Best Black Women's Erotica Read online

  Veronica admired Mona’s fuchsia walls, her file-laden mahogany desk, the sumptuous leather furniture, and the bookcase-lined walls. She walked across the deep red-brown carpet to the large palm tree that stood at the window. “Nice view,” she said, then noticed the “toys” on Mona’s desk.

  She fondled the wooden penis, sculpted to favor a huge mushroom with a fat stem. “This is nice. Who’s the artist?” Veronica asked.

  “I forget her name,” Mona said. “But I do remember that she carved it with her buck teeth!”

  “More importantly,” Veronica asked, “who’s the model?”

  “If I knew who he was I wouldn’t be working here. I’d be working on that—and vice versa.”

  “I think I’d call this piece—and the model—‘Night and Day,’ and I think I’d call often,” Veronica said. They shared a laugh, and Veronica looked contemplatively at the oversized dick. “Each one has two heads. All thought begins at the high one and ends at the low one. That triggers the renewal of the brain cells.”

  “Damn,” Mona said. “You’re deep for a sex therapist. Been thinking about it for a while, eh?”

  “Well, I don’t want to wear it out,” Veronica said, returning the sculpture to its upright position on the desk.

  “It’s oak,” Mona told her. “You can’t wear it out.”

  Veronica picked up the smiling, life-sized, nylon-furred, stuffed black cat from its post next to the dick. “Subtle,” she said. “Don’t these props scare off your clients?”

  “Just the half that doesn’t like sex,” Mona replied. “I used to have nightmares of being drowned by the rape victims.” The split-second image of a girl being thrown onto the ground passed silently between the women.

  “If you ever want to talk about it, I know a good therapist,” Veronica offered. She replaced the pussy and picked up a large fan-shaped seashell. “Explain this.”

  “Tits,” Mona said. “And if you ever need help getting out of the deep and onto the shore, I’ll throw you a line.”

  Veronica lifted the shell to her left ear and grabbed the wooden penis with her right hand, holding it to her mouth as though the dick-and-shell set were an old-time telephone. “You gotta help me, Doc! I can’t get through to my clit!”

  Mona laughed and shook her head from side to side. “You’re a mess! I can’t wait to see how your office is decorated.”

  The two building-maintenance men who were sitting on Veronica’s deep brown leather sofa quickly jumped to attention when the women entered the office. “Damn! It looks like a forest in here.” Mona exclaimed.

  “We took the liberty of painting the ‘fade’ into the ceiling,” the taller man said. “When we looked at your instructions, we figured, with the trees and everything, you were trying to make it natural. So we faded the blues.” The ceiling had been painted night-blue and faded to a day-blue on the walls.

  Veronica’s jaw dropped in awe as her eyes scanned the walls from top to bottom.

  “But,” the shorter man assured, “if you don’t like it, we’ll paint it whatever way you say. We were just waiting for you and they said you were on your way so…we just waited to see what you thought.”

  “It’s better than I’d hoped,” Veronica said. “I love it! Thank you.” She instructed the men on where to place her trees: one behind the couch, another by her desk at the window. The final two trees were placed on either side of a large painting that faced the sofa. The two men, elated that she had complimented their initiative and creativity in painting her office, moved swiftly, eager to please once more.

  “Oh,” Veronica said, “you put my books up on the shelves. I had a very specific order in mind.” Disappointment slowed the work of the men and dulled the light in their eyes.

  Mona nudged Veronica. “Hey, control freak,” Mona whispered, “that’s a whole lot of books they put up for you. Why don’t you let them keep their joy?”

  “But they’re not in order,” Veronica whined. She sighed with exasperation at the thought of how long it was going to take to redo the bookshelves.

  “In what order do you put the feelings of others?” Mona asked. “What are all these books worth if you don’t know that?”

  “Of course you’re right,” Veronica said. She surveyed her beloved library, running her fingers over the spines of the books as she approached the maintenance men. “Actually,” she said, “the order is very natural. I’m so grateful to you.”

