THIS EXCERPT IS STRICTLY FOR THE SEASONED, MATURE, ADULT READER NOT FOR UNDERAGE READERS*
Angie Situation (NAIVETE') SNEAK PEEK of the PREQUEL TO THIS SEQUEL
“Twin and Malachi are men, and although Twin is my brother, he’s still going to keep it “G.”
Tori-she’s gonna give me the “G’s”-the real. Period.”
…But in the meantime and in between time, I’ll pause to get the reel-real version:
“Twin. Question. Do you know of a dude named Malachi?”
I asked-the moment he picked up the phone.
“What about him?” replied Twin-sarcastically asking a question of my question.
“Nothing about him-someone asked me if I knew him and that if I didn’t, to ask if you knew of him, is all” I lied and replied.
“Who is this ‘someone’?” asked Twin.
“Nina. Nina who we grew up with-it’s cool,” I fibbed.
He paused. I could tell that he lifted his brow and dropped his shoulders.
“Malachi is one of the dudes I met with a couple weeks ago when you typed up that paper for me and brought it up to Maloney’s-in the back that day,” he offered-something I already knew.
“I really didn’t pay any attention to who you were with.”
“He’s cool. He’s a low-key dude. He’s a hustler-a businessman. I’m doing business with him right now,” he answered-something I already knew.
“Well, I guess my question is-is he trouble? Is the dude crazy? Does he have a checkered past-or what?” I asked.
“I mean, I wouldn’t want my sister hanging out with him, but he’s no trouble-for somebody else’s sister. I wouldn’t want my sister hanging out with no hustling dude or street dude-regardless of how I felt about him,” he replied.
“Well, Nina’s like a sister to us. You got love for her-so, what about her?” I asked-curiously, while applying my eyeliner and knowing that my doorbell would be ringing any minute-Malachi on the other side of the door.
“Nah, he’s cool. He wouldn’t have her into nothing crazy or anything like that. He’s very low-key and plain. He’s moves about quickly and he’s far from messy so, she’s cool,” he replied.
My doorbell rang.
“Alright Twin, let me get the door. My neighbor forgot her front door key and needed me to drop mine down,” I lied and replied.
“Alright then,” he answered back.
The funny thing about the word “hustle” and calling someone a “hustler” is that-it’s vague. It can have a negative or not so negative connation. It can be a legal hustle or it can be an illegal hustle. It’s like somebody telling you that they were merely on cocaine. Well, was it actual powder cocaine or was it rock cocaine? Whether it was power or especially if it was rock, a user is more apt to say that it was merely “cocaine”-rarely “rock” or “crack.”
A “hustler” can hustle drugs and a hustler can even hustle bibles. Anything done for profit outside of a typical nine to five job is a “hustle,” like a nine to five job is a job, a career or a job. In the streets and when talking about street-type things, everybody is covert-everything is vague. It’s never really anybody’s business what kind of “hustler” somebody is unless they hustled with or for you. Other than that-the code of the streets is to just be content with someone being called a hustler like you would about somebody telling you they worked at Citibank-unless you’ve put in enough work or were granted credit from them to know what it is they exactly hustled.
With Malachi on the other side of my doorbell, I knew that he was a hustler and for now-I’ll be content with the fact that Twin knows him and that he wouldn’t exactly have an aversion for him dating a girl that was “like a sister” to him.
Malachi was prompt and meant business (that “businessman”).
He arrived closer to 7:30 than he did to 8:00. Something told me to just be ready at 7:30-because I could literally feel his interest all the way through me.
I asked him if I could take a rain check on the dinner because the drive-in movie that I wanted to see, started at a time that was conflicting with the dinnertime-knowing that I would most probably be sitting there with him for at least two hours watching him watching me as if he was trying to put a puzzle together. I was too busy trying to put him together at this point.
He left the evening all up to me and with that, I watched him and assessed everything-throughout our day:
1) When he bought things (that I would fetch) he would turn down the change.
2) When he bought and fetched his own things, he’d stuff every paper bill left over-in my change cup and unused clean ashtrays.
3) He had filled up my gas tank filled up before the errands and then again before we left out that evening.
4) At the drive-in, anything I asked for he bought (and fetched): extra large-oversized.
He tried very hard to impress me. Looking so funny trying to carry our drinks, popcorn and an excessive amount of goodies all back to the car-we laughed. Things like that let me know that he:
a) wasn’t cheap and
b) liked to do things in a big way
We lay there in the car-moon roof wide-open-our legs straddled across one another, talking about everything through the two movies that we forgot were playing on the big outdoor screen in front of us. Time passed so fast. I wondered if he had enough of me as yet, had he figured out all he needed to know-had this puzzle been put together enough for him.
My reception of him hadn’t quite worn out as he made his welcome-welcome, as yet. Of course when the movies let out, I was sort of wondering where he was going to go-yet again. All the way into the drive (home?), he never said a thing and neither did I. It was like he had purposely gone mute on me-so that I could continue to run the day-my way.
Well, my way was to take him anywhere but home-my home, however-yet again-he stonewalled me-like only he could.
Even in complete silence, still, he left me with no choice.
We ended up back at my apartment-faking like we were watching television but the television was watching us. We didn’t know what the hell to say to one another at this point. We had been all conversed-out, all hung-out. All: out.
He began to massage my shoulders and neck. I couldn’t take time the ride-out any longer within this already overwhelmingly long day. I stood up and lead him to my bedroom where he gladly followed, taking a deep breath as if he had been chopping wood all day and was finally done and reached his goal.
