When Somebody Loves You Back

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When Somebody Loves You Back Page 27

by Mary B. Morrison


  Glancing in the misty mirror, she saw he was handsome. Sexy. Beautiful. They looked good having sex. “You’re a passionate lover,” she complimented, watching them fuck like the free-spirited animals they were.

  “Not passionate. Attentive. I’m attentive to everything I decide to do. Like doing you.”

  “Umm,” she moaned, as he pushed the first inch inside. “Slow down, I’m gonna cum too fast!” she yelled just as he pushed in another inch.

  A store clerk walked over and said, “Y’all can’t do this here.”

  Her lover kept stroking as if no one had spoken. “Passion requires attachment. I don’t like attachments.”

  Thrusting her ass into his pelvis, she’d definitely picked the right man. Men. The clerk was a hot and sexy mocha man. “Give me your dick,” she insisted.

  “Who?” he asked, looking around.

  “Give it to her, man, before it’s too late, ’cause I’ma about to bust a nut,” Sexy Chocolate grunted.

  Easing his dick from under his apron, he said, “Here,” placing his erection in her hand.

  “Nice. Stand right here in front of me. Better yet, hand me that can of whipped cream.” Lubing her hand with cream, she rhythmically stroked the clerk while Sexy Chocolate penetrated deep inside her. “Yes! Fuck me!” she yelled to Sexy Chocolate, stroking the clerk’s dick harder.

  “Oh my. I don’t believe this is happening,” Sexy Chocolate said.

  “I’m gonna explode in your ass.” Reaching between her thighs, he grabbed her pussy and massaged her clit.

  Faintly she said, “Not yet.”

  The clerk’s large hands cupped both her titties firmly then pinched her nipples.

  “Oh yeah. I’m cumming!” she screamed as Sexy Chocolate pumped and pumped. Her pussy juices flowed onto his fingers as he stroked faster. “Don’t stop. Fuck me! Harder!”

  Every time he penetrated her, she stroked the clerk faster. Looping her other hand between the clerk’s thighs, she bypassed his nuts, frantically finger-fucking him. His dick was nice and plump. Thick white cum flowed out of his hole down his shaft, and onto her hand.

  “Oh, shit!” Sexy Chocolate yelled.

  “Oh, shit,” she echoed in unison with the clerk.

  Repeatedly, they took turns yelling while cumming together. Her body orgasm shot from her toes to her head, then deep inside her rectum.

  Sexy Chocolate massaged her back. “Whew! I gotta shop here more often.”

  “I gotta get back to work. Thanks for, whew!” the clerk said, walking away.

  Standing, she tilted her head back, breasts forward, her hair flowing back, and her eyes rolling to the top of her lids. Mr. Attentive slung the best dick she’d ever had. Her pussy spasms continued as she kept cumming after he’d eased his dick out.

  Sexy Chocolate moaned, “I feel you. I’m still leaking.”

  The clerk returned, waving several paper towels under the mist, then handed them to her and waved. She dabbed her pussy, then patted Sexy Chocolate’s face. Fanning the flap of her dress in his direction, she kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks. I needed that.” Shaking her hair behind her shoulders, she walked away slowly, swaggering her hips.

  Sexy Chocolate yelled, “Hey, wait a minute! What’s your name?”

  Slowly turning around, she smiled, winked, then disappeared into the sunshine.

  THE AVERAGE BLACK MAN

  by Honey B.

  The average black man is an underachiever.

  Although the average black man possesses intellect and talent beyond measure to excel at whatever he commits to, he won’t fully apply himself. He expects his woman to treat him like his mother.

  “My mama used to work, clean the house, and cook dinner every day.”

  I ask, “Is that something for a black man to be proud of?” perpetuating a system that denounces his manhood.

  The average black man has expectations of everyone except himself. He wants his money like his women, fast, easy, and sometimes sleazy, so he’s willing to get his hustle on—have a kid or two, somebody else’s wife will do—as long as he’s not required to break a sweat or pay a debt like child support because he’s too worried about the black woman getting ahead of him.

  ‘“I don’t know what she’s doing with my money.”

  “Try being a man and raising your own kids, honey.”

  He doesn’t realize the black woman was ahead of him well before she met him. Now because of his setback, she’s working overtime to get back what she had before she met him.

  The average black man will do more for the white man than he’ll ever do for the black woman, all along despising both because neither respects him, primarily because he doesn’t respect himself. A lie is easier to tell than the truth. Abusing his woman is the fastest way to raise his self-esteem. It’s easy for the black man to become a user, using his mother, wife, family, friends, women, and strangers for one common purpose, all to meet his needs.

  When the truth is the average black man doesn’t know what he needs, let alone wants. “I want her, and her, and her, and her, but I don’t want her to find out about her so I’ll lie to them all because I love my wife.”

