Disco Dandy

Sometimes , I get inspiration for my stories from the most random of places . Take this story for instance. In an old documentary from ‘80s about MJ, a man referred to him as a “disco dandy” looking man trying to make a rock song--talking about “Beat It”--and the term just stuck out to me. I don’t get to write for a younger Michael Jackson as much as I’d like to, and I really wanted to do something special with his. This story was a great treat and pleasure to write. It was just dandy!

“Disco Dandy”

A Michael Jackson Erotic Short Story By:

MJsLoveSlave

Hollywood, California

April, 1979

She’d finally done it!

Hot damn, she’d finally done it!

After five months of waiting on line on a nightly basis, Cassidy Huff had finally achieved the impossible:

Gained entrance to The Electric Zebra one of the most popular and exclusive clubs in the city.

It had been her dream to get in ever since it had opened the previous December with a star-studded Christmas Grand Opening.

You know the club had to be something special if the likes of Diana Ross and Leif Garrett had attended. (Leif being carried out by two of his buddies before the night was over.)

And there she was.

Walking amongst the glamorous and the glitterati, looking every bit as though she fit in--a look that had taken upwards of four hours to achieve.

Cassidy, though of average height, was a young lady of ample womanly curves and knew just how to decorate them to her advantage. Everything she had done was for the purpose of looking just right.

Every surface of her skin was a deep, dark bronze, thanks to the many hundreds of hours she had laid out in her backyard in the nude to avoid tan-lines. Who cared if she was already naturally tan, being half Native American and half Black? And who cared if twenty years down the line she’d have melanomas covering her? Tonight, she was hotter than Farrah Fawcett on fire! And twice as sexy!

She further exploited her complexion with heavily applied and eye catching make up in purposefully lighter colors intent to deepen her skin all the more.

Tossing her head, her long, straight black locks bouncing, light reflecting off of her gold sequined barely-there halter top. If she breathed too hard, the entire place most likely would have been flashed by those perky, tear-drop shaped globes extending from her chest.

With a prayer and a puff of hot air, a her second-skin, black leather bellbottoms clung to her hips as she teetered across the lighted, zebra-print dance floor towards the bar in her six, yes six inch golden platforms that it took her three of the five month wait to spring out of lay-a-way.

But it was worth it for the look she wanted. So what if she had to live on Ramen noodles for the rest of year?

Almost as soon as she got to the bar, men started to appear.

Cassidy always drew that reaction when she went out.

Tall, skinny blonde ones with goatees, buff Black ones with Afros bigger than the room…all colors, all shapes, all sizes.

All trying to make a little time with Cassidy.

All turning sour faced and cursing angrily when rejected and declined.

Even though most of them had been pleasantly attractive, Cassidy was very picky when it came to them men she spent her time with.

If a man didn’t audibly make her gasp the moment she looked at him, she didn’t want to be bothered.

It was a superficial notion yes, but after baking like a piece of clay pottery in the sun, Cassidy didn’t want anything other than the best.

Leaning against the bar, sipping at her third whiskey sour of the night, Cassidy was starting to wonder if she’d spend the entire night alone. Had it all been a waste? All the primping, the preparing, the sunburns?

That the scene at The Electric Zebra was not all it had been touted and cracked up to be…

She had always heard the club was the best place to find the hottest men. Men that were so arresting, so inexplicably good looking that it would be a miracle women didn’t just rip their clothes off and mount the nearest thing with a pulse.

Cassidy wanted to see a man who would make her want to just boink until her hips snapped and shattered.

Then, as Donna’s Summer’s latest hit, “Hot Stuff” began playing and encouraging booties everywhere to shake, she saw him.

A gap in the people getting their groove on left Cassidy fairly reeling.

Just off the dance floor, leaning against a neon lit pillar was a man that emptied the girl’s lungs of their very breath.

A man that was alone, and sipping a drink, peacefully watching the people swaying in front of him.

Cassidy wasn’t sure if he’d come alone, but at the moment he was to himself and had certainly dressed to gain attention.

In a room full of leisure suits, astrological sign medallions in faux gold and polyester, this guy stood out.

The man, lanky, and gangly, was clad in a sparkly version of a bandleader’s jacket, complete with a red, clear stoned jacket over white lame trousers and a thick, rhinestone covered belt hung at his hips.

But it wasn’t the obviously loud costume that had Cassidy’s attention.

No…it was the man’s face.

There was something about this man’s face.

Slim, brown, and framed by a sizeable, textured Afro, the man’s face was a wonder.

Large dark eyes flittering back and forth as he continued being a spectator on the sidelines. A strong prominent nose, the kind that seemed fit only for someone of Nubian royalty perhaps. Soft, pinkish lips, hugging the rim of the glass he continued consuming his drink, almost making out with it as he took a seat at a small table,

Staring at him, Cassidy realized two things.

One: The man’s glass was just about empty and he could have used a refill. A man as gorgeous as him needed to never be without a drink.

Two: He was drinking the exact same beverage as Cassidy--a whiskey sour. She had seen no other man tossing that party favor back and figured it was pure kismet the two of them had the same taste in alcohol.

Before she could even start to change her mind, Cassidy had plunked down the six dollars and seventy-five cents for another sour and was making her way around the dance floor. Destined to keep the man company.

God help the bitch that tried to beat her to that chair because Cassidy was sure an eye-gouging would commence.

The man couldn’t see it, but the name “Cassidy Huff” had been branded right onto his forehead. He belonged to her, and no one else.

And she was going to lay claim to him if it killed her.

She angled herself in such a way that she would come up behind him.

“Hot Stuff” blended into a rocking instrumental and the man began bobbing his head to the tune leaving Cassidy was momentarily stunned as his scent, sweet, spicy and mildly tinged of whiskey hit her nose.

He smelled as sweet and dear as he appeared.

Willing the courage, Cassidy reached around him and set the glass before him.

Startled the man bounced in his chair before turning around to gaze at Cassidy curiously.

His mouth moved and there was some noise leaving it, something about how he hadn’t ordered another drink.

Cassidy scarcely heard him as she was fighting the urge to crawl all through his hair, buck naked, and braid it for him.

“…lady, I didn’t order another drink, please take it back!”

The man was telling her, and all she could do was be enchanted by his soft, musical voice.

Mustering a grin, she informed him,

“That drink is on the house; compliments of Cassidy Huff.”

The man’s thick brows furrowed before he complained,

“I don’t know anyone named Cassidy Huff!”

Being forward, Cassidy stuck out her hand and announced,


“Well, you do now!”
A delicate, long and smooth hand squeezed hers and the beginnings of a smile touched those beautiful lips.

Moving around the table, the man held out the other chair and happily obliging, Cassidy took her seat. He was really being a gentleman.

As the man retook his seat, Cassidy, trying her best to control herself and seem coy, twirled a lock of her hair, asking gently,

“Seeing as I just bought you a drink, the very least you can do is enlighten me to your name…if you have a name…”

“Michael…Michael Jackson.” The man chuckled and was now taking a drink of his sour.

Michael. What a pleasant, unassuming, decent name. Nothing strange like Eight Ball or Pork Chop or Slick Back like some of the other characters who had been trying to holler at her.

He had a normal name, even if his apparel was anything but.

Steadily twirling, Cassidy asked the question that had been burning up her tongue since she had laid eyes on him.

“Tell me something Michael…” She paused until she had his attention.

Those eyes washing over her in the most becoming way. Why her clothes hadn’t yet fallen off she had no clue.

“Why on Earth are you sitting here, looking like a Black Captain Crunch?”

