by Mz. Robinson
What We Won’t Do For Love
by MZ. ROBINSON
Copyright© 2010 Mz. Robinson
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G Street Chronicles
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This work is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons.
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Dedication
This book is dedicated to my beautiful Mother, Shirley. Mommy, you have always been my best cheerleader and biggest fan. I love you and I thank you for always believing in me! I also have to say, thank you for never judging me and allowing me to be me. You are the best!
Smooches!
Acknowledgements
First, I give all the glory to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Thank you for blessing me, I am nothing without you!
To my Father, Ray, I love you Daddy, thank you for always being there for me.
To my husband, Michael, I love you and I look forward to seeing where this journey leads us.
To my ride or die, laugh or cry, Banita Brooks, I love you sis.
To all the dreamers, writers, and publishers: PUSH (Pray Until Something Happens)
Prologue
Here I am alone on a Friday night. I’m tempted to pick up the phone and call Tony for a little one on one personal attention. Tony is my call whenever I want some brother. He knows there could never be anything between us but sex and he accepts it. I educated him on my “no strings policy”, the first day we met and he’s been “on call” for me every since.
I’m not like most women; I don’t need a full-time man to validate who I am. I’m educated, independent, and sexy. The only time or place I have for a man is in my bed because no matter how independent and strong I may be, the fact still remains that I can’t fuck myself so I dial the digits..
“Hello.”
“Are you busy?” I ask, getting right to the point.
“What’s up?” He responds, knowing exactly what I’m calling for, but playing his little game anyway.
“Answer the question,” I said. “Are you busy?”
“Depends on what’s up.” You see this is how a brother messes up the groove, asking a lot of stupid questions.
“Are you busy or not?” I ask, impatiently.
Sighing, he said, “No, I’m chillin’ over my home boy’s house.”
“Oh, well you’re busy so I will let you go.”
“What you doing tonight?” He asks, in a low, sexy voice, and I know he’s on the hook.
“I don’t know, there’s no telling,” I said. So what if I’m lying he doesn’t know that. I could have something real important to do tonight.
“Can I come over?” He asks.
Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about! I hesitate shortly then say, “What time you talking about?”
“Like in thirty minutes?” Tony responds.
“Give me an hour and a half—I have to run an errand.” I have nothing to do but I want to at least take another quick shower. It’s like a pre-sex ritual for me.
“That’s fine,” He said. “I need to run by the drug store anyhow. I’ll see you in a few.”
The good thing about Tony is he always wears a condom. I don’t have to ask or anything, he takes the initiative and I am quite grateful. The last thing I want to do is to have to put him out my house because he refused to strap up. I want some but not that bad, if a man does not want to wear protection I can do without. There are enough women in this world with unwanted babies and incurable diseases because they got caught up in the moment. I’m not trying to be anybody’s Baby Mama nor am I trying to be another statistic. It’s simple to me: no condom equals no sex!
After I hang up I take a quick shower, spray on my Very Sexy by Victoria Secret and slip into my black lace see thru nightgown. I think if you are going to do it; you might as well do it right. So I lit my vanilla aromatherapy candles and popped the Isley Brothers CD in the stereo. About thirty minutes later, Tony arrives dressed in jeans and a blue striped Polo shirt.
Tony is a light-skinned brother, about 5’9’ with a low cut fade and a little on the slim side. The brother could definitely use a few home-cooked meals, but he won’t get them here.
“I see you got the mood set,” He said, stepping through the front door.
Giving him a small smirk, I shut the door behind him. The ambiance is for me, not for him. Tony is cool but he’s not working with the biggest jewel there is, so I need all the help I can get to experience the Big O.
“Damn you look good!” He says, as he turns to face me with a big stupid grin.
Smiling, I make my way to the bedroom. I don’t want conversation, just straight action. I want him to do what he came to do then hit the road so I can get me some rest. Following me down the hall, Tony began stripping down to his briefs. Slipping the straps of my nightgown off my shoulders, I let it slip down around my ankles. I had no panties to remove because I wasn’t wearing any. Stretching out across my satin sheets, I closed my eyes before Tony can say anything, then I spread my legs wide. He knew what I wanted immediately and showed it when he ran his tongue up in between my thighs. This is definitely one thing he’s good at. Grabbing his head, I pushed it farther in between my thighs until his lips were buried deep in between mine. Tony rotates his tongue inside of me slowly and smoothly, as he stirs my wetness with his tongue. He moves from my pussy to my clit and back down to my pussy, causing a wave of heat to surge through my northern region. Tony eats my pussy until he’s out of breath and the insides of my thighs are sticky from my warm cream.
