I know that in several past stories, I’ve often teamed Michael Jackson with his older brother Marlon. And I know it is a form of nepotism, as Marlon is my next favorite Jackson. But after a while, all those Thriller/Victory Tour Era stories have grown stale. For quite a while I wanted to do a story with both men slightly older…far enough away from the aforementioned era so that Michael’s appearance will have changed. It took quite a while and quite a bit of thought, but I do believe that my efforts have resulted in an erotica that will be sure to delight whomever reads it. Enjoy.
“The Listening”
A Michael Jackson Erotic Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave
(Featuring Marlon Jackson)
Beverly Hills, California
September, 1987
“…I still say that skirt is too damn revealing…”
Slumping in the passenger seat of that white Ferrari, I made a noise that was a mix of an exasperated groan and a curse word.
Was he really doing this now? Right now? Was Michael really bugging out about my skirt--again?
My outfit had been the only topic on his thin, highly glossed lips for the last half hour, ever since we had left his home in the San Fernando Valley, destined for his brother’s house in the Hills.
To be perfectly honest, I saw nothing wrong with my ensemble that consisted of a plain white tee-shirt, grey denim miniskirt that popped with bright green accents in the form of a scarf at my throat, belt at my waist and flats on my feet.
Tossing my hair over my shoulder as I turned to gaze at him, I pointed out sternly,
“It isn’t like you haven’t seen this skirt before, Michael Jackson…you’re the one that picked it out when we went shopping last week, and charged it to your Gold Card.”
Tilting his head back, and all the sharp, angled features of his somewhat androgynous face squinching as though he were in pain, Michael explained in a low tone,
“I only saw it on the hanger Eliza. I didn’t know it was THAT short until I saw it on your body. A few inches shorter and it could be a belt itself.”
“Well, excuse the hell out of me for wanting to look nice for you when we went out--” I started and was cut off by Michael crying out louder,
“We ain’t out! You see that--”
He was pointing a long, thin finger at the stately, Spanish style mansion a few yards away, looking warm in the waning twilight as night was starting to fall.
“--that’s my brother’s house. That’s not Club MTV, Eliza!”
“Whose problem is that? You had all the time to ask me to try on the skirt in the store. No, you liked it and handed me the plastic. Deal with it!” I retorted hotly, opening the door--up, rather than out as that was how Ferraris were made--and slipped from the vehicle, slamming the door.
I faintly heard Michael screaming in anguish as I started away, hands shoved into pockets of my skirt. I didn’t figure it was so short, I mean all my bits and pieces were covered. I wasn’t mooning or anything vulgar.
That was Michael Jackson. He was fairly conservative and we had generally butted heads more than once, over the course of our year long relationship in regards to my clothing.
I hardly listened at him. I was twenty-one years old, with a body I had worked tirelessly to keep in shape, mostly for his benefit. I could dress it to show it off as I pleased.
And I didn’t’ ever see Michael yanking the credit cards I used to purchase such items away from me.
Hell, he was only eight years older than me, he could have loosened up some.
Stepping onto the inlaid mosaic tile overhang that served as the porch, I heard a second car door slam and the distinct squeaking that was Michael Jackson’s omnipresent penny loafers.
Moments later he appeared at my side, one hand shoved into the pocket of his dark rinsed jeans, the other picking at the buttons on the front of his shirt, that was a mess of muted blues and golds in an Aztec pattern.
Chocolate, heavily lined eyes squinted at me around a long black curl dancing between then.
“I still think its too much just to sit here and listen to records. You got no one to impress here--”
I pressed my own fingertip to his lips.
“I wanted to impress you.” I admitted, knowing full well Michael thought of my legs as one of my best features.
“You could impress me in a gunnysack…” He spoke, voice softer around my finger before kissing it.
Smiling as he placed an arm around my hips and pulled me closer, I took my hand from his mouth and mashed the lighted doorbell in the shape of a “J” for Jackson.
It had barely buzzed inside before one of the two, smooth oak doors opened.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Came the cheerful decree as Marlon Jackson appeared.
A year older than Michael, Marlon’s appearance was…a bit more masculine than his brother’s.
Marlon was about three inches shorter than Michael, with a thicker, muscular figure. He was also a few shades darker than Michael, with skin more on the order of a pecan brown, as Michael was a bit on the bronze side.
His features were also natural. His hair was arranged into a thick flat top, and his face boasted a flatter, wider nose--Michael had had a couple of rhinoplasties to refine his in the late seventies, before we had ever met--and broad, plump lips, that were offset by a pencil thin mustache.
But like Michael, Marlon had chosen to wear a loud, geometric print shirt of black and white with black pleated slacks. While Michael’s shirt had only the top two buttons loosened, Marlon’s had five, exposing part of his defined chest and the gold chain circling his throat.
