Illiana.

(Miami: January, 2003) My thoughts are confirmed as to Illiana’s sanity when she arrives at my crib begging for entry through the electronic gate at the front of my apartment. As she comes in through my front door she has this offended, hurt look on her face like someone slapped her in front of a crowd of people in public.

“I don’t see why I have to have a reason to come see you, Romulus!” She said in an irritated tone of voice - eyes bright and flared like the Xenon headlights of a Lexus LS430. “Is this how you treat all of your women?” Chirped Illiana as if she were almost going to cry.

“Don’t even try that shit,” I replied in an aggressive yet controlled tone. “You drove all the way from Fort Lauderdale without calling to let me know you’re on your way? What if I wasn’t at home? What if I told you I had company? You don’t know me like that yet to be showing up unannounced.” I said with a a forceful, decisive tone.

“Well I’m sorry, Ro, but I was thinking about you and I wanted to see you.” She said in a remorseful tone. “It’s all good, Illiana,” I replied with a little less aggressiveness. “I just didn’t want you to come all this way for nothing. Don’t I always call you before I come to your place?” I replied to shift the P.O.V. on her. “Yes,” she replied “you’re right. You are a very thoughtful man. That’s why I’m so crazy about you. Will you forgive me?” Said Illiana in her cute little Bambi tone accented by her thick Puerto Rican accent. “It’s nothing, lil’ mamacita.” I replied in a smoother, forgiving tone.

“You know I missed him.” Illiana said in a more deviant voice as she stroked the bulge in my jeans. Even though Illiana is kind of a crack pot she has the sexual sultriness of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. I’m convinced this 38-year-old woman with the body of a 21-year-old had 5 liters of molten lava coursing through the veins of her little 5’1”  hourglass-shaped body. In the heat of the moment she aggressively and willingly gets on her hands and knees on my sofa and toots her ass straight up in the air, inviting me to mount that bubbleliscious, creamy, smooth ass of hers.

“Yes….Ohh…yes! Do me with that big black dick of yours, baby!” screams Illiana as I flip her dress over her back, rip her multicolored thong down her thick thighs, and slipped my aching hard dick ever so deeply in her drenching, sopping, wet pussy. She cringes with excruciating ecstasy as I purge deeper into her tender pussy - changing my angle of entry with every thrust, and slapping her ass until her flesh glows a bright red with the imprint of my hand. I grapple her ass cheeks and spread her ass wide open to intensify the friction of my dick against the back of her walls.

“Oh don’t stop, God dammit, Don’t stop, Ro, baby!” Moans Illiana as her voice squeeks up a sharp pitch in her voice with each thrust of my rock hard dick - so hard at this point it’s itching a burning as I can feel the blood surge through the tissue of my shaft.

“Let’s go to Fat Tuesday’s in Coconut Grove tonight.” I said to Illiana after a brief rest break. “Oh damn, that’s what I love about you so much, Ro.” Responded Illiana in a giddy tone. “You’re always ready for action!”

“Guess what, Ro?” Illiana said as she grabbed both of my hands with glee. “You have gas?” I said in my comical way. “No, silly!” Responded Illiana as she giggled. “ I just bought two plane tickets for us to take to New Jersey for Valentine’s Day!!”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * *

I don’t know how the hell Illiana thought I would be able to get off my job and make it all the way from Key Largo to Fort Lauderdale by 5:30 but I tried anyway. We make it to the 767 just in time and board the plane. We’re stuck in the very back of the plane, right under the bathroom, which is cool with me. As I’m getting comfortable in my seat I noticed Illiana is looking at me like she wants to put my head on a chopping block and cut it into a thousand little peices.

“I told you to wear a suit.” Illiana grunted just above a whisper. I looked at her like she was crazy a hell and continued making myself more comfortable. “Romiro was so pissed when he saw you board the plane wearing casual clothes. I got these tickets from him at below half price, and he may lose his job because you couldn’t follow directions!” She said in a growling tone. Oh hell no. This chick must be out of touch with reality or it’s been a minute since she’s dated a real brother. I gazed at her with a look of warning to give her the hint that she needs to back up. We locked eyes for a moment and she turned away to the window. She continued looking out of the window until the plane taxied down the runway and made altitude into the cloudy, dusky sky.

She started to write little notes on peices of paper ripped from a notepad.

I hate you.

What the hell is wrong with you?

You can’t do anything right.

Okay, that’s it. The kid gloves are off. “What the Hell is wrong with you?” I grunted. “We made it on the plane and we’re on our way to New Jersey but you still have to act  the fool?!?! I said to her just loud enough for the passengers sitting near us to get an earfull. She looked at me with a slightly angry yet turned on facial expression as if she just had an orgasm from me putting her on blast. She sits there and gazes out of the window for a few more minutes, then begins hastily writing another little note.

