Kingston leaned forward, slapped Theodore’s ass. “Get the lemon cream pie out of the freezer.”
“Cream and pie and it’s frozen. You should’ve been said that, ba . . .” Theodore let the other half of the word resound in his head, then he saluted Kingston. He strutted barefoot on the chocolate hardwood floor. “You know I’m a headmaster, and tasty toppings bring out the beast in me.” Theodore growled, “Grrr!” then snapped his teeth twice.
“Great. Then you won’t make a mess,” Kingston said, following up with a smile. He was ready to blast off a full load.
Nothing comes out of his pecker in that janitor’s closet. Nothing.
“When have I ever made a mess, hon . . . I mean, Kingston?” Correcting himself, Theodore twirled, then tap-danced back to Kingston, balancing the pie in his palm.
Kingston smiled, but his enormous lips did not part. His eyes did not depart from Theodore’s.
They were both perfectionists with problems. The military had trained Theodore to give and receive commands. Team sports made Kingston a standout and team leader of triple-doubles. Theodore was fighting a dishonorable discharge. Kingston was battling being honest about his identity.
Another call from Monet surfaced. Not prepared to give up his new lifestyle, Kingston had left her behind in Maryland, two months ago. Unwilling to admit that he loved the way Theodore loved on him, Kingston gazed into the windows of Theodore’s soul.
Holding the pie, Theodore knelt between Kingston’s legs. “What the fuck. I can’t get no peace, so you ain’t gonna get no peace with her. If we’re keeping it real, you done with pussy. Leave her ass in Columbus. She’ll be okay,” he said, smashing the pie on Kingston’s dick.
Kingston calmly corrected him. “It’s Columbia. And . . . don’t say a word.” Then he picked up the phone and answered, “Baby, let me call you ri—”
Monet interrupted, “All I want you to tell me is you’ve found a house for us. We miss you, Daddy.”
Leaning into Kingston’s lap, Theodore opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue, wrapped his hand around Kingston’s lemony creamy shaft, and began stroking up and down in slow motion.
“I knew I shouldn’t have let you go alone. I’m coming to Atlanta, to help you find something,” Monet insisted.
Selecting and decorating a home each time they’d moved, his wife should’ve gotten her real estate license, instead of getting pregnant for him twelve years ago. Between stripper poles and human trafficking, there was no way Kingston was raising his daughters in the ATL.
Theodore buried his face in the filling, then alternated suctioning Kingston’s nuts into his mouth one at a time.
Rising from his knees, the boy races out of the janitor’s closet. Afraid to peep outside, Kingston closes the door. Crying, trembling, and sniffling, Kingston pulls up his pants, fastens his buckle, turns the lock, and starts counting to fifty. His grandmother taught him if you count to fifty before reacting, you’ll make a better decision.
Watching Theodore’s head go up and down, Kingston mouthed, “Stop it.”
The last thing he wanted was to give Monet a reason to pop up on him. Theodore’s head bobbed faster.
“Hold tight, baby. I’m close. Real close.” To cumming. “Listen, baby. Lilly is helping me narrow it down to two mansions. One in Smyrna and the other in Conyers. Then you can choose one or the other. I’ll FaceTime you tomorrow after church from both locations.”
Monet’s breathing became noticeably heavy with long pauses. Her voice softened. “I can retreat from the kitchen and FaceTime you now. I can use a naughty-girl tune-up.”
A text message popped up from Victoria: We’re ushering the early service tomorrow.
Inhaling deeply, Kingston quietly exhaled. “Not now. I’m at the gym. That’s why I missed your other calls,” he lied.
Kingston replied to Victoria’s text: Cool, gray or blue uniforms.
Monet’s voice escalated. “I know how the women in Atlanta are! I’m not losing my husband to a ‘do anything for a piece of change’ ho shaking her ass for a sponsor.”
Gray, Victoria replied.
Theodore stood, started jerking his arms and swinging his hips at the same time. He twirled, then twerked, making his ass cheeks greet each other. His face was covered with melted cream.
Silently Kingston laughed, motioning for Theodore to get back on his knees. “You right. I’d never fuck them hos, baby.” Kingston muted the call.
“Aw, shit!” Kingston yelled as Theodore’s lips slid along his shaft. He felt Theodore’s tongue slide, stop. Glide. Stop. Each time a chunk of pie was devoured. “You definitely know what the hell you’re doing, man. Where’d you learn that search-and-find”—Kingston yelped his next word—“technique?”
“Do you hear me, Kingston? I’m coming to Atlanta without your permission,” Monet retorted.
Theodore shook his head and wiggled his tongue.
Kingston was about to cum. Inhaling deeply, he held his breath. Exhaled. Thanks to the volume in Monet’s tone, he didn’t care that Theodore could overhear the conversation.
He told Theodore, “Don’t say a word.”
“You the one up in here screaming like a bitch. Not me,” Theodore replied.
When he gets to fifty, Kingston slowly opens the janitor’s closet door.
Is fifty the perfect age to come out? “Give me a minute. I’ma end this call in a sec and return the favor,” Kingston said, unmuting the call.
Kingston rubbed the crown of Theodore’s head, then told Monet, “Baby, ooh-whee. You need to bring it down an octave.”
What would his wife, parents, and church members think if Kingston confessed that he enjoyed the company of men?
Kingston wasn’t gay. No man had penetrated him, and no man ever would. Monet didn’t enjoy performing fellatio. Theodore was his first male experience in Atlanta. But not his only.
Theodore started sucking, pumping, and licking vigorously.
Kingston took a deep breath. “Ba-by. The, is, break, I, ma, call—”
“Kingston!” Monet yelled. “I’m getting three tickets today. I’m bringing the girls. We’ll be there tomorrow! I bet you heard that.”
Ending the connection, Kingston shouted, “Shit! Shit! Damn, man! You are a fucking headmaster.”
Kingston hadn’t cum that hard with his wife. The edginess of having Monet on the phone and Theodore on the mic turned Kingston on.
Theodore stood. Swallowed. “You’d best tell your babies’ mother to stay in Columbus, Co-lum-bia, wherever the hell she’s at, or she’s going to have to deal with me. I am not letting you go.”
He had that right. There was nothing to let go of. Kingston was not dating a man.
Langston Derby. That is the boy in the janitor’s closet. Where is he now? And how does he look?
CHAPTER 2
Victoria
“Shit.” Jesus, please take away the hot flashes or the insomnia. Praying for both might be too much. Victoria flapped the white down-feather comforter to create a breeze. Her internal inferno was on the rise.
Glancing at her longtime seventy-one-year-old lover, William Copeland, who was lying beside her snoring, she retrieved her cell from the headboard, then lay on her back and bent her knees.