Learn how to fly? Why? What the hell, why try?
Just make it through this life with the cards that I am dealt, be happy and in it-just get to getting-whatever that “getting” may be.
It’s time to rock and roll…
I could not make it through that dreadful “Secretarial Science” class: forty-fives minutes of a three day-a-week, without Heckla calling me everything from a ‘bougie bitch” to a “pro dick sucker” that had no place in “my school.” While certainly I did not need her help reminding me that I had no place in “her school”, obviously I was growing ever-so-curious as to how she seemed to know, oh-so-well and without a doubt, that I even sucked a dick when I was only sucking one man’s dick-and that was Pucker’s. Like me, Pucker had no friends there and knew of no one from this school. So I was baffled. I wouldn’t learn ’til much later where she had gotten this random piece of info from…
It was so embarrassing. I didn’t come from a school where we talked like that or do crude stuff like that. The worst it got at the artsy school I was from was rumors of someone “making out” or caught “mono” or having gotten caught messing around fucking or dry humping “on the first floor.”
“On the first floor” was really the basement of our big, vintage building. Nothing was on “the first floor” but a bunch of boiler rooms, laundry facilities and clearly areas for the building’s maintenance crew. At worst, Monday would roll around and rumors about who “hooked up” with whomever may have circulated. But never in my near “survivor” year’s history did I, or anybody suffer survivor’s remorse of this loud, crude kind. This wild high school here…was the type of school I could for sure count on witnessing the very same thing that was happening to me-to someone else though. Not “me” who, up until Heckla, was enjoying my anonymity.
I couldn’t believe it. It caught me totally off guard. The first day Heckla heckled, I was totally minding my business, sitting at my desk with my chin in my hand-daydreaming, perhaps. She turned her body back my way and stared at me. She squinted. I looked back at her as if to say “what?” Low and behold. That was just the response she wanted for fuel. Had I known that she was about to call me out like that-and with such certainty, I would have not made eye contact with her. The only thing I could conclude was that perhaps she (saw me?) giving Pucker head during one of my lunch breaks out with him. I had done so many things, at so many different times and in so many different places with him, I was literally ‘fucking’ clueless.
You see, he would bring me lunch sometimes, packed with his usual constant sexual urges on a platter. One thing about Pucker was that he was like a fiendish, sexually deprived madman. It was like some kind of monster I brought out in him that I could never put back in the can and put the lid back on. From day one-it was like I “owed” him something sexually, that he made me feel ‘at fault’ about-like I gave him some “thing’ that I couldn’t or had no right to take back and he had permission to play with this “thing” at any time, any place, at any given moment, any day.
It was at a decent pace for about year or so, but it seemed like after Slip; he turned into a sexual bully-reminiscent of the kind of energy my second-grade bully…you remember, the one that followed me home and up the steps to my door where I told I needed to go into the house to pee because I was in a tight and she stuck her finger in my forehead and made me pull my pants down and piss right there in the corner while in the hallway. His sexual energy began to remind me of that. Any impulse or twitch he had, I would meet it: by car, by home, around the corner, the back of the building-anywhere. If I couldn’t get out-then by phone. It had to go down.
So sometimes during my lunch break we would pull over at a certain spot nearby so he could get his lil’ fix. I would deal by straddling him carefully; leaning back very stylish, very pretty, and very sexy, all in an effort to make it back to school-in one piece-that way. Some days, my hair would be a sweaty mess, anyways.
He had pitch-black tinted windows, and any sucking and fucking going on was always done in the back seat with the car facing obscurity-no possible hecklers around to get a show. So, my question in my mind regarding Heckla was: Where in the hell could she have been during our one hour sessions that she was able to entertain the classroom with kind of certainty about whose dick I was sucking and—how well I sucked it as she laughed.
I would just ignore her, although it bothered me. She heckled me so much that I ignored her with the same force-so much so that after a while, it was no longer as entertaining to her backroom audience. It used to be entertaining to them all when I used to look back into the crowds laughter, but after a while, when my being embarrassed and shocked wore off; I quit turning around to peek back there. “Watch out y’all. There one right there can suck your soul!” She’d laugh. It was the weirdest thing to me and one in which I couldn’t argue with her-considering the fact that I hadn’t a clue as to how she knew such a thing and too, I didn’t know what else she knew. Furthermore, to be so dissed in this way by a girl was way too weird for me.
She was vile as fuck. “Hey pretty girl! Hey Miss Pretty! You think maybe I can borrow your mouth to sneak in between me and my man and suck his dick like I heard you could. Maybe I could keep my man a fiend too-addicted to fucking me then sticking his dick in my mouth. Oops I mean-your mouth! I heard you-was that good girl!!! It-be going DOWN!” she blasted.
E-ver-y-body laughed. It was soooo super embarrassing and something that guys would do to a girl. Not a girl to another girl-this kind of vile rhetoric and disrespect. I just threw my hand at her and had to remind myself that I was really in a different world for the next nine months and there was nothing I could do about it.
Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for nearly the whole forty-five minutes, she would find creative ways to spew the same rhetoric to her friends in the back of the classroom or even of the teacher was teaching, she’d make it known in whispers to anybody surrounding her-while looking back at me just to remind me that I should already know that she was talking about me.
Each class session, I was learning that she had no more than creative ways to spew the same thing over and over but had nothing else to say to support her jokes. I eventually ignored her power away until it dwindled down to true lies. After a few weeks, my Monday, Wednesday and Friday became more bearable at that school when I got over that hump.-that, and the fact that I had made friends with a girl named Kandy. She was popular. Everyone knew her and respected her although it was rumored that she was a twenty year-old who had many cracks at trying to be a graduating senior at a few high different high schools around town. In passing, she and I would have small talk. And the days that Pucker would pick me up from school rather than come at lunch time; I would have lunch with her or another friend named Posh that I made friends with in a bookkeeping class.
But before I would give any time to either one of them at lunch, they knew that they could find me standing near the front of the school snuggled up on the phone talking to Pucker with either a smile on my face and my finger in my mouth grinning like the high-school girl that I was, or opposite that-standing there with my elbows on the silver shelving against the wall with my hands on my forehead-crying from Pucker screaming in my ear and fucking with my head, just because. Sometimes, it was like, he was having post-traumatic stress attacks and would try to slip something in about Slip, just out of the blue.
