Romeo and Juliet of the Projects

by Krystal Jennel Armstead

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

These two lost souls find everything they wanted once they step outside of their comfort zones and into each other’s arms. However, some people are meant to fall in love but not meant to be together. Can two people with a painful past build a better future? Does love really conquer all?
Bostyn “Easy” Reel has always felt like he didn’t belong. He is stuck between two worlds: in one world, he is being who he really wants to be, and in the other world, he is being only what his family allows him to be. He feels like he is drowning in darkness, haunted by his past. After finding out that he was adopted,
Bostyn finds himself on a search to discover who he really is.
When Meelah Summers meets Bostyn, it is as if the broken pieces of her heart fit together perfectly with the broken pieces of his. Meelah felt empty growing up without her mother, being raised by a father who was never there. Meeting Bostyn couldn’t have come at a better time. The only problem is Meelah’s father
is a well-known drug distributor, and Bostyn’s adoptive father is the head of the Anne Arundel County Police Department—the same police department responsible for killing her mother.

Release date: August 30, 2022

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Homecoming 2012

“‘And then we’ll walk right up to the sun, hand in hand! We’ll walk right up to the sun, we won’t land!’” I sang to myself as my boyfriend, Dinero, did line work to my new tattoo.

I watched him etch tiny footsteps up my arm until he got to the luminous sun that he had just finished on my bicep. It was beautiful. He was beautiful, but the nigga was crazy, which was why my daddy allowed him to come around. He was my protection. I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about him, but I thought that I needed him.

“That shit is sexy, mami!” My sexy Puerto Rican friend, Sharita, eyed the tattoo as Dinero shaded in the feet. Her big brown eyes widened a little as she watched the tattoo gun needle vibrate against my skin.

Whitley sat up in the chair that was in the corner of my tiny room. She rubbed her pregnant abdomen. “Ya daddy is gonna come in here going the fuck off if y’all don’t hurry up. We’re supposed to be headed to the Dancehall in a few to get rid of these Rox. My nigga, Dash, is gonna pull up in a few, and if we’re not ready, he’s gonna leave us.”

Rox—Rohypnol, oxycodone, and Ecstasy—combined into a very potent recreational drug. We (me and my crew) made thousands a night off the rich kids at the local hangouts. We made most of our money off the white kids who would take just about anything that was guaranteed to make them wake up the next day not remembering a fuckin’ thing that happened the night before. Rox along with Sweet Tea (a liquid form of fentanyl and other opiates) allowed Dinero and his boys to gross about $15,000 a week.

I rolled my eyes. “Girl, Dash is all about paper. He wants that bread, so he’ll wait for us. I have to look fly tonight for when I receive this homecoming queen crown.”

I looked over at the beige sequined dress on the mannequin in the corner of my bedroom next to my bunk bed. When I was 13 years old, my mother and I worked for about a month on that dress. She used the cloth from one of her old dresses to create the timeless classic dress that I was now admiring. How we knew what size I would be at 17, I had no idea, but we got the fit just right.

The dress snatched my waist, cupped my booty, and hugged my hips. It had a thigh-high split and a train that floated over the floor for about four feet behind me. We had spent about a week placing the sequins on a pair of satin Prada heels. Mama would have been proud of the woman I’d become. She was the definition of trap queen, and my father bred me to follow in her footsteps.

My mother, Sadey Heinz-Summers, died when I was 14. She was arrested one night after being pulled over for a so-called blown taillight. After police found cocaine stashed in her bumper, they took my mother in for questioning, and she never made it home. Police claimed that she committed suicide in her cell, but we never received the autopsy report. The police were after my father, and since they couldn’t get him, they got my mother. Killed her without hesitation, believing my father would give himself up. But he never did. And I thought I resented him for that. He never fought to get justice for my mother.

After she was murdered, he just went on about his life like he never had a wife. Like I never had a mother. Business went on as if the pretty, brown-skinned goddess never existed.

I took after my father, from the dark hair to the hazelnut brown eyes to his almond skin tone to his stubborn personality. I was my father’s only child as far as he was concerned. Several teens at my school claimed to be his children, but my father never acknowledged them or their mothers, who he might have had a fling or two with whenever my mom pissed him off. Rumor had it that my bestie, Whitley, was his daughter too, but we never pressed the issue. She hated on me a little, but that came with the territory of being a big fish in a small pond.

