Spicy Sneak Peek | Escape With Me
Somewhere in the middle of Escape With Me….
I sat at the edge of my ottoman at the foot of my bed, clad in a silk fuchsia robe with the matching lingerie set underneath it, watching as my stray’s silhouette came in to view.
I had heard him at the door. Yeah, he’s got a key to my downtown townhome here in Santa Clara, California. It wasn’t my real home though. It was the home away from my quaint five-bedroom house in San Jose that I only spent nights at on every other weekend.
Giving him a key to my home gave me the illusion of having a relationship with my strays. It felt good sometimes to come home from work to find a man waiting for you inside with dinner ready—often which was ordered takeout Chinese or leftover Domino’s pizza.
Nevertheless, it made things real, and suddenly, I didn’t feel as guilty for putting too much time and effort into my career.
Numbers, coding, working with formulas, conducting research to develop and understand mathematical principles, analyzing data, applying mathematical techniques to help solve real-world problems and blah, blah, fucking blah.
You know, outside of chemotherapy—which really should be called something else because there was nothing therapeutic about it—numbers could be draining. I was surrounded by numbers daily. Not only dealing with numbers at my job but having to deal with the number of times I had to go visit my doctor only for him to infuse my body with a number of drugs in hopes of helping me heal. Not to mention the number of pills I have to take round the clock…yes, indeed, numbers were draining.
What was also draining was that I now had so many aches and pains that I might as well take up shuffleboard and learn to play canasta.
But I yearned to be wifed up someday...to experience a miracle and wake up pregnant. I want to see the northern lights of Alaska, the white sandy beaches of Jamaica, and ride a camel’s back in Egypt. So, I shut up, show up, hold out my arm, and let all four chemo drugs seep into me.
From time to time though, good dick from strays was and still is the best remedy for my stress and recovery. Besides, my doc briefly mentioned that chemo—which blindly destroys cells and, ideally, kills the traitorous ones in the process—comes with a laundry list of other side effects: infertility, nerve damage, heart failure, kidney failure, and even leukemia.
Yes, cancer treatment can give you cancer. Treating this disease with chemo is like playing Whack-A-Mole with death—you either die from the cancer now or, a few years down the road, kick it from one of chemo’s side effects.
My cancer doesn’t cause any symptoms—besides, headaches and obviously, eventual death—but the chemo makes up for it.
I felt like I haven’t slept since the prognosis.
My co-worker, Shana—who just so happened to be a tech guru and also a good friend of mine with just as bad of a potty mouth as me—never failed to remind me of the bags underneath my eyes on the daily.
“Girl, you need to put on some damn concealer. You walkin’ ‘round here lookin’ like a damn raccoon,” she’d yell at me as I tried to speed-walk by her office to head to my own. Often, I’d ignore her, but she always found a way to make me feel like I wasn’t doing enough to keep myself together. I didn’t fault her though. She loved makeup and always had a face full of it every time I laid eyes on her.
I commented on her “slayage” often, so it was easily misconstrued that I may have wanted my face to be the same…She meant well.
Apart from my sleeplessness, the aches and pains, the side effect that cuts me to the core the most was the fact that it could also alter my sex drive.
So, before that happened, I’ve been trying to get it in whenever, whatever, and wherever.
My current, or shall I say, “recurrent” stray who’s consistently supplied me with unlimited vitamin D for the past couple of months…His name is Trevon.
Where did I find him?
He was delivering a package of Dr. Scholl’s spa collection health socks I ordered from Amazon to keep me comfy and warm during my chemo sessions. He had called me moments before the delivery to get my code to slip through my gates, and I was waiting for him at the door, honey!
I was heading out to my session anyway and wanted to quickly grab ‘em and then keep it pushing to the hospital right afterward.
When he pulled up, though, like the friendly person I was, I struck up conversation, we exchanged casual banter, and before you know it, I’m checking him out, drinking in his smooth burnt umber skin, exceptionally large hands, with the feet to match, and my eyes drifted to his khaki covered crotch, wondering just how massive that piece between his legs could be.
And just as I raised my eyes up to meet his, to see him watching me watch him with this “you tryna fuck” twinkle in his eye… and well, let’s just say, ya girl was late to her chemo appointment, okay!
Ever since I got a taste of that hot rod between his legs, I kept coming back for more and more.
There were always very few words shared between us, if any for that matter. He was all about that action...and that was fine with me.
He was soon standing in front of me, hands caressing my shoulders and neck, tracing circles against them, and then gripping them, giving me a light, but much needed massage.
In this very moment, there was nothing more I wanted than for him to fuck me.
To fill me, until I was crying out and his name fell from my lips, bouncing about the walls, disturbing the neighbors.
Gently, he pushed me back, spreading my legs agape as he kneeled to the floor and sniffed my vagina. I gasped, beginning to feel my juices flow.
It wasn’t long before I felt him sliding the thin thread that covered my cooch to the side, and his slender finger slipping into me, slowly, taking time with each centimeter of flesh. Even that was torture—both torture and pleasure—at the same time. He teased me, finger moving steadily inside of me.
