Hell, first time for everything.
I looked at it like this: Carmen didn’t get tired. And her antics were NOT doing to be deterred by simply ignoring her. It was obvious to me that she was getting no more play from “our” boyfriend and equally-wasn’t afraid of me. I had to slip some action to her to at least let her think about her next antic because thus far, MedSchool was on autopilot and stopping no time soon.
When I got in the house and got situated, I placed a call to make peace with her. Had she no idea where I lived and what kind of car I drove, I probably would not have cared. She already had my work number, and at the place where I worked; given the fact that once we greeted the caller with “securities”-with just enough investigation, it would be nothing to find out which bank it was. With all that in her crazy ass hands and knowing, now-for sure-the fire inside of her over Mitch was this way, I thought it best to get in her head.
I waited a couple of hours after her beatdown.
I bathed and chilled, during; hoping that her lame ass college-buddies had dissipated so that I could reach her-and reach her…
I called.
She sounded calm until she heard it was me on the other line-then she snapped back into crazy mode.
“Carmen, you can chill all that out and I won’t say one more word—then you and me can go right back to the drawing board if you don’t calm your ass down. And this time, I assure you-it won’t be nothing nice. I’m not playing with you.”
She got quiet.
We both waited to see who was going to speak first.
I pulled one of her numbers.
I headed to the fridge.
Cracked open a soda.
Opened the microwave.
And warmed up dinner that “our” boyfriend cooked earlier.
I began chomping on it in her ear.
I could feel her crazy ass hunger…lusting on the other end…listening to the mouth and lips that held Mitch’s interest over hers.
I chewed that meal slowly and seductively, like I was savoring every bite, while she listened intently. She was so patient. I could feel her pressing her ear so close to the phone that she almost squeezed herself right through it. She did not want to hang up.
I could tell that me, sitting there holding the phone opposite her was breathing life into her—especially knowing that the man she loved was near-or would soon be.
I broke the silence:
“Now Carmen. Again, I am not going to talk to you-until you calm down. Are we there yet?” I asked her.
She was good and calm. Actually enticed-she spoke calmly, submitting to me-just like I wanted:
“Angie it didn’t have to go this far. It didn’t have to go this far-it just didn’t!” she said-dramatically-with tears in her voice.
I spoke, calm and assertively:
“You’re right. It didn’t. YOU took it this far: playing on my phones, playing on my phone at work, threatening to come to my house to kick my ass, threatening to kill me. That dick down couldn’t have been that atop of your notches-I mean-really, because you have been going out of your mind over this thing. You should be embarrassed. If a man shows you better than he can tell you that he doesn’t want to be with you, then turn the other way.” I advised.
She defended her stupidity by telling me how she already had a boyfriend that loves her back in her hometown. She continued on with all a whole bunch of mumbo jumbo (that I had no interest in hearing) but I adlibbed and listened on while she sang like a canary; about everything up to and including admitting having gone through all Mitch’s things and apologized for all of her madness.
I had to dead this conversation by killing her and killing her: Setting her up for the kill—and the kill: (to my advantage) and the kill to her disadvantage-by sensually shaming her while setting her up to sing like a canary should Mitch ever get bored, desperate and froggy-and leaped over to her lily pond.
I slipped these words to her:
“Look sis. It’s like this. Regardless of the fact that he didn’t chose you or elect to stay with you that night we were all over there, the fact of the matter is-you know he’s with me and you knew he was with me when you first started seeing him. If a man tells you that it is you he doesn’t want to be with and then shows you-by not being with you or even so much as sneaks to call you, let him go. Calling his woman’s house and playing on the phone for hours is just making you look stupid. It’s not going to draw that man to you-especially when his woman already knows about you. When the secret is out, it aint no fun for him,” I inserted.
“Furthermore, here’s the gag: You’ve got all the checks that balance:
- You’re in college.
- No kids.
Oh…His mother would LOVE and approve of that. She would love you for Mitch. Even Mitch knows’ this. But yet, he still wants me,” I jabbed.
