Dear Drama (5 page)

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Authors: Braya Spice

BOOK: Dear Drama
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He jumped alongside me again and yelled out his window, “I wish I could kill you, bitch!” He was crying.
That got my heart beating faster, and my hands, on the steering wheel, started to tremble. I hated when he threatened me or said he wanted me dead, because in the back of my mind I always felt he was going to be successful at it one day.
I went to eighty now, even though my hands were still shaking on the steering wheel. I jumped over into another lane without checking which ramp it was. His car was an older one and didn't go as fast as mine did. I glanced in my rearview mirror just as a freight truck pulled in front of Greg's car, obviously slowing him down, because he was now nowhere near my car. I signaled and got over again.
Shit.
He did, too, and he was now behind me, honking wildly and flashing his high beams at me. Then, as I sped up again, he slowed down considerably, and smoke started coming from the front of his car. Then it wasn't moving. His emergency signals flashed, and all the traffic behind him slowed. Tons of smoke was shooting from his car. But still I didn't slow down, not until I was on another freeway ramp and positive he was not behind me.
I took the next available exit and got off the freeway. By this time, I was in Culver City. I pulled over into a gas station and parked in one of the empty spaces. Once I turned my car off, I screamed, beat my steering wheel with my fists, and cried in utter frustration. I regretted ever giving Greg the time of day, because after all the bad he had done, he just wouldn't let up and let me live a normal fucking life. I should be able to date and fuck whomever I wanted to without feeling like I'd face repercussions from him. After all he had done, he should want me to be happy! He should accept that I was doing things other single women did!
Chapter 4
People at the gas station passed by my car and looked at me like I was crazy. A young couple even poked their head in my window and asked if I was okay. I waved them away with my hand, offered them a weak smile, too upset to speak, and rested my head against my steering wheel. I needed my heart rate to slow down and my pulse not to race. I waited a good ten minutes. When I felt calmer and I was confident I could drive again, I started the ignition and headed out of the gas station toward the 405 to head back to Long Beach to pick up Sierra.
When Sierra and I got home, she went to watch TV and I checked my voice mails on my cell phone. Greg had left me a total of ten messages. I didn't listen to them. I erased them all. When I went to check my answering machine, I saw he had called me at home as well.
I took a deep breath as Greg raged into the phone, “How could you do this shit to me, Allure? How you gonna bring a nigga to our spot, the place I used to take you? You know I still love you!”
I erased the message.
The next day, Sierra and I were on our way out to go to a local carnival when I heard someone knock on my door. I answered it and found a delivery guy holding a bouquet of roses, which brightened my smile.
“Allure Jones?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
He handed me the flowers and said, “Have a nice day.”
I smiled excitedly and snatched open the card, figuring that Lavante had sent them. I frowned when I saw Greg's name and
I'm sorry
scrawled across the card. Those were his two favorite words when he fucked up. His ass should be fined for even saying them. I was so sick of his bullshit. One thing after another. It made me feel like I was still in a fucked-up relationship with him. But then I knew I was the one who had lain down with him and had had Sierra, placing him in my life for a long-ass time. But the mistake I had made was not Sierra, but choosing a man like him. I paid for it for two years. When was peace going to come?
Probably once Sierra wais eighteen,
I thought. The thought of fifteen more years of Greg gave me a major headache and had my stomach in knots.
I balled up the card, threw it, and rushed back outside, hoping to catch the delivery guy before he left.
“Excuse me,” I shouted.
He had started the ignition and was about to pull out, but when he saw me, he hit his brakes quickly and stuck his head out his window.
“Could you please return these to the sender?”
When Greg called me later, he had the nerve to ask why I had dissed his flowers.
I screamed so loudly in his ear that when I was done, my throat ached. “You crazy bastard!” I raged. “Stay the hell away from me!”
“I'm coming to get my daughter in two weeks.”
“If you want to see Sierra, I suggest you have your mom call me when that time comes. Until then leave me the fuck alone!”