Honey-colored eyes danced with Marlon’s ever present joking and glee, that never seemed to dim. (Even as he had finalized a divorce from his wife of ten years just that January.)
“Come on in…glad you could make it!” He laughed waving us in, and I couldn’t help noticing his left hand possessed a tan line where his wedding band had once been.
“Of course.” Michael chuckled as Marlon shook his hand and bent to kiss my cheek.
“Now you know, I’ve been trying to put together my own album, since yours has been such a runaway success.” Marlon pointed out and both men chuckled heartily.
Michael and Marlon, along with their older brother Jermaine owned a popular nightclub in Hollywood and from time to time they’d perform on its stage.
Michael’s songs had been so well liked, he’d put together an album entitled “Bad” that had now, just by word of mouth, gone triple platinum in the last few months since its release. And was starting to get the attention of mainstream junkets.
Marlon, drawing a following of his own, was now also planning a release.
(Jermaine had had a minor hit with a song called “Let’s Get Serious” at the start of the decade, but hadn’t seen any other success, and resigned to devote himself to the promotion of the club.)
“Yeah, I’ve been interested in hearing what you’ve come up with.” Michael commented as Marlon started to lead us through his home.
I had always liked it. Done in shades of gold and white, with stunning Art Deco touches, the result of an extensive gutting and remodel Marlon had over seen himself since the ending of his marriage. I never knew what caused it to end and Marlon refused to speak about it.
He never even mentioned his ex-wife, Suzanne by name anymore. It was like he completely erased her from his life altogether. The only hints of her to be seen was in the few photographs he had of his three children scattered here and there. His two daughters looked shockingly like her, while his son resembled him. Suzanne shared custody of them with him.
(Author’s Note: I really like Marlon’s real wife, Carol, and I like that they’ve been together nearly forty years. So in my stories, all of Marlon’s fictional wives/girlfriends/exes will always have a different name. Out of respect to Carol.)
“Well, I’ve already got four songs completed. I’m planning on doing eight or nine. I wanted to get you guy’s response on the first four, and any suggestions to improve them.”
Just off the kitchen, we were shown a golden door, that led down to the basement that Marlon had converted into a home recording studio.
The studio was a departure from the rest of the house, a showcase of shades in black and grey.
As we neared the main console, where three chairs had been arranged, I noticed an oversized portrait of Marlon and his children in showy and fashion-forward black leather ensembles, looking down on us. (Who could miss it?)
“Have a seat…” It was clear Marlon was excited for us to hear his compositions as he didn’t sit as Michael and I did.
Instead he moved to the console, which reminded me of the starship Enterprise, it had so many gadgets and doodads hanging from it. Michael also had his own studio, but out of fear of being strangled to death and my body kicked post-mortem, I left it alone.
“This is the first song I completed…” He informed us as he fiddled with a few buttons. “It’s called ‘Baby Tonight.’ ”
As the sounds of a thumping, bass-centric dance tune began playing, Michael was automatically swaying in his seat, as Marlon, still standing was tapping his foot and began popping his fingers in beat.
“…nothing can go wrong…cause I’m with you tonight…” Marlon sang along to his own vocal, which was a few octaves deeper than Michael’s tenor singing voice.
“This is great! I’m feeling this! I like it!” Michael had to shout as Marlon turned the volume louder, the music causing that portrait to rattle on its peg.
I also liked the music. It hinted a bit a pop, a bit a New Jack Swing and I found my toes tapping along with it.
Was there anything the Jacksons couldn’t do?
Up until then, I had only heard Marlon live at the club, and listening at him on the recording, he did seem to show promise as pop singer. Perhaps his album was going to be a runaway smash also.
“This breakdown is killer!” Michael was fairly screaming as he leapt to his feet, as a pumping drum beat was playing so hard, I could feel each thump in my chest.
Standing side by side, Michael and Marlon burst into a synchronized dance. Legs open and wiggling, (think Smooth Criminal) heads wagging, the men were swept up in the music.
The two of them remained up and putting on an impromptu performance as the three other tracks, all made for the dance floor, “To Get Away”, “Life” (Author’s Note: “Life” is my fave Marlon Jackson anthem) and a slower, but still booty-shaking ballad, “Don’t Go”.
“Aaow!” Marlon screeched throwing his head back as the final song came to an end. Beside him, Michael slickly popped up on his toes and hung there suspended a few seconds before landing back on his soles.
As the two of them, a bit breathless embraced each other playfully, I jumped up, applauding happily.
“I take it you enjoyed the music too, Eliza…” Marlon snorted as he bowed graciously. “Thank you.”
