Page 5 of Ms. V's Hot Girl Summer

“Well hola, mi cielo, how are you?” The urge to roll my eyes at how inconsequential I had become lately to these two boys, the flesh of my flesh, was tempting, but I refrained.

After all, I was their example. The only one they had for a while because their father was barely around when they needed him. They needed constant guidance and love, mentorship, and someone to talk to on how to be a Black man and Latino in this country, and I couldn’t give them that.

My parents, may they rest in peace, had been such a good example for them and for me of how a family should be. But now they were gone, and I was doing this all by myself. And with these men out here trying to date and hit it only, I didn’t bring men to the apartment. Milton was the only one I had introduced to the twins, and they had a lukewarm understanding at best. Desperate to give them what they needed, I signed them up for a mentorship program at school for young Black men, and that is how Orlando Wiggins came into our lives.

“I’m alright, Ma, but we gotta eat and hit the road again to meet Orlando on time. He told us not to keep him waiting, and we don’t wanna do that,” Brian said as Brandon approached our sitting area and bent to give me a kiss on the cheek.

“Hola, Ma, tas bien? How was work today?”

“Hola, mi Brandon. And yes, I did cook you arroz con pollo. So no need for all the buttering up.”

“Thanks, Mommy,” Brandon singsonged, and Brian laughed from the kitchen island.

“One, sit down to eat and get a plate! How often do I have to ask you not to eat from the paila?” You would think they were wolf cubs eating straight from the pot. Brandon pulled two plates, and soon they were both sitting atour dining room table, eating with their phones out.

“I’m gonna take a shower; please lock when you leave, alright?”

Grunts were the only answer, so I knew I was again relegated to the back of their minds. My sons loved me and protected me at all costs, but attention to detail wasn’t their strong suit. And that was okay.

With thoughts of Orlando Wiggins, I went to take my shower. This was the place where magic happened. I had planned PTA meetings, major concerts, and a couple of executive meetings for CEOs you usually see on TV in this shower. This is where I did my best thinking. And my filthiest too.

Demarquis III waited for me, looking all innocent with its dark brown veins attached to my shower wall. The shower’s steam rose quickly as I removed my T-shirt and sweatpants and hopped inside the tiled area. The fact that Demarquis was a very similar color to Orlando’s smooth, dark skin was a coincidence that would not be further explored.

My lavender steam bag scented the air with calming vibes, but nothing calmed the throbbing between my legs, not the water or anything else, as I remembered last Friday when I saw Orlando.

He’d come out smiling while talking to Brian and Brandon. His clear interest in what they had to say was alluring. He wore that fitted that went with him everywhere and a baggy T-shirt and jeans.

Honestly, the kid was a bit scrawny, not enough meat on the bones as I liked my men, but there was something about how he carried himself… His head held high, knowing that many people wished people like him, like us, didn’t carry themselves with so much pride. His shoulders were wide, and he seemed capable of carrying…heavy things. The veins on his arms were exposed under his sleeves, suggesting there was some definition hidden under the shirt. And hisstride.

Whatever meat did not go on the bones went elsewhere, which was noticeable by his walk. I was ashamed to even think of the dreams I’d had, figuring out if I was right about my theory or not. Honestly, the fact that I was lusting after a man ten years my junior was something that caused me shame every Friday.

But every Friday, I took a shower, made sure I smelled real good, put on a cute dress or top, and made my way to the school to pick up Brian and Brandon. I thought I had left my harlot behavior behind, but Orlando had a way of reminding me of my old days.

There was no need for lubrication, but I still squirted some on because of comfort. I pushed my ass back, and Demarquis, the third, stepped up to bat. The slide-in was smooth, and I threw my behind back over and over, enjoying the fullness and rightness of the size.

“Oh yes… .” The urge to say a name—and it wasn’t Milton— tried to escape, but I refrained from it. This wouldn’t take long. The water cascaded over my chest and breasts, making my nipples stand in attention. Demarquis and I clearly had a good thing going on, and soon, my bottom lip was bruised by all the biting.

So close to my fourth orgasm of the day, Orlando materialized behind me, the right-but-latex feel to Demarquis transforming into warm, hard flesh.

“Right there, right, there…” My fingers did the dance of their ancestors, exactly enough to make my legs shake.

“So close…”

“Ma!” I jumped off Demarquis the III so hard the suction gave up, and the dildo splashed on the shower floor. My heart was right next to it, still beating a million beats per hour.

“Yes, Brian, what is it?”

I must not want to murder my children. I must not want to murder my children.

“Oh, nothin’, just letting you know we leaving. See you in an hour and a half!”

“See you, boys.”

And see you soon, Orlando Wiggins.

* * *

You think you’re used to something, that you know a routine down pat, that you plan events and execute them with your eyes closed, that yougot this.

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