Your OnlyFan

Erik had nodded his head in understanding even while only giving the older man half an ear. He knew what he had to do, this conversation was one of many, and the repetition was starting to wear on him. His gaze began to wander, falling from patron to patron in the spacious bar before the opening door caught his attention.  

She walked in and all eyes immediately fell on her. She looked ethereal. A canvas of rich ebony skin encased in an all-white wrap dress. Her wide hips swinging with every click of her heels as she made her way to sit two seats down from where Erik sat. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, locking eyes with him and giving him a small smile he knew was purely an invitation before turning towards the bartender to place her order.

N’Jobu knew that he’d lost his son completely to the woman. The nearly gaping look on his face comical. It was a nice change in pace seeing as how not many things threw him off. Looking over, he couldn’t really blame him. Instead, he only patted his arm, advising him to call his mom soon, before making his exit. 

His father hadn’t even made it fully out of the door before Erik slid over to her to ask for her name. 

Her voice took him by surprise when she’d spoken. It was deeper than he’d imagined but still pleasant to his ear.

“Chanel.”

The rest, well, was current history.

Which made this the perfect location for the meeting he had planned. 

He spots Dinisha sitting at the bar, her fluffy afro framing her face beautifully and lengthening down her neck. Her outfit is simple, a mocha-colored spaghetti-strapped dress that was hugging her curves while the Ankh necklace she wore called attention to her --

“My eyes are up here, thank you very much,” she says with a sly grin.

“I’m aware, but I wanna look right here,” he retorts, barely grazing her cleavage as he hooks a finger in the necklace, pulling her closer. “You smell good, must be that natural scent again,” he smirks, earning a playful smack to his pectoral.

“You and Chauncey get on my nerves. Y’all stay trying to clown somebody.”

“Who clowning? I’m just repeating what you said.” He takes his place next to her, ordering himself a double Hennessy straight up. “Mmm, that’s a big nigga drink,” she muses, bringing her fruity-smelling beverage to her lips.

Erik smirks at her, sliding the bartender his black card and telling her to keep it open.

“You’ve seen my videos enough to know who you dealing with.”

Dinisha’s eyes smolder at that. 

“Mmm, that was a lot of inches.”

“Is,” Erik corrects, picking up his drink. 

It’s always this way with Dinisha whenever they got together. Yeah, she was gorgeous, but she also makes him laugh, was smart as shit, and could hold her own when it came to having an intellectual conversation. Erik grins big at the thought. There weren’t many women he enjoyed spending his time with. Shit, the only other one he could think of was Mahari. 

His face quickly sets in a hard grimace. That isn’t the train of thought he wanted to entertain at this moment. 

“Why you making that face?” Dinisha asks, turning towards him fully. Her heart rate spikes uncomfortably. “Don’t tell me you set all of this up only to turn me down. I thought we were better than that, E,” she pouts.

Fuckin’ brat, her smirks internally. 

“Do I look like a nigga that could call you all the way here just for that?”

“I guess not,” she replies, taking another sip of her drink to hide how relieved her face is.

“What’s that fruity shit called anyway?”

“It’s called the Dangerous Waters Island Punch. It’s got Malibu coconut, blue curacao, pineapple juice, and sweet and sour.”

A Liquid Marijuana sans Captain Morgan and Midori, Erik muses to himself.

“A fitting drink,” he laughs, bringing the highball glass to his lips. He’s never been one to beat around the bush and now wasn’t the time to start. “So, how you find out it was me?”

Dinisha’s eyes bulge as she sits her down glass and squares her shoulders. 

“Ever the bold, straight forward nigga, huh?”

“Why switch it up now?” he questions with a shrug. 

“Chauncey told me,” she answers blankly. “Your secret is safe with me though. You ain’t gotta worry about me telling your parents or anything.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t worried about all that. You got as much to lose as I do. Aint that right, Ms. Future Lawyer?”

Dinisha nods once even as heat pools her face. She was pleased he remembered that bit.

“Which is why I’d be the perfect candidate.”

“Candidate to fuck or you trying to weasel your way into something deeper?” Erik questions, looking straight into her eyes.

