by Romi Hart
As the crowd disperses and the cleanup crew begins to take over, I finally catch Rey hovering around the courtyard. I hurry over to him and wave my hands in the air, giving him a cutesy WTF gesture.
“Lyndia,” he says with a smile.
“What are you doing here?” I ask in curiosity.
"Well, I figured I helped you out a little bit. Can't I stay and enjoy the festivities?"
"No, no. You could have gone home. I want to know," I say poking him in the chest, "why did you wait here?"
"I dunno. I guess I felt like you owed me a better goodbye. Or maybe you still owe me fifteen dollars for the drink."
“No, not good enough. Tell the truth, Rey. Do something unexpected and don’t go for the joke.”
"I came by because I wanted to see you," he says straight-faced but with a peaceful smile.
“Why?” I ask, patting my hair and tilting my head, looking into his soul.
“Because,” he replies with a shot of confidence. “I like you.”
“Not good enough,” I say, turning around—without thought. As if I’m subconsciously poking him, wanting more, demanding his full attention and summoning up every goddamned thing that’s hiding in his heart.
“BECAUSE!” he says turning me around and grabbing my hands. He looks into my eyes, desperately, urgently, feeling the flames of unleashed emotion burning between us. “I’m crazy about you, Lyndia. I don’t know why, I don’t know how to explain it. But whenever I see you, I just lose myself. I want to talk to you, I want you to listen, listen to everything I have to say. I want to tell you every thought I’ve ever had. I want to share with you and learn from you. Be your mentor and your follower. I want to hear every crazy, every brilliant thought inside your head.”
I smile back at him, mouth open and teeth showing, telling him to go on—please go on and don’t stop. He’s hitting the G-spot of my imagination, making me crazy with emotions I can barely control. And I love it!
“I want to be naked with you. Clothed with you. I want to fuck you and make love to you. I want you to piss me off, argue with me and give me shit. I want your everything. I want you to REACT to me, to be in my life. Constantly. I need to know you, need to feel you in my arms. I’m addicted to you—I can’t stop thinking about you—”
“No, no, no,” I say once again, having no strategy, no idea what I’m saying. Except that I want MORE. “Not enough, not enough-!” I say, shaking and throwing my hands up in chaotic energy.
He takes the hint, that I barely understand myself, and grabs me in an embrace. He shuts us both up by kissing me passionately. I kiss him back with everything I feel inside. It’s beyond words. I give him everything. All my fucked up psychoses. All my sweet, innocent love that wants to believe in Christmas and good will towards men. All my rage and all my apology.
Maybe it is an addiction…but with him it's something so powerful it's beyond want. I need him, I need him touching me. I need him talking to me, whispering to me, filling my head with his thoughts.
We kiss so passionately we lose track of time and place and fall into the grass of the courtyard still madly smooching.
By the time we realize we’re partly covered in snow and mud we decide it’s okay to laugh about it. We’re crazy and we know it. We’re madly touching, groping and bonding with each other like wild creatures—we don’t need the world’s approval or understanding. We just need to feel this…right here. Without definitions or rules.
My pussy is so wet for him. I realize that if we don't move our game to some other "arena" soon, we're going to fuck like animals right on public property. It takes a lot of ladylike self-control to stand up and bring him with me to our feet.
“Let’s go.”
"Where?" he says, his voice loud and masculine, daring me to say no to him. As if I could resist him now, or ever.
“To my place…” I sigh.
“No, too far. I want you now…”
“Take me to a hotel then…and fuck me like you mean it.”
He kisses me with mad passion again—so hard and magnetically that I lose my balance and fall into his arms for a deeper hug, and wetter kiss. He’s going to take me…as soon as we find a hotel or motel. We just need each other…we need this moment as soon as we can hold onto it. This is the moment of truth, of no regrets.
