Whos Loving You (19 page)

T
here were casual relationships, and then there were committed relationships. In the eyes of men, the two were definitely not the same. For women, the two were exactly the same.

“So why in the fuck did you do them, man, after professing you’d never stick your dick inside of a woman you didn’t care about?” I asked myself.

Standing alone in my suite, I mused about the people strolling along the Strip. Like me, each of them was in search of something or someone, or else they’d be at home. No one ended up on Las Vegas Boulevard by happenstance. The men handing out postcards plastered with gorgeous women; the men holding, folding, or gawking at the cards; and the women hoping to get paid from a slot machine or a john were strolling along, with an agenda.

Sex. Money. Food. Companionship. Fun. They made potent concoctions, with everything except the main ingredient of life. Love. I bet none of those thousands of people were looking for love. They’d gamble their life savings in hopes of experiencing instant gratification, lust, explosive orgasms with strangers, and winning the big jackpot.

Fucking Red Velvet and Sapphire was my way of releasing my frustrations. Masturbation was not my preferred way to ejaculate. Masturbating was a temporary fix for my voracious sexual appetite. A warm, juicy pussy felt better and sustained me longer than the palm of my hand pumping up and down my shaft. I refused to stick my dick inside one of those silicone pussy pockets Honey had in her pleasure chest, but I’d thought about it for a second. It was clear I didn’t love either Red Velvet or Sapphire. I loved Honey.

A man knew exactly who he loved, and that was why he’d let other women do exactly what they wanted to. Nothing that those women did or said would change his mind. His dick could easily be persuaded to slip up or slide into a woman’s pussy. A rest stop or detour of sorts. The scenic route en route to his, not her, destination.

Red Velvet was one sexy young woman who knew how to, ooh-wee! fuck a brotha right. She had an incredibly supple body. Sapphire thought putting her lips or her pussy on me was the same as fucking me. Red Velvet fucked me with passion. Red Velvet enjoyed getting both of us off. That shit was exhilarating. Sapphire fucked me with feverish determination to make me cum until I couldn’t cum anymore. That shit was exhausting. I was convinced she didn’t know how to enjoy herself while having sex. Doing me seemed more like a blue-collar job than an explorative adventure. But I caught all the pussy they willingly, voluntarily, and deliberately threw at me.

“So what’s the real reason I fucked them?” I asked myself.

Because I was a man. Because I could. Because Honey had hurt me. I had no idea if I was going to get back with Honey or if our relationship was over. Fucking took my mind off of things. I didn’t go out searching for pussy; pussycats landed in my lap at times when I happened to be idle. If I were in a relationship with Honey and had fucked Red Velvet and Sapphire, that would constitute cheating.

My father once told me, “Son, you can’t divorce a woman you’re not married to, and you can’t cheat on a woman you’re not in a relationship with. Never let a woman convince you otherwise.” Dad was right. But somehow women didn’t see it that way.

Women didn’t see a lot of things the way men did. I bet if Honey ever found out about Red Velvet and me, she’d get pissed off. But why? I wanted to be her man, but I wasn’t her man, and she wasn’t my woman. Honey had the right to fuck whomever she wanted. I just hoped that she wasn’t fucking any other men. Men were selfish and inconsiderate of women’s feelings that way, too. I was predatory and wanted it all. Love. Sex. Money. Not necessarily in that order.

Communication was important. I couldn’t assume Honey was mine. In fact, she’d never been mine. We fell into a casual relationship of convenience without a commitment. Hanging out for two weeks, making love every day, helping her find a home and a location for her business did not mean we were a committed couple.

I smiled, inside and out. Honey had called, saying she was a few minutes away. I felt sorry for Tiffany, but I was glad I’d told her the truth with respect for her feelings. In a way, I was flattered that an undercover cop wanted me. That was my ego kicking in. Sapphire didn’t love me any more than that super-pussy stripper Red Velvet. I bet she could spread her lips and charge by the lips. Men would stand in line to taste her. Not me.