Silence.
I continued.
“Your best bet in this is to pick up your ego and grow some self-respect. And if what you thought you had with Mitch was in any way worth it to lose me, he, like any man, would be right back over there fucking with you again,” I challenged.
I know that pissed her off but I threw that out there because I knew that after this conversation, if Mitch were to ever slide over there-this messy canary would definitely tell it-even if he told her not to.
I could tell she was pissed but couldn’t argue with my logic-and sage advice.
I continued to let her ramble on to the point of getting all my questions answered, getting what I needed to get off and make her think all was well unless and until…
I eased her off the phone.
When Mitch returned home later that night/into the morning, I told him about all that had happened. He couldn’t believe it. We laughed about it into the wee-hours. I didn’t tell him about my and Carmen’s little pow-wow, because it too, went into the bag of things she would tell if ever there came a time Mitch got bored and gave her some rhythm.
But for now, it was me and him.
I was tired.
I had bathed.
I was little horny and part jealous that somebody out there wanted my man a little bit more than I probably appreciated him and his allegiance to little ole me. So I finished the night off by fucking him with the kind of appreciation that you would have from treasuring something that someone else treasured on a whole different level.
It didn’t even matter to me that he wanted me over her-just the thought that someone wanted him so much-and so much so that she wanted to kill me over him; made me want to work his head over about as much as mine was worked over from the day.
In this thing, Mitch was winning and the ball was in his court. The only good thing is that I had some kind of hold on him that he could not shake and that he loved me—for as much as he knew love to be. But other than that, he knew that the one man that I loved and was making love to was never coming back and “coming back” anymore was no more, than one of our favorite songs-Mitch now knew and I had been shown.
Mitch also knew that I wouldn’t be out her having random ass sex and that it would only be right that he was next up to bat. But even if just for this moment, I had to make him know-or remember-that I would or could-and that others are waiting in the dugout.
I was secretly feeling bare, open a bit vulnerable and would rather be held and made love to and wanted to make love to him from head to toe-giving back to him-the appreciation I felt he deserved; but instead, I made him fuck me aggressively by talking him through how he could not even measure up to fucking me like other’s in the dugout I had been with.
I had to fuck with his head-giving him stories and first hand accounts on how I’d been fucked and sucked so well-making him feel like he had a lot of catching up to do if he wanted to measure up. He had no choice but to believe me because he could count on his one hand how many times I had even let him ever fuck me-even up to this very point and living with me.
I had nothing else to fight with that was my way to set him off in bed. It would get him monstrously aroused-leaving him to conclude whether or not his fucking and sucking was effective by how submissive and weak he could make me. And this night, he hit a home run.
You see Mitch was athletic and competitive and he responded to that.
I could play with his senses in that way and in other ways-this pretty much set the tone of our noxious relationship too. And I was in for more of the same with his fine ass.
~~~~~~~~~
My and Mitch’s relationship was entangled with so much mess rumbling beneath a tidy surface, it was almost as if, unless he and I weren’t going through some kind of strife, we had nothing.
Deep inside I was still kind of dead inside but knew I had to keep going.
I cared nothing about his comings or goings and he would yell out about having to come and go (back to his moms house) on occasion.
For some reason, that whole thing seemed like the thing to do-for the both of us. It was like negative-reinforcement and I too was guilty of causing it or enabling and feeling the effects of it: I didn’t have it in me to give or get any spice in or out the bedroom unless I was literally mind-fucking him and sometimes, him-me.
Sure, we could play house and be civil; behaving like two people in a relationship who lived together and had respect for their relationship only after breaking up to make up from some kind of strife involved.
Routinely, we would start dating all over again, talking all over again and liking each other (as a couple)—all over again.
Sure (whenever he worked) he would write his whole work schedule for the week and tape it to the fridge—all over again.
He would be back to turning over his entire check to me; allowing me to ration it out to him and whatever we needed for the household—all over again.
