The Book of F*ck Read online

  The assistant manager said “go to thirteen” and I would whenever I could breath. She was so beautiful and heavily accented that I had to ask “what’s wrong? Why are you here in Waco?” She pursed her lips and smiled, swinging her hair, which looked to be braided with silk, or some thin tiny ribbons of color. She was dressed for business, her clothes sculpted tight, and her long red skirt hugged her body. Through teeth so white they were the color of chalk she replied “Mr. Copeland, senior nor junior, hired me. I open these hotels for the group. Call me Vishy. I am from Nairobi. A really big city in Kenya.”

  “I’m Naomi.”

  “Yes you are. He’s waiting. Go that way.”

  She winked and pointed her finger. When I got to thirteen I couldn’t hear any traffic and made note of the trippy acoustics. I knocked on the door and it paused open, a little bit and then a little bit more. Like something was holding it in. A voice then said “Naomi?”

  “Mr. Copeland?”

  “Please come in.”

  He was sitting on the bed staring at my photo and my God he was beautiful. Clean and tapered like a V. Even sitting you could tell he was chiseled. His hair trapped between dark and light. He was dressed in a suit but the jacket was open and I could see the muscles of his calves, his thumbs pressed on the cheeks of my photo, as if to mourn some thing having passed. He was pale and I was worried. His white face against the black of his suit made him appear to have lost a lot of blood.

  “Mr. Copeland. Are you all right?”

  “Did you see that woman in the truck?”

  “I did. She’s vaguely familiar.”

  “She scared me. Frightened even me. I hit her face. Didn’t mean to hit her face. There’s no excuse for that you see. Well…what I’ll say isn’t even feasible…but I…well I…”

  This was as strange as strange had gotten in my very brief time on the planet. He was like a little boy. A child who was scolded and placed in a corner to suffer the result of the scolding. I went with it, what else could I do? I was looking at Aeric Copeland.

  “Do I need to leave?”

  “No stay. You’re Naomi. Naomi is here.”

  “Mr. Copeland…”

  “I’m Aeric. My father’s Mr. Copeland.”

  “Aeric, I’m uncomfortable.”

  “That, I do not want.”

  He then came to his feet and straightened his spine. “I don’t want you in here. Not you. Is Vishy…”

  “She’s here.”

  “Okay.”

  “Will you go to her office with me?”

  “I’ll go wherever you’d like. You hired me.”

  “Yes I did.”

  “We’d all like to thank you for keeping us on.”

  “Makes sense. That just makes sense.”

  We settled in her office and talked until dark and then he asked if he could drive me home. We covered every known subject I could barely discuss and he knew the world as I did not. He wasn’t arrogant about it but he regaled me with tales and often mentioned his father in the stories. As for his mother she was generally avoided. When I pressed him on the subject he asked once again if he could drive me home.

  “Your mother? Where was your mother?”

  “Can I give you a lift? It’s dark.”

  “Aeric, please, you know I need this job, but I’ve answered all of your questions.”

  “Paris. He kept her in Paris.”

  “What? Who? Your father kept your mother in…”

  “Paris. He kept her in Paris. In a chic hotel like this one. I saw her once in 2000, when I was thirteen. Mother was kept in Paris. That’s where my mother remains.”

  I walked home and left Aeric in the office. Mama was asleep when I arrived.

  Aeric

  I can’t believe I dumped that on her. She got it all, well, most of my story. I’ve never done that before. The very next day I wanted to call Patricia but the want faded as I dialed. I slept in my clothes in room thirteen after downing a fifth of whiskey. Vishy woke me up at dawn. She has her own apartment on the Brazos River near the college off I-35. She was ready for The Comfort to open and needed my help moving in. My father sent a team and though we were the bosses they knew what to do and they did it. He is always ahead of the game.

  “Aeric, can you drive the truck? Hey, are you still breathing?”

  Vishy was standing above the bed. I could smell how beautiful she was. The room stank of booze and man, which even if you’re clean can be stinky. Testosterone has a musky odor. I really needed her to leave. The locker room scent of men and their flesh made Vishy drip with excitement.

  “Vishy, can you give me a minute?”

