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The Music & Me

Novel By: Shontaine

The Music and Me is a carnal tale told through the eyes of a suave, yet crass man named Joshua. He keeps his affluent, yet irritating sexy girlfriend close and an affair with a mysterious chocolate covered nymphomaniac even closer. Things go up and down and in and out with words written so vivid and erotic, you’ll need a cigarette afterwards. View table of contents...


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Submitted:Dec 8, 2011    Reads: 74    Comments: 0    Likes: 1   


I'm like the third person to enter the art museum that Rocky Balboa made famous since it opened today. I wasn't standing by the door, in fact, I waited about two hours before I drove down here and parked. Even though it's like one in the afternoon, the sky is cloudy and it looks like it's about to snow. So I'm sure besides the staff, nobody is in a rush to spend time in a dreary museum. Well, except me- only on Tuesdays only at this time though. I take off my hunter green skull cap before I enter the building then check my coat with the coat checker. I want to show off my fresh hunter green long sleeve button up shirt. As I near the Monet exhibit, I nod at the security guards. They've seen me hear every Tuesday for the last three weeks and usually they're in the same spot so we all have become familiar with each other. I make sure all the lint is off of me and my baggy, but sophisticated black khaki pants are in place just right. I should feel like a noodle, but I don't; especially when I spot a masterpiece. It ain't any damn Monet painting either. Today her hair is down ending at her shoulders and bumped out lightly. The sight of her 5'8 frame should make my dick just shoot right off my body. She's in an all white fitted pants suit that just accentuates her lovely chocolate skin even more. Her breasts are juicy, waistline slim, and her butt, got damn! It sits up right held together by thick luscious thighs. I bet she even has pretty toes under those taboo white pumps she wears for this time of year. I should call her Tuesday, but the thought of that State Property movie with Philly rapper Beanie Sigel always comes to mind. I have to be cleverer anyway, but at the moment, I can't think of any name for her. So as of now, she's known to me as Art Museum. I lick my lips then put on a blasé look and pretend I haven't noticed her yet. By the time I near her and look up again, she's out of my view. I make a face of confusion because from where I stand, there's no way in hell she could have gotten by me.

"Nice shirt." I hear in a familiar feminine voice. I turn my head in her direction as she steps beside my 6'2 frame with her hands behind her back. "I like the color, it suits you." She says as she stares at a painting. I shrug and make an effort to step into her view.

"I was hoping it suited you since it's your favorite color." She gives me a side grin, but doesn't look at me.

"Do you try this hard with all the girls?" She asks with her hands still behind her back.

"No, I never been this hard in my life." My answer gets her to look over at me briefly. She yawns which makes me raise a brow. I'm not sure if she's being a smart ass or not. "So after three weeks of dating can I at least know your name?" That makes her smile a full beautiful smile with teeth just as white as her outfit, yet she still doesn't look at me completely.

"Ah, dating." She says casually. "If I can recall correctly, the first time we met, you were with your mother." I snicker.

"You got jokes, now you know that wasn't my mama."

"You're right cuz she was old enough to be ya grandma." She says as she starts walking away from me.

"Yeah, but her pussy felt like she was eighteen." I state. Now that makes her turn and look me right in the eyes. You'd think it was because she was insulted by my language or crassness, but she's not. The first thing she said when she met me was, Don't fuck that old lady into a heart attack. It blew my mind because I thought Olivia looked good for a 54 year old. She reminded me of a young Chaka Khan and she could have been my mother, but Art Museum strangely knew she wasn't. That day she walked by me in costume glasses, an ankle length gray skirt, flat shoes, and a long sleeve white shirt. The straight stereotypical librarian look; It blew my mind so I struck up a conversation with her. Olivia just brushed our conversation off since Art Museum looked so bland that day. That's when I realized that the librarian look was not her mentality. She was funny and flirty, but kept me at arm's length. I guess she could sense a horn dog and she was right because I blew Olivia's back out while thinking of how Art Museum would look with her ankles to her ears. Yeah, that outfit was doing nothing to hide her voluptuous body. She told me she stopped in every Tuesday and I figured that was my cue to stop in too. That was the last time Art Museum ever looked like a librarian; she's just a piece of sexy heaven now.

"I wondered how old it tasted." She says through a yawn. I smirk and reach out to straighten her top for her. She doesn't jerk out of my reach as she lets me smooth down her waist length jacket.

"Now why would you wonder that?" I ask smoothly.

"You're interrupting my alone time." She says easily, but not offensive.

"Why, are you on your break?"

"Something like that."

"Well, we should do lunch." Art Museum smirks then looks at her white band watch and yawns again. "That is, if you can spare the time cuz I see that you had a late night since you're so tired and all."

"Why do you assume it was a late night and not all night and morning?" She asks sultry. I shrug. "Don't assume anything about me cuz what you see is never what you get." She states with a smile. I hold my hands up in defense. "Lunch is on you." I smirk and nod. After heading back to the coat check room to get my fur tip black coat, the matching white knee length trench coat to her outfit, and some shopping bags she got from the mall, we head to my car. When we get to my car, I expect a malicious comment since it's a Honda Accord. Now that's not a bad car, but after a few conversations we've had, I know she remembers me telling her about my money green Maybach. I do have that car, but I don't drive it all the time, it's for show. I could afford another car if I crashed it, but that's wasteful and believe it or not, I do hate to see and hear how people waste money. When I look over at Art Museum, I expect her to have a smirk and a snide remark for me, but she doesn't. She just signals for me to pop the trunk. After loading her bags and holding the car door open for her, I head to the driver's seat and pull off.

"What do you wanna eat?" I ask. She runs her tongue over her teeth then fixes her hair.

"Burger King." She says simply. I raise a brow and look over at her.

