"Defensive"
A Taj Jackson Erotic Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave
Pleasant
Grove, California
Summer,
1995
That
one, particular night, late in June, came just as hot and balmy as
the day that preceded it.
A
lurking, bubbling heat, that seemed to sneak up like a ninja masked
in the darkness, prepared to do as much damage as swiftly as
possible.
It
was the type of heat that many combated in a variety of ways from
sipping on refreshing icy beverages, to the wearing of skimpy
clothing, to, at the very least, running air conditioners and fans to
the point of blowing fuses all over the sleepy hamlet, which was the
utmost in suburban splendor, removed from the metropolis of Los
Angeles by a good quarter-hour's drive.
At
the end of a cul-de-sac, lined with a variety of colonial-style
homes, most of which were shut up completely, in a bid to keep the
still escalating temperatures at bay, a singular house stood, one of
its second-story windows, framed by gauzy lilac and ecru lace
curtains, raised.
Up
above, as clouds floated by, a full, glowing, ethereal white moon was
revealed, and in turn a few beams cut the blackness of the wee hours
of the morning, softly illuminating the sweetly feminine bedroom,
boasting as many frills, fobs and fancy porcelain dolls as it
wanted...
...and
the two bodies of a couple snuggled beneath the quilted satin
comforter on the bed.
The
young woman lay in repose, propped against the half-dozen or so
lace-trimmed pillows stacked underneath her, her beautiful oval face
serene as her thick, black-brown tresses, once arranged in a
fashionable bob, fell haphazardly where they pleased.
As
her bosom rose and fell with each delicate breath of slumber, so did
the head of the young man resting upon it, his arms wrapped loosely
around her bared torso, one of her arms draping his unclothed back,
it's smooth surface marred by several deep scratches, starting to
scab over.
Although
the woman was sound asleep, the man was wide awake, his eyes open and
gazing upward at her through the shroud of dark braids falling into
his face.
Eyes
so dark, so stormy, so troubled.
The
eyes of a man withholding a secret...and unsure of exactly how to go
about revealing it to his sultry little partner.
Thirty-Six
Hours Earlier
“...don't
go chasing waterfalls...please stick to the rivers and the lakes that
you're used to...”
With
the sounds of a cautionary tale, warning against the dangers of
living life too fast, set to a soulful R&B beat, pouring from its
a speakers, a compact, gleaming opalescent Mustang convertible was
carefully maneuvered into one of the few parking spots left,
unfolding around the sweeping and imposing mega-mall known as the
Willow Woods Galleria.
But
that was to be expected; what mall wasn't packed to near bursting on
any given Saturday?
Shutting
off the ignition, but flipping it just so, to allow the radio to
continue playing, Arabella Winton lingered a long moment, staring at
herself in the driver's side review mirror.
Arabella
had always been one of those girls to whom beauty seemed to come
effortlessly, with out having to try, as most others had to put in a
true effort to look even remotely decent.
Resting
against the deep grey leather seat, her tall, almost too slim body
was draped carelessly in a plain white tee, under light-rinsed, and
slightly frayed bib overall shorts, carnation pink Chucks on her tiny
feet.
A
small hand, its nails glowing from a vivid, stark white polish
appeared even brighter against her natural, God-given, tan
complexion, came up and raked through her volumized, jet tresses,
falling just past her shoulders in a layered bob, the dozen silver
bangles lining her trim wrist tinkling.
Staring
at herself it was plain as day to see that Arabella was of mixed
blood.
The
product of a Somali-American mother and a father of Welsh and Irish
extraction, Arabella was uniquely beautiful.
She
had a thin, heart-shaped face, with overwhelmingly large, eyes that
weren't quite hazel, yet not quite brown either, a little, gently
curved nose her mother loving claimed resembled actress Myrna Loy's,
(though Arabella had no idea whom Myrna Loy was) and a small,
somewhat contrived pucker Arabella constantly wished was plumper and
poutier.
Though
she had only been a resident of the planet since March of nineteen
seventy-four, Arabella's passion laid with the decade preceding her
birth, the 1960s.
Having
grown up on reruns of such swinging shows as Gidget, Get Smart
and Gilligan's Island, all Arabella had known and yearned to
emulate was a mix of outrageous glam and and cool mod.
And
in a decade laden with brick reds, browns, and other earthy shades,
all of Arabella's cosmetics were in light, frosty, saccharine
pastels, pinks and white, the only black to be seen was that of her
mascara, and liquid eyeliner.
That
particular day was of no exception, as Arabella had paid homage to
60s 'It' girl, Twiggy.
The
lids of her eyes were awash in a silvery white shadow, the creases
traced with black liner in a half-moon shape. More liner rimmed the
slanted, almond-shaped eyes, and more mascara than necessary left her
inherently long lashes with a spidery look.
Nude,
frosted pink lips curled, as it always did make Arabella's heart
lighten to emulate her idols, even with something as mundane as her
makeup.
“...and
here's the latest from the greatest: the newest song from the King of
Pop, Michael Jackson, this is 'You Are Not Alone'...”
Picking
with her hair once more, tucking some behind her hear to reveal a
large, silver hoop in her right lobe, careful to make sure her locks
didn't snag around the large oval stone of her mood ring.Arabella
questioned,
“Are
you sure you can walk to the skate park from here? I mean it is about
five blocks away.”
“...how
could this be....you're not here with me...you never said goodbye...”
When
only met by the mournful falsetto of the largest selling musical
artist in history, Arabella shifted in her seat, and glanced at the
little boy, eleven years her junior, in baggy black and grey Oakland
Raiders sweats, a skateboard featuring the Black Power Ranger on its
underside, spread across his lap.
Much
to her surprise, the child's eyes were shut, his thin lips mouthing
the words to the song, his head, topped in a mess of short cropped
curls swaying to the beat.
“Aiden?”
She called to her brother, and found herself ignored, as the boy
continued to mouth along to the song.
“...You
Are Not Alone...for I am here with you...though we're far
apart...you're always in my heart...”
“Aiden...Aiden
Omari!”
When
she laid a hand on her sibling's shoulder, he finally returned to
earth and climbed down from the stage singing backup to the pop
megastar.
“Huh?”
Large
dark eyes flew open and Aiden gazed at his sister in wonder.
“I
didn't know you liked Michael Jackson!” Arabella couldn't contain
her snickers and could only grin as her brother's cheeks, though he
was darker than her, tinged maroon with his embarrassment.
“I
thought you were into rap—you like Michael Jackson?”
By
the way his entire face took to shining like a beacon, though,
Arabella instantly knew Aiden wasn't fooling.
Staring
down at his skateboard, knowing he'd been caught, Aiden didn't even
try to lie or conceal the fact.
“Yeah!
Jamal's folks got all his albums and his dad plays his music and
videos for me,and Jamal, and Eric, and Ping and Stinky all the time!
Michael Jackson is so cool! I like how he dances and his clothes are
amazing! He's the King of Pop! He's the best! He's won all the
awards they got in the world and they even started naming some after
him! And Jamal says his house has it's own amusement park and zoo
with a bunch of animals! And they're his pets! He's so rad--”
Seeing
he was starting to work himself into quite a lather, Arabella had to
remind him,
“Are
you going to sit here and lip-sync to Mr. Jackson all day or are you
going to go meet Jamal and Eric, and Ping and Stinky at the skate
park?”
Remembering
just why he had endured the pop-music drenched ride from their home
in her company, the boy was automatically out of the car and slamming
the door.
“Later,
Sis!”
As
he scampered away, Arabella had to shout after him,
“Don't
forget, Mrs. Wong is picking you up from the park at exactly five o'
clock so you can spend the night at Ping's! Aiden? Aiden, do you hear
me? Aw sh....!”
Aiden
was nothing more than a speck on the horizon for a second, then he
was gone, disappearing behind a Burger King.
Opening
her own door and unfolding from the car, Arabella was smiling from
ear to ear as she grabbed the pink and white plaid flannel shirt from
the backseat, tying it around her waist and tossing her pink dyed,
mink fur backpack over one shoulder.
The
following Saturday, Aiden Winton was going to celebrate his tenth
birthday party at the Seven Springs Country Club, and up until that
moment, Arabella had been utterly clueless as to what to buy the boy
as a gift. (Since her parents had already gone for the big ticket
items like a Huffy ten-speed bicycle and a Sega Genesis game system
among other trinkets so coveted by rowdy little boys.)
