Naija

Between My Thighs

An Urban Erotic Tale

Between My Thighs is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Brown Erotic Publishing Trade Paperback Original

Copyright © 2005 by Naija

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Brown Erotic Publishing

Library of Congress Catalog Number

2006923132

ISBN 10: 0-9776235-0-5

ISBN 13: 978-0-9776235-0-1

Printed in the United States of America

For Troy, who taught me

to never let bed works confuse me.

Acknowledgements

Thanks Quiet Storm,

my true inspiration.

Naija

Between My Thighs

I got up thinking…

Have you ever found yourself doing things you shouldn’t do? Sexing brothers who have no business between your thighs? Going out of your way to please your man? When I graduated from college back in 1999 with my Ph.D. in clinical psychology, I promised myself that the next man who ventured between my thighs would be equivalent to my tight-ass credentials. My name is Dr. Raquel Howard, and this is how it went down….

Chapter 1|

It was right around Fourth of July 2002 when I first came to New York. The summers in the city were hot as hell, and I should have had my ass in bed, but I yearned to see more of the city lights. I guess that’s why when Troy Thomas called asking me to step out I did without hesitation.

Troy was friends with my girl Dallas Jones who I met in undergrad at Hampton University. Dallas and I continued to keep in touch throughout the years. We had more of a long-distance friendship than anything.

Dallas was infatuated with Troy because he pushed a Lexus RX 300, and his pockets were tight. He didn’t mind dropping C-notes on his chicks. That wasn’t what caught my eye about him though. Honestly, Troy and I, we just clicked.

I’d been getting dressed and was putting on my sneakers when the phone rang. Usually, I didn’t answer my girl’s phone but I was expecting a call from her girlfriend who was going to join me after I finished my errands.

“What’s up, girlfriend?” Troy said.

“Not much. Dallas isn’t home,” I told him.

“I didn’t call to speak to Dallas. I was looking for her friend,” Troy said.

“Is that right?” I asked.

“This is Troy. We hung out the other night. You met my boy Jason, we got a few drinks at the lounge,” Troy replied.

“Yes, I remember.” Dallas and I had run into Troy and his friend at Piece a Cake in Brooklyn when we had gone to enjoy ladies’ night.

“What are your plans for the day?” he asked.

“I’m going sightseeing on a tour bus.”

“I’m in the area. I can show you around the city if you want.”

Dallas was out all day preparing for an event she couldn’t get out of—her family owned a small catering business that specialized in West Indian food. When her mother called and said she was short a server, Dallas was at her service. It was cool with me because I had plans to tour New York on top of one of those big red double-decker buses that hits all the boroughs, allowing you to hop on and off. Troy agreed to give me a much better guided tour of the city, and I got to keep my money.

Dallas lived in Brooklyn. Her neighborhood was hot for the most part—men lounged on the steps, the streetlights were broken and sneakers dangled from where the bulb used to be, and thugs had the territory on lock-down, selling drugs on the corner. Card tables lined the sidewalk, blocking the entrance into her building. At any point of the day, you could find someone playing spades, poker, or bones on the tables and back of cars. Nearby, gunshots, sirens, and loud music filled the air.

Pablo, a nice guy from the hood, sat on the porch with the rest of the neighbors watching passersby. When I first got to town, Pablo pushed up on me thinking he was going to get some pussy. He had been with Dallas and figured she and I were on the same page. Although he was nice and kind of sexy, he wasn’t getting any ass. Pablo was checking for me hard. The day I went outside to meet Troy, Pablo and the street rats were hanging out on the steps.

“Hey, Ms. Detroit,” Pablo said, knowing I was from the Midwest. Dallas had run her mouth about me so much, people and Troy were counting the days until I arrived.

“Hi, Pablo.” He’d been trying to change my mind about giving him a chance the last few days.

Brothers are hilarious. I play the game well. I blow their mind when they ask what I do for a living. To most of these cats, having a high school diploma is extraordinary. A sistah with her Ph.D., her own psychiatry practice, no baby daddies, and sexy as hell, so I’ve been told, damn near have men cumming on themselves.

I wasn’t feeling Pablo that day. His persistence was starting to piss me off. I don’t know if it was because I was going out with Troy or just the fact that because my girl was a ho, I had to be one too. It’s funny, guilty by association.

Dallas was sleazy. She was what I called a tri-sexual. That bitch would try anything once. I never thought she would try me though. Don’t get it twisted. She wasn’t ignorant by any means. When it came to her education, she didn’t slip. The girl may have been dumb when it came to other aspects of her life, but she had her master’s in linguistics and was doing the damn thing.

Troy turned the corner in his Lexus. The wheels on his ride glistened, and that gold tooth of his shone just as bright. He was tall, about six-five, and had that thick Trinidadian accent. At first glance, he looked like a grimy brother who had street credibility, but it was just a look. Troy owned a construction company and was a hard worker. His accent turned me on, but I wasn’t into men with caps in their mouth, thought it was country, ghetto, or a combination of both.

“Damn, girl, it’s like that?” Pablo asked as I ended our small talk. “You’ve been here less than a week and already got niggas picking you up.” Pablo was still running his mouth with the rest of the nosy-ass rats sitting on the porch when I walked off.

Troy had the whole day planned. We started the tour in Manhattan. We went to Times Square and visited Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum where Samuel L. Jackson stood looking better than ever. While we were in Times Square, we went inside B.B. King’s Bar & Grill for lunch over the sultry tunes of Lizz Wright. I loved shopping. We headed to Madison Avenue, and Troy brought me a pair of Gucci sandals and the matching purse. Next stop: Jamaica, Queens. It was amazing seeing so many street vendors with nice products for sale. After we left Queens, we toured Brooklyn. My thoughts about Troy started to shift as his conversation became mentally stimulating and he opened up about his past.

“How long have you had your own business?” I asked.

“About ten years,” he replied. Troy was only thirty-two years old and his ability to launch his own business so young and remain successful impressed me.

“How’d you get into construction?” I asked.

“I’d been hanging around some older cats when I was a teen, started picking up on how to fix things around the house. From there, it led to building houses and making nice dough. I learned all I could, became real good with my hands, and took on side jobs.”

“That’s wild. So you didn’t go to school for special training or anything?”

“Naw, I didn’t finish school.”

“Why didn’t you finish your degree?” I asked.

“High school—I didn’t finish high school,” he said.

“You’re a talented man to be able to learn the trade without any training and start a profitable business like you’ve done. You must have had some serious support from your family and friends.”

“Not really. My mother inspired me to get off my ass and do something. Construction was a hustle for me because it came so easy. My father was a pusher, and my mother, well, she was being pushed.”

“So, if you don’t have your diploma, how are you legitimately able to do the work? You need a contracting license, right?” I asked.

“Yes. I started the business from the ground up. I have an official contractor’s license. I took the exam and passed. Plus, with my job experience, it wasn’t difficult.”

“What are the various types of services you can perform yourself?”

“Girl, I can build a house or any other structure starting from a blank slate. I’ve laid brick, done masonry work, you name it, I can do it,” he said.

“You said your mom inspired you. She must be proud,” I said, displaying a sincere smile, which soon felt like a frown.

“My mother died when I was twelve,” he replied.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” It was time for me to stop asking questions, I’d hit a sensitive area. Troy read my mind and changed the subject.

“Your girl, she reminds me of that chick from Vanilla Sky, when she drove her man off that bridge,” Troy said as we sat in a traffic jam. The film which featured Tom Cruise and Penélope Cruz involved a successful businessman whose friend, sometimes sex partner, develops extremely different perspectives on their relationship. The jaded lover, behind the wheel of the car, decides to drive off a bridge with the guy riding shotgun after the realization that her feelings aren’t reciprocated, badly injuring the man.

Laughing vivaciously, I asked, “What did Dallas do?” I wasn’t about to sit there and talk about my girl, but I knew she was flaky as hell, and Troy had apparently witnessed the same. He told me about how she turned stalker after she tried to throw her pussy on him. He claimed they didn’t have sex although she told a different story. I had been hearing about Troy for years and found he had heard about me too. It’s only natural that the two of us felt like we went way back. Dallas was always fabricating, so it was partially amusing listening to Troy’s stories about me.

Dallas started blowing up my cell phone, wondering what I was doing and telling me about the event her family was catering. She was tired and ready to go home, and I had her keys. When Dallas wasn’t calling, Troy’s friend Jason was leaving messages asking to take me out. I’d given Jason my number at Piece a Cake, but it was no love connection. For some reason, when Dallas asked what I was doing, I lied and said I was with Jason instead of telling her straight up that Troy and I were together. Part of me knew her loco ass would have a problem knowing the man she craved was paying me what could have been viewed as too much attention late at night.

Dallas had proven she was nuts when we were in undergrad. I’d gone downstairs to the main lounge in our dorm to participate in the cultural discussions. I hadn’t been gone thirty minutes when Dallas came running downstairs telling me my Bible had caught on fire. I’d left a small Glade candle burning on my computer desk since she was staying in the room. My Bible was placed on the bookshelf just above the monitor with a few other books. Apparently, it fell off the shelf, landed on the candle, and resulted in a hole fifteen pages deep. She never confessed that she intentionally burned my Bible, but there was no way in hell it happened the way she said.

It was good Troy and I saved Brooklyn for last on the tour because Dallas rang the phone again asking what time I’d return with her keys since she’d be done in a couple of hours. Troy and I headed to Brooklyn Heights for a nightcap while we waited. We had so much fun, walking over the bridge, gazing at the stars and the skyline. There was a nice Italian restaurant just off Montague Street where we enjoyed dinner and champagne over candlelight. Following our meal, we took a stroll down to the Promenade.

The Promenade was magnificent. The scenery was better than any movie ever filmed in New York portraying the view. The skyline was riveting, and lights illuminated the sky where the World Trade Center once stood. The evening had cooled off nicely, and lovers walked as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

“Give me a kiss,” Troy said and moved in without waiting for a response. Before I knew it, his lips were pressed against mine, and my heart fluttered as I tried to catch my breath. From the way I was shaking, you could tell I was completely off guard. The man kissed me with so much passion and eroticism that I felt my pussy begin to moisten. We sat on that bench and opened our souls to each other, sucking tongues like they were the sweetest candy.

As Troy kissed me, his hands caressed my face, trailed down to my chest, and slowly parted my thighs. He felt the warmth of my love as it soaked through my jeans. It was time to get off the bench before we both were arrested for an inappropriate display of public affection. As we walked back to the car, I felt like Jill Scott when her man loved her exclusively. It was in that moment that I knew if Troy sucked my pussy the same way he had my tongue, I’d stop fucking with all these other niggas.

• • •

Dallas looked at her missed calls, going on about how Troy had called earlier. It didn’t matter that it was four o’clock in the morning, she needed to call him back.

“I spoke to Troy when he called, Dallas,” I informed her. I was half sleep and thinking about how Troy would eventually quench my thirst.

“Oh, what did he want?”

“He asked what I had planned for the day and offered to give me a tour of the city since you were busy.” Dallas watched with an envious look on her face. She resented that Troy took it upon himself to entertain me without her.

“Funny that nigga starts calling since you’ve been in town,” Dallas replied. She was pissed although she tried to maintain her cool. “Well, I’ll call and tell him thanks for entertaining my friend,” and she did.

I rested on the other side of the bed Dallas and I were sharing, playing back the memories of the day as I listened to Dallas ramble on to Troy about how his gesture was so nice and she couldn’t believe he offered. Dallas wasn’t slick. She was trying to see what the underlying factor was that would make him call out of the blue and offer to take me sightseeing. I fell asleep listening to her sound pathetic and unattractive.

“Raquel, you sleep?” Dallas asked a few minutes later. I ignored her until she started tapping me.

“I was,” I replied in a frustrated tone. Every since college, Dallas has been notorious for waking others. You couldn’t relax or sleep around her when she was up. It would only be a matter of time before she brought you into her mixed-up reality—if she couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t.

“I just got off the phone with Troy. Did he hit on you?”

Dallas was speculating. I didn’t know what Troy said to her, but I was sure it didn’t involve him taking me to dinner, kissing me, getting my pussy wet, and making plans to pick up where we left off. It was too late for her nonsense.

“Why would you ask me something like that, Dallas? What the hell you think?” I was good at flipping shit and making the other party look at fault. My background in psychology taught me well. I could get myself in or out of any situation. Her interrogation efforts annoyed me.

“You would tell me if he did, right?” Her expression revealed the deepest level of desperation. I’d never seen her so low. I knew better than to divulge the chain of events that resulted in Troy and me making a connection.

“Of course not,” I replied.

“That’s good, girl, because I love Troy. He’s someone I really feel serious about. I know I deal with a lot of men, but it’s different with Troy,” she said. “I’m finally getting through to him and can’t wait until the next time his fine ass is up in me.” That statement prompted me to focus more on the conversation than intended.

Dallas had met Troy at a block party a few years back. She didn’t know much about him other than he made her panties wet. It was just this year she learned his real name was Troy. He introduced himself as Paulie and had her believing he lived in the Bronx. Truth was his ass lived right up the block off Rockaway Parkway. Dallas fell in love with all the men she encountered, so it didn’t faze me when she said she loved him.

“What do you mean, back up in you?” I asked. Dallas had so many variations of how she and Troy hooked up I didn’t know what the truth was.

“Well, we didn’t really have sex. I mean, he put the head in, but we didn’t have any rubbers, and he refused to continue. We never had the chance to really make it happen.”

Now I understood the desire she had for Troy. He was the first man she couldn’t entice with the pussy, and it baffled her, demanded she elevate her game to a new level. Only problem was Dallas didn’t know with whom or what she was playing.

• • •

Several days passed, and I marveled over the fact Troy hadn’t called since our rendezvous. Perhaps Dallas got to him or he was playing me as he often played her. Either way, I intended to enjoy my last week in New York City.

It was Saturday morning and Dallas had left early for a speech class she was taking for credit toward a second master’s in communicative disorders. The instructor had given the class a break when she went over to talk with Marcus, a friend she’d made in class.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Hey. You,” he replied.

“What are you getting into tonight? My girlfriend is in town, and I’m looking for something for us to do later,” she told him.

“What does your girl look like?” Marcus asked.

“Does that determine what’s going on tonight?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said.

“She’s about five-ten, brown skin, light brown eyes, and long hair. She’s sexy, but all my friends are,” Dallas said, attempting to arrange the plans for the evening.

“How old is she?” Marcus asked.

“She’s thirty,” Dallas responded.

“Oh, yeah, what does she like to do?” he asked.

“She isn’t really into the hip-hop club scene. She would enjoy a nice jazz or poetry spot.”

“Is she freaky? You think she’d be down for a threesome?”

“Maybe,” Dallas replied.

“Well, I can grab one of my boys and we can take you guys out,” he offered.

“Aiight, I’ll let her know,” Dallas said and returned to her seat.

• • •

I was sitting on the sofa, thinking about Troy and allowing my hands to linger over my pussy when I heard Dallas coming in the front door.

“Hey, girl, we’re going out tonight. I figured we could hit a spot on Long Island since you’re into spoken word,” Dallas said.

My body was calling for Troy. That orgasm I was about to have before Dallas walked in begged to be released, and since I was having neither, I was down for some poetic justice.

“That’s cool with me. Who are we hanging with?” I asked. Dallas didn’t have a car so I knew she’d found someone to chauffeur us around.

“Marcus, my friend from school, is going to take us out. He’s working on his master’s in international business and bringing a friend for you,” she said.

He was the first educated man with whom Dallas dealt. I remembered him vaguely from one of her stories. My mind was fixated on Troy, and I was about to write him out of my diary when he called.

“Hello,” I said.

“What’s up, girlfriend? Yo, sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. I definitely want to link up before you leave out,” Troy said.

He was good at his shit. Immediately, I was ready to cancel my plans with Dallas and spend the rest of my evening with him, but since I already committed, I decided to postpone any adventure between the two of us until the time was right.

“I’m going out with Dallas tonight,” I said.

“Is that Jason?” Dallas asked, shifting her focus from what she was doing to my conversation. I looked at her and shook my head, as if she was disturbing me. She went back to what she was doing, but was still eavesdropping.

“You sound like her,” Troy said. “When I first spoke to you on the phone, I thought it was her.”

“If it were, what would you have said?”

“That Jason wanted to speak to you, and when she put you on the phone, I would have been on the other end.” Troy laughed at his plot to get next to me without his boy or my girl recognizing the scandal taking place.

Troy had his way with women. He was the type who could pull any lady, from classy to trashy, all in the same breath. He didn’t have to try hard either. He exuded a strong vibe, and regardless how high your guard, it was coming down at some point.

“Let’s hook up tomorrow. Don’t stand me up either,” I replied jokingly.

“Until next time. Stay sweet, girlfriend.”

We ended our conversation, and I grabbed my things and hit the road with Dallas. Marcus seemed to be cool when he picked us up. For some reason, his boy was unable to make it, so it was just the three of us. It was okay because I wasn’t trying to hook up with his friend anyway. I was more interested in getting the night over for my date with Troy.

Marcus was financially set. He drove a Range Rover and lived in a prominent neighborhood on Long Island. We stopped by his house so he could change clothes. While Marcus got himself together, I logged onto his computer to check e-mail and things at my office.

“You mind if I hop in the shower real quick while you’re checking your mail?” Marcus asked me.

“No, it’s alright.”

“I’ll be back,” Dallas said a few minutes later.

When she stepped her ass in the shower and fucked Marcus, I continued with my work like business as usual. The screams grew louder, and moans and groans escaped from the bathroom. Dallas was broadcasting to the world she was being fucked. Unfortunately, I was the only one in the listening party, and it made me focus more on what I should have been doing my damn self—fucking Troy.

After the charade was over, Dallas joined me in Marcus’s home office. She’d been hollering as if she wasn’t handling the dick. I just continued with what I was doing until Mr. Baller, Shot Caller brought his ass out geared up and ready to roll.

It was a nice crowd when we arrived at the club. A couple comedians were performing before the floor was opened for spoken word artists to do their thing.

I’d been writing poetry for years, started back in college when I discovered I needed an outlet for the days of my life, but that night I just wanted to listen to the natives.

“Go up there, girl. Do the damn thing,” Dallas demanded after open mic started.

“I’m good. I’m not feeling like it tonight,” I replied.

Although I loved poetry and spoken word, I wasn’t ready to get up and freestyle. Dallas wasn’t taking no for an answer. She’d already placed my name in the queue without my knowledge.

“Is there a Dr. Howard in the house?” the deejay announced.

Uncontrollable laughter came over us when I realized what Dallas had done. Once the spotlight hit me, there was no backing out.

“I’ll get you later, Dallas,” I said, approaching the stage.

I hadn’t prepared anything specific, and my mind was racing with thoughts of what to say to hold down the crowd. I glanced around the room, not expecting to see any familiar faces. When I noticed Troy in the back near the bar sitting with someone who resembled him—perhaps his brother—my words just flowed as our eyes met.

My name is Raquel, and I’m sensitive about my shit.

As I search myself trying to find myself, the only thing revealed is you. And in that moment, anticipation surrounds me, your love found me. Right in that place between my thighs, where orgasmic spills send chills through my spine. The lubricant from my pussy drips and remains behind as something wicked this way cums.

A bed of emotions fills the air as you stand there. Dick hung. Tongue tied. Anticipating the ride I’m gon’ take you on.

Yeah, I’m ’bout it as my brown erotic captures you. Anticipate the many ways I plan to love you. Plan to uncover you. Plan to slip, dip, tilt, and spit on your dick.

Don’t trip as you sit in a daze, amazed at this shit. Anticipating the moment when you arrive. Your dick, my clit, the perfect fit as I wait, anticipating.

The crowd was in an uproar. I sat and glanced in the direction of the bar. Troy was gone.

“Where’s Dallas?” I asked Marcus when I returned to our table.

“She went to the restroom just as you finished. Yo, girl, that shit was tight.”

“Thank you,” I said, motioning for the waitress so I could order a drink as a voice whispered behind me.

“You were sexy as hell tonight, and I anticipate being with you tomorrow, girlfriend.”

Dallas returned to the table just as Troy departed. He approached me incognito, dropped something in my ear, and was out just like that. Marcus wore a twisted smile on his face, the kind that almost made me think he was jealous. He didn’t know Troy, so our cover wasn’t blown.

The waitress arrived at the table with my drink in hand. “Here you are, miss,” she said as she placed a glass of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay on the table.

“This is the drink I wanted, but I didn’t place an order yet,” I said, confused by her knowledge of what I was having.

“Compliments of Mr. Grimes. He asked that I tell you ‘later girlfriend,’” the waitress said and walked off.

Dallas stared at me intently before she said, “Nice job up there, Raquel. I knew you had it in you.”

There was something going on with Dallas. I wasn’t sure if she saw Troy or was just jealous because I was in the spotlight. The girl should have been used to me being the center of attention. She always followed my lead and couldn’t compete with my looks. I was gorgeous. Not conceited, just convinced was my motto. My body was sculpted. I’d inherited my silky-smooth skin from my mother, my height from my absentee father, and my sensual curves from Mother Nature. When I walked in any room, all eyes were on me, and whispers filled the air. I was the reason women had ribs removed, hoping to create that perfect waistline. I had both sexes gawking.

“Thanks, girl,” I responded to Dallas. “That was fun. I haven’t freestyled in a long time.”

Although I loved to write poetry in my down time, sharing it with others wasn’t common practice. Typically, I reserved my erotic thoughts for someone special. Seeing Troy in the place made me realize he was that someone.

Chapter 2|

It was getting late. The clubs in New York weren’t like those in Detroit, closing at 2:00 a.m. The party wasn’t going to end until six in the morning. I couldn’t hang that late, was tired and ready to get out of my clothes. We left the club around three o’clock that morning.

“Why don’t you guys stay at my place tonight? It’s late, and I can take you home in the morning,” Marcus said. He didn’t feel like driving us back to Brooklyn, and Dallas, she was sloppy drunk. I didn’t like his idea.

“Where am I supposed to sleep? I didn’t come to New York to be sleeping on the floor,” I said in a tone like you must be kidding, right?

Marcus detected my opposition, and before I knew it, he offered his king-size bed as the alternative, suggesting there was plenty of room for the three of us, all jokes aside.

With Dallas drunk, no other option really existed. I didn’t know how to get back to her house, and in New York, taxi drivers were not the nicest people. They would drive right past our black asses. One time we got in a cab and the driver had the nerve to ask us if we had money. So taking a taxi wasn’t an option. Besides, I didn’t know the cross streets to even begin giving directions. We were with Marcus until he decided to take us home or Dallas came down from her high.

Dallas and I slept in the same bed anyway while I stayed at her spot, so it wasn’t a big deal. It was more the principle because I didn’t know this man.

Marcus should have had a guest room. After all, he was living in a nice-ass house and flossing plenty of bling. Funny, all the bedrooms except his were unfurnished.

I decided to remain fully dressed. I wasn’t about to entice him by removing articles of clothing that would reveal more of my voluptuous and toned frame.

Dallas should have had enough of exposing me to her male friends. Back when we were roommates in college, I was lounging in my Daisy Dukes and bra one day when she and this dude walked into the room without warning. Before I could grab something to cover up, it was too late. He had seen enough, and apparently liked what he saw because the next day he called the room asking to take me out. History had a way of repeating itself because I swear the same shit happened with Troy and me.

Marcus was cool with my decision to sleep in my clothes. He put on his boxers and climbed in the bed.

“So what’s your profession?” he asked.

“I’m a clinical psychologist,” I replied. Marcus seemed to have decent conversation throughout the course of the evening, although I wasn’t feeling his trick to spend the night at his house.

“What does that consist of exactly? What’s your typical day like?”

“Wow, that’s a tough one. Well, most the time my days are very atypical. My clientele is in the upper echelon of the financial class. That can be more demanding at times as their expectations are just as outrageous as some of the problems they feel they have.” Marcus laughed as I went on.

“Seriously, I’m involved in integrating scientific knowledge and utilizing various research and clinical findings to promote the welfare of my clients. Often I assist with intervention and prevention. For some, it’s too late, and at that point, I make recommendations for institutionalization.”

Marcus was impressed and asked more questions about my career. When he opened up the discussion to talk about his problems, he got a free session out of me.

“So can I talk to you about a problem that I have?” he asked.

“Sure,” I replied. He got comfortable.

“My life growing up was no pretty picture. My mother was a junkie ho. I was conceived out of a side job gone wrong. My sperm donor, well, he came around as I got older and after my mother overdosed on that shit.”

The animosity in his voice made me focus more on what he was saying and feeling.

“The day my mother died was the happiest and saddest of my life. Happy because I didn’t have to put up with raising her and that lifestyle, and sad because there was no coming back from the dead.”

Marcus reached over to the nightstand and opened it. I wasn’t sure for what he was reaching when he pulled out a joint, lit, dragged, and exhaled.

I realized Marcus wasn’t looking for a consultation. He just wanted someone to validate his pain. I was trained to hear, feel, and relate, so when he asked, “Is there something wrong with me for feeling the way I do?”

I simply replied, “No, there isn’t.” Marcus wasn’t the only one who had demons from his past. For me, drama started when I was in the fourth grade. My daddy promised he would pick up me and my half sister Kayla and take us shopping. Kayla was so excited. After the divorce, our father never came around. It was rare if he called. Kayla believed anything he would tell her, only to be let down and discouraged. I knew better. That day we sat and waited for our father to arrive. He never came.

My mother always told us not to get our hopes up. She was right. It’s interesting how similar situations affect individuals differently. The lack of a father figure in our lives strengthened me and corrupted Kayla. Her mother died during childbirth and since our low-life daddy had both women pregnant at the same time, my mother took her in and raised her as her own. Kayla was an ungrateful bitch. She eventually went to live with our father when she turned sixteen. I hadn’t seen her since. Rumor had it, our father had one more child out there around the same age as us.

Death, it surrounded my family like the plague. My brother Juwan was my mother’s firstborn. His dad died before I was born. Juwan and I did everything together. I was eighteen years old when he was murdered by our cousin. Our family was tainted, and for some reason, he was never charged with the crime.

Something in that ganja Marcus was smoking must have made his dick hard because I felt him bump my leg, mistaking it for Dallas.

“Wrong leg, nigga,” I said as we burst out laughing. The secondhand smoke must have had me buzzing, too, because when he climbed on top of Dallas and started fucking her while she was asleep, it took me two seconds to realize that he’d invited me to join.

Once I snapped back into reality, I got my ass up, went to the living room, pulled out my cell, and called my boy Khalil back home.

Khalil and I had an excellent relationship. He was my homie-lover-friend. When it came to licking my pussy, he was the best. No other man could work his tongue like Khalil. He knew how to eat it like the delicacy it was. He worked the dick nicely too. He would have my ass climbing the walls. My neighbors always knew when he was at my house. They could hear us fucking, and the sound of people making love, well, let’s just say by the time Khalil and I hit round two, the neighbors had made their late-night booty calls and jumped on the bandwagon.

Khalil answered the phone, “Speak.”

He was so damn sexy. We should have been an item, but we settled on the fact that we were good together and didn’t want to ruin that by complicating matters.

“Hey, baby. How are you?” I asked.

“How are you is the real question, love? At this time of morning, what jumped off? You still in NYC, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, babe. I’m in the middle of some bullshit right now. My girl Dallas got us up in this nigga’s house trapped. He didn’t feel like taking us home, so we crashed at his place.”

“Oh, okay. Well, why aren’t you sleep?”

“I was in the bed, but they started fucking, so I came to the living room.”

“Your girl is in the bed with dude? He started fucking her while you were lying next to her?” Khalil asked.

“Yeah. That’s basically what happened,” I replied.

“Is your girlfriend bisexual?” he asked.

“Not that I know of. Hell, she knows I’m not, so even if she was contemplating, she wouldn’t cross me like that.” I started to think about what Khalil was saying. I had known Dallas for more than ten years. I knew she wasn’t trying to drag me into a ménage-a-trois.

“Trust me, baby. Your girl set you up. That dude was expecting you to get horny and join in. They were looking for some action for sure. He was hoping you’d start playing with your pussy. You know you sexy as hell, got these women and men turning heads.”

Khalil educated me to something new because I never would have thought my girl intentionally set this shit up. His next comment sent me in a frenzy, and I started to get pissed, reflecting on how things went down.