I decided to let him let him fuck me. I’ve never had a one-night stand, and I didn’t feel like he would be my first experience in having one by any means, while at the same time, I wanted so badly for him to have gone elsewhere at the end of the night but my house. He was there already-I let him leave me no choice and stonewall his way right back to my house-now feeling cornered-knowing that if I didn’t give him what I knew he wanted, I would probably never see him again-as if I had a one-night stand anyways.
If he were from the here and especially if he lived here-I would mustered up the nerve to kill the night and whatever fantasy he had in his head of fucking me-stat. But that ended up being the fantasy of mine-while he got his fulfilled.
I was for sure that he’d leave then but instead, he got even more comfortable and went to sleep right up under me like a he was my cub. When I woke up in the morning, he was wide-like a spring chicken-looking as if he had already had his personal tour around my apartment while I slept and wasn’t finished snooping.
“Would you go to the store to get me some deodorant and things?” he asked me.
“Uh, you never leave me a choice-again,” I said.
“Yes. I will, but I have to get dressed first to go to moms and then I’ll bring it back-because I have to be at work at ten, it’s already eight,” I explained.
He looked at me with that same adoring blank stare that was so familiar to me from the entire previous day.
I smiled back softly.
He held his hand out-reaching for mine as if I said nothing about me having to be at work in the next two hours, as if he woke up with a second reason to want me even more. He wanted to fuck some more. I let him have his way-again. I was so tired and worn out, but I just let him have me. Even his style of fucking was like fucking some literal pussy in a can. If he opened that can and stuck his disrespectfully large dick in it, and if that pussy felt good to him, after he pulled out, he would put a lid on that can of pussy and put it in his pocket with his money and carry it around with him-to take it out when he felt the urge to stick his abnormally large dick in it.
After he fucked me again, I immediately got up and ran to the bathroom the bathe and get dressed for my interrupted morning, knowing that I would be at least a couple hours late getting in to work.
When I returned got back from my moms and checking on everything, I opened the door to my apartment; wondering had Malachi been snooping through my things. He was too curious about me not to snoop. I knew that he would, but while I was out at moms and the store, I high-tailed my ass back home in quick enough time not to let him get too comfortable in completing it.
When I arrived and walked back to my bedroom, he was sitting up on my bed with his arms folded like he had something to say but he just kept smiling at me.
“Oh goodness” I said to myself, hoping that he wasn’t ready to pull the can out of his pocket again.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I giggled and asked him.
He kept smiling at me like some blushing little high-school boy with a crush on his favorite pin-up girl and she had walked right out of his head and into the bedroom.
“I just like to look at you,” he smiled and said-as if he now had a third reason to want me more.
I shook my head and laughed, still hoping that he wouldn’t take the lid off and invade me with that monster of a dick he had. He had the kind of dick that you would pray your pussy would snap back to tight after each time he fucked you. And God forbid he decided he didn’t want to fuck you anymore if he fucked you for long enough time. I would hate to be that girl. You’d have to marry him to keep giving him that pussy. There would be no other way.
We sat on the bed, unpacking his things, giggling and blushing at one another. I could read his giggles saying: “I want to fuck you once more. Please?”
My giggles were saying: “Don’t try and fuck me again. I’m tired. I have to go to work and I can’t take that dick for a third time in less than ten hours. Sorry. And besides, who says I’m gonna marry you!”
We continued to giggle our thoughts in our mind back and forth at one another-without uttering one word to one another.
He hopped out of the bed and went to grab a shower.
When he got dressed and we left out, I dropped him off at the strip mall shopping plaza and from there I was heading to work-finally.
“Angie, are you okay? Do you need any money or anything? I know you’re going to be late for work. I’m sorry.” he said.
My mind rolled my eyes in my head for me. I had already ascertained that he took the kind of liberties with people that I already knew he cared nothing about, because he felt like money could take care of any time or any money lost or wasted.
I didn’t want anything else from him at this point and at this very moment in time. He had commandeered my life in the past twenty-four hours in ways that I would have never allowed some regular dude or even some dude who lived in the same city as me, to do-even if I were crazy head over heels for him. My reading “The Rules: Time-Tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right” and setting my normal boundaries that I normally would with any dude, had completely been tossed out the window with Malachi. I had lost count of every boundary and barrier that I let him kick down.
The irony of it all was that this was my first “one-night stand” that I knew by morning, would turn into a “one-night-stay.”
I was cool. We were out of my house. The can was tightly closed-lid snapped and in his pocket and I could feel the wind of freedom blowing through my hair and on my face at this point. I was cool. I simply wanted to be alone with my thoughts:
“No, I’m okay. I don’t need any more money or anything Malachi. I’m fine-but thanks,” I replied-as if I simply wanted him gone.
“Are you sure? Are you sure? Let me know?” he offered.
I kept telling him that I was okay.
In the past twenty-four hours, he had given me well over enough money to pay for all the time he took along with all the time we shared, as well. The rest was on the house. I would just have to wait and see if I made the wrong moves while breaking all my own rules.
I needed him gone, to be alone with my thoughts-even on route to work and while at work.
“Well, I’m probably going to leave to meet up with the guys. I know they think I’m crazy as hell. But when I saw you, I just hadto stay to get to know you better. My heart was flip flopping Angie. I had to allow the time to time escape me, so that I could be up under you. It’s your fault-you come strolling past me with that big ole’ booty. I wasn’t about to go anywhere until I had officially met you,” he laughed.
“There you go again!” I laughed and punched him in the stomach.
I knew I was winning.
