(Sexual situations and nudity, language)

Bash Banks POV

“Damn girl, you feel so good,” I said through grunts as I gave Giavanna Gavino repeated hard thrusts positioned behind her against the side of my bed. I had a tight grip on her fast-moving gyrating hips, and her body slammed against mine.

She screamed out. “Oh, right there..so..good!” Giavanna struggled to get her words out. I was positioned behind her on the bed giving her the best fuck of her life. “Is that good?” I whispered. “Yes…”

I had been pursuing this girl for the last two months. GG worked near my office building downtown in at one of the most elite money management firms in the country. I had seen her and some co-workers at a bar in my building off and on over the last eight weeks or so.

She’d usually curved my advances when I attempted to flirt or get her phone number. But I knew it was just a game because of the way she flirted with me but made every excuse as to why she wasn’t looking to date, anybody. I think about her more than I thought I would. Now that I have her in my bed, I wonder if there could be something more between us; if I could ever be close to her.

I saw her exchange numbers with one of those blonde, fair skinned pedigree WASP. You know the type, those fuckers who only got into Ivy League because they were legacy members or daddy made a substantial contribution to get their mediocre kid past the waiting list. Girls like GG usually went for those types with the prominent last names and good families. They would fuck niggas like me but typically choose not to date openly.

Giavanna was Brazilian, not one of those black Brazilians, but more so with the looks of like Adriana Lima with a similar exotic flair. If she wanted to get past the fact that she wasn’t blonde and blue-eyed, she could not procreate with a dark Brazilian, a black American, or anyone else that could taint her bloodline. I wasn’t a basketball player, making millions of dollars. That always seemed to ease the minds of white fathers’ racism if their little girls were to marry niggas with money. I did do well for myself, but nothing in the seven-figure range. It wasn’t enough.

I gave her one final thrust as I started to feel myself coming. GG had already came, more than once I must say. She screamed so loudly; she was wild. When women acted outright like animals in bed, it made me even more excited. If you ever wanted to know what the koochie was like on my end, just imagine a tight wet cave stuffed with soft pillows. You slide in, and you slide out, all the better when she made that shit rain.

I finally climaxed, and we collapsed onto my bed. I was hot and sticky; my body burned from the workout I just gave it. GG slid over and rested her head on my chest. Her hair smelled like jasmine, and her skin had a lustrous, silky feel to it. Panting and breathing hard, I looked at her body, admiring it yet again.

GG was so beautiful. She had this tanned olive skin, dark curly hair, perfect pouty full lips and greenish brown eyes. I preferred her phenotype to most other women. She was the definitely the sexiest woman I’ve ever been with. Usually, after I bed a woman, I’m not so eager to continue seeing her, but I felt differently about GG. I wanted to grow closer to her, know her thoughts, wants, and needs.

“That was so amazing. You are so amazingly talented. What they say about black guys is definitely true,” purred GG, as she turned over to look at me. “Yeah, that’s one stereotype I’m proud to say is true. So I’m the first black man you’ve been with?” I asked. She giggled a bit. “No, you’re not.”

I raised my brow. “Oh? By the way, you were acting before I assumed you preferred Bobbys over Tyrones,” I said, which made GG giggle.

“Don’t act so surprised, Sebastian. Besides those guys at the bar are just guys I have fun with sometimes and can get me into some pretty exclusive places. They’re like my bosses friends sons who have jobs because of who their fathers are. But you, you Bash, I want to be my big Mandingo. I think I need you a regular basis.”

GG sat up; slowly crawling toward me. Her stare was penetrating as she moved her hand over to my member. I laughed a bit. “I’ll give it to you anytime you want it, Baby.”

I got up from the bed and went into the bathroom to take a piss. The air in the hallway was cold, but it felt good to cool my skin off.

I grabbed my bath towel and wiped the sweat from my chest and washed my hands. I headed toward my bedroom when I heard a notification of a text message I had received. I spotted my phone on the hall table; it was just after eleven. I opened up the text, which was from Rico Thomas, an old associate from Wharton.

Rico: Hey, it’s been a while since we’ve talked. We need to discuss your future. We’ll meet for drinks at Georgio’s.

That was the end of the message. Rico didn’t specify what day he wanted to meet. When you get a message like that from him, which isn’t often, you don’t ask questions. If you had something planned, you don’t call him back asking to reschedule; you break your date even if your wife is in the middle of giving birth, you see Rico. I was intrigued not so much by what Rico said, but what he didn’t say. What specifically did he mean by ‘your future’?

Rico had one of the fasted growing consultation firms in the region. He rubbed elbows with some of the most influential people in business, politics, and just about every other field. He must’ve heard about the latest promotion I was passed up for.I could only wish to have access to some of the people Rico deals with on a regular basis. My life would be so different right now. Instead of slaving away making the white man richer, I could be running my own firm, using my design with my name on it.