“Nah, it’s awful--Of course I liked it! It’s awesome--You’re welcome.” I started and was outspoken by Michael hooting.
“Man, if this is marketed just right, you will become an even more wealthy man!”
Throwing an arm around Michael’s shoulder, Marlon’s next statement was probably meant to be heard between of them only, but in his breathlessness, his voice was amplified.
“Lord knows I need it. After alimony, child support and the remodel, my wallet is pretty fucking thin these days…that bitch wrung me dry…”
There was a moment of silence and for a brief instant, I saw a dark cloud of rage come to Marlon’s face.
And just that quickly it was gone, replaced by a smile again.
Placing a hand on his belly, he announced,
“I don’t know about y’all, but all this moving and going on has made me hungry. I’ve got some food in the fridge if you’d like some. I fried a whole bunch of chicken and made some potato salad. You’re welcome to it.”
Whether or not Michael Jackson was hungry, I knew that the offering of fried chicken was something he wouldn’t turn down. I knew him all too well.
And many times I had watched him pick an entire bird clean with nothing but his fingers and a bottle of Tabasco.
By the way his head was bobbing and sending his hair flying, I guess I was eating fried chicken that night.
“I made plenty. Got out a big cast iron pot and went kind of crazy. Got carried away…” Marlon was admitting as we started back up the stairs towards the main level of the house and I couldn’t help myself.
“Did you really cook the food yourself? I mean you actually threw the bird in hot grease and dressed the spuds?” I wondered staring up at him awe.
Marlon was…a bachelor…and he was doing his own cooking?
Stroking his mustache as he got to the door and held it open for me, Marlon confirmed,
“Yes, I actually kind of like to cook. I make stuff I like all the time. I also make some grilled steak and fish and gumbo…”
While he was rattling off dishes, I turned my gaze from him towards Michael.
And saw that he was already looking at me.
Waving a long finger, he cautioned, his lips curling in a smile,
“Don’t start, Eliza. Staring at me with those big, Bette Davis eyes don’t mean anything. I know I’m all thumbs in the kitchen and can’t make toast without having to call 9-1-1!”
I doubled over as Marlon cackled.
It was true. Michael was so bad in the kitchen, I got nervous if he did more in it than open a can of soda. (Once he’d managed to cut his hand doing that!)
“Y’all sit down! Ha!” Marlon stumbled towards his gilded fridge as Michael and I took a seat at his marble topped island, made of clear glass blocks back lit with an amber colored light.
Almost magically, a large platter loaded with crisp chicken pieces appeared, followed by a bowl red-skinned potato salad, my favorite kind.
Even a pitcher of iced tea.
Plates and silverware danced out with tumblers and before long, everyone had heaping helpings sitting before them.
As I began eating, I was quite surprised by just how good the food Marlon had made was. Even though it was so simple, the sheer quality was on par with something that could have come from a restaurant.
It was absolutely delicious.
Chicken perfectly seasoned, juicy, and slightly spicy with cayenne pepper. Potato salad, tender and fluffy, chilled just right.
(Author’s note: I cannot eat HOT potato salad! It makes me sick! It has to be chilled!)
Michael wasn’t coming up for air, five bare bones already littering his plate, sixth piece disappearing in his hands.
“Marlon, I gotta tell you, this is some great food.” I patted at his shoulder as he reached over me and pried a bottle of hot sauce from his brother.
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t have a girlfriend hiding somewhere who cooked this?” I teased and poked another sliver of chicken in my mouth.
A shy smile crossed Marlon greasy lips and he shrugged,
“Eliza, believe me. I cooked this myself, girl. Hell, I’m single now, if I didn’t cook, I’d die of starvation! Plus when I have the kids, they‘ve gotta eat!”
After that comment, the table grew quiet, with everyone eating and enjoying the meal.
Sipping on my tea--a bit sweeter than I generally took it--I couldn’t really help myself. I found my eyes kept drifting to Marlon Jackson, who was packing potato salad away like it was going out of style the next day.
It seemed rather strange to me how Marlon, nearly eight months out of a settled divorce was still single. How he hadn’t made a move to have a girlfriend, or a string of them.
(Jermaine had been married and divorced twice in the year I had been involved with Michael, and last I checked, had five different girlfriends. How he kept them all straight and from killing him, I‘ll never know.)
Marlon was an exceedingly handsome man. He made pleasant company, joked all the time, always had a smile on his face. He had good features and once his album took off, he’d have more money in his pockets.
He was a catch if there ever was one--
My train of thought was broken as Michael’s hand came past me, digging into the plate of chicken and removing two drumsticks.
Michael!
I stared at him as he bit into a drumstick, humming he was so happy at the flavor.
