Unconditionally Single (26 page)

Mason

L
et the boys be boys…and men be men.

All men should be man enough to educate their daughters. Tell them the truth about the scandalous ways of lying and cheating men. Tell their girls, “Never fall for the bullshit and stop falling so easily in love with men who don’t deserve you.” Teach their daughters how to man up by marrying up and staying one up on their mate. Marrying up doesn’t always mean marrying a man with more money. A wise woman saw the added value in extending her hand to a judge, a notable attorney, the CEO or COO of his corporation, a scintillating athlete, a brilliant nerd, a geek on the cutting edge of technology, or any man of power and good character who would benefit her and their children.

Fathers should squash their egos claiming, “No man will ever mistreat my daughter.” Men who stroked their egos were straight up trying to impress women on false pretense. Women should recognize that the men who boast the loudest did and owned the least. Most men hadn’t kept a guarantee of respect to the next man’s daughter. Their lame intentions didn’t mean much to their daughters, especially if their daughters seldom saw them. The man who’d brag about his manhood then bail out on the mother of his child—financially and emotionally—transforming himself from a sperm donor to an absentee dad should keep his dick to himself. Why should any woman respect a man who doesn’t respect her? Words without actions were a waste of everyone’s time.

Lounging poolside at his mansion, Mason smiled admiring the three beautiful women playing under his waterfall, his three girls. Foxy had his no-nonsense attitude and her mother’s voluptuous body. Victoria possessed his sensitive side and her mother’s slender frame. And Déjà, like him, was protective of her sisters and she had her mother’s sexy athletic build. The family bond he instilled in his daughters was unbreakable by their mothers and by him. Mason wanted his girls to genuinely love one another more than they loved their spouses.

Honesty was his virtue. Real men didn’t lie to women. Weak men (afraid to face their own truth) lied to themselves and the women in their lives. Despicable men used women, beat women, degraded women, cheated on women. Mason never worried about how men should treat his daughters. He focused on teaching his girls how to detect and denounce lying men and how to recognize a good man or in Victoria’s case, a good woman.

Mason didn’t need a marriage license to treat a woman like a lady. His father had taught him to always tell the truth in bed and in business, saying, “Son, a dishonest man is a coward. He’s scared that if a woman knew the truth about him she’d kick his ass to the curb. A man who does not protect and put his family first will never prosper. And a man who lies should be ostracized.”

The greatest foundation of any man was a smart woman. If a man tore a woman down, he’d torn himself down. If he disrespected women, he first disrespected himself. If a man was preoccupied with chasing a dollar and his dream that he left his woman behind, he failed every time. And if he did acquire material gain he’d lose himself in the process. Only when a man cherished women, would he prosper.

Mason believed women had the right to know the truth. Women had the right to know how many partners a man had, whether he was heterosexual, bi-sexual, try-sexual, if he was married, engaged, committed, and how many children he had before kissing him or taking off her clothes. Most of all, Mason realized that given the facts, women had the intelligence to decide if they wanted to become emotionally or sexually involved with a man.

The three gorgeous independently wealthy women who’d agreed to have his children each wanted a child but no husband. Mason wanted kids but no wife. Their match was perfect. Methodical in his quest to have children, once the HIV and STD tests for each of them, including his, were cleared by his doctor, Foxy, Victoria, and Déjà’s mothers had agreed to join him for an unforgettable week—Christmas to New Year’s Day—of making love and having sex with the intent of each of them becoming pregnant with his child. During their week together and beyond he’d spoiled each woman with the best he had to offer, the same as he’d done with his daughters.

Mason Montgomery loved women and enjoyed his freedom to have as many women as he wanted by his side and in his bed at the same time. He was upfront, courteous, and respectful of his women. His ego was reserved for business acquisitions. Mason didn’t want a harem or house full of baby mamas catering to his needs. For that he’d hired housekeepers, landscapers, and a personal assistant.

One million dollars to each mother was his gift to show his appreciation of birthing his children. He rented the top floor of the best hospital in Cunt County so he’d be there for each of his women on their delivery. No greater gift had he received.

Mason gestured at his server, then asked, “Is everything ready?”

“Yes, Mr. Montgomery,” she said. “Everything is ready.”

“Tell my girls to get out of the pool. Have them shower and get dressed so I can give them their thirty-first birthday presents before we leave.”

“Will do,” she said, heading toward the waterfall.

Mason stood, smiled at his girls then retreated to his bedroom. Tall white Italian arches graced the entrance. There were no doors separating the walls inside his home. White bed linens, antique furniture, and forest green carpet decorated his room. No woman had the pleasure of entering his bedroom unless she knew her worth. He refused to sex a woman simply because he could and Mason never sexed a woman he didn’t respect.

