Masters of the Tongue: Part II of the Lounge Series an Erotic Saga by Max Bell

Author:Max Bell [BELL, MAX]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: United States, Erotica, African American, Literature & Fiction
Amazon: B00OY7L96Y
Published: 2014-10-26T04:00:00+00:00

Ian McCarthy

“So this is what you call bettering our marriage!” She screamed out as the flowers hit the floor. Red peddles hover timelessly until it makes contact with the ground and her tears follows on top of them. That was before she took a swing at me, before she told me that she hates me, before she said divorce is now definite.

I continue to work alongside Tamiyra, forgetting what I could have had at home and remembering what I could have here. Tonight the club is hosting the comedy show, when Tamiyra calls, “Hello Ian, can I see you for a moment?”

Blank and weary, I obviously gave her a, “Yes. Where should we meet?”

“At the corner of Chessto’s.” She answers. The night couldn’t be much cooler. I haven’t begun to cough anything up so I figured I wasn’t in any type of danger.

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

“Not really, you owe me remember. I help you, you help me.” I remember, but that was not in my contract.

I drive down to Chessto’s. Passing by lover’s and googly eyed couples holding hands. The streets emptied because of the comedy night. I stepped out of my vehicle headed inside of Chessto’s when she grabs me by the arm, “Come to the back with me.”

Tamiyra surprised me, didn’t see where she came from. We pace swiftly through a gauntlet of trash papers and empty liquor bottles. She stands in the back with a young lady who has braces that swings around her mouth and into her face. “He’ss juss sshitting down, he ordered two sslicsess of pepperoni and pineapplss with ssmeatballss and as ssqueet tea.” She says. Tamiyra pays the young waitress with a fifty-dollar bill. The girl walks back into the shop.

“Who is in there?” I ask her.

She peeks around the corner. The bottom of her jeans gets wet from a small puddle of water; she dips away to me again, “Mr. Mitchell.”

I think to myself, why does she call him Mr. Mitchell and not Clifton. “I know I told you I would help you if you help me…”

“Right.” She says, looking away into the dark, around the corner of the building to the front.

“But this doesn’t seem right. I don’t like the idea of me sneaking around the back, chasing this man.”

"It’s like this, I help you, and you help me. Now I have this end covered, and if you want to know more about this club and how to get to her million dollar artifact, jewel, or wahtever then you will help me out, right?” She tells me, strongly. I’m thinking that I have gotten too close to her or too into her. She is the only connection to the inside of The Lounge. If I give up on her now, then I’m fucked.

“What do you need from me?” I ask with my imaginary tail tucked between my legs.

“While he is here, we can drop this off on his porch.” She hold close to her chest a box that reads, ‘TO THE HUSBAND OF RAVON MITCHELL’.

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