“How did it end up just being the three of you anyway? Wait, let me guess, his boy was supposed to originally go out with all of you, right?” Khalil had hit a sore spot, but I knew his words were true. Marcus entered the living room as I submerged myself in the conversation.

“Please come back to the room,” he said. “I’m sorry about what happened. You don’t have to sleep out here.”

Marcus stood there looking at me with the same respect and compassion he had earlier when he shared his childhood.

“I’m alright, Marcus. I’m on the phone anyway, so do your thing,” I said and returned to my conversation with Khalil.

It wasn’t long before our conversation was interrupted again. This time Dallas was grabbing her jacket and motioning for me to get up. I ignored her ass.

“I’m taking you home,” Marcus said. He had returned to the living room, walked right past Dallas, and opened the front door, indicating it was time to go.

“I’ll speak to you later, Khalil. Thank you, baby.”

“You my girl, Raquel. Watch that bitch, and enjoy yourself, ma.” We hung up.

The ride home was a long one. I spread out in the back of that Rover, pretending to be asleep.

“Raquel? You up, Quel?” Dallas called out in that desperate way she did when she felt I was upset with her or knew she had fucked up.

“Leave her alone,” Marcus said, and she did.

Before getting out of the car, Marcus pulled me aside to apologize once again. I accepted his apology because he was a man doing what men do, and he didn’t know me, but my girl Dallas, that bitch had crossed the fucking line, and I was ready to whoop her ass.

We entered the apartment, and Dallas apologized. I was too tired to argue with her, so I did what bothered her the most, ignored her ass.

The next morning, Dallas was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. “Good morning,” she said. “Look, I’m sorry about last night. I don’t know what Marcus was thinking.”

“What the fuck were you thinking, Dallas? Don’t put that shit on Marcus. That nigga only did what you allowed him to do. And what’s worse, you had him thinking he was fucking both of us.”

Apparently shocked by my remarks, Dallas retaliated. “What the hell you mean I had him thinking that? I didn’t tell him any bullshit like that.” Before Dallas could finish more of her fake-ass commentary, I was in her face and backing her up against a wall. I didn’t like the situation she had put me in any more than her attempt to have me believe she didn’t set the shit up from jump.

“You’re supposed to be my girl, bitch. Don’t ever fucking cross me like that again. If we were in Detroit and you pulled some shit like that, both of our asses would have been on the five o’clock news.”

It was true. Detroit was the murder capital of the world. The city was trying to make a comeback but didn’t stand a chance as long as it was being run by gangsters. The black men were some of the worst too. They would kill your ass in a second, for no reason, and violence against women was customary.

I remember one night my girlfriend and I were out at a club. Granted she had a big mouth, but she didn’t deserve to get smacked in it. It seemed like yesterday. She was standing there looking at some chick when this gay guy thought he heard my friend say something about them. He turned around and blasted her ass right in the mouth. Now that was a fight. It ended with me bailing her ass out of jail.

That should have been the last time, but it wasn’t. My boy threw a VIP sports party, and somehow my girl made it on the list. I hadn’t invited her to attend with me because trouble followed her everywhere she went. Her attitude kept her in mess. Leaving out, she hit this dude’s Harley Davidson truck, trying to fly around him. He’d been blocking the street, talking to some ladies who were exiting the party. All hell broke loose once she pulled over to the side. They exchanged words and were headed for blows when I intervened. He was one of the nice guys and squashed the matter since the little scratch could easily be buffed out.

Dallas realized I was really pissed off and became hysterical, ranting and raving about how she hadn’t intended for the evening to turn like it did. Then she started blaming the alcohol for her fucked-up actions. Before she could say anything else, I headed out the door to meet Troy.

Chapter 3|

Troy looked sexy as hell standing in the distance. I visualized him naked and inside me as I had multiple orgasms. His silhouette was masculine, like he could do some damage if need be. His skin was a beautiful mocha. He was clean cut with fine curly hair. When he opened his mouth, his teeth were stunning. Even that gold one was attractive. Troy was a handsome man. I enjoyed sizing him up and fantasizing about the things we could do.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said and sealed it with a kiss to my lips after he held the door for me.

“Good morning, baby. Good to see you again.”

I looked lovely in my low-cut jeans, strapless Gucci shirt, and the sandals Troy had given me.

We stopped at Lindenwood Diner for breakfast. Troy, as usual, had the day laid out for the two of us. He was good at planning. I just let him surprise me.

After grabbing a bite to eat and much shit talking about shooting pool, we hit a local billiards hall to see what we were working. It was a lot of fun playing with Troy. He was into his game, had me believing he couldn’t play in the beginning. When he beat my ass over and over, I was ready to throw in the towel. I was a good pool player, but not like Troy. He didn’t make me feel too bad though. Troy was a gentleman. We got in the car and jumped on the Belt Parkway.

Dallas had been calling all day. My voice mail dealt with her. We weren’t speaking after the bullshit she pulled the night before. I couldn’t help but tell Troy about the stunt.

“How close are you and Dallas?” he asked.

“Pretty much, we have a long-distance friendship. We don’t do well in person. Dallas is a selfish, conniving bitch. She’s only out for herself, and talking to her is like talking to your damn self,” I said.

“Yeah, she doesn’t listen well,” he said.

“Over the course of the years I’ve realized that our relationship is one way. I’ve always been more of the friend to her, listening to her dumb shit about how this dude done beat her ass, how she was pregnant once again and needed to get an abortion, how she could only date niggas who were poison but dished out small notes, which made her sell her soul.”

“That’s interesting,” Troy commented. “So why continue fucking with her?” he asked.

“That’s a good question. If it weren’t for you, I would have flown out today after our escapade the other evening.”

Honestly, I’d gotten tired of the routine with Dallas. We spoke every other week on the phone, but in person, it was crazy. Primarily, she would call me ranting about the next dramatic event in her life. Troy was the topic of conversation for the longest. She was obsessed with him for all the wrong reasons. She put claims on something that wasn’t hers—hell, wasn’t anyone’s. Troy was a loner.

“What happened last night?” he asked.

“Long story short, that dude you saw us with at the lounge, he pulled some shit about not taking us home. We ended up at his crib, and Dallas was drunk as hell. He went up in her, started fucking right there while we were all in the bed. Tried to invite me into the shit.”

Troy glanced at me with a look of disbelief.

“Get the fuck outta here,” he said, now laughing. “Why would she put you in some shit like that? You get down like that?”

“No, I don’t get down like that and never thought she would drag me into her bedroom theatrics. Never.”

“That’s too much excitement,” he said. “I’m not into all that nonsense.”

It was good to know that Troy and I were sexually compatible.

“I’m not either.”

Silence fell between us for a brief moment before Troy continued. “I heard so much about you, it’s like I already know you,” he said.

“Really? The feeling is mutual,” I replied.

“I couldn’t wait to meet you, pictured you in my mind, how you would look, act, and feel,” he said.

Dallas talked too much. She always told her business to everyone. I’d been hearing about Troy for years as well. He was one of the many men about whom she talked, but I was baffled to learn Troy’s feelings for me, someone he’d never met or seen, yet thought about and looked forward to the day we crossed paths.

“I won’t lie, I pictured you as well from all the stories I’ve heard,” I said.

That aroused his interest, and he adjusted the stereo volume in his ride.

“What type of stories?” he inquired.

“Where do I begin?” I laughed. “Dallas told me you were a handyman, changing lightbulbs, installing air conditioners, and other miscellaneous shit around her house.” Now he was laughing.

“She told me how you hang out in your drawers on the sofa, reading the paper and sipping on Guinness while she prepares your meal after long nights of fucking.”

“Long nights of fucking? Girl, stop playing,” he said.

“Yeah. That’s not the case?” It was never clarified if they’d slept together. Dallas constantly changed her story. This was my opportunity to find out what really happened.

“Yo, I never fucked your girl,” Troy replied. “She told you that shit?”

“That isn’t all she told me,” I said. I’d been laughing so hard my stomach ached.

“Continue,” he said.

“According to my girl, the two of you are in what could be construed as a serious relationship, especially after you met her parents.”

Troy looked astonished. “She’s a fucking liar, girlfriend.”

I knew Dallas exaggerated on most occasions. It wouldn’t be long before Troy confronted her.

“Here’s what happened. Yes, we were hanging out one day and she was cooking. This girl was trying to sell me on some pussy and food. I’m not fronting, I thought she was sexy in the beginning, so I was giving her some time here and there. She became attached quickly, obsessing over me and ringing my phone every second of the day. She was working so hard to give me the pussy that she just wasn’t attractive, and I didn’t want her pussy anymore. The particular day you referenced, yeah I met her mother and stepfather, but it was only because she needed to pick something up. She asked me to give her a ride. I didn’t realize the whole family was there. She introduced me like we were dating or some shit.”

I listened attentively as he discussed his relationship with my girl, and in the back of my mind, decisions were being made. To fuck or not to fuck was the million-dollar question.

I could tell Troy was into games. The two of us started playing from the moment we met. Troy was slick with his.

Usually, I’m on point when it came to men, but I missed the original plot Troy put out when we first met. He brought his boy Jason along as bait. Troy had his eyes on me the whole time. While his boy and I were conversing, Troy was watching my every move and response. He had planned the shit thoroughly, waiting for the day he could fully execute. That time was now.

“Listen, Troy, I’m not stupid. Don’t try to fuck me and I don’t cum. Let’s clear some shit right now. You need to be straight up and honest about everything. Expect the same in return.”

“For sure. Some people just can’t handle the truth,” he said.

“I’m not some people. I’m strong, independent, and secure in my sexuality. You want to fuck, say you want to fuck. Don’t beat around the bush with me, and most importantly, don’t compare me to Dallas.”

“I can tell from your conversation that you’re nothing like Dallas. I feel connected with you, and I’m curious how far we can take this,” he responded.

The evening approached quickly. We were riding around Brooklyn, headed toward Coney Island when Troy swung by one of his construction sites. He’d gotten a call from one of his workers, and since we weren’t far away, we took a quick detour. It was great seeing his work. He’d built a two-family home, and his crew was putting the finishing touches on the inside.

We stayed a few minutes, and we were back on our expedition. Troy loved to talk. He decided to tell me about an incident that happened to his boy.

“He was making a run for a cat out in the Bronx. His instructions were to drop off a package to a connection in Crown Heights. The guy handed him a silver metal briefcase. He asked the guy what he was delivering and was told none of his fucking business. On the way to drop it off, his ride stopped. He knew he still had to make the delivery, so he walked a few blocks before catching a dollar van. Shortly after he got in the van, he noticed a black Benz following closely. Gunshots broke out, hitting the van. The driver noticed my boy clutching the briefcase. He asked who the hell was shooting and what he had in the case. My boy told him none of his fucking business and to keep it moving. The man kept driving, dodging bullets. He pulled out his piece, pulled the rope that opens and shuts the door to the van, told my boy to get out and slowed just enough for him to jump out at the corner of Troy Avenue. My boy hit the ground running. The shooters followed. He dipped and dived between parked cars, almost at his checkpoint. He wondered what was in the briefcase his damn self that had people shooting at his ass. Once he lost those niggas, he decided to open it. When he did, he couldn’t believe his eyes.”

“What was in the briefcase?” I asked.

“None of your fucking business,” Troy said before bursting out in laughter.

At first I didn’t get it. I sat there staring at Troy, wondering what the hell happened to his boy and what he saw when he opened that briefcase. Then I realized I had been bamboozled. This was a dumb-ass joke, and I soon discovered Troy was infamous for telling them.

“You’re silly as hell,” I said, finally joining in on the cackles. “I really thought you were going somewhere with that corny story.”

If it had been anyone else telling me that shit, I would have immediately been turned off. But just the fact that Troy could tell a busted joke like that, hold my attention, and still look so damn sexy afterward held me captive.

“Let’s play a game,” he said.

“Oh, another one?” I responded.

“Yes. This is how it works…”

Troy gave me the details of the game. Basically, one of us asked a question or made a statement and the other completed the missing piece. This was his was of discretely saying what he had been thinking since the moment he laid eyes on me.

“First question. What are you thinking right now?” he asked.

“I’m thinking your jokes are dumb as hell,” I replied, smiling.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Okay, what do you want to do next?”

“The same thing you want to do.” I knew where he was going, but if he wanted this pussy, he had to ask for it.

“I want to spend some more time with you,” he said.

“Yeah?” I replied.

“Yeah, I would like to…” he said, waiting for me to fill in the blank.

“You would like to kiss me again,” I replied, finishing the statement.

“Yes,” he said, reaching over and pulling my face toward him.

His touch was much more intense than the first time. He traced the outline of my lips, parting them with his tongue and penetrating deeply. It was warm and seductive the way he worked his tongue around the inside of my mouth. The powerful kiss ignited my pussy, and I immediately responded to his touch.

“How long are we going to play this game?” I asked.

“As long as you want,” he replied.

“I want to…”

“Sit on top of my dick and make passionate love tonight,” he replied.

“Exactly,” I said.

“Can we get a room? We’re pretty far from my place,” he said.

“Of course,” I replied.

It was late, and most of the motels in the area were booked solid. We did see one with vacancies, although under any other circumstance I wouldn’t have been caught dead in there. Tonight was unusual. Exceptions had to be made if we were to become acquainted before I left in two days.

“Is this spot cool?” he asked as we pulled up to a motel.

It wasn’t a nice one, more the kind you went to when you were going to fuck and bounce. Since that’s exactly what we were doing, I wasn’t concerned about the amenities that didn’t exist.

“It works,” I said.

Like most men, Troy had me get the room. When a guy wouldn’t register a room in his name, it was my indicator he had something to hide—usually a woman. They didn’t want advertisements showing up at their home from hotels where they had stepped out. In Troy’s case, he didn’t have his license on him, so I took his cash and checked us in.

We spent an hour or so talking. Mirrors covered the wall, and I imagined how the sex would be once we got busy.

I admit the motel was tasteless, reminding me of those you see in porn flicks. It wouldn’t surprise me if cameras were rolling behind all those mirrors and what we were doing was being played in a room down the hall.

Troy entered the restroom, turned on the shower, and invited me in. Steam and lust filled the air. I joined him. He washed my back, chest, and arms before handing me the soap. I lathered the soap, stuck my hands between his legs and gently cleaned his balls, dick, and ass before squatting to wash his legs.

By the time we finished our shower, we really craved each other. Slightly nervous and tense, I got in the bed with him. I had an opportunity to see what he was working with in the shower and looked forward to the pleasure and pain he was about to cause.

He placed me on the bed and explored my body. He moved his hands over me as if they’d been there before. Each touch made me juicier. We kissed deeply for the longest time, watching each other’s response. His mouth wrapped around my nipples, suckling them in a way that made me think he was trying to draw milk. They stood erect, reacting to his every kiss and stroke.

I returned the favor, showing him he wasn’t the only one who could work wonders with his tongue. His chest was sensitive, and that aroused me. As I succulently kissed and nibbled on him, moans escaped his mouth as he begged for more. My hands and lips explored his body, and his erection stiffened. His fingers slipped into my pussy, sending jolts of spasms through me.

Troy knew how to please a woman. He enjoyed my pleasure, and it became his. He touched my g-spot, had me climaxing in multiples. At least three orgasms dripped from my love while his fingers played in my pussy. I lost my breath from that alone. I knew his dick would rock my world.

Troy enjoyed watching me gyrate while he massaged my clit. He kissed me again, each time more seductive than the last.

“You have a nice body,” he commented.

“Thank you. So do you,” I muttered.

I wanted to feel his dick inside me, stroking and caressing my vaginal walls. I was climaxing just playing with the thought.

It was my turn to take control of this situation. Troy had me wide open, and I needed to step up my game. I was licking his chest again, and he loved it. I teased him with my pearl tongue around his navel before I moved down to his inner thighs. His dick swayed back and forth, following my face as I licked from one thigh to the other, slobbering, and stroking his legs and ass.

When my mouth covered his dick, he was shocked by the depth of my love. Sucking dick was my forte, and I consumed his until he screamed my name. It was an art that I’d mastered. I knew what turned a man on and never came up short in the bedroom.

Troy pleased me, and I was going to make damn sure I did the same for him. I hummed on his dick while holding it inside my mouth, sending riveting vibrations down his shaft. I was better than a bobblehead, going up and down, sucking his dick and stimulating the head with my tongue. He was amazed I could take the whole length of his love. He started fucking my mouth like it was a pussy, and I handled all eleven inches of his dick like the trouper that I am.

Troy was nice enough to let me know he was about to bust. He motioned for me to release, but I held on until his juice flowed into me. His body shook and trembled as he came inside me. I knew just how long to keep my mouth on him after he came before I let go. Yeah, I was a professional. I knew the importance of giving and receiving, and it blew his mind.

“I’m going to enjoy fucking you,” Troy said.

“I’m going to enjoy fucking you back,” I told him as he parted my thighs. Before I knew it, his dick was up in me.

Troy fucked me hard at first, letting me know he was a beast. He had stamina out of this world. Perhaps it was the Guinness and Snickers he had just before that produced his extra energy. He took some shit out on my ass, and I loved it.

Troy knew how to work the dick. He had my pussy swollen and squirting in three-minute intervals. That nigga made me lose control.

“Relax,” he said, and I did.

Troy was in me strong. His dick was the perfect fit. He fucked me in so many different positions I was taking notes. Thought I would die when he turned me over on my side, fucked me in a scissorlike position. His dick felt like it was all up in my liver the way he was grinding, pushing, and flexing inside me.

“Your pussy is so damn tight,” he said. “I’ve never been in pussy as tight as yours.”

My pussy always had been tight. I’m in tune with every facet of my body. I tightened my kegel muscles around his dick, reiterating he hadn’t felt tight yet.

“Damn, Troy,” I said, moaning. “Take this pussy, baby.” Troy smacked my ass. “You’re making me come again, baby. Ooohthisshitfeelssofuckinggood.” I groaned.

“Does it, baby?” he asked and fucked me harder.

Troy hit the light switch by the bed. “I want to see you while I’m fucking you,” he said.

His statement turned me on. The lights came on. We could see ourselves in the mirrors covering the walls, and we had our own private show. At that moment, the purpose of the mirrors was clear.

Troy turned me over to fuck me doggy-style. I tilted my ass and propped up on that dick, working him while he thrust deeper into me. We went from fucking to making love back to fucking all in one stance. When he saw my colorful tattoo of the sun on the lower half of my back, it drove him wild. He started licking it and holding my ass for the impact, embracing me for what was coming down.

Troy flipped me again, putting his face between my thighs. He tasted my love. I kept my pussy clean. Thanks to my Brazilian wax, he didn’t have to worry about curly hairs getting stuck between his teeth. I wiggled around the bed until we were in a sixty-nine position—sucking his dick while he licked my pussy. Troy enjoyed my nectar as it trickled in his mouth.

When his dick entered me again, it was on familiar ground. This time I sat on top and let my love fall down. I rode his dick, bouncing my ass up and down, spinning around like I was on a merry-go-round. He loved seeing me do my thing on top of him. That nigga held it down as we fucked, maintaining his orgasm until I absolutely had been pleased. He drained me as my honeysuckle flowed endlessly.

“How you feeling right now?” he asked, changing the pace from fucking to lovemaking.

“I-I can’t describe in words how I’m feeling right now,” I sputtered.

“You like this dick?” he asked.

“I love this dick, baby,” I replied without hesitation.

“You feel so good,” he said, continuing with his journey.

His rhythm quickened, became deeper, harder, and stronger. He put his hand around my neck, bracing himself. His body shivered and shook, and he released inside of me. The impact was like thunder. The thin piece of latex between us shielded me from those little soldiers I now fantasized about having one day.

Chapter 4|

I had last-minute things to get done before I left New York the next day, and I hoped to see Troy.

Jason had offered to take me to the airport because we hadn’t been able to spend too much time together. Dallas was trying to make up for her stunt, so she invited me to dinner with her girls Tania and Loren. Tania was friends with Melina, Dallas’s mother. Tania and Dallas had become close. She wasn’t much older than Dallas, and they often hung out together.

Loren and Tania were best friends, had been for more than fifteen years. Loren couldn’t stand Dallas. I immediately sensed the tension. They were going to Negril, a Jamaican restaurant in the Village. Fucking Troy had me in a good mood, and I was hungry. I decided to succumb to the request after both her friends insisted.

The jerk salmon, rice and peas, and a carafe of sangria satisfied my palate. Loren had physical features resembling my aunt. People kept asking throughout the evening if we were sisters.

“So what’s it like in Detroit?” Loren asked over dinner.

“There isn’t too much going on,” I responded, I wasn’t much of a fan of my birthplace. “It’s nothing compared to NYC, but no other city on the planet is.” We all shared a chuckle. I’d fallen in love with New York and was already promoting its uniqueness.

Loren was originally from Jamaica—Kingston to be exact. She’d been in the States twenty years and had no intention of returning, although all of her family resided on the island.

Dallas and Tania were both from Barbados. It always amazed me how Dallas didn’t identify with being black. She was darker than me but always contested she was a shade lighter. It was a pity some sisters always allowed ridiculous barriers to exist among one another. Regardless of what shade of the spectrum, we all radiated with beauty and represented so many different wonderful characteristics.

If asked her ethnicity on a multiple-choice question, and West Indian wasn’t an option, in a heartbeat, Dallas would select white before she would check black—anything but black.

Loren and I continued our conversation. She was dating a football player for the Miami Dolphins, but she inquired about some of the members of the Detroit Lions.

“Do you have a man?” she asked.

“I’m seeing someone,” I replied.

I had been sleeping with a wide receiver for the Detroit Lions for about two years. In no way did I consider our relationship monogamous because I knew he was fucking when they were on the road. I wasn’t naive, but he took good care of me.

I remember when we consummated our relationship last year. It was in the Windy City. We’d taken a road trip to Chicago to get away and write some poetry. When we arrived at our hotel, it was late, and both of us were tired, but I tried to give him some attention since we were supposed to be relaxing and enjoying each other’s company.

We were unpacking our things and discovered each of us had brought candles and music for the room. While I lit the candles, he set the stereo for some good bump-and-grind beats. He’d made a mix CD of Donnell Jones that had hours of all the best tracks. We had it playing on heavy rotation.

I had never been afraid to put it down in the sheets, but that changed when I saw what my baby was working with. He was one hundred percent pedigree. That was the first night I got my back cracked.

“I would love to visit Detroit. Perhaps you could introduce me to some of the ballers,” Loren said, bringing me out of my daydream.

“Yeah, perhaps,” I responded, thinking bitches are always trying to get on.

Dallas had told her girls that I was upset with her, so naturally they were trying to change the climate of the evening. Loren and I had some things in common, so we spent the night chatting and talking, mostly about men.

The whole day passed, and Troy and I didn’t speak. The night before when he had dropped me off at Dallas’s house, he had walked me all the way to her front door, not giving a damn that she could have easily witnessed the two of us. He gave me a long kiss good night right outside her apartment door. The only thing separating us from her was a peephole.

After dinner, I went back to the apartment. Dallas went out with her friends. It was nice to spend the evening alone, packing my things. Jason called to confirm my flight details.

“Do you want to go out tonight?” he asked. Sleeping in New York was not something that happened often, at least not in my experience.

“Not really. I’m a little tired and still trying to finish packing. I have all these souvenirs to make room for in my luggage.”

I wasn’t interested in hanging out with Jason. He was feeling me and looking for his last chance to possibly fuck me. Troy had confirmed that.

“What time should I pick you up tomorrow?” he asked.

“My flight leaves at 10:00 a.m., so a few hours prior.”

Security in the airports had increased tenfold. It took three hours to pass the checkpoint on the way to New York. I was not trying to miss my flight.

“Alright. I’ll pick you up. Is Dallas riding with us?”

“I hope not, but more than likely she’ll want to see me off,” I said.

Jason started laughing, realizing I didn’t want to spend another second with Dallas. She really got on my nerves. I was also irritated because there was no word from Mr. Trinidadian.

The next morning, Jason arrived at the apartment right on time. He seemed to be a nice guy, but he wasn’t sincere. He was expecting something in return.

He loaded my bags into his Jeep. Earlier, I tried to convince Dallas to stay behind, but she hopped her ass in the backseat. No words were exchanged between the two of us. Why she bothered riding along was beyond me. I guess she felt it was the right thing to do.

Monday morning traffic was fierce. Jason’s cell phone was ringing nonstop. His hands-free system answered the call, and I could hear Troy on the speakerphone trying to determine our location. Troy intentionally left his cell phone charger in Jason’s ride. He told Jason to stop by a site where he was working to drop it off.

“It can’t wait until we come back from the airport?” Jason asked.

“Naw, nigga. I need to use this phone all day, and I don’t have many cells left. It’ll be a matter of time before it drops, and I’m expecting a call.”

“Alright. We’ll swing over,” Jason said.

Jason was a flunky. He didn’t say anything, just whipped the ride around and played Troy Says.

Troy was working hard and covered in plaster when we pulled up. He lit up when he saw me. I got out of the Jeep, and we exchanged words while Dallas and Jason also exited. We didn’t have much time.

“Thank you, Troy,” I said to him as Jason handed him the cell phone charger.

“You’re welcome. It was nice meeting you,” he said.

Dallas hadn’t been acknowledged and grew upset. She stood there clearing her throat.

“What’s up, Dallas?” Troy said.

“Not much,” she responded.

“Then why the fuck you clearing your throat like something stuck in it?” I asked. Everyone except Dallas laughed.

Troy and I hugged, and he whispered in my ear, “I’ll be seeing you soon, girlfriend.”

“Thanks for a wonderful time,” I replied and got back in the Jeep.

“Where’s my damn hug?” Dallas asked.

“I’m dirty, girl,” Troy replied.

“That didn’t stop you from hugging my girl,” Dallas argued.

“That’s because she’s leaving. You, I’ll see later,” he replied.

Not pleased by his reply, Dallas walked over to Troy, trying to give him a hug before he quickly disconnected. Jason and Dallas noticed the chemistry between Troy and me.

The flight home was quick and turbulent free. I was glad to be back in Detroit and had business to attend.

Chapter 5|

Four days seemed like four minutes. When I returned home, so much had transpired. My NFL lover had sustained a serious back injury. His days playing in the league were over. He left without saying good-bye. I’d attempted to get in contact with him, but his cellular was disconnected. I imagined he must have been distraught and would come around at some point.

Every Friday I volunteered as a mentor. I’d been doing it for about a year. Kendra, the little girl I mentored, was thirteen. Her mother and I attended the same high school. Kendra had a number of psychological problems that stemmed from the ghetto environment in which she lived. We were in the middle of reviewing her calculus homework at the community center when my ex-boyfriend from high school, Dontae, walked in.

I was in denial about my sexual addiction. It started with him. Dontae was my first love. The sex was the best. I’d been trying to replicate that feeling for so many years, to no avail. The cliché, it’s never as good as the first time holds true. I mean, I have been opened up at times, but you never really get that high like when you first have your cherry popped.

For me, it would come with a price. Once Dontae and I moved on and dated other people, it was hard to find a man who could fulfill my sexual desires. Dontae was my high school sweetheart. We would still get it on every now and then. It was two summers ago when he told me he had a baby on the way. I had to cut off the supply completely.

He’d been fucking some teenage girl he didn’t even know. Mixing Hennessy and papaya juice had him thinking he didn’t need a jimmy hat. Anyway, he claimed he didn’t want to sleep with her while she was pregnant, didn’t find her attractive.

I kept telling myself I wasn’t addicted to sex because addiction was habitual, compulsive, loss of control. Me, I wasn’t out of control. Rather, I’d like to say I’m secure in my sexuality. Most men can’t handle that. Men say they want a women who wants to fuck as much as they do, but they can’t handle a woman with stamina like mine. Frankly, once I put the pussy on them, it’s downhill from there. They start off saying they don’t want emotional ties, yet they are the first to become overly sensitive, which never ceased to amaze me, which is why I outsourced my love to more than one man.

Don’t get it twisted. I never let bed works confuse me. I just couldn’t find a man to keep up with my sexual needs. Shit constantly had to be clarified, understandings continually redefined.

It wasn’t long before Dontae noticed me. I saw him approaching out of my peripheral, but didn’t acknowledge him until he was standing directly in front of me.

“Hey, long time no see,” Dontae said.

