Maximum Badonkadonk Ch. 14

"Pearls" by SADE was playing as Tressie got her car started slowly making a right turn and driving off into the distance while I watched.

***********************************************************************************************************

I had a mostly restless night getting up at the crack of dawn with this odd emotional hangover looking about my empty bedroom. I got showered and dressed noticing my visible injuries were less noticeable. I decided to take the garbage out lingering at the corner of the alley staring at the spot where I'd meted out corporal punishment to Tressie Fisher after she'd tried to take me out.

I felt like a fool for deleting her content but knew said content would be a Sword of Damocles if presented to the authorities. I thought about Demon still lurking about in the hood who might be prompted to visit me again if made aware of my punishment of his sister.

My thoughts settled on Charity Gilbert wondering where she'd gone off to and what she was doing at this particular moment. I had to know if she were in any way responsible getting out my phone dialing her up expectantly finding myself still blocked.

Her reaction to finding me and Tressie, and the reaction of Phoebe when I called afterwards likely meant we were done in every way possible. She was coming to me to make her feelings known and it hadn't even taken as long as she'd asked. For this very reason, I was sure Charity wasn't the culprit, but resolved to use the incident as an inroads to open conversation with her.

Once back in my bedroom, I went to her social media on my laptop finding that I was still blocked there. An epiphany hit me as I used a junk email account to look at the accounts still open publicly. I fished around for about an hour or two going deep until I found an unknown Instagram page still public.

"Son of the bitch; didn't take long?"

I was staring at a photo of Ms. Gilbert and her longtime ex-boyfriend, Jayson Stello. It was an old photo of them from high school, both of them posing in some wooded area, her wearing his letterman's jacket while he wore his football jersey. Charity was an alpha female, future trophy wife in her own right, but coupled together with this guy made for a visual power couple that left me shook to the core.

This was the kind of guy women drooled over. The kind of nigga women fought and paid for willing to even share his romantic attentions. Me, I was average next to this guy who fit in on the same plateau as my cousin Jaquan, dare I say even surpassing him.

"Fuck, every step taken is three steps backwards."

Everyone of my conquests after Porsha Simms had been an upward battle to respectability from the women I'd slept with and Renee Kelly had come along sweeping that chess table clean of all the pieces once she was done with me. It hadn't taken much to get those women to turn on me when she didn't get what she wanted.

I still didn't know what her plan was ultimately considering her relationship and a child with my older cousin. Was she going to keep both of us in her little circle, or would we have to fight it out for her favor. The implications were sickening when seen from the outside.

I ran through a total of fifteen pics of the happy couple before noticing the page was a recent construct. To her credit, Charity was already being followed by a couple of hundred people. I balked at the thought of her and Jayson Stello likely reuniting after our situation popped off.

My mind went places I didn't want it to go as I decided to muddy the mental waters going through some more thousand dollar hopefuls. I found a few more contenders but decided to go back onto my pay site muting the contact information replacing it a message indicating I was going through the entries. This had the added effect of making my comments sections blow up on certain videos.

I still had some time before I had to get to work, so I decided to do a little editing to take my mind off things. I went into my Auntie Esther's album on my desktop pulling unused footage for a new paywall scene. My uncle's trophy wife was pretty lucrative from the POV and bathroom scenes released behind a twenty-five dollar paywall. As a matter of fact, I'd made it a point of patrolling the free porn sites pulling as much pirated footage as humanly possible for one very busy man.

"Hello Mz. Giggles." I pulled up a five minute clip of my aunt doing a runway walk in the corridor of my uncle's house slathered in baby oil draining all of the color from the clip. Even devoid of life giving color, her hyper stacked body still glistened in the black and white footage perfectly.

I was wearing the chest harness casually following her back and forth, alternating this technique with my phone getting some great low angle shots of her huge cheeks dripping oil. Auntie Esther was wearing a light brown wig that wasn't fooling anyone but provided me with some humor and a comparison to the wig worn by Peg Bundy from that old Married with Children sitcom.

