Amani Pt. 01

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All character are 18+ and the sex is safe, sane, and consensual.

Writers love getting feedback, so if you're feeling up to it, drop a comment and give a rating.

-RSP

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Chapter 1

"Why, Amani, as I live and breathe!"

Oh God. This ho. Ever since my Aunt Judy moved down to Georgia—from Maine, mind you—she'd adopted a thick Southern accent and the mannerisms of a 17^th century Southern belle. As an African-American woman with kinky curls and skin reminiscent of the too-sweet tea she'd taken to drinking I didn't understand how she couldn't see the irony.

"Hi, Auntie Judy," I said to her cleavage as she absorbed my body into what I think was supposed to be a hug.

She held me at arm's length, running her eyes over my figure, from my silver peep-toe wedges to my tropical-patterned jumper. "Why don't you look healthy?" Fat. "You look good considering that whole broken engagement awfulness." Why can't you keep a man? "Your mama was just so devastated when she told me what happened." Just grab the knife and kill all the women in the family. We've failed you. Not married. No kids. SINGLE.

Breezy smile in check, I gave my aunt no indication that her words had any affect on me. Bypassing what could have been an innocuous chat, I cut to the quick. "How's the new housekeeper? What is this, your third one in six months?" You can't keep a housekeeper because your husband can't keep it in his pants. "And how's Uncle Larry? He still bettin' on horses?" Not only is your husband a gambler, but he's a lousy one. "Isn't Kevin getting released from prison this year? That's so great." Your son's a small-time drug dealer who's made nothing of his life and you're coming for me? Bitch, please.

Auntie Judy stuttered out some Maine-Georgia cross-accented words as I gently pried her fingers from my arms and walked away toward my parent's big farmhouse. It wasn't that I hated my aunt—I was middle of the road at best—but family reunions seem to bring out all the worst qualities in people: an overabundance of pride, envy, greed, and an absurd amount of gossip.

Sneaking onto the back patio, I managed to make it through the kitchen and into the dining room before someone forcibly stopped me. No small feat since I ran cross-country all throughout high school and my mother made me take ballet from the moment I could walk until I hit puberty and developed the famous Johnson family ass and rack.

"Amani!"

Every hackle I had raised as Dean—my crush for a hot second until I found out we were blood related—said my name in that deep voice, punctuated by the squeeze he gave my arm. I turned mid-stride and scowled. Just freaking glared because it isn't fair that he should look that good in this heat or have a voice like that when he was my uncle.

But damned if Dean didn't cool all my anger with that smile of his, full of teeth and dimples and genuine happiness. Dean was one hundred and ten percent the "oops" baby. Just a few years older than me, we'd grown up together and he'd always been the one to suggest something crazy. What were his parents going to do anyway? It wasn't that they didn't care about their son, but my grandparents had raised four kids and by the time they'd had Dean they were done. So he'd been able to get away with hell and more. And of course, I always got roped into at least half of his shenanigans.

"And where do you think you're going?" he asked, tugging me back toward the kitchen.

"Away from the vultures picking at my single, childless flesh."

He looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. "Always so dramatic, 'Mani."

"When you manifest a vagina and get thrown to the aunties then you can call me dramatic. Until then, shut up."

He barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he toted me into the kitchen.

Ten women turned their eyes on me as Dean announced, "Here she is ladies," in a voice that could have woken the dead. In the next instant, I felt like the thickest, Greek-yogurt layer of pity and relief settle over me. Pity because I was thirty-five—gasp—childless, unmarried, and without even the prospect of marriage, and relief because at least I wasn't any one of their daughters.

"Amani!" a cousin whose name I couldn't remember gushed, wrapping me in an elbow hug so as not to cover me in mayonnaise. The rest of the women lined up to do the same. Patting down my rounded hips and suggesting "cures for those curves," poking at my dreadlocks and murmuring, "I got a relaxer to fix that nap," and trying to yank down my top so I could "catch a man," like this wasn't a damn family reunion.

Thank God I wasn't insecure or anything. "I need a drink."

Skirting the group, I snatched a chilled bottle of wine from the refrigerator door, and turned down the entryway, spinning on my heels and climbing the stairs. I could hear Dean calling my name with just the bare minimum effort to suppress his laughter, "Wait, Amani. Come back!"

