Live and Learn (5 page)

“A brotha that works on a job every damn day ain’t feelin’ givin’ up that money like a thug. And you know why?”

“Do tell,” I said sarcastically.

“Because a thug don’t give a shit about that easy money. You know what I’m sayin’?”

Dom looked to Alizé and Moët for backup.

Moët reluctantly nodded in agreement.

“She’s right, Cristal,” Alizé chimed in like a sidekick, pulling a grape Blow-Pop from her purse to smack loudly upon.

“To Rah, or my baby Lex, it’s like a part of their street cred to lace they women with nice shit. They
wanna
give up that loot. But a brotha gettin’ up out of his bed every day, bustin’ his ass doing forty or sixty hours a week for a check, ain’t feelin’ it.”

Dom had a habit of hitting one slender fist into her open palm as she spoke, like she was trying to hit her point home. And although I understood fully what she was saying, I was not getting involved with a grown man whose main ambition in life was to develop his street credibility.

I wanted a man who was husband material and not jail material. I wanted someone who could offer what I lacked the first eighteen years of my life: stability. A man who played outside the law was not any more stable than someone walking a tight rope in the middle of a hurricane. I wanted more than a friend who would spend his money on me. I wanted a wealthy husband. Period. I was talking permanency and security, because
if
my future husband left me, there was always alimony. Okay? All right.

The girls kept on lauding their street warriors, and I politely tuned them out, turning my attention back to my address book with a “whatever” look on my face. Using a clear-painted nail, I traced down my list of names.

Each and every man I ever dated or slept with was listed with a brief bio, and a photo if I had one. I used dollar signs to rate how free giving they were with their money, and stars to rate how good they were in bed. Five dollar signs was a true spender, and five stars was a too-good-to-be-true lover. A combination of both and he was
almost
a true keeper. I had only one or two of those.

The man I chose to call had absolutely nothing to do with making me climax until I fainted. This call to Townsend Lakes was all about the Benjamins, baby.

I met the defensive tackle for the New York Giants about a year ago at one of the label’s release parties. I was not able to get any passes for the girls, and I definitely did not want to carry sand to the beach, so I went alone.

Looking ever so fine in a red silk Diane von Furstenberg strapless dress that originally retailed for $1,250.00 (I caught it on clearance for a mere $300.00), I stood out in the crowd of half-dressed groupies and overdressed industry elite. That dress drew Townsend straight to me.

Better known as The Enforcer, he rated two stars and five dollar signs. He was a wall of muscles except where it counted. Unfortunately for him, a four-star, five-dollar-sign man had beat him out; thus ending our five-month relationship.

It was only Tuesday. I had until Friday morning to get him eating out of the palm of my hand…again.

“Cristal, we’ll save money if you just drive your whip,” Dom offered.

I shook my head. “No, thank you. I am not putting all of those miles on my ride. Why not yours?”

“It’s a coupe.”

True, but I still was not driving, and my face showed that. Not even bothering to address the issue further, I turned my back on them and picked up my cordless phone.

I had not spoken to Townsend in a few months, but I knew he would remember me well. I made sure of that…if you know what I mean.

“Whaddup.”

“You as always, Huggie Bear,” I purred into the phone, quickly referring to my black book for the nickname I gave him.

He paused for only a brief second. “Long time no hear from, Cristal,” he said, pleasure obvious in his deep, Barry White like tone.

“I was so hurt when I heard you were getting married. I decided to help you be faithful to your future wife,” I lied, twirling a lock of my bone-straight auburn hair around my finger.

“Married?” Townsend balked. “Who told you that lie? Marriage ain’t nowhere in my vocab.”

Ahem, yet another reason why I dropped him. Even though he loved to spend the money, three hundred pounds with a short penis
and
no sight of legal commitment did not make me a happy woman.

“Just a little rumor I caught in the wind,” I told him, turning to wave my hand at the girls as one of them muttered something about me being a good liar. “As soon as I found out it was a lie, I knew I had to call you,” I said softly.

“You shouldn’t have ever stopped calling me.”

Okay, my big fish took the bait.

“I regret listening to that rumor now.”

“I regret it, too, baby.”

He was nice and hooked. Now it was time to reel him in. “I guess we have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

“You damn right.”

I gave my girls a thumbs-up.

N
o one could deny that The Greater Temple of Jesus Christ is one of the most grand and beautiful churches in Newark. Massive stained glass walls depict religious scenes straight from the Bible. The pews and woodwork are a gleaming mahogany. Brass adorns every possible accent piece.

The grandest of it all was the pulpit. It took up the majority of the front of the church and had a feel that was more royal than religious.

