His wine-colored eyes remain trained on the vile as he pours its gooey lime green liquid into the beaker sitting on the workspace before him. As soon as the vile is empty, the garage door (connected to the rest of the house) swings open. He loses his focus and barely keeps his grip on the glass vile in his right hand.
"Boy!" Granddad's crabby yelling fills the room.
He marches over to his grandson and snatches the beaker from his desk.
"What I tell you 'bout makin' these damn bombs?!" he scolds the preteen boy. Huey rolls his his dark eyes and groans. He quickly swipes the beaker away from his grandfather.
"Granddad, I told you: it's not a bomb," he corrects the old man, his tone bogged down by irritation. "I'm working on the cure for Sickle Cell Anemia" —his expression relaxes as he reflects on his work— "and I think I'm finally making progress."
"Well, tell that to the FBI," Granddad nags. "I don't want no more of them damn agents showin' up at my door, again!"
Huey sighs and tries to change the subject,
"Grandda-ah-" Before the boy can start, his voice cracks, interrupting the sentence.
He'd been noticing his voice cracking and changing pitch for a couple months. It became problematic whenever he would raise his hand to make a snarky objection to his history teacher's false statements about black history in class. Instead of having a tone of voice that demands respect, his pitchy words would, now, only earn giggles and whispers amongst his classmates.
Puberty's a bitch.
Huey gulps and tries to fight off an oncoming blush.
"Don't you have some catfish Tinder date to get ready for this evening?" he inquires.
Robert's eyes light up, and his mouth forms an 'O' after his smartass grandson's question catches him off-guard. He quickly recollects himself and clears his throat in an attempt to play off his shock to the question. He scratches his balding head, his eyes dancing around with nervousness.
"Uh-yeah!" Granddad blurts out. "Of course, I do! As a matter of fact, I should go get ready, right now!"
He turns back around to leave the garage, announcing as he briskly approaches the door:
"And she ain't no catfish, either!"
He closes the door behind himself and his expression of forced confidence immediately fades into one of hopelessness. His eyes graze the floor as he trudges up the staircase to the second floor and into his room, where he slumps down into his bed and turns onto his side, releasing a melancholy whimper.
I haven't been able to get a date in weeks... he reminds himself. He flops onto his back and watches the wings of the ceiling fan slowly turning above him. What's wrong with me? I feel like such a loser...
He sits up and goes to the bathroom to take a look at himself in the mirror. He cups his chin in his hand, scanning the wrinkles lining his aged face.
Am I just getting to old? he wonders, horrified by the thought.
Huey's questions replays in his mind:
"Don't you have some catfish Tinder date to get ready for this evening?"
The word 'Tinder' then takes up his focus, and an idea pops into his mind.
Maybe I should try real-life dating, like back in the good old days? he theorizes.
For some reason, this idea strikes him with a sudden blow of anxiety—he'd gotten so used to meeting women online and being shot down by them for the past couple of weeks that the thought of trying to shoot his shot in real life, now, feels intimidating.
No, no, no, I can't! he tells himself. I need something easier, something that'll guarantee I can get a date...
He sinks back into his thoughts and begins to pace back and forth through the bathroom, until he comes up with something. His gut sinks at his next idea, though.
Maybe I'll have to look for one of them hookers?
...
Robert slips on his trench coat and adjusts his flat cap on his way to the front door.
The boys are on the couch watching TV as he passes through the living room.
"Y'all be good for Uncle Ruckus!" Granddad refers the chubby old man, who's rummaging around in their refrigerator.
"These little nigglets won't get the best of me this time!" Ruckus hollers from the kitchen.
"Good luck on your date, Granddad," Huey says.
"You betta get that ho a kid's meal with a small Sprite from McDonald's, then drop her back off at her crib!" Riley comments, opposed to Granddad's fancy treatment of the ladies.
"That's not how you treat a woman, Riley," Huey objects while rolling his eyes at his brother.
"Ay, you being generous if you get a ho a Sprite from McDonald's 'cause they Sprite always hit different," Riley argues. He closes his eyes and licks his grinning lips with a nostalgic moan, reminiscing about his past orders of McDonald's Sprite.
Ruckus joins the discussion and sits himself down in Granddad's recliner next to the couch with a bag of buttered popcorn.
"And y'all negroes wonder why diseases like diabetes and high cholesterol run rampant through yo' community." He shakes his head with disapproval. "Every time I see a McDonald's commercial on the television, I only see y'all black folk on there.
"It's a good thang the good ol' white man has built magnificent restaurant food chains and grocery stores, like Whole Foods and Fresh Market that only sell organic foods, so they can keep they communities healthy and vibrant," he concludes.
