by Meesha Mink
I eventually learned not to leave myself alone with no man…especially any of her men. So if I have to sit in the hall till my momma get home to keep from being alone with her man, then I will sit my ass in the hall alone. Even if it means listening to her talking shit ’cause I didn’t stay home like she told me. I rather hear her mouth than have her man looking at me like he ready to fondle and fuck me.
So all morning I stay in my room and write in my journal as Momma and Cash stay holed up in theirs. She all caught up in her man, living life like I don’t exist, but there ain’t shit new about that. That shit old as time.
I worked on a new song today called “Me and Mines.” It’s about a woman with a child and how she makes the men respect her and her child.
I wish my momma would put me first in her life. “That’s a fucking joke,” I mutter as I doodle in the book. The one time I got the nerve to tell her the truth, I found out my momma was a no-good bitch.
“Roy, baby, I’m gone to the corner store real quick. You want something?” Queen asked.
I was in my bedroom but I dropped my doll to the cold floor to go and stand at the living room entryway. My momma was slipping on her winter wool coat as she smiled at her boyfriend Roy like he was Jesus.
I ran to my room and grabbed my dingy jean coat. I barely took time to put it on before I ran back to the living room. “Can I go, Momma?” I asked, coming to stand beside her as she stood at the front door.
“Girl, go sit down. You ain’t got to move every damn time I move. Shit,” Queen snapped, her eyes angry as she looked down at me.
I glanced back at Roy, sitting on our old ratty green couch already sipping on beer. “Please, Momma. Please,” I begged as tears filled my eyes.
“What the hell you crying for?” she yelled.
“Queen, go on to that store. She’ll be just fine with me,” Roy slurred from his spot on the couch.
“Momma, please don’t leave me. Please,” I cried, dropping to my knees as I held on to her coat like my life depended on it.
WHAP!
I gasped as she backhanded me. I fell back to the floor. My face stung from the ring on her hand.
She slammed out the house.
Roy was on me like white to rice. He picked me up from the floor and tried to stroke my hair while his hands went down inside my panties. I turned my head and bit the shit out of his salty-tasting hand as he blew his beer breath in my face. He dropped me and I hollered out as my six-year-old body hit the floor with a thud.
The front door swung open and my mother stood there. “What’s going on?”
Roy held his hand out to her. “She bit me when I tried to make her get off the floor, hollering and carrying on,” he lied.
My momma’s eyes dropped on me like a load of bricks.
“He lying, Momma,” I yelled, looking at him with eyes full of hate. “He touched my stuff. He always touch my stuff when you gone.”
“Princess, you gone lie on me ’cause I told you to stop crying?” he asked, sounding offended as he looked down at me. He turned to my momma standing there with her hand on her hip. “Queen, I take care of this girl like she mine and she gone lie on me like that. Man, let me get the fuck outta here ’fore y’all get a nigga locked up on some bullshit.”
I was glad when he brushed past Momma to grab his coat from the closet by the door.
“No, Roy, don’t go,” my momma said, turning to hold his arm and take his coat out his hand. “I’ll take care of this,” she told him.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me like a rag doll into my room. I didn’t even cry as she spanked me with one of my own shoes. I lay on the floor on my side. She squatted down beside me and I could smell the stank of her crotch. “Now you stop your damn lies. Roy is good to me and you. I’m not gone let you run off a good man who help pay these bills around here. I need Roy. I love him. I ain’t gone let you fuck this up for me.”
She left me, her six-year-old daughter, her Princess, right on that floor and went to that man she needed and loved so much.
A little piece of me died right then and there.
My momma ain’t shit. Period.
I’m older now and I am sick and tired of any and every one of her men feeling me and fucking me when they get ready. I will be eighteen soon. Legally an adult. A woman. Old enough to vote. Well, my vote is for her men to stay the fuck away from me.
I glance at the little Betty Boop clock my granny gave me when I was six or so. It’s going on 1:00 p.m. I got to hustle. Momma will leave by one to catch the bus to get to her night shift at the Super Wal-Mart. I will be up out this piece right along with her.