He always hated me for what I did to him with Slip that day. I knew him well. I could always tell that he longed for a play-by-play of any and all things that Slip and I did with the time we shared. But his pride could never bring him to ask me, and me, being the passive aggressive-submissive that I was to him; I would never make it easy for him to initiate the conversation about it. Instead, I would watch him squirm, bite down on his jowls and spread his nostrils.
Hell, I needed to emotionally and mentally survive. With Slip gone to the military, it was the only power over him I knew I had.
Trust me, I knew how these things went from back when I was with Santana. With Santana as my witness and me-his cheated on victim, I know what needing those details were like. I would have Santana dropping deets until he broke down in mind. By the time he got done telling me all his dick down deets he was so conditioned to give, I knew what these whores pussy felt and smelled felt like.
So trust me, I know the feeling these months of torment Pucker was going through-wondering if I was with Slip intimately in ways like he and I was. But with Slip gone, my only power over Pucker was the torment in his mind about what he still had questions about and too, wondering if Slip was still in contact with me-despite having going off to the military.
So Pucker kept me busy with low-key angst, anger and questions needing answers.
I kept him angsty with oblivion and answers to all his questions-all the while knowing I was still the same girl he’s ‘loved’ since he first laid eyes on me-now, mad at about it yet, with no one to blame but himself for this unspoken energy we had rumbling beneath our surface about words unspoken between us both.
During one of our conversations on the phone one day, while Pucker was having one of his post-traumatic Slip attacks and yelling into the phone at me; Kandy happened to be standing nearby and heard me call out his name. She slapped me on the arm:
“I know Pucker! I know him!” she whisper-yelled.
“Let me speak to him! That’s my boy!” she yelled out.
My eyes began to blink really fast from trying to process his yells and grunts in one ear and listening to her asking to speak to him in the other ear.
I wanted to see about this about as much as I wanted him out of my ear and in my head at that moment.
I knew that she had attended several public high-schools around town for a few years, on a quest for trying to nail one down, but I was hoping she hadn’t ever nailed Pucker. I didn’t need any more of his Jedi Mind Tricks. We had enough going on between us and no other bodies were in our picture at this moment.
I knew that Pucker had attended the public high school closest to the suburb he was raised in, so I had to assume that she knew him from that high-school.
I shoved the phone in her hand and broke Pucker’s attack.
They talked for a minute while I stood there analyzing the excitement in her voice with this big, joyous smile on her face-trying to decipher whether or not it was one of friendship or something more than that. I could not tell-it sound like a little bit of both, wrapped with a little bit of reminiscent nostalgia. I didn’t worry too much, because she could barely speak in complete sentences and seemed to be the “everybody’s home girl” type of girl rather than somebody I should worry about.
She handed the phone back to me:
“That broad is over there now! She’s about twenty-five/thirty years old and shit!” he laughed.
I laughed-but didn’t respond.
“I know you don’t hang with her? How’d that happen?” he asked.
I looked over at Kandy and replied into the phone:
“She’s really nice to me. She introduced herself to me one morning while I was sitting in front of my homeroom-so in passing, we would talk. That’s how we met,” I replied.
“Listen to her-yelling. I hear her!” he laughed-listening to her yell out to someone in passing.
“That’s why she can’t graduate now. She doesn’t know how to stop running her loud mouth! She’s cool and all-but she aint got nothing on her mind-at all!” he laughed.
Pucker himself wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, so for him to say something like that, I knew I had nothing much to worry about—or so I thought…
I felt good that this girl interrupted one of his many psychotic post-traumatic Slip disorder attacks that he was having on me-in my ear. I used the moment to exit the conversation with him.
“I didn’t know you knew Pucker.”
“That’s my boy.”
“That’s your boyfriend? “
“Are y’all kickin’ it?”
“He’s not with Soccer anymore?”
“How long have you been with him?”
…she had a laundry-list of questions while we were walking down the hallway.
I ignored them all and answered one question for her:
“That’s my dude,” I said, looking here straight in the eyes with a soft smile on my face (for her)-as my warning. But in my mind, I was saying: “girl you have no idea what I’m going through with him and boy do I love me some him…”
Instead, I gave her a nod then looked at my watch:
“I’ll talk to you later if I run into you-alrighty?’ I said.
“Alright, then Angie,” she answered back.
Outside of our being acquainted with one another in school, we had nothing else in common.
We did not have one another’s phone number or hang out afterschool. And I certainly wasn’t interested in taking our acquaintance to another level by discussing Pucker with her. After all, regardless the fact that Pucker was an old friend of hers, the main fact was that I was in love with him. Any dealings with her outside of being a school friend would be on the strength of her knowing that Pucker and I were together.
Later that night after he and Right Hand Man came from attending a football game; Pucker came to see me. He was looking soooo super good. Fresh haircut, skin pretty, and wearing:
- a thick, crisp, pretty white Nike swooped sweatshirt
- blue jeans
- a new pair of Nike sneakers
I already knew that he would make his way over to see me that evening, because if I did not see him at lunch or afterschool that day, so when that would happen, he would go out of his way to make his way to me before I would sleep at night-as if somehow, this ‘fix’ would be what it would take to ease his mind that there was no one else but him inside or around me-ever.
Taking into consideration, the fact that I had hurt him so-with Slip-and still carried on being friends with Slip while he still loved and stayed with me; all the while I secretly dared him to fight, complain or ask any questions about me and Slip back then, he was always on his toes with me.
I loved Pucker. And ever since my slip with Slip, and especially now that Slip was gone away; I never felt like I had any right to disagree with anything Pucker suggested or demanded. Although part of me was growing weary with this power struggle, I wanted so badly for him to get his manhood back. Because I knew that despite of what I did to Pucker, all his friends still handled me with kid-gloves. He was such a low-key idiot that, it didn’t even make sense to try and prove anything to his friends that witnessed it because they still liked and respected me no different than before my slip with Slip. But oddly, their low-key habit of disrespecting him right in front of me didn’t change either. He couldn’t win this low-key power struggle with me-and he couldn’t win it with them, either. I could never tell if it was because he was the pretty boy of them all-that all the girls liked or because it was that guy thing-where they wanted to prove that they were tougher than Pucker. It was weird. Alls I knew is that still, I loved him and secretly wanted him to feel powerful above and around them. One part because of their power over him and the other part, because I felt I owed it to him.
