Sept motown book club feature: http://wp.me/po7CM-vp #mbc #motownlit #eomlit
When spring finally arrives in Michigan it is quite beautiful. I was able to wear my favorite white linen pants and a white crocheted halter top. I slid on my silver sandals with the rhinestones to set it off. My toes were freshly polished and my heels scrubbed –ready for the season. I picked up my phone before walking out the door, but stopped dead in my tracks when I saw a message from Quatrina Brantley.
I placed my purse on the table, sat down and began reading.
You don’t know me, but apparently you are familiar with my husband. I know you know he has a wife, so I’m not sure why you are choosing to keep communicating with him. But I’m coming to you woman to woman when I say STAY AWAY FROM MY MAN!!!! I saw the comment you left on one of the pics on his page. He is my man, not yours. Consider this your warning. I know you’re probably thinking that I should check him instead of you, but believe me, he’s getting his too. Don’t you worry about that. If I have to say anything else to you, I will be contacting your husband. And yes, I have been doing my research. Don’t mess with me.
I’m not the one!
My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Threatening to tell my husband because of a simple comment on a page? I was done with Kenzu. I was done with it all. I couldn’t risk my husband finding out and jeopardize losing my family.
The day proceeded like normal, aside from not having received any calls or messages from Kenzu. The day moved in slow motion. I completed tasks with no sense of hurry. I scrawled on random pieces of paper until it was time to punch out. Why was I tripping over a dude that I barely knew? And, not only that, a dude that wasn’t even mine? I guess it was because of the fantasy it provided. A form of escapism. He would speak to me in a way that put all my troubles at ease. He knew what to say and when to say it. Whenever I was sad, he would cheer me up with personal poems. Oftentimes when I’d get off work there would be a bag on my windshield full of my favorite things. He was considerate like that.
I had gotten the girls off to bed and was watching television and periodically checking my phone. Still nothing. Because I was shaken up by the message I had received earlier, I didn’t dare message or call him. I needed to talk to him. I needed to find out what happened and why/how his wife singled me out. The moment I put the phone down I got an alert in Yahoo Messenger.
Kenzu4u has requested to be your friend. Accept or Ignore.
I clicked “accept” and was immediately bombarded with apologies.
“My Queen. I am so sorry. Hw r u”
“I’m ok. Wht happnd?”
“my wife hacked n2 my acct. read all the messages we sent’
“WTF?!?! Hw did she do tht”
“idk I just knw she came 2 me w/pgs of our convo printd out. R u upset w/me”
“uh, yea. I’m disappointd. Ur supposd 2 b careful. U dnt c my hubby goin ‘round threatening u”
“I’m sry bay. Thts y I creatd ths new acct. she doesn’t knw abt this 1. its jst 4 u”
My anger subsided. His words were genuine. I trusted that it was lapse in judgment and that he wouldn’t allow it to happen again.
“so r yall ok now”
“as alright as we gon b. she said she’s leavn but I knw she aint”
“do u wnt her 2?”
“u knw wht, it wouldn’t even mattr 2 me. Like I told u b4 I shouldn’t hav gottn married n the 1st place. But I dnt wanna talk abt her. Lts talk abt u”
“ok. Wht abt”
“I want U”
A smile crossed my face and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
“hw do u wnt me”
“I want 2 make passionate luv 2 u. I want 2 kiss and lick u all over. I want 2 place ur breasts n my mouth and gently suck and lick on ur nipples. I want 2 slurp ur pussy juices and have em drip all over my face. I wanna feel ur body shiver so hard that ur thighs will have my head tightly pressed into that pussy”
“is tht 2 much 4 u”
“hell no. do u knw wht I wanna do 2 u”
“please tell me”
“I’m gonna stroke u up and down until ur hard as a rock. Then I’m gonna take u n my mouth and just when ur about 2 cum I’m gonna jump on that dick and ride it like never before until u moan and scream my name. Then we’re gonna lay there, our bodies stuck 2gether by cum and sweat. I kiss ur cheek, then ur neck. U become aroused again. U lift my hips up and onto ur dick, guiding me up and down. then we do it again and again and again. Can u handle that?”