The inquiry caused Michael to bust up loudly before he snorted an explanation,

“Hee-hee! I like dressing up and showing out when I go clubbing. Just like anyone else. And I like to be a little different you know--”

Nodding in agreement, Cassidy started to comment when the music changed again. A driving baseline shook the entire club and at once, Michael was on his feet clapping his hands and popping his long fingers.

“’Disco Inferno’!” He screamed and was fairly yanking the poor girl out her seat by the arm. “That’s my song! Come on, Cass!”

There was no time for a yes or a no, as Michael was dragging her to the center of the dance floor.

“Burn Baby, Burn! Disco Inferno! Burn Baby, Burn!”

Damn near everyone on the floor was singing the tune in some variant of the correct notes, including Michael.

But as she started to dance with Michael Jackson, the din and sounds of everyone else seemed to melt away from her conscious mind at once.

All she could see was Michael.

The talented and inspired a dancer he was.

Around and around Cassidy, Michael went, spinning, twirling, shuffling his feet, even popping up onto the toes of them for a brief instant.

He was everywhere around her, all at once.

Even if someone had wanted to cut in on them, it was quite clear who Cassidy was with.

Michael seemed so happy with her smiling, giggling, singing along, encouraging her.

And she liked it that way.

An energetic instrumental took over and instead of floating all over like a lost buoy, Michael was now closer to Cassidy, wiggling in front of her.

One long hand on her hip, as they rocked back and forth.

This new intimacy was driving the girl. Mad, madder with lust.

A frenetic wild lust that threatened to consume her.

Getting even closer, Cassidy was rubbing against Michael’s body, her hair getting tangled up on the stones of his jacket.

Inadvertently, Michael’s hand slipped down and the second it made contact with her buttock, the girl couldn’t stand it a moment longer.

The attraction was to strong, too bold to ignore.

She wanted that man. And she wanted him…yesterday!

Backing up a few steps, Michael started to spin.

Cassidy was jerked forward as she gripped Michael’s hand mid-turn.

Speaking into his ear, the room spinning, Cassidy wondered,

“Can’t we get out of here? Go someplace quieter, perhaps?”

The same smile she had been greeted with earlier once again came to Michael’s lips.

With a nod, he intertwined his fingers with hers and was leading her off dance floor swiftly.

She was leaving! Leaving with Michael!

Oh joy! Oh rapture!

Nearing the front entrance, Cassidy started a slow burn as Michael dropped her hand and instead put his arm around her bare shoulders.

He had his arm around her. Cassidy could have died right there.

She was led outside and into the adjoining parking lot to Michael’s car.

A little silver German import with black racing stripes down the front.

Still gentlemanly, Michael opened the door for her, revealing an all leather interior, before coming around and getting in the driver’s seat.

Without a word, he started the car, bringing it to a purring life and pulled out of the lot.

The car was completely silent. Michael didn’t even turn on the radio.

Cassidy held her tongue for fear she’d say something obscene and Michael was quiet…who knew why he was quiet.

It was unknown where she was being taken and while most women would have been scared driving off into the night with someone they’d known only about an hour, Cassidy was not.

If anything, she was brimming over with excitement, goose pimples dotting her skin.

Michael drove for several blocks, before turning into Blossom, a sprawling, public botanical garden.

Slowing down, the car came to a halt on the gravel path a few feet from an inwardly lit concrete fountain, spouting water into the air.

Staring at Michael in the eerie glow from the fountain, she couldn’t help but ask,

“Why did you choose to bring me here, of all places?”

Still looking straight ahead, Michael absently tapped the steeping wheel.

“I’ve always liked the gardens…it seemed like a nice place to bring a girl.”

Cassidy felt a brow going up curiously. Most men she knew had never heard of a botanical garden, much less visited them.

Just what kind of man was this Michael Jackson?

“I’m into botany and flowers and that sort of thing…” Michael was confiding, and Cassidy barely heard him.

She was wondering why Michael wasn’t undressing her yet.

“…my grandmother used to have a garden and make me weed it and I just got into growing stuff…” He was still rambling and Cassidy was wondering what it took to make that tool hanging between his thighs to grow.

“…I won a few awards for some of my roses….”

Reaching over, Cassidy went to try to undo the front of that elaborate jacket on Michael.

The mess he was saying would have been much more interesting if he wasn’t wearing anything. Or not. Who cared as long as his clothing came off and she could look at his wonderful body.

Much to her chagrin, instead of sitting still and allowing himself to be disrobed and ravaged, Michael pulled from her and was climbing from the car, coming around.

Opening the door for her.

Patience wearing thin, and twisting her mouth in anguish, Cassidy was quickly losing control of her rampaging hormones.

Running a hand through her hair, she demanded bluntly,

“Just what in the hell do you plan to do with me, Michael? Because it’s gonna be kind of hard to fool around fully clothed. Especially with you in that funky get up!”

A long finger was mashed to Cassidy’s plump, painted mouth and with a wink, Michael turned, walking away briskly, disappearing into the darkness.

Leaving Cassidy alone at the car.

He was gone for several minutes and her initial horniness starting to be replaced with fear that something bad was going to happen to her, she called out,

“Michael? Mike? You there? If…if you’re planning to do something crazy…I want you to know, I can yell awful loud. Bring the whole LAPD down on your ass! Michael! Michael!”

After what seemed like a nerve-wracked eternity, Michael returned, a small bouquet of pink and purple blooms in his hand.

He’d gone and collected flowers for her.

How sweet.

How gentlemanly,

How sexy.

How in the hell did his tongue get into her mouth?

Cassidy wasn’t sure how, but she and Michael were kissing.

Bumping against the car, the two of them greedily, passionately, wildly embracing, kissing at each other.

Cassidy’s hands were in Michael’s soft, curly hair, the flowers getting destroyed in the moment His hands were around and shadowing her face as he was pressing his tender, juicy mouth to hers, the flavor of his whiskey sour still detectable on his tongue as it swiped back and forth in Cassidy’s mouth.

On the same note, his whole mouth tasted of the liquor as Cassidy was returning the favor, penetrating his throat many times.

Slowly, Cassidy’s hands left Michael’s hair and made their way southward.

One hand grasping onto one of his tiny, taut butt cheeks, the other cupping his groin.

Openly rubbing him, it was no secret that Cassidy wanted to excite him.

Harden him.

And hopefully get him off.

Taking her mouth from his, the little tramp confided lustily ,

“Michael Jackson, you can do any dirty thing you want to me…”

Chuckling shyly and hanging onto the overheated young woman, Michael said something that made every, single hair on Cassidy’s head stand on end.


“I never have sex on the first date…it’s just something I don’t do. I’m sorry.”
For the first time in her life, Cassidy Huff was truly, utterly and completely speechless.

He didn’t want to take her? He didn’t want to do her?

He didn’t want to “Stuff the Huff”?

What the f*ck?

Her mind was spinning trying to formulate some sort of answer that would make sense of this.

Why did he dance with her, bring her to this somewhat romantic spot, secluded from peering eyes? Why did he give her the flowers and the free oral exam, if he didn’t intend to bring this baby home?

Had this all been a game?

Had Michael just been playing with her all along?

She started to curse the man out. Then she noticed his face.

The strange, almost sorrowful look to it…to his eyes.

He wasn’t joking. He was serious. He really didn’t have sex the first go around.

And while that was commendable, it did nothing to help the wanton Huff woman, who wanted this man so desperately in any way possible.

That’s when she noticed it.

The little zipper on the side of Michael’s trousers.

With no prior warning, Cassidy started to kick of her shoes--the shoes she had spent a month’s rent to afford--off into the grass beside the gravel road.

