“This night is going to be fucked” I said to no one in particular. I rubbed my temples as the music blared through the walls of the club. I looked at my desk. It seemed as if a paper mill threw up on it. Biggies “Hypnotized” lyrics bombarded my thoughts as I tried to go over the numbers for the evening. There was a knock at my door and then it opened

“Nyaree, Joi is here” I sighed heavily. The last person I wanted to see was her. I started towards the door. Before I could reach it Joi was in my office. Staring face to face with her seemed all the more painful.

“What are you doing here?” I asked her, my voice laced with disgust and a hint of longing.

“I came to see how you were. You’ve been avoiding my calls. I wanted to make sure you were alright Reese.” I hated that nickname. She looked wonderful. Good enough to eat. Her Seven for All Mankind jeans sat snuggly to her size twelve frame. The purple shirt hugged her c cup breast. The purple converse all star sneakers added an edge, albeit feminine, to her attire. Her hair was down and her envy me Gucci scent filled my nostrils.

“Okay here I am. You’ve seen me. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to finish” I walked back over to my desk and sat down. I watched as Joi sat at the bar and set her keys down. “How did I know this was going to be a social visit?”

“I’ve missed you. You know that,” An incredulous smile spread across my face

“You’re kidding me right? Two weeks ago you were in my apartment telling me how much you cared about me but you needed to get you together. Two weeks ago I couldn’t get you to damn give me more after three years Joi, three gotdamn years. Now you come to my club and spit this bullshit to me like I’m some young, dumb, and full of cum teenager?” I pulled at the Versace jersey dress that was inching it way up my thighs as I got up and rounded my desk. I could feel Joi’s eyes on my legs. She loved my legs and even more so in tight fitting dresses. Her gaze, so erotic, made me pull my Rock and Republic jacket tighter to my body. I leaned up against my desk and continued “so can you please tell me why you’re here so you can leave”

“I came to see you. I came to tell you how much I love you and I also came to see how the club was doing. I miss performing here”

I miss you performing here was my thought. I could never let Joi know that though. Her arrogance was through the roof. Joi knew her knack for nouns, verbs, and adjectives were dope. She knew it was the reason it got her into my doors almost four years ago when I opened Reign, my open mic/dance club. I sat on the barstool next to her and rolled my eyes. “It’s only been about a month since you last performed at the club Joi. Stop bullshitting me. What do you want?” A wry smile crept across her face. Instantly I knew it was the wrong question. “Don’t even think about it Joi,”

“Let me perform tonight” Her index finger found the hem of my dress and she lightly traced circles on my leg. Heat seared me at the location of her touch. It made me want her to love me hard and fast, then tender, like she always did.

“It’s Thursday. You know we don’t do open mic nights on Thursday Joi.” My eyes lingered closed for a millisecond longer than they should. I knew I was in trouble. “I can’t just change the line up Joi.”

“Why can’t you? You’re the bosslady,” I smiled at hearing the nickname she used to call me when she was just a bohemian skirt wearing poet who walked in my club four years ago raving on and on about the injustices in society. I was a young artist myself, just coming into the club scene game. I dug her personality, her versatility; a small reason why I hired her was so that I could see her brown eyes, the color of diluted sweet tea, daily. Her voice interrupted my memory, “C’mon Reese its one poem. Lemme spit one poem then I’ll leave. Deal?”

Part of me didn’t want her to leave. I knew we couldn’t keep going this route though. The back and forth. The breaking up only to make up a week or two later. The cycle had to end. But where? I studied her features thoroughly. I’d fallen in love with Joi a long while ago. But her inconsistencies in our relationship made that love so weary. I sighed in indifference and walked over to my desk and called the DJ booth.

“Yo,” A male voice came booming through the line

“D-Nice it’s Nayree. Joi is going to spit a poem for the crowd. Introduce her. She’ll be down in a minute or two. And spin that new Busta joint. Flip mode is here tonight. I need them to spend more.”

“Gotcha Ree. Oh yeah and you lookin’ mighty right in that dress too. Don’t think I didn’t see you sneak in earlier”

“You’re funny. Keep them dancing.” I disconnected the phone and looked at Joi, who was now standing by the door, starring at me with a look I’d never seen before. I diverted my eyes to my Giuseppe Zanotti platform kicking an imaginary pebble. Joi knew my weakness for her direct eye contact. I looked back up in time to see my large double doors close.

