Best Black Women's Erotica (9 page)

“You shouldn't just wander off with strangers, you know. You get in trouble like that.” She stared down at my blouse, which hung loosely around my body, and then looked out toward the street. “It's dangerous. You could get hurt or something.”

“I'm fine,” I said, trying to smile.

“Well, I'm going to get going. Long day tomorrow. I've got the morning shift. I shouldn't be here at all if I had any sense.” She turned to leave. “Good night, Leah.”

I watched her walk out of the parking lot. Then I remembered the money. I took out all the bills George had given me, straightened them out nice and neat.

Five hundred dollars.

I already knew how I was going to spend it, too. I was going to call in sick again, drive out to La Jolla. But this time I was going to be one of the lucky ones.

 

 

 

 

 

“
Put down the dick and back away from the pussy,”
Mona said to Veronica, her new neighbor and colleague.

Veronica had picked up the large wooden penis from Mona's desk and was stroking the stuffed black cat with the other hand.

That morning when they'd entered the same elevator at the Glass and Gleam Towers, Veronica had pushed the button for the thirty-third floor. Mona knew then that Veronica must be the new sex therapist with whom she'd be sharing a receptionist and an adjoining office. She introduced herself and invited Veronica to stop by her office before settling in. When they got off the elevator, the women stopped at the reception desk so that Mona could introduce Veronica to Marie, the receptionist, and check her messages. Then they walked down the carpeted hallway to Mona's spacious office.

Veronica admired Mona's fuchsia walls, her file-laden mahogany desk, the sumptuous leather furniture, and the bookcase-lined walls. She walked across the deep red-brown
carpet to the large palm tree that stood at the window. “Nice view,” she said, then noticed the “toys” on Mona's desk.

She fondled the wooden penis, sculpted to favor a huge mushroom with a fat stem. “This is nice. Who's the artist?” Veronica asked.

“I forget her name,” Mona said. “But I do remember that she carved it with her buck teeth!”

“More importantly,” Veronica asked, “who's the model?”

“If I knew who he was I wouldn't be working here. I'd be working on that—and vice versa.”

“I think I'd call this piece—and the model—‘Night and Day,' and I think I'd call often,” Veronica said. They shared a laugh, and Veronica looked contemplatively at the oversized dick. “Each one has two heads. All thought begins at the high one and ends at the low one. That triggers the renewal of the brain cells.”

“Damn,” Mona said. “You're deep for a sex therapist. Been thinking about it for a while, eh?”

“Well, I don't want to wear it out,” Veronica said, returning the sculpture to its upright position on the desk.

“It's oak,” Mona told her. “You can't wear it out.”

Veronica picked up the smiling, life-sized, nylon-furred, stuffed black cat from its post next to the dick. “Subtle,” she said. “Don't these props scare off your clients?”

“Just the half that doesn't like sex,” Mona replied. “I used to have nightmares of being drowned by the rape victims.” The split-second image of a girl being thrown onto the ground passed silently between the women.

“If you ever want to talk about it, I know a good therapist,” Veronica offered. She replaced the pussy and picked up a large fan-shaped seashell. “Explain this.”

“Tits,” Mona said. “And if you ever need help getting out of the deep and onto the shore, I'll throw
you
a line.”

Veronica lifted the shell to her left ear and grabbed the wooden penis with her right hand, holding it to her mouth as
though the dick-and-shell set were an old-time telephone. “You gotta help me, Doc! I can't get through to my clit!”

Mona laughed and shook her head from side to side. “You're a mess! I can't wait to see how
your
office is decorated.”

 

The two building-maintenance men who were sitting on Veronica's deep brown leather sofa quickly jumped to attention when the women entered the office. “Damn! It looks like a forest in here.” Mona exclaimed.

“We took the liberty of painting the ‘fade' into the ceiling,” the taller man said. “When we looked at your instructions, we figured, with the trees and everything, you were trying to make it natural. So we faded the blues.” The ceiling had been painted night-blue and faded to a day-blue on the walls.

