Can I Use Your Phone

I grabbed my pistol, cocked it, and went to the front door where somebody was banging like they were aching to taste some lead. I flung the door open and aimed, every filthy curse word on the tip of my tongue dissipating when I saw the small figure on my porch. My arm immediately lowered.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the metal in my hands. "I'm sorry if I woke you up," she stuttered. "I'm locked out my house and I was hoping I could use your phone."

"Um...yeah. Yeah. Let me go grab it."

I was embarrassed as hell. I'd really pointed my gun at La'Nice, the woman I'd been gawking at since she moved across the street last month. The one I didn't have the courage to walk over to, but waved at every morning when we simultaneously left for work. I tapped my cordless phone against my temple, knowing I had fucked up majorly.

"Thank you," she said when I extended the phone to her.

"Hey, sorry about that — the gun thing. That's how I was raised to answer the door in the middle of the night."

She nodded, appearing less shaken up than before, turning away from me as she began speaking anxiously into the phone. I got a good look at what she was wearing: house-shoes with ankle socks that had the little cotton ball on the back, booty shorts that were centimeters away from revealing her ass cheeks, no panty lines, and a thin jacket. Where had she been dressed like that at such a late hour? I didn't have to think about it long before I reached a conclusion that made me suck my teeth in bitterness.

"My sister said she'll be here in forty-five minutes with the spare key."

"Why so long? She at work or something?"

"No. She lives in Laughlin, so..."

"Damn, that's far."

"Yeah."

She gave me the phone back, thanking me. I noticed her teeth were chattering. "You wanna wait inside?"

"I don't want to impose."

"You're not imposing. Come in."

I stepped aside to let her in. She went and sat on the couch.

"Want something to drink? Water? Pop? Juice?"

"Do you have anything stronger?"

I laughed. "No doubt."

While sipping her shot of Vodka, she told me she'd been out for a walk. She'd lost her keys and couldn't find them when she backtracked. She groaned and cursed her own stupidity, again thanking me for helping her out. "No problem," was my automatic response.

She was sipping her third refill when she asked, "Why is this our first time getting together? We live right across the street from each other."

I threw my shot back, keeping my face neutral against the burn in my throat. "I don't know. Probably because I was too shy to initiate anything. Did you want me to?"

Her smile was gentle. "Yeah, I did. I was waiting on it."

"If you wanted it so bad why didn't you come invite me over yourself?"

"If I wanted it so bad? You're making it sound like it was keeping me up at night." She chuckled, her hand covering her mouth as she did so to hide her smile. "I didn't invite you over because that would've made me look desperate, which I'm not."

"Oh, I know."

Her brow wrinkled. "What does that mean?"

Slip of the tongue. That damn liquor had me getting too comfortable. I glanced at the clock on my wall. "Your sister said forty minutes?"

"Tell me what you meant," she persisted, not at all diverted.

I bit my lip, looked down at the carpet. "I just meant that, we live across the street from each other, so I see shit. That's all."

"What have you seen?"

I shrugged. "I've seen your traffic."

She laughed. "I have traffic?"

"Yeah. You have mad traffic. It had me feeling like I shouldn't bother you."

"You shouldn't bother me or you shouldn't be bothered with somebody like me?" The offense in her voice was unmistakable.

I tried to get an apology out, but she interrupted. "Nah, nah, nah. It's ok. Don't apologize. You feel how you feel."

She left the room then, picking up the phone to go call her sister again. I cursed myself. Why couldn't I play it cool in front of women? Why did I always have to say too much, taint the vibe?

"She said she's ten minutes away. I'll go wait on my porch."

I took the phone she offered back, about to just tell her "Ok" and walk her out. But I couldn't let her go. Her constant company from other dudes had made a nigga feel uncomfortable, maybe a little insecure and jealous, but that was only because I was feeling her.

"Hold up. I..." I searched my mind for what to say, deciding to not use my mind for once and just go with what I was feeling. "Can I kiss you bye?"

She looked as stunned as I felt. It wiped that attitude off her face.

"You sure you want to do that?"

"Yeah."

