Defensive--A Taj Jackson Solo Erotica

As a die-hard fan of not only Michael Jackson, but his entire family, it's safe to say that more than once I've come across the a few of the ignorant fools who actually believe and buy into the tabloid fodder, make-believe stories and outright lies told about all of them. I've spent a great deal of my life--more than two thirds--defending Michael (the most) and his family. I was inspired for this story by Taj Jackson's never-ending, tireless fight to keep his family's name and legacy clean. It is quite rare to find someone on the same devoted plane emotionally, and in this story for a young woman what begins as a simple flirtation and strange conversations leads her down a path she'd never fathomed.

"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.”