by Simone Kelly
CHAUNCEBOOGIE: You’re a riot. LOL Well, I’ve wanted to speak to you since last week, but I didn’t want to rush you. I’m dying to hear your voice.
KYLIERAIN: Really? Me too, but I am trying to take it slow. I’m new at this Internet dating. I don’t want to show up at your place and find out you’re a 14-year-old kid and To Catch a Predator gets me on their next episode.
CHAUNCEBOOGIE: LMAO. Let’s talk now . . . call me 407-555-3425. Hit *67 to block your number if you are still unsure. I won’t stalk you, I promise.
KYLIERAIN: K, let’s do it. . . . Racing to the phone!
Breeze was out of my life for now and I was ready to see if Chauncey was a winner. I’d had a few dates here and there, but all were dead ends. Speaking to Chauncey was like foreplay. His voice was slow and smooth, as if he were really thinking about what he was going to say before the words came out of his mouth. Total opposite of me.
“So, when was the last time you had a real relationship, Kylie? I never heard you mention a salty ex-boyfriend story.”
“Last dating relationship or a real boyfriend? There is a difference, ya know,” I said very matter-of-factly.
He laughed nervously. “Well, do tell, what’s the difference?”
“Oh, come on, you know, you have your girlfriend, the one you are committed to, probably in love with. Then you have the periods of your life when you don’t have anyone who actually fits into that category, but there’s someone who might be fantaaaaabulous in bed and that’s it.” I chuckled. “It’s a sad state of affairs, but sometimes we all need a little loving.” We both laughed. “The sad part about those relationships is that after the fun is over, you have nothing in common besides positions.”
“Damn, when you put it that way,” he said, “I guess you’re right. No substance to the connection. So, which one have you been with recently, a boyfriend or a booty-call friend?”
“Neither. It’s been a while since I had a real boyfriend or, quite honestly, a booty call.”
“All jokes aside, I admire your honesty, Kylie,” Chauncey commended me.
“Hey, no need to play games, right?” I just hoped he was as honest as I was.
“Exactly.”
“Well.” I sighed. “The closest thing to a boyfriend I’ve had was someone I dated for a while, but it was just an on-again, off-again romance that lasted about ten years. The last four years were more serious. I dated others in between, but he was really the one I wanted to be—”
Chauncey interrupted, “Did you say ten years? Damn, that’s a long time. What was the problem with you guys?”
“Well, I was naive and young. He wanted to treat me like his woman, but he wasn’t ready to settle down. He was an absolute mind-fucker and commitment-phobe who had every excuse in the book.”
He laughed. “A mind what?”
I curled up on the bed with my pillow, smiling at how captivated he was with my boldness. “I should have apologized in advance, Chauncey. I’m a lady, but sometimes, my mouth . . .”
“No need for apologies. You are soooo real and I love that about you.” I could sense him smiling through the phone.
“Well, he was a mind-fucker, a master manipulator, possessive, and controlling.” I laughed, a bit embarrassed. “Oh wait, I guess this is the salty ex-boyfriend story you were talking about.”
“Hey, you gotta vent sometimes. I feel you.”
“Yeah, I was under his spell for a while, but I got over it.”
“You sure? That was not a little while—shit, ten years is a lifetime when you’re our age,” he said, laughing.
Just in case he was not convinced that I was over Breeze, I tried to clean up my mess. “We’re cordial still, no bitterness. It’s much easier now that I live here and he’s in New York. He’s the type to prey on you, even after you move on.”
“Sounds like a stalker. Am I going to have to watch my back, Kylie?” He was teasing, but there was a slight tension in his voice.
“No, not at all.” I tried to laugh it off. Breeze was in New York, but psychologically he still had a hold on me. Just talking about him stirred up anger and even the strange love that I had for him. I was still furious with myself for letting him tie me up for so long. I knew deep down if Breeze walked in the door right now and said “I’m ready, Ky,” I would want to pack up and go.
