It was good to know that I wasn’t the only sister out there who craved orgasms and needed to get sexed on a regular basis. There were a bunch of women in Brooklyn who weren’t hardly shy about their bedroom needs, and it felt good to be around regular horny sisters like me instead of lap-dancing hoes who just did it for the money.

Getting out of the Spot had been real easy. Cooter had given G the message about Dicey being sick, and I made up a lie about her bleeding through her pads and passing huge nasty clots that made G’s black ass turn gray. As soon as I mentioned her period he spazzed out and waved me away. Told me to tell Dicey to stay her ass out of the cut room until she got that shit taken care of. Of course I missed my Saturday night event; watching the men do their thing onstage for Ladies’ Night, but it wasn’t no big thing because I planned to come home with some toys that would put my fingers and my fantasies to shame.

G told Pacho to drive me over to Dicey’s, so of course that’s where he expected him to pick me up from. And there wasn’t a thing wrong with her either. We watched from the window together until Pacho drove off, then Dicey waited ten minutes before calling a Black Pearl cab to come take us all the way downtown to Brooklyn.

“You got some funds, right?” Dicey asked as we sped down FDR Drive. I nodded. The hundred dollars I’d gotten from G was safe inside my purse. Dicey was wearing this leopard-print top and a matching skirt and she really looked nice. She’d dyed her red hair platinum blond, and had stuck about thirty earrings in each ear. At first I wondered if I was dressed right for a Naughty Girls party and worried that I would look out of place because I had on a pair of Donna Karan jeans and a white silk shirt that had cost over a yard, but looked really simple. But when we got there it was all I could do not to laugh. These sisters were hooked up just like the hoes back at the Spot. They were parading around the apartment wearing g-strings and push-up bras, lace teddies and satin thongs.

The apartment belonged to the aunt of one of Rita’s friends named Vickie. Vickie was another programmer who went to Fordham with us, and since her uncle was a truck driver who was out of town on a long run, her auntie let her host in her apartment for the night. There was fried chicken, empanadas, yellow rice, macaroni salad, and a bunch of other stuff spread out on card tables, and even though we were getting our grub on, food damn sure wasn’t our focus. The whole mood was up, up, up. Wasn’t a buster in the crowd. Just a bunch of hot women, young and old, who were feeding their sexual fantasies and weren’t shy about it neither.

Brooklyn naughties sure knew how to throw a party. There were gift bags stuffed with sexy favors, card games where the winners got to choose from a table full of whips, handcuffs, and nipple clamps. And one sister even got up and read from a book of erotica she had written and was trying to get published. I dug down into my gift bag, and when I saw what was in there I felt faint. Anal beads and two butt plugs. Not even. They could have kept that mess. G had cured me of any asshole desires I may have had, and I traded those shits with Dicey for some vanilla-flavored clit cream and a penis ring.

I chilled with some really cool women, naughty girls for days, and just sitting around talking shit and watching them guzzle fruit punch spiked with Bacardi made me feel good. Made me feel young and freaky. This was the type of stuff I should have been doing every weekend. Chilling with girls my age, partying, eating home-cooked food, getting my hair braided and playing cards. The whole scene was live. It reminded me of one of Grandmother’s rent parties, and just seeing how free everybody else was made me realize how tight G was choking me. His habits were stifling my groove. Squeezing all the juice out of Juicy.

By the end of the night I had spent every dime G had given me and had even borrowed twenty dollars from Dicey. We called another taxi, and as Dicey gave the driver her address I sat back clutching my packages. I couldn’t wait to get home and try out my Ben Wa balls. I’d wanted to slip into the bathroom and put them in and enjoy myself all the way back to Harlem, but I made myself chill. There would be plenty of time for that later.

Instead, I sat quietly as Dicey chatted all the way home. When she wasn’t scaring the shit out of me about G’s missing or dead ex-women, I liked listening to Dicey talk. Getting with G meant I had to drop the few friends I used to have, and aside from Brittany and Rita, Dicey was the only woman in my life. She was street-down and she had a knack for saying stuff that lifted me up and made me wanna be my own person. I felt she was dropping knowledge bombs on me and I did my best to get right up under them so I could get hit.

Of course, tonight the conversation was all about sex. Dicey was telling me that it was natural for me to want more than G was giving me in bed.

“Look, Juicy,” she said. “You too young to be so frustrated. If you had some balls them shits would be blue and backed all the hell up. Don’t let nobody deprive you of what God gave you to enjoy. You just gotta be real careful ’cause you fuckin with a maniac, and that’s the goddamn truth. Dig,” she said, “I probably fucked over two thousand men when I was out there hoeing. They tell you a ho ain’t supposed to get off when she getting fucked by no trick, right?”

I nodded. I’d always heard that hoes got run up in so often that they couldn’t even feel a dick when it was inside them. It had something to do with the high mileage.

“Well, don’t you believe that shit. I made sure I got my nuts one for one.”

“One for one?”

“Damn straight. Every time a trick busted him one, I busted me one too!”

We laughed until tears were coming out of our eyes, and by the time we pulled up outside of Dicey’s apartment it was after two A.M.

“You gonna stay the night?” she asked.

I shook my head. I had never stayed out all night on G before, and he was sure to get suspicious if I tried to start tonight. Besides, my night wasn’t over yet. I had a whole lot of activities planned. I called Pacho on his cell phone and told him I was ready to go home, then I sat outside on the stoop shooting the shit with Dicey until my limo rolled up.

I had Pacho bypass the Spot and take me straight back to the apartment. When I got inside I was mad because Jimmy wasn’t home yet and I couldn’t think of anything happening in the streets that he needed to be involved in at this time of night. I promised myself that I would slap him upside his head as soon as he showed up, but I didn’t want to let my anger spoil the vibes I was still feeling and ruin the plans I had for the rest of the night.

I was so excited I had to make myself slow down. G wouldn’t be home until the sun came up, so I brushed my teeth then took a hot bath in some creamy oils made from milk and honey. I’d brought the Naughty Girls’ bag into the mirrored bathroom with me, and the whole time I was in the tub I kept glancing at it and licking my lips like there were a tribe of fine black men waiting to jump out those boxes and jump my bones.

With my skin still damp, I rubbed myself down with the same brand of milk-and-honey-scented lotion I’d bathed in until my body was glistening and every one of my nerves was tingling. I had to force my fingers to stay away from my nipples because they were stiff and aching to be rubbed and squeezed.

I wrapped one of those fifty-dollar towels that G had bought around me, then carried the bag into the bedroom and sat it next to the bed. I was like a kid at Christmas. I couldn’t wait no longer. I took out the smallest box, the one with the Ben Wa balls, and opened it. I held the two shiny silver balls in the palm of my hand for a hot second, then I quickly opened my legs and slipped them into my coochie.