I put my slightly trembling hands on the bare skin of her waist where her shorts and jacket didn't quite meet. I pulled her to me, bent my head to hers, pecking her plump lips. I'd wanted to do that since I first laid eyes on her. I pecked them again slowly, then again and again. By time I pulled away, her lips were parted, her eyes closed. She looked all whimsical like a magical prince had stole her breath away. It was amusing, and gave me a boost in confidence, that I'd left her disoriented like that.

"Mmm," she moaned, sucking on her own lips. "No tongue?"

I laughed lightly. "No tongue."

"Why not?"

"Because," my suddenly brave hands went wandering, slipping inside the back of her shorts, gripping her perfectly round booty, "tongue is reserved for when sex is about to happen."

"Isn't it about to happen right now?"

She definitely wasn't wearing any panties. My dick got hard as a rock at the thought of slipping the middle of her shorts to the side. I knew her pussy would be as good as I'd imagined on many lonely nights.

"There's not enough time. Your sister will be here soon."

"She can wait."

She was begging for the dick now. I imagined stroking her while my phone rang, her sister calling nonstop. I couldn't focus like that.

"Get in your house first. Then come back."

On cue, a horn started blaring outside. She was forced from her princess trance, heaving a breath.

"I'm so fucking wet," she whined as I walked her to the door. "No quickie?"

I was tempted, watching her ass as I walked behind her. My response was a laugh. She smacked her lips and left out the door, her steps heavy like a kid that didn't get their way. I didn't close the door until she'd approached the car and started talking.

It was then that the anxiety hit me with the force of two oncoming trains. Why had I told her to come back? Why hadn't I instead asked if maybe we could go out for dinner and a movie? My hormones had taken over me, made me forget that I had a condition. That condition was I was a twenty-seven-year-old virgin that could get it up but couldn't keep it up without feeling emotionally connected to the woman.

The knock on my door was quiet and discreet but made my heart race like there was a rabid bear on the other side of it.

Shit, shit, shit. What was I going to do?

Did I be honest and tell her I couldn't fuck her, that I'd tried having casual sex more times than I could count but it always ended with my dick going soft? Did I lie and tell her I was too tired, maybe another time? Did I not answer and hope she went away? Nah, that would be a pussy move. I wasn't built like that. But I also wasn't built to reveal such an intimate secret to a woman I was feeling but had no understanding of as a person. What if she had childish tendencies and laughed at me like some of the other girls had?

Another knock came, this time louder. I unlocked the door. I didn't know what I would tell her, but I wasn't going to hide.

She came in, waving a key ring at me. "Got 'em," she said.

She pocketed the keys and stepped close to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. When she tried to kiss me, I blurted out, "You remember that day at the park?"

She paused, looking confused. "Yeah, I remember. Why?"

I'd been hooping at the park with some dudes on a hot day that came out of nowhere at the beginning of spring. She'd shown up looking so good that even the half-dressed women beside her couldn't take the attention off her. The basketball game got aggressive after that, niggas suddenly hyped full of testosterone when fine women were watching from the sidelines. I was bruised and bloody when the game ended. I was wiping at my busted lip with my shirt when I noticed her walking over.

"I love a man that can take a hit," she said. She was trying not to laugh.

"Thanks," I said awkwardly, trying not to look at her titties in that sundress.

"You look nice," I managed to say.

She slid her palm over her slick ponytail. "Thank you kindly."

"Good? Hell naw, girl, you looking like one of my grandma's prime ribs: juicy and delicious."

This was Timmy, appearing out of thin air. She laughed at his compliment. He took over from there, isolating me from their conversation. 'Sucker' wasn't a harsh enough word for how I'd felt that day.

"Why you ask me that?" she prompted, bringing me back to reality.

"I was wondering why you left with Timmy instead of finishing talking to me."

"We weren't talking. You were standing there looking like you were ready to go home and I was holding you up. I figured you wanted me to leave you alone."

"That's not how I was feeling."

She shrugged. "Well, that was how I read it. I don't understand why you're asking me about that instead of getting in this pussy."

