

“It’s nothing crazy. Just need you to be an escort for somebody.” Cindy squeezed a small dime drop of tanning lotion on each breast.

“You know my fee?”

“Yes, I know your fee, Chyna. I doubt you would let me forget.” Closing her eyes, she began to rub the lotion into her skin. She intentionally squeezed her nipples between her thumb and index fingers on both perky tits.

“Who’s the guy?”

“Um …” She released her slippery tits as a shadow appeared over her. “You’ll have to speak to someone else about all the details and stuff.” Cindy raised her feet up, then opened her legs. Her pussy lips were small and delicate looking.

“Will this somebody have my money up front?”

“Yes, Chyna.” Cindy slid her hands toward her recently waxed pussy and opened her outer lips. “How did your operation go last month?”

“Huh?”

“Your operation. The sex change. How did it turn out?”

“Oh! Fine. Everything is good?”

“So, you have a pussy now?” Cindy dipped her middle finger inside her pussy, then slid it back out.

“The juiciest in Florida!”

“I doubt it, bitch.”

“Suck it, ho!”

The two friends laughed. Cindy gave Chyna the phone number to reach Swagga.

“Swagga? The rapper!” Chyna said excitedly.

“Calm down, ho. He’s my meal ticket, so erase dem dollar signs out ‘cha eyes.”

“Bye bitch. He just betta have my bread.”

“Whateva.”

Cindy ended the call, then gazed up at the sexy concierge from the kitchen.

He was jacking his pink, hard dick while standing over her. She began to finger herself while rubbing and squeezing her slippery titties. Her eyes moved from his face to his dick.

“Pump that cock! Pump it. Look at my pussy. You wanna ram that dick all up in me? Yesssss . . . pump it fast. Faster!”

The concierge’s fist was a milky blur as he masturbated over Cindy’s perfect body. She kept rubbing her breasts and fingering her dripping pussy at his feet. He moaned. He grunted. Easing up on his toes, he pumped his climax free.

Cindy lost her breath as a long stream of warm milky cum landed from her tits to her pussy. His last release landed on her chin.

“You made a mess,” she said, pointing at the mass of cum sliding down her waxed pussy. “Lick it off. All of it.”

Under the warmth of the soothing sun, she finger combed the concierge’s beach blond hair. He took his time slurping at her damp pussy, thankful she was allowing him this freaky pleasure. Cindy held him in place until she popped one against his lips. She was still down for Swagga. The concierge could only fantasize about running his dick up in her.

THIRTEEN

At the same time up in Fort Lauderdale, Swagga was home up in his state-of-the art studio. He looked at his music producer through the soundproof glass while bobbing his head to the bass filled beat. He pressed the Dr. Dre headphones against his ears. He had to come with some fire to dethrone Lil Wayne and Rick Ross. His music producer D-Hot gave him a nod from the soundboard.

“My shit hot like the hood in Opa Locka, where bricks get chopped cookin’ coke wit straight Vodka, Make you lose blood like you drainin’ your bladder, That’s for any cock sucka dats aimin’ at Swagga, Fish scale, Nigga I’m raw, now clap your hands and gimme an encore . . .”

D-Hot stood up. “That’s a good take, Swagga!”

Swagga pulled the headphones off and turned to glance over his shoulder. Lounging behind him on a white sofa was a new groupie he had met last week. He had already fucked her twice and was ready to make it a third by day’s end. She had a bag of Kush on the table and was ready to smoke.

Just as he sat down beside her, his mobile phone vibrated on his waist. Viewing the number, it was one he had never seen.

“Yeah?” he answered as Yaffa walked into the booth with a bottle of Moet and two glasses.

“Hello. May I um . . . speak to Swagga?”

“Dis he. Who dis?” He changed his tone hearing a female voice.

“Chyna. Cindy told me to call you.”

Swagga stood and walked to the far corner of the booth. “Did Cindy tell you what was up?”

“A little bit. Said something about me being an escort for somebody.”

“Yeah. My man . . . He um—would like to get up with you, but it has to be on the down low.”

“That’s normal in my line of business.”

