A Scent of Jasmine

By Earnest S. Wingo

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 26, 2009
• ISBN: 9781465327437

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Gerald, don’t do this! Please don’t hurt me! I screamed, but my cries for mercy were to no use. The man who was supposed to be my father, my protector, my hero was right now unwillingly my lover. He slammed me onto the bed, aggressively ripping apart my white buttoned shirt followed by my bra. As the volume of his sexual arousal grew louder, he laid his two- hundred-fifty pound body weight on top of me and snatched apart my skirt and panties. I could see the saliva forming in his mouth as he looked at my firm and perky breasts. His dark brown eyes focused in on my hardened nipples. I was his for the taking, and he was about to take all that he wanted from me.

I again begged for mercy, hoping he would somehow come to his senses and realize that what he was about to do was wrong, inhumane, and how it would forever alter my life for the worse. Yet all rationality in him was gone, and the choice was made to cover my mouth as he whispered in my ear, Don’t worry, baby girl. Once I give you some of this good stuff here, everything will be all right.

He quickly removed his white beer stained T-shirt, pulling down his sweat pants. Tears began falling down the sides of my face as my eyes were closed, feeling the excruciating pain. The thrusts of Gerald’s condom free penis penetrating my virgin vagina were unbearable. It felt as if he was pulling out my insides slowly with every entrance. Aww, you feel so good,he said, moaning in pleasure.

He sped up while exhaling the awful stench of beer on his breath into my face. I sobbed openly while drips of his bitter sweat fell onto me and in my mouth. I tried to block what was happening to me by thinking about the positive things in my life. I thought about the homecoming dance and being asked by the quarterback of the football team, but it didn’t work. I tried thinking about making the dean’s list and the pride and joy that my mother would have. That didn’t work either. Nothing could mentally steal me away from the agony of my father stealing my innocence forever. I managed to open my eyes briefly to notice Gerald’s were rolling into the back of his head as he let out a loud grunt and collapsed his body on top of me. I thought he was dead. I wished he was dead. However, after catching his wind, he arose from the bed. Like a predator surveying the aftermath of its prey, he looked at my naked body covered in blood and semen.

I want this cleaned up before your mother gets home. And if you tell her about this, I’ll kill you, was all he said, putting back on his clothes and leaving me alone like a whore he screwed in some cheap motel room. I laid there, continuing to cry. I wondered what I had done in my short time on this earth to deserve what had just happened to me. Why was I being punished in such a way? Had I sexually teased him to a point that he couldn’t control himself? Was I that much of a distraction? Thoughts of self-hatred began to flood my head until I heard the blaring sounds of an alarm clock.

I sat up in my bed with my back resting on the head board, collecting my racing mind. Beads of sweat were trickling down my forehead, covering my legs, arms and upper chest region. I was experiencing the effects of a dream. And not just any run of the mill one either. No, it was a reoccurring one that haunted me for seven plus years. A dream that no matter how hard I tried to erase out of my mind, it appeared over and over more vividly. I was now a twenty-three-year-old grown woman, but every time I experienced that dream, I was transformed back into that scared little sixteen-year-old girl who constantly relived her past.

I climbed out of the bed and shut off the alarm clock. The time was a quarter after nine. I had overslept, and was going to be late for work at Delilah’s Den Gentlemen’s Club. It was important for me to be there on time, because I was one of the club’s most popular dancers. Hell, I was one of the club’s main attractions when it came to seeing beautiful and black naked flesh. But I could count on one hand the number of times I arrived on time. I’d show up five or ten minutes late and nothing was said. But lately, I had been arriving thirty minutes to an hour late. And with management tightening up, I knew they were going to be all over me. By the time I showered, dressed, and made the forty-five minute commute, it would be almost eleven thirty.

I made my way into the bathroom and turned on the cold water knob from the sink. A face towel was grabbed from the bathroom’s linen closet as I damped it and patted my face while looking in the mirror. Thank God the skin cream bought for my face was somewhat working as the bags under my eyes, resulting from stress, were finally beginning to disappear. Lately, I had been under a significant amount of it. Mostly produced from the news received that Gerald had been admitted to the hospital due to his desperately needed kidney transplant resulting from his diabetes. Words couldn’t describe the amount of joy I had when I heard such news. I finally believed that God had answered my prayers, and that the bastard was finally getting his moment to suffer. He’d put me through years of pain, and it was time for him to get his. I didn’t, however, want him to have a slight pinch of pain and die.

