ARE YOU FREAKY DEAKY BOOK II

4. Green Eyes

While in Downtown Manhattan, I met a man who looked just like "ER" actor Mekhi Phiefer. I wanted to suck his dick through a straw.

A girl could dream, damn it. He had ocean-green eyes, caramel-kissed skin that glistened from the sun radiating on the sweat trickling all over his sculpted body...

He had deep waves soaking under a black do rag, bling bling out the ass, a bunch of dope in huge pockets stitched on low-hanging baggy jeans showing off a silk-clad ass that had my pussy feeling slutty like Britney Spears, wanting to come off that Boom Boom with the Ying Yang Twins.

I was at the store, I forget the name of it. buying some shoes and he came up behind me, pressing his penis on my ass.

What the hell is going on? Why is this motherfucker all up on me like free concert tickets? He was cocky and confident.

He made it seem like a natural thing. I was pissed for one. I paused, held my breath, my attitude surfacing in record time and dug my nails in the dress. I turned to face him.

I said, "Get your dick off..."

When I saw him, a sexy thing, I was like, "Damn, baby, sup with you?"

"I knew you'd change your mind when you took a look at this."

Arrogant New Yorkers here we come. I tucked my chin back playfully. "You're arrogant."

He licked his lips. "Naw, Ma. Confident."

I felt tremors in my legs. I'll take Put his Dick in my Mouth for $600, Alex! "I see."

We were the same height. Five feet eleven inches. He took my bejeweled-with-flea-market-gold-hand and kissed it, making my panties wet and my nipples hard. "I'm Melvin. From the Bronx."

I'm Melvin from the Bronx, I mocked happily. His nicely long nipples poked against his wife beater.

My mouth watered. Damn!

"I'm...I'm...Melissa. From Florida City."

His eyes sparkled. "You're a Down South gal."

He cupped my hand.

I smiled sheepishly. "Yep."

My eyes dropped to the escalating lump in his pants. Damn, getting bigger by the second. If this was Wallstreet everyone would be rich! Why my mouth suddenly watered beats me.

Felt like I was talking with a whole bunch of spit in my mouth. I looked at the expensive gold rope chain around his thick neck, a scorpion medallion glittered. Hung just above his belly button.

He had "Mel's Hell" tattooed on his neck. And he had a huge red and black dragon tattooed on either arm. We couldn't stop staring at each other.

Freaky.

"You're a sexy woman."

"Thanks."

"Where's Florida City?" he asked and I pat his shoulder, looking him over.

"In Florida."

"Well, duh! You buggin'!" he joked, smiling.

"I mean what part of Florida?"

"Miami. The southwest region."

He liked his lips. "Interesting."

Can you lick my twat like that? "I see."

"I love your twang. I can damn sure hear it in your smoky voice."

"Yea. That's what my man back home says." I didn't have a man. I always told Niggahs that.

They seemed to get locked nuts when I said it.

He got competitive. Most New Yorkers were that way. "So you got a man?"

"That I think I'm g'on love forever? Um, yea."

He took both my hands, pressing his hard dick against my pussy, bringing my hands back to grip his ass while he played around with my hair...