He Got Game - An Erotic Tale...

He Got Game - An Erotic Tale...

I gazed out my window at the Atlanta skyline, staring at nothing in particular, just wishing I were somewhere else other than here. I was still feeling the growls from my missed appointment with breakfast.

I was too busy running on the fast track of my career path that I no longer had time for luxuries, like food or love. All I knew was being the first one at work and last one to leave.

I couldn't wait any longer, it was time to get my fix. I put my laptop to sleep, gathered my purse and felt around for my Jimmy Choo's under the desk.

I strolled past my secretary's desk and called over my shoulder, "I'm taking an early lunch, Julia. Hold my calls."

"Of course, Ms. Tyler." Replied Julia, the steady tapping of computer keys never wavering.

I stepped into the elevator and pushed for the floor level. Giving myself a once over in the mirrored wall, I liked what I saw, to an extent.

Here I am, a 28 year old Black woman around the corner from becoming junior partner within the law firm of Smith, Davis & Ross. I've traveled all over the country and even to the corners of Asia and Europe.

I was becoming well respected in the upper crust of Atlanta society, dined with the mayor and his wife on numerous occasions. I attend the symphony and ballet as often as people go to the dollar cinemas on Buckhead Highway, but I still longed for something that was denied to me ever since I was a little girl. Thug passion.

Don't get me wrong...male suitors come in droves. Educated, refined, and wealthy men in all shades, sizes and demeanor fill my social calendar through the end of the quarter with $500 per plate dinners, urban fund-raisers, art gallery openings, countless other functions that just become increasingly boring by the minute. They are all nice men, definitely marriage material, but not what I want. Not until I scratch this itch of mine.

I strolled down the block to the corner deli, buying a simple veggie wrap, kettle chips and a sweet tea. With my lunch tucked safely away in my tote, I kept walking, on a mission. It was about that time.

*****

"Tameka. Stay away from them fast-ass boys, ya hear?" screamed my mother through the the ratty screen door, television blaring another countless episode of All My Children from the living room.

"Yes, ma'am." I called back as I took a seat on the porch and began to try to comb the tangles out of my Barbie's hair. She was my first doll and I took her everywhere with me. I would rub dirt on her so she would look more like me and people would know that she was my baby girl. But I couldn't do anything with her snarled head of hair that became less and less as I raked the plastic comb through it over and over again.

"Get offa me, punk!"

I looked up from my pitiful salon duties to the commotion occurring in the front yard next door. Anthony, who was in my fifth grade class, was trying to disengage himself from his overly plump cousin, Lonnie. Lonnie wouldn't let up, pushing all his weight on Anthony's neck, smiling in triumph as he mashed his cousin into the gravely earth. After about a minute, Anthony wriggled free and rewarded his cousin with a punch in the lower back.

"Ow, nigga. That hurt."

"That's what you get for effin wit me."

They kept shoving each other back and forth, a machismo rite of passage I guess, until Lonnie noticed they had an audience.

"What you staring at, ugly?"

I jumped at the remark and went back to combing Barbie's hair with a renewed interest, hoping they would go back to fooling around with each other. The last thing I needed was another confrontation with Lonnie. He was always up to no good, when he wasn't stuffing that fat face of his.

Before I knew it, Lonnie hopped over the four-foot fence that separated our houses and was within kissing distance of me, perish the thought. His breath reeked of Funions and his armpits weren't faring any better.

"I said," he warbled, snatching my doll from my hands, comb going with it. "What you staring at?"

"Give her back." I pleaded quietly; hoping my momma wouldn't hear and think I invited him over. I already got a switching this week for accepting a quarter from the grocery clerk down the street.

"Or what?" Lonnie held my Barbie by the hair just within reach of my outstretched fingers. Before I could reply, Lonnie dropped the doll into my waiting hands, grabbing the back of his head, wincing in agony. A small stone rolled from between his legs and stopped at the bottom stoop. We both turned and found Anthony grinning and tossing another one in his hand.