“Hi, stranger. How’ve you been?” I said, getting up to receive his embrace.

“I’ve been doing well. Just came up here to pick up my little sister. She’s in the program as well,” he replied.

“Which one is she?” I asked.

Dontae pointed to a little girl who was the spitting image of his mother. Had I paid any attention, I would have known when I saw her who she was from the resemblance alone. She was a cute child and very well mannered.

“It’s good to see you,” he said.

“Likewise.”

We kept our conversation brief. He gave me his phone number for the record, grabbed his sister, and left.

“He’s cute,” Kendra said.

“Girl, what do you know about cute?” I said, playfully nudging her on the shoulder.

Kendra and I finished our studies, and left for Dairy Queen to get a strawberry Blizzard with chopped peanuts.

Shortly after I dropped Kendra off, I stopped by the floral shop and picked up an arrangement for my brother’s grave. I frequented his resting place often when the weather was nice, taking flowers, reading, and talking to him. My brother and I had a connection. Even in death we still communicated, which is why I started seeing a therapist since the logical side of my brain told me I shouldn’t be talking to the dead.

Since his murder, I’d have lucid dreams. At times it was too much for me to deal with. In one dream, he tried to reveal his killers to me, but it wasn’t clear. Rumor on the street was our cousin Ronnie was the trigger man. Ronnie had spent most of his life in prison for a number of felonies. When he got out, he returned to his thug life, and apparently overcome by jealousy, him and his boys decided to murder my brother. The truth about what happened to my brother may never be revealed. Our family roots have been twisted since. The dreams, often nightmares, were becoming more accurate, more real. Sometimes it felt like I wasn’t even dreaming. It was difficult to decipher what was reality.

An hour had gone by. I was lying out on my blanket, writing in my journal, when I saw my mother. She had a white rose in one hand and her Bible in the other.

“Hi, Mom,” I said. We kissed, hugged, and sat down on the blanket.

“Hey, baby. How long have you been out here?” she asked.

“Not too long.” I smiled.

“The flowers look nice,” she told me, placing her white rose across his headstone.

We spent a few minutes in silence, taking in the fresh air and floral scents that permeated it. She opened her Bible, and we read a few scriptures from the Book of Psalms. One of our favorites was Psalm 27. After we finished our readings, we decided to grab a bite to eat. Since we were in separate cars, I followed her. I had the habit of looking back as I drove away, and when I did, I saw my brother’s spirit standing there in the same spot where my mother and I had prayed.

• • •

Leaving New York had me in a funk, and I missed Troy. Occasionally, I would log on to MochaSingles.com, an online dating and entertainment site for singles of color, and participate in the chat discussions. Two months earlier I had met Dorian on the site. Online dating was new to me, so I ran a background check on his ass before agreeing to meet in person.

Dorian was cool, but we weren’t intimate. He mentioned possibly stopping over after he left work. I was up for a nice dinner and music, and my body was calling. The only good loving I needed and wanted was back in New York.

It had been less than a week since I’d been home, and Troy and I spoke daily. Our conversations were developing, and we were growing closer. He mentioned possibly coming to see me in November, less than three months away. I looked forward to the day we met again.

It was interesting that Dallas’s friend Loren called and left a message. I hadn’t given her my number. She said she would be in Detroit the following week and hoped we could hook up. She was nice to me when I was in New York, so I didn’t have a problem showing her around.

Dorian called saying he was right around the corner. Dinner was simmering, and I had on my sexy hip-huggers and halter top, revealing my vibrant tattoo. My feet were nicely manicured, with eighteen-karat rings on the middle toes. I refreshed myself, splashing Jean Paul Gaultier perfume on my hot spots—the nape of my neck, breasts, inside my thighs, and just behind my knees.

“How was your day?” I asked as Dorian poured the champagne he’d brought with him.

“It was okay. Just busy as usual,” he replied.

I’d cooked a nice salmon dish with rice, plantain, potatoes, veggies, and a side salad. Men loved when I prepared dinner. It was always romantic with candlelight, wine, and pleasant music.

Dorian was sexy, but not as fine as Troy. We agreed to just take it slow and let nature take its course. That was about to change because my pussy was throbbing, and although it craved Troy, I would have to close my eyes and pretend.

Shortly after we finished our meal, Dorian received a call from his boy. His car had stalled on I-94, and Dorian had to pick him up. I wondered why someone else couldn’t get him and why Dorian always jumped when his boys called. Dorian had served in the military, fought wars, and was almost killed, so when he told me about how this guy had saved his life, I dropped the subject.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” Dorian said as he left.

I understood the fact that him and his boy had a bond because of the experiences they shared in the military. What I couldn’t understand was how he would leave a beautiful evening like the one we started when someone else could have easily handled the matter. I did what I always did when I was in a funk. I called Khalil, my homie-lover-friend.

“Speak,” Khalil said.

“Hi, Khalil. How are you, baby?” I loved talking to him. It didn’t matter what he had going on, he always stopped for me.

“Hey, Raquel. How are you? Glad to have you home.”

“In a funk,” I responded.

“What’s up? Feel like company?”

“I would love to see you. Just not feeling like being alone tonight.”

“Alright. I’ll be over in a few,” he said and hung up.

Being around Khalil made me feel sexy. While I waited, I enjoyed the remainder of the champagne that Dorian and I had shared just moments earlier. When the phone rang, I answered, thinking it was Khalil calling with an update, but it was Troy.

“Good evening,” I said.

“Hey, girlfriend. How are you?” Troy asked.

“Hey there. I was just thinking about you.” Truth was I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He left a lasting impression on me. Evidently he felt the same. “What have you been up to?” I asked him.

“Same shit. Working and thinking about you,” he replied. “Have you spoken to Dallas?”

“No, I haven’t,” I responded.

“She denied saying all those things you told me.”

“Well, what did you expect that bitch to say? You already know she’s a liar. Hell, last thing she told me was she was wearing stilettos and you were fucking her from the back.” That caught him off guard.

“She didn’t say some crazy shit like that,” Troy said.

“When we speak from now on, let’s not mention Dallas. I’m tired of this discussion already.”

Although we had decent conversation most of the time, Troy often asked about Dallas or found a way for her to enter our discussions. I was sick of hearing about her ass. As far as I was concerned, Dallas and I didn’t have to speak again.

“I feel like I can tell you anything,” he said.

“You can.”

Troy was telling me about some drama when Khalil knocked on the door.

“One second,” I said to him. We could talk all night and probably would have if I didn’t have company. After letting Khalil in, I returned to our conversation.

“Okay, I’m back. I have to go, but finish what you were saying.”

Troy had been in some domestic shit with his baby mama. From what I knew about Troy, he was a good father to his son.

We wrapped up our conversation and agreed to speak again the next morning.

“Good night, girlfriend,” Troy replied as we said our good-byes.

“Sorry about that,” I told Khalil.

Khalil had slipped into something more comfortable and joined me on the sofa. He had been massaging my feet the whole time I was on the phone. I loved his hands on me. It wasn’t long before I had wiggled out of my halter top and hip-huggers, lying on the sofa inviting a massage.

Without hesitation, he caressed me. All the tension that resided in my neck and back slowly exited as he pushed each knot and kink out of me. The innocent massage turned into a full-body rub. When I felt his tongue flickering in and out of my wet pussy, I knew it was on.

Khalil placed his fingers inside my ass while his tongue manipulated the fold that surrounded my clit. I enjoyed making love to Khalil. He didn’t care if I threw the pussy back on him or just rested and took him in. Either way, he aimed to please. Khalil and I escaped into our dreamlike world where his dick met my g-spot, and together we climaxed and produced enough fluid to grow a village.

That night I fell asleep in his arms. I fantasized back to the time Troy and I shared, and in that moment felt unfulfilled.

• • •

The next morning came quick. I showered, slipped on my Nike sweat suit that proudly displayed the pink and green colors of my sorority, put on my sneakers, and grabbed my duffle bag containing my change of clothes for later. I was headed to join my sorority sisters for a twenty-five-mile walk to support breast cancer research. Immediately following the walk, we were scheduled to pick up trash in the streets and parks throughout the City of Detroit before heading over to another neighborhood for Paint the Town, an annual event where volunteers painted run-down houses for low-income families and attempted to restore beauty to the district.

When all the service work was completed, we concluded with an awards ceremony, which honored over achieving high school seniors with scholarships as they prepared to enter college. We’d raised funds all year, hosting a number of parties and fundraisers. It was a success.

Khalil was at the ceremony with his frat brothers. We all lined up in the middle of the floor for a step show. We sang our sorority hymn and started our performance. I was a natural when it came to dancing, stepping, and ballroom. I coordinated the routine we performed and it was a show stopper.

Khalil’s fraternity was bringing in a new line. I was stunned to see Dorian sitting at a table with five other men. He looked scrumptious in his suit and tie. He was scared to speak when he saw me. They probably told him to sit there and be quiet.

It was getting late, and I was tired from all the activities earlier in the day. I spoke to Khalil briefly, let him know I was kidnapping Dorian, and we bounced.

• • •

You know Dorian and me had to get it on. It was crazy because it wasn’t all I wanted it to be. After waiting a few months and visualizing how it should have been, I felt disappointed. I knew it was my desire to be with Troy that had me tripping on Dorian’s inability to meet my expectations.

Even though the sex wasn’t all that, I still cared about Dorian. We shared so many commonalities. I think that’s why I overlooked the fact that his dick didn’t fill my pussy, barely touched my spot, and the oral couldn’t compare to the treatment I was used to getting.

It’s true what they say, once it’s popped, you can’t stop. Although Dorian wasn’t putting it down like the back breakers to whom I was accustomed, I managed to find a position that made his dick feel five times larger than it was.

Chapter 6|

On the day Loren flew in, I agreed to pick her up from the airport. She was staying at the Crowne Plaza near Metro Detroit Airport. Loren was a gold digger looking to connect with any of my athletic friends. She’d been screwing a rookie player for the Miami Dolphins and searching for the next best thing.

“Hey, girl. Good to see you again,” Loren replied as she loaded her Gucci luggage in the trunk of my BMW.

“Hi, Loren. Likewise,” I responded as we hugged.

My friend owned a club in downtown Detroit, and it was the night to be in the spot. I took Loren by her room so she could shower and change clothes. Friday night you could catch all of Detroit’s football and basketball players in the club. A girl could get rich quick if she played her cards right. I knew too many of the players personally—hell, several were my clients—and I never mixed business with pleasure. Nor would I divulge the details of my relationships with some of the guys. After we arrived at the club, when Loren looked at me for approval, I had nothing to say. I wasn’t Visa or MasterCard and wasn’t extending credit to anyone.

Jackie, an associate of mine who was friends with the club owner, rolled with us. Loren and Jackie didn’t click. It wasn’t clear what the beef was between those two, and I didn’t give a damn, I mixed and mingled with the crowd, leaving them behind.

I was getting my dance on when I heard my friend Rick tell his boys he couldn’t wait until they got home. The conversation continued when he said, “I’m going to break you off something fierce.”

I hadn’t known my friend to be gay. Matter fact, he must have swung both ways because he had been sleeping with my girlfriend on and off for a minute. He cut me a peculiar look when he realized his conversation had been overheard.

“You better be glad it was me that heard that shit and not some reporter,” I said.

He already had a case against him from some chick who filed suit against him and five other guys in the league for some drama that took place in Vegas. He just looked at me and smiled. There was no need for words. I heard what I heard, and all that was running through my mind was this mofo was a closet case. He was fine as hell, and it was disappointing, him wasting that dick in some shit.

I hated going to the club with females. If things weren’t looking right for them, they were ready to bounce. Luckily, the clubs in Detroit closed at 2:00 a.m., so we weren’t about to miss anything if we left. Besides, Loren and Jackie were pressed because they weren’t getting any attention from the guys.

I dropped Jackie off at her car and proceeded to Loren’s hotel. I agreed to pick her up for breakfast. I still hadn’t determined for what she was in town in the first place. It wasn’t like something was going on in the city.

As soon as I walked in the house, the phone rang. I grabbed it without first glancing at the caller ID.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi, what have you been up to?” Dallas asked.

“Working.”

“I heard Loren was coming into town.” Dallas was speaking arbitrarily.

“Yeah. You gave her my number without asking me.”

“I did. You guys seemed to connect while she was here. I didn’t think you’d mind,” Dallas responded.

“What do you want, Dallas?”

“You keep in touch with Troy?” she asked.

“Occasionally. Why?”

“I spoke to him the other day. He was asking me questions, and I was just curious about the conversations the two of you had.”

“Dallas, what the fuck do you want? Since that bullshit you pulled while I was there, I’m not really feeling this friendship. We don’t have anything to discuss.”

“I apologized for what happened. You won’t let that shit go,” she said.

“No, because you’re full of shit. Have been for a long time. I’ve moved on and you should too.”

“Well, I just wanted you to know that I still love Troy and whatever is up—”

“Dallas, stop with the rambling. Troy doesn’t give a fuck about you. He never has. His words, not mine. I’m done fucking with you, bitch. Don’t call me again,” I said.

• • •

By the time I finished my bath, Dorian had called asking to come over. I was sleepy, had to get up early to meet with a client and make breakfast with Loren. When I told him I had an out-of-town guest, he agreed to treat us to breakfast the next morning if I would let him stop by. It wasn’t the offer to buy breakfast that intrigued me but the thought of climaxing without having to pull out my Pocket Rabbit for a quick fix. I could use Dorian to get high, so I invited him over.

I was wearing a teddy that I purchased from Lover’s Lane. It came with a matching thong and thigh highs, which I loved to wear. He loved seeing me in Manolo Blahniks with my attire on. It made his dick hard instantly. When he called and told me he was around the corner, I unlocked the door for him to let himself in.

Dorian opened the door. I was waiting for him with two glasses of wine at the top of the stairs. When he reached me, I poured some of the wine into his mouth, then he kissed me, transferring some of it back to me.

He slid my thong over with his tongue, tasting my pussy inside and out. He licked the lips and sucked my clit until it became swollen and juices flowed from my slit.

Three of his fingers entered my pussy while his tongue circled one of my breasts. He massaged my pussy with one hand as the other penetrated my asshole. That shit made me cum like crazy. I was dripping all over his hand when he licked the shit off, flipped me over, and stuck his dick in my ass.

The benefit of Dorian having a smaller dick was that my ass engulfed it with no resistance. I wasn’t a fan of anal sex, had tried it a couple of times with my high school sweetheart. I would do it though if you caught me in the right mood because the sensitivity in my anal cavity when a nice dick or finger entered it gave me riveting orgasms that were to die for. Dorian discovered that and had been taking advantage of it.

I’d been practicing different techniques on Dorian that I planned to use on Troy. Dorian loved it when I sat on his dick and gave him a reverse ride. He would scratch up my back and gasp for air while I bounced and rotated my hips. That was one of the few positions where I gained satisfaction with him.

After we finished fucking, we lay in each other’s arms. It wasn’t long before Dorian was knocked out. I slipped out of the bed and called Troy.

“Hello. Did I catch you at a bad time?” I asked.

“No. What’s up, girlfriend?” he asked.

“Just thinking of you.”

“I was going to call you but thought it was too late. I have something to tell you,” he replied.

“For the record, you can call me anytime, and what do you have to tell me?” I asked, sounding cheerful like a fat kid with a piece of cake.

“I have my ticket to come see you. I’ll be there the first week of November. I’m going to stay for seven days.”

My heart stopped. We had discussed Troy coming to visit but hadn’t finalized any of it. I was so excited, my pussy was aching just at the thought of having Troy to myself for a week.

“Really? I’m looking forward to it. That’s an awesome surprise.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t wait to see you any longer. I feel like I’m in love with you,” he said.

I couldn’t believe Troy said those words. He was so masculine and dominating. It seemed odd that he felt like he loved me, although the feeling was mutual. To hear it verbalized sent chills down my spine.

“Sometimes, when we spend hours talking on the phone, I think the same thing,” I replied. I played with the thought of awaking to Troy in the morning, to falling asleep with him at night, and to that in-between morning and night sex that comes when you’ve already passed the third round of lovemaking. I was working up a sweat at the reflection.

“E-mail me your itinerary,” I said.

“Should I book a hotel?” he asked.

“Of course not. You can stay with me,” I responded as his phone beeped.

“Well, I have to take this other call, but we’ll speak again tomorrow,” Troy said.

“Alright, Triniman. Have a good evening. Later.”

After we disconnected I sat there smiling. I was thinking about all the things Troy and I could do. There would be no more fucking until Troy came to town. I needed to get Dorian out of my bed. I fell asleep on the sofa.

• • •

The sound of my cell phone vibrating startled me as I awoke from my vivid dream. That’s strange, I said to myself, reaching for the phone. I had turned off the cell, yet it sat there blinking with ten missed calls. When I viewed the call log, I didn’t recognize the name Kris. That’s when I realized it was Dorian’s phone that had been ringing all night. I placed it back on the table and returned to the bedroom. Dorian was still there sleeping and hadn’t moved a muscle. That changed when I eased back into the bed. Suddenly, his dick hardened, and he was ready to go another round. Instead of stopping him, I just let him thrust his dick into me because this would be the last time we fucked with Troy on his way.

When we woke up the next morning, I told Dorian that I had picked up his phone mistakenly, thinking it was mine, since we did have the same model. He had this twisted look on his face when he thought I’d answered it.

“You can stop looking like that. I didn’t pick it up,” I said.

“It’s okay,” he replied, relieved.

Dorian was hiding something. His expression gave it away. I had been open and honest with his ass about everything up to this point. He knew about my trip to New York and my relationship with Troy.

“I gotta run,” he said.

“Sure,” I replied, dressing to head to work.

“I’ll hook up with you in a couple of hours, and we can grab breakfast with your friend,” he said.

“No problem.” When Dorian leaned in to kiss me, I turned my head and hurried him out the door. His funky attitude earlier had pissed me off, and whatever his ass was hiding, I intended to find out.

My client was waiting for me at the office. Unlike most new patients, she was thirty minutes early. My assistant Lisa had given her the new-client paperwork, and a pot of coffee was brewing.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Hello,” she replied.

The aroma from the coffee filled the air. I settled in, offered her a cup, and invited her into my office.

“I’m Dr. Howard,” I told her.

“My name is Kristie Johnson,” she said.

“Nice to meet you. What brings you here today?” I asked.

“I’m having marital problems. I think my husband is cheating on me.” Kristie replied.

“What makes you think that?”

“He doesn’t come straight home from work, his cell phone bills go to another address, and when he says he’s working, he isn’t. We have two children together, and most of the time he isn’t there. He has had fidelity issues in the past. I’ve caught him cheating before,” she said.

“Can you supply the details of that incident?”

“The last time I caught him, I actually walked in on him and a lady in our house. He claimed she was over working on a project with him for a business venture he’d started. One thing led to another, he said.”

Kristie appeared to be a professional woman and didn’t display any attributes of paranoia, schizophrenia, or multiple personality disorder.

“And this time?”

“My husband doesn’t drink but lately he’s been coming home smelling like alcohol. He uses it as mouthwash to erase the scent of another woman from his breath, usually when he’s been eating pussy.”

Her comment shocked me slightly. “How do you know this?” I asked.

“Because. That’s the shit he used to do when we first hooked up, gargling with liquor after licking my coochie-coo.”

“Was he involved with someone when you met him?”

“Yes. He was going through a divorce. Listen, I’m not crazy. I’ve been taking medication because I can’t sleep at night. I’m usually up waiting on my husband.”

“Have you shared your concerns with your husband?”

“Not this time,” she said.

“Why?”

“I don’t have enough evidence.” Kristie twisted in her seat, then moved over to the chaise longue that was in my office. She positioned herself until she was comfortable and continued. “My husband suffers from a number of disorders.”

“I would like to back up a moment, if you don’t mind. What do you hope to accomplish by seeing me?” I asked.

“I would like to understand how to deal with my cheating husband,” she said.

“Well, you have a number of options for dealing with him. Has anything specific come to mind?”

“Kill his ass.” She chuckled.

That’s when I grew concerned. Kristie didn’t display characteristics that would make me think she was capable of committing murder, but her comment alone aroused my interest. It was too soon to prescribe medication, without having her prior medical records, but I didn’t want to dismiss her statements.

“I would like to schedule frequent appointments with you to help you get through some of the problems you face,” I told her.

She didn’t have medical insurance but agreed to return for monthly visits.

I sipped on the cappuccino my assistant had given me while completing notes from my meeting with Kristie and waiting for my next patient.

“Dr. Howard, Eva is here to see you,” Lisa announced over the speakerphone.

“Thank you. Please send her in. Hi, Eva. How are you? I asked when she walked in.

“I’m doing better today, doctor.”

“How’s the medicine working for you?”

“It’s made me feel a lot better. A little drowsier than usual.”

Eva had been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia, a psychotic disorder characterized by withdrawal from reality, illogical patterns of thinking, delusions, and hallucinations, and accompanied by intellectual disturbances typically associated with dopamine imbalances in the brain, defects of the frontal lobe, and genetic factors. She’d been a patient of mine for six months and had improved dramatically since she first came to see me. Eva also suffered from multiple personality disorder, commonly known as MPD. Since I’d been seeing her, I’d been able to reduce the number of personalities she displayed from ten to four.

There was Yvette, the lesbian who always surfaced when Eva experienced problems with her husband. Yvette had been in a relationship with another woman for about a year before her husband realized they were more than friends.

Then there was Mya who saw dead people. She was the oldest personality Eva had. She’d been around since Eva was a child.

Lilly was highly promiscuous and into a number of bondage and dominatrix-type activities. She frequented sex clubs and often engaged in drugs and acts with strangers. She obsessed with recording the acts. When her husband found her stash of videos, they came to counseling together.

A chain of mental illnesses ran in Eva’s family. She even had a couple of violent streaks that we were able to subdue with medication.

“So what brings you here today, Eva?”

“I’m not Eva. I’m Monique,” she replied.

“What happened to Eva? Eva walked through my door, not Monique.”

“Okay, you got me. It’s me Eva,” she said and burst out laughing.

It was days like today when I questioned why I got into clinical psych in the first place. Part of it could be attributed to the fact that in some ways it helped me deal with my own shit.

I wrapped things up with Eva and headed to meet Loren and Dorian for breakfast.

• • •

I was having a flashback about Dorian on the drive to get Loren. Dorian was my hometown beau. Troy was my fantasy. I reminisced on the time when Dorian bent me over his pool table and gave me a piece of his love. Balls were flying everywhere. He slapped my ass with a pool stick and chased me around the table. I had an imprint of the eight ball and little diamonds from the edge of the table on my chest when I got up.

My daydream ended when I pulled up in front of the Crowne Plaza. Loren was sitting in the lobby having an espresso when I walked in.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Morning, lady. Ready?” she asked.

“Sure. My friend Dorian is joining us for breakfast. His treat.” I smiled.

“Cool,” Loren replied.

When we arrived at Bob Evans Restaurant, Dorian was seated in his car having what appeared to be a meaningful conversation. When he saw me, he motioned for us to go inside. There was a fifteen-minute wait before we could get a table.

“You like to travel, don’t you, Raquel?” Loren asked.

“Yes, I love it,” I replied.

“You should go with me to Miami. Girl, it would be so much fun. You can meet my boyfriend and hang out with my girl Charla. She’s like the male version of me.”

“I’ve never been to Miami. That sounds cool. I could use a travel buddy.”

“Well, let’s get the tickets before I leave. We can go at the end of November. My friend is throwing a big celebrity party on his yacht. Besides, the weather will be shit here and lovely there during that time.”

“Sounds good,” I replied. Just as the hostess called our name, Dorian entered.

“Hi. I’m Dorian,” he said, introducing himself to Loren.

“Hello, I’m Loren. Nice to meet you,” she responded.

Dorian was scaling Loren up and down. Something about her had his attention. I wasn’t insecure nor pressed. When he asked Loren for her phone number, insisting he had a friend with whom she would click, I just sat back and observed.

“You guys resemble,” Dorian said.

Laughing, I replied, “Yeah, we’ve heard that before.” While we were in New York, people kept saying we looked like sisters.

After breakfast, Dorian went his own way. I took Loren shopping because she wanted to see what the stores were like in Detroit, a place on the verge of a makeover. Since none of the upscale stores resided in the city itself, we had to drive about an hour to Somerset Collection, a mall in Troy where Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Prada, Versace, and Neiman Marcus lived.

Loren had talked a good game about spending money in the stores. She was specific in for what she was looking. When we arrived at the mall, the bitch didn’t buy anything. It was at that point that she confirmed her façade. She talked a good game, pretended to be a baller, but really was a struggling sack chaser. On the ride back, she brought up Dorian.

“Dorian and you make a cute couple. How long have you been dating?” she asked.

“Thanks, not too long,” I replied.

“You can tell he’s into you,” she said.

“No you can’t.”

“Sure you can. He’s very attentive to you, and he doesn’t take his eyes off you,” she said and smiled.

“Yeah, well my heart is elsewhere.”

“Where?” she asked.

“In New York.”

“Who’s in New York.”

“Troy. Met him when I visited.”

Loren had shown too much interest in my relationship with Troy, questioning how we met and if we were still in touch. I couldn’t wait to drop her ass off at the airport. Originally, I’d felt obligated to show her around because she didn’t know anyone other than me, which led me back to my original question: What the fuck was the purpose of her trip?

Chapter 7|

By the time I arrived at the gym, all the treadmills were in use. I needed to exert some energy and went to the gun range instead. I was a professional target shooter. I’d gotten involved with the sport after my brother was killed. My weapon of choice was a Glock G17 nine-millimeter. I shot with precision and skill. I knew how to shoot for all occasions, whether it was to back someone off me or stop them cold.

Once I finished my rounds, I got in the car heading toward the direction of my therapist’s office. I had a standing bi-monthly appointment with Kevin Frazier, my personal shrink. He specialized in psychiatry and had gone to school with me while I worked on my doctorate. He also specialized in hypnosis, a practice in which I wasn’t comfortable participating. Primarily, the loss of control when you go under concerned me. I didn’t know what would come out of me.

Kevin’s office was soothing. He had a waterfall in the lobby. You could hear the sound of water flowing, hitting the rocks at the bottom. You could see clear through it from inside his office, but people on the opposite side couldn’t see in. It was a nice illusion.

“I’ll just be one second,” Kevin said, acknowledging my presence. “Go ahead and make yourself cozy. I’ll be right back.”

When Kevin returned, I tried to get everything out that I could before our time expired. “The nightmares have been getting worse,” I said.

“What’s happening now?” he asked.

“I keep having this recurring dream. In one case, I’m on this dark road driving up a huge incline. There is a large body of water underneath me, like I’m on a bridge. The water isn’t calm; it’s very angry and dark. Suddenly, the road disappears, and my car is falling down toward the water. Just before I hit, I wake up covered in water from my perspiration.”

“What you’ve described is an emotional imbalance usually tied to stress. Your stress levels are higher than they should be, causing you to feel this anxiety. It sounds like you fear something, which is why the water below is choppy and dark. You fear the unknown. You are unsettled, Raquel. That is why the water is violent, and just before you hit the water, you pull back, just as you do in real life when facing challenges.”

“It doesn’t end there. I’ve been seeing my brother more and hearing voices,” I hesitantly told him.

“What are the voices saying, and are you awake when you see your brother?”

“I’ve seen my brother’s spirit both while I was asleep and awake. The voices, they are constantly having conversations, talking about how I’m cursed, how no man will ever want me and that’s why my father left.”

“When’s the last time you’ve been to church, Raquel?”

“It’s been twelve years.”

“You haven’t been to church since your brother was murdered? Do you find that odd?”

“I pray all the time, Kevin, and I read my Bible daily.”

“Then why don’t you worship in church?”

“What does this have to do with what I’m telling you?”

“Raquel, the fact that you are hearing evil voices that try to convince you that you’re cursed is not a good sign. You seeing your brother…you’ve always had a psychic gift. You need to rebuke those voices you hear and concentrate on finding your religion again.”

“Why aren’t you concerned that I’m seeing ghosts, Kevin?”

“Because you’ve seen them all your life, Raquel. Be honest with yourself. The real issue here is you’re suffering from the lack of a father figure. It’s common in women your age who are raised in single-parent homes.”

“Kevin, that shit is bananas. Maybe that applies in someone else’s world, but I’m not tripping because my father wasn’t around. I never knew him to miss his ass.”

