Double Dippin' (26 page)

He wanted to say,
Kiss my ass, you fuckin bitch!
But he held his tongue. He dug her car too much to piss her off. So, pretending to feel remorse, Shane lowered his eyes in contrition. “My bad,” he muttered. “But you gotta understand…” He shook his head.

“Understand what?” Felicia asked, her face twisted in annoyance.

Had Shane acted on his impulses, his fist would have been inside Felicia’s smart-assed mouth, but he wanted to drive her car so badly, he chose not
to offend her. “You look good, Ma. It’s hard to keep my hands off you.” He folded his hands and dramatically placed them in his lap. “But I’m gon’ try, aiight?” He flashed her a disarming grin.

Shane expected Felicia to accept his flattery and return his smile, but instead, the preacher’s wife gave a heavy sigh. “I’m not going to waste your time, Shane; I’m a very busy woman,” she said. “My husband is ill and as I would expect you to know…”—she paused and checked the rearview mirror, then backed up and made a sharp turn out of the lot—“A woman has her needs,” she continued. “You’re a handsome young man and if you can take my mind off my current problems…” She became silent. “Well, let’s put it this way. If you make me happy, you’ll be very handsomely compensated.” She smiled coyly.

Shane didn’t particularly like Felicia, but he had to respect her. She didn’t bullshit; she got right down to business. Felicia wasn’t trying to catch no feelings or fall in love; she just wanted some good dick.

“Cool,” he responded. “So, where we goin’?”

“I can’t risk being recognized, so I figured we’d go to a motel in Jersey. I’m taking a huge chance meeting you in a public place like this,” she said with an extravagant wave of her hand as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“I can dig it. Jersey sounds good.” Shane reclined his seat, prepared to enjoy the ride. Felicia was quiet also. They were on the same page, silently agreeing that there was no need for meaningless chitchat.

It was just an ordinary motel, but Felicia didn’t have an ordinary body. She was a female bodybuilder. Her clothing hid her muscles. As far as Shane was concerned, she looked better with her clothes on. Naked, she looked like an Amazon, more muscular than the average man. Her breasts were practically nonexistent and what she did have looked like hard little rocks. Her small tight ass looked hard as a rock also. Every part of Felicia’s body was tight and toned. Hard. Masculine.

Shane shook his head. He liked to see shit jiggle when he hit it. Felicia’s body looked like it was made of cement. Fucking the preacher’s wife wasn’t going to be very much fun.

“As you can see, I work out,” she boasted.

Shane grunted an unimpressed response. He couldn’t fake it; all those muscles looked nasty.

“Don’t tell me you’re intimidated by muscular women?” she asked as she pranced around, striking poses to show off her muscles

His dick was limp and Shane worried that he might not be able to get an erection. He wanted to give it to her the way she wanted it, since Felicia Bradley was the type of woman he’d like to keep around. But he was finding it increasingly difficult to become aroused by the muscle-bound woman.

He thought of his pretty little petite Misty. Admittedly, Misty had small boobs and a tiny ass, but Misty wasn’t sporting a six-pack and a bulging set of biceps bigger than his. Naw, this shit wasn’t going to work.

As if reading Shane’s mind, Felicia pulled him onto the bed and on top of her. In the missionary position, Shane noticed she felt like an ordinary woman. She felt feminine. Damn shame her chest was so flat, though.

Shane and Felicia shared a kiss. A bland kiss. There was no sexual chemistry between them. Something was missing. Or maybe there was too much of something. Yeah, too many muscles. Shane closed his eyes and imagined Felicia was Valencia, the Spanish spitfire he’d fucked over. He was sorry he’d ruined that relationship so early in the game. Valencia was a hot Puerto Rican mami with a round bubble butt; he should have hung with her a little while longer.

Felicia kissed Shane again. It was a lingering kiss, intended to be passionate. But Shane simply wasn’t feeling her. Trying hard to get into the mood, he gave her tongue; he made all the sounds and movements of an aroused man. But his dick was soft. He blamed Felicia. There was something cold and asexual about the preacher’s wife.