It also inspired me to drain the color out of the footage eventually marrying instrumentals from "Don't Mess With Bill" by the Marvelettes. It was a perfect fit to footage of her wearing an apron going about the house performing various tasks, vacuuming, and washing dishes.

Originally my auntie balked at performing these tasks with some semi-feminist rant before I pressed the issue and that massive ass of hers against the hallway wall for a manic rutting that saw twenty minutes pass before I slather her monster ass with my spunk.

After that she was very accommodating warning me that I was gonna "shoot all my baby bullets up" and citing how she didn't want my future wife looking for her as the culprit. I cut a teaser trailer posting it online but refrained from making the movie available for sale. I was the killjoy compromising the footage with my own voice identifying her as my Auntie.

She was that good; rather "DAT ASS" was that DAMN GOOD.

Cutting that trailer and scene was therapeutic for me as I got ready for work putting my troubles behind me. Charity Gilbert lingered in my thoughts like some viral infection intermingled with Vicky Stone. I mused the possible outcome of a faceoff between the girls if Ms. Stone wasn't incarcerated.

Vicky would likely turn Charity's face to mush in a physical confrontation, but Charity would emphatically destroy the competition much in the same way Renee Kelly laid Vicky down without lifting a finger. That pale face with its symmetrical beauty and slanted evil looking eyes was a bucket of cold water to the face of my psyche.

Renee Kelly was still going to pay for messing with Vicky Stone. That was never going to be off the table even if I decided to throw my hat in with Charity Gilbert. Now, that was off the table until Ms. Gilbert reared her pretty head again in my life.

Part of me wondered if that was an eventuality she considered at this exact moment. I wanted my name cleared, nonetheless.

"Shit." I experienced a rare case of twenty four hour DeJa'Vu arriving at work.

A text summoned me to the third floor offices again making me wonder if my services were being dispensed with in the interim. Zoya Berhan was not a fan and definitely had my employer's attention. A few feet out in front of me, Zoya was conversing with two of my peers in decidedly deep conversation.

Despite myself, eyes drifted down finding a pair of casual cargo pants, the Baghdad kind stretched to capacity across the expanse of her own personal fifty inches. From the knees down, her shapely gams were encased in these knee length high heeled boots; they were the kind with laces on the side to make everything form fitting.

It was gothic, punk Lolita pretentiousness of the highest order.

Despite the inherent baggy nature of her military green cargo pants, Zoya's badonkadunk filled and stretched the material to capacity. The inflated nature of her impressive derriere made the thong she was wearing distinctly visible. If you glanced for a second, the deep lines tracing that undergarment looked almost part of the outer surface of those pants.

Zoya smartly matched her attire topside wearing a long sleeved angelically white wrap shirt completing the look quite nicely. Her hair was down up glamorously side swept and shoulder length obviously straightened. I hated my instinctual assessment of women even when they weren't my models. Some pink haired girl with a pockmarked countenance tapped her motioning towards me, but she didn't respond.

Zoya Berhan knew I was there but didn't speak this time.

"HEY GOOD MORNING, NICE TO SEE YOU!!" I flinched when Steven slapped a hand down on my shoulder from the back. I was nervous wondering if he caught me looking.

"Uh, good morning." I cringed inside hoping I didn't sound too nervous.

"Come on in my office for a minute." The anxiety continued as Steven walked by with a satchel bag slung over his shoulder. I followed inching by Zoya and company noticing she turned her face to the wall instead of looking at or even greeting me. Everyone else sort of gave me the stink eye, but I was irritated with her specifically.

"What's up?" I didn't beat around the bush noticing Zoya and her associates disappeared the minute my butt touched the chair in front of Steven's desk.

"How do you feel about overtime?"

"I feel fine about paid overtime, sir." Steven chuckled unpacking some files from his satchel bag and getting busy putting them away without regarding me.

"We're screening Daughters of the Dust tonight because I don't want it in the festival; but certain people feel it might offend a peer group that could make things difficult for the department. Think you could help me out tonight?"

"Sure, but won't Zoya be angry if I show up? I mean, you told her that film was gonna be her baby because she was down with Sharkesha, right?" Steven was leaning over behind his desk but glanced up at my face.

