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Nicki Minaj Called Me (Part 2/3)
Later on, I walked past the constant cameras. The clothes tight and stylish. Just like how Nicki wanted them. I heard Tom Petty’s “Christmas (All Over Again)” coming from that dancefloor. Nicki’s Christmas playlist a twenty-four hour affair. The club open all night… Only Club Staff wasn’t. Down the hall I saw its door still closed. The lights off inside. Its Nicki soundtrack silent. Her wax sisters no longer partying since Ash and I left.
Ready for the Queen, I journeyed through the labyrinthe. The Christmas maze, the lights. The mairjuana tree. The long hallways and glowing gold records.
I only made one beer detour. One stop amongst the many roadside bars. After downing three bottles of Dos Equis, I felt more relaxed. More comfortable for Nicki and I’s forthcoming conversation.
I saw the open doorway leading to the studio. Leading me to Nicki Minaj. I glanced down at the tight jeans that would surely get her salivating. Took a deep breath. My soul with some hesitation before I went straight inside.
There was the intimate space. The soundproof walls. The live room where Mrs. Majesty made the magic happen. A Trinidad decor was evident in the various colorful trinkets from Nicki’s many travels. The elephant figurines, the kaleidoscopic paintings of various women of color. And of course, there were the notebooks. Dozens and dozens of them scattered about like toys in Nicki’s personal playland. Well, the non-sex toys, that is…
Each open notebook was covered in the rapper’s pretty scrawl. Lyrics both clever and insane. A beautiful madness punctured the pages. Judging by the sheer amount of binders, when Nicki got on a roll, she was a frenetic force. Unstoppable in her drive and creativity.
On the control room table was a bottle of wine. Two glasses already poured. And there sat the Queen on her pink swivel chair. The studio her throne. Her bitch.
Her fingernails were now red claws. A match to the fiery red wig. The make-up vivid but professional. Along with thin wire-rimmed glasses, her beige pants suit was somehow scholarly and bland even with such beauty lying beneath it. Sitting there with a pen in hand and notebook in lap, Nicki looked to be in academic mode. All business inside the studio.
Nicki flashed me a warm smile. “Mmm, those look nice…”
Flattered, I glanced down at the preppy attire. The type of clothes late-twenty-somethings flaunted when they played high schoolers on T.V. And they were a perfect fit too. “Yeah, thanks.”
The two of us looked on at each other. Nothing weird. Just mutual respect… or attraction. The Ronettes’ “Sleigh Ride” the only sound through the silence.
Nicki relaxed in her seat. “Hey, shut the door!”
Following orders, I closed it behind me. Gone was The Ronettes’ harmonies. That was curtains for Nicki’s Christmas playlist here in the soundproof studio.
Using the notebook, Nicki motioned toward the other swivel chair. “Have a seat, Rhonnie. Let’s get down to business, shall we.”
I sat down and rolled the chair closer. Nicki now loomed up over me. Her huge ass undoubtedly helped in the height advantage. Then again, her aura had power, and it always kept the Queen in control.
Nicki waved around the room. “Bringing back any memories?”
“Oh yeah. The interview…” An awkward chuckle escaped my lips.
Behind confident eyes, Nicki watched me. Her claws kept tapping the notebook in a repetitive rhythm. “You know, I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
Through her weak smile, I sensed Nicki’s sincerity. This personality wasn’t manic or aggressive. Not yet at least. “Naw, you’re fine,” I said. “We, uh… we had fun.”
Nicki laughed. “Definitely!” Then she lunged forward, getting closer to me. “But I really wanted a book. I wanted my story to be told, Rhonnie.”
Struggling under her female gaze, I hesitated. “And it still can… I’d love to give it another try.”
“Ooh, I’d love that….” Nicki leaned back. “You know, I really love your writing, Rhonnie. I think you’d do amazing things covering the life and times of Onika Maraj.”
Now I was flying high. A horrible actor, I did my best to play it cool. “Well, I’m glad somebody thinks so...”
