Fly on the Wall

by Trista Russell, Buck 50 Productions

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

You would have to be a fly on the wall to learn of the secret love affair between Paige, a divorced English teacher, and Theo, a high school student and star basketball player. You will be a fly on the sizzling-hot walls when this flirtatious and lustful duo takes risks during detentions, school dances, and games. However, once in her bedroom, he teaches the lessons and she becomes the willing and ready-to-learn student.

What happens when her ex-husband, who happens to be his coach, walks in on them?

Release date: June 20, 2013

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

His tongue attacked her swollen, pinkish-brown cherry like it was a boxing bag. “Oh, oh, ooh . . .” she moaned. The sensation and suction was so powerful, her back arched away from the bed, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

He inserted a thick caramel finger. “Oh, oh my goodness,” she whispered and rotated her hips as his tongue dove deeper into her infinite pit. “Shit.” She grabbed the sheets with so much force that she ripped them from the mattress.

“Stop,” she begged him. “Stop.” Pushing his head away, nearly out of breath, she asked, “Where did you learn how to do that?”

He offered a shy grin while crawling up her naked body. “In your class.” In his answer, she smelled her bittersweet aroma.

She struggled to regulate her breathing. “That was never in my lesson plans.” Still in shock, she said, “But that was . . .” She reached for and took a sip of the catalyst of this lunacy, her fifth glass of H-Squared, a mixture of double shots of Hennessy and Hypnotiq, which was sitting on the nightstand. “That was unbefuckinlievable,” she said with a laugh.

His legs dangled over the edge of the bed. “So,” he rubbed his nose against hers, “you’re the loser . . .”

“Wait a minute,” she interrupted him. “How did I get to be the loser?” She thought for a second. “I won a few times.”

He tried to make her remember. “We were playing strip and drink dominoes. So, let’s see.” He paused. “You’re drunk and you were the first one naked.” He laughed. “So that constitutes me as the winner.”

“Constitute?” She giggled longer than necessary. “Wasn’t that a vocabulary word last week?”

“Yes.” He kissed her neck. “I used it in a sentence. Do I get extra credit?”

“Nope.” She blushed.

“Damn, what can a brotha do to get an A?”

“In the world today, you have to kiss ass.” She added sarcastically, “Brotha.”

“Ass?” He got serious. “I’m not into all of that. This brotha won’t toss salad unless it’s on a plate with some croutons.”

“I have bread in the kitchen if it’s that serious.” She laughed.

When his hand touched her inner thigh, he felt her tremble. She had told him that it had been a long time, though she never specified how long. He wanted to bring her wait to an end. “What’s it gonna be?” He kissed her shoulder.

“Speak proper English,” she teased him. “What shall it be?”

“Fuck proper English.” He lay beside her then scooped his hand under her to turn her on her side. “Can I?” he asked.

She looked into his eyes, unprotected, and saw what she always thought she was too strong to see in him: a full-grown man. For weeks she thought that he was sexy, suave, seductive, and although at times he didn’t act like it, smart. However, she always had her shield up, causing his rays to bounce off of her, but tonight his brown eyes, thick coffee-colored lips, broad shoulders, and muscular arms caught her when her defense mechanisms were breached by intoxication. “Can you what?”

“Um.” He tried to control his nervousness and struggled with his words. “I meant, can we?” He took a deep breath. “Now that I’ve shown you that I can, well, now that you see that I know how to . . .” His hand slid down the side of her body, from her shoulder to the tip of her fingers, then down to her thighs. “Can I show you what else I can do?” He had never asked a woman that question, but he felt he had so much to prove to her.

“No.” Her flirty eyes sucked him into a realm of passion he didn’t know. “I can’t let you outdo me.” She gently pushed his long, lean body to his back. “Why don’t you let me show you a few things? Do you mind?” she asked, kneeling between his knees.

“Not at all.” He looked at the perfect package before him and was even more aroused. She had turned the tables and he was pleased. It felt like a dream, a dream that shouldn’t be coming true. He couldn’t believe that he was actually in her bed, his tongue was still saturated with her flavor, and she was naked before him, asking his permission to bring it.

She leaned forward and quickly kissed him on the lips. Her tongue trailed him from the bottom of his neck to his smooth chest, then along the firmness of his abs. She lashed back and forth over his muscles but stopped at the tip of his shorts and untied the drawstring with her teeth. Sliding his boxers down unveiled his audacious spectacle.