No. I wanted him to feel a slow, agonizing pain that everyday it was unbearable to him. I wanted him to wake up every morning with tears in his eyes because of how much of an excruciating toll it was taking on his body. Yet no matter how many negative plans were wished on him, ironically, there was another part of me that felt sorry to see his health fade. Gerald was, my father, and he had changed his life around by finding God, or so he said. I still wasn’t having any part of that. I deserved to hate him the way I did. He had stolen my life and my dreams. It was because of him they were ruined. Still, it didn’t quell the slight urge in wanting to forgive him for the past. Lately, it had been getting stronger. The anger bottled inside of me was beginning to wreak physical effects on my health. My hair was sometimes falling out, my weight was up and down, and the pursuit of peace wasn’t easy. But I couldn’t let it go. Too much had been done to me, and nothing was going to change my mind on how I felt.

I turned off the water from the sink, undressed from my pajamas and stepped into the shower. Immediately, thoughts of about my life, and the direction that it was going, or lack thereof, began to generate in my mind as the fresh streams of hot water splashed onto my face and body. Why couldn’t I just move on and start anew? I was a young woman who could have and should have been in a better place in my journey of life. Delilah’s Den paid the bills, and the income was more than substantial. I loved dancing and performing, but it didn’t fulfill me.

It was more of a job than a passion, something I once had when I was overflowing with determination and a precise vision for my future. Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of achieving a goal of becoming an elementary teacher. Excitement came all over me when I imagined how I would be making such a positive influence while being an instrumental tool in the developing lives of the children I’d teach. However, just as the water that was running from my shower faucet ran into the drain, so was that dream. I finished showering, stepped out, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around me while opening the medicine cabinet, grabbing a prescription bottle. Dammit, I thought while looking in it and noticing only three pills left. I knew I should have gone to the pharmacy for a refill the other day. The prescription was for Zoloft, a doctor prescribed medicine for the clinically depressed. I began taking the drug two years ago after one of the girls from the club introduced me to her doctor who wrote prescriptions out to non-patients for a small fee.

I decided to go with that option since my doctor wouldn’t write me one until I was seen by a psychiatrist. Usually, I took two pills, except for days when my depression was at a mania state. I loved the euphoria mode they put me in also. They helped me get through the day, and I was glad for them. I decided on consuming one pill and conserving the last two for tomorrow when I heard my cell phone blast a ring tone from the singer Ne-Yo called, Miss Independent. I raced in the bedroom to answer it.

Hello?

Jasmine, where the hell are you, girl? A woman on the other line asked. It was Keisha, a dancer at the club, and one of the few girls there who didn’t have animosity towards me.

I’m on my way, Keisha.

Well, you better be, because you about to be late as hell again. And I don’t think Curtis is in a good mood tonight.

Just let me worry about him. Cover for me until I get there, okay?

Yeah. Whatever, girl. You’re going to owe me, because I’m tired of covering for you.

Sorry, Keisha, to cut you off, but I gotta get dressed.

All right. Remember what I said.

I got you. Bye, I said, hanging up and quickly drying off so I could pick out something to wear. All the employees at the club knew Curtis, or Porky as I called him, let me get away with murder. But lately, my excessive tardiness was becoming a bit much, and sooner or later, the hammer would come down on me. I finally decided on wearing a black, thin and comfortable nylon Nike jumpsuit, tied my long and curly black hair in a pony tail and got dressed. If I got to the club before he noticed I was late, maybe I would be spared from one of his tired professionalism speeches.

CHAPTER 2

It was a little after midnight, and as usual on an early Saturday morning in Indianapolis, Delilah’s Den Gentlemen’s Club was hot and popping. People from all different walks of life were in the house. Pro athletes, business, blue collar men, and a few women who had a touch of being bi-curious. They were all there to have a good time, and they were there to see me, or Swirl Delight as my groupies called me. Delilah’s Den was an upscale African American owned club located on the city’s seedy lower east side of town but easily competed with the more popular white dominated clubs. And Mr. Curtis Porky Vick spared no expense when it came to investing in his brand of adult entertainment.