“Oh, we do! Trust me. You’ve got the talent, baby.”
“I appreciate it.”
Nicki pointed her blood-red finger right at me. “You write movies too, right?” I laughed. “Whoa, shit, look at you!”
“I know my shit…”
“But yeah, I started out with the screenplays. I’ve always been a movie person-”
“So what happened?”
Pausing for a second, I took note of Nicki’s focused gaze. She was interested, alright… “These filmmakers, man. They’re all broke and do a shitty job.”
“Ah…” Nicki took a quick sip of wine.
“It’s a long story. I just… I don’t have an agent, they don’t read shit unless you know somebody. And I’m broke as fuck so I can’t film anything…” Here I was rambling. Rhonnie The Jaded Writer making his grand return. Angry. Talking with my hands. “But that’s why I started the NoSleeps. I actually wrote a couple of novels before that, but I’m just trying to build an audience now.”
“Well, you got me hooked!”.
Even I had to smile. “I’m glad. I just got tired of getting fucked by Hollywood.”
Nicki struggled to suppress a smirk. “Well, hey, at least it was fun when I fucked you.”
Damn, she was clever. I grinned. “Yeah. My best Hollywood experience for sure!” I ran a hand through my swoop. “And Hell, at least you paid me!”
Getting comfortable, Nicki readjusted on her throne. Her tone stayed consistent and precise. Her T.V. journalist performance pretty impressive. “But about the biography, would you be willing to do something else for me?”
“Yeah, uh. What do you mean?”
“Look, Rhonnie, the Barbz loved the story.”.
I smirked. “I guess it has a cult following going.”
Nicki just kept her eyes on me. There was no unwavering smile to offset the seriousness. She meant business. All as her relentless claws kept tapping the notebook... “I did the research. My album sales, the downloads, everything went up after you posted that NoSleep.” In a mic drop moment, Nicki’s hand collapsed on to the binder. “And now I want more!”
“Whoa…” I struggled to say through the excitement. “So you want like a whole series?”
The shit-eating grin never left my face. Already my mind was racing with ideas. I turned away, disoriented by my life-long dream.
“I’ll pay you as well,” Nicki continued. “You can even go back to Albany, Georgia.” With seductive poise, Nicki leaned in a little closer. “Or Hell, you and Ash can come here.”
I faced Nicki. “So did people really like the story that much?”
“Oh, Hell yeah!”
“Did any of them… believe it?”
Nicki revealed a sly smile. “Some.”
Enjoying the spotlight, I folded my arms. “So fucking crazy… Honestly, I just wanted to tell the truth about what happened… I wasn’t trying to write creepy fan fic or erotic shit. I was just wanting to portray you as accurately as possible, Nicki. I mean Hell, I thought that’d be my only shot at the biography!”
Nicki’s female gaze was starting to appear. “Not at all.”
Still rambling, I threw my hands up. “And then some people found it hot. They seemed more aroused than anything-”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
I gave her an amused look… realizing she was kinda right.
“Pegging’s hot,” Nicki continued. “And it ain’t like those rumors about me fucking men in the ass weren’t around before your story.”
I revealed a smirk. “Yeah...”
Rivaling my own elation, Nicki rolled her chair in closer toward me. “I just want you to do one thing.”
“Make it even sexier! Get fucking crazy with it!”
“What… You’re joking, right?”
Nicki pointed at her stone cold glare. “Do I look like I’m fucking joking, Rhonnie!” She gave me a light punch on the arm. And damn, it still hurt… “Just do what I say! Write about all the sex. About how hot I am.” For emphasis, she squeezed her own breasts. “These titties, this ass, the pegging.” Nicki pointed at me. ”Squeezing a guy’s ass or making him strip down, the fucking hot shit, Rhonnie! I need more of that!”
The speech left me in stunned silence. There was a lot to unpack. Amongst the shock and intrigue, there was also disappointment...
Nicki shook my shoulder. “Just do more of that! That’s what we need.”
I pulled away from her. “But why...”
