continued from Flight 2828 Pt One: Take Off
As I struggled to get my bag out of the overhead compartment, Cat slinked down the aisle and off the plane without even a goodbye. I hustled to catch her and saw a slight trace of her tell tale scarf head into the ladies room. I followed her while dodging perplexed looks. I was on a mission and that mission was her.
“Catrina…” I said in a raised voice. “Catrina it’s Kris”. At the end of the row of stalls I could see the handicap stall open. With a hurried flick of the wrist I found myself, Cat and our carryons together again in the crowded stall.
“Umm I wanted to give you the money I….”
Continue reading Flight 2828 Pt. Two: Crash Landing (an erotica)
How did I get here? I still feel flush as I finally open my eyes. It takes a minute for them to focus as the harsh fluorescent bulbs bear down on my face.
Did this really just happen? It couldn’t have just happened. They must have laced my airplane size vodka with some form of hallucinogenic because things like this just don’t happen to me. As I gently lick my lips and take a deep breath I realize that the taste on my lips definitely was not chapstick, and the aroma I smelled was a seductive mix of Chanel No 5 and a forbidden intoxicant that you can not buy in a bottle. I quickly lock the bathroom stall door so that my rude awakening would not be coupled by an even ruder interruption.
As my mind is still a swirl of vivid images of animalistic grabs and bites I look down at what fell out of my lap… a turquoise scarf… Catrina.
Continue reading Flight 2828 Pt. One: The Takeoff (an erotica)
(Part 3 of 3)
Ok, now I must admit my “turn out” story does lean itself to the stereotype… I guess.
I was “in love” once… I swear it seems silly now, but at one time there wasn’t one thing I wouldn’t do for J-boi. See she was older, she was street, she was….broke. It wasn’t until I was too deep and too invested to quit her that I realized that I wasn’t in love with the J-boi of 2006, I was in love with the J-boi of 1996 when she was still hot.
Continue reading Pussy Sells… (My Turnout – Not A Brooklyn Love Story)
(Part 2 of 3)
My father was a hustler and my mother was a premium whore. Even in the 70s, Lady Jay could command 500 a lay. She was gorgeous. Her skin was so warm and smooth to the touch that some of her tricks began to call her China Jay. I would say she had a Foxy Brown in Coffee body, but that wouldn’t do her justice. Her waist was small and her hips so full that you would swear she was a prototype for sexual perfection.
Continue reading Pussy Sells… I Get it From My Mama
I am a businesswoman and I am in the business of women. I am sure you have other terms for me… pimp..madame…whore… But before you give me your two cents about how I should be ashamed of myself I have one question for you.
Are you fucking?
…. I’ll wait.
Continue reading Pussy Sells – My Story