“I’m here…” She declared as she sank to her knees before him. “…and I intend to fool around.”

It was Michael’s turn to stare and he was barely audible.

“Are…are you going to…going to …taste me?”

Grinning up at him, Cassidy replied nastily,

“No, I’m going to blow your f*cking brains out.”

Michael’s hands shaking in anticipation, removed his elaborate belt and threw it to the ground, whirling one hand in a circular motion, egging her on.

Pulling down the zipper, Cassidy assured Michael that she would be good to him.

As the pants were moved out the way, Michael’s smooth toned thigh was exposed and when she kissed it, the man was so electrified, he reared back into his car with such force, it rocked violently.

The pants fell to his ankles and a second later were joined by his pristine, white briefs.

There he was, Michael Jackson’s loins were out for all to see and Cassidy was impressed by the sight that met her.

Michael’s crotch was completely bare, except for a small thatch of painstakingly trimmed hair that looked more like black peach fuzz than anything else.

And even in a flaccid state of affairs, his d*ck was quite large, just dangling there. Crying out for a good sucking.

A delicate shade of brown, Michael’s pen*s was natural it’s foreskin just barely covering the rounded, lighter tip of that girth.

Yes, Cassidy decided as she leaned back and was undoing her halter top, pulling it off and revealing her abundant bosom to Michael’s prying eyes. Yes, she was going to enjoy every second of this.

“Those tits…mmmm…”

Michael murmured as Cassidy took hold of that meat and began to stroke it, wanting him to go hard. As hard as he could get.

Because before this was over, she was going to get him wet, sticky and soft.

“Yes Cass….yes, Baby, rub it…rub me…” Michael was begging as she used both her hands to twist at him.

Uncovering that sweet tip over and over again and entranced by it, Cassidy, pressed her lips to it, kissing it better than she had it’s owner’s mouth.

“Christ! Oh my God!” Michael wailed and his car rocked again as he jerked in his excitement. “Oh girl! Oh, yes! Kiss it! Kiss it! Kiss my c*ck!”

Michael had began to swell and by the time he was done, he had to have been at least a foot long.

Cassidy was struggling to contain herself, and was growing moist just looking at the man. She couldn’t just stare. She had to taste. To suck…gobble…eat, anything to get him off. Get herself off.

Falling forward, she rapidly allowed Michael into her mouth, not stopping until her lips collided with his groin.

“Oh-oh-oh-oh-woo!” Michael cried as she slowly was sliding back from him, his d*ck popping from her mouth and pointing skyward.

Wiping at her mouth, Cassidy tittered, before asking,

“Do you want me to deep throat you, Michael? I can do it, I don’t gag like most chicks--”

“Don’t stop! You can do whatever. I don’t care! Just don’t stop. Love of Christ, don’t stop, Cass!” Michael demanded, pounding a fist against the side of his car as taking the hint, Cassidy was back on him, tongue out, licking him up and down and up and down again. Working that flesh lollipop.

“Ahhhh! Sh*t!” He screeched as the woman held his mass out the way and blew warm air onto his sack.

She delighted in the fact he nearly collapsed when for a glimmer of a moment she took that scrotum into her damp mouth.

(MODS: If this is too much, I am more than willing to edit and omit that line. --MJLS )

“F*cking Hell--she’s tea-bagging me….” Michael was seemingly shocked as he was slipping his jacket off. Revealing his sleek, svelte upper body. That was starting to shimmer as he broke into a sweat trying to control himself. Hold off the inevitable.

Again, Michael’s pen*s was in her mouth, disappearing.

“Yes…you do that…. You suck all of that…deep…deep…deep throat my sh*t Cass, Baby…woo!” He was approving shrilly, as she gripped onto his hips to steady herself as she, at once, was mouthing his entire length.

“Oh god damn, what you’re doing….oh suck it…suck it…harder , Baby. Suck that d*ck. You like that d*ck don’t you. Eatin’ my meat…”

The car rocked more as Michael groaned, lovely face twisted in this fit of passion.

Again, Cassidy was off him, stroking him.


“Ah! Ah! God damn, girl! Work it! Work me!!!”
She really was enjoying how he let her do all the work. She wanted to pleasure him by herself.

And to make him even crazier, she leaned forward wrapping her massive breasts around his pole, leaving the top two inches open and immediately, it was back in her mouth, being swirled at by her tongue.

“What the f*ck? What the f*ck? What the f*ck?” Michael repeated dumbly wiggling, leaning over her, and was pressing his hands to her smooth shoulders.

Cassidy waited until he was out the way and against his car, standing again before popping him from her mouth to inquire,

“Would you prefer, I spit or swallow, Mike?”

“SWALLOW!” Michael yelled to the treetops- a flock of birds, frightened, took flight for the heavens--as he fell back against his car, arm to his forehead dramatically.


“Oh my God…I’m getting a blowjob in the park…dreams do come true!”
He whined and sniffled, playing with Cassidy’s hair as she continued to gnaw at him. The statement tickled her so much she almost spit that wonderful thick flesh out.

“Suck it, oh suck it! Oh Baby! Yes….yes!” Michael was starting to grit his teeth, eyes swelling as he still waged battle on that “feeling“.

Cassidy had him right where she wanted him. Exactly where she wanted him.

Pounding at the car and rearing again, a warning was seeping from Michael’s curled and sneering lips.:

“Aw sh*t! Aw sh*t. It’s almost over! It’s almost over. Oh! Oh! God! Oh! It’s almost…almost over, Cass!”

Sensing that Michael was within the range for that blessed moment, for the last time, Cassidy took her mouth from him, tugging at him for all she was worth.

Watching Michael, she opened her mouth, tongue wagging awaiting the fireworks.

Michael Jackson was losing the battle with his body.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! God! God!--Sh*t!”

Michael screamed, his c*ck quivering violently in Cassidy’s hands before discharging.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! That’s it! That’s it right there! Oh….oh, I’m coming…oh shit! Mother fucker!” Michael hollered throwing his head back as he continued ejaculating, Cassidy helping to milk him.

With five strong, full-bodied squirts, Michael Jackson had pretty much filled Cassidy’s mouth with white hot seed.

“OH!” Michael grunted, collapsing to his knees, struggling for air.

Grabbing onto his chin with one hand, Cassidy brought Michael’s head up and forced him to look at her as she took the back of her free hand, placed it to her mouth and very quietly--expertly--was ingesting his load.

No gagging, no coughing. Simply swallowing the whole salty goo.

A fact that wasn’t lost on Michael one bit.

Shaking his head and gulping, the man was wiping at his damp brow.

“Hell, Cassidy, I…I don’t think I’ve ever been done like that before.” He sighed.

“I know--” Cassidy started to brag and let out a startled cry as Michael suddenly grabbed her, hugging her tightly, and was falling into the grass with her.

She laughed as Michael kissed at her face, mouth and neck, before starting to lick at the tops of her breasts.

“I…I have to see you tomorrow night, Cass. Please tell me you’ll go out with me tomorrow. We can go back to the Zebra and or anywhere you want to go…” Michael pleaded in between pecks jiggling those mounds.

“I gotta see you, Cass…”

Sliding her hand up and down his wet shaft as it flopped betwixt them, Cassidy bargained in a low, sultry tone.

“Yes…but only if you promise to f*ck me next time… I want that inside me…”

Eyes huge in his head, Michael vowed frantically,

“YES! Yes, Baby! If you screw anything like you suck, I’ll block out the next decade for you! The Eighties are for you, girl!”

Happy, the two of them laid there, smacking away at each other.