I pointed between us. “I just told you, I didn’t intend to just make you out to be some fucking bimbo, Nicki! I wanted to humanize you. That was the whole point!”
With a subtle smile on her face, Nicki just watched me.
“Like yeah, I told the truth,” I went on. “I wrote about the crazy sex but that wasn’t the point! I wanted to show the world the real you. I wanted them to see Onika Maraj. This was a biography.”
In a twisted taunt, Nicki caressed my face. “Oh, that’s so cute, Rhonnie.”
I knocked her hand away. “No, I mean it!”
Her smile was swiped clean. Nicki now literally got in my face. “And that’s fan-fucking-tastic!”
Scared, I cowered back into my seat. Nicki hadn’t even yelled... she didn’t need to.
“Look, baby, what you’re saying is true,” continued Nicki. She laid a hand in my lap. Dangerously close to awakening my penis... “And I appreciate it, Rhonnie. I’m glad you captured the real me.”
“I tried,” I said. I stole a look down at her hand. “Are you sure Zoo’s cool with this?”
Nicki’s grip got tighter. “Yes, Zoo’s fine, Rhonnie!”
“I’m just saying…”
Like a starved animal, Nicki pulled my chair closer toward her. “You got my vibe well, but that’s not what got me famous, Rhonnie! I wish it was but it wasn’t.”
“What are you talking about? You’re talented as fuck and that’s another reason I-”
“And so are you!” Nicki interrupted. “And that’s my whole point!” Gentle, Nicki’s claws ran along my cheeks… “I was like you once, Rhonnie. I had the talent. The drive, the dedication.”
Rivetered, I watched her every move. Her every emotion.
Nicki sat back in her seat. “But none of that mattered. I got nowhere in my career... I was broke…” She flashed a weary smile. “Those Barbie dreams were far away back then.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Being a female rapper…” Nicki shrugged her shoulders. “You just have to play the game.”
“Sex, the male gaze.” I waved toward her body. “All that shit just to have your voice heard.”
Nicki nodded. But the bitterness didn’t manifest itself in tears or weakness. Just hardened toughness. “I had to play the freak. For every ‘Regret In Your Tears,’ I have to do three or four whackass sex songs.”
Showing support amidst the Queen’s self-reflection, I grinned. “Like ‘Anaconda’?”
Nicki laughed. “What! You don’t like-”
“God, I hate that song!”
Nicki grabbed my arm. “But you see my point, right!”
“I do. Definitely.”
Ruminating on the famed career, Nicki ran her hands along the notebook. Struggled to maintain eye contact. Obviously relieved for the deeper conversation… if uncomfortable. “That’s why I have to do all this shit. To do what I really want I have to shake my ass or flaunt my titties! It’s frustrating, man. To have to write some of these lyrics and keep being the freaky bitch for everyone… I mean for once I’d like to have Channing Tatum or someone give me a lapdance in a music video but that’d scare the ‘straight’ guys watching… I can’t objectify men for the serious money.” She looked right at me. A vague glimmer of defeat in her power. “Just myself.”
The words, the realities left me in a sad silence. I had even more empathy for Onika now. Especially after hearing this requiem for Nicki’s initial rap idealism.
“So you see,” Nicki said. “The sex sells, Rhonnie. That’s all that matters.” She pointed a red claw at me. “And that’s why we need more of it in the stories.”
“But we don’t!” I replied. “You don’t have to do-”
“Listen, if you’re wanting to do this full time, Rhonnie, you gotta compromise!” Nicki yelled in a voice driven by years of rage. Years of industry suppression.
I waved toward the studio. “But look, you have the money! You’ve already played their stupid fucking game!”
Nicki stared at me. The glasses hid any tears or melancholy. Then again, Nicki always hid it well. She had the perfect poise. The confidence necessary for a black woman to climb her way to the top of the entertainment food chain.
“We can just write the truth,” I continued. “You can write the songs you want to write. You don’t have to satisfy this fucking thirst from others who just watch you for the sex. You don’t have to make money off that shit anymore! You can be the great artist you are! The one you were born to be!”