When I spoke to Lavante again, I was happy to find out that he didn't notice Greg at the restaurant, even though I know Greg walked right past him to race after me. I thought he would at least ask about Sierra and question whether I had really told the truth. He must have believed my lie about needing to give my daughter her medication, because he asked only if I had made it to her in time, and said that that night he went to hang out at Shotz. It was a bar and pool hall in Long Beach. I had never been, but I knew that Creole had been there.
I felt bad for lying to him, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. If I told him I had a crazy-ass baby father, it would probably scare him off before he got the chance to get to know me and before I got to know him. And since I liked him a lot already and wanted to be in his company a whole lot more, I didn't want that to happen.
From that point on, Lavante and I spent so much time together, it seemed as though a year had passed rather than two months. He would call and tell me good morning and even phoned me in the middle of the night to tell me he was thinking of me. It definitely had an effect on my alertness at school and work, but all in all, I didn't mind. He made me feel special. So special that I didn't anticipate anything going wrong. Nothing could. The man had wined and dined me, and he was cool. So that was why I accepted his request to come over to my house one night. And I told myself that whatever went down, went down. I made sure I knocked out my homework, cooked Sierra dinner, then rushed to wash the dishes while she watched cartoons. One thing about my daughter, she wasn't a wild type of child that needed her ass whipped every five minutes. She was a well-behaved child. I gave her a bath, washed her thick hair, greased her scalp, and put her right to bed. Then I prepared myself for Lavante coming through by bathing and lotioning myself down with Victoria's Secret coconut lotion and perfume.
I didn't feel nervous when he arrived. I just gave him a hug and a kiss.
“So how are you, Miss Lady?”
“I'm fine,” I murmured while looking up at him. Then slyly my eyes went to what he was packing between his legs.
Then, all of a sudden, his cell phone rang, and the song “Lovers and Friends” by Usher and Ludacris came on.
I was a little surprised to hear that from a man in his forties. But whatever. It was just a song. I watched him press a button on his phone and slip it back in his pocket.
We sat down in front of the TV.
“So how was your day?” I asked him. I scooted closer to him and felt an ache between my thighs. I wanted him to touch me.
Damn!
I desperately needed to get fucked.
He gave in to my request and kissed me softly on my lips. The ache between my legs grew more intense. He slipped off his shoes and lay back on the couch. He pulled me gently until I was lying sideways on the couch, on his chest.
I inhaled his aftershave.
When I felt his hand move to my left breast, I didn't stop him, because that felt good too. Next, his lips were on mine, and I felt his tongue.
Before I had had only pecks from him, but this was the real thing. Although I didn't like the way he kissed—his tongue was a bit heavy, leaving chunks of spit on my lips—his fingertips on my nipple felt like heaven and I didn't want him to move, so I kept on kissing him.
By this time his other hand had strayed to my thigh and dropped farther.
I let out a moan when he found my panties.
He broke the silence by saying, “Maybe we should both get naked.”
It wasn't the line I wanted to hear. I wanted him to take control, pull my dress and underclothes off of me, strip down, and give me what I forgot felt like.
But he didn't. So I shyly smiled, stood, and grabbed him by his hand, walking him to my bedroom. Once we were both inside, I locked the bedroom door and pulled my dress off of me. I walked to the bed and lay on my back and watched him undress. He took his time, and I was a little anxious. After all, it had been two years since I had been with another man. I guess I should have taken notice that after he stripped down—and despite the fact that I was ass buck naked—he kept on his boxers and had a hand gripping his penile area. Maybe it was so big, he didn't want to scare me! But this was a good kind of scared, so I remained patient. He crawled on the bed toward me, with the condom in his mouth.
He leaned over me. I pulled the condom from between his lips, and he placed tiny kisses on my breast, fondled me a bit more, and then reached for the condom in my hand. He then spread my thighs apart and stood between them. One hand was still on his crotch area. It was finally going to happen. I was going to share myself with another man. I hoped it was worth it. I was excited and actually a little sad at the same time, because I had thought Greg was going to be the only man I would ever be with sexually. He was the only man I had wanted to be with sexually. But it just didn't work out that way. But still. I wanted to let Lavante know I wasn't very experienced.
“Wait!”
“What, baby? What is it?”
“I have to tell you something. I haven't had sex in two years, and I've only had one partner, my daughter's father,” I blurted out all at once.
