I got a phone call from Right Hand Man, inviting me out to the neighborhood picnic that was being held by their community’s Park Board. There would be a lil’ parade, some refreshments and cookouts going on in the park. Right Hand Man wanted me to hang out with he and a few of their friends. This was also the day that he was to officially hang out with my friend Tina-whom I had finally set him up with. The two of them had been hitting it off pretty hot and heavy over the phone for quite some time now.
“She had a couple things to get out the way but Tina may come out too, either way, if she can’t make it, it should be pretty fun-a little something to do,” said Right Hand Man.
“Sure, that would be good. I can meet you out to your house later on today and we’ll take it from there,” I informed him.
I knew that Right Hand Man knew that I wasn’t talking to Pucker for a few days now.
He made no mention of him either, as if Pucker wasn’t invited anyways. He even gave off a vibe to me that he did not want me to dare ask if Pucker would be attending-so I did not ask. I could already sense that Pucker wasn’t invited.
It was funny like that.
In an effort to get his ego and [what he thought was his “manhood”] back; no matter what Pucker would do or say or try to prove; he always lost that battle. Because no matter how many ways he tried to use me to show them that he had what they didn’t, the fact still remained: He didn’t have their respect, all of his friends cared for me, and were kind and respectful to me.
While learning Pucker and his inner circle social dynamics, the one thing about him that I observed was that he was never could read a scene, what was inappropriate, or timely or not.
He never understood his role and his place within his own circle of friends. He always thought that because he stood out amongst them all socially, aesthetically and athletically, anything he said or did was a touchdown for him and made him seem taller and larger than the rest. Sounds like snobbery but it wasn’t quite that. He merely got high off the feeling it afforded him some position within his circle that, in his mind, he felt was unattainable by his friends, which in turn made him look like he was “the man” of them but little did he realize, not to them.
Whether it was because of their jealousy or just maturity on the part of his friends; by this time, his antics were growing old with them because they, like me-the chronically apologetic and accommodating culprit and enabler-knew his behavior was the result of a newfound monster that I was responsible of making of him. It was growing old for me and for them.
It was like he was the walking joke and the punch line at the same time. So it wasn’t fun and entertaining anymore after over a year and half’s time. Although my trying to be “Team Him” backfired on me, surely, it all re-backfired on him. His friends did not have enough respect for him as a man to allow him to or give him the audience to be the star of his show like in his mind, he thought he was.
The monster I had created actually made him think that he had power, when in truth; the strings to cut it on or off were in my hand. It took me a while to notice because I was too naïve and too busy observing. When instead of observing, but rather-doing; I had the power of choice: I could have easily merged with the besties and made him feel and look bad, or continue doing what I was doing: catering to his ego to make him look and feel good. Regardless, with the smoke clear, I knew, like his besties knew; he was really powerless-without my help either way-on both sides. And after all that was said (and done), I could just unplug altogether…
When I got to Right Hand Man’s house, we hung out there for a while then, we decided to head to the park. When we got there, all of Pucker’s friends were there. We all sat at the table and ate, talked, played cards and laughed while they all threw insults and jokes at one another like it was a sport and game of ping pong.
Pucker showed up and changed the mood of the whole damn atmosphere. His friends did not even want him around. It was so obvious. I kind of felt bad for him because not only was it obvious that there was a lot of laughter and fun going on before he showed up, but he was most probably put in an awkward position because I doubt that Right Hand Man had run past him that I would be coming out. Pucker’s surprised look on his face to see me sitting there told it all. All he could do was roll his eyes at me and fold his lips in anger, because the mood at the table was not on his side. And I was completely guarded from his scorn.
Pucker and I hadn’t spoken since the night I hung up on him after leaving me in the back of the doctor’s office building so he did not know how all this happened: me, at a picnic, out with his friends.
For the next half hour or so, everybody tried to pick the momentum back up but it was hard-Pucker’s presence made it hard. At dusk, as the park started clearing, Pucker walked over to his car without saying goodbye to his buddies and had yet to even say “hello” to me, let alone “goodbye.” His entire walk and body language spewed: “fuck her-and y’all too.”
At that moment, everyone kept glancing over at me and averting their eyes; embarrassed for me.
Right Hand Man caught up to him and yelled where we all could hear: “Man what the fuck is your fucking problem? The fuck is wrong with you? Man fuck you! You know what the fuck you’re doing!”
Pucker yelled back: “Fuck her. And don’t look at me to take her home!”
“That’s okay. Fuck him. My mom’s asleep, I can get her car to take you home,” said Right Hand Man said to me.
