by Traci Bee
“Hey, handsome,” a female guard greeted Kevin, popping her gum as she unlocked his cell. “I’ve been dying to escort you. I’ve seen you in the visiting room a few times.”
Kevin noticed the extra twist she threw into her hips as she opened his cell like Vanna White or a Bob Barker beauty.
“Get that ass, Kevin!” a voice rang out from the tier above.
“If one more person calls me that…” she said through gritted teeth, slamming the cell door shut.
“That’s what you are to a lot of them.”
“No,” she said, her eyes glued to Kevin’s, “that’s not what I am. That’s what I have.”
Damn, Kevin thought. His eyes roamed her body as she led the way to the lieutenant’s office. She was a pork chop away from being chunky, but her plumpness was well proportioned. A beauty pageant winner she wasn’t, but her brown sugar complexion and the five or so cornrows that hung to the small of her back reminded Kevin of a ’round the way’ girl. Best of all, she was real pussy like the lieutenant said. He could tell by the way she swayed her hefty hips that a sample was his for the taking. He read her nametag as they stood before the office.
“Thanks for the escort, Officer Moore.”
“Why we so formal?” She blew a small bubble with her gum and winked at him. “Call me Yolanda.”
Yolanda became Kevin’s personal escort, ushering him to and from the lieutenant’s office. Day after day, Kevin matched her flirtatious comments, letting her know that he was down for whatever, whenever. Yolanda picked up on his willingness, and in no time, she began sneaking in his favorite fast food or home-cooked meals she’d prepared especially for him. He loved the attention, and the meals had him licking his fingers. But, after being locked up for damn near seven years, he wanted pussy, not Big Macs. He waited patiently, knowing that the opportunity would present itself, and finally, it did.
Yolanda followed Kevin inside the office and secured the locks.
“What you doing?” Kevin smiled, hoping and praying that today was the day he’d get some ass. The mere thought was getting him excited.
“The lieutenant’s not in today,” she said seductively. “And Sergeant Powell is in a meet—”
Before she could get the words out, Kevin had her pinned against the door. His hands traveled her body, groping the parts of her that had gotten his attention weeks ago. He was rock hard and knew Yolanda could feel it.
“Officer Newsome’s watching out for us,” she panted, pulling her lips from his as he unbuttoned her shirt. A lookout was good, but the farthest thing from his mind. A few minutes of pleasure would be worth sixty days in lockup. “But,” she said, grabbing Kevin’s hands to get his attention.
“But what?”
“She wanna get in here with Kong. She’s hiding him in the janitor’s closet.”
“She can get in here,” Kevin said, freeing himself from Yolanda’s grip.
“A’ight, but we gotta hurry up.” Yolanda undid the knot in Kevin’s sweatpants and slid her hands inside his boxer briefs. “Damn, Kevin,” she gasped as she pulled out his arousal.
“So what you gon’ do with it?”
“You sure you cool with them coming in here, right?” she asked, her eyes fixed to Kevin’s erection.
“As long as I get mine, I ain’t thinkin’ ’bout them.”
“A’ight,” Yolanda said, lowering herself to her knees. “I’ma show you what I’m ’bout to do with it then.”
Kevin’s liquid excitement oozed from him as Yolanda teased the head of his penis with her tongue, licking away the salty treat.
“Ah, shit,” he moaned as she welcomed him inside the warmth of her mouth. Beads of sweat formed along his forehead as he fought the urge to coat her tonsils. He was loving every single lick, every suck, but that wasn’t how he wanted to come.
“Come on, baby.” He pulled Yolanda up from the floor.
Unbuckling her thick black belt, she knew what time it was and allowed her pants to fall to her ankles.
Shit, Kevin thought. I ain’t got no muthafuckin’ condom.
“Don’t worry,” Yolanda said as if reading his mind. There wasn’t enough time to undress. With her pants around her ankles, she leaned over the small desk. “I ain’t got nothing. I couldn’t work here if I did.”
That was all Kevin needed to hear. He guided his hardness inside of her and pounded away. Yolanda matched his rhythm and tossed her ass back. Kevin held on to her waist with one hand and watched as he eased in and out of her.
