It’s a long story the way Mia and I got together. My wife is a lovely thirty-year-old lady with beautiful brown eyes, high cheekbones, a head of thick, black, wavy hair that she keeps short and a petite body that won’t quit. I love her with all my heart and soul. I could be in a room full of supermodels or even Janet Jackson or Halle Berry and I’d still have eyes only for my Mia. Well, maybe I’d look, but I’d have love for only Mia. And that’s saying a lot, since I am a retired player.
A few years ago, if someone told me I would be married with a two-year-old daughter, I would have laughed in his face. Back then, women had only one thing I needed. I’m the first one to admit that I loved myself some beautiful black women. God knew exactly what he was doing when he made these wonderful, sexy, sensual creatures He called women. Whisper a few sweet words in their ears, treat them like they’re special, even if only for that moment, and they take you to heaven and back.
Women don’t realize just how much power they possess between their legs. Men don’t want to admit it, but women have the power, and some of them have figured that truth out. There’s nothing like the feel or touch of a woman’s silky body against a masculine one, and when a man takes her to ecstasy, makes her come, it’s an amazing feeling. Men never get enough. Unfortunately for me, I was making the trip to heaven every opportunity I received from every and any driver I could find.
Then Mia came into my life via Brice and all that changed. Mia changed my world as I knew it. She has brought so much joy into my life; if only she would learn to trust and share her feelings and thoughts with me. Mia keeps everything bottled up so tightly it’s amazing she doesn’t explode. I understand some of her reasons, because I know how she was raised and some of the things that have happened in her lifetime. But . . . I want Mia to know and believe that I’m not going to hurt her, mentally or physically. It saddens me to think that she would ever doubt my love for her.
Sometimes, I think Mia is looking for the moment when I will hit her. That will never happen. Mia is very headstrong and we’ve had some pretty heated arguments, but I’d cut off my right arm before I’d strike her.
I know these nightmares are all stemming from what I made the mistake of telling her about a month ago. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. Mia and I were stretched out, as usual, on the sofa in the living room half watching some old Western movie on TV. Lyric was fast asleep, taking her midday nap, with her favorite baby doll and stuffed bear nearby.
Mia’s arms were wrapped around my waist, her head on my chest, half dozing. I looked down at her for a moment and caressed her face. “Baby, you’re not going to believe who wrote me the other day.”
“Who?” she asked sleepily, readjusting her head on my chest.
“You’ll never guess in your wildest dreams.”
“I don’t know, who?” she asked again. “I give up.”
I paused for only a second. This was going to be a shock for Mia, as it had been for me as well.
“Brice, Brice Matthew.”
Mia didn’t say anything at first, but I felt her body stiffen beside me and now she was fully awake. She finally spoke with a slight shakiness in her voice. “What do you mean, he wrote you? How did he get our address?”
“He wrote me in care of his cousin Reggie. You know I run into Reggie now and then over at the gym where he works part-time. Don’t worry; Brice doesn’t know where we live, baby.”
Mia didn’t say anything as she stared into space with a strange expression. She had raised herself up from my embrace and was glaring down at me. I continued on.
“In the letter, Brice was talking about letting bygones be bygones and righting his wrongs. To make a long story short, Brice wants to meet with us. He and his wife, Kree, returned to the States about three months ago.”
Mia pulled herself up further with one elbow and was looking down at me with this frantic, scared expression on her face.
“Mia, I don’t know. I would like for us to meet . . .”
“What do you mean? You mean you are considering it?” she asked in an urgent, frightened tone.
“Mia, listen, I know you don’t like to think about Brice and that time in your life. But baby, you need to put closure, final closure, to that.” I softly rubbed her back over and over, up and down. We sat in complete silence for a few seconds. I witnessed the mixed emotions in her facial expression.
“I’ve put closure to that period. I don’t want to see him
his new wife. And I don’t understand why you would either, Christian. You know all the shit that man put me through. I don’t need your Psychology 101 speech and analysis.”
“Baby, he can’t hurt you now. You’ve got me; I got your back. Mia, don’t you see this could be a way for you—”
“Christian, I’m absolutely not going to meet with him, and you can’t make me. I can’t believe you’d ask me to. I can’t believe this . . . You do what you want to, but he’d better not come near me or Lyric,” she screamed as she jumped up, ran into our bedroom and slammed the door so hard that one of our framed prints fell off the wall in the hallway.
I thought to myself that a silent storm was approaching.
I believe that it isn’t always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.
I absently rubbed Kree’s ass, exposed in all its glory. I pulled the navy satin sheet down while she continued to sleep peacefully. Good sex always put her to sleep afterward, and I always gave her good loving. The more I leaned back against my pillow, caressing her between the legs and staring at her sleeping, the more aroused I became. Kree, at twenty-five years old, is a stunning woman with long, thick black hair, big light brown eyes with long eyelashes, high cheekbones with glowing, medium-brown skin, long legs and full, kissable lips.