I was asking because I wanted to know if that was her game, having casual sex with any dude that showed her attention, with no interest in anything deeper like a relationship. I remembered seeing her the day after she left the park with Timmy. She was getting out some other dude's car, kissing him on the mouth before they departed. I had wondered if that had been her plan for me too; fuck me then be with another nigga the following day.

My thoughts were interrupted when she put her hands over mine, taking control of them, sliding my palms over her globe of an ass.

I groaned, my dick hardening to a dangerous degree. It was all bark no bite, poking at the front of her shorts like it was ready to invade what was inside of them. I'd learned on a number of embarrassing occasions that sex wasn't wired to my dick; it was wired to my mind, to my heart, to my emotions. If that holy trinity wasn't checking for the person my dick was hard for, they talked it out of its vigor.

"You wanna have a conversation about some irrelevant shit or do you want to hit this?"

I wanted to hit it. I wanted to slide all eight inches in that haven that her thick thighs surely kept toasty. I wanted to be able to fuck her until cum leaked from me and I finally had an orgasm while inside a woman. But that wasn't going to happen.

I was about to explain this to her when she pulled my dick out of my basketball shorts. She started jacking it off while tongue kissing my throat, her teeth intensifying the sensations by biting the sensitive skin. I thrusted into her hand, squeezing her ass for dear life. Shit, her hands felt capable of milking me dry.

"Stop," I said. I had to force the words out.

"Don't make me stop," she whined, pumping her hand faster, making circles around the head of my dick. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, a shaky groan escaping my lips.

"You like what I'm doing to you?" she encouraged. "That feel good?"

"So fucking good," I said, my nails digging into her soft flesh as I tried to maintain control of my body that was being assaulted by waves of pleasure.

"Mmm, that dick so hard. You ready to bust for me?" Her other hand cupped my balls, nearly sending me to my maker. My eyes shot open, staring up like ascension was taking over me. I wasn't seeing my ceiling or the gates of Heaven or anything at all; I was consumed by feeling.

"Make that dick bust. Make it bust," I begged.

She kept her pace, a series of cuss words dripping from my lips. It felt so fucking good. Her grip was tight around me, relentless, going up and down wetly as she kept lubricating my dick by dripping saliva from her mouth onto it. What she was doing felt better than my hands and Vaseline ever could.

I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I saw my orgasm in reach, speeding towards me.

I didn't want to waste it. This was the closest I'd gotten to cumming while with a woman and I wanted to use it correctly.

I spun her around and bent her over my couch. Those shorts were at her ankles in record time, one of her legs hoisted up so I had full access to her pussy. The opening awaited me, her cream built up right at the entrance for a comfortable penetration.

I went balls deep on the first thrust. She moaned, her hands fisting the decorative pillows. I gripped her waist and began fucking her with every ounce of sexual frustration built up in my balls. I coached myself to stay hard, to not go soft, to cum in this seductress that I'd beat my meat to more times than I could imagine. Listening to her moans and pleas, watching my dick come out of her wetter each time, experiencing ecstasy every time it pushed into her should've been enough to keep me going.

My mind started to wander, my erection wavering. I cursed myself, tried to push myself, tried to regain the magic I'd just captured. I was out of the zone. I was no longer feeling this encounter as my mind strayed to her traffic, to her and Timmy, to the fact she'd leave after this encounter and that would be it between us.

I pulled out of her and put myself back into my pants.

"What happen?" She stood up, a frustrated look on her face.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I just..." Looking into her irritated eyes, I couldn't bring myself to explain it to her. "Would you mind leaving?"

"Why? Did I do something wrong?"

"No. Just... Please, get out."

She put her shorts back on, staring at me wide-eyed, baffled.

"If I did something—"

"I said you didn't. Can you please just leave?"

She complied, walking out the front door. I closed and locked it behind her, wishing there was an alternate ending to our story. I couldn't fuck her. I couldn't make her cum. I couldn't make myself cum with her. There was no hope for us, or for me. I would never properly fuck a woman and would be forever alone in a generation that valued sex more than their partner's character and values.