We laughed. He still had that same happy child-like look on his face; looking as if he could continue into this day. All I had to do was say the word and we would be rolling with rush.
“Seriously though, I’m happy I stayed and happy I met you. I really had a nice time and I’m funny about women. You are really a good girl. You’re normal-no agenda. No pretenses. No bunch of bullshit going on. You’re about your business. You have things going on. You’re funny and I love being around you,” he confessed.
“Well, that’s sweet. I had a good time too Malachi,” I responded-seriously.
It got silent in the car.
Time to revisit my own “rules” in my mind:
I looked at my watch and pressed the automatic door unlock to release the passenger door.
“Damn, you want me out of here don’t you?” he laughed.
“No, it’s not that-I just thought you were waiting on me to open the door for you. I mean chivalry’s not dead. I could get out and walk around to your door and open it for you-if you’d like,” I joked.
That broke the little thin layer of ice that was forming.
He laughed and hopped out of the car and walked around to my side, opened the door and asked me to step out.
When I did, he kissed me-romantically-and smiled at me.
I punched him in the stomach. I was embarrassed. It was cute.
“I have to go now!” I laughed.
“I know. I’m about to let you go. I’m about to go in here to pick me up something to wear then head out to meet the guys,” he said.
“Okay. Well there’s no sense in asking how you are going to get to and from, because I remembered how you bragged about how you were ‘so very well-connected’ to the city, and that is never a problem (let you tell it), so, no sense asking!”
He played like he was punching me in the stomach. I began to laugh. We laughed together and in an instant, he cut me short this time:
“Well, you go on. Be safe. Drive safe. And I will talk to you later. I’m probably going to be back up here in a couple weeks-so…I’d like to see you then, if I may,” he said.
“Sure, we’ll talk. Let me go for now. You be safe as well. Travel safely. I’ll talk to you then or between now and then,” I replied.
I hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, got in the car and drove off to collect my thoughts, my life and my paycheck.
Those couple weeks had gone by fast and he was at me with the speed of a lightning bolt. When we headed back out to run errands, while he stopped in to see his accountant, I stopped over at this little mom and pop store in the area and got him a birthday card-remembering sometime in our conversation a couple weeks ago-his birth date that nearly slipped my mind due to our full hot July day that we were baking and making: conversation, lunch, errands and such.
The card I picked up looked about as homemade and barely there as the store itself-but it was cute. The card had character. I giggled when I looked it over and bought it. I put it in the passenger seat for him and wrote a little something personal for him, on the inside of it.
Since I had been waiting on him for an hour already, I thought I would finish checking out the other little storefront stores in the area for a short time. When I returned to the car, he was sitting there smiling with the card in his hand. I stood at the back side of the car-watching the look on his face as he was reading the card and looking it over. I interrupted:
“I know that it’s not a Hallmark but trust me-that was the very best of the best card I could get on this whole block. I didn’t know how much longer you would be. I didn’t want to interrupt you or I would have gone to a better store to get you a better one-but…”
“No, it’s fine. I like this one-especially what you wrote inside. This card stands out even amongst what you would’ve bought for me at a regular card-store or Walgreen’s you know?”
“No Angie, this is sweet. I didn’t think you remembered when I told you when my birthday was,” he said.
“No, that’s one thing about me. I’m really good with birthdays,” I said.
He just shook his head and smiled over at me. He was flattered.
We had a good June and July.
He was always coming in and out of town a lot, and he was always “running errands,” even when we wouldn’t be “running errands” together. I was noticing that this was going to be our routine when he would come to town. The only difference was that we graduated from my lil’ plush spot to real plush spots in posh hotels for us to stay at during his stays in town.
With all this hanging out we were doing, in due time, I knew that his true “connections” to the city would be rearing its head.
We were due to meet back at the hotel room later in the day after we split key cards and went our separate ways for the day and agreed to meet back at the hotel later that evening.
Well, I got there a little earlier than expected and when I walked in, Malachi was on the phone with his tongue stuck out-counting what looked to be at least one-million dollars. He had countless courier boxes and tons of newspaper that he was wrapping the counted stacks in as he stuffed them into the boxes.
Immediately, my mind thought of Tori. This was one of those times that I was glad that I had been sitting on my hands about placing that phone call to get the G’s on Malachi. Had I placed that phone call, the fact that I walked in on this scene would have had my synapses firing in my head like a firing squad. I would have sworn that it had gotten back to Malachi that I had inquired about him and as a result, he decided to let me walk in on what I most probably had heard about-just to see my reaction.
The paranoia set in, although Tori knew nothing about me and Malachi as yet, I still couldn’t help but to be nervous. My head and my body were doing some kind of back and forth dance where my body was trying to make its way back out the door but my head and mind were forcing me to keep on walking all the way in-because my mouth hadn’t said a thing as yet. To simply leave would have been a problem-for anybody, regardless. Whether this was drug money, or money from the bank on the strip that I had sworn he robbed that day. Maybe he did it finally. Hell, I didn’t know. I just knew that I had never seen this amount of money thrown around a room in this many piles-except in the movies, perhaps.
I walked all the way inside and he still didn’t say a word. He merely turned to his face to the left to see who was walking in the door and when he saw that it was me, he continued to count that money, ball it up in the newspaper and stuff it into what looked like meticulously counted courier boxes to house it. By the looks of the scene, him, and his reaction, I could tell that this was not the first time he had done something like this. With that being obvious, I had to react as if it was nothing to me as well.
I dropped my shoulders and in my mind, talked my way through and into telling myself that this scene was nothing to be surprised about, for I had seen this scene in that “One Movie.”
