Free Pipe Dream by Solomon Jones Page B

didn’t you, Everett?” she asked through lips that were frozen in the mouth-numbing grin of a crack fiend, while she undid his pants and stared at the eerily silent Leroy and Pookie.
    As Black pulled on the seemingly endless stream of smoke, Clarisse placed him in her mouth, pulling him down into a place where smoke and pleasure whirled around each other in a swirling play of light and sound. When he finished pulling in the smoke, he stood with his eyes closed and felt her hands caressing him while her lips and tongue ran up and down the length of him.
    Black put down the straight, slowly released the smoke through his nostrils, and began to caress her breasts. She gasped and he fell to his knees, pulling her down from the chair, his hands exploring her, learning for themselves what his eyes already knew—that she was delicious.
    Kneeling there, Black could feel her, could smell her, could taste her. He put her fingers in his mouth and sucked them, one at a time, then ran his hands along the inside of her thighs, touching her softly until her essence poured out beneath his touch. He licked her breasts, teasing and then sucking, whispering the things he had never felt good enough to say to her, running fingers through hair, hands over hips, lips over eyelids and shoulders and neck. And then he sat before her, beckoning for her to move closer, to respond.
    Clarisse pulled her skirt around her hips and sat atop his thighs. Gently, he wrapped her legs around his back and thrust into her, searching her eyes for the Clarisse he knew he’d never find again. She locked her ankles behind him and rocked back and forth, her waters running down and through him like hot streams. He met her every motion with a motion of his own, still searching her eyes and hoping that the Clarisse he’d known was still there, still salvageable. She began to scream, to curse him, to love him, to hate him. And then, with a violent shudder, she climaxed, and Black knew that she was someone entirely different. The Clarisse he’d known before had died in the swirl of creamy smoke that drifted toward the ceiling, fading into nothingness, like a ghost.
    Now all that remained for either of them was to watch and to wait for whatever was next. There was no turning back. So they sat, their juices running down between them, and watched Pookie give to Leroy what she had never given to anyone who had paid for it.
    When Black turned around, Pookie was pulling in smoke, standing and slowly gyrating in a strangely erotic grind. Then she held her straight to Leroy’s lips and let him pull the remainder of the smoke from the tube. While he inhaled the smoke, she dropped to her knees and released him from his clothing, caressing him slowly and gently, as if she wanted nothing more than to touch him. Then she began to roll him around on her tongue like candy. For a moment, he watched her. Then he rose from the chair, turned her around, threw her against the wall, and entered her.
    Black laid Clarisse on the floor and was upon her, pushing into her as he braced her legs over his shoulders, penetrating her and reveling in the sound of her childlike squeals. Clarisse met his thrusts head-on, giving him all there was to give, while Leroy and Pookie gave their fear and their excitement and their relief to each other against the wall on the other side of the room.
    Forever, it seemed, they continued, filling the room with screams and sweat and musky embraces, clawing and tearing at each other like animals, holding on to whatever they could salvage of the moment. And then, through the haze, Black heard someone call his name.
    He stopped and turned to Leroy, who was stock still against the wall, listening. Clarisse stopped moving, sensing that something was wrong, and Pookie began to adjust her clothes. The same voice called Leroy’s name, and Leroy looked at Black, then at the radio, and they all began to listen.
    “ . . . and to recap the top story this hour, police are