Right before me, Nicki’s creative mind went into contemplation. “At this point, I’ve got no choice,” she said. “I need the money just like anyone else, Rhonnie.”
Snapping into scary Nicki, she lunged toward me. A fiery fervor consumed her. The red wig and fingernails made her a rap Goddess straight from Hell.
I got quiet real quick.
“Don’t you understand! I’ve got no choice, Rhonnie!” Nicki shouted. “I’m thirty-seven years old! There’s not much time for a woman in this industry to be the best, man!”
“I know,” I said in a low voice. “I’m sorry...”
More calm, Nicki leaned back. “I’m just glad I can talk about pegging now,” she admitted. “Hell, that’s some progress for female empowerment for you.”
“True… But I just think there’s nothing to lose by focusing more on your artistic vision. You don’t have to keep exploiting yourself-”
“Maybe I want to,” Nicki interrupted.
With seductive slowness, Nicki creeped in closer. “Sometimes I like the attention.” She let out a confident cackle. “The thought of all those guys and girls finding me hot… I don’t know.” She bit her lip with erotic emphasis. “It turns me on.”
I grinned. “I’m not arguing with-”
Giving in to her natural theatrics, Nicki collapsed back on the chair. Now channeling her inner Bob Dylan. Her inner eccentric rock star. Letting all those quirks and tics whisk her away. “I mean yeah, it’s frustrating not to get to do my deeper songs all the time. To embrace being the artist I know I am... That’s what I really want, don’t get me wrong.” Holding my gaze hostage, she shrugged her shoulders. “But sometimes it’s sexy to play the star. To be all hot and beautiful... I like it sometimes...” She flashed that beaming smile. “And it gives me money. Power. Certainly helped me get you here.”
Nicki’s hands veered under the notebook. Stacking them on top of one another, she created a literal handmade dick. “It lets me do whatever I want to you, Rhonnie…” Moaning and grunting, Nicki pretended to peg me right then and there. Her thrusts always so aggressive. Even when she was only pretending to fuck me hard…
I couldn’t turn away. Nor couldn’t help but be aroused… Trying not to give in to the steamy sight, I sifted in my seat. Battled my rising bulge. “But still, there’s no way to ignore the money?” I asked. “Do the music that best captures you.”
Ignoring me, Nicki kept on with the imaginary fucking. Her grunts got louder. The Queen clearly nearing her orgasm…
Still I tried to steer us back on track. I moved in toward her. “Just make your own album about you and all these hot guys or you and your relationships,” I continued, my voice louder in an attempt to overpower Nicki’s carnal cries. “Instead of having to exploit your body so much, you can do more songs you care about!”
Cackling, Nicki sat up straight. She clapped her hands together.
“What?” I said.
“You’re funny. God… you’re always funny, Rhonnie.”
I revealed an amused smile. “Well, thanks...”
“I mean it!” Nicki pushed her dangling red hair back. “Oh shit.”
In the cold room, I hesitated. Struggling to stay serious and heartfelt amidst Nicki’s lingering laughter. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m judging you, Nicki because I’m not.” I felt her stare settle in on me. “You make a lot more than me and still can make great music… I just think you’re better than that.”
“And so are you,” Nicki said in a sharp reply.
Confused, I felt unease surge through me. My goofy smile couldn’t play it off either. “What do you mean?”
Armed with a wide grin, Nicki slowly crept closer toward me. “I told you this last time.” The two of us were now just inches apart. “I know allll about you, Rhonnie.”
Anxiety joined my unease. I now trembled...
“You like the attention too,” Nicki said. “I know you do!”
“So what are you trying to say?”
“I’m just proving my point.” Mrs. Majesty shrugged her shoulders. Her smirk slicing into me. “Sex sells.” She rested a hand on my knee. “You should know that as well as anyone.”
Warm sensations erupted inside me. I felt body heat. As if our emotional therapy session had morphed into a Skinemax porno...