I can’t live with this passion inside of me. Yearning for him. He’s going to have to make violent, rough love to me for hours. Maybe days. Multiple orgasms, filling each other up with juices. It will never end. I don’t want it to end. Please don’t let me sober up from this addictive substance called… LUST.
I dare not call it love. We made love in a hotel that night, desperate to feel each other’s skin one more time. Was it the chemical reaction of makeup sex—the illusion that what we previously walked away from was still within our grasp?
Would we wake up from this mad dream and realize we were in the exact same spot as before?
I wanted to believe in him, not that he could “change”, because no intelligent woman would ever delude herself into believing such a lie, but rather that he was this secret
“other person” underneath his gritty exterior. He was a boy, a bad ass, a rebel…but that was a façade that hid the perfect gentleman that existed on the inside.
His gesture at my charity event was definitely proof that he understood the concept of giving, of charity, the things that matter to me.
But did he do it all to impress me? Or because he really enjoyed doing it? And honestly, which of those would I really prefer? Do I want a man consumed with his own impossible mission in life…or do I want a man who loves me so unconditionally, he would follow me into Hell if just to be near me?
Our dinners together are respectable…as always, polite, and with a new understanding. That we’re good, decent people in public…and ravenous sluts under the covers.
He likes the double life. He likes to be a hero to me, to his fans, and to the community. And he likes roughhousing me in bed, holding nothing back, and talking dirty to me like no man ever has.
I crave both sides of him. I want this relationship to last forever.
And yet I can’t bring myself to say I Love You. I know he feels the same way. We both think it, we fear it, those words. Those faint promises. Because God only knows what the future holds. We superstitiously avoid those words, even though we enjoy discussing our time together, and how we’ve forsaken other people in order to selfishly claim each other’s bodies as “owned property.”
Oh God yes, I want him to claim me. To write his name all over my tits and ass with his sperm. Sometimes in the throes of orgasm, I think unspeakable thoughts about having his baby and keeping him in my bosom forever. Doing whatever it takes to keep him with me, even if it’s lying, even if it’s dishonest and manipulative and cruel!
But I let those feelings go. I can’t pressure him, I can’t make our fun and carefree affairs serious or negative in any way. It’s like a fight against gravity. I destroy every relationship I enjoy because I want too much…and he runs away every time things get too tense.
And yet we both resist “being ourselves” just so we can see this through.
He orders the steak and I order an Italian dish. Rey is quite delighted that I’ve come around and not actually enjoy some Italian entrees. He still teases me, he still harasses me about money.
But there’s mutual respect now…a wonderful new side that I haven’t taken for granted. He’s really impressed me over the last several dates, I can’t minimize how far he’s come from the Rey I first met so many months ago—the same man who wanted to offend me, couldn’t care less about my values and ego.
Now he’s sweet, kind and understanding. Is this the real him?
God, it’s such an elephant-in-the-room feeling. Like we’re both afraid to say it and yet we fear NOT saying it.
“I am going in for an interview tomorrow,” I announce merrily.
“Yeah?” he says with a peaceful smile. “The
coordinator position?”
"Yeah!" I reply, all jazzed up about my future. But what would my future be like without him? Could the two of us possibly co-exist under the same roof? Our dynamite egos and fondness for arguing and dominating the conversation?
“You’re damned good at it,” he says, munching away at his dinner. “I’m proud of you for challenging yourself.”
“Yeah I mean it’s not exactly president, right? But it’s a start. Maybe in ten years or so, I’ll actually get a job that matters.”
“Eh maybe not.”
I laugh it up. "Well, thanks for the vote of confidence."
“You’re right, it’s a long path. A path that sometimes leads to nowhere. You’re not going to get a lot of opportunities.”
“Why, because I’m white?” I say with a snicker.
“Because you’re young. You’re a girl to most people.”
I scowl at him, wiggling in my seat and fuming inside. I give him the evil eye and my voice deepens in judgment. “Rey, I should have known you would find a way to ruin my moment.”
