Author's Note: First off, I am a sick, sick, sick and perverted puppy. LOL!
"Skin To Skin" is a story that I've written after a friend of mine asked me to write this tale, numerous times.
Disclaimer: I am going to make this a "short and sweet" warning. I do not condone, support or find enjoyment in sexual acts that are forced and non-consensual. Also, if you are a member/fan/an avid reader, here at Literotica, who doesn't find acts of xenophobia or interracial sexual acts appealing, then this story is definitely not for you.
For the people who are reading this story: I hope you find some source of entertainment in this story. I would like to thank all of the readers, for taking out the time from your days to read my little ole' story.
Comments, suggestions, constructive criticism and questions are welcome and encouraged.
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"I, so fuckin' hate you right now, Lynn," I declared with a tinged of amusement in my voice. At that moment, I was glaring at the source of my ire, my best friend of twenty-two years, Lenora, or "Lynn" as I affectionately call her. Lynn was sitting on the other side of the backseat of the taxi cab that we were riding inside of. She was sitting sideways in her seat, the side of her head was resting against the back of the black leather seat and she was facing me. With her bright, ruby-colored hair was surrounding her as if it was a halo made of fire. The gold sequined dress that she wore also made her look ethereal. Her gold-colored eyes didn't contain their usual alertness; they were glazed over, an obvious sign that my buddy was drunk.
Actually, she was more 'tipsy' than drunk.
"No, you don't, bitch" Lynn mumbled with her eyes still focused on the seat. "You fuckin' love me!" she declared, with slurred speech.
Okay, my friend was drunk.
"No, I don't love you," I joked. I have no idea why I was playing a one-person, game of 'mind-fuck' with a drunken person, in the back of a cab, but there I was.
"Yes, you do and I could prove it!" Before I could say anything else to her, Lynn had reached over the backseat and planted a sloppy kiss on my left cheek. "See?" she stated, as she sat back down in her seat, taking up the same position that she had before. "You do love me."
I was about to delve into a long-winded lecture about how her sloppy ass kiss was not considered to be proof of how much I loved her, when I realized two things: 1) there was no point in trying to discuss a deep topic, like declarations of love, with a person that is inebriated. It's like trying to have a conversation with a crack head, about the theory of relativity. 2) When I taken a glance at Lynn, after I rubbed off the Bobbi Brown lip gloss that she smeared on my face, Lynn was asleep. So, I let the heifer sleep and I, on the other hand, decided to stare out the back passenger's window and watch the city of Manhattan pass us by. Eventually the activity of gazing out of the window had become mundane, so my mind began to drift and I started to think about the history that I shared with that sleeping, red-haired beauty.
Lenora and I first met, when we both were three years old.
Yep, back when we were three years old and we were still wearing Garanimals and our biggest accomplishment was being able to count up to the number 10.
Both of us, at the time, were living in the same neighborhood. Well, actually, it was more like our families were living in the same apartment building that was a part of a housing project. The South Jamaica Housing Projects, located in Jamaica, Queens to be exact. Lenora, her mama Chiara and her older brother Malachi had lived in an apartment on the sixth floor while my mother and I had resided in an apartment on the second floor. Despite living in the same building for a few years, I didn't meet Lynn until her first day attending The Sunny Days-New Beginnings Pre-School, which is a day-care center that the majority of the toddlers and babies of the housing project's residents attended.
I remember first setting eyes on Lynn (she wasn't facing me at the time) and I thought she was the cartoon character Strawberry Shortcake, because of her short, curly red hair. Then, our teacher had introduced us. I remember taking a glance at her eyes, seeing the eerie hazel color in them, thinking that she was a monster and I remember screaming and running away, which ended up making Lynn cry. And that's was the beginning of our friendship.
Over the years, Lynn and I each have gone through some tough times and we always had each other to get through them. Whenever her mama's "douche bag-flavor of the month" boyfriend would get on Lynn's nerves and she needed to get away from all of that bullshit, she knew she could count on me. As well as the trundle that was underneath the day bed in my bedroom. When I was going through some tough times with my mom and I considered running away from home, Lynn was the person who persuaded me to stay. Back, when we were sixteen, Lynn wanted to make a visit to see her brother Malachi, during his first prison stint, but she didn't have the money, as well as, didn't have the resources to travel to Rikers Island. I helped my home girl out by giving her information about a private bus company that makes trips out there, to and from the prison. I also gave her money (I had an after-school job, at the time) to spend during her travels. Also, unbeknownst to Lynn and her mother, I was placing money inside of her brother's commissary account while he was incarcerated. I was also providing his other accounts that were created during all of his other prison stints.
I wasn't the only person looking out for family members. Lynn was also there for my mother, during her weakest moments. When I was nineteen, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was during my mother's battle, the side-effects of her chemotherapy sessions were affecting her ability to do the everyday things, like grocery shopping and house work. Lynn had taken time out of her schedule to take care of those things for my mother, even though Lynn was a full-time college student and was working part-time. She would travel, everyday, from Manhattan to Brooklyn (where her job was located) and then trek out to Uniondale, Long Island (the location of my mother's new home), so she could take care of my mother. At the time, I was living in Virginia, attending Hampton University. So, while it was impossible for me to take care of my mother, during this time, Lynn was there for my mom everyday.
The sound of the taxi driver's voice telling me the price of our journey back into Queens was the source that snapped me out of my trip down memory lane. "It's $56.23," the driver repeated, assuming that I didn't hear him the first time. I glanced out of the window quickly and noticed that we were indeed at the Ms. Patrick's split-level home. Tonight, Lynn and I decided to do one of our favorite childhood things, which were having a sleepover at her mother's house. Her mother is spending the next nine days on a cruise ship that is sailing around all of the islands in the Caribbean. She wanted Lynn to house-sit for her, even though Ms. Patrick's son lives with her.
"Okay," I mumbled, as I pilfered though my clutch purse for the fifty-dollar and the ten-dollar bill that I knew was stored inside. As I stared at the contents inside of my purse and pushing objects aside with my right hand, I grabbed a hold of Lynn's knee and was shaking her to wake up, with my left hand. Once I found the folded up bills, I handed the money, along with a five dollar bill to the driver.
"Lynn" I said, as I was shaking her leg. "Lynn, wake your ass up! We're home."
Lynn sat upright in the backseat, leant up against the back of it and then mumbled something unintelligible.
I began to shake her once again. "Lynn, get up, we're home!"
"All right, all right," she said softly. "I'm awake and rearing to go."
With her head still resting against the back of the seat, while facing the roof of the car, she managed to grab her belongings, open the door and then slowly, but surely made her exit out of the cab. I bid the cab driver a quick farewell and slipped out of the car.
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