Slippery When Wet: A Novel (Zane Presents) (26 page)

The music’s on full-blast. Red Café’s “Gucci Everything” is pumping outta the speakers. Mad heads are everywhere. Hands up, drinks up, muhfuckas are all pressed up on chicks’ asses getting their dance on. The dance floor is in the center of the club and is mad packed. Although the lights are dim, so far, I don’t see anyone I know, or who knows me. And I’m hoping it stays that way. As I make my way over to the bar, I peep a few broads checkin’ for me. A few niggahs eye me. I give ’em all head nods and keep strolling by.

When it’s my first time at a club, I usually post up at the bar, take everything all in. And tonight is no different. I’ll hang around the bar, toss back a few drinks and hopefully catch the eye of someone worth spending my energy ‘n’ paper on. Getting some pussy is the only objective.

Two chicks eye me as they slide off their barstools. I ask ’em if they’re coming back. They say no. “Not unless you want us to,” one of ’em says to me. Her eyes all glassy ‘n’ halfway crossed. I smile. She’s a’ight-looking in the face, and her body doesn’t appear that bad judging by the way her jeans are wrapped around her hips. But I peep she gotta flat ass, which def ain’t my thing. “Nah, I’m good, ma.”

I take a seat up on one of the stools, glancing around the bar.
On the opposite end of the bar, a milk chocolate cutie is eyeing me. She has a drink in her hand. Sitting on a stool next to her is a tall, dark-skinned niggah all up in her grill. And whatever he’s beating her in the head about she doesn’t seem interested in. I order a shot of Henny and a Heineken. I glance back over at Milk Chocolate and she’s still got her eyes on me. I give her a head nod and she smiles. The niggah she’s with looks over in my direction, then turns back to her. He says something else to her and I peep her rolling her eyes. The niggah’s rap game must be mad whack, I think, staring ahead at the bottles on the wall.

The bartender returns with my drink. I tell him to keep the tab open, then take a swig of my cold beer. A Meek Mill joint starts playing and I bob my head to the beat. Although I’m staring straight ahead into the mirrors along the back of the bar, I can peep Milk Chocolate glancing over at me outta the corner of my eye.

I take my shot to the head, then slide the empty shot glass to the edge of the bar, signaling for the bartender to hit me again. I concentrate on the colored lights shimmering in the mirror, steadily sipping my beer. “Yo, my bad, man,” a brown-skinned cat says to me as he bumps into me trying to get off his stool. The niggah’s lit.

I eye him, giving him a head nod. “It’s all good, yo.”

“Fuckin’ Incredible Hulks. Got me ripped, fam.”

“I feel you,” I say, fighting back a chuckle, pleased that this niggah, like most, think I’m one of them. I’ve worked hard at achieving this look. Long hours in the gym to get this chiseled body, countless hours in the mirror brushing in these spinnin’-ass waves, and years of perfecting my swag. And it’s all paying off.

Growing up, while all the lil bitches in junior high school were stressing ’bout pimples and periods and obsessing about the size
of their titties and asses, I was embracing my tomboyish ways, hoping like hell that my A-cup titties didn’t get any bigger than what they already were. I was praying that puberty wouldn’t widen my narrow hips and turn them into dangerous curves, or that my ass wouldn’t get wobbly ‘n’ bouncy like a chick’s. That it stay muscled and firm like a niggah’s. Being shaped like a chick wasn’t what I hoped for.

While the young hot bitches in high school were obsessed wit’ fucking and sucking the hottest niggahs. I was consumed wit’ being one. Sometimes, nah…most times…late at night, I’d be lying in my bed—the base of my dick pressed into my clit—jacking off, stroking my shit until I popped off a hot one. I’d imagine what it would be like having a real dick. My silicone cock replaced by a long, brown fleshy dick with thick veins and a huge mushroom head. The base of my detachable cock would be where a pair of huge smooth-shaven balls would hang. And I’d imagine having one of them pretty bitches from school down on her knees sucking my dick, tea-bagging my balls…maybe even licking my ass, if she was freaky enough.

Her sexy soft lips would be wrapped around my cock. My leaking nut wetting her lips as she swallowed me down into her throat. She’d kiss the head of my dick, the head would glide gently into her mouth and my nut would spurt into her mouth as she cupped my balls. She’d lick my thick cock clean, then assume the position on all fours and take my dick, deep into her wet pussy.

My pulsing clit would vibrate through the shaft of my cock as I thrust in and outta her, until she cried out…and I cried out. And we both came.