So another school lunch hour that didn’t happen, happened at night where I’d do the usual: “Mom, I’m gonna step out and go to store. Can you keep and eye on Lucky ‘til I get back?”
Pucker then hit the jackpot. I let him score this night while Right Hand Man drove around the city-pretending to not know what was going on as the loud music served as the partition-octaves over each of my screams of passion and pleasure from Pucker’s back seat as Pucker performed his masculine magic for what seemed like hours. You see, I was Pucker’s only ‘power.’ And I ‘Slipped’ and took it from him while afterwards, knowing I was still fucking with his head-by not giving him questions to answers he wanted to know. Well…my only ‘power’ was that I withheld that. But still, he was my ‘man.’ And all that I had. I loved him so hard, and wanted him to feel powerful over his friends who secretly wanted him to look powerless by comparison to them. Despite Pucker and my differences, with words unspoken, he and I was still a ‘team’ sometimes.
So like a scene clear out of a Color Purple scene, while his friends were sometimes low-key disrespectful to him as Mister’s dad was disrespectful to Mister in front of Celie, unplanned, spontaneously and occasionally; Right Hand Man or someone in the circle driving would be like Celie spitting in the cold cup of water Mister’s dad asked for. However, that would soon prove to be too much for Pucker’s ego and eventually, I would be the one stone, cold spat on…
That next day at school, during before and during homeroom, I was told by several other students that Kandy was flying from floor to floor looking for me. I caught up with her around first bell to find out what the hell she wanted. She couldn’t wait to tell me something deep. I could tell by the way she sat at the edge of her seat-with her purse hanging from the shoulder where a book bag filled with books should have been. She kept holding her index finger up to signal me to hang-on, while using that same finger to point at her neck while smiling and laughing. She was excited as hell and could wait until that bell rang.
Finally-it rang. She ran straight out and into to me to show me a big bright red and purple swollen hickey on her neck that she said Pucker had given her.
“How and when did that happen?” I asked her-trying to look unaffected by remaining calm and poised.
“He came over to my house last night!” she yelled, with a smile on her face.
Immediately I thought she was a crazy liar, because after leaving the football game that he and Right Hand Man attended, Pucker was with me.
“Hmm. What did he have on Kandy, and what time was it?” I questioned her.
She picked an hour that could very well have been correct because it was around the time he should’ve been at the football game that he told me he and Right Hand Man had gone to.
“What did he have on Kandy?” I asked.
“He had on a fresh-running pants outfit: jogging pants, a white t-shirt and a running jacket that matched the pants!” she yelled loudly-trying hard to prove to me that my dude was no good.
The outfit she said he had on was way different than the:
- thick, crisp, pretty white Nike swooped sweatshirt
- blue jeans
- and new pair of Nike sneakers
…that he had on when he had come to see me.
Though I knew the description of the outfit did not match, I knew that she was not lying either. I knew that somehow and some time in that night before coming to see me-she indeed saw him.
I could not hold my composure any more than I could bring myself to ask her what, if anything, had happened that brought about that hickey on her neck.
I don’t know about where she came from, but where I come from; we didn’t necessarily go chasing girls down to show them hickey marks on our necks-given by guys we knew they were going steady with. And she knew Pucker and I was steady. She wasn’t really my friend, per se. So I didn’t engage her any further about it.
I could not wait to talk to him though. I was livid.
The questions that refused to ask her began to pile up in my head and pushed water to my eyes.
She lowered her big smile:
“My bad Angie,” she said to me-with both of her hands covering both sides of her neck.
I refused to give her the satisfaction of asking her any questions about what happened with she and Pucker. I left her standing there staring at me like she wished she was in my shoes that I used to walk away from her-at that moment.
I couldn’t reach Pucker in the afternoon during lunch, so there were no plans for picking me up afterschool. His being missing in action the next day after this scandal almost seemed like it was apart of some plan of his. The end of the school day couldn’t get here soon enough for me.
Later that night however, I caught up with him the moment he finally answered his phone:
“Why?” Why would you make love to me the same night that you were with someone else, and why her Pucker? All that shit you talked about. I thought you were so disgusted by her type! I’m always trying to be ‘one’ with you-scraping myself to the ground to do what it takes to make you happy and I always get fucked over by you! What more do you want from me?”
Feeling like he was getting some of his power back, rather than shocked and caught by surprise, he sounded rather happy that he was able to get such a rise out of me. He then began to give me a play-by-play of his entire day through to the time he had come to play with me.
When he proceeded to question me about what she said he had on, I knew then that his play-by-play was not fully true. His concern for her reporting to me what he wore was so irrelevant, that I knew he purposely changed clothes to confuse me, but to discredit her story that he knew her loud mouth would be delivering to me. I wasn’t stupid. He was. He was too eager to get to the magical part of the costume change that he practically gave himself away in the hocus pocus. That still didn’t prove he didn’t fuck her.
The entire time he was talking to me, I sat on the phone crying my heart out-without saying a word while he continuously asked me if I believed him-that he did not sleep with her.
As I listened on to his version of the night with her version of the night, I could tell that, like I thought, the hickey put on her neck was indeed by way of him. That angered me. Listening on, I could tell however, that there was no football game attended but he did change clothes just to confuse me-knowing that she would report some evidence to me to further confuse me and leave me with a thousand questions in my mind like the questions “Slipped” into his mind that live on that he won’t let go of any more than answers I never let on to.
Little did he know, as I listened on and assessed it all; I had been with him for long enough to know regardless of how good he was, considering how hungry he was when I parted behind that ‘partition’ and hard we went at it; there was no room for another girl that night in particular. After reaching my conclusion; my routinely flowing tears became yet, a mere dance for his ego he was so methodically trying hard to put back together-by any silly ass means necessary.
Still, I knew that all I had to do was put in a phone call to Right Hand Man and without hesitation; he would definitely give me the full details of what, if anything did occur that night-something I needed to know: “So what happened last night Right Hand Man, how’d that go down?” I asked him.
He told me that he and Pucker stopped by Kandy’s house.
They did what the norm was in this real life that, opposite my illusion and fairytale life that I once lived, was the norm for the “Kandy’s”: “smoked a lil’ weed, drank on something and chilled out for a lil’ while.” Right Hand Man said they all got caught up on who was doing what since Kandy had left that particular school she had attended with both Pucker and Right Hand Man (who proceeded to tell the rest of all that Pucker neglected to mention in his play-by-play):
“So, Kandy was tossing ‘em back…you know…talking all loud and shit, like she always does. Then all of a sudden, she came over to Pucker and sat on his lap…you know…rubbing all on his chest and said some shit like: ‘I always wanted you so bad Pucker, but Soccer was always in the way at school! Give me some of that dick.’” That’s what she said. Just like that.