Dinisha balks at that, taken aback. She hadn’t planned to have her true motives laid before her so quickly. It’s true, she’d had her sights set on the infamous loner for some time but she could tell he had walls thicker than the ones at Fort Knox erected around his heart. She had been trying to slowly knock it down brick by brick, but when Chauncey let the knowledge slip that he was the owner of her favorite OnlyFans account, she decided to dig herself under the jail. Using her pussy as the shovel.

Seems she was found out before she’d even had the chance.

“That’s what I figured,” he states plainly, seeing the truth in her green gaze. “Listen, I don’t have a problem adding you to the lineup, but that’s all this is. No strings attached, no commitment, just sex.”

“I hear you,” Dinisha says, the gears in the back of her mind already working of a way to get him to change his mind. She was well aware that her box was legendary, life-changing even. All she needs is one night alone with him, and he’d be begging to be the only one knocking each and every one of her curls askew.

“I’m not playing, Dinisha,” Erik says with finality. This was one of his rules he never breaks. As much as people may think, he wasn’t really an ain’t shit nigga. He never led anyone to believe this was more than what it was and he wasn’t about to start now. “One slight deviation from the plan and you gotta go.”

“I heard you the first time, Teacher Nigga. Just sex, I got it.”

Erik’s mind once again flashes to Mahari at the mention of the nickname she had given him. This time, he was better at masking his emotion. He chugs the rest of his Hennessy before turning his lips up into a sexy smirk.

“First of all, don’t call me that. Second of all, you wanna start tonight?”

Dinisha returns his smirk, pussy already jumping at the chance to have him invade her sanctum. Any questions she has about the nickname are quite literally drowned by her body drooling.

“Is that an invitation to your place?”

“Oh nah, I don’t fuck at home,” he says matter of factly. Rule number two that he also won’t break. 

Dinisha raises her brow at that. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious as to what his apartment looks like.

“You got a roommate or something?”

“Nah,” he offers with no further explanation.

“Oh...kay. We can go to my place,” she says finally. “It’s not far from here and I live alone.”

“Bet.” 

Erik pays the tab, leaving a generous tip before starting towards the door with Dinisha, his hand on the small of her back. They had just reached the doors when he spots a familiar face. He couldn’t remember her name, but he had seen her in one of his psychology classes. The black jumpsuit perfectly carves out her curves while a white fur stole rests on her shoulders. Loose deep curls cascade over her shoulders while her plump lips turn up into her signature man trapping smile in acknowledgment.

She wants the dick and if it weren’t for Dinisha, he would give it to her.

But it wasn’t really her that caught his attention. But rather the nigga on her shoulder. 

Ryan Wilkins. COO of Wilkins & Son. And fiance to Chanel.

Looks like this nigga is back at it again, Erik thought as he locked eyes with the girl he was with. He gives her a respectful nod before ushering Dinisha out the door.

“I’ll follow your lead,” he calls out to her as they reach their respective cars. 

On the way to Dinisha’s place, he whips out his cell to send a quick text to Chanel.

I saw ya boy in Taps.

Okay, and?

Just thought you should know. I told you he wasn’t no good.

Says the nigga that’s been breakin’ my back in my entire engagement.

Damn. She had him there.

I’ll call you later. 

Dinisha’s place looks exactly how Erik imagined it would. Girly as hell with fluffy decorative pillows on the couch and loveseat and a plush white rug resting underneath her silver glass coffee table. The furniture is white, accented with blush pink and apple green throughout. A large AKA shield serves as the accent wall behind her couch and tiny frogs adorn the mantle. 

His initial plan was to mount his camera between two of the frogs, giving viewers the perfect view of him tearing her ass up from behind, but he didn’t want to get her in trouble with her sorority. Instead, he grabs his tripod, setting it up in front of the coffee table. The large bay window was the perfect backdrop, providing just the right amount of moonlight and ambiance, a sweet contrast of what was to come.

Dinisha crosses the threshold to the living room, still wearing the dress from the bar and holding a chilled bottle of wine. 

Erik gives her a sly smirk before initiating his command.