I opened the first door on my right, the guest room where I was currently staying, to find my mother completely lit.

"Let me guess," my mama began in a slurred voice from her spot on the bed, a mug in her hand with her naked, manicured feet propped on my pillow. Shaking my head, I kicked the guest bedroom door shut with my foot, upset that the room didn't have a working lock. "The vultures pecked all the flesh from your bones."

"Damn near close." I spied the whiskey on the side-table and whistled softly. "Rough day?"

"'s not over yet."

I plopped down next to her, jarring her body and nearly making her spill the liquid in her cup. She glowered at me as I shrugged and twisted the cap off the wine bottle, thanking my lucky stars that my Auntie Cici—the one who provided libations for the event—was more bougie than classy so I didn't have to struggle for five minutes pressing a cork down into a bottle.

"What's got you up here, mama?" I asked around a swig.

"Your daddy."

It was the other curse of the Johnson family: all of the women, and at least a couple men, marry cheating bastards.

So close. I'd been so close to avoiding that by bending the rules of relationship engagement. It wasn't cheating if we had an open relationship; if we talked about the relations we had with other people and asked each other if we could sleep with this or that person.

For a while it worked for James and me. Until I got home, and in an almost comical over-played, recycled plot I found him in our bedroom cheating on me. At least the scenario had been a little different, if not way weirder: a bukake party with seven grown men jerking off while a little white blonde girl begged them to come all over her.

It wasn't even the party that caused the break up, but the conversation afterwards where James explained that he "just wasn't ready to settle down yet" and wanted to go "on a sex tour in Thailand" did it. I'd wished him luck with the venereal diseases and told him to get the hell out of my apartment.

"Leave him," I said for the hundredth time, taking another long swallow of the wine and wishing it was something with a higher alcohol content.

"It's just easier not to," she slurred, "And I'm putting all those 'sorry I cheated on you again' presents into a college fund for your kids. So if I left him, where would your kids go to college?"

"That's if I want kids."

"They're the worst!" my mama giggled, punching me in the arm. "They turn out to be beautiful, smart, successful people who send you on vacations and pay off your car. Screw 'em!"

I couldn't help but laugh at this moment, a moment we'd had too many times to count. "They're going to start looking for us."

"Let 'em," she declared, throwing her hands up, completely forgetting about the full cup of alcohol. Whiskey soaked into my silk top, making me go from successful single woman to alcoholic flasher ho.

My mother gasped, trying and failing to help. Instead she made it worse by letting go of the cup. It crashed to the floor and in just a few seconds a half dozen relatives raced up the stairs, flung open the door, and crowded the entryway.

"Lord Jesus, what happened?" my grandmama snapped, pushing past the onlookers and hobbling into the room with her cane. "Chil' you smell like a liquor store."

"Thanks, grandmama," I muttered, sliding off the bed where my mom sat carefully poised as if she could project sober if she just sat still enough.

"Y'all can go back down now, I'm just going to change." I slipped past relatives who turned their noses up and bodies away, making my way to the Master bathroom and locking the door. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I sank into myself, folding my arms after my lap and putting my head on my forearms.

Family was, by nature, exhausting. Still, it was moments like these when I missed James, not because he was a calming comfort or he could intervene but because the man ate pussy like it was a class he needed to pass. Right now, I could go for the relief of a toes-curling orgasm to remove this stress.

My phone buzzed in my pocket with a notification, drawing my attention. Pushing up from myself, I sighed, taking it out. You have a new match! glowed cheerfully from one of the half dozen dating apps I'd downloaded the minute I kicked James out. I'd drunkenly ranted to myself while making the profiles that the next guy I fucked was gonna be hung like an elephant and know how to use it and his tongue and his fingers—unrealistic shit like that. Even now, I truly couldn't remember what I'd written or the pictures I'd used to be able to snatch up that mythical man-beast.

"Screw it." I opened the app and clicked on the match, eyes widening at the profile. TexnRex the username said on a picture—many pictures—of not just one but two guys. Two guys who looked nothing alike, but worked together.

