Waking with Enemies by Eric Jerome Dickey

Author:Eric Jerome Dickey
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty

revenge, so sweet

Two naked women were in my king-size bed.

Coltrane on sax playing “Crepuscule with Nellie.” Curtains open, the city’s illumination keeping the room from being dark. The two naked women were next to each other, shadowy legs touching. Both were blindfolded. Both were moaning. Lola was comfortable. She had moved from being fuck-shy to superambitious.

“That’s right…that’s right.”

Almost as determined and uninhibited as Mrs. Jones.

“Oh, yeah…yeah…. oh, yeah…”

They were intoxicated with vintage wine and new pleasures.

Mrs. Jones ran her fingers across Lola’s skin, Lola reached over and did the same, touched Mrs. Jones’s sweaty flesh, then Mrs. Jones cupped her hand around Lola’s breasts.

Mrs. Jones shifted, took her mouth to Lola’s breasts. Her blindfold never moved. Soft licks, intense nibbles, as if Mrs. Jones were savoring her own tits.

They held each other, moaned like sexual spirits living in perfect harmony, Lola being the lead moaner. It was like listening to R&B and gospel. Billie Holiday and Sarah Vaughan in concert, or Badu and Jill Scott doing a duet, all the riffs, all the runs, all the blissful and earthy sounds made me want to sing, made me want to dance.

Mrs. Jones arched her back as she held back her orgasm, her face so intense, and she held her orgasm back like it was a monster, then she lost that battle, sang and let that orgasm go as if she were letting go of all the bad things inside her, releasing tension from deep inside her body. Lola was right there, moving from her R&B groove to hard rock, each breath a breezy alto.

They cooed and came almost at the same time. Mrs. Jones’s orgasm arrived first, then as she surrendered to nirvana, Lola arched her back and joined her, Lola’s orgasm being as sharp and brief as it was powerful, providing background music to Mrs. Jones’s continuous chorus.

“Gideon.”

“I’m right here, Lola.”

“You’re brilliant,” Lola sang. “London is lovely. But can you take me to Greece?”

“I can take you anywhere you want to go.”

“Greece. Take me to Greece…so I can see heaven.”

I rushed to get my belt undone, couldn’t yank my suit coat off fast enough, threw it across the room and struggled to drop my pants, only got them below my knees before they bunched up.

I turned Lola over, rubbed her sweet backside, got behind her warm and rotund blessing, left her blindfolded, silver cross hanging from her neck, swaying between two glorious mountains.

Coltrane changed songs, played “Sweet and Lovely.”

Mrs. Jones was blindfolded, humming, back arching, still on fire.

I held Lola’s wrists, went inside her slow, pulled her arms back behind her, over and over, easing her back into me, her face charting a course between Mrs. Jones’s open legs. Mrs. Jones was holding Lola’s head, raising her hips, making Lola eat her pussy like it was key lime pie.

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