“Yeah, you can just gone ahead and take all that off.”

“Why the frick frack paddy whack give a dog a bone is it so gosh dang busy in here today?”

“Nigga what did you just say?” Terrell asks one eyebrow raised incredulously.

Mahari sweeps a broad hand out towards the busy crowd of students in varying degrees of panic before them. Midterm season was officially in its eve which meant the normally busy library was quickly entering a chaotic state. While the influx of students passed the time on their shifts much quicker, the trade-off was increased levels of stress and caffeine intake. A powerful duo that did more harm than good. 

“Nigga I know you heard me,” Mahari sassed back, unloading books from her pushcart. 

She had been stuck with reservation duty. She hated reservation duty. 

“I heard you, I just wasn’t expecting all them extra words and phrases,” he jokes. 

“Whatever,” Mahari rolls her eyes over to the side, where she spotted David just walking through the doors. She had successfully ignored him since she’d last seen him at the party. Going so far as to put his messages on do not disturb. It wasn’t so much that she was mad at him but more just not ready to have the conversation she knew they needed to have. 

He looked pitiful. His face was sunken in and tired, a clear indication of just how much midterm stress was weighing him down. He flashed her a soft smile, internally debating on whether or not he should walk over to her. After a beat, he willed his feet towards the bookshelf she stood in front of, his heart thumping loudly in his ears.

Mahari hands over the last books on her cart, eyes still locked with David’s.

“Tag these for me? I need to go get the rest.”

“I gotchu,” Terrell says, taking this as a queue to leave.

“Hey Hari,” David offered weakly. 

She returned the greeting, annoyance written all over her face.

“I just came to return these books I checked out the other night,” he explains, sliding the books onto the cart.

“You can just drop them in the shoot,” she offers kindly, rolling her cart away from him.

“Oop,” Terrell mutters quietly, biting back a smirk.

“Aight, look. I’m sorry, Mahari,” David calls, quickening his pace to meet up with her. “What I did the other night was way out of line and I’m not even about to sit here and attempt to justify my behavior, because I was a real dick. If you wanna cuss me out, go ahead, but don’t let this be the reason we stop talking. I don’t want to fuck up our friendship over something dumb like this.”

Shock floods Mahari slightly as she stares at him. Truthfully, she didn’t think a nigga like him could even apologize. She doubts he’s ever had to. It was a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

You know what that’s called? Growth.

“You ain’t gotta look so surprised,” he says with a sheepish grin. 

“I am though,” she states honestly, shrugging her shoulder. 

“A pleasant surprise I hope,” he says looking at her through his lashes and biting his lip.

“Don’t ruin it with the bedroom eyes nigga. You were doing so well,” she bemoans jokingly, face turned to the sky making David laugh cautiously. 

“Okay, my fault. But...I am forgiven, right?”

Mahari sighs once and nods.

“Yes. But if you do something like that again, Ima kick your ass.”

It’s David’s turn to roll his eyes even as he beams a megawatt smile at her. 

“Or, Erik will kick my ass,” he mutters. 

Mahari raises a brow not fully hearing what he said. 

“What you say, Monkey Man?”

“Nuffin,” he huffs. “Aight lemme go.”

“You actually came here for something else?” Mahari questions. Feeling only slightly self-centered in thinking he had come solely to see her.

“Yeah, I gotta finish that paper.”

Mahari watches as he drops the books into the shoot and heads towards the computer lab, his heavy backpack bouncing against his back. 

“Well I’ll be,” she whispers to herself with a slight shake of her head. 

“You gone go get those books, or stare at this nigga ass?” Terrell pops his head around the corner, blocking her admittedly nice view with a huge grin. “Books, nigga.”

“Mind ya damn business.”

Erik leaves Dinisha’s place taken aback at her performance in the bedroom a few hours later. Hitting unlock on his blacked-out 1973 Ferrari Spyder that gleams under the street lights, he thinks back on his session with the AKA. Typically, pretty girls ran from his third leg, but she took it like a champ, almost knocking the wind from him a few times. 

“She something else,” he mutters, putting his bag in the back and rounding the car to get in. Seems he’d finally found his Buttercup.