“I want u so bad right now. See?”
Picture sharing started that night. When the file finished downloading, I clicked preview and there it was. A big, black, hard penis plastered the screen like wallpaper. Next came a video of him stroking that big, black, hard penis until he released himself. I felt the stickiness in my panties. I hadn’t felt this way in years. I was aroused by a man who I had never met, just chatted and talked with for the past few months.
“Did u get the pics?” he asked.
“o yea. And the video 2”
“did u like em”
“of course. U got me wet over here”
“4 real? Wht r u gone do abt it”
“play w/myself & thnk of u”
“o shit. I wanna c. will u send me a vid”
“uh, I dnt knw abt tht.”
“y? becz of my wife? I told u she doesn’t knw abt this acct. trust me baby”
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Fortunately I had the luxury of doing absolutely nothing at my job and still got paid for it. My boss was never in, so I didn’t have anyone breathing down my neck. Because my schedule was so regimented, the home page on my job’s computer was set to Facebook. I signed in, checked my messages, then surfed to see if anyone was online worth chatting with early in the morning.
Not seeing anyone worthy of chatting with, I minimized the window and checked my personal emails. I heard a chime, notifying me that someone had spotted me on FB and wanted to chat. It was him.
“Good morning Queen. How are you this wonderful morning?”
I smiled before typing in my response. As the weeks had gone on I must admit, I looked forward to receiving messages from him. They brightened up my day. They gave me the excitement I needed to break up the monotony of my daily routine. His messages always did that. It’s as if I could hear each word as he’d type, though I’ve never heard his voice.
“Hi there. I have no complaints. U?”
“None here either. Glad to be on the sunny side of the dirt”
“Now that’s funny.”
“Well, I just wanted 2 say hello. I’ll IM u on messenger when I get the chance.”
I perused through a few people’s pages, reading their info, checking out their pictures, looking at our mutual friends and their friends. Reading folks’ statuses gave me an idea of that person’s personality, their sense of humor, whether or not they were conservative, religious, outspoken, creative, crass, among other things. I went to Kenzu’s page and noticed he posted a new profile pic. My comment landed toward the end of the page. This was a very sexy picture of him. So I decided to follow suit and tell him so by simply posting “Very nice pic.” A few very short seconds later, I got notification that he “liked” my response.
I was sitting in the lobby of the girls’ musical class when I decided to take initiative. I scrolled over to the Instant Messaging folder then clicked on Yahoo. Up until this point, I had waited for him to let me know when he was ready to chat. This time I was ready.
“Hey!” I typed with confidence.
As soon as I hit ENTER I got nervous. Not really sure why, though. I mean, what could possibly happen through the phone? I scanned the room, looked at the clock on the wall, then at my phone. It seemed I did this about 100 times before he responded.
“Hey Queen. I was just thinking about u”
I exhaled. My heart started beating at its normal pace again. “O yea? Wht abt?”
“Ur attentiveness, ur compassion, ur beautiful smile”
“LOL. Wht r u doin”
“@ the girls’ practice.”
“OK. I was thinkn abt sumthn”
“uh oh. Don’t make ur brain explode”
“aaahhhhh! U got jokes, huh? LOL”
“naw, j/k. wassup”
“we been chattn 4 a couple mnths nw. was thnkn we could talk sumtimes. 313-555-2754”
“uhh, r u sure abt tht”
“I couldn’t b more sure”
I knew that I wasn’t going to be the first to call. So I gave him my number.
At work the next morning, I was removing my hat and gloves and hanging up my coat when I heard my cell phone vibrating and sliding across the desk. I ran over and quickly answered it.
“Hello,” I said almost out of breath.