When he went out to play basketball, he would start back taping notes to the fridge so that when I got back in, I could know where to find him—all over again.
He would be back to being in the house for the evening before I left for work at 8 p.m. and home throughout the night, house cleaned and spotless, and having cooked if I did not have the time too-same routine—all over again.
Sure, it would be sweet, golden and new, although we both knew we had been there done that-and the cycle of noxious things would be bound to happen all over again.
As if we hadn’t been-there-done-that, we were so enamored with these repeated steps in the relationship-the playing house and such. It was slowly becoming some unspoken weird addiction that we both were becoming used to-like the routine of it all was apart of the relationship itself-like some healthy and necessary repeated steps for the growth of a healthy relationship; when in truth, it was built on weeds, convenience and familiarity beneath all.
Attraction for one another camouflaged it well with its cherry on the top.
After the strife came the sweetness.
It was the fuel for our fire and desire. Rick and Tina should have been our names, but not before we turned into Ike and Tina…because after a while, we starting kicking each other’s ass and tearing shit up…
~~~~~~~~~
In his mind, he had my mind + all my time since there was no more Remedy. Throughout all his bullshit, I was regretting that I even told him about Remedy being gone for good but Mitch knew enough about me and Rem that in order for him to be back in my life in this way-rolling this deep, Remedy would have had to have died-no other way.
Mitch was getting so beside himself in the relationship-I guess he was feeling good thinking that he had some upper hand because these maggots out here were telling him how cute he was. We had already been through a couple things with some crazy girls and I guess that pumped him. Ok…I get it. I carried on a whole other relationship and put him on pause while I fell in love. Payback’s a motherfucker.
Mitch stepped his newfound popularity up to sharp dressing from all the check-kiting schemes he and his buddies had going. He had to show it off she he and his buddies had been hanging out a little more.
I mean…he was spiraling out of control; thinking that the things he was doing for me and putting into the house would be sufficient a substitute enough for not working a real job-all the while I worked hard and kept mine. The difference between Mitch and me was that I knew how to work hard and play hard, too. He only knew how to play hard. And in the end, he ended up playing himself.
Mitch was also sneaking around with other girls.
At one point, he was seeing some girl who would give him money all the time.
He was running through holding down jobs like tennis rackets, and if it wasn’t for my nagging him about getting one; he wouldn’t have worked at all. The check-kiting schemes were much too easy, fun, and kept him fly.
The times that he did work, it would only be because he did not want to look like a total loser in my eyes. But then the lazier he got, the more the check-kiting schemes picked up.
And after a while of being fed all the “ooh’s” and “ahh’s” about his good looks and body, he started actually getting paid on that alone-which was really pumping him up.
At this point into Mitch’s mess, I didn’t even give a damn.
As long as he contributed to the household-I did not care. His worse nightmare had come true and he didn’t even notice: that dreaded friend/roommate status-the one that he (at one time) “would be damned” that I reduced him too. He had damned himself-and didn’t even notice.
From the outside in-it could easily looked as though I was pimping him out. He didn’t notice that either. I began to treat him more like an agent and business partner than an adorer and his woman. He was too busy being trifling to notice that too-yet, he thought he was running game on me, the world and all the girls-all from being told he was cute: one time too many.
The girl who was giving him the most money had offered to take him to dinner and out to a concert one night. It was me that helped him get dressed and even allowed her to pick him up from “my” house (now)…
She thought she was big pimping and getting her ego inflated because she knew that she was picking him up and dropping him off at his girlfriend’s house. She had never seen me, and I had never seen her.
I knew that she was an overweight girl who lived in a prominent part of town with her rich parents (said my client: Mitch).
Her parents probably spoiled her to death because she was a fatty who probably put ranch dressing on everything she ate (says Mitch’s agent: Me).
I’m a woman and I know how women think. Considering the part of town Mitch and I lived in, I know that she probably thought that if his fine ass was dating her (well-to-do ass), that I was probably some big fat, nappy-head welfare broad, sitting in the house on the couch watching soap-operas all day, drinking forty ounces and smoking weed all night and could give two fucks about my life or health. But she was badly mistaken. I was about my shit, sis.
