The Punany Experience (15 page)

Another commercial came on. “Oh no, uhn ugh. What the heck is
Restless Leg Syndrome
?” Korea flipped her pillow to the cool side and scratched her thigh. Stormy looked at Korea. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You got Restless Leg Syndrome? We have a pill for that.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” Korea said into her pillow.

“Only you.”

“I’m going to say this to you again and I trust it’ll be for the last time. I would appreciate it if you don’t get on top of me when I’m sleeping. Don’t attempt to insert anything inside of me; no fingers, no tongues, and no inanimate objects, of any kind. If I wanted a man, I would have one.”

“Okay, Korea. I promise that I’ll never, ever get on top of you when you’re sleeping,” Stormy said, rolling onto her back. “You didn’t touch your lasagna. Weren’t you hungry?”

“Did you make it?”

“No, I…”

“Then why would I eat it?”

“I guess you wouldn’t.”

“This relationship isn’t a guessing game, Stormy. All I asked you to do for me when we met was to keep yourself available to me and to take care of home. I promised to do the rest. I’m handling my business, but lately you haven’t been fulfilling any of your promises. It’s like I’m taking a back seat to your computer. This isn’t working.”

“Tell me about it,” Stormy spoke through a sigh. “But really, baby, I don’t want to fight,” she said, resigning before the fight even began.

Stormy got out of the bed, picked up her half glass of Merlot, walked to the sliding patio doors, stepped through them, and onto the balcony. In silence, she sipped her wine and seduced the big yellow moon with her naked body until her sadness was beginning to inebriate itself away.

Stormy’s glass was getting empty when she began to slowly sway her hips through the cool night air. Her eyes were steadied on the moon that seemed to be winking at her like an exquisite quiche. Way up there on the penthouse balcony, no one could
see her. No one could touch her or hear her thoughts. Her eyes swept over the stars as she sipped and pondered upon the source of their dazzling lights and of the clever hands that put them in their places. Stormy was embarrassed, thinking of what the God that designed this midnight sky must have thought of her now. She was ashamed that she was so unworthy to even talk to Him. Even her nakedness, she thought, must have insulted Him.

But looking down, at the beautiful body God had given her, freed her spirit for a moment. In a sudden burst of confidence she had not known in far too long, she tried to pray. She tried to pray to see if she could get that feeling she had gotten as a child; the feeling that he was listening. Naked on the balcony, full of wine, she prayed.

“God, most merciful Father, and creator of all, please take a moment to forgive me for my sins. I ask that you make me pure in this moment of magnificence, so that I may be worthy of speaking to you again, after so much time. I understand that with the new life I have chosen, I have strayed far from your plan for me, but I am listening now. Speak to me. I don’t ask of You riches and fame, only for peace and happiness. You know my heart, dear Lord. Please send me someone who appreciates me for more than my subservience, but one who respects my talents. Send me somebody who sees my light and doesn’t try to put it out. Send me somebody with a light that shines as brightly as those stars of yours. I hope you can hear me. If you can hear me, if you can forgive me, if you ever loved me, help me now. Hear me now. Amen.” Stormy waited for a sign; a twinkle in a star, a flash of light or the butterflies she used to feel when she prayed. But nothing happened.

“Sometimes a good fight is exactly what I need, to get me going,” she heard Korea’s voice state behind her.

“Funny, all it takes for me is a little respect,” Stormy answered without turning around. Stormy’s eyes gazed into the moon and glazed over.

Korea gazed at Stormy. “Look at that big ole’ moon,” Korea said, looking at Stormy’s full tan ass. “Isn’t it great?”

Stormy didn’t respond. She was in a faraway place, nearly dreaming, as she stood there in the moonlight. She had almost forgotten Korea was there, when she felt her ass cheeks gently being pulled apart and a warm tongue sliding expertly between them. Her knees buckled, a shiver ran the course from her feet to her shoulders, and her crystal wine glass fell eighteen floors, from the penthouse balcony. Stormy bent slightly forward, resting her arms on the garden wall, and spread her legs open, allowing her flower to part for Korea’s apologetic tongue.

Korea and Stormy lay on the bed with their down comforter and silk sheets disheveled around them. They listened to the sounds of Oakland, California after dark. A helicopter hovered persistently above them. A car door slammed. A car alarm sounded off and a kitten shrieked on the street below the high-rise building. In the distance, birds of the sanctuary in Lake Merritt squawked.