I didn’t speak, I just turned my back to him and what he was doing and watched television for about an hour. He didn’t speak to me either-as if doing so would definitely demand a re-count.
When he got done, we just carried on like nothing ever happened. I never asked him a question about it and he didn’t offer me an explanation either. With his boxes packed, he sat back and watched television with me and listened on while I talked and rambled on-as usual-about whatever.
I was baffled as hell as to why he hadn’t called, he just-stop calling out of the blue. Not hearing from him in two days wasn’t the norm even though we had still been in the honey-moon stage. Although as the days were going by, I was beginning to come to terms with ours being a kind of one-night stand of sorts. That was the only name I could give it in order to comfort my heart and soothe my mind. Because this had never happened to me-I had never slept with someone on the first night and although we picked right up and were stuck like glue-the bottom line (to me) was that it was still “one-night-stand-ish,” because he disconnected his numbers and went mute on me in an instant; cutting me off like conducting a crescendo.
My fingers were damned near sore from carefully dialing and pressing each number in-getting fed up with the operator telling me that if I felt that I reached the recording in error-to please check the number and try my call again, still-nothing.
I gave up and changed my numbers as well, continuing on with my days and feeling stupid every single day.
Obviously, this was more than a reason to put that phone call in to Tori-whom I knew lived and always kept her ear to the street. With this call, I could not only get the “G’s,” but in addition to the “G’s,” I could find out where he had o-n-e off to. Was he dead or alive, still “connected” to the streets, or just: “wanted?” I couldn’t find a clear reason as to why he would go cold on me like that when he was digging me, six-feet deep. I got to get the “G’s:” Tori couldn’t pick up that telephone soon enough for me:
“What’s up Tori” I asked.
“What’s up Angie! How are you girlie?!” Tori replied-excited to hear from me.
I allowed her to start in with the formal dance that we’d always do when we talk-but I had to cut to the chase, especially so that I would know whether or not my question would require a sit-down lunch or dinner. And if so, I needed to prepare myself to get ready for that too.
“So tell me Tori. About this dude, a dude named Malachi. Ever heard of him?” Without hesitation, she responded:
“Yeah, I know who Malachi is. Who wants to know-I KNOW you don’t. Ahhh shucks!” she laughed.
“Why’d you say that?” I laughed back-curiously.
“Don’t tell me you met Malachi. How? His biz is hustling. You’re square biz!” she laughed.
“No, I’m just playing Superstar, but-y’all are like-two different people,” she offered.
“Nah-I mean, I just recently met him under a strange set of circumstances but I’m just now getting around to you to find out about him,” I said.
“No, he is really a low-key guy. He’s not one of these hot lil’ 24/7 street corner boys. He hustles-but he keeps his hands clean. He keeps his hands so clean that you wouldn’t really know what he does-it’s just that he’s got a few runners for that get their hands dirty for him-but even they aren’t 24/7 street corner boys. They are ‘pop-lockers,’ they dance from state to state,” she said-her telephone term for drug dealers who hustle keys of powder cocaine from state to state.
“Does he live here?” I probed.
“Nah, I don’t think he lives here but I think he has people here. He’s pretty much in and then he’s out. He might do a club or two and when he does-everybody knows he’s in town. All the girls are trying to give him some pussy. I can tell you that much. One of my dudes run for him,” she revealed.
“Hmm, he clubs like that? When was the last time you saw him?” I probed-finally trying to get my question answered.
“I actually saw him about a week ago. He was up here on some shit-checking on his work and his boys. He does that and then he peels out. Sometimes he might fuck around for a short-time-hit a few night spots-then he’s out. He-be like: stickin’ and movin,” she said, nodding her head back and forth matter-of-factly.
I had no more questions. I got just the information that I needed. I cut this concerto off by reminding her of the usual expect: “keep this between you and me.” I told her that I was merely feeling my way through this and him at this point-nothing major.
Well, I found out that he was not six-feet under-just not digging me anymore. “About a week ago” had gone by many weeks ago since I had last seen him and he changed his numbers on me. That was all I needed to hear before I changed my numbers as well. After hearing that tidbit from Tori-I gave up on keeping-a-light-shining-in-the-window-just-in-case-he-decides-to-come-home. I blew that hopeful and flickering bitch out quickly-when I learned that he had been up here since putting my lights out. I was both hurt and pissed at the same time-just not ready to reveal it to Tori-just yet. Part of me knew that I wasn’t that emotionally attached to him. I liked the sex with him although I wasn’t passionately into the sex with him, because it all seemed like pussy-in-a-can for him-almost like fucking my pussy had everything to do with my pussy and not the woman attached to it. I didn’t even know how to reciprocate that other than to lay flat on my stomach, prop my ass in the air and let him slide that big evasive dick inside of me while he’d grip my ass and dig deep-screaming like a banshee-as if it was his pussy being stretched and fucked. So, being dick-whipped had nothing to do with it.
I merely felt stupid and dwindled from feeling secure that I survived my one-night-stand-ish night-not being left feeling like a one-night-stand. Now here it is after a few months, even after all the courting, affection and closeness; I felt kicked right back down to one-night-stand status as if my Survivor torch light was put out-his silence and disappearance screaming from the abyss: “The tribe has spoken.”
I had to carry on, getting over the fact that for the first time in my life-I got that “one-night-stand” that I never had. Two tears in a bucket-fuck it.