“Good morning, Queen,” said the smooth, baritone voice on the other end.
It was just as I had imagined, if not better. Goose pimples covered my flesh. I felt my nectar stirring. I had drifted off to a place where it was just him and me. Touching, kissing and caressing all day.
“Hey you. How are you?”
“Much better now!”
This warmed my heart. I could feel the happiness in his voice.
“Aww. I’m glad you called. Now I can put the name and face with the sexy voice.”
“Now I’m blushing,” he said as he chuckled.
“Well, I’m only speaking the truth.”
“That’s sweet. So did you make it to work?”
“Yeah, I just got here when you called.”
“I’m sorry. You can call me back once you get settled.”
“No. No. I’ve been waiting for this moment. I’m good.”
Throughout that day we alternated between phone calls and messaging. Our days were consumed with communicating with each other by some means. He would either call in the mornings on his way to work or whenever his wife wasn’t around. I did not call often but when I did, it wouldn’t be without messaging and asking permission first.
He and his wife met when he delivered a package to the office where she worked. He was thirty-two years old and figured he’d better settle down soon before it was too late. Her body was rounder than what he was used to dating, but he was enamored by her fully fat backside.
When she signed for the package, he asked her to write her number down, too. He would soon find out that she was a church girl and saving herself. Within six months, they were married. He got some honeymoon head and thought they were headed down the right path, until the revelation.
He confided in me that she was into only oral sex, and when he tried to get creative she would scold and chastise him for wanting it any other way, often calling him a “freak.” Included in her list of stipulations was that they do “it” in complete darkness. Over the past few years she had gained a substantial amount of weight and had become self-conscious. Kenzu said that he was unaware of any of this prior to getting married. He said they would have phone sex almost every night when they were dating. She talked about all the things she was going to do to him after they tied the knot. When she didn’t uphold her end of the deal, he turned to other outlets.
“What about missionary?” I asked him during one of our many phone conversations.
“Nope. No penetration whatsoever.” He affirmed.
“WOW! That’s messed up.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well is it only about the sex? I mean, do y’all get along otherwise?”
“I try to, but we really don’t have nothing in common. We don’t like the same foods, watch the same shows, have the same taste in music. Nothing.”
“Hmm. Have y’all talked about separating?”
“I talk about it all the time. But then she makes me feel bad and starts crying, talking ‘bout all I care about is sex and how I don’t love her…yada yada.”
“Do you love her?”
“Of course I do. I just don’t think she’s the person for me.”
“Well you gotta do something. Maybe you should try counseling.” I suggested, trying to remain as objective as possible.
“I am doing something; I’m getting to know you.”
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HAPPY FRIDAY! What r ur plans for the weekend? Me? Goin 2 a bday dinner, white party, & a BBQ…B safe & get urs!!! #tgif
She was always known as the dark-skinned one with the body, never as the cute one, like her best friend. She overcompensated by wearing tight clothes that accentuated her ass and breasts. Her promiscuity kept her mother at the drug store buying antibiotics. Though her best friend was light-skinned and much prettier, she often teased her about not having the “bomb body” that boys “really” liked.
“Damn yo ass flat as hell,” Destinee would say only every five minutes.
“And? So what. I don’t have a problem getting niggas, so shut the fuck up,” her bff Tracy retorted.
“You still my girl though,” said Destinee trying to cushion the defamatory blow.
Conversations like these carried on from the time they were 13 years old well into their late twenties. Destinee got pregnant her senior year of high school and dropped out. Tracy graduated from high school then ultimately college. Destinee became a welfare recipient while Tracy became the supervisor at the Department of Human Services where she oversaw the welfare of children and their development. Their lives continued down completely separate paths, but there was something that kept bringing them together. As Tracy grew mentally, spiritually into adulthood, Destinee remained stagnant.
She wasn’t always this way. She had dreams of becoming a beautician and owning her own salon. She got a lot of practice on the neighborhood kids. She was more artsy, creative while Tracy was more practical, business savvy.