I was eager to talk with Rico, but I would have to wait until he made contact again wait to see just exactly what he wanted to talk about. I had to admit; I felt a little intimidated at the thought of meeting up with him. We knew each other from U-Penn. He was ahead of me in school; we took some of the same business classes at Wharton. He was also a graduate associate professor before he went to Harvard full-time and obtained his MBA. Periodically, we ran into each other at a bar in Cambridge, as I was at MIT, which is very close to Harvard.

I put my phone back on the charger and headed to my bedroom, as Giavanna was starting to get dressed. The room was hot and stuffy and smelled like a combination of her Clinique, my Hugo Boss cologne, and sex.

“I need to get out of here. I have an eight am meeting tomorrow,” said Giavanna. I wasn’t really ready for her to leave just yet, but I didn’t let on. I watched as she pulled her black lace panties on and pulled her dress over her head; she hadn’t worn a bra. Her titties looked as succulent as ever. I had every instinct to push her on the bed again and fill my mouth with each one while I licked and sucked on her nipples.

“I too have early meetings. I’ll take you home.” I told her, snapping out of my fantasy. “Sure, that would be great.” Giavanna walked over to me and kissed me softly on the lips. “Thanks again for tonight, it was great,” she said. “My pleasure.”

Giavanna seemed impressed when she got into my new Benz and complimented how nice the features and heated seats were as we cruised through the dark streets downtown.

It was nothing serious going on between us, and I wasn’t sure when we would hook up again. It was okay for now. Sometimes I think it would be nice to be in a relationship, but I work so much and the women I’m around, act like they’re in charge and control, but they’re not.

These millennial girls of my generation are educated and going out getting careers and competing with males for those same jobs. Yeah, that shit is okay as far as them getting an education, but I find most of the bullshit about independence is just that: bullshit.Most women are the same as they were in my grandma’s generation. They ultimately want a man to call the shots; to make the hard decisions and have most of the responsibility. They mainly someone to take care of them.

I don’t know how many girls I went to school with, fresh out of graduation, a degree in hand, and within a year of finding their Bobby Pedigree, they gave all that shit up. Usually first getting a nice little upscale, overpriced condo near work and later moving out to the suburbs to be near the rest of the pedigree families and join their country club.

The women of the club would organize tea and feel-good charities for the less fortunate little Tyrones, Jamals, and Kishas. It made them feel good to peddle some money into the inner city, to help those little poor black babies; even when those “poor black babies” came from two-parent households. Often when black kids came from two-parent middle-class families, some of the country club Jenns and Susans believed they were poor and unfortunate, because ‘hey, they were black so ultimately they suffered and needed saving right?’ I’ll be the first to admit, however, that some of the thugs that have taken over my family’s neighborhood could use some saving, no matter who it came from.

My family wasn’t living in poverty. They weren’t exactly middle class, but working class; which might as well be poverty if you think in regards of how the real world works, and the divide between the rich and unambitious people in my old neighborhood. They were the people I struggled to get away from all of my life.

I felt obligated to socialize with my family every once in a while to show them that things could be better and that they needed to stop thinking small and living a life of low means was okay. I knew it was too late for my father, the most unambitious man I know, but at least my little sister, Michelle had a chance at getting an education and bettering herself. But who was I fooling? The rest of my family was hopeless. That’s the life they were used to, and none of them had any desire to change it.

Giavanna didn’t live too far away from me in Art of the City, an upscale neighborhood similar to SoHo in New York. The price for living here was almost as high as well. But you get what you pay for.

Once we arrived at her apartment, I walked her up the front door of her high-end building. Her doorman gave us a hard look. I held on even tighter to her and kissed her deeply on the mouth. It will never cease to amaze me how shook some white boys get over the beautiful women I can pull any day and the ones I chose to have on my arm. It’s okay; the haters drove my ambition. As I rise, I’ll give them a real reason to hate me.

**My thoughts: I think it’s evident by now that Bash is struggling with some internal conflicts intensified by external problems. A lot of his thinking is or could be perceived as hypocritical. In his mind, he bashes the hierarchy of society, but at the same time, he longs to be part of it and even prefers women who are apart of it, all the while having resentment for their station in life. One thing I know is that people are complicated and sometimes on the surface we appear hypocritical and more often than not, we can be hypocritical internally as well. I don’t think most things are all black and white, but fall into gray areas. I’m looking forward to developing Bash’s character and exploring what it means to be human, with all of our flaws, fallacies, hopes, and the lengths we go through to survive in this system. Thanks for reading.**

***Author’s Note: The title of this chapter is in reference to the song by the Purple One, Prince. Check out the lyrics to understand what it means from his perspective. I’m an 80s kid and Prince’s music was my life as it still is. As I was listening to this song the other day, I decided to name this chapter after it for Bash’s perspective as he does want to get closer GG even though their relationship appears to be mainly physical right now.

Check out the biography of Bash and other main characters here.

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