“You’re the one that’s always posting on Reddit,” Nicki teased. “Letting all those horny desperate girls and guys ogle you like that. Jerking off to you... You fucking love it, don’t you?”
She had me. “Yeah,” I admitted.
Nicki now felt along my chest. “Your dick and ass pictures on ladyboners and gaybros. I know you do it, Rhonnie. I know alll about you remember...”
The room finally got hotter…
“Let’s go through those accounts, shall we,” Nicki pressed further. “Ronaldlongdick.”
I smiled at Nicki. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“That one was obvious...”
Nicki’s claws ran wild across my body. Fueled by her desire. Not that I was complaining…
“Bubblebutt4days,” Nicki continued. She let out a soft chuckle. “And rhonnie141414. Hmm, that’s sure discreet.”
“Yeah, that was when I was twenty-four, man...”
“But that’s the thing.” Nicki’s grip settled in on my thighs. “You know that account you deleted. Ronaldlongdick.”
Nicki got closer. The two of us now noses apart. “How many followers did it end up with?”
Not wanting to answer, I turned away.
“Come on now,” Nicki taunted. “You know how many, bitch.”
I gave her a defeated smirk. Knowing full well what she was about to say… And how she’d proven this harsh reality: sex sells.
“Thirteen hundred followers, Rhonnie!” Nicki shouted.
The inevitable set in. I nodded along with her. Overpowered by the Queen once more. “I know...”
Nicki purred with delight. “And compare that to your writing, huh? The rhonnie14 sub?” She nudged my chin. “How many?”
“Eight hundred and-”
“Five!” Nicki said with me. Her triumphant laugh blared.
Cornered by Nicki, I shrugged. “Well… you got me...”
“So think about this, Rhonnie. You’re more famous for that dick.” With excited delight, Nicki slid her hands on to my booty. “And that ass than your horror stories...”
“Thanks, Nicki,” I deadpanned. “I appreciate the support!”
Nicki chuckled as she squeezed tighter to my ass. “All I’m saying’s you gotta do what you gotta do to get famous, boo. To make real money.” She ran her hands along my abs. “And now that you’ve been working out, I can go ahead and tell you, you’d make bank flaunting all this on-line. Those down low brothas and thirstyass sistas would be all up on you.”
“Stop it!” I joked. “I can’t handle this many compliments.”
“Bitch, please!” Nicki gave me a shove before sitting back in her seat. “You love that shit and you know it! You know you do!”
“Naw, you’re right... You’re totally right.”
“All I’m saying’s they appreciate your body more than the Goddamn stories! The shit you bust your ass to write, but they’d rather see that big dick and booty than anything else! You gotta profit off that, babe!”
I smirked. “So what are you saying? That I become a male stripper or something?”
Nicki snorted with laughter. “Hell, maybe! But just think about these stories for instance. You mix sex with storytelling like I did with the raps, and you got something that’ll sell, Rhonnie!”
Goddamn, she made sense… I nodded in agreement. “I see.”
“Like this next one, just go crazy with it! You know the Barbz will eat it up. Me pegging this Zac Efron-looking writer and his fineass all over the place!”
“Man, you’re really on this Efron kick lately...”
Nicki readjusted her glasses. “Bieber too. Because y’all fine and kinda look alike. Kinda built alike.”
Genuinely flattered, I probably blushed. “Thanks.”
“But people are fucking dumb. That’s the shit you gotta do to get fans, boo!”
“Naw, you’re totally right...”
Nicki straightened the notebook. “Like write about Ashley pegging you, you showing your dick to dudes on-line. That’ll sell like crazy. More views, more readers. Exploit it!”
“I guess I’ll start now then. With these new stories and all, the series.”
Like a supportive coach, Nicki pointed toward me, hyping me up. “Exactly! You got this!”
Already the wheels were turning. The crazy scenarios I could write about the Minaj mansion.
“You and Ashley can always come back here too,” I heard Nicki say. “I’ll give y’all another vacation...”
I smiled at Nicki. “I bet you would.”
