Mary B. Morrison Bundle by Mary B. Morrison

Author:Mary B. Morrison
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2001-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 43

Darius

The head doing the most thinking was below my waist.

I hadn’t had Slugger polished since my wife was in the accident. It was cool to get sidetracked once in while when she was healthy. But sliding to the left on her under the circumstances didn’t seem right.

This actually might be the best time to relieve my stress. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt us. A lil’ head was on my big head’s brain tonight. Tomorrow I’d be in Cleveland, maybe. Maybe not. I hadn’t had a real workout in a few days. Releasing myself tonight, putting in OT in practice tomorrow, I should be ready to match up with LJ provided Ashlee was bluffing about the custody hearing.

I stepped out of the Playhouse and stepped on Alfred Hitchcock’s star. Hope that wasn’t a sign of what was to come. Strolling down Hollywood Boulevard, I left my car parked around the corner from the Playhouse. The fresh air helped my dick cool off. One step at a time, I was clearing my other head. I walked on Count Basie, Dr. Seuss, Fats Domino. That shit was close. Shortie at the club could’ve caused a volcanic eruption in my pants. That’s how close I was to cumming when she rubbed her torpedo tits on my dick.

Women had no clue how tempting other women were. That “Just Say No” shit didn’t apply to our dicks. Wasn’t that fucking simple. If it were, we’d decline new pussy every time. I stood on Diana Ross, looked up at the Hollywood Guinness Museum wondering what man held the world record for receiving “the longest blow job.” If she fell asleep with his dick in her mouth, would that time count in her favor?

Continuing my stroll, sometimes I prided myself in doing the right thing. And I wanted credit for that shit if I ever got caught. What the hell was I saying? I’d never been caught. If it should happen, I’d deny that shit until I was six feet under and they threw dirt in my face.

A few steps later, I’d trampled on Marilyn Monroe, Jay Leno, Little Richard, Vanessa Williams, Angela Bassett, and Michael Jackson. I was almost at my destination. One more hour before last call for alcohol. California’s two A.M. cutoff for serving adults liquor was dumb. “Let’s put all the party people who are totally fucked up out of the clubs at that same time. Let all the intoxicated morons who get behind the wheels of their cars try not to kill anyone before they reach their destination.”

I loved that New Orleans didn’t have a last call for alcohol. I’d partied there several times until the sun came up. I wasn’t a heavy drinker but I could have my first or last adult beverage in the Big Easy whatever time I chose. New Orleans was a strange animal. My chances of getting shot by a nigga who had been drinking were higher than my odds of getting hit by a drunk driver.

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