“Let’s narrow it down a bit. How about the abbreviated version?”
“In that case, ask me a particular question, and I will give you a specific answer.” She rubbed him gently on the knee and then snatched her hand back before he could swipe it up into his. If he had succeeded in taking her hand right that second, she would have jumped his bones. “As long as it isn’t too personal.”
Geren placed his hands firmly on his lap, straightened his back, and sighed. “Okay then, let’s start with your occupation.”
“I’m a social worker and counselor at a crisis center for unwed teenage mothers.”
“That’s great!” Geren shouted so loudly that Tempest was taken aback. “I’m truly impressed. I thought you were probably into something else.”
“Something else like what?” Tempest blared, bordering on being offended by his comment. She opted to hold off judgment until she heard his reply.
“I don’t know,” Geren stated hesitantly, wondering if he was about to put his foot in his mouth. “Maybe a beautician or a retail manager or something like that.”
“How in the world did you narrow it down to those two?”
“I didn’t,” Geren said in defense of himself. “Those are just a couple of examples. It’s just that you’re so fly, with the pretty hair and fresh clothes.”
“Chile, please!” Tempest got up off the sofa. “Speaking of clothes, I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. I’ve got to get out of this ugnoramous dress before the dye in the material rubs off on my skin.”
“Okay, I’ll be here.”
Tempest paused in the doorway of her bedroom. “Let me ask you a question. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m an investment banker.”
“Oh, I see,” Tempest said snidely. “I figured you were probably a maître d’ or electronics salesman.”
Geren laughed as she disappeared in the bedroom. “Touché!”
• • •
Janessa pulled the fluffy pillow up tighter around her ears. Between Dvontè’s snoring and the ticking of the alarm clock on his nightstand, she couldn’t fall asleep if her life depended on it. There was more to it than that, though. She was straight-up ashamed. Agreeing in advance to give Dvontè some pussy if he went with her to the wedding was a huge mistake.
She looked over at him, sprawled beside her on the brass king-size bed, and wondered how many other sistahs had occupied the side she was on over the years. It mattered, and it didn’t matter. She realized that at her age, any man she might possibly hook up with would have had numerous, maybe even dozens of, women in his past. That’s what makes a man a seasoned lover, and she needed that in her life. Hell, she needed a lover, period.
Yet and still, she’d been disappointed when Dvontè put in a less-than-stellar performance once Geren and Tempest dropped them off at his place. She was expecting the earth-shattering, toe-curling sexual experience he’d promised her repetitively during their phone conversations of the previous week.
Dvontè did eat her pussy, but only briefly. His oral fixation was hardly a match for her own. She’d sucked his dick but good, and received a weak tongue-lashing in return. His dick was a nice size, but he came too fast. She wouldn’t venture to call him a two-minute brotha, but he definitely wasn’t a ten-minute one.
Dvontè turned over on his side, facing Janessa, and his pussy breath almost made her turn away. She couldn’t get used to smelling her essence emanating from a brotha’s mouth or tasting it on his tongue. Nothing turned her off more than a man that would go down on her and expect her to tongue the shit out of him immediately afterward. That just wasn’t her thing, and at least Dvontè didn’t even go there. Not that he even had time to. He came and then passed out less than three minutes later.
It became painfully obvious that sleep wasn’t going to come anytime soon, so Janessa got up and went out into Dvontè’s kitchen to look for something to drink. She got a wine cooler out of the fridge and then sat down on his couch in the living room and flicked on his television. Chris Rock’s Bigger and Blacker special was on HBO.
Even though Chris was a hilarious mofo, Janessa’s thoughts drifted to Howard. Damn shame all that good loving was locked up in the penitentiary. No other man had hit it like him. She derived so much pleasure from his sex.
The comedy special went off, and Janessa debated whether or not to go back in the bedroom. So what if Dvontè wasn’t the bomb after all? He was a man, and she needed some regular sex. She got up to go back into the bedroom, determined to get Dvontè to rise to the occasion. After all, most men last longer after they bust the first nut.
As she pulled the covers off him so she could grasp his limp dick in her right hand, she wondered if Tempest and Geren were getting their freak on. Tempest liked to play that role, but when it came right down to it, she needed some sexual release from time to time just like everybody else.
Janessa took one last swig of her wine cooler, sat it on the nightstand beside the annoying clock, and leaned over so she could suck Dvontè’s dick into her mouth.
• • •
Tempest stood out on her balcony, watching the sun rise over the horizon and enjoying the morning breeze as it tingled against her skin. She glanced inside to see if Geren was still sleeping soundly on her sofa. Yes, he was still there, covered with her Dallas Cowboys throw. A fully clothed gentleman who managed to get through the entire night without trying to get in her panties. It wasn’t a dream.
They’d stayed up talking all night, about everything—their childhood, their families, their past relationships. Tempest couldn’t believe all the skeletons she’d revealed to him. She told him about all the maggots of her past, and he listened. He actually listened. He didn’t call it male bashing, like a typical man would. After all, how can it be male bashing when she was simply stating facts about her own experiences? Indisputable facts.
From the sound of it, Geren had run across a lot of triflin’ sistahs himself. He hadn’t had an easy way in the romance department. Maybe they could find what they needed in each other. Just maybe.