“Whoa,” she whispered to herself. The damn thing was big enough to have a social security number. She let her fingers walk up the side of it and counted nine steps. “Damn.” She was talking to herself again. Never in a million years did she predict that she would be a part of something that so many people would consider crass, asinine, and even criminal. She had no control . . . He was the right one; who he happened to be was the mistake. She was willing to take the chance, ready for any consequence, but more than anything, prepared to make room for him in her heart.

“It may be big, but it won’t bite.” He joked about the way she stared at his piece. “Show me what you got.” When the damp warmness of her mouth covered his skin, he muttered, “Damn,” and pushed into her moisture. Within seconds, she caught his rhythm and grew to adore his feel, smell, and taste. Her mouth was a well-oiled machine, and all he wanted was to add a little more grease to her engine. “Oh, oh yeah, girl.” He struggled not to bite his bottom lip too hard, but ten minutes into it, he was squealing, squirming, and groaning like there was a bomb inside of him and he was ready to explode.

“Mm,” she hummed as she traveled upward on his dick and kissed its tip. “You like?” She licked her lips.

He could barely speak. “Yeah.” He was breathing heavily and looked down at her. “Don’t stop.” She stroked him tightly, but when their eyes met, he saw concern flicker in them. “What’s wrong?”

She licked her lips and looked away. “I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

She hesitated. “About what we’re doing.”

He quieted her. “Shh. You’re thinking too much. I’m not thinking about it.” Still on his back, he rose up onto his elbows and took her hands in his. “There’s nothing wrong with what we want to do, as long as we both want to do it.” He pulled her on top of him, in a straddle position, and her legs rested outward at his sides. “Don’t worry so much.”

“But what if people find out?”

“Fuck people.”

“You can’t just have a fuck-the-world attitude about this.” She rested her head on his chest. “It’s possible that people could find out about us.”

“All right.” He steadied and positioned his flaming arrow, aiming at the target. “I won’t have a fuck attitude about this.” He rubbed his arrowhead against her wet crease. “I’ll have a let’s-make-love attitude about this.” He locked his hands on her waist and pushed upward, giving her no time to protest.

“Oh, ooh yes. Oh yes.” She took him in and realized that there was no turning back.

“Oh shit.” He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her tight, wet, hot fold. “Yeah.”

She was still trippin’. “Are things going to be different?”

“What?”

“Are you going to change?”

“Why would I?” he asked.

“Just answer the question.” She pushed herself down on him.

“Never.” He kissed her softly and braced her back to give her more.

“Ooh shit,” she moaned. “Fuck. Oh yeah.”

“I’ll never change,” he promised her again.

She rushed down his pole like a firefighter on her way to a four-alarm fire. She rode him like he had wheels, taking him places that in his imagination had always been unreal. His toes began to curl and his sweat beaded up as large as dimes. She assumed she had taken him to school, but he put on his game face and brought it on like no other man ever had.

I am the narrator of the above story, someone whom you have at least once in your life said that you wanted to be. My real name is Musca Domestica, but you probably refer to me as a housefly. Don’t you remember saying, “I wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall”? Well, you just got your opportunity. What you just read was my view from atop a picture frame hanging directly over a bed.

Imagine my shock when I flew into the bedroom in search of cookie crumbs and stumbled upon the scene . . . the horror. Actually, it was no big shock to me. For months I’ve been following the two of them around, and I saw it coming. There’s only so much flirtation, insinuation, and temptation that two people can handle. In a normal case of boy meets girl, I don’t see anything wrong with a little bump and grind. However, in their situation, ignoring each other would’ve been the smart route. With them being who they are, what you and I just witnessed can only lead to heart-racing, tear-jerking, jaw-dropping, better-than-baby-momma drama.

For you to know where I’m coming from, I’ll have to take you back a few months and . . . I’ll let them tell the story themselves so that you can’t accuse me of overexaggerating.

Bad decisions stem from every avoidable situation .

“Pussy is the best thing that God ever made. I

know because I have one.” As she spoke, she stared into my face with the same intense glare that used to terrify me as a child. However, now that I towered over her head, Mom isn’t so scary anymore. She continued. “Pussy is the eighth wonder of the world . . .”

I giggled and interrupted. “Amen to that.”

“Amen?” Her eyebrows moved toward each other.

“Yeah, you finally said something that I agree with.”

“I didn’t ask you for your opinion, Theo,” she huffed.