She opened the binder. “Hey, y’all sexy. And I got you dressing in those clothes I like.”
I felt on the shirt’s fine fabric. “Yeah, from like 2008.”
“But trust me, Ash’s ready…”
“I bet she’s tearing that ass up every night too...”
Playful, I gave Nicki a weirded out look.
Laughing, she flipped through a few pages. “You know I’m crazy as Hell.”
“No doubt…” And then I saw the joint tucked away toward the back of the binder... Pristine California grass. A pink lighter laying right beside it. Holy shit…
“But for real, I wanna help,” Nicki said. She picked up the j. “You need someone dominant guiding you. Like with you and Ashley.”
Nicki held the pot out toward me. “You think you can handle it?”
“Shit…” I stood up. “If I can handle what you did to me last time, I can take anything.”
With a Devilish laugh, Nicki flicked the lighter. The flame showcased a wild glint in her eyes. Further revealed the ferocious soul under that red wig...
It turns out I couldn’t handle it. The next few hours were a blur. A gonzo production directed by wine and the strongest pot I ever smoked. Shit got weird. Nicki and I’s conversations ranged from 90s horror movies to heteroflexibility (don’t ask). Our high happiness interspersed with hysteria. Maybe there was a kiss. More groping. I honestly can’t remember...
Hours later, I awoke from the Christmas cannabis. All to the tune of Maroon 5’s “Happy Xmas (War Is Over).” Adam Levine’s piercing falsetto a ringing church bell to my haze.
Shivering, I folded my arms. “Fuck…” I muttered. First, I was glad to be wearing the same MySpace-era wardrobe. To actually be in a fucking bed, much less my bedroom… Until I saw who was laying beside me: Nicki herself. She was out cold. Another bottle of wine clasped in her hands like a teddy bear. A Santa Claus hat blended into her wig. Now I realized I had a Santa hat draped over my swoop... But, at least we were both dressed and lying on the covers. Neither of us could get MeToo’d now.
Staying quiet, I snuck out of bed. I slipped around in my socks. My clumsy footsteps drowned out by Maroon 5’s holiday cheese.
I looked toward the open doorway. Out toward where the Christmas concert continued… from Nicki’s personal nightclub.
Glasses slid down my nose. Confused, I took them off… They were the purple Buddy Holly ones. The same pair Nicki gave me last time. I put them back on and looked over at the bed… Toward the resting Queen. Had she taken my contacts out for me? The gesture was odd… but still kinda sweet.
The holiday playlist changed to Judy Garland’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.” A pretty melody and even prettier voice. But one that should soothe Nicki to sleep for the time being...
Battling the migraine, I entered the hallway. Curiosity compelled me. Not to mention snacks, man.
I turned and looked down the hall. Toward the fateful Club Staff. Sextopia City. Now there was a light on inside the room… Even a faint chatter I could hear over this Christmas classic.
I took another step toward it. Now I heard multiple, muffled voices. It couldn’t have been the wax figures… Certainly, not Nicki herself. Sure, her range was supreme but not even she could hit those deeper male tones.
Uneasy, I looked on at the closed door. The room taunting me, tempting me. But it was too late for this shit… And I knew once I snuck in there, Club Staff would be hard to leave.
I proceeded through the rest of the mansion. Every clock read three A.M. The munchies made me stop once for those amazing cookies. And to my relief, there was no weed in them...
The barrage of standard Christmas crooners scored my journey. Stuck in the cold and surrounded by the decorations, I could even feel the holiday spirit.
I decided to dodge the nightclub. All the fucking bars. Through windows, I saw those powerful security lights bring daylight to the dead of night. Everything was illuminated. The pillars, the colors. All those fucking cameras. Nicki’s palace a fusion of government compound and wacky art exhibit.
I strayed into corridors unknown. Into yet another long hallway on the first floor. Fuck it, I was already lost in the Minaj maze. Then I saw a pair of wide-open double doors. The clinical lab lighting inside drew me in.
