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  • Writer's picturethejsingraham

Everyday is Mother's Day

Updated: May 14, 2023

What's better than getting to do absolutely nothing on Mother's Day, being gifted the opportunity to do so much more.


The sun shone through the bay windows, bathing the lower level of the Annapolis, MD townhome in a sea of light. Outside the breeze blowing in off the Chesapeake was pleasant for a change and the weather had finally decided to resemble the part of Spring that ran away from the bastard remnants of Winter.

Today was absolutely shaping up to be the perfect day to play hooky from the office. Now if only the woman of the house was allowed to relax and do whatever she wanted with the day.

“Ms. Grey, your basement is complete. I just have a few more shelves to go grab from the truck and then you can go take a look at the new organizational system I installed.”

“Awesome!” The woman’s voice deadpanned from the kitchen. “I can’t wait to see it. Thank you, Mr. Jerome.”

On the surface, the woman who walked out of the kitchen with a bowl of diced pineapples, grapes, honeydew, and melon, knew that she probably sounded ungrateful. Deep down though, as her front door closed behind the man who was all of five-foot-five, round, and talked in frenetic bursts–she actually was excited and thankful. Having her basement remodeled was something she had been wanting to do for some time now.

Extremely thoughtful gift. But time alone is something I so rarely get.

Tameka Grey was the Director of Policy Analysis, for a nonprofit in Washington, DC. The single mother of two, regularly worked long hours that included comp and overtime, to provide the type of life she wanted for her and her kids. This is why it took a Herculean effort by her best friends, Brianna and Nona, to convince her to tack on a couple of days to Mother’s Day weekend.

Send them kids away, shit. Relax, you deserve it, they said.

Really? Well if that‘s the case why did you two decide to send me a mother’s day gift that required me to put on a damn bra on my last day off?

The knock at the door was strong and rhythmic, but she didn’t pay too much attention to it, since Mr. Jerome had just gone back out to his truck.

“Come on in,” she called out, standing in front of her TV. Her attention locked into finding something to watch on Netflix.

“Ms. Grey? Are you ready for the big reveal?”

The piece of pineapple that was resting on her bottom lip fell back into the bowl at the sound of the man’s voice behind her. Whomever this was, he did not possess the older, more excitable tone of Mr. Jerome.

This voice was rich, yet had an edge to it. It possessed the kind of tone that belonged to a man who was familiar with the pre-gentrified DC or Prince George’s County. Someone who either navigated or ran the streets when he was younger, but matured some as he grew up.

For some reason the stranger’s presence didn’t alarm or make her uneasy, instead, a sort of odd curiosity caused her tongue to ease across the back of her teeth. When she turned, their eyes didn’t meet at first because he was unabashedly admiring the gold Glamourina leggings that she was painted in. Or better yet, the curves they showed off so mercilessly.

Once his perusal crawled up her thighs and eased across the swell of her breasts under a white Bowie State University t-shirt, they locked eyes briefly before she forced herself to look away.

His eyes looked like the perfect smoke session. They were hazy, flirty, and daring. The kind that made you smile uncomfortably, because all they made you think about was lying down and letting whatever the fuck was going to happen next…happen.

After breaking eye contact with the man, Tameka’s eyes flitted across his body and landed at his side. He did in fact have the shelves that Mr. Jerome mentioned going to get. Five of them. All in one hand.

Fuck, she thought before making eye contact again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” she said. “Mr. Jerome did all of the work downstairs by himself. And, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I don’t know you.”

“My bad miss lady. I’m Vic. Last name Tyler. You wanna see my birth certificate? Yearbook photo? Library card?”

“Okay smartass,” she smiled reluctantly. “Let’s just get this over so I can get on with my day. The basement is through that door on the right. And don’t be trying to upsell me on anything either. My homegirls paid for the only thing I plan on getting.”

He laughed at this, but those sleepy eyes of his didn’t.

“That’s why I'm here…to make sure you get what they paid for.”

Vic turned and headed through the open door, down into Tameka’s basement, but not before she could finish her appraisal of the man. He was a big guy. At least six feet maybe an inch or so taller, all shoulders and chest, making a non-fitted tee stretch across his frame. His skin was a deep dark brown, the true color of vanilla, not the revisionist hue they try to make us believe. He was pigeon-toed and bow-legged, a combination at least partly responsible for the first time she got pregnant sixteen years ago.