"Leave her alone." He hefted the stone once more. "That's my lady."

"You's a punk," said Lonnie.

"Well, you a sissy!" retorted Anthony, glancing my way for approval.

"And YOU a dicksucka," spat Lonnie causing all three of us to slap hands over our mouths, looking around for the offending ears of grownups. Cussing in front of adults meant a spanking and being around someone who cussed was just as bad.

"Oooooh, I'm telling." Anthony ran around the unkempt hedges to the back of his house with Lonnie hot on his heels, trying to keep his pants from falling down. I grinned; Anthony became my knight in shining armor and my first boyfriend, even though he still threw clumps of dirt at me on the way home from school every day. I've wanted a thug ever since...

*****

The park was only four blocks from the office, but the warm Atlanta sun quickly pushed the beads of sweat onto my forehead. My Versace suit was fine for the air-conditioned confines of the office hallway, but no place for a downtown stroll. I contemplated removing the jacket, but left it on to keep up appearances until I got where I was going.

I heard them before I saw them. First it was the reverberations of a car stereo, pounding out the latest misogynistic track from whichever hip-hop artist was hot at the time. The vocals were unintelligible due to the raised pitch of the bass, but the words really weren't meant to be heard anyway. This was the warning to outsiders to keep their distance. Most of the downtown workforce heeded the advice, avoiding the park, leaving most of the benches unoccupied even on the nicest of spring days. I was also an outsider, but curiosity and temptation overpowered my judgment.

The grinding of rubber on granite, the aggressive shouting, sounds of clanging metal became my signal beacon. I headed for my usual spot, which was thankfully empty, and after finally removing my restraining jacket, took a seat. From here I got a view of the court lengthwise, but was far enough away to keep my presence minimal.

It was the middle of the day, but the court was full. Shirtless HOT Chocolate Daddies of all shades filled my view, banging against each other, working up a sweat, chasing a ball and each other up and down the 94 by 50 foot arena.

This is what I watched the clock for. This was my getaway. Most of the men in my social circle join a gym or work out at home. They watch their carbs, avoid fast food at all costs, and groom themselves more than the rules of masculinity should allow.

Here on the courts, it is chiseled down to the lowest common denominator, on display for all to see.

I've found myself drawn here for the past year, whenever the weather was warm and time permitted. It was a vice I couldn't shake. For some people, it's the glass pipe or the brown bottle. For me, it was thugs.

Now, my definition of a thug may differ from most peoples. They think they see thugs on the evening news or primetime on Cops, but they are confused with hoodlums.

These men that I adore are constantly suspect, because of their appearance and demeanor. These are the kinds of men that cause car doors to automatically lock at stoplights, purses clutch a little closer to one's self when they wander by. They have a walk and talk all their own, always changing a step ahead of the status quo. They may not work down the hall from me, but more likely in the mail room somewhere.

Besides, the only hoods I associate with were on "Oz" which I would TiVO weekly just for a glimpse of Kenny "Bricks" Wangler played by the sexy J.D. Williams. I'd spent so many nights fingering myself to teeth grinding orgasms thinking about a conjugal visit with Prisoner #97W566, that I developed acute carpal tunnel. Only after he got killed in season 4, did I work up the nerve to buy myself a vibrator, which I aptly named Kenny.

I recently moved on to D'Angelo's video, "Untitled" where he bares his soul and so much more, I can't even wait until he reaches the bridge anymore before I'm shaking with release.

Back to the present time, I scoured the court looking for familiar bodies. Since I was never brave enough to approach any of them or dumb enough to stretch lycra over my form to the breaking point like my "competition" in hopes they'd come to me, I even had nicknames for the regulars.

I saw "The Runt" first. He is the smallest guy on the court, has the most amount of mouth and the least amount of game. He was always jawing about what he was gonna do, what he did last week, and the ever repetitive story about his ankle breaking move on Dwight Howard, the Atlanta born phenomenon. For all his talk, he was welcomed back week after week even though his contribution to the games was minimal at best.