“It isn’t that you long for your father, rather, the comfort from a man that most little girls get from their daddy wasn’t afforded to you.”

“I’m not addicted to sex, and I’m not looking for a man to be my daddy.” Kevin often angered me during our sessions. I respected his talent, but I felt he misunderstood me. He always managed to incorporate my absentee father into my sexual appetite, faulting the deficiency for my promiscuity.

When I was born, a veil covered my face. From a scientific approach, it was just a thin layer of the fetal membrane. Traditionally, it was believed to allow one to see spirits and have some sort of psychic ability. Naturally, my experience in seeing the dead led me to believe the latter was correct.

It wasn’t my style to divulge myself personally. It took a lot of hours and long nights before I relaxed and felt comfortable speaking with Kevin, and even though we disagree, I wouldn’t trust anyone else with my problems. This is why I rarely got close to people, including men. Yeah, I got close to them physically, but mentally, I didn’t care about most of the men I fucked, and Kevin was wrong, I just used those niggas the same way they exploited females, it had nothing to do with my father.

• • •

I spent the next month engrossed in my work. I was seeing patients during the day and doing freelance graphic design work at night. My excitement that Troy was coming the following month continued to be reinforced as each day passed. I was now marking the days off the calendar.

I’d pulled back from Dorian. He’d been asking about Loren since she left. As far as I was concerned, she was one more thing he was hiding. I think they may have fucked before she went home. He had her phone number, she wasn’t staying with me, and he was certainly acting suspect. I also didn’t want Dorian thinking he was getting any pussy, because it was on reserve in anticipation of Troy’s visit.

Just as the thought crossed my mind about Loren, Dallas rang the phone. I’d told her not to call me again. She just didn’t listen. I answered the phone with an attitude, but was hardly prepared for her response.

“What the fuck did you say about me to Loren?” she asked.

“Who the fuck you talking to like that?”

“You,” she exclaimed.

“That shit you smoked this morning got your ass thinking you bad. I’ve told you not to call me again, but since you did, I didn’t say shit about your grimy ass to Loren. She did the honors, telling me your ass was pregnant twice by that dope dealer on your block who was beating your ass and giving you some of his supply, how you were pregnant when I came to visit, and how you played your friend Tiffany, trying to fuck her man in her crib. Don’t get me started on how you exposed your titties to Loren, showing her some tiny hairs that protruded from your nasty-ass breasts.”

“What are you talking about? She came back telling me you were talking about me,” Dallas said.

“First of all, whatever shit the two of you are trying to pull, it isn’t working. You gave that bitch my number. You tell so many people your business, you don’t even know who said what when the shit circles back and hits you in the face.”

Dallas listened intently as I told her about Loren’s allegations. Apparently, I had hit a sore spot.

“Loren also told me how you came on to her after taking a shower. The whole time she was telling me the shit, I didn’t have a goddamn thing to say because after you crossed me, I knew you were scandalous.”

Dallas was on the other end of the receiver dead silent. I knew Loren wasn’t lying. Troy had said the same shit about her hairy-ass chest. Finally Dallas said, “I can’t believe she said those things.”

“Believe it, bitch.”

Loren was foul for flipping the script and telling Dallas I said those things. I was ready to fly to New York and kick both of their asses. I knew she didn’t like Dallas, but never expected her to stir up this type of drama, the kind where Dallas got the balls to call and confront me. I was curious what Loren had told her about Troy. Now I understood why Loren came to Detroit in the first place—to get some shit started.

It disturbed me that Loren had gone back and fed Dallas a bunch of lies because it didn’t make any damn sense. I guess I needed closure, so I called Loren to put an end to the nonsense.

“Hey, Quel,” she said after realizing it was me.

“Hi, Loren. What’s up with the shit you told Dallas?” I asked.

“What are you talking about, Quel?” she asked.

“Dallas called and told me all the things you said,” I informed her.

“Quel, you know I can’t stand that bitch Dallas. I haven’t spoken to her in a month, since I’ve been back,” Loren replied.

“Well you spoke to someone who attempted to recap a conversation we had and regurgitate it to Dallas.”

Loren apologized. She said she’d mentioned to her girl Tania, a mutual friend of Dallas, that I was tired of Dallas and her shit. Tania thought Dallas was an angel and did no wrong, so Loren saw an opportunity to sway Tania by telling her about some of the shit Dallas had done to me.

The only thing I mentioned about Dallas was how she set my Bible on fire and lied when we were in college.

“Loren, you can stop apologizing. Just the fact that you repeated anything I said let’s me know I can’t fuck with you.”

“Quel, it isn’t like that. I really like you. I’m going to call Tania right now and check that bitch,” Loren replied.

“Do what you need to, but lose my number.”

• • •

Troy had called while I was cursing Dallas. I was tired of talking on the damn phone, but needed to call him back. His message indicated it was urgent.

“Hi, Troy.”

“Hey, girlfriend. What’s good?” he asked.

“Same shit, different day.”

“Yo, I called to tell you to stay away from that dyke who came out there,” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

“That chick, I don’t know her name, but you met her through Dallas,” he replied.

“Loren?”

“Yeah, I think that’s what Dallas said. She just flew out there, right?” he asked.

“Yes, she did.”

I had mixed feelings about Troy keeping in touch with Dallas. He always complained how he didn’t want to talk to her and she wouldn’t take the hint and stop calling, but for some reason or other they continued having discussions.

“She’s trying to set you up,” he said.

“Troy, what are you talking about? I just told her ass not to call me again. You’ve been speaking to Dallas, why?”

“Yes. She called me with some bullshit about how you had been talking about her to this girl. I told her she needed to think about what she was saying and she would realize that didn’t make any damn sense. The two of you have been friends for too long for the foolishness she was ranting about.” Troy said Loren was a lesbian and she’d fucked Dallas. Loren was trying to make her jealous and thought she could turn me out. Evidently, she was bisexual because she’d been dating dude who played ball in Miami from what she told me.

“What are you saying, Troy?”

“You heard correct. She’s trying to fuck you. She’s planning to invite you out to Miami, and if you go, her and this butch bitch who lives out there are planning to turn your ass out,” Troy said.

When Troy mentioned Miami, I knew he wasn’t lying. Loren had already asked me to travel with her to Miami and we’d made arrangements that I didn’t intend to keep. Now, I understood that comment she made about her girlfriend Charla who lived in Miami, saying she was the male version of herself.

“You gotta be kidding. That’s the craziest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Girl, you have to watch these New Yorkers. You can’t be slipping. Too many people out here scamming,” he said.

Troy had me questioning his motives too. For all I knew, he was fucking Dallas and playing with both of us.

“Thanks for the information, Troy. I’ll catch up to you later.”

“One more thing: I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

• • •

My new client Kristie was coming in. I had cramps out of this world and started to cancel my appointment but pulled myself together and went into the office. By the time our session ended, I wished I stayed at home.

“How are things with your husband, Kristie?” I asked.

“Well, he has improved, but I’m no longer interested in making this relationship work. I’ve been talking to Darnell, and he said I should just kill his ass.” She chuckled.

“Who is Darnell?”

“He’s my lover,” Kristie replied. She was a mysterious woman. She went back and forth from someone who seemed like the victim to the victimizer.

“You never mentioned you were being adulterous as well,” I replied.

“I wasn’t here to talk about me,” she said.

“Oh, is that so? You only wanted to talk about your husband never fully intending to reconcile and save the marriage. So, again, I ask why is it that you see me? Seems you have all the answers.”

“I see you because I find you fascinating, Dr. Howard.”

“Why?”

“I can’t explain it, but I came to you hoping you’d convince me not to leave my husband. For some reason, I didn’t think your counseling was helpful. Unexpectedly, things got better at home.”

“You haven’t seen me enough to conclude my services aren’t helpful. Further, you don’t seem to be serious at all when you come in here. You’ve told me your lover’s name, but you’ve never mentioned your husband’s. When you first came here, you acted as if you were the one trying to hold the relationship together, but from what I can tell, you’ve abandoned the relationship, just like you claim your husband has.”

“Dorian Johnson,” Kristie said.

“Excuse me?” I replied.

“My husband, his name is Dorian Johnson.”

It felt like Kristie was watching for my reaction. The whole time, I wondered if she knew who I was, about my relationship with Dorian. My mind was congested with thoughts, like if she was really planning to hurt Dorian, if she knew the extent of our relationship, what her next move was, and why she continued visiting my office, but I maintained my cool. I already had cramps. The news she communicated pushed them right out. I felt both relieved and uneasy at the same time.

“Well, perhaps you should go to couples counseling to decide what’s best for both of you and the children involved,” I replied, abruptly rushing the session. “You should make a decision, Kristie. Either you make your marriage work, or divorce and live your life with Darnell. Whatever you decide, you should do so immediately and stop dragging this thing out. As for us, there is no need to move forward in this relationship.”

“I’m not ready to end our meetings,” she replied.

“You don’t have an option, dear. This is our last session. I can make a recommendation for you if you’d like couples counseling.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” she replied.

“Great, looks like we’re finished here.”

Kristie had ruined my day with the ball she’d dropped. My head hurt, my back ached, and my throat felt clogged, like I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t erase her comments from my memory. It was as if her words haunted me, lingered around. Because of patient confidentiality, I couldn’t even discuss the matter with anyone, except Kevin since he was my shrink. I told my assistant to hold my calls and called Kevin on his cell.

“Dr. Frazier speaking,” he said.

“Hi. It’s Dr. Howard,” I teased.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I just had to vent. Turns out one of my patients is married to someone I’ve been sleeping with,” I said calmly.

“How’d you find out?”

“That’s the odd part. She told me. I’m not sure if she knows about us though, and I haven’t spoken to him.”

“That’s a problem. You can’t continue seeing this patient,” he replied.

“I know this.”

“You didn’t know this guy was married?”

“No, or I would not have been fucking with him, Kevin. I’ve been in this man’s house and everything.”

“You should speak to the guy, let him know what’s up. That could be a dangerous situation, especially if she knows about the two of you. I’m curious why she didn’t mention it. So, call your boy and fix this.”

• • •

Relocation became a frequent thought. Detroit was getting smaller to me. I’d contemplated moving to New York for years. I finally felt like I had a reason and place there. Part of me wanted to be there for Troy, but I wasn’t naïve. I knew the only reason Troy and I were still going strong was because of the distance. He could say anything to me over the phone and be getting his dick sucked at the same time and I wouldn’t know.

I hadn’t built up the nerve to call Dorian, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. I pulled out my laptop to do some freelance work. I had a few clients who were in need of media kits and flyers for upcoming events. I usually turned off my ringers when I was trying to concentrate. That night I forgot, and the phone rang loudly, disengaging me from my thought. I had an old-school answering machine in my home office so I could hear the message as it was being left. Just as the machine picked up, someone knocked on the door. It was Dorian. As he stepped into the foyer, the person left a message: “I’m watching you, bitch.” It was Kristie. Dorian stood emotionless as the sound of his wife played on my answering machine.

Chapter 8|

“Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” I asked.

“We’re going through a divorce. I didn’t want to say anything until it was final. I know how niggas say they’re leaving but really don’t. I wanted to tell you when it was a done deal.”

“I can’t believe you would jeopardize me in that way. Did you know she was coming to my office?”

“No, it wasn’t until I overheard a conversation of hers today that I suspected something was up. That’s why I came here without calling.”

“What kind of person are we dealing with, Dorian? She knows where I live. She’s calling my house.”

“She doesn’t know where you live,” he replied.

“How can you be sure? She probably followed you here. Don’t you think it’s strange she was ringing my phone as you knocked on the door?”

“That’s an odd coincidence, but I wasn’t followed. I’m sure of that. I’m sorry you found out this way.”

“So am I. What else haven’t you told me?”

“I know it looks bad, but we don’t even live together. We’ve been separated for a few years.”

“A few years? Why the hell you just getting divorced?”

“We were trying to hang in there for my daughter, but it just wasn’t worth it. My daughter didn’t need to be exposed to our violence.”

“Violence?”

“Yeah, Kris had people believing I was hitting her. I got into it with her lover one night, and she jumped in the fight. She got hit, and I spent the night in jail.”

“This is too much, Dorian.”

“I know it is. There has been so much going on. Well, you know I’m trying to get in this fraternity. I’ve just been so busy. I didn’t recognize what Kris was up to.”

“Dorian, you have to leave. I can’t have you in my house right now. I need some space.”

“Don’t be like this. I’m in love with you.”

His words sounded rehearsed. It was like he knew his private life was unfolding and he ran to my house to patch things up, but he was a day late and a dollar short.

“Get out. If you loved me, you would have taken the chance and been honest and straightforward with me from the beginning. If you loved me, you would have told me about your fucking wife and not exposed me to this bullshit. You don’t love me. You just got caught.”

I felt disgusted. The thought of being with Dorian irritated the hell out of me. I did a lot of things, but sleeping with someone’s husband wasn’t one of them. My mother always told me growing up that whatever I did in relationships, to stay away from married men. I never knew why she felt so strongly about the matter, but she insisted not to fuck with them, and I obeyed. She really didn’t have to convince me. I was selfish and never would knowingly stay in a relationship with a man who belonged to another.

I was in deep thought, trying to figure out how Kristie obtained my number at home. Then it hit me, Lisa, my assistant, always forwarded the calls to my home answering service in case someone called with an emergency after hours. She would cancel the call forwarding in the morning when she came in. If that was the case, Kristie didn’t really have my number and possibly didn’t know where I stayed. Either way, I was on alert.

• • •

Kendra, the girl I mentored, called asking if I could take her roller-skating. She was in a program similar to Big Brothers, Big Sisters. I’d signed up as a volunteer with the organization, but they had a shortage of girls in the program. That’s when I found a local program at the county’s prosecuting office, which they’d started for troubled youth in the area.

Working with Kendra had its challenges. She was a money-hungry child. Every time we went out, she wanted to spend my dough. The kids never had their own cash, so any time spent with her was at my own expense. I didn’t mind taking her skating. She’d gotten a B on her calculus exam, and I was proud of her.

I grabbed a couple of my younger girl cousins, picked up Kendra, and headed to the roller rink. I laced up my skates while the girls ran to their little group, cackling and whispering about some boys who were looking in their direction. Girls nowadays were built like grown-ass women. Whatever was being injected in the meat and milk had these girls growing tits and ass for days. I kept a close eye on them. They would let those boys talk them right out of their panties. Their minds weren’t as developed as the packages they carried.

Seemed like each time Kendra and I hung out we’d run into Dontae, my ex-boyfriend. He was with his little sister, and I assumed his daughter. I was on the floor skating when he rolled up on me.

“Hey, we meet again,” he said.

“Yeah. How are you?”

“I’m alright. We should sit down and chat,” he said.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“We never talk anymore.”

“No need to change that,” I said, smiling.

“Come on, let’s go sit down. I’ll buy you some nachos with cheese,” he said. When we were in high school, he’d buy me nachos for lunch every Friday. We were so cute. Everyone knew we were a couple, and even after we graduated people still mentioned our names in unison. It must have bothered the heck out of his baby mama at our class reunion. We were the talk of the night. I agreed to meet him at the food court.

I didn’t waste any time. I finally asked the question I’d wanted to for years. “Why did you hook up with that girl?”

“Who, my baby mother?”

“Yes.”

“You already know the story,” he said. He was right. I knew the tale but wanted to hear it again.

“I waited for you while you went away to the military. I was faithful to you all those years. You couldn’t wait for me to finish undergrad, you had to go fuck that girl, and a nasty tramp at that.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Do what? The truth hurts?”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t like that.”

“Yes, it was. You got that girl pregnant. You didn’t even know her. You ruined my life.”

“Raquel.”

“You did. I got pregnant for you when I was a junior in college. You fucking avoided me like the plague. It was me, Dontae. We’d been screwing for years. You were the first man I hooked up with. You should have been the last, but you left me hanging.”

Dontae appeared heart broken. I’d never told him how I really felt about the whole ordeal. He was the reason I didn’t want children. I refused to raise a kid by myself. He always said he would be there for me, but when I got pregnant, he wasn’t.

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me. You think a day doesn’t go by that I don’t realize how I messed up? Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for my daughter, but I know you had my firstborn. I can’t look at my daughter without thinking about you.”

Dontae was correct. I did have his first child, and everyone knew it. His current lady would always come second to me, even if he was playing house with her. I’d been so stressed throughout the whole pregnancy that I forced the child to arrive prematurely. He was born four months early. Dontae’s parents and my mother were there for the delivery. Dontae arrived after the fact. Our son lived for three months in an incubator before he was called home.

“How you figure I ruined you?” he asked.

“You were my first love, Dontae. You fucked my head up, had me waiting on you, trying to replenish what you used to provide. I blamed myself for years for running you off. Regretted being away at school, thought I should have kept my ass at home and maybe I’d still have my man.”

“Don’t take the blame for my mistakes. You never did anything wrong. It was me thinking with my dick who screwed up. You deserve better than what I could ever offer.”

I dipped the last of my nachos in the cheese, placed them in my mouth, and swallowed the past. It was perfect timing. His sister skated over to where we sat, bringing his daughter with her. He introduced me to the child, but it was too painful to sit there pretending I wasn’t troubled, I politely excused myself.

Kendra, my cousins, and I left the skating rink. I dropped the girls off at home and swung by my mother’s house. She wasn’t home so I let myself in. I opened the freezer, grabbed some chocolate ice cream, sprinkled peanuts on top, grabbed the remote to the television, and plopped on her sofa. It wasn’t long before I dozed off.

• • •

I felt something pressing down on me. For a second, I thought I was dreaming. I was glad to open my eyes and see my mother standing there, covering me with a wool throw blanket.

“Hi, Ma. How long have you been home?” I asked.

“I just got home, baby.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s okay. I recognized you were in here when I heard you talking.”

I must have rolled over on the remote, turning the television off because she said it wasn’t on when she came in, and my mother always told me I talked in my sleep.

“What was I saying this time?” I asked.

“Girl, I couldn’t understand that foreign language you speak in your sleep.” She laughed. “Where’ve you been?”

“I took Kendra and the girls roller-skating.”

“Oh, you guys have a good time?”

“They did. I ran into Dontae again.”

“That’s been happening a lot lately.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“What’s bothering you, love?”

“Nothing, Mom. How come you asked?”

“Girl, I know you better than you know yourself. Something’s up.”

My mother was so funny. She did know me the best. I wasn’t in a talkative mood though. I just chilled and popped in Pitch Black, her favorite movie staring Vin Diesel and a group of space travelers who land on what appeared to be a lifeless planet.

Chapter 9|

Troy’s arrival was perfect timing. I had made an appointment for us at a spa to kick back and relax in the Jacuzzi. I figured it would be a nice way to wind down after the flight, and it would give us time to enjoy each other.

“You look good, girlfriend,” Troy said as we hugged and kissed at the airport.

“Thank you, baby. So do you. I’m so glad to see you,” I said with a big Joker smile on my face. “How was your flight?”

“It was decent. Much shorter than I expected.”

“I’m glad.”

We talked and laughed as I drove to the Oasis Spa. I loved that place. The Jacuzzi suites had their own themes. Ours was on the Island of Oahu in Hawaii where we would experience tropical paradise. The whispering waters flowed down a volcanic waterfall while colorful birds and pineapple palms completed the Pacific island theme.

When we arrived, I handed the clerk my Kemistry CD. It was an eclectic array of soul, flavor, and sensuality. As we entered, our motion activated the music, and the themed room went into action. The Jacuzzi filled, and beautiful aromatic scents saturated the air. There was also a bed in the suite—if we made it that far.

I slid out of my little black dress and stood with my v-string panties from Victoria’s Secret and no bra. My body was svelte. I have 36DD breasts and tight-ass abs. I sashayed over to Troy and slowly undressed him. He joined me as I stepped into the Jacuzzi.

“I missed you,” he said.

“I missed you too,” I said, kissing him.

Our kiss was explosive and passionate. A few months apart seemed like forever. His hands were about my breasts, massaging them. The water was hot, but my pussy was hotter. I sucked in his bottom lip and enjoyed it in my mouth for a moment, savoring his taste.

Troy kissed down my chin, slowly encircling a nipple with his tongue before landing in that wet spot between my legs. He sucked and sucked, then his fingers loitered in my pussy, causing me to arch my back and sweetly exhale. I had been waiting for this.

I moved up and down on his hand, kissed, and fervently bit his neck as he reacquainted himself with my love. He lifted me so that my waist was just above the water. He dove into my pussy, and he sucked, nibbled, and licked it deliciously. Then he did some booty-licking shit where his tongue flickered like a butterfly in and out of my ass. He licked his lips, rinsed, and devoured me.

While his tongue engaged me, his hands explored my body, looking for his lost treasure. Troy struck platinum as his dick found its way into my pussy hole. The water was causing a pleasurable friction between us. He penetrated deeper into me, had me begging for more. I felt like I had hydraulics, the way Troy was hitting switches. I was biting his shoulder, attempting not to scream too loudly, respecting the spa’s policy, which stated no sex allowed. It was an odd policy because I’m sure everyone ignored it.

Troy lifted us from the water, his body still connected to mine. We landed on the bed where he flipped me over on my stomach. I loved how he controlled the motion. Even when he flipped me, we didn’t break stride. I was on my stomach, receiving him from the back. Not in the ass. Troy’s dick was too big to enter my anal cavity, and he never made the mistake of trying to slip it in the wrong hole like some niggas out there.

I raised up on my knees. Troy loved when I backed my ass into him, forcing his dick to reach the deeper depths of my pussy. My hips moved in a circular motion while he smacked me. His balls slammed into me as he moved in and out of my pussy. We flipped over. I reached back and massaged his balls while riding his dick until our skin was sore. When he came inside me, there was no barrier between us.

We were lying in the bed, enjoying the scent of good loving when we were startled by the intercom system.

“Would you like to extend your time?” the clerk asked.

“No,” I replied. “We’re leaving now.”

Troy and I quickly showered and left. We were hungry after that workout. We grabbed a bite to eat before heading to my place.

I didn’t have to worry about a thing while in Troy’s company. Money was never a factor. He had enough to give me everything I thought I wanted. I had my own money though, so it never influenced our relationship. Still, it was comforting to know he was financially secure.

Troy fell in love with my place. He thought my décor was nice.

“I love what you’ve done in your house,” he said, complimenting my style.

“Thanks.”

“The artwork is very nice, I especially like that picture,” he commented.

“Thank you. My mom picked that out for me. We have great taste,” I said, laughing. The portrait was set in the middle of the safari with beautiful elephants, giraffes, zebras, and cheetahs.

“You do,” he replied and pulled me in close for a hug.

“Let me show you the rest of the place.”

I gave Troy a tour of my house, showing him where the necessities—the bedroom and bathroom—were.

“Will I be sleeping in the living room?” he asked.

“You can’t be serious. We can sleep all over this place as long as we do it together.”

He smiled. “Of course, girlfriend.”

Both of us were tired and decided to take a quick nap before we enjoyed each other some more.

The week was to be filled with lovemaking and fucking. Troy had purchased two boxes of Durex condoms, and I intended to make him use every one. I had a huge king-size bed that was accompanied by mini-steps leading into the center. Troy climbed up on the bed and opened his arms for me to join him. I did. I thought I was dreaming, feeling Troy lying next to me. I kept reaching out to see if he was real. When I felt his toned body pressed against mine, I knew I wasn’t dreaming.

I rubbed against him slightly. His dick was partially erect. I had a remedy for that. While he slept, I disappeared under the sheets and wrapped my warm mouth around him. I loved how he tasted and felt inside me. I swallowed him like a vacuum, taking him halfway inside my mouth. As he stiffened, I swirled my tongue around his dick in a circular motion, setting the rhythm for his stride.

Troy was the first man with whom I’d been who wasn’t circumcised. Unlike in America, circumcision isn’t customary for West Indian males. Troy kept his dick clean, and I thought it was sexy how that extra layer of skin shielded what I cherished.

My oral massage ignited Troy, and he became rock hard. It was time to put in work. I climbed on top of him, slowly descending on his dick. My hips swayed back and forth, grinding him. Troy and I made love. It felt so sweet.

“The vibe feels different, right?” Troy asked.

“It does.”

“Do you think you can love me?” he asked.

“I do.”

For a moment, we just gazed as we stroked each other.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why could I love you?” I repeated, seeking clarity.

“Yes.”

“You’re a wonderful man, Troy. I enjoy spending time with you. I feel safe and protected when I’m around you. I love how you make me feel, and I share some of the visions that you have. I could see myself waking up to you and one day having your kids.”

Troy was listening to me, rubbing my face while I spoke.

“I could go on about why I can love you, but words can’t express the ecstasy you make me feel when you give your love to me.”

“I feel the same about you. It just seems strange because our relationship sparked from the pain of another.”

“Are you talking about Dallas?”

“Yeah.”

“Please. What happened between Dallas and me had nothing to do with you. Her pain was self-inflicted so the ultimate decision is will you get stuck in the past about how we met, or live for the future with me?”

Our intimate words sparked another rump session. Luckily, I stocked up on Guinness and Snickers. Something about the caffeine and sugar sent a rapture of energy to Troy’s dick. I learned from our first encounter to always have those two items on hand just in case Troy was around. That combination was tougher than Viagra.

• • •

The next morning, I prepared breakfast, serving Troy in bed. He had shown me nothing but love from the day we met. He was a hardworking brother, worthy of a nice home-cooked meal.

I preferred to dine out, but could cook my ass off. It was funny, I didn’t eat eggs but could make a mean omelet. I put cheese, diced tomatoes, onions, green peppers, and breakfast turkey in Troy’s and served it with hash browns, moist rolls, and a tall glass of orange juice.

Troy was appreciative of the meal and cleaned his plate.

Afterward, we bathe each other and ventured out. Troy wasn’t interested in sightseeing, but had done such a marvelous job showing me around New York, I felt compelled to at least show him some parts of Detroit.

We hung out on Detroit’s promenade down in Hart Plaza, looking over into Canada before driving to Belle Isle. I loved being by the water. I’d prepared a nice picnic basket full of deli-style sandwiches. We enjoyed lunch in the midst of each other’s presence, watching motorists out on their boats and jet skis.

Later that evening, Troy got an urgent phone call. Something happened on one of his job sites, and he had to get back, cutting his seven-day trip with me into a short three-day visit. It was down to the last twenty-four hours before Troy would be heading back to New York. I didn’t want him to leave and was already beginning to feel depressed.

When we returned to my house, I started preparing our dinner. Troy helped me set the table and peeled the potatoes. I was cooking red snapper marinated in scotch bonnet and fresh garlic with jerk shrimp, mashed potatoes, wild rice, veggies, plantain, and a cheesecake with cherry topping for dessert.

While the food cooked, we started a game of Scrabble, accompanied by a bottle of red wine. I didn’t have anyone with whom to play board games, so this was new to me. Troy was teaching me the concept of the game. I didn’t think it would be difficult. I could think of several words that I could create to beat Troy.

“This should be easy for you,” he said.

“Why is that?”

“Well, you’re the doctor. You know more words than I do,” he said and smiled.

I’d never been sure if my education bothered Troy. I had been to college, had my doctorate, and Troy hadn’t even graduated from high school.

“That doesn’t have anything to do with this game right here.” I laughed.

“Does it bother you?” Troy asked.

“What’s that?”

“That I didn’t finish high school,” he said.

“No. Does it concern you?”

“Sometimes. I’ve come so far with my business and all. I just feel like I don’t need a diploma or it doesn’t make sense to go back now.”

“The decision is yours, sweetie. I’m an advocate of education, so I would argue that it’s never too late to continue. You have to want it.”

His lack of credentials didn’t alarm me at this stage of my life. It wasn’t that I had settled, merely just grown and adapted my thought process to what was reality. Truthfully, a lot of decent men out there were overlooked because they didn’t have Harvard degrees. I wasn’t about to second-guess Troy. He knew how to treat me, and I respected him. He definitely wasn’t an ignorant man. He had created an empire with his business and was making it happen.

Troy was devoted to his work. I didn’t need a man for stability. I was already stable. I wanted a man to love me and satisfy my sexual cravings. Troy did that.

“That isn’t a word,” I exclaimed as Troy spelled out pulchritudinous.

“Of course it is,” he said, amused.

“What does it mean?”