"Uh yeah, about that; we're having an alumni deal tonight off campus at the Hilton. I'm going to take Zoya with me to rub elbows with the money people. Don't get me wrong, I know how this looks; I'd be equally okay with taking you, but then there is the issue of your facial bruising. That's a discussion I'd rather not have with some one percenter as far removed from your background as a man on the moon. I promise to make it up to you if you help me out tonight."

"Sure." I replied measuring my tone.

"We're cool right; no feelings or anything towards me, or Zoya?"

"As long as I'm getting paid, It's okay Steven; so how's this gonna work out?" I shifted about in my chair looking everywhere but his face. He took stock of my demeanor but kept quiet knowing he was getting what he wanted.

"Regular day with hour long lunch period, and you get three breaks. Fuck man, if nobody really shows up, you can close the place down early. I'll still pay you for the double shifts, we cool right?"

"So, you know that movie is a snooze fest, huh?" I avoided the question.

"Every year I get some enterprising young lady with various hair colors suggesting that movie since I started and we were renting out a theatre four blocks over. Nobody ever really packed the house for Daughters of the Dust, and most of these self-proclaimed enlightened people usually drifted out before it was done. We had to wake the rest. You think I want to open a film festival in our newly minted student theatre, with that movie?"

Both of us shared a hearty laugh as Steven placed a twenty on the desk.

"Tell you what; I'll even spring for a coffee and your choice of the fine pastries offered downstairs in our youth center. Just bring me back a small black coffee and a frosted bagel."

"Yes sir!"

"Steven." He corrected.

I bristled at the thought I was covering for my boss and his stuffy jump off who hadn't the decency to ask me herself. Even though I was getting paid, it still felt shitty in my book and given a proper choice, I would've declined out of sheer pride. I wondered if Steven talked with his other employees before coming to me, or if Zoya requested me for some reason.

She didn't like me in the least as I recalled the brief moment that colored our working relationship going forward. She'd seemed quite pleasant introducing herself in those fateful seconds before peering at my phone finding the incriminating screen saver of Officer Johnson. Now, she was nigh insufferable and I was gonna have to address it at some point or it would engulf me.

"Shit." The lobby was crowded, but one face stood out in particular.

"Hey, haven't seen you for a while; you hiding from me or something?"

Carlie was standing there in the middle of the crowded corridor as students milled about. I glanced over her shoulder finding some of her friends standing there watching. One of them I recognized from the video with Carlie going down on Andre.

"I'm late for an appointment, see you later Carlie." I walked by without answering her question knowing eyes were following me.

I pushed through the crowd giving her my back as a metaphorical middle finger already analyzing her words. Carlie Kelly was likely stunting in front of her friends having probably already told them of our random encounter.

It seemed an ego boost because she was the "small fry" of her cousin's peer group. Maybe her and Renee talked about it and had a good laugh at how she was able to make me squeal and flop about in the student theatre. That skinny bitch was a covert super head.

"Double shit."

I was rewarded or cursed depending on how you looked at it with another view of Zoya Berhan's ridiculous backside, thong imprint and all. Her entourage had grown exponentially as I noticed a few thirsty looking guys loitering about, some looking for an opportunity to step up to the exotic princess of our department.

For some reason, "DAT ASS" looked even bigger in the middle of a crowded lobby. She was leaning against one of the thick pillars coming from the ceiling having a merry old time as I noticed one creepy looking white dude trying to covertly film her with his android. That same pink haired girl alerted Zoya to my presence again.

"No hard feelings, eh mate?"

This time she half turned at the waist with a smug grin that made me wish she were a man so that I could dot her eye. Zoya's posture with a wide arching hip pointed out in my direction left no doubt I was being mocked. The whole deal was set up from the beginning, but I didn't feel like backing out of things at this point.

She was looking me directly in the eye creating this mesmeric effect as I followed it hers from my face to the widest point of the hip closest to me. My brow furrowed as I bit into my lower lip realizing this was the second woman stunting on me since I stepped into the lobby. I walked away to some laughter from Zoya and her flying monkeys still wishing she were a guy.