My father kept us in the hood so I wouldn’t forget where we came from, but we also had condos that he owned under pseudonyms to remind me that muthafuckas around us had nothing on us and couldn’t be us if they tried.

My father had a big money scheme that no one could fuck with. My daddy, Emmanuel “Sable” Summers, was the mass narcotics distributor for Baltimore City, Baltimore County, Anne Arundel County, Howard County, Calvert County, and Prince George’s County. He worked for an Italian man named Francesco Stefano Romano known in the streets as Stef. Stef had police units under his payroll. I mean, they had police officers robbing, killing, and dealing for them all over Maryland. Police corruption was at an all-time high, and everyone was caught in the middle. Even us teenagers. I tried my best to live a normal teenage life while I could, because there was really no telling when the crooked cops who worked for my father’s boss would turn on us to save themselves. They were the law no matter how my father tried to put it. I was a teenager, but even I knew that you couldn’t trust someone who could get away with killing you without any repercussions. The Baltimore City Police Department killed my mother. They were just waiting for the right moment to get to him. The only thing saving my father was the protection of the Howard County Police Department, and as soon as the police chief found out that Daddy was fuckin’ his wife, we wouldn’t have their protection either.

“Are you almost done with the tattoo, baby?” I asked Dinero, eyes tracing the stern look on his face as he looked over his line work.

Dinero nodded, his facial expression loosening up as he looked at me. “Yeah. I’m done, Meelah.” He dabbed the tattoo with a damp cloth, wiping away the plasma that oozed from my arm. “I did that shit, yo.”

“Yeah, you did, hermano,” Sharita agreed. She looked at the gold watch on her wrist, then rushed over and looked out the window. Her eyes followed a group of motorists who rode through our neighborhood. “Dash should be pulling up in a minute.”

“Why are you looking at Stef’s niggas riding through?” Whitley questioned.

“Because like clockwork, every night at seven thirty, those muthafuckas come riding through. It’s like they’re expecting to find somebody. My mother said that Stef took one of the police units off his payroll. I think it was the Anne Arundel County Police Department. Said he stopped fuckin’ with them,” Sharita told us.

Whitley rolled her eyes. “Just because your mama is fuckin’ Stef doesn’t mean she knows what the fuck is going on in his world. Do you think he’d really bring that kind of heat his way? Anne Arundel County police run this shit. Their district office is in the capital, boo. They distribute drugs from that muthafucka. That’s his traveling unit. They steal from other gang members and bring their shit to us. Why would he let that unit go all of a sudden?”

Sharita smacked her lips. “Because my mother said Stef found out that Anne Arundel County is the unit responsible for Sadey’s . . .” Sharita stopped talking when she saw that I was looking at her to finish her statement. She sighed. “Lo siento,” Sharita spoke softly in her sultry Spanish accent. “I’m sorry, mami.”

I shook my head and laughed it off. “I’m good. So, can we get into these dresses so we can get to the Dancehall? Boo, do you have your suit in the car or something?”

“We gotta move these Rox, ma.” Dinero leaned back in his seat, looking at me from underneath his baseball cap.

I folded my arms. “Dinero, I live for this night, and you know it! I finally get to wear the dress I made with my mother, and you’re worried about money? Money you’re not even hurting for?”

Dinero looked at Whitley and Sharita, signaling for them to leave the room.

Sharita exhaled deeply. “We’ll roll out with Dash and change over at his crib. I’ll send my cousin, Krista, back over to pick you up. Be ready in thirty, Meelah. A’ight?”

Whitley eyed me, glaring at Dinero before she got up and followed Sharita out of the room, closing the bedroom door as they left.

“Baby . . .” Dinero pulled my chair closer to his. He eyed his tattoo before grabbing a cling wrap bandage to cover it until it stopped oozing. “Baby, look at me.” He watched me roll my eyes looking everywhere but in his face. “Your pops is depending on us to get rid of these pills. Do you know how many of them rich niggas from Bay City High will be here?”

I looked Dinero in his face. Bay City High was a private school in Essex. They beat us every year at homecoming. They beat us every year at everything. Sports, academics, dance. Shit, they almost had us beat in the drug game, mainly because just about every student who went to that school had a family member who was involved in politics whether it was the local, state, or federal government.