  The men finished their work and left beaming with pride. Mona fetched champagne and two flutes from her office and the women celebrated their newfound friendship. Mona raised her glass to the six-by-five-foot painting of large red beach balls framed by the two trees. “Hope you get your wish,” Mona toasted.

  “And to all a good night,” Veronica added as she tinked Mona’s glass.

  And so their friendship began. The women shared the light for two more years. Veronica considered installing a window between their offices, but realized they only needed a mirror. They had each developed the other’s voice inside. Mona had so many “This is it. I know it in my heart!” romances that Veronica started calling her “Whore-Moan-a.” And Veronica found so many “disorders” in the men she dated that Mona called her “Veronica-Never-Knew.”

  One morning Mona walked dazed into Veronica’s office and, sighing deeply, told her about her three-hour-old romance with the fine, fine, superfine LaShawn Monroe. Mr. Fine, the producer of the hit TV series The Couch, employed Mona as a consultant. Mona had always found him to be distracted, fretting about this or that, and unapproachable. A high-strung stiff-ass—though a fine ass it was, she’d told Veronica. Everyone knew he was a fool for Deborah Dawson, the star of the series, who dangled LaShawn from a chain like a charm on a bracelet.

  “I can’t believe it,” Mona said. “Just this morning I was fantasizing about me and Mr. Monroe making love in his studio office when Marie buzzed me to say he was at her desk asking to see me immediately. I thought I was in trouble or something. So I buzz him in and he strides in babbling something about ‘Sorry to barge into your day like this, Mona.’ Then he tells me how he’s admired my expertise as a therapist and was hoping that I could help him with something that’s been troubling him for a while.

  “He didn’t stop talking long enough for me to say yea or nay. He swooped by my desk and picked up the kitty on his way to the couch. He sits down and starts spilling his soul about how he’s afraid that he’s oversexed! Girl, I shot up a silent prayer like a rocket on a mission! He says he wants to fuck three times a day—at least—but Deborah gets tired seven days a week.” Mona paused to catch her breath.

  “I don’t know what else he said, because he was absentmindedly stroking the cat, and I couldn’t concentrate. I’m seeing us fuck in his office. I’m seeing us fucking in his car all the way to his house, then all up in the house, then fucking on the way out of the house. I’m picturing us rolling around outside in a forest. Well, all of a sudden, he stopped talking like he was wondering if he left something cooking on the stove. Then he turns the cat upside down like he’s checking to see if it’s male or female, and sniffs the kitty’s pussy!”

  “Tell me this is not going where I think it’s going,” Veronica said.

  “Then he says something about how not making love is like letting the sun go down without holding on to a piece of it. I’m thinking, ‘Damn! He’s a poet and I wish he’d hold on to a piece of my ass!’ ” Mona took a deep breath. “So I locked the door with the remote.”

  “No, you didn’t! You fucked him? He’s your employer!” Veronica’s eyebrows didn’t rise as far as her curiosity, though. “So then what happened?”

  “Employer, schmoyer. I’ve wanted to bite him for two years. I couldn’t take it anymore. I walked over to the couch, sat next to him, took the cat, and tossed it across the room. I lifted my skirt and lap-danced him. Oh, God, Veronica. This is it!”

  “Again,” Veronica warned. “Just how long do you think it’s gonna last?”


  A month later, Mona announced that she and LaShawn would be moving to New York in two weeks. “Hope I’m too busy fucking to miss you,” Mona said, “but you know I will.” The women hugged, then cried, then smiled at each other and hugged some more.

  “You’ll be too busy fucking to remember anything. Good for you!” Veronica said.

  A year later, Mona called Veronica to tell her that she and LaShawn would be on the West Coast in a few days and that she had a big surprise.

  “Hi, Ho!” someone shouted at Veronica’s back at the airport. Veronica turned to face her old friend, the now-pregnant Mrs. Fine.

  “Why, thank you!” Veronica said. They hugged and kissed and looked one another over, up and down, back and front. “You are definitely pregnant,” Veronica said, “and you’re glowing! I’m so happy for you. Where’s the baby daddy?”