How
convenient it was for Arabella to learn that her brother was a fan of
Michael Jackson.
And
even more convenient that only a few days ago, Michael Jackson had
released a brand-new album!
*
* *
“...one
extra large hazelnut latte with skim milk and an extra shot of
espresso, enjoy ma'am!”
Before
she could hit the stores and do her best to max out her gold card,
Arabella had to fuel up at her favorite coffee shop, Hit the Bean.
A
quaint, eclectic little hole in the wall of the first floor of the
mall, partially modeled after the Central Perk as featured on the
popular television show, Friends, it was filled with over
stuffed couches and lounging hipsters wiling away the hours and
poring over thick tomes of Lord Byron poetry.
Any
other day, Arabella would have been right in the thick of them, but
the need for not only to buy that album, but for a new outfit to wear
to her brother's party, the longest she could linger in there was to
stop at the condiment station to throw a few packets of raw, organic
sugar crystals into her drink to sweeten it.
Pausing
for a sip of hot brown energy, Arabella's mind went where any young,
twenty-something's mind diverted when in a mall—fashion.
She
knew Aiden's party was going to be themed after the Raiders, his
favorite team, but couldn't quite decide if she wanted to wear the
team colors, as her parents and brother planned to do, or buck the
trend by wearing something louder.
With
a shrug, Arabella smirked.
She'd
make the decision once the racks in Macy's, Planet Blue, and
Nordstrom's were in front of her. No need to bother her mind right
then.
“...raw
organic sugar, raw organic brown sugar, Sweet n
Low, don't they have any plain white sugar in this place...?”
A
low, yet soft pitched voice lamented, drawing Arabella's attention
from herself, and looking up from her cup, she found a young man had
appeared at her side, peering at the containers of sugars, napkins
and swizzle straws atop the wood-paneled station.
The
mouthful of coffee mixed with steamed milk and a bit too much sugar
were gulped without ever being tasted, and hazel eyes widened and
sparked at the gent next to her.
He
was slightly shorter than her, and seemed rather thin, by the way he
seemed to be swimming in a simple outfit of an open plaid shirt,
white tee and loose-fitting black jeans.
In
his right hand, where a silver band ring sparkled on his pinky, a
medium Styrofoam cup printed with Hit the Bean's coffee bean logo,
steamed.
His
free hand was up and holding his hair, styled into dozens of little
plaits, out of his face, as he continued to squint at the variety of
sweeteners.
And
what a face it was.
Possessing
a complexion similar to Arabella's but containing a few freckles here
and there, the face appeared cherubic and somewhat innocent with
full, bouncy cheeks, balancing out a wider forehead and slimmer chin.
His
eyes were dark and smoky, his deftly arched brows trying to meet one
another he was scowling so hard trying to find the sugar. His ears,
though prominent, didn't take away from his good looks, and in a way
added even more boyish charm to his features.
His
mouth, plump and pink was twisted into something of a scowl as he
grimaced, continuing to hunt the elusive white sugar.
The
bridge of his nose crinkled in the cutest way.
It
was far too late.
Arabella
was smitten.
Silently,
she reached out and tapped one of the clear square containers near
the back of the arrangement and admittedly, less filled than the rest
of the containers.
No
matter how many trendy, eco-friendly, fancy formulations were
available, the general public still appeared to clamor for good old
fashioned white sugar in their coffee.
“Oh...thank
you!” The man laughed self consciously, and took five packets in
his hands, tearing them all open at the same time and pouring the
sugar into his cup.
“My
coffee would have cooled into a block of ice in it by the time I
found the sugar!”
He
went for a swizzle straw and found one already being held out to him.
“Thanks
again.” Stirring the cup he indicated her with a tilt of it.
“You
really know your way around this place, don't you?”
He
had the sweetest smile Arabella had ever seen.
His
teeth were so blindingly white, they were almost arresting.
“Yeah,
I guess you could say that--”
“Hey
Taj! Are we gonna go see 'Die Hard with a Vengeance' or not man? Get
the molasses out yo' ass!”
Arabella
watched as those eyes, not halfway hidden by the sheet of braids
falling in his face, rolled with annoyance and the man turned,
calling to the two men, a few feet away, idling in the open doorway
that led out to the inner courtyard of the Galleria.
“I'll
be right there--” He started and was interrupted by the taller of
the pair hollering back, his impossibly thick eyebrows raising with
consternation,
“Now,
Taj, now! The movie
starts in ten minutes and Cineplex is up on the fourth floor and we
still have to buy our snacks. Haul ass, come on!”
“Alright!”
He barked and Arabella jumped, not sure if she were frightened or
excited by his sudden change of tone.
Turning
back to her, he nodded solemnly,
“Thanks
for pointing out the sugar to me. Gotta go...before I knock my little
brothers out.”
With
that, he turned on the heel of his Nike and started away.
Arabella
remained rooted to the spot, watching him go, and giggling as he
slapped the man who'd called him out the back of the head with such
force, he flew completely out of the coffee shop.
Helping
herself to another sip of java, Arabella repeated the young man's
name fondly,
“Taj...”
*
* *
Three
hours and one close-to-being-maxed-out gold card later, Arabella
stepped off the escalator onto the fourth floor of the Galleria, both
hands filled with a variety of shopping bags, each containing
components that made up her idea of the 'perfect' outfit to wear to
her brother's birthday party. It may have been Aiden's day, but there
was no reason Arabella couldn't look cute as an attendee, and partial
hostess of the event.
The
search for just the right frock had taken Arabella into no less than
five different boutiques in her quest, at first aiming to get a dress
that coordinated with the black and silver Oakland Raiders theme of
the party, but when no black, grey, silver or white dresses fit with
her 60's ideal, Arabella said to hell with it and went for
color.
After
a few false starts, Arabella Winton was planning to give Jean
Shrimpton a run for her money, by way of a lovely little sky-blue
silk shift, she planned to pair with a new pair of pastel, watercolor
printed tights and blue pumps. Throw in some pink, yellow and blue
Lucite accessories, Arabella, in her mind, could have passed for a
younger, tanned version of “The Shrimp”.
At
the end of a daunting walkway, with one side almost completely
comprised of the Reel-to-Reel Cineplex, always featuring a crowd of
movie-goers of all ages vying for tickets to the latest films, stood
Arabella's oasis in a retail desert: Paint Me Pretty, her favorite
cosmetics store of all time.
And
maneuvering through the throng of slow-moving shoppers and around the
pack near the Cineplex with the precision of a surgeon dicing a
patient, Arabella was within feet of the front door of the cosmetics
store, when a sight quickened her heart rate and made her head buzz
as though filled with yellow jacket wasps.
Poised
beyond the door, as a ploy to entice purchases, was stand made of
false ice cubes, spelling the word Frost.
That
was all the goading she needed.
What
retro-chic girl didn't crave icy, glittery, frosted out cosmetics?
Especially to pair with such a sweet outfit as her party ensemble.
In
seconds, eye shadows in pearlescent blues, and white, pale peach
blush and even paler pink, rose and coral lipsticks were being
juggled in her hands.
If
she'd had a few extra hands, she'd have likely carried away the
entire display.
“Are
you sure you need all of that?”
At
the comment, spoken with a note of playful teasing, Arabella started
slightly and one of the white and clear plastic containers of blush
fell to the marble floor, and bounced upwards onto a pair of black on
black Nikes.
Arabella
was helpless, and momentarily lost the art of speech, as stooping
before her to retrieve the cosmetic, was the man whom she'd pointed
out the sugar to in Hit the Bean earlier that day.
She
could only watch as...what was his name? How could she forget his
name?...lowered his head slightly and read the name on the back of
the blush.
“...'Icing
Dolce'...are you supposed to wear it or eat it?” He chuckled,
eyes flashing behind his braids and was extending it to her, light
catching his pinky ring once again.
It
took a few seconds for the signals between her brain and mouth to
link up, but once they did, Arabella managed a light giggle,
replying,
“Wear
it, of course...it's...it's blush.”
“You
don't really need it...” The and bearing the ring came and very
gently, grazed her cheek, sending prickles all across her dermis.
“You're
blushing enough naturally. Am I making you blush? You're blushing
'cause of me?”
He
teased further, a grin of unmaskable satisfaction and flattery
tingeing coming to his lips, his own cool, freckled cheeks also
darkening.
“Maybe...”
Arabella snickered, entire face on fire.
“Taj!”