“I’m just telling the truth. When people see a woman like you, they see only what they resent. Lost youth. Regrets. Missed opportunities. Maybe the real truth is they want to punish you for it. Well…I guess what I’m saying is that I don’t think they should be allowed to determine your fate. Your career is what you choose.”
“And I choose this! My path!”
“No!” he says like a defiant lion. “Here, you look at this.”
He grabs a file from his coat pocket and tosses it my way. His rebellious mean streak offends me, puts me on edge…but I guess I might as well look at whatever he’s pointing at. Fucking barbarian.
My face softens as I read the text, even as his voice becomes gentle and compassionate once again.
“I want you to come work for me,” he says hopefully. “Not as an intern, not as some goddamn kid in an assistant position. I want you to be the director of the new foundation I’m starting. I want to set aside a whole company just for charity projects.”
“Oh my God,” I say, taking shallow breaths, feeling feverish and slightly dizzy. “What…what are you talking about?”
“I know it doesn’t seem like me. But the truth is, I really enjoyed your Christmas project. It was amazing. The way you organized it, the way you brought the whole community together…just unbelievable. I want that for myself. I mean…not just to be a dick about it, but I mean I want to DO more things like that.”
I look at Rey in apology. In heart-wrenching agony. I can't possibly accept this. And he knows that.
“And I know it doesn’t seem like me. But up until I met you, Lyndia, I really didn’t know who I wanted to be either. But that night, doing what we did…doing something new and helpful to others…I said to myself, this is where I belong. I like this doing this. I mean I’m not Oprah fucking Winfrey, you know. I’m not going to cry on television like a schmuck. But if you’re asking me, did I enjoy it? The answer is yeah. I did…because you showed how much fun it could be.”
“Dammit, Rey, stop talking,” I say in warning. “It’s very sweet, it is…but you know I can’t accept.”
“Why not?” he asks, a bit of impatience in his voice.
“Because Rey! You can’t just hire me because you like me! I have to work my way up the ladder. I mean…no offense, I’m really happy you’re getting into the charity kick. But what happens when you get bored? What happens when you’re playing the World Series? My job is important to me.”
“This is permanent, Lyndia! This is MY foundation, where I’m putting my name. I’m serious.”
"Oh, and what qualifications do I have, Rey?" I say in spite. Finding it so hard to say to a man I respect so much, and fucking LOVE so much. But then again, I mean every word I say. "Why on earth would you hire me for a job this important when I don't have the educational background and I-?"
“Fuck all that. I’m hiring you because you’re ambitious, Lyndia. You’re smart, you’re wise beyond your years. You’re going to take this job because you know it’s what you always wanted to do. And sure, you’ll be overwhelmed at first, but you’re going to step up to the plate—if I can borrow an expression from my own sport. You’re going to learn it all. You’re going to get the help you need and you’re going to do a kick-ass, absolutely perfect job. Not only because you’re that damned good, but also because my accountant will demand you do the job perfectly. You know how that goes.”
Rey smiles that cute, mischievous grin I’ve fallen madly in love with.
“Rey…I can’t.”
“Stop saying that. Stop limiting yourself. You either dream big, Lyndia, or you fall off the mountain, second yourself. Don’t even get off that mountain.”
“I MEAN REY,” I suddenly shout, probably causing a scene—but I’m too furious to care. “You can’t do this to me! I can’t keep…I can’t work for you! I can’t be in the same damned building as you all day, talking to you all day, taking orders from you all day long--”
“Sure you can,” he says nonchalantly as he reaches in his pocket for his credit card. His flippancy just pisses me off even more! “BECAUSE you idiot, I’m in love with you!”
He hesitates and looks back at me.
