These Are My Confessions

by Robinson, Cheryl; Smith, Meta; King, Joy; Parks, Electa Rome

  Free at Last…

  Two months later…

  I prayed. Prayed some more. Then, I called Drake. Called him for the last time. I pushed each digit of his number like I had done hundreds of times before, but slowly. The phone rang and rang and rang with no pickup other than his voice mail. It didn’t matter. It was probably for the best. I wanted to get this off my chest and it didn’t matter if I told Drake face-to-face, over the phone, or in an impersonal voice mail. Who knew when he would arrive home? He was probably still out partying from the night before or laid up with somebody. I listened to his voice. Closed my eyes to commit it to memory. He always had such a sexy, deep voice. One day he’d miss me and realize how wrong he was. One day he’d be sorry.

  My message, which took two phone calls, went like this:

  “Drake, I want to inform you that you are not going to intimidate, harass, or threaten me anymore. I’m sick of running. I’ve prayed about you. Today, I made the decision to fight. If you ever call me, drive by or come by my apartment again, I swear I will call the police and report you. Everything will come out. Everything!

  “One day, you’ll get yours, because we really do reap what we sow! I deserved so much more from you. I loved you. Thought you were the one. The man of my dreams. Now, I just pity you. I pity you. Don’t ever contact me again. I realize you tried to shape me into someone I wasn’t, tried to strip away my integrity, but it doesn’t matter. You almost succeeded, but not quite, because I’m still standing! Goodbye, Drake.”

  After hanging up, I felt free. Free like a bird gliding through the sky. I felt like a burden had been released from my shoulders, and when I turned the car radio back on, guess what was playing? “Jesus Walks With Me,” by Kanye West. For the remainder of my drive I felt confident that no matter what went down, I knew I could handle it. I was stronger than I thought. I was humiliated, and had almost sacrificed my soul for a man, but I was still standing! A calmness settled over me and I sensed a shroud of protection and love surrounding me. I was at peace.

  These are my confessions…

  ELECTA ROME PARKS, one of the rising stars in contemporary fiction, is the author of the best-selling novels The Ties That Bind and Loose Ends, which were originally self-published through her own company, Novel Ideal Publishing and Editorial Services Company, a company now dedicated to quality editorial services.

  After successfully self-publishing her debut novels, New American Library, a division of Penguin Group, bought the rights. Mrs. Parks signed a three-book deal with New American Library. Her first novel, The Ties That Bind, was rereleased in October 2004, and Loose Ends was rereleased in November 2004. Both books were immediately chosen as Black Expressions Book Club selections and embraced as Books of the Month by book clubs across the country. A third manuscript, Almost Doesn’t Count, which was immediately chosen as the main selection for Black Expressions Book Club, was released in August 2005.

  Recently, Electa signed her second and third book deals with Penguin Group/New American Library and HarperCollins/Avon Red. Her upcoming projects are: Ladies’ Night Out (NAL, January 2007) and These Are My Confessions (Avon Red, July 2007).

  Electa Rome Parks has been a frequent guest on radio shows. She’s been interviewed by newspapers, Vibe Vixen, Upscale Magazine, Rolling Out, and Booking Matters, to name just a few. Parks lives outside Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband and two children. With a B.A. degree in marketing and a minor in sociology, she is following her true passion and working on her next novel.

  Please contact Electa at www.electaromeparks.com.

  Strapped

  Cheryl Robinson

  Sex Games

  The first man I killed was by accident.

  I’d been chatting with him online nearly the entire summer before finally arranging to meet him at Sambuca’s, a popular jazz club in the uptown section of Dallas. In his profile, he wrote: I’M INTO PLAYING GAMES, BUT I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT MONOPOLY. During our first of a series of phone conversations, he shared with me that his fantasy was more of a fetish. He wanted to be choked as he was getting ready to come. He said that a woman could use her hands, but he preferred a thin black leather belt to be tightened around his neck for a few seconds just until he went unconscious. To me, it sounded like a dangerous game, but he’d had this done to him before…many times…and the sensation, he said, was indescribable.