Standing
in the middle of the breezeway, flagging frantically for his
attention was the shorter of the two men whom had been accompanying
him that morning.
Head
whipping around so his braids fanned out, Taj—that was his
name—yelled back,
“What
the hell is it, Taryll?”
There
was that vocal change that had both frightened and fascinated
Arabella.
“The
previews are almost over! 'Tales
in the Hood' is about to start! You know TJ's scrawny ass
can't hold three seats alone! Come on, Bro, damn, you the one
dogged us all week to come see it!!!”
His
eyes rolled as Taryll stood hand on hip, foot tapping with
impatience, but turned back to Arabella.
“The...the
movie is about 90 minutes long. I'd invite you, but my brothers will
clown, it's supposed to be 'Guys Day'...” He started,
apologetically and Arabella tittered, nodding with understanding.
“You
can find me in Vibes--”
“The
record store?” Taj's brows went and she nodded. “You got it!”
“Taj!
Bro, goddamn!”
His
hands went into his pockets and blatantly ignoring his sibling, Taj
tossed his braids clear of his face, biting his bottom lip, he
wondered sheepishly.
“And
what's your name, my Blushing Beauty?”
He
was a trifle on the corny side, but as cute as he was that trait
could be overlooked joyously.
“Taj!”
“As
you can tell by the constant hollering, my name is Taj..” He
grinned wider.
“Taj!
The hell you doing?”
“I'm...Arabella”
She beamed at him, shyly.
“Tariano
Adaryll Ja--”
“I
know you're not broadcasting my whole name in this mall!”
“Quit
dragging ass, then!”
Arabella's
cheek was petted a second time, and Taj jogged away, leaving Arabella
gasping for air in his wake.
And
a well-placed shove, left Taryll draped all over a low, decorative
potted plant.
“Don't
make me kick your ass Taj!”
He
groaned standing and crashing back to his knees.
Yes...
she couldn't wait for that urbanized version of Tales from the
Crypt to let out so she could see Taj, again!
*
* *
“...I'd
like a bottle of L'Age Noir, please...”
“Three,
six or twelve ounces?”
“Twelve,
please...”
Arabella
reclined against the huge glass encased display case nonchalantly,
looking here and there but not quite at anything in particular within
Scents-A-Million, her favorite fragrance store.
She
didn't really need that new bottle of overpriced French parfum;
there was still half a bottle sitting on her vanity at home at the
moment, but it was all she could could think to do to wile away the
hour and a half until she saw Taj again.
Arabella
had never seen a man like him before.
While
his appearance, with the plaits and loose, baggy clothing were
distinctly street, there was some so...clean about him.
He
possibly could have been dressed in such a manner for fashion's sake,
but it didn't seem to speak to or be organic to what came across to
Arabella about Taj's personality.
He
was incredibly well-spoken, when he wasn't barking at one of his
bothersome, meddling siblings, he came across as sweet and genuine.
Sure,
Arabella had liked, flirted with and been attracted to men before,
but there was something special about Taj. She couldn't quite figure
it out, but it was something in the way he acted towards her.
Attentive,
caring, and in the two times they'd crossed paths he had yet to ask
for her number, when that was the leading line out most guys' mouths.
He
seemed...gentlemanly.
When
he looked at her, she noticed the admiration in his eyes, right off,
but nothing off-color or wicked seemed to be lurking below the
surface.
But
then again, Taj could have just been one hell of an actor.
Either
way, Arabella was reaching a point where she gone on him and was
starting to enjoy the feeling.
“Here
you are ma'am, twelve ounces of L'Ange Noir...”
The
clerk declared, placing the black and gold, Art Nouveau box atop the
counter and picking at the register.
“That'll
be sixty-six dollars even.”
“Okay...”Arabella
started to fish her credit card from the bib pocket on her overalls,
but stopped when a hand, bearing that silver, triple band ring on the
pinky came forward and began unboxing the perfume.
She
could only watch as Taj, suddenly at her side, examined the large,
squat, round black glass bottle with a matching gold accented,
tasseled atomizer a moment, before squeezing the pump, depositing a
bit of the fragrance onto his wrist.
Bringing
it to his small, snub nose, he had a whiff, all the while his eyes,
shaded by his hair, were up on her.
It
was a piercing, strong gaze, one which made Arabella's poor heart
skip several beats.
“This
is what you wear?” He questioned, and struck deaf dumb and mildly
blind, Arabella could only nod.
“I
like it, soft and spicy...” Taj's lips curled
mischievously.”...like you.”
Regaining
her foot and power of speech, Arabella quipped,
“I'm
glad you approve.”
If
she didn't get smart-mouthed, she might have fainted!
He
winked!
He
winked at her!
Setting
the bottle back in its box, Taj informed her casually,
“I
wanted to let you know, I'll meet you at Vibes in a few. I have to
run down and pick up some film for my camera--”
“Film?”
A thinly etched brow raised in wonder. Just what was this man after?
What
kind of ideas were bouncing around his apple-shaped head?
A
grin plastered itself on his face and his ears turned red with
amusement.
“It's
not what you're probably thinking! I'm a professional photographer! I
swear!”
From
a pocket on his jeans, a small white business card was in his hand.
“Tariano
Adaryll, To the Tee Photography, 1955 Delores Avenue, Pleasant Grove,
CA, 71899”
Arabella
read and her other brow joined the first.
“Am
I your newest model?”
Considering
Arabella's height and slender physique, there had been more than a
few mashers posing as fashion photographer who were simply dying to
break her into modeling.
And
break into her undies while they were at it, though none had gone so
far as to print up a dummy cards to advertise the “fact”.
“I
shoot family portraits and events like bar mitzvahs!” Taj laughed
harder, eyes sparkling.
“Oh.”
“But...”
He
leaned closer to her, lashes fluttering as he whispered deeply voice
losing an octave,
“You've
got enough beauty to be three models.”
Arabella
blazed all over as he impishly pecked her cheek, leaving her
stuttering and reeling.
And
that quickly, he was gone, Arabella red-faced and breathless in his
sensuous wake once again.
She
stood and watched, hand to her bosom to keep her heart from popping
out like a deranged cartoon character, eyes locked on his head
bobbing until Taj reached the escalators and glided down, and out of
sight.
A
short while later, once her heart rate and blood pressure had fallen
out of the lethal range, Arabella was picking her way through the
many racks of Vibes Music Emporium.
A
quick jaunt to deposit her many bags into the trunk of her Mustang
had freed up her hands and now as she navigated the first floor,
dedicated exclusively to singles, of the towering three-story
megastore , she had already piled up a decent selection in her small,
green mesh bag, handed out to make shopping easier.
“Prince...The
Artist Formerly Known as Prince...still don't know what the hell that
funny little symbol means...”
She
mumbled, flipping CDs back and forth, in search of one particular
song.
“Here
we go: Prince, Damn U!”
Instantly,
the single for one of Arabella's most favorite love songs by the
little purple noisemaker from Minneapolis, join the pile that
included the likes of other great artists such as Toni Braxton,
Whitney Houston, Aaliyah, Luther Vandross, and TLC.
Heading
towards the electric lime green, neon-lit staircase that led up to
the second floor, and full of albums and other band memorabilia such
as tee-shirts and posters, a pleasantly familiar sound reached her
ears.
“...Another
day has gone...I'm still all alone...how could this be...”
From
the numerous speakers poised around the store, Michael Jackson's 'You
Are Not Alone' was playing again. (She'd already heard it twice
since entering Vibes.)
It
seemed like kismet and Arabella couldn't stop herself from humming
along as she mounted the stairs.
Before
she even reached the second floor, her attention was drawn to the
massive display set up directly across from the top of the stairs.
A
life-sized, silver statue, made in Jackson's likeness gleamed, and
was surrounded by shelves packed to near bursting, not only with
cassette and compact disc versions of the double album, but scores of
shirts, posters and other novelties all bearing the King of Pop's
image, spanning his entire career, from the his start in the Jackson
Five, a group started with his brothers while he was but a child, on
into adulthood, encompassing a career that set and consistently broke
records, leaving Michael Jackson as the Gold Standard of fame and
acclaim to which all other performers could only fantasize of
reaching.
Arabella
was slightly taken aback and stared at the collection, both trying to
figure what else she could afford not only for little Aiden, but
herself. (Without her card being rejected and snapped in half!)
If
only Arabella had known it would be her temper that was to snap,
first.