But out of the blue one November day while I was at work, I checked my phone only to find that he had called me-sending the call-back number as text. Obviously when I saw a phone number show up on my phone without a name log attached, my last break couldn’t get here soon enough. I called:
“Hello, I’m calling this number back that was texted to me. May I ask who I’m calling?” I asked the male party.
“Is this Angie? Is this Angie?” the guy repeated, sounding as if he was on duty-gate-keeping the phone and standing in as Malachi’s personal assistant.
“Yes-yes, this is Angie,” I assured him.
“Okay-cool, it was Malachi. He stepped out for a second but can you hold on for a second so that I can go and get him-he wanted to talk to you,” he said urgently, like he was doing his job.
By this time, I had come to terms with the fact that it was what it was-no more or no less. Though the call comforted my bruised heart somewhat, I still didn’t want to give Malachi immediate access to me. I just couldn’t do it. Furthermore, I knew that this conversation would drag out because I hadn’t a clue as to how he could have gotten my new phone number. The back of my mind told me that Tori opened her mouth and gave him the “(An)G’s,” but then again, I left her with my classic sighed, delivered and sealed classic: “keep this between you and me,” and with that-everything that we’ve ever discussed had always been between the two of us. So I know that he didn’t get my new number from Tori. But who? How did he get my number? I was dying to know.
Instead, I replied:
“Well, I’m at work and I’m about to wrap up here, I will just call this number back when I get home and settled,” I said simply-making sure my reply in no way matched to excitement and hurried tone his buddy had in his voice after learning that it was “Angie” on the other line.
I finished off my last two hours of my work day and headed home. Before I could even get to the house and settled in-as was my intention before calling him back-he called again. I was serious about being home and rested before speaking with him because I had a lot of listening to do. He started in before even saying “hello-” forgetting about offering any kind of formal segue into the conversation:
“Angie! Angie! It was hell trying to get your phone number-but I got that mug. I had to,” he said.
I made some kind of sound with my voice only to let him know that I was still on the line-because as yet, I had no interest on hearing anything other than why he just peeled out on me without any explanation whatsoever-in the middle of what I thought was something to get greater sooner than later. The details about how he got my new number had to take a back seat for now. He got straight to it:
“Angie do you wonder why I haven’t called you?” he asked.
“Yeah, that’d be good to know,” I replied, simply-trying to sound unaffected.
“A guy named Jason. I’ve really been kind of mad at you because I remember when we met you told me that you had been dating a few guys, one of which I later found out was this Jason dude that I associate with through a mutual friend. I know him and I didn’t like what he said I guess,” he offered, waiting for me to respond.
“I don’t know what Jason could have possibly said that should’ve upset you, but I’m sure he should have interjected that he and I have been strictly platonic friends since we were teens-working at the burger joint together many years ago,” I defended.
“Yeah, but it kinda made me mad because at first he made a remark about how he had been wanting to fuck you for years, after I had asked him if he knew you.”
I sat there on the telephone thinking about how methodical and careful I was about not inquiring about him so fast and to whom, yet, he sat on the other line revealing to me that he started his investigation without shame or methodology.
“I kinda got mad-instantly-especially when you and me had discussed that you hadn’t made love to anybody since end of January this year, and then when he told me that you and him had been going out, I got kinda mad a little bit,” he said, pausing as if he was trying to calculate the time I’d told him I last fucked, up to my meeting him-wondering when between this time had Jason gotten him some too.
“For your information, that guy I last fucked in January was the person was an ex-boyfriend of two-years, not Jason. Ironically, Jason and I were hanging out earlier this year, but no different than we did way back when we were teens hanging out. He always had a car and was our ride to and from. We always hung out. The closest that Jason ever came to fucking me was sitting in a Jacuzzi with me after we hung out one night and he called himself balling and getting a plush room-a room that he actually had plans for the weekend for some chick he was liking. We just happened to hang out on that Friday night and broke the room and Jacuzzi in. No sex or anything. If fucking me was his intention, that’s what it remained-intent-ill-fated!” I defended.
He was speechless, yet, he made some kind of sound with his voice to let me know that he was still on the line-waiting to hear more while in his head, he conjured up the best apology he could find.
“Malachi, seeing as though you and I had just met, I didn’t think it was necessary to drop names and addresses to match whomever we discussed. All this was before I even met you-like, nearly six months before I even knew you existed! And besides, Jason and I have been cool for many years. If I did decide to give him some, he was good for it-over you. You and I fucked on the first day, so…are you mad at me on behalf of your whore assed self?” I scolded.
“I know. I’m sorry…I just didn’t know what to think. It was like he eluded to the fact that you did screw him-eventually. And I thought you were better than that. It upset me ‘cause I had a completely different idea of you in just-that one day that we spent together. I studied your patterns and how you associate. It threw me off,” he explained.
“Malachi I’m grown. I’m not some exotic bird that’s been kept in a cage and let out to eat at the dinner table with Mr. and Mrs. Thurston Howell III,” I explained.
He interrupted me by breaking into a big burst of uncontrollable laughter.
I made some kind of sound with my voice only to let him know that I was still on the line-trying hard to remain serious. He kept laughing so hard that I couldn’t hold on to my serious face. My jowls almost filled up with air trying to do so. I burst into a loud laugh with him until we both simmered down. He was the first to speak:
“I know. I know Angie-I’m so sorry. I just…didn’t know what to think. I was a very pissed off. But I do miss you and I wanted to call you so badly. I kept telling myself that I was never going to call you-ever again. But I had to. I don’t know why. I missed you though,” he gasped.
Still in a laughing mood, I responded, “Well, four months was enough time to sit on it and decide I guess.”
He just chuckled as if he was reminiscing on his doings and contemplation during his time away.