  She said nothing. The woman just stood there. The room was half dark but I could see her figure, though her face was cast in shadow. Goddamn, Vishy smelled good. She was in a robe with nothing underneath and the lotion that she wore wafted over me.

  “Aeric, did Naomi fuck you up? I’ve never seen you stay by yourself all night, drinking like a jilted lover. Are you losing that Copeland edge?”

  In my head I knew that Vishy should leave. Then Vishy stretched out beside me. I didn’t hear her robe hit the floor. My cock leapt to an erection and was moving the sheets when Vishy said the wrong thing.

  “I want it hard in all three holes. Because that woman has captured your attention. Soon Aeric Copeland will be worthless. Your dad will come and I’ll be glad to fuck him, but I prefer the young flesh of his son.”

  Vishy had been hired for her professional qualifications and then we found out she was a nympho, a maneater par excellence. She was the worst kind of male, though she had a vagina, and her ethics were those of a predator. Vishy just wanted to fuck. I should’ve locked the door, but then she’d use the key, and do whatever she wanted. To Vishy, you didn’t say no. When she turned eighteen in 2008 she was married to a Kenyan politician. Within the month he was found dead. His heart had completely burst. The valves had torn loose and the pump had expired and he was barely forty years old. When they found him Vishy was swimming naked in his pool smoking weed and drinking his liquor. After that she never returned. My father hired her to keep her out of prison, though Vishy was qualified.

  “Vishy, I…”

  “I know. You’re in love with that stunning Naomi. Would you consider pilling her up and let me have a taste of her pussy? That road smell of hers yesterday made me drag across the grass. Would she do a three way with us?”

  “Please Vishy, just stop talking.”

  I’m going to be forced to have her suck me off. Vishy’s hummers make men weep. My father seized and went unconscious during one of her holiday specials. He said he had chest pains and then it went black and he was hoping he awakened in hell, because heaven couldn’t be more appealing.

  “Vishy, I’ll eat your pussy. Can I just eat your pussy and quit?”

  “If you want your fucking hair pulled out. Let me get on top and when you come you can shoot it in my mouth or on my tits. I love the taste of my own sweaty pussy. I like to have it shoved down my throat. Does that sound good to you? After that I’ll leave you be.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes. Naomi was there in my thoughts as an image, but my resistance was fading fast.

  “Okay. Go slow. Please Vishy.”

  “Shut the fuck up and lie still.”

  Vishy yanked back the sheet, spat on my cock, and then she pumped it twice. A thin pooling of liquid tested the top and she hungrily lapped it away. Moaning her approval Vishy straddled my hips and I felt her fig split open, the head of my dick slowly sinking, before it lodged in the back of her sex. She thrusted once to make it hurt. Bounced again to confirm the pain. I immediately shot my load. She laughed and said “do it again. You’re accustomed to American pussy. Mine is wildly foreign. It draws the venom forth motherfucker.”

  I asked her to come into the shower with me. I put her hands on the wall with the jets on her face and then got on my knees behind her. I pulled apart her cheeks and stuck my tongue in her ass and
she came up on her toes and pushed back.

  “Fuck me in the ass Mr. Copeland.”

  “I want to eat it all from the back. I like the taste of your top and bottom.”

  “Do what you want. I’m your E-M-P-L-O-Y-E-E. Isn’t that right daddy boss?”

  “You filthy fucking cunt!”

  “Show that sweet pussy how much.”

  I opened Vishy’s anus with my tongue while I reached for her clit to massage it. She cursed a series of angels and saints. Good little Catholic that she was. I twisted my head to negotiate with her slit and she called me “a mean motherfucker.” She then spun around, placed a foot on the rail and said “Aeric, fucking eat it.” I sucked her oyster in my mouth while I fingered her cunt, backing off before starting again. Vishy held the back of my head while I scanned with my other hand. When I slid the digit into her ass, she told me not to move it. “Right there. Hold it still. A little deeper. Now make me come. Mr. Copeland, do what I say!”

  I thought the top of her head would explode. She made various comments in three different languages and they probably heard her in Austin. She additioned the orgasm with a few more instructions and then said “the ass. Hurry up. Drop your load inside. Get to it. There’s work to be done.”