“When I open up my shop, you can be the manager or some shit like that,” said Destinee.
Tracy rested her chin in the nook between her thumb and index finger.
“Hmmm, that’s not a bad idea,” she said as she daydreamed.
Three kids and five years later, Destinee was showing no signs toward advancing.
“Damn bitch. Every time I turn around you pregnant. Can you say CONDOMS,” Tracy said jokingly though she was serious.
Destinee had one of the heartiest laughs. It started from the pit of her stomach and traveled up and through every passage in her body. You could witness this happening because her body would convulse as her shoulders bounced up and down. She had the kind of laugh that automatically made those around her follow suit.
“Fuck you. You always talking shit,” Destinee said as she inhaled weed smoke then went into a coughing spell.
Tracy and Destinee sat at the round kitchen table for hours, smoking blunts and getting tipsy. Whenever her kids would come into the kitchen she’d yell at them as if they had entered a private area of the house.
“Get y’all motherfucking asses out of here,” she yelled while managing to keep her teeth clinched.
“But we hungry,” said one of the little ones.
“Y’all a’int hungry. Y’all just ate. Go your greedy ass back in your room and shut the door.”
So this is what it feels like. I’ve heard it said plenty of times. Even heard an array of songs about it, but can’t say that I’ve ever experienced it. Matter of fact, I’m sure I’ve never experienced it. Remember when we would sit in my car for hours listening to Maxwell’s Urban Hang Suite. We were so young, and in love. But our current situations didn’t allow for us to explore the way we had wished. You taught me so much, especially appreciation for music. You love music. It became the core of our relationship. We’d go to concerts that only “grown folks” would go to. Who listens to jazz music when they’re 20 years old anyway?
Six years earlier you lost your virginity to me. Though I didn’t know it at the time, I realized it later through our years of trying to make us work. I was special to you and I always felt that. You were the second guy I gave it up to, but my first true love. Realistically, that first guy shouldn’t count on the strength that he meant absolutely nothing to me.
Remember how we would find the craziest places to make love? In the car, school parking lots after dark. Even then you were a gentleman. Never treating me like a random fling. We sacrificed to be with each other. I must admit I was crushed when I found out that you’d been lying to me. Sure, I knew you were living with your baby momma, but you had convinced me y’all were over, not intimate whatsoever. Until the day I called your house and she answered. You didn’t know that I had written the number down a time before when you forgot to *67. I kept it handy just in case.
She informed me that y’all were still a couple and often wondered where you spent most of your nights when you had two small kids at home. She even admitted that she suspected it was me because you’d randomly and casually mention my name as your “first. “ She never thought anything of it until your disappearing acts. It was then she remembered you telling her that you had run into me at the bar a while back, and then she connected the dots. She talked to me woman to woman. She didn’t trip, raise her voice, curse, nothing. As a matter of fact, she was the complete opposite of the depiction you painted of her. After our conversation, I felt terrible for having allowed myself to fall in love with you once again when you already had a family. I told her that our affair ends now, and it did.
Later on that night, you and I had plans to link up after we left the club. I made up an excuse as to why we shouldn’t, though I did keep our arrangement of meeting at the club, as if I hadn’t spoken with your live-in hours prior. I was convinced that after we left and went our separate ways, we wouldn’t speak for a while, if ever again. And I was right.
It was 3 a.m. I timed it perfectly. I knew approximately how long it would take you to make it home. I lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling, awaiting your phone call. Prepared for the worst. When my phone rang I didn’t hesitate to answer. I was ready for the tongue-lashing.
“What the fuck you doing calling my house,” you screamed through the phone.
Up until then you’d never called me out my name let alone cursed at me. I remained calm and answered all your questions. The nine years we knew each other I had yet to witness this side of you. The love oozed from my heart as you pierced it with every expletive known to man.
“Why didn’t you just tell me you were still with her,” I pleaded.