Cassidy had gotten her little disco dandy and he was, indeed, dandy!

Steam--A Marlon Jackson Erotica!!!

I think I have always, whether I realized it or not, admired Marlon Jackson’s physique. From his younger days where he was thin as a reed, he plumped with age and was once more slim at the conclusion of his last concert tour. I do understand that maintaining an attractive figure, even for a man, is a labor that requires a good diet and a decent amount of exercise. With that idea in mind, I penned a story that takes place in a gym, but this is not the kind of work out you can get in an aerobics class…



 



 

 

“Steam”

A Marlon Jackson Erotica By:

MJsLoveSlave

Zenith Athletics Club

Atlanta, Georgia

November 2005

In the early hours of the day, when the time read on any clock as morning, but the sun had yet to make its warming and illuminating appearance, most of what was downtown Atlanta was quiet and still.

Most of the nightclubs had rolled their last drunken patron out the door hours ago, and every restaurant’s last dish had been washed and put away in preparation of the lunch rush soon to come.

Rows and rows of stores boasting a variety of wares sat unmoving and dormant, their display windows slightly dimmed, as shoppers at that hour had dropped into bed to sleep off their sprees of yesterday--and would most likely melt the plastic of their charge cards again as soon as the cock decided to crow.

In the absolute heart of the metropolis stood a rather imposing and dominating structure, comprised of austere grey concrete and glass with minimalist touches.

A building that soared on, and above the blackened streets for over a dozen stories…a building whose interior was as unmoving and soundless as the area surrounding it.

Immediately beneath building was a parking garage, once full at the apex of the day, now containing only two luxury vehicles, parked on opposite ends of the lot.

The only movement between the cars, was that of a bum, his frail form in nothing more than rags against the crisp, brisk breeze blowing that early morning, curled up and trying to sleep behind a dumpster.

The stillness and darkness of the twilight hour was broken by the sound of a small ping.

A moment later, the doors of the elevator slid open slickly and out of that rectangular box suspended by a steel cable, a couple disembarked.

A man, somewhat stocky, and a bit on the short side, was donning a pair of designer sunglasses, despite there being no glaring sunlight to blind him, and with his free hand was pinching after the ample bosom of the (significantly) younger woman with him, causing her to playfully squeal in protest.

As the woman slapped at his hands, giggling and begging him to stop, the man suddenly threw his arms around her, drawing her slim, lithe body against his.

The two stared at each other, a raw, sensational passion immediate and plain on both their faces.

It was the type of look that could stop a clock, it was lusty, animalistic and bare, a look that cared no more for anyone in the world than the two of them.

The look was, quite simply was that of a new love.

Love, new and fresh as flowers budding in the spring.

A love so new, it had only been realized just that evening…

Several Hours Earlier

The Zenith Athletics Club was one of the newest establishments in the city of Atlanta, but had amassed an impressive and devoted following.

The ZAC had been in business for less than two years and already had a five-year waiting list of people jockeying and vying for a membership. (A membership that at the Elite Platinum level made the member over two hundred thousand dollars poorer annually.)

But the ZAC was the place, as clichéd as it sounded, to see and be seen.

Standing at twenty stories on the skyline, the ZAC had floors devoted to almost every sport imaginable: archery, golf, water polo, aerobics, jazzercise, basketball, football, and a fully-functioning gym for conditioning, cardio, and general working out.

There were saunas, massage parlors and a well-stocked juice bar offering smoothies and healthy meal and snack alternatives.

And with the ZAC opening its doors at five a.m. on the dot, and not closing until nine p.m., it was possible that anyone, no matter how hectic their schedule could make a cameo appearance there.

At least that was the idea.

With about forty-five minutes left until the ZAC closed its doors for the night, the usually jam-packed sports complex had reverted into something of a ghost town, its halls hollow, the water filled pools so calm, the surface shone like blue glass, the once boom-boom-boom of techno driven Zumba classes quiet as a church house.

The Ladies locker-room, once filled with a bevy of gorgeous, seminude women and rocked with their laughs and catty comments, was dead silent.

And beyond its swinging doors, in the electric pink and black tiled room, a lone woman before the long mirrored basin, staring at herself.

Draped in one of the short, terrycloth robes with the initials of ZAC emblazoned on her back in black, the woman is putting the finishing touches on her makeup.

A soft, oval face, boasting large, expressive and tempestuous dark eyes rimmed in false lashes under expertly arched brows.

The lids of said eyes bore a mix of silver and royal violet shadow, and were outlined in kohl.

Her lips were glossed to a high shine with a light berry color complimenting her fine, medium brown complexion.

She was a woman of average height, her body toned and well-shaped, comely and curved in all the womanly places.

Her hair, long and thick, a natural shade of jet black with the merest hint of deep auburn highlights, usually pulled back in a scrunchie, was now wrapped around large hot rollers in an effort to force volume into the tresses.

On the counter, as she tortured her lashes with a mascara wand, making her already black fringe their very blackest, a voice, high-pitched with amazement demanded,

“Larue Charmaine, what on Earth are you doing?”

Without moving from her spot, Larue began unwinding the rollers from her hair, allowing her tresses to fall down her back.

In the reflection of the mirror, she saw that an Asian woman, petite, with a bleached blonde pixie cut, wearing baggy pink sweats had appeared behind her.

Still loosening the curlers, Larue teased, in her deep, husky and heavily accented tone,

“I’m picking boogers--what does it look like I’m doing, Tessa Vo?”

“Looks like you’re laying it on pretty thick, Girlfriend.” Tessa snickered, coming forward and leaning against the low marbled counter.

“You got a hot date or something going after work?”

Rollers out and returned to their green plastic warming container, Larue picked up and brush and bent over passing it through her locks before replying sheepishly,

“Something like that…”

On the floor, one of Tessa’s tiny feet, in plaid Chuck Taylors, began tapping the floor again.

“Oh…so HE is coming in tonight, huh?”

Flipping her head back up and using her fingertips to get her hair to the desired height and fullness she desired, she wriggled her nose at her friend.

“Yes, HE is coming in tonight--” She started and was interrupted by Tessa sighing,

“I swear, I don’t understand your fascination with that guy, ‘Rue. If he’s as rich as he makes out to be, I don’t know why the hell he doesn’t build his own gym at his house. Why spend through the ass renting out this place and then coming after hours to work out? Craziest mess I ever heard.”

A cloud of unhappiness crossed Larue’s pretty face and she turned slightly, to glare at Tessa directly,

“Marlon Jackson works from home, he owns some kind of dotcom business. He told my Daddy he likes getting out and coming to the gym, because it’s the only time he can get away from ringing phones and things…and besides, whatever money goes into Daddy’s pocket, finds it’s way around to mine.”

Larue tossed her hair ruefully and picked at it some more.

Tessa sucked on her teeth thoughtfully,

“Well, your Daddy owns this place--what does that have to do with you?”

Picking up a bottle of spray and misting her hair, the twenty something cackled,

“Have you seen my father try to work the Juice Bar? It looks like Gunga-Din by the time he gets done! So I work the bar when Marlon is here.”

“Can’t the guy just bring Gatorade in a bottle like a normal person? He is so going over the top, ‘Rue!” Tessa cried, exasperated.

“He gets the same thing every time.” Larue boasted, spraying herself with a cloud of potent vanilla musk perfume.

“Some kind of smoothie with an energy boost, a fruit cup and a green salad. And I’m gonna have my Black ass there to fix it for him.”

“I don’t get you, Larue…” Tessa was shaking her head, picking at jade bracelet circling her wrist as her friend turned and crossed the room to a row of lockers and began turning the combination lock on it.

