Insatiable (17 page)

Frantic with worry, Terelle picked up the phone.

“Marquise is missing and I don’t know what to do,” she blurted when Saleema answered the phone.

“Damn, girl. Calm down. It’s only nine o’clock; you sound like he’s been missing for days.”

“Quise got off work at three-thirty. Something’s wrong, Saleema.”

“You’re stressing for nothing and you need to stop. He’s probably hanging out with his friends. Can’t a brotha go out and have a drink after work?”

“Not without changing out of his work uniform.”

“Hmm.” Saleema pondered aloud. “Y’all have an argument or somethin’?”

Terelle was silent. She wondered if she should divulge that type of personal information.

“You there?” Saleema asked.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah what?”

“Yeah, I’m still here and yes, we’ve been arguing.” There was a defensive tone to her voice that she couldn’t help.

Terelle took a deep breath and then told Saleema about the trouble she’d been having with Marquise: the women on the bus, the night he came home late and fell asleep while she was attempting to initiate sex…and the recent suspicion that he was creepin’ with someone on their job.

Saleema listened without comment.

“Say something, Saleema. You know I hate it when you do that.”

“Here we go again.” Saleema sighed heavily.

“What?”

“You don’t really want my opinion. You want me to say something—anything to make you feel better and I just don’t fuckin’ feel like it tonight,” Saleema yelled.

“Why are you screaming at me like I did something wrong?”

“Because…it don’t make no sense the way you let that nigga get over on you.”

Terelle cringed at the word
nigga
, but didn’t feel like correcting Saleema.

“Damn, Terelle…wake the fuck up. Marquise ain’t shit, ain’t never been shit. You need to fire his ass and move the hell on.”

“Break up with Marquise?” Terelle’s voice faltered. “That’s your advice for me?”

“Yeah. He ain’t gonna change. Marquise is a hoe and you know it. Just because he got a job…and just because he ain’t hangin’ on the corner sellin’ drugs don’t mean he ain’t a hoe…”

“Look who’s talking,” Terelle said, cutting Saleema off.

“That’s right. But at least I’m a well-paid hoe. How much money does Quise get?”

Terelle was silent. She held the phone to her ear and gazed into space.

“He ain’t getting nothin’ but STDs,” Saleema continued. “I hope he has enough respect for you to cover his Jimmie up.”

“Uh…that’s my other line, Saleema. It might be Quise. I gotta go,” Terelle said, lying.

“You got your call waitin’ put back on?”

“Uh-huh. I changed it back when Quise got off house arrest. Look, I gotta go,” she said impatiently.

As she hung up, she could hear Saleema shouting for her to make sure she called her back. Perhaps she would call her in a week or so…after she and Marquise straightened things out. With Marquise missing and with the current uncertainty that surrounded their relationship, she was in no shape for a verbal battle with Saleema. And with her emotions so close to the surface, she was liable to say something that would ruin the relationship with the best friend she’d ever had.

She heard a noise in the bedroom and rushed to check on Markeeta. Markeeta slept peacefully, but the baby doll she slept with had fallen on the floor. Terelle picked up the doll and tucked it under her daughter’s chubby arm. Warmth flowed through her as she gazed at Markeeta and marveled at her beauty. Bending down, she smoothed the edges of her daughter’s hair and kissed her face. With her hair styled in cornrows, Markeeta was the spitting image of Marquise.

Marquise!
Struck by the painful reminder that Marquise had not come home, Terelle rubbed her chest in a circular motion and plodded back to the kitchen. Her instinct told her he was alive—he was well—but something else was terribly wrong. Her face twisted in agony when the disturbing image of Marquise and Danita appeared in her mind.

Sitting at the kitchen table, waiting to hear from Marquise, her eyes roved desperately from the clock to the soundless telephone. After all she’d done for him, after all he’d put her through—how could he do this to her?

Anger replaced fear and uncertainty. Marquise was not going to trample over her heart and get away with it. She jumped up from the table, yanked open the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink, pulled out a green plastic bag. Marquise had to go!

Let that bitch Danita put a roof over your head!
Terelle stormed back to the bedroom, began snatching his clothes from hangers, and stuffed them into the bags.