Michael was a little sexy thing himself, even with a piece of meat stuck in his front teeth.
His softer delicate features. His shy voice. Those big, somber eyes.
Trim, perfect physique.
I was a lucky woman. Being in that room, right then, with both of those insanely gorgeous men.
I was in Heaven and I was still alive.
I knew I was alive, as I was warm and tingling all over with a zealous chill.
A smug grin touched my face.
What could I have done with those two--
“Marlon…” I tried to shut my mind down as Michael spoke up. “Have you shot a cover photo for you album yet?”
“Nah.” Marlon, mouth full of potatoes was shaking his head. “I’m looking into it--calling around.”
That was just like the two of them; talking business while I was virtually going up in flames.
Men never did notice important things.
Shaking a half-massacred drummie , Michael replied,
“Well, I know a few people. Ina Lawson, Julio Mendoza, Lulu Johnson, Ryan--oh shit!”
Michael never finished his statement as the chicken he had been swinging slipped from his fingertips and fell into his lap.
Picking the meat up and tossing it back on his plate, Michael grumbled something about having to clean his jeans before the grease stained it.
Seconds later, he was gone, and off in the distance, I could hear water running in the bathroom.
It was then it dawned on me…I was alone.
With Marlon Jackson.
Self control was a bitch and I was losing it, finding my eyes on Michael’s brother once more.
Sparks flying from places on me I couldn’t even see.
He was only two feet away, calmly tearing a chicken thigh apart, dipping the meat into a puddle of hot sauce on his plate before consuming it. Those sumptuous lips of his bouncing as he chewed.
Staring off into space as he must have had his mind on his album.
In an instance, he glanced up at me and our eyes met.
I felt every hair on the back of my neck stand up as those light orbs washed over me.
He had such beautiful eyes. I hadn’t seen anyone else with eyes like that.
Ever. Marlon was the only one in his family with eyes like that.
“What’cha staring at?” He wondered, scooping more salad onto his plate. “I got something stuck on my face?”
“No…” I shook my head and tossed my hair, a nervous reaction. “It’s just kind of amazing to me, how a man as good looking as you is still single. Why you don’t have a gang of chicks at your disposal. You know, like Jermaine.”
I could tell the man was flattered by the way his cheeks went rosy, and sprinkling his salad with salt, he guessed,
“I suppose I haven’t found the right woman yet, Eliza.”
Forking the salad in his mouth, I noticed a small cube of potato missed and landed in his chest.
“Damn…” Marlon cursed softly and picked up his napkin to remove it.
I was crazy. I was feeling crazy.
Hot, bothered and crazy.
Tingly…that tingly feeling had never left me.
I was going nuts with…with arousal.
Over my boyfriend’s brother.
The whole situation was crazy. I was crazy.
I had to have been for what I did next.
Leaning over, I reached and removed the potato for him.
“Gee, thanks--” Marlon’s jaw dropped as I took the potato and popped it into my mouth, eating it, taking extra care to make a show, almost sensually licking my fingertips.
As I had wanted, his face took on a look of utter surprise and as he stammered nonsensically, I slipped off my stool and approached him.
Pried the napkin from his hand.
He was still sputtering as I used it to dab at the little spot the mayonnaise dressing had left on the center of his chest.
Tossing my hair again, I let my eyes meet Marlon’s as I bent and kissed the hot flesh of his chest.
“Whoa! Hey, what the hell you doing!” I was shoved back so hard, I smacked the fridge behind me. “You’re Michael’s girl dammit!”
Marlon hissed, eyes bugging in disbelief.
A sly curl coming to my face, I only gave the man a raising and falling of my shoulders.
“Thank God I got to that in time…” I stiffened slightly as Michael came sauntering back into the room. “I was gonna be mad if I ruined my Calvins. Got any more of that gospel bird?”
He questioned taking a his seat and looking to us eagerly. It was crystal clear he hadn’t seen or heard anything that happened in his absence.
Picking up another drumstick, I mouthed two words at Marlon, who still appeared bewildered at my behavior,
“Our secret.”
Then I placed the chicken on Michael’s plate where it was greedily snatched up.
Easing over to Michael , I began toying with his hair a moment.
On the other end of the island, Marlon managed to resume his eating.
Even if he was disturbed, he wasn’t letting that good food go to waste.
Taking a curl on the top of my sweetie’s head and wrapping it around my finger, his hair dressing coming off on my hands, I asked sweetly,
“Michael?”
Gnawing at the bare bone, like he was part schnauzer, I heard Michael grunt,
“Hmmm?”
Softening my voice to the point where I took on the sound of a child, I informed him,
“I have something I want to tell you…it’s important.”
