Member-only story
Getting Dirty With Red
Our Erotic Session
We made it back to the apartment. I’ve got the cash in a brown Winn-Dixie grocery bag. We post up at the kitchen table. Red and I count the loot. We stack them in piles of $500 each.
“It’s all there, my nigga,” I say.
Red has disappeared.
“I like the way you move out there,” Finesse says.
He picks up one stack and straps a rubber band around the wad and sticks it in his front pocket.
“The rest is yours my nigga.”
“Quit fucking with me.”
“Don’t make me say it twice.”
I coolly slide the remaining piles into the same bag.
“$1,500 for 15 minutes of work. You can’t make that in the NBA. $100 a minute. You always have a spot on my team.”
I don’t respond. I exit the kitchen, searching for my little Red.
I enter the darkened room to find my love standing at and staring out the window. She is wearing a short, silk, black robe.
Night has fallen, the light from the street illuminating through the large picture window, giving her a hauntingly erotic silhouette. I sense something amiss. Red never spoke while we counted and separated the loot.