For years, my mind constantly buzzed with erotic, freaky thoughts of fucking and getting sucked. And it was in those fantasies that I mastered beating my dick, that I learned how to bust my nut
without ever touching my own self. So instead of using fingers, I’d get off with stroking my dick, my wetness coating the base of my cock. The tip of my clit became the head of my dick. And I’d nut, fast ‘n’ hard.

I was seventeen when I fucked my first
straight
chick. I was on the girls’ Varsity basketball team. She was a Varsity cheerleader for the boys’ basketball team, and the girlfriend of the captain of the team. She was one of them uppity light-skinned bitches with shimmering green-eyes and long, wavy hair who knew she was the hottest bitch on the yard.

Yeah, I ain’t gonna front. I was checkin’ for her like the rest of the niggahs in school, but I wasn’t tryna press her. As far as I was concerned, she was outta my league. She wasn’t down wit’ the get down, so I knew enough to stay in my own lane. Along with the fact that she’d always had her lip curled up in disgust anytime she saw me in the halls, like me being who I was, was some kinda disease.

But one night after practice, she happened to be in the girls’ locker room standing in front of the mirror as I walked outta the showers wit’ a towel wrapped around me. Everyone else had already left the locker room. It was only the two of us.

Alone.

She eyed me through the mirror. But I igged her.

She huffed and turned to me. “So you’re not gonna speak?”

I frowned at her through the mirror. “Bitch, please. For what, yo? Ya stuck-up ass sees me in the halls and you ain’t never beat to speak so why the fuck should I speak now?”

“
Bitch
…?” And it was on ‘n’ popping. She started popping mad shit and before I knew it, I was up in her grill, finger pointing in her face, ready to punch her lights out. I could see that I had her shook, but I was heated…in more than one way. I was sexually
frustrated. I wanted some pussy. And at that moment I wanted to beat the shit outta her for being such a homophobic bitch.

But then something flipped. I don’t know if it was because she had tears in her eyes or if being up on her and breathing in her sweet scent had me all fucked up, but I stopped snappin’ on her and stood there staring at her for what seemed like forever. She was staring back at me, breathing heavy. Before I knew it, I snatched her up and started kissing her, grabbing a chunk of her ass, and feeling all up on her titties.

It all happened fast. She didn’t stop me. And I didn’t want her to. I got her shirt off, then her bra. Then her nipples were in my mouth. And she was moaning. Then I was unbuckling her jeans and she was shimmying her way outta them. My fingers slid into her pussy. It was wet.
This bitch been wanting some of this,
I thought as I pushed my way into her knuckles deep, fucking her with fingers, first, then my tongue, then my strap-on. Yeah, she wanted me to fuck her. And I did. Right there in the locker room I banged her pussy up real good until her juices splashed out onto my cock.

Then I pulled out and bent her over one of the bathroom sinks, pulled open her buttery-soft ass cheeks and rimmed the shit outta her asshole. That was my first time eating ass. And it turned me the fuck on. Her wet pussy glazed my chin as I tongued her down. I stroked my dick and nearly nutted from the taste of her sweet, musky scent. “Ooh, yes, eat my ass, boo. You nasty fucker. Uh, yes…”

Ol’ lil Miss Stuck Up was talkin’ mad shit, eggin’ me on. Urgin’ me to keep going, to stuff my tongue chin-deep into her ass. She was an undercover freak like I thought she was. And it turned me on. But then she slipped and said, “Yeah, you nasty dyke bitch.” Now my first response, as it has always been, was to hop up and push her wig back. But I decided to handle her another way. Instead of beating her face in, busting open her tight virgin asshole was
a much sweeter way to get at her. And, at that moment, with my tongue in her ass and two fingers fucking her pussy I hoped someone walked in and caught us. I wanted someone to catch me ramming my cock into her ass.

Her coming outta her face calling me a dyke made me wanna fuck her hard and deep and fast until my whole dick slid out of her throat and my nut spurted outta her trash-talking mouth.

I spit in her hole, pushing my middle finger in. She gasped, wriggling her ass back and forth. I slipped another finger in, stretching her, working her open. She hissed and grunted, still poppin’ shit.

I slapped her on the ass. “Is this what you want, stuck-up bitch?” She groaned. I stood up, bent her all the way over as she pulled open her ass. The tip of my dick popped in, and then I rammed everything in, causing her to yell out. I covered her mouth and she bit me, grunting. I could feel her ass spasming as I rapidly thrust into her. Rhythmic fuck-sounds, grunts, and moans and the scent of pussy and ass filled the locker room. I gripped her by the hair and banged the shit outta her, reaching around and playing wit’ her clit. She glanced over her shoulder at me, pulling me into her by the back of my neck. She kissed me. A few seconds later, we were both nuttin’.