“You’re young, you’re pretty, you practically own the ZAC. There’s tons of sexy ‘roid-poppers floating through here every day. You don’t even give them a second glance. Why do you want a chubby guy who’s over the hill--”

“Tessa, shut the hell up before I lay you out, please.” The door to the locker came open and Tessa put her hands up to her face as Larue, back to her, dropped off her robe, revealing her naked body.

“Damn it, you could warn me before you do that! Damn!” Tessa grumbled, shielding her eyes from the spectacle.

“Oh calm down, we’ve got the same parts, you prude!”

“I am not a prude!” Tessa squealed, sounding more like an anime character than a human being. “At least I’m not chasing after some old dick!”

“I’m not chasing, I intend to catch it.” Larue spoke quietly, her voice tight with determination.

Such determination that Tessa peeked between her fingers to stare at her friend in awe.

And the small jaw at the base of her face dropped.

Larue stood a few feet away.

Her form was dressed for attention in a very low cut, dark purple bra top, with so much padding, lift and under wire, Larue had enough cleavage on display for two women!

The top had been paired with low-rise, hip-hugging purple and white tie-dyed, flared bottomed sweatpants.

Pristine white sneakers stuck out from under the pants.

“Holy shit…” Tessa gasped as her friend came strutting back over and scrutinizing her appearance again. “Marlon’s in trouble, isn’t he?”

“Got that right.” Larue fluffed her hair one last time, and asked,

“How do I look?”

“Like a woman about to go forth in sin.” Tessa nodded emphatically, and grinning brightly, Larue, hugged her friend’s arm.

“That’s exactly what I was going for, that ‘highway to hell’ look!”

Snickering loudly, both women headed for the door.

A half hour later, Larue Charmaine was the only soul in the whole of the Zenith Athletics Complex.

Lingering behind the neon splashed counter of the Juice Bar, the young woman let her mind wander, thinking of the one and only Marlon Jackson.

Though it annoyed her, Tessa hadn’t been too far off the mark when she had said Marlon was strange for spending quite a bit to rent out the ZAC after hours for a three-hour work out in the gym, when he could have one in his own home.

But in a place like Atlanta where in every five or so wealthy people there was one loose-cannon, you just sort of learned to look the other way and go with the flow on eccentricities.

That was what was so odd about Marlon, though.

Aside from the renting of the gym every week, Larue could see nothing else crazy about him.

He looked normal, was relatively polite and kept to himself, only bothering her for refills on smoothies.

Larue couldn’t understand it, perhaps she was still too young to understand it fully, but she did know she was attracted to this man.

Completely, wholly, totally.

She wanted this man, thought of him constantly, wanted to be with him at all costs.

And she was going to be damned if she didn’t have him.

Oh, to feel his touch, kiss his mouth, fuc--

“Hello.”

At the sound of that mellow, slightly twanged, gentle voice, every single immaculately placed hair on Larue’s head stood at attention as her spine straightened automatically and she turned, to find she was no longer alone.

Coming in through the double, frosted glass doors of the bar, was Marlon Jackson.

Larue’s heartbeat quickened so swiftly, she was dizzy.

And it was a joyous dizziness.

Marlon was a somewhat stocky man, a bit shorter than average, but Larue didn’t care, she found beauty and wonder in every inch of him, from his cinnamon-caramel complexion to his broad, plump lips, to his drowsy gold-tinged hazel eyes.

His body, showing a bit of heft in the middle, that night was covered in a casual, black Nike jogging suit, and black and grey cross-trainers. Completing the ensemble was a black ball cap, bearing the emblem of the Ferrari automakers.

And while it was pitch dark outside, a pair of Fendi shades hid his eyes.

Being dragged along behind him was a Louis Vuitton rolling case.

My, but this man did like his labels.

“Hello, Mr. Jackson…” Larue could barely speak as Marlon drew closer, the scent of his amber-based cologne loud and plain in the air. “W-would you care for anything?”

Setting his bag down and hoisting himself up on a stool, a large hand came and stroked the mustache decorating his top lip and making it all the more prominent,

The bridge of his flat nose wrinkled as he looked over the heated woman’s head at the backlit menu.

“I need something really healthy…” He chuckled, removing his glasses and giving Larue a small heart attack as the light danced on his golden eyes. “…I just got back from visiting my mother, I’ve been eating rich, sweet foods for the last week. The only greens I saw had ham hocks floating in them. Hmmm…”

There was just a touch of a goatee at the bottom of his lower lip; how Larue had dreamed of tugging on it.

“I’ll have the orange mango smoothie, and a small organic green salad, and some balsamic vinaigrette, please.”

With that, Larue was moving, making a meal out of raw fruits, veggies and yogurt.

In minutes, Marlon’s plate and drink had appeared and he was starting to dig in.

Watching him eat, Larue tried desperately to forge a conversation,

“Is that really all you want, Mr. Jackson?” She wondered, crossing her arms actively pushing her bosom up higher as she leaned on the counter towards him.

She got a zealous chill when she saw his eyes take in her flesh globes for a split second, then avert back down to his salad as he chewed, those gorgeous lips of his flapping.

“Yes, it’s all I need anyway, I’m gonna go run this off in a bit .”

Setting his fork down, he sipped at his smoothie.

“Mmm--tangy!” He laughed musically, a sound Larue treasured.

Nibbling on a cherry tomato, Marlon was thoughtful,

“I notice you’re always here when I come in to work out. It’s Friday night, wouldn’t a young lady like you rather be at one of the nightclubs or on a date or something? Not sitting and serving me”

Seeing his plate was empty, Larue, face on fire, cleared it away telling him,

“It’s no trouble, Mr. Jackson, really. This place is going to be all mine one day anyway. I have to know how to run it.”

“That’s right…” Those eyes focused on her and she had to grip the counter’s edge to keep from hitting the floor.

“Mac Charmaine is your father, isn’t he?”

“That’s right.” Larue nodded and took pleasure as a soft smile curled Marlon’s features.

“He’s a nice guy, letting me rent the place like this from time to time…”

His face was so smooth, showing only a few lines around the eyes, that he couldn’t have been more than thirty-five at the most.

Just the perfect age for Larue, older, but not too old…

Rising from the stool Marlon reached out a warm hand and patted her shoulder.

By golly, he was touching her! Larue wanted to swoon.

“I don’t think your father has anything to worry about, you seem like a very capable lady to me. Will you bring me another smoothie in about two hours, please?”

“Yes, Sir, of course!!!”

Marlon gave her a wide, bright smile.

“Thank you…”

Taking his rolling case, Marlon started from the bar, leaving Larue to marvel over his wonderfully, ripe and round backside.

Once the doors shut after him, Larue tumbled to the floor, fanning herself wildly.

The next two hours dragged on at a snail’s pace as Larue tried to kill time until she could take the smoothie in to Marlon. She desperately wanted to go up and watch Marlon whilst he worked out, but since Marlon seemed to be a man who liked his privacy, as he paid so dearly for it, Larue let him be.

And cursed herself for not having been more obvious about her intentions to Marlon. Oh she had wanted to, but every time his gaze fell on her she turned into a stuttering puddle of idiocy.

She sat and played every game on her Blackberry and tried to text Tessa--she got no reply and figured Tessa was underneath her own boyfriend, Ping. (And was jealous that her best friend was getting a piece of ass and not her!)

After what seemed like an eternity and a half, it was finally time for Larue to bring Marlon his drink, in the gym that took up the entire fifth floor.

Cold drink in hand, she stopped outside the closed doors to the gym, and gave her breasts an extra push to put them up higher.