Imagining Valencia wasn’t working, in an act of desperation, Shane switched the mental image to the singer Beyonce Knowles. He imagined Beyonce giving him a lap dance. In fact, in his imagination, Beyonce and her crew were doling out exclusive lap dances—dancing exactly the way they did on the BET Awards show—just for him.

The provocative images of the sexy singing trio had Shane’s dick standing at attention. A few seconds later, Shane was serving up pipe. Using well-aimed strokes to hit it hard and fast, Shane had Felicia purring like a kitten and promising him the clothes off her back, which was music to his ears.

Afterward, Felicia checked her watch, washed up and dressed quickly. “I have to be at choir rehearsal in an hour.” She spoke in a crisp, formal tone.

Shane wasn’t offended. He wished all his women could separate business from pleasure as smoothly as Felicia could.

Shane went into the bathroom behind her. There were four fifty-dollar bills on the toilet top. It was an odd place to leave the money. It felt insulting, actually. But what the fuck did he care? Felicia obviously had a problem putting money in his hands. Fuck it; he’d take it any way he could get it.

During the ride home, Shane schemed on how to break down Felicia’s hard exterior. He needed her soft and pliant if he expected to get the keys to the BMW. In fact, he’d like to borrow it that very night. She didn’t need the car while she was at choir rehearsal. But not wanting to turn her off by rushing things, Shane decided he’d bide his time and after he’d uncovered her weaknesses, he was certain she’d give him his own set of car keys. If the shit went as planned, Felicia would be asking him permission to drive
her
car.

“Where you been, man?” Brick bear-hugged Shane when he joined Brick and Misty in a corner bar on Cobbs Creek Parkway.

Misty, playing a poker game at the bar, pointedly ignored Shane.

“What’s her problem?” Shane asked Brick.

“You ain’t call or nothin’, man. You know how we do. That shit ain’t cool.”

“Yo, Misty,” Shane said, pulling her long ponytail.

“Yo, my ass,” she snarled and yanked her head away without looking at him.

“Oh! You don’t want me to fuck with you? Aiight, ain’t no thing,” Shane said and turned toward Brick. “So, what’s been up, dawg? Y’all get any dough from Paula yet?”

“Yeah, man, she paid two weeks in advance.” Brick turned and nudged Misty. “Give Shane his cut,” Brick said delicately.

“I ain’t giving him shit,” Misty said huffily. Her eyes and fingers remained focused on the tabletop video poker game.

“It’s cool, Misty. Keep that chump change. I’m straight,” Shane told her.

“I bet you are,” Misty replied sarcastically. Her eyes drifted to Shane’s hardened face.

Ignoring Misty’s remark, Shane scanned the dimly lit room. He spotted two women sitting together at the bar. One of the two women was heavily made up with eye shadow, lipstick…the works. The other had a pecan tan complexion. No makeup—a natural beauty with a clean-scrubbed look. Shane caught the eye of the natural beauty. She giggled appreciatively.

Shane gave Misty a sidelong glance and then dismissed her with a flip of his hand. With his lips curved into a cocky smile, Shane sauntered to the other side of the bar.

“Hey, sexy, what’s your name?” Shane asked the attractive woman; who seemed too clean-cut and innocent to be sitting up in that hole-in-the wall bar. However, as Shane well knew, looks could be deceptive. Misty’s girlish beauty and impression of innocence attested to that fact.

“Nina,” the young woman answered. Her eyes twinkled delightedly.

“My name’s Shane. How you doin’, Nina? Whassup? Where you live? Can I get that number?” He asked the personal questions in rapid succession without waiting for a response. “Yo, I’m not trying to play no games,” he said, explaining his aggressive approach. “You lookin’ kinda good, shorty, and I’m tryin’ to make you my business. Know what I’m sayin’? So whassup? Can I buy you a drink?” He cast a quick look at the woman sitting next to Nina. “Your girlfriend can get a drink, too.”

Nina looked excitedly at her girlfriend as if Shane had offered to buy them each a bottle of Cristal.

“Whatchu drinkin’?” Shane inquired in a low voice as he stroked the fine hairs on his cleft chin.

“Vodka,” Nina told him, gazing dreamily into his eyes.

“How you like it?” he asked, his expression neutral, his tone sexy and hypnotic.

“What?” she whispered with her eyes pinned to his face.