Dinero’s father, Miguel Rodriguez, was a senator for the Essex district. Miguel never acknowledged Dinero’s existence. Before Dinero got in good with my father, he came from a poor household. His mother fell into a deep depression after her oldest son was killed in a neighborhood drug raid. She didn’t work, didn’t cook, didn’t clean, didn’t do shit but drink and get high. Shit got so bad that he had to drop out of school to look out for his younger siblings. After Dinero killed a few people who tried to break into our apartment one night, my father hired him to join his crew.

Dinero worked his way up from corner boy to my father’s main supplier for the county. Daddy didn’t play that high school dropout shit, so he made Dinero go back to school. Dinero got himself a crew of about ten to help him distribute whatever products my father hit him with. One night, Dinero got a call from a lawyer who needed something potent to get him and a few prostitutes he hired high as heaven. Dinero met up with the politician at a cheap hotel. When he walked into the room, he saw his father there. His father looked him straight in the eyes and didn’t even recognize him. Told him to give him the shit and get the fuck out. Dinero carried that rejection around with him daily. He never let me or anyone else into his heart, and his father was the reason why.

“Baby, City High? At the homecoming dance? They have their own dance at their own school to attend. If Bay City is coming, then you already know Claudius’s crew will probably be in the spot,” I had to remind him.

Claudius was Dinero’s brother and Miguel’s son with a district attorney, Leanne Crosby, who often attempted to prosecute the men who worked for my father. Rumor had it that Claudius and Dinero had the same birthday. Around the time that Miguel was questioned for being involved with illegal drug activity, I was told that he slept with the DA to get his case dismissed. Apparently, that was around the same time that he fucked around with Dinero’s mom, Jaylah. Claudius was raised by his aunt, Marilyn Crosby, who was a judge and couldn’t have kids. Either way, whoever raised that nigga, he was set for life. He was one of those rich kids who hung in the hood because he could, not because he had to.

Claudius was everything Dinero pretended he didn’t want to be. He was at the top of his class and was the star quarterback of the Bay Broncos, who beat the cleats off our asses the night before at the homecoming game. He scored a damn near-perfect score on both his ACTs and SATs and got accepted to universities all over the country. He kept his hands clean. He wasn’t involved in the drug game and didn’t have to be. His mom made a six-figure salary a year, fuckin’ her way to the top like most women in the area who were in politics. Claudius’s popularity and lack of need to ever struggle his way to the top made Dinero push harder to outdo his brother. Homecoming dance was the last thing on his mind, mainly because he knew his brother would show up.

“Man, fuck him. Ain’t nobody worried about him. I’m worried about selling out.” Dinero clicked his teeth, and the bottom row glistened in blue chrome. “The fuck is you worried about that nigga for?” Dinero looked at me as he put his tools into Ziploc bags so he could clean them up later.

I scoffed. “Who said I was worried about Claudius? I was just sayin’. You get like this every time that nigga comes into town. Like you said, fuck him. He ain’t got shit on you. They’re only coming to the spot to rub their trophy in our face. And you already know he won homecoming king without even having to show up to their dance!” I watched Dinero’s nostrils flare as he put his tools up. I huffed. “You know how the tradition goes, Dinero—the homecoming king of our opposing school shows up to the homecoming dance to dance with the queen of that school! If I win homecoming queen, then—”

“Then what?” Dinero slammed his Glock 37 down on the table that sat beside us.

I looked down at the pistol before looking back into Dinero’s frown. I shook my head, grinning a little. He tried his best not to love me, but I knew he did. That gun was a part of his ‘staying over at yo’ crib’ starter pack. Next, he was going to pull out his extra clip, his charger, his durag, and his brush. “Aww, how cute.” I laughed a little. “Is that thing even—”

Dinero picked up the gun and quickly cocked it back.

I gulped. “I just want one dance with you before the drama, Dinero, damn.”

Dinero just glared at me, watching me stand from the chair in my Pink shorts and tight cropped top. His eyes traced my tattoos, all free styled by him. “Don’t play with me. You dance with that nigga, and—”

I slid my shorts down, revealing the fact that I didn’t have on any panties.