Then there was "Old School." He was a graying veteran that played every game like it was his last. There was no flashiness in his game, just smart fundamentals. He still relied on the pick and roll and had a killer set shot if you gave him the room. I swept the court with quick glances, pretending that I was engrossed in my lunch when I saw him.

TyShawn.

His was the only name I knew for sure. He was on the court almost every day, his team usually winning their "runs". He was the Alpha male, he knew it, and so did everybody else on the court. Utmost respect was paid to his person and his game; even Runt kept the jabber to a minimum when he held court.

He was a 6'9" dark chocolate wet dream and I salivated whenever I stared too long. His hair was close cropped with long, but tapered sideburns that connected into his thin goatee. He wore a simple silver chain that encircled his neck, glistening in the sun. His broad chest was devoid of hair; chiseled black marble.

He never wore a shirt or jersey when he was playing, just a wristband placed high on his forearm and a twin headband; matching colors. Today they were white. I would give anything to use those sweat absorbed pieces of cotton as a loofah. His abs twitched with each stride he took up and down that court, quickening my breathing in an instant.

He wore the same Carolina blue shorts, baggy enough for me to see the band of his Phat Farm boxer shorts peeking out. He hitched them up when on defense, drying his palms on the seams and exposing scrumptious thigh in the process. His white Nikes were always clean, no scuffs or tears. When I first laid eyes upon him, D'Angelo got put on pause and Kenny gathered dust in the nightstand. He had a hunger in his eyes that transferred to his game. He would stare at his opponents as if they were fresh prey and bark "Ya'll aint ready," before proving it to them.

I forgot about the hunger in my belly and concentrated on the other one between my thighs. Crossing my legs only heightened the sensitivity and I bit my lip glad no one heard the moan escape when he hitched up his shorts. I took a sip of tea and watched him kill his opponents.

It seemed that there was a new group of victims up for slaughter on the court and TyShawn showed no mercy; he was Caesar in his heyday. With Runt keeping up the trash banter and Old School setting picks stronger than prison walls, TyShawn was in rare form. The game was to 21, but he already single-handedly scored 15 before the other team threw up a prayer outside the arch and got two on the board. I silently cheered from the sideline as I always do, trying not to attract too much attention, getting my fill before walking back to the office to daydream.

This game was pretty much over but the losing team didn't want to go without a fight. Runt was the first victim when he received an elbow to the chest trying to push past a late screen. Out here, the only fouls were called due to blood or contusion. I could see the little man try to suck it up and for the first time in a long while, he didn't have anything to say. Old School was next, a nasty shove under the basket when he leapt for a rebound, sending him crashing into the cast iron support beam.

I could only hold my breath as the sorry ass players tried to zero in on my thug prince, but TyShawn was too smart for their tactics. Cutting tight paths through the elbows and feet with flawless crossovers and reverse dribbles had the defense running into each other, using the asphalt wipe up their sweat. Then there was another guy, the only one there truly in need of a shirt and a shave, trying to use body on him to no avail. TyShawn used his forearm and stamina to keep him at bay. The score was 19-2 and TyShawn had enough of the roughhousing.

With his opponent, whom I aptly named " The Belly" slobbering like Beethoven in heat, TyShawn pulled up beyond the arc for a three and before the ball reached it's apex, yelled, "Next!"

The ball swished cleanly through and because of the lack of net ricocheted off the pole, bouncing over the patch of concrete and rolling towards me. Inwardly I smiled, thinking about something clever to say when all hell broke loose.

TyShawn was jogging in my direction for the ball, the players on the sideline forming the next crew when I saw the Belly waddle to a rusted out Buick and retrieve something. When I saw the silver glint in his hand, matching the color of his mouth jewelry, I knew that shit was jumping off.

"Next this, nyaagah!" spittle flying from his mouth as he drew out the last word, raising the pistol at the same time.