"Have you ever purchased any organic foods from Whole Foods or Fresh Market, Ruckus?" Huey asks, raising a cocky eyebrow.
Ruckus sports a goofy, dumbfounded grin and shrugs.
"Well-uh-I would, but I just can't afford their deliciously fresh and natural foods on my salary," he explains.
Granddad stops next to Huey and leans down to tell him:
"Remember what I told you: no making bombs, tonight, so stay out my garage, keep the blinds closed, and don't answer the door if another agent comes."
With that, Granddad exits through the front door, closing and locking it behind him. There's no need for him to be wearing gloves, since his hands are quite warm and sweaty, already. He purses his lips and lowers his hat over his eyes as if he's trying to hide from someone as he walks over to Dorothy.
The drive through Woodcrest is silent as he remains on the lookout for any woman who may be a sex worker.
Now, where would a prostitute be in Woodcrest? he questions himself.
He'd never had any prior experience with prostitutes, since he was so used to meeting women, traditionally.
The first location that pops into his mind is the local men's club. Sure, sex between strippers and their clients is prohibited. But maybe if he finds the right girl to give him an extra good time for the right price, he'd be able to conquer his lust, and maybe even use his charm (even though it's been failing him, lately) to seduce her into going out with him on a regular basis?
The plan isn't preferable, but in Robert's desperate mind, it's genius.
He heads down to a strip club on the other side of downtown Woodcrest that's farther from his house to lower his chances of running into anyone he may know.
This gentlemen's club is named, "Purple Rose" with flashing purple neon lights outlining its name that sits atop the building. The entrance is hidden away in an alley that's connected to the busy street he's on. He turns down the alley and finds a park next to another car.
He gets out and checks his wallet to reassure himself that the $1,000 he plans to spend tonight is still there. He then puts it back in his pocket and heads for the entrance, guarded by a bouncer dressed in all black. The man nods to Robert as he enters the establishment.
The inside is dimmed by the mood lighting. Sensual music fills the air, bouncing off the walls.
To his left is the bar, being tended by a cute honey-toned girl, dressed in a triangle bikini top and tight booty shorts. Across from the bar is the runway stage, lined with lights and topped with a pole at the end to showcase its dancers.
He's quickly approached by a shot girl, who offers him a drink, as expected. He politely turns the offer down, and the girl goes on her way to interact with the other club-goers.
"Hey there, soldier."
For a moment, he thinks it's the shot girl, again.
Before he can turn around and respond with a: "Dammit, I told you I don't want no damn drink!", he notices that this voice is different.
This particular woman's voice is alluringly low and velvety. It's almost as if she's trying to put him into a hypnotic trance just by speaking to him.
He looks slightly over his shoulder to find a gorgeously slender, limestone woman rhythmically twirling herself around to greet him. He immediately notices her beautiful, bouncy breasts with a round ass to match.
She furthers her hypnosis of him as she runs her delicate fingers up and down his arm.
"You look lonely~" she sings to him.
Her words are almost like a song, the way her tempting voice hums to him.
"And you look" —he gives her a onceover— "beautiful."
She giggles and lightly nibbles her finger, scanning him down with hungry eyes.
"Why, thank you, sir," she replies. "I'm Cristal," she says, the name smoothly rolling off her tongue, "like the champagne. You wanna head somewhere a little more private?"
His heart almost explodes at the offer—the moment he'd been waiting for all night.
"Sure."
He tries to contain his horny grin as he licks his lips and nods.
Cristal takes his hand and leads him past the stage to a small private room. He watches her wonderful ass sway from side to side as he follows her.
She sits him down in the black leather love chair sitting against the wall before closing the curtains behind her and sinking into his lap in a straddle.
She begins to slowly gyrate her hips and runs her hands all over the many curves of her perfect body to rhythm of the urban background music.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" she asks him.
"Robert," he answers her, unable to look away from her vibrant olive eyes.
"You're a handsome man, Robert," she says, one end of her lip curved upward into a devilish smirk.
She starts to move her hips in a grinding motion. The way she slowly grazes his pelvis is practically torture. She cups his cheeks in her hand, earning a blush from the old man. At the sight of his timidity, her smirk then turns to a lighthearted grin, almost one of pity.
"Are you shy?" she inquires.
"Uh-well, not really," he stutters. "But-um-I'm not used to being around a girl as gorgeous as you." She chuckles and slides off of his lap, gracefully twisting her body around so that her derrière is in his face.