That angry expression on Dinero’s face switched up real quick. Normally, there was a houseful of muthafuckas, but that night, Daddy and his crew were over at his house in Bethesda, keeping clear of the raids that he had caught wind of. Dinero’s crew stood watch outside of my apartment, waiting for him. I was supposed to be getting into my dress, but I had to calm Dinero’s soul. And the quickest way to that nigga’s soul was through my pussy.

I picked up my phone from the table. Going to my playlist, I quickly put on Keri Hilson’s “Slow Dance.”

“Remember the first time I let you inside?” I reminded him, pulling my shirt over my head and showing him that I didn’t have on a bra either, though I was sure he noticed my nipples poking through my shirt.

Dinero’s eyes traced my hips as I slid onto his lap, throwing my legs over his and straddling his waist. He gripped my hips, knowing that I was trying to distract him from being mad about me bringing up his brother.

“‘I don’t want to come on too strong, but something happens when we slow dance,’” I sang with Keri.

Dinero smacked my thighs, looking into my face as I wrapped my arms around his neck, titties all in his face. I lifted my booty a little, looking down at him as he grabbed the Gold Wrapper (or as he called it, the Golden Ticket) from his pocket. We had started having sex about a year earlier. Though I talked to my father about everything, that was one thing that I didn’t bring up. But he wasn’t stupid. He told me that if I was going to give up the goods to a nigga to make sure I played it smart. He told me that all men dipped their dick in more than one female, no matter how much he claimed to love a bitch. It was the nature of a man to need more than one bitch for validation. He said under no circumstances to trust a nigga, no matter how loyal he claimed to be. “No glove, no love,” was my daddy’s motto.

I wasn’t with Dinero twenty-four seven, but whenever he wasn’t trappin’ out, he was with me. And whenever I wasn’t with my girls, in school, or helping my father with both his legit and street businesses, I was with him. It was a lust thing between the two of us, but damn it if it didn’t feel like a sure thing to my young heart.

I watched as Dinero unzipped his dark denim Alexander McQueen jeans. I bit my lip, giggling as I watched him pull his erection through his jeans. He looked into my face as he bit the condom wrapper open. He gave me a tender yet passionate peck on the lips as he slid into the condom. I didn’t have any other dicks to compare his to at the time, but that thang was the juiciest thing my 17-year-old eyes had ever seen. I desperately wanted him to love me. At that point, I just knew that Dinero was going to be with me for the rest of my life.

Whenever we were together, I felt like a queen. All the other girls—even the girls I kicked it with—hated on us. Though we both played it hard, we needed each other. The chemistry between us was crazy, though we pretended that it was just sex between us. We both claimed to be single, but damn it if we didn’t fuss, fight, and fuck like we were a couple.

Dinero held my hips, gliding me down onto his dick. My thighs knocked against his waist as I eased onto it. Dinero grunted a little, holding my hip with one hand, then reaching for my phone to change the song on the playlist.

“Red dogs at my trap got me for a half a stone. See, I’m trappin’ all day, can’t wait to get home.” I sang along with Lloyd and Jeezy to “Tear It Up.”

Dinero bit his lip, groaning as I started to wind my hips and grind on him. He looked down, watching my pussy go up and down on his dick. I knew he wanted to pull out of me and snatch the condom off, but that nigga wasn’t crazy. He kept track of my period better than me. I had just been put on depo, but he didn’t trust it. Said nothing was 100 percent. He wasn’t ready to be a father, and I knew I wasn’t ready to have his child. But the dick was so good, and I was sure the way my pussy slid up and down the condom had him ready to get all in them guts raw as fuck.

“Nah.” Dinero moaned, gripping my hips and sliding to the edge of the chair. “Nah, we ain’t doing this slow grinding shit. We gotta roll out in a few. Grab the chair, ma.” He lifted my body up and off him.

I stood from the chair and backed away so he could get behind me. I got down on my knees, gripping the seat with both hands and bracing myself as he got down behind me. I sighed as he got on his knees, pressing the small of my back down as he slid back inside of me. Before he started to stroke, he slid his hands between my pussy lips.

“That thing is wet as fuck. Am I the reason that pussy is so juicy?” Dinero questioned, more like dared me to say that it wasn’t.

I nodded, sighed, and looked back at him as he rubbed my clit. “Yes, baby.”