From the stories Mitch would tell me, she was quite fly at the mouth and thought she was balling out of control: fucking some broad’s man who (she thought) was probably getting used (just like he was using her). She had the game all twisted and she was badly mistaken (twice). She thought she was playing me, but it me was who was playing her. And as long as I never let her see me-the show could go on. I never wanted to blow his cover by making myself be seen, because I knew that if she saw me, by comparison (to his description of her); she would know (for sure) that Mitch was using her-and in (literal) deed, yes…he was.
Correction: we were.
We were using her ass.
He cut the heart, she cut the check.
Me: Agent.
She: Adorer.
If my roommate/homie/lover/friend wanted to pay for his room and board-he knew what he had to do.
The night of the concert, she brought his trifling ass home, pissy-drunk.
When I heard them pull up in that cute little pretty car with the quiet engine, I did what I would always do when she would come by to pick up my man…and leave with my man…and bring my man back: I stood at the balcony screen door at just enough distance where, from her view, she could not see me. But from my view, I could see her: Stuffed in that car looking as though the daily routine to get in it, was to have mom and dad stuff her there and then kick her with their feet-kind of like how you would stuff bags of clothes in some storage closet-until those shits fit in.
Normally I would have looked at a girl like her and said: “Awww… Bless her heart” but considering the circumstances from which she was in my view: fuck her upside down triangle built knock-knee’d ass and that cholesterol laden heart of hers.
I stood back watching her twist herself to get out of the little car.
It was a sight to see. She was drunk (and tall ass hell too); stumbling even before going to the passenger side to pull Mitch’s drunk ass out-to help him across the street to the house.
It took them forever. They both looked drunken a mess out there.
She got that clown up to the porch and rang the doorbell as if she was delivering goodies-except, she ran to get back into her little car. I wasn’t going to miss her stuff herself back into the car for nothing in the world.
I let his drunk ass stand, sit, kneel (or whatever position she left him in), until I could watch her walk back to her car to see just how she actually got her big, tall body back into that little bitty car. I was dying to see how this all goes down.
And yes, she was twisting, turning and wiggling her way in-all the while, I was standing back in the dark at the balcony screen door; kicking my right foot back and forth in the air, as if I was stuffing bags into a tight storage closet. I was laughing my ass off.
When she maneuvered herself into the car and put on her seat belt to drive off, I ran down the steps, turned the porch light on and opened to door to Mitch’s drunk ass standing there leaning up against the door hinges looking all red and leathery.
I didn’t understand this drunk shit. It was mad weird to me: Who, in their right and logical mind would
want to be out of consciousness and control of themselves away from people who cared about them or too, around other people was just as drunk as them? Weird as fuck, yo. How he could be out and aways from home getting this drunk and how she could even hop into her car and drive? Wow.
But back to this fool.
I slapped his face.
“You can snap out of it, ‘cause I’m not picking your big ass up to help you at all. You got like ten steps to climb you big ‘ole pimp you. Let’s make it! Get in here just enough so I can shut and lock my damned door!” I yelled-like he was old useless cattle to a farmer.
He stepped into the small foyer and sat on the steps-looking like a sclerosis of the liver-looking homeless man with jaundiced eyes who you could tell was fine “in his day.”
I slammed my door, locked it and stepped over him; running up the steps-having no idea what it felt like to be pissy drunk. Boo hoo. Who gives a fuck. Not me.
When he finally made it up the steps, all he had to do was make a left turn and he would be right into our bedroom. I mean: “my” bedroom.
I sat there and watched television while finishing my bowl of cereal.
I looked to my right-he made it.
I looked over at him and shook my head:
“Mitch, I refuse to get up out of this bed to help you even a few feet over here. No one told you to let BigBaby get you all sloppy drunk like that. You have been gone for a long stretch of time, too. That was the longest dinner and concert I ever heard tell of,” I said.