Chauncey continued to push for more info. “So, let’s just say this turns out to be more than an Internet fling. Are you open to a relationship, a real commitment? Or did Mr. Mind-fucker piss you off too much to even think about it?”
“I gotta be honest.” I paused to gather my thoughts. “I’m not too anxious to rush into a relationship, but I do miss the comfort of one. Having someone to share my day with, comfort me when things aren’t going well, and rub my feet. Do you rub feet, Chauncey?”
“Of course, especially when they are pretty. I checked yours out already in your photos from the beach.”
“Okay, you get points for being observant. I do have a thing for foot massages. If you do those well, you might have me under a spell of your own.” I wiggled my toes and stretched out my legs as if he could see my nice pedicure. “It would be nice, though I’m not rushing into anything, but if it happens, I’m ready for it. So, what about you, last time in a real relationship?”
“I’m going on about two years since I broke up with my ex and about seven months of celibacy, by choice.”
“Wow, seven months, you really took a hiatus, huh?” I didn’t believe him for shit.
“Well, I needed it. I had to clear my mind, get back to the root of things. Get rid of distractions. Running up in too many women is not my thing. I had serious doubts I could even have a real relationship again after what my ex Le-Le did. She cheated on me with a coworker.”
“Ouch, sorry to hear.”
“Yeah, what made it wild is that it was a woman.”
“Dayummm, that’s gotta be rough.” Yikes! I tried not to laugh.
“Don’t worry about it. The woman she was cheating with was married and never left her husband to go romp into Lesbian Land with her. It was a fantasy she took to the next level and now she’s still trying to come back into my life. She regrets her little bi-curious fun, but it’s too late. I’m all for experimenting, but don’t do that shit on my time.”
“Karma’s a bitch, man,” I mumbled. Red flag for me! He’s going to probably be paranoid.
Chauncey began getting into his feelings. “I was so hurt, so in shock, especially since I was faithful to her. But as they say, time heals all wounds.”
“Yeah, it’s true, Chauncey. The next time around is always better, because we learn from our mistakes. Now we can spot the red flags. No worries with me, I’m not into chicks.”
We laughed and I slowly packed away my red flags; my closet was bursting with them. I knew I could be loyal if I had to be, if the right man came along. I didn’t need to let him know just how fucked up I was, not just yet. I felt like I really knew what I was talking about but I was trying to convince myself, too, since I’m horrible at catching the signs myself.
It’s true that people hold back as long as they can. They hide their true colors and their inner demons. What would he think if he knew about my mom, about the way I was raised? I had to pretend my childhood was full of baking chocolate chip cookies and backyard barbecues, even though I practically raised myself and lived in a damn-near brothel. The good part about it all is that I somehow felt that I didn’t have to pretend with Chauncey. I could open up and really be Kylie.
We spoke for three hours straight and it felt nice getting to know him. I found out he was a mortgage broker for a bank. He hated his job in Orlando but liked his paycheck. He wanted to buy a condo in Miami; he had good credit and helped other people fix theirs. I think he is a winner, but with one big no-no: He has kids. I know, I know. And not one, two! A five-year-old son and fourteen-year-old daughter. Two baby mamas! That means I’d be baby mama number three. His son lives in California a
nd his daughter lives in Virginia. Lucky me, but still, just the idea of him having child support payments is enough to give me huge pause. But hey, such is life. I really like him and after our long conversation, I realized, why delay meeting him? Go for it!
“I really think you’re a cool guy, Chauncey.”
“Oh yeah? You ain’t so bad yourself, girl.”
I got brave enough to ask, “Want to come down and hang out in the M-I-A this weekend?”
“Sure. This weekend? You sure you ready for me?”
“Might I add, of course you’d have to get a hotel room, since I live with my mom right now.”
He sucked his teeth. “Who says I would be so easy? I would get my own room anyhow. The nerve!” he said with a touch of false indignation in his voice.
“A date at eight in the flesh. ‘Feel-up Friday’! I can’t wait!” I teased.