  The average black man substitutes his needs with greed to by any means necessary buy a fancy car to get classy women who are foolish enough to pay the note in order to let some other woman take the ride, all along kidding herself into believing that she’s his prize until she’s “surprised!”

  The average black man cultivates his own demise. “I’m the king of my castle,” he might say when his name is nowhere indeed on the deed. “I’m the king of my throne,” he may shout, but if the black woman puts his ass out, he’s gone, alone, and has no home. So what he does is uses another black woman to have his back.

  “If I need a place to stay, can we shack?”

  When what he’s really saying is, “Just in case the one I’ve got finds out about you, you’ll have to do until I find somebody new.”

  The average black man has got to, like Spike Lee said in School Daze, “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” And since the average black man won’t read this message because he’s sleepwalking through his life, I have to speak to the sistas and say it’s time that you find “a man” who will love, cherish, and respect you, but you must first respect yourself. You see, when the black woman stops settling, the average black man will rise above minimum wage, denounce his minimalist attitude, stand tall, proud, and take center stage.

  The average black man is a king…king…king…king. But he doesn’t act like royalty.

  I wish I could write a play about the average black man, but this is all too real. I sincerely hate the way I feel when I tell the average black man he’s not good enough. No, no, no, in no way am I stuck up, but I refuse to let him fuck up or fuck me. For free. They say shit comes in threes, and if dissolution, more like disillusion, of marriage can dissolve before my eyes, to Halle, to Terry, then I know it can happen to any woman.

  You see, I refuse to settle for the sour milk in the average black man’s cheddar. I don’t need to repeat someone else’s mistakes because I know I can do better, or shall I say the average black man can do better? But he won’t, if we don’t require him to.

  These days, I’m hella direct, almost to a fault. I don’t like wasting my time, so I’ll look a man in his eyes and say up front, “If you’re not paying for our dates, don’t ask me out.” If he can’t afford the meal, he can’t enjoy the thrill.

  I’ll also say, “Drop your drawers, I need to do a dick check.” I’m checking for a few things: length, thickness, responsiveness, and ultimately, cleanliness. Three out of four won’t do. I am going to do the sniff test, place my hand directly in front of my face, and inhale. No sour balls allowed. He might say what the heck? but like it or not I gets my respect. He’ll come correct or he won’t cum at all. It’s not what you do, it’s how you do it. I love having fun so I am quite comical, at times.

  Ladies, before that first date, get a few questions
off your plate:

  What’s your vision for life?

  You got a wife?

  Cohabiting?

  Involved in a relationship?

  Live with your mama?

  Got any baby mama drama?

  How many kids do you have?

  Have you ever let a man fuck you in your ass?

  Girlfriends, don’t be afraid to question men. Chances are, the average black man has more excuses, justifications, hesitations, and falsifications than direct answers. So, I say unto my sistas, stop lying for the black man because we are partially to blame for enabling them. And if you’re like me, you’re handling all the responsibilities, financial and otherwise, on your own, so don’t take on any additional liabilities.

  The average black man will abandon his woman, then say it was her fault that he left. Sistas, be smart about your money. Please do not share bank accounts with your man, never again put your money in his hand, do not freely hand him the keys to your car, and please do make sure you get paid before he gets laid.

  The average black man is quick to lay claim to all your material things and he’ll gladly lend you his name if you buy the rings. But let him get a dollar and all you’ll hear is, “Holla at a playa when you see me on the street,” on his way out the door. Why deal with infidelity and insecurity, then turn around and get married? There are too many married women housing Single Husbands, but that’s a whole book I’m working on.

  As for right now, my sistas, it’s time for women to become empowered. Don’t hesitate to overlook the average black man, because the average black man doesn’t give a damn about you. Think I’m lying? File for divorce. Ask for child support without taking him to court. It’s time to cross over to a real man (black or other) who will love you for you. From this day forward, quit digesting bullshit.

  I say unto all my sisters, irrespective of race…because a man sees no color when he hates (or dislikes) himself, find and keep at least three good men and call them all friends. Then do what I do. Tell them all, “I love you, too.”

  Last but not least, starting from the inside out, be outrageously great to yourself. A man should never have to treat a woman better than she treats herself.

  Until the Honey Bee stings again, remember, “You are what you eat…so stay sweet.”