And when we were done, she walked out, like nothing ever happened. The bitch still didn’t speak when she’d see me in the halls. But she didn’t try to avoid me either. In fact, I fucked her on the low at least once a week for the rest of the school year. All the way up until she left to go to Spelman. And the crazy thing is, her boyfriend and I ended up the same university playing basketball. I’d see him on campus ‘n’ we’d speak ‘n’ shit, but I’d be laughing inside every time he spoke about his girl, knowing I’d been fucking her, too.

An old Kirko Bangz joint, “What Yo Name Iz?,” starts playing, bringing me outta my thoughts. I toss back my drink. And order another one. Outta the corner of my eye, I peep Milk Chocolate glancing over at me. I grab my beer from off the bar, then spin around on my stool to check the happenings. Real shit, there’s some bad bitches up in here, but the thirsty niggahs in the room are already sweating most of ’em hard. I glance over at Milk Chocolate. She grins at me. Again, the lame niggah she’s wit’ looks over his shoulder at me. I give him a head nod. He turns back to Milk Chocolate.

The bartender comes back wit’ my third shot. I toss it back and I’m starting to feel right. Someone else gets up from the bar, leaving their stool empty. I half hope the seat stays empty or that some sexy ho inches her horny ass up on it. I peep Milk Chocolate dismissing the lame niggah who’s been all up in her face, then making her way over to me. Looks like I’ma get my wish.

I spin around back toward the bar, fronting like I don’t peep her. I sip my beer. “Hey, sexy man,” she says, smiling. “Is anyone sitting here?”

“Nah,” I say, eyeing her as she inches her phatty up on the stool. “It’s all you.” She’s wearing a red, knee-length wrapdress. I watch as her slit spills open showing her smooth thigh. I lick my lips.
Yeah, she’s fuckable.

She turns to me. Her deep brown eyes taking me in. “You’re too fine to be sitting here by yourself. Are you waiting for someone?” I tell her nah. Tell her I’m solo. Here chillin’ by myself. “Mmmph. I tell you what. How about you buy me a drink, and we chill together.”

“Oh word? And what about ole boy over there?”

She twists up her juicy red-painted lips. I squeeze my legs shut, imagining them thick dick suckers wrapped around my cock.
“Puhleeeze. That broke niggah was boring the shit out of me.” She waves the bartender over. “Hey, Frankie, let me get a Ciroc and pineapple.” Dude looks over at me. I order another shot ‘n’ a beer. Tell him her drink is on me.

“Yo, you gotta name, ma?”

“It’s Alicia. And yours?”

“Reggie,” I say, placing my forearms up on the bar, then clasping my hands around my beer bottle.

“So where you from, Reggie? I haven’t seen you in here before.”

“Yeah, it’s my first time.” I tell her I’m from Elizabeth, although it’s a lie. I don’t ever tell any of these chicks I get at what town I rest at.

“Oh, okay. So what brings you out here?”

“I heard this spot was live so I wanted to check out the happenings for myself.”

She grins slyly, lifting her drink. “Well, I hope you like what you see so far.”

I lean back, glancing at her ass, then back at her. “No doubt, ma. So far, I’m diggin’ e’erything I see. So where you rest at, ma? Paterson?” She tells me she lives in Paramus, about twenty minutes away from here. We go back ‘n’ forth wit’ the small talk for a minute. I find out she’s twenty-eight. Single, but happily looking. No kids. Has her own crib. And she works for the city. I tell her basic shit. That I’m thirty, happily single, and no kids.

Real shit, I’m not sure how many drinks she tossed back before she parked her ass up on the stool next to me, but after her third Ciroc her tongue starts gettin’ mad loose, talking about how she’s horny, how she came out hoping to bring someone home with her tonight. And the more she flaps her jaws, the harder my dick gets.

I grin.
Them niggahs at work weren’t bullshitting when they said these hoes up in here are some easy ass.

“Ain’t that somethin’?” I say, eyeing her. “And I came here hopin’ to slide my dick into somethin’ real wet.”

“You ain’t ready for none of this wetness, boo,” she teases, sipping her drink.

“Yeah, a’ight. That’s what ya mouth says. I already know what it is. I stay ready.”

She laughs. “We’ll see.”

“No doubt.” I raise my drink, then toss it back.