He didn’t hear a word I said.
Instead, he merely yawned, swallowed and tightened his jowls.
He finally made it over then lay across the bed-looking all luscious with those shiny thick locks of curls, those shiny thick eyebrows and those long silky eyelashes.
I stared down at his sexy ass:
“These whores loooooove them-some you don’t they?” I said, while getting him undressed for bed.
He liked to sleep naked.
So as I undressed him, when I got down to his underwear to pull them down, his penis was laying there placid with the condom still on-nut all in it.
I pulled his underwear right back up and left them on-for him to sleep in.
He was so drunk that he didn’t even notice.
I looked at him, and it-and shook my head because there was no use screaming and arguing with him; he was too drunk to even know that he was in the condition he was in.
“You pitiful motherfucker you, I wonder what your mother would say right now, seeing you laying here looking all leather and living trifling like the way you are: running check kiting schemes and running around with whores like you are on some pimp-type shit. Your mammy had the nerve to show my cute ass the door like you were some fucking Prince of a Peninsula-like she was in charge of arranging a woman for you and I wasn’t worthy,” I rolled my eyes in my head.
“Now, look at you-and fuck her! You were trifling before you met me. We aren’t even on each others level and even I didn’t know it, so what the fuck does your mom even know?”
I rolled my eyes tightly then reached for his pants to check his pockets: Jackpot.
He had a wad of about three-hundred dollars. Having only left the house with about fifty dollars, I knew that he at least worked his charm and BigBaby worked him too.
She paid for that dick tonight.
I looked at him pitifully and said to him: “What happened to the days of it merely taking a cute guy like you to flash that Colgate smile and pinch a BigBaby like her on her lil’ fat waist and tell her she was cute-being enough? What happened to those days? She climbed all on top of you and did her business buddy! You played yourself. And she threw you back home and on the porch; too drunk to even notice. I can’t wait until you sober up from this! Where is your mother now! Drunk bastard,” I laughed and rolled my eyes.
It was both funny and pathetic. Because I was literally fussing at a whole person who had no idea what the hell I was even talking about.
I opened my nightstand and dropped the money inside, and got under the covers to go to sleep.
I left the condom on him so that when he sobered up; he could see it and wonder if I saw it too.
This test would tell me one of two things: either how dumb but slick he thought he was, or honest and smart he was.
I could not wait to see how this was going to play out in the morning.
Morning came.
I could feel him moving about and about to wake up. I lay there on my left side with my back turned to him—sleeping lightly. I immediately opened my eyes. I could feel him finally waking up good. He sat up on his elbows-really quick-almost like he did while at Carmen’s house and waking to see me and yelling “I must be dreaming.”
I turned around and lay on my back-still sleepy eyed but eyes shut wide.
He lifted the covers and stuck his right hand in his underwear then hopped out of the bed like his ass was on fire.
He quickly ran into the bathroom and cut on the sink water before he even had a chance to piss-I guess he must’ve thought I would hear him slide the condom off. Five minutes later, he returned to the bedroom and got under the covers.
I know he wanted so bad to hop in that shower but never in the history of us living together did he take a shower at 6 a.m., so, at least he was smart enough to play that part of the test off.
There’s more.
“I will deal with him in the morning-when the sun would rise and shine,” I said to myself as I lay there-again on my left side-back facing him; pretending to fall back asleep-eyes wide shut, still…
Shine and rise.
I rise-ready for my leverage over him.
I headed to the bathroom and washed my face and brushed my teeth.
“Good morning,” I said-jovially-as I walked back into the bedroom.
“Good morning baby,” he replied-laying back on the fluffy pillows but still under the covers-looking fine as ever.
I shook my head at him.
I wanted to allow him some time to think about what his next move would be, so, I went into the kitchen to pour myself a bowl of cereal. I came back into the bedroom with it. I sat down on the bed:
“So, how was the concert?” I asked.
“Uh…It was alright” he answered-slowly and carefully, like we were playing chess.