S
ix-thirty in the morning. Kai should have still been asleep. But she found herself weaving through traffic instead. Marquise sat beside her in the passenger seat. Giving him a ride to work was inconvenient and had disrupted badly needed sleep. However, after the two strong orgasms he’d given her, it seemed cruel to cast him out in the early morning cold in a neighborhood where public transportation was limited at best. Besides, it would not behoove her to make an enemy of him—at least not yet. Who knew when she’d require his services again?

She turned on the radio and hummed along with a tune by Metallica.

“Why you listenin’ to that white-ass music?” Marquise asked, an annoyed frown on his face. “Turn on
The Dream Team?”

“Who?”

“Golden Girl and Q-Deezy. Power 99.”

“Never heard of them,” Kai said nonchalantly and continued humming the song.

“Man, this corny-ass music is givin’ me a headache.”

“You’re truly adverse to new experiences, aren’t you?” Kai said sarcastically.

“I ain’t tryin’ to listen to no heavy metal,” he shot back. “Fuck it,” he continued, his face twisted in a grimace. “Do what you wanna do…just hurry up and git me the fuck to work.” He reclined his seat even further than it had been and stared out the window.

Was this a tantrum?
She wondered, perplexed.
What nerve!
He’d complained about her film collection—her musical taste was not up to par. He’d neither voiced nor demonstrated anything remotely resembling gratitude for her getting out of bed to give him a ride to work. Well, fuck him and his big dick, too, she concluded, pulling the Benz to a screeching stop two blocks away from the County Nursing Home.

“What’s the deal?” he asked, suspiciously.

“This is the end of the line. I called out sick today…I don’t want to be spotted near the job.” Kai spoke without looking at him; she stared straight ahead, drumming her fingers rapidly to the frenetic beat, which poured from the radio.

“Ain’t this some shit!” he said, blowing out furious air. “Yeah, aiight, it’s cool, though; it’s all gravy, baby.” And as if expecting Kai to have a change of heart, he exited the car slowly. Then, realizing that she was serious, he slammed the door shut with a bang that could have shattered the window.

“See you later,” she yelled in a taunting tone. Marquise did not respond and didn’t turn around. Kai shrugged, and turned up the volume when a new song by the rock group Coldplay came on. Blasting music and singing badly, she drove away, casting lustful glances at the construction workers who drilled and hammered along Broad Street.

Terelle arrived at work at 6:55 a.m. to find Marquise standing by the time clock. He looked at her with tired, repentant eyes. Part of her was relieved he was alive—unharmed. That part also wanted to embrace him. But she didn’t. She rolled her eyes, swiped her time card and tried to get past him.

He grabbed her left arm, and stared in amazement at her bare ring finger. “Where’s your ring?”

“That’s all you have to say?” she asked saucily, oblivious to their gawking co-workers who’d gathered near the time clock.

“I know you mad, babe,” he said in an offhand manner as if his staying out all night was of little consequence. “We’ll talk about that later…at home, aiight?”

“You’re going to talk to me at home?” Terelle gave a contemptuous chuckle. “Well, check this out, Marquise…You don’t have a home. And for your information, the ring is in the trash with your clothes.” As intended, the impact of her words landed like a left hook that Marquise didn’t see coming.

The throng of employees murmured excitedly.

Looking around embarrassed, he asked in a lowered voice, “Why you puttin’ our business out there like that?”

“You put our business out there when you fucked around with a bitch that works right here on our job,” Terelle yelled, not caring that she and Marquise were creating a scene.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Marquise said testily. Moving swiftly, he disappeared from view and descended the stairs to the ground floor to check in with his supervisor.

Terelle sucked her teeth. “Whatever,” she muttered for the benefit of the onlookers.

The encounter with Marquise felt anticlimactic. Now, thoroughly pissed off and needing a target for her rage, Terelle rode the elevator to the second floor in search of Danita. Cursing Danita out, Terelle decided, might provide some satisfaction. Whether or not it became a physical altercation depended entirely upon Danita because Terelle would not hesitate to slap the shit out of that slut if she so much as looked at her wrong.

She wondered where Marquise and Danita had spent the night. Danita, she’d heard, lived in the projects. Danita’s mom, her three kids, her sister, her sister’s kids and a host of other relatives were all packed in tightly together. Hmph! Marquise didn’t even have enough sense to cheat on her with someone with adequate living space for him to rest his head.