“How you like your drink? Mixed or straight?”

“Oh!” Nina exclaimed. “Straight…no chaser,” she replied, and gave a nervous chuckle.

“Oh, yeah? Is that how you like everything?” Shane sidled closer. “You like everything straight with no chaser?” His voice was husky and sensual.

Nina cut a nervous eye at her girlfriend.

“Whew!” Nina’s girlfriend exclaimed as she comically fanned her face. “He’s too much for me! Go ’head, Nina, answer the man,” she said teasingly. “Tell him how you like it.”

Both Nina and her girlfriend appeared smitten by Shane. The delight in their eyes and their gleeful chatter confirmed their appreciation of his presence.

Shane felt like patting his own back. Real rap; he was the muthafuckin’ man! He was getting his mack on—working his magic. He sized Nina up—taking a quick inventory. She was plainly dressed in jeans and a stretchy pink top. No artificial hair or fingernails. Nina looked to be in her late twenties and Shane, knowing women the way he did, figured Nina to be the dependable type, a reliable employee who brought home a steady paycheck. She probably didn’t make much, but he was sure Nina would figure out a way to include him in her budget. Yeah, Nina seemed like a soft touch; he was certain he could convince her to break him off on the regular. Fifty here; a hundred there. Quick pocket money is what Shane saw in Nina. With a self-satisfied smile, Shane beckoned the bartender.

The bartender appeared, his face expectant.

“Give her whatever she’s drinkin’,” Shane told the man, leaning his head toward Nina’s giggling friend. “And give her…” Shane paused and looked Nina up and down like she was something edible. “She’s drinkin’ vodka. Top shelf. She said she likes it straight. No chaser.” Shane winked at Nina. Nina flushed and seemed to swoon.

Shane had one eye on Nina and the other on Misty. Misty, pretending to be immersed in the video poker game, looked up. She bristled when she saw Shane extract money from his pocket and peel off a twenty.

Before Shane could brace himself or warn Nina that trouble was brewing. Misty had slid off the bar stool. As fast as a locomotive, the petite dynamo stormed to the other side of the bar.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, a snarling Misty appeared in front of Nina and without warning, she cold-cocked the unsuspecting woman. Misty’s punch sent Nina flying off the bar stool.

Nina’s girlfriend screamed. The bartender came running. And Nina, her face crinkled in astonishment, lay sprawled out on the dirty bar room floor.

“Help, somebody!” her friend screamed.

In an alcohol-induced frenzy, patrons of the bar quickly converged and hovered. Taking in the scene, they murmured excitedly, but none of the bystanders offered support.

“Stomp her!” shouted a drunken woman.

“Yeah, stomp her,” a male patron heartily agreed.

With a drink in hand, the inebriated woman brazenly tottered over to Nina and looked down upon the unfortunate fallen woman with angry bloodshot eyes. “Stomp the shit outta that bitch.” She clumsily lifted her foot, demonstrating the movement she wanted Misty to execute.

The other bar patrons, stirred to rowdiness, fervently agreed. “Stomp her,” they all chorused. Of course, the bloodthirsty mob had no quarrel with Nina; they hardly knew her. But they thrived on dissention and mayhem.

Misty, eager to oblige, raised her size-five boot over Nina’s head. Nina squeezed her eyes shut and screamed.

Shane snaked an arm around Misty’s waist and snatched her up before she could bring the heel of her boot crashing down upon Nina’s skull.

“Lemme go, dammit,” Misty exploded, swinging wildly as she twisted and struggled to tear free from Shane’s tight hold. “I’m gon’ bust that bitch’s ass!”

Scrapping with Misty was exhausting. “Dayum, Misty-you a beast,” Shane exclaimed, unable to mask the pride in his voice. Misty had just cost him some paying pussy, but he wasn’t mad at her. Still, he had to control her before she killed the innocent victim who lay on the floor looking confused as she grimaced and squinted and tried to make sense of the tragic situation.

Misty, kicking and still trying to wriggle from Shane’s grip, screamed for Brick. “Get this muthafucker off me, Brick!”

Shane yelled for Brick’s help, too. He was breathing hard from tussling with the feisty petite woman. He knew Misty would never give up and he feared she’d break free and try to kill Nina.