Without
thought, two copies of the History album were in her hands and
she stood, trying to decide on a poster of Michael as he had appeared
on the cover of his 'Bad' album, looking rather rock and roll
in black leather and buckles, or an action shot of him in the same
costume from the tour of the same name which had launched the same
year.
“They're
only five dollars apiece, and you only turn ten, once...”
Arabella
reasoned to herself and put a hand out to pick up the two rolled,
cellophane wrapped posters.
And
found an arm slung around her shoulders, Taj next to her, taking one
of the CD boxed sets from her hands and flipping, was reading the
listing of songs printed on the back.
“You're
buying some Michael Jackson?”
He
inquired, eyes continuing to flitter across the back of the case.
“Yeah...”
Arabella replied and with out thought, reached up and intertwined her
fingers with the hand dangling over her shoulder, at once comfortable
with such an intimate pose.
Taj
was silently pushing the idea of them belonging together and she
didn't mind.
Then
he opened his mouth.
“Why
are you buying two of these?”
“One's
for myself...” Arabella took it from him and deposited it with the
rest in her little bag. “...the other is for my kid brother. His
birthday is next Saturday.”
“He
likes Michael Jackson too?”
There
was a strange coolness to Taj's voice and for a reason unknown to
her, it bugged Arabella.
“Yes,
you should have seen him when 'You Are Not Alone' played when
I dropped him off this morning. Cutest thing I ever saw..”
Arabella
trailed off when she noticed the odd manner Taj was looking at her.
Gazing
through his braids, his arched brows were up, lips forming a thin
line.
There
seemed to be an unasked question between them.
“What?”
“Well...” Taj's
grip on the hand over her shoulder tightened. “What do you think of
all the things people say about Michael Jackson?”
“You
mean like how he's ruined his looks with surgery, or he has a shrine
to that old movie star, Elizabeth Taylor at his house, or how he's
gay, or how he's a child abuser. Kind of a broad spectrum, care to
narrow it down, just a skosh?”
Arabella
gave Taj a sweeping glare, dropping his hand abruptly.
“This
may come as a shock to your system, Elephant Ears, but I don't
believe all that crazy hype the tabloids put out about Michael
Jackson...”
Arabella
moved from Taj and picked up the posters, adding,
“Now,
I may not know the man personally, but I've listened to his music
since I was a baby and been a fan just as long. And all I can see out
of Michael Jackson, other than talent that seems to come from another
planet, is he seems like a nice guy. Incredibly nice. He's
always giving to charities and trying to help out his fellow
man...using his name and status for good...”
Looking
over a selection of pin-back badges featuring Michael's face, she
sensed Taj behind her.
“...but
you don't think he's gay? Or think he's bleaching his skin or--”
“Taj,
the man is damn near forty...” Arabella took another step
away from him. “He's free to live his life and do as he wants. He's
worked hard enough for it, don't you think? If he's gay, straight,
somewhere in between doesn't bother me. So his appearance has changed
over the years. I don't care. I doubt you or I look exactly the same
as we did when were born. I'm sure you didn't pop out with those
braids on your head in the delivery room. If you did, it probably
scared the hell out of the doctor. As long as Michael is happy,
that's what should matter. He's certainly worked hard enough for it.
He may be a celebrity, but he is a human and shouldn't have his every
move questioned.”
Arabella
ran a hand through her hair and lifted a pin-back, showing Michael
dancing with ghouls in his famous 'Thriller' music film.
“Wha--”
“And
as far as the talk of him being a child abuser goes, it's utter and
complete bullshit...pardon my language.” Arabella brushed back by
Taj so hard he staggered, as she went to a rack of Michael Jackson
shirts in children's sizes, pushing through them.
“You
don't believe it?”
“Nope.”
Arabella's reply hung in the air.
Looking
back at Taj, she stated,
“Perhaps
we should just part ways right now. Because if you and I are going to
get into a heated scene about Michael Jackson and all the lies being
spread about him without cause, then I don't believe I am in need of
your company.”
Silence
filled the space between them, and for a few minutes, Tupac's “So
Many Tears” playing was the solitary sound to be heard.
“You're
that big of a fan of Michael Jackson?” Taj asked softly and
shrugging, Arabella replied, picking up a 'Dangerous World
Tour' shirt and examining it.
“I
mean, I'm not trying to tear down the gate to get into his Neverland
Valley Ranch, but yeah, I'm a fan. His music is part of the
soundtrack of my life. I can't count the times I got grounded for
skipping school to run buy one of his albums or to see his new music
videos. The man is a genius, a visionary. And I really think it's
shitty how's he's getting a bad rap because he altered his looks or
some money-hungry bastard told a lie on him. I love the guy...”
Putting
the shirt back, Arabella lifted a 'Bad” one in its place.
“When
he got hurt in that Pepsi commercial, back in '84, you know, when,
his head got burned, I sent so many 'Get Well Soon' cards and fan
letters to his house, my mouth tasted like stamp glue for a week!”
“Oh...”
Arabella
was surprised that Taj hadn't walked off during her tirade or been
offended by her expressing her passionate devotion to Michael
Jackson.
“Have...have
you ever seen him...you know, in person?”
“No..his
concerts always sold out to quickly for my folks to get a ticket, and
the one time I tried to see him, I got knocked down right as he came
out a restaurant. But...I've heard talk he plans to tour to promote
History. If he does, I'll try to make sure I can get me and my
brother to see him.”
Folding
the shirt and placing it in her bag, she turned back to Taj, still
idling in front of the silver statue.
“Why
do you care? From the way you're talking, you sound kind of Anti-MJ
to me--”
“On
the contrary...” Hands in his pockets, Taj sidled up to Arabella.
“I'm
actually a really big fan of Michael Jackson. I have all of his
albums. I grew up on him too...sometimes...sometimes I feel so close
to Michael...it's almost like we're related...”
(Author's
Note: I have my music on 'shuffle' as I'm writing and the song
'Why' just began playing!)
“Then
why did you give me the third degree a second ago about him? You
asked more questions than Sally Jessy Raphael!” Arabella demanded,
hands on her waist.
“If
you're such a big fan, or so you claim then why--”
A
finger was pressed to her lips.
“Michael
Jackson has been one of the greatest influences on my life. In many
ways, ways I can't even begin to explain, he saved my life,
Arabella...” Taj confided, eyes searching hers intently.
“...and
when I saw you here, looking at his music, I wanted to make sure we
were on the same page about him. I...I couldn't see myself trying to
be with a girl that didn't have the utmost respect for him. But the
way you...defended him without a hitch...it shows me...everything I
need to see.”
Speaking
around his finger, Arabella was skeptical.
“You're
that serious about Michael Jackson?”
She
couldn't' fathom it. Arabella had had little “games” played with
her by her exes before, tests for loyalty and things of the like,
never had encountered a man whom decided to maintain her company
based on which musician she liked.
She
had experienced it with sports—one of her exes had been obsessed
with the San Francisco 49ers, a disaster as Arabella came from a
family that supported the Raiders—but music was a different
situation entirely.
“Yes...I
am...” Taj bobbed his head, braids swaying.
The
two stared at each other a moment longer.
There
was still something hinky about this man, but whatever it was,
Arabella couldn't overcome her attraction to him and in spite of
herself, she was smiling.
“If...if
you're done shopping...” Taj started, putting a hand out for the
green bag. “...I'd like to, take you to dinner, if you don't mind.”
Handing
the bag over and allowing him to put his arm around her again,
Arabella snickered, as they started down the staircase back to the
first level of Vibes.
“Where
did you have in mind?”
“How
about The Mac Shack? It's right across the parking lot...” Taj
suggested, the two of them falling at the end of a the long line
snaking away from the checkout stand.
Impulsively,
Arabella was already doing it long before she was aware of it.
A
light pink, frosted lip print appeared on Taj's cheek and the flesh
around it became crimson.
Whispering
off into his ear, she agreed, eagerly,
“Sounds
good to me!”
*
* *
“...so,
where are your brothers?”
Hoisting
her backpack onto the trunk of her car, Arabella rummaged through it,
in search of her keys.
“They
split after 'Tales From the Hood'. Family get-together at my
grandparent's house tonight. They wouldn't have missed the barbecue
for the world.” Taj chuckled leaning against the back fender
twisting the pinky ring around his finger.
“And
you didn't want to go?” Arabella dug some more, finally extracting
her keys, on a ring featuring a crystal embellished pizza charm.