Larue couldn’t figure just when the idea had come to her mind, but she was certain that Marlon was a boob man.

Somehow in the deep recesses of her mind, Larue could take an abstract notion and by the time she got done with it, had turned it into absolute, gospel fact.

“I’m young, I’m healthy, my tits are real, I’m good-looking--I’ve won five beauty contests“…Larue whispered to herself through gritted teeth.

“I’m the reigning Miss Pretty Peach!”

Readying herself to try to put on a better vixen act in front of Marlon.

He had to like her. Last time she checked he was a man, and men had certain things on their bodies that rose up when something appealed to them.

And Larue had fostered the belief she appealed to him.

That was all she needed other than Marlon Jackson’s touch.

Pushing the door open she let herself into the gym and all mention of her formulated plan seeped out right through her seashell-like ears and were gone in a poof.

About ten yards away, across the gym, there was a bank of twelve treadmills, facing a large sheet window overlooking downtown.

And on one of the those treadmills, Marlon Jackson was jogging.

Backing against the wall, Larue’s mouth was sagging in the breeze as she looked upon that creature.

Marlon was running with little effort or strain, eyes closed.

Stands of red from his earbuds and hooking to the iPod attached to his waist he was listening to some form of music.

His cap was off and laying on the floor behind the treadmill.

All over his body glistened with a sheen of perspiration.

He looks like a melting candy bar! Larue almost made the exclamation out loud.

His hat removed, Marlon wore his black hair cropped into a low flattop and it sparkled with his sweat.

Unconsciously, Larue was moving closer.

Soon she was behind him, watching as his glutes flexed with each stride he took.

The beautiful ass she wanted to sink her teeth into.

He was jiggling all over like a wonderful bowl of butterscotch pudding.

And with each stride Larue was becoming crazier and crazier over him.

She had to have him. Right then, right now.

“Ow--shit!”

At the sudden cry, the erotic spell Larue had cast on herself was broken, when Marlon leapt off a moving treadmill and hopped on his right leg, his left leg bent up and being gripped.

The cup of orange mango smoothie fell from Larue’s hand and splattered as right in front of her, Marlon collapsed to the floor, gripping at his left leg.

“Son of a bitch!” He gasped hoarsely, as Larue dropped to her knees beside him, frantic and ready to do anything to aid him.

“Calf…charley horse…pain!” Was all he managed, his handsome face squinching up, buds falling from his ears--James Brown clearly screaming through them--and his breathing labored.

“It hurts! That’s all it’s doing! It hurts!”

Larue couldn’t have been more hurt than if it were herself with the severe leg cramp.

Marlon, her Marlon, was in pain!

A man that stunning need never experience any sort of discomfort.

She had to rescue him, soothe him.

Rolling over onto his stomach, Marlon punched the polished hardwood floor and made a gurgling noise that sounded like another swear word.

His left leg stood up at a forty-five degree angle.

Larue was moving before she could even think, she had seen so many charley horses occur under the roof of the ZAC.

Her hands were on his hot, bulging calf, hands kneading the hardened, muscle like bread dough.

“Ow! Ow! Ooooohhhh…” Marlon mumbled, breathing heavily into the floor, Larue deftly working the muscle to get the kink out of it.

“Oooooh--Oh my God-- damn!”

It took a bit of work but after about ten minutes or so, Marlon’s breaths had steadied and the cursing had come to a halt.

Under her hands, Marlon’s left leg eventually fell straight like his right one.

Lying on the floor, Marlon’s head turned and his cheek pressed it as he whispered graciously,

“Thank you, Larue…”

Larue spoke, but was staring at that ass…

“You’re welcome…”

It was so large, so perfectly round and in tandem with the rest of his body…

Her hand went up to touch it.

It were anything like his calf, how firm it would be!

And was snatched away, when Marlon rolled over onto his back and laughed dryly.

“Well, I know not to run on that damn thing for two hours straight ever again. It’s good cardio, but not if my leg gets turned into a pretzel.”

With a light grunt, Marlon had pushed himself up into a seated position.

“I think this is God’s way of telling me to knock off for the night and carry myself home.”

He started to get up and automatically, Larue was wrapped around his arm, helping him to his feet.

His scent was intoxicating, the strong cologne mixed with mild funk. It was a manly aroma and it made her mouth water.

(Author’s Note: Anyone running for two hours straight will not smell like a rose!)

“Thank you, Sweetie, I don’t know what I would have done without you.” He chuckled and Larue checked out momentarily.

Sweetie, he had called her Sweetie.

“It’s…no problem, Mr. Jackson.” She was hot all over and almost tongue-tied.

“You just massaged my leg while I screamed like a little White girl--call me Marlon, please.”

“Okay, Marlon…” Larue repeated it in a lust-riddled hush, and her eyes drifted to the yellow-orange puddle on the floor.

“Let me get some towels for that. My father would kill me if I start an ant infestation.”

Letting go of Marlon’s thick arm Larue was gone, returning with several large, fluffy white towels and dropping them onto the spilled smoothie.

“I’m sorry, I’ll go make you another smoothie once I’m done here…” She apologized, resting on her knees and trying to absorb the drink before it stained the wood. Off to the side, stepped over and retrieved his hat.

“You don’t have to do that. I think…I’ll hit the showers after all this.” Marlon whistled, placing the hat on his finger and twirling it in the air.

“Yes, Sir.” Larue started to gather the soiled towels into a ball when Marlon abruptly inquired,

“You always call me ‘Mr. Jackson’ and ‘Sir’, just how old are you, Larue?”

Still fumbling with the towels, she answered,

“I’m…I’m twenty-seven.”

“Hmm, that’s a little older than I thought. I figured you for about twenty or so.”

Keeping her gaze downwards, Larue gave a witty reply,

“I take very good care of myself, Marlon.”

That pungent scent of manly stink and expensive perfume as Marlon hovered over her, his shadow falling on the towels and Larue.

“Are you the only one taking care of that sweet little body?” He asked and Larue’s heart nearly exploded behind her ribcage.

“Is that a question, or an offer?” Larue paused, and glanced up at the sweaty, swarthy face above her.

She couldn’t remember ever being so brazen and bold, but this man was extracting that element from her.

And she liked it.

“You want an answer or a proposition?” Marlon’s light eyes were burning into her dark ones.

Looking back, starting to bubble over like a volcano, Larue challenged,

“What do you want to give me?”

Marlon’s eyes swept over her, and a large hand gripped her right bicep,

“Come on, Baby.”

With a strict and authoritative tug, Marlon began leading her towards the Men’s Locker room…

Patience was a not a virtue possessed by Larue Charmaine.

Pacing back and forth with in the electric blue and black interior of the

Men’s Locker room, Larue was a woman on the verge of an erotic nervous breakdown.

Just a few, brief, intensely sweet moments before, Marlon Jackson had escorted her inside, pressed her forehead with two of the softest lips she had ever felt the sensation of before, and very politely excused himself to “freshen up”.

Larue was so mixed up, so bothered and hot, she could have very easily taken him right there, sweat, stank and all, but Marlon was a gentleman.

He did not want to offend and insisted upon showering first.

Truly, that was the only sound available to Larue, aside from the rapid and irregular beats of her heart: running water.

Stopping in the middle of the floor, her eyes were drawn, almost unwillingly, to that blue steel door, standing shut, faint wisps of steam rising from beneath it.

The door leading to the Showers.

A shaking hand went to her forehead, which still tingled from the light smooch Marlon had left there.