  Initially, I had my reservations, which is why I’d decided to meet another man instead, but when things didn’t work out with him, I called Lester. I hated his name but I loved his deep and sexy voice. Something as simple as the way he said my name made my pussy wet, and the things he said to me while I was on my way to meet him almost caused me to have an accident.

  “You want me to fuck you deep and hard, don’t you? I just hope you can handle my big dick, otherwise I might bust your juicy pussy wide open.”

  I started squirming in the seat of my car from the anticipation. “Are you really strapped?”

  “Strapped?” he asked, laughing. “I got a ten inch dick. How big do you need it?”

  “The bigger, the wetter; the bigger your dick is the wetter my pussy will be.”

  Neither of us had a picture attached to our online profiles, so the mystery of how he’d look in person, wondering whether or not he’d truly have what I wanted, and whether he’d find me sexy, quickly turned into my own fantasy. I wanted to know if it was really true that everything was bigger in Texas, and was bigger really better.

  Quiet as I’ve always kept it, I do think about having sex just as much if not more than most men. But the men I’d been with didn’t have what I wanted. I wasn’t asking for a dick that was so big it could be confused with being a third leg; a solid seven inches would do just fine, I’m sure. But if I lucked up on more, like ten inches, I definitely wouldn’t turn it down. So after my devastating breakup with my fiancé of three years, I set myself on a mission while on my summer vacation—to find just that, a big dick. Better to get loose in Dallas, a city where I’m completely unknown and detached, than in my hometown of Detroit, where I live and work.

  For nearly an hour, I waited at the bar for Lester, sipping on chocolate martinis that were being generously supplied to me by a secret admirer whom I had yet to see. My mind started to drift into a fantasy of being loved, just not with the heart. I’d had that many times before, or so I thought. Words—I couldn’t trust. But could I make love to a man without being in love? Could I fuck him? I thought so. I wanted to be someone other than who I’d always been, someone other than a stiff middle school teacher who pulled her hair back into a puffy ponytail and hid behind a pair of granny glasses and ruffled blouses buttoned all the way to the top. But I had to change, not just how I looked, but how I received pleasure. The next time I slept with a man, I wanted him to make my body feel what his words couldn’t express. I wanted the truth, and an orgasm never lies; a good fuck, no one can take away. Something like that can stay in your consciousness forever.

  After accepting the fact that Lester was a no show, I stood to leave the bar, and that’s when a man who was not attractive in the least—or at least not to me—walked toward me. He was stuck in the eighties, still wearing his hair in a curl with a skinny leather tie and a pair of penny loafers with a nickel in the slit. But I was willing to sacrifice good looks and style for some good dick any day, and so I smiled and sat back down.

  “Are you Lester?” I asked, assuming he was the man I’d been waiting for.

  “Lester?” he questioned.

  “Is that your name?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. My name is Eugene.” He sat on the bar stool beside me. “But it can be Lester tonight if you’d like.”

  “Well, it depends,” I said as I placed my hand on his leather tie and then slid it down between his legs to feel his dick. “How big is Lester?”

  “Pardon me?” he said, before becoming stunned into silence.

  I could have played it off by pretending to be buzzed and
then apologize, but why should I? His reaction provided me with my answer—the one I wasn’t looking for—that it wasn’t big enough.

  When I started to remove my hand, he grabbed hold of my wrist and placed his other hand on top of mine, pressing it down firmly. That’s when I felt his pants balloon. “Does that answer your question?”

  “Part of it.”

  “And the other part?”

  “How’s it going to feel when it’s inside of me?”

  “Would you like to find out?”

  I nodded, and this is where it all started to go wrong.

  We stood from the bar holding hands. Neither of us said a word, but I knew what was going to happen next. I followed him out of the club into the parking lot, cautiously walking toward his car, and then I stopped suddenly.