“Nah,
I've been eating barbecue every other day lately. It's summer,
everyone's firing up a grill and burning meat.” Taj shook his head
in the negative as the lock popped and the trunk swung open, Arabella
stooping to add the large paper bag from Vibes in with the rest
crammed inside.
“Besides,
you're not at my grandparents' house...and its you I wanted to see.”
Keeping
her gaze away from him, Arabella stood and shut the trunk, with a
slam, teasing,
“Do
you always move this quickly? Any faster and you'll have sparks
flying from you sneakers!”
His
answer gave her chills on an afternoon where the high was in the
mid-eigthies.
“Only
when I see what I feel I'm destined to have.”
Pushing
off the side of the car, Taj rounded it to Arabella, tossing his head
along the way, so that his braids framed his face, rather than hid
it.
In
the late afternoon sun, Arabella saw that his eyes, which she had
first thought were a dark brown, were more of a sepia tone with rich,
deep golden and bronze flecks to them.
“Where...”
His eyes drifted to the brief peek of soft cleavage as offered by the
dipping V on the front of her tee.
“Where
do you stay, Arabella? I stay in the Deerfield Gated Community.”
So...Arabella's
assumptions about Taj had been correct all along.
Taj
was from the suburbs.
Though she had never been there, Arabella had heard of Deerfield, an
affluent community close to the eastern rim of Pleasant Grove.
He—or
his folks—had to have been doing mighty well to live out there.
“Nice
neighborhood. I live in the Hemlock--”
“Hemlock
is closer than Deerfield.” Taj interrupted her, and Arabella
couldn't hide her laughs.
“You
want to go back to my place--”
“Is
there someone there?”
He
was right up on her now, his glare searing and hotter than the sun.
“No...my
parents are at the country club, doing a cake tasting for the party
and Aiden is at the skate park--”
“Who
is Aiden?”
It
tickled Arabella all kinds of shades of pink when she realized Taj
seemed jealous at the mention of another male's name.
“Aiden
is my little brother...”
His
features, which had been twisting into a scowl, softened.
Leaning
back slightly, Arabella reached up and plucked his right ear.
“If
I do take you back to my place...what do you plan to do to me?”
While
she was coming off as coy and teasing, in reality, Arabella was close
to losing herself, as her attraction to Taj continued to swell like a
tsunami in the seconds preceding landfall and disaster.
His
face was so boyish, so sweet, so innocent, but his eyes...
His
eyes gave him away as being something otherwise, to the left,
naughty, nefarious.
Erotic.
“Something...”
His
hands were around her, and slipping into the back pockets of her
overall shorts, cupping her buttocks.
“Something
close to this--”
The
cupping became outright mashing, sending a mixed message of pleasure
and pain through Arabella and she stiffened.
“Taj!
We're in a parking--”
Her
thinner lips were eclipsed by his plumper ones, moist, sweet, and
powerful.
“Taj!”
She screamed into his mouth as he bore down on her, bending her
backwards, eventually pressing her against the trunk of her car.
And
there Arabella remained, between Taj's hot body and the hot metal of
her vehicle, his mouth crushing hers wetly, intensely, wantonly.
His
hands holding onto her buttocks and unabashedly pushing her groin
against his.
With
a loud pop, he drew his mouth from hers, the exertion leaving
both heaving into one another's faces, Taj's braids sweeping
Arabella's forehead.
“Give
me a quarter.”
He
mumbled into her face and a silver coin materialized, plucked from
the left hip pocket on Arabella's shorts.
“I'm
going to go call one of my brothers and have them pick up my car for
me. It's way across in front of the Mac Shack, but they'll pass right
by here on the way back from Encino...”
Arabella
stared upwards at the cumulonimbi floating by in the sapphire blue
sky.
God,
her lips were throbbing—as were other bits of her inflamed
body.
Taj
started towards the pay phone on the sidewalk, a few yards away, then
stopped, calling to her,
“Do...do
you still want to go eat dinner?”
Weakly,
very weakly, Arabella called back.
“No...”
And
slid down into a heap onto the warm asphalt.
She
no longer had a taste for gourmet macaroni and cheese.
She
never did.
Arabella's
mouth was set for one thing and one thing, only:
Taj.
*
* *
“...here
we are...”
Arabella
announced, her car coasting towards the imposing, two story,
white-washed brick colonial at the end of rounded hub of Elm Avenue,
within Hemlock Estates, the gated community she had always known as,
“...Home
Sweet Home...”
Easily,
the convertible glided up the short cement driveway and came to a
halt, mere inches from crashing into one of the shut doors on the
attached three-car garage.
The
ride, taking less than fifteen minutes once Arabella hit the
expressway, had been thoughtfully, yet direly silent.
She
hadn't quite known what to say to Taj during the drive... and he
hadn't offered any dialogue on his end either.
It
didn't seem altogether real to Arabella.
The
situation seemed more out of one of those steamy, trashy paperbacks
she used to sneak out of her mother's bedroom bookcase and read to
waste a few hours, instead of real life.
Picking
up, or rather, being picked up by a man she had only met that
morning, and had a few, fleeting small talk conversations with.
Alas,
Arabella knew she hadn't been very far from Taj's mind; his hand had
remained on her right thigh, tightened just enough for her toned
flesh to bulge out from between his fingers.
It
was spur of the moment, lewd, even immoral what Arabella was so very
close to doing, but she had banished the thoughts of remorse and
repulsion from her mind.
All
of the years of both Catholic school, weekly Mass and their teachings
evaded her mind like a fugitive on the lam from the law.
Arabella,
whom had been staring ahead at the garage, looked down to her thigh,
as Taj's hand fell from it languidly, with him sliding out of out of
the vehicle, frankly kicking the door shut behind him.
If
anyone else had dare kick her most prized possession she'd have been
cursing at the top of her voice in Arabic, but with a man like Taj,
she couldn't make herself do it.
She
couldn't.
She
was too attracted.
There
was some get-up to his pace as he quickly rounded the back of the
Mustang.
In
the blink of an eye, the driver's door had been opened, Arabella
helped out, and fingers intertwined, she was permitted to lead him up
the curving sidewalk to the front door.
Searching
through the keys in her ring for the one that opened the house,
Arabella dared a glance back at Taj, so closely behind, he was
pressed against her shoulder.
His
face was set, eyes narrowed a bit, peachy mouth puckered, nostrils
flaring with each intake of breath.
Clank.
With
a single turn, the deadbolt slid back and the pair scurried inside.
In
the dim front foyer, Arabella hung her fur pack on the row of hooks
hanging above small side table, where the answering machine glowed,
showing a single message had been left at some point in time.
“Let
me check this, in case it's important...”
She
said to Taj, who leaned against the shut door, his hands tucked
behind him.
Mashing
the button a loud beep emitted, before her mother's soft, accented
voice filled the hall,
“Arabella,
you're going to have to fend for yourself tonight, since Aiden is
spending the night at the Wongs. Your father and I are joining the
Biederhoffs for Bridge this evening. We'll be back very late. Just
charge something to one of the takeout places, Dear. Love you!”
Another
beep sounded, leaving the hall in silence once again.
Almost.
With
the machine off, Arabella could very plainly hear the heavy,
distressed breathing coming from behind her.
Why,
Taj was breathing so hard, he was practically wheezing!
Looking
to him, Arabella was more than a little shocked to find, than in the
incredibly short span it had taken for her mother's message to play,
Taj had already begun the process of undressing.
Gone
was his plaid shirt, now suspended from the hook beside her purse,
the white tee underneath, which had been impeccably tucked into his
jeans, had been pulled out, the silver Batman symbol buckle on his
belt, obscured for the first time that day.
His
Nikes had also been removed and he stood in a pair of plain black
socks.
His
face remained in the same fixed expression, his eyes blazing with a
new fire of arousal through his hair.
“Taj?”
She
managed, the wheezing growing louder as he came to her, and
wordlessly was untying the flannel shirt that had hung from her waist
all the day.
It
was draped over his own, before he returned to her, dropping to his
knees, and undoing the laces of her pink Chucks.
Once
they were set neatly beside his Nikes, Taj spoke for the first time
since entering the Winston home,
“Socks
on or off?”
“Off--”
Arabella staggered as Taj removed her socks, revealing her toes, the
nails painted white to match her nails.
Back
on his feet, Taj took her by the hand, bringing it up to his mouth,
smooching after her the top of her hand, pointing out,
“The
stone in your mood ring is red...”
His
breath was so warm against her cool flesh.