My eyes stretched. My mouth stretched wider. I listened on:
“Now, he was letting her rub on him…you know…on his shit right?” he forewarned, before continuing.
“Then he started grabbing her and asking her how bad did she want it. Thennnn…she started literally begging him to fuck her. So then he started sucking on her neck and making her hot and shit-you know. Then, she started pleading for him to fuck her,” explained Right Hand Man.
My open mouth dropped. My heart was palpitating:
“What!!! Passion?!! What!! Nah!!!” I yelled.
“Nah. For her! Pucker was laughing and getting a kick out of it Angie. He’s not attracted to her like that. It was funny to watch her beg. He was laughing while she was begging. It was weird as fuck. We were both laughing, actually. She then got up and started pulling him back towards the bedroom. He was pulling back away from her. It looked liked they were playing tug-of-war and shit. I aint gon’ lie…that was a pretty funny sight,” laughed Right Hand Man.
“Wow,” I said.
“So then Pucker was like: ‘Nah, we’ll have to hook up another time, alright-I really have to go right now though.’ So, we started heading to the door while she was stillllllll begging him! That shit was crazy as hell! Pucker slipped out the door with the quickness and I slid out behind him. We were laughing because she was in the window-sill…stillllll begging while we were outside going to the car! It was crazy,” he laughed our asses off when we hopped in the car. I’m sorry…it was funny as hell.
I was speechless.
Right Hand Man kept laughing; enjoying telling me this story that hurt but spared my heart at the same time. He added:
“What was funny was that, while she was begging from out the window, Pucker looked up and started singing like: ‘You’re not worthy. You’re not worthy. You’re not worthy. You’re not worthy of this dick!’ We started laughing. And Kandy yelled down and said: ‘what did you say?’ Pucker laughed and got in the car. We drove off, and that was it. Then that’s when we came over to your house…” he finished.
I still wanted to know about the whole “Whodini” costume change:
“So what was with the change of clothes? What was all that for, if he didn’t fuck her? I mean, for real. What is all of this for-the shit he does and tries to prove by being this way to me? The mind games and shit? It’s always so much effort put into it on his part. It’s crazy! It’s methodical and crazy. What does he be saying to you? I need to know?”
“Well, for starters, truth be told, he hasn’t been to right since that shit you pulled with Slip. Something in him changed. It fucked his mind up, and shit. And I think he feels like he’s got something to prove to us, since you hurt him like that-in front of us. That caught him off-guard. That was like…his for-real, for-real, deep-cut, heartbreak. And he never expected that from YOU. It caught him by surprise. I don’t think he’ll ever get over that. He hasn’t spoken about or to Slip since that day. Not even when Slip left for the military. And mind you, we all grew up together since kids. And he and Slip have lived next door to each other—since kids. He will never fuck with Slip again.”
He paused, waiting to see if I had anything to offer that he could go back and report to Pucker. I did not offer him anything to report as, I could only say what I know in response to that: “Slip really doesn’t care, either.” But instead, I said asked (again):
“So what was with the change of clothes? What was all that for-if he didn’t fuck Kandy?”
“What he had on when he came to your house was something that he had in the trunk of his car in a gym bag. He pulled to the end of her street and changed into them because he said something about Kandy hanging around you at school, and if she tried to tell you anything to upset you-he wanted to prove her all wrong-that was all,” explained Right Hand Man.
“Mannnn. He-be thinking hard doesn’t he?” I chuckled and shook my head.
Right Hand Man laughed with me.
I laughed and returned: “He knows how I think and pay attention. He knows me better than I ever gave him credit for,” I said.
I had to believe Right Hand Man’s play-by-play over Pucker’s play-by-play.
He did not have enough respect for Pucker’s relationship style or his manhood for that matter, to even consider telling me a lie about what really happened. He wasn’t concerned about whether or not I was going to playback the play-by-play to Pucker, either. Still, I told him that it’s best we keep a lid on the conversation he had and that I would leave everything as-was and he promised to do the same.
Right Hand Man had been sweet on one of my girlfriends as well, so, with that desire unfulfilled as yet, it was looking more and more like Pucker’s right hand man would slowly be turning to my right hand man; at least up and until he could get both of his hands on my friend.
Meanwhile, later that night after my domestic duties, I allowed Pucker to talk to me until I fell asleep-still allowing him to keep his ego in tact, by letting him think that he still had one up over my confused heart. Because as far as he knew, I was still hurt, confused, unaware (and lied to) about the full truth about what had really gone down last night at Kandy’s house.
Ignorance is bliss.
He could continue to be in bliss about his one-up he felt he had (and needed).
I, on the other hand was in bliss; knowing that I knew the full truth about what did not happen, while pretending to be ignorant. Whatever it took to score cool points for his ego was okay with me…
When Wednesday came, and Kandy showed up before homeroom, snooping around me, trying to check my pulse to see what, if anything I knew:
“Hi Angie, how are you today girl,” she half-smiled feeling uncomfortable.
“I’m good, just a lil’ tired-is all,” I replied.
“You work afterschool Angie?” she asked, just trying to be nosey.
With a straight face, devoid of any emotion-I replied to her in a tone of voice and language that she would surely understand:
“Yeah, I do. This week however, I am off until the weekend. So Monday night and last night, Pucker has been working me overtime girl.
That dick is awesome, girl,” I moaned out and gasped-like it was some delicacy that she wasn’t worthy of.
We weren’t even that level of ‘cool’ so I know that caught her by surprise.
I didn’t give a shit. I had to get that off and to her.
She tried to hold on to her half-smile that was replaced with an envious smirk, looking like she would kill to have a bite.
She stood there tapping her foot with her hands in her back pockets:
“How long have you been fucking around with Pucker?” she inquired.
“Fucking around?” with a frown in my brow-I looked at her as if she had two heads:
“I don’t just ‘fuck around’ with Pucker. I told you that he was my dude, I said-afraid to say that he was really my “boyfriend” to some chick that new him from a life I knew no one in—just in case she knew something that would make me look stupid for claiming some dude who could be doing who knows what.
