Deep Throat Diva

years to get her hair together. Because, baby, let me tell you. Girlfriend’s hair was tore up the first time she sat down in my chair. It was all broken off and uneven, and her edges were a hot, scattered, raggedy mess. I had to basically give her a close cropped boy cut and start from scratch. She hemmed and hawed and talked shit but when she started seeing results, she shut her trap and let me do what I know best—hair. Now girlfriend’s mane is to die for. And she comes in faithfully every two weeks to keep it tight, along with her feet and hands. Then every two months she comes in for a waxing. I smile, watching Alicia and Anna—two of my best mani-and-pedicurists, tend to her. Alicia is filing her nails while Anna scrubs her feet.

I watch as another customer takes a seat in one of the other nine spa chairs to get her toes done. Two more customers follow behind Shuwanda—another stylist—to the waxing room, used for those more personal areas, like cleavages, snatches, pits, asses, backs and legs. Women’s eyebrows, mustaches, and beards are usually done at one of our stylists’ stations.

One of the things I love about my salon is that we offer one-stop services. From a wrap and a weave to twists and locks to braids and a rinse and set; from manicures and pedicures to facials, threading and waxing, Nappy No More is here to offer you the very best salon experience. Aside from me, two of my nail technicians and four stylists also have an aesthetician license to do facials and waxing.

“How many appointments do I have for today?” I ask, glancing over at Felecia.

She flips through the schedule book, counts. “Looks like five. Oh, and Greta called. She wanted to know if you could squeeze her in sometime tomorrow. I told her you were booked solid, but she said it was an emergency; something about having a date tomorrow night.”

I shake my head, chuckling. That girl is a damn mess, I think, grabbing the mail. Greta is another longtime client, close friend, and social butterfly extraordinaire, whose hair I’ve been doing since high school. This girl, love her dearly, has more dates than an almanac. Every time you turn around she’s going out on some kind of date. I think for a moment. Let me see. Wanda, she wants an updo; Bianca, wants her ends trimmed; Mona, is getting a hot oil treatment. Lynn, needs a color treatment; Cynthia, wants her blunt bob with graduated layers; Knowing Greta she’ll want a Doobie Wrap, which won’t take me too long. I decide to tell Felecia to squeeze her in between Bianca and Mona. “And tell her I said to bring me lunch.”

“Will do. Oh, and one more thing. Erica called. She wants to know if you can see her Friday; apparently she wasn’t happy with her new stylist and wants to come back to you.”

I frown, rolling my eyes. When someone decides to go to another hair salon because they’re not happy here for whatever reason, that’s their prerogative. And I’m okay with that because I want all of our clientele to be completely satisfied. But, when you bounce talking shit about how you’ll never set foot back up these doors, that’s a no-no. You keep your ass right where you are! “Mmmph. So they done jacked up her scalp and now she wants me to fix it.”

“Basically,” Felecia says, shrugging her shoulders.

“Wrong answer. Tell that nappy-headed bitch I don’t need her business.”

She laughs, snapping her fingers. “Well allriiiight.” Click-clack, click-clack. “I knew you were gonna say that.” The phone rings; she answers on the first ring. “Nappy No More. How can I help you?” She pauses, mouths, “It’s Jasper.” I tell her to transfer the call to my office, walking off.

Janelle sees me as I head toward my office and throws her free hand up and waves. I wave back, glancing at the clock. It’s only eleven, so she still has time before she gets in my chair. I say hello to a few of the customers sitting underneath dryers.

I toss the mail up on my desk, then unlock my bottom desk drawer and place my bag inside before locking it back. As soon as my private line rings, I pick up. “Hey.”

“Aye, yo, where you been? I’ve been calling you all mornin’.”

“What do you mean, where I’ve been? I’ve been home. Why didn’t you call there?”

“I did and the shit kept going into voice mail. I called last night up ’til count, then called you this morning and the same shit. Where the fuck was you at?”

