"Who's The Boss?"

I was a junior at Norfolk State, trying to wade my way through life as a future journalist. Spring semester was almost over, but I played hooky one spring morning in 2013, just needing a break from it all as exams were on the horizon, and Jermel, my boyfriend of three years, was stressing me out.

It was a Friday, and I woke up at 5 a.m., thinking I would leave my apartment in nearby Portsmouth, dodge the Navy traffic and head east to Virginia Beach, going for a good jog on the boardwalk, then catch the sunrise before a light breakfast. I was out of the house by 5:20, as I put on my gear which included my favorite sports bra, running shorts, and my Asics before hopping into my Honda Civic for the 27 minute drive. The temperature was already around 60, maybe 65 degrees, as the air was crisp while the night sky was turning blue as I cruised down I-264, listening to soft jazz. I just needed to clear my head completely, and once I parked in a spot off Atlantic Avenue, I was at peace, putting on my iPod, pumping music, then quarters into the meter, walking to the infamous King Neptune statue, then trekking for a six mile jog.

Once I finished the sun was beginning to rise, and I caught it for the first time in my 20 years, as growing up in Brooklyn, New York, I'd never seen anything like it. I'd planned to leave and head to a nearby diner not too far from the oceanfront, until I went to my car and realized I enjoyed the serenity of the beach, as the only people that were present were other joggers, far and few in between, and the city workers cleaning the beach in all-terrain vehicles. I paid three more quarters, and grabbed a beach towel I happened to have in my trunk, before I trotted back near the statue, and copped a squat to catch the morning sun. I put on my sunglasses and laid back, taking off only my shoes and socks, then laying flat on the surface when I felt the presence of someone.

"Hello, gorgeous," said the older, Caucasian male.

Right as I closed my eyes and inhaled the breeze, I noticed the scent of a male cologne, then heard that voice, as he hovering directly over me, smiling ear to ear.

"Relax honey, I'm not here to hurt you. I just wanted to let you know you're a beautiful soul. I saw you from my hotel room," he said.

At first I was startled, but then I noticed he, too, had a New York City accent as that brought me some comfort.

"Where you from," I asked.

"Ouch, I just gave you a compliment young lady, and you repay me with a question. If you must know, I'm from the same area as you, and that'd be New York City, young ma'am," he said.

"You're certainly not from Bed-Stuy. There's no Italian men in the part where I grew up," I told him.

"Italian? How do you know I'm not Finnish or Polish, or maybe even Native American," he said with a sly smirk.

"Because you're from Brooklyn, and probably from Bensonhurst most likely," I told him. "And what are you doing?"

He took my words as an invite to sit down to chat further, as I was slightly appalled at this older man, with his brown and black hair, and struggle goatee choosing to rest on my towel.

"Amber, I just got out of the shower, I'm fresh. Judging from you jogging up and down the strip, I can guess you're not. In fact, you may just fit in well in the surf with the guppies," he said brashly, as his way of joking.

I smacked his foot as we both started laughing, as this older, white man, perhaps in his late 50s to mid 60s and in great shape, found it easy to strike up conversation with this brown girl who was running, minding her own business.

"My name is Tameka, and you must be John or Gary, or something to that effect," I told him.

"Tony, will do," he said as he extended his hand for a shake and dug his dark brown eyes into mine.

Certainly, I'd never really talked to an older man, albeit a white one, for my Jermel was as black as tar on the road. There was something with Tony to where I couldn't divert conversation, or cancel the meeting altogether as he had this charm, a voice that was meeting the mood I was in, as well as the serene morning. His tone wasn't too strong as he spoke with me, showing me he knew how to handle a woman who was in her own stratosphere.

"Tameka, when's your birthday," he asked.

"Well, if you must know, April 21st," I told him.

His face lit up.

"So is mine. We're both Bulls, baby," he said as he high fived me.

I might've been too damned trusting but I liked Tony, for he seemed like a guy who paid attention to his women. He didn't have a ring, and was free spirited enough to where he wanted to treat me to a hearty breakfast.

"Young lady, with a body like yours, you have to absolutely stay on track. I know a place that has biscuits and gravy that will stick to your ribs, sausage to fill your belly, and just food that will fill you up, yet provide you the energy to continue to be as beautiful as you are," he said as he looked me up and down.