“...red
means you're excited. Do I excite you, Arabella?”
His
eyes were dancing mischievously as he peered up at her.
Her
hand was kissed again.
“You
excite me.”
In
spite of her best efforts, Arabella's legs trembled giving away her
passions and Taj grinned, tugging her and draping an arm around her
waist, his thumb hooking into one of the unused belt loops.
Nuzzling
his face against hers, he whispered, sending shock waves all over and
through Arabella,
“Now
are we going to unleash this excitement all over the front hall, or
do you have some other place in mind?”
“My...my
room is at the top of the stairs...” She stuttered, and was pulled
along towards the grand staircase at the end of the hall, leading to
the second floor of the home.
Something
close to madness ensued once Arabella's bare and Taj's socked feet
hit the bottom step.
There
was a blur of kisses, embracing, fevered groping and lustful groaning
where neither was definitively sure what occurred, but by the time
the pair reached the top of the stairs, a trail of clothing lay
littered behind them.
In
addition to his socks, Taj wore a pair of boxers, barely clinging to
his slender hips, bearing tiny multicolored lighting bolts against a
black background.
Scarcely
peeking over the waist band was a shadow of dark curls,contrasting
his pale, gold-infused complexion, hinting at what laid past the
cheery fabric.
He
was so slim, yet toned, his arms and legs showing well-kept muscles,
as were he pecs, and the faint indentation of a six pack on his flat
abdomen.
Arabella
had been wearing a matching set of a push-up bra and low-rise
panties, but somewhere along the way the brassiere had been discarded
in the melee and only the panties, trimmed in tiny silk bows above
each thigh remained.
Taj
drifted behind her, pressing his warm, tender, heaving chest against
her back, the aroma of cedar and hazelnut tickling Arabella's
nostrils.
He
smelled so manly, felt it, looked it....
He
was breathing so heavily and erratically, it wasn't clear if he were
succumbing to arousal or succumbing to an asthma attack!
His
arms wrapped her, his hands finding their way onto her small, perky
bosom, squeezing after the little mounds of flesh. Braids brushed her
cheek as he buried his face in her neck, suckling and licking at her
perfumed skin.
They
were less than five feet from the open door of her bedroom.
Yet,
each time, Arabella tried to advance towards it, Taj would yank her
back.
“I...I
don't know if I can make it...Cutie...”
He
spoke into her shoulder, tongue flashing pink and swabbing it.
“My
fire's been lit from the second I laid eyes on you, Baby Bella...do
you know what it's like for a man to walk around for over six hours
with an out-of-control erection?”
Arabella's
eyes, which had been blissfully shut snapped wide open at the
revelation.
Erection?
He'd...he'd
been...hard...all day?
Because
of her?
“I
see your bed...” He huffed, and a hand extended, pointing out
the canopied bed draped in ecru lace and quilted lilac comforter.
“...I want to be in your bed.”
Brushing
past Arabella, she saw Taj was completely nude, save those infernal
socks, walking into her room, his buttocks, high, rounded and
compact, wiggling with each step.
Dizziness
overwhelmed Arabella.
She
was a butt type of girl and would have never known Taj's ass was
built like that, the way his clothing had all but swallowed him up.
Reaching
the foot of the bed, he paused and looked back over his shoulder at
her expectantly.
“Arabella!”
Using
the same force and bass he had when yelling at his brothers, Taj
beckoned Arabella, and obediently, she jogged to him, ready to
fulfill his any and every whim.
*
* *
“...ugh!...ugh!...ugh!..Oh
my God!...Goddamn!”
Taj
burbled, face contorting, clutching one of the many throw pillows
decorating Arabella's bed to his chest, dampened and shining with
beads of sweat.
Another
had already been ripped to shreds, its fluffy interior spilling out
onto the carpet.
“Hell...aw,
Hell...Don't...Don't Stop...!”
Taj
would have come across much louder, had it not been for the makeshift
gag he had imposed on himself, balling Arabella's panties and jamming
them so deeply into his mouth, only one of the thigh bows were
visible past his clenched and grinding teeth.
Further
down the bed, Arabella, wholly nude as her partner, huddled on her
knees at his side, a violently scarlet, engorged mass clasped in her
hands, glistening from a generous application of Johnson's Baby Oil.
Lazily
spilled droplets shimmered in the poof of curls encompassing his
groin and gracing the muscular thighs, flexing and flapping as it
seemed in his ecstasy, Taj couldn't decide if he wanted to leave them
open or not.
Hands
moving slickly up and down, a shaft which seemed at least a foot
long, if not more—no wonder his clothing had been worn so
baggily, concealing an anaconda like that—Arabella tossed her hair
out of her face drawing pleasure from the way Taj was performing so
hard to her touch.
“Ugh!...Oh
my!...Shit!...Ugh!”
He
did look so good to her...
Every
inch of her was screaming for a taste of Taj.
“...Holy
Shit...Oh My God...Damn It...!”
Licking
after sparkly lips, Arabella bent to have a nibble.
“Ow!”
Instantly,
Taj's hand was on the back of her slender neck, crushing it with such
a ferocity, she could feel the metal of his ring digging between her
vertebrae.
The
pillow bounced to the floor, as Taj used his other hand to pull the
saliva drenched undergarment from his mouth and flick it across the
room.
“I
told you: do not suck my dick...”
He
reminded her darkly, grip finally loosening and slipping down her
smooth back.
POP!
Arabella
grimaced as he slapped her buttock in retaliation.
“...don't
make me say it again...”
“I'm
sorr--”
The
bed shifted as Taj pulled himself up into a seated position, his hand
gripping her bicep and he pulled her closer to speak off into her
ear.
“I've
been wanting you all day...and I want to make it last as long as
possible.”
His
hand came up abruptly and gave Arabella a shove to face so hard, if
she hadn't grabbed his arm, she'd have fallen off onto the floor.
“Do
you have to be so damn rough?” She cried, grabbing a handful of his
braids, first yanking him forward the shoving him back.
“Yes!”
Arabella's
neck was clutched again and she was dragged to him.
“...I
like it that way.”
His
mouth covered hers for a split second, then pulled away long enough
to encourage,
“You'll
learn to like it too, okay?”
He
paused eyes going over the rosy face, and Arabella was shook.
“Say
okay!”
“Okay!
Okay—Taj! Okay!”
She
gasped and as a reaction, put her hand up to backhand him.
Her
tiny wrist was in his hand with Taj yanking her down across his lap,
him leaning over her, eyes wide and bright as he threw his head ,
clearing his hair from his face.
“You're
feisty, and I like that.” He informed her, other hand gripping
after her chin, his trimmed nails digging into her flesh.
“But
I'm in control right now...and I can't have you
fighting everything I do...if you want me to make you the happiest
girl in California. Get me?”
Halfway
frightened, halfway in love, Arabella bobbed her head and eyes
shutting, Taj pressed his lips to hers, embracing her.
How
strange he was.
How
very strange.
One
second he seemed ready to emulate Ike Turner, and now he was cradling
her as a newborn infant.
“Are
you crazy?” Arabella hadn't intended to say that out loud.
“Yeah...I
am crazy....” Taj laughed, bumping his nose against hers.
“Crazy
about you.”
The
bottle of baby oil, set aside on the bedside table appeared in his
hand.
“Are...are
these sheets custom-made?” He questioned, looking not at her, but
at the bottle, half the oil gone, playfully sloshing it back and
forth.
“No--”
“Good...then
I'll replace them if they're ruined.”
He
was unscrewing the cap.
“Wait
a minute! This is real satin--”
It
was too late.
Taj
was pouring the clear, viscous liquid onto her hairless, little
pussy.
“Damn
it this was a six hundred—Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!”
Arabella,
gearing up to argue fell back, Taj's hand fondling after her.
“I'll
replace it.” He repeated through grit teeth, reclining
slightly, dispersing the oil over her private area and against her
thighs.
His
hands were so warm!
Why
were his hands so warm?
“Taj!”
Arabella
started to rear up, and instead fell back swiftly as Taj, with both
hands, coaxed the plump, inner folds away, exposing the fine, swollen
little bulb of her clit.
“Taj!
Please! Taj—No!”
She
begged, two of his long fingers disappearing inside.
“Yes!
Yes! Yes! You know you want this...”
Taj
taunted, hovering over her menacingly, his fingers slipping back and
forth, Taj enjoying the feeling of her expanding and contracting
around his digits.