As she stepped off the elevator, Terelle took in the sight of staff members huddled near the water fountain, absorbed in gossip. She wasn’t the least bit surprised. Word traveled quickly in the nursing home. A soon-to-be-married man who fucked around with a co-worker was a hot topic—getting busted by your future wife was an even hotter topic.

Nona, a woman who worked in the Laundry Department, was so engrossed in the gossip, she didn’t even notice a male resident with severe dementia ransacking the laundry cart she’d left unattended in the corridor.

There were nudges and sheepish grins as Terelle approached. “Seen Danita?” Terelle directed the question to no one in particular.

Their faces instantly took on expressions of innocence, as if they’d been merely shooting the breeze or discussing the weather.

“Who?” asked Nona, her brows knitted in feigned confusion.

“I didn’t stutter, but since you wanna play dumb, I’ll ask the question again…Have you seen Danita?” With her eyes narrowed murderously, Terelle spoke slowly and clearly.

Nona shrank back in fear. She finally noticed that the laundry she should have been sorting and distributing now littered the corridor. And worse, a woman’s extra-large brassiere sat atop the head of a confused male resident. The cups of the brassiere covered the sides of his head like earmuffs. Nona scurried away to pick up the scattered laundry.

“I haven’t seen Danita,” offered Lydell, a giant of a man who worked in Plant Operations. “I don’t think she came in today.” Seeking confirmation, he turned to his co-workers. They murmured in agreement—Danita wasn’t there.

Terelle took a deep, frustrated breath and walked away. Then, coming to a sudden standstill, she looked over her shoulder and called out, “If any of y’all talk to Danita…let her know I’m lookin’ for her. And make sure she knows that when I catch up with her—it won’t be a social call.” A buzz of excitement emanated from the crowd.

By the end of the workday, Terelle had a change of heart. Her chest tightened at the thought of another night without Marquise lying beside her. Marquise was her life—had been her life since childhood. She had no real proof that he was fucking around with Danita. For all she knew, Danita could have set the whole thing up. How, Terelle wondered, did the whole damn job know about Marquise buying drinks in the club? They knew because Danita had quickly spread the word, knowing it would get back to Terelle and cause major problems in her relationship with Marquise.

Well, Danita’s little plan wasn’t going to work. Terelle wasn’t about to just hand over her baby’s daddy to that nasty, trifling hoe.

W
axed to the max, Kai’s pubis was as smooth as a baby’s behind. She glided toward the parking garage at 19
^th
Street and Rittenhouse Square, wondering why it had taken so long to find the courage to get a Brazilian Bikini Wax. A small amount of hair left on her mound was cut into the shape of an upside-down triangle with the tip pointing to her labia. So sexy!

Throughout the procedure, the female technician’s face was only inches away from Kai’s genitalia. The experience had been a real turn-on, and it required enormous restraint for Kai not to lock her legs around the woman’s head and force the technician to use her long, pointed nose to penetrate Kai’s wet pussy. And when the technician parted Kai’s vaginal lips to determine if there were any hidden stray hairs that needed to be plucked, Kai thought she’d cum all over herself.

The recollection of the technician trying to get a firm grip on her slippery wet labia caused Kai to burst out in wicked laughter. The sound echoed throughout the cavernous parking garage.

The Brazilian Bikini Wax had cost a king’s ransom and for all the money she’d paid the salon, Kai figured a complimentary pussy lick should have been included with the service. After all, Kai reasoned, only a pussy-licking dyke would engage in a profession that required her to get up close and personal with a zillion strange cunts every day.

Kai eased into her Benz, rocking in the seat as she imagined the technician tonguing her, making her purr like a kitty cat—licking and sucking until she roared with pleasure.

Feeling too aroused to drive, she sat in the darkened parking lot, rocking and squeezing her thighs together.

Her eyes landed on the phallic-looking gearshift. Giving herself more leg room, she pushed a button that slid the seat back, then swung a leg over the gearshift—straddling it. She rotated her hips to achieve just the right angle—aligning the tip of gearshift with her clit.

As she humped the gearshift, Kai was startled by a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. Her face was red and contorted; the veins in her forehead bulged as she strained to reach an orgasm. It was an unattractive sight. And feeling closer to having an aneurysm than reaching an orgasm, she abruptly stopped all movement and dismounted the gearshift.

To get her freak on, she needed a red-blooded person—not an inanimate object. She revved the motor, and ripped out of the garage.