Two years later we were reunited. Things were good for a while then eventually soured. I moved out of state for two years, with no contact with you at all. Five years lapsed and, that’s right, our planets aligned and we were brought back together again. This is it. For real. You were a changed man –for the better. You had found God and were walking in the right direction. You were done playing games. You were ready to settle down and start a second family – so you’d say. We spent countless hours together, but you still wouldn’t fully commit. We’d fall asleep, our bodies entangled, savoring every moment, and in the wee hours of the night, you’d up and leave. “Gotta be home in the morning before my kids wake up,” you would say. I respected that because you are a magnificent father and should be home. But I couldn’t help but want you for my own. I could no longer compromise my love and wanting to bear your last name while in exchange I’d get some hours of your time followed by days without hearing a word from you. So I ended it – again!
Three years later, our kids are teenagers. You were for real done with your kids’ mother. Your faith was still going strong. You were quoting Bible passages and even thinking about becoming a minister. This was it. I’m single. You’re single. Let’s do this.
“You remember that fling I had a couple of months ago? Um, about that…I’m pregnant,” I admitted. I called you and asked if we could meet so that I could share the unsettling news. I knew for sure that’d you want to kick me to the curb after hearing what I had to say. But you didn’t. You still wanted to be with me even though I was carrying someone else’s child. “We are soulmates.” That’s what we believed. Even your daughter said your face lights up and you giggle like a school boy whenever we’re on the phone with each other. “You don’t do that with anybody else daddy.”
I thought it would be easy for me to kick my unborn child’s father to the curb and be with you. We’ve been doing this thang since we were 14 years old. We’re 30 years old now and definitely know better and know what we want, which is each other. We are in sync. We vibe. We connect. We mesh. We flow.
Now that the shoe is on the other foot, I understand your pain when I decided to marry the father of my child, knowing we were polar opposites.
Five years later I get word that you’re getting married. My heart skipped a beat, and I lost my breath. You’ve wanted this for years. We’ve been out of contact for the past few months because you could no longer cope with just being my “friend.” “You are my woman. You should be my wife,” you exclaimed. My heart would hurt every time you’d say that because I felt your words. So when I heard that you are due to marry someone I know isn’t for you, thus comes my pain. Hello pot, meet kettle. I tried to mask my feelings and show my happiness for you but I’m having a difficult time doing so. Of course, I want you to be happy because you truly deserve it, but I can’t help but feel brokenhearted. Just know that I will always love you and you’re the only one who mates with my soul.
Never the right time
Raven and I had been partying all day. The spring air was crisp, making for a perfect night. Memorial Day weekend was always an exciting time in Detroit. There were art fairs, festivals, and numerous activities to partake in. We started off our day early by going to the African-American festival.
“Nya, I cannot believe you spent so much money on those pictures,” Raven said to me.
“Girl, I love art, especially this piece,” I said unashamedly.
Raven had just purchased a painting of a shirtless black man with dread locks that hung down past his shoulders. His head looked toward the heavens as he stood with his arms outstretched beneath an array of earth-tone hues from the heavenly sky. In addition to purchasing a few pieces of art, I bought jewelry, shea butter, and body oils.
After we left the festival we walked the streets of Greektown. We followed the sounds of a live jazz band to the Pegasus Tavern. I walked in and immediately strutted to the dance floor. My 5’ 8” frame melted and blended to the sounds of every beat. All those years running track in elementary and high school paid off; my lean, muscular physique was apparent in my crocheted halter top and hip-hugging skirt. No doubt, that is what caught his attention.
Raven and I were dancing to the groove when I felt someone staring at me. I locked eyes with his. He was all that. As he walked toward the dance floor I could feel my temperature rising. He stood at about 6’5”. His skin was as dark as cocoa beans and as smooth as silk. His teeth were as straight as a razor’s edge, and were white enough to light up a pitch black room.
“Pardon me,” he said. “May I please have this dance?”
