Skin to SkinbyMimiRose©
Author's Note: First off, I am a sick, sick, sick and perverted puppy. LOL!
"Skin To Skin" is a story that I've written after a friend of mine asked me to write this tale, numerous times.
Disclaimer: I am going to make this a "short and sweet" warning. I do not condone, support or find enjoyment in sexual acts that are forced and non-consensual. Also, if you are a member/fan/an avid reader, here at Literotica, who doesn't find acts of xenophobia or interracial sexual acts appealing, then this story is definitely not for you.
For the people who are reading this story: I hope you find some source of entertainment in this story. I would like to thank all of the readers, for taking out the time from your days to read my little ole' story.
Comments, suggestions, constructive criticism and questions are welcome and encouraged.
"I, so fuckin' hate you right now, Lynn," I declared with a tinged of amusement in my voice. At that moment, I was glaring at the source of my ire, my best friend of twenty-two years, Lenora, or "Lynn" as I affectionately call her. Lynn was sitting on the other side of the backseat of the taxi cab that we were riding inside of. She was sitting sideways in her seat, the side of her head was resting against the back of the black leather seat and she was facing me. With her bright, ruby-colored hair was surrounding her as if it was a halo made of fire. The gold sequined dress that she wore also made her look ethereal. Her gold-colored eyes didn't contain their usual alertness; they were glazed over, an obvious sign that my buddy was drunk.
Actually, she was more 'tipsy' than drunk.
"No, you don't, bitch" Lynn mumbled with her eyes still focused on the seat. "You fuckin' love me!" she declared, with slurred speech.
Okay, my friend was drunk.
"No, I don't love you," I joked. I have no idea why I was playing a one-person, game of 'mind-fuck' with a drunken person, in the back of a cab, but there I was.
"Yes, you do and I could prove it!" Before I could say anything else to her, Lynn had reached over the backseat and planted a sloppy kiss on my left cheek. "See?" she stated, as she sat back down in her seat, taking up the same position that she had before. "You do love me."
I was about to delve into a long-winded lecture about how her sloppy ass kiss was not considered to be proof of how much I loved her, when I realized two things: 1) there was no point in trying to discuss a deep topic, like declarations of love, with a person that is inebriated. It's like trying to have a conversation with a crack head, about the theory of relativity. 2) When I taken a glance at Lynn, after I rubbed off the Bobbi Brown lip gloss that she smeared on my face, Lynn was asleep. So, I let the heifer sleep and I, on the other hand, decided to stare out the back passenger's window and watch the city of Manhattan pass us by. Eventually the activity of gazing out of the window had become mundane, so my mind began to drift and I started to think about the history that I shared with that sleeping, red-haired beauty.
Lenora and I first met, when we both were three years old.
Yep, back when we were three years old and we were still wearing Garanimals and our biggest accomplishment was being able to count up to the number 10.
Both of us, at the time, were living in the same neighborhood. Well, actually, it was more like our families were living in the same apartment building that was a part of a housing project. The South Jamaica Housing Projects, located in Jamaica, Queens to be exact. Lenora, her mama Chiara and her older brother Malachi had lived in an apartment on the sixth floor while my mother and I had resided in an apartment on the second floor. Despite living in the same building for a few years, I didn't meet Lynn until her first day attending The Sunny Days-New Beginnings Pre-School, which is a day-care center that the majority of the toddlers and babies of the housing project's residents attended.
I remember first setting eyes on Lynn (she wasn't facing me at the time) and I thought she was the cartoon character Strawberry Shortcake, because of her short, curly red hair. Then, our teacher had introduced us. I remember taking a glance at her eyes, seeing the eerie hazel color in them, thinking that she was a monster and I remember screaming and running away, which ended up making Lynn cry. And that's was the beginning of our friendship.