Taking the time to look up from his plate, Michael was still quiet, but I saw one of his delicately thinned brows go up as if to say, “What?”
Staring down on him seriously, searching his face for a few seconds, I told my boyfriend rather frankly,
“I want to fuck your brother.”
Behind me there was a loud clattering as Marlon jumped up so quickly, he turned his stool over.
“Uh-uh! Hell to the nah! What the hell! That ain’t my idea Michael. That’s her, all her” He was shaking his head, hands up before him, doing his best to deflect any of the blame from himself. And probably ass-whipping that went along with it.
“That girl came on to me! You gotta believe me!”
Michael Jackson though, was cool, calm and collected, stopping eating only to advise,
“Alright, go ahead.”
The glasses on the counter shook as Marlon came tearing around me, shrieking,
“--the hell you mean ‘alright’? Your girlfriend just asked to have sex with me! I’m your goddamn BROTHER, man!”
Still undaunted by the strange severity of the situation, Michael, through a mouthful of salad declared matter-of-factly,
“She’s had the others.”
Snickering devilishly and running a hand through my hair as Marlon sucked his lips in, eyes popping and rolling in his head, I added with a wink.
“…and they’ve had me.”
Shaking hand to his forehead, Marlon wheezed,
“You gotta be bullshitting me. There’s four other brothers besides us, Michael! You mean she…she…”
Wiping his mouth, Michael finished for Marlon,
“…fucked them all--yes.”
Through his fingers, Marlon peeked at me, before lowering his voice to inquire,
“Even Jermaine?”
Feeling a frown starting to wrap my face, I crossed my arms over my chest and grumbled,
“I hate his California Raisin-looking ass!”
Marlon now had a brow in the air and Michael explained,
“You know how kinky Jermaine can be, right? Stone cold freak to the max?”
“Yeah, Mike--”
“Well I made the mistake of leaving Eliza alone with his crazy self for five minutes to go to the bathroom. I come back, he’s got her tied down trying to split her ass apart. I had to beat him with my shoe to get him off her. Wanted to knock his crooked teeth out!”
(Author’s note: Just the image of Michael hitting Jermaine with a shoe makes me cry I laugh so hard!)
Leaning, I pecked Michael’s cheek for coming to pull me out of a situation that would have really been a pain in the ass.
That when Marlon asked the obvious question.
“But why are you doing this? Letting your woman run around with the brothers?”
Michael, scratching his head, spoke in a somber tone,
“You remember how it was with the last girl I had? With Brooke-Lynn? How ugly it got when she cheated on me and ran off with that dude to ‘Frisco? I was a disgusting mess for a while. Didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. Got rushed to the ER for malnutrition. Got down to ninety-one pounds. I was in a state where I just didn’t give a shit. And I don’t want to be like that again. ”
I was pointed out with a wiggling, spindly finger.
“I did it so that if this one ran around, she would be with people I knew and trusted. My brothers. I know it sounds hellified crazy. But it works. I mean if I can’t trust my brothers, who can I trust?” Michael rose from his stool leaned against the marble top of the island, face set. eyeing his sibling.
A laugh, tight, tense and morose, one like I had never heard before left Marlon’s mouth as he returned Michael’s gaze.
“Ha…ha…you’re bullshitting me aren’t you?” He stammered, and a crooked smile came to his face. “This is old ‘Prank Marlon’ day, today, ain’t it!”
When neither of us shared in the chortling, the expression, and color, left Marlon’s face.
“I still don’t believe you, damn it!” He announced, crossing his arms over his chest, mouth puckering in his anguish. “Mike, that’s your damn woman!”
Lifting another drumstick from the platter, Michael bit into it before suggesting almost inaudibly.
“Go call Jermaine. Or Tito, or Jackie, or Randy. One of them will tell you we’re not lying.”
Holding his head up defiantly, Marlon squared his shoulders, spun on his heel making his way over to the gold-plated phone beside his fridge.
He punched the numbers so hard, one of the buttons on the phone fell off onto the floor.
Mashing the receiver to his ear, Marlon barely allowed his sibling to pick up.
“Jermaine?--Marlon…”
As the he began conversing, trying to extract the truth, a greasy hand wrapped my bicep, and I was yanked over to Michael, who was still eating chicken with his free hand.
“You knew what in the hell you were doing this afternoon, didn’t you, Eliza?” He demanded, tossing the cleaned bone back into his plate, eyes growing as he looked up on me. “Wearing that barely-there skirt over here. Your happy ass wanted Marlon--”
Reaching up, I pinched his cheek before replying smugly,
“And I’m getting him, with your blessing.”
Looking me up and down, Michael sucked on his teeth loudly.