Entering his bathroom, Mason stepped into the shower, turned the gold knobs, and stood under the dome. Water gushed onto his head as though he was standing under the waterfall over his pool. He stretched his neck side-to-side noting to have his assistant schedule him a massage and a facial. Mason never shaved himself or cut his own hair.

Toweling off he slipped into his boxers, then his white linen pants. Tightening the drawstring, he buttoned up his shirt leaving the top three buttons loose as he slipped on his tan leather sandals, then headed downstairs to his family room. Quietly he sat waiting for his daughters to enter.

Déjà entered first, sat to his right as she’d done all of her life. Even her highchair was at his right when she was a toddler. “Morning, Daddy.” Dressed in her favorite designer, the short dress rose stopping inches below her hips. Open-toe high-heels crossed at her ankles. Her hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back.

Victoria walked in next wearing a long purple, green, and gold halter-top dress that flattered her streamlined figure. She sat to his left, crossed her legs. “I love you, Daddy.” Her hair was neatly pent with soft curls gathered in the back.

Foxy never walked. She strutted into the room then sat on the pillow at his feet. Not because he’d made her do so. All of their lives, his daughters protected him as he’d done with them. “Daddy, you’re the best.” Her long legs wore the knee-length dress that complimented her curvaceous frame.

“My three favorite ladies,” Mason said, adoring his daughters. “Come, I have a surprise for you.”

Mason held Foxy’s hand helping her rise from the pillow then extended his hands to his other daughters. Leading their way, he entered the living room. Three dozen of the best long stem roses with a diamond in the middle of each rose sat on the crystal table before them.

“Foxy, you are my precious daughter. I’m proud of you, baby. You do an excellent job of preparing the menu at Café Crème. You deserve the best.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Foxy said, eyeing her father’s sparkle then her diamonds. She winked at her sisters.

“Victoria, you are my lovely daughter. I’m proud of you baby. I have no idea how you create all those recipes for pastries but you do. You deserve the best.”

Victoria smiled soft and wide then hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re our father. Thanks.”

“Déjà, you become more like me each day. You are my beautiful daughter. I’m proud of you baby. The business plan you arranged for Café Crème is nothing short of brilliant. You deserve the best.”

Nodding, Déjà gave a warm smile and firm hug to her dad. “You taught us well, Daddy. Thanks.”

Mason smiled as Foxy made the first move toward her bouquet. Victoria and Déjà sniffed their flowers. He watched his girls embrace and wish one another a happy birthday. Mason was pleased. He’d done well with spoiling and educating his girls. There wasn’t much their spouses could give them that he hadn’t. He’d taught his daughters to value every part of their body. Maybe he’d taught them too well.

Café Crème was much more than a pastry shop. Underground one could experience the best sexual extravaganza of their lifetime. Owned and operated by his daughters, the Montgomery sisters. A typical menu item:

It would yield so much customer satisfaction the tip often exceeded the cost of their sweet delectable pastry.

In business, women were smarter than men. Women needed to act like men and think like ladies. His daughters accepted his best business and marriage advice. “Love yourself first. Tell your spouses you own a pastry shop. Never give them a key to your business or access to your business records. Never go home at the same time every day. And close your business one day a week. That’s the day you exclusively cater to your spouses. That’s the day you treat your spouses better than you treat your customers.”

At Café Crème the pastries were in high-demand and the clientele, by design, was so unbelievably high-profiled that no one could incarcerate his girls without jeopardizing being incarcerated.

“We’re just getting our day started. Let’s go. We have to find settings for all these diamonds…and I have another surprise for my girls.”

From Mary “HoneyB” Morrison

I’m asking ALL adults to support me in sharing this very important message.

Educate, Don’t Procreate

There is no reason ANY teenage girl should have a baby. None. We have too many teenagers getting pregnant for all the wrong reasons. It’s time for adults to stop undereducating young females and start empowering them. I’m most concerned with the females because the majority of males are not accepting responsibility for their actions.

I understand that most African-American women suffer from post-slavery sexual trauma. Whether it was our parents misinforming or undereducating us, our being molested and raped, battered and abused, or our being taught that sex out of wedlock is sinful, it’s time for a monumental epiphany in the way women of all nationalities view sex and our bodies. As a woman who is comfortable with my sexuality, I want to spark an empowering sexual movement for other women.

Young girls should be educated about their bodies and their hormones. They need to know safe sex practices. They need to know they are in control, not the guys.

I hope you join me in imparting this very important message to our young girls.

Sexual Knowledge Is Powerful

I have fun dating whomever I like, knowing that the man I will enter into an open relationship with will show up. I don’t have to build him, change him, or create him out of clay. (But if I did build him, I’d use Stephen A. Smith as my model). I don’t have to look under the covers or search the corporate boardroom for him. I meet men everywhere I go.

