Page 12 of Off the Charts
“Yes. Like this,” he made some smacking sounds while eating air chicken. “It’s really loud, Mama,” Zy giggled.
We laughed our way to the Chicken Hut. As soon as I parked, Zy was out of the car, opening the driver side door for me. I took his extended hand then kissed the top of his forehead. I could talk a lot of shit about Solomon, but he made sure our baby boy was a gentleman the same way he was raised. My eyes filled with tears because not only was my baby not a baby anymore, but the thought of us being away from one another for six weeks was setting in. Although there were three more weeks left until summer break, I was going to miss my little man.
I closedmy eyes as I released the breath I’d seemed to be holding for the past thirty minutes. Another negative on my NAT test. The first one was to ease my worries, the second was to be sure, and this last one would allow me to close this chapter completely. I was free from all diseases. False HIV negatives were very rare, but I couldn’t seem to shake the fear. My doctor told me it can take up to thirty days for it to be detected so it wasa possibility that my first test wasn’t accurate. Solomon told me that he was clean, but he was also the same man who helped me master the art of sucking dick then used those same skills on his best friend. I couldn’t be too sure, but I could breathe knowing that I’d walked away with nothing but my biggest blessing, our son.
Double-tapping my screen, I checked the time on my phone. It was just after noon and minutes away from my favorite time of day. I entered the pantry where I stored snacks and my wine cooler. Inside of it, I had more gallons of my infamous wine than I could count.
Although I wasn’t working a nine to five, I still put my passion to use. As a little girl, I used to help my grandmother pick field and snap peas for fun. Behind her field, she had two big grape vines. Although she would scold me about picking from them prematurely, I would never leave her house without a basket full. Grandma taught me several ways to cook with the fruits and vegetables she planted but I knew I was growing up when she taught me how to make wine. I remember being frustrated because although it was simple to make, the process could sometimes take months before you got to see the fruit of your labor. Not only did I learn the art of patience, but I discovered that I enjoyed making wine. Once my grandmother turned the responsibility over to me for the holidays, I knew I’d become official with that shit.
I didn’t want to be a nurse or police officer, I wanted to be the best vintner Harvest Hills had ever seen. After researching, I learned there was so much you could do in the food and beverage industry, so I got my bachelor’s degree in fermentation science and master’s in food science and technology. Being single made me realize that my life was never on track because I didn’t have one of my own. I simply existed. Now, my focus was my child, self, and watering my fermentation skills again.
Filling the glass halfway with the wine, I placed it on the counter, wedging the stem of the glass between my index and middle finger to twirl the liquid around. My nostrils filled with the fresh sent of grapes, berries, and the faint smell of grandma’s secret recipe. A smile spread across my lips because I could clearly hear her voice in my head letting me know it wasn’t a gallon without it. God rest her soul.
The taste of the wine against my taste buds sent chills down my spine.
“Mm. Perfect,” I whispered.
The clock against the wall let me know I had about seven minutes before it was time to report. My hips swayed to a beat that only I could hear as I took hefty swallows from my wine so it could go exactly where I wanted it to, my throbbing pussy. As I made my way to the third bedroom, I shut the black out curtains and enabled the ring light while adjusting the tripod that was connected to it. The laptop was on the nightstand a few steps away.
Liberated.
To be freed from something that restricts or constrains.
I never claimed to be perfect or judged someone else for how they made their money. Shit, I understood why niggas said fuck school and put their ass on camera. It paid the bills. But my reasoning was different. I wanted to feel in control of something other than the situation ahead of me. Here, behind the lens that was no bigger than the tip of my finger, I felt desired.
Three months ago, my cousin Harmoni introduced me to a private site called Seven Keys. The shit was so high tech that you couldn’t enter it into your browser. Once approved by your referral, they would mail you equipment that is to only be used when you were working. Seven Keys had seven levels ranging from a sex line, content, all the way to a sex club I was told they owned. I was on the second level as a content worker, and Iplanned to stay there. Harmoni was into some shit, so I believe she was on level seven.
Before the clients ever came to me, Seven Keys pushed them through an extensive interview process which landed me with four high-profiled men in their late forties. I didn’t offer video or audio calls. They send their request of the day and payment, and I upload the video without making contact. My content was faceless, barely ever coming past my navel to maintain my privacy and it was rare that I’d expose myself. It was all a tease, mind games if you will, that made sure the checks cleared and confidence rose. The more I played, I realized that this shit wasn’t for them; it was for me. The money was a bonus, but I was reigniting the sparks in my body that I’d shielded from fire for so long.
My skin warmed and pussy tingled at the thought of knowing that the simple caress of the skin I’d trapped myself in could set a man free and even better, cover my rent for months. I was able to reclaim the power I’d lost. It wouldn’t be forever, but it did help with the healing.
I caught my reflection in the full body mirror in front of me. Shimmying my shoulders, I let the robe fall to my feet as I stood. I wanted to see what they would be seeing first. I loved my body, especially the tiger stripes on my stomach and thighs. My hands ran up them, over the curve of my hips up until they were pressed against my hardened nipples.
“Sss,” I hissed, massaging the right one between my fingers, the feeling sending more shock waves to my girl. I snapped a few pictures in the mirror, sitting on the edge of the bed, and a few where I sat bearing my weight on one hand where you could see the outline of my pussy through the lace. These were for me, and I made a mental note to put them in my hidden folder later.
After grabbing my oils and a towel, I opened the laptop and the first message I saw made me smile. Everybody hadtheir dedicated days and Fridays were for my highest paying customer. He wanted his videos midday and not a second later. My mind told me he was married and wanted to get one off before he gets back to his nagging ass wife. But the other side of me was giving him the benefit of doubt, maybe he wanted some company.It wasn’t my concern, but I did wonder.
I finished off the rest of my wine before reading the message.
Hello beautiful. Today, I would like to see it from the back. It’s been a long day, and I would like to know what I am coming home to. Any color looks good on you. Surprise me.
For some reason, I read the note in a deep baritone, and it sent shivers down my spine. One thing I appreciated was that I couldn’t see them because I’d painted them to be these fine, salt and pepper beard, broad shoulder, big dick energy having ass niggas. If they were anything less than, I’d throw up and abort the entire mission.
With the wine and the sensations arising between my legs, I knew this would be a good session. My phone dinged twice, reminding me that I didn’t put it on do not disturb, but the name across it made me stop in my tracks. I clicked the message.
V. Denver: Afternoon. Reaching out because I am finishing up Zion’s intake forms. Can you send me the exact name and dosage? I want to cross reference with Doctor Knight.
And a pic of the bottle if you got it.
Hi. I got you. Is he okay?
I told you I’d call. Did you receive a call?
I blinked a few times trying to see who the hell he was talking to, but this wasn’t a group chat. I chuckled at his audacity and before I could type a message, he texted again.
He good. In class. Send the info. Have a good day.
“Thank God,” I mumbled as I swiftly scrolled through my images. I had Zy’s medication stored in my gallery and once I located them, I forwarded the image of the prescription itself, and the bottle before enabling do not disturb.