My cousin winked then nodded as she exited the dance floor. He wrapped his arms around my waist and started mirroring my moves.
“What’s your name,” he asked.
“I’m Nya,” I said with a smile.
“Very nice to meet you, Nya.”
I turned around so that I could feel what this Mandingo brother was working with. As I was backing that thang up, he moved a bit closer and whispered, “My name is Chazz.”
“Excuse me,” I said.
Dumbfounded, I realized that I had not gotten his name.
“Oh. Okay,” I said, slightly embarrassed.
He motioned me off the jam-packed dance floor and over to his table. Such a gentleman, he handed me a napkin to wipe the sweat from my face. We talked for a couple of hours, until the bar closed. We exchanged numbers and went our separate ways. I knew what it was like when meeting guys at bars/clubs. Most guys, if not all, wanted one thing. And I wasn’t buying it.
“Hey,” from diesel2010.
This is the message that popped up in my Yahoo chat. I did not recognize the sender so I typed “Hey. Who is this?” then hit enter.
“This is Kenzu. I met you, unofficially, thru FB a couple of weeks ago.”
I dug back in my memory bank trying to figure out who the hell this person was and how they got my information. I guess I was taking too long to respond because another message chimed in.
“We were commenting on a friend’s post and I mentioned how beautiful your name is.”
Ooooh! I thought.
“Yeah. Yeah. I remember. Urs is just as beautiful.”
Not wanting to chat too freely because I was still leery about how and, more importantly, why he sought me out, I left the ball in his court.
“I snagged your IM off Facebook. I hope you don’t mind.”
We chatted for a few minutes, making small talk. We attended the same high school, but he graduated three years after I did. We had several mutual friends. He played football, both in high school then in college, before, of course, he was injured. His photo albums on FB were full of pics of him…and his wife.
He was recently married. The wedding photos were beautiful. His dark mocha skin contrasted against his crisp, white tux. She was wearing an off-white strapless gown. Her full breasts were a sneeze away from spilling up and out the dress. Her weave was long, with lots of ringlets. She was happy. Her thick lips stretched across her face in almost every pic.
A few days passed. My Facebook alert chirped on my Blackberry. “Friend Request – Kenzu Brantley.” I accepted the request, which I normally did if the person “appeared” to be decent. I was heavy into networking and always looking for more people to share and learn with.
Minutes later I received a message in my inbox.
Hey. I enjoyed chatting with you the other day. Let’s do that again soon.
I carried on with my day – work, school, kids’ homework, cooking dinner, watching television. Yep! Had the regimen down to a science. Since I purchased a Blackberry I no longer needed to spend countless hours on the computer. I mean, I did get on it occasionally, but most all my needs were at my fingertips via Crackberry.
“Cricket – Cricket” is the sound of my Yahoo messenger alert. My best friend Lana knew this was the best way to reach me. I’d long since given up on talking on the phone. Text, chat and email were the most effective ways to get my attention.
“Hey S. How r u?” she typed.
“I’m good girl. How r u and the baby doing?”
“We good. I’m rubbing my belly right now. LOL.”
“Tell her auntie luvs her & I’ll b 2 c y’all soon as she get here ”
“I will. Ttyl. Luv u.”
“Luv u 2.”
As soon as I ended our conversation, I got another message. This time from him.
“Good evening Queen”
“Look at this brother trying to have game,” I said aloud to myself.
“How was ur day”
I sat the phone down as I prepared the next day clothes for me and the kids. When I heard the cricket chime more than two times, I made sure to quickly plug in a response so it could look like I was fully attentive. We chatted about things from movies, sports, love and marriage, food and Facebook.
“Well, it’s that time. Gotta get the girls to bed.”
“Oh ok. Enjoy the rest of the night.”
If you didn’t get a chance to read the sneak peek of my short story S & M: Sexts & Messaging, u can here http://wp.me/P1D6Kx-3I
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