I opened my eyes and smiled, letting him know I’m content with his oral performance. I got mine and at that moment that was all that was important, that and the fact that he’s sliding the condom over his erection right at this very moment. Tony enters me slow and easy. I don’t know why, because although I keep my coochie tight, sex with him is like throwing a wrench in a toolbox. Nonetheless Tony is taking his time moving in and out of my warmth, until finally his leg starts to shake and he begins to moan my name.
“Ugggghhhhhhhh.”
It’s over. His job here is done.
The next morning I woke up feeling good and somewhat satisfied. Unlike a lot of women, I am content with a man only coming over for a booty call. What is the big deal? I get some of my needs taken care of and he gets to bust a nut. It’s a win - win situation. I know there are some good men in the world whom are relationship worthy. I just don’t know any personally. Besides knowing what I know about men, there is no possible way I’ll give one the chance to break my heart. It’s my personal philosophy that a man can’t break your heart if you never let him in it.
My first and only heartbreak came on a cold frosty night in December, 1987. It was two a.m. and I was lying in my bed with my eyes wide open staring into the darkness.
“Where have you been all day?�
�� I hear mama ask in a strong tone.
My parents were in the kitchen having another argument.
“Don’t start Charlene,” Daddy said.
I could hear the sound of dishes clanking. Daddy was re-heating the dinner Mama had made for us the night before.
“Don’t start?” She asked, loudly, just like a dozen times before, but something told me that this argument was going to be different.
“You walk in this house at two a.m. and you have the audacity to tell me don’t start?”
Ding. I hear the microwave timer go off.
“Let me tell you one fucking thing,” She continued.
I propped myself up on my elbows. I couldn’t believe my ears! I had never heard my mother curse before. She never so much as used the word Hell out of context.
“I’m not going to continue to put up with your bullshit, Charles,” She said.
“I’m tired Charlene and I don’t want to hear this shit.” I could hear daddy open and close the microwave and pull open the silverware drawer.
“You’re tired?” Mama was practically screaming, “No, Charles! Im tired! I’m tired of you coming in here all hours of the morning smelling of liquor and that bitch’s cheap perfume!”
What bitch? I was tempted to run my nosey little ass in the kitchen and ask.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Charlene,” Daddy said.
I could hear one of our rickety kitchen chairs squeak. Someone had sat down.
“I found the picture of Cheryl Ann in your wallet,” She said.
That ugly old woman? I asked myself. Cheryl Ann was the neighborhood bootlegger. She had to be at least fifty and she didn’t hold a candle to my mother. My mother was a walking mold of brown sugar, smooth sweet and thick. My mother had and still has to this very day what you call an hour glass figure. Cheryl Ann reminded me of the wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz. She had this long nose and at the tip was a hairy black mole. What my father wanted with her, I’ll never know. Going from my mother to Cheryl Ann was without a doubt, like going from sugar to shit. Even at the tender age of 10 I knew I was fine because everyone told me I was the miniature version of my mother. The only thing she didn’t have that I did was my honey brown eyes and curly jet-black hair. I had to give thanks to my father for those.
“Oh, so now you going through my things? Charlene, you trippin’. And you better settle down before you wake my baby,” He said.
“Were you thinking about your baby when you were laying on top of that nasty ass bitch?”
My mother lowered her voice. There was brief silence then I heard the sound of glass shattering across the floor.
“Woman, what in the hell is your problem?” Daddy screamed.
“You are my problem!” She yelled, “You and your ugly ass whore!”
“Well I can fix that.”
I heard the chair go across the floor again. Then there were footsteps coming up the hallway. I knew it was my father because they were loud. Daddy always walked hard. He was going into their bedroom. I knew when I heard their closet door swing open, he was packing his bags. I lay back in my bed and pulled my covers tightly up around my neck as a cascade of tears ran down my cheeks. I hadn’t heard Mama say a word as our front door slammed closed behind him but I knew she was standing or sitting in that kitchen crying too.
I watched Mama cry what seemed to be at least a hundred times before and since that day. She did everything for my father except wipe his ass. How did he show his gratitude? By cheating with the ugliest woman in the neighborhood and then sending her divorce papers by mail. Don’t get me wrong; I love my father deeply. To this day we still have a relationship. I just can’t get over the fact that he chose ugly ass Cheryl Ann over his family.
I’ve also chosen not to get caught up based on the drama my best friend Shontay has had with her husband Kenny. She has been with Kenny for at least six years and she’s caught him with numerous females in their car or at some ran down motel. The majority of his cheating came before their marriage but I’m prone to think once a cheater always a cheater. I hate to sound cliche but it’s been said time and time again: You can’t teach an old dog, new tricks. I agree, especially if that dog walks upright on two legs and thinks with his dick.