"Look out," I screamed as the first shot broke the noonday chatter. Players jumped out the way as he waved the pistol back and forth screaming obscenities. TyShawn looked back and broke into a sprint right at me as I stood up like a fool, pointing. I think everyone knew what a gun could do. All my street instincts went right out the window when I started law school. Legs churning, TyShawn was almost upon me as the grass behind him exploded in chucks of turf as he dug in. In all the chaos, all I could do was watch the sweaty detail of his pectorals as his arms pumped up and down like pistons; hazel eyes ablaze with adrenaline overload.

"Move, dammit!"

I stood there, paralyzed, until I felt the full weight of his body slam into me, taking me up and over the hard wood and concrete bench. We somersaulted to the ground, my knee taking the brunt of the blow. It finally hit me that this was no dream as more shots cracked through the air. I closed my eyes and prayed for what seemed like minutes, hoping I would escape this ghetto drama.

I could no longer hear the shots or the neighboring shrieks from the scantily dressed chicken heads or tires squealing from escaping vehicles, just my hurried breathes matching his. Then I heard nothing but my own heartbeat. After what seemed like an eternity, I opened my eyes.

TyShawn was no longer here, protecting me in that sweaty embrace and the park was still. I carefully peeked around the stone legs of the bench and saw the Belly was gone as well as everybody else. I tried to stand and felt sparks of pain stabbing me in the knee, taking a scenic route up my thigh. I looked down and saw my hose ripped; blood seeping through the tear. My Jimmy Choos turned to Gummy Chewed.

"You okay?"

I spun around on my good leg and TyShawn was standing there, a construction belt hanging off his shoulder.

"My leg, I can't walk." I managed to squeak out.

He looked down, frowning at the cut, and without word hoisted me up in his arms and began to carry me to the parking lot.

"Where's your car, lady?"

"Tameka. I walked...from work."

I leaned into him as he strode across the grass, each step making my cheek bump against his shoulder. I gorged my senses on his musk and CK1 potpourri. We approached a beat-up Chevy Blazer and he set me down against the fender so he could open the door. We were truly the only ones left in the park. I put some pressure on my knee and found out I could stand comfortably. The trickle of blood slowed , but my hose were done for and I don't know if dry cleaning was gonna save my skirt.

"I don't think I need to go to the hospital; damn that hurts." I put as much weight as I could on my leg. How am I going to explain this at work?

TyShawn looked at me again and reached inside his SUV for a t-shirt.

"I have a med kit in the back." He walked to the back of the Blazer and lowered the door. I hobbled over and he lifted me up into the back to get a good look at my knee.

"What if he comes back?" My thoughts suddenly flashed back to why we were here in the first place.

"He got what he wanted, to fuck up the game, he ain't coming back."

TyShawn grabbed a tiny first aid kit and cracked it open. Finding the gauze, he tore the package open with the whitest teeth I've seen in a long time and unrolled it. He also grabbed a used tube of Neosporin and uncapped it. Applying it to his finger, he began to dab it on my cut. I flinched, not from the pain, but from the thought of him touching me. If this is what it took, I would have jumped in front of a MARTA bus.

He took his time. Cupping his other hand under my knee for leverage, he began to wrap the wound with the tender care of a private physician. I bit my lip, not from the pain but in hopes he wouldn't notice how moist he was making me. I felt my panties dampen when he blew a blade of grass from the bandage.

TyShawn looked up at me with just his eyes and damn if my love didn't almost come down.

"You a fan?"

"Sure."

"Of the game or something else?" He gave my calf the slightest squeeze as he let my knee down. A quick glance down confirmed what I assumed. I watch a thickness slowly creep down his thigh, making me lick my lips in anticipation of what could happen next if I were a weaker woman. Hell, who am I kidding? I wanted to feel that cocoa stick against the swell of my lips; both of them.

"You want that ride?"

His question shook me from my trance and I quickly crossed my legs in attempt to regain my senses.

"I'm not far from here, but I'm...." My words trailed off when he licked his lips.