Instead, I scolded her: “Kandy. We’ve been doing a lot more than ‘fucking around’ for well over a year now.”
I smirked then smiled back at her-to make her feel like it was Pucker who told me about [what didn’t get to happen] two nights previous to this day.
If only she knew, he did not have the balls to tell me-but rather, set it up just enough so that whatever would be told to me; would be just enough to play with my head and my heart.
She just stood there-looking down at my shoes that she wished she could be in, having no idea what I had been going through with Pucker while trying to stay sane.
I cut her off at the knees-right where she stood and let her watch me walk away.
That afternoon, she boldly made her way to the front hall of the school, to see if one of the booths we used to talk on the phone would be occupied by Yours Truly.
Surprise! It was.
I turned around with the phone in my hand and stared at her as she walked by. She took it a step further by having the nerve to roll her eyes at me.
I raised my brow and giggled into the phone as if I was laughing at her-making her think that Pucker and I was on the phone laughing about her, when all we were really doing was making plans for him to pick me up afterschool.
Wednesdays and Fridays where the days I would have an extra three to four hours before having to be back home.
We went and grabbed a bite to eat and Pucker pulled out and onto the streets like he had some place to go in a hurry and was running late.
“Why are you driving like that?” I asked.
“ ‘Cause I have to get somewhere shortly and I lost track of time,” he said.
“Oh, okay, are you taking me home?” I asked.
He slowed down and looked over at me kind of alarmed:
“No, I actually thought you were coming with me,” he said.
I would go to the moon and back with Pucker by this time.
My heart smiled and then my mouth and eyes smiled at him as I said naively:
“Ohhhh. Okay. Whatever then,” I blushed, naively. I looooved this “dude.”
He smiled back at me. He was feeling so good about his lil’ ego boost.
He looked back over at me and grabbed my hand.
“Angie, you are sooooo damned cute…” he said, as if there was more to say behind it-like I had no idea of what was to come.
“Oh… thanks, for noticing,” I laughed and replied.
“Nah, I just hate looking at you sometimes, it’s just a trip,” he said.
“You’re so pretty to me and sometimes I just…I don’t know…I just…don’t know what I-be thinking.”
I didn’t reply. It was so jumbled.
A short time after, I looked up and we were pulling into Right Hand Man’s driveway.
Right Hand Man opened the door to let us in.
“Took you long enough!” he said to Pucker.
I yanked Pucker’s hand and pulled him down to my face:
“He knew we were coming over here?” I asked.
“Yeah, I mean-I needed to spend some time with you, I miss you man. He just needed to let me in so he could go run some errands with his sister. You know he’s got his own section of the house right?” explained Pucker.
“Yeah, but-I mean, I guess,” I mumbled.
I was getting comfy cozy on the couch, watching a little television while Pucker was rubbing, kissing, biting, massaging all over my body and digging down in my crouch as if he was looking for a pot of gold-slurping and puckering his lips like this was the meal of the day he had been waiting on.
All of a sudden, he started grabbing his dick-anxiously-as if he was trying to hold back for a reason, but was about to burst. I sat up straight, pulled my skirt back down and crossed my legs; watching him run up and down the steps.
The first trip: a soda for me.
The second trip: a soda for him.
Third trip: no reason.
He started getting very nervous and antsy.
Something weird was going on.
Then, as if we were hiding from someone, he whispered: “Come here! Come here Angie!”
I made my way over to the side of the room where the loveseat was positioned.
“What’s going on?” I whispered.
“Nothing! I’m just-grrrrr…” he growled, literally-as if he was in a tight and about to piss his pants. He began to sink his teeth all around my neck-panting-hard.
I was soooooo super in love with Pucker that the minute he would touch me with his mouth or his hands, I would tear up. It was fireworks-always-in a matter of seconds.
He then put his teeth in my neck and started caressing my breasts back and forth really fast-like I liked. I began to get very aroused.
I knew what he wanted me to do and I was mainly worried about whose eyes were watching this time. Everything that had occurred up to this very point seemed to be a setting for a scene. And in the back of my mind, I knew that I was the star and Pucker was the supporting actor in it all.
At this point, I didn’t even care. I threw my head down and took a deep breath. Every degrading thing he made me do, I felt like I owed it to him because of what I did to him. Anything that he wanted me to do in order to put his ego back in place in the eyes of anyone who I stole it from-and even in front of; I was willing to do-all without voicing to him that I knew what he was doing-so that I wouldn’t lead him to think that I was okay with it. Because I was not. Not all.
So I played ignorant to his bliss.
I figured that with enough notches under his belt, eventually everything would be back to what was at least normal before I hurt him and besides, I knew that all of the eyes watching him fuck me had already seen me naked on the photograph-legs wide open. I just knew it.
I knew all those eyes were the very same eyes watching from the passenger side and back seat of Puckers car that same fateful day that he pulled up on Slip and me and got his heartbroken into a million little pieces.
I knew it. Though I couldn’t see the people under the stairs, I just knew they were there, so, I didn’t let the matter-matter.
As he kissed and undressed me, he positioned me in a way that I knew-for sure-I was being watched. To be honest, acted like I didn’t know. I simply wanted to ask: “Okay. After this, are we going to be even?” I didn’t though. I continued to comply.
He kept instructing me:
“No come here…”
“Come right here…”
“Over here a little bit more..”
“Open your legs…”
“Show me how you play with it on the phone,” all kinds of instructions.
My “dude’s” “instructions” felt like every unbelievable thing he had for the stories about what he was getting from his “girl” that they didn’t believe; he wanted to prove it: Live and in action.
I knew exactly what was going on.
I lay there on my back and opened my legs for him and began to knead my swollen pussy for him while playing with my clit-watching it and him swell up with every moan.
He sat up on his knees in front of me with his dick in his hand while he slurped and slithered like a dirty old man jacking off to a girly magazine-trying hard not to jab himself into me so that his friends watching to the left of us and standing on stairs of this attack bedroom-could enjoy the show.
“Angie this pussy you got is so damned good,” I’m sorry, said-like an apology, while he continued to stroke himself slowly and wiping the tip of his dick back and forth across my clit.
“You know it too-don’t you?” he asked-with his eyes squinted, as if he wanted me to confirm it was weaponry to him and wanted me to admit it.
I did not respond.
He wiped faster until he couldn’t help himself anymore and then shoved himself into me:
“Tell me you love this dick why don’t you!” he demanded.