  POETRY CORNER

  Dear God

  Since You gave Your only son

  To wash away our sins

  Then where does purgatory fit in

  Dear God

  Since You are the only perfect One

  And You sacrificed Your son to forgive our sins

  Then where does the guilt trip begin

  If you don’t tithe ten percent

  If you fornicate

  If you don’t honor your mother and father

  Sin, sin, sin

  Some of Your soldiers

  Christians if You may

  Believe they’re going to heaven

  Yet they sin every day

  Their justifications seem so odd

  When they sternly point their finger

  Yes, I know that I’m a sinner

  But surely you must see

  That I’m a Christian and I’m saved

  So regardless God loves me

  Why does the leader, the pastor

  Who’s suppose to deliver Your word

  Doesn’t hear his own preaching

  Doesn’t practice his own teaching

  If God is the only true Savior

  Why do Allah, Jehovah, and Buddha exist

  Why do men pray one day

  Slay the next

  Then after they’ve done their dirty work

  They wash their hands for You

  In light of all the failed marriages God

  What happens to the woman who decides not to be a wife

  Not to procreate

  Rear a child by herself

  Yet her sex life

  Is great

  Why does man easily yield to temptation

  Overwhelming enjoying the sensation

  Screams Your name during orgasms

  Oh my God

  Oh my God

  Oh my God

  Is that a sin

  What if he repents

  Then does it again

  Dear God

  If no one can ever be perfect

  Why do we strive for perfection

  If everyone sins

  And nobody ever wins

  Does that mean close enough is good enough

  To enter the gates of heaven

  Back to the guilt trip, Lord

  Why should anyone worry

  If all one has to do

  Is confess with their mouth

  And believe in their heart

  Then wait for the day they’ll see You

  Is there a back door for atheists to creep through

  We’re taught to believe

  That because of our sins

  One day the world will come to an end

  If that’s true

  Dear God

  The last question is

  Why did life ever begin

  DAMN YOU

  My hormones are escalating

  As I watch the imprint of your dick

  Growing down your thigh

  Penetrating

  Your denims

  Wishing I was in ’em

  My eyes linger imagining

  How would it feel to hit it

  Lick it

  Kiss it

  Suck it

  The truth is

  I want to fuck it

  Fuck you

  But our relationship is new

  Right?

  I exhale

  Two inches from your lips

  My hips

  Curl into your dick

  And I feel your throbbing head

  Pressing against my clit

  Shit!

  My tits

  Are tingling

  Co-mingling

  With my libido

  This is a conspiracy

  I’m sure you know

  Your theory

  Is working

  Softly I exhale

  Not remembering if I ever inhaled

  But what the hell

  Your smell

  Is making me cum

  Closer

  To you

  But I can’t submit to my appetite

  Because our relationship is new

  Right?

  Your tongue emerges

  Filling the gap between our lips

  Pulling me closer

  You sit

  Instinctively I straddle your lap

  We’re face-to-face

  Our rapid breaths chasing one another

  While my pussy secretly keeps the pace

  Quietly

  I want to be your lover

  You ease my dress over my hips

  Over my head

  Then toss it next to us

  On your bed

  Your lips caress my nipples

  At the same time

  Your head presses against my clit

  And my pussy dribbles

  Onto your denims

  Wising I was in ’em

  I exhale

  Not remembering if I ever inhaled

  But what the hell

  I’m feeling you

  Damn

  What should I do

  Our relationship is new

  Right?

  I lose focus

  My pussy is tight

  I can’t wait another minute

  To hit it

  Lick it

  Kiss it

  Suck it

  It’s time

  Aw, yeah

  It’s time for me to

  For me to

  Fuck you

  All right?

  I’m taking your dick out of your pants

  And into my hands

  I want you so bad, man

  My hips curl you
>
  Into

  My vagina

  I exhale

  Aw

  Yes

  Um-hum

  Not remembering if I ever inhaled

  Your dick is the best

  I say taking control

  Leading you way down inside my soul

  I fuck you nice and slow

  Then ride you hard-core

  Squeezing teasing and pleasing

  Until you explode like a rocket

  Deep inside my pulsating pussy pocket

  Seems like we cum forever

  Together

  We whisper together

  Damn you

  Damn you

  Damn you

  Is all we can say

  As we lay

  I inhale

  In a matter of moments

  Our relationship grew

  But if I would’ve known

  Your dick was that good

  I would’ve fucked you

  On date number two

  Goddamn you

  WHEN SOMEBODY LOVES YOU BACK

  Hopeless

  Helpless

  Your stomach churns

  Restless

  Sleepless

  You toss and turn

  Angry

  Depressed

  Your soul burns

  When one gives more than one receives

  Incomprehensible

  Indispensable

  Often unmentioned

  There is no

  Democracy of reciprocity

  Nor meeting point that’s halfway

  Love with your head

  Think with your heart

  Every single day

  Believing everyone will be

  Okay

  I AM EVERYBODY

  I am everybody

  But everybody is not me

  Violated by the master

  I am Jewish, you see

  Born in Louisiana

  So there is French in me

  I am Irish

 

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