Over the years, Lynn and I each have gone through some tough times and we always had each other to get through them. Whenever her mama's "douche bag-flavor of the month" boyfriend would get on Lynn's nerves and she needed to get away from all of that bullshit, she knew she could count on me. As well as the trundle that was underneath the day bed in my bedroom. When I was going through some tough times with my mom and I considered running away from home, Lynn was the person who persuaded me to stay. Back, when we were sixteen, Lynn wanted to make a visit to see her brother Malachi, during his first prison stint, but she didn't have the money, as well as, didn't have the resources to travel to Rikers Island. I helped my home girl out by giving her information about a private bus company that makes trips out there, to and from the prison. I also gave her money (I had an after-school job, at the time) to spend during her travels. Also, unbeknownst to Lynn and her mother, I was placing money inside of her brother's commissary account while he was incarcerated. I was also providing his other accounts that were created during all of his other prison stints.
I wasn't the only person looking out for family members. Lynn was also there for my mother, during her weakest moments. When I was nineteen, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was during my mother's battle, the side-effects of her chemotherapy sessions were affecting her ability to do the everyday things, like grocery shopping and house work. Lynn had taken time out of her schedule to take care of those things for my mother, even though Lynn was a full-time college student and was working part-time. She would travel, everyday, from Manhattan to Brooklyn (where her job was located) and then trek out to Uniondale, Long Island (the location of my mother's new home), so she could take care of my mother. At the time, I was living in Virginia, attending Hampton University. So, while it was impossible for me to take care of my mother, during this time, Lynn was there for my mom everyday.
The sound of the taxi driver's voice telling me the price of our journey back into Queens was the source that snapped me out of my trip down memory lane. "It's $56.23," the driver repeated, assuming that I didn't hear him the first time. I glanced out of the window quickly and noticed that we were indeed at the Ms. Patrick's split-level home. Tonight, Lynn and I decided to do one of our favorite childhood things, which were having a sleepover at her mother's house. Her mother is spending the next nine days on a cruise ship that is sailing around all of the islands in the Caribbean. She wanted Lynn to house-sit for her, even though Ms. Patrick's son lives with her.
"Okay," I mumbled, as I pilfered though my clutch purse for the fifty-dollar and the ten-dollar bill that I knew was stored inside. As I stared at the contents inside of my purse and pushing objects aside with my right hand, I grabbed a hold of Lynn's knee and was shaking her to wake up, with my left hand. Once I found the folded up bills, I handed the money, along with a five dollar bill to the driver.
"Lynn" I said, as I was shaking her leg. "Lynn, wake your ass up! We're home."
Lynn sat upright in the backseat, leant up against the back of it and then mumbled something unintelligible.
I began to shake her once again. "Lynn, get up, we're home!"
"All right, all right," she said softly. "I'm awake and rearing to go."
With her head still resting against the back of the seat, while facing the roof of the car, she managed to grab her belongings, open the door and then slowly, but surely made her exit out of the cab. I bid the cab driver a quick farewell and slipped out of the car.
'Fourteen steps down and twenty-nine more to go,' I thought as I climbed.
I climbed up, behind Lynn, up the slate-stoned steps that led to the front door of Lynn's mama's house. My hands were lightly resting on her hips as we went up the stairs. Slowly, but surely, we were making our way to the front door. Thanks to the low collar of my dress, I can feel one of my boobs are about to make an appearance, which is the last thing that I want to happen.
"How are you feeling right now, Lynn? Do you think you can get up these stairs without my help, because I need to fix my dress, before my titty pops out," I inquired.
"Why, no, ma'am, I don't need any assistance," Lynn joked, in a phony Southern accent, as she continued to climb up the stairs.
I, on the other hand, had stopped and was standing on step number 22 while fixing the front of my dress. "Nice accent, Miss Scarlet," I said to her while making sure that I was still dressed appropriately.
Lynn giggled. "Why thank you, Ethel Mae—
"Ethel Mae, Lynn? You couldn't come up with a better name?"
"I'm drunk! You're lucky that I could think at all!" she said to me, in the Southern accent, as she stared at the front door. "As matter of fact, why don't you call on one of those big black bucks that is working out in the fields to come up here and f-----
"And do what, exactly?" said a deep masculine voice, whose owner was behind me. Both Lynn's and my back had become straight. A sense of dread had shivered down my spine and I refused to take a glance over my shoulder to take a peek at him.
'Shit,' is the first thing that popped up in my mind.
I listened to the sounds of his construction boots slapping up against the chunky slabs of slate stone that were the steps.