  “I’d rather follow you in my car.”

  “Don’t get lost,” he said with a wink.

  I followed behind his convertible Mustang for several miles, ignoring my cell phone, which had been vibrating all night with calls from my friend Melony. Finally I pulled into the parking lot of a luxury hotel, where we parked side by side. After he let his top up, he got out of his car and walked over to the passenger side of my car. I unlocked the door so he could get in.

  “You look good enough to eat.” He didn’t waste any time sliding my dress halfway up my thighs and sticking his head between my legs, but I held him back, wiping the Jheri curl juice from my thighs.

  “There’s a time and a place for everything,” I told him. “I’d rather my car not be the place.”

  “You have to learn to let go. I prefer to be teased a little and fucked a lot.” He took his forefinger and shoved it inside of my pussy. The quickness of his jab made me gasp. He pulled me over the center console with his finger stuck deep inside of me and let the seat go back as far as it could. “Ride this,” he said as he inserted two more fingers inside my pussy, “like it’s the biggest, juiciest dick you’ve ever had.”

  “Fingers annoy me.”

  “If they annoy you, why are you so wet?”

  “I’m naturally lubricated.”

  He slid his fingers out, sniffed them, and then put them in his mouth to suck my pussy juices. “I love the smell and taste of sex. That’s why I like to finger fuck. It gets me in the mood.” He started rubbing between his legs. “Are you ready for me to let the beast out?” I looked down at his bulge and didn’t hesitate to grab it. “Let’s do a quickie right here in the car. I’ll still have more for you when we get to the room.”

  “I’m ready to go up right now and then take it from there,” I said, and opened the passenger door. We both tumbled out of the car. I stood, repositioning my dress, pulling my thong from the crack of my ass.

  He grabbed me by the wrist and we started walking in the direction of the hotel.

  “You ain’t never had it like I’m going to give it to you,” he whispered in my ear.

  “I hope you’re not all talk. I’ve had that type before…several times.”

  He ignored my comment, which caused me major concern. It was bad enough I was getting ready to fuck a man that I didn’t know, but it would be even worse if the sex turned out to be a disappointment.

  “When you go inside, head straight for the elevator, get on and take it to the tenth floor. I don’t want it to seem like we’re together. I don’t think my wife would follow me, but you never know.”

  I was slightly offended, but I had to remind myself that I wasn’t looking for a relationship. So I did what he said and waited close to fifteen minutes for him to join me on the tenth floor. I’d pressed the down button to the elevator, ready to leave, assuming I’d been stood up a second time, when the elevator door opened and he slid out.

  “Sorry it took so long. I had to make a call. The room number is 1027.”

  I followed behind him without any reservation as to what I was doing, but rather with anticipation of what the two of us would be doing very shortly. When we entered the small but quaint room, he immediately started taking off his tie and shirt.

  “Are you in a rush?” I asked.

  “Just anxious.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “How much?”

  “How much what?”

  “If I want oral and possibly some anal. How much for all that?”

  “What do you mean by how much?”

  “You’re a call girl, right? Come on. I know that’s what you are. I can always tell you high class hoes. You come to a nice club alone and you dress real seductively. You pretend to be into the music, but every so often you look around to see who might be looking at you. I guess it’s better than walking the streets, huh?”

  “And I can always tell a John. You come to a club alone with that deranged look in your eyes like you need a fix bad and pussy is your drug. What’s wrong, you can’t get what you need at home?”

  “Every now and then I get tired of home cooking and I need to eat out.” He pulled two hundred-dollar bills from his wallet. “For this,” he said, as he tossed the money at my feet, “I should be able to get all I can eat.”

  I picked the bills up one at a time and looked over at him. “For this? I guess you’re eating fast food, or better yet you might as well go on a fast. For this, I might as well walk the street.” I threw the money back to him.

  “What, that’s not enough?”