When we returned back to Right Hand Man’s house, he paced around looking for his mother’s keys. A few minutes later, Pucker came knocking at the door, asking Right Hand man for something that I guess Right Hand Man felt he could’ve waited later to ask:
“Man, fuck you. Don’t come over here with that, man. That shit can wait ‘til later dude,” said Right Hand Man.
Pucker screamed aloud: “SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE BROUGHT HER ASS OUT HERE ANY FUCKIN WAY!”
He then walked up to me and grunted as if he wanted to grab me by the arm like some toddler having misbehaved at the shopping mall:
“What the hell are you doing over here anyways? Huh, why Angie?” he said, sounding like de ja vu-asking: “Why Angie?” that fateful day that he rolled upon Slip and me.
Only this time, my being out and in the vicinity and with his Right Hand Man and circle of friends was completely innocent. And truth be told, I did miss him.
I felt bad about ignoring him during the whole time I was doing it.
While at the park, I secretly had hopes that he would see me and wisp me away. We would make up, make love and work out what we had been going through-work over what I had been feeling-but that didn’t happen.
I just let him stand over me, scolding and grunting-angrily.
I did not look up at him. I just remained quiet.
He then slammed the door to leave.
On the way home, Right Hand Man and I did not say one word to each other.
He was angry, too.
I could tell that he wanted to vent, but although he had respect for me and cared about my feelings where Pucker was concerned; the fact still remained, he was still Pucker’s Right Hand Man. So, whatever venting he needed to do, was certainly going to go down at the very moment he left my presence and returned to Pucker.
When we arrived to my house I thanked him for the ride home.
“You’re welcome Angie, I’m just irritated right now,” he offered.
“No problem, I understand,” I returned.
The next few weeks were horrible with Pucker and I was a nervous wreck. But this time, I refused to get caught up into his vicious cycle all over again for any length of time past the time I began to get the shakes, anxiety attacks and crying spells.
I refused to.
I had been working my new job and focusing on getting my own apartment and spending whatever spare time I had with friends and people who kept my mind off and away from that damned Pucker. I meant business about it.
I refused his calls.
I refused to see him.
I refused anything-him.
I had finally got my own apartment-the 1st floor of a 2-family, close to my mom’s house. Even excited as I was, of all my other friends, I, at first neglected to let Tina share my joy. She and Right Hand Man had been pretty chummy by this time and I could tell that like a vulture, Pucker was somewhere near Right Hand Man working overtime trying to get either a phone number and at best; trying to find out where I had moved to. Although Tina was my friend, she wasn’t in on the extent of my and Pucker’s relationship nor what had gone on for the past few months.
After almost six months and life going on for me; I figured that life was going on for Pucker as well. This was a first for us and a quite a breakthrough for me. I felt secure that Tina understood my plight where keeping Pucker away from me, was concerned because by this time, she had been briefed.
I couldn’t believe I was feeling so good and so alive again-busy taking care of my business and living a life that I was growing more accepting of living—without Pucker.
Low and behold one night while just coming into the house for the evening after work, I heard a faint knock at the door—and then the window.
I turned my radio completely down and the knocks were repeated.
I frowned, curiously, because only a few of my friends knew where I lived and they wouldn’t have shown up unannounced, and especially at that ten o’clock night hour.
I walked into the living room and pulled the shade back to follow the pecking at the window. It was Pucker. I took a deep breath and stared him in the face from behind the glass like this must have been a mirage of some type, some carnival fun mirror in a bad dream.
“Open the door Angie-please,” he said, from behind the window.
I stood there. My heart dropped.
He put his face up to the window: “I just want to talk to you, please. I need to talk to you, really, please,” he begged.
“How’d you find out where I lived?” I asked from behind the glass on my side.
“Just open the door, Angie. I’ll tell you. Open the door,” he said.
I walked around to the front of the house, opened the door and stood on the porch with him.
“What are you doing here? And how did you know I lived here? Who told you?” I asked, already having the answer in the back of my mind, I just needed confirmation.
“Angie, please let me come in. I-I-I need to talk to you real bad,” he asked, as if he was in a tight.
“You can talk to me right here. How do you know I don’t have company right now?” I asked, trying to sound as brave and as fearless as I was mentally and emotionally detached from him by this time.
“Come here-right now!” he grunted and grabbed my arm like a toddler being dragged through the mall for misbehaving.
He leaned against me at the kitchen sink and began to grind into me while holding my face tightly. “I MISS you! I MISS you! I. MISS. YOU,” said.
“Don’t you miss me?” he kept repeating, grinding harder, trying to make his body talk to mine and push into me harder at the same time.