* * *

I couldn't stop thinking about her, couldn't stop thinking that I'd overreacted to the situation, thinking how easy it would've been to tell her I'd lost my erection and explained why it happened. Instead, I'd taken the dramatic route of throwing her out into the street with no words of reassurance, no clarification, no nothing.

I ignored her the following week, refusing to look her way when I left out for work in the mornings. The embarrassment of my actions was too much to bear, mostly because in my mind she had told everybody about my limp dick. She'd laughed it up with her girls while accounting the failed rendezvous.

It wasn't until Week Two of this encounter weighing on my mind that it became unbearable. I found myself in the throws of another sleepless night, tossing and turning, cringing when her confused face crossed my mind. I threw some clothes on and, hesitantly, fearfully, went to her door.

She opened it slightly, her eyes cutting like I was a man that had ran off with her credit cards. "Can I help you?"

"Hey. How you doin'?"

It was a lame, unnecessary greeting, but lame was a characteristic encoded in my DNA. So was unnecessary, lately.

"Fine. What do you want?"

"I came to apologize."

"Apologize for what?"

"For throwing you out the other night. Well, two weeks ago."

She shrugged. "It's fine." That's what her lips said while her eyes said that it wasn't.

"Look..." I swallowed my pride. Even if me admitting this to her didn't patch things up, even if it led to nothing developing between us, for once, I needed to be honest with a woman about myself. "I can't keep my dick hard. There it is. Straight like that. I have a disability or a problem or whatever you want to call it. I can't fuck. I lose my erection every time. It wasn't you, you didn't do anything wrong. The problem was me. It's always me."

I didn't like the pity that softened the cutting edge in her gaze.

"Don't look at me like that," I said.

She looked at the ground. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything then. I just needed you to know."

"Have you tried doctors?"

"Yeah, I have. There's nothing wrong with me physically. It's all mental. And emotional."

"What does that mean?"

"It means the closest I got to finishing sex was with a woman I had deep feelings for. Obviously, if some emotions are invested, I can perform."

"Ah."

I put my hands in my pockets, the cold suddenly getting to me. "I didn't come to disrupt your night. I just had to let you know what was what."

"Do you want to come in?"

I heaved a tired breath. "There's no point. I already told you what was up with me, and I know what's up with you. This can't work between us. No need in lying to ourselves."

She snorted. "You're referring to my" —she used finger quotes — "traffic, right?"

She was offended again, but this time I wasn't worried about pacifying her. "Yeah, that's what I'm referring to."

There was silence between us then, the only sound being the blowing of the night breeze. I waited for her to say something. I wanted that something to be a consolation. I wanted her to tell me that the niggas she had pulling up to her place meant nothing, that she was still looking for a soulmate, that she was still open to a relationship, a commitment, a deeper connection. I was digging her, could see myself taking her on the intimate dates I envisioned taking that one special girl when I finally found her. I could see her beautiful face filling in the blank that played in my fantasies when I thought of myself with a girlfriend.

In my hopeless romantic mind, she told me I was unlike any nigga she'd ever fucked with. That she wanted to see what I could offer her, what it could possibly be like between us. She gave me a chance.

In reality, after I walked off her porch that night, that was it. We waved on our way to work, said hey when our paths crossed at the park or in the grocery store. That was as far as our relationship went. It was like nothing had transpired between us. We were two people on two separate walks of life that collided briefly, by accident. Like two parties after an accident, we moved on, kept going with our lives, made it our business to hurry up and forget.

I didn't truly move on until she had moved from across the street. Only then could I stop thinking about her daily. Out of sight, out of mind. I tried my hand at dating. It was pointless after a while, as the conclusions were all the same; the woman liked me and wanted to see what the dick was like, I knew I had no feelings for said woman so it would be trash, I ended the thing between us that very night.

Shit was looking hopeless, I tell you. But I didn't lose hope. I kept it alive, mostly during masturbation as I imagined I was blowing my load in some woman I loved and cared about. One day, I would tell myself as I cleaned the jizz off my hand, sometimes off my abs too. One day...