I sat there on the phone-miles away-impressed that we had this conversation while he was miles away rather than being here and the conversation leading up to our seeing each other into the evening. He just wanted to talk it over to open our lines of communication all over again-I guess to figure out where he wanted to place me in his life. It was at this very moment that I knew I really liked this man-whereas, before, he wasn’t giving me anything to work with outside of having money, a big dick and my emotionally blackballing and beating myself up about being played like a one-night stand. The clock on my interest meter for him went up a few notches-he was officially “in,” with my heart.
Things picked back up-somewhat. We were on “honeymoon-lite” of sorts, I assessed. Because considering the fact that although he put my lights out for nearly four months; before that, our time together was so fast and steady that our first two months together felt like two years. So I knew different-so I would know the difference. After this much needed conversation, we were back to our usual-just not as often. He seemed to be coming in and out of town for the next two months a little less than before-very much few and far in between, so we would play phone tag and “you’re it,” from whatever city he would be in and I was still carrying on with my life-just feeling a lot less lopsided than before but keeping-a-light-shining-in-the-window.
The start of the New Year must have been looking good for his hustle. It was like he had risen from the near-dead. He acted brand-new all the way around. I was guessing that he must had been having a dry spell, but things changed quickly-and in an instant, kind of like how only we were used to having it. He was happy and missing me. I was happy, missing him, and receptive to it. I wanted to be somewhere in his life simply because I know I mattered somewhere in his-I just couldn’t figure out exactly where. I know that I liked him enough to want to stick around throughout all his stickin’ and movin’ to find out though.
He said he had business to tend to at his friend’s home-where he had been hanging out all day. He didn’t want to leave just yet-it was feeling too homey to him, so I met him over there. He was so happy to see me. When he cracked that door open he looked at me as if I brought the sunlight into his world. The look on his face was priceless. We spent the day cooped up under each other like into the nightfall. He was holding me like he never wanted to let me go-ever again, as we lay there listening to TLC’s “Crazy Sexy Cool” old CD; critiquing it as if our opinion and attention to the lyrical and melodic detail really mattered. We were only trying to impress one another with conversation surrounding anything that surrounded us. It was cute. The conversation moved in my direction. He wanted to know everything that I was doing down to every place I had gone during the months he put my lights out.
“You kill me. You just want to crowd my everything-just like you did that first day we met,” I laughed.
“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘crowd’ you-but I do wonder what you were doing. I wondered if you met someone new. Who was looking at that particular booty of yours-all that,” he laughed.
I slapped his face gently and laughed with him.
“Silly thing you, no, I’ve just been working and going to school-beauty school. Oh I forgot to tell you that. I enrolled in school for cosmetology as well. Just testing the waters and seeing if it will spark up some nostalgia from back in the days of my loving to do kitchen hairdos. I’d like to own a shop one day-that is, if I can hang. I think I like doing nails better though,” I explained.
“Well why don’t you just concentrate on doing nails-it’s pretty popular. You could make a lot of money,” he said.
“Yeah, but it costs one-thousand dollars to go to school for nails only. State and
Federal loans will not pay for nail school as a funded trade. It’s annoying because you learn and can be licensed to do nails while going to school for doing hair, but it’s many months and Sundays before that can happen, whereas if you go straight to nail school, it’s only a few months,” I explained.
“Well, I’ll pay for it for you. Just go work your paperwork out for nail school only and I will pay for it for you-since that’s what you really want to do, don’t waste your time in hair school if that’s not you really want to do alright?” he offered.
“Sure, alright then, I’ll take care of that first thing tomorrow, and we’ll take it from there okay?”
“That’s fine with me baby,” he replied.
“Thank you-that is sweet of you to offer,” I replied.
“I’ll do anything for you Angie. I can tell that you want something out of this life. Anyway that I can help you-keep a smile on your face and that particular booty in my hands-I’ll do that,” he said, seriously-and then broke out into a loud laugh.
I slapped his face again and laughed with him then began punching him in the stomach.
We sat there laughing, giggling and play-fighting as if we were two immature kids. For the first time, we even made love in missionary position. It was almost as if he wanted to be a little closer to me-and in to me the right way, in an intimate way. I could tell that he was used to treating women and pussy like it was in that can-and as long as he could turn them around and not see their faces; he could detach himself from the intimacy that missionary position would bring. He was so not into fucking women like that, that the pleasure he was getting from being on top of me for that length of time-fucking me-made him lose control of his senses.
I was laying there thrusting upwards to meet his pelvis and squeezing the shit out of that big dick of his-just to get him off. It was hard to take all that dick of his. Too much thrusting could cause some serious damage-we weren’t at the “put a ring on it” stage as yet, and like I said: any woman that would give him a lot of pussy should go on and marry him, because it would be a tough act to follow for the next dude-for sure. I made sure lay there and gripped him tightly with my legs around him; locking that monster of a dick up with a set of Kegel exercises that was sure to win me an engraved gold plaque at the Kinsey Sex Institute. I refused to let a dick like that bust my shit down with a bunch of pounding and thrusting. But to be quite honest, he wasn’t even that kind of a lover. His style of fucking was the oxymoron-antithesis of what the average man would do with a dick his size.
As I lay there Kegeling and grinding up to him, in order to keep him from the urge of wanting to thrust into me, I watched his facial expressions and his full lips tightening; forming the letter “o” as if he was concentrating on the pleasure that my “o” was giving him-tightly gripping his massive, evasive and girthy dick. Though we had upgraded to a more intimate sexual position, still it was something about his sexual style that I could tell it was all about my pussy-his dick. Not so much about me-him. It was as if his heart and whatever feelings he had for me were in between my pussy-his dick, rather than us: me-him; a kind of upgrade from how he would fuck a girl that he was really having a one-night stand with.