  Vishy had me stand there with my hands on my hips as she slid my cock into her anus. Back and forth she moved against it. Every inch penetrated and there were eleven to offer and I was so aroused I couldn’t breathe. After a minute of stroking she said “grab my hips and pound it until you’re finished.” I did as Vishy instructed, her ass popping against the length of my thickness, the dark skin reverberating, as if the bass of some tune was there on her skin, rippling the flesh in waves. I was weak. Absolutely pathetic.

  “Aeric, take it out and hold it!”

  She pulled away and spun, dropping to her knees, and then clasped the base of my cock. Vishy aimed the tip at her mouth. When it came it shot down the back of her throat with enough to cover her face, her serpentine eyes looking up at me as I groaned and said her name. When the sixth and final sortie blew on her chin Vishy smeared it in a clockwise circle, around her face and between her breasts. Still Vishy, being Vishy, couldn’t stop demanding, and so her next order was given.

  “You owe me one more nut motherfucker. I want it from behind on the sink. I need to see both our faces in the reflection of the mirror when you release your third inside me.”

  I was exhausted and wanted to leave. Vishy might stab me if I did.

  “Vishy, let’s move a bed or a dresser. We’ll drive around Waco for breakfast.”

  “We can eat after we fuck. I wanted three and three is what you’ll give me.”

  Vishy knew how to raise it to attention. She toweled me off and had me sit on the toilet and splice my fingers on my head. When she got on her knees between my legs I thought she would suck me again. But it was better than that. Much better. Vishy stuck her finger into my mouth and then inserted the finger in my ass. When she hit my prostate I thought I would scream, but then she swallowed my cock in unison, deep throating it down to the balls. Up and down she went until it was hard and I had no idea where she’d learned this. Some hermit in a cave must’ve told her.

  “On your feet again.”

  “Vishy?”

  “Fuck me from behind in the mirror. Pinch my nipples like you hate me. You can leave it in because I don’t fucking work. I’m built for what we’re doing. I want it as hard as you can give it. Are you that cock Aeric Copeland?”

  She grabbed the edge of the sink, hiked her ass in the air and said “fuck till you come white boy. Don’t let your legs go weak. I’ll have to go to a bar if you do. Their deaths will be on you.”

  Her accented English was so goddamned erotic that my legs buckled then strengthened. Vishy was listed in my Book of Fuck twenty-seven times over the past five years and this was twenty-eight. She knew it and said as much.

  “This is two dozen plus another three and this time is twenty-eight. You’ve had Vishy twenty-eight times. Get on me. Stop wasting time. I’ve a very hot day ahead.”

  I went in and out as slowly as I could to try and prolong the pleasure. She reached behind her and grabbed my hands, placed them on her breasts and commanded: “twist the nipples, not hard to begin with. Then bring the blood if you want and can.” And I did, I tugged on them gently. Rounding her breasts with my palms. Her ass was yet again, smacking against me and there wasn’t enough room inside her, but she took it and asked for more.

  “Fuck me harder than that goddamn you!”

  I pounded, lifting Vishy from the tips of her toes and her forehead cracked the mirror. She was dazed for a moment and then back in it and I wanted to quit but she wouldn’t, screaming “fuck me Aeric!” and “don’t waste a drop! I want that Copeland load to boil me! To scald my fucking guts!”

  When I came my eyes rolled back in my head and it was then I heard the door close. I’d left the room wide open. Whomever it was had come inside and either heard or stood there and watched. You could stand at an angle in room thirteen and see what you wanted in the mirror. The floor where we stood was flooded with water. We hadn’t pulled the shower curtain. With Vishy details were of minor importance. When she was lit she was ready to go. You would fuck her or pay for the insult. My father had sent her to “help me?” What the fuck was the old man thinking? Did he want me removed from his will?

  “Who was that?” asked Vishy.

  “I have no idea. Were there anymore interviews?”

  “I…oh, shit, I’m sorry.”

  We stood face to face in the bathroom. Vishy’s hands were at her sides.