He tossed me the dictionary and replied, “Look it up.”

I searched for his word, and it was there. It meant having great beauty or appeal. Troy continued to dazzle me with the words and messages he created on the Scrabble board. I was impressed. His vocabulary, conversation, and personality intrigued me. I hungered to discover more about this man.

When the game was over, I had lost, but I wasn’t a sore loser. Dinner was served.

• • •

The morning of Troy’s departure was harder than we intended. I held back tears as we kissed good-bye. We had had a fun-filled, romantic, and erotic weekend. Seeing Troy leave gave me an awkward feeling inside. As I watched him walk away, I knew I was moving to New York.

Chapter 10|

For the next few months, I drowned myself in my work, staying away from Dorian. I was trying to control my emotions for Troy, so I wasn’t calling him as much, although he stayed on my mind. I had been looking at properties in New York and was slowly referring my patients to a colleague.

Dorian called one day insisting that we meet. From the sound of his voice, something had him spooked. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t surrendering to his request.

I packed my things and left the office early. I wanted to go and take a much-needed nap. When I got home, I had several messages from some guy named Montez. He left a number for me. Before I could return his call, he phoned again.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi. Sorry to bother you, but I really need to speak to you about your man,” he said.

“You have the wrong number.”

Click.

The phone rang again. “Hello,” I said.

“I’m talking about your man Dorian,” he stated. His words startled me as I went to hang up again.

“Don’t disconnect me again. Hear me out,” he said.

I don’t know why I didn’t end the call at that moment. For a few seconds, I remained speechless.

“This is his lover. I’ve been sleeping with Dorian for a year now. He said he was going to tell you, but I know he hasn’t.”

I fell silent as the man explained in explicit detail how they had been dating and Dorian was supposed to break up with me. I had heard enough.

“You still have the wrong number.”

When I hung up the phone, there was a lump in my throat the size of a bullfrog. I instantly felt like I couldn’t breathe. I thought of all the times I had sex with that short-dick man and how he loved fucking me in the ass. I had used a condom every time, but I still felt disgusted knowing Dorian probably had been sucking that man’s dick the same way he had licked my pussy.

It wasn’t long before I received a knock on the door. It was Khalil and some of his friends.

“What’s up, soror?” Khalil said, brushing past me.

“Hey, frat. What’s going on? What are you so elated about?”

“Because we got you, sis.”

“What do you mean?”

“You should have heard the frustration in your voice when my boy said, This is his lover.”

“Get the fuck outta here. Why are ya niggas playing on my phone? I’m not the one pledging.” I laughed at the prank, although with all that had transpired with Dorian and his wife, I was slightly pissed. Khalil wasn’t aware of the details so I just smiled like everything was copasetic.

Khalil and his crew were headed to the movies. He invited me, but I declined. I got to meet his lady, Janet. She was a short, petite woman. Even in her presence, he didn’t make me feel any less special than I am.

• • •

I had found a few apartments in New York through an online broker with whom I had been working. I was scheduled to view them that week. I made travel arrangements and left Troy a message, hoping he could pick me up at the airport. I’d only be in town for two days. I couldn’t stay longer because I had commitments and had to get back soon.

While I was out shopping for lingerie, something I always did before a trip, I spoke with Troy. He told me about Dallas coming on to him at some party.

“So what happened?” I asked.

“She walked up on me while I was dancing to ‘Jook Gal’ by Elephant Man. She was bouncing her ass all over me. I walked away, went to the bar, and got a drink. She followed, ordered an apple martini. She ran some line about being too intoxicated to get home and her girl had bounced with some nigga.”

“And?”

“And, I wasn’t falling for her bullshit. I had my boy take her home. He called me the next day, said she gave him some pussy.”

“That’s it, huh?”

“No. She asked if you were my girlfriend.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I said we fuck. That pissed her off. She tried to shed some tears.”

His reply to Dallas aggravated me. He should have dealt with her ass, never allowing her to dance up on him, made it clearer that she had no chance in hell to get next to him.

“Can you pick me up from LaGuardia Airport tomorrow? My flight gets in at 7:00 p.m.,” I said, shifting the subject.

“Yeah. It shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll be finished working by the time you arrive. I’m going to be out on Long Island, so lemme give you another number to reach me in case my signal is out. My boy has Nextel, and his service works better out there.”

Troy gave me the number to his friend as backup. I knew he was leaving out details about his encounter with Dallas at that party. She probably tried to fuck him and he wasn’t saying. Time would reveal all.

That night when I got home, I had another message on my phone from Kristie.

“Hello. I’m still watching you,” she said, breathing heavily into the phone.

• • •

When I arrived at LaGuardia Airport, Troy wasn’t there. I tried calling him, but I kept getting his voice mail. It was odd he hadn’t called and said something came up. Then I remembered what he said about his signal. I retrieved the number he’d given me from my handbag and dialed. Some bitch answered and said I had the wrong number. I got a fifty-dollar cab ride to my hotel. The whole evening I wondered what happened to Troy, if he was alright, and who the girl was who answered the number he had given me. I thought Troy was playing me for a fool.

I didn’t sleep that night, worrying about Troy. When I linked up with the broker, the apartments he showed me were not up to my standards. The first one was somewhere off Flatbush Avenue. The block was layered in garbage, urine saturated the air, and drug dealers ruled the streets. When we entered the building, leading to the available unit, homeless people were spread across the steps. I stopped the broker, told him there wasn’t a need to go any further. He indicated they were going to be adding a deadbolt to the main entrance, and the apartment was really nice once you got inside. He was wrong. The apartment was horrendous and extremely overpriced. I saw roaches running around on the bright white paint, smelled dog shit leaking from the neighbor’s apartment and heard gunshots right under the living room window.

“Get me the hell outta here,” I demanded.

The next three apartments were also in the dungeon. I was discouraged and felt like the whole trip was a waste of time. I wasn’t from the ghetto and wasn’t going to live in it for sake of being in New York. I never had roaches, ever. After redefining to the broker what I was looking for, he promised to do a better job next time.

Meanwhile, I left Troy several messages cursing him for leaving me stranded when my flight landed. As I drove home, a million thoughts raced through my head about how Troy had played me. He had done the same shit to Dallas. I should have known better than to trust him. I really thought things were different with us. Troy and I had a unique vibe.

My block was jumping when I turned the corner. Sirens and lights flashed in the distance. An officer stood in the street, motioning for me to turn in another direction. I rolled down my window, and asked, “What’s going on, officer?”

“We can’t let anyone down this street,” he replied.

“I live down there.”

“It doesn’t matter. We can’t have any traffic on this road until it’s been cleared,” he replied.

“What’s happening?” I asked again impatiently.

“There’s been an incident.”

“What type of incident?”

“Step out of the car and give me your identification.”

The officer wasn’t giving me any details. From the redness of his face, he appeared to be nearing a boiling point. My questions had annoyed him, and my failure to quickly supply my license further pushed his buttons. I parked my car and walked briskly in the direction of my house. The closer I got, it appeared my neighbor’s house was surrounded by cops. Gladys, one of my neighbors, saw me approaching and ran to greet me.

“We heard shots. I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said.

“Yes, I’m okay. What happened? Where did you hear shots?”

I had been living in my neighborhood for a long time. We never had drama, especially the kind where gunshots broke out on my side of town.

Speaking to Gladys made me realize the incident was at my house, and not next door like I originally assumed. I glanced around the perimeter and noticed blood spatter and a white sheet covering something on my front porch. An officer grabbed me as I tried to bypass him. I spun around off-balance, almost landing on my face. “You’re disturbing a crime scene,” he exclaimed.

“I live here damn it. What the fuck is going on?” I yelled, enraged.

No one was telling me anything. I needed to get closer to my house. I pushed my way past the female officer and took off running toward my yard. When I arrived at my front door, it was clear someone had been injured. I searched the area for clues and finally saw something that looked familiar. It was a bottle of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay that had busted on the ground. I fell to my knees and snatched the sheet back. Lying beside the broken pieces of glass was Dorian. His body was riddled with bullets. An undulating scream came out of me.

The medics had left him there for dead, but he had a pulse. “He’s breathing,” I screamed.

“Move away from the vic,” a hefty voice said. I don’t know if the person hit me in the head or I passed out. When I awoke, I was in this dark gray room with a two-way mirror. I had seen these observation rooms before when I performed experiments. I had been taken in for questioning in Dorian’s attempted murder.

I agreed to speak to the detectives without legal counsel. I wasn’t much help. The only person I could think of that would hurt Dorian was Kristie, and that’s what I told them. I wasn’t being charged with a crime. The officers hoped I could shed light on what may have happened. They released me and offered to give me a ride home. I called Khalil instead.

• • •

Three weeks passed, and I was still at Khalil’s. I was going to stay with my mother but she had a new man. I didn’t want to cramp her style. Besides, Khalil had been the perfect gentleman and comforter, running water for me to bathe, making hot cocoa, and massaging the stress from my body. I hadn’t managed to pull myself together after seeing Dorian’s body pierced with bullets. I’d fallen behind in my work, e-mails, and voice messages.

I went to the hospital to visit Dorian one evening before heading over to my house. He was still in critical condition and in a coma. The hospital had officers outside his room, and one remained inside when visitors entered. The doctors said Dorian could hear, even though he wasn’t able to respond. I sat by his side for a couple of hours, talking to him, and praying for his recovery.

It was tough going to my house. I could still see blood stains from the night Dorian was shot. I quickly gathered my things. I didn’t feel comfortable inside my own home. I grabbed my essentials and headed to my office. There were several messages from clients and friends checking to see how I was doing. Troy still hadn’t called. I sat down at my computer and logged on. I had 1,908 e-mails. The last one was from Dorian, the night before he was hurt.

Dear Raquel,

There has been so much that I’ve wanted to share with you since you’ve come into my life. I was on a quest to find myself, and in the midst of my journey, I met you. There are things I didn’t share with you because my life as I knew it was changing. I didn’t want to tell you I was going through a divorce and risk losing you. I feared you wouldn’t believe the words. I had to show you instead. I didn’t want to say anything until it was final. Actions are stronger than words. I swear I’ve been faithful to you since the day we became one. Kris is so crazy, sometimes I think she’d rather see me dead than divorced from her. I didn’t want you to be exposed to any of this. I really want to spend my time with you, I know it’s hard to tell lately as I pursue membership in this fraternity. You know how that is. You are the only woman for me. I love you, Raquel. I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. Let’s go back to the way it used to be when we made love in front of the fireplace with a nice glass of wine. Let’s get lost in each other again.

Love you always,

Dorian

It was time to stop procrastinating, I went ahead and put my house on the market. There was too much pain in this city. After what happened to my brother and now Dorian, I wasn’t content any longer. I was really a city girl at heart, always had been. Wasn’t sure where it came from because judging from all the cows, sheep, and corn fields, I was in the country. It was time to just step out on faith and walk away from everything. My hometown zapped my energy, bruised my soul, and depressed the hell out of me.

I placed my furniture in storage and moved in with my mother until my house sold or an apartment came through in New York, whichever came first.

I’d been visiting Dorian weekly in the hospital. He didn’t seem to be making much improvement. In similar crimes, officers always investigated the spouse. It wasn’t long before they were questioning Kristie.

• • •

I went to church for the first time in twelve years. I was overcome with joy when I entered the sanctuary, and my spirit instantly lifted. The pastor was teaching on the subject of faith. He said that faith works now, not tomorrow. Faith is the evidence of things not seen, substance of goals. The devil wants us to think it’s too late to meet our goals, the reverend preached.

The sermon continued, “God cannot be tempted with evil. Watch what you say because you will never rise above your confession.” The message was clear to me. I was going to start speaking things into existence, restore my faith, and act like a child who served a Father with many mansions. I prayed for the Father to deliver me from my afflictions, to renew my spirit, to heal Dorian, bless my family, and to conceal the wet spot that had formed as I reminisced about sexing Troy.

Chapter 11|

I need a vacation, I kept thinking to myself. The last time I’d been on one was for business, so that didn’t count. I decided to book a trip to Hawaii. I had the money, the time, and was on the next flight out.

The plane ride was smooth, a plus for me since I was terrified of flying. Judging by the amount of time I spent in the air, you could never tell.

I checked in at the Grand Wailea Resort & Spa in Maui. It was the perfect destination for relaxation. I intended to have a fabulous time. The bell hop took my bags, and I headed to my room to shower and slip into something sexy. The room had an awesome view. It overlooked more than forty acres of meticulously landscaped courtyards. The mountains and endless shore was visible. Hawaii really was paradise on earth. Maui was beautiful. The waterfalls were majestic. Something about the water purified me. Instantly, I felt rejuvenated.

I put on my sarong, flip flops, and shades, and headed to the beach. I took my shot at surfing. That was unsuccessful. Instead, I rode the boogey boards and let the waves cleanse my spirit. The sunset was picturesque. I headed back to my room and rinsed the salt water from my hair and body before making my way to the spa for a little bit of indulgence.

Oh my goodness, was the only thought that came to mind as I entered the spa, which set the trend for luxuriousness. My treat to myself was the lava-stone massage. My body quivered as six hands moved in sync over my entire frame. There were three experts with hot lava stones who used soothing oil to glide, rub, and knead out my rigidness. That particular therapy was known for reducing stress and increasing spiritual well-being. I concur. That was one of seven visits to the spa. I went each night while on the island.

After dining at the Bistro Molokini, it was time to check out the club scene, but not before inhaling the breathtaking views of the Pacific and neighboring islands. The club wasn’t blazing. I stripped out of my sarong, exposing my bikini, and headed to the pool. I didn’t believe in swimming in the ocean at night, so the pool would suffice.

I was at the swim-up bar when I met Nathan McBride. He was tall and athletic, just the way I liked them. His baldhead complemented his physique. It was smooth, like the rest of his skin. One thing that turned me off about brothers with bald heads were the ones who had those nasty bumps with shit oozing out of them.

“I’ll have a glass of sangria,” I said, treading in the water.

“Are you here with friends?” Nathan asked.

I wasn’t going to admit I was vacationing alone because we just met. “My friends are on the island somewhere. How about you?”

“I’m out here with my brother. We just wanted to get away and have a good time.”

“That’s nice. Where are you guys from?”

“Baton Rouge,” he said.

“I heard it’s a great place,” I replied.

“My brother, he lives in Detroit,” he volunteered.

“Oh, get out. That’s where I’m from.”

I couldn’t believe it. I always ran into people from my neck of the woods in far-away places.

“My brother plays for the football team out there,” he said.

Chances were I knew his brother. I knew all of the players. I was afraid to ask, but did anyway. “Who is your brother?”

Sure enough, his brother was a rookie strong safety. Nathan actually played ball a few years back for the Arizona Cardinals. I should have known Nathan played sports, he had that ball-player walk, the one where men look like something heavy is dangling between their legs. I hadn’t actually met his brother before but remembered seeing him at a couple parties my friend had thrown.

“So what are you doing when you leave here?” he asked me with an inquiring mind wants to know type look.

“That depends,” I said, returning the look.

“I would love to see you later.”

“Perhaps that can be arranged. Are you staying at this hotel?”

“Yes,” he said.

He lifted himself from the pool, revealing his black Speedo. His body was robust. I was indiscreetly checking out his dick. He didn’t have those tight-ass shorts on for nothing. All I hoped was it wasn’t all balls in there.

“Hey, Nate,” a young voice called out.

My gaydar immediately went off. I had never paid his brother too much attention, but he appeared to be extremely feminine. He attempted to man up when he saw his brother had company.

“This is um…I didn’t catch your name, sweetheart,” Nathan said.

“Denise,” I lied.

My name was unimportant. I didn’t plan on spending my life with this guy. Wasn’t even sure I was staying the night. We exchanged numbers and agreed to connect later if neither of us got into anything else.

I slipped from the pool, laughing to myself as the men checked my tight ass strutting back to the hotel. I pulled out my laptop and Googled Nathan. His story checked out like he said. I’d found some articles about when he played in the league and came across another story revealing four of his five brothers all played professional sports. He, too, like so many athletes, had been injured. He now worked as a sports broadcaster and part-time model.

I popped myself a quick e-mail saying, I’m going out with Nathan McBride, and if all goes well, I’ll be getting some tonight. That was my safety net in case that nigga turned out to be crazy; the police would have a trail of who last saw me alive.

Before Nathan and I got busy, I asked my four questions that always preceded sex with new partners: “Have you ever fucked another man?” I asked.

Nathan looked stunned before replying, “No.”

“Have you ever thought about fucking another man?” I asked my second question.

“Nope,” he said, laughing.

“Do you have any diseases that you could pass on to me?”

“No. Do you?” he asked.

“No. What happens if there is an accident and I become pregnant?”

“Damn, girl, you make a nigga scared to fuck. We don’t know each other, so if you get pregnant, I imagine you wouldn’t want to keep the child,” he said.

Honesty. I could handle that. That was my first one-night stand, and I was right, the brother was hung like a horse. Better than a horse to be exact. He knew how to operate all that equipment too. Had me oochin’ and oowin’ silently to myself. He wanted to eat my pussy, but I wouldn’t let him. I didn’t have any dental dams and could get my pussy licked when I got home. I wasn’t sucking his dick either, wasn’t about to have me gagging up in his suite.

The next day, I tried my luck at snorkeling in the Molokini Crater. It was amazing. Not what I expected. The first hour was scary as hell. A group of us had been practicing in the shallow waters where it was clear and the sand was white, but out in the middle of the ocean, where you couldn’t see the ocean floor, it was a different story.

The remainder of my trip was spent whale watching, touring the island, observing the waterfalls, and dining like a celebrity. I’d stored Nathan’s number in my phone for future use, just in case we crossed paths in Detroit. My mother would have kicked my ass if she could see me out here getting buck wild, but fuck if I cared. Nathan had my pussy tingling, and it felt like he left some of that dick up in me each time the plane hit an air pocket on the way home.

• • •

Two months after I left Hawaii, my house sold for a nice piece of change. I left my things in storage and headed to New York, never looking back. I’d also made the decision to launch my own public relations firm. I’d studied communications in college, had a dual degree in the field, and wanted to take a break from other people’s problems. In addition, I could incorporate some of my freelance design work into the business. I wasn’t giving up clinical psych entirely—a few of my high-society clients retained my services, offering to fly out to New York for their appointments.

The online broker who’d shown me those nasty apartments before finally found me a nice place in Park Slope. It was inside a gorgeous brownstone. I had about fifteen hundred square feet with two bedrooms. I made one my home office. It truly was a blessing to make the move. Everything had fallen into place perfectly.

The first person I ran into while at the supermarket was Jason, Troy’s friend. He looked both stunned and delighted to see me. He approached, asking what I was doing in the store.

Laughing, I said, “I’m an official New Yorker, and I’m buying groceries.”

His reception startled me. I thought for sure he held a grudge or some level of animosity about my relationship with Troy. After all, he’d been chasing me for months before Troy told him we were fucking.

“Long time no see,” he said.

“Likewise. How have you been?”

Jason looked nice. He was a clean-cut guy who didn’t get his hands dirty, the exact opposite of Troy.

“I’ve been alright,” he said, hugging me.

“That’s good. I’m glad all is well. It was good seeing you. Take care of yourself.” I smiled and continued shopping.

Jason was elated to see me. I’m not sure what sparked his excitement. I knew it would be a matter of time before he notified Dallas or Troy that I was living in Brooklyn.

I was at a crossroad in my life. I didn’t sleep that night, admiring the walls of my new corridor. The block was quiet, and I felt safe but discouraged, reminiscing on the moments I once shared with Troy. Part of me suffered being in New York without him.

The next morning, Troy left a message on my business line. I wasn’t even amazed. It was the only number that hadn’t changed and his only method for getting in touch with me. He was bullshitting on my voice mail as usual, talking about he needed some graphic design work done and was hoping I could help. He knew I dabbled in freelance design, but I wasn’t helping him and didn’t return his call.

One of my clients put me in touch with a media mogul in the city. I aimed to secure contracts for my public relations firm. I wasn’t advertising my psychiatric services and only accepted patients who were referred directly to me. I rented commercial space on Park Avenue South, close to Union Square. That location served as the primary operation for both of my businesses.

I spent a day in Manhattan, meeting with potential clients and arranging my office. At the end of the day, I had secured four major contracts, all seeking publicity, promotional, and design services. Proud of my accomplishments, I popped open a bottle of Asti Spumante and celebrated, pampering myself in smooth jazz, city lights, and aromatherapy.

It was just after nine o’clock when I packed up and headed for the subway. The station was across from my office. I had practiced the transit system, familiarizing myself with the surroundings. The subway car was scarce. Three men ran on just as the doors were closing, talking loud about bitches this and bitches that.

Shortly, chaos surrounded and hovered above me. For some reason, I inherently clutched my belongings, observing the thugs who appeared to either have just gotten out of the joint or were on the way for the crime they were about to commit.

One man had on a red T-shirt and never took his eyes off me. The others spoke loudly and violently about taking some pussy. I overheard one make reference to my Prada handbag. It was at that point when the conversation became unclear.

Another sister on the train witnessed the conspiracy and moved to the opposite end of the car, leaving me alone to fend for myself. The tension was thick as the thugs collaborated on whether to make a move on me now or later. In my mind, when the train stopped, I was going to jump off and back on into another car to get away from those clowns.

They had the interior door blocked to cross over into another car from inside the train, so when the train slowed, approaching Canal Street, I darted out and ran down the platform, never looking back to face the thugs.

I was moving so fast, everyone on the train focused in my direction as my feet pounded the floor from my quick strides. As I attempted to catch my breath and sit down, the thug in the red shirt bumped into me.

“Sorry,” he said as him and his boys walked to the other end of the train.

They had chased me. I’d run my ass off, leaving them in the other subway car, yet they were still behind me.

While the train sat on the Manhattan Bridge, the gangsters taunted me from the opposite end of the car. I searched for someone with whom to connect, having no intention of getting off at my stop, knowing I was being followed.

There was a statuesque brother sitting across from me. Maybe it was my paranoia, but he seemed to be watching me too. It didn’t matter. I approached him under the assumption it was easier to deal with one wacko than three. Something about him seemed gentle and reassuring.

“Hi, let me just say upfront that I’m not crazy. I don’t know if you noticed those three men following me onto the train. They’ve been on my trail since three stops back and actually chased me onto this car.”

I tried to speak quietly, asking the gentleman not to look in the direction of the perpetrators. Passengers in the immediate area picked up on the conversation and were already glancing at them.

“Yeah, I did notice the guy in the red shirt. He was all up on you. Where’s your stop? Do you want me to walk with you?” he asked.

“I’m at Seventh Avenue. I don’t want to get off there and have them thinking I travel this route frequently.”

“I understand. You can get off at my stop and take a taxi back,” he suggested politely.

He offered me the seat next to him, and I sat down, feeling secure. The three guys exited the train on DeKalb Avenue. It was difficult to determine if they really got off or were watching from another car, I remained next to the handsome man. We immediately connected.

My savior’s name was Donovan. He was dressed in a black Armani suit that accentuated his toned frame. He wore a light green shirt and tie, complementing his caramel complexion. His shoes were nicely polished, and everything about him exuded elegance.

His hair was gorgeously dreaded, very well kept, clean, and perfectly manicured, like his hands. By the time we arrived at his stop at New Kirk, we spoke as if we’d known each other for the longest time.

I was still frazzled when we got off the train. The area wasn’t familiar, but the cops patrolled the platform, and the taxi stand was there, just like he told me.

It was mind-blowing. Just moments before I was tense and ready to fight like my life depended on it, now I was completely fixated on the evening. The experience was like a scene from a movie. I wanted to know more about the succulent brother who’d been there for me.

“Would you like to grab a bite to eat?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, feeling refreshed and hungry.

We stopped at a restaurant just outside the station and enjoyed a light, fast meal.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“I’m from Trinidad,” he replied.

A smile came over me. It looked as if I couldn’t escape men from Trini. Hell, I kept bumping into them. First, it was Troy. Earlier that week it was Kyle from the furniture store. And now Donovan from the Q train.

“Is this the last time I’ll see you?” he asked as we finished our supper.

“It doesn’t have to be,” I responded.

We exchanged phone numbers, agreeing to keep in touch. Donovan was the perfect gentleman. He escorted me to a taxi, opened the door for me to get in, and told the driver to get me home safely.

Even after I was in my apartment with the doors locked, I still felt anxious about what could have happened with the thugs. When Donovan called to ensure I was in, I felt myself slip into a state of bliss.

Chapter 12|

It was carnival time in Brooklyn. The West Indian community had their annual festivities every year starting just before Labor Day. I’d heard about the event for years, and I would finally get to experience it for myself.

People were dressed in colorful costumes, carrying their flags, and it reminded me a lot of Mardi Gras with a different flair. J’Ouvert, the break of day, was just beginning. I stopped at the BP gas station on Empire Boulevard to grab a whistle for the parade. That’s when I ran into him. I didn’t get his name. I just know he was stunning. He stood about six-seven with a bodacious muscular frame. His skin was smooth as Cambodian silk. When his lips parted to speak, so did my thighs. I tried to control the urge, but it didn’t matter. We had each other’s attention.

I had walked to the gas station. I couldn’t get my ride out if I wanted to. There must have been a million people already marching and blowing whistles and horns in the street, blocking the entrance to my garage. The plates on his Mercedes Benz were from Florida. More than likely he was in town for the celebrations.

“Hello, sexy. What are you doing out by yourself this time of morning?” he asked.

“Same thing you are,” I replied.

“Would you like a ride?”

“Depends on what kind.” We laughed.

It’s true, a woman knows when she looks at a brother if she’ll give up the pussy to him on demand or not. I’d somehow inherited the innate ability to see what a man was working with in the dick department, and this brother was packing.

“Lady’s choice,” he said.

I got in his ride. We never left the parking lot. The juices started flowing when his hands disappeared under my skirt. I wasn’t wearing panties—rarely did with my miniskirts—no bra either. I left the house with the intention of only purchasing my whistle. That whistle didn’t have anything on me. The way he was blowing, sucking, and rubbing my wet wet as my NFL lover once called it had me singing and climaxing right on his face. He reclined the seats and spread me out, pulled out a blue rubber, tore the corner of the package with his teeth, and rolled it down over his stick in one seamless motion.

The windows in his ride were foggy, like an early morning frost. Between the tint and the fog, we were concealed. He slid his dick into me. I felt like having an orgasm just from the tip alone. He flexed his muscle and penetrated deeper into me while Tyrese blared from the sound system. He cleaned me up with his tongue when we reached our peaks.

“You want something to drink?” he asked.

“I’ll take some café mocha,” I responded.

He went in to the BP to get us drinks. When he returned, the only thing that remained was my note:

Thanks for a wonderful time.

Ms. Mocha, good to the last drop

The carnival lasted the whole week. It was everything I thought it’d be. I didn’t have a costume, but I stopped by a bodega and picked up a flag. I was representing Trinidad for the day, wasn’t like I didn’t have Trini up in me.

The next month, Troy was still calling. He heard I was in town and was really hoping we could speak. Jason couldn’t wait to run his mouth. I’m sure Dallas knew as well.

When I moved to New York, all my phone numbers except my business line changed. That number redirected to an answering service. Troy had left five urgent messages, and finally I broke down and called him. I’ll admit I was curious. We hadn’t spoken in like six months since that stunt he pulled at the airport when he left me stranded. I would finally have the closure I once sought.

“Hello,” Troy said.

“What’s up, Troy? Why you blowing up my phone?” I asked him.

“What’s up, girlfriend? It’s good to hear from you.”

I don’t know why I allowed this man to get next to me. I second-guessed myself as the conversation moved forward.

“Cut the bullshit. What’s so urgent?”

“Yo, I apologize about the misunderstanding we had.”

Troy explained how he intended to pick me up but lost track of time. He said when I started cursing him on his voice mail he didn’t bother calling me back. I didn’t believe any of his story because it was a whole day before I cursed his ass out, leaving him plenty of time to get back in touch with me.

“Whatever, Troy. You’re full of shit. You intentionally gave me some bitch’s number, had me calling her like a fucking idiot looking for your ass.”

“It wasn’t like that. Yo, my boy went off on his girl about that shit. She answered his cell phone after he already told her I was going to be expecting a call on his line.”

“I’ve gotta run.”