I hooked up my iPod to my portable speakers and selected R. Kelly’s greatest hits and started singing as I stepped into the shower. “Aw, yeah, come inside. Now turn the lights down. Don’t be scared, touch me. Tonight is your night for the rest of your life…Give me that honey love…”

Slicking my wet body with baby oil, I admired myself in the mirror, trying to see what the women saw in me. “Oh, yeah.” My eyes lowered to my dick, which damn near touched the vanity. ‘Ah, don’t be scared. Touch me.’” I had to smile. I shaved, slipped into a fresh pair of black silk pajama pants, put a splash of Unforgivable in the crevice of my abs. I lit a few vanilla-cinnamon candles, double-checked the ice in the bucket to make sure it hadn’t melted. The champagne was nice and cold. I had the Wynn’s lobster special for two in a warming tray beneath the table covered with a white cloth and topped with red and white roses. The bananas Foster dessert tempted me. I wanted to taste something sweet before Honey arrived.

I dipped my finger in the sauce, eased it into my mouth. “Ummm, ummmm. That’s good shit right there,” I said aloud.

The doorbell rang. “Perfect timing,” I said. I smiled from ear to ear. Taking a deep breath, I exhaled, then opened the door and almost shitted on myself when I saw Red Velvet. “Hey, how’d you get here?” I mumbled. “Trevor, man, fuck. Not this shit again. Look, Velvet, I apologize for standing you up the other night, but you can’t come in. I didn’t invite you here. You’ve got to go back to wherever you came from. And my God, what happened to you?”

Red Velvet’s acrylic nails were chipped on each hand. Her hair was all over her head. Her T-shirt was partially torn. She looked a mess.

“She’s with me,” Honey said, appearing in front of the door and standing beside Red Velvet.

“What kind of sick-ass shit is this? You two in cahoots? Setting me up?” I said, motioning to close the door.
Why’d I do that?
I thought.
The two of them together in my bed at the same time? Would probably kill me!

Honey pushed against the door before it locked. “Grant, wait. It’s not a setup.”

Walking away from the door, I removed the lobsters from the warmer. I was not about to let a five-hundred-dollar meal go to waste. I opened the champagne and poured two glasses. I didn’t want to be impolite. At that moment, Honey and Red Velvet entered my room.

“Honey, you can share what was supposed to be your meal with Red Velvet since y’all came together,” I said, slamming a whole glass of champagne down my throat. I refilled my glass.

“I’m not hungry. She can eat if she wants to,” Honey said to me. She could’ve told Velvet directly.

There went my efforts and hopes for an intimate evening. I watched Honey walk over to the window. Red Velvet rolled the dining table toward the door. What were these two up to?

Velvet quietly ate the lobster, texting me while she was eating.
Don’t go near Honey. She is pissed. She tried to kill me. We had a fight. I hit her ass back.

What the hell?
I texted back, keeping my eye on Honey. Finally, I asked, “Is there something you two want to talk about? If not, I’d appreciate it if you’d both leave.” I hated playing mind games with women.

“Grant, why? Why did you have to fuck Velvet?” Honey cried.

Damn. Here we go. Tears and all.
I knew the guilt trip bullshit was coming. I wiped my mouth, sucked in my lips, and exhaled heavily. “Haaaa,” I said. Why did I have to explain myself? I was a grown-ass man, not a child. I hadn’t been in a relationship with Honey at any time. I loved her, but I wasn’t obligated to be with her. “What difference does it make who I fucked? We are not together.”

Red Velvet’s eyes widened. “That’s the same shit I said in so many words.”

Calmly, Honey replied, “Okay. That’s cool. The two of you are absolutely correct.” She stared out the window. “Grant, can you come here for a minute, please, dear?”

Red Velvet texted:
Stay the fuck away. Don’t move.

Instinctively, I took Red Velvet’s advice. Whoever invented text messaging had just saved my life.