"Burger King?" I ask unbelieving. Usually when I offer to pay for anything for a woman, they are on some Liz Taylor shit. They want diamonds and ninety dollar crab cakes and clothes they've never even heard of.

"What's wrong with Burger King?"

"Nothing, it's just, Burger King."

"So it is." I can hear a bluff in her voice, so I know she's playing games. Her body language is subtle and hard to read though.

"I figured maybe," I leave the rest of my sentence in the air as I turn on the radio; Power .99fm is playing some latest rapper's song. She laughs lightly as she puts on her seatbelt before she digs in her purse.

"Do you mind?" She asks as she holds up her MP3 player. I shrug and shake my head no and let her hook it up to my stereo system. Smooth R&B comes out. From what I can tell, the artist is Neyo; the title of the song instantly comes to me, She Got Her Own. I know enough about subliminal messages to get what she's trying to tell me.

"Burger King, right?" I ask again. She nods. "Is it too much to ask why?"

"I bought new clothes that I wanna hurry up and get home to try on." She says. "Unless, you gonna let me try on my stuff at your place." That causes me to smirk.

"Well, I don't see why I can't." I state. Besides ordering the Burger King and buying a box of strawberry shortcake popsicles for Art Museum, there's no conversation. It's not an awkward silence; I can just tell Art Museum is really into her R&B and slow jams. She plays, She Got Her Own one more time before I pull into my condominium parking garage. We head to my fourth floor condo and I let her in. I'm so happy Zaria is working a 16 hour shift today. I got at least ten more hours to myself; well to devote to making Art Museum walk bow legged. When I open the apartment door, I expect her to exclaim in shock at the fancy interior. Most the females I deal with are, for lack of better words, hood rats, they act like they never been anywhere or had anything, but hard dick and bubble gum. I'm not saying that Art Museum is that way, but she is wearing Ferragamo shoes with a bus pass. It's not just that fact that she would be excited, it's also because my place is shitty sharp. Large cream colored couches sit on mint green plush carpet going all the way up the spiral stairs where three rooms sit behind a balcony styled second floor that overlooks the living room. As Art Museum heads towards the kitchen, she notices that it looks like something right out of Better Homes and Gardens magazine. The floor in there is colored in gray and white tiles with black cabinets sitting on top of it and a small balcony patio sits behind sliding doors which I mostly use to smoke weed.

"Can I make myself comfortable?" She asks as she puts the popsicles in the freezer. I nod as I take her coat and mines to hang up. She takes two of her fries before asking where the bathroom is. I point out the downstairs bathroom before I head to the upstairs bathroom and pop two Oxycontin pills then head back into the kitchen for two shots of Grey Goose. I hear the start of an aged Babyface and Tamia song play from the surround sound stereo system and figured it didn't take her long to make herself temporarily at home. I realize she's taking a shower and I already know that she knows why she's here. I like a woman who doesn't play shy. The chase is nice, but annoying especially for a booty call. I hate to put her in that category, but hell, I don't even know her name. Besides that, I know she noticed the red heels as well as the pink and white Nike's on the shoe rack by the door next to her pumps. I'm already in my zone and chilling on the couch in a white tank and ball shorts when she comes out the bathroom wearing a sexy cop dress costume. It's short and hugs her body like navy blue second skin. I snicker as I realize Mrs. Officer by Lil' Wayne is playing and that she's wearing a black studded stiletto boot on her right foot and a black strappy platform sandal on her left foot. "I need you to tell me which goes best with this." She says as she nears me. When she's maybe two inches from me, she stops and points at her shoes.

"I need a closer view." I say as I signal for her to put a foot on the coffee table. She smiles and puts her sexy left dark brown leg up on my table. The shoes are completely forgotten as her shaved kitty comes to sight. It's so pouty and pretty; it got me thinking her piss probably tastes like kool-aid. I can't act like a teenage boy about to lose his virginity, but my dick has a mind of its own.

"The shoes." She says with a laugh. I grab her by the waist and body slam her onto the couch softly. Before long, the dress is up around her hips and I'm on my knees in front of her with pussy juice all on my face. I don't tongue down random females a lot, if ever, but this is a special case. I make that pussy squirt and mess my couch all up; at the moment I don't care though. I rip open that dress top to let her puffy tits say hello then pull her into me penetrating her all in one. She purrs and bites her bottom lip as I drill into her. She opens her legs wide, but still manages to keep a tight hold on my dick. As I pound into her hard, my mind gets to thinking; I'm usually not this stupid. I use condoms all the time and I never bring females back to home base. She just brought out the beast though or the id as Freud would say, I mean hell, I'm drooling. She signals for me to give her neck a squeeze so I do so. That causes her to moan and shutter with another orgasm which makes me pull out of her in the nick of time to leak my own on her dress. "Monica Lewinsky." She says with a chuckle.

"Go with the boots." I say breathless as I rest on the floor. I'm still on the floor when she returns with one of the strawberry shortcake popsicles. She offers me some, but playfully takes it back when I reach for it. She lets me abuse her body in every which a way and in every hole cumming again and again all over my living room, hell she even bust a nut when she was sucking my dick. Luckily I learned my lesson after the first session and put towels and sheets all over the couch and floors. Before I know it, she's in the white pants suit and pumps not looking one bit like the frazzled freak that was dehydrating me for four hours. By the sunset, I'm dropping her off at a hotel near the airport.

"Goodnight art museum." She says to me before she gets out the car with her bags. That made me realize that I still don't know her name and she had the same nickname for me. Ha! I watch her enter the building before I pull off. When Zaria comes home with her ritual nagging, I don't even hear it as images of a peach tattooed on the right cheek of a beautiful perfect cocoa hued ass replay in my mind.


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