I met Kree my second year in Germany. We met at a club I had heard great things about and was checking out for the first time. She was on the lit dance floor strutting her stuff to the music when I arrived. After ordering a beer, I walked away from the crowded bar and sat down at a vacant table that gave me a great view of her.
I watched Kree from a short distance. She appeared to get lost in the song and was a great dancer. Kree was so sensual and sexy; it was like she was making love to the music. The way she would close her eyes for a few seconds, lick her full lips and throw her head back was erotic. Kree had on a sexy black dress that fit every curve, no accessories except for a pair of diamond-stud earrings and a pair of black spike-heeled shoes. I didn’t see a panty line, so I was pretty sure she didn’t have on any underwear.
At one point, when she glanced toward the bar, our eyes met and locked. I smiled. Kree smiled shyly in my direction and quickly turned away. Afterward, I saw her glance back at me once or twice.
I drank a few more beers and mostly people-watched. No other woman had captured my attention the way the lady in black had. I’m sure I could have talked to any woman in the dark club, the way I kept getting the eye from several of them. Back then, after thirty-four years of living, I knew when a woman was attracted to me, and that night I was getting vibes left and right.
I was dressed casually, not in marine gear, and noticed the women checking me out, some boldly and some on the sly. There were several pretty women in the club who wouldn’t have objected to leaving with me for a night of dancing between the sheets. But I was interested in the lady in black; she reminded me of someone. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Kree appeared so innocent, yet sexy and so beautiful.
Finally a slow song came on. I placed my beer on the table and made my way through the crowd of people exiting the dance floor. I located Kree attempting to leave as well. I walked up to her, took her hand and told her to dance with me. She did.
Hours later, tucked away in our own private booth, I discovered that Kree was a twenty-one-year-old, American-born college student. Kree was an army brat. Her parents had traveled all over the world, thanks to the United States Army. During her last year in high school, Kree’s father was transferred to Germany. She had fallen in love with the country, and when they left she stayed behind to attend college.
Kree and I talked for most of that night and early into the next morning. I remember we were one of the last to leave the club. Her girlfriends left long before, after I had promised to get Kree safely home, and after assuring them that I wasn’t a rapist or on an
America’s Most Wanted
I decided Kree was actually kinda shy. I think I intimidated her a little. However, I was getting strong vibes that she was attracted to me. I decided to see how far I could go with her. At one point I reached under the table and caressed her thigh through the sheer, flimsy fabric of her black dress. Kree looked at me with those big eyes, but didn’t protest. I kept looking into her eyes, telling her how beautiful she was. She smiled. The entire time I was pulling the hem of her dress up to reach under with my hand.
Just like I thought, Kree didn’t have on any underwear. I rubbed my hand up and down her smooth leg, but decided to back off and take it slow. For the remainder of the night, we were lost in good conversation.
As they say, the rest is history. Kree made my tour in Germany quite memorable. At some point—I’m not sure when it happened—I realized I couldn’t live without her. We’ve been married for almost three years. Kree is a good wife; she does what I tell her to and knows I’m the man of our house. She thoroughly understands that.
Tonight I was frustrated. Usually after round two I left Kree alone. But tonight I was seriously thinking about waking her up, as I did so often, to have her go down on me. Sometimes she would protest, but usually she gave in. Kree could do that shit all too well. Or sometimes by the time she woke up I was already inside her, grinding away. Eventually she would wrap her long legs around my waist and give in to the good feelings. I’d look down at her and she’d be all into us.
Tonight my attention was focused elsewhere. I had talked to my cousin Reggie, and I knew Christian had received the short letter I had written him weeks earlier. It had taken me a week to finish that letter, and now I was anxiously waiting for a response. True friendship—true brotherhood—is not something to be taken lightly. I had learned that. I did a lot of stupid shit in my past, things I did when I was younger and dumber, things I truly regretted. I wanted to right my mistakes, my regrets.
Hopefully Christian would call me soon. I had put our phone number in the letter. I admit it: I missed him. I couldn’t wait to see the man who was once like a blood brother to me . . . and the lady who was my everything. At some point in his life, every man has one, the one woman he loves with everything he has. The one woman who makes him say and do shit he’d never think of doing for anyone else. Stuff he can’t even believe he’s doing. For me, that was Mia. No, I never forgot Mia. I still see her face in my dreams.
I believe that your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don’t even know you.
“Hello?” “Where have you been?”
“Oh, hey, sweetie. What’s up?” I asked, attempting to balance the cordless phone against my right ear as I opened the oven to check on dinner.
“Hey, baby, I’m on my way home. Where have you been?”
“Well, hello to you too,” I said in mock indignation.
“Where have you been?” he impatiently asked again.
“Nowhere, baby, why? I’ve been here all day cleaning up, washing and preparing your favorite meal,” I stated nervously into the phone.