“Are you getting bored with me?” Stormy asked, staring into the dark of Korea’s bedroom.

“Why do you ask me that?”

“Because you didn’t cum when you were eating me out.”

“No. I’m not bored. I have a lot on my mind. I mean, I like change; things can get boring sometimes.”

“You mean people can get boring sometimes.”

“Them, too.”

“You want to go again? You can fuck me with your pussy, until you cum. I don’t need to get off anymore.”

“No.”

Stormy thought about how the last erotic encounter she planned for Korea had changed their love-making style forever, but she asked the question anyway. She knew this thing was slipping away fast, but she wasn’t ready to leave yet.

“What is your fantasy, Korea?”

“I have a lot of them.”

“I know that. I mean, which one have you been thinking about lately?”

“You sure you want to know?

“Yes.”

“I want to fuck a man in the ass.”

“You do?”

“Hell yes. That shit would be so fun.”

“You want to fuck me in the ass?

“No.”

“Good. I’m not into ass play,” Stormy said. “Why don’t you want to fuck me in the ass?”

“Why don’t I want to fuck you in the ass?”

“Yes.”

“What fun would that be? You’re a woman. I can do anything I want to you already. It wouldn’t be a challenge.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize sex needed to be a challenge.”

“Baby, anything worth doing needs to be a challenge. That’s your problem now. Nothing seems to be a challenge for you. Everything comes too easy for you. You don’t have to work for it. People simply give it to you.”

“That’s not true, Korea. You sound like Tom.”

“Please don’t compare me to that sorry excuse for a man.”

“Damn, baby, you sure you don’t want to bust on me real quick? You’re cranky.”

Korea did not respond to that.

“What you’re saying about me isn’t true at all. Do you think taking care of you and this penthouse is easy?”

“For you, it is. It should be anyway. You don’t have anything else to do.”

“I do. I happen to have a job.”

“Do you call that little article you write on the Internet a job?”

“I hate it when you do that. Why do you have to be so mean to me?”

“Because I can. You need to think about why that is.”

“I’m not responsible for how you treat me; you are.”

“No, you are. Just like you were responsible for how that sorry-ass man of yours was treating you. You’re a fucking muffin, Stormy. You need to get a backbone and start standing up for yourself. Maybe I would respect you more.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, how about I start right now.”

Stormy got out of the bed. She slipped into some underwear, pulled her favorite dashiki from the nightstand drawer, and slipped it over her head. Korea rolled over and hugged her pillow. Stormy’s defiance came at a price; her heart was pounding hard in her chest and her hand was a little shaky as she pulled Korea’s bedroom door closed behind her. She sat down at her computer and logged into her email account. She had ten unopened emails.

“Dear Miss Talbert, this is Paul Moon, head chef at Blue Restaurant. I want to thank you for your glowing review of our cuisine in The Cutting Board. Our business is booming thanks to you. If you ever want to come by for dinner, consider yourself my guest.”

Stormy smiled, and typed a response to him. Then she opened the next email. It was from T. Calloway, her editor.

“Hey, Stormy, T. Calloway here. You are doing a great job! Check your PayPal account.”

There was a smiley face blowing a kiss at the end of the message. Stormy logged in to her PayPal account and beamed when she saw her new account balance. She opened the Yahoo window and opened another email.

“Dear Miss Talbert. You probably don’t remember me. I was your
waiter at the Torrent Café on Grove Street. I wanted to write to thank you for being such a nice customer. I didn’t even know who you were, but when I realized you had been there to review us, I thought, wow, she could have been a real bitch (excuse my language), but you weren’t. We get some real nasty clients sometimes because our place is always so crowded, but you were graceful and patient, even when I brought you the wrong order. And, I might add, you are beautiful. I hope this isn’t inappropriate but I have to try. I have never met a woman like you before. Your natural beauty is stunning. I noticed you weren’t wearing a wedding ring. If you would consider letting me take you out sometime, I would be a very happy man. Call me at…”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Korea’s voice startled her, and she jumped.

“I’m checking my email,” Stormy replied.

“You’ve been in here all night already. Bring your fucking ass to bed.”