Here are my relationship needs:

• He must be intelligent, highly capable of expressing his views on politics, the youth, the elderly, the recession, religion, sex, and sexuality.
  
• He must have friends. A man’s friends tell you a lot about him. I don’t want to be his only best friend.
  
• He cannot be a minimalist, satisfied with getting by getting over to make his ends. Minimalists are underachieving, shiftless, lazy leeches looking for handouts. I don’t date cheap or selfish men. He can do bad on his own.
  
• He must be an entrepreneur or realistically striving to become his own boss. I don’t mean the men who spit game about what they gon’ do all the while they layin’ up on a woman burying her under his philosophical bullshit. “Baby let’s buy a____to-ge-ther.” Translation, his credit is fucked up. “Next.”
  
• He cannot be envious of my success or my lifestyle. I work extremely hard. Trust me, lots of men are jealous of successful independent women. I’m a full-time writer for two major publishers. I travel extensively. I own Mary B. Morrison, Incorporated, Sweeter than Honey, and Lift Every Voice and Write (my nonprofit for students interested in writing).
  
• He must have a sense of humor (this ranks at the top of my list). He must know how to laugh and make me laugh. Have fun. And Lord knows he cannot be depressing, dragging around his garbage like he’s a sanitation engineer. I’m no comedian, but I can be silly at times. I love to make people laugh.
  
• Under no cir
  cum
  stances can he be broke. Hell-to-the-capital-N-O. I do not support men. A broke man should suck his own dick, then tuck his dick between his balls and fuck himself in the ass. Especially if he’s sitting on his ass all day waiting for someone else to provide for him. I can’t comprehend his mentality.
  
• He must be great sexually. Open to exploring new sexual territories. It amuses me that the men who are mediocre in bed say to me, “I hope I gave you some material for your book.” All I can say is, “Obviously you haven’t read my books.” The guys who are skilled in bed know it.
  
• He must agree to an open relationship. Even if I never have sex with anyone except him, I can’t commit to exclusivity because I might meet someone else that I decide to have sex with. It’s not like I plan to meet a man who excites me. He usually shows up when I least expect him. Ladies, you know the ones that make your pussy pucker instantly. It’s like, “Oh, damn. I’m definitely fucking him.” No guilty pleasures for me.
  
• He must understand that he is my partner, not my dictator or dick-ta-tor. I have no need or desire for a second husband. Marriage is wonderful for those who need or want it. I don’t. I’m happy and intend to stay this way.
  

Y’all, I can’t stand talking to a man who says, “Call me later.” Then when he calls me he says, “I thought you were supposed to call me.” To avoid confusion, I say, “No, I’m not calling you later. When you want to talk, call me.”

Then there are the ones who say, “Let me know when you want to go out.” No, I’m not. If you want to go out, ask me….

“So why didn’t you call me when you got home?” Because you don’t tell me when to call you, then hold me accountable to your request. Obviously I was busy. I’ve got things to do….

“I like you but I’m not going to be the one calling all the time.” Then we won’t be talking. I don’t mean to come across harsh but I’ve learned that men have fragile egos. Men are accustomed to creating situations to make women pursue them.

Black women and men are not taught how to treat one another. We have inherited generational relationship dysfunctions. Our mothers’ mothers’ mothers were raped of their virginity, their children, and their men. Our father’s father’s father’s were used for breeding with no emotional attachment to family. We still deal with post-slavery trauma. We still struggle to genuinely love, appreciate, and respect one another. Black men must stop running away from their paternal obligations. Black women must stop unconsciously opening their legs and their hearts, giving birth to unwanted heartaches and babies. I know it’s hard but we seriously have to think about the “what ifs” before we become involved. Our relationships will have a higher survival rate when we learn to respect one another. We have to start someplace. You are the catalyst for change in your life. Your relationship starts with you.

Stop entering into relationships primarily to fill a void of loneliness. Sometimes you’re better off being alone. This doesn’t mean you have to be lonely. I encourage parents to talk to their children and teenagers about healthy relationships. Take time to embrace and express your needs and desires. Irrespective of your partner’s views, your open and honest communication will prove productive in your relationship.

In closing, I’ll share with you the wisdom my father shared with me when I was fourteen years old. My daddy said, “Speedy, if you can’t put it in your pocket and take it with you, don’t worry about it. That goes for your house, your car, your money, and your man.”

My dad, may his spirit shine bright throughout the universe, called me Speedy, not because I moved fast. Actually, I’ve always moved slowly. I eat slowly, I think a lot when I’m writing, and yes, I love slow, seductive, grinding sex. The exception, doggie-style. My dad called me Speedy because even as a child, when I made up my mind to do something, the only thing everyone could do was get out of my way. I was the one who would question him. So if I asked questions of my father, you can imagine that I always ask questions of the men in my life.