I got up and threw on a pair of no-name jeans and a pink T-shirt with Princess written across the chest in rhinestones. Both are straight out of Wal-Mart. Humph. I ain’t even know what owning designer clothes is. If it wasn’t for the clothes Lucky either gave me or let me borrow, I would really be a joke at North Atlanta High.
I can have plenty of Baby Phat, Juicy Couture, and everything else if my momma would spend my child support on me and not taking care of these little boys pretending to be men.
I’m sitting on the edge of my lumpy twin bed pulling on my sneakers when a mouse crawls out of its hole big and bold like he pay rent. I don’t even bother to chase it away. Shit, I couldn’t outrun no rat. Besides, let his ass battle the roaches for this shit hole ’cause I ain’t give a damn about this room nor the raggedy-ass apartment it’s in.
I make my bed quick and look around my room to make sure the few items I have are in a place—if not in its place. Hard to make a raggedy-ass, broke-down end table have its own right place in a damn bedroom.
I open my bedroom door and listen. I could hear my momma up and about in her bedroom. It’s still early for Cash so he probably sleeping—sitting around the house all day makes his drop-shot ass real tired. Please.
I cross the hall and open the bathroom door. I jump back to find Cash already in there naked as he stands over the toilet pissing. He strokes his dick. My eyes jerk up to his face.
That sick bitch has the nerve to smile at me.
I slam the door back close and cross the narrow hall back to my room to slam that door, too. I grab my journal from one of my hiding spots.
Why can’t it be just me and my momma? Why ain’t I enough for her? She always gots to have some man living here. Always. Don’t none of them love her ’cause they wouldn’t be bothering me or hitting on her and cheating on her. Cash ain’t gone be no better. Just watch.
There’s a knock at my door. My heart pounds and I feel so afraid. Kenny, one of my momma’s exes, would always knock all polite and shit before he would open the door and come right on in the room to get in my bed with me while my momma slept. I was only eight. I WAS ONLY EIGHT! Way too young for a grown man to put his thing in my mouth.
Pain hit me in the chest and I force myself to breathe slow and deep. I taught myself how to calm down so this shit—the memories—doesn’t get to me so bad but I know I’m just digging a hole deeper in my soul to bury all that shit.
“I’m out the bathroom,” Cash says through the door before I hear him laugh.
I don’t move until I hear him walk down the hall and close the bedroom door.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans before I pick up my pen.
He think he doing something strutting around here like a broke pimp. How can a broke nigga like him have a name like Cash? Just fucking stupid as hell. If he knew how many men done walk around here like they the king to Queen he would get that big Kool-Aid grin off his face. So many men done slept in that same bed, in that same room, in this same apartment.
I close my journal and put it back in my closet in the inner pocket of this old pleather coat I don’t wear no more. I head to the bathroom and rush through brushing my teeth and washing my face. In the mirror I look at my face.
People always tell me I’m pretty.
“You look like LaLa from MTV.”
“Your hazel eyes
so pretty.”
“Is that reddish brown your real hair color?”
“Is that all your hair?”
When I think of all the hands and shit on me through the years, I wish I had another face. Maybe they woulda left me alone. I look away from the mirror and leave the bathroom to walk to their bedroom door.
“Harder. Fuck me harder, Daddy,” my mother moans.
“Damn, this pussy good,” Cash says with a grunt.
I feel nauseous at their sex sounds. “Ma, I’m going to Lucky’s,” I call out. I turn and walk so fast down that hall that I think my feet gone make fire or some shit.
Leaving the apartment always makes me feel better. Free. Each step takes weight off my shoulders. Each step makes me feel better. Down the hall and the pissy stairwell. Out the door. Away from my momma. Away from the memories and the misery. So goddamned free.
“Hey, Princess.”
I look up at Lucky waving down to me from her bedroom window.
“I was just about to call you. Come up. I gotta surprise for you.”