The moment a customer walked in, they were treated like royalty as beautiful hostesses dressed in scantily clad Egyptian wear greeted them. Towards the left of the club was a state of the art, fully stocked bar with any and every brand of alcohol made. The center of the club was furnished with smooth wood dinner tables in front of the main stage for customers who wanted to entertain their appetites from the soul food menu from the club’s kitchen. The second level of the club was more of a lounge area with two pool tables, dart boards, and three fifty-eight inch plasma televisions furnished. There was even a live professional caliber DJ spinning the latest hip-hop and slow jams.

Working here was only supposed to be a temporary gig until I got securely on my feet, but once I stepped onto that stage and made that paper, temporary left out the exit door. I averaged three grand a week and that wasn’t including monies from private parties I hosted on the side, which could range from a grand to three. I reflect sometimes remembering the day I walked in the club as a broken and lost sixteen-year-old who had to audition in front of Porky and his staff. I lied and told him that I was eighteen in order to get the audition and was thankful he didn’t further investigate to find the truth. Yet the moment I took the stage and danced, I knew the need for identification wouldn’t be necessary, because my performance was that of a seasoned grown woman.

He watched with amazement at how I was able to tell immaculately a story with my rhythmic movements and the flawlessness perfection that came with them. He quickly made the DJ to turn off the music, because he said I was exactly what he had been looking for. Most of the dancers he had only did basic pole spins or only did constant booty tricks, but with me, my performance was that of a legitimate dancer. It didn’t hurt that I had ten years worth of ballet under my belt either. I was blessed with the ability to draw and connect with my audience, telling a beautifully communicated tale with only my bare body as the mouthpiece.

After the audition, he started me that night, and since then, the rest has been wonderful lucrative history. The club lights became dim as I danced seductively behind a white curtain while the small light bulbs surrounding the oval stage turned from blue to pink. Slowly, I bent over, messaging my baby oiled drenched thighs, slowly placing them back to an erect position. The crowd from both levels of the club cheered as the moment of anticipation heightened.

All right, fellas. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Show your love for Swirl Delight, the house DJ announced as the curtain began to rise.

I walked out from the curtain with a confident stride as the men cheered louder. Dressed in a pink satin robe with matching high heels, I flung back and forth my hair wet with water, smelling the beautiful aroma of cash.

I love you, Swirl, an overweight man in a suit too little for him said as he approached the stage, placing two crisp twenty dollar bills on stage. I smiled, bent over and kissed him on the cheek while taking the money. He was a regular who had spent thousands on me alone. I even accompanied him to some of his business functions before for a small fee. There was never sex involved. I wouldn’t have slept with him if his penis was the last one on earth. It was only a ploy to boost his ego and give his low self-confidence a lift. Eager men began crowding the stage as I suggestively untied my robe, letting it effortlessly fall off my thirty-four, twenty-five, and thirty-four measurement body. I grabbed the pole and started my routine as the cheering grew to a frenzy.

The predominately white clubs would tease the guys by taking forever to remove their clothes. We weren’t in a bikini competition at spring break. This was an all nude club, and the sooner we showed off what we were blessed with, the sooner those dollars would roll in. I slid down the pole as my legs were spread, revealing my neatly trimmed vagina as the pole was used as a giant dildo. The sounds of pleasurable moans were uttered as my pelvis moved up and down.

Girl, I hope you like getting wet with dollars, because I’m going to make it rain on you, a brotha with a black cowboy hat said, tossing six one-hundred dollar bills into the air. And there’s more where that came from, baby, Black cowboy added.

Well, I hope so, sweetie, I said, kissing him on the cheek and retrieving the money, putting it in my guarder. Except for him, the men surrounding the stage were only shelling out fives and ten dollar bills, and some ones, which weren’t sufficient at all. I believed in always putting on a good show, and if cheap men only wanted a show without my proper honorarium, my time was being wasted. As I began sensually rolling my body in the money, I happened to spot NBA star and new free agent Desmond Gentry who was sitting in the VIP area on the second level flanked by a small entourage. I heard on the local news that he was here in town and the Indiana Pacers were offering him a five year, fifty-million dollar contract to sign with them.