He looked down at me and smiled. “Is that all? Don't worry, baby. I'll be gentle.” But he looked hella nervous. Maybe he thought I wasn't going to perform well, because I was rusty.
I closed my eyes and waited to feel him inside of me.
But all I felt was his knees bumping into me. And all I heard was the sound of him fumbling with the condom paper and him saying out of nowhere, “Damn!”
I sat up and reached for his hands to help him before my little bit of wetness dried up. “Let me help.”
He must not have been expecting to feel my hands on him, 'cause when I reached for the opening in his boxers, something fell out and smacked me in my face. I screamed, horrified, and flew backward on the bed. My heart started beating. Now, I knew there was no such thing as a flying dick, but whatever it was, it was resting on my shoulder. I reached over and grabbed it and inspected it as best as I could in the dark. It was a pair of rolled-up socks.
“Lavante, why are there rolled-up socks in your boxers?” I tried to be calm when I asked, but this was some weird shit!
He turned his back on me and took a deep breath. “I'm sorry, baby. It's just that I hear all the talk about what ladies want and what they expect. I was embarrassed to tell you that I'm not packing like you thought I was. Every time women see construction workers, they think because we work with big tools, we automatically have big tools.”
Well, you not packing, like I thought you were, because you been wearing a sock the whole time!
I thought.
Then came the moment I regretted. What I did and did not do, what I should have done.
I took a deep breath. “It's okay. I like you, Lavante. You, not what's in your boxers. But I still hope you got
something
in them.”
Dear God, he had to. I was nice, but not that nice.
He slipped back between my legs and rubbed my pussy, but I was the least bit turned on. Hell, to be honest, I wasn't turned on at all. I would have rather had a threesome with Flavor Flav and Shabba Ranks than this fool, but for some reason I answered yes when he asked me in a husky, trying-to-be-sexy-but-not-quite-nailing-it voice, “You wanna see what's in my boxers, Allure?”
“Hell no!” I wanted to scream. But I was too close and too far to turn back. This man was in my bed, and I was naked! What if I pissed him off by telling him what I wanted to really say, and that was, “Get the fuck out”?
So instead I swallowed hard and said, “Yes. I do.”
“Well, it's not huge, Allure, but you will feel it. In fact I'm sure of it.”
“Okay. I'm in your hands.”
He lightly shoved me back onto the bed.
I tried to get a peek at it, but he turned his back on me. He was able to get his condom on a lot quicker than before, probably because he wasn't trying to hold the fake dick socks in place.
I closed my eyes just as he was about to thrust inside of me, hoping I would be able to savor the moment.
The bed creaked as his weight pushed off, and then suddenly his weight was upon me. But the moment I was waiting for never came. Something was really wrong.
Maybe he is using his finger,
I thought. But I opened my eyes to find him above me, moving up and down, his head thrown back in pleasure. But I wasn't feeling a damn thing.
“You like it, baby?”
I smiled, moaned, and lied, “Yeah.” It was a very unpleasing experience.
“Is this gonna be my pussy, baby?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Suddenly his facial expression changed, like he was in pain—he jerked one last time into me, let out a loud moan, and collapsed on my chest.
That was it? What the hell was that?
I pushed him off of me and turned onto my side. I could not believe this shit. A muthafucking forty-year-old man couldn't control his nut? Didn't he watch that Katt Williams stand-up? He should have jacked off before he got to my house! Now he had done wasted my damn time. Not only had he pretended to be something he was not, but he couldn't even perform like a real man. It was no wonder this man was still single. I was so pissed.
“What's the matter, baby?”
In my mind, I had a lot of things I wanted to say, but my mom wouldn't exactly be proud, so I turned over and slept.
I had waited two whole years for this shit!
 
 
Maybe it wasn't all so bad, I thought in the morning, when he reached over and kissed me. Then he looked at me as if to ask permission and went between my legs with his head and tongue.
I had never been a big fan of oral sex, and was even less of a fan if you couldn't do the shit right. Although I didn't have vast experience with men to reflect on and compare, a woman's intuition told me he didn't know what the hell he was doing.

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