The whole time I’m headed up the stairwell I’m wondering what Lucky’s crazy ass is up to. With her anything is possible.
Before I can even knock she opens the front door. “What’s up—”
My eyes land on Dean and some dude I don’t know lounging on the leather sofa in the living room. Lucky puts a hand to my back to push me forward. My feet feel like they’re glued to the damn floor. I already smell a hookup and I ain’t want no part of it.
“Princess, this Dean’s cousin Ahmaad.” Lucky grabs my hand and pulls me into the living room behind her. “Ahmaad, this is my best friend, Princess.”
Okay. He’s cute. Dark chocolate skin. Fresh cornrows. Bright eyes. Long-ass lashes. Good mouth. Dimpled chin. He smiles up at me and I have to admit that he has a nice one.
“Y’all come and sit down,” Dean says. The boys move farther down onto opposite ends of the couch to make room.
I’m going to plant my size nine in Lucky’s hot ass.
As soon as we sit down Lucky damn near climbs into Dean’s lap. Ahmaad and I look at each other all awkward and shit as they start moaning and groaning as they kiss each other.
Okay, this ain’t my type of party.
Lucky rises to her feet as she pulls Dean behind her. “Y’all go ’head and chill. Get to know each other and all that good shit. We’ll be right back.”
Dean laughs as he watches the movement of her body as they walk away.
My mouth drops open. “Lucky. Luc-ky,” I call out.
I watch as her bedroom door closes behind them. I jump right down on the other end of the couch. It’s quiet as hell, so I reach for the remote to turn on the television.
“You go to school with Lucky, right?” he asks.
I look at him out the corner of my eye as I nod. Right then I can imagine how the hell an asthma attack feels. It’s so hard for me to sit on this sofa while my best friend is sexing her man in the next room. I want to run but I don’t. I want to be a normal teen, able to flirt and kiss and let a boy cop a feel…but I can’t. I just can’t.
He scoots his ass down closer to me on the sofa and I swallow over a cookie-size lump in my throat. “Don’t be scared,” he says to me as the scent of his cologne gets a little stronger.
His hand touches my thigh.
Faces come flashing back to me. Way too many faces of men who have flittered in and out of my life over the years. Fucked-up men who made me feel fucked up. I’m so nauseous. My heart pounds at the memories.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispers near my ear.
I shiver all over in disgust.
“Motherfucker, don’t touch me,” I say to him real soft but real damn firm.
Ahmaad looks real confused. “Huh?”
I jump to my feet. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I yell at him…at all the men haunting my damn memories.
Lucky’s door opens. She has one arm over her naked breasts as she comes running out to us still wearing her jeans. Dean follows with his dick hanging between his thighs before he jerks up his pants. “What’s going on?” they ask, looking at me like I’m crazy as hell.
Even though Ahmaad didn’t really do shit wrong, I am afraid.
Even though I know I didn’t do nothing wrong, I am ashamed.
Even though I know Lucky meant well, I am angry.
I wrap my arms around myself as I let out a deep breath. I feel like a damn weirdo or some shit.
“Shit, all I did was tell her psycho ass she pretty and touch her leg,” Ahmaad says in his defense, like somebody accused his ass of rape or some shit. He jumps up from the couch and walks over to stand by Dean.
I cover my face with my hands and drop down to sit on the couch. Maybe I am psycho.
Lucky comes over to me and sits down. I feel her hand on my back and for some reason it makes the tears fall from my eyes. “Damn, Lucky…I hate my fucking life,” I admit to her in a whisper.
“Man, that bitch crazy,” Ahmaad says with a suck of his teeth. “This what the fuck y’all call me over here for?”
“Damn, Lucky, why your girl trippin’?” Dean asks. “She don’t want no dick and then she gone block you from gettin’ some.”
“Get out,” Lucky says instantly as she jumps to her feet.
I look up as Lucky pushes both of them out the front door with her titties swinging like fists.
“Lucky, send her ass home,” Dean complains, obviously angry.
