Chapter Two
Junior Gets Out Of Jail
Melinda Robles swung her late model Honda Accord into the parking spot with a flourish. Thanks to her reckless driving, she nearly took out the side mirror of the car in the next stall over. Unapologetic, the Latin beauty didn't even bother to back up and correct her badly parked sedan. Instead, she left it angled so awkwardly that the elderly Mrs. Mathers would probably have to climb in through the passenger side if she wanted to drive anywhere in the morning.
Melinda didn't care. Mrs. Mathers was such a wrinkled old bitch anyway. The old woman was always complaining to the apartment complex's manager whenever Melinda had her stereo turned up too loud, or had too many friends over.
As a matter of fact, Melinda had arrived in such a foul mood that part of her was actually hoping the old hag would dare to creep out of her apartment and step right in front of her. Any accusation, any bad look whatsoever would be enough to provoke the twenty-one year-old's short temper. Too bad it was almost midnight, and well past Mrs. Mather's bedtime.
Melinda slammed her car door shut and started walking away before she realized she hadn't even locked it. Impatiently, she clicked away at the alarm button until she heard her car chirp, before she stalked under the sporadic amber glow of the parking lot's cheap lights. Had anyone been watching, they would have seen an attractive woman with black hair, wearing a silky black blouse and low cut, very tight blue jeans. Said observer might have been well intimidated by the deep scowl on the young woman's otherwise pleasing face. But why would Melinda be so upset?
Well, it was her boyfriend's fault. Matt was supposed to pick Melinda up after work for a date, as they'd agreed upon, but for the third time in the last couple of weeks, the asshole hadn't had the decency to show up, or to even give Melinda a courtesy call. She'd been left hanging in the wind for over an hour, like an old towel forgotten on a cheap clothesline. Everyone else that worked with her had walked by on their way home or even worse, out to party. Melinda had just been standing there on the sidewalk like some sort of idiot, smiling sheepishly at her peers while they passed her by.
And she really, really needed to see Matt that night.
You see, Melinda worked as an exotic dancer at The Pleasure Palace, a downtown strip club that catered to some of the wealthiest businessmen in the city. She danced under the stage name of Mercedes. With her voluptuous J-Lo type figure; nicely rounded B-cup breasts, a thick waist and even thicker hips, Melinda had become one of the most popular strippers in the nightclub. As if that wasn't enough, she had a set of playful brown eyes, full lips, and raven black hair that halted just past her shoulder blades. While her nose might have been less than perfect, just a tad too petite in her opinion, she had more than enough elsewhere to captivate the attention of every man, and even most of the women, that dared set foot inside the club's wide double doors.
It was enough for her to walk out of the club with well over six hundred dollars that night, while most of the other girls had been struggling their entire shift just to break one. And she'd done all of that on a pretty slow Wednesday evening, at the expense of a trio of lean and handsome, nicely attired luxury car salesmen.
Those businessmen had begun showering the voluptuous beauty with greenbacks from the moment she'd hit the stage. While they often passed on lap dances from the other girls, save for that nosy little Asian girl Kitty, the men had persisted in getting numerous private dances from Melinda. So many, in fact, that Melinda's legs were the sorest they'd been in months. Back and forth she'd shuttled those guys from their seats next to the front of the stage to the handful of secluded couches in the back. Their money kept getting siphoned out of their wallets as if Melinda was using a vacuum on high suction.
And one of them in particular, the blond haired, blue-eyed stud, had made quite an impression on her. He was a clean-shaven hunk, with a deep, delicious tan from surfing. As she'd writhed all over that man's chest and arms, she'd felt his taut muscles hiding under the thin fabric of his long-sleeved shirt. It didn't hurt that he had a smile like a young Tom Cruise, either.
He 'd managed to turn Melinda on high, and they'd both known it. So much that when she straddled his lap and started gyrating her hips on him, and his hands crept up past her thighs and firmly cupped her ass, she willfully ignored the house rules.
'You can look, but you can't touch.' Said numerous signs. They were posted all over the place.
Maybe it had been during the third or fourth private dance, when this beefcake had been brazen enough to place his fingers on Melinda's bare mound. She had obligingly widened her thighs and allowed her thick lower half to be penetrated. She'd gasped, staring into his beautiful blue eyes as she ground down sensually on the fingers, not wanting to end the risqué encounter, yet keeping vigilant on the thick red curtains separating the public tables from the private couches. How far would she have gone, if that little Asian bitch hadn't walked in that very moment with another customer in tow?
But Kitty had walked in. If there was one thing Melinda knew about Kitty, it was that she would dump her customer the second she saw something she didn't like, and head directly over to the Manager On Duty to report the infraction.
Melinda wouldn't lose her job over such an incident, as she was much too valuable to the club. But said manager might see fit to reduce her shifts for a week or two, just to let the provocative Latin stripper know who was really in charge. And of course, Melinda did have a lot of bills to pay.
From that point on, she'd kept her behavior strictly professional. This caused only a minor annoyance to the three salesmen, for they still kept showering her with cash until one of them decided to leave. And since the one that had to go was the one that had driven the trio to the club, the gorgeous blond surfer had to go as well. Too bad for him, for Melinda was feeling mighty hot and bothered by that point, and who knows how far she might have taken him if she had the chance?
Besides, she'd been pretty certain that Matt was going to be there to pick her up. While she waited, Melinda thought of all sorts of ways in which she could expend her sexual appetite with her boyfriend. And maybe while they were tussling about on the bed, Melinda could close her eyes and pretend it was the blond stud that she was about to give an incredible blowjob to. Who but Melinda would know what was really going through her head? But Mr. Asshole Matt hadn't shown up, and as a direct result, in her thoughts she'd cursed him like a sailor for the entire drive home.
Melinda took a determined stroll away from the complex's parking area and walked over to the mailbox lockers. She pulled out a handful of credit card bills from her box, realized what they were, and just as quickly shoved them back inside. She would get them some other time, she decided, doing an about face and starting the short walk toward her apartment.
Melinda seductively sauntered around the centralized swimming pool, disappointed that none of her male neighbors were around to check out her meaty ass swaying about in her tight jeans. There were one or two tenants she might have been tempted to invite into her apartment, as revenge against Matt for having stood her up. Alas, on this occasion it was not to be. She'd been abandoned on all fronts.
Dismayed at having to spend the night alone, Melinda rounded the final corner to her place and came in view of her front window. She was surprised to see that the living room light was on, and there were flashes that could only be coming from her big screen TV. Nobody was supposed to be in her apartment, not even Matt, as she was the only person with the key to the front door. Melinda crept a little closer, realizing that the TV was blaring loud enough to cover her actions. Stealthily, she unlocked the entryway and started sliding it open.
Through the widening crack, she could see her nineteen year-old brother Junior, lying carelessly on her plush couch. He was facing away from Melinda, on his back, his full attention engrossed on the car chase scene playing out on the screen.
Barely able to control her rising anger at his unauthorized entry, Melinda shut the door as quietly as she'd opened it and made her way towards the end of couch. That's when she let her boiling tempest loose.
"What the hell are you doing in my apartment, you little shit!" She screamed out loud.