I squealed and bit down on my jowls and withheld my response.
I turned my head to the right and tightened my lips like a kid being force-fed broccoli.
“You call yourself not scared to take this dick? Huh!” he yelled.
I gasped and let it out: “No, no!” I moaned helplessly.
I just wanted to get it over with.
“I love this dick, I do. Just-fuck me, just fuck me,” I said-desperately, wanting him to hurry.
He threw my knees back to my chest and my legs over his shoulders and began to fuck me senseless while grunting and growling like some rabid animal trying hard not to let his lil’ friends hear him break into to any form of submission or pleasure or emotion whatsoever. It was the weirdest shit ever…like…his intent was to take control of a situation that he, himself couldn’t even dominate once he slipped in.
All I could hear was Slip’s voice in my head loud and clear from that conversation we had one day: “Number Three, what do you need with an asshole like that who would show his circle of friends his girl’s goodies and then demonstrate how you be fucking him and what you be crying out to him when he’s fucking you. What do you need a man like that for? I mean, regardless. Dudes gon’ be dudes but a real man aint got nothing to prove.”
I twisted my legs like a pretzel, wrapped my arms around the backs of my knees and buried my entire face there to allow me enough air to breathe- to block any possible view of my face from the left side of the room.
I buried myself there in tears and moaning, hurt from knowing that I was being watched, while at the same time, moaning with pleasure; the same normal tears of pleasure that I would shed even when we would make love (in private).
Pucker was beneath me-with full access to the bottom of me-all he could see was my pussy and himself going in and out of it as he grabbed my ass from the bottom like he was holding a sweet bowl of cherries; pounding away like a mad-man.
“Ahhhhhhhhh. Turn around!” he whispered, while he rose up off of me some-in a heated rush with his dick still stuck inside of me, panting like an animal in heat.
I threw my right leg over in front of him to carefully turn over without having him pull all the way out of me. I could tell by the way he was gripping me-like he was holding me captive-that he was hoping he was some master director that could prove I had the kind of skills such that he would not have to fully pull out of me as I turned around.
I’m short. So I did well.
“Why aren’t you telling me that you love me!” he yelled, while thrusting me senseless as I lay there arched with my whole upper body lying flat; giving him full access to me from behind-ready for him to hurry up and finish this show.
He was fucking the shit out of me. It was driving me crazy-feeling so good. Considering the fact that I knew what was going on, I wanted to be resistant but I started to lose control the way I normally would whenever we would be alone:
“I love you! I love you! I do. Just fuck me! Fuck me harder!” I yelled-repeatedly and louder-knowing that it would make him cum faster while thrusting back into him with my legs wrapped around him; helping in thrusting up into me and thrusting him back onto his knees to put him fully out of control.
My mind wouldn’t allow me to let the eyes I felt watching me, hear him drive me this wild and have me this aroused, like in private. I just couldn’t do it.
This fuck was so frustrating for me. Because no matter what, when, where or how. I loved sex with Pucker above and beyond anything else and I “loved” him.
But I had to shut him down in order to shut me up.
I thrust and pushed him back so hard that he sat up and on the back of his legs and gripped my ass tight like a pair of handle bars.
I wrapped and gripped my legs around him from the back-tighter this time-like a human octopus. I then fucked him nice, tight, slow, deep and senseless-with the force and two-hundred miles per hour winds forcing its way through a sliding balcony door being repeatedly opened and closed tight shut.
It was him losing, and out of control this time.
I refused to be.
I wanted this tornado to be over and done with. It was too much for my mind, imagination and body to bare. I was needing it, loving it and hating it at the same time.
He yelled out: “I’m ‘bout..!” as he reached down and grabbed my hair.
He pulled me back up to his chest and turned me around to catch it.
This thing was private no more.
He sat up off the back of his legs and on to his knees.
It was typical for me to take my index finger to “tickle his prostate” and suck him off simultaneously.
That too, was private. Well, it used to be.
Something in my mind told me to go on with the show as usual and this would be the test to see if we really were being watched.
I knew that he would rather die than to let the eyes watching see the effects of him getting his “prostate” tickled.
I knew that to begin doing so-he would definitely perform for his friends, break the moment and ruin my sexual high as well. The ghost would then be given up and the watching eyes would be revealed.
That was all just too much for my mind to process.
So instead, I submitted. I kneeled beneath him and placed both my hands in my lap while he howled out: growling, grunting and gasping soprano; trying hard not to yell out like in private.
He grabbed his face in his hands as if was having a head rush and turning from human to Hulk.
I gripped him like the merciless hold of a sphincter-so tight-that, from bawling my lips around my teeth; I knew for sure that my mouth would be sore the next day. I pulled back and forth so deeply and so slowly but refusing to pull off of it. I was hoping that the tongue-lashing I was giving the shaft of his entrapped dick would surely be enough to touch down all that he had-out of him, and then this whole entire tornado of a fucking scene was finally over.
My “get-a-life” workout plan was coming to fruition bit by bit. I’m nearing legal age and the second chapter of my not so fairytale life was soon to begin.
One goal that I did reach was my senior graduation-on schedule, as I had planned.
June 4th finally arrived!
Although not with my familiar surroundings and friends-I still did it on schedule without having to be held back because of my setback.
The fact that I hated that school had nothing to do with the joy I felt from graduating at my right age-right year.
By graduation time, although I never made it a priority to make many close friends there, outside of my friend Posh, my graduating class was still all friendly and respectful to me by this day, and likewise, me-them (including Heckla by this time). We all probably looked like Morris Day did out in the crowd at the end of “Purple Rain,” celebrating and dancing to Prince performing Baby I’m A Star after all that time during the whole movie he spent heckling his rival.
I think we all just wanted out, and it felt like something had been accomplished-regardless-for our own sets of reasons and from our own sets of experiences going forward. We were all wildly happy and excited.
The goal was the same. And at this moment in all of our time; we all were the same: In my eyes and me in theirs. In this very moment, I wasn’t the “new girl”, the “pretty girl,” “Miss Pretty,” the “bougie bitch’ or anything I was once called nine months prior when I just jumped into these people’s school my senior year while they all had gone to the same elementary school, then over to the same middle school, and on over to this very high school and therefore, bonded through familiarity. In this moment, just as accepted by them as I had to accept that (in this moment) I, too, was “them” (too). It was beautiful. I actually began to love the school towards the end of the year.