“Eliza let me tell you something…” He squeezed my arm so hard I gasped in pain. “If you weren’t so pretty, and so damn good to me in bed, I’d smack you in the jaw so hard, you’d be hunting your teeth in the backyard. You understand me?”
Still unwilling to let Michael win, I simpered with a smile,
“I understand I’m gonna ride your brother--ow!” I gasped as Michael stood, holding me even harder.
A long hand was raised and Michael informed me,
“I hope like all hell you know a good dentist--”
“Holy shit!”
At the sudden exclamation Michael and I were distracted from the beginnings of an act of assault.
At the phone, Marlon, stood with the receiver in his hand, mouth hanging open, eyes looking blankly at nothing.
Yes, Jermaine had confirmed what he had taken to be a gag to be fact.
I had slept with him, and Jackie, and Tito and Randy, and now…Marlon. I don’t know why the hell it was called “sleeping” anyway. We didn’t actually “sleep” until we were done!
Very slowly, Marlon closed his mouth, gulping audibly, and hung up the phone.
Then, just as timidly, he kind of staggered back to us.
Glancing between his brother and me, I almost didn’t hear him,
“Are…are you sure this is alright?”
Michael began to insist it was alright when I broke in.
Slipping an arm around each man’s trim waist, I tugged them closer to me.
“I don’t want you flying solo like the rest of the guys, Marlon.” I whispered before openly pecking at his cheek. “I really like you…and I really love Michael…” I smooched Michael‘s cheek.
“…and I really, really want the both of you to share me. I want to be greedy tonight. I want to screw the curls out of both your heads!” I stated with a nasty chuckle.
Surrendering to the idea, Marlon laughed dryly, sticking his hand out to his brother.
“I guess we’re both getting laid tonight, huh?”
Taking Marlon’s hand and squeezing it, Michael beamed so hard his eyes closed.
“Hell, motherfucking, yeah!”
* * *
Marlon Jackson had a beautiful Master Bedroom.
I had no idea what it looked like prior to Marlon’s divorce, but now, like the rest of the house, it was gold and white.
I especially liked his king-sized bed.
Made of clear Lucite and accented with a golden feathered headboard, the bed itself was swathed in a gold and white striped satin sheets and was decorated with several plump pillows.
On the bedside table, a portrait of Marlon’s children had sat but was now removed by Marlon’s own hand and sitting in a drawer.
Before he’d closed it, I noticed the diamond eternity band that had been his wedding ring also stowed away in the drawer.
I had to commend Marlon, he was truly trying for a fresh start without his wife.
In the meantime, I was making myself right at home.
Both Michael and Marlon had disappeared into the bathroom to freshen up. I wasn’t exactly sure what that entailed, with the two of them in there, I hoped they weren‘t bathing together without me! …but while they were gone, I had taken a walk through Marlon’s closet.
Aside from the copious amounts of designer suits, shirts and slacks he always wore, in the back I found a selection of silk and velvet robes, all in gold and white.
Thinking of only the men’s pleasure, I selected a white velvet number, embroidered with the initials “MJ” on the back in gold thread which was fitting as I was going to have both MJ‘s on my body that night. Slipping off my clothes and suspending them on the hanger the robe had come from, I had put on the robe and fastened it loosely.
It wasn’t going to be on me long.
At times like this, nothing stayed on me for too long.
Pacing back and forth I was growing impatient waiting for the brothers Jackson.
Just when I was within seconds of yelling for them, the door to the bathroom opened.
And both men strolled out.
I could feel my eyes widening in unrestrained happiness and my heart beginning to thud in half-beats.
The two of them wore nothing at all, except for a white, fluffy towel circling each of their hips, concealing their man bits.
That’s not entirely true. On his wrist, Marlon wore his gold Rolex watch.
I was so taken aback by the beauty presented to me, I grabbed onto the first thing nearest me, framed photograph of Marlon riding his white Harley, as my knees seemed to give way underneath me.
It was too much.
Too much loveliness at once.
Michael’s caramel body, Marlon’s chocolate one, both on display in such a fashion.
They looked like a couple of Nubian Gods.
How Michael’s upper body and legs, so much slimmer than Marlon’s but just as toned flexed attractively as the two of them neared me.
Marlon, thicker everywhere, but by no means fat, still appeared a bit uncomfortable.
While Michael was looking directly at me, chewing on his bottom lip in deep thought, contemplating what to do with me, Marlon’s eyes remained on the floor, only coming up to my face a few seconds at a time.
The idea that Marlon wasn’t completely onboard with the program left me with a soft feeling of resentment and I wanted to make certain he was into this completely.
As Marlon’s eyes fell again, Michael began motioning with a flick of his wrist at his brother.
Indicating I light a fire underneath him.
