Page 30 of B.D.E
“A what?”
“You know, wash your hair, and give you two braids. Something simple but very therapeutic.”
I sat back in the chair and rubbed my hand across my braids. My shit was looking crazy, and it had been weeks since I’d kidnapped Stephanie to handle it. Shit had been crazy lately and getting my hair done was the furthest thing from my mind.
“Shit… I don’t know Specs. I’ve only ever let one person put they hands in my head. You trying to fuck my shit up huh?”
“For your information, I’ve braided plenty of my dolls hair when I was younger, so I know a little something, plus, I know how to deep condition and treat my own hair so yours won’t be much different.” She sat her fork done, tilting her head. “And while we are on the subject, how did a woman get close enough to be able to braid your hair? I could’ve sworn you said you didn’t allow people to touch you… unless that was a lie. Where you trying to finesse me just to get in my pan?—"
I chuckled. “Let’s be clear baby girl. Me getting that pussy had nothing to do with me trying to finesse you. You just succumbed to a real nigga being in your presence, so I knew you eventually would’ve given it to me. Being untouched was just a plus,” I said cockily.
She rolled her eyes. “Yea whatever, Roman.”
Down boy!
My dick twitched at the sound of my government name rolling off her tongue. I had to mentally talk him down before I could even respond to her.
“Nah, but on some real shit. I been letting her treat and braid my hair for years and the shit just fit,” I shrugged.
“How so?” she questioned.
“I pick her up from her shop, blindfold her and bring her back to my secluded spot. She washed my shit, treat it, braid it, then drain my dick before I take her back,” I said.
She looked shocked at my bluntness, but I didn’t have shit to hide that I was ashamed of.
“Wh- at do you mean… drain your D?”
I laughed hard at how she was using code words for dick like we were little kids or some shit. I fucked with Specs though, because she was green to a lot of shit, dick being one of them.
“I mean… she sucked myDICK,Specs. My shit too big to be referenced as aD,love.”
“You know what I meant, asshole. So, you just let her suck your dick and do your hair?” She said with a hint of jealousy. It was cute seeing her be jealous for her nigga that she didn’t know was her nigga, yet.
“I mean, yeah. I paid her too, but it’s not like I asked for the shit. First time she did it, I was bout ready to shoot her ass but the shit was fire, so I didn’t trip.” I said, nonchalantly. She grabbed a napkin and swatted at me.
“You are ridiculous.”
I shrugged, “Shit, I’m honest, baby. I know you be reading about niggas getting their dick licked in them lil’ books.”
She burst out laughing, letting me know that I was right. Her laugh sounded so full and natural, it made my chest feel funny.
“I don’t even know how to do that,” she said through her laughter.
“Well,” I said, leaning in. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ma teach you.”
She nodded shyly, looking away and biting her lip. She finally picked up her fork to finish her food as we ate in a comfortable silence.
“So, it’s a yes to your hair, right?
“Shit, I guess, but don’t fuck my shit up Specs. I like to look good when I end muthafuckas.”
“Okay, okay,” She squealed then jumped up from the table and rushed to the back. Shit like this was not a big deal for me but she was so excited about something as small as doing my hair, so I rocked with it.
Specs, sat cross-legged behind me on the couch as her fingers glided through my hair. She took her time washing, conditioning and detangling my shit with some products that she apparently packed before we left her place. She also had oils, leave in conditioners and hair clips… all the shit I didn’t care to understand but appreciated. She gently parted my hair with a rattail comb, humming low under her breath to that same song I’d heard her hum when I was watching her bake in the café. Specs didn’t know it, but most of the time when she thought I was sleeping, I was in the shadows watching her. The way she moved, the way she talked and sang to herself, and just everything about her. She insisted we watch TV which was something that was foreign to me cause I was too busy doing hits to know what shows where coming on.
“Wheel of Fortune?” I asked smirking.
“Don’t hate. My daddy used to watch this every night at 6:30,” she said, dragging the comb with the same slow rhythm. “He’d cuss the whole time like he could do better than the contestants, but I swear he never solved a puzzle before the timer.