“Come on, Kevin. You know we can’t be in here long.” A quick tap rang across the door. “See,” she huffed. “You gotta hurry up, baby.”
“A’ight…a’ight.”
Kevin grabbed Yolanda by her waist and plunged deeper and deeper. She cried out. He didn’t know if it was joy or pain, and as his body jerked and his eyes rolled to the heavens, he didn’t care.
“Shit,” Kevin gasped, out of breath. “I feel like I’ma pass out.”
Yolanda smiled, pulling her pants from her ankles. “I’m getting ready to let them in. I look okay?” she asked, tucking her shirt inside her pants.
“Yeah, baby. You good.”
“Okay.” She kissed him quickly on the lips. “You gon’ be a’ight with them in here doing their thing?”
“Yeah,” he panted. “Tell ’em come on.”
Minutes after Yolanda left, the smell of sex filled the office. Kevin sat behind the desk, working on nothing in particular. He tried to ignore their cries of passion, but their moans were inviting him to a party he couldn’t attend. He was getting aroused all over again.
Officer Newsome held on to the arms of the high-back chair in the corner of the room as Kong worked her from behind. Not sure of how much more he could take, Kevin was thankful when Kong screamed out in pleasure, bringing the fiasco to an end.
“Shit, girl!” Kong licked his fingers and slapped Officer Newsome across her pale white ass. Pulling from her, he looked over at Kevin and said, “What’s up?”
“Ain’t shit, man.”
“Naw, nigga, I’m saying what’s up with this?” He pointed at Officer Newsome’s ass. “Come over here and get you some of this. I put that shit in her ass, man. In her ass!”
“Oh yeah?” Kevin said, trying to play it off. There was no way in hell he could stand up.
“Come work whichever one of these holes you want. Shit, bustin’ one nut can’t make up for seven years. As tight as her ass is, you’ll come in three fuckin’ pumps, I promise.”
Blonde strands of hair dangled over Officer Newsome’s face as she tossed Kevin a welcoming glance over her shoulder. “Yeah, come on,” she said, rocking her pale ass from side to side. “I can handle you, too.”
Ah, man, Kevin thought. He’d had anal sex with Rhonda, but he’d never been with a white girl.
“Look how wet she is.” Kong sucked his two fingers and eased them back inside her anal den. Officer Newsome moaned and worked her ass against Kong’s fingers. “Look at this shit, man.” Kong chuckled like a crazed mental patient and held up his two wet fingers for proof.
“Hey!” Yolanda tapped on the door. “Bring that shit to an end. Sarge is on his way ’round the corner!” she whispered in a panic. “I’m gone!”
“Ah, shit!” Officer Newsome stood, struggling to pull up her pants.
Kong peeled off the semen-filled condom Officer Newsome had eagerly supplied him with and stuffed it in the pocket of his sweatpants. Fear waltzed across Officer Newsome’s beet-red face. She ran her fingers roughly through her hair, knowing it was her ass if she got caught with Kevin and Kong in the lieutenant’s office. She’d be fired with no questions asked.
“Oh my God,” she cried. “I can’t get caught in here. I’m up for a promotion!”
“Look, just calm down.” Kevin tugged on the drawers of the small oak desk, but they were locked as always. “Give me something…a driver’s license, credit card, anything.”
“What you gon’ do, K
evin?” Kong asked.
“I’ma try and get y’all in the lieutenant’s office.”
Officer Newsome yanked off the ID card dangling from her neck. “Will this work?” she asked, on the verge of tears. “It’s like a credit card.”
Kevin snatched the card from her and slid it between the door’s lock and the latch. Within seconds, the lieutenant’s door opened as the distant sound of footsteps grew louder.
“Go ’head. Get in there,” Kevin ordered. Kong and Officer Newsome disappeared behind the door. “And lock this muthafucka!”
Kevin scanned the office. Nothing appeared out of place, but the sweaty, raunchy smell of sex lingered in the air.
Damn, white women smell different.
Stepping out of his beat-up, state-issued prison boots, Kevin left them in the middle of the floor. They didn’t smell of sex, but they reeked of years of sweat nonetheless. Kevin plopped back behind the desk just as Sergeant Powell opened the door.
