Love the One You're With (14 page)

“You know it.”

“Totally butt-booty naked?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, put on your boots and cap.”

“Huh?”

“Put on your boots and cap.”

“Why?”

“Don't worry about why. Just do it.”

“Uh. A'ight.”

I heard him swing off the bed, slip into his Timbs, and place the cap on his head.

“A'ight.”

I got comfortable, lying flat on my back. “Now get on all fours.”

He obeyed, maneuvering the phone so he wouldn't drop it. “I'm ready.”

“Ha, you sure you ready?” My voice dropped from tenor to baritone. I couldn't sound like Barry White, but I could do a jood imitation of Billy Eckstine.

And he loved it. “Mmm, I'm always ready fuh some of what you got.”

“You better be ready to take
all
of it, not just
some
of it.”

“Uh-huh. I want all of it.”

“You better, 'cause you gonna take it all whether you want to or not.”

“Bring it on, Baby, bring it
on
,” he demanded.

“Hmmph. You strokin' it?”

“Yeah.”

“You givin' that piece a
long, deep
tug, right?”

“Uh-huh,” he huffed.

“Jood. While you jerkin' it, I'm lickin' the tip of that big old pretty head, goin' 'round in circles …”

“Ah, yeah …”

“Ya like the way that feels, don'tcha?”

“Yeah, Baby, you
know
I do.”

“Uh-huh, and while you keep on doin' the jerk, I'm gonna start poppin' that big ol' head with my mouth …”

“Uh-huh, Baby, ya know I love that shit.”

“Ha, that's why I'm gonna do it.” I pursed my lips in and pushed them out.

“Ah,
day-um
, Baby. I can
feel
that shit.”

“Ya can, huh?”

“
Hell
-fuckin'-yeah.”

Well, then:
pop, pop, pop, pop, pop
.

“Umph! That shit feels
so
fuckin' jood!”

“Ha, you ain't felt nothin' yet, homeboy.
Ssss
…” I was feelin' it myself.

“Ah, it's feelin' jood ta ya too, huh, Baby?” He giggled.

“You know it is. Now point that big ol' bootay to the heavens.”

“Hhhhh,” he breathed.

“Uh-huh,”
I repeated, pickin' up the pace pumpin' on my own piece. “Ah, now we gotta let a little bit of my breeze blow on that bootay. You know what to do.”

He did. He got into a fetal position, his head bowed and his knees locked together so that his cheeks spread apart.
“Ummm,”
he heaved.

“Yeah, Pooquie. How that feel?”

“Hot,”
he grunted.

“That's right. Ya want me to cool it off for ya a little bit?”

“Uh-huh.”

“A'ight …” I blew into the phone. It started low and grew louder.

“Uh,”
he quivered.

“Ha, makin' ya shiver, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Ya like the way that cool breeze is just blowin' on it, don'tcha?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ya want some more?”

“Ya know I do.”

His wish was my command.

“
Oooh
, Little Bit,
day-um
.”

“Ah … yeah. Now I'm gonna spread them cheeks wider and blow
up
in it.”

“Yeah, Little Bit, do it.”

“Ya want me to do it?”

“
Yeah
,” he groaned.

I did.

“Oh!”
he yelped.

“Yeah, Pooquie, open up …”

“Ah, yeah, Baby,” he whispered.

I followed suit. “Come on … open up.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Open up and let me
all
the fuck up in, come on now …”

After a few sputtering sighs, I heard a sound that was very familiar. I knew
exactly
what he was doing. “
Get
your middle finger out of there!” I ordered.

I guess he was shocked I could tell he was tinkerin' with his tunnel. “Uh, but, but, Baby, it itches—”

“Well, I ain't tell you you can scratch it,” I snapped. “So stop.”

He reluctantly removed it. He sighed in frustration.

“Besides,
I
know whatcha need up there.”

“Do ya?”

“Yeah.” I tripped my tongue, letting it lap on the receiver. I could see that big basketball bootay jump.

“Ooh, yeah, Little Bit, tongue that azz.”

