velvet paradise (ftm x fem)

Track 30

ALAIA

Dru: I'm having dinner tonight at my place. Songwriters, singers, and producers are attending. We could use another star at the table. No worries, btw. They're all cool with Ja. My dinners get really deep. I'm eager to dive into your priceless insights.

Amor's laughter floats through my bedroom as I bring the text to life, my voice resonating with a velvety, captivating depth.

"He's yearning to slip into those drawls," she teases. She perches behind my keyboard, filling my safe place with discordant, jarring symphonies. Praying to lose my hearing is something I've never experienced.

Until now. Desperate to silence the repetitive, tone-deaf chords, I cover my ears. "Sispann!" I shout, asking her to stop.

After striking a final key, she turns on the ivory bench to face me. "Jalou, kouzin?" With a smug, slappable smirk, she wiggles her eyebrows.

I tilt my head, gracefully weave my fingers through my hair, and release a dismissive chuckle. With an air of sophistication and unwavering confidence, I declare, "Jalou? Mwen gen pi bèl vwa sou tè a." ("Jealous? I have the most beautiful voice on earth.")

Amor crosses her legs like a lady, clasping her hands atop her knee. Following a ferocious kiss of the teeth, she says, "I'll let you win this time...but only because I want the tea. Why are these niggas beefing over you again?"

"They're at differences over a song, a special one." As I drum my thumbs along my phone's keyboard, I add, "I'm just the innocent bitch in the middle." The refreshing scent of essential oils surfs through the air but fails to inspire a coherent response to the text. I pause, hesitating, before tapping the backspace key.

"You say it like that's a bad thing," Amor says with a subtle smirk. "Dru is supermodel fine, and when he hits those extra, extra high notes..." Her thighs clench, and she shivers as if shot by a glacial blast. A chilling whisper leaves her lips. "I know it's big, brown, and reeaaal long."

With a derisive chuckle, I comment, "Oh, it most certainly is."

Amor leaps out of her phantom dick stupor. A flicker of wonder and honor dances in her eyeballs. "Hoe, you fucked him already?!"

"Bitch, no! Don't you remember that social media thread about him?"

A gust of minty air blows from my right, followed by a stern, "How many times do I have to tell you?! You're the pop culture doll, and I'm the sports doll? You're a Barbie. I'm a Bratz."

"Trust me, all the other Bratz know about Dru Eastside's reputation? And hello, you're a news anchor! You should be giving me the scoop!"

"Chile, I report on boring shit like murders, kidnappings, and saggy-skinned rotting presidents! Now, stop playing and spill the tea!"

"Last year," I begin the recap in a monotone, letting Amor sense my irritation, "a bunch of women Dru slept with came with receipts. The whole thing started because some girl shaded him, saying she hates how niggas talk nasty in their songs but can't put it down. Other ladies gave their takes on his sex game, and let's say there were more negative reviews than positive. He has a lotta dick but no skills. Allegedly, he's all about getting his nut and nothing else."

"Well, when a brother is that fine, he deserves to be serviced," Amor states. Okay, somewhat true. I'll get on my knees at any moment for Jaire because he'll reciprocate tenfold. If meteors were to crash onto the beach while we fucked, he'd continue pleasuring me until my toes curl in surrender and moans catch in my throat. At the moment my desire explodes, my intense, transcending cry would shatter any remaining threats impending on earth. Mmm, now, that's a man that deserves all the glory and the praise.