My body melted as the nigga grabbed the back of the chair and rammed into me, shoving his dick to the very back of my cervix. I screamed, body immediately breaking out in a sweat. Then he had to go and put a little umph in it. I swore my soul left my body as I listened to the sound of his pelvis clapping against my booty. I tried to throw it back, but the way he worked my soul relaxed my body. He had my mind in a trance, and my body had no choice but to follow.

“You dance with that nigga tonight if you want to.” Dinero gripped the back of the chair with one hand, then gripped my neck with his other. “You let that nigga anywhere near my pussy and see what happens. This pussy is mine. This good shit belongs to Dinero. Do you fuckin’ hear me?”

“Yes, baby!” I squealed, regaining my senses enough to bounce back. His warm hand around my neck felt amazing. I started to grind and bounce on his dick, causing him to slow his pumps a little, enough to feel my rhythm.

“Shhhhit,” Dinero hissed.

I looked back at him, watching him watch me lose it. I pounced on his dick until he started to pounce back. He beat that thang up, biting his lip as he gripped my neck until I fell down on the chair, just taking the dick. He had me crying, begging him to stop, no, keep going. I reached behind me, pressing my hands back against his chest.

“Put your goddamn hands down!” he growled. “Now throw that ass back! Ride this dick. Ya nigga had a long day!”

I cried out. “Oh, my goodness, this shit feels so good!”

My arms fell to my sides as he released my neck and grabbed the back of the chair again. His stroke got deeper, faster, and stronger as my entire body began to convulse, shiver, and shake under his. I came just as he came, all his weight on top of me, grunting and breathing heavily in my ear.

My knees burned as Dinero pulled out of me. I remained in that position, ass still in the air. Dinero smacked my booty before he kissed it then licked from my clit all the way through my pussy up the crack of my ass. I giggled, screaming in delight.

“Oh, my Goddddd, Dinero!” I cooed, sitting down on the floor and watching him breathing heavily as he pulled the condom off.

Dinero grinned and went over to the trashcan in the corner of the room to throw the condom out. “Get’cha ass up. Shower and shit before your ride gets here. Oh, yeah, I got something for you to go with your dress.” Dinero nodded toward the closet.

I held up my hands for him to help me up.

Dinero zipped his jeans, then came back over to help me off the floor. He looked down into my face before kissing my forehead. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me, but he didn’t. He walked over and grabbed his plaid shirt. I sighed as I walked over to the closet. I opened the closet and looked on the floor. Alongside my shoes were a bouquet of yellow daffodils, a card, and a small Fendi shopping bag. I smiled and bent over at the waist to pick up the bag.

“Shit. You’re lucky I gotta get rid of these Rox tonight, or else ya ass would be in so much muthafuckin’ trouble. Have ya ass going in that homecoming dance pigeon-toed,” Dinero joked.

I grinned, picking up the flowers, card, and bag from the floor. I peeped in the bag to see a sequined clutch purse and a velvet box that looked like it contained a tennis bracelet. Typical gifts that my dad probably told him to get. That was the kind of thing my dad did. I opened the envelope, peeping the card and the fact that it was custom made. My eyes watered at the picture on the front of the card. It was a picture of me and my mom on Myrtle Beach. I loved that picture. We were so happy.

I opened the card and read Dinero’s handwriting out loud. “‘Your mother would be so proud of you tonight. You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’re fine, and you’re mine. I know I don’t say it enough, but you mean the world to me. Whether you win the crown tonight or not, you are already a queen. My queen.’” I cried out loud, barely able to get the last few words out.

“Aww.” Dinero chuckled and walked back over to me. He finally wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck.

I held his flowers, his present, and that card in my hands. “Thank you, boo,” I cried.

“No time for tears. We gotta move out,” Dinero whispered. “Good luck tonight.”

I nodded, looking up into his face as he let go of me. “Good luck to you too, Dinero.”

“Don’t you look handsome tonight.” Our Colombian housekeeper, Donna, smiled in the doorway of my room the night of Meade Senior High’s homecoming dance.

I grinned at Donna’s reflection in the mirror as I buttoned my crisp, beige Burberry dress shirt. I wasn’t really in the mood to go to a homecoming, especially since it wasn’t my shit. I was homeschooled, for my safety, according to Pops. I was one of three children in the Reel household. It wasn’t until I was about 13 years old that I learned that I was adopted. And that was only after my birth mother showed up at my front door and barely got the words out that she was my mother before she was shot in the head.