One was East Asian, but looked homegrown in a black stetson, ripped jeans, and worn cowboy boots with brooding eyes and washboard abs on display. The guy had cum gutters for goodness sake! In one photo his tongue was licking up the side of the other man's face, leaving no confusion as to the pair deal you got with this match.

The other guy was equally fuckable in a completely different way. Dude was rocking a man-bun in some pictures, braids in others, or just waves past his shoulders in many. His clothing varied from highly masculine suits to more gender fluid neon jumpers. His skin was made on the beach, somewhere in South America for sure. He was wider than his partner, shoulders like a linebacker, with lumberjack forearms. In one picture he was practically fucking his partner's mouth will staring at the camera, at me.

These guys were so out of my league, it wasn't even funny. Of course I had to swipe right.

A comically large heart popped up before exploding in a hail of confetti that left me staring at the private messenger on the app. I clicked on the text field and stared at my keyboard, having no idea what to write. We'd matched, so they were obviously looking for a three-way, right? But what did that look like? Was it more of a screwing one guy while the other watched, cuckold situation? Maybe I was watching them?

My mind was spinning with the possibilities of what this encounter could be, what I wanted it to be. Was I okay with a three-way? Hell yes. Did I want to watch two guys have sex? Never tried it before but I'm down. Did I want someone to watch me have sex? Hmm... That one was maybe the most appealing in a way that I'd never explored.

I jumped at the knock on the door. "You okay in there?"

Of course it was Dean. "I'm fine. Alive. You can report back that I'm just wallowing in shame."

His laugh was warm. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad."

"You've been away for too long, It's gotten worse," I quipped, standing up from the tub and going toward the sink. "Ya ever going to move back stateside?"

"Hell no! Visiting is about as close as I'll ever get to living here again."

"Your mama's gonna be disappointed," I said, running the water until it came cold and splashing it on my face.

"Not if I bring home an African queen."

"Oh Lord!" My laugh was quieter, relaxed. Dean was one of my favorite people no matter where he lived or how long it'd been since we talked. "Can you grab me a change of clothes? Like, all the clothes."

"I don't know," he wheedled, "Pretty sure it's bad to go through a ladies unmentionables."

"Well, let me mention them," I tossed out, tugging off my ruined clothes. "I need a t-shirt, leggings, panties, and a bra."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there. I gotta write all this down."

"Uh-huh," I said loudly, stepping out of my last bit of clothing and turning on the shower. "And I wouldn't mind the rest of that wine bottle."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, voice dripping in humor. "I'll put it all on the bed and close the door. Don't hide up here forever. If you're not down in an hour, I'll carry you outta there fireman-style and sit you next to Auntie Judy."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Don't try me, Miss Johnson," Dean called, voice fading as I heard the door to the Master bedroom open and close.

Shaking my head, I picked my phone back up, ready to scroll through my music and find my shower playlist, but a message notification caught my eye instead. Same app. Username TexnRex.

Chapter 2: Fingers and Cocktails

I'm really doing this, aren't I? I couldn't help but think while sitting at an upscale bar two blocks in either direction from a hotel, waiting for two men who very blatantly wanted to fuck. Not only fuck, but fuck hard and nasty. I was still blushing at some of the messages they'd written, some of the pictures they'd sent. By no means was I a prude, but there was a difference with being sexual and being downright dirty. This right here would be fucking. Not sex. Not making love. It would be bite marks, bruises, raw thighs, sore pussy fucking.

I couldn't wait.

Crossing my legs for the dozenth time, I tried to ignore the front door and instead focus on my drink. It was a club soda with two limes because I wanted to remember this night, tattoo it on my psyche. I'd dressed for memories in a blood red bodycon dress that just covered my ass, no bra, and a barely-there thong that was more for decoration than protection. My dreads were braided into a complicated pattern and pinned at my nape because one thing that wasn't getting destroyed tonight was my hair.

I'd been minimal with the makeup, thinking about how it would look smeared across a pillow or running down my face while I got fucked from the back. None of that, please. I'd been excited and just a little anxious. James had only been gone for a week, and this was the family reunion weekend, a city jam-packed with my relatives. I'd been careful in selecting this bar, double-checking that no one in the family owned, worked, or frequented it. I was taking no chances.