“What’s up?” Kevin greeted coolly, his eyes fixed on the computer screen.
“Hey, Kennard.” He walked into the office. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Kevin said. He glanced at Sergeant Powell and noticed his dumbfounded expression as he sniffed the air and frowned.
“What the fuck is that smell?”
“Oh, my fault, Sarge.” Kevin jumped from the chair and grabbed his boots. “These things funky and they hurt. You think you can pull some strings for me so I can get another pair? I had these things for years.”
“Remind me tomorrow. I’ll see about getting you a new pair.” Sergeant Powell headed to the door. “Shit, I feel sorry for your cell buddy.”
● ● ●
Kevin came in from the yard only to find Yolanda lingering around his cell. The sight of her brought a smile to his face. He loved her, but part of him knew it had a lot to do with the loneliness behind the prison walls. Yolanda was there, supplying all the physical benefits of a girlfriend. But if he were home, she would’ve most definitely been a wham bam.
“Hey,” Kevin said. “You okay?” he asked, noticing her sour mood.
“Yeah, I just left the lieutenant’s office. I’m being transferred.”
“Transferred?”
“Yeah, they sending me to another jail. I think your job is over, too.”
“Fuck my job. I’m worried ’bout you. What happened?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I think they know about us.”
“Damn,” Kevin sighed. There were too many other guards present for him to reach out and console her the way he wanted to. “So when you leave?”
“Thirty days.”
“Shit, so now what?”
“Well…I bought this for you a few days ago.” Yolanda dug deep inside her pants pocket and pulled out a gold wedding band. “Kevin,” she started, grinning nervously, “I don’t want what we have to end. I love you, and I want to be the one you make a home with when you get out. So,” she said, smiling awkwardly at him, “I want us to get married.”
Kevin stood at a loss for words, staring at the ring. Damn, she’s proposing, he thought.
“Well?” Her timid voice addressed the silence. “What do you say?”
“Yolanda, c’mon, baby. I can’t let you tie yourself down wit’ a nigga like me. Who knows when I’ll get out?”
“Kevin, you get parole.”
“Yeah, but when? Don’t you want a husband you can go on a honeymoon with, one you can touch at night?”
“Yeah, Kevin, and when you get out, I’ll have that.”
Yolanda’s eyes pleaded with him, killing him. Still, there was no way he could accept her proposal. Beyond their physical bond, they shared nothing. Without an inkling of doubt, she would be the perfect prison wife. Sexing him when the opportunity presented itself and sneaking him tasty treats from the outside. But when his freedom returned, then what? He had hopes and dreams that he’d never shared with her, and most importantly, a daughter to find. Yolanda wanted to settle for less, while Kevin wanted to reach for the moon. He had to make something of his life; he owed that to Mr. Johnson, Beatrice, Jordan, and himself.
Slumping her shoulders, Yolanda sighed and shoved the ring into Kevin’s palm. “Just think about it,” she mumbled. “I gotta go. I don’t want them to catch me back here. I might lose my job altogether.”
Months later, while sitting on his cot, Kevin twirled the wedding band around the tip of his pinky. Yolanda was long gone at a new jail, more than likely loving somebody else. Kevin hadn’t heard from her since she’d left. Women had come and gone in his life, but such was the life in prison. Rhonda had written on occasion and even visited a time or two, each time acting as if there was hope for them when Kevin came home. But he knew better.
Kevin called home the weekend of Rhonda’s last visit. His body tightened when Beatrice’s rage pulsated through the phone. She’d found LeCount pounding Rhonda from the back like the dog she was—in Beatrice’s bed, of all places. Rhonda’s actions were nothing out of the norm. Yet, Kevin’s own brother’s betrayal had gotten to him.
Then, of course, there was old faithful Felicia, who wrote, visited, and sent money like there was nothing else for her to do but focus on Kevin. Gone were the days she spent fucking in crack houses or giving head in the apartments’ laundry rooms. With a handful of strippers, she had stepped up her game and started a so-called escort service. That wasn’t the only surprise she had for Kevin, though.
“I have something I need to tell you, but I don’t know how you gonna take it,” she said.