He uses the drive home to FaceTime Chanel and reports what he’d witnessed a few hours prior in Taps.

“What’s up Professor?” she asks teasingly as his perfectly chiseled face comes into view.

Erik rolls his eyes in annoyance at the greeting before going on to explain what he’d seen.

“Is this really what you called me for?” Chanel gripes, huffing forcefully into the camera. “I’m sick of you reporting everything this nigga do when he not around me!”

“Yo for real? I tell you I see ya nigga with another bitch and you mad at me?” Erik shakes his head, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “How are you this cool about this nigga doing shit like this?”

“I mean, am I any better?”

She had a point.

“Yeah, but you didn’t start this shit, C. You need to leave this nigga.”

“Now you know I can’t do that. Besides, it’s not like I actually love the nigga. I’m not phased by it.”

“Aight, if you say so.”

“Aww, he actually has a heart, y’all,” she coos with a playful smirk, propping her phone up on her nightstand before curling up with the stuffed jaguar she aptly named EJ.

Erik rolls his eyes. He was extremely possessive of the people in his life and he hated being powerless when he felt they were being taken advantage of.

“How was the party?” Chanel asks to cut the tension as well as to change the subject. She knew how much he loathed social gatherings so she was eager to hear his account of the event.

“It was cool for what it was worth. I actually ended up leaving a little early,” Erik recounts, fighting the urge to smile.

“Oh?” Chanel perks, sitting up on one arm. “Why?”

Nosy ass, he thinks good-humoredly. 

“Had to help a friend out of a sticky situation.”

Chanel’s eyebrows shot to her hairline.

“You? Being a nice nigga? What she look like? She got a fat ass, don’t she?” 

“Not fatter than yours,” Erik says with a wink.

“Oh, I know. But she gotta be something for you to act out of character. You rarely play Captain Save a Hoe.”

“She not a hoe,” he fires back defensively without even thinking.

“And taking up for her,” she grins back widely, picking up her glass of red. “Someone’s nose is wide open.”

 Erik sighs aggressively, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s the girl from the library.”

Chanel shoots up from the bed, snatching the phone from the nightstand bringing it close to her face.

“The VIRGIN?!” she screeches loudly.

“How you know she a virgin?” Erik asks, completely dismissing her facial expression.

“Umm hello?!”

“Is this the Krusty Krab?” Erik jokes.

“Bitch! Focus!” Chanel fusses. “Did you not see the way she was eye-fucking both of us when we walked in the library? The way she was making goo-goo eyes at you, plus her overall demeanor. Please don’t tell me you tryna Black Mamba her.”

“Nah, she wouldn’t go for that,” Erik says, almost pouting.

“Yes the fuck she would,” Chanel says with finality. 

Erik’s mind wanders before he can stop himself. The red light that he’d just stopped at gave him time to visualize Mahari bent over Dr. Watson’s desk, papers scattered about as she bounces against him. Her juices pool in his lap, making a mess of herself and him. He bites his knuckle to keep from groaning. 

Damn.

“Look at you! Fantasizing! Put ya damn dick up!” Chanel screams, pulling him from his fantasy.

Erik palms himself with one hand as the light turns green, annoyed that he’s lengthened.

“You don’t know what you talking bout.”

“Nigga, I been fucking you for over a year, you don’t think I know your aroused face?” She scoffs gently. “Ya lil followers on OnlyFans may not be hip, but I sure as shit am. That’s the same face you make right before you ask to cum in my a--”

“Okay, nigga damn!” Erik cuts her off. Not needing to continue down that thought path when virginal little Mahari was concerned. Even though part of him didn’t want to believe that was even true. Shit, she had to be at least 22. And even though she looked innocent, Erik knew better to even believe that. Especially given the way Dinisha had put in on him. 

But...if she was. 

Virgin pussy was the best pussy. 

Chanel’s face suddenly turns serious, nearly reading him like a book.

“You not gone do nothing with her? Right?”

Erik scoffs, shooting her an irritated glare.

“You sure you’ve known me for over a year, C? I don’t fuck my students.”

“Just making sure,” she shrugs.

