Do You Know What You Want in the Bedroom? (Birthday Sex)
WORDS BY DAVE JACKSON
I'm sitting on my porch taking in the sights of Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn on a dusky summer evening when I see her car. The window slowly rolls down to reveal her face. I haven’t seen that face in quite some time. She smiles but doesn’t say a word. Instead, she reaches for her phone and starts typing.
Two seconds later, my cell vibrates as Veronica's text comes through, simple and to the point: "HI."
I look up and wave back to her in real-time. She giggles and leans forward toward the steering wheel, biting her lower lip. She reaches for her phone once more and continues our conversation via text.
"I have on a really short skirt. ;oD"
"Hmmmm, so in the car or upstairs?"
"Upstairs."
I don’t say a word. I ask no questions. I abandon my station on the porch, unlock my door and head upstairs, leaving the screen door ajar as her cue to come on up.
These were the grimy days, the Biggie “I’m fucking you tonight” days; one chair, an air mattress and no TV—just my computer and a set of speakers.
Veronica walks into my room, one hand on her hip, striking a powerful pose. Her other hand clutched a bag. She pulled out a bottle of Black Label and two red cups.
She takes a seat in my only chair, crosses her legs. Her "really short skirt" rides even higher up her things. With cups in hand, she shakes them in my direction. “Ice, please, good sir,” she says with a sultry smile.
I nod enthusiastically and walk towards her, taking the cups. Before I walk away she leans forward and presses her hand against the bulge in my pants, her palms riding from the back of the shaft down to the tip.
I sigh.
“How about that ice?” I ask.
“How about this dick?” she replies.
We stare at each other. Memories flash before my eyes.
"You know what," she laughs. "Hurry and get the ice.”
I do as I'm instructed and make my way to the kitchen and quickly return to the room.
We play catch up over cups of Black Label on the rumor mill, the gigs, the family and the love lives (or lack there of). Into the third round of drinks, I place my cup on the makeshift nightstand and remove Veronica’s cup from her hand.
“To business then?” she smiles, already leaning back in the chair. I slide in front of her and lift what’s left of her skirt.
“No panties, huh?” I smirk.
“When have you ever known me to wear any?”
I could I ever forget.
Without giving it a second thought I tongue kiss her pussy. Immediately, I could feel her warm and sticky juices invade my taste buds. As I swirled between Veronica's splendid slits, I could see her face, which looked like she was singing, one of those passionate notes, permanently stuck on “O.”
Veronica's hands slowly rest atop my head, her grip tightens as my tongue gets closer to her spot.
“Nasty ass,” she gasps, her voice teasing with passion.
She had good reason. I was licking her in two places at once and had two fingers sliding in and out of her. Veronica's mid-section buckled as she came on my hand and in my mouth.
“That’s all you got, punk,” she dared me, as she always did.
I smirked. I didn’t have anything else to say. All I could do was rise to the challenge.
Veronica went to put her leg down. I blocked her. I let my fingers massage her clit as I held her hostage in the chair and started to suck on her breast.
“Fuck… you…,” she moaned.
My two fingers played her like a piano, my tongue the accompanying symphony. Veronica was coming so hard, she looked furious. Her free hand, trembling, traveled along my belt line, down my zipper, looking for something. She tried to focus on getting my pants open, but I just drove my fingers in deeper and raced my tongue across her nipples.
She was grunting and cursing under her moans. Finally, she got a hold of my belt buckle and loosened it. I rose to her face to kiss her and she pulled me in closer. “My turn.”
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