Kai sauntered into a trendy new restaurant located on 12
^th
& Pine Streets, an area purported to be heavily populated by gays. The food was good, she’d heard. Food, however, was not on her mind. Getting into something freaky with a lesbian might provide the quick fix she needed.

Taking a seat, she graciously accepted a menu from a rather cute, though butch-looking waitress.

“Hi, my name’s Tory,” said the waitress who was dressed entirely in black, and was pierced in numerous places: her nose, both brows, the left corner of her bottom lip. But it was the silver ball that pierced the middle of Tory’s tongue that had Kai mesmerized. Shifting her attention, she gazed at the menu.

“Today’s special is Blackened Red Snapper,” Tory recited.

I’ve got your red snapper!
Kai thought, amused.

As if she’d been won over by the special, Kai lifted her gaze and beamed. Her mind was spinning, trying to think of a way to get that silver ball twirling between her legs.

“I’ll have the special,” she said, smiling. Then, her expression became pained. “Did it hurt?” Kai asked.

Tory looked baffled.

“The tongue ring,” Kai explained. “I was thinking about having my tongue pierced, but I’m afraid of the pain.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“Oh no, it doesn’t hurt much. Just a quick sting. But, let me warn you…,” Tory said, shaking her head. “Until you get used to it—it’s really hard to talk.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be hard to talk…but I’m sure it’s great for other…uh…more intimate things,” Kai said with a suggestive wink.

Offended, Tory frowned. “What are you having to drink?” There was an edge to her voice.

Kai couldn’t imagine why the dumb dyke was ticked off. “Draft beer.” Then, to spite the waitress, she added haughtily, “I’m rather parched, so would you please hurry.”

Beet red with anger, the waitress scrawled on her pad, then hurried away.

Kai turned to survey the patrons seated nearby. She looked around hopefully, but discovered they were all unattractive. Dogs. None worthy of even a weak smile.

Furious, Kai considered canceling her order, but as requested, the waitress returned quickly with a mug of beer. Kai guzzled it quickly, beckoned her waitress and ordered another. After a few swigs from the second mug, she felt the urge to relieve herself.

There were two stalls in the restroom. A pair of scuffed black boots was visible beneath the first stall. Kai turned her nose up at the dreadful boots and dashed inside the second stall.

Having to urinate badly, she could only briefly admire her newly buffed muff. She squatted and aimed, and enjoyed the deliciousness brought on by relieving her bladder. Thinking she heard a squeaking sound emanating from the stall next to her, she contracted her vaginal muscles, instantly cutting off her stream.

“Do you mind if I wipe?” asked a squeaky voice.

Kai was shocked. She’d heard about freaky men who hung out in public bathrooms, but she’d never heard of women indulging in anonymous restroom sex.

Not wanting to waste time pondering which gender is more depraved, Kai quickly responded, “Be my guest!”

Leaning forward, she gleefully unlatched the door.

A homely redhead entered Kai’s stall. Wearing an unattractive ankle-length velvet skirt and a velvet vest with a cotton turtleneck beneath—and of course, the accursed black boots, the woman was a fashion disaster! And worse, her complexion was blotched, red and dry. A fistful of tissues was balled in the redhead’s hand. Her hands, Kai noticed with disgust, were covered with dry flaky patches.

She had penetrating emerald green eyes that were perhaps pretty, but until she paid a visit to her dermatologist, the focus would always be on her skin. Kai looked away quickly when she noticed the woman’s gnawed nails and ragged cuticles.

“Hi. I’m Morgan.”

Frowning, Kai nodded an acknowledgment of the woman’s name, but didn’t offer her own. Kai’s eyes traveled toward the ceiling as she debated whether or not she should allow this scaly, nail-gnawing woman to go down on her.

“I saw you sitting out there and I noticed how pretty you are. Are you Puerto Rican?” Morgan asked brightly. “Or just part black?”

Just part black!
The insulting words caused Kai to abruptly stand and pull up her thong.

“What’re you doing? I thought you said I could wipe.” She sounded panic-stricken.

Kai wanted to slap the woman senseless for calling her black, but restrained herself. Too horny to bypass a freakish thrill, slowly and with much resentment, she lowered her thong.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” the woman gushed, referring to Kai’s bikini wax. “What’s it called?”