I wasn’t about to go back down memory lane with him. I was pissed just revisiting that day I sat stranded at LaGuardia Airport waiting on his ass.

“Wait. I saw Jason, and he told me you made the move. I just wanted to tell you I’m proud of you following your dreams, girlfriend. Maybe you can find time for me later.”

“Maybe.”

Troy had miles of nerve. He played down our so-called misunderstanding. He hadn’t called me since. Now that he heard I was in town, he wanted to reconcile. Fuck that nigga, I told myself, even if I was thrilled he was thinking about me.

You know it wasn’t long before I called Troy back and invited him over. Hell, my pussy was on fire, had been since the last time we were together.

I was using inadequate sex toys and vegetables, trying to reenact the days of Khalil, Dorian, and Troy. I fantasized about Donovan, the guy from the train, but I didn’t want to fuck him so quickly, hopping right into another relationship.

Troy arrived and fell in love with my apartment. My place radiated warmth and contentment. He looked luscious, standing in the living room, observing my new style. We talked, and he explained his position on the mix-up. I wasn’t in the mood to argue. Instead, I offered him a bottle of Guinness while I enjoyed a glass of Remy Martin. That was my way of saying I forgave him for what happened.

Troy picked me up and carried me to the kitchen. He set me on the counter and kissed me gently. My nipples poked through my tank top. He pushed the spaghetti straps to the side, revealing my breasts, taking one in his mouth while fondling the other. My nipples remembered the pleasurable times we once shared and rose to the occasion. Troy pushed me back onto the counter, causing my back to arch. I wrapped my legs around his waist.

There was a variety of toppings that I used for my late-night snacks on the countertop. He grabbed a bottle of strawberry-flavored syrup and squeezed it on my stomach. It spilled into my navel and inside the crevice of my leg. Troy proceeded to lick it off. I was a delectable platter of his favorite dessert. My mouth watered as I hungered to taste him too. He grabbed a barstool and sat with his face adoring my black pearl. I put my legs around his head, nothing to dread, gripping his arms while his tongue oscillated in and out of my pussy. He held my labia open while his tongue fucked me.

“You taste delicious.”

I couldn’t assemble any words. I just moaned and allowed him to reunite with my clit.

Troy stood again. This time I felt his dick harden against me. I slid down from the counter, walking with Troy to the living room.

We sat on my cashmere area rug and finished what we started in the kitchen. Troy stood over me while I sat on my knees. I took him in, pacifying his dick. I licked the head until it was glazed with precum. The way I sucked him, you’d thought I lost something and was trying to get it back. The more I sucked, massaged, and stroked his dick, the harder and stronger it got. We moved together effortlessly. I released Troy, allowing him to reposition himself. He lay down next to me.

“Sit on my face,” he told me.

That shit turned me on. He’d never told me that before. I climbed up on him, holding my weight back, and sat my pussy on his face. Instead of sitting upright, I leaned over and sucked his dick while his tongue infiltrated the inside of my walls. He felt so good inside me.

His luscious taste filled me too. His precum created a nice silky surface around the head of his dick, giving me latitude. My mouth watered, and my saliva dripped down the shaft of his dick. I played with his balls while he finger-fucked my ass with one hand and my pussy with the other, continuing to savor my clit. Both of us released, digesting each other’s love.

The show had just begun. He carried me into my bedroom and pressed my body against the wall. The streetlights caused our shadows to dance on the ceiling. As people walked by on the sidewalk, I whimpered, unable to hold back when Troy’s dick entered me from behind. Evidently, the person on the sidewalk heard me because it appeared that he looked right up at us. Another orgasm leaked from me as Troy carried me over to the bed. Troy spread my legs and climbed my walls. His loving felt so good it brought tears to my eyes.

“Did you ever think we would be this way again?” he asked.

Honestly, I hadn’t thought it was possible to love Troy again. After all, his disappearing act had gotten the best of me. Tonight, all those emotions dissipated.

“No, I never imagined.”

It was about five o’clock in the morning when Troy asked me to lock the door behind him. He had mentioned earlier that he was staying, but something came up.

Suddenly, I pondered the days when he first started his spontaneous trait for leaving immediately after we had sex. Something always came up. I didn’t like the feeling, but that was simply the way it was. I got up, trailed my naked body across the apartment, and let him out. Like always, Troy sealed his departure with a kiss.

“Later, girlfriend,” he said.

• • •

It wasn’t long after Troy left that I received a call from Loren, the lesbian I’d met through Dallas the previous summer. She had managed to find my business card.

“Hello.”

“May I speak to Raquel?” she asked.

“Speaking.”

“Hi, Raquel. This is Loren. I hope you’re well. It’s been a long time. I won’t keep you. I just wanted you to know Dallas is in the hospital not doing very well. It doesn’t look good. I know at one point you guys were friends. It would be nice if you stopped by the hospital. She’s at Brookdale.”

Did I hear her correct? From what I recall, Loren disliked Dallas immensely. Now she felt the urge to reach out to me.

“Thanks for the call, Loren.”

“You’re welcome. They say it was Jason’s wife who did it. Dallas had been involved with him. When she found out he was married, well she went to his house.”

One thing I learned: never look for trouble. Dallas was stupid for showing up at Jason’s house. His wife beat her ass, and Dallas ended up in the hospital clinging to life. I didn’t even know Jason was married. Nevertheless, I wasn’t going to be a hypocrite by visiting Dallas in the hospital. I coldly ended my call with Loren.

• • •

The mentioning of hospitals made me think about Dorian. I had gone to visit him one last time before I moved to New York. Khalil was my informant for updates on his health. I decided to give him a call.

“Speak,” Khalil said.

“What’s up, Khalil. Long time no chat. I was checking in to see if you’ve heard anything about Dorian.” I replied.

“Hey, Raquel. Dorian’s getting ready to leave the rehabilitation facility.”

I was just about to cheer up at the thought of Dorian recovering. That changed as Khalil kept speaking.

“He’s a quadriplegic. There isn’t much more the center can do,” he said.

“What?” I asked, feeling conquered by sorrow.

“Yeah, I know it’s bad news. The police are still investigating the matter. You know how slow shit gets processed around Detroit.”

I sat on the sofa with my chocolate ice cream and peanut topping, lost in thought. I sensed a great deal of sympathy for Dorian. He didn’t deserve to have his life stolen. He was alive, but in his current state, he was as good as dead.

Then there was Dallas, for whom I had no compassion. She was constantly doing dumb shit. Jason never once mentioned he was married. Troy didn’t either. Dallas was nuts for sleeping with him in the first place. She’d been deceived by Jason and Troy, the two of them played tag team on her, and then she got her ass kicked.

That wasn’t the first time she got her ass whooped either, messing with other people’s property. She was coming home from class one night, and Linda, her neighbor was waiting for her. Dallas had been screwing Poncho, Linda’s man. Dallas didn’t care that Linda and her son would be sitting out on the porch watching Poncho stroll over into her crib as often as he pleased. Poncho had gone out of town to bring some dope back, so he wasn’t around when the fight took place. When Dallas cut the corner, Linda was on her ass. Dallas couldn’t reach for her blade fast enough before she felt the force from a blunt object going upside her head. She recovered and got in some hits before the cops rolled down the block. Linda told her then that it wasn’t over.

Another time, Dallas had gone to Enterprise and rented a car for this dope dealer. He ran some story on her about his car being in the shop. He didn’t have credit to rent his own ride, so he used hers. Dallas didn’t even have her own transportation. She called him and asked for a ride to the store and he never came to get her and she never heard from him again. Enterprise sent the police to her house. She was hiding inside, peeping out the window. About six months later, Dallas was waiting for the bus when she saw her rental approaching. That nigga slowed down just enough for her to catch a glimpse of him and his new girl, before speeding off.

Chapter 13|

Troy was hot and cold. One month on, the next month off. This must have been his down time because I hadn’t spoken to him in three weeks. He hadn’t returned any of my calls, and his voice mailbox was full. I couldn’t get through to him or leave a message. I grew concerned, but he had assured me in the past that his disappearing acts were never personal, just his way of dealing with things.

Khalil and I didn’t talk on the phone much. His girlfriend, Janet, was controlling his every move. He e-mailed me regularly about Dorian’s case. Khalil had a frat brother who worked at the precinct assigned to the investigation and had been able to get the inside scoop.

From what Khalil mentioned in his last e-mail, the detectives were confident his wife was responsible for the attack but wasn’t the trigger person. They were looking into a suspect who’s name hadn’t been released. If my suspicions held true, her lover would somehow be involved.

• • •

My firm had been outsourced to provide full-scale solutions for web, graphic, and print media. In addition, we managed all speaking engagements, press releases, and publicity for a major hip-hop record label. My hard work was finally paying off. I’d signed my eighth major client in less than three months.

My girl Kapri Chavez came on as my partner to help meet the growing demands of clients. Kapri and I had pledged the same sorority back in ’95. She had an MBA from Princeton and was very sophisticated. I could leave things in her hands, fully confident in her ability to run the show. Shortly after she came aboard, I was in the air for the second time in a week. I flew out to Burbank to meet with executives for a deal my firm had just signed.

My hormones were raging. Excessive flying did that to me. That was another reason I didn’t like it. I’d end up having more periods than I needed and cramps out of this world. It threw my cycle off drastically, which is why I thought nothing when my period was late the next month. That was a mistake. I had been having sharp pains in my pelvic area and a number of mixed emotions unlike anything I had ever felt before.

It was another week before I connected with Troy. His phone had been disconnected. I needed to get in touch with him badly. I called his cellular service company, retrieved his balance, and paid it off. The representative didn’t care that I wasn’t on the account. They wanted their money, and I was allowed to obtain the information to pay the balance. His phone was unexpectedly on in five minutes. Troy carried his cell on him to access numbers in his phone book, guess that’s why he answered when I called.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“That’s a good damn question. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m cool. My phone got turned off. I didn’t know it was back on.”

I didn’t tell him I paid the bill. He would figure that shit out. He didn’t sound thrilled to hear from me. Matter fact, he rushed me off the phone, said he would get back to me. I waited for Troy to call back, but he didn’t that night or the next day.

When I found out I was pregnant, I lost it. My relationship with Troy wasn’t stable. We were speaking off and on, and I had a million projects for which to prepare. I wasn’t sure of the best way to break the news to Troy. When he finally called me back a week later, I told him we needed to talk. He complained how busy he was with work and that he didn’t have time to come over. Then the truth came out.

“I have another chick,” he said.

“That explains your attitude toward me lately. You got back with your baby mother?” I asked.

“No, it’s someone else.”

His cockiness and blunt remark offended me for a couple of seconds. This bastard just told me that he had a new chick, and what hurt the most was it being someone other than his baby mother. There was no need to prolong what I had to say. “I’m pregnant, Troy.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since my period skipped.”

“Why are you just telling me?” he asked, irritated by the news.

“I couldn’t get in touch with you?”

“You should have left me a message.”

“What kind of shit is that? Leave you a message telling you I’m pregnant? First of all, your fucking voice mail was full then your shit was disconnected. You sound crazy as hell right now.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“That’s what we should discuss further in person—”

“You’re a smart girl, you’ll figure it out,” he said. “Kids grow up without their father all the time. If you have this child, that’s how yours will be.”

I expected a different reaction from Troy. He knew I grew up without my father, and I sympathized with him when he told me about his part-time parents. I always had the talk with men with whom I slept. For me, it consisted of very simple questions. First, have you ever fucked another man? Second, have you ever thought about fucking another man? Third, do you have any diseases that you could pass on to me? Fourth, what happens if I get pregnant? In that order, every time—except with Troy.

That’s why I had no idea he would want me to auto-abort with no questions asked, no discussion needed. I’d fallen into another funk, but I maintained my workload and handled my business. This wasn’t the time to lose focus, especially if I was having this child.

• • •

The timing was perfect when I ran into Donovan, the guy from the Q train, at Blue Water Grill. He worked near Union Square and was out having lunch.

“Hi. Great seeing you again,” I said as we exchanged hugs and innocent kisses.

“Likewise, beautiful. You haven’t been chased or stalked anymore, have you?” he joked.

Now that it was a thing of the past, we could look back and laugh, but it certainly wasn’t funny when I almost became a victim of rape, robbery, or something worse.

“No, I haven’t,” I said, joining in on the laughter.

We shared lunch. Donovan was still the suave guy I remembered him being when we met a few months back on the Q train. He was the type of man with whom I needed to be, not some low-life, high school drop-out, game-playing, stingy-dick nigga like Troy.

I reserved my interest in Donovan, feeling guilty for having such feelings, carrying another man’s baby. Donovan and I had decent conversation. I thought about giving him a piece of my love for a piece of his. Hell, I was already pregnant—damage was done.

The relationship certainly would be ruined if we went that route so quickly. We had chemistry. Our dialogue was stimulating, highly intellectual, and very respectful.

Giving him some so prematurely in the game would definitely set the stage for a stagnant relationship. Besides, Troy owned this pussy, and it was killing me softly inside knowing he maintained such a hold on my ass, even if he wasn’t acting right.

Chapter 14|

It was tough getting through the next few days, being pregnant, scared, and alone. I couldn’t keep my emotions in check and was stressed like crazy. The hang-up calls started again. Someone had been calling, breathing on the phone. The ID didn’t display the number. Whomever it was called every night at the same time, gasping into the receiver. It was a daunting sound.

The next time the person called, I returned the favor, picked up the phone, and breathed heavily into it. The last time it happened, a recognizable voice said, “I’m watching you,” and hung up.

I expected to hear Kristie, Dorian’s wife. Instead, I had an amateur stalker playing on my phone. It sounded just like those phones they sell at the Spy Shop, the store that sells gadgets, widgets, and other silly equipment. My girlfriend had the same one and was always playing pranks with the male and female automated voices. I turned off the ringers, spread across my bed, and got some rest.

• • •

The sounds of the chamber resonated. She was a teenager, much younger than she is now. She ran dodging bullets as the three men neared her. It was raining hard outside. She had been trying to scream, but the sounds wouldn’t escape. She was trapped and out of control.

The noise from shattering glass startled her, causing her eyes to widen. She’d been looking for her brother but couldn’t find him. Something was odd. She could always locate him, no matter where he was. It was different that night. She continued running, only to realize she was going in circles.

Surrounded by the darkness and raindrops, the girl climbed into a parked car, trying to hide from the three men she’d been fleeing. For a moment she lost them. Her cellular phone wasn’t finding a signal. Her cries for help were unheard. As she slid down into the seat, the men walked by. She silently called her brother’s name, Juwan, and he heard her.

“I’ve been looking for you so long,” the girl said. “Why did you push me away?”

“I didn’t want you involved,” he said to her. She cried and tried to muffle the sounds of her tears.

“We have to get out of here,” she told him.

“It will be alright,” he replied, assuring her that she should move on.

The girl wasn’t leaving without her brother. She felt overwhelmed with pressure as the walls closed in.

“I thought I’d seen you earlier,” she told him. “You walked right past me.”

“It wasn’t me,” he said, smiling in that innocent way he had when they were kids.

“I love you. Please come with me,” she told him.

“Next time,” he said, and when she looked again, he was gone. She was shivering as the rain drenched her. Just as the three men passed, she ran for her life. Her breaths quickened and shortened. The sound from the chamber revolving brought tears to her eyes. She looked back for him, but he wasn’t there. Had he ever been there? she wondered.

“Please come back. Wait. Not like this,” she yelled.

She wasn’t losing her mind. He was there. His voice stiffened as he gasped and told her, “They shot me…”

It never stopped raining. The sirens never stopped screeching. The shots never stopped going off in her head, and she never stopped loving him.

The men had robbed her, damaged her soul, and stole her brother’s life. She sat there weeping in a transient state as her brother revealed his murderer, and this time it was clear, a vision of Ronnie, their cousin, danced in her head.

• • •

I woke up fighting and kicking the air. I was tangled in the sheets. The area where I sat was soaked. At first, I thought I was still dreaming and wet from the rain. I reached over and turned on the lamp on my nightstand. I was in fact soaked. My bed was covered in blood. I was able to hit the speakerphone and press the speed dial for emergency before passing out. I had had a miscarriage.

It wasn’t the dream that caused the miscarriage. Honestly, I’d been under pressure. I was scared at the thought of having Troy’s baby. He didn’t even like me. I was at a pivotal point in my life, and my pregnancy was the interruption of everything. I considered the miscarriage more of a blessing in disguise.

My brother, Juwan, had been communicating with me in my dreams since his death. It was a cold rainy night when he was killed. I often talked about it with Kevin, my therapist, but lately refrained from mentioning it. It was a persistent dream, and I figured it would haunt me for the rest of my days. It wasn’t all bad when I dreamed about my brother, only when I was under a tremendous amount of anxiety would I have a dream like the one the night of my miscarriage. Most of the time, my brother and I were living as if it were current day in my dreams, having fun.

• • •

I was shocked when Troy arrived at my door. His face and neck were scratched up. He looked like he was in a brawl. Part of me wanted to leave his ass standing outside, but the sensual half of me knew better. Besides, I couldn’t turn my back on someone who needed me. I’d done that before.

About five years ago, a friend of mine whom I hadn’t heard from in years reached out to me. We had fallen out over a disagreement. To be frank, he smacked me. Hit my ass hard for no apparent reason. I always told myself, if a nigga put his hands on me, that it was over. And since my friend never apologized, I cut him completely out of my life.

Three years passed after the incident when I got his call. Realizing who it was, I told him I wasn’t home even though he knew it was me. I intended to call him back, but the day never came. He was murdered the day after he contacted me in a park with some lady. They had been smoking ganja when some little punks walked up and blew his ass away. They robbed him. He gave them everything, but it wasn’t enough. One of those trigger-happy niggas fired, and it was over.

“What happened to you?” I asked when I saw Troy.

“Some domestic shit,” he said. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” I told him, stepping aside for him to enter.

Troy cleaned himself up in the bathroom. He showered and joined me in the living room. I had candles and scented oil burning. I was drinking a glass of wine, just relaxing.

“It smells nice in here. Should you be doing that?” he asked.

“Doing what?” I replied.

“Drinking?” he asked again.

“I don’t see why not,” I said.

“You’re pregnant. That’s why not,” he responded.

It was strange. For that brief period of time Troy seemed like he cared.

“I lost the baby, Troy,” I said, finishing my glass of wine.

“When? What happened?” he asked.

Troy was sad. He looked miserable, but it wasn’t the news of my loss that had him shook.

“A few days ago. Guess it was stress. I had a miscarriage. Since then I’ve been feeling overwhelmed, and my blood pressure has been up,” I said.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he said.

“Don’t sweat it. Shit happens,” I replied.

It angered me how Troy responded when I informed him about the pregnancy. Hell, I was upset how his ass had been dodging in and out of my life. I told him how I felt about that too. For some odd reason, we connected.

“I haven’t done right by you, Raquel, and I’m sorry. You’ve been in my corner from the start, yet I treat you like these bitches out here who only are interested in using me.”

Troy was correct. I was never out for his money. I loved him in spite of his flaws—and he had many.

“I should have been there for you with the pregnancy. I’m so used to women getting abortions that I never thought it wasn’t an option for you,” he said.

“What happened to you tonight?” I asked him.

“Some domestic shit with my kid’s mother. She found my cell phone bill. Had your phone number highlighted throughout the whole thing. She asked who you were and I told her, mentioned you were pregnant, and she snapped. Started yelling, said I was leaving my family for some pussy. Next thing I knew, she grabbed a steel pipe and hit me with it.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that,” I said.

He never talked much about his relationship with his children’s mother. When we first met, he led me to believe he had one child when actually he had three with two different women. His son Trey was sixteen, and his daughters Janelle and Carmen were fifteen and four. Truthfully, I never inquired. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to know, but I tried to guard my feelings and how close I got to Troy emotionally. Knowing more than I wanted to about his past could be more detrimental than the relationship already was.

“I’m at this turning point in my life. I want someone in my corner I can trust,” he said.

I wasn’t sure where he was going with the discussion, but I listened intently as he went on.

“Maybe we can start over. Do it right this time,” he said.

“I don’t know about starting over, Troy. I’m very confused mentally right now. I don’t want a man who fucks me when get gets ready, stays out all night, and comes in and out of my life. Troy, I need someone who respects me, can put a ring on my finger, and dedicate his life and love to me, exclusively. I’ll never have that with you.”

“Marry me, Raquel.”

I was flabbergasted when he proposed. This had to be another one of his games, “Come again?” I said. Troy could see the resistance and bitterness that flared within me.

“Yes. I’m not trying to be alone. I want someone to love,” he said.

“We can’t get married. We’re moving in different directions,” I told him. “Matter fact, you don’t even like me.”

“Girlfriend, you’re nuts. Your love is to die for. I’ve held my feelings back from you so long because I was in a bad place with my family. I didn’t want to bring that drama around you. It’s never been personal, the shit that I’ve done in our relationship. I want to start fresh.”

“I don’t think so, Troy. There’s just been so much to happen between us. I just—”

He interrupted me and got down on one knee. I started to breathe heavily as he took my hand. “What are you doing?” I asked him.

“I want you to be my wife,” he said, pulling out a three-carat princess-cut diamond ring set in platinum. “I promise to do right by you,” he said.

My mind was telling me not to accept the ring, but my heart overruled. I loved Troy, “The ring is beautiful.” Tears formed in my eyes when I reflected on the moments we’d shared.

“You don’t have to answer now, but keep this ring,” he said, sliding it on to my ring finger.

I was at a loss for words. We didn’t fall back into our old routine of fucking. That night was different. Instead, he held me in his arms, and we cuddled. We kissed softly and passionately throughout the night like when we first met. Troy always came back strong. Once again, he walked back into my life. I let my heart take a chance to be loved by him.

• • •

Cleaning house wasn’t easy. I wanted to keep in touch with some of the men in my life, but I was marrying Troy and had to close up shop.

For years I’d detached myself emotionally from the men with whom I had sex. I knew how to be a faithful woman—committed to one man, just had refused until this point. If I was going to honestly give it a shot as Troy’s wife, all the sleeping around ended here.

Once Troy’s baby mama Cynthia found out about our engagement, she took Troy to court for child support. He had given her and those two kids everything, and now she was being vengeful. She had been calling my house looking for him. She was so bold she showed up outside one day. She had installed a tracking device on Troy’s Lexus so she knew where I lived. Fortunately, she didn’t know what I looked like, but I’d seen her before driving past my crib in his car.

When Troy left, he originally took the Lexus with him. Since he had two cars, he gave it back so his kids wouldn’t be stranded and suffering from the bullshit she created. When I saw the Lexus cut my corner one day, I knew what was up.

Cynthia was crazy. She didn’t even show up for court after all that shit to get him there. She had called my house looking for Troy before he gave her back the ride, said he stole it and was reporting him to NYPD. That’s when I found out about the illegal shit Troy had in his possession.

We were sitting in my living room on the sofa. Troy was cooking some oxtails for himself and broiling salmon for me. He was rubbing my stomach, playing in my hair, filling me in on the details of his day in court.

“The judge said it was good I showed up. Strengthened my case should she come back with something else.”

“I’m glad things worked favorably for you in court. So, what type of illegal shit you had in your ride?” I asked him, sounding like a real Brooklyn girl. My dialect had adapted quickly, blending in with the native New Yorkers. It didn’t matter if I was in the company of West Indians, Mexicans, or Americans, my lingo mimicked my surroundings.

“Just some shit that could jeopardize my freedom,” he stated.

I couldn’t imagine what that might have been. I knew he didn’t push street pharmaceuticals. Too many people close to him had died or had their lives ruined messing with that shit. His daddy used to be the kingpin before he got saved by the Holy Ghost. That’s why Troy didn’t have any religion. He lost it somewhere along his journey. I kept praying it would return. I pressed the issue. “Straight talk, Troy. What kind of shit did you have?”

“Artillery,” he said. “Nothing serious. The police didn’t need to pull me over and find that in my ride with my suspended license.”

“You need to get that shit straight with your license. How much you owe the DMV?”

“Twenty thousand dollars.”

“Damn. For what?”

“Tickets. Parking my commercial vehicles in residential areas, you know the bullshit.”

“Oh, they are locking your ass up if you get stopped,” I said, laughing.

Troy and I were in a euphoric state. He’d ended his more-than-friends relationship with Cynthia and I’d come out of my protective shell I’d worn for years and done something I’d never done with any man—given Troy a set of keys to my apartment.

Chapter 15|

Troy was confident my love belonged to him and never asked me to get rid of my male friends like some partners did when things turned serious. From the moment we became involved, I knew Troy was capable of changing my licentious ways.

As I headed to my car, the tune of Usher singing “That’s What It’s Made For” went off on my cell phone. It was Khalil.

“Speak,” I said, beating him to the punch line.

“What’s up, love?”

“Headed to my office. How are you?”

“Everything is everything,” he replied. “What’s new?”

“I’m finally settling down. Troy and I got engaged and I gave him a set of keys.”

“Congrats,” Khalil said in a dull tone.

“What’s new with you?”

“Ah, love, you know how it is, busy working. I’m thinking about settling down myself.”

“Really? With the young lady you’d been seeing? What’s her name again?”

“Janet. I’m just not a hundred percent sure what I want yet. You know how that can be,” he said.

“I understand. You have to do what makes sense for you at the end of the day,” I replied. “Have you heard anything about Dorian’s investigation?”

“They have a guy named Darnell in custody. Apparently, he was bangin’ Dorian’s wife. Last I heard the police were looking for her. They think she may be hiding out in the Caymans.”

I couldn’t tell Khalil that Kristie had told me about her lover in one of our sessions. Part of me felt responsible for what happened to Dorian. I told myself not to feel guilty or take the blame. It wasn’t like Dorian hadn’t already had an altercation with Darnell. He should have known what he was up against.

“How’d they discover it was him?”

“The details were a little sketchy. Sounds like an anonymous source may have caused the detectives to look into this guy. He took a plea bargain when the pressure came down and told the cops Dorian’s wife was the master mind behind the attack.”

I’d been the unidentified informant who tipped the police off.

“Is there something on your mind, Khalil? You seem distant,” I asked.

“I’m fine, love. Hey, so was it the ring or something else that sparked you to give Troy keys to your crib?”

“He is my fiancé, Khalil. He isn’t living with me. He just has access to my home. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Khalil said.

“Let me find out you’re jealous, Khalil,” I teased.

Khalil had been cold on the phone. I’d known him too long and something was bothering him. It didn’t matter. I was done investing in other people’s drama. I wasn’t going to allow him to steal my joy. If he wasn’t happy for Troy and I, fuck him.

• • •

My business was booming, and I was finally in a happy place. Troy and I were in sync. It never crossed my mind that we could love so hard, but we did. His baby mama finally quit calling and driving by my house. The hang-up calls also stopped. I was traveling again weekly, closing deals for my firm. The month of October was booked solid so I could wrap up outstanding deals, avoiding travel during the holidays.

Donovan, the guy from the train, called the office looking for someone to represent his company. He had launched an entertainment business, helping untapped talent penetrate the marketplace. We made dinner plans at the Shark Bar, between Broadway and Amsterdam, to discuss the scope of the services he needed.

When I arrived, Donovan was running late. A glass of white wine marinated on my taste buds while I waited. Donovan arrived looking dapper as hell. Someone raised him right. He approached the table, leaned over to kiss me on the cheek, and took his seat.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“It was excellent, very productive,” I responded.

“Let’s get business out of the way, and then we can enjoy the remainder of our evening.”

“Sounds great.”

“Ideally, what we want to do is act as agents for performers, vocalists, and other entertainers across a wide spectrum of industries. We may have some in music or acting,” he said.

“Explain to me the details of what you’ll do. Are you going to find placement for them? Negotiate contracts? What will your services cover?”

“We would like to do all that. We want to utilize industry connections all of us have to make things happen for urban youth looking to break into their respective fields.”

“What role do you see my firm playing?”

“I’d like for your team to design our media kits. Essentially, we want a presence both on and offline.”

“About how many people do you intend to employ starting out, and what have you forecasted for budgets?”

“It’s pretty small starting out, but I’d like you to personally manage the project.”

We continued talking about the needs of his company. For the most part, I didn’t take on tiny projects like his. Recently, my firm had hired a few college students who wanted industry experience. This would be an excellent project for one of them to work on solo. I decided to hook Donovan up with my intern Elise despite his request to work directly with me.