Eventually, his feet's journey had to come to a stop; because of my hoochie-mama looking ass was standing in his way. He was standing so close to me, parts of his clothing had lightly brushed against the exposed parts of my skin. I felt like something brush up against the back of my exposed right thigh and I shuddered.
'Take it easy girl,' I said to myself.
The owner of that voice was standing close enough to me that I could smell a weird fragrance that was a combination of the faint smell of Irish Spring Soap, the strong presence of rusted metal and sweat.
'He must've gotten off of work,' I mentally concluded.
"Where in the hell ya'll been, dress like this?" he asked, but I don't think he wanted either of us to answer that question.
"I just heard Malachi's voice," Lynn proclaimed. "Chloe, did you just hear my brother too?"
"Y-y-y-yeah," I stuttered.
I could recognize his voice at any time or any place.
"He's standing behind me..." I grimaced in reaction to the vocal flub.
'Way to go, C, you are starting to act like a dork'.
My heart felt like it was trying to break out of my chest, my stomach felt like it was trying to climb out of my mouth and there was a delicious sensation that occurring inside of my nether regions. I am positive that I could be floating in the eye of a tornado and his voice could be loud as Big Ben's bell at noon. Malachi has one of those deep, baritone-panty dropping voices. He has the type of voice that should belong to one of those R&B radio deejays. Definitely not attach to a white man.
'Get it together, Chlo.'
I took a deep breath, hoping to beat down these raging hormones, but failing miserably and then I spoke to Lynn. "...and we're both waiting for you to hurry the hell up these stairs."
Lynn had given me one of the hose haughty-filled snorts that she makes from time to time and she made her way up to the front door without tripping, fumbling or hurting herself. The feeling of relief had shot through me, once I was allowed to put some space between Malachi and me. But there was also a sense of disappointment as well.
"I have to find my keys," Lynn murmured, as she searched through her own clutch purse.
The tense feeling returned when I felt Malachi's imposing presence behind me once again. It's been close to seven months since I have last seen Malachi Patrick and I am amazed at how he still makes me feel. After waiting the time span of half of a minute for Lenora to find her keys, Malachi grew impatient. He impolitely brushed his 6'6 bulky frame past me to get to the front door.
"Move," he said to his baby sister. His voice, despite its roughness, sounded gentle and less like a command. Lynn let out a snort and stepped away from the door.
While he was trying to pull his set of keys from his jeans' pocket, I had taken advantage of the opportunity to enjoy the view. Like I mentioned before, I haven't seen Malachi in little bit over seven months ago. The last time I had seen him was at a Thanksgiving dinner at the Patrick Family home, so I didn't know whether or not if he was going to look the same or somewhat different. Especially ever since the last time I saw Malachi, he still had his red hair and he was sporting a few bruises, including a black eye on that particular visit. Thankfully, now, he was still handsome. Malachi was physical perfection in my eyes: he was tall at 6'6, heavily muscular, but he didn't have one of those Mister Olympian-body builder-gym rat-physiques, one of those abnormal physiques where he looks like he cannot fit through a doorway because he was so damn big. He had the type of body that could be found in an ancient Greek mural or on a statue.
Tonight, Malachi decided to wear all black: a black leather jacket, black jeans with a pair of black leather Doc Martins. It definitely made his hair stand out even more. Malachi's original hair color was a deep shade of red, like his baby sister's hair color. But, now it was an extremely pale version of blonde; his hair appeared almost white. And like with most red-heads, as well as like his younger sister (who fake-bakes by the way), Malachi has that infamous porcelain-colored skin. With the combo of his pale skin and his light flaxen hair made his light gray eyes appear alien-like. As I was eye-fucking this man, something on his jacket had caught my attention. On Malachi's sleeve, there were patches. It has taken me a few seconds to realize that the patches were of Neo-Nazi insignias. My stomach's muscles flip-flopped, but for a different reason now and I am sure if it was possible, the color would've drain from my face. I was so busy staring at the patches on his leather jacket that I didn't notice that he glanced at me, at first. Once I stared at his face and noticed he was staring at me with a furrowed brow, I diverted my line of vision to the porch's floor. After unlocking the front door, Malachi, wordlessly, went inside of the house.
"Oooh, I think Malachi is angry at us," Lynn stated, sarcastically, to me.