“Why would you say something like that if you didn’t want me to say anything back?” When I walked into the kitchen this morning, all I wanted was a glass of orange juice, buttered toast, and the keys to the damn car. While I was away at All-Star Basketball Camp, Mom bought a brand new Durango and promised me that the Maxima would officially be mine at the end of the summer. The summer ended on the first day of school, so today was the day. Not only was I a high school senior, but also a basketball player at West Dade Senior High, and those keys were my ticket to not having to ride the orange limousine for the entire school year. “Okay, okay, I don’t agree then.” I smiled. “Why are we talking about this anyway?”

“Because that’s exactly what your problem is. Pussy has become your main focus, your reason for living. It’s like you worship it.” She paused. “It’s your damn god.”

“My god?” I knew where this was going. “What makes you say that, Ma?”

She backed away and reached for her coffee mug. “Have you forgotten about last night?”

I looked down. “No, I haven’t.” In any thesaurus, the only words listed under drama queen would be Eva Lakewood. “We weren’t doing nothing.”

“Well, that was certainly a whole lot of nothing.” She raised her voice. “I would call Trese kneeling in front of you and suckin’ on your little pecker a big something.” She tried to control her tone. “What if Kevin would’ve walked in there? He’s only ten years old. How would you have explained that?”

“All right,” I confessed. “I wouldn’t have been able to explain it.” I saw her point and gave her the answer she wanted. “I see the lesson in this situation.”

“Do you?” She seemed pleased that I walked away with some knowledge. “What is it?”

I could barely contain my laughter. “You should’ve knocked.”

“Knock?” She rested her coffee mug and moved a little closer to me. “Boy, I’ll knock you upside your head. This is my house,” she took a breath, “and I don’t want her here anymore.” She firmed up. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think you need to be that serious with anyone right now.”

“We’re not serious.”

“I would call her suckin’ your,” she paused, “your little thingy very serious, Theo.” She threw whatever was left in her mug down the drain. “I’m not stupid. I know that you’ve had sex with her. What if she gets pregnant? Then what happens?” She didn’t give me a chance to speak. “This is your last year of high school. You have an opportunity of a lifetime.” Her voice started trembling and I saw tears forming in her eyes. “There are colleges and NBA teams all standing in line for you. Everybody wants a piece of Theodore Lakewood.” By now she was crying. “You can’t let anything keep you from your dreams.”

I walked across the kitchen and wrapped my long arms around her. “I want this just as much as you want it for me.” She rested her head on my chest as I rubbed her back. “Don’t worry about me.” I was serious. “I know that I act crazy sometimes, but I won’t make the wrong decisions, Ma.” I cupped her chin and made her look up at me. “I won’t let you down.” I would never be a disappointment to her.

After all the tears were out and the promises were once again guaranteed, she fished through her purse and dangled the keys in front of me. “To school and back.”

I had driven the car many times, but this time it’d be mine. “Can I at least pick up Will?” I couldn’t let my boy ride the bus.

“Pick up Will,” she smiled, “but bring that car straight home after practice.”

I reached out for the keys, and the moment she dropped them into my hand, I felt life getting a little easier. I bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Ma.”

“Drive safely.” She hugged me around the neck.

“Ma, I’m eighteen. I’ve been driving for five years.” I laughed. “Well, you only know about three of ’em.”

She laughed. “Boy, get out of here before you’re late.”

I grabbed my bookbag and made it to the front door before I remembered that I needed to correct her. “Oh yeah, and there’s nothing little about my pecker.” Her hand flew to her mouth in shock as the other one reached for the dishtowel that she threw in my direction.

I stared at the gold Maxima and whispered, “You’re officially mine.” It wasn’t a Lexus, BMW, or Benz, but it now belonged to me. I cranked her up and Jay-Z’s Black Album was still blasting from the last time I was in it.

Now why you frontin’ on me? Is that necessary?

My timing was perfect; I pulled up to Will’s bus stop right behind his bus and honked the horn. He ran over and jumped in.

“Man, you just saved my life.” We knocked knuckles. “I didn’t think you were coming. I called your house last night and your mom was straight buggin’.” He laughed. “What in the hell happened?”

“Trese was over and Mom walked in my room without knocking.”

“Oh, snap.” He covered his mouth. “Moms saw you cuttin’?”

“Naw.” I was embarrassed but proud at the same time. “She was givin’ me head.”

“Damn.” Will sounded like he was enjoying the thought. “Damn.” Then he snapped out of it. “I told you that Trese ain’t nothing but trouble anyway. You picked the wrong one, man.”

“First of all, Trese is not picked. She’s not my girl.”

“Oh yeah? I bet you walk her to at least one class today.” He chuckled. “I guess the coochie is real nice because she has you on a leash.”