“So, what’s new with you?” he asked.

“I’ve been providing free counseling to poverty-stricken families out in the Bronx. A friend of mine started a community program, hoping to improve the well-being of people in the projects.”

“Wow.” He was impressed with my affectionate attitude toward those less fortunate. “How often do you go out there?”

“Once a week right now. It’s very flexible.”

“That’s what I like about you. You are a talented sistah, always helping people out.”

“Thanks. I try.”

“You take transit out there?”

“Yeah. I usually leave directly from my office. It doesn’t make sense to go home, get my car, and drive back.”

“That’s true. Just be careful getting out late in the evening. I don’t want anyone chasing you.” He laughed, remembering the night we met.

“I’m always looking out. Plus, you got my back, right?” I said playfully.

“Always, beautiful,” he replied.

Just as we finished our dinner and I entered the cab, Jason, Troy’s friend called. “I’m going to Brooklyn, Park Slope,” I told the driver before taking the call.

“What’s up, Jason?”

“Troy’s playing you,” he said.

“Stop hatin’ on Troy,” I told him.

“Yo, I know you thought my ex-wife jumped on Dallas, but it was Troy’s girl who put her in the hospital after she caught him sneaking out her crib. He’s still fucking his baby mama and Dallas too.”

“Jason, you need to stop this shit. Troy and I are getting married, and we love each other. I can’t allow you to distort his image like that. I’m telling him what you said. Don’t call again.”

When I got home, the music was blaring. Troy was in the shower. I had had a long day, so I undressed and stepped inside with him.

“Hey, I didn’t hear you come in,” he said.

I kissed him seductively. “Of course you didn’t hear me loud as the stereo is.” I smiled. The things Jason told me still had me bent out of shape. Troy sensed my mood.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, running his fingers through my wet hair.

“Jason called me tonight.”

“What that nigga want?”

“He said Cynthia assaulted Dallas and that you were still fucking both of them.”

“Baby, don’t let that nigga fill your head with bullshit.”

“Is it true?”

“What?”

“Are you fucking Dallas?” I was ready to deal with the possibility that Troy and his baby mama were sleeping together, but I couldn’t imagine him being intimate with Dallas.

“No, it isn’t true. That nigga Jason never got over you. He was acting funny when I told him about our engagement. He’s just angry because his household fucked up. I love you, baby,” Troy said, kissing my breasts and massaging my clit with his middle finger.

Since the miscarriage, Troy and I hadn’t made love. He was being gentle with me. He sat on the edge of the bathtub, pressed me against the tile, and sweetly licked my pussy while warm water flowed over us, hiding my passionate tears.

• • •

I was looking for some pajamas when I noticed an envelope on the dresser addressed to me. I opened it. Inside was a beautiful thank-you card and airline tickets to Jamaica from Troy. I was ecstatic.

“Troy,” I called.

“What’s up?” he said, walking into the bedroom. “Oh, I see you found your present.”

“Yes, I did. I love you, too, baby.”

“I figured we could celebrate our engagement,” he replied. “The card was to thank you for standing by my side after all I’ve put you through.”

Troy fixed me some tea and brought the mini-spa into the bedroom. “What are you doing with that?” I asked.

“Giving you a pedicure,” he said. Troy proceeded to soak my feet in hot paraffin wax. He had read a book on reflexology and decided to test his skill on me. He stimulated all the zones before shaping and polishing my toenails.

Troy’s dick was hard when we climbed into bed. I convinced him that as long as he took it slow, he wouldn’t hurt me, and he did. My pussy was tighter than usual. I felt it expand to accommodate him and relaxed, allowing my fiancé to take what was his.

Chapter 16|

Kevin, my shrink, was in New York on business. It was exceptional timing because I was due for a session. We arranged to meet in my office later in the day.

I was shocked when Janet, Khalil’s girlfriend, called.

“What’s up, Janet?” I inquired, not sure about the purpose of her call.

“Have you seen Khalil?” she asked.

“No.”

“Oh, I was hoping you’d help me figure something out. If you don’t mind my asking, when was the last time you saw him?”

“Well, I haven’t seen him since I moved to New York. I think the real question is why are you calling me?”

“Sorry to be so evasive. I remember meeting you briefly,” she said. “I know you and Khalil are close. I haven’t seen him, and I’m concerned.”

“Haven’t seen him since when?”

“It’s been four months.”

I’d spoken to Khalil since then, but I didn’t share that with Janet. He hadn’t mentioned to me they were having problems and implied they were settling down. “Did something happen?” I asked.

“Sort of,” she said.

“Janet, if you want me to help you, I need to know what’s up. Otherwise, we might as well end this discussion.”

“I don’t know if he told you, but we’re expecting.”

She paused briefly, waiting on a reaction of some sort from me. I didn’t have any.

“I was in the process of cleaning, had been washing clothes. I changed the bedding like I normally do, and found a used condom under the fitted sheet.”

“Umm, what?”

“Yeah, there was a used condom in our bed. It still contained some type of residue. We aren’t using condoms, Raquel.”

Her conversation had completely caught me off guard. Khalil was a nasty nigga when it came to freaky shit in the bedroom. I remember once when I was on my period, he tried fucking me, believing the myth that the flow would slow down during sex. Shit, not mine. It was a bloody mess. Instead, he licked my pussy in the shower, determined to get off that night.

“What are you saying, Janet? Khalil slept with someone in your bed?”

“Yes. I called him when I found it. I haven’t seen or heard from him since. He never came back home.”

“I’m sorry, Janet. Wish I could help, but—”

“That’s not it,” she said. “His cell phone bill came. After we last spoke, he made a call shortly after, and he talked to the person for a lengthy time, so I called the number.”

“And?”

“Well, this guy answered. He said he was Khalil’s lover. He said he planted the rubber when he found out I was pregnant. Khalil was supposed to be breaking things off with me, and when this guy found out he wasn’t…well, he was outraged for lack of a better word.”

I thought I was having another nightmare. This time I couldn’t wake up.

“Janet, I’ve never known Khalil to be bisexual. He’s always been experimental, but not in that fashion. Are you sure you got that shit right?”

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but I got it correct. I went for HIV testing. You should do the same because my results came back positive. If Khalil calls you, tell him to come home.” She hung up on me.

This shit can’t be happening, I thought. It was a figment of my imagination. Janet hadn’t just called and told me Khalil was fucking some man and that she was HIV positive. I’d drifted into deep thought when my assistant announced that Kevin was waiting for me.

“Hi, Dr. Frazier,” I said, teasing Kevin when he entered.

“Hey, how you feeling?” he asked, reaching for a hug.

“Shit just doesn’t seem to stop,” I replied. “I just got a call from the girlfriend of a guy I used to sex, said she was pregnant and has HIV and the guy went missing after she learned he was gay.”

“HIV positive? You need to get tested,” he said.

“I’ve been tested since I last slept with Khalil. I’m negative. I never had unprotected sex with him.”

“That’s a relief. How are things otherwise?”

“Got engaged,” I said happily. “I haven’t heard the voices.”

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear that, and your brother?”

“I haven’t seen him lately either or dreamed of him since the last dream when I saw Ronnie, our cousin, pulling the trigger.”

“It looks like you’re in a good place, love.”

“I think so.” I smiled. “How long are you in town for?”

“Just three more days. I have to get back for a conference.”

“Let’s try and hook up before you go. I’ll introduce you to Troy.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Kevin said as he departed.

• • •

The next week, Troy and I were going to Ocho Rios, Jamaica. I made a run to the gym before it closed for a quick workout. The gym wasn’t very crowded when I arrived. My trainer had an opening and invited me to fill the spot. He gave me a rigorous workout. It was overdue. We’d been working on my abs, gluteus, and oblique muscles.

He was the last trainer on the floor. I offered to drop him at home since he didn’t live far from me. I went in the locker room and sat in the sauna for a few minutes before changing. Steam filled the room. I sat there naked, with my eyes closed when I heard someone enter. I hadn’t seen any other women in the gym. I was one of the last stragglers to leave. When I opened my eyes, my trainer was standing over me, dick hung and swinging.

“What are you doing in the ladies’ locker room?” I asked.

“I came to give you a massage,” he said.

“Is that right?” I replied, sitting upright and reaching for my towel.

“Yes. Where would you like me to start?”

“For starters, I’d like you to leave.”

He wasn’t taking no for an answer. He pushed me down, tried rubbing his dick between my breasts. He was stronger than me, so I pretended I was with it, causing him to relax and loosen his grip.

“Let me taste it,” I said.

Turned on, he eagerly brought his dick toward my mouth, and when he did, I bit down on it so hard, leaped up and ran out of the locker room naked and screaming. One of the managers noticed me and attempted to conceal me.

“What happened, miss?” he asked.

“The trainer, he came in the locker room and tried to rape me,” I responded.

“Call the police,” the manager ordered the front desk clerk. The few people who remained in the gym looked traumatized.

The trainer hadn’t scared me, merely pissed me off. I dressed in one of the offices, filed a police report, and watched as he was arrested.

• • •

“We have reached a cruising altitude. You may now unfasten your seatbelts and move around the cabin freely. We ask that while seated you remain with your seatbelt on and securely fastened for safety. It should be a smooth ride from here,” the captain announced on the plane.

“I’m going to the restroom,” Troy said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Okay,” I replied. We were sitting near the back of the airplane. It wasn’t long before I too needed to use the restroom. I got up from my seat, observing the passengers, none of whom were paying me any attention.

“Took you long enough,” Troy replied.

“Shut up,” I said, playfully.

Troy easily lifted my skirt and slid his firm dick into me. The hard part was remaining silent while he sexed me good in that tiny compartment. Yes, we were members of the mile-high club, and Troy had taken me higher and higher.

We arrived at Sunset Jamaica Grande All-Inclusive Resort. Our room had a king-size bed, private patio, and beachfront view. I was proud to be next to my man and to finally have a love of my own.

Troy had organized an array of entertaining excursions. We started with a hike through the Blue Mountain coffee region, then we went horseback riding, exploring historic plantations, sugar cane and liquor factories, and Bob Marley’s Museum. As the day escaped us, we concluded our sports adventures with a safari tour and aboard a bamboo raft in the White River.

I introduced Troy to true pampering inside the Aqua Azul Spa where we received a milk-and-honey body wrap, mango manicures, and sensual body massages. When the evening approached, I changed into my purple sarong that fell just above my knee, tying it in a halter fashion around the neck, then we went for a stroll on the beach. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves entwined, making love on the white sand under the island moon.

When we woke up the next morning, we started our day at the breakfast buffet with an assortment of fruit, meat, pancakes, waffles, eggs, and Caribbean juices.

We’d been out catching the sun when I decided to check out the local stores. Troy wasn’t interested and allowed me to go and spend his money.

“Let’s meet back in the room,” Troy said.

“What time?”

“Around dinner. We can order room service and kick back,” he said.

“Sounds like a plan,” I replied, kissing him.

There were several duty-free shops with a nice selection of jewelry and perfume. Mainly, I was checking out the scenery. I didn’t see anything that caught my attention until I stumbled upon the Taj Mahal Shopping Centre. It was a beautiful emulation of the monument in India.

I’d been purchasing Swarovski crystal for my mother, Tiffany jewelry for myself, and a couple leather pieces from Cartier for Troy before I realized it was almost time for me to head back to the room. Troy wasn’t there when I returned, giving me time to shower and change for dinner. Since we were staying in, I put on a sexy silk nightgown and climbed on the bed.

I was getting horny waiting for Troy. His dick had me tamed—my little toys couldn’t even satisfy me. To occupy my time, I went ahead and ordered our meal from room service.

Troy came in soaked. “What have you been doing?” I asked.

“Swimming down in the pool,” he replied. “You order dinner?”

“I did.”

“Cool. I’m going to shower real quick and we can eat.”

“Okay, baby.”

Our food arrived just as Troy was dressing. He put on his black silk boxers I’d gotten him before the trip. We sat down on the patio and ate our meal, staring out at the beachfront.

That night, we made love abundantly, too many times to recall. I climaxed repeatedly.

“I still want to make babies with you one day,” he told me. Before I could respond, someone knocked on our door.

“You think it’s room service coming back for the trays?” I asked, trying to imagine who else would be knocking.

For a moment, we escaped in each other, forgetting about the sounds that interrupted our flow. Troy pulled his dick out of me and grabbed his robe when the knocks grew louder.

“Yo, I’m coming,” he said with a disturbed, frustrated tone.

“Hurry up, dad,” the young masculine voice yelled from the hallway.

Surely, this kid had the wrong room. I was baffled when Troy opened the door, stepped outside, and spoke to him.

“Trey, I told you to ring my cell. Why the fuck you knocking the door down?” Troy asked.

“Mama said she needed some more cash,” the boy replied.

I was in hysterics. Had this mofo invited his children and his baby mama on our trip? Turned out I was correct. All three of those little knuckas as I called them were staying a couple floors down from us.

Troy took his children on a family vacation every year. This time he decided they could join us. Joslyn, the breeder of his eldest child had family in Jamaica. Since she had a relationship with the other kids, she agreed to watch after them. Besides, it was a free trip for her. It was convenient, having all of us in the same place. I got on that airplane mad as hell.

Chapter 17|

Three weeks passed. Kapri and I booked a last-minute flight to Miami to sit on the set of a shoot for an upcoming urban film production. My firm managed two of the actors in the movie, and it was my aspiration to sign additional clientele. I didn’t have a chance to see Troy before I left. I left him a note at the house and a voice message that I’d be back in a couple of days.

Troy had downplayed what happened in Jamaica. He said he was going to surprise me and planned for us to exchange vows while on the island. He’d brought the kids to share the experience. That knowledge pissed me off even more because it never crossed his mind that I would want my family to be there.

When we arrived in Miami, the producers had cancelled the taping because the weather advisory indicated a storm was headed to the area. Kapri and I turned around, went back to the airport, and waited on standby for the next flight back to New York.

It was just after midnight when we landed at JFK. It was a good thing my car was parked at the airport because the lot was cheaper than a round-trip taxi ride. I offered to drop Kapri at home. The Brooklyn Queens Expressway was congested so I took the North Conduit instead, cutting through side streets, down Atlantic Avenue, and heading cross town, pulling in front of Kapri’s apartment just off Eastern Parkway.

I had tried calling Troy to let him know I would be home early, but he didn’t answer the phone. He was notorious for that. When I got home, his car wasn’t outside. I unloaded my garment bags, grabbed my Louis Vuitton, and unlocked my front door. The music was bumping. Troy must have been in the shower because that’s the only time he turned up the stereo—unless we were getting busy.

I placed my things in the foyer and proceeded to the living room. I had already begun unbuttoning my blouse when I heard water running. After sitting on that plane for three hours, a nice hot shower would be perfect.

I walked in my bedroom, hit the lights, all set to grab a piece of lingerie for later.

“Oh, shit,” I yelled. “What the fuck?”

“Troy, you said this bitch was out of town,” Dallas screamed out.

I reached for my glock without further thought as Troy ran from the bathroom.

“I can explain,” Troy said.

“You can’t explain this shit. Get the fuck out my bed, bitch,” I said to Dallas’s brazen ass. Apparently, neither of them realized the danger they were in. Troy rushed up on me, trying to explain, when I pulled my nine-millimeter up from my side, positioning it directly in his face. His ass backed up.

“Yo, it don’t need to be like this,” Troy said. “Where the fuck you get a gun from, ma?”

“Shut the fuck up, Troy. You made it like this. Got this bitch in my house, fucking her in my bed. Are you out of your goddamn mind? How long you been fucking her, Troy?”

Troy never looked so tense. He always controlled himself, his emotions, and his environment. He was treading unfamiliar territory, and Dallas, she must have been high when she jumped up and said, “We never stopped fucking,” and tried to knock the gun from my hand. I shot her ass. One shot to the temple, and she bounced back like a fucking Slinky.

“Ah, naw, baby. What the fuck? This shit is foul,” Troy yelled. He ran over to Dallas’s lifeless body.

“Get the fuck back where you were. Don’t try to comfort that bitch.”

Troy stopped in his tracks. “Let’s talk about this shit. We can fix this. I’m sorry,” he said.

Those were his last words.

• • •

Three days passed, and I didn’t leave my house. I’d been making arrangements, getting my story straight. It would be a matter of time before I answered to the shit that smelled in my bedroom.

My apartment was in disarray. I’d gone in the closet to grab the broom when I saw Troy’s partially open duffle bag on the floor. It was heavy when I tried to pick it up. I sat on the floor just outside the closet and went through it. I had already been crying from walking in on him and Dallas, but when I saw the bags of cocaine, it was as if my world ended twice.

I wasn’t into doing drugs, had dated dope dealers back in the day when the shit seemed cute, and my initial reaction was to flush the coke down the toilet, but Mama didn’t raise no fool. I grabbed the scale from the kitchen and weighed the dope. By the time I finished, I’d added up more than five hundred pounds of pure cocaine.

Needless to say, I was glad I didn’t flush it. My mother always told me to maintain separate bank accounts and my own money, a stash only I knew about. I opened my custom panel beneath the floor of my closet, home to my state-of-the-art safe with a triple locking system and finger print reader, placed the dope safely inside, and locked it.

I poured a glass of chardonnay and waited.

It was on the fourth day when the police finally arrived. The landlord let them into my unit. My mother had requested a patrol car pass by my place after she hadn’t spoken to me in several days. When she called the office and Kapri mentioned she hadn’t seen me, she grew concerned.

“What is that smell?” the landlord said.

I sat there, covered in blood, soiled in feces, and in a zone when the female officer walked in and found me.

“We have a problem,” she yelled to her partners who waited in the living room. “Ask the landlord to step out.”

“Sir, we need you to back out of the apartment,” the male officer said.

“What’s the predicament officer?” the landlord asked.

“I’m not sure yet, sir, but you need to step outside,” he told him.

“What happened here, miss?” she asked me.

I didn’t respond. I remained dazed, in a dreamlike state.

“We need someone from psych in here,” she told her partners. “Miss, can you hear me?”

I had faith in my ability as a psychologist and was on my own kâma-manasic level—a state when the mind operates under the direction of desire, stuck in an illusionary world. The officers were bewildered, trying to understand what happened.

I disassociated myself from reality. The scene, the world, the two dead bodies, none of it was real to me. I would never be able to make myself understood. I fell into a state of deranged mental euphoria.

The police officers sent me to the hospital for medical evaluation before releasing me to the psych ward. I was accustomed to being in the mental institution and blended in. To help pass the time, track the days, and escape to a surreal place, I kept a journal called Hypnotic.

Kevin, my psychiatrist, came to my rescue. I had sent him a brief e-mail explaining what happened before the police arrived. After a few phone calls, he was able to locate me, and I had never been happier to see my friend. I hadn’t said a word to anyone in the facility for the seventy-two hours that I’d been there. He arranged for us to have private, unmonitored sessions.

“How are you holding up, Raquel?” Kevin asked.

“I’m hanging,” I replied.

“I’m going to get you out of here.”

“It gets cold in here. They won’t give me any cover or sheets.”

“I’ll get that taken care of before I leave today. They think you’re suicidal,” he said.

“I’m not,” I murmured.

“I know you aren’t. What happened, love?”

“I’d gone out of town for a business trip, which turned out to be a flop. I came home early, walked in on Troy and Dallas. She was in my bed, Kevin. Getting ready to fuck my fiancé. My instinct told me to grab my gun. She got smart, tried to take it from my hand, and I shot her. Troy ran over to console her, and I realized at that moment that he had been lying to me all along. He told me my love was to die for. I believed him. I knew the only way out of the mess was to look like I was crazy, so I waited until the police found me, and when they did, I was soiled in shit, blood, and urine.”

“Damn, Raquel. What do you want me to do? Plead temporary insanity?”

“I don’t know if that’s the best option. Historically, it has always been difficult to prove temporary insanity, and it isn’t the most successful defense in courts. It’s going to be tough convincing a jury or judge that I was insane at the time the crime was committed, but suddenly am cured given my professional background.”

“The success rate varies by state, and you happen to live in an area where the plea has been presented approximately forty percent of the time with thirty percent success. Once I introduce your history of mental disease—seeing dead people, hearing voices, depression, anxiety over your miscarriage, and the abuse you suffered in your relationship with Troy—we should be able to argue irresistible impulse.”

The Irresistible Impulse Test was adopted in 1887 and encompassed not only whether a defendant knew right from wrong, but also whether he could control his impulses to commit wrongdoing. The test is often used as an appendage to the M’Naghten Rule, which essentially determines if the person who committed the crime can distinguish from right and wrong. I agreed with Kevin that it was the best path to take.

“I’m going to have to spend some time in here to make that plea work. Usually, people aren’t simply released. They typically are confined to a mental hospital,” I replied.

“Well, you have time. I say in three months or less you should be walking out of here. Let me work the outside for you. I know an excellent defense attorney who has experience in cases similar to yours.”

Kevin and I concluded our session. He agreed to bring in the legal team that would support my case during our next appointment.

• • •

Extreme dissociative disorder is what the specialists said I had. It’s a mental process that produces a lack of connection in a person’s thoughts, feelings, and actions. With me pretending to be disconnected, it seemed like an appropriate assessment.

Usually, individuals who displayed characteristics of the disorder experienced some sort of severe trauma growing up. As a child, I would often go away to imaginary places where I could escape the emotional pain from not having my father around. This defense mechanism improved after my brother was killed, and by the time I met Troy, I had mastered it. I never experienced physical abuse as a child. It was only after I became an adult that the abuse started, thanks to the trifling men with whom I dealt. It wasn’t physical abuse. I never bothered with a man who thought he was going to beat my ass. I managed to remain in abusive relationships of the other kind—those that were psychologically, verbally, and spiritually damaging.

My relationship with Troy was an overwhelmingly traumatic experience. I developed highly creative survival techniques within my head; it was the only way to deal with his bullshit.

The first night in the mental ward was the hardest. The place definitely wasn’t the Waldorf, and I felt like I was going through detox being away from my routine. I was on suicide watch the first seventy-two hours before Kevin fixed that. Finally, I had toiletries, blankets, and other bare necessities. I knew the people in the ward were watching me. I wasn’t sure what type of show they expected, but I gave them a performance, further supporting my diagnosis. I didn’t regret what happened to Troy, which alone classified me as a lunatic.

I fell asleep one morning only to be awakened for my first psychotherapy treatment with Dr. Monroe. She was assigned by the unit to rehabilitate me. Fully aware of my background, she never believed I was incognizant. That was evident in her brutal treatments.

“What really happened that night?” Dr. Monroe asked with an unusual grin during our first session.

I remained unresponsive. Her attempts to engage me in her talk therapy failed. Truth was, I didn’t respect Dr. Monroe, and she knew it. She’d attained her degree from an unaccredited university, often misdiagnosed her patients, and treated them poorly. The product of numerous malpractice suits, the best gig she could get was volunteering at a facility that was extremely short staffed, under-funded, and would allow her to exchange rudimentary services at low costs. In a payback effort, she dispensed a number of medications to teach me about fucking with her as she put it.

I didn’t have a chemical imbalance. My first night, I was given antidepressants because the staff feared I’d take my own life. They didn’t know how much I cherished my life. Essentially, that’s why I had to cleanse myself of the garbage that decomposed it, starting with Troy.

Dr. Monroe knew her prescription for antipsychotic drugs would only make matters worse, given that no chemical imbalance existed, which is why I tried to strangle her ass when she dispensed them. Suddenly, I hurled out of my chair, jumping right onto her. My weight knocked her over. I was sitting on top of her, hands clenched around her throat, banging her head against the leg of the stainless-steel table in the observation room.

Dr. Monroe had decided she didn’t need an observer during our sessions. Primarily, it was her safeguard to mistreat me. It was my opportunity to kick her ass without interruption. I may have been institutionalized, but I had many connections, including both colleagues and patients. Once the director of the facility was made aware of her attack against me, he removed Dr. Monroe from any further contact with me. Kevin later ordered my transfer to another facility.

I promoted my disorder. During one of my sessions, I started masturbating right in our group circle. It was funny. Johnny, the sex-addict schizophrenic joined in. He pulled out his dick, bent over, and started sucking his own love. Before the counselors knew what happened, the whole group was climaxing.

I was content. The rest of my group therapies for the month were cancelled.

I’d played so heavily into my psychotic state that at times I wasn’t even sure if I was pretending. Realistically, Kevin did have a stronger case than I originally thought. There were times when I experienced symptoms of depression, mood swings, insomnia, panic attacks, visual hallucinations, eating disorders, and extended migraines, all of which were warning signs for dissociative disorder.

Chapter 18|

It was my second month in the mental ward, and I really felt deranged, cramped in my little eight-by-ten cell.

Luckily, I was able to sit out in the courtyard under supervision, thanks to Kevin. He’d arranged for me to have two hours of free time in the yard daily as part of my treatment. I spent the day inhaling fresh air, listening to birds chirp, and writing in my journal. I could hear the faint sound of water flowing in a nearby creek, which relaxed me.

It was good to be outside, away from the green concrete walls and smelly corridors of the institution. The place was designed to foster craziness.

I’d been thinking about going to trial. Initially, it frightened me, imagining the several different outcomes. Overall, I felt like my defense was strong. There was no evidence of premeditation, and I was confident in the ability of Kevin and his team. I just hoped the jury would be sympathetic.

The next day would be my first appearance in court where I was formally notified of the charges against me—voluntary manslaughter.

Earlier in the week, Kevin introduced me to my lawyer, Shonnel Jamison, who had more than fifteen years experience working in forensic psychology and criminal law.

When we appeared in front of the judge, the preliminary hearing was waived since it was clear I’d committed the crime, and the date was set for pre-trial in three weeks.

“If we can resolve your case in a pre-trial conference you may not have to stand trial. It will ultimately depend on if we can strike a deal with the prosecutor. If not, we’ll move forward to either a bench or jury trial depending on availability of jurors or direction of the judge,” Shonnel said.

“What are the advantages of going before the judge versus the jury?” I asked.

“Often, the judge is more sympathetic than jurors. It can also be a faster process. Now, it may be difficult to afford you a jury of your peers as it may not be in your best interest. Instead, we should select women who are going to identify with your experiences versus individuals who feel you should not have been able to lose control given your history in dealing with these types of circumstances,” she said before we departed.

The drive back was short. Kevin was waiting at the facility when I returned.

“I’ll take her from here,” he told the guard. “How are you doing, Raquel?”

“Hi. I’m not sure. Some days are better than others. I’ve been struggling with the notion that I may not get out of this place, Kevin.”

“You shouldn’t think so negatively. You have to stay strong. How was it in court today?”

“We are set for pre-trial in three weeks. I’m just not sure killing them was worth this, Kevin.”

“Listen, you hang in there. If it makes you feel better, I got a corporate apartment here in the city so I can be closer to you and make sure you’re getting the treatment you need so we can get you out of here.” Kevin smiled. “I also went by your place today, got your mail, and checked to make sure your apartment had been restored. They did a decent job cleaning the catastrophe.”

“That’s great, Kevin. Thank you for doing that. Have you spoken to my mother?”

“Yes. She sends her love.”

“What about my office? Everything okay there?”

“Stop being a worrywart. Things are fine at the office. Kapri is holding it down just like you hired her to do. Everyone misses you, but you have a great support system. I want you to plan on going to trial, Raquel. The motion for a pre-trial is just a technicality. Usually, prosecution and defense don’t come to agreements in this stage. Especially in unique cases like yours. Just be ready to go all the way,” he said.

“I’ve been thinking about Troy a lot lately,” I replied.

“What type of thoughts?”

“Good ones, before I knew who he really was. I miss him sometimes.”

“That’s natural,” he replied.

“How am I supposed to act when we get inside the courtroom?”

“Like someone who suffers from temporary insanity. We’ll introduce your progress when it’s favorable. Until then, get some rest. Let me work the outside for you. I have a few people in my pocket.” Kevin replied before he left.

• • •

I’d been visiting the chapel praying for redemption. It was the only thing I could do to gain the strength that was needed to survive my predicament. Unexpectedly, my inner voice kicked in and I felt comfort, like things were going to work out.

During my third month in the medical center, I finally had my day in court. Kevin had brought one of my suits from home. After spending the morning meditating and preparing my mental state, I dressed and waited for him and my lawyer.