My guess was that he was at the den to check out what entertainment the city had to offer before he signed. I only saw it as an opportunity for a wealthy superstar athlete drop some serious cash on me since most of the men in front of me weren’t. And the patience to deal with these stingy pocket fools was becoming ever thinner. However, being the constant professional, I decided to finish my set, and then hit the jackpot with Desmond. I gracefully slid off the pole and made my way to the floor to further manifest the exotic experience. Black cowboy, who was my cash cow, became my target as I straddled myself on top of him, positioning myself to get a clearer view of Desmond.

Swirl Delight, I’ve traveled all the way from Dallas, Texas to see you.

Aww, honey, that’s sweet, I lied, smelling the awful stench of vodka and barbeque on his breath. I hated vodka, especially the Belvedere brand.

Swirl, I love you. Come back with me to Texas. I gotta good job as a trucker, I have great benefits, and I’ll take care of you forever. You’ll never have to work again.

But what about everyone else? You’d deprived them of Swirl Delight?

Goddamn right. You’re my girl, and it’s only going to be me that’s going to have you.

My body began tensing up a little. It always scared me when men fell in love with me. Most of the time, it was cute and flattering, but there was something in Black cowboy’s eyes that didn’t look right. Almost as if he would pick me up and drag me off that very moment if he could. I decided to create some space between him and I, returning to the stage while looking up at the lounge area. Two other girls had made their way up to Desmond to keep him company. There was no way I was going to let those hating clucks steal some of my steak when these fools were feeding me hamburger meat. I signaled to the DJ to wrap up the set.

All right, fellas, give it up for Swirl Delight, he said as some of the men began booing. Calm down, brothas. Don’t trip. Swirl will be back later tonight, and I promise she’ll have you going home with a smile on your face.

I grabbed the rest of the money off the stage, grabbed my robe and headed back to my personal dressing room. As I put the money away and began changing into a sexy red see through lingerie outfit, there was a knock on the door.

Come in.

Jasmine, how many times have I told you about cutting your performance short? And don’t think I don’t know about you being an hour and a half late again tonight. That’s a hundred dollar fine. No, better yet, that’s a two-hundred dollar fine.

C’mon, Porky, I whined. He was called that from all the pork chop dinners he loved to eat. And judging from the effects they had on his five-eight, two-ninety-five pound, dark chocolate frame, the love wasn’t too kind on his body. I smiled, noticing once again he was wearing one of his hip-hop jump suits with every piece of jewelry he owned on.

Don’t Porky me, Jasmine. I’ve been letting you get away with stuff like this for far too long. You’re my top talent, and I’ve got to set example for the other girls here. This is a business.

I know, I know. I shouldn’t cheat the crowd. And I’m sorry for showing up late. But the crowd was being tight tonight and it’s packed. Except for some brotha who thinks he’s a black cowboy, I wasn’t banking on nothing.

And that’s why you have to go even harder on these cheap ass niggas. That way they’ll come back and drop that cash like rain. Have a conversation and pretend you care about their lives. You’ve been here long enough to know that.

I’ll be sure to do that. Besides, Desmond Gentry is in the house. And I’m sure you don’t want him to leave without him getting a taste of Swirl Delight, I said, refreshing my makeup.

Girl, you read my mind, because that’s what I was really coming in here to talk to you about. Desmond Gentry is like the Pac Man Jones of the NBA. He can’t go a weekend without frequenting a strip club. And that’s why I need you to make him feel at home.

Don’t worry, Porky. I’ll give him a taste so he’ll definitely come back.

You do that, and I’ll make sure these fools out here up some of that green.

Get on them, Porky.

Girl, what have I told you about calling me that?

Sorry. It’s a bad habit.

Yeah, I bet.

You know you like it.

Just get out there and make Desmond happy, he said, shaking his head, leaving out the door.

I laughed, spraying on my BabyPhat perfume before I left out of my dressing room. The men were being frugal, but I knew Desmond didn’t know the meaning of the word, and he wasn’t about to find out the meaning, if I could help it. I returned to the front as a security guard helped escort me to the second level. Immediately, Black cowboy returned.

Where are you going? He asked as the guard shoved him aside.

I’ll be back, sweetie, I assured him, walking up the stairs towards the VIP area. As I reached the area, Desmond’s eyes caught my presence, and his wide smile showed that he loved what he saw.