"Get in."

I scooted off the back bumper and hopped as quickly as I could to the passenger side where TyShawn had the door open for me. He pushed some books off the seats and gestured for me to have a seat. I slid in and tried to still my heart, while waiting for him to get in.

The door slammed with authority as TyShawn hopped in the driver's seat and shook his keys until he found the right one. As old as the Blazer was, he kept it clean enough. The leather seats were shiny from hand detailing, floormats free of debris, spare coins filled the ashtray instead of butts. Cherry scented kisses wafted at me through the vents when he started the engine. TyShawn turned in his seat and stared me down with those smoky eyes.

"Where am I taking you, shawty?"

I melted when he called me "shawty". I knew I had to have him. I couldn't find my voice, so I just pointed in the direction of my office. TyShawn backed out the parking space and rolled smoothly out into traffic.

On the way there, we didn't speak, I didn't know if I could without blurting out my intentions.

I was so moist and I knew he could tell what he was doing to me. He reached for a peach that was sitting on the dashboard and took a hefty bite, the juice escaping from the corners of his mouth. I watched him devour the fruit, throat working overtime as he didn't bother to chew that much.

I thought of my partially eaten lunch left behind on the bench and realized how much I wanted to snatch the rest of his snack from him, I was so hungry. He kept chomping, not bothering to offer me any, abruptly tossing the pit out the window.

I pointed to the entrance of the parking garage and he deftly turned into it, waved through by the security guard who recognized me. We entered the cool cavern of Mercedes, Jaguars, and other statures of success.

"Keep going," I blurted out.

TyShawn didn't respond but kept creeping up the parking ramp, turning right after each floor. I let him keep driving until the number of cars lessened and we were far away from the service elevators. We reached the top floor, where nobody ever parked since the nearest entrance was a floor below. I was full aware of what I was doing even though my stomach turned flip-flops and I kept asking myself why.

"Right here," I pointed left, stretching my arm across his line of vision to a spot out of sight by prying eyes.

TyShawn whipped in the lane, and turned off the ignition before turning his body to face me fully.

"Is this good?"

"It's more than good."

Without warning, I leaned into him, pressing my lips into his. Mixed with the recent fruit, I was tasting the sweetest sweat ever created by man. His lips were soft as Egyptian cotton, filled with the energy of a thousand beehives. I heard myself moan with gratitude.

His hands cupped the underlining of my jaw as he pulled me in closer, smothering me with the full force of his kiss. My legs rubbed together like a cricket at midnight and I tugged at his t-shirt, dying to get to his flesh. The material gave way beneath my clenched fingers, ripping in two. I reluctantly escaped his lips to assault his chest with fiery kisses and nibbles.

"Hold up," TyShawn pushed me away from him, licking his lips, "You ain't running this squad."

Running his hand around the back of my neck, he peppered my neck with machine gun kisses, moving down my blouse, pausing to pop my buttons with his teeth. Using his other hand, he slipped his fingertips down the strap of my bra, sliding around till he was palming my breast. His kisses kept a downward path until his lips found my hardened nipples, sucking them as if Gatorade would spring forward any second.

I could barely contain myself, squirming from every lick and bite, running my hands all over his smooth head, hips gyrating feverishly, my soaking pussy begging to be filled.

"Come here." he grunted.

TyShawn held his grip on the back of my neck, guiding me back to map of muscle that was his chest. I licked, bit and suckled to my hearts content, not realizing how far south I traveled till the tip of his dick brushed against my cheek bone. Just like on the court, he was a step ahead of the competition.

"Put them lips to some good use, shawty."

His demand only made me salivate more as I took a firm grip on his thick pole. TyShawn didn't give me much time to admire to his natural work of art, pushing my neck down until his bulbous mushroom top forced its way past my lips.