“Oh, I likes. Feel-up Fridays? We should make that a holiday if this works out. But hey, just be easy on me. It’s been a long time. I don’t need any temptation, and by the looks of your photos, you’re oh, so tempting.”
“Oh, fun, I can’t wait to tease you.”
“Hummph, I already see you’re gonna be trouble!” he mumbled.
“Who meeee? Never.” I laughed.
“So, what do you want to do, any activities you recommend down there? It’s been a minute.”
“Beach is always easy and we can eat after?”
“Oh, wow.”
“Wow what? You sound surprised.”
“Well, you know . . . the beach. Most women don’t wanna mess up their hair or makeup.”
“Chauncey, you’ll soon find that I’m not ‘most women.’”
“It’s actually pretty refreshing. I mean, you have no idea.”
“We’re gonna have fun getting to know each other.”
“Yes . . . Lots of fun. I already can tell.” He cleared his throat. “Okay . . . I’ll check out the hotels on South Beach and get back to you tomorrow and we’ll take it from there.”
“That’s sounds good. Okay, Chauncey! Until tomorrow, ciao.”
“All right, sweetie.” Chauncey paused as if he didn’t want to hang up. “Kylie . . .”
“Yes?” I said with a smile.
“I’ll be thinking about you.”
My heart fluttered. “Wow, same here. Good night.”
“You have a good one, too, beautiful.”
I jumped up like a seventeen-year-old kid about to go to prom. I have a date. Wow! A date with Chauncey. This is going to be fun. I just love how giddy I feel after speaking with him. He makes me forget all my woes.
Chapter 7
Kylie
The night before our date, I made sure I got my hair done at Natural Trendsetters, the hottest natural hair salon in South Florida. I added a few chunky blond streaks to my honey-brown ’fro for a fun, summery look. I wanted to make an irresistible first impression. If Chauncey looked as good as he did in his photos, I was definitely going to be flirting. The two of us and the beach . . . what could be better? The poor guy had no idea what I had in store for him. The clear waters, our skin pressed up against each other, and the waves thrusting into us as we kiss and touch.
“Ky, you got a call. It’s Olivia!” True was in her bright red short-shorts and sports bra, getting ready to go to the gym, looking thirty-three instead of forty-three. Her voice startled me out of my soon-to-be wet dream.
I grabbed the phone. “Thanks, True. What’s up, Liv!” True left a sweet trail of shea butter and tea tree oil floating in the air as she walked toward the door.
Olivia’s British accent was always music to my ears. “Hey there, how are ya? Are you ready for your hot date?”
“Yeah, got my hair did, new bathing suit, I’m all ready.”
“Beauty parlor and then beach? That’s smart.” She always had a snide comment.
“I’ll wrap it up when we go in the water. I have to look cute, okay smart-ass?”
“Nervous?” She laughed.
“A little.” I stared out the window at my neighbor’s dog, Aspen, playing with his ball. “Girl, I’m praying he looks as good in person. Otherwise his personality seems solid. He’s really a wonderful guy.”
“Well, I’m sure he’s praying the same thing about you. Let’s just keep it a secret about how crazy you are. Behave yourself. You know you are an open book.”
“I’m hoping I can be real with him. I want to see if he can actually handle all of me. He might be a bit conservative, not sure yet.”
“Oh well, you better make it a quick date. Don’t bring the whips, chains, and leather mask out just yet.”
“Girl, please, I haven’t done that in ages. My equipment is in storage anyhow.” With a devilish grin I said, “And for your information, I never owned a leather mask!” I laughed so hard, tears formed in the corners of my eyes. “Those stories go with you to your grave, Olivia! You hear me? Tha graaaaaave!”
“Mum’s the word, you slut.” She giggled.
“Ooohh, Mommy said a bad word!” her daughter squealed.
“What?” Olivia was startled. “Get from behind me. What did I tell you about sneaking up on Mommy when she’s on the phone?”
“Oh shit, she already knows that’s a bad word.”
“Well, yeah, she’s said it before and got slapped for it.”
“Kids. See why I don’t want any?”
