Shattering the Myth (36 page)

“Love is the mutual gratification of the body and the mind!” but—

—lying here on the couch while this man sucks on my clit like a pit bull with lockjaw, I am not too sure about all that
.

There are times when I love what I do to make ends meet, and then there are times, such as this one, when I would rather be scrubbing floors and cleaning toilets. I'm sorry though. I was just never cut out to work a nine-to-five, so I do what I gotta do.

To make a long, drawn-out story short, I'm a dream merchant. Most people say “call girl,” but I think dream merchant sounds more professional. I mean, what I do isn't sleazy. It's not like I stand on da corner flagging down cars in thigh-high patent leather boots and daisy dukes. Hell, naw, this sister has class. In fact, I have more class than most of the women whose husbands and boyfriends I'm boning.

They come see me when the little uppity misses start fronting on the dick, taking shortcuts and shit because they're under the false impression their man is pussy-whipped and
wrapped around their little finger. Chile, please! They need to get real!

Conventional sex is all right, but straight-up nasty, raunchy fucking is where it's at, and most women can't deal with the notion. They think their man will view them as a slut if they do certain things or wonder why they know so much about fucking. It's true that men are the cause of a lot of it. They want the women they marry and settle down with to be virginal and innocent, yet they want a beast in the bedroom. Men don't want to ingest the fact their woman has been with several other men before them, so they make her feel like she better cover up the real sexual goddess within herself. Then they turn around and seek out a freaky-deaky sister like me to do the things for them their woman won't.

Personally, I wish all my sisters could be as uninhibited and as sexually free as I am. They're missing out on so much pleasure. On the other hand, if all women were like me, there would be no demand for my services, so it all pans out. I don't play either, because I always get the benjamins.

In fact, I went to a nightclub once with a girlfriend, and this brother was all up in my face, staring at my tits, darting his eyes back and forth between them like they were a hypnotist's pendulum. I grabbed him by the chin, redirected his eyes to my face, and said, “Read my lips. You want to look at me? That's two drinks!” Guess what? He hooked my girl and me up with drinks for the rest of the night. All I had to do was suck him off real quick in the men's room. While most women would turn their nose up at that, a little dick in the mouth ain't never hurt no one. Dicks are cleaner than mouths, anyway. Read a medical book.

I've read plenty of books, and I'm a certified sexologist, an expert in carnal knowledge, so to speak. My clients love me, and their women hate me but subconsciously wanna be just like
me. It's truly a shame I have to pick up the slack for the sisters, but that's the way the cookie crumbles. I know what evil lurks in male minds, and I use it to bring them pleasure. In return, they please me by dishing out the cash. I give them their dreams, and they give me mine. Like I said, I'm a dream merchant.

Take Burton, for example. He prides himself on being a happily married man, and for the most part he is. He's been married for eight years and has three children. His wife stays at home and keeps it clean and cozy. She wipes the snot off the kids' noses and all of that. She really loves him, and he adores her, but . . . she can't fuck AT ALL!

That's where I come in. I fuck him just the way he likes it. I do it all, from head to toe, from front to back, 'cause I got it like that. He pays me $300 a visit, one to two times a week. If you think that sounds steep, fuck you! I work hard for the money. Some people spend their money on crack addiction, and others spend it on pussy addiction. Same difference.

Burton likes several kinky things his wife won't do or let him do. He loves to toss my salad, and I love to have it tossed, with Italian dressing at that. Fat-free dressing, though, since Burton could stand to lose a few inches around the middle. I love the way he has me lie on my stomach and then props some pillows under my stomach so my ass will protrude up in the air. He always starts at the bottom and goes up. It's his favorite routine, I guess. Kind of like the way women get used to wiping from front to back with toilet paper. Anyway, I didn't mean to get off track.

He pours the dressing down the crack of my ass, takes his fingers and rubs the oily substance all over my round ass cheeks, and takes the tip of his tongue and licks it off one cheek at a time. He gives my whole ass a tongue bath, and then he starts working on the crack. He licks it from bottom to top and then
works his way back down to the center until he finds, oh my, how many licks does it take to get to the middle of an anus pop?

Let me say this. The man has mad skillz. Skillz on top of mutha-fucking skillz. He's so good at eating ass, they need to name him the Grand Dragon of the Ass-Eating Knights of America. Dayum, my ass is starting to pulsate right now just thinking about it.

Burton also likes to suck toes. He told me he tried to suck his wife's toes once, and she thought it was disgusting. See, that's why she's in the position she's in now; having a husband come home to her with my ass on his breath. Don't frown up at that, because just like all women, my shit don't stank. I love to have my toes sucked. It tickles. Especially when he soaks my feet and then gives me a foot massage first. Then he sucks on each toe and takes his time. Drawing the whole thing into his mouth, suckling on it, and then slowly pulling it out. Dayum, Burton and his oral fixation turn my ass on.

Now, you know any man so gifted with his mouth eats the nana half to death. Chile, you ever seen them shows where big-ass, husky men have pie-eating contests? Well, there you go, 'cause Burton flows just like that. He eats and eats, and he does a good job, unlike this pit bull gnawing on my shit now. Sometimes he likes to put whipped cream, fat-free of course, and honey, which is naturally fat-free, on my pussy before he dines. I bought this baby bib I put on him so he doesn't mess up his clothes. Sometimes when he's sucking my ta-tas, I put a baby bonnet on him too. It's too cute.

Norman is a nice gentleman too. He's not married, but seriously involved with some socialite who thinks her pussy is the bomb but ain't hitting on nothing at all. Now, Norman also has an oral fixation, but the opposite of Burton's. Norman wants me to lick all over him. He loves to have his dick sucked
day in and day out, and sucking dick happens to be my specialty.