I kept eating the cereal while watching television.
I looked over at him-sitting there looking awkward.
He was scared as hell.
“Why are you looking all crazy Mitch?” I asked, as if I knew nothing. It was confusing him. He refused to be, so, he replied:
“Because I know that you know, Angie!” he answered-forcefully.
“Know what?” I asked, as if I knew nothing.
“I know that you saw that condom on my dick. I know that you undressed me because I woke up with my drawls on,” he laughed, some.
I laughed out loud.
“Yeah, you’re exactly right, I saw it. BigBaby got some of that thang thang last night didn’t she?”
I said, shaking my head.
“Angie, I guess she did. And I don’t even remember,” he confessed, looking like he felt raped and played cheap.
“So why are you still in my bed having known now that BigBaby screwed your drunk ass last night?” I asked.
“I was about take a shower this morning but I knew that you would have gotten suspicious and since I had my drawls on while in the bed, I already knew that you had seen it already, so…” he paused and shrugged his shoulders.
“Yeah, I attempted to get you naked but then, that happened” I pointed at his penis.
I kept shaking my head at him.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked-gently, reaching over to touch my shoulders and rubbing down my arms.
“Don’t touch me,” I shrugged him off of me.
“You like this shit, but you’re gone’ learn!” I threatened.
“I’m about to take a shower, Mitch. Change my sheets by the time I get out will you?” I asked.
“You act like it happened here,” he said.
I turned to look back at him and gave him the evil-eye.
“Motherfucker, it shouldn’t have happened at all!” I yelled.
“Alright-alright, I will,” he replied.
I returned from the shower wrapped in my terry-cloth robe, soft and silky from applying my Neutrogena Light Sesame Body Oil that I would apply all over my body while in the shower or right after a bath. He loved the smell of it and how my body would feel after wrapping it in my terry-cloth robe. He grabbed me by the robe’s belt and opened it-to feel all over my soft supple body; exploring it with his hands like he was about to embark upon some great adventure that he never had but, in reality, rarely got to have.
He was way past being instructed on how to do me-he already knew me. He knew what to do, how I liked it-and where I liked it:
Me-hanging from the edge of the bed.
It-swollen while he’d sit up on his knees eating me like some animal in the wild eating off carcass for survival; sucking me senseless until what felt like my heart pulsating and running back and forth between my brain and my crouch.
If at no other time Mitch could tame me and have me his way; he knew this was the one way he could have me helplessly devoted and literally out of control in every way-in this moment.
He sucked me off liked his life depended on it while apologizing to me over and over; snatching and grabbing at my clit and telling me how he wanted to punish my entire pussy for making him crazy this way.
He carried on such an intimate conversation and fight with it that all I could do was stutter and cum back to back-until I couldn’t take his mouth and tongue on it anymore. It was so over-stimulated that it would turn into the pleasurable but agonizing kind.
He knew I liked both and locked right in on it; moving nothing but his tongue-making me scream-forcing another orgasm out of me that my body had no more intentions on giving up for the, yet, he took it anyway.
Fire, then desire.
We knew the routine.
As dysfunctional as this strife then negative reinforcement was, it added fuel to our fire that then led to desire, especially for me-for him.
He liked the fight and the challenge.
The bullshit would soon follow…
~~~~~~~~~
It was something about that-that would have me on cloud nine and treating Mitch like he was the man of the house who was paying all the bills and in.
But along with submitting to him and being the good, cooperative girlfriend, he would be getting beside himself sometimes; insisting on winning disagreements and arguments; like whatever he would say or decide upon, was to be the final answer-no matter his wrong.
I would work hard to ignore him sometimes, just to keep our fights from escalating because they would turn violent to the point of him grabbing me really hard and pinning me down to the bed-with his body weight over me-feeling like he was crushing me. Stuff like that would lead to him going down on me in an instant-especially after I would close down the “Lovin’ Shop” on him as punishment for not being sure if he was screwing other fatties or crazies I knew nothing about.