“Nigga, I just told you I was home.”

“Then why you ain’t pick up the damn phone, yo?” Shit, I think, shaking my head. I forgot to turn the ringers back on. He’s already tight—about what I have no idea, so I already know if I tell him that shit, he’s going to snap.

I decide to tell him a half-truth. “I didn’t hear the phone. When I got home last night, I was exhausted. The only thing I wanted to do was crawl into bed and pass out.”

“Yeah, aiight. And I called you this mornin’, too, yo. So where were you?”

“I already told you.”

“I’m tellin’ you, Pasha. Don’t be on no bullshit, yo.”

“I’m not on anything. But I would like to be up on that pretty-ass dick,” I say, lowering my voice and trying to change the subject. “I’m so fucking horny.”

He calms down. Usually this is all it takes to get him to shut the fuck up. I swear, I love this man, but he can make shit so damn difficult. You’d think he’d be more mellow now that his time behind the wall is short, but nooooooooo. He seems to be getting moodier, and more agitated.

“Oh, word? I’m horny, too.” He sighs, pausing. “Man, I’m tired of this shit. I’m ready to come the fuck home, yo. This prison shit is for the birds, word up. I need some muhfuckin’ pussy. I need my dick sucked. And I wanna eat some ass, bad.”

“I know. I’m ready for you to come home, too. How you think I feel? I need some dick, bad. I’m tired of playing in my pussy. I miss that big dick, baby.”

“Fuck! You got my shit bricked. I can’t wait to get home and bust that hole wide open. You better not be out there giving my pussy out, yo.”

I suck my teeth. “Not this shit again.”

“’Not this shit again’, my ass, yo. I don’t know where the fuck you was last night, or this morning.”

“Fuck, nigga,” I snap, switching the phone from one ear to the other. “I told you, I was home. I didn’t hear the damn phone because I was fucking drained. And this morning I went to the gym for an hour, from there I went to Wegmans, and then had to go to the cleaners to drop clothes off. By the time I got home, it was already going on ten, so I only had time jump in the shower and get dressed, then race out the door.”

“Yeah, aiight. Why you ain’t say all that shit in the first place? Let me find out some other shit, aiight?”

I sigh. “There is no other shit to find out, fool.”

“I’m tellin’ you, Pasha, don’t have me fuck nothin’ up, yo.”

“What. Ever.”

He lowers his voice, going from one extreme to the other. “Yo, what kinda panties you got on? We got time to get it in before your appointment?”

I glance at my watch. It’s almost quarter to twelve. If I go in on him now, I should be able to get him off in like ten minutes, maybe fifteen. But that’ll be pushing it. I am a stickler about not having my clients wait. If I give them an appointment time, then that’s what it is, unless it’s an emergency situation. Otherwise, I think it’s poor business practice to have someone sitting around waiting for you when they’ve made an appointment.

“Hold on,” I tell him, placing the receiver down on the desk, then getting up to lock the door. I return to the phone and sit back behind the desk. “I have on a purple thong.”

“Damn, yo…I wish I could smell them shits; you know, suck on ’em while I beat this dick.”

I smile. He’s such a nasty ass. “Ooh, baby, I wish you were here so I could suck all over your dick. Spit all over it, and gulp it down. Aaaah…baby, I miss that dick. I can’t wait to feel it deep in my hot pussy…”

“Yeah, baby, talk that nasty shit, yo…”

“You want me to straddle your face, and lower this wet pussy down on your mouth, so you can suck my clit and tongue fuck me while I swallow your fat, black cock?”

“Aaah, shit yeah…”

I glance at my watch. Five minutes to go. I have to speed this up. I speak in a low throaty whisper, careful that no one walking past my office door can hear me. But if I were home, I’d be panting and moaning loud as hell. I keep my eye on my watch. Count the seconds, then the minutes. “Oh, baby, you got my hole so slippery…”

“Yeah, you like how this dick feels?”