I could only imagine how that fuck would go down because I could tell that missionary was a position that he could most certainly do without. And if this fuck that we were sharing wasn’t so good to him, he would have turned me back over on my stomach much earlier into the fuck.
I could tell that he did not want to be held accountable for the closeness of a missionary position type of fuck. We only ended up in missionary position because of the closeness that we shared throughout all the months and up to this whole day.
Malachi was so not used to fucking in missionary position and what to do with himself, that he dropped his bubblegum straight down my throat as he was up above me hollering “ooh,” and I lay beneath him gasping “oww” for: ouch.
His true lives started to peek out from behind his mystery fast but surely.
A couple days later, we had made plans to go out wherever I wanted (the usual). I was to pick him up at his friend’s house (where he had been hanging out for the week). When I arrived and knocked at the door, his friend peeked from behind the curtain as if something covert was going on-surely I had come at the wrong time. “Covert” was an understatement. He cracked the door open and stuck his foot in between the door that covered half his body and face while he began to speak as if he was being held hostage by an intruder with a knife standing right behind him:
“Hi Angie, Malachi’s not here baby. He’s not here,” he repeated, nervously, merely wanting me away from the door as soon as possible.
“Yeah, well I’m supposed to meet him here at eight-definitely Norris,” I replied.
He stood there-with a confused look on his face as if he was trying to think of what to say next. It was starting to look as if Malachi was the man behind the door with the knife in his hand.
“Well, trust me-eight o’clock is the correct time and-well, it’s a bit dark on your street, so-if you don’t mind…” I said-by now, wondering if Malachi was in there with another girl.
“Um Angie, you must have heard him wrong. But, hold on and let me check on something,” he said-while he removed his foot and peeked out at me, face-to-face with his brows raised, looking as if to say: “sorry, I’ve still got to close this door a little bit-if you don’t mind.”
He closed that damned door too. He had to do whatever he had to do…
I waited for about three minutes.
After words, I heard the rumbling of the door knob. I looked down to watch the knob turning quickly from left to right. Norris pulled the door open just wide enough to fit my body through it as if there was some top secret shit going on behind it.
While walking backwards, with his body and face-facing me; forcing me to look forward rather than to the right or to the left, Norris guided me straight up to the family room.
Face-forward-it was weird.
I sat up there and watched television, waiting on Malachi to return. By 8:50, he still hadn’t arrived. I knew I must be catching feelings because I sat upstairs looking into the beautiful spare bedroom where Malachi and I lay up that entire week; wondering how many other girls he had in that same bed as well as what it hell was exactly going on downstairs-wondering if Malachi and Norris was trying to sneak some broad out the back door. I wondered if that was why Norris forced my attention in that B-line through the living room and up the stairs. I wondered until I got tired of wondering.
I hurriedly ran down the stairs-fast-so that Norris could not hear me quick enough to cut me off at the bottom of the steps.
When I turned the corner to the living room on route to the kitchen, Norris was standing in there looking like a chef. Something that looked just like powder-was everywhere; piled high on the kitchen table like a large 3-ft high snow-covered mountain. The table next to it was filled with stacks and stacks of cash and a few guns.
I was surprised, shocked-stunned. I had already run upon this much money with Malachi before, but I had never seen cocaine in my life-except for in the movies-sitting by guns, just the same. It was all coming together for me. I stood there for a second reminiscing how I was caressing Malachi that week when we were at the house. Malachi had long arms and legs and I liked to lick him from limb to limb-even his hands and between his fingers. I stood there daydreaming about how when I was licking him that other day, my whole mouth went numb-in and instant-like someone had busted me right in it. Watching Norris, this whole scene gave me my reason as to why Malachi was stuffed away at this house for the week rather than us getting a suite and doing it how we would normally do. He was here taking care of lots of business-the entire week.
Norris’ eyes finally met my daydreaming eyes. He screamed for me to get back upstairs-as if he was screaming at his little sister. It caught him off-guard. He was so busy being a chef that he had no idea I had come down the steps and stood at the kitchen door watching him for quite a few seconds before he even looked up to notice me.
“I’LL BE UP THERE IN A MINUTE ANGIE! JUST GO UPSTAIRS. RIGHT NOW THOUGH, YOU ARE DOWN HERE WORRYING ABOUT THE WRONG THING SWEETIE,” Norris yelled-firmly, but laughed.
“Okay well bring me some water will you?”
He stopped what he was doing to escort me back up the stairs as if he wanted to plant me there. But instead, he stood at the bottom of the stairway watching my feet touch every step until I disappeared from view. The moment I sat on the couch, he yelled up to me as if he could clearly see when I planted myself on the couch:
“Um yeah Angie, if you need anything else before Malachi gets back, just yell okay? He is on his way though,” he assured me.
Five minutes later, I heard Malachi enter and slam the door shut. One of the biggest smiles came across my face. Though I wasn’t comfortable with the risk involved with how he lived his life, the fact that I had bird’s-eye view of how he really hustled, sent some kind of calm over me-removed an air of mystery that I knew he would never share with me. I felt like in a matter of minutes, Malachi would be talking to Norris, who was definitely going to tell him what I walked into. And although I knew Malachi was never going to talk to me about it any more than he did the day that I walked in on him counting all that money that day; I still felt like I held on to a big secret of his, that now-we both shared-but never have to discuss. And well, I was studying him, learning him, earning him and liking him-a whole lot by this time, so, that was alright with me. I was slowly falling in love with him; the “us” and the trust that I felt he had in me-something we never had to discuss.