He was getting so cocky. And it was hard to tell if it was because he was pumped and juiced up from my submitting to him-and letting him have his way, or if was because he was flexing and sticking his chest out over stuff that I didn’t know about.
Tammy, a close friend of mine, invited Mitch and I to come down to her son’s birthday party, where the adults would hang out in another couple of rooms while chaperoning the kids and playing cards. Because Tammy knew Ciara, she too was invited to come, so Ciara rode down with me. On his bike, Mitch ran errands for us that day, so he was going to arrive later-but would be riding home with Ciara and me-bike in trunk…that is…until shit hit the fan…
But for now. All was good…
We came bearing gifts. All was going well at the house party.
When Mitch arrived, he walked in with his Colgate smile that would light up any room.
I can’t lie, it was something about him that would light up inside of me whenever he would walk into any room; home or elsewhere-especially if we were not fighting and back on our routine.
He kissed me, spoke to Ciara and hung out in the room with us while we were snacking and watching over the kids. He then walked into the kitchen where my friend Tammy, a couple of her other friends, and her fiancé were holding down a card game with some other adults playing at the next table-doing nothing in particular.
Tammy’s fiancé and Mitch were familiar with one another, so they held small talk and friendly laughs-their usual.
I could see into the kitchen from the room Ciara and I was in with the kids. At one of the card-tables sat a girl: A homely-looking chick who looked like she was pregnant at the eyes and wearing glasses for two. She could not keep those things swollen things off of Mitch.
“Oh shit. Not again!” Ciara laughed out loud.
It was funny as hell-Ciara knew this thing all too well—too.
“Girl I know when Mitch walked up in there, those glasses fogged up didn’t they?” she laughed and asked aloud, as if she was yelling it into the kitchen so that the pregnant-eyed girl who couldn’t hear, could hear-or at least read.
“Girl these whores love that man. He puts a spell on these bitches when he walks through! Puts ‘em in a trance. They looooove him girl! They wanna fuck him sight-on-scene! It’s ridic!” I laughed with Ciara-over the loud music.
All we could do was laugh because, again, and again, and again and again, I say: Mitch really was one fine ass athletic dude. He could get a girl’s pussy wet in thirty seconds-flat on just looking at him, alone. By the time he would flash that smile of his, within the next ten seconds, if her shit was in any way functioning-if she didn’t cum in her pants, that knob would surely be throbbing at least 300bps. Everywhere we would go, we would watch girls damn near lose control when they would look at Mitch. We liked to laugh at the responses-but little did they all know; I had my fists in both his nostrils. So by the time he would split that corner to stand or sit back next to me and they got a look at the both of us, all their fantasies of meeting their Fabio would be crushed. “Sorry!” (We would laugh).
Ciara had been on many of our outings with us and knew the game all too well.
She was all-too familiar with it all and got the biggest kick out of it.
Throughout mine and Mitch’s on-again and off-again relationship; even two of my very own good friends went in for the kill during our “off-again” times that I was weaving Mitch in and out of my life between Remedy and post-Remedy, simply wanting relationship with the concept of quality time rather than “us.”
DRAFT/SNEAK PEEK FROM THE UPCOMING/NEXT EXCERPT:
We had been one of our “off-again” moments probably for about a week or two beforehand, but because of the way we were; he secretly knew that he could bombard my time, especially considering the sentiment of the day.
Mitch was very big on creating experiences and unforgettable ‘moments’ with me. He always wanted to mark his spot in my life, time and mind. I secretly liked that about him despite the fact that I wasn’t shit and neither was he. But our poison was quite the elixir-for both of us sometimes.
I wanted to chill that day, but he had the day planned. I wanted to just bathe and hang out around the house in pajamas-not so much as comb my hair that day. All I wanted to do was relax so he lost that fight and had to trash his pre-plans, but he refused to lose the fight all the way.
He insisted on coming over to spend the day with Lucky and me-so he brought the potluck and plans all over to me. It was soooo super sweet. Mitch always tried so hard to impress me-everyday-no matter what.