Honey stood by the window, watching the bright lights on the Strip. She walked over to me. Softly, she said, “The next time y’all decide to make a fool outta me, motherfucker, don’t!”
Slap!

The word
motherfucker
hurt more than the slap. Actually, the slap turned me the fuck on. My dick stood the fuck up. Fortunately for Honey, my father had taught me never to hit a woman, so I grabbed her wrists, threw her sexy, heated, emotional ass on the bed, then straddled her. I knew what she wanted. She wanted this big-ass dick gliding in and out of her sweet pussy. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have come here. And she definitely wouldn’t have stayed. I was burning up inside, ready to dig deep in her pussy. My dick was so hard, I could drill a hole in a piece of steel. I pressed my stiff shaft against her and kept it there. My dick throbbed against her clit. I unleashed it, letting just the head press her thong inside her pussy.

Honey panted. “Oh, Grant.”

Red Velvet said, “I’ma go out for a walk and leave you two alone before I end up on that damn bed, fucking both of y’all. Oh, by the way, I need some money.”

Say what? Like that? She was bi? Damn! What was I thinking? Atlanta was the bi capital of America. Having Red Velvet join us would’ve been a fantasy cum true for me, but I didn’t want to fuck up a sure thing with Honey. I nodded toward my wallet on the nightstand. “Take a thousand dollars.”

Burying her face in my chest, Honey said, “And get the key to our room out of my purse. I’ll see you in the morning.” Honey wrapped her legs around my waist, then hugged me tight. Flexing my muscles, I leaned my nipple into Honey’s mouth.

Red Velvet eased my pants over my ass, her tongue circled my asshole, and then she squeezed my ass. I moaned the words
oh fuck,
hoping Honey would think I was responding to her nibbling on my nipple. That shit felt good, too. Precum oozed onto my silk pj’s. I thought Velvet had left, but then her finger penetrated my rectum, making me thrust my pelvis into Honey’s pussy.

Squirming, I tightened my ass. Velvet sucked my big toe, and I damn near came in my pants. “Take two thousand,” I said, hugging Honey so she couldn’t look over my shoulder.

Then I felt it. Red Velvet slid my dick out of Honey’s pussy. Red Velvet’s mouth sucked my head three times.

Honey screamed, “Oh, fuck! Damn, girl. Stop,” Honey paused, panted. “Stop finger fucking me. Get outta here.”

“I was just tryin’ to add a little something extra for the two Gs. Y’all have fun,” said Velvet. When the door closed, we heard her say, “Damn, this is the easiest money I’ve ever made. Look out, Las Vegas. Here comes Velvet Waters.”

Waters? Red Velvet Waters. What a nice sound.
“Goddamn!” I yelled.
That girl ain’t no joke.

I snatched Honey off the bed, stood her up, and ripped off her pants, tossing them aside. Moving her thong aside, I slid my silk pj’s to the floor, picked Honey up, sat her on the windowsill, and I swear, I made love to her like the song playing in the background…like I’d never see her again. My dick entered her, and I felt her pussy explode. Within five minutes, we both had experienced orgasms more powerful than the fireworks bursting outside our window.

“You’d better hold on tight,” I said, kneeling between Honey’s legs. I kissed her clit. “Damn, I miss you and my sweet pussy,” I moaned. I slid my tongue along the inside of her lips, lingering in the upper left crevice and applying pressure. I sucked her shaft. “I miss my sweet pus-sy, damn!”

Honey screamed with pleasure. “Oh, Grant. That feels so fucking good. You gon’ make me cum again.”

“Not yet. Hold on to this one for Daddy,” I said, easing my finger inside her wet pussy. I stroked her G-spot while teasing her clit with my tongue until Honey gushed like a water fountain.

Honey’s body relaxed; she leaned backward. That was when we heard a crowd of people scream, “Ahhh! She’s gonna fall!” They weren’t screaming for Honey.