I stepped into the wide, vast space. The garage was fucking freezing... and there were quite a few cars in here. Quite a few crammed shelves and boxes. Only something was off… There was no style. Not a damn thing was pink.
Intrigued, I walked on through. Emulating a cheap detective. Dean Martin’s “Let It Snow!” echoed all around me… only the Christmas cheer was long gone by now. Replaced instead by rising unease.
The cars weren’t necessarily hideous. Just average. Used cars with lots of mileage. None of them any newer than 2016 models. Perfect for a blue-collar neighborhood or modest suburbia. But nothing befitting Nicki Minaj’s mansion.
The boxes and shelves offered more of the same mediocrity. Wrinkled clothes. Bland casual wear comprising of tee-shirts, jeans, and dresses. Nothing Nicki would touch much less showcase. Then there was the shitty jewelry. Obvious fake gold and silver. Yard sale fashion.
Scoffing, I glanced around the garage. Were all these items from the Queen’s pre-Minaj days? Mementos from her beloved past? Or was it just shit she planned on donating?
My handsome reflection caught my eye. I got a good glimpse of the perfect-fitting clothes.
A stained mirror leaned up against a set of rejected high school lockers. All of them with padlocks.
I stepped toward them. Tried yanking on those unwavering locker doors… I leaned in closer, peering through their metal’s holes. Clearly, shit was piled up inside. Hidden away. But why?
The mystery further unnerved me. My fear returned.
Then I heard a louder song: Burl Ives’ “Holly Jolly Christmas” blared through this mausoleum of a garage. The bells and chimes engulfed me. Trembling in the cold air, I looked toward the very back.
A window showcased Nicki’s sprawling backyard. Not to mention the different smaller buildings occupying the green acres. One larger shed caught my eye.... After all, who else would have a two story efficiency unit?
Much less one with two tall security guards stationed at the front door. Under the bright security lights, I saw the building’s windows were all boarded up. Spastic cameras hovering over it.
“What the fuck…” I said. Battling the nerves, I stepped closer to see another shed had the same set-up of guards and cameras. What exactly was going on...
All the while, no one saw me spying. The Queen’s guards remained silent and still. A 24/7 shield.
I felt a large pendulum bump into my ass… Then felt a pair of thirsty hands grab each cheek. Startled, I whirled around.
“Hey, boo!” rang that hypnotic voice.
There Nicki stood right behind me. Now dressed in casual booty shorts and a red tank top., she was barefoot and missing a wig. Her natural beauty a nice contrast to the trash treasure trove surrounding us. Her smile as enthusiastic as ever.
And of course, there was the strap. From her crotch, Nicki’s pink dildo danged down like a snake… A real anaconda brushing against my ass.
I staggered back out of fear… and maybe some excitement. “Whoa…”
Nicki cackled. “Did I scare you!”
Singing along, Nicki swung the dildo to the tune of Burl Ives. To the beat of the “ding…. dong…. ding...” harmonies.
I stared on at her third leg. Intimidated by the size… yet hypnotized by Nicki’s passion. Her magnetism. “Really, Nicki,” I quipped.
Chuckling, Nicki ran a hand along my arm. “What? I wanted to surprise you!”
“With the fucking pinkosaurus?”
“Yeah, why not.” She leaned in closer. “You’re the one sneaking out...”
I stole one look out the window. Out toward the guards. The strange buildings. “I just couldn’t sleep,” I told the Queen.
Nicki squeezed my wrist in a death grip of passion. “I can fix that.”
Flashing a smile, I broke away from her spell. “Naw, I need to go lay down. I can’t keep up with you!”
“Maybe tomorrow then?” Nicki teased.
“Maybe!” I then walked through the valley of Christmas music. Right into Burl Ives’ joyous vocals. The entire time I felt Nicki’s hungry eyes watch me. Staring me down hard… Her smile driven by nothing but desire. I forced myself not to turn. The temptation too much… but my tired state helped me persevere against the gorgeous rapper.
“You better be glad I don’t get a shake weight on that ass!” I heard Nicki shout with sadistic glee.