Dangerously In Love Chapter 2

Ignoring the 25 mile an hour speed limit on Lincoln Drive, Reed pushed the needle on the speedometer to 70. Like a man possessed, he took the dangerous curves without a thought of decreasing his speed. The former Victorian hotel on the corner of Lincoln Drive and Gypsy Lane that now served as a police station became a quick blur as Reed defiantly zoomed past. Though there was official Philadelphia police cars parked outside, as far as Reed was concerned, the officers of the law that occupied the log cabin-looking police barracks seemed more like park rangers than real police. Fuck 'em. Those suckers were probably inside knocking off a couple boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts.

Reed gave a snort as he imagined his wife's reaction if she were in the passenger's seat. He could just hear her: Slow down, Reed, she'd whine. It's dangerous to speed on Lincoln Drive. You know what happened to Teddy Pendergrass when we were kids…

Then Reed would interject: Chill out, Dayna. I can handle these curves without breaking my neck.

He suffered a spinal cord injury, Dayna would correct.

Neck, spine…whatever. I know I'm not going out like that.

Irked by Dayna's know-it-all attitude, he'd feel compelled to drive even faster. Throughout her squeals of protest, her face contorted in fear, his wife would undoubtedly be holding onto the overhead handle while pressing her foot into an imaginary brake on the floor.

But thankfully, he didn't have to listen to her whine. Not tonight. Reed swerved to the left and headed for City Avenue, but when he neared the Adams Mark Hotel, he accelerated instead of turning into the parking lot.

He checked the time. It was only 6:30. Plenty of time to take care of what he had to do. Then, after a couple of hours of stress release, he'd head back to the Adams Mark to network for the last half hour of the seminar. Yeah, a half hour was all a brother needed to make some connections. Reed had little patience for sitting around listening to a bunch of speakers.

His truck might as well have been on automatic pilot for Reed had made no conscious decision to drive to o 38th and Chestnut. He chuckled to himself and gave a shrug of indifference as he parked and then quickly ducked into the discreet entrance of Wizzard's, a strip joint in the heart of University City. The club featured a large selection of women with varying body type. The few black chicks employed by Wizzards were exceptionally pretty with perfect bodies. Indeed, some of the best black eye candy in the city was found swiveling down the pole at Wizzards. Problem was, you could look but you couldn't touch unless you paid a crazy amount of money for a quick and unfulfilling couch dance. The stupid no-physical-contact rule irked the hell out of Reed. Still, just being in the tits and ass environment gave him a rush.

"Corona," he said to the bartender, knowing he'd get a scowl of incomprehension if he asked for a can of Old English, his preferred libation.

Sipping the weak beer, he winked at the dancer on stage. Heidi, a petite busty brunette instantly sauntered over to Reed, giving the impression of performing exclusively for him. But after licking her lips and rubbing her tits for over 60 seconds without a tip, she huffily moved on to the next lustful patron.

"Is Sensation dancing tonight?" he asked the bartender.

"Yup, she's up next," the bartender said, yawning pointedly as he looked down at his watch.

Reed gave the bartender a sneer; the guy had to be a fucking faggot to act like he was all bored and bothered by the never ending parade of tits and ass featured at Wizzards. His annoyance with the bartender, however, became a foggy memory the moment his favorite girl, Sensation hit the stage in a flash of pink. Coffee-colored with a drop of cream, Sensation looked good enough to eat in her glow-in-the-dark neon pink, thong set. Curly blonde waist-length extensions swayed as she undulated to a slow song.

Sensation gave Reed a come hither look, seducing him with pouting lips as she sensually rotated her hips--persuading him to dig deep into his pockets and pay for the special attention she was giving him. With a subtle pelvic thrust she urged him to be generous. Pay Me! Her body screamed.

Reed, however, interpreted her body language in an entirely different way. Her body was talking to him. Writhing with mounting desire, she was begging to get sexed. Every gyration was a cry for release. Release that only he could provide.

Talk to me baby! I know you want this dick. He almost shouted the words out loud, but restrained himself as he imagined him and Sensation sweaty and naked engaging in all the positions of the Kama Sutra.

With his eyes fixed on Sensation, his imagination running wild, Reed was unaware that many of the men in the club, aroused by her display of oozing sexuality had moved to the front of the stage and were showing their appreciation by flinging fives and tens onto the stage. These men, mostly suit-wearing Caucasians, seemed to be of one mind and had left Reed behind.