Every Sunday our charismatic leader, Reverend DeMark, held two services to accommodate his ever-growing congregation. Leave it up to my parents to attend both, as well as devotional services and Sunday school. Of course, that meant I was supposed to go to it all as well.

On the inside, I smirked as he preached on being a good Christian soldier. Mind you, he’d already given me our special signal from the pulpit for me to meet him in his office between services.

My mother was ushering today, and my father was on the front pew with the other deacons, so their hawklike eyes weren’t on me. I eased off the pew and slipped out of the back door five minutes before his first sermon began to wind to an end. The sound of the organist backing up his ever-increasing words followed me down into the basement level apartment that served as both his office space and parsonage.

Using the spare key he gave me, I shivered in anticipation as I entered his domain. The door opened directly into the converted living room that served as an office for both him and the part-time secretary. A locked door—for which I had no key—led to the rooms farther into the apartment that were for his private use.

I moved freely about the spacious and elaborately decorated room as the shouts, stomps, and organ music filtered down through the floor. Everything in his place spoke of wealth—a testament to the money he made from shitting innocent people.

His
wealth.
His
people.
His
flock.

They paid for it all. The sprawling house in Maplewood. The Lexus. The tailored suits. The jewelry. The trips to the Caribbean. The cash he so generously gave me. All of it.

Not that the Rev’s money was all that drew me. At first there was a lure associated with his position that I couldn’t resist. I enjoyed his heated hands
and
cold hard cash.

I walked over to the mahogany Italian leather sectional in the corner. I remembered the day I lost my virginity and my faith on this couch.

When Reverend DeMark mentioned to my parents that he wanted to hire some additional help to clean his offices, my parents readily volunteered my services; another testament to their devotion to God, their church, and their minister.

They made the task seem like such an honor that I was actually nervous about doing it. I wanted his praise. I considered it the start of my paying tithes to my church. It wasn’t money, but it was my time, and at seventeen time was all I had to give.

That first afternoon, I used the key my mother had proudly pressed into my palm and unlocked the heavy door leading into the office. I was shocked and surprised to find the Reverend sitting at his desk, his reading glasses in place on his long aquiline nose as he read from the leather-bound Bible open before him.

“I’m sorry, Reverend DeMark. I didn’t know…I mean your car wasn’t out—” I stammered, edgy in his presence because I thought I made a mistake.

“No, no, Latoya. Come in, come in,” he said, removing his glasses with a serene look on his face. “My car’s at the detail shop. It’ll be delivered when they’re done. I hope I didn’t scare you?”

“I can come back another time—”

“No, Latoya. You’re okay. Did you walk over from school?” he asked, leaning back in his chair slowly as he tented his fingers beneath his chin.

“Yes, my daddy’s going to pick me up on his way home from work.”

“Good, good,” he said, resting those deep eyes on me as I nervously stood there. “I was waiting on you.”

“Yes, Reverend?” I asked, shy and nervous, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.

He had a way of looking at me that made me feel that way…shy and nervous.

“God is good, isn’t he, Latoya?”

I nodded, still standing in the doorway with one hand holding the knob and the other tightly grasping my book bag.

“Come in,” he demanded, beckoning me with a bend of his fingers.

Still clutching my book bag, I closed the door, my black pumps clicking against the ceramic tile as I walked over and stood before his desk.

“Are you a good Christian, Latoya?”

I nodded, my eyes locked with his, and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Pure?”

Flushing with embarrassment, I answered quickly. “Yes, Reverend DeMark.”

He turned in his maroon leather swivel chair and stood suddenly, coming around his desk to stand beside me. He was so close that I could see the tiny flat mole near his mouth and feel his cool breath against my forehead.

Anxious, I took an automatic step back and looked up at him.

“Are you afraid of me, Latoya?”

“No, sir,” I stammered, hypnotized by his eyes.

Slowly he raised his hands and grasped my face. “You’ve grown to be a very beautiful young lady. Very innocent and…tempting.”

I was a virgin, only pretending to be as cool and hip as my friends so that I would fit in. I didn’t know much about men, or even boys for that matter. Yet, I knew at that moment, as the Reverend continued to stroke me with his eyes, that he wanted to kiss me.

I gasped slightly as my nipples hardened at the very thought of his lips on mine. Remorse and shame quickly filled me.

“Do you believe that He is a forgiving God?” he asked, his voice strained as one hand moved down to my buttocks to press the lower half of my body close to his.

I nodded, completely under his spell.

As his head lowered and his warm lips met mine, he guided my shaking hand to his erection; I could only pray that He was indeed forgiving.