Larue knew she should have remained right where she was; Marlon had been extremely kind in his asking her to wait for him. ‘

But insatiable curiosity and a mojo being kicked into maximum overdrive were soon getting the best of the young woman.

How her heart thudded, it was so loud, nearly deafening as apprehensively, Larue’s sneakered feet began to carry her over the tiled floors to that closed door.

It seemed her body, her mind her thoughts were no longer her own. She was moving freely of all conscience, and all she could think of was Marlon.

Marlon, completely naked and dripping wet, standing his lusciously plump body under the running water.

Just standing there, not knowing how without a word, and only a sweep of his eyes had seduced Larue and put her under the influence of masculine charms.

Larue had passed through the door to the Showers, without realizing it and found herself in a large room that was humid, muggy and filled with steam.

Far off, she could hear the steady pattering of water running, and about three rows of showers away, the steam was billowing up in white, cotton like mists and wafting across the ceiling.

Her heart, oh her heart!

Larue’s poor heart had beat like this. Thundering hard and fast and yet felt like it was being squeezed with a strong fist all in the same instant.

Larue had tunnel vision and saw nothing but that single rainwater showerhead running, producing that haze of sweet smelling steam.

The air was filled with the scent of that inviting, tantalizing aroma that had been Marlon’s cologne.

Jesus Christ, was he bathing in the perfume?

Larue was so wound up and staggering about that she never noticed Marlon’s rolling bag against the wall, opened, filled with a large black terry cloth towel, matching robe inscribed with his name, and a collection of lotion, antiperspirant, and eau de cologne all in deep indigo bearing his name.

A few feet beyond the bag, a small pile was comprised of his discarded sweats, shoes, socks and plaid boxer-briefs.

Larue stepped right over them and hands to her chest, tightening and pounding, passed to the last row of showers, in the back of the room.

And rounding a corner, a sight of heavenly proportions unfolded before her.

So wonderful was it, she had to clutch the wall to keep from falling down.

In the center of the line of showers, Marlon Jackson stood.

Bare as the day as he was born, he stood in profile, hands pressed to the wall in front of him, head thrown back, body arched as he let the warm water splash into his face and run down the rest of him, which, in places were white with lather.

His body, twinkling with those little droplets and teeny bubbles, was the fine, tempting shade of caramel all over, with an indiscernible tan line showing on his right hip, where he had most likely worn a Speedo.

Standing like that, to the side, Larue was witness to his figure, the flat face, the plump torso, the strong, rippling legs, the thick hips and rotund buttocks sticking out back.

He was so beautiful, so solidly built and there was also something so delicate, so flimsy as evidence by the way he hit the floor like it was an air raid when a cramp took him.

With his hands still pressed to the wall, Marlon dropped his head forward and as the water ran enticingly down his back, he spoke up out of the mist.

“What took you so long?”

He turned abruptly and was approaching her.

Was she dead? Had Larue died and not realized it?

All she was the divine moving in her direction.

That lovely, bitable moist skin, dripping wet, the broad shoulders, the slightly undefined pectorals with deeper brown nipples standing up and bouncing with each move, that rotund little Buddha belly jiggling, right above…

Larue’s throat drew tighter as she took in the sight of Marlon’s bare groin.

It sparkled from the water caught in the thin patch of jet black pubic curls, trimmed down into a triangle surrounded his…

His penis, thick and brown, hung flaccid, swinging with each step, its tip hidden by a flap of uncircumcised flesh.

His eyes caught the light, showing as a fiery, fierce bronze, as he grabbed onto Larue, mouth mashing hers for the very first time.

A joyous, maddening, arousing kiss it was, from lips that felt like two clouds, and tasting a tongue that still bore the flavor of the mango orange smoothie.

Legs turning to putty, Larue mashed herself against his wet figure and threw her arms around his thick neck, vowing to let go, never.

There they stood, a good long while, mouths connected, the world be damned.

Marlon’s arms circled her waist, and hands touched her little ass, such a spark from his touch that she had to wrench her mouth from his to gasp and pressed her chin into his shoulder.

“Your ass is like a dream, Baby” Marlon hissed, sucking at Larue’s neck, hands on her cheeks roughly.

SMACK!

Larue jumped, in a delicious pain as he slapped her backside, and was pulled from him. Just far enough for him to bury his face into her cleavage, tongue swabbing after the top of the globes.

“Oh…yes…yes Marlon…” She whimpered feverishly and took delight in the light reflecting off the bald spot on top of head.

Perhaps he was older than he appeared.

It was not a matter in her mind, scarcely a blip on Larue’s radar.

His head came up and he was peering at her intently, Larue almost came right there.

His hand was at the waistband of her low-slung pants, and starting to slip inside where his brows went up in surprise.

“You little minx.” He chuckled as his hand touched nothing but searing skin. “You’re not wearing panties…”

“No…No…NO!” Larue’s head jerked back as Marlon’s hand disappeared into the pants and a finger was forcing its way inside of her.

“Christ…it’s so tight…”Marlon whispered, eyes leaving her face and going downward his free hand steadying her as his occupied one twisted in those damp, warm folds.

“You…you haven’t been treated right Larue…”

Hands came up and gripped her face.

Marlon squeezed his eyes shut, and told her,

“You need a man in your life…a man to give you what you need. I can see in your face, what you need…”

Somehow, Larue’s top appeared in Marlon’s hands then on the floor as his mouth assaulted her bosom.

Lips kissing loudly, mouth sucking dark, chocolaty nipples, hands caressing them and ruining Larue with each passing second.

Holding on to his head, Larue smooched Marlon’s bald spot, causing him to bust up loudly.

Squeezing her tightly, junk banging her leg. Marlon snorted, then spoke seriously,

“I’m about to tear it down for you…Sugar.”

In seconds, Larue was as naked as he.

“Goddamn” Marlon’s voice was light as he stood, one hand on his pudgy hip, the other up stroking his mustache as his eyes roved every peak and valley available to him.

A surge of sensuality washed over Larue and putting her hands into her hair, looking very much like a pin up, she teased,

“Like what you see, Mr. Jackson?”

Hand being taken, she was thrilled beyond compare, when her lover stated,

“My name is Marlon, and you’re going to say it enough before the night is over…”

Larue was tugged over to the still running shower and stood under the spigot, warm water rushing over her. (effectively taking all the volume out of her well-tended hair)

Leaning forward, as Marlon joined her she put her lips to the strip of flesh in the center of his chest.

“Yes…woo, shit.” Marlon gasped as slowly, Larue was kneeling in front of him.

Face to shaft with that glorious piece of prick, she was mesmerized by that hunk and wondered how Marlon walking without perpetually stepping on it.

Hand just barely going around it, she licked her lips in anticipation, pushing the foreskin back to expose the rudely pink, mushroom-like tip.

“Lord…” She heard Marlon mumbled and gazed upwards seeing he was staring down at her.

“Do you want me to--”

And as Marlon mouthed the affirmative, Larue began mouthing him, in one swift take, her face was mashed into that fluff of man fur, that large dick gone down her throat.

“You’re gonna do it like that? You’re doing it like that? Motherfucker!” Marlon squealed, falling back against the tiled wall of the shower, shaking, overwhelmed by what was happening to him.

“You…Girl, your mouth…Goddamn!” He was at a loss for words as that mass in her mouth began to grow and harden, extending to a full ten inches or so.

Slowly pulling back allowing the flesh to pop from her mouth and erect, it pointed upwards, Larue, water sprinkling on her leaned down and kissed at the small, swollen, fuzzy jewels that were his testicles.

“Aaow! Girl! Larue! Damn!” Marlon cried, hands to his head, nails grating against the bare patch on top.