We made it to a place called Mary's, a traditional diner that served American breakfast.

"They got mimosas," I remembered saying to him as I scanned the menu.

"Um, excuse me miss, but are you 21," he asked me.

I flashed my driver's license to shut him up, then the waiter took our orders as I had Eggs Benedict to go with a mimosa.

"You're a bad girl drinking in the morning," he said with sarcasm.

I chided him for the judgment, and he ordered his food, with 10 minutes later, our table be laced with steamy plates. I looked at him while he chowed down on bacon, as it dawned on me that he looked real familiar. Granted, we both were from Brooklyn, but I didn't mingle with a lot of older, white guys in my time there, as I spent the first 18 years of my life in the borough.

"Are you ever on television," I asked.

"Maybe," he said as we made eye contact and he bit into his French toast.

I looked away and finished my drink, asking for another when it dawned on me: he played Tony Micelli on Who's The Boss, the 80's into 90's sitcom. I stared at him while he seemed super focused on his food, cutting it with a knife as I would turn my attention to his hands. I thought he had the manliest hands to match his overall persona, then he looked up at me, and smiled, as he figured I knew who he was.

"Can I tell you something," he asked. "When I'm down in a place like Virginia Beach, and not Venice Beach, I like my peace and quiet. I'm not at the Jersey Shore, not in New York, I choose Virginia Beach because it helps me with a low profile."

I respected, even changing the subject to talk about current events, such as our partners.

"I'm currently going through a divorce, and not happy about it, but I learned, you only live one life," he said. "On that note, order two more mimosas, so we can toast."

I called the waitress over and she took care of us, as we both took a glass, toasted to meeting each other, then sipped and chatted as we finished our meal.

"So where's your beau, as he has to be as fine as you. How do you keep your body together? Your caramel skin tone intact? You have any tattoos," he asked. "I don't know, you just seem so perfect, so unreal. Why isn't your boyfriend down here with you?"

Tony was laying it on heavy even without drinking one third of his mimosa. I answered all his questions and more, mentioning that I didn't feel as if Jermel was part of my bright future.

"Well, you know what they say; always get rid of dead weight," he told me.

His hand touched mine when he expressed that sentence, and my heart skipped a beat, as Tony was looking more brilliant and handsome by the minute. He explained that he was no spring chicken, and how he learned to live life as it could end at the blink of an eye. We finished our mimosas and I almost ordered another, but he stopped me.

"You have to drive home soon. As a matter of fact, where is home," he asked.

I mentioned Portsmouth and how it was located in reference to where we were eating, and surprisingly he knew of the city, even speaking of eateries in Olde Towne. I really became fascinated however when we spoke on staples of Brooklyn, and how he claimed to miss the town so much.

"The memorial, the zoo, the bridge, Junior's cheesecake. Oh sweetheart, sometimes I miss it all," he told me as we ended up going down memory lane.

Surely I didn't experience as much as he did coming through life, but some of what he talked about I could recall my mother and grandmother discussing, as he truly showed he was a Brooklyn-bred gentleman.

"Listen, I'll pay the check, for I know you have a life and need to get back to it," he said. "I'm on vacation here for another 10 days."

"It must be nice," I told him as I was somewhat jealous.

We got up, I left a $10 tip as the food was delicious and service just as good, then we walked out into his rental car, where he drove a bit around the Oceanfront corridor.

"Tameka, can I ask a favor of you," he said as we drove off. "I don't want to go back to the room alone, I'd like some company for a bit."

At first I was reluctant, but then I thought nothing of it as I had no plans on this day. I accepted, and we made our way in front of the hotel as valet took the car from him after we exited. He led me to the elevator, and we stood on opposite sides as he was showing his gentlemanly side, then we made it to the top floor, as the room overlook what seemed like everywhere.

"I'd never been this high up in my life, other than being in a plane," I said to him as I overlooked the balcony.

Tony came behind me, as he was slightly taller than me at five foot eleven, while I was five foot seven.

"It's a beautiful view from what I can see, too," he said.