“...if
you didn't, you wouldn't have brought me home with you...”
“Stop!”
Arabella
nails scraping along the flesh of his back tried to grab after his
shoulders, but Taj jerked out of her grasp, the middle finger on his
left hand rubbing after her little bulb.
“Ah!
Taj—Taj don't do that!”
She
whimpered and a nasty smirk took his face.
“Why?”
He teased, mashing down on the sensitive piece of flesh, eliciting a
shriek from her.
“You
gonna come? You gonna come for yout Taj? You gonna come for me,
Arabella?”
Mouth
pursing he pecked after her little nipples, her small bosom bouncing
and quivering as Arabella trembled and keened.
“Yes—stop!
Stop, please!”
She
gasped, the blood pulsing through her, her hair standing on end,
hazelish eyes widened in distress.
“Silly
girl...”
Taj's
tongue ran along her bottom lip and he kissed after her.
“Don't
you know 'come' is what I plan to make you do!”
“Son
of a--”
Arabella
screamed, Taj all but ripping his fingers from her.
“Damn
you--”
His
hand was over her mouth as Taj stretched out, laying atop her.
“You
cursing me or singing Prince to me?” He guffawed, eyes dancing
through his braids at her.
The
light eyes flared back at him, brows first furrowing, then raising in
alarm.
“Hmmm!
Hmmm! Hmmm!”
She
cried into his damp, sticky palm, smelling of her.
The
tumescent head of his penis was rubbing around...so close.
Too
close.
“Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!”
At
the sudden rushing of the full length of him mercilessly into her,
all Arabella could do was scream.
“Awww,
fuck!” Taj cried, his head falling back, sucking in his bottom
lip, his furred crotch coming in contact with Arabella's bald one,
signifying they were completely connected.
“Fuck...feel
so good...”
Hand
quivering on his chest, over his heart, Taj sat a long moment,
staring down at Arabella.
Neither
moved.
Neither
breathed.
Then,
his face was close to hers.
Right
above hers, his elbows supporting his upper body as he nestled on
her, eyes never leaving hers, mouth agape, that infernal wheezing
returning.
“...Eeee...Eeee....Eeee...Eeee...”
Large
hands framed her face lovingly.
“Why
are you so beautiful?”
The
question seemed so out of place, Arabella had to blink.
And
lost any chance of ever answering his inquiry.
SLAP!
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
He
we plowing away at her,willfully, without abandon, laying into her so
hard, a clapping noise was audible.
And
yet Arabella was unable to make a sound.
All
she could do was cling to him, nails ripping up flesh, several
scratches oozing blood.
Taj's
mouth was taking hers, his tongue plunging as deeply down her throat
as his cock was into her stretching, pleading little snatch.
SLAP!
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
“Damn...you're
so good to me...you're so good to me...oh...OH!”
Shifting
his weight, Taj had his hands under Arabella's knees, pressing them
down, giving him full, uninterrupted access to the little treasure at
the base of her torso.
“AH!
Oh my God! Ah! Ah! Taj! Ah! AH! AH! AH! AH!”
Arabella
found her voice, shrieking with each thrust of Taj's strong,
responsive, controlled hips.
SLAP!
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
“Taj!
Oh my God! What are you--” She cried as he fell forward on her,
hips thrusting wildly.
His
head alongside hers, his cheek moist, flaming and soft against her
own.
“Ugh!
Ugh! Ugh! Oh God! God! Yeah! Yeah! Ugh!”
His
voice dropped both in pitch and volume.
“Oh
Taj...” Arabella, sighed, imitating him, her hands taking his
face and watching him.
Hearing
him grunt, watching how deep his complexion became from his exertion,
how the droplets of sweat, the few that escaped being absorbed by his
braids were trickling down the sides of that glorious, gleaming
visage.
He
was so handsome, round cheeks bouncing.
“Oh
my God...Oh...Oh...Oh...”
Taj
grabbed her hands and was pulling them around himself, placing them
on his plump, sinewy, sturdy buttocks, making sure she gripped his
other cheeks.
His
hands slipped from her knees and were kneading her breasts moist and
pliable to the touch.
Suddenly,
the fervent pace at which he had been grinding and working away at
her slowed, a groan popping from his mouth.
“Baby...”
The
lengthy damp shaft was eased carefully from the now gaping little
slit, and quickly, Taj moved up along her body sitting directly on
her abdomen.
The
hunk of meat was laid between her breasts and it by the way his hips
went back to pivoting it was clear he planned to finish on her chest.
Arabella
attempted to press her tits together, around him, and found herself
so exhausted, she could only lie there, watching Taj.
Taj,
gripping his own chest, tweaking the small, brown nipples to threw
his head backwards, mouth pursing once more, and he growled, the peak
of arousal radiating from him like a floodlight.
“Here...here...here...Ah...here...”
He wheezed, nostrils flaring, going crimson all over.
“Here
it comes....Oh...Fuck...Here it comes...”
The
bed squeaked as Taj thrust harder.
“UGH!”
There
was a warm, thick splashing against Arabella's chin, and above her
Taj was swearing so softly she could only make out half the
obscenities.
“Oh
God....God, yes...Oh....”
His
right hand clutched his girth and with a few slow swipes he'd milked
himself to completion, leaving a puddle on Arabella's throat that ran
down and was starting to pull beneath her.
Breathing
heavily, and laboriously, Taj scrunched down and pressed his forehead
against hers.
“You
were so good to me...thank you...”
He
whispered, reverting to the sweet man Arabella had met that morning.
“You're
welcome.” She giggled as he unfolded, wrapping his arms around
her and laying his head on her bosom.
“Thank
you, Taj...”
A
Few Hours Later
“...sometimes
I think if it weren't for the Golden Wok, I'd have starved to death
long ago. Most takeout places are closed by nine, and a delivery
after eleven? Forget it...”
Arabella
tittered, squeezing a bit of Duck Sauce from a small plastic packet
onto her egg roll.
Bringing
the fried treat to her mouth, she stopped short of taking a bite, her
attention drawn to Taj.
Like
her, he was seated on the floor, on the opposite side of the glass
and marble coffee table in the center of her living room, almost
fully dressed except for her sneakers and plaid over shirt.
And
just like her, he had a plate of Beef Broccoli over Steamed Rice and
two Vegetable Egg Rolls.
But
while the plate before Arabella was close to being demolished, a
great deal of food remained in front of him.
Instead
of eating, Taj sat, staring off, past Arabella, a finger placed
thoughtfully to his lips.
Honestly,
he hadn't made a sound since Arabella had called him to come eat.
“Is...is
something wrong?” She wondered, his silence starting to nag at her.
Slowly
the eyes drifted and focused on her.
“No....it's
just...” Taj hesitated and picked up one of the wooden chopsticks
beside his plate.
“What?”
Arabella nibbled at a crisp floret.
“Well...I
have something to tell you...and I probably should have told you
before I even came here...” Taj sighed, head lowering with remorse.
A
wave of worry washed over Arabella, and gulping timorously, her voice
cracked as she asked,
“Do...do
you already have a girlfriend?”
The
last thing she needed was to be the “other” woman again!
And
that one time she hadn't known she was being two-timed until it was
too late!
“Lord
no...” Taj shook his head, mouth twisting to the side. “It's
something about me...about who I am.”
“Who
you are?” Arabella's eyes narrowed, suspiciously, and again an
imaginative mind was painting Taj as a young drug kingpin, with
millions in “nose candy” moving up and down the coast covertly.
“Who
are you?”
His
hands folded on the tabletop and he sighed again, shifting nervously.
“Taj
is my nickname...” He began. “My real name is Tariano Adaryll--”
“I
know that. Your business card said that!” Arabella's eyes rolled
with reckless abandoned and she polished off what was left of her egg
roll.
“--Jackson.”
Taj completed his thought.
“My
name is Tariano Adaryll Jackson, Junior.”
His
point went so far over Arabella's head it ricocheted off the ceiling,
with her laughing,
“So
you're named after your father. That's fine. My little brother, Aiden
is named after our father too.
Not
exactly a true junior because his middle name is my mother's father's
name but you get the idea.”
Arabella
fell quiet when she noticed Taj staring at her.
“Do
you know who Tariano Adaryll Jackson, Senior is?”
“I'm
sure I don't.” Arabella reached for another packet of Duck Sauce.
“I'm
sure you do.” Taj stated sullenly. “My father goes by a nickname
too—Tito.”