Kai told her the name of her wax job and then put one leg up on the toilet seat. “Wipe,” Kai said impatiently.

Using the tissue, the woman dabbed Kai’s pussy. “I’ll do more if you promise to do me, too.”

“But of course; I’m not selfish. Giving pleasure is my pleasure.”

The redhead gave a satisfied smile and carefully kneeled before Kai. She nibbled at Kai’s crotch. Her technique was creepy—more irritating than stimulating.

Kai pushed her head away. “Are you going to eat my pussy or not?”

“That was foreplay.” Morgan sounded hurt.

“This is a public bathroom,” Kai informed her. “Save the foreplay for later. I just want to get off and I assume you want the same.”

Without hesitation, the young woman dove in—slurping and licking, but not touching the spot Kai needed touched.

“Let’s change positions.” With a nudge, Kai urged Morgan to turn around. She bent her backwards over the toilet, the back of her head rested on the edge of the toilet seat. Straddling her, Kai lowered herself over the redhead’s face, and then locked the woman’s head between her strong thighs. Fast and furiously, she rode Morgan’s face.

Behaving and sounding as if she were suffocating, Morgan twisted and made gurgling sounds.

Kai, unconcerned about her lack of tenderness, refused to release her vise-like clamp until she shuddered from the final wave of orgasmic pleasure.

“Why’d you have to be so rough?” Morgan complained, rubbing her slightly bruised face.

When Morgan removed her hand, Kai reached back and slapped her with all her might. “Don’t ever call me black.” Kai’s voice was low and deadly.

“What’s your problem?” Morgan asked, inching away, fear in her eyes.

Kai adjusted her clothing, slipped her Hermès bag off the hook on the bathroom door and left the stall. She glanced in the mirror, applied lip-gloss, shook out her curls and turned to leave.

“What about me?” Morgan stepped forward, blocking Kai’s path. Kai’s vaginal juices brought a sheen to Morgan’s dry lips, Kai noticed with revulsion.

“Aren’t you going to do me?” Morgan asked meekly.

Kai stopped and peered at Morgan. “Some other time; I’m famished,” she said as she observed with interest the pinkish handprint she’d left on Morgan’s unattractive face. “I’ll get a migraine if I don’t eat, so please get out of my way, you ugly bitch!”

Morgan gasped. Her body went limp.

Kai pushed the stunned woman aside and left the restroom.

Ignoring the covered platter that had been left at the table, Kai grabbed her coat from the back of the chair.

“Is something wrong with the food?” the waitress asked as she rushed to Kai’s table.

“I can’t eat here,” Kai exclaimed, clutching her chest. “There’s a disgusting pervert loitering in the bathroom.” Kai spoke urgently and shot an anxious glance toward the restroom. “She’s asking to do unspeakably sordid things,” she said in a hushed tone. Then raising her voice, she said, “If you don’t do something about her, I’m going to alert the authorities and have this place shut down.” Kai shouted the last two words before throwing on her coat and bristling away.

Every eye in the restaurant fell on Morgan as she slipped from the restroom, and attempted to casually return to her table.

An hour later, at home—showered and in bed, Kai caressed her hairless mons pubis as well as the smooth upside-down, triangle-shaped pubic hair.

It felt wonderful.

What a pity her pretty pussy hadn’t been seen by anyone who mattered. The thought of that nasty woman in the restroom made Kai want to puke. Damn, she hated having to resort to pussy when she really needed dick.

Wracked with self-pity, Kai jerked her hand away from her mons pubis and turned on her side. Now facing the bedside table, her eyes landed on an unfamiliar, cheesy watch.

Sudden recognition curved her lips into a smile. The watch belonged to Marquise! Now,
he
was a good fuck. What had gotten into her? How could she have alienated the best dick she’d ever had?

Infused with enlightenment, Kai bolted upright. She’d return the piece of junk tomorrow. In the meantime, she’d come up with a plausible explanation for her dreadful behavior—she’d concoct a story about being on medication—temporarily, of course—medication that had turned her mood inexplicably sour. Yes, that sounded convincing.

She picked up the watch, stared at the brand name. Diesel. She’d never heard of it. It looked cheap, like something bought from a vendor’s stand. How utterly tacky! She’d buy him another watch—an authentic Gucci or something else classic and expensive. Something that would get him back in her good graces and back into her bed.