Veronica's jaw dropped in awe as her eyes scanned the walls from top to bottom.

“But,” the shorter man assured, “if you don't like it, we'll paint it whatever way you say. We were just waiting for you and they said you were on your way so…we just waited to see what you thought.”

“It's better than I'd hoped,” Veronica said. “I love it! Thank you.” She instructed the men on where to place her trees: one behind the couch, another by her desk at the window. The final two trees were placed on either side of a large painting that faced the sofa. The two men, elated that she had complimented their initiative and creativity in painting her office, moved swiftly, eager to please once more.

“Oh,” Veronica said, “you put my books up on the shelves. I had a very specific order in mind.” Disappointment slowed the work of the men and dulled the light in their eyes.

Mona nudged Veronica. “Hey, control freak,” Mona whispered, “that's a whole lot of books they put up for you. Why don't you let them keep their joy?”

“But they're not in order,” Veronica whined. She sighed with exasperation at the thought of how long it was going to take to redo the bookshelves.

“In what order do you put the feelings of others?” Mona asked. “What are all these books worth if you don't know that?”

“Of course you're right,” Veronica said. She surveyed her beloved library, running her fingers over the spines of the books as she approached the maintenance men. “Actually,” she said, “the order is very natural. I'm so grateful to you.”

The men finished their work and left beaming with pride. Mona fetched champagne and two flutes from her office and the women celebrated their newfound friendship. Mona raised her glass to the six-by-five-foot painting of large red beach balls framed by the two trees. “Hope you get your wish,” Mona toasted.

“And to all a good night,” Veronica added as she tinked Mona's glass.

 

And so their friendship began. The women shared the light for two more years. Veronica considered installing a window between their offices, but realized they only needed a mirror. They had each developed the other's voice inside. Mona had so many “This is it. I know it in my heart!” romances that Veronica started calling her “Whore-Moan-a.” And Veronica found so many “disorders” in the men she dated that Mona called her “Veronica-Never-Knew.”

One morning Mona walked dazed into Veronica's office and, sighing deeply, told her about her three-hour-old romance with the fine, fine, superfine LaShawn Monroe. Mr. Fine, the producer of the hit TV series
The Couch,
employed Mona as a consultant. Mona had always found him to be distracted, fretting about this or that, and unapproachable. A high-strung stiff-ass—though a fine ass it was, she'd told Veronica. Everyone
knew he was a fool for Deborah Dawson, the star of the series, who dangled LaShawn from a chain like a charm on a bracelet.

“I can't believe it,” Mona said. “Just this morning I was fantasizing about me and Mr. Monroe making love in his studio office when Marie buzzed me to say he was at her desk asking to see me immediately. I thought I was in trouble or something. So I buzz him in and he strides in babbling something about ‘Sorry to barge into your day like this, Mona.' Then he tells me how he's admired my expertise as a therapist and was hoping that I could help him with something that's been troubling him for a while.

“He didn't stop talking long enough for me to say yea or nay. He swooped by my desk and picked up the kitty on his way to the couch. He sits down and starts spilling his soul about how he's afraid that he's oversexed! Girl, I shot up a silent prayer like a rocket on a mission! He says he wants to fuck three times a day—at least—but Deborah gets tired seven days a week.” Mona paused to catch her breath.

“I don't know what else he said, because he was absentmindedly stroking the cat, and I couldn't concentrate. I'm seeing us fuck in his office. I'm seeing us fucking in his car all the way to his house, then all up in the house, then fucking on the way out of the house. I'm picturing us rolling around outside in a forest. Well, all of a sudden, he stopped talking like he was wondering if he left something cooking on the stove. Then he turns the cat upside down like he's checking to see if it's male or female, and sniffs the kitty's pussy!”

“Tell me this is not going where I think it's going,” Veronica said.

“Then he says something about how not making love is like letting the sun go down without holding on to a
piece
of it. I'm thinking, ‘Damn! He's a poet and I wish he'd hold on to a piece of my ass!' ” Mona took a deep breath. “So I locked the door with the remote.”