Opening
the packet, Arabella had meant to be flippant,
“Alright,
so your father is Tito Jack...”
Then
the gravity of Taj's words struck home and Duck Sauce ran down her
hand and spilled on her plate.
“Tito
Jackson?” She gasped, chest going concave as the air rushed
from it, throwing her other egg roll onto the plate with a clatter.
“Your
father is Tito Jackson? Of the Jackson Five? The
singer? Get out of here!”
Throwing
her head back, she crowed at the beams crisscrossing the ceiling.
“You
expect me to believe that you're...a Jackson?”
She
snorted like a hog and fell back against the couch behind her
continuing to bust up.
“What
are you gonna tell me next? That Michael Jackson is your uncle?
Janet's your aunt? Ha! Ha! Ha! Oh my God! A Jackson! This is too, too
much--”
“Arabella.”
Her
name was called so coolly, so calmly, for some reason, it sobered her
right up.
Sitting
forward once more, she saw that Taj had produced a leather wallet,
the plastic insert reserved for photographs dangling.
From
one of the little pockets, a picture was plucked and extended.
In
the photo, Arabella could make out Tito Jackson indeed, looking very
dapper, yet casual in a black suit, sans a tie, surrounded by three
boys, one on each side of the smallest of the three seated in a chair
on front of him, also wearing suits in shades of black and grey.
It
took a moment to connect that the photograph was several years old
and the three boys looking back at her seriously, were Taj and the
two brothers he kept giving the brush-off to earlier in the day, TJ
and Taryll.
That's
when it all came flooding back to Arabella.
How
Taj had seemed so overly zealous when questioning her about her
allegiance to Michael Jackson, ensuring she was a fan and thought
only the best of him.
Making
certain she didn't believe any of the tabloid trash written about
him.
How
he said he had all of Michael's albums.
How
he said Michael had saved his life, how he felt close to Michael,
they were almost like family...
How
in the parking lot of the mall he'd said his brother would pick his
car up for him on the way back from Encino.
The
same Encino where Joseph and Katherine Jackson, the heads of the
entire musical dynasty had lived since the seventies!
“A
Jackson....you're really a Jackson?” Arabella was now wheezing,
with Taj crawling around the table to her and wrapping his arms
around her.
“Yes...”
Taj mumbled, pressing his lips against her forehead. “Does, does
that change things between us?”
Arabella
stared up at him a long moment.
He...he
was worried his lineage would put her off him? Really?
“No...why
should it? I liked you before I knew 'who' you were and I still do.”
“Do
you mean that? Really?” Taj wondered, rubbing at her back.
“I'm...I'm not rich like my uncle--”
“I'm
not a gold digger.” Arabella playfully punched his chin. “I do
work. I'm an amanuensis.”
“You're
a what?” Taj's brows shot up.
“A
secretary. It's a fancy word for secretary. I work at my father's
real estate office. I can pay my way if need be. Besides...”
Arabella
pulled Taj closer, sucking on his earlobe, confiding,
“I
care more about the man that owns the wallet, than what's in it.”
“That's
good...” He was tucking her hair behind her ears.
Leaning
down, he began whispering, and when he got done, all Arabella could
do was embrace him.
*
* *
One
Week Later
Seven
Springs Country Club
Pleasant
Grove, California
“...My
love...do you ever dream of...candy coated rain drops?...”
The
Grand Ballroom of the esteemed club was packed with close to five
hundred, sugar-fueled, hyper nine, ten, and eleven-year-old, all of
the children in the fifth grade at Pleasant Grove Preparatory Academy
had come out in droves for Aiden Winton's tenth birthday party.
Arabella's
parents had outdone themselves, carrying out the Oakland Raiders to a
tee, the room having been transformed to resemble a football field,
complete with AstroTurf, goalposts and all.
On
a long table, a huge cake in the shape of a football was covered with
teeny Raiders action figures, and dangling from the ceiling were
black and silver balloons and streamers.
Amid
the wriggling mass doing what they claimed was dancing, was the
birthday boy himself, resplendent in a miniature version of a Raiders
uniform.
Arabella,
hovering by the snack table over flowing with cheeseburgers, hot
dogs, nachos and more sodas than available at the Superbowl, grinned
to herself, tilting a Diet Coke to her lips smugly, eyes locked on
her brother.
If
only he knew. If they only all knew.
She
smiled harder as her parents, hand-in-hand appeared at Aiden's side
and despite his embarrassed protests began dancing, drawing laughter
from the other children, and their parents, hovered just outside
around an open bar.
“Sugar.”
An
arm draped her shoulders and lips smooched her cheek.
Taj,
in a Raiders tee and jeans smiled up at her and the smile was
returned.
“Is
he--?” She started and he nodded violently. “You'd better get up
there!”
“You
got it!” She pecked his mouth, both cackling, as Arabella, turned
and sprinted across the room and up onto the stage running the full
length of the room where the DJ stood spinning records.
Pulling
the microphone down, she interrupted the festivities.
“Pardon
me...pardon me.”
She
waved to the crowd turning to gaze up on her.
“I'm
looking for my little brother, Aiden...I do believe he's the Birthday
Boy...Aiden, come up here please!”
In
an instant he came dashing and was by her side.
Throwing
her arm around him, she grinned, questioning,
“Are
you having a good birthday, Bro?”
“Yes,
Sis!” He threw his arms up triumphantly, the crowd hooting and
clapping.
At
the stage's edge, she could make out Taj, flanked by her parents.
“You
got a lot of presents. A brand hew bicycle, a Sega Genesis, a bunch
of games, even an autographed photo of the Oakland Raider--”
“Raiders
For Life!”
Someone
screamed in the rear of the crowd and more noise ensued.
“Did
you like the gift I got for you? All that Michael Jackson stuff?”
Arabella
questioned and saw a glow come to her sibling's face.
“Heck
yeah! That was awesome! Thank you Arabella!”
“Now
you got the new Michael Jackson CD, History...” She glanced
at Taj to find him nodding so hard his hair was standing up.
“...what's
your favorite song? Your favorite Michael Jackson song?”
The
microphone was held underneath her brother's mouth.
Right
away he had an answer.
“Billie
Jean!” The boy's eyes sparkled excitedly. “It's so funky--”
As
if on cue, the DJ began spinning the track, the bass-heavy pop song
blasting from the speakers.
At
first the children on the floor and even some of the half-in parents
started grooving, singing along a few even attempting Michael
Jackson's trademark Moonwalk step.
“You
like this song?” Arabella laughed and her brother bobbed his head
hard.
“Yeah!'
“Can
you Moonwalk?” Arabella looked over his head at the curtain just
offstage, trembling.
“No,
I wish I could--”
“Perhaps
I could teach you, Aiden!”
A
new, falsetto voice announced over the speakers and the off-key
singing turned to screams as the curtains parted and and a figure
moved slickly, clad in a black, sequinned jacket, black ,
ankle-length tuxedo pants, white socks encrusted with crystals, and
black loafers.
A
hand, in a single white glove, overtaken with more crystals was
holding a fedora down over the short, silken strands of ebony hair
falling into the taught, alabaster face.
Taking
him by the arm, Arabella swung her brother around.
Over
the raucous din, she could make out her brother crying at the top of
his lungs.
“MICHAEL
JACKSON! IT'S MICHAEL JACKSON!”
In
front of Aiden, the King of Pop, spun a good four times, popping
effortlessly up onto his toes, as Aiden, arms opened, ran and
embraced his idol.
“Michael!
Michael! It's Michael! I love you Michael! Oh my God! Michael!”
The
poor boy had tears in his eyes he was so overcome.
“Hap—hap--Happy
Birthday Aiden! I love you more!”
Michael
hooted, petting at his back, beaming down on him, blissfully, as more
children stampeded, rushing to Michael, hugging him, grabbing at his
hands and declaring they loved him.
Michael
hat came off and was placed on Aiden's head, the boy shrieking even
louder in glee.
Several
little girls laid out cold on the floor in the melee, their parents
rushing to try to revive them.
As
the wait staff and security struggled with the teeny fans in an
effort to restore order and peel them off the superstar, some
throwing outright hissy fits, Arabella felt arms wrapping her waist,
Taj's head on her shoulder.
“If
they ever set your uncle free, I want to thank him for making my
brother the happiest guy in California.” She chuckled as her cheek
was kissed.
Taj
corrected Arabella, as she lovingly reached up, tugging one of his
ears.
“Aiden's
the second happiest.”