Nodding in agreement, I casually strolled over and up to Marlon as Michael backed away and leaned against the wall, arms crossing over his narrow chest.
Marlon refused to meet my eyes as I hovered near him.
If he wanted to look down, I wanted to give him something to look at.
Without a word, I undid the belt on the robe covering my body and opened it, placing my hands on my hips with the front of my body exposed.
“Oh, shit…” I heard Marlon whimper as he took in the sight of my small, but pert flesh globes and further down, the naked slit that so many of the other Jacksons had seemed to enjoy.
Rubbing my knuckles against his soft cheek, I murmured softly,
“Do you like that you see…Mr. Jackson?”
I didn’t get a vocal reply from Marlon.
Instead, he threw his arms around me, mashing me against his body, and mashing those sweet, big lips I had been eyeing so hungrily most of the night against mine.
Slinging my arms around his neck and forcing my tongue into his mouth, I was aware of his hands, stroking my back, and finding their way down to my buttocks, gripping them so tightly I could feel his fingernails in my flesh.
As we struggled against each other, my hands rubbing around his head, passing through his hair, his towel fell from his waist.
Clutching against him, I could see in the mirrored door to the bathroom, his rounded backside, perfectly globe-like, with a single dimple in the right cheek.
I didn’t have to look at Marlon’s crotch to know that just like the rest of the Jacksons--even Jermaine--he was very well endowed.
I could feel it.
That long, girth of meat, so wide across it was comparable with a soda can.
And tugging Marlon closer, I could feel the light bush of hair encircling his genitals.
In the reflection, I saw that it was no longer the two of us…
No, Michael, tossing his towel aside, stood behind me, watching the naughty spectacle unfolding, hands on his slender hips.
Marlon tongue out, inhibitions gone, was licking at my neck and ear, moaning in his ecstasy.
Michael’s crotch was completely free of any hair, and his dick, like Marlon’s now was starting to lengthen and rise as it became hard with wanton…as such situations always did to such parts of men’s bodies.
(Author’s note: Why did the song “Body” just start playing?)
Between Michael and Marlon, there was nearly two feet of meat to enjoy!
I was getting wildly dizzy just thinking of my good fortune.
Hands rubbing absently as my hips, Michael questioned of his sibling,
“Well, you gonna stand there, licking the Mary Kay off her face or you gonna do something?”
I grinned as Marlon’s eyes went yellow in his head.
“I’m gonna do something!”
Taking each of their hands, my entire form ready to burst into flames, I suggested,
“Let’s…let’s go to bed….”
* * *
“Oh! Oh! Oh my God! Oh! Yes! God--”
I cried, clawing at the satin sheet.
I could barely keep my eyes open to watch what Marlon was doing.
All I could see was the top of his head, as his half his face was disappearing between my legs.
Legs that rested on his toned, hard shoulders, as his head bobbed up and down, his plunging in and out of me.
“Oh--Marlon! Marlon! Ugh! Oh! Shit! OH!”
This was getting too good, too fast. Entirely too fast.
“Stop! Stop! Stop--it Marlon!”
Instinctively, for fear of coming prematurely, I went to push Marlon’s head away.
“No--please--”
Yanking his mouth from my loins, causing me to shriek, Marlon yelled,
“Mike! Do something with this girl! I can’t have her pushing on my fucking head, trying to break my neck! If I bite her…!”
Michael, who had been pacing back and forth, a few feet away, patting at his bouncing scrotum to maintain his hardness, and watching silently, took his own time strolling to the bed, stepping up onto it and walking on the mattress over to me, before dropping onto his knees at my side.
Instantly, me arms were pulled back and gripped above my head.
“Michael!” I had never been restrained like this. Not even with Jermaine.
“Don’t ‘Michael’ me.” He sneered, eyes narrowing, as Marlon pushed my legs back open. “You wanted Marlon, you got Marlon. Maybe you won’t be so goddamned greedy next time.”
I went to curse him, and never made it.
Marlon, was using his fingers to hold me “love button” open and with the tip of tongue began flashing against it, each tap sending shock waves through me.
“AH! AH! AH! MARLON! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? STOP AHHHHHH!”
I hollered at the top my lungs as he continued licking at me, one of his fingers beginning to slip in and out of my dampening hole, my body starting to tremble.
“This is what you wanted. Remember that. You’re not being forced. You wanted this…” Michael taunted and pecked my mouth, his nose bumping mine.
“Oh my God…” I whimpered. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I couldn’t think properly.
Eyes widening, he looked from me to his brother’s wildly wagging head.
“Marlon…” He called. “Flip her over.”
No words had ever thrilled me or scared me in such a way.