Donna walked up to me. “Your father is downstairs, honey, in his office.”

I looked into Donna’s face as she adjusted my tie. According to my birth mother, Donna was my aunt. My parents never answered my question about Donna being my aunt, and neither did she. After my parents explained that I was adopted, they left the subject alone and never brought it back up. They told me to appreciate the fact that I was brought up in a better life than I would have been if I were left with my birth parents. Though I really didn’t see how.

After Donna fixed my tie and I grabbed my jacket, I headed out of my room, down the mansion halls, and down the spiral marble steps toward my father’s office. As I made it to the office, one of the maids came out, giggling and pulling her dress down. She cleared her throat when she caught the frown on my face and scurried past me as I walked into the office.

My father stood at his liquor cabinet drinking Scotch from a glass before slamming it down on the counter. He flashed a mischievous grin before saying, “It’s not what you think.”

I shook my head, clicking my teeth. “It’s always what I think, sir.”

Pops shook his head. “You and this thuggish, bad-boy demeanor. No one would have ever thought I raised you in my image.”

“Well, judging by shawty who just walked out of here with her dress stuck in her panties, looks like you’re not too far from being a bad boy yourself,” I growled. “Does Mom know the maid is dusting off more than she thinks? Where’s ya wife, Pops?”

That stupid grin was wiped from his face real quick. “At one of her club meetings. Book club, cry on another bitch’s shoulders club, old hag club, who knows, son?”

I frowned, watching him pour himself another glass. “What did you call me in here for, bruh?”

“I heard you were going to Meade’s homecoming dance,” Pops answered.

I nodded. “Yeah, Claudius wants me to roll with him. Not really feeling it. I’m just interested in the after-party.”

Pops nodded, taking a sip from his class. “I’m interested in that party too. Your ‘boy’ is in.”

I looked at him. “In what?”

Pops walked over to his desk and pulled out what looked like a wire device from his drawer. “The kinds of drugs these kids get a hold of during these parties needs to stop. At every major party this year, one of these kids has gotten in a car accident or ended up OD’ing on that shit.”

“What shit?”

I inched closer to his desk and watched him pull out several little bags of assorted colored pills, crystals, and weed. Shit, some of that weed was pink as fuck. I picked up one of the bags of weed from the desk, popped open the bag, and took a whiff. When I tell you I felt like I was floating on cloud nine from just barely inhaling that shit, I ain’t exaggerating.

“Goddamnnnn!” I laughed as my father snatched the bag away from me and resealed it.

Pops frowned. “I need to know where they get this shit from. Who’s supplying this shit to these kids?”

I looked at him. “You really think I’m going to find out who supplies this shit just from a school dance? I might find out which kids are selling, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to find out their distro, Pops.”

“Make friends with these kids.” Pops watched me as I clicked my teeth. He huffed as he handed me the wire. “Just take it.”

I shook my head. “A white boy going to an after-party with a bunch of black kids? Yeah, wearing a wire is smart. They already think I’m five-o enough as it is. Every time I go anywhere with Claudius, they assume I’m a cop’s son.”

Pops smiled. “You are a cop’s son.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m not.”

Pops’s smile faded. He exhaled deeply. “While you’re here, I might as well have this talk with you now.”

“What talk?” I asked him.

“About Mandy,” Pops answered.

Mandy Wineyard lived a few mansions down from us. We grew up together. Our mothers were best friends.

Our fathers were best friends. We went on family vacations together. We were both homeschooled, and our parents only wanted us to become friends with other children who were homeschooled, which was how I met Claudius, who was a little more rebellious than I was. He did what he wanted, and I soon became the same way. Once his aunt (who raised him) discovered how good he was at sports, she ended up putting him in public school. He started attending Bay City High freshman year. He made new friends and refused to leave me out. So, his homies became my homies, and, man, did we stay in trouble.

Mandy wasn’t as good as her family thought she was either. She started hanging out with a few Catholic-school girls she’d met at the mall. Mandy and I weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, but every now and then we had sex. Great sex. Leg-jerkin’, “eyes rolling to the back of my head,” “dick th. . .