Do not speak to me for the rest of this flight.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * *

(8:45pm) Illiana’s friends finally pull around to the pick up lane at the airport to take us to Elizabeth. As we walked through the sliding doors with our luggage out into the open air there was such a sudden drop in temperature that my body began to slow down in midstep - almost as if every muscle in my body was turning into lead. A tall, wirey, lightly complected Puerto Rican woman with long brownish red hair jumped out of the SUV from the driver’s side to help us get our bags into the trunk. Once we’re inside the SUV and rolling down the highway, Illiana bursts out: “God DAMN! I’m so FUCKING glad to be BACK in Jersey!!” She screams in an all of a sudden thick Jersey accent -  an accent I had never heard before until now. “I fucking HATE Florida!! There’s NOTHING to do there and the people are SO God damned stuck up down there!!” For the entire 4 months we dated while in Florida I had never heard this woman so much as utter a cuss word - not even so much as a damn or shoot. But tonight she’s cussing up a storm like a $2 whore from New York City.

“Sup, Romulus. Illiana has told me alot about you,” says the wirey Puerto Rican girl as she’s driving. “My name’s Jolecia, and this is my boyfriend Deandre.” From what I could percieve of Deandre’s demeanor he was a brother that had something to hide. He had on standard issue gear: Oversized arctic jacket, thick black skull cap almost completely covering his eyes, a pair of jeans that draped around his lower body like a Glad Hefty bag, and a pair of tan Lugs. He never spoke a word to anyone in the car the whole drive. He just sat there like an ex-con that was just released from a maximum security prison. As Jolecia introduces me to her boyfriend sitting in the passenger seat the dude waves his hand in my direction. “Sup, Romulus.” He says in this hustler type tone.

As we’re driving down the highway I quickly noticed these people were driving with all four of the windows down. It’s damn near 12 degrees outside and with the added wind chill from driving made it feel like -15, and these idiots are sitting in this SUV wearing arctic-sized coats and straight chillin’ like it’s in the middle of summer! Jolecia looks up at me through the rearview mirror with a slight smirk on her face just as I begin to lose the feeling in my fingers and toes.

“Sorry about the cold air, Romulus. The radiator is leaking in my Jeep and if we roll the windows up we might get sick from the fumes.” She said with a very sharp Jersey accent. “It’s all good.” I responded reluctantly, teeth chattering involuntarily.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

As the night goes on and we’ve made our rounds to Illiana’s friend’s and relative’s homes I began to withdraw from her as she continued to show more and more of the ghetto side of her split personality.  We arrive at Illiana’s condo in Elizabeth and make our way to her door. As we walk in I start investigating the place unknowingly to Illiana. I’m peeping from this place that more than one person is living here. The refrigerator is full of groceries, there’s a dining room table that seats six, an assortment of furniture in the great room and two bedrooms appear to be off around the corner. Somehow, I just got this weird feeling like I  there was darkness surrounding me.

“Where’s your roomate?” I asked Illiana. “Oh, Ro, I must tell you something.” She said in a deep, serious voice. Oh hell no. What the fuck have I walked into - I’m thinking to myself. “I live with my ex-fiance. He should be back tomorrow.” She points over to the smaller room to the left. “That’s his room. You’re more than welcome to sleep in there,” She said as if she were letting me know that we weren’t going to be together in one bed tonight. “But you can sleep with me if you want.”

As she started putting her things away in her bedroom she starts talking about plans for tonight. “We’re going to the Brickhouse over in East Orange tonight.” She says. “Please don’t embarrass me with those country clothes from Alabama.” She said in an obnoxious tone. “Trust me, Illiana,” I said with a flair of confidence. “ If my clothes were good enough to hook you they’ll be good enough to go clubbing in.” All of a sudden she grabs hold of the chester drawer and turns it over making a loud crash on the floor, splintering the top two drawers.

“You just think you’re the shit don’t you!!” Illiana screamed in an irradic tone. “You always have to be in control! No matter what I say you try to belittle me, and you think you’re so damn high and mighty because you have your degree Mr. big time, country ass, university man!!” Okay, here’s where I pause for a brief moment to let you know something: I already peeped that this girl was a few slices short of a loaf of bread, so I prepared for an occasion just like this. I only packed one day of clothing and put all of my shit in a small bag with wheels on it at that and a backpack. That way, if she shows out I’ll just hit the road, buy myself a plane ticket and fly back to Miami. Now, back to the story at hand.

I looked at her, like the idiot that she really is, maintained my cool and said: “Look, this isn’t the time or the place to have an argument. We need to discuss this after we get back from the club.” She looked at me with a look of rage in her eyes as if she wanted to throw me out of the third story window behind us, then it was as if someone waved a magic wand right over her head. “Okay, that’s cool.” She said as if nothing had ever happened. I picked up the chester drawer and put it back together and we continued getting ready for the club.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

As we’re walking toward the club, Illiana is hand and hand with her homie, Raleau, and her other two friends, Jolecia and Deandre are a few paces ahead of us. I’m walking by myself of course but I don’t give a fuck. I’m so pissed off at this chicks abrupt change in personality and mood swings I’m about to show out up in this damn club.

