Sexaholics (12 page)

“Where the fuck am I?” she asked groggily, trying her best to
focus. Now sober.

The man barely opened his eyes and said, “Huh? Oh. Go back to
sleep.”

“What time is it?”

No one replied. It was like she had put them all to bed. She saw from the
cable box display that it was 4:17.

Valencia immediately sat up and pushed the woman’s head from her lap,
swung her legs over, and stood. “Where are my clothes? Where’s my
purse?” All the colorful threesome did was readjust their positions
without her. “
Ay dios mio.
Greg is gonna kill me.”
Valencia’s head was doing flip-flops. Her breath smelled like beer and
weed and pussy and cum. “My ass is grass now,” were the last words
she spoke before leaving in a shoeless rush.

Within two minutes she was in her car dialing Gregory’s number in a
hurry. He hadn’t called even once, which made her dial even faster.

He answered the phone with “I came by and you weren’t home. I
waited. Who were you with?”

“I was with Miki. I fell asleep. We hung out after you and I talked,
and I ended up at her house and we dozed off. I’m sorry,
papi
.”

“Are you telling me the truth?” He sounded distant and drained
and angry.

“Yeah.”

The sound of keystrokes upon a keyboard could be heard under his voice.
“Valencia, I’m asking you. What the hell is up with you two? You and
I had plans. We agreed I would come by.”

“Nothing. We just had a drink or two and I was tired anyway. I told
you, I’m sorry.”

“Valencia, one more time. I give you one more time. You keep it up,
okay?” His throat sounded like a guarantee.

“I won’t, baby. I promise. Where are you?”

“I’m at home.” Along with his keystrokes, the faint audio
of someone breathing and mumbling was detectable.

“What are you doing? And what are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep worrying about you. Call me later. I’m
gonna try and get some sleep. Bye.” He simply hung up in her face.

She looked at the display on her phone screen that said,
Call ended
.

Valencia took a deep breath.

She wore a vertical frown line between her eyes the entire way home.

All the while, her heart beat fast like something bad was bound to
happen.

Her untamed desires were getting harder to handle.

She sighed
. Yes, something is bound to happen. And soon.

Brandi

T
wo of the words spoken by her
newfound friend, Teela, banged around in Brandi’s usually curious
head.
Glory hole.

Yes, curiosity had its usual stronghold on Brandi while she strolled inside
her local sex shop on Hollywood Boulevard the next evening. The stand-alone
building was black and white inside, with pink and blue rows of track lighting.
It resembled a small strip club. Chains and whips and handcuffs hung from the
ceiling. Black and white photos of nudes in bondage graced the walls all around.
The store was called Kinky. And Brandi was a regular.

It was late afternoon after a long day at her middle school. The sun had
almost made its descent. Brandi had decided to make the visit that her
unrelenting voice of wonder insisted she make. Her bad side dared her to check
out what it was that was so ultrasatisfying about a glory hole that Teela knew
about so intensely, but Brandi didn’t.

“How are you, lady?” asked the middle-aged worker behind the
counter. He had cryptic tattoos on his forehead and neck.

Brandi was upbeat. “I’m good, thanks for asking. And
you?”

“Good. Good. Nice to see you again. Can I help you find
anything?”

“No. Just looking, that’s all.”

“No problem.”

“Thanks, though. I appreciate it.” Brandi’s wide smile was
for him, even though she aimed her sights at the many devilish products
displayed along the glass shelves.

She examined the multicolored bottles of scented lube, the jet-black King
Kong dildos, the vibrating clit stimulators and pocket pussies, then headed over
to the video rental section, picking up and eyeing the orgy movies in
particular. She browsed and browsed subjects ranging from hairy vaginas to Asian
honeys, then saw a machine labeled
Upstairs Video Tokens
. Her smile
dropped.

She pulled a bill from her ivory purse. Just when the man behind the counter
stepped up to assist a customer, she stepped to the token machine, inserted a
five-dollar bill, grabbed the large coin, and darted up the short flight of
creaky and worn wooden stairs.

Brandi stood at the very top step, wearing her conservative pumps, and peeked
to the left and then to the right and then to the left again. Stale and musty
was the smell. She fought to ignore it.

With enough curiosity to kill her cat, she took a slow-moving step to the
left. The first stall was occupied and the door was locked. The lock on the
second stall was broken. The third was the charm. It had a shiny new brass lock,
a functioning TV monitor and a nice, large hole in the wall. She entered with
caution and flicked the sliding lock behind her.

She hung her purse on the doorknob and removed her lavender wrap dress,
hanging it on a rusty door hook. She stepped up to the monitor, inserted the
token and pressed play. It was an old movie with nothing but close-up fuck
scenes. She then took a couple of steps to the wall and peeked through the hole.
It was about the size of a saucer. She took a deep breath. Her rush started to
take over at what she saw.

A skinny, hairy man stood before his own video screen with his pants to his
ankles. His stiff dick was in both hands. He stroked his Johnson with his right
hand with his legs apart, jerking himself for dear life while lusting over the
woman on the TV screen, who was receiving anal sex from a woman with a major
strap-on.

His face showed his turn-on. He eyed down the movie as he panted, and then
his gaze shifted to the hole, which was shared by the occupant from stall number
three. He sped up his jack-off pace even more now that he knew he had an
audience. His face remained serious and his hand movements remained
vigorous.