Honey was on the edge, but she wasn’t falling, because our window wasn’t open and I wasn’t letting Honey go. My baby was squirming. Pulling her in, I carried her to the bed and cuddled behind her the way Tiffany had wanted me to cuddle behind her. I held Honey in my arms and whispered in her ear. “You’re the only woman I want. Welcome home, baby. In my arms is where you belong.”

E
very man was available.

The question wasn’t if he was available outside of his relationship; it was a matter of timing. Right place. Right time. He was there. His woman wasn’t. His dick was hard. The pussy next to him was wet. No one was watching. No strings attached. It was on. Any woman could entice a man on any given day. It didn’t take stripping for me to learn there were three easy, real simple steps to luring a man.

Men were visual creatures.

While I was thinking of men, my phone rang. I answered. “Hey, Trevor. What’s up?”

“What’s up? Where the hell are you?” he asked.

This was the first time I’d heard Trevor obviously upset. “I’m in Vegas. I’ll be back at work tomorrow,” I said apologetically.

The woman who showed the most didn’t necessarily get the most attention. A woman had to learn how to tease, how to please, and how to position herself with patience. The first time I met Grant, I did what I was paid to do: pounce on his dick right away. But if I’d met him on my own, I would’ve given him my confident one-second glance. Looking at a man for three seconds or more and then looking away gave two impressions, desperation and insecurity. I would’ve gotten close enough for him to smell me and get a close-up view, which would’ve given him time to figure out his approach. Then I would’ve slowly strutted away, shaking my big-ass, juicy booty, as if to say, “You know you want some of this. Don’t be scared. Come and get it.”

“What the fuck you doing in Vegas? I’m losing money over here. My clientele left early last night and even earlier tonight. Stilettos is empty,” he said, as though it was my fault. “I want you here at eight o’clock tomorrow. I’m tripling your shows, and I’m taking every dollar I lose out of your tips. You hear me! Are you down there working? Are you fucking somebody else?”

If I wanted to fuck Grant again, I could. Believe that.

I wasn’t jealous of Honey or her wannabe relationship with Grant. I did want to join them, though. My pussy had been percolating so fucking hard, I’d swallowed some lobster and I’d come by myself. Watching Grant straddle Honey and hearing them breathing heavy and shit had got me all excited. I loved having sex. I coulda made both of them scream, “Velvet!” At the same time.

Trevor yelled, “Do you hear me!”

I was grateful Honey had saved and spared my life, and had I known Grant was her man, I would’ve fucked him, anyway, ’cause that was how I got down. And it was like I said: I didn’t see her name tattooed on his dick. Plus, wasn’t like I’d thrown that big, fine-ass man down and taken his dick. He was the one trying to get back at this velvety pussy, until I messed up and texted him that crazy message that was intended for Tolliver’s punk ass. That was when Grant changed up on me, giving me the black man’s silent treatment and shit, like his fingers had gotten jammed from texting or he’d gotten a sudden case of lockjaw.

Softly, I said, “You don’t own my pussy. You don’t own me. I’m hanging up my stilettos. Trevor, I quit.”

Couldn’t say I blamed Grant, but I hated that noncommunicative, immature behavior black men exhibited. I was glad I’d had the opportunity to suck Grant’s dick. A dick that beautiful should be in some woman’s mouth all the time, like a pacifier. The only times he should pull out were to take a piss and a shower.

“You can’t quit on me. I made you,” Trevor shouted, then went on about paying me more money. I was done listening to him.

“Um, um, um.” I smacked my lips, then slapped my ass. Lord, that man was fine and a skilled lover, too! As sexy as Grant was, there was nothing for me to be jealous of. Sure I’d daydreamed about a life with Grant, texted him like crazy, but what woman in my position wouldn’t have done the same? Wasn’t like I knew him, or like we were making wedding plans and shit. But he did have a pretty-ass dick. I should’ve taken a picture of it with my camera phone, then saved it as my screen saver.