“The prosecuting attorney is going to try and control your responses and reactions. Don’t allow them to get next to you,” Shonnel said. “We’re ready for any angle they come from. Just remain relaxed and confident, and you’ll be fine.”

I hadn’t expected to see the families of the victims present when we entered the courtroom. My mother was by my side. I quickly recognized Cynthia and Joslyn, Troy’s baby mamas, and Melina, Dallas’s mother sitting opposite of us. I acknowledged them with a wicked stare before taking my seat.

Everyone stood as the bailiff announced the entrance of the judge. “The case of the People versus Howard. Is the prosecution ready?”

“We’re ready,” the prosecution replied.

“Is the defendant ready?”

“Yes, your honor,” Shonnel replied.

The proceedings continued with the swearing in of the jury. I don’t know how my legal team did it, but the jury pool consisted primarily of women, all of whom were minority.

The prosecution began with its opening statement. “Ladies and gentleman, we are here to do one thing today and that is to make sure justice is served. Dr. Raquel Howard is guilty of murdering not one but two innocent individuals in a gruesome act, which the defense would have you believe is a crime of passion. To add insult to injury, Dr. Howard has pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity. This is an attempt to ridicule the justice system as Dr. Howard has an extensive background as a clinical psychologist. She would have us believe she wasn’t able to distinguish right from wrong when she violently shot two people in the head, instantly killing them. Dr. Howard is a vicious individual who had every intention on committing this crime and using her expertise in the field of psychology as her defense. Dr. Howard waited four days with the bodies, planning and rehearsing her argument before she was found by the police. We cannot allow this atrocity to go unpunished, and you are here today to make sure she is convicted as such.”

“Ms. Jamison, do you have an opening statement?” the judge asked.

Shonnel was a savvy sister. She was dressed in a sharp Dolce and Gabbana crepe suit and radiated with sophistication and poise. She wasn’t intimidated at all by the prosecution and proceeded with her opening remarks.

“Yes, your honor. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, don’t be fooled by the efforts of the prosecution to sway you into believing that this professional woman of stature is not capable of possessing one of the most humanistic traits known—emotion. The prosecutor brought up an interesting point when he mentioned Dr. Howard dwelling for four days with two dead bodies, yet suggested her mental state wasn’t impaired. Only someone with mental disease could endure such a horrific scene. What the prosecution didn’t mention was how Dr. Howard was soiled in feces, urine, and blood when she was found. She was in shock and had dissociated herself from what had taken place. Imagine returning home from a long day of work to find your fiancé in bed with one of your friends and then being attacked by the lady. This is enough to trigger an emotional imbalance. Dr. Howard didn’t plan to kill these people. Instead, she acted with an irresistible impulse upon being subjected to the traumatic event. Sure, Dr. Howard has a background in clinical psychology. She also has a history of mental illness, which stems from years of abuse. Dr. Howard has experienced a number of devastating obstacles. She was engaged to a man who physically, mentally, and verbally assaulted her. The loss of their unborn child ignited a whole new dimension of depression and anxiety. These events sent her over the edge, temporarily hindering her ability to think logically and control her urge. My client experienced a psychotic meltdown and suffered from dissociative disorder, which altered her perception, surroundings, identity, and ultimately her consciousness.”

“Will the prosecution call its first witness?” the judge asked.

The prosecutor searched for his key witness who apparently slipped out of the court room without his knowledge. “Our witness is not available, sir,” the prosecution replied.

There was a rumble of noise coming from the galley. I glanced at Kevin who didn’t seem at all surprised, then looked at Shonnel who was staring at the prosecuting attorney in disbelief.

“Does the defense wish to call any witnesses?” the judge said.

“Yes, your honor. We call Officer Linda Chapman to the witness stand.”

Officer Chapman was the female officer who found me in my bedroom. Kevin and Shonnel thought it was good to allow her testimony since she could further support my mental state.

“You were one of the first officers on the scene the night of the murders. Is that correct?” Shonnel asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Can you describe that night to us?”

“My partner and I arrived at the defendant’s residence. When I walked into her bedroom, the defendant was in a catatonic state. I couldn’t tell if she was injured or not, she was soaked in so much blood. I attempted to gain a response from her with no success. Based on her appearance, I requested someone from psych.”

“Is it normal for you to call a member from the psychiatric unit in homicide cases?”

“No.”

“Then why did you this time?”

“The defendant appeared to be mentally challenged. After asking her a series of questions and analyzing her condition, she just seemed like she’d snapped.”

“Thank you. No further questions, your honor.” Shonnel took her seat.

“Would you like to cross-examine this witness?” the judge asked the prosecuting team.

“Yes, your honor. Officer Chapman, how long have you worked crime scenes?”

“Twenty-five years,” she replied.

“Where was your partner when you were in the room with the defendant?”

“He was at the entrance of the apartment holding the landlord back.”

“When you saw the deceased, did you at all sympathize with Dr. Howard?”

“Your honor, I object. What kind of badgering is the prosecution up to? The witness is an officer of the law. She has no reason to sympathize with Dr. Howard,” Shonnel interrupted.

“Sustained. Get on with your questioning and make sure it’s relevant to this case. The officer has no affinity with the defendant. Therefore, is not capable of sympathizing as you’ve implied,” the judge stated.

“Your honor, Officer Chapman has a history of battered woman syndrome and may have inadvertently felt compassion for Dr. Howard,” the prosecutor replied.

“You’re pressing your luck with me. Officer Chapman is not on trial here. Either get to the point or sit down,” the judge demanded.

“No further questions.”

“Your honor, we call Dr. Kevin Frazier to the witness stand,” Shonnel said. After Kevin was sworn in, questioning began. “Dr. Frazier, can you explain to the jury the details of your diagnosis for Dr. Howard?”

“Sure. Dr. Howard suffered from a disorder that causes a person to mentally break away from reality. It’s a defense mechanism that surfaces in victims of abuse. It doesn’t matter at what stage the maltreatment occurs. Typically, we treat the disease with hypnotherapy and other psychotherapies to allow the patient to relive the traumatic events, essentially allowing them to escape and cope with their past.”

“Is it your professional opinion that Dr. Howard suffered from temporary insanity when she committed the crime?”

“Yes.”

“No further questions, your honor.”

“Would you like to cross-examine the defense witness?” the judge asked.

“Yes, your honor. Dr. Frazier, how can you sit here and give expert testimony on behalf of the defendant when you have a personal relationship with her?”

“Your honor, Dr. Frazier has not provided expert testimony,” Shonnel objected. “I move the court to dismiss this case on the ground that the prosecution has not provided evidence to support that our defendant was not mentally impaired. Dr. Howard has undergone several months of psychiatric treatment under some of the finest and most respected doctors in the field. She has been confined to a mental asylum where she has shown dramatic improvement. The prosecution has come here today unprepared. Clearly, this wasn’t a serious matter for them as they didn’t even take the time to call witnesses to the stand.”

“Your honor, we’d like to call Dr. Raquel Howard to the stand,” the prosecutor blurted out unexpectedly.

I was stunned. I could not believe the charade that took place in the courtroom. When the judge responded, he dismissed the jury on the grounds that the prosecution did not raise issues of fact, cleared the courtroom, and fined the prosecution. I almost passed out.

“Relax,” Kevin said. “This is in our favor.”

I’d never seen anything like it before. The judge deliberated for a brief moment before replying, “I’m very disappointed with the presentation of the prosecution. You have not been able to establish beyond reasonable doubt that the defendant was not temporarily insane. The defense has convinced me based on the evidence presented that Dr. Raquel Howard did act with irresistible impulse. Normally, I would make the recommendation for release into a mental institution for further evaluation, but based on the testimony of Dr. Frazier, the expert reports entered into evidence, and the medical records given, I’m concluding with the verdict that Dr. Raquel Howard is not guilty by way of temporary insanity. We stand adjourned.”

Kevin looked at me and said, “I told you I had people in my pocket.”

Chapter 19|

“Aunt Darlene” was on her way to visit. That was the name I’d given my period because she was a bitch, just like my aunt Darlene who came and went when she damn well pleased and had more personalities than all of my patients put together.

It may have almost been that time, but I still craved a quickie. I called Donovan and invited him over. We’d been sexing each other since I returned from the asylum a month earlier. He was a love maker, took his time with me. He had potential to be a back breaker, but he preferred a slow, sensual grind. He licked my pussy for hours, told me it tasted sweet like mangos, the best he’d ever savored. I loved how he eased his tongue in, out, in, out. He said it was delectable. He was pretty luscious his damn self.

His dick bumped my cervix, causing both joy and pain. I’d recently been diagnosed with cervicitis—inflammation of the cervix. The doctors said the condition might be a result of an allergic reaction to contraceptive spermicides or latex in condoms. That didn’t stop me from having my orgasm. And when I did, it was a mixture of mango and strawberry.

“You’re bleeding,” Donovan said after we finished screwing.

“See what you do to me,” I replied. “You’re such a beast.” I chuckled to myself.

I’d known my period was coming and I allowed his dick to pull it down. He’d gone home thinking he made me bleed. Truth was, no man had ever done that, but I stroked his ego and allowed him to think he had this pussy under control.

• • •

I woke up the next morning with a smile on my face. My firm was thriving. We were on a fast track, closing more than fifty deals per week. It was good being back at work. I spent the day trying to catch up.

Khalil had sent me an e-mail, unaware of what I’d gone through. He and Janet split. He came out the closet with his gay lifestyle and started a new life with his man. He didn’t have the courage to speak to me about the matter but said he would be in touch one day. He didn’t say anything about being HIV positive, probably figured Janet hadn’t mentioned that tidbit.

Jason, there was no telling where he was hiding. Rumor had it, he’d crossed Troy, and even from the grave, that nigga ran the streets.

Meanwhile, somewhere off Rockaway, Troy’s second baby mama had a party. It was supposed to be a home-going celebration, but I’m sure it was more victorious than reminiscent. She’d gotten over like a fat rat. Troy practically left his empire to her. From cars to cash to offshore bank accounts, every damn thing was in her name. I’d done her ass a favor while I was stuck with a damn bill for $160,000 from HSBC for Troy’s commercial loan.

Apparently, Troy had gone into the bank with some woman and used my identification and Social Security number to secure a business loan to build a housing project in Jacksonville, Florida, without my knowledge.

• • •

I’d gotten so comfortable, sipping café mocha and going through my mail that I was startled when my assistant buzzed me, saying someone was on the line to discuss Dorian Johnson. I hesitated. Perhaps it was someone from the precinct calling with some new information on the case. For some reason, my inner spirit told me not to take the call. The person didn’t leave a message. I slipped back into my daydream.

My thoughts were flooded with Troy and Dallas screwing like rabbits. She was not as fine as I was. Her body wasn’t as tight as mine. Her pussy couldn’t have been as tight as mine. I kept pondering the reason Troy would mess around with that scant and came up with nothing. Troy had made a mockery out of me.

Fear, it was the ultimate deception. It’s something we all have, yet we convince ourselves it doesn’t exist. For me, fear was riding my ass, and I failed to accept it. It was hard coping at times. I was going to work every day, but wasn’t really into what I was doing. Sexually, I wasn’t being satisfied. I had all this good loving and was being neglected. That was my number one problem.

I’d always loved too hard, too much, and too quickly. I wanted a man to love me, to want me. In a way, my shrink was right. I sought that fatherly love that you should get from your daddy, but mine wasn’t around.

It was natural, not having my father in my life. I never could miss something that wasn’t there, yet I wasn’t sure exactly how a man was supposed to treat me, to love me. I knew he shouldn’t put his hands on me, but the other bullshit, I put up with.

Then there was the brotherly love I’d been trying to replace after my own brother was murdered. I found comfort in other men, filling that void—so I thought.

My fixation on oral, vaginal, and anal stimulation created my need for a warrior, a back breaker, a beast like Troy who failed to deliver in so many areas. I used a number of men to create my ideal, flawless character, and I told myself that was okay, but it wasn’t.

Broken promises. The next man who ventured between my thighs was supposed to be equivalent to my tight-ass credentials. Between the big dicks and quick fixes, I’d managed to amend my thought process, adapting to my surroundings, and in my environment, the black men didn’t have any damn credentials, other than the size of their equipment, and in the end, that wasn’t enough.

I could cross over. I contemplated being with a white man several times. I would only be kidding myself. At best, he would only be able to tend to my intellectual needs.

When I was in college, I had rules—strict rules. I’d never become involved with an uneducated man, a married man, or a man with children. Unfortunately, I’d failed at all three. Dorian was my married man, Troy was my ignorant man, and both of them fell in the baby-mama-drama-man category.

Every damn time I got caught up in my thoughts, my assistant interrupted. “Dr. Howard, you missed your appointment at Pandora’s. Would you like me to reschedule?” she asked.

“No,” I replied.

Honestly, those bitches at Pandora’s had gotten on my damn nerves. It was an establishment operated by an assortment of auspicious white girls looking to turn a profit off the sexual inequities in the urban marketplace.

Basically, they provided the fantasy, you provided the rest. Anything could and would go down in Pandora’s. I came on the team as the lead strategist since none of the owners had any experience with the demographics or psychographics of the market they were chasing. It was an assignment I should have refused. It was office bullshit politics throughout the whole organization. Financially, I didn’t need the money, so I didn’t give a damn about missing my appointment. I decided I wasn’t going back. People lost their souls in Pandora’s. One good thing did come out of my experience: my introduction to Chauncey Grim, Harlem’s most lethal hustler.

Opening night, there was an endless supply of dick, pussy, cocaine, and rubbers for sale. For a nominal fee, you could take over the world, but when you left, the fantasy came to a screeching halt.

You had the option to pick your course or have it selected for you. Once you entered the establishment, you had to agree to the rules before you knew what they were. It was a chance you took if you wanted to play. There was no escaping the consequence once you agreed.

There was a couple who entered with their desire predetermined. The wife was interested in stratification by two men, so she invited a couple they had known for a while. It started out with both couples sexing each other, then they swapped and her husband fucked the other man’s lady. What the wife didn’t know was that the other guy went both ways. It was only a matter of time before he started caressing her husband. She didn’t have a problem with it at first and fondled the other woman while the men explored each other, occasionally inviting the guys in on their action. When it was all over, everyone had climaxed and gone home happy.

Later in the week, I recognized the husband in the main lounge. Instead of seeing him with wifey, he was following dude from their first rump session. He was looking for some side action, and it had dick written all over it.

All the freaks came out that night, including Chauncey. He had been frequenting the spot, hoping to eventually take it over. He had a stronger vision for the club. Chauncey wasn’t fine by any means. His body was rippled with muscles, his height was right—about six-five—and his stature was toned but a little jagged around the edges. He looked as if he wasn’t to be fucked with. He was that rough-neck brother who you’d give some pussy to only because you knew he wouldn’t let you down in the bedroom.

I decided to try his ass, took him into the champagne suite only to discover he couldn’t get it up in public. Such a letdown. We exchanged numbers and planned to discuss his acquisition of the club and my possible involvement marketing the business for him.

The last couple I remembered that night came in with aspirations of trying something new. They wanted to uncover ways to share each other, add some spunk to their lovemaking. Their voyeuristic trait led them into Pandora’s. In a way, that was their piece of heaven. A piece of hell ran their asses out.

After allowing their fantasy to be selected for them, they entered an area together where they sat, looking forward to the evening. They teased each other while waiting in the room, which had a unique vibe. The rooms in Pandora’s had secret passageways and revolving corridors that eventually separated the couple. As the room transfigured itself, three men appeared on the opposite side with the woman while her man stood helpless observing behind a glass barrier. They proceeded to fuck, suck, and duck as I called it. Watching, that was the fantasy. Those two came in as a couple but left wildly staccato. So, Pandora’s, I didn’t give a damn about doing that kind of work.

“Dr. Howard, Donovan is here to see you,” my assistant announced, pulling me out of my surreal state for the last time.

“Please send him in and hold my calls. No interruptions. No exceptions.”

Donovan entered my office looking debonair. I was glad to see him. He came bearing gifts, a nice lunch for the two of us, and a bottle of wine.

“What do I owe this pleasure?” I asked.

“Thanks to you, we just signed our first huge client.”

“Congrats. I’m glad things have picked up for you. You’ve got a great thing going.”

“Well, I know it isn’t much compared to some of the other players but we’re moving in the right direction,” he said.

“Let’s really celebrate,” I told him, walking over to the door and locking it. I sat on top of my desk and slipped out of my shoes. I extended my leg until it crawled up Donovan’s body, starting just below his knees, tickling between his legs, slowly easing up his chest, and resting at his lips.

He opened his mouth to receive me, sucking my toes so gently. He nibbled, sucked, licked, and massaged my feet. Donovan leaned into me, pressing both of his hands on my outer thighs. He moved my skirt up with one easy motion, revealing my black silk thong. He pulled at my panties with his teeth. Gently, he kissed the inside of my thigh. He was unbuttoning my silk blouse with one hand and slowly stimulating my asshole with the other. He pushed me down on my desk, my feet on the arms of the chair in which he was sitting. I sat waiting on my doctor to give me a pelvic exam.

Donovan swirled his tongue inside my pussy before inserting one of his gifts—a vibrating egg. He continued to lick my newly pierced clit and finger-fucked my ass. That little gadget worked overtime, getting lost inside me. I could feel it bouncing around, had me shaking and shit. Donovan had a remote and was controlling the speed and motion of the toy. It was wiggling, expanding, and warming up inside of me. Squirming, I barely could stay in place on my desk.

When he took it out, replacing it with his dick, it took all that was in me not to yell for mercy. Surely, the whole office would have heard me screaming. Instead, I buried the sounds in his neck, biting and scratching his ass up until we climaxed.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

“That’s an understatement,” I replied.

“How many times did you cum?” he asked with a smirk.

“I lost count after the fourth one.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He kissed me, went down for one more taste, and headed back to work.

Shortly after Donovan left, my assistant came in and asked, “How was your lunch?” with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“It was enchanting,” I replied.

“What did you have?” she asked.

“Let me see, broiled lobster with shrimp, salad, chardonnay, and a mouthwatering piece of chocolate for dessert.”

She smiled. “You mind if I head out early?”

“No. Have a good one,” I said.

“Oh, I almost forgot. A woman came by to see you today.”

“What did she want?”

“She said it was personal.”

“Was it for psych or media?”

“I believe it was for psych, just by the way she was acting. She wouldn’t confirm that either. You also have an urgent message from a Detective Massey. He said it was imperative you called him back today.”

“Thanks. Have a good night,” I said.

I picked up the phone to call the detective.

“Detective Massey,” he answered on the first ring.

“Hello. This is Raquel Howard returning your call.”

“Yes, Raquel. Thanks for calling back. You were in a while back trying to help us understand what happened the night Dorian Johnson was shot.”

“Yes.”

“We had a break in the case.”

“You arrested someone?” I asked excitedly, thinking this mystery was finally coming to an end.

“We have reason to believe his wife had her lover pull the trigger. We’re running the weapon through ballistics now.”

“Do you have them in custody?” I asked.

“No. That’s why I was calling you. We have reason to believe that his wife may be trying to contact you. We think she may be in your area. Until we wrap this thing up, she may be armed and dangerous.”

“What makes you think she’s in my area?”

“We have pretty good reason to believe she is.”

The officer was being vague. He asked me to think of anything that may help solve this investigation. I agreed to contact him should anything come up. “I do have one question. You had her lover Darnell in custody. Why did you let him go?”

“We didn’t have enough evidence.”

The police were infamous for fucking up. They had the perpetrator in custody and let him go because of a technicality. If that wasn’t enough, the details of the whole matter were sketchy. I had enough shit with which to deal.

I ended up staying in the office much later than intended. I finalized a few projects, left Kevin a voice message for our next session, and headed home exhausted. There was a strange odor when I entered my apartment. Smelled like cigarette smoke. If I hadn’t known better I would have sworn someone had been in my place. The lamp on my computer desk was off, and I was sure I’d left it on.

Truthfully, I should have moved out after the murders in my bedroom but I wasn’t afraid of ghosts. I blamed them every time something mysteriously was out of place. I didn’t even undress. I laid across my bed and drifted off in no time.

Someone was strangling me. I kept trying to wake up from the dream, but I couldn’t. That’s when I realized I wasn’t asleep. I always slept with my bedroom pitch black. I didn’t like any light getting in. The blinds were now open allowing a soft light from the parking lot to enter the room. It was bright enough for me to see Kristie, Dorian’s wife, on top of me. The way she was jabbing my stomach seemed as if she had spikes or miniature knives wrapped around her knees. I recall thinking it was a hallucination, but that shit was real.

Kristie knelt and licked my lips. “I bet you thought I wouldn’t find you, pretty bitch. I told you it wasn’t over.”

I felt lightheaded. Her hands tightened around my throat, and I gasped for air.

“I’ve been watching you. Figured out how to break in while you were locked up. I’ve tried it so many times, planning this moment. You don’t even know how many times I’ve been in your crib,” she said.

It took all my strength to wrap my legs around her body, get a fierce grip, and toss her over. We wrestled back and forth before I finally had her pinned underneath me. I don’t know what type of choking device she had, but it was still around my neck, getting tighter, and she was kicking me with those spikes. I fought to escape from her hold. I let my body collapse on her, slipping from the lock her strangulation device had around my throat. Before she could get it back around my neck, I lifted myself. My elbow came crashing down in her face. I was trying to break it into tiny pieces.

Kristie wasn’t always that strong. When I last saw her, she was a petite woman weighing no more than a hundred and fifteen pounds. Now, she must have been two hundred and fifteen. I was bleeding from where she’d been cutting me. I was dizzy and off-balance. That’s when I heard my mother’s voice: “You better fight like it’s your last.”

Kristie was on my turf. I jumped over my vanity, attempting to turn on the lights. She must have unplugged them because there was no electricity.

“You were fucking my husband, bitch,” she said.

I didn’t have the energy to converse with her. Something flew across the room, landing on the right side of my face.

“I’m going to do you just like I did him,” she yelled.

Kristie ran toward me. I raised my leg, knocking her back with a powerful sidekick. She fell to the ground. When she tried to get up, I kicked her in the chin, snapping her neck back. She fell. Before I knew it, I saw a flash of light and heard a popping sound. That bitch had a gun. The shot was quiet, similar to those that are fired from a silencer on a pistol.

I collapsed on the floor. I was stinging so badly from the cuts she’d made when she kicked me that I wasn’t sure where I’d been shot. I quickly rolled over and reach for my glock, which I kept on the side of my bed.

Kristie ran into the hallway and turned on the light. “I want to see your face, bitch,” she screamed.

I was on the floor behind my bedroom door, lying on my back with my legs spread open waiting. She was confident her gunshot had left me helpless.

“I’m going to finish fucking you up,” she said, sneering in a deranged tone.

I didn’t say anything, just waited. When she walked through the door, I fired three shots. The first one pierced her neck, the second hit her lung, and the final shot ripped through her spine, paralyzing her.

Chapter 20|

I felt my life when it slipped away from me. I was with my brother, and we were laughing like we used to be back in the day when we’d stay up all night, sipping on Boone’s Farm. We were happy. It’s not time for you to be here, baby sis. I’ll always be looking out for you. That was the last thing I heard him say before an angelic voice hollered, “We have a pulse.”

“We lost you for a second,” Kevin said.

Those few minutes of death seemed like an eternity. I didn’t recall what happened. Kevin offered to place me under hypnosis to allow my trapped feelings and experiences to emerge so I’d have closure. I never agreed to hypnotherapy before because of fear of what might be revealed while under the control of another. I was tired of running and hiding from my past. I allowed Kevin to proceed with his treatment.

“Wake up, Raquel. It’s okay. I’m right here,” Kevin said.

I woke up screaming and sweating copiously. My sounds diminished as Kevin embraced me.

“You’re going to be alright, Raquel. We’ll go over my findings when you’ve had time to rest. You mentioned someone named Chauncey toward the end. Is he somehow connected to Troy?” Kevin asked.

“No, he isn’t. What was I saying?”

“Well, I heard his name just before you started rambling about Troy. It wasn’t very clear. When you went into convulsions, I brought you back before you hurt yourself.”

It was good he brought me back when he did, before I said too much. I needed to call Chauncey Grim, my hustler from Pandora’s.

• • •

Needless to say, I finally moved my ass out of that apartment. I’d made the decision to erase the men in my past. That included Donovan. I didn’t even say good-bye, just cut him off.

I’d taken my fucking down a notch, turning to mutual masturbation from my Internet video cam with this guy from Phoenix. He was more perverted than I was, always pulling his dick out while we were online. He caught me once when I was horny too. We’d been cyber-fucking since.

It started out innocent then escalated into a porn show with him beating his dick and me pouncing up and down on my new hot seat. It was an incredible new toy I’d picked up at Kapri’s nasty girls party. Basically, it was an inflatable ball with a nice dick protruding from the middle. My hot seat warmed, massaged, and vibrated, easily deflating for private storage.

Chauncey Grim owned a few strip clubs, but his main operation was pushing cocaine through New York, Miami, and Cuba. He eventually took over Pandora’s turning it into a premier hot spot. He asked me to stay on as his marketing strategist, but I declined.

Chauncey was a blessing. I’d shared my past with him. Not that I was proud of killing two people. However, it was a necessary element in establishing my street credibility. I’d intentionally avoided murdering Kristie’s ass—just wanted to back her off me. It seemed appropriate to leave her in a vegetative state, in worse condition than her husband, Dorian. I believed in karma, and what goes around, comes around. As for me, I had my day coming, and all I could do was pray that others were out there doing shit worse than me and somehow my dirt would be overlooked or forgiven.

Until then, I was living it up. The street value of Troy’s cocaine I had locked in my safe was worth more than five million dollars, which Chauncey converted on the streets for me, transferring $5.5 million into my bank account for the exchange.

Finally, I realized my worth.

About the Author

Naija is an author whose urban tales sing with inimitable style and flow. She currently resides in New York City. Visit the author’s website at www.brownerotic.com.

READING GROUP GUIDE

The following questions are intended to enhance your group’s discussion of Between My Thighs.

1. Raquel Howard is, among other things, an educated woman, with numerous degrees under her belt, who struggles with the emotional scars left behind from men with whom she dealt. How does she become involved with a man like Troy? What is it that keeps Raquel from leaving Troy?

2. Discuss the author’s characterization of Raquel Howard. What kind of a person is Raquel? How do you feel about her at different points in the novel? Did you relate to the way she reacted to Troy’s infidelities? Why or why not?

3. In what ways do we see the subdued memories of Raquel and Troy at work throughout this novel, affecting the tone and contour of each of their relationships, decisions, and/or motivations?

4. Toward the end of the novel, certain elements of Troy’s character are exposed. Did you see these things coming? What kind of person is Troy? How did your feelings about Troy change at different points in the novel?

5. According to Dr. Kevin Frazier, a psychiatrist in the novel, girls who grow up from infancy without a father exhibit early sexual promiscuity and addictive sexual appetites. How do Raquel’s conflicting notions of addiction play out and evolve over the course of the novel? Is Raquel addicted to sex? Why or why not?

6. Recount the unpredictable series of plot twists, violent climaxes, and emotional endings that Naija delivers.

7. In each relationship, Raquel was very careful about controlling her feelings. What was it about Troy that caused her to lose this control?

8. “Your love is to die for,” Troy said. What would you say was his meaning of love? Did he really love Raquel? What suppressed memories from Troy’s childhood cause him to love the way he does?

9. How do the various real-life situations personally relate to experiences you’ve dealt with? How would you react to some of the obstacles Raquel faced?

10. Where do you see Raquel, Kevin, Jason, Chauncey, and Kapri five years after the close of the novel? Hypothetically, how would the story flow to the sequel of Between My Thighs?

11. With which character(s) in Between My Thighs do you most personally identify? Why?

12. Looking back, discuss the specific scenes, issues, characters, situations, or lines of dialogue that really left you feeling one of those “I’ve-been-there” or “I-know- this-person” moments.

13. “When love, lust, and lies collide, violence sparks and a triangle of secrets are revealed.” All of the characters have secrets, what are they?

14. How significant is the untimely death of Raquel’s brother on the influence of her character? Her family? How does this play into the culmination of her narrative?

15. What brings Raquel to the realization where she finally discovers her worth?

To print out copies of this guide, visit us at www.browneroticpublishing.com