Mastering the art of seduction has it's perks. The names have been changed for
obvious reasons.

Chapter Two

"I wanna fuck this bitch." It was said in monotone, but by the scowl on his face he
could have just as easily meant," I want to kill this bitch." Smiling back at us from
the television was the daughter of one the top televangelist in the country.

"I don't know, Ricky. You see that little paunch? Looks like she just recently had a
kid. That makes it tough." I was trying to find a way to back out of this. This
girl - and she was still thought of as a girl - had grown up the sweetheart of the
Bible Belt. I wanted no part of this.

"You don't understand. I gotta have this bitch!" He was right, I didn't understand.
Pussy has never made me rage like this. I just couldn't see it. Jennifer Welsh was
a beautiful woman, but it was a wholesome, Kate Winslet kind of beautiful. She was
frumpy by comparison to the smoking hot supermodels throwing themselves at Ricky.
Why was he fixating on her? I was getting a bad vibe about this.

"Why her, Ricky? She's a bible thumper. They make really lousy lays."

"I don't give a fuck!" The intensity in his eyes gave me the creeps. "Are you gonna do
this for me or not, man?


"I'll help you, Ricky. But this is a longshot. Like I said, she just had a kid."
He wouldn't turn his attention from the television. Jennifer was preaching on the
importance of chastity and abstinence to some teenagers at a camp meeting. Ricky's
breathing was getting heavier. Was he working up to a jerk session? I took another
quick look at the towel around his waist. I wasn't staying a second longer than I
had to.

I rose to my feet and said,"I'll see you tomorrow, Ricky." He didn't reply or even
look up.

I was happy to get back to my room. I felt as if I'd just climbed out of a sewer
and was once again breathing fresh air. What I needed was a long hot shower. This
had been mistake. I don't know why I agreed to help Ricky. Maybe I felt I owed it
to him for the mini vacation. Or Maybe it was my ego and the need to prove I was
worthy of my reputation. It no longer mattered. I was in it now. I turned down the
bed and slid between the cool sheets. The mattress was the most comfortable I've
ever been on in my life.

Everything faded to black.


*****************************************************************************

"You need Jesus, Ricky!" I had a great time at All-Star Weekend, orgy notwithstand-
ing. But my little vacation was over. Now I was butting heads with Ricky, trying
to persuade him to buy into my plan.

"I ain't joining no damn church to fuck this bitch! Man, I heard you were somethin',
but you ain't showing me shit." He jumped up out of his easy chair and stood over
me and hissed, "You're gonna deliver what you promised me, goddammit!" Did he
think he could intimidate me?

I sprung quickly from the couch and got into his chest. I hated straining my neck
to look up at him but I wanted him to look into my eyes. I wanted him to see I was
a hair's breadth away from putting my foot in his ass.

"I didn't promise you anything, jack, except my help. This is me helping you. You
do it my way, or you chase this bitch on your own!"

He stood there huffing and puffing but I knew the last thing he wanted to do was
trade blows with me. I've seen these guys fight. Catfights draw more blood.

"Naw, man, it's cool. I'm just trippin'. It's just this bitch got me wound so
tight."

"Make the call, Ricky." Pastor Welsh hosted a Wednesday night program with his
daughter, Jennifer, covering a variety of topics. At the end of the program he
always gave the "invitation" and the camera would pan wide to a phone bank of
volunteers who were "standing by to take your call!"

As Ricky dialed, I handed him the script I had typed. I told him to follow it to
the letter.

"Hello. Yeah my name is Ricky. I need to speak to Jennifer. Yeah, I know, but
that's why I'm calling...Look just tell her it's Ricky Jackson. If she won't
come to the phone, that's fine."


Ricky was practically hyperventilating while he waited."It's gonna be okay, man.
Just stick to the script," I said. After a couple of minutes, he snapped to
attention.

"Reverend Welsh?...Okay, Jennifer." First name basis. That was a good sign. "I
can't talk to anyone else about this but you. I know you know what it's like
living in a fishbowl."

The nervousness in Ricky's voice was really selling this. But he wasn't faking
it. What was it about this woman that was getting to Ricky?

"I'm just so confused and tongue tied now. Look, you think I could just write to
you? This would be so much easier if I could compose my thoughts and put them on
paper."


"Thank you, Jennifer."

******************************************************************************

Ricky had done his job; now it was time to do mine. It wasn't going to be easy.
Jennifer Welsh was a white, married, southern, christian woman with a public
ministry built on sexual propiety. Ricky Jackson was a black man. And this was in
the nineteen eighties. Even porn stars avoided fucking black men until they were
in the tail end of their career.

I decided my only play was to offer Jennifer a discrete bite of the forbidden
fruit. One thing I know about these southern belles: they suckle Gone With The
Wind fantasies and the fear of black men from their mothers' tits. Particularly
the latter. It's drilled into them that black men are super endowed beasts after
only one thing: "God's precious little gift." A proper southern lady needed to
be vigilent in guarding this hallowed temple.


But the taboo often has the opposite affect. Big Black Buck fantasies are as
common as walnuts in the south.. As soon as the little darlings are old enough
to lubricate they're having dreams of "God's precious little gift" getting
beastly poundings.

I had Ricky buy some expensive stationary. I would pen the letters and have him
copy them on the stationary. For added affect I picked out a cologne with a
strong masculine fragance, had Ricky rub it on his hands before writing.

****************************************************************************

It took a little time but Ricky finally started to loosen up after he saw the
affect the letters were having on Jennifer. But he was growing inpatient to meet
her in person. I told him he wasn't ready. But he was insistent.

"Why don't you just come over after work. I'll order some takeout. I just need for
you to explain to me why you think I'm not ready."

"Okay, Ricky." Anything to get him to stop pestering me.

****************************************************************************

Rush hour traffic on Pacific Coast Highway was murder. I took me forty minutes
longer than usual to reach Ricky's house.

"You're late!" I was already irritable about the traffic. His barking at me made
me want to turn around and go home.

"We didn't agree on a time Ricky. I came straight from work. You know what? Maybe
we better do this another time."

"No.No. Come on in." Bucket was standing just inside the door. I didn't even bother
asking why he was there.

"She's here!" There was alarm in Bucket's voice.


"Who's here?" I asked. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Show him the way, Bucket." Bucket grabbed me by the elbow and started ushering
me back to Ricky's bedroom. I was too weary to fight the undertow of confusion.
Before I knew it, I was standing in an unfinished closet. It was heavy with the
smell of drywall and sanded spackle. Bucket grabbed two folding chairs and I
watched as he placed them side by side. The door to the closet was automatically
closing on us.

"Bucket, what the - "

"Shhh." Bucket put his forefinger to his lips before pointing toward the bedroom.
We were behind a two-way mirror. I watched in disbelief as Ricky stumbled into
the room with a brunette, the two of them all over each other like dogs in heat.
When she turned to take off her blouse, my heart started to beat through my
chest.

It was Jennifer!