I was dressed in pajamas and my hair was all over my head that day but Mitch didn’t care, he just wanted to be up under me like a little puppy.
My phone rang.
“Ring,” Ring,” “Ring.” I picked up.
It was thoughtful Dana:
“Happy Mother’s Day. What are you doing today?” she asked.
“Same to you sweetie, I’m just chillin’ out today-pajamas all day. I might bake something good for Mr. Mitch. He brought enough food over to feed an army-but no desert!” I giggled and smacked his cute nose, as he sat up under me looking up at me like a puppy, while I sat on the bed.
Dana replied: “Oh so you’re not going to the park today?” she asked.
(Sunday-any Sunday-every Sunday in spring, summer and early fall, was the hot-spot up at Ethan’s Park).
“Nah, I can’t go today-I’m held hostage,” I sighed and laughed.
I winked at him-so as to say: “It’s your little girlfriend.”
Mitch yelled aloud: “You wouldn’t be held hostage if you would’ve gotten dressed and let me take you out instead of bringing take out to you!”
“Oh, Mitch is over there?” asked Dana-lowering her voice.
“Yeah girl…getting on my nerves already-acting like a puppy and won’t get off from underneath me,” I blushed and blew a kiss at him. He was so cute that day.
“Oh, okay. Well I’ll talk to you later,” she said.
“Okay well, have a good day,” I replied.
Mitch and Me hung out, cuddled and watched television and all thing naughty and nice.
A couple hours later:
“Ding-dong. Ding-dong,” the bell rang.
I was clueless as to who it could be because I had gotten all my “Happy Mothers Day” phone calls from everybody for the day and Ciara was spending the day with her mom-so, I wasn’t expecting her to come over soooooo who could it be? I wondered…
I got up and walked to the top of the stairs:
“Who is it?” I yelled.
“Dana!” she yelled back.
“Dana?” I questioned, looking back at Mitch-laying back on the pillows and looking at me the same way I was looking at him: Perplexed.
“What the hell? Didn’t you tell her you were busy today?” he asked.
“Yeah…I did,” I paused.
I shook my head back and forth and Mitch began shaking his right along with me.
I whispered in at him:
“It’s official. That one right there…lovesssss her some you!” I said, as I pointed down the steps.
Mitch clutched his stomach laughing.
“Fuck that. Nah, YOU answer the door, and I’m going to sit where you are sitting,” I said to him.
“Come on, get up…get the fuck up right now,” I demanded.
He laughed and shook his head and shook his head some more.
He knew me all too well-so much so that yes, I could trust him to open the door to give Dana just what she wanted and he not send her any energy or indication that she even stood the chance that the fantasy in her head played out that caused her to get prettied up to drive over to my house for my man to see her.
Showtime.
I sent him charging down the steps
THE ABOVE-POSTED EXCERPTS ARE FROM THE NOT YET PUBLISHED PREQUEL / BOOK 2 “Angie Situation” series/trilogy
BOOK 1- PUBLISHED:
TABLE of CONTENTS
PREFACE 5
- The Roots of Picked Fruit 17
- The Precocious Ripening 33
- Ripe & Ready. Gangs, Bangs & Pangs 39
- The Queen Bee in Me 63
- Another Level. Blossoming. Beautiful. 80
- TGGF, Male Model & Me 101
- TGGF & Me 112
- Divorcing Dad 124
- You Know Who 130
- First Flings First 139
- In the Lion’s Den 170
- Cold Shoulders and Frozen Dancing Feet 195
- Pills & Frills 204
- You Know What: I Told You So 209
- Dichotomies & Dazes 228
- Situations, Decisions & Transitions 241
- Up, Out & Away 244
MEET the AUTHOR Q & A 254
READING GROUP GUIDE 257
SNEAK PEEK into book2 (“Angie Situation NAIVETE’” )’s CHAPTER ONE 260
OTHER BOOKS BY ANGELA SHERICE 269
ABOUT the AUTHOR 270
