Roy, Tank and Shep were riding with me to Palm Springs with one person on our minds: Jeff.
"How you meet this dude, bro," Roy asked the night before we headed to the low desert. "You just hook up with random, rich white dudes?"
That was partially correct as I met Jeff at a girls' high school basketball game in Long Beach, with his niece and my Godchild being teammates and he felt the need to sit beside the quiet, black guy.
"You know you're wearing neighborhood colors," he told me.
The school, located in the heart of Crip territory, to me was a safe haven, a place I felt you could watch a basketball game and not worry about being approached. I was donning a sapphire blue flannel, black jeans and matching Nikes, two months removed from Virginia due to a gig I accepted to the City of Long Beach when Jeff had the gall to give me the "heads up."
"You should be fine, but moving forward, just do a little research and all will be well," he said before he extended his hand out.
Oddly enough we clicked right then, as it was halftime, and he noticed my lack of California accent.
"I'm from Virginia," I told him.
"Oh ok, what part," he asked.
"Virginia Beach area," I told him as that was the gateway to a lengthy conversation.
We'd talk until the game was over, in which the host school won by 30, and we would exchange contact information.
"Hit me up anytime. Maybe we could hang out and I show you around here, maybe L.A.," he said.
We fucked a week later in his San Pedro home that was overlooking the Pacific, the beefy businessman getting his hole plundered by some much needed east coast cock.
"The hubby isn't home and I'm in town, then you come fuck me," he said.
This became a norm with us as we fucked every other week if not each week, with me exclusive serving dick at his place. A year would pass, and his businesses, ranging from burger joints to funeral homes, began to boom even more, to the point where he expanded beyond the greater Los Angeles and Orange Counties to head to the low desert, as well as in the Central Valley areas up north. If I wasn't as close to him, I would've had no clue I was blowing the back out of a millionaire, a humble bear giant who checked in at 61, six foot four and 310 lbs. Sure he had the lavish lifestyle to include the cars and superior home, but he carried himself like a Regular Joe besides paying for whatever meal we'd share, just not one to flaunt despite what was in his bank account. We pretty much were on our way to being "exclusive," in spite of being married for he and Gene, his husband of 10 years, didn't engage in sex, just presence to include trips across the world, large money purchases, etc., as it was more of a business venture than a union.
Then it happened.
"I'm moving," he told me one afternoon, as it was the anniversary of our little arrangement.
"Where? To Australia," I remember joking.
He was changing the central part of his operations to Palm Springs, for he felt it necessary to get away from the city fracas.
"I'd hate to leave that cock," he told me as we sat and sipped.
My heart somewhat wilted as Jeff pretty much became "my man," more than someone I fucked fiercely, but a guy I confided in, received advice from, and just shared information as if he was a life mentor.
"Compton and Palm Springs ain't but a two hour drive," he told me. "And the same remains: If the hubby is out, and I'm in town, you can come and play for as long as time allows. Ain't no dick like Compton dick."
That made me laugh, then we kissed in the open in front of the patrons at his Palos Verdes location, then darted off in his SUV so we both could return home. Three weeks later I was kissing him "goodbye," knowing I wouldn't travel to Palm Springs as much, but then five days after he and the husband landed in Palm Springs, he texted me, wondering what I was doing, and when I'd come and pay him a visit.
"I told you, mi casa es su casa," he messaged.
I shared his fully clothed photos to the crew. Roy, a top from Compton like myself, mentioned to me how he wanted to tag team some fat, white ass, and so I remembered that. The other two claimed they'd be down, and so I sent the photos to our group chat and they all were vehement in meeting him.
"So when can we make this happen," Tank asked.
A week later we all played hooky from work, and they were in my pickup with their suitcases in the rear bed, and hip hop music blaring through the speakers on a beautiful California morning. We had the intent of staying four nights, as we departed from my place during the wee Thursday morning hours, to return early Monday. The three of them were stoned and focused as I drove, barely saying much during the smooth ride east on I-10. We made it as the sun was shining bright, and the burly Jeff watering his lawn, wearing nothing but basketball shorts and Crocs as if he didn't have a care in the world.
"Holy shit," he yelled when we parked in his driveway. "You got your Nipsey Hussle on full blast out here. Just not a care in the world.
We got out the vehicle and walked onto the lawn.
"Really didn't think you'd come," he said as we looked into each other's eyes. "You brought buddies like you said you would, too, I see. I'm glad. Hi there fellas, I'm Jeff."
He blushed as his face lit up at the round of introductions, as my guys shook his hand, and him not being able to keep his mouth closed.
"You said mi casa, es su casa," I told him.
"I damn sure did, and I love it when a man takes me up on my offer," he said before he brought us into the house.
Roy asked questions as we got a full fledged tour.
"17,200 square feet," Jeff said. "A pool in the back, jacuzzis in and out of the house, a sun room, indoor growing room as well as the garden in the back. Five car garage. What is there not to like about this place?"
I looked around at the white walls while Jeff boasted, as they were filled with photos of the happy couple, and some of loved ones, along with milestones of success. Jeff, although humble, had a lot to celebrate and his walls were a narrative of such. We'd finish the tour in the sunroom that was covered completely with specially tinted glass, located in front of a large golf course
"Yo, you really got it made," Shep yelled out as we sat.