He began to kiss me and tried to hold me stiff enough so that he could try and sink his teeth into my neck-knowing that once upon a time, that would set me off into an arousing frenzy. But this time, I refused.
I started fight him off of me. “Get OFF of me!” I yelled.
He was not used to that kind of thing coming from me. He got angry.
He then began to pull at my jumper and shirt to rip them down my shoulders. The more I tried to fight him, the harder he pressed his knees into my thighs.
It was soooooo painful. I could tell he wanted to break me down to the floor. I refused.
“Get OFF of me!” I yelled.
“Quit yelling Angie! And quit PLAYING! Acting all silly and shit!” he grunted, sounding as if I really was playing and I had some candy or toy that I was withholding from him.
He had no understanding that I meant business about him not touching me—or seeing him ever again.
He turned up.
He then wrestled me to the floor and snatched my jumper down with full force.
He then pulled his dick out while climbing on top of me, trying to put it inside of me the best way he could. He just wanted to shove it in and breathe.
I began to fight him some more.
He pressed his knees into me again and grabbed me by the jowls:
“Quit. Playing. Angie-and acting all silly and shit!” he grunted and demanded with his knees dug firmly into my thighs.
“You’re fucking somebody else right now? Huh?” he asked.
“I heard that you call yourself having a lil’ boyfriend-pulling at you, I know you aren’t stupid. You know better, don’t you?” he asked, as if he was trying to assure himself rather than to get an answer.
I lay there. I did not answer him. I lay there stiff as a board like I was playing dead.
He slowly moved his knees from my thighs. I made a move for it and grabbed my jumper to pull it back over my shoulders.
He then climbed above me, trying to force his dick in my mouth. He was rabid.
“Get OFF of me Pucker, I mean it! I’m NOT playing!” I yelled.
“No. Don’t do this to me Angie. I miss you. Quit trippin! I’m sorry. I apologize. I miss you!” he must have said a thousand times, as if he collected those same apologies for the past 6 months now.
I refused to budge, reply or cooperate.
He then became angrier and refused to be apologetic and courteous any further.
“Fuck you keep playing for!” he grunted.
He then ripped my jumper back from out of my hand with the force of an angry mad-man as if to show me that he had the power and the strength he had been letting me think I did, up until that very moment.
It was like he dared me to object, scream or push him at this moment. I did not anymore.
He then shoved himself inside of me like he was fresh out of jail from doing a twenty-year bid.
I lay there wanting to scream to the top of my lungs with a thousand thoughts going through my head from: “What will happen if the neighbors hear me?” “Will they call the police?” “What will happen then?” “Is this mother fucker just gonna take it?” “Is this rape?” “No, this isn’t rape. I’ve had sex with this man a thousand times! “He’s just angry at me, that’s all.”
He had no care about what I was feeling or thinking. He fucked me and thrust and fucked me and thrust and moaned and grunted as if we lay there having our normal, consensual sex and as if he was invited. Only this time, I refused to let him hear a sound utter from my voice. This time though, he didn’t even care that he wasn’t getting any moans of pleasure from me because this time, it was definitely not about or for me-it was all about and for him.
He did not care. He didn’t care about my energy, my “nos,” my feelings or my fight. He just wanted my body there to let him in. That’s it.
He behaved like this entire six months, he held on to his thoughts, his penis and his breath until that very moment he had me cornered: He breathed again.
That very moment he put his hands on my skin: He thought again.
That very moment put his penis into me: He came to life again, yet, it deadened me.
I just lay there and cried and cried and cried—and let him have his way by literally climbing on top of me and doing his business. I refused to fight with him anymore. By that final forceful, one time pull-down of my jumper, I knew it would not be a good idea to.
I let the tears fall back from my eyes, into my ears-plugging them up while I worked hard to tune out his pleasure that he was getting.
His whole body was pulsating. He was breathing soooooo hard and sweating profusely mixed with my tears still falling into my ears.
He gasped like a madman as he pulled out of me-then hurriedly grabbed my hair and sat me up to meet him to finish him off—as if we were having our usual agreed upon erotic lovemaking session that I too, was laying there on the floor of my new apartment-literally, officially broken into-enjoying with him.
I was floored, literally and literally.
I was in complete and utter shock.
I just wanted him gone. I just wanted him to leave.
I had been doing so emotionally well and had felt so cleansed of him in every way up until that very moment.
So many thoughts were going through my head that this all felt like a bad dream: like I was having consensual sex with some stranger who was loving every minute of me taking him all in and had zero care what, if anything was in it for me.
He gripped the back of my head and gasped and moaned like some heroin addict getting a hot shot. Typically, the sound of him with me would turn me on. In this moment, I was disgusted and perplexed.