In, out, in, out... Oh, dear God. It was almost fucking unbearable, and already I felt close. Close to that warm spill of pleasure, but every time I held it in my grasp, he ripped it away and would stop or change rhythm entirely.
I heard him chuckle as I writhed for him, moaned for him, until my breathing was heavy, and I was frustrated beyond all measure. I could not help it any longer. It seemed that the pleasure would go on forever and be endless if I didn’t beg for it.
“Please,” I whispered, voice low enough that I was almost certain he hadn’t heard me.
There was a pause in the rhythm. He’d stopped, but his finger remained inside of me. I felt it as I shifted to get more comfortable.
“Please what?” came his voice. I knew he would do it. He’d make me say it aloud. He’d make me say aloud what I craved. He was demanding.
This, I liked.
“Fuck me,” was my breathless reply.
He said nothing to me, but his finger slid out, and I lifted up from the sheets of my bed just in time to watch him as he licked the traces of me from his skin. That only made my need greater, and I could see his expression rendered in the dim lights coming from the street lights outside.
He was grinning, clearly amused by this act of begging, but I was being rewarded.
The head of his dick teased across my entrance, and I held my breath, forgetting for a moment how to breathe, as he pushed his length inside of me, sheathed himself until he was buried as deep as physically possible.
Did I mention that he had a big fat dick? All eight and a half inches were nearly inside of me. Just that length alone, filling me, made me squirm, and I searched for something to grasp onto, but there was nothing I could grasp.
As I felt my body losing control, I thought back to one of many provocative and outta-this-world conversations I had with Shana one day during our lunch break. We had just gotten our sandwiches from Jason’s Deli and were chilling in the back of the building near our spot. It was also where we’d have our secret smoke sessions. She was talking about some random man she’d met at a bar over the weekend and how she had a fuck-filling one-night-stand.
Listening to her sex stories had me feeling like I was missing out, and so I confessed to her that I hadn’t had sex since my undergraduate years at Chisholm University, studying math. I told her I was too focused on work to settle down, let alone date. She thought it was pathetic that a pretty twenty-nine-year-old woman such as myself, was “fuck-a-strated”—as she put it—and hadn’t been properly dicked down in six years.
Yes, that was true.
Once I got accepted into grad school, it was the end of the “fun” for me.
Embarrassingly, I chuckled while she told me that the best dick she’d ever had in her life stemmed from a man who didn’t have a whole lot going for himself. Level with me here, she said, “the best orgasm of your life is in the pants of a grown ass man who’s unambitious, makes less money than you, has more than two children, is probably the commander of his mama’s couch, smokes weed all day and probably sells it too, but got dammit, girl, he can lay pipe,” she exclaimed.
Distinctively, as she passed me the blunt, I remember laughing, telling her she was crazy for even recommending that foolishness. But as Trevon slow stroked me in this very moment, his curved dick tapping my g-spot in more ways than one, I finally realized that homegirl wasn’t lying.
Trevon’s thirty-two, 5’11, hard-bodied with washboard abs, sports dreads with sienna ends down to his ass, lives with his two homies, was previously an aspiring rapper but now works as an Amazon Flex driver, makes just a little over 20k a year, and is content with that—meaning he has no other plans in life than to write raps that’ll never get radio play—who’ll just live his life being an Amazon driver with a curved dick that forges multiple orgasms.
Tightening my eyes and sucking in my bottom lip, I pressed my nails into the palms of my hands, trying to control the tingling sensation taking over, sending my body into convulsions. This stray, this stray, this stray…my stray…
Shakily, my lips trembled, and I whimpered.
He was putting something scary into my life, and I didn’t know how to handle it.
He took that as a sound of encouragement because he drew out of me and, not seconds later, rammed back in. I gasped, briefly opening my eyes and then suddenly closing them again, allowing my body to speak for me. I clenched tightly on his dick as he thrusted for a second time and soon came to find a rhythm inside of me.
At first, the strokes were leisurely slow, but soon they had become a force to be reckoned with, full of want and need while his hands gripped the rounded flesh of my ass.
His breath traced down my body, heavy, as his hips increased their tempo. I was crying out, almost screaming by the time that pleasure rolled me completely. It was a great wave of pleasure, curling my toes, and throwing my head back in ecstasy. I screamed his name into the night, loud enough that the sound echoed throughout the walls, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t make myself care as release had gripped me. My hands found their way onto the sheets, my fingers digging into them. If I’d had his flesh, I would have marked him until blood spewed from the furrows, but this was simply the best I could do.
I spasmed, back arching, as his own release was close. I could feel it because he was losing the rhythm, his dick throbbing, and his thrusts became crazed and hard as he drove himself into me over and over again.
I screamed again, still held in pleasure’s clutches, and the warmth of his filled me. His entire body froze above mine. He paused for just a moment then grunted and stopped. He was still buried deep inside, but the motions themselves had ended. Breathing heavily, a fine sheen of sweat covering both of our skin, he curled against my back and wrapped an arm around my waist. I felt his heartbeat against my back and knew that my own had skyrocketed. It was thumping a frantic beat as I whispered the words, “I love you...”
“Huh?” he groaned.
Oh my goodness… Did I really just say that aloud?