Fighting for a position was a wearisome reality at his place of employment. But he'd be damned if he'd allow himself to be chumped outside of the workforce and in front of a sister. Reed pulled out a neatly folded wad of one dollar bills. He scowled at the money and stuffed it back into his pocket. Sensation deserved currency of a much higher denomination-a twenty at the least. From his back pocket, he extracted another wad and peeled off a twenty, changed his mind and pulled out a ten. Ten dollars was good enough for now, he'd give her much more when they got together later at her place or a hotel.

Quite suddenly, Sensation dropped to all fours and went into a sexy panther-like crawl, her hair swept the floor. Transfixed by this carnal exhibition, Reed forgot to throw his money on stage. Moments later, his reverie was broken by rude catcalls and whistles as a slew of drunken pink-faced college students rushed the stage. They made airplanes out of five, ten, and even twenty dollar bills. Airborne money crash-landed on the stage. Caught up in the school-boy frivolity, the men in suits decided to join in. As drunk now as the college kids, the suits absurdly attempted to transform their bills into airplanes, but having forgotten the technique, they quickly gave up and resorted to balling up the dollars and throwing them on stage.

Seemingly unaffected by the ever-increasing mounds of cash, Sensation eased into the next song. Climbing the pole like a slithering snake, she descended upside down with only one leg wrapped around the pole. When both feet hit the stage, she stood stock still with her back turned to the crowd. Nothing moved except her perfectly round buttocks. One cheek at a time, her ass danced. The white guys howled in drunken delight, and threw more money at Sensation. Reed, an admitted ass-man felt tortured as he watched Sensation's cheeks clap. A hot current raced through his loins, causing a swelling so painful, he prayed he wouldn't explode in his pants.

He couldn't think straight. His dick was too hard. His mind was muddled and the only coherent thought running across his brain was that he had to get inside some pussy. At this point, had he dwelled in a world without social norms, Reed would have simply snatched Sensation off the stage, thrown her luscious body over his shoulders, cave-man style and whisked her off to his private cave where he'd devote hours to ravishing her ass, pussy, and mouth. What the hell, he'd fuck her tits too. He'd fuck them until the skin was chaffed and raw.

But sadly, he didn't abide in such a world. In his world, a man had to exercise great patience to get what he wanted. He had to put in the time to flatter, court, cajole and ultimately pay for what should rightfully be his.

Paying for pussy seemed unfair; but Reed wanted Sensation and he was willing to pay. Fuck getting her digits and bullshitting on the phone, fuck dinner and the movies. Plain and simple, he just wanted to fuck.

When the song ended, Sensation gathered and picked up the cornucopia of bills that were strewn around the stage in various shapes and denominations. She tossed in a plastic bucket and sashayed off the stage. There had to be at least four hundred dollars in that bucket, Reed surmised. Not bad for fifteen minutes worth of work.

Sensation had another set, but Reed was had grown tired of the dick-hard inducing atmosphere that encouraged suckers to throw away their money, but gave no relief. He decided to go outside and chill in his whip…roll a Dutch and listen to some sounds until Sensation came out. It was 8:03. Her four-hour shift ended at 8:30, so he had less than a half hour wait. He hoped her price wasn't so steep he had to tap the ATM machine.

When Sensation finally emerged from the club, Reed unconsciously began stroking himself. Looking like a chocolate milkshake poured into skintight jeans, Sensation slung a huge plastic Von Dutch bag over her shoulder and ambled toward the pizza parlor next door to the club.

Reed honked the horn. She stopped, turned in his direction. Recognizing him, she smiled and waved, but continued her purposeful trek.

Damn, now he had to wait for her to order a damn pizza! He leaned back in his seat and got comfortable. Though there'd been no verbal communication between he and Sensation, and though no plans to spend the evening together had been made, Reed was convinced they shard the same carnal desire. That smile and the wave she just gave him was her way of asking him to wait a minute while she bought some grub. He knew she wanted some dick, but due to her line of work, she expected to be compensated.

Hey, he couldn't blame her for mixing business with pleasure.

Swinging her hips, Sensation trotted past the pizza parlor, then slowed her stride and sauntered over to a parked gray Bentley. The driver, a young black man wearing a bright-colored do-rag, rolled down his tinted window. Sensation leaned in and gave the driver a kiss, then dreamily glided around the car to the passenger side.

It was a startling revelation; Sensation was getting it in with Allen Iverson. If that wasn't Allen Iverson, then he damn sure had a twin. Stunned, Reed didn't know how to feel. Damn! A.I. was the man, but goddamn, he could have any female on the planet, why'd he have to roll up and grip Sensation?

Defeated, Reed watched as the Bentley ripped down Chestnut Street.