I pushed him away from me and scooted myself back up into the kitchen sink.
He stood up over me: “Get up. Why are you still sitting down there acting all silly and shit? Get UP!” he reached down and grabbed me under the arms and lifted me to my feet like that kid that had fallen to the floor-misbehaving at the mall.
“Now see. Why were you acting all stupid and shit? All that fighting! You know you missed me too!” he whispered, with his finger in my forehead.
He had the kind of smile on his face as if the two of us were about to be on again and what we just had was some hot, bomb ass make-up sex.
He then kissed me and boldly asked. “Are you gonna call me? Are you gonna call me Angie?”
I didn’t respond. I just wanted him to leave-immediately.
He knew that something went wrong in this and he just wanted out before more could go wrong. All he was concerned about at this moment was that he got what he came for and as far as he was concerned, nobody got hurt; no harm-no foul.
Somewhere in his mind, he “made love” to the same girl that left his ass 6 months ago but had consensual sex for him for two years.
He just fixed his pants and slid to the door, then out of it like a real thief in the night. The astonished look on my face and the tight hold I had on my body now, pressed against the sink, told him everything he needed to know. With his now, thinking clear, he knew he was wrong, but in this moment, he did not care at all-as long as he could make it out of my house, to his car and pulled off.
When he shut that door, I sat against that kitchen sink feeling like such a loser all over again.
I felt like all the work I had done on my emotional and mental plumbing was backed up-yet again.
Before this day, I had been over craving sex with him and over him: period—even down to being over hearing the sound of his voice.
I was so proud of myself for finally having the courage to cleanse myself of him in ways unexpected-that night he left me behind that building. It was something about that bath I took when I got home-where he insisted on sitting on the phone as I dared him to say one word to me. By the time I took that slow bath, got out the tub and lotioned my body down; it was a wrap. My not letting him get a word edgewise and having the strength to simply hang up on him did something for me that I did not expect. It was like that bath I had along with the day’s joy and the night’s pain ran down the drain as if the stranglehold he had on me was leaving for good.
I couldn’t believe that 1 day turned to 4 days, turned to weeks to months that I had the strength to ignore him, avoid him, and get over the fear of being alone and without him. I had gotten strong in so many ways, unplanned.
So before this night that he showed up at my new place, I had really moved on in every way. I was so strong and cleansed. And in just that short time, in that one night; I felt like my six months had walked right out of that door with him.
I was dazed.
Sleepy, I sat there in front of that sink balled up into a knot with my arms around my legs, crying myself senseless, when all of a sudden; a knock at the door broke my sleepy tears.
My eyes got big-I already knew that this could not be him at that door. He was too much of a coward to show back up at the scene of the crying. If he didn’t care enough to see me through the back of a dark building on a dead end street; he sure as hell didn’t care enough to come back to the comfort of my home to make sure I was okay. He thought what he did was okay. So, I knew this knock did not belong to him.
I got up and walked around to the living room window to peek out of the shade. It was Dana.
I was shocked that she happened to show up at my apartment at this hour, but just like at my graduation, Dana always seemed to appear at the most surprising times, unannounced but on time, nonetheless.
I hurriedly ran around to the front of the apartment to open the door for her.
I was so glad to see her-I immediately began to cry.
“Why? What’s wrong Angie? What’s wrong?” she asked-startled.
I told her everything that happened.
She wanted to hurry and leave to head straight over to my mom’s house and to call the police.
“Nooooo, I’m sorry Dana. I cannot do that. That’s just too much. I can’t do that,” I told her.
“Yes you can! That is rape! That is crazy!” she proclaimed.
“No, I’m not dealing with that-I’m not dealing with him. He can just go away-forever,” I said.
“He did-for all these months and looked what happened the very night he found you tonight!” yelled Dana.
I continued to shake my head “no.”
“No! I’m sick of him! If you’re not going to call the police-the least you can do is call his parents and tell them! He needs to learn a lesson!” she asserted.
“I really want to leave it alone altogether Dana-I just do,” I replied.
“Well, let’s go over to your mom’s anyways. I will sit with you. From there, I will call a cab to go home. I was really going to stay over here for the night and go home in the morning but I don’t even think you should stay here tonight,” she said.
I looked her: “Dana, you may as well hang out here until the morning with me as you planned, because I assure you-he’s too much of a coward to come back over here at least this night-trust me. I know better. I really do know better…”
NOT YET PUBLISHED☝
Sequel – “Angie Situation (NAIVETE)☟
Prequel/Book1- “Angie Situation (Innocence)” published☟
TABLE OF CONTENTS
- 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
Media Maestro .
Writing Rhinoceros .