"Whatever, let's go inside," I mumbled, feeling the sting that comes with being rejected, which was pretty goddamned weird.
"So, your brother still believes in that bullshit?" I asked, shouting over the loud noise of the water hitting the base of the tub. I was scrubbing my back with a soap-filled sponge. I was taking a shower in the bathroom that was attached to the guest bedroom. Lynn was in the bedroom.
"You mean that KKK, skin head bullshit? Unfortunately, yeah, he's still hanging out with those people!"
"What does your mother think of it?" I asked. I know I am fishing for information while I am making my seventeen year-old crush more obvious.
"My mom...ugh," Lynn growled in minor irritation. "He's her son and she loves him. When she sees Malachi, she doesn't see a hate-mongering deviant-sociopath, she sees her baby boy. To my ma, Malachi will always be a baby."
"Does he brings his friends around here---
"Hell no," Lynn shouted. "If he did, my mama would beat the white off of his ass!" We both laughed at her joke. "But, he did bring a girl around here one time..."
I felt a shiver of jealousy at the mere mention of Malachi with another woman. 'Look at you, getting jealous of some chick. Malachi doesn't want you! You're not the right skin color for him,' my conscience reasoned. I felt my mouth convert into a smirk at that thought.
"... She was one of those racist-conspiracy theory- nut jobs. She was talking about the government's secret plan to thwart the power of the white man and 'n-word' this and 'n-word' that. After listening to this woman talk for about an hour, my mama kicked her ass out and told him to never bring her around again or she would make sure that bitch wouldn't like red-headed Irish women either!" We both laughed.
"How do you feel about it?" I inquired, once the laughter died down.
"Enough about Malachi's confused ass. I am done talking about my brother," Lynn asked me, shouting. "Did you have fun tonight?"
"Hell no," I shouted, as I wash the soapy suds off of my back.
"Come on, you didn't have at least a little bit of fun?"
"Well, I had a blast!" she giggled.
"Well, I damn sure didn't," I mumbled under my breath.
The inspiration behind our little girls' night out was to celebrate my job promotion. The promotion at work was nothing fancy and the job position wasn't lucrative. I will still be working out of the same cubicle and the pay raise was increased by only a few more dollars. But, when I told the news to Lynn, you would've thought that I was made the CEO of the company of where I worked. When I told her that she was over-reacting and that my promotion was a minor thing and there was no need for the fanfare, she told me that there are millions of people, right now, who are unemployed, who would take that job in a heartbeat. Then she said, in honor of those poor souls, we must celebrate and we had to do it in style. She was the one who made the suggestions that we needed to put on our best and sexiest clothes and we should go club-hopping in the Manhattan.
For the special night, I decided to go for a look that was somewhat different; to appear as if I am somebody else, an alter ego to be precise. I actually have done something different with my hair. I usually have it pulled back into a ponytail or a cute chignon, but tonight I curled my shoulder-length, straightened hair into big bouncy curls. For an outfit, I chose to wear a lavender knee-length tight, sleeveless dress that had an A-line skirt and a cowl neck collar that occasionally reveal outer curves of my breasts. The dress would've look conservative on some other woman, a thin woman. But for me, a woman that possesses a 36C-24-44 figure, this dress was far from conservative. I definitely made this dress into a va-va-vavoom dress. Then, I threw on some gold, high-heeled, open-toed shoes and onyx jewelry that had some gold accents, to finish the ensemble.
For tonight's festivities, to make a long story into a wee bit shorter one, Lynn and I managed to patron one bar before calling it a night, due to Lynn's unexpected drunkenness. It seems like as soon as we set foot in that place, Lynn had stolen all the men's attentions in that bar. My friend is definitely a showstopper: 5'7 inches tall, her body possessed enough dangerous curves that even a blind man could see. In other words, she has plenty of tits and ass. Back in our younger years, the boys in our high school used to call her 'Jessica Rabbit'. Tonight, she was wearing a gold-sequined tank dress that stop in the middle of her thighs, a pair of gold sandals with a five-inched stiletto heel and minimal jewelry. The male patrons had taken one glance at Lynn and soon they were supplying Lynn with drinks. And Lynn being Lynn, could never say no to a free drink.