“I’m only doing what you said.”

“Don’t try me. Come to bed now. And take that stupid-looking dashiki off. That shit ain’t sexy. You’ve got me feeling like I’m sleeping with Angela Davis.”

“Awe, baby, isn’t that one of your fantasies?”

Korea didn’t find her amusing. “Hurry up,” she said. “I’m getting sleepy.”

Stormy took that to mean that Korea wanted some more pussy tonight so she logged off without responding to the sweet young man, who had been so nervous in her presence she had forgiven him instantly for bringing a strawberry and walnut salad instead of the roasted pecan mixed green. He couldn’t have been more than twenty. She laughed at the thought of herself as a cougar as she logged out of her email account and shut her computer down.

Korea’s eyes were closed when Stormy walked into the room.
She slipped her West African shirt over her head and let it drop to the floor.

“Is this better?” she asked in a deep, sensuous tone that forced Korea’s eyes to open, and to see her. Under her square-cut ethnic garb there had been a tight little half-tee and tattoo-designed spanks from Christian Audigier’s Ed Hardy line. Stormy spun around so Korea could see how the panties clung to her phat derriere, letting just a little escape from the lacey hems. “You sure you don’t want to stick your dick in there?” she said, slapping her cheeks with her hands. “You haven’t fucked me with your strap in a minute.”

“Naw, just make it bounce for me, baby,” Korea said softly. “Make it clap.”

Stormy obliged, raising herself on tipped toes, pivoting her feet in and out, her thighs followed obediently, opening and closing, pulling the cheeks of her ass with them until they began to clap. Korea slipped her hand down under the covers to touch her own pussy. She rubbed her tiny dick and watched Stormy’s ass open and close.

“Bend over. Slide your panties to the side so I can see.”

Stormy climbed up on the bed so Korea could get a good look at her pretty golden pussy. She slid her panties to the side and opened her pussy so Korea could look inside. She opened and closed it with her muscles, and made it pop for her daddy a few times. Passion was flooding Korea’s eyes but no moan escaped.

“That’s it, baby, don’t stop,” Korea said, pressing and rubbing her button until she came in a faint grunt.

“That was good,” Korea said. “I could almost forgive that fucked-up dinner after that. Get in the bed.”

Korea fell asleep, holding Stormy tight and pinning her down with two arms and a thigh. It made Stormy uncomfortable to be wrapped like a hotdog this way, but she stayed there, basking in
the affection. She lay awake a while longer, picturing Korea’s fantasy of fucking a man with a dildo, wondering how she was going to make it happen. Maybe this new fantasy would get her off of the old one. Maybe it would make her forget about what happened that night, at Club X. Maybe Korea would forgive her and they could start fucking normally again, like they used to.

I
N THE LIGHT OF DAY
, S
TORMY MOURNED THE PASSIONATE
sexual relationship she once enjoyed with Korea. Stormy was naturally submissive, and had been straight before she met Korea. She was groomed by her Southern-raised mom to be a housewife and a supporting cast member to her leading man, traits she continued to live with, and abide by, even when she chose a woman to play the part of her leading man. But it had been more difficult than she imagined, to please someone who was every bit of the woman she was. Stormy felt there was little she could give Korea that Korea could not provide for herself. Men, with their childish neediness, had been much easier to handle. All she had learned from Tom was how to coddle. But what she had learned from Korea was an addictive independence that was becoming the root of their problems.

Stormy wasn’t the neatest person, but struggled and managed to keep Korea’s two-level penthouse condominium clean and organized, although she thought it was a job for a professional. Between two levels, there were two master bedrooms, a guest room, three-and-a-half bathrooms, a huge living room, a massive dining room, a den, and a workout room. Korea generally spent most of her time between the state-of-the-art workout room, perfecting her beautiful androgynous body, and her private master bedroom.

Stormy was expected to maintain the entire condo alone. It was
easy enough to do, when it was all she had to do. But her new-found career as a food critic, with her own weekly column, “The Cutting Board,” was gaining momentum and she didn’t have as much time to handle domestic matters. Besides, she thought to herself, as she looked at the clock on her computer, hoping Korea would be grossly late coming home again, with sex getting so sporadic, she didn’t really feel like cooking or cleaning a damned thing.