Though I knew, like they knew that we pretty much had nothing else outside of this sunny June day in common; what we did share was the spirit of joy and accomplishment. The days leading up to graduation day was as friendly and as close as if after commencement, I too, would be joining them all in their monotonous: go home, go to work, chill out with a couple friends, get drunk, smoke a lil’ weed and maybe get into some mischief.
I took my time getting dressed and ready for this moment that I knew I would be sharing and celebrating alone. I didn’t really share the extent of the serious of what this day meant for me to any of my friends, Pucker or anybody. I felt beautiful that day. I felt so smart. I felt accomplished, so worthy of this moment. I worked soooooooo fucking hard for it.
My one good friend that I made at the school: Posh from bookkeeping class, walked down the isle right in front of me as determined by our last names.
Besides her being a friend of mine, there-because she, too, was graduating; to my knowledge, and by my secretiveness and understanding, Posh would technically be my only friend and celebratory support system on my big day.
As important as making it to this day was to me, I never spoke on it with nobody. After my mom snatching out of my artsy school mid-school year, my sophomore year and then sticking into the pregnant jail where I went to school, too-until Lucky came; other than fighting for this moment-by attending night school and then summer school in order to graduate on time and at 17 going on 18 years old-I was pretty low key about how important this day was for me. I looked at this day kind of like how childbirthing Lucky was for me.
Rather than the balloons decorating the room, knock-down drag out screams, sweating, huffing and puffing with doctors, nurses, and family afoot while pushing out baby, I literally woke up with a slit tummy that had stitches in it and simply heard that Lucky was here in the world and located down the hall in ICU. I figured that if life could be brought in the world that low key, quiet and cool; I too, could make it to this moment just as low key and cool-without balloons, family, friends and boyfriends around or anticipating this day with me.
This June 4th day, I just wanted to:
- wake up
- take a bath
- get dressed
- get to the auditorium
- put on my cap and gown
- grab my diploma
- walk out
…knowing that I wasn’t a teen mom statistic having dropped out of school and later in life-chasing completion by settling for a “GED.” In my mind, that kind of circumstance solidified and ensured a trash ass, statistically predictable life and existence. I REFUSED follow that as the foundation for my sky-blue print in life and situation of mine-despite the redirection my life took.
Despite my naivete and teenage rebellion, Ms. You Know Who’s lectures were not all in vain.
I learned more from her about life thus far enough such that, I secretly, and privately drafted my very own blueprint to follow with the kind of stick-to-it-tiveness that didn’t require announcement, applause or celebration that, later in life served and sewed seeds into the sophisticated and seasoned woman that I would intentionally and eventually become.
Despite my being so secretive, much to my surprise, two people made it to my graduation in support of me: My friend Dana who I had been friends with since 5th grade and too, went to, and was a “survivor” at our artsy school. As well, my aunt Judy showed up-one of my mom’s two younger sisters who were closer to my age and, like my homegirl Kris, wanted to make sure that despite my being a “teen mom”-life for me could still be teen-like. Babysat when I wanted to hang out or go skating, to concerts or whatever a teen “girl” still wanted to do. My aunts Judy and Jane saw to it that I still had that. My aunties made sure they primped me for prom and saw me through having had the full-on experience.
My beautiful prom experience went kind of like the experience both aunties gave to me-conducive each of their personalities: Judy set things off and Jane finished it.
You see despite being a teen mom with a “baby-deady,” I had such a clutch ass support system that Santana’s absence wasn’t even missed, yearned for or noticed. My senior year babysitter was the mother of one of my friends from the U-street who had known me and my mom since I was like, 8 years-old. She was the sister of Ms. Beautiful’s friend. Myself and her 3 kids were friends since 8 years-old. The bonus was that she lived right around the corner from the wild high school I attended my senior year, so she kept Lucky during the day.
In the evening’s on days I needed to “step out to go to the store” (with Pucker) or attended night school, my mom watched Lucky.
To attend summer school, my mom’s mom kept Lucky.
My aunt Jane was a ‘by default’/last resort sitter.
Judy was always the first option because during the summer nights, when she would take myself and Dana to the skating rink, concerts or anywhere, she had one rule: “I will keep Lucky and drop you and Dana off, but I aint picking you heifers up. So DON’T call. That would mean that the moment Dana and me would hit the door of wherever we were; we would be gathering up rides from people we knew with our same lines: “Can me and my girl hitch a ride home with you? Okay, I’ll meet you in front!”
Between the two of us, we would have 2 to 10 rides on lock. It was first see, first swerve: We’d hop in and head home.
With my aunties, that was kind of like my prom night worked out: Judy spent the day taking me to get my hair done, and jewelry, shoes and tights bought. Jane slid through and pretty’d me up: Did my nails, drew my bath and did my makeup. I was princess for the day.
As I reflect, I attended not just prom, but two. The 1st, with my “first”: My first boyfriend and literal ‘first”-with whom I lost my virginity with-my ‘fairtytale’ boyfriend turned eventual ‘baby-deady’ Santana with whom, I lived the dream every teen girl alive wants-that runs neck n’ neck with becoming a happily married woman: Being the:
- “pretty girl” at the:
- “popular school” with the:
- “popular boyfriend” and being the:
- “pretty and popular couple” having the:
- “most coveted relationship” plus the:
- “envy of all relationships” and of other:
- “pretty and popular people”
Been there, done that. Been there, had that. Been there, was that.
Been the nerdy, awkward girl swept off her feet in classic Romeo-Juliet style, having had the glass slipper substituted by trendy fashion replacing artsy, Bohemian rags to suit the worldly fairytale boyfriend’s materialistic taste.
- cool “pretty girl” with:
- platonic, “cool” guy friends from:
- a “cool, popular high school” that wanted his:
- “cool pretty girl” from another:
- “cool school” as his prom date who, by this time was a:
…good girl gone bad rebellious girl who cut her off hair stylishly, spiky short-and elected to dress in a strapless shiny dark dress and tall, dark heels versus traditional prom-like colors for the double date with my bestie from my artsy school who left for the “cool, popular school” and wore her dainty pink satin dress with sneakers beneath it for “heels.” We were wild and enjoyed life.
Thanks to my friends and my auntie’s, despite being a teen mom; I was allowed, encouraged and permitted to enjoy life-the kind of life and experiences that many girls who weren’t even teen mom’s never live to even have.