“Whatever, you’ll probably be the one who ends up with triplets!”
We chuckled. “Ah! Don’t curse me. I don’t need that jinx!”
Olivia was well aware of my former life as a fake dominatrix. It was Breeze’s fault. I only did it for him. He sparked my interest in the world of S and M and my appetite for domination became voracious. I talked dirty, pulled hair, scratched, yelled, and even beat him with a whip. Usually they say high-powered men love that stuff. They want to release all control, be submissive for once. Boy, I had a good time doing it.
As manipulative and controlling as Breeze was, it seemed he got a kick out of obeying my every command when we played. I do admit that I missed seeing him squirm with his hands tied behind his back, on his knees, and sometimes blindfolded. We were wild. Revenge was such sweet victory—for all the times he controlled me outside of the bedroom.
Olivia wasn’t too crazy about the Internet dating thing. “Text message me his full name and license plate number when you see him. And be careful.”
“Okay, Olivia,” I reassured her. “I will be sure to get his fingerprints, too. Wish me luck.”
Chapter 8
Jacques
I love New York but I hate its public transportation. I can’t stand crowds or the energy that flows through them.
To avoid taking the subway, I tried desperately to hail a cab one morning in front of my brother’s loft. I was on my way to visit my mom in TriBeCa. Normally I’d enjoy the long walk but it was pouring rain and the wind was unbelievably powerful. My peacoat kept me warm and I pulled my dark hoodie over my head. I soon surrendered to the shelter of the subway, when the umbrella I held had become a flimsy piece of vinyl with unruly wires.
I never liked trains or buses. It’s bad enough I can read people. People are not themselves on a train. They close off and go within. Their vibrations and bad energies fight to get out and be free. People are not looking at one another, not smiling, not really thinking about anything in particular. As strange as it sounds, it’s frustrating. I usually feel closed in, like I’m trapped inside a cage. I want to yell at the top of my lungs and release everything they are all holding back.
I often feel a tight hold around my neck. I have to seriously meditate to avoid that feeling. My friends used to laugh at me when I got on the train, because they could literally see how uncomfortable I got. The subway is also a haven for nutcases. For some reason, no matter how much of a sardine can the train is, they always find me. After a long day working on other people’s problems, the last thing I want to do is absorb more of people’s crap. I�
��ve come to realize that many of the people society calls crazy are just unresolved psychics. Many of these people were given the gift to see what others can’t, but they have no control over it, and they don’t know how to separate the spirit world from the real world. They aren’t grounded and might really see entities from other dimensions or earthbound spirits, but they get labeled crazy and become outcasts.
As a psychology major, I studied various psychological disorders. At the time, I wanted to become a therapist. While learning about disorders, my gut feeling told me that although many of those issues were very real, they might not all be truly “disorders.” The “voices” in my head or the spirits that visit me at night probably would turn the average individual into a basket case if they didn’t understand that they were gifted.
I looked across the train car at a mother and two daughters who seemed mesmerized by what they were working on. The older daughter had long braids down her back. She looked like eight years old or so and was writing in a book called You Can Write Cursive Too! The younger one, who was about five years old, was wearing a pink Barbie ski cap. She dug into her Barbie backpack, finally fishing out a coloring book.
As I watched her color, a rush of warm memories flooded back into my thoughts. Coloring was my first love and it always reminded me of my father, since he taught me how to do it. Although my mom was a designer and painter, she was always on tour traveling for some art showing or working at the gallery. My father was the one to play with me.
It was through coloring that I realized how connected to my father I really was. The first time it happened, my first grade teacher was quite disturbed and I had no idea of the seriousness of it all. At playtime all the kids drew with crayons. In our crude masterpieces, you’d find stick figures of friends, siblings, parents, and even the bus driver whom we affectionately called Uncle Louie. I don’t remember what I drew that day, but I remember when I colored, I almost felt like I was dreaming. I was relaxed. I was off in my own world. What I didn’t realize then was that particular day would be the beginning of my new life.