“Man, fuck you and a damn leash. Trese is a booty call.”

“Does she know that?”

I couldn’t lie. “No.” Before he could say anything, I spoke up. “But she knows that she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever!” he said. “Congratulations on your blow job, though.” He continued jokingly. “I wish I could get some head for someone to walk in on.”

“It was good, too.”

Will asked, “What did your mom say?”

“Well, we had a little talk this morning.” I remembered the look on her face when she thought for one second that I’d make a mistake that couldn’t be undone. “She’s thinking that I’ll get some chick pregnant or something.”

“That’s exactly what girls like Trese want, though, man,” he said. “She wants a baby daddy who is somebody, so that she won’t have to work for the rest of her life.”

“Shit me.” He was probably right about Trese. “I don’t have time for that. That’s the last thing I need.” Girls at school had been overly generous, willing to give me whatever, whenever, and wherever, which was why Trese was at my house last night. She was trying hard, actually too hard to get on my bandwagon. Though we had sex, I didn’t consider her my girl. “That’s the last thing that I need.”

“That’s right, ’cause we going to the NBA, baby,” he yelled.

I still found it hard to believe that people were comparing me to Kobe Bryant and Lebron James. At eighteen years old, I stood at six foot nine and 230 pounds. In tenth grade, it was hard to believe that I was the best shooting guard in Miami-Dade County. Then the newspaper reporters started calling me the best in Florida, and now I was considered one of the best in the entire country. NBA scouts were at most of my games, and I got calls at all times of the day and night from college recruiters and coaches. I’d been offered numerous undercover gifts: jet skis, clothes, jewelry, women, vacations, and cars. If it weren’t for my mom, I’d probably have three of each, but she didn’t believe in bribery like I did. She was actually ruling out those schools and teams, but the choice was ultimately mine.

The only reason I picked up a basketball ten years ago was to get my sperm donor to start coming around again. By the time I realized that wasn’t working, I was already in love with the court, the ball, dribbling, dunking, and the way I seemed to matter when I was playing. The fact that I had a male to depend on—my coach, and people depending on me—my team, meant more to me than I’m sure I ever meant to my father.

My mom was only nineteen when she met Theodore Brown. Within two months he had her pregnant, and within another three months he was nowhere to be found. I was seven when this strange and very tall man suddenly showed up and told my mom that he had been in jail for seven years (which we later learned was a lie) and was ready to do right by his family. Mom welcomed him in with open arms. Theodore Brown stayed around long enough to make me believe that we’d always be together. Even though he fussed at Mom all the time, he played with me a lot, and that was all that mattered.

When I was nine and Kevin was just eight months old, Dad went away to visit his family in Texas. Two weeks later when the telephone rang, Mom and I picked up the extension in different rooms at the same time. I listened as that loser told my sobbing mother that he had met someone else, wasn’t ever coming back, and that he didn’t believe that I was really his son. To this day she doesn’t know that I heard what that motherfucka had to say. I kept it a secret. I don’t know if I did it because of how much it hurt me or because I knew how much it hurt her.

One thing was for sure: I’d go to my grave and never want to see his sorry ass again. After working in fast food restaurants, hotels, and a daycare, Mom went back to college and became a pediatric nurse. I had both a father and a mother in her. She provided the best life that Kevin and I could possibly have. Because of her I was on the road to success, and when I got there she’d know that all of her sacrifices weren’t in vain. Basketball and my mom were the only two certainties in my life. One day, basketball might lead me to a place where I don’t want to be, but Mom would never lead me down the wrong road.

“We have history class together,” Will said as we walked away from the car.

“How do you know?” I was confused. “We don’t even have our schedules yet.”

“I don’t need a schedule. I got into the system two nights ago.”

“Damn, you and that computer.” He was always up to and into something. “You gonna get in trouble one day.”

“Naw, I’m not one of those types of hackers. I just like to see what others can’t see, but I never cause problems.”

I met Will two years earlier when he transferred from a school in New Jersey. All of my other friends were on the basketball team, but I managed to have a best friend that dribbled like an eighty-six-year-old woman and couldn’t dunk if the basket was waist high. However, Will knew the computer inside and out, had built a few from the motherboard up, and met all of his girlfriends in chat rooms. He wasn’t a bad-looking dude; he was just shy, and thanks to my popularity, he, too, now had a variety of honeys. But if they didn’t have an e-mail address, didn’t know what a megabyte was, or didn’t own a computer, then he had no time or conversation for them.

“So that’s the only class we have together?” I asked as we continued to make our way through the parking lot.