I went to my desk and stared out at the crowd behind it. The two way mirror placed in my offices also covered the walls of the club. There was no where in this building I couldn’t see. I liked the idea of watching people, watching the way their bodies responded to the atmosphere. It was also resourceful in helping me keep drugs out of my club. I watch that shit destroy families. It wasn’t allowed in my club. I saw Joi making her way through the club. Giving daps to men she knew from around the way, hugging hungry females that wanted a taste of what I’d already feasted upon. A twinge of jealousy coated my tongue. I picked up the bottle of Nuvo vodka sitting on the side of my desk and refilled my glass. I heard the music lower and her voice boom through the speakers. The crowd rustled and those who knew her cheered. She spoke,

“This thing on,” she tapped the mic and smiled. Her face lit up, the adrenaline of being on the stage gave forth a glow from Joi that made her name that much more intended for her. “I don’t have much time. I just missed Club Reign and wanted to spread some love to my starting grounds. Let the people know I know my shit still stinks, know what I’m saying” She had the crowd at her mercy, like always. Even I, in all my anger, hung on to the last word uttered from her lips. “This piece, it’s dedicated to a special lady. A lady I love…” she took a dramatic pause, turned toward the two way mirror and continued “it’s called The Abstract Artistry of Us. I hope she’s listening…

I sit here…

And can’t help but hear this silence

So I write

Lettin the scribble of my pen entertain me,

The clickity clack of my keys fill me,

The tap of these phone buttons appease me,

Because to be alone with my thoughts

Is to be torturous to the body

If you only knew

The thoughts that ran through

Of you…

You would give me several thousand sheets

So I could slit my wrists and let my thoughts bleed out

I would gladly put a gun to my temple

And blow the contents of my intellective on a blank canvas

So u could enjoy the art of it on ur wall

You could dissect me,

Pull out my brain and

Rip out my heart and

You would own my essence…

I offer it to you

Being raped mentally,

Havin that which is most precious taken from me,

My dignity,

Is easier to deal with than this singing between,

The desire and need…

To be close to you

Your erogenous apparition

Is not enough to trigger self inflicting peaks

Only tease and titillate

Which in itself is an extraordinary feat

Come to me

And claim that which I’ve been holdin,

A taste so golden,

Swear it was foreboden

Satisfy your appetite for me

And my need to be amorously set free.”

Joi performed the entire poem as if she could look directly into my eyes. I knew she wasn’t able to see me with her natural eyes, but she knew my heart and could see right through the glass and metal. She placed the mic on the back of the stage and walked off. I heard the slow beat of Raheem DeVaghn’s Empty start to play. No one had to tell me, I knew she was on her way back to my office. My back was to the door when she walked in but I knew it was her. She grabbed me from behind, fuck. Her touch left heat searing my skin. I tried to turn but she stopped me with her body. I felt the denim jacket being slipped off my person. Small kisses were placed on my shoulders, neck, and upper back. Suddenly my head was too heavy to hold. I exposed my neck and Joi gladly accepted. My dress slid off my shoulders exposing my breast. Her hands instantly found their way to them and played with my nipples. I wanted to feel her deep inside of me.

“Joi…” I wispered

In one swift motion the papers which held the numbers for the evening was on the floor and the table was transformed into a bed. Joi slammed me onto the desk causing me to momentarily wince in pain which was immediately replaced with a sigh of pleasure as she took my nipple into her mouth. I hiked my dress up as I lay on the table

“You’re not wearing any underwear?” A sly grin crept across my face.

“I’ve learned from the best” I replied

In that moment I felt Joi’s tongue on my clit. I breathed in a sharp gust of air. It was sensory overload. I panted and whispered her name and other expletives. I could feel her tongue invading my inner walls, causing them to contract. My body was on fire. Joi spread the folds of my love box open and pulled me closer, deeper into her. She lapped up the sweet nectar that flowed from me to her. I bucked against her talented tongue and she held me steadily, as she always did, never losing her rhythm. I opened my eyes as I reach the point of no return. All I could see was light as my orgasm took over my body. It felt as if I was hovering just above my desk. I no longer felt like I was in my skin. I didn’t want it to end. Joi licked my thighs and I shuddered.

Gotdamit,

Joi got up, grabbed my face and kissed me gently. I was disoriented. Spent like chump change at the bottom of a too expensive handbag. I found the voice to speak,

“I want to taste you. Where the hell you going Joi” irritation laced my voice

“Don’t worry baby,” she said grabbing her keys off the bar “I’ll meet you at home”

Sigh…here we go again.

Jewel Giroux is a photographer who perpetrates as a writer in her spare time. Sort of like Clark Kent. She’s got a New York City attitude with a Carolina grace and delicacy… And she talks about sex.. a lot! View her lessons on life love and the pursuit of happiness (and the perfect relationship) at www.justjewel.tumblr.com.

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