  “He’s getting the luggage. And who’s got you smiling like you finally got a clue?” Mona asked, noting a marked transformation in Veronica’s attitude and appearance. “You look great. No. You look satisfied.”

  “Listen, I’ll get you guys settled at the hotel, then tomorrow I want you both to come out to our place at the lake. I can’t wait for you to meet Frederick.”

  “Frederick?” Mona asked, one eyebrow raised in mock suspicion.

  Veronica leaned across Mona’s burgeoning belly to whisper, “I call him ‘Frederick, the Fantastic Dick!’ ”

  LaShawn and Mona followed Veronica’s directions to the picturesque road that wound around the lake and led them to the circular driveway in front of Veronica and Frederick’s large rustic home.

  Veronica and Fred greeted them and ushered them to the shaded back porch that overlooked the lake. Veronica retreated to the kitchen and brought out a pitcher of lemonade. Fred and LaShawn hit it off immediately and excused themselves to go inside and watch a football game on TV. The women watched the men disappear beyond the screen door and listened for the sound of the television.

  “Damn!” Mona said in a low voice, “where’d you meet him? I’ll bet you have a hard time walking in the morning. I see you like ’em fine and short!”

  “Yeah, but he’s got a long ladder!” The women laughed and shared a low five. “You remember Dr. Durant? Well, he introduced us at a party to celebrate the completion of his new house. Fred was the landscape architect. He does wonderful things with wood and flowers, and…”

  “Damn it! Where’s the remote?” Fred banged the screen door and barged onto the porch. Before Mona could give Veronica a “what’s-a-good-ex-sex-therapist-like-you-doing-in-a-confrontational-relationship-like-this” look, Veronica had shot up and gone into the house to “fetch.” Mona made a mental note to talk to her docile friend, then found herself slipping into the vast beauty of the scenery.

  The porch faced a huge oak tree that triumphed over the view about fifty feet from the porch and about a quarter-mile from the crystal blue lake. The oak’s trunk curved dramatically to the left like a question mark, and the branches continued the curve, almost touching the ground. Mona’s view of the lake through the curve of the tree was dizzying. The birds that darted about, and the lake itself, were distorted by the ninety-degree heat that rose from the ground in sweltering waves. The fragrance of some sweet-smelling flora wafted around the porch.

  Mona’s peaceful drifting was interrupted when she heard a sportscaster announce the first-quarter score. “What was that all about? What’s up with the temper tantrum shit?” Mona asked when Veronica returned. “What is he, an ‘artiste’ or something?”

  “There’s nothing really wrong,” Veronica assured her. “He just needed some stroking.” She fanned the skirt of her flowered cotton summer dress, bringing cool relief to her sweaty thighs. “So, we’re at this party at Dr. Durant’s and Fred has done all of this gorgeous landscaping. Did I tell you that he used to be an architect?”

  “What does he do now?” Mona asked, a little annoyed at her friend’s nonchalant response to Fred’s behavior.

  “He, ah…he sculpts!” Veronica told Mona told about first meeting Fred and how he gave her a body scan from across the room. Dr. Durant had picked up on the attraction, introduced them, and left them alone to engage in polite conversation.

  “Well, I could see that Fred wasn’t listening to me. He was just kinda looking through me. And then he says, ‘Would you like to go out for breakfast with me?’ I totally forgot what I was talking about and said ‘yes.’ Then he says, ‘Saturday morning, seven o’clock. Dress for the outdoors. I’ll pick you up.’ He gives me an X-ray smile and leaves the party!

  “I got pissed because he didn’t even wait to hear my answer. How’d he know whether I was available, or wanted to get up that early on a Saturday morning, or dress for the outdoors for breakfast? Well, he’s an arrogant bastard, I thought. But I left the party wondering what ‘the outdoors’ meant and what I’d wear. I went home and pulled out all my leather clothes.

  “I didn’t have to wake up early Saturday ’cause I couldn’t sleep Friday night. The man mesmerized me! I was ready at five, he showed up at six, and we drove out here, into the woods, talking and laughing the whole way. When we get to this spot, he starts unloading all this shit from the trunk of his car: sleeping bags, fishing poles, a camp stove, even a fucking tent! There was enough gear to live in the woods for a week.