I promised myself after my daddy left that I would never let a man get close enough to bring me to tears. So when I was old enough to date I set a guideline that I wouldn’t keep a man longer than a year. This wasn’t a big issue back then because it was high school and most relationships didn’t last longer than six months. When I got to college I had to change my game plan. I wasn’t dealing with immature high school students anymore; I was dealing with immature high school graduates. So my policy changed from not keeping a man for longer than a year to not having a man at all.
From my freshman year at Spelman College up until now I’ve had nothing more than homey -lover friends and that’s exactly how I like it. I’ll go out with a man, and if we have sexual chemistry, we became sex partners. I think it’s the perfect arrangement and most of the men I meet think so, too but occasionally, I’ll meet a man who can’t stick with my “no strings attached” policy.
I’ll never forget Thomas. I met him my junior year at Spelman College and he was a senior at Morehouse. We went out a couple of times; had a one night rendezvous. He graduated and I never heard from him again. Two years later after I had moved back home to Alabama and was on my way to starting my own business, I got a phone call from Thomas. I was surprised that he knew how to locate me. I don’t know why, considering I still had the same cell phone number I had in college. Anyway, Thomas explained that he was in town on business and that it would be good to see me again. I agreed, and the two of us met up for dinner that same night. Thomas was still the light skinned cutie I remembered. We talked and had a few drinks then ended up back at his hotel. For the entire week he was in town, we went out and had a good time, that ended back at the hotel for an even better time. The day he left for Denver, we promised to keep in touch. You know the whole “If you’re ever in Denver, call me” and the “If you’re ever in Huntsville, call me.” People say it all the time but mostly because they have nothing else to say to you and they’re just trying to be polite. Thomas didn’t see it that way because the next thing I know he’s in Huntsville every weekend and he’s calling me. After a month, he finally asked me where our relationship was going.
“I didn’t know we were in a relationship,” I said.
“I just assumed after everything that’s been happening, we were committed,” He said, frowning.
“Thomas, I’m not looking for a man.”
“Well, what am I?” He asked.
“A friend,” I responded, and this is when things got a little ugly.
“A friend?” He asked, grimacing,” I left my wife for you and now you’re telling me I’m a friend.”
The peculiar thing about this whole mess was that I didn’t know his ass was married. There was no wedding ring or even any discoloration on his finger to indicate he had been wearing one. When I asked him about what he had been doing since college it would have been nice if he had told me he got married.
“Your wife,” I said, cutting my eyes at him,” I didn’t know you were married.”
“You didn’t ask!”
He had a point but I was not about to be blamed for his mistakes. “Well you should have asked if I wanted a commitment before your dumb ass left your wife,” I snapped.
The conversation got worse with every word. It finally ended with him yelling “Fuck you!” as I stormed out of his hotel room.
That was the last time I saw Thomas. After that, I changed my cell number for the first of five times. There would be four more brothers who couldn’t adhere to the rules. Each of them gave me the: “I want to take this to the next level” speech. Each of them received the: “This is the only level I want us to go to” speech. Even though there were a couple of good prospects out of the four- I wasn’t
trying to pursue anything serious. I had my mind made up that even when a man asked to see you exclusively; he still has his share of on the side booty waiting in the rafters.
Chapter 1
I had a free day so I decided to go visit my mother and stepfather, Bill at their home. Mama met William Moore a year after she and my father had gotten their divorce. She was working as a receptionist for his software company, and he fell in love with her. He asked her out on numerous occasions and each time she turned him down. Then one day he invited her to go to lunch and she accepted. I guess he wore her down. Not long after that, the two of them got married. He moved us into a beautiful split-level home outside of Huntsville and gave us everything we ever wanted. Bill treated her like a queen and me like a princess. He was nowhere near as handsome as my father was, but he was very good to us and had proven himself to be one of the few good men still left on Earth. He did everything in his power to make my mother happy and for that I learned to love him.
Bill had never been married before but he had an older daughter, Opal, from a previous relationship. Opal lived in Boston where she attended college. After she graduated, she chose not to return to Alabama.
Mama was sitting on her porch, swinging on her antique wood swing when I drove up. I smiled as I admired how beautiful she still was even at the age of fifty. Her hair was cut short in a page style and only had a few strands of gray. People always said that if you put us side-by-side she could pass for my beautiful, older sister.
Kissing her cheek gently I sat down on the swing next to her.
“How are you?” She asked, smiling at me.
“Fine. And you?”
“I can’t complain.” She said.
“Where’s Bill?” I had noticed his car wasn’t parked in the driveway.
“He’s in Boston,” She said, “He went to see Opal.”
Bill had been taking more and more trips to see Opal. I knew Opal was having problems but he still had responsibilities as a husband. He has a wife and a home of his own to look after. Before I could comment, our conversation was interrupted by a blue Ford F150 pulling up the driveway. The paint was shining as if it had just been driven off the dealership lot.