I turned my head and his face was barely six inches from mine, as he and I made eye contact. I leaned forward, and our lips met while his hands gripped my waist. He caressed my body barely, his tongue overpowering mine as never before had I experienced such a powerful kiss.

"You okay with that," he asked.

I'd never kissed a white man before, and my mother, who was strictly pro-black, would've had a fit if she saw me kissing this actor. He did it again, but this time scooping me at the knees as he ended up carrying me from the balcony, sweeping me off my feet before he laid me flat on the bed. I wasn't too sure what would happen next, as he took his hands and tugged at the waistband of my shorts, trying to get me to pull them down.

"Can I," he asked as he looked me directly in the eye.

I nodded yes, and he took my shorts off to find my pussy waiting for him, drenched from anticipation. I wasn't too proud to open it for him as I hadn't showered, but he advised me that I was fine for I wasn't as pungent as some women he experienced in the past.

"What's the saying go? The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice," he asked, right before he laid his tongue on the direct tip of my clit.

He found my sweet spot immediately as he only had to barely brush it, for it was sensitive to the touch, especially after I'd been running. He looked me in the eye as his kept tapping the tip, then put his lips on it to suck as that set me on fire.

"Looks like your little boyfriend doesn't do this. You gotta get you a guy from Brooklyn," he said before he took his tongue lapped between the lips of my pussy, going deep and devouring as he wiggled his head back and forth.

I took off my sports bra as my nipples were hard and poking, and I grabbed onto my tits, even licking my nipples to try and absorb the reckless nature of Tony.

"I love me some black pussy," he told me. "Sei incredibile."

He went to town as I spread my legs wide with my feet upward, hoping he didn't miss an inch of this twat for Jermel seemed to neglect it due to his truancies in our relationship. Tony was detailed as he was into my soggy cunt so much, it appeared at one point his mouth and my pussy were one in the same, as if my labia and his tongue were literally "fighting."

He'd bob his head up and down, side to side between my lips, then would go back to sucking the clit, and made me shoot a nut I'd never dreamed of, me squirting all over the lower part of his face. He took his inner right hand and slapped at my cunt, then wiggled it as I would break again, shooting like a whale in the ocean.

"Yeah, you're definitely not getting this treatment at home," he said as he had me feeling like I was in a pornography film.

Tony hadn't taken his clothes off after he asked me to come to his room, but yet I came in his room. He became more aggressive, shaking my pussy lips again, rubbing my entire gash as the build up had me cringing, squirming, and of course me screaming to the top of my lungs as he made me pop again. He took a break and licked my thighs, then my entire pussy as he raved on how I tasted.

"From one Brookylnite to another, you're gonna have to let me fuck you. My cock is raging for it," he said.

I was reluctant and he knew it, so he went back to eating and fingering me until he had the bed totally drenched, and me completely worn out as he made me cum five, maybe six times within an hour and change.

"One thing about you young stallions: you've got some of the juiciest pussy I've ever come across," he said.

I begged him to take his pants off, but he got completely naked, showing off his slim, but salt and peppered hairy body. He didn't have the biggest dick and I didn't care, as he climbed onto the bed and had me laying my head on a pillow, then he crawled to my face, putting his hairy balls on my chin, and leaning forward as he face fucked me. He gyrated slowly, and still managed to rub my snatch as he made me cum yet again. I gripped my lips tight on Tony's four, maybe five inch stick as a token of my appreciation, laying back and taking it as he threw his hips.

"Got damn girl. Good pussy and good head? I can't get this in Brooklyn or Hollywood ever," he said as he stopped rubbing me to work his hips.

Tony was jamming my mouth with his cock, and I placed my hands on his butt as he literally had my face covered with all of his crotch. Tony moved faster, then began to groan, and without warning, the back of my throat was awash with his famous sperm.

"Holy shit, girl," he said as he was panting like older men do when they climax.

He raised off of me and I'd carry his scent of his balls on my chin the rest of the day, not wanting to wash it as it reeked of his cologne and natural scent. I wanted a kiss, but he told me he didn't kiss the lips of a woman who swallowed his children. I felt appalled, yet satisfied as this man worked me over and not once did he penetrate me. He kicked me out of his room shortly after, but I was grateful to have an overall good time with "Tony Micelli."