Brandi took a small step back as he took a big step forward and placed his
penis into the hole, dropping one hand to his side. Brandi’s hand took
hold of his white shaft; she brought her mouth to his dick, opening wide, and
began to blow him hard. She placed her right hand between her own legs and gave
a wetness check, flicking the juices that seeped from her opening. As she sucked
the thin stranger’s tall dick, she finger-fucked herself deeper and faster
while he flexed his ass muscles, pumping deeper into and out of her mouth with a
fury. She licked him and placed short sucks to his tip. His moans grew louder
than the volume of his porno movie.

She slipped into a quiet, slow-moving orgasm that spilled from inside her
pussy like a melting ice cube. His pumping ceased, and the thick veins of his
ashen dick visibly throbbed. Brandi backed her head away, and he removed his
dick from the hole and spewed his sperm onto his hand, grunting like he was
trying to lift a five-hundred-pound barbell.

Five minutes later, Brandi was in her red Camaro and on her way home.

Now she knew the glory behind the hole.

Her curiosity was kinkily contented.

Again.

Miki

M
iki, the elder of two daughters, born
to parents who’d now been married forty long years, was thirty-four years
old, even though she looked an entire generation younger. She met her boyfriend,
Tariq Thomas, two years ago at the hotel where she worked, when he and his team
were in town for a play-off game. The team had booked a block of rooms for a few
days. He slept with Miki the second day they were in town. She spent her lunch
hour in his room and worked him like he was running up and down the football
field.

He played arena football in Atlanta, but a few months after they met, he
moved to Los Angeles to work as a sports agent, and Miki couldn’t have
been happier. By then her son was four and she and her son’s dad, Anthony,
had long ago ended their relationship due to Miki’s infidelities. He
blamed it on the fact that he met her at a strip club. She blamed it on the fact
that he couldn’t handle what she called the boomerang.

Tariq knew when he laid eyes on Miki in the hotel lobby that fall that he had
found the one. He was hooked at first glance. And she was good in the sack. To
him, his mission to find a good woman was accomplished.

It was a clear and sunny Friday morning, as smog free as it had been in a
while in L.A. The slick sun slid through the thick slats of the natural
shutters. The large blades of the Casablanca kitchen fan spun through the air,
on guard to fight off the day’s upcoming heat.

Miki spoke into her cell. “Hey baby. What’s up?” she asked,
after sipping her morning orange juice from a small carton in her tiny kitchen.
She sat upon the suede bar stool at the caramel Corian counter. She’d just
taken a long shower. A large, sunny-yellow towel was all she wore; it was tucked
just under her arms, ending at the level of her sepia upper thighs. Her hair was
in a banana clip.

“Not much. Just about to head to the office.”

“Already? You just left here an hour ago,” she told Tariq.

“Hey, I’m showered and changed, and already in the
car.”

“Wow, Mister. You move fast.”

“Shoot. I got that Miki energy boost. I think we ought to get you a
deal with a beverage company and name an energy drink after you called
Good-Good, and make some damn money. Well, not literally, but hell, you know
what I mean,” he kidded. “Holy shit!”

“Very funny. But if that’s the case, you should do the
same.” She heard a call-waiting tone. “Hey, can you hold on a
minute?”

“Sure,” he replied.

She pressed Answer. “Hello.”

“Hello back. Good morning, beautiful,” Robert said. His voice was
slow yet upbeat.

“Hi, Bob. When can I meet you?”

“Well, Rose isn’t staying in Santa Barbara with our daughter
anymore. I think my daughter’s in denial. Rose is now here in the Venice
Beach house, so I want to stay nearby and keep an eye on her. I can’t
leave her alone for too long unless a nurse is here. I can meet you somewhere
around here. Even within the hour if you can.”

“I can’t. I’ve gotta wait here until Anthony brings T.J.
home. He’s had him since Sunday, so he’s bringing him home in a
minute.”

“Oh. Don’t you have to go to work today?”

“No. I took the day off. I’ve just got a few things to do. And
T.J.’s off, so I want to spend some time with him.”

“I see. Listen, maybe I can just come by there later on tonight once
he’s gone to sleep.”

She readjusted her towel under her arms. “No. How about if T.J. and I
meet you for lunch today in your area? Maybe over on Washington, like at Killer
Shrimp. Is that okay?”

“Okay, our old spot. That’ll work. I can run out for an hour or
so. Maybe around one o’clock. How’s that?”

“That’s good. How much do you have, anyway? Money I mean,”
she asked.

“You said three thousand, right.”

She corrected him. “I said thirty-five hundred.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I can give you the rest later on. I’m pretty
sure I can sneak by late.”

“No. Like I said, not tonight. But three thousand is fine.” She
remembered her other call and spoke quickly. “Listen, I almost forgot.
I’m on the other line. I’ll see you at one.”

“See you then.”

“Bye.” She exhaled a sigh and then clicked back over, talking
slower. “Hello.”

“I’m here.”

She shifted her tone by a notch. “Okay. Sorry about that.”

“Who was that?”

“Oh that was just Anthony. Remember I told you he’s bringing T.J.
back today?”

“Oh yeah. What time is he coming?” Tariq asked.