Kevin was taken aback and stared at Felicia awkwardly. “Just tell me. I mean, it can’t be that bad,” he said.
“Okay,” Felicia said, her eyes fixed to the floor. “I got married.”
“You got married?” He was blown away.
“Yeah, but it’s only for right now,” she rushed to explain. “Your pictures are still all over my bedroom, and he knows that when you come home, it’s over, because I wanna be—”
“Hold up, Felicia. Hold up,” Kevin cut her off. He couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “You don’t owe me no explanation. It’s not like that between us anyway. I just never pictured you as somebody’s wife. You know, with your profession and all.”
“So what the fuck you tryna say? I’ma be your muthafuckin’ wife one day.”
“Oh yeah?” Kevin said. He wasn’t paying her any mind.
“Kevin, I’m telling you. When you get out, I’m kicking his ass to the curb, and it’s gonna be me and you.”
“Felicia, come on. That’s your husband. How you gon’ toss him away just like that?”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love him and everything’, but not like I love you. So, look,” Felicia whispered as she shifted her weight in the plastic seat of the visiting room. “When you come home, I’m divorcing his ass, and then I’ma smash you off a lil’ treat.”
“What kinda treat?”
“Somethin’ every muthafucka want—a threesome. You, me, and whichever one of my bitches you select. I got one that look like that green-eyed supermodel chick that was on the cover of Sports Illustrated, too. She was going to medical school, but she put that shit on the back burner after I turned her on to that fast money.”
Kevin laughed, nearly falling over in his chair. He had no plans on humping in Felicia. He’d never been that hard up. High, maybe, but not hard up.
“Felicia, look. I told you we ain’t getting down like that.”
Felicia drew back and sucked her teeth. “Yeah, whatever. You keep sayin’ that dumb shit, but not only am I gonna get the dick, but we gon’ be together. Watch what I tell you. And,” she slurred matter-of-factly, “we gon’ be business partners. You gon’ manage while I recruit.”
Kevin didn’t want any part of Felicia’s upscale prostitution circus any more than he had wanted to be Fat Ed’s hit man years ago. He wanted more than a job in the streets. What he wanted was for the world to hear his songs. Every poem h
e’d ever written had been dressed with music and transformed into a song. Poetry was no longer a service he offered to the other inmates. He still wrote their love letters, but his poetry was for a greater purpose. At least, he hoped. He just needed someone to push him, to guide him. Someone to take him seriously. To believe and share in his dreams. Yet, he hadn’t met a soul that he could even share his passion with. The world outside the iron gates still saw him as the old thuggish Kevin Kennard.
Back in his cell after Felicia had left, Kevin took the gold band from his pinky and slid it down his ring finger to see if he could simply get a feel for marriage. Jordan’s picture was taped to the wall. Kevin peeled it from the wall and stared at it. Jordan couldn’t have been more than two or three in the photo.
C’mon, Ed. You can get me a picture, but you can’t get me a damn address?
Kevin didn’t understand how Fat Ed could feel torn between him and Simone’s brother Stan, his so-called business partner. Right was right, and keeping Jordan away was wrong. Kevin hadn’t signed away his rights; Beatrice had. He couldn’t blame his mother; she’d done what she thought was right.
Kevin kissed the picture, wondering what his little princess looked like now. Next to chasing his songwriting dreams, Jordan was the one thing he had to look forward to.
Chapter Twenty-Four
1999 - Three years after the wedding
Simone pulled her white S500 Mercedes into the driveway of their seven-thousand square-foot home. The three-car garage was still jammed with junk-filled boxes that she hadn’t found the time to sort through.
As she sat in the driveway, Simone turned off the ignition and stared at the monstrosity she and Andre referred to as home. The dark reddish brick, the four massive pillars, and the manicured lawn all added to the sophisticated elegance of the house, giving it the look of old money.
Five bedrooms, each equipped with its own private bath; a two-story gigantic great room with skylights; a state-of-the-art gourmet kitchen with stainless-steel appliances and black granite counters dazzled with a hint of silvery specks; and a theater room with a booming Bose surround-sound system and plush theater seating were just a few of the home’s wow factors. Decorated like a showcase, the house was impressive from the curb to the baseboards.