  “Had I told him I would spend the night? No! So I give him a look and he says, ‘Could you lift something, please?’ Next thing I know, we’re putting up the tent. I put one sleeping bag on one side of the tent and one on the other side. You should have seen the look on his face. ‘Don’t worry,’ he tells me, ‘I won’t fuck you unless you beg me!’ ”

  “No, he didn’t?” Mona said.

  “Yes, he did! I told him I didn’t have to beg for any goddamn thing in this life or the next, and maybe he should consider sleeping outside since his head might be too swelled to get into the tent. The whole time he’s smiling this Cheshire-cat smile and I’m wondering if he’s a fucking psycho.”

  “You’re wondering if he’s psycho?” Mona said in amazement. “I’m wondering if you’d gone over the edge. A man you’ve known for less than twenty-four hours asks you out to breakfast and you wind up in the woods putting up a tent and sleeping bags!”

  “Well then he takes my hand and walks me out of the tent. He starts talking about how the birds love this time of the day so much that they sing. I don’t know how to explain it, Mona. But when he picked up the fishing poles and started toward the lake, I followed him like a hungry puppy.” Veronica lowered her voice and glanced back at the screen door. “We get to the lake and Fred says, ‘You’ll have to take off your pants unless you plan to get that leather wet.’ My panties were already so wet, I thought my period had started—after three years! ‘How could I have planned anything when you failed to mention that we’d be catching breakfast?’ I said. He just smiled and took off his pants. He was wearing swimming trunks. I was wearing a thong! I took off my pants and waded out into the lake with him, thinking that if he didn’t get more considerate soon, this would be the first and last date.

  “Okay, so now we’re both in about three feet of water with our poles dangling in the lake. ‘What exactly is it we’re trying to catch?’ I ask him. ‘Catfish,’ he says. ‘Aren’t catfish too slimy to be in clear water like this?’ I ask. ‘Let me show you how to do it,’ he says. He comes up behind me and nozzles his mushroom up against my butt. Now this is more like it, I think. He drops his pole in the water and he’s massaging my tits until I’m so dizzy, I drop my pole. When I reach down to pick it up, he grabs me around the waist and works his thing into my coochie ’til my knees buckle.

  “Then—just like that—he drops me face down into the water!”

  “No!” Mona said.

  “Yes!” Veronica said. “Then he picks up his pole and walks back to the shore, and without even looking back at me, he says, ‘I told you that you’d have to beg for it.’ ”

  “Shit!” sq
uealed Mona.

  “No shit,” said Veronica. “Now I’m coughing lake water, my suede top is ruined, my ego popped, and I’m steaming! I charged through the water after him and dove for his legs. I knocked him back on his ass and we both lay there brushing off dirt and leaves, glaring at each other. When he stood up over me, I thought, ‘Shit! He is a psycho!’ He lifted me two feet in the air and put me down in front of a tree. I guess he took my knocking him to the ground as begging, because he commenced to fuck me roy-al-ly.

  “No!”

  “Oh, yes! He grinded me slowly at first like he knew where the spark in my clit was going to hit and he was there to meet it! My ass became one with the tree. He licked my nipples until my head ding-donged, then went down on me, stopping along the way like he was wondering if he should go further. Girl, I merged with every ring in the tree all the way back to when it was a sapling! He caught all the small fires between my legs until they roared up in one big flame. I’m telling you, my brain was singing, ‘Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy BIRTHDAY, dear Veronica. Happy birthday to me!’ The tree was moaning and singing along with me.”

  Silence. Both women stared, not seeing, toward the warm oranges and reds of the setting sun on the lake’s surface.

  “And now?” Mona asked. “Did he keep it up after that first date?”

  “See that tree?” Veronica nodded at the question-marked trunk of the big oak tree. “It used to be straight.”

  “Dang.” Mona laughed. She raised her glass in a toast, as the laughter from the house announced that the men would soon return. “Here’s to the curve.”