He likes me to suck his dick with warm tea in my mouth, which can be kind of tricky if you don't know what da hell you are doing. He likes me to suck it with ice in my mouth too. Norman has this thing for extreme temperatures. He even went so far as letting me pour hot candle wax on his dick once. He's crazy, 'cause I would never let a man pour hot candle wax on this here pussy. That shit is just out of the dayum question.

Norman also likes me to bathe him. I run him a hot bath with honey and lemon and kneel beside the tub nude while I wash everything from his hair to his ass. He likes me to do it gently, like he is a newborn baby. I use a soft sponge and caress every inch of him, letting the warm water trickle all over his skin.

Norman's my favorite client because he's the most gentle. He's gentle with me, and I'm gentle with him. I only charge him $100, since I like him. If I were to settle down, and that's a big-ass if, I would want it to be with a man like him. Dayum shame his woman doesn't realize what a good man she has. Sometimes he comes over and I just suck his dick for hours on end. He doesn't even want to stick it in all the time. He just loves to feel my mouth and hands work their magic.

Now, as far as this
thing
between my legs at the moment, I hate him. He's a fucking beast. I tolerate him because he's dumb enough to pay out his ass for my services. His name is Luke, and he's such a fucking idiot. He pays me $500 a pop. Dumb ass! It hurts sometimes when he fucks me because he's so rough. He's into bondage, whips, chains, dildos, butt plugs, all that. But the worst thing about him is the way he bites me.

He told me once that his teeth are so sharp because he used to chew on tin cans when he was a child. I'm telling you, chile, his teeth are razors. He bites me everywhere from my
neck to my breasts to my pussy to my ass, and I can't stand it. In fact, after he finishes doing his dirt to me tonight, I'm thinking of telling him never to come by here again. It's just not worth it.

One time he took me to the basement of my building, down by the furnace, and tied me to the ceiling pipes butt-naked. For a few minutes there I was scared shitless after he stuck some sort of metal tube in the furnace until it got red hot and threatened to brand me with it. He put it down after he made me beg him not to do it and then just spanked me with a hand paddle instead. Then he fucked me from behind while I struggled to get my hands loose. That's when I knew this mutha-fucka was crazy.

I guess that's just a part of the business—taking the good with the bad. I know I can't do this forever, since there will come a time men won't want me cause of floppy tits and a sagging ass. I've been making some investments here and there, and hopefully, a few years from now, I can quit and do something legitimate. Still not working a nine-to-five though. Fuck all that!

I will keep my head up, though. There's no danger of developing eyestrain from looking on the bright side of things. So men, bring me your dreams, and I'll make them all come true. If you need some help locating me, let your fingers do the walking. I'm listed in the yellow pages. Just look for the Dream Merchant.

“I was always told to eat everything on my plate
.

Well, the bed is my plate
.

Ladies, may I fellate?”

—The Pussy Bandit

No one knows his name or what he really looks like. In the middle of the night, he sneaks into his select choice of the evening's dorm room, ready to strike. He feasts on his meal and then leaves as quietly as he came. He bequeaths a single long-stemmed rose on the pillow of yet another woman who'll never be the same. The small New England university for women I attend is his hunting ground. Every student is his potential prey. No one ever complains, though. In fact, most women want him to stay.

We sit in our dorm rooms at night, giggling and wondering who'll be next. We always make sure our coochies are clean in case it's our turn to pass his taste test. It's like jury duty. You never know when you'll be called. Many of us lie awake at night listening for footsteps in the hall. Some call him crazy,
others call him fine. I used to just hope and pray he would hurry up and get to mine.

You see, there are not many eligible black men in our small New England town. Often we find a few good men and have to pass them all around. Lots of women at the school wait their turn, saying, “Dammit! Hurry up and suck on this, you Pussy Bandit!”

I first heard of the Pussy Bandit my freshman year. I thought he was imaginary, an old wives' tale, something for the freshman students to worry about, laugh about, joke about. It wasn't until I was returning home late one evening from a midnight movie that I gave any credence to his existence. My roommate freshman year, Kelly, and I saw a man in black clothing climbing out the second-floor window of an upperclassman dorm. His face was covered with the kind of mask ninjas wear. He jumped from the window and landed on his feet behind a bush. He raced off into night, and to say the least, we were horrified. We rushed to the front door of the small dormitory and banged on it as loud as we could, almost knocking a glass pane out with our fists.

A girl on the bottom floor came out of her room with a short nightie on and opened the door for us. We both started yelling at her simultaneously, telling her what we had just witnessed and running down the hall toward the stairwell. She chased after us as we bounded up the stairs, rushing to the aid of what we just knew was a victim of some sort on the second floor. All sorts of bad things were rushing through my mind. Rape, robbery, even murder.

When we reached the second floor, I couldn't help but notice the upperclassman who had opened the door was very calm while she followed behind us. She appeared to be giggling when she said, “Oh, calm down! It was just him!”

Kelly took the time out to ask her who she meant by
him
while I walked the hall, looking for the door that matched the window we saw him leap out of. I found it and started banging on it. A woman's voice came through the door saying, “Just a second!”

She opened her door with a smile on her face, saying, “I've just been had by the Pussy Bandit!”

Kelly looked as if she might faint, and I said, “What the fuck?”

The upperclassman that opened the front door for us hollered out, “You go, gurl!” She pushed her way inside the other girl's room, sat down on the dresser, and asked, “Was he all I have heard?”