Looks like you could use a little more company, I said, eyeing his huge diamond earrings and platinum chain with the letter D as a charm. He wasn’t a very attractive man with his big puffy lips and wide ears. I probably wouldn’t give him a second look if I saw him on the street. But I was gonna make him feel like he was Denzel Washington once I got through with him. Desmond intriguingly continued to look me up and down, said, Yeah, why don’t you come join me.

Don’t mind if I do.

Instantly, the other girls rolled their eyes and caught an attitude. Their shine was being stolen, and now, potentially some ends were, too. He finished his shot of Patron as I took a seat on his lap.

I’m such a big fan, Desmond. I watched all of your games when you were with the Houston Rockets, I lied.

Well, how about a lap dance from my biggest fan?

I giggled silly, gently touching his shoulders and repositioning myself on top of him. Desmond probably thought I was just some dumb stripper he could easily get to sleep with, but he had me all wrong. The only one doing the playing would be me, and it was going to pay off in dividends.

You’re a little straight forward, aren’t you? I commented.

Why beat around the bush? Plus, I don’t have time for games. I get paid to play in them.

Well, why don’t we go some place more private? We can go in one of the private den rooms where it’ll be just you and me.

What are we waiting for? He said.

I got off of his long and slender legs, grabbed his hand and led the way. He signaled to his entourage that he was leaving with me as they were left with the other girls who were fuming. I couldn’t have given a damn less about their feelings. In about thirty minutes, I was about to be the sole reason the Pacers would be going to the playoffs this year. I opened the door to the small room that had a dimly lit red light in the ceiling, which was accompanied by a built in IPod center and a black leather couch. The club’s technician changed the songs weekly.

Why don’t you have a seat while I put on something to set this off right, I said as I went over to the IPod and put on a song by popular song artist, R. Kelly entitled, Feeling On Your Booty.

I walked up to him and looked into his eyes. They widen with arousal as he watched me remove my top. I climbed on top of him and faced his direction. My breasts were planted in his face as he kissed them. His massive hands, which were normally used for gripping basketballs, were now running up and down my smooth skin and cupping my behind. This so-called lap dance was turning into a foreplay session, and if I didn’t take back control, Desmond would take it even further. Coming up for air, he looked again in my dark brown eyes.

I knew you were a freak that wanted me the moment you saw me. How bout we put a pause on this and finish this at my hotel suite. The Pacers have me at The Four Seasons downtown.

The idea of a night in an expensive hotel wasn’t appealing at all. And the thought of spending it with Desmond’s ugly self made the appeal value that much more a turnoff.

I don’t think so, Desmond, I replied. I’ve heard the stories of other girls hooking up with star athletes only to become gang raped by their crews.

Girl, it ain’t gonna go down like that. It’s only going to be you and me.

What kind of girl do you think I am? I asked, switching positions on him as my back was now towards his chest, continuing my grind on his pelvic region. I felt the hardening of his nature while whisking my hair in his face. He brushed it away, smiling.

The kind of girl that needs to let me show you what else I can take to the hole, he said.

Well, why don’t you enjoy this lap dance first. Then we’ll go from there.

No, I gotta better idea. How about we skip the whole hotel idea and get it popping in here.

I don’t think that’s a good idea, I said, trying to be as nice as I could, but this fool wasn’t having it. He was persistent in wanting more and took action as he slid his hands down between my legs. He didn’t stop until he reached into my panties and touched my clitoris.

Hey, what hell do you think you’re doing? I yelled at him.

C’mon, bitch, you know you like this, he said, playing more between my legs. You’ve wanted this the minute you saw me.

Bitch! I said, getting off of him, turning around, and slapping him in the face. Who in the hell do you think you are calling me a bitch? And just because you’re some ball star doesn’t give you the right to violate me. This private dance is officially over, and you need to leave.

The hell it is, he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me closer to him. You dumb stripper bitches are all the same. You wanna get a nigga all excited, and then when it’s time to drop them panties, you wanna flip the script.

This isn’t a brothel. This is a gentlemen’s club. It’s fantasy entertainment. Now, get your hands off of me!

Naw. Bump that. You wanna put the monkey in a nigga’s face and then play me? Hell no. I’m a get my nut off.

He threw me onto the couch and covered