“Yo, how do I know you really look like a bitch? My nigga wants you to look like a female all the way around. You ain’t manly lookin’, are you?”

Chyna laughed softly. “How about you meet me face to face? Then you can judge for yourself.”

Swagga looked over at Yaffa and the groupie. “That might be a good idea. How much you charge?”

“Eight hundred for a date. Oral sex is an extra two hundred and the pussy is a flat fee of fifteen hundred.”

That was nothing to Swagga. “You a transvestite, right?”

“No, sugah.” Chyna laughed. “I’m a transsexual, also called a transgender.”

“What’s the damn difference?”

“A lot, honey. A transvestite is a man that likes to dress and act like a woman. As for me, I had a full sex change. I got it all. Pussy, ass, breasts and the best head on this coast.”

“Yeah, well you can brag ‘bout all that shit to my nigga.”

“Still want to see what you’re paying for?”

“Yeah. Also, I’m dealing in cash.”

“Fine with me.”

“Aiight. Where can we meet?”

“Um, there is an Asian bar in downtown Miami near Bayside. I can meet you there tonight at eight.”

“How will I know what you look like?”

“You won’t miss me, baby. I’ll be the only Asian chick with blonde hair, green eyes and a nice firm booty.”

Swagga was pissed off! Where the fuck dis bitch at? Got me up in dis funky ass spot wit’ all these Jackie Chan lookin’ motherfuckers! Swagga looked at his iced out watch. It was ten minutes past eight. He had tried to call Chyna five minutes ago, but his call was forwarded to voice mail. Snatching up his phone he called her again.

“Chyna! Where the fuck you at, yo! I’ma give you . . . ten mo minutes then I’m leavin’ this—Just call me or hurry the fuck up and get here!” Swagga ended the call, then motioned for one of the tiny Asian hostesses to come to his table.

Yaffa declined a drink as Swagga made his order. Yaffa was staying focused on his surroundings to spot any threats toward Swagga. “What this chick look like?”

“Um . . . blonde hair, green eyes and a nice ass.” Swagga had not told Yaffa that Chyna was a transgender.

Yaffa had eyed every female in the bar. The only blonde haired female in the bar was a small-breasted white girl over by the pool table.

The bar was loud. Too loud for Yaffa. The language being spoken was lost to both Yaffa and Swagga. Neither knew one word of Chinese or Japanese.

Swagga settled back in the booth with a cold beer checking out the women.

Shit! Ain’t never had no Asian pussy! Damn, that bartender do look sexy as fuck. Wonder if she ever had any Mandingo dick?

“Yaffa.” Swagga stood. “I’ma go spit game to the bartender. She keep looking over here at a nigga.” Swagga made his way to the bar. Heads turned as he walked by. His dreads, bulky jewelry and skin color was a rarity inside the bar. Swagga had all the confidence in the world as he took a seat at the crowded bar. He eased his lanky frame between two Asian men and smiled at the short, cute faced bartender. Her jet-black hair was tied up in a bun. She had a nice set of thin lips that went natural with her Asian features. Overall, she was a small petite female in Swagga’s view. All he wanted to do was fuck or get some head. Once he gained the bartender’s attention, he forgot all about Chyna and laid his game down. He told her he was a rapper, but she thought he was telling a lie.

“You lie.” she said and laughed, while cleaning the bar top.

“Look ma,” he said, looking at her small breasts. “I got a big ass mansion up in Fort Lauderdale. Ain’t gotta front ‘bout nothin’,” he boasted. “I got racks on racks.”

“You rich?” the bartender asked while fixing a drink for another customer at the bar.

Swagga nodded. “I’ll make it rain up in this bitch. What time you get off?”

“Two hours. Why is that important to you?” she asked with a smirk.

“You coming home wit’ me tonight?”

Ten minutes later, he finally got the call back from Chyna. Swagga listened while watching the bartender work. Chyna explained that a family issue had come up and they could meet tomorrow.

“Yeah. Just call me.” Swagga had his mind on the bartender. Chyna on some bullshit.

Swagga ended up talking the Asian bartender into coming to his mansion. His mind was still focused on setting up Trevon with Chyna, but for now, he wanted to see how he would fair with his latest quest.