Those are my red carpet moments of a life for which I got my living on-captured, and stored our memories and stills that even moreso; nobody can take from me, nobody can be nominated with me or compete in a category with me on.
These experiences are mine, authentically, exclusively, unregrettably, unapologetically: Mine. Regardless the unconventionality, perils and pain woven in between. All Angie situations, mine: lived and done within the age-typical time, on time, and during the most trying but impressionable times. Still, I lived and got my living on in the nick of time.
My mom was home, resting from surgery. Twin was who knows where. And I was still estranged from my dad.
Posh and I were chums at school as well as after school. So her stepfather scooped me up in the old beat up Chevy Conversion van where he, her sister Dawn, and her mom were her guests and served as my support system for mine and Posh’s big day.
After commencement, however, I entered the lobby of the hall, and there stood my aunt Judy with a card and a surprise hug for me-wrapped around some words of encouragement to let me know just how proud of me, she was.
More surprises came.
When our graduating class walked through the auditorium corridors to outdoors, there, stood my girl Dana, with flowers, a card and a tight hugs and sincere congratulations for me as well.
I was even more surprised, because although she and I had still remained friends after I left the artsy-school, I didn’t recall ever telling her my “get a life” workout plan or even what my graduation date was. We talked about a lot of things-guys and such-but never did I explain to her, the things I was feeling, going through or working on. Just our general boyfriend-talk and teen-talk. So she surprised me and stepped it up a notch with me in the “Department of Friends.” But then too, Dana was from a house full of girls and was a sensitive girly-girl because of. Hell, Dana’s mom stepped in as honorary mom for me when I first got my period and my mom was away at work.
We had history.
I figured that since she knew I was supposed to be walking down the isle with she, and my other artsy-school buddies sometime earlier that same month; I guess she took it upon herself to find out where my deviated graduation plans were actually taking place. She found me and she showed up. That was special to me-the effort and thoughtfulness.
But she, above all of our friends at the artsy school had more of a history since we were like, ten years old. We even shared the same bathtub many a day as girls to pre-teens.
Her mom meant business about that damned water bill.
It was common for every weekend during the school year and on random days throughout the summer; Dana’s house would be littered with us screaming girls throughout all three floors of their house, including the basement, den or the attic. If you could image tons of bats splattered across walls and flying across different rooms of a cave-that was us. Dana’s house was our girl cave.
You see, Dana was my friend that lived about 4 or 5 doors up from me on the street with the U-before her parents bought the big house in the same neighborhood but about a 2 mile walk away. Before then, though, although she lived on the same U street-and we we’re friends; I didn’t let her in on hanging out with my “umbrella friends.”
I was social chameleon yet “friendly separatist” with like 9 different lives-all my life-so pretty much anything about me depended on who you asked. I knew how to keep Dana out and away from my umbrella friends about as much as I knew how to keep Dana away from the fact that me and one of her other sisters used to go off and kiss in closets, yet, she wasn’t even invited to my umbrella parties. My energy with Dana and her surroundings was different than me with everybody else on our street. Dana’s family was an attractive big family of girls with attractive cousins as well. So the T-Rubbles of the street would try and fight them because as well, they were one of the last families that moved onto our U street; so they were considered ‘new people.’ They all took to me instantly so we all were fast-friends. So the only way you could even get into Dana’s house to become a regular fixture around there was behind me. And the other only girl that could fit in was my next door homie Tori Spilling…
Dana had many sisters and her mom, at a young age, married a man with all girls [and one, yes…just 1] boy from his previous marriage. In between the both of them; there were extended cousins who too, were all girls all around our age. So, Dana’s house was the house of girls, girls, EVERYWHERE, screeching like bats. Their one boy sibling was so tormented by our daily screams that he practically spent his entire pre-pubescent years stomping through the house, to the refrigerator and back to his room while yelling ‘til he’d slam his door shut tight and hard. I was sure that when that boy turns man and gets married, I pray the Lord wouldn’t damn him with a bundle of baby girl. He’s surely going to stomp out the room and never come back. I just knew this.
Her mom and dad NEVER got tired of us and never yelled. It was like when her parents bought that house, they just opened the doors for an all-girls sit-in, and they would retreat to their bedroom, close their door and let us girls go wild….
Actually, the only time we ever really saw the dad was after one too many times when the extended girl cousins would come over, the T-Rubble wolves of the street would be at she and Dana’s eldest sister. The cousin looked like a high-yellow version of the Different Strokes era Janet Jackson and it seemed like whenever she came around, the T-Rubble wolves could smell her and start shit with she and Dana’s sister. Dana’s dad got a bit too tired of watching them both be run off the stoop so he would eventually send them out the house to fight back and whip some ass—or elect to run from them-back into the house to deal with his version of an ass-whipping. Dana’s sister and cousin would win. After they moved to the bigger house, that drama was no more, so we hardly ever saw the dad come out of the room as, they had their own whole floor.
The mom, Ms. Andrea, mainly made her presence known when it was time to supervise that bathroom.
I stress again: She. Did. Not. Play. That. Shit. About. Her. Water. Bill!
If thirteen of us were over there, only one of us got lucky, because she meant business about those two-to-a-tub baths. I guess she figured since none of us were sexually active and still walking around singing jump rope songs, rhymes and limericks; we did not have too much to hide in our lil’ pocketbooks.
Dana and I would usually pair up and then retreat to the den; lying upside down across the ugly couch that her parents stuck in there. We would be laying upside down with our feet up on the wall, blasting music and singing Chaka Khan “Aint Nobody” to the top of our lungs-like we actually had somebody.
We were so wild and free at Dana’s house.
At house, her mom and her dad were just the ticket to the kind of pre-teen freedoms that you could not get at home. Any concert, skating party, mutual friend sleep-over, Saturday night movie or recreation of any kind; Dana’s house was the place to be, and her mom or dad would drive all us daisies to and from.
Fast forward, Dana was my first reminder of that phone call I placed from home from the preggers jail: I remembered the sound of girls still screaming about only this time, all of us were a few years older now-they-probably talking to boys on the phone: Me, shipped away pregnant by one. It was that phone call from the preggers jail that as I listened to the sounds of where I would have been had I listened to my mom and allow Ms. You Know Who, I, too would have still be a screaming girl simply having what was at that time, childless teen girl kinda fun.
Though later as we got older and my ride met that intersection; Dana and my friendship never
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 .