"Isn't that adorable?" she teases him. "The clients here usually aren't as sweet as you, Robert. There's nothing like the manners of an older gentlemen to get a girl goin'."
She flips her blonde tresses over her shoulder and bends over, her fat ass jiggling in his face.
"I've never seen you around here before. You from out of town?" He feels his cheeks growing red, again, at the question. He gulps and releases a shaky breath, avoiding her eyes as she waits for an answer.
"Well, actually, I'm just from the other side of town. It's no secret that I've been having bad luck with the ladies as of late, and I didn't want to run into anyone I know here." He shrugs.
She pouts her bottom lip with sympathy and slithers back into his lap, leaving a sensual peck on his cheek. Shivers run down his spine, the kiss lighting up his body like crack would an addict.
"What girl would be dumb enough to pass up a cutie like you?" She tilts her head in question. She runs her hand over his thigh, testing his patience, but in a good way.
She leans in to whisper into his ear:
"If you're having bad luck, I can make you the luckiest man in here, tonight."
She leans in to kiss his lips, locking him under her spell.
Are strippers allowed to do this?
The hell if he knew, but he wouldn't let some stupid rules ruin his chance to feel like 'The Man', again.
After a moment, she comes up for air. He's almost breathless from his growing excitement.
"How much you got in the bank, Daddy?" she asks.
She playfully reaches into his pocket for his wallet.
After the kiss, he's comfortable and ready to flaunt his new confidence.
"One thousand, baby," he answers her with a corny macho wink. "You can have all that" —he glances down at his crotch— "and more, if you like."
She amusedly snickers and eagerly reaches for his pants to begin unzipping them.
"I won't tell, if you don't," she whispers with another mischievous chuckle.
...
The next morning, Robert wakes up and gets out of bed with a little pep in his step. He hums all the way down the stairs and to the kitchen, where he finds the boys searching the cabinets for cereal.
"Don't worry about breakfast, I'll cook," Granddad offers. He waltzes over to the fridge to grab some eggs.
"Granddad, you never cook," Huey replies, raising a brow of suspicion.
Riley lightly nudges his brother while sneering and whispers to him:
"That date of his must've gave him some good ass head, last night."
"Watch ya mouth, boy," Granddad scolds him, but his tone remains cheerful.
He grabs some cooking spray to grease the preheating skillet on the stove. Once, the pan is hot enough, he puts the eggs in and seasons them with salt and pepper.
As he sautés the eggs, the boys are captivated by a moving van that's pulled up next door to the Freeman house.
"Granddad, we've got new neighbors!" Huey alerts him.
"Dayum! That lady's ass is lookin' scrumptious!" Riley remarks, sinking his teeth into his lips as his brother grimaces at him.
Granddad leaves the skillet to sit for a little and joins the boys at the kitchen window, smacking Riley upside the head for his vulgar language.
"Ow!" Riley winces and rubs the back of his head.
Robert watches as a family of three peacefully hauls boxes out of the back of the moving van and into the house. First is a lanky caramel man with a short and neat haircut, followed by a little beige girl with two enormous, orange puffballs in her hair.
The last person out of the van causes the old man's jaw to drop, and he claps his hand over his mouth.
"Oh, My Lord..." he trails off, watching the sexy light skin woman carry a large box out of the back of the moving van.
He feels his gut sinking to the floor.
"What's wrong, Granddad?" Huey asks, both of his grandsons' eyes on him, now.
Granddad clears his throat and bats his lashes, feigning normalcy.
"Um, nothing!" he lies. "I was just noticing that they just have a big house!"
"Our houses are around the same size," Huey retorts.
"Well-" he awkwardly pauses, tensing up. "We don't know that for sure, do we?"
"No," Huey answers.
His eyes slowly leave Granddad's with a gleam of suspicion in them as the boy turns his head back to the window.
Oh, God, I know I've done a lot of messed up things in the past! Robert prays internally. I killed Stinkmeaner, I snuck into a movie theater without paying for tickets or food, I even got addicted to reefa that one time! But please, forgive me for sleeping with that man's wife!
XXXXXXXXXX
I know what you thinking: Did this crazy ho really just make Cristal Jazmine's mama?
And I'm here to tell you: Yes. Yes, I did ?
Also, I truly apologize for putting y'all through that horny ass scene between Granddad and Cristal. While I do feel that the scene is necessary to help connect the story, I think I had a little too much fun while I was writing it ?
Forgive mehhhh
Anyways, thank you SO much for checking out the first part of my second story on here! You guys don't know how much I appreciate your undying support!
Remember to leave a vote, tell me your thoughts in the comments, and share this with your friends so y'all can have double the fun!