“Uh-huh. Let me go grade these papers. I’ll hit you up later.”

Chanel flashes him a playful smirk as well as her exposed breasts in her robe.

“Bye Mr. Stevens,” she purrs seductively, causing Erik to grin.

“Quit playing with me, girl.”

“There is limited data to suggest that chronic opioid administration may be associated with an increased risk for cardiac-related adverse effects,” Dr. Watson drones on in his monotone voice as he addresses the 75 students before him. 

Class had returned to its former state now that Mr. Stevens was not giving the lecture. Which means that most of the attendees are either scribbling down notes furiously or in different stages of falling asleep. Mahari had also resumed to her normal, star pupil state. Keeping her eyes locked on the withering man with the croaking voice and not the six-foot-plus shadow behind him.

Mostly anyway.

“However, this observation has not yet been confirmed. Regardless, while opioids are an important medication for the treatment of a multitude of chronic pain conditions, careful patient selection, and diligent monitoring is likely to decrease the risk of harm and improve patient outcomes.” Dr. Watson pauses, his thick grey eyebrows and mustache twitching as he looked about the lecture hall. 

“Are there any questions?”

Mahari glances over to David at her side, tapping his elbow with hers to get him to sit up straighter. She knew that this was his favorite portion of the lecture. Wrap up.

Silence stretches on for a few seconds before Dr. Watson’s eyes land on the first row.

“Ms. Owens,” he calls to Hari after no one speaks up. 

A fissure of panic slices through Mahari quickly. This was the second time in nearly a week she’d been called out unexpectedly and she had been paying attention this time.

“Sir?” she answers meekly, cheeks heating already.

“I was told that you had some questions about last week’s assignment. Is everything alright?”

“Ooh, busted!” Mariah yells from somewhere in the back of the lecture hall, earning a few giggles from their classmates. 

Hari throws a pen at her before shooting a piercing glare at Erik who was snickering softly behind Dr. Watson’s head.

“Everything’s fine, sir. I figured out the answer to my problem, which is why Mr. Stevens never received that email.” She shot the jerk a sharp glare before looking back at the Doctor. “Next time, I’ll just message you directly.”

There’s that feistiness again, Erik muses to himself, hands clasped in front of him.

Dr. Watson merely nods. 

“Okay, class dismissed. Please hand your thesis papers in to Mr. Stevens on your way out. And don’t forget to check Blackboard for the pre-midterm study guide.”

“You had trouble in class?” David asks as they pack their things. Mahari was easily one of the smartest people he knew. So for her to be lost was news to him.

“Just forget it,” she mutters, eyes already throwing daggers across the room as she gathers her paper to submit. “I’ll see you next class.”

“Aight.”

“Sup princess Khaleesi?” Erik greets when Mahari reaches him, his eyes smiling behind his gold frames.

If not for Dr. Watson’s eyes on them, Mahari would have slapped her paper across his face. 

“Khaleesi was a queen, you uncultured swine,” Hari corrects him, seething quietly. “And for the millionth time --”

“Guh if you tell me what yo name is one mo’ time, Ima show you sumn,” Erik challenges.

“Show me what?” she challenges back, temporarily forgetting why bitches call this nigga Black Mamba.

He shoots her a devilish grin, taking notice of David hovering just out of earshot.

“You ain’t ready for that yet, princess.”

Mahari swallows thickly before rolling her eyes and handing him her paper. 

“It’s an A paper. You don’t even have to bother reading it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Uh-huh. Bye Teacher Nigga.”

“Bye Khamisi,” he purrs, the syllables swirling off his tongue like aged bourbon.

Her lips betray her, curling gently as she turned towards the door to leave. She likes the way he said it. How it makes her gut twist up in a pleasurable way. Mahari damn near skips to her next class and she tries to reason with herself that the shining sun and cool autumn breeze are the reason for her giddiness. But even a blind man could see she was lying. 

You like this nigga, sis, God himself seemed to whisper to her on the next breeze. Making her scowl gently. 

She certainly did not. 

Her phone dings as she passes the fountain in the center of campus. She pulls it out to see a new message from Sanaa.