“Huh, what did you say? We have a bad connection,” I said. The call dropped as the elevator doors closed. “Thank, God.”

Strolling through the hotel lobby, I went inside one of the nail shops and got a fresh set of French-manicured, solar nails that lasted, like my individual eyelashes, up to three months. Then I went to the gift shops, bought me a fifteen-hundred-dollar outfit, charged it to Grant’s room, and went back upstairs. That was the least Grant and Honey could do for me.

I headed to my suite on the fiftieth floor, showered, put on my new little short black halter dress, then sat on the side of my bed, texting Tolliver.
I’ma drop the charges against your wife when I get back home tomorrow.

I was too happy to make anybody else miserable. Tolliver was tired, anyway. He texted back:
Thank you, Velvet. Thank you so much. I’ll break you off when I see you.

“I’m already broke off, fool. I don’t need you anymore,” I said aloud. “I’m starting my own business, and I’m moving to Hollywood. You don’t owe me nothing.” I knew his promise to take care of me with a few dollars was Tolliver’s way of apologizing and hitting this pussy one more time, but that was what was not gon’ happen.

I stroked on my eyeliner and red velvet lipstick. “Watch out, Vegas! Here comes the hottest, the finest, the sexiest, the prettiest bitch in town…Make some noooooooise for Reeeeddddd Vel-vet!”

Slipping on my iridescent stilettos, I decided I could star in my own Vegas show, with bright lights swarming around me, Oscar style. Forget that. One day I was going to become an actress. Bouncing to the floor a few times to warm up, I strutted out of my room like I owned the entire casino. I saw a couple guys I could get down with on a one-nighter, but they were busy shaking dice while watching me shake my ass. Damn. Having a bank to build a spot like this was seriously what was up. I browsed a few more of the designer stores, peeked inside the club, then I headed to the bar for a drink that somebody else was going to buy. I was banking that two grand I’d gotten from Grant. Did he always keep that kind of money on him?

I wanted a man like Grant. If he were mine, Grant could fuck whomever he wanted whenever he wanted and wherever he damn well pleased. If the chick was badder than me, I’d break her off for keeping us happy. The worst thing a man could do was creep with a chick that gave him stress. That meant she was wearing both of us out when he came home unhappy. What was the big deal about women double-dunkin’ dicks?

Monopolizing men like Trevor and Tolliver couldn’t do shit for me no more. Thinking of Tolliver made me think about his wife, and thoughts of his wife reminded me to call my mother to check on her and my son.

“Velvet, where are you?” Mama asked, sounding worried. “Did you turn off your phone?”

“Chill out. I’m fine, Ma. I’m at the Wynn. This place is fab-u-listic!”

Quickly, Mama said, “Stay off the pole, Velvet.”

“Yeah, yeah. You still trying to tell me how to live my life? Honey already told me to stay off of everything.”
Except a dick.

“She’s right, and you’re right. I owe you an apology, sweetheart. You were right. I should’ve listened to you. I never should’ve found Alphonso.”

“It’s okay, Ma,” I lied. No, she shouldn’t have. It was my life, not hers. It was my mistake, not hers. And she never should’ve gotten involved. Clearly, she’d made things worse for all of us, including Alphonso’s wife. “Where’s Ronnie?”

“Sleeping. He passed out in his clothes the minute we got back to the hotel. He had a ball at Disneyland. We’ll sit and talk with him about what happened when we all get back home. Okay?” Mama said, almost asking for my permission.

Whatever my mom wanted to do was good with me. She was and always would be my rock. I knew she had our best interests at heart. “I love you, Ma. I’m gonna enjoy. Viva Las Vegas, yeah! I’ll call you in the morning. What time does your flight get in?”

“Six in the evening.”

“Honey and I get in at three. I’ll pick you guys up. Oh, and Ma, I quit stripping.” I blew my mother a kiss into my phone, then hung up. A guy next to me caught the kiss in midair.

I snatched it back. “That was not for you.”