Not quite a teddy bear like her ex, but definitely not one of the ultra-toned, overly muscular types that kept running across her path currently. All things being equal, there was just something about the energy he gave off that was magnetic in a dangerous way.

You do not know this man. He is here to do work, nothing more.

She moved to the window and looked through the blinds, to see that Mr. Jerome’s truck was gone, which made her pause for a beat. Over on the entry table, was an invoice from the company with a zero balance. In the comments section at the bottom right-hand corner was a note that read…

We do hope you enjoy your new organizational system.
Your additional servicing has also been paid for in full.

The fuck? Additional servicing?

Downstairs, Tameka almost thought she had walked into someone else's home. The smaller space somehow looked bigger. Her furniture had been rearranged in a way that brought a clear direction to the space, with a focal point around the fifty-five inch TV now mounted on the wall, and the new organizational unit that was opposite it. There were split wine racks on either side separating whites from reds. A variety of drawers, that when she opened them held everything from her art supplies, to neatly folded lightweight throws, to USB chords.

She even noticed a number of pictures that she had forgotten she had printed, were framed and laid out on the new unit. Bri and Nona had to have given this man strict instructions because this is too perfect.

With her phone in her hand, she jumped into the group chat to rave to her girls about the amazing job the older man had done, when Vic appeared from around the corner. She had been so impressed by the newly configured space, that she forgot the man went downstairs ahead of her.

“So, whatchu think?”

There was absolutely nothing professional about the way the man spoke, which was bad because his tone was jarring. They were at least twenty or so feet away from one another, but his words invaded her space in the best and worst possible way. Thank goodness for a little distance. Because even though she didn’t show it outwardly, his words made her jump internally in a way that sent mixed messages to her body.

“Uh…I love it to be honest. Your company did great work.”

The grin he showed her upstairs returned at this remark, but when he looked down to the floor and then back up, there was an almost impish look on his features.

“Ms. Grey, I don’t work with Paradise Organizers, but we were contracted by the same people. Brianna Rogers and Nona Hill?”

She just stared at him blankly.

“Okay, so…why are you here then?”

“I was paid to make the smile on your face, from this,” he gestured toward the new wall unit, “stretch a little wider. In whatever way you choose.”

This made her cross her arms and shift her weight to her back foot.

“Sir! Quit playing with me. Ain’t no way my girls bought me no dick for Mother’s Day.”

As soon as the words left her mouth she thought back to the gift that she and Brianna went in on, for Nona on Mother's Day two years ago. I'll be John Brown. These heiffas!

Vic’s head dropped back and a throaty laugh leaped from him that filled the room. The smile that followed was genuine and she hated the way that it stirred up something inside of her.

“You’re right. They did not buy you dick for Mother’s Day, because there's no way you have a problem getting that. They said as much,” he said, slowly stalking in her direction, peeling his tee off. “They bought you whatever you want for Mother’s Day because you deserve it.”

Tameka swallowed hard at the sight of the man coming her way. With his shirt off, she could clearly see what looked like the top of a Washington, DC cityscape tattoo peeking out from behind his ribbed tank—the ink ran across his chest, reaching from shoulder to shoulder.

Up close, Vic was a solid wall of a man that looked like he stepped out of a time machine. Nothing about him was pretty or overly manicured. The man had a raw, rugged sex appeal that was undeniable. Underneath those sleepy, puppy dog eyes of his, were a wide nose, full lips, and a face full of stubble that seemed to fit his overall aesthetic.

He smelled of eucalyptus mint and lavender sage, a fragrance pairing she had never experienced on a man before, but she found mouth-watering nonetheless.

Gone from him now was all of the quick-witted, playful energy that existed a moment before. In its place, a carnal urge to be on top, underneath, behind, and inside of her took up residence. And being as close to her now as he was, was both a gift and a curse. The benefit was being able to admire her curves up close. The negative, if you could call it that, was the wavering of his resolve.

He was close enough to breathe in, touch, and bend over the oxygen, thoughts, or anything else of hers she granted him access to. But nothing could be acted on unless she granted him access.