I know you don’t really fuck with OnlyFans, but you gotta see this video!

Hari’s palms begin to sweat as she clicks the link. Mouth dropping open when the woman’s luscious fro comes into view, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she bounces on Black Mamba’s thick thighs. Hari exits the video quickly, not wanting anyone walking near her to know she was watching porn at 11:00 in the morning.

But that’s your business, her favorite influencer’s voice reminds her.

Clicking back over to the message, her thumbs fly across the screen quickly. 

This is what you send me at 11:00 in the morning? You couldn’t even lead off with good morning? Wait till Jesus hears about this.

Good morning, Three. Did you watch the video of the big dick nigga I sent you?

I swear you get on my nerves. Yes, Five, I watched it. 

Mahari bites her lip gently, wondering if she should even type the next three words she’s thinking.

I know him.

Sanaa chokes on her cold brew before pressing the FaceTime button. How could Mahari fuss about Jesus knowing she was sending porn when she was out here hoarding fine ass, big-dicked niggas.

Hari groans before swiping to answer. Almost chuckling when all she could see of her best friend was her smooth forehead and curls. Just the tops of her large, nearly glowing brown eyes in view.

“Yes, Five? And before you ask, no, I don’t have games on my phone. ”

“Fuck all that! You know this big dick nigga?! And you ain’t tell ya main bitch? You fake!”

“Shh!” Mahari hushes in panic, head whipping around to make sure no one was in earshot of her. “I don’t have my Airpods in!”

“Ugh,” Sanaa groans impatiently. “Call me back when you get to your room!”

The call disconnects before Mahari can even respond.

“Rude,” she says, pocketing her phone, and heading to her next class.

Once the video stops playing, the pair sit in silence. The fresh bottle of Rosa Regale was empty between, and Sanaa now had even more questions than she had before. She had made the nearly hour-long trip over to Oakland U to hear this story in person as soon as Mahari had told her exactly who Black Mamba was. 

“W-was,” Sanaa starts before licking her dry lips - all of her fluids flowing south. “Was that you?”

Mahari side-eyes her gently. She couldn’t blame her, the woman in the video did bear a very strong resemblance to her. But once the camera had caught the front of her and that well-known tattoo on her clavicle came into view she knew exactly who she was. 

Dinisha.  

“You’ve been my best friend my whole life, you know I’d never do anything like this. Furthermore, I’m not that damn light-skinned nor do I have tattoos.”

“Okay, sheesh,” Sanaa wine giggles before a thought occurs to her. “Ya know, I find it rather ironic that Teacher Nigga’s latest girl happens to be your light-skinned tethered.”

“His latest girl?” Hari asks, confusion lacing her tone. The nigga had a harem?

Sanaa nods before explaining further.

“He typically films with the same 2 girls: Blossom and Bubbles.”

“Does this nigga have a Powerpuff Girls kink? Please don’t tell me they call him Professor Plutonium.”

The two bust out laughing at that, nearly falling off of her couch. 

“Nah,” Sanaa says after collecting herself, a few giggles still spilling through. “They call him Daddy or Mamba.” After a beat of silence, she grins over at her. “I really can’t believe I been flicking the devil’s button to this nigga for almost three months and it was YO nigga the whole time.”

“Not my nigga,” Hari sing songs, picking up the empty bottle to bring to the recycle bin. 

“But he could be,” Sanaa says, following her into the kitchen closely. Her best friend was being a little too quiet about this. “I think him fucking your doppelganger is proof that he finds you attractive.” 

Mahari shakes her head at that, mostly to dispel the thought. 

“He has more explicit videos,” she says in a quiet voice, hoping to change the subject.

“So my question to you is, are you still intere-- Nigga how you know about his other videos?!”

Heat pools her cheeks as she looks up her friend through her lashes.

“He may have sent me something through private chat?”

“MCSCUSE ME, BITCH?! What was the video?”

“It was a solo vid. He was on the edge of his bed, or couch, or whatever it was and he was jerking off. It was kinda hot,” Hari admits with a sheepish grin.