  “What is it Vishy? Who was coming today?”

  “She could’ve come when she wanted. I didn’t think this early. Then of course she came this early.”

  “What? Who? Tell me?”

  “I sent Naomi a text late last night that I needed her Social Security. I couldn’t read the way that she wrote it. She didn’t want to text it and I said that was fine and so I guess Naomi was here.”

  Motherfucker.

  Naomi

  I arose before dawn because the people were coming and I wanted to be ready for their arrival. They called and said she could move in early because her room was waiting on her. Our income qualified her. Weeks back while I was filling out the forms I called the man at the home to inform him I had money to spare every month. An extra $112 I earned. I told him I would be glad to deposit the money and he could put it towards my mother’s care. He was nice, patient and this is what he said. It made me love Texas and this country. He had to know I was crying when he responded.

  “Naomi dear, young will fade fast. You need to remember that. You can come see your mother anytime day or night. My staff will let you in. Having said that, your money needs to be spent on the mortgage, or better yet, towards fun. Did you get in touch with the bank? I called ahead and took care of that for you.”

  “I did. They’ll work with me. Because of you I won’t lose the house.”

  “You won’t lose the house because of the way you’ve been raised and now, though your mother is sick, what you’ve done will bloom like roses. When the right path is chosen, truth wins out, and gifts abound and so they are given. Time decays it so. Isn’t that a beautiful statement?”

  “It is. I’ve read it somewhere.”

  “Good, I’m glad that you said that. With what they’ve offered can you remain in the house? Can you work and pay it and still go to school? Are all three possible to do? I know your budget, but can YOU achieve it?”

  “I can. Yes, I can.”

  This man on the phone, the director of the home, was dying from cancer and when we spoke he knew his days were numbered. Within two months I would attend his funeral and after that the call from his attorney. In his will a stipulation for me. He’d paid off our mortgage and left me a note and that note said “go be young. Time decays it so. What is waiting will hurt, sometimes that is true, but remember that love won’t constrain you. I
t should never hold you back.” He signed his name and postscripted that my mother’s care would continue until she didn’t. When they came that morning to pick her up this director was the driver of the car. He hugged me and then hugged my mother. It was as if I was surrendering her care to something and someone far better. Better yet than people should be. What I hoped to become in the future. His last words were “she is with us. Naomi, this is for the best.” He made me believe in people. After they left I walked to The Comfort. Vishy needed my Social Security. Apparently I’d scrawled it on a form.

  It was cooler that morning and the walk was really quick and she told me I could come when I wanted. Vishy said her new apartment was over on the Brazos and that Aeric was helping her move. I couldn’t imagine him doing manual labor but she seemed to run the place. He probably did what she asked. I would do what she asked. The woman was six feet tall. Her arms were as long as my legs. Vishy’s ass seemed to sit between the back of her shoulders and she stepped like a soldier to the front.

  There was no one in the office, but I had my key, so I called and went on back. Vishy had been at her desk. There was a cup of coffee still warm by some forms and I could see where I’d written the number. No wonder she couldn’t read it. I couldn’t read the digits myself.

  I thought to myself I’ll knock on thirteen to see if he was up. She was. Why shouldn’t he be? There wasn’t any traffic so when I got to the door it was quieter than usual and then, I heard Vishy say something to Aeric. The door to his room was already ajar so I entered and said his name. He didn’t respond and didn’t have to. I went three steps forward and saw them. My legs trembled like a fawns and I almost collapsed in the double reflection of the mirrors. Aeric had Vishy bent over the sink and was pounding her roughly from behind. As he pinched her nipples she urged him on and then I froze, my stomach churning. I saw him come inside Vishy and call her a bitch, his muscles tensing as well as hers. I wanted to throw the chair on my left and stop them or burn this from my brain. Instead I cried and ran from the room. I slammed the door behind me without meaning to do it and knew they would know it was me. Weirdly enough, and this wasn’t planned, I went to her office and wrote out the number as evenly and clearly as possible. I had no reason to be upset. Aeric wasn’t mine. He was my employer. Our long talk didn’t mean anything more than what it was. I was naïve. This was proof.