Pulling those puffy, warm lips from me, Marlon paused to kiss the inside of my left thigh, biting it gently, before leaning back on his heels.
Grabbing me and pulling me halfway off the bed, turning me so that I was sitting on my knees in front of him.
It was happening before I realized it.
Michael was stretching out before me, legs opening up.
One hand on the back of my head, the other guiding his large cock into my mouth.
“Aaow! That’s it Eliza! That’s it Baby! That’s what I need. Deep throat it! Deep throat it! Ooooooh!” Michael groaned lustily, his own head falling back as he pushed my head so far down my lips were kissing the base of his groin.
His hand tangled in my hair and he began forcing my movements.
At the same time, I could feel Marlon fumbling around me.
“I need to do more to this little pussy than just nibble on it…” He announced and the bulb of his solid dick was forcing and splitting its way into me. Bouncing against me.
“It was delicious though!”
I tried to spit Michael out to protest, stop him, but I couldn’t.
Michael Jackson’s grip on me was too strong.
“Suck it…suck it Eliza, Baby. You got the perfect mouth to blow my brains out. Blow it. Blow me! Hee-hee!” He demanded shrilly, interlocking his hands on top of my head.
He was rough, but he did taste so wonderfully sweet to me.
“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Yeah! Oh Yeah! Shit Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about! WOO!” Marlon discovering his rhythm was pounding away at me happily, grunting softly in my ear.
“I’ve gone without…this…for too long…too damn long!”
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Get it, girl! Yes! Yes! Yes! Holy….Yes!” Michael moaned, head popping up, disheveled curls falling into his face, which was starting to shine with perspiration.
Marlon, working harder, was sweating more profusely, the liquid falling on me and causing his slick body to rub my back even quicker.
His arms wrapped my waist and he was grinding into me with full abandon.
I was almost at my peak. Almost at my orgasm. Ready to come.
And as a consequence, I began to scratch at Michael’s thighs.
“OW! Grab her arms! Grab her fucking arms!” Was all Michael cried, and heeding, Marlon held my arms behind me like an arresting officer, never once stopping his flexing and fucking.
“I wanna hear her! I wanna hear her. I haven’t made a girl scream in a while!” Marlon declared, his voice frighteningly calm.
No sooner had Michael removed his penis from my mouth, than I began screaming.
“OH! NO! NO! MARLON! AH! AAAAHHHH! GOD! DAMN! OH!”
And trembling gushed all over Marlon’s bare groin.
“Ah! Ha! Ha! Ha! Yes! Yeah! Shit! She‘s wet! She got so wet man! ”
He screeched with laughter, as I collapsed on Michael.
“You’re not done! I wanna come too!” Was all Michael said before I had him sweeping down my throat again.
But Michael was not the next in line to come.
Instead, screaming, even louder than I had been, Marlon was tapping himself against my ass.
“AH! I’M ABOUT TO BURST! I’M GONNA BURST! HOLY SHIT! I’M ABOUT TO BURST ALL OVER YOU, BABY! AHHHH! AHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
That’s when I felt it, the hot squirts of him ejaculating on my buttocks and back.
(Author’s note: Marlon screams so much in concert--think about it-- how can I not have him scream in the throes of passion?)
“That was good…you were so good…damn it….” Marlon mumbled falling forward on me and pushing my hair aside was kissing at the back of my neck.
“Oh…lord….oh….ugh….mmmmm…..” Michael moaned, spreading his legs open as far as he could get them, easing himself from my mouth and began rubbing himself quickly.
He was going pop, and it was going to happen soon.
“Come on, open that mouth…open it. Open it, Eliza. Dirty girl…” He ordered and Marlon, hand coming up, gripped my chin, opened it for me.
“Yes! Hee-hee! Hee-hee! Aaow! Shamone!” Michael grumbled, teeth gritting as, finally, his hot whiteness came forth, flowing out of the engorged tip and into my mouth.
Flooding my mouth and running out the sides, he was coming so heavily.
“Oh!” Four hands came up and clamped over my mouth, both brothers ensuring that I did swallow Michael’s load.
“Yes…That’s right…” He leaned forward and smooched my forehead as Marlon released me, singing in my ear.
“I feel so good tonight….”
* * *
“Did…did you enjoy that?” Michael wondered from where he was curled behind me, hugging me tightly.
Suddenly feeling shy, I could only nod.
“I know I did…” Marlon, lying in front of me, his leg draped over my hip, resting his head on my still heaving chest.
“Marlon….” I wondered, pinching his cheek, first, them patting Michael’s.
“Yes?” His eyes had a pleased, drowsy look to them.
“When you finish your album, can we come listen to it?” I begged, smiling.
“Only if we can do this again, Eliza! Only if we can do this again!”
THE END
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