I couldn't help thinking about my first Tootsie Roll. Like the candy, he tasted so sweet and I wanted to keep sucking until the flavor was gone and that was going to take forever. I took in more mouthfuls with each bend of my neck, trying to maintain control of my gag reflex. My tongue mingled with his shaft, feeling out every detail, vein, and texture, drawing me an internal map. He went in so smooth, a true fit, and I got bolder. I couldn't find a decent spot to put my hand, so I just cupped his balls, pulling and squeezing, while I let my tongue play ring around the rosie.

I kept sucking, increasing my movement, assuring myself that he was loving every minute of it even though not a peep escaped from his lips. After another minute, I was pulled off with a resounding pop. I rose up and caught a glance of my appearance in the rear view mirror. My lipstick was wiped clean, replaced by the shine of my own saliva. The air temperature in the car was rising since the engine was off and my forehead had a thin coat of sheen to justify the heat.

TyShawn was busy tearing the gold foil of a Magnum with his teeth, smoothly rolling on the latex. Without a word, he reached under my skirt, finished tearing through my ruined hose and relieved me of my soaked panties, pausing to inhale my scent of wanting, before sliding two fingers of his left hand, his ball hand, inside me.

I came immediately, pussy clenching around his digits, hips raising to meet the thrust of his hand. His fingers were no match for his hardened dick, which I grabbed and began to stroke rapidly. Even through the sheath of latex, I felt his heartbeat. His pulsing dick was looking for a warm, wet sanctuary and I was more than ready to offer refuge.

TyShawn removed his fingers, immediately stuck them in his mouth, grunting again in what I took as approval.

I wrestled with my skirt, hiking it up around my waist as far as I could before he grabbed me by the waist, yanking me over the console and impaling with the full force of a slamdunk.

All the breath rushed out of me as if I was punched in the stomach, might as well have been, his girth stretching me to my limits. I had many firsts. My first kiss, first drink, first orgasm. This was the first time that I had pleasurable pain. I felt the tremors of another orgasm taking me and moaned like an abandoned kitten in the night.

"Oh yeah, thats what I want to hear," TyShawn growled in my ear.

"Errrmmm." I couldn't even form coherent sentences. But my body did all the talking for me. Pushing deeper against him, wrapping my arms around his neck and the headrest in a orgasmic grinding bearhug.

TyShawn stared me down, gripping the globes of my ass as he shifted in and out of my saturated slit, spreading moist lust all over his thighs with each thrust. The cherry scented interior of the car was quickly replaced with the heated aroma of frenzied lust accompanied by the sounds of my audible satisfaction.

I couldn't stop my legs from shaking and could only let him do his thing, bearing my full weight on him in surrender. Before I could even get into a rhythm, I was lifted off and dumped back into my own seat, while TyShawn completely removed his shorts. I stared transfixed at his bobbing rod; it looked bigger. I couldn't help thinking about that plant in "Little Shop of Horrors". It wanted to be fed, badly. His dick was saying "Feed me Tameka...FEED ME!"

"Back seat," he commanded as he let his own seat recline and scooted away from the steering wheel, clad in only those spotless Nikes. I followed suit, the pain in my knee long forgotten. I barely got my ass over the headrest before he was snatching me by the ankles. Removing my battered shoes and chucking them to the side, TyShawn kissed my toes one by one. I was enjoying his romantic side till I realized it was just a diversion when he locked my legs over his shoulders and thrust inside me to the hilt.

"Oooooohhhhhh," I moaned louder than I wanted to. He quickly quieted me down with the insertion of that still sweetened tongue. As good as it felt to be kissed, I could only groan as one of the seatbelt buckles dug a trench into my lower back.

The last time I fucked in a car was prom night and that was no picnic either. But I wasn't relinquishing my lip lock on my thug prince for the sake of comfort.

"You aint ready," he chuckled as he pulled out halfway and slammed back into me. I was too in awe to look but his balls rubbing against my ass told me every inch of him made his way inside of me, but I never got to feel it for long as he quickly pulled out and repeated, drilling me like his dick was a jackhammer.