“Hey, dude,” Raleau says to me while I’m walking nearly side-by-side with him. “Illiana tells me you think you the shit.” He said in an annoying, lil’ Wayne kind of tone. “You just watch me turn this motherfucka upside down, man.” I said as we approached the doorway. I have a freshly shaved head, a thick goatee, and I’m wearing a bone colored, long sleeve sweater with a V neck that curves valiantly around the musculature of my body, and chocolate colored, baggy Italian slacks with three pleats, and black square-toed Florsheim shoes.

As we get on the dance floor Illiana bolts away from the crew and grabs up some dude that was already dancing by himself. “Aye, homie, what’s up with Illiana?” Raleau said with a slight tone of concern. “Fuck that shit, man. She has her ass on her shoulders because I won’t let her run me. She needs to find her a boy to play with.” I replied to Raleau. “Look, man, check this shit out. I scoped some bad ass honeys down on the first floor. Lemme show you how we get down in the South.” I said to Raleau, employing a little bit more of a Jersey-type accent since I was already used to hearing it from my moms that grew up in Hackensack.

We walk down the spiral stairs to another dance floor that was darker, more crowded, and playing more hardcore, ghetto rap/reggae beats. There were honies crawling all over this joint in groups of 4 to 8 females deep -  all dressed like women out of a Jay-Z video. As different sisters passed me by one or two of them would slowly squeeze between me and several other dudes very slowly - some of them firmly grabbing my muscle bound shoulders with both hands while making intense eye contact with me. Raleau is peeping the kind of play I’m getting and he has this look of astonishment. “Damn, homie, are you sure you ain’t from Jersey?” He said as he was still trying to recover from the wave of ladies that just squeezed past us.

“You haven’t seen shit yet, dude.” I said in that tone I use when I’m about to pull a rabbit out of my proverbial hat. “See those two bombshells over there?” I said to Raleau as I pointed in the direction of the bar with my eyes. “Yeeeeaaaah.” Says Raleau with a sly grin on his face. “Watch this shit.” I said to Raleau as I walked toward the two women. One sister was wearing a pair of skin tight, purplish blue, snake skin leather pants with a matching little jacket, and the other sister is wearing black spandex riding pants, 9 inch heels, and a white swashbuckler blouse. The sister in the black spandex was oozing sex appeal. She looked like one of the kind of girls that would be an extra in a Prince video - Ass and hips round as a billiard ball, porcelain smooth, butterscotch skin, thighs and calves like Marion Jones, big puppy dog eyes like Left Eye Lopez, perfectly shaped, Mabeline red lips like on a state fair cupie doll, and thick, black, curly hair and eyebrows like Salma Hayek.

As she walked by I watched her friend that was still at the bar and waited for her to approach me. When she saw her friend walk into the bathroom she also started to make her way towards the bathroom. As she walked up to me I tapped her on the shoulder and whispered in her ear: “Hello, sister, my name is Romulus. I’m not trying to be rude but could you tell your friend that her panties are showing from the back?” I said in a very deep, soft tone. She looked at me with a wide grin on her face, almost smirking, and said: “Sure.” A few minutes pass by and the sister with the spandex walks up to me with an aggressive yet poised stance. “My girl told me what you said.” She said in an almost Carribean type of accent. “Thanks.” From the smile on her face I knew this shit was on, and Raleau is standing at my side, frozen with fear.

While we’re dancing I get a chance to scope this petite sister’s frame. She couldn’t be more than 4’11” and 110 pounds. She has extremely sharp facial features like Halle Berry. To set this woman’s already facinating little body off she has the cutest, darkest little mole on her left cheek, just below her eye. “What is your name, little sister:” I said in a soft tone. “LaNitra.” she responded with a big smile.

I’m begining to lose consciousness as I glide my hands up and down the small of her back and rub across her muscular booty - soft ass cheeks like two water balloons. I whispered in her ear: “I love your hair. What are you mixed with, babydoll?” I said with a gentle smile. “My mom is black and my dad is Puerto Rican.” She said while bringing her lips closer to mine yet not quite kissing me just yet. She rubs my bulging pectorals with both hands, then glides her tiny hands down my bulging triceps and looks up at me with those jet black pupils and says: “I’ve never heard of the name, Romulus before. Where are you from?” I smile and tell her. “Miami.”

She looks deeper into my eyes and wraps her arms around my back. “Are you looking to stay in Jersey?” She says as she presses her musclebound thighs up against mine - bumping against my bulging dick. Suddenly, she looks to her left and begins pulling away. When I fixed my eyes in the direction she was looking there was Illiana - pissed off as hell with a look on her face like she was going to pull a box cutter out of her purse. “I guess this means you’re taken.” LaNitra said as she slowly pulled away and smiled at Illiana as if to let her know there’s no harm done. As Illiana gazed at me her bottom lip trembled, then she ran back up the spiral stairs.

Comments

[Etranje]

Is this same story that I saw on some other website? (african something) I saw it a while ago and wanted to read it again, but I could not find the site again. I like you writing style and look forward to reading more of your blog.