“Oh bitch, we are making an account, rat nao!” Sanaa announces. She walks back to Mahari’s bedroom to boot up her Mac, knowing the password was the date they met. 

“You need a clever username.”

“How about Khamisi?” Mahari offers, sitting next to her. 

The nigga seems to love it seeing as how often he uses it.

“How about expose yourself to your damn GA and anyone else from your school that’s subscribed to his shit. No nigga! You need something discreet.”

Oh, duh. But what? Mahari looks around her room, searching for inspiration when her eyes land on her notebook. 

“Michiko?”

“That could work,” Sanaa nods, stroking her chin as though she were in deep thought. She navigates to Mahari’s dummy profile, scoffing at the username the website has given her.

“02091987? Why OnlyFans give you Michael B. Jordan’s birthday as a username? Ya, know, if you look hard and squint one eye, Teacher Nigga could pass for MBJ’s evil tethered.”

Mahari nodded. 

“And that nigga is fine as every fuck, with his white woman loving ass.”

“These are facts,” Sanna giggled. “Anywhore, this gotta go.” Sanaa enters Hari’s new username, cursing upon realization that it’s already taken.

“How about Machichi?” Mahari offers? “Machici95?”

“Boom! We in hurr,” Sanaa exclaims, milly rocking aggressively next to her. 

“I cannot believe I even created this account,” Hari groans exaggeratedly. 

“Neither can I, which brings me back to my question before,” Sanaa says, putting the laptop to the side and giving her best friend her full attention. “So what you even trying to get outta this? You gone let him punch ya v-card? Although with the size of his dick that’s gone be like a damn molly wop. That shit is not going to be gentle,” she grimaces.

“It’s just a crush, Five. It’s not like I’m asking for this nigga’s hand in marriage.”

“That may be true. However comma you didn’t see your face when he had shorty bent over that couch with her fro in his fist.”

Mahari’s body heats. That had been her favorite part. 

“Oh kaaaay?” she says, annoyed at being called out. “You had the same look. He can fuck. Why you think he got so many subscribers?”

“My face was a look of lust and mild appreciation. There was something else behind those fake green eyes, madam. Something you need to consider before you do something you might regret.”

“I don’t think so. Anyway, don’t you got class in the AM? You need to hit the road, Five.” 

Sanaa looks at the time and kisses her teeth.

“Shit! See, watching Sir Dicks A Lot got me fucking around bout to miss my damn seminar. Luckily traffic is light this time of day.”

“We like big dicks and we cannot lie,” Mahari sings annoyingly, popping her ass on the bed gently when Sanaa stands to collect her things.

“Goodbye, Three!”

The two hug tightly before Sanaa leaves out with a promise to text her when she’s made it safely home. 

The time gap gives Mahari an hour's worth of time to do nothing but sit and contemplate Sanaa’s words as she waits. 

He’s just your GA and it’s a stupid crush.

Only that wasn’t entirely true. Yeah, she did have a stupid crush on him but this started well before she knew he had a pornstar stroke. She was crushing on his intelligence and the air of mystery that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Mahari desired to know who he was more than she wanted to know his body. A combination that when coupled with his aloofness and a general air of non-commitment could easily lead to heartbreak. Ain't nobody had time for that.

“Fuck this shit, I’m about to watch another video. I ain’t about to let my feelings make me waste my damn $15.99.”

She clicks his profile, scrolling through the throws of new content before settling on another solo video. Watching him with another woman wasn’t good for her with the direction her thoughts had taken.

“Let me get some more damn wine,” Hari pants, disappointment flashing across her face when her hand grabs the empty bottle.

“Aww shit,” she gulps and his moans fill her room. She watches the video in awe, her bottom lip wedged between her teeth as his hand slides up and down his length. She sits on her hands to keep from diving knuckles deep into her honey pot. 

Just as he’s about to cum, she exits the browser and closes her MacBook, fanning herself quickly. 

“Let me go take a shower and pray. Nigga lucky I can’t burn sage in this damn dorm. Bringing this demonic energy into my ghatdamn sanctum.”

In her absence her phone pings to life with a new notification. 

Black Mamba: Looks like you’ll be sticking around then, huh, Machichi.