  “Not for this.” I sat on the window ledge, hiking up my dress, and with my legs spread open began rubbing my pussy. His eyes zoomed toward my chest. “Is that all you?” he asked.

  “Who else’s would it be?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, but why don’t you come out of your dress so I can see what you’re working with, and I only hope it’s not a miracle bra.”

  “Do you have on miracle briefs?” I walked over to him and turned so that my back was facing him. “Unzip me.”

  “Look at that fat ass,” he said as he squeezed my butt cheeks. I closed my eyes when I realized my fantasy was about to finally come true. He unzipped his pants, and a few seconds later I felt two rock hard taps against my hip.

  “Try to imagine how good my dick is going to feel once it’s inside of you,” he said as he bent down and used his teeth to pull my thong down. “I’m about to give you something you can feel.”

  I felt a few more taps, but this time they were even harder.

  I opened my eyes, looked between his legs, and lay down on the bed with my legs spread wide, “Jump in.”

  “Am I strapped?” he asked as he stood naked at the foot of the bed, holding his dick in one hand. It was so thick that his hand barely fit around the shaft. He wasn’t much to look at in the face, but in the flesh his body looked just as chiseled as Terrell Owens’s, and that’s who I pretended he was—the NFL player I’ve always wanted to fuck.

  “You still haven’t answered my question. Is this what you mean when you say you want a man that’s strapped?” I hadn’t mentioned anything to Eugene about wanting a man who was strapped, but I had talked about what I was looking for with Lester. “Surprised? No, I didn’t forget.”

  “You said you weren’t Lester.”

  “I say a lot of things. I said I was ten inches when in reality I’m a foot long. I’m into playing games, remember?” he asked as he picked his leather belt from the floor and snapped it in the air.

  The crackling sound of the leather both frightened and intrigued me. I felt naughty and nasty, like the tramp that I’d always wanted to become. I’d never seen a dick that big. Correction, I’d never seen a big dick period. “I want to suck on your fat dick head,” I said, “until you come in my mouth.”

  I started crawling toward him with my tongue wiggling. His dick was so perfectly shaped, not just long, but thick also. Even his Jheri curl started to look good. I’d reached the tip of his head and swirled my tongue up and down his slit. I opened my mouth and started sucking his dick, moving up the shaft inch by inch. He wanted his balls tickled with my tongue, and I was more than willing to accommodate. His toes
curled, his head fell back, but then when it seemed like he was going to make a deposit, he pulled out of my mouth suddenly.

  “I don’t want to come that way. I want you to ride me, and then when I’m getting ready to come, I want you to take the belt and strangle me.”

  “But it tastes so good that I was ready for more. I wanted to swallow.” I stood from the bed and pushed him against the wall. He held his hands out and snatched me toward him by my nipples. He was into pain—giving and receiving. That much was obvious. When he let go of my nipples, I had to feel them to make sure they were still there. My breasts were tender and my pussy was wet and tight. “Can’t you be gentle?” I asked as I took one of his hands and rubbed it along my hairy slit.

  He pushed me back down on the bed and yanked me toward him by my ankles. “I like it rough.” He knelt between my legs and ate my pussy like he was drilling for gold, and before long he struck it. I closed my eyes and thought of Terrell Owens. That’s who was eating me…not Lester. Every inch that he went deeper caused me to wonder about him. Every swirl he made inside of me had me question his true intentions, but then there was the presence of the black leather belt and knowing what he wanted me to do with it. I should have refused, but instead, when he turned on his back and gestured for me to straddle him, I did. It could have stopped there. I was in control, riding his dick like a bull and taking in as much of it that I could stand. And then he handed me the belt.

  “When do you want me to use it?” I asked, still on top of him, enjoying the ride.

  “I’ll let you know. Just keep going. Keep doing what you’re doing, baby. I don’t come quickly.” It was hard to imagine how I survived for so many years with so much less. “Your fat pussy was made to take a big juicy dick. Look how good you’re handling me.”