“And I KNOW, I know I’m not supposed to say it first. And I know I’ve just ruined everything between us. And I know I’m so going to regret this tomorrow morning, when I realize that THIS stupid moment is what finally convinced you to dump me. But I guess it’s too late now, isn’t it? I’m in love with you. Ever since you believed in me, and gave me the chance to do something I’ve always wanted to do. Yeah I screwed up, didn’t I? But at least you know now. At least it’s out in the open.”
“Lyndia…read the fine print of the contract. Hush your big mouth, cute as though it may be, and just read before you talk.”
“What does it matter!”
“Because I’m offering you this job as a special clause in the contract. I want you to be the director of my private charity foundation…because I’m asking you to marry me.”
“What?!”
“You can’t possibly disappoint me, Lyndia. I don’t want to WORK with you. I want you in my life. I want you to work your magic your own way, answering to nobody. I want you to prove yourself on your own terms and show us the way, like you always do. And God knows we can’t work together without screwing madly. So let’s save ourselves the work scandal and just get married.”
“But-But?”
“And yes, of course, I'm serious. I'm asking you to marry me."
He reaches in his coat pocket and pulls out a purple box. My eyes look on in a red-faced stupor. I said it first…but he thought it first. He’s in love with me. He’s in love with ME.
“Someone once told me to live life without regrets. You would be my only regret, Lyndia, if I let you get away. I love you. I’m in love with you and I can’t hold it in any longer.”
I look to my side, as I notice the other diners in the restaurant causing a scene. Reporters are coming. Oh Jesus, the press is probably coming to snap pictures and print a story. My famous boyfriend is proposing…and here I am looking so average!
But as I look into Rey’s eyes, so dark and smiling…but so relaxed, so serene as the lights are reflected through them…I realize that this is my purpose. To be something more than I am…to aim for the stars. To never fall from that mountain. To change the world or die trying. This is my destiny. And Rey Ramirez is my true love…the only man who understands me. He understands that behind my madness lies the winds of change. The desire for something better. A better world, a better society, correcting the regrets of our forefathers.
This is what winning feels like. "Yes, Rey," I say with tears dripping down and ruining my makeup. The most romantic moment of my life isn't going to be pretty on the outside but inside it's heaven. "I'll marry you. I love you too! I loved you first!"
Dangerous Play
Nate
Bottom line, I sle
pt with a lot of women I shouldn’t have. Single women, movie stars, poor women, older women, younger women, married women, women with boyfriends, women with girlfriends, female friends of my guy friends and of course, those classy women who say they don’t want no part of Nate Jiggur.
They expect to meet a monster. A misogynist, a bully, a player, a cheat, a crook and a sneak. But that’s not me. That’s just the guy they try to sell you on TV. Everything the world knows about me is true. I’m the world’s fiercest quarterback who led the losing-streak Dallas Cowboys back to the Super Bowl—twice! I’m not just an MVP in sports, last year and the year before…I’m the MVP in real life, baby.
Everything else, the life I live behind closed doors, that’s anyone’s guess.
But you wouldn’t be wrong to say I get laid as much as the pope prays!
When you have countless groupies throwing themselves at you after every game, the same old same old gets boring after a while. That’s why I like the women that say, No way, Hosea! Beware of Nate Jiggur, that shaved head twenty-six-year-old white boy is bad news!
That’s what they all say at first. And when I finally take the bitch downtown, that’s when it feels oh so extra good to pound that sweet poontang until she comes twice. Because there’s nothing sexier than a woman that changes her mind and lets me dance in her forbidden garden, if you catch what I’m saying.
I’ve heard it all before…
I'm a high-class kind of girl and I want a man who worships the ground I walk on. And I've heard terrible, terrible things about Nate!
Oh you heard things?
Yes, I KNOW what kind of man you are. And I don’t fall for players. No sir!
Ohhh I see, because you’re a championship girl, isn’t that right? You’re the highest caliber, MVP little miss special. Waiting for Mr. Right to come along. Million dollar woman that spreads her legs for NOBODY.
That’s right! You’re not all that! I’ve had better.