Smiling, he asked, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Mission accomplished. “Sure. What’s your name?’

Thrusting his chest forward, he said, “Pretty Ricky,” as though I should’ve known who he was. Wasn’t everybody in Vegas famous for something? He had nice, large teeth. Bleaching would’ve made them shine like diamonds.

“Where you from?” I asked him.

“Wherever I’m at.” He flipped open a stack of hundreds, spread them like a fan, then tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the bar. “You got a nice li’l frame there,” he said, leaning back and looking at my ass, which was hanging over the edge of the bar stool. “You out to make some change? I can make you famous.” He started fanning me with his money.

I ordered a double Patrón Silver, chilled. “You didn’t know?” I politely moved his arm out of my face. “I’m already famous,” I said. Checking him out, I fanned my twenty one-hundred-dollar bills in his face. I felt good having that much money to flaunt.

He was fine, but he had
pimp
written all over his half-perm, half-fake-ass, synthetic, silky, straight weave, which flowed midway down his back. His acrylic nails were longer than mine. His too-tight jeans, cowboy snakeskin boots, and button-down, collared shirt, with a T-shirt underneath, gave him away. All Pretty Ricky could do for me was buy me a drink or two. Regardless of whether or not a woman planned on having sex, a lady always ordered a double shot straight, because the drink lasted longer than the man.

“You good. I got you. Put that away before I break you.” He stared at me. “What’s your name?”

If he thought about touching my money, he’d have a stiletto up his ass and coming out of his balls before my money reached his pocket. “Red Velvet.”

He covered him mouth. “Damn. I heard about you. My boys told me about Red Velvet. Stripper, right? Stilettos, right? You outta the ATL, right?”

“Told you I was famous.”

“That ain’t you, bitch. You lying.”

I didn’t have shit to prove to him, but I felt like having a little fun. “Bartender, give me an unopened bottle of water,” I said, smiling at Pretty Ricky.

The bartender placed the bottle on the bar. I told Pretty Ricky, “You might wanna hold your glass. Here. Hold mine, too.”

I stood on the bar in my ankle-strap heels, squatted over the bottle, moved my thong aside, then eased the plastic sixteen-ounce bottle inside my pussy. I reached for Pretty Ricky’s hand, pushed out the empty water bottle, then sat back on my stool. I did that shit so quick, the bartender asked, “What happened?”

“Damn, baby. That’s what’s up,” said Pretty Ricky. “You gotta be on my team. I ain’t taking no for an answer. I’ll pay you double. Triple whatever I pay my other bitches.”

I wasn’t stupid or impressed. Pretty Ricky needed me more than I wanted him.

A woman sat next to Pretty Ricky and said, “She’s a bad bitch, huh?”

Pretty Ricky scrambled out of his seat and vanished. No comment. No bye. And he’d left his change on the bar.

I was still feeling upbeat and wonderful. I didn’t know what made me say to the woman, “You look like you could use a friend. May I buy you a drink with his money?” Perhaps I was in search of companionship above the waist, but I had nothing to lose. The people in Vegas made Vegas exciting. The dicks weren’t leaving the casino in droves, so I had time to pick a decent man to drop this pussy on.

“No, thanks. Let me get yours,” she said, looking at the bartender and nodding in my direction. “You’re new. What’s brings you here?”

“You’re a regular. You tell me,” I said, not willing to divulge that level of personal information. She could’ve asked my name instead. Damn.

She hunched her shoulders. “Not really sure. I guess I’m here because I didn’t want to be home alone, and I decided to quit my job tonight.”

“You too. Dang. I just quit my job, too. I’m Red Velvet. I have had an unbelievable night. Last few days actually,” I said, thinking about my son’s father.

“I’m Tiffany. Tiffany Davis. Pleased to meet you, Red Velvet.”

I sat there, with my mouth hanging open. I texted Honey:
You won’t believe who I’m having a drink with at the main bar, near the waterfall. Come down here now!