“Fuck that. I’m sending y’all home.” Lucky opens the front door before she covers her breasts with her arms again. “Y’all niggas ain’t gone sit up in this bitch and talk shit ’bout my friend. And then y’all don’t even know what the fuck y’all talkin’ ’bout. Get ghost, motherfuckers!”
Dean gives Lucky a pleading look.
“I’ll call you later. Bye. Damn.”
She slams the door and walks into her bedroom. When she comes back out she has on her T-shirt. She drops down onto the couch beside me.
“I’m sorry, Lucky—”
She smiles at me even though her eyes are as sad as my soul. “No, I’m sorry. I was so busy trying to find you a boyfriend that I actually forgot all the shit you told me. My dumb ass wasn’t thinking that sex and boys don’t mean the same to you because of…”
We fall silent. The words “molestation,” “sexual abuse,” and “rape” are there in the air between us even if we don’t say them.
No one but Lucky knows my story. She is the keeper of my secrets.
I drop my head as pain pierces me. “What about Dean?” I ask.
Lucky reaches over to offer me her fist. “Fuck him, ’cause right now you need me way more than his dick does.”
It feels so good to have somebody I can rely on. I make a fist and tap it against the top of hers.
8
WooWoo
One Month Later
“I love you. Damn, I love you.”
I shiver like crazy as my husband wraps his arms around me tight as hell and strokes deep inside of me. His lips cover mine and I give him my tongue to suck as I shift my hands down to grip his ass. I bring my legs up to wrap around his waist as his strokes deepen until I feel like his dick is going to split me.
I quiver beneath him on our bed as my nut rises and builds. I suck his tongue harder before I gasp as I feel my juices squirt out and coat every inch of him. Those spasms have my ass trembling as I spread my legs open and give in to the sensation. Shit. It feels good.
“Damn right,” he whispers in my ear as he shifts his hands to lean up and spread my legs wider.
His pumps come faster and harder like a fucking machine until the moment his dick pumps like a gun and fills me with his seed. Shit, he can hardly move as he cums. It’s like his ass is having a stroke or something.
I work my hips and my sugar walls to finish pulling the last of his nut from him as I deeply lick and bite his nipples just the way he loves.
Reggie rolls over onto
his back breathing hard and I roll over with him to lie against his side. “Hey,” I say softly, tilting my head back to look at him.
He opens one eye. “Yeah, baby?”
“I love you, Reggie,” I tell him with emotion as I look up into his handsome square face.
“I love you, too.” He playfully slaps my ass.
I lay there stroking his chest until his snores cause my hand to tremble. Knowing he’s asleep, I ease out of bed and head for the bathroom. As soon as I close the door, I lock it and pull on my housecoat from the back of the door.
After a good meal and a good fuck I like to blow me a blunt. Fuck it. It rests my nerves.
I open the window next to the tub, pulling back the curtain. Thank God for the hedges between our house and our neighbor’s or Mr. Wilson’s old wrinkled white ass would get a helluva peep show on a daily basis.
I reach for my makeup bag and dig down to the bottom for the empty lipstick case holding my Life-savers…three blunts. It’s Hawaiian marijuana wrapped in cherry-flavored blunts—my favorite blend.
I pull up the stool from my dressing table in the corner and sit with my head stuck out the window. I make sure to blow that thick-ass smoke out into the wind.
Reggie and I met at his small dental practice in Buckhead. I was his front-desk receptionist. First we started chitchatting during downtimes at the office, but somehow I started feeling this straitlaced cat with the glasses. Probably what was even more shot out was that his goody-two-shoes ass started feeling me, too.
I blow another stream of smoke out the window.
To everybody’s surprise in the office we started to go out on dates. Shit, my ass ain’t never dated nobody. Either I was fucking some dude just to get the pressure off or I had somebody who was my man straight up. I ain’t know shit about the in-between.
He taught me shit and I taught him a few things. His lessons were usually outside the bedroom. Mine wasn’t. Fuck it. I’m good at what I do and I always make it do what it do, baby.