A yellow taxi with 305-888-8899 on the doors pulled up into a rain-swept drive way. The driver turned, looking at the handsome customer.
A fifty dollar bill was slipped into his hand and a wink of the eye arrested his attention, but he played it off because he was a faggot on the low, sometimes liking it deep in the ass and he was on the clock (with Vodka on his hot breath) and wouldn't be getting off till three a.m. so he didn't have time for a bunch of penile fights.
"Thanks, bruh," the customer said, grabbing his leather bag, smelling of expensive soap and FCUK cologne.
The driver eyed him with a smile. "No problem, bruh. You be safe."
"You, too."
The driver put the car in gear, backing out of the drive way.
The customer looked over the house before him with a huge smile, his eyes sparkling.
Glancing at his watch, he realized it was getting late. He'd go inside
and shower.
He was thinking about the bed.
YOU ARE READING
ARE YOU FREAKY DEAKY BOOK II
ChickLitCover picture from Pinterest. Model isn't affiliated with story 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."...