"Amani?" a voice asked from behind me, deep and all kinds of sexy. I'd never heard it said like that, like a promise of something no child and few adults should see.

Swiveling in my chair, I took in the two men standing just a few feet from me. True to their pictures, TexnRex were the epitome of a bruised mouth and aching back. "Alex." I nodded to the Asian guy who could give Rain a run for his money, and then to his partner. "Dominic."

Both men smiled warmly at me, before Dominic asked, "Should we get a table?"

There was an accent there, but I couldn't place it. "Yeah, let's." I grabbed my clutch and drink before sliding off the chair.

There was an artform to this. I'd specifically chosen an eye-catching dress so they didn't pay attention to the flat, nude sandals. I'd learned that first dates meant flat shoes because you never knew what to expect. Heels were just too hard to navigate when shit got real.

We approached the host stand and were seated immediately at a circular booth that could have fit six people. It somehow felt tight as I moved in first and then each man took up residence on either side. They were so close our thighs and shoulders brushed, making me painfully aware of my bare arms and legs.

"So, Amani," Alex drawled, Georgia clear as day in his voice. "What do you do?"

I smiled, running a finger over the rim of my glass. "Small talk, really? I'm surprised you even wanted a table, gentlemen."

"Well, we are just that," Dominic cut in from my right. "Gentlemen. How would it look to just ask you which hotel's sheets you preferred?"

"There's a preference?" I teased, glancing at Dominic.

"Of course," he murmured, hand coming up to rest over mine. "You'll be writhing in them all night, so we need to make sure they are the softest for your skin. Alex's too."

Wow. Alex flashed Dominic a toothy grin before catching my attention. "As my partner said, Amani, we're gentlemen."

A waitress sidled up to our booth a second later, breaking the tension. The guys ordered drinks that somehow didn't fit my perception of them. I'd figure Dominic for the alpha in the relationship, the top dog. He ordered wine, a Malbec. Alex ordered scotch on the rocks, some name brand that I didn't care enough to catch.

I studied them surreptitiously, using my own drink as cover. Alex was dressed like a classic Georgia boy, scuffed cowboy boots, low slung jeans, and a tight black t-shirt. Sadly, there was no stetson this time. Dominic was the opposite in a sort of Miami Cuban-chic that I'd seen time and again when my friends and I had gone there for spring break. Billowy, white guayabera shirt opened at the throat, tailored tan slacks, and loafers that looked like they cost my entire grocery budget for the month.

"So," I began the second the waitress left, relaxing back against the leather of the booth and eyeing the men beside me, "how did you guys get together?"

Alex leaned forward, planting an elbow on the table and his chin on his fist as he smiled at Dominic in this lovesick way that made me blush. "Key West Pride nearly a decade ago. Dom was wearing these jeans and the rest's history."

Dominic smirked, running his tongue over his bottom lip. "Like you were a blushing virgin in your assless chaps, Cowboy."

I hid my smile behind a sip of my drink. "So you do this often? Find a third?"

Dominic laughed, looking away from Alex to me. "No. You're the first."

I blinked at that. "Oh."

"Does it bother you?" Alex pried, pulling my attention as he slid an arm across the back of the booth and let his fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder.

"That I'm your experiment like you're mine? Not really."

"Is that what you think you are?" Alex whispered, tugging my focus right back to him as he leaned closer so the words feathered over my cheek. "An experiment."

I could feel Dominic's hand at my thigh as Alex leaned ever closer, fingers sliding down my shoulder to skate across the tops of my breasts. Turning my head, Alex was suddenly there, less than a breath away. His tongue traced my bottom lip, and Yes! this is what I wanted. My fingers speared through his hair at the same moment his tongue filled my mouth, bold fingers cupping and squeezing my breasts. He was obscene.

Dominic's hand climbed higher and without conscious thought I parted my thighs slightly, just an inch. It took everything in me to remember we were still in public with people— stranger-people—with camera phones. But I could barely register those facts when Dominic's fingers scraped over my pussy, pushing aside my thong and swiping through my folds as Alex continued to devour my mouth and massage my breast.