“Lalalalalala.”
I lapped with my tongue as it darted in and out of my mouth at rapid speed.

“Ooh ooh ooh,”
he squealed.

“Uh-huh, throw it at me, Pooquie,
yeah
.”

“Umph, umph, umph,”
he barked, thrustin' it as he jerked.

“Ya want me to eat it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Say
please
.”

“
Pleeze
, Baby,
pleeze
.”

I love it when he begs.

I did, slurpin' and slobberin'.

“Ooh …
ooh … ooh ooh ooh
,” he yodeled, pushin' it all up in my imaginary face.

“Ha, careful now, Pooquie, give a brother the chance to breathe, a'ight? Don't smother me with it … yet.”

He slowed down his pace. “Ha …
ha … ah …
ssss
… yeah
, mutha-fucka, eat me the fuck
out. Woof
.”

“Ha, I'm gonna do more than eat you the fuck out. I'm gonna bang them boots the fuck
off
. You ready?”

“Baby, I been ready.”

“Sure you want it?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure you can handle it?”

“
Hell
-fuckin'-yeah.”

“A'ight, then. But, just one more—”

Slurp!

“—for the road.”

“Ah,”
he exhaled.

“Now I'm takin' aim. I'm gonna rim that bootay.”

He was gettin' antsy. “Nah, nah, Baby, don't
tease
me, now …”

“Ha, I can hear that bootay callin' me.”

Womp, womp, womp
.

“
C'mon
, Little Bit, I
want
it.”

“Ya want it, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Ha, don't sound like ya do.”

“I want it, I want it!”

He wanted it—and he got it.

“Hooooooh,”
he grunted, as I've often heard him express when I've made my entrance.

“Ooh
yeah
, I'm slidin' all up
in
that ass, Pooquie. Ya feel it?”

“Yeah.”

“I can't
hear
you …”

“Yeah.”

“Ya want it all?”

“Uh-
huh
.”

“You
sure
you want it all?”

“Yeah, Baby, give it ta me, give it ta me
now
.”

I gave it to him.

“Aaaah,”
we both sang.

“You diggin' that, huh, Pooquie?”

“Uh-huh,” he snapped.

“But wait, don't get too excited just yet. We gonna take a slow groove, slidin' back and forth, back and forth,
back …
”

“Ooh.”

“… and
forth.
”

“Aaah.”

“Back …”

“Mmm …”

“… and …
forth
.”

He moaned. “Doin' me on tha sneak tip, huh?”

“Sneaky
and
freaky.”

He giggled.

“Mmm, I'm all
up
in dat bad boyee now. Gettin' a
real
jood feel of this.
Yeah
. I'm gonna bang them boots off yo' feet.”

“Yeah, work that azz, mutha-fucka.”

“Ha, ya want me to work that azz?”

“Yeah, Daddy,
work it
!”

“Well, ya gotta work with me, Pooquie, so, come on and back that azz up, back it up!”

I could
see
him twirlin' that ass into me and
feel
it as he clutched that dick.

“Woo, woo, woo,”
he huffed.

“
Ah, yeah
, work it. You twist and clench while I bang and bump.”

“Uh-huh, mutha-fucka, bang that azz, yeah.”

“Yeah, I'm gonna dig a trench in that ass, wage a war, know what I'm sayin'?”

“Uh-huh.”

I smacked my own thigh—he knew what that was.

“Oh,
yeah
, mutha-fucka, spank it while you swing it!”

You got it.
Smack, smack, smacksmacksmack.

“Yeah, mutha-fucka, slap and tap that azz like ya know!”

“Ha, don't you worry, I will.”

“Aaaaaaay, sss,”
he heaved.

“Ha, that's right, you wiggle it while I jiggle
all
up in it!”

“Ay ya ay ya ay ya,”
he stuttered.

“Uh-huh, Pooquie, I'm
housin'
that new jack bootay, ain't I?”

“Cha cha cha cha,”
he chattered as if he were freezing.

“Ha, you know how to give that azz up. I'm mountin' them bootay mounds and you just lovin' it, huh?”

“Mmm, take it all.”