The sound of the doorknob rattling brought me from the past with a jolt. I knew Reverend DeMark had a key, so either it wasn’t him or he wasn’t alone. With a quick look over my shoulder, I dashed into an oversized armoire.

“Reverend DeMark, your words were truly inspirational.”

My eyes widened into mini saucers at the breathy sound of Sister Rebbie Labelle’s voice. Curious, I eased open the door of the armoire just a crack and watched as the voluptuous woman, clad in a lilac suit with matching fur stole, sashayed past the Rev into the office.

“I’m glad that you enjoyed the sermon,” he said, still standing with the door ajar.

Her wide-brimmed hat was tilted to the side and covering part of her face, but nothing could hide the slick smile that spread across her face like butter. “This sure is a nice conversion of the basement into an apartment,
but
it needs…a woman’s touch.”

I saw his eyes darting around the office, probably wondering where I hid. “I’m quite comfortable the way that it is actually. Uhm, I want to look over my notes before the next sermon, Sister Labelle. Is there anything else?” he asked politely, while pulling the door open wider.

Sister Labelle pouted as she pranced back over to him, lightly swinging the gloves she carried. “If there’s anything I can help you with—and I do mean
anything
—just call on me, Luke.”

I tensed at her use of his first name.

With one last stroke of her hand against his cheek and a long, meaningful stare into his eyes, Sister Labelle finally took her leave.

I waited until he closed the door and locked it before I left my hiding place. “It’s good to see you have so many willing servants.”

He turned. Slowly he nodded as he removed his elaborate gold-trimmed robe.

“Sister Labelle seemed quite eager to please,” I pressed, unsuccessfully hiding my jealousy.

Preacher or not, Reverend DeMark put it down
so
good that I just didn’t want to share, okay?

He took the seat behind his desk, steepling his fingers and then resting his chin on the tips. “Don’t make assumptions, Latoya,” he ordered in a steely tone. “Jealousy doesn’t become you. The Song of Solomon states: ‘For love is as strong as death, jealousy as cruel as the grave; its flames are flames of fire. A most vehement flame.’”

I felt properly chastised.

“Come,” he beckoned, his elbows now resting on the open pages of the Bible on his desk.

Eager, but not wanting to show it, I walked slowly to him. His eyes pierced me. I felt he could see through my bones and flesh to my very soul.

“Undress,” was his next command.

I was already hot with want and anticipation as I removed my pristine black dress and cotton undergarments. A draft from some unseen crevice breezed across my nude body, tightening my nipples into chocolate buds.

“Come and kneel at your altar,” he demanded, turning in his chair to expose his erection to me as he kicked his pants away with his feet.

I shivered as I obeyed him, my knees pressing into the plush carpeting as he pulled my head toward him. I knew his wants without him speaking and eagerly took his shaft into my mouth.

He taught me so well.

I enjoyed the hard feel of him against my tongue as he chanted prayers of forgiveness for our sins and weaknesses. “To the Lord our God belong mercy and forgiveness, though we have rebelled against Him.”

When he ordered me to take my position so that he could fill me with his heat, I didn’t have thoughts of how wrong it was to let him fuck me. I climbed my ass right up on his desk, exposing my throbbing core to him.

I gasped as if drawing my last breath as he slid his dark inches into me with one deep thrust.

His fingers tightly gripped the cheeks of my ass as he stroked inside me deep and fast. I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying out in sweet pleasure.

“Therefore let it be known to you, brethren, that through this Man is preached to you the forgiveness of sins,” he whispered harshly, his sweat dripping down onto my quivering buttocks.

He clasped one hand over my mouth as he paused midstroke. His tip throbbed like a pumping heart against my walls. “Don’t move. I don’t want to come,” he gasped.

My heart beat a furious rhythm in my chest. The bud between my legs throbbed with a life of its own. My head dropped to the desk. “God, it’s good,” I whispered, struggling for air.

“What did you say?” he asked, his voice hoarse as he panted, his sweat like a slow drizzle down the back of my thighs.

“God, it’s good,” I repeated, reaching out to grasp the edge of the desk as his stroking continued at a furious and almost punishing pace.

He laughed low and deep in his throat. “Oh, no, sweet angel. God
ain’t
doing this,” he said.

I gasped as he pushed so deeply into me that the soft hairs around his dick tickled my buttocks.

“Who’s
doing it?” he demanded, delivering another deep and powerful thrust.

“You,” I answered, biting my bottom lip.

“Oh, no, you know the drill. Now who?”

“Reverend DeMark.”

Another hard thrust. “Who?”

“Reverend DeMark!”

We both hollered out roughly as we came together.

“In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace,” he chanted softly.

Tears flew down my face as I closed my eyes and whispered, “Amen.”