"Whatever I want huh,” she asked curiously. “So, if I wanted a massage, could you take care of that?"

He held up his big hands, palms facing her. Clapping one time, thunderously, he grabbed either side of her waist, allowing strong fingers to press into her back as he alternated pressing each digit into her muscles as though he were playing a brooding melody on a saxophone. Her body threatened to go limp under his grip.

"Okay, okay. Let’s say I wanted you to strip…"

"Then I'd ask if you wanted me to strip or if you wanted me to strip you, naked."

“This has to be a fucking gag because ain't no way,” she said under her breath before shaking her head. “You know what? Alright, fuck it. So if I told you I wanted you to eat me out…”

The look on her face was one of triumph like she had found her gotcha moment.

He merely grinned a devilish grin in return.

“Then I’d ask if you wanted me to do it for your or my pleasure?”

“The difference?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

“The time put in. If it’s for you, then it’s all about you cumming and cumming hard in any position you choose. But if it’s for me…” he chanced, playing with the hem of her tee, lifting it enough to allow his fingers to find the top of her waistband.

She shuddered at his touch, but a muffled ‘shit’ around a bit bottom lip provided the consent he sought.

“...if it’s for me, you are most certainly going to cum, but imma take my time with it. Painstakingly slow pressure from fingers and tongue penetrating your pussy until it’s time to push you over the edge.”


Vic grinned at the way she drug out the word and the way that her body seemed to be completely relaxed now. The apprehension that had been tugging at her seemed to be melting away in real-time. But he knew how to completely wash it away if any chance of moving forward were to exist.

He dug in his back pocket and pulled out his phone. After a few clicks, he pulled up the email he received from her girl Nona’s address that had Brianna cc’d on it. Then he pulled up the request form that showed her name and address. Happy Mother’s Day was in the reference column. All-Inclusive was found in the column marked description of services.

Putting his phone away, Vic allowed his fingers to glide up Tameka’s sides and over her breasts, using the pads of his thumbs to move back and forth against hardening nipples that were announcing themselves through her bra. Tracing the neckline of her tee, his fingers moved from her collarbone to the base of her neck. Her eyes closed at the anticipation his fingertips painted across her flesh before they encircled it with ease and moved upward--sending sparks firing across her frontal lobe.

Then his body pressed against hers and every pipe laying, rod hanging, hammer swinging joke imaginable was pressed in-between her thighs all at once.

She moaned again, but harsher as he added to the sensation by losing his hands inside of her thick mane. He began massaging her scalp, before grabbing two handfuls and pulling back suddenly.

Tameka didn’t even recognize the whimper that spilled from her lips. She fought to regain some semblance of composure, but closing her eyes tighter was all she could muster. The sudden aggression of his movements had caught her completely off-guard.

“Damn real–...” she tried to say before she was cut off abruptly.

Licking up the side of her neck, he kissed her cheek, nipped at her earlobe then whispered in her ear…

“Imma make this real easy for you Ms. Grey. I can put my shirt back on right now and wish you a Happy Mother’s Day, and walk out of here without another word. Or…I can strip these clothes off of you, lay down on that day bed around the corner and set your pussy on my face. And when your body says you’re done I can give you all of the dick that’s been chosen for you to enjoy and then some.”

The man's voice dripped a lust in her ear, that fully turned the faucet on between her thighs. She was wet the minute he pressed himself against her and started massaging her scalp.


“Shit! Like that? And you won’t get weird about things afterward? This is too good to be true.”

He removed his hands from her hair, unfastened his belt, unbuttoned, and unzipped his jeans, and eased them down over his hips. Rolling his boxers down slightly, Vic slid one of her hands inside, wrapped it around what felt like an impossibly hard dick, and pulled it out.

“That’s the idea. That’s why I decided to call my company, Perks. Inches upon inches of satisfaction, with zero hassle.”

“Yeah, I'm most definitely going to kill these bitches later. But hell, what do I look like refusing a gift on Mother’s Day.”

She looked down at the present in her hands and stared appreciatively.

Mmmmph! Yeah, so that daybed ain’t gonna do though. Follow me...”

Tameka turned and walked toward the stairs, with Vic on her heels.

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