I gripped his steeled arms for dear life as I took the fucking of a lifetime. He worked himself into a frenzy, his sweat dripping into my face, eyes, running tiny rivers between my breasts.

I was paralyzed as he stared me down. I saw that same fire that arouse in his eyes when he went to battle on the court and I knew I was getting schooled like a first timer.

I bit my lip to keep from crying out, which made him go faster until I was ready to sing backup for the Supremes. The oos and ahhs came faster and harder and I started speaking gibberish. I lost count of my orgasms, them blending together into one continuous wave, never breaking.

As good as his dick was, I might have been a hole in the wall. He treated this as if it were another game. Well, I wasn't going to roll over like his opponents. I didn't have a stationary bike in the corner of my bedroom just to hang my jacket nor did I take yoga just to chat with bored housewives.

I dug deep within and started to fight back, squeezing my pelvis, putting a full-court press on his dick. His rapid grunting turning into slow moans told me it was working. His look of deterimination shifted to resignation as he bit his lower lip, nostrils flaring.

"You got a lil' game down there, girl," he breathed trying to to keep up the pace. I threw some trash talk back at him.

"This ain't my first game." I was past the shock of this monster dick and after being limbered up, was ready to go all out. "Come with it."

With each thrust of his hips, I squeezed back. Thank you, Kegel! Pretty soon, his dick stopped driving the lane, pulling up for outside jumpers. I raised my ass higher to catch his escaping member. I wrapped my hands around his neck in a steel grip to keep him close, the fire in my eyes matching his till he had to turn away.

I took that as my opening, rising up and clamping my lips on his earlobe. He shuddered, tried to switch tactics but it was too late. I felt the rumble between my clenched hands. It rolled down his broad shoulders, ran down to the base of his spine. He tried to back away, but I deftly got my legs from around his shoulders and locked around the small of his back. All those nights of watching Tito Ortiz didn't hurt either.

The first blast caught me off guard, so powerful against my spongy walls even though he wore a rubber, I came again. It became a game of chain reaction. Every time I felt his strong seed, I was forced to reciprocate with an orgasm, which caused me to tighten up and coax another strand of life from him.

TyShawn surrendered his thug persona for a minute, collapsing on top on me, riding the rest of his orgasm out in shaking defeat. I took the brutal beating he put on my pussy, but I had him ready to walk away while I was ready to shout, "Next".

While TyShawn tried to get his breathing back to normal, I took advantage of the situation, rubbing the back of his head, planting little kisses on his face, doing everything I thought about doing, savoring my win in the process.

Just as I was getting comfortable, the polyphonic chirp of a ringtone broke the air. TyShawn pulled out and away from me with a squishy plop, reaching towards his middle console. He grabbed the phone and looked at the lit screen before chucking it in the front seat and reaching for his UNC shorts. He carefully removed the bloated condom but, just like the peach pit, opened the door and chucked it out.

"I'm out."

Those two words were my cue. No thanks, goodbyes, or transfer of phone numbers. I sat up, relieving the pressure from the seat belt on my back and tried to get myself together. I pulled my sweat stained dress down and tried to fix my blouse, but just said fuck it. There is no way I'm wearing this outfit back to work, matter of fact, I'm taking the back stairs to my vehicle and calling it an early day.

I reached in the front floor boards for my purse and slid from the reclined seats out the back door where the cooling wind dried the sweat from my face, plastering my ruined makeup in a frozen mask.

TyShawn already cranked the engine of his Chevy and was toweling himself off with his t-shirt. I stood in the doorway for a second longer than I needed to hoping I would get some affirmation that I wasn't a complete fool when he turned around to look at me.

"Nice game."

I shut the door and stepped back so he could pull out. Well, it was better than nothing. But, that's what thugs do.

As I watched him creep down the ramp, TyShawn stuck his arm outside the drivers window, my Victoria Secret bottoms clutched in his hand, waving a final goodbye.

I returned the wave with a trophy of my own. Two pieces of elastic cotton; extra damp. "Damn, he got game..."