The rest of my regular shift went as planned leaving me little time to think about anything of any real consequence as I set up a few classes and attended to other audio visual needs between the two buildings that made up the campus. My community college had a staggering case of thinking it was a regular sized school against expectations. To that end, I was little more than a small cog in a big machine.

I started feeling it as my coworkers began disappearing in succession until I was left to run the projection booth. It was heady being in charge of the student theatre as I pondered one day having a screening of my own. I thought about the possibilities as a cadre of people appeared at my window.

"Are you, running the screening tonight?"

I found myself looking at this tall, stuffy looking brother with a huge nappy afro. He was flanked on either side by two much younger women in Afrocentric garb, one had a face full of piercings that left much to be desired.

"I guess so sir." I answered chipper despite feeling somewhat tired. It was thirty minutes into my second shift and I had been working nonstop.

"Now that ain't no kind of answer; are you the projectionist, or not?!" He went from 0 to 1000 in moments reminding me verbally of an old actor named George Stanford Brown visually and verbally, although just a bit deeper on the voice.

"I have been assigned to screen tonight's film "Daughters of the Dust" by Steven, the head of the Audio Visual department. What can I do for you, uh?"

"Dr. Miles Cooper, head of the liberal arts and cultural studies contingent of this campus, among other things. Steven, used to work for me and as a matter of fact, I bought him into this department." His tone was indignant raising my hackles. It felt like this nigga wanted to throw hands or something.

"WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU, DR. MILES COOPER?!!" I flattened my palms on the desktop staring him in the eye in a test of wills. I suppose he expected me to fold, but I remained steadfast as he did a very minor doubletake.

"Chill dad, you're being so fucking extra tonight. Don't mess this up for Quisha; you know how she is already."

The sister with several facial piercings and some garish eyeliner asserted herself vocally while the other, a caramel colored sister looked overtly anxious. Both of the young women were wearing traditional African headwraps and dresses matching in an explosion of color.

"Now what I tell you about using that toilet language?" Dr. Miles replied in baritone fashion sounding like a stripped down Darth Vader as my eyes settled on Quisha noticing some very rich cleavage informed by a single darkly pigmented line.

"Turn down your masculinity daddy; no one's challenging your supremacy at the water hole. We have to get set up for the presentation. Maybe this year everybody won't slip out before the movies over." The pierced sister pushed some disks onto my window countertop as Dr. Miles noticed ushering his daughter out of view.

"You, have a problem with your eyes son?"

"No."

"Do you wanna have a problem with them?" This guy was at least six five and built like a linebacker probably somewhere near the middle of sixty, age wise. He emphasized his threat leaning into the window glaring down at me.

"WOULD YOU STOP FATHER!!" Quisha piped up in a mousy voice that cracked as it went higher.

Part of her headwrap appeared on the outskirts of his left arm. Her sister stepped between us with a toothy grin that did nothing for her studded face. She picked up the disks placing them in my hands with a friendly smile revealing a gap in her teeth.

"Hey sorry about that, this is our mood music for the presentation. You uh, you're gonna be okay with this right; I mean, I could help you out back here?" Her features were harsh, but her personality rich and warm. Dr. Miles was thankfully already walking away from my window with Quisha.

"Don't worry, I got it under control, uh?"

"Eboni Miles, I work as a TA under our father, but basically I'm sort of, all over the place honestly speaking. I'd like to apologize for my father's attitude; he's way too alpha when guys are around his girls. We've been trying to ween him off the unnecessary aggression, but it's a slog if you ask me." She was radiating interest, but I didn't want the smoke from her father even if I could get past the shit in her face.

I introduced myself shaking her hand.

"Nice to meet you Eboni Miles."

"Don't be a stranger; I work over in the main building on the 5th floor. Maybe we could have a cup of coffee some time?"

"Maybe." I was noncommittal already going through her musical selection but glanced up at her with a wink.

"COME ON HERE EBONI!!" Dr. Miles reappeared veritably snatching his daughter away.

My head dipped out of the window finding the angry educator mad dogging me as he hurriedly ushered Eboni down the short stairwell towards the stage under the screen. I was already over it sending an insurance text to Steven to cover my ass.