Hearing Marlon exclaiming wildly, only turned Larue on further and as her tongue passed along the ridge between the two balls, Marlon stamped his foot.

“Don’t…” A handful of her wet hair was grabbed and her mouth pried from him. “You’ll make me come like that, Sugar…stop it…”

Incredibly, Marlon dropped to his knees, mouth pecking her, and popped right back up, bringing up his leg and slapping his thigh.

Stooping over, he pulled her to her feet.

Hands pressing her hips, he instructed, “Grab the pole--”

As her hands wrapped that dick, he crowed,

“Not THAT pole! The one over the shower! HAHAHAHA!”

Larue was lifted up and could only marvel as Marlon dropped to his knees again, this time taking her legs and resting them on his tensing, shoulders,

“OH MY GOD!” Larue’s head smacked the hard tiles as Marlon’s face disappeared into her loins, sucking wildly at her vagina.

“Oh.--oh-oh! Marlon--Oh! Oh! Shit! Oh!” She grunted as his mouth covered her tiny love button sucking on hard, and producing a loud smacking noise.

Her grip tightened on the chrome pole supporting the shower head, as Marlon’s hands came up, cupping her buttocks, holding her in place and continued to suck for so long, she was sore.

For a split second, he moved his mouth just enough to snicker nastily,

“Such a good, sweet little pussy…and it’s all mine….”

“Marlon-no! Marlon--stop it! Stop!” Larue cried as he began wagging his head wildly from side to side, tongue plunging to depths that had gone untouched.

She was going to ruin his face!

Larue shrieked so shrilly, Marlon jumped back.

Large goofy grin on his face, he teased and prodded her clit with his thumb,

“If you raise that kind of hell, then I know exactly what I want to do to you!”

Just as before, Marlon popped to his feet with the greatest of ease, smacking his thigh.

Bringing Larue back onto quaking legs, Marlon eased around her, arm wrapping her waist and was kissing at her neck.

Putting an arm back, Larue whimpered, and was gripping his thick neck enraptured, his free hand rubbing after her.

Her cheek pressed his, Marlon guiding her towards the wall of the shower.

A hand came up and reduce the water to a light spray.

“I’m gonna be good to you, Larue.” He promised, hands coming down and starting to spread her legs, positioning her the way he wanted.

Larue obliged completely at the will of Marlon Jackson.

He could have done anything just shy of setting her afire and roasting marshmallows, she was so taken, flustered, wanton and horny.

Marlon spoke stealthily off into her ear.

“I want to be right up on your ass while I do this, Baby. I want to hear every breath you take, feel every single movement of that sweet body of you. Hear you…we’re alone…we’re alone.”

“Ah!” Larue gasped sharply, Marlon easing that length into her, pushing her deepest innermost folds back as she struggled to accept him.

“I know Baby…it’s big and you’re so small…but young as you are…you’ve got a lot of stretch…Ugh!”

“Oh no…oh my God…Ah!” Larue cried hoarsely, reaching back and holding onto Marlon’s massive ass cheeks as he found his rhythm and was merrily plugging away at her, his breathing heavy, but not strained.

Marlon Jackson knew what he was doing, and fucking Larue to insanity was his area of expertise.

His crotch was flapping sternly, his mouth on her throat and shoulders, hands up and kneading her firm breasts to a goo.

“Ugh, oh yes, Ugh, oh yes…good pussy…tight pussy…”He murmured, hand brushing her hair out his face, movements quickening

“I--I can’t hold on much longer…I can’t! MARLON I CAN’T! MARLON! MARLON-AH-MARLON-AH-AH-AH-AH-AAAAAHHHH!”

Larue, shaken to the core, and losing the battle to keep an orgasm at bay shrieked and tried to pull away from Marlon before the feeling overtook her.

Marlon immediately placed both arms around her waist, keeping her against him as his pace never broke.

“I’m not letting you go.” He growled his voice hitting it‘s deepest registers. “You wanted to fuck me, been wanting to fuck me…I’ve seen you--Ugh!--prancing around in spandex with those tits and ass in my face. You’re getting what you want! GODDAMN IT!”

Marlon’s voice transformed and became alarmingly calm.

“I’m going to come…”

Talk about the power of persuasion.

At the very mention, Larue could no long hold on.

“Aaaaah! Ahhhh! Fuck me! Fuck me! Aaaaah! Marlon!”

And unleashed a torrent all over his rapidly plunging rod of destruction.

“Yes Baby, you do that…you come for me. You come for your Marlon! Come for me! Squirt it--- Squirt for Daddy--GRRRRR!” He was sounding less human more animal.

“Oh shit…here it comes--my turn!”

Marlon Jackson was quite noisy.

“Oh, yeah….YEAH! YEAH AAOW! AAOW! HOLY--AAOW! AW-AW-AW-DAMN IT-AW-SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.”

He howled like the heated beast he truly was.

At the last moment, Marlon ripped his dick from Larue and panting wildly, he hugged her tighter than before, to the point he nearly cracker her ribs, his meat trapped between them.

There was a new, hot wetness spurting skywards and dousing Larue’s back.

“Aw, it’s a lot….holy shit….oh girl, Baby!” Marlon jerked against her, breaths heavy, his flesh warm against her.

“Sweet Jesus….”

Slowly, very, slowly, Marlon released Larue and she slumped against the wall.

“Are you alright?” Marlon wondered when he noticed Larue wasn’t looking at him.

“Yes…”She nodded staring off into space, as Marlon moved away from her, returning with a bar of Dove soap.

Larue was silent as he began lathering her body, staring through the water, allowing herself to be washed by his gentle hands.

Sudsy, Marlon paused to soap himself up, and Laure spoke, barely aware of it.

Halfway breathless she wondered,

“What happens now?”

Those caring, deep gold eyes glowed with affection, as Marlon positioned her directly beneath the showerhead, rising her body.

“I take you home with me, that’s what happens now, Larue.”

Larue, lungs deflating, threw herself against Marlon.

“I…I know…I know…” Marlon chuckled, mouth finding Larue’s and connecting hotly. “I love you too, Baby.”

As the sun rose, causing dawn to break on the sleepy city of Atlanta, on the outskirts of town, inside the ivy-covered fences of a gated community, a large, luxury vehicle stopped before one of the many mansions.

The driver’s door opened, and a man, in a gold sweater, jeans and Ferrari emblem cap slipped out, made his away around the car and opened the passenger door.

A young woman, draped only in a black terrycloth robe, bearing the name ‘Marlon Jackson’ stitched in silver, was helped down from the car.

Smiling, the removed the sunglasses hiding her lover’s eyes and slipped her arm through his.

And the two of them continued on into the large house sprawling before them, to sleep and wake up to their new life, together.



Getting Back to Michael....

Hey Y'all!

Just yesterday I posted a new Marlon Jackson erotica, entitled Chance Encounter. And in general the response to the story has been positive and has close to 20 reads already, which makes me feel nice so many people are looking at my work.
But I got to thinking. It really is time I get back to my roots and write out another Michael Jackson erotica, the reason I began this blog in the first place. It's time for me to put on my thinking cap and get to work on our One Gloved Wonder.
I am not exactly sure what the new story will be about, or even what ERA of Michael it will feature yet. I'm just going to leave my head open to inspiration and if the idea hits me, I will run with it.

(Chance Encounter is what I call a "cold write" because it had NO outline and was frankly written off the top of my head over the course of about 6 hours. The new MJ story may also be a "cold write", I don't know, but I am looking forward to a story featuring him again.)

More is definitely on the way guys!