“Um, I think so.” He thought for a while. “We have Ms. Fatrick for English, but during different periods.”

“Ah, damn. I have her?” I wanted to reverse the day already.

“Yep.”

“She kept George and Tyrone from graduating last year, and a few people the year before.”

“Word?”

The school year just took a turn for the worse. “Yeah. I was hoping for anybody but her.”

“Yeah,” Will agreed. “I heard she’s mean as all outdoors.”

“That’s because she got fat and frustrated as hell.” Ms. Fatrick was the students’ alias for Ms. Patrick. Rumor had it that she used to be a cool teacher and she was fine as hell, but when she lost her figure, she lost her damn mind and turned into the strictest black teacher in the school. She wasn’t really fat, obese, or anything close to that, but because she was a firm, by-the-book, detention-giving English teacher who now happened to be a little on the chubby side, she earned the name Fatrick. She used to be married to my basketball coach, Coach Johnson. They divorced when I was in the ninth or tenth grade.

“Coach must’ve been on something when he married her mean ass.”

“He was on that ass,” Will joked. “But seriously, I heard she used to be real tight, though. As a matter of fact, I saw a picture of her taken a few years ago on the school website, and she was all that . . .”

“Now she’s just a bag of chips.” I laughed.

“Hell yeah, that’s why she’s so mean.” He went on. “Somebody needs to give her some good lovin’ so that we can pass.”

I was already thinking about not graduating. “What period do I have her?”

“If memory serves me right, I think it’s sixth, right after gym.”

Things couldn’t get worse. “Shit.” We entered the building and the smell of West Dade hit my nostrils and I was on a natural high. I loved my school. I slapped fives with a bunch of dudes and hugged my female classmates from last year.

“Hello, Theo.” A sexy, light-skinned girl approached me. “How come you never called me?”

Before I could form my lips to answer, a beautiful, full-chested, tall, brown-skinned girl overtook Ms. Light-Skinned like they were cars in traffic. She issued no signal light or hand gesture; she just ran the poor girl off the road.

“Hey, Theo.” She wasn’t nervous at all. “We went to middle school together.” She smiled and flashed the letter L on her gold tooth. I couldn’t stop staring at it. “You remember me?”

“Yeah, your name starts with an L, right?” I couldn’t resist.

“Yeah.” She gasped and looked over to her friends. “I told y’all that he’d remember me.” By the time she looked back in my direction, Will and I were down the hall.

Sometimes the attention I received from girls was overwhelming. They wanted to be with me for one of three reasons: One, because of who they thought I’d be someday. They wanted to be that lucky one that I carried to the top. Two, because I was tall. They associated that with me having a big dick, which was the truth. Three, just to say that they had sex with Theodore Lakewood.

As much as I adored girls, I couldn’t be a fool. Sex was here from the beginning of the earth and would be here way after I was dead and gone. I couldn’t afford to get anyone pregnant, catch anything, or give anybody anything before I signed my name on somebody’s dotted line. All I had to do was make it through this school year and then my life would really begin.

“It seems like everybody and their grandma is here this year, man,” Will screamed as we pushed our way through the crowded lobby. “I’m putting on a protective cup tomorrow,” he joked. “I’ve been hit in the nuts three times already.”

“What are you complaining for?” I laughed. “You know you like that shit.”

Instead of congregating in front of the posted sheets by the main office to find out where we went for homeroom, Will had already handed me a printed version of our schedules. “All right, boy. See you in history,” he said as we parted ways on the stairway. I went to the computer wing and he went toward the math section. I was careful as I turned each corner. The last person I wanted to run into was Trese, and if I were lucky, we wouldn’t have any classes together.

Don’t get me wrong. Every black guy at West Dade wanted a piece of her. At five foot eight and 120 pounds, Trese was thick in all the right places, with an ass that looked like it would punch back if you smacked it. She had a flawless, medium-brown complexion, was fashionable, and could suck and fuck better than any porno video I’d ever seen. So what was wrong with her? She was too nasty, loud, and ghetto as hell.

Trese and I met at a party at the end of the last school year. She put up a nice front in order to get me interested, but gave up the goodies far too early on the third day of knowing me. As if that weren’t enough, meeting her family proved that she was someone I couldn’t have a future with.

She lived with her grandmother, but that was because her own mother never moved out. How in the hell could sixteen people share a small three-bedroom house and two cars? I didn’t know the answer, but what I did know was that whenever I was there, somebody was always being yelled at, roaches weren’t concerned about being spotted, kids ran around at all times of the day and nig. . .