“No, you didn't! You fucked him? He's your employer!” Veronica's eyebrows didn't rise as far as her curiosity, though. “So then what happened?”

“Employer, schmoyer. I've wanted to bite him for two years. I couldn't take it anymore. I walked over to the couch, sat next to him, took the cat, and tossed it across the room. I lifted my skirt and lap-danced him. Oh, God, Veronica. This is it!”

“Again,” Veronica warned. “Just how long do you think it's gonna last?”

A month later, Mona announced that she and LaShawn would be moving to New York in two weeks. “Hope I'm too busy fucking to miss you,” Mona said, “but you know I will.” The women hugged, then cried, then smiled at each other and hugged some more.

“You'll be too busy fucking to remember anything. Good for you!” Veronica said.

 

A year later, Mona called Veronica to tell her that she and LaShawn would be on the West Coast in a few days and that she had a big surprise.

“Hi, Ho!” someone shouted at Veronica's back at the airport. Veronica turned to face her old friend, the now-pregnant Mrs. Fine.

“Why, thank you!” Veronica said. They hugged and kissed and looked one another over, up and down, back and front. “You are definitely pregnant,” Veronica said, “and you're glowing! I'm so happy for you. Where's the baby daddy?”

“He's getting the luggage. And who's got you smiling like you finally got a clue?” Mona asked, noting a marked transformation in Veronica's attitude and appearance. “You look great. No. You look
satisfied
.”

“Listen, I'll get you guys settled at the hotel, then tomorrow I want you both to come out to our place at the lake. I
can't wait for you to meet Frederick.”

“Frederick?” Mona asked, one eyebrow raised in mock suspicion.

Veronica leaned across Mona's burgeoning belly to whisper, “I call him ‘Frederick, the Fantastic Dick!' ”

LaShawn and Mona followed Veronica's directions to the picturesque road that wound around the lake and led them to the circular driveway in front of Veronica and Frederick's large rustic home.

Veronica and Fred greeted them and ushered them to the shaded back porch that overlooked the lake. Veronica retreated to the kitchen and brought out a pitcher of lemonade. Fred and LaShawn hit it off immediately and excused themselves to go inside and watch a football game on TV. The women watched the men disappear beyond the screen door and listened for the sound of the television.

“Damn!” Mona said in a low voice, “where'd you meet him? I'll bet you have a hard time walking in the morning. I see you like 'em fine
and
short!”

“Yeah, but he's got a long ladder!” The women laughed and shared a low five. “You remember Dr. Durant? Well, he introduced us at a party to celebrate the completion of his new house. Fred was the landscape architect. He does wonderful things with wood and flowers, and…”

“Damn it! Where's the remote?” Fred banged the screen door and barged onto the porch. Before Mona could give Veronica a “what's-a-good-ex-sex-therapist-like-you-doing-in-a-confrontational-relationship-like-this” look, Veronica had shot up and gone into the house to “fetch.” Mona made a mental note to talk to her docile friend, then found herself slipping into the vast beauty of the scenery.

The porch faced a huge oak tree that triumphed over the view about fifty feet from the porch and about a quarter-mile from the crystal blue lake. The oak's trunk curved
dramatically to the left like a question mark, and the branches continued the curve, almost touching the ground. Mona's view of the lake through the curve of the tree was dizzying. The birds that darted about, and the lake itself, were distorted by the ninety-degree heat that rose from the ground in sweltering waves. The fragrance of some sweet-smelling flora wafted around the porch.

Mona's peaceful drifting was interrupted when she heard a sportscaster announce the first-quarter score. “What was that all about? What's up with the temper tantrum shit?” Mona asked when Veronica returned. “What is he, an ‘artiste' or something?”

“There's nothing really wrong,” Veronica assured her. “He just needed some stroking.” She fanned the skirt of her flowered cotton summer dress, bringing cool relief to her sweaty thighs. “So, we're at this party at Dr. Durant's and Fred has done all of this gorgeous landscaping. Did I tell you that he used to be an architect?”