I could hear Malachi approaching the staircase, walking up the steps slowly-as if theme music followed him. I knew that he wasn’t contemplating how to explain to me about what I saw, but since I knew him-very well; I knew that he was wondering what, if anything I would say to him about all that I had seen thus far-because I did see a lot although I was never going to say anything. I figured that he would respect me more for it by respecting his decision not to explain himself to me about it all. I felt like I scored more points with him on that. I hoped that somehow, with all this unspoken trust, he would grow to give our relationship a little more consideration-now complete with explanations to toll his absences, his comings and goings (unlike the way he never would do).
As he slowly walked up those steps, he can’t imagine the theme music I heard when he reached the top and smiled at me as if he hadn’t seen me in years. He looked at me like a man adoring his daughter dressed and ready for a debutante ball.
“You look so pretty Angie,” he said-calmly, simply.
I blushed and covered my face-turning it to the right-away from his stare.
He then kneeled down in front of me to kiss me.
Part of him seemed a little preoccupied, but he was more into me than he would allow his preoccupation to steal and kill the night.
Out of the blue, he said to me: “Angie, I love you and I love having you around me.”
I was stunned. I didn’t expect him to tell me that he loved me. It felt good because I had been trying to be stuck somewhere within this stickin’ and movin’ kind of life he was living.
“Why do you love me?” I asked-I had to know-because Malachi and me tip-toed around one another a lot, and our affection for one another was more demonstrative than we literally talked about.
“Well, one thing I do notice about you is that you are honest to a fault and I like that in you. Quite honestly, women bore me quickly and I can’t be with them or around them for too long, but it’s something about you that keeps pulling me back to you. Why do you like me? I need to know,” he asked me.
“Well, we have a silent kind of relationship-more demonstrative than words, but I’m not in the dark about where I stand with you-I like that that part. I hate how things go sometimes…but I guess you have your reasons,” I said, thinking about what was going on downstairs.
“I love you for all that you don’t say-you know?” he stressed-probably as my hint to keep it that way after this night, for sure.
His replies and reasons were romantic-far better than my replies. I was so used to being with men who had a different kind of sexual style than Malachi’s-yet we were so much more affectionate than words. I had been used to both and I think I hungered for that from him. But Malachi was different. It was just something different about him that I knew I couldn’t force from him. And his “stickin’ and movin’ ” type of ways kept me interested. I just wanted to be apart of his life-somehow. I wanted to be able to put together all that I was feeling, in words, the way that he could for me.
“I think you need that in your life I’m sure anyways-someone who will just let you do and be you without asking a lot of questions,” I responded, assuring him that his secret was safe with me.
He smiled at me as if he finally found his Bonnie.
In a soft voice I said to him, “I love it when we are warm and fuzzy like this and like the last time we were here-cuddled up all day and night. But I hate it when you disappear and leave me without any choices but to do things your way-all the time, but again, I guess you have your reasons…” I settled in saying.
He smiled and stared at me-looking happy to know that now…I understood just why.
Through the grapevine, eventually Twin found out that I was dating Malachi-he was heated. He let the cat out the bag now that he knew that it was me that Malachi was dating rather than some chick that he loved like a sister.
“Angie, Malachi is no average drug-dealer. That motherfucker deals big drugs for the big boys: Cubans, Columbians, rich white dudes, Italians! That motherfucker has been getting watched by the feds for years! They want that motherfucker but he slips through the cracks like a fucking magician. That shit’s not normal. He’s bad news!” yelled Twin.
I didn’t saying back to him.
“Malachi invested $100,000.00 on my project-because he’s running around trying to invest his money on anything promising so that he can’t account for something when them motherfuckin’ feds catch up with his ass! Every motherfucking time I’m out of town with him or my dudes-the feds are watching and taking pictures! That shit is serious!” he yelled.
That Malachi “don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy was in full-effect. My lips were tighter than Fort Knox. I let Twin bitch on about until his bitching turned into a ramble.
I couldn’t wait to see Malachi again. I knew that I could talk about this much with him and be able to get some kind of reply from him. Because although I didn’t reply to Twin’s ranting, it did concern me-I just didn’t know that what Malachi was doing was that major. So, less the details about the Cubans, Columbians, rich white dudes, Italians; I needed to run it all by him-to listen for his reply in hopes that I could gauge whether or not he was telling me truth enough for me to gauge whether or not it was safe to be painting the town red with him:
“Your brother is just judging me. I hear what some of these dudes are out here assuming about me. He’s judging me on something that I used to do,” said Malachi-as if what I had seen a couple weeks ago at Norris’ house was just my imagination-running away with me. That threw my head into a tailspin. Although I didn’t expect him to sit and talk to me about his drug-dealing, I didn’t expect him to completely play it off as if that was baby powder stacked high up on that table in the kitchen. Though Tori said he keeps his hands clean, they sure as hell weren’t clean that day I was licking and caressing his fingers and my whole mouth went numb.
Though I had those thoughts in my head, I dared not say them to him. I just sat there quietly, listening to him keeping his conversation as clean as he could-as if he was bleaching my brain of any recollection I had of all green stacks and tall white mountains. He cleaned it all up by firmly saying: “I will talk to your brother. I WILL talk to your brother,” as if to say: “ …And that’s my final answer,” and me? I let that be his final answer…"
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