“Hmmph, I'm takin' it all and some more.”

“Ssss … oomph,”
he screeched.

Uh-oh. I knew what
that
meant. “Ah, you 'bout ready to cum, huh?”

“Aw yeah.”

“Me, too, baby boyee, me, too. So cum with me, come on with me, cum on …”

“Aw yeah, I'm gonna cum.”

“You gonna cum?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, then cum on now. Spray it
all
over, Pooquie.”

“Ooh, yeah, I'm cummin', I'm cummin' …”

“Yeah, Pooquie, bring that tide on
in.
”

“Oh, Baby, Oh, Baby, oh, Baby, oh oh oh oh …”

“Oh, yeeeeeaaaaah!”
I howled as my volcano erupted.

But Pooquie just didn't blow his top—he toppled off of the bed and onto the floor. At least that's what it sounded like.

“Pooquie?” I could hear him going
“Oomph Oomph Oomph”
over and over. I must've called him a half-dozen times before the receiver was picked back up.

He was out of breath, as if he'd just run a marathon. “Yeah, Baby. I'm here.”

“Are you okay?”

“Hell yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What happened?”

Not only did he take a tumble, he brought the phone and the Yellow Pages that were on the nightstand down with him.

“Well, I wanted to knock your boots off, not knock
you
off!” I laughed.

“That's a'ight. It was worth takin' that fall, Baby.
Oomph
.”

I chuckled. “You still on the floor or back on the bed?”

“Sittin' against tha bed on tha flo.'”

“Ah. Didn't have enough energy to pull yourself back up, huh?”

“Ha, nope.”

“You still squirtin', ain'tcha?”

“Ya know it.
Day-um
.”

“Hmmph. Me, too.” And I was. It was real thick and gooey. “Don't leave remnants all over that room now.”

“I won't. I was ready. Wiped up some of it already.”

“Jood. And that was
day-um
jood.”

“She-it, that was
better
than jood, Baybay.”

“Indeed. Folks gonna think you have somebody in there with you.”

“Tha way that shit felt? Ya couldn't tell me you wasn't here.”

“Same here. And I'm sure the operator got much more than an earful.”

“I bet she was enjoyin' it, too.”

“Ha, or he.”

“Ah, yeah.”

I looked at the love jism all over my thighs and stomach. “Who would've ever thought that you could get lovin' this jood over the telephone.
Now
I know why some folks are so crazy about it.”

“Ha, me, too. But there still ain't nuthin' like tha real thang, Baybay.”

“Mmm-hmm. There ain't. And don't you worry: when you come back home, we're gonna have an instant replay.”

He giggled. “Uh … I guess you gotta go back ta sleep now.”

“How can I, after a workout like that!”

We laughed.

I rubbed my dick. “Besides, we got up together, we gotta come down together.”

We sighed a moan together.

“Thanks, Little Bit.”

“Ha, thank
you
, Pooquie. I'll be tired, maybe a little cranky today, but I'll be smiling on the inside.”

“So … guess who's going to be a millionaire?”

I was in the office of my lawyer, Jozette Wilkes, an attorney with Brandt-Myers-Albrecht, one of the most successful firms in the nation that specializes in discrimination cases. Interestingly, she's the only African-American
and
the only female at B-M-A—and those are two of the reasons why I hired her. When I decided to sue
Your World
for racial discrimination, I had been advised by many to get white representation because it would play better in front of a jury. Sadly, some studies show that white
and
Black jurists place more stock in the words of a Caucasian attorney than a Black one when it comes to matters of race; I guess the assumption is that if a white person sees it, it
must
be true and the Negro(es) leveling the charge isn't/aren't just crying wolf (as many believe we often do). But I didn't feel the least bit comfortable placing this in the hands of someone white; I felt that the person I was paying jood money to had to know, on some level, what it was like, what I had gone through. And in corporate America, no one knows more about the isms than the sisters, who have to wage war every day on two fronts. Add her being a homegirl from the 'hood (Red Hook in Brooklyn) and a Columbia alum like me, and Jozette was the perfect choice.