by Tiana Laveen
“Mama…” Ira’s masculine voice cut right in, causing Xenia’s heart to leap.
“My baby!” Mama squealed. “Please tell me you’re calling because you’re comin’ home? We got so many false promises.”
“I know, Mama. Actually, I—”
“You was supposed to be here last year, then the year before that.” Mama looked downright miserable as she spoke.
“Well, guess what? I am comin’ home for real this time! Got my papers and everything.”
“Oh, Lord Jesus, thank you!” Xenia laughed lightly as she witnessed Mama’s delight. “Shit, okay, uh, I will be on the first plane to L.A. tomorrow, baby. I just need to—”
“No, Mama. Stay where you are. Look, I am coming to New York, all right? I haven’t seen Xenia in I don’t even know how long. She went and got married, had three kids, moved to New York, and is on the airwaves taking everybody by storm.” He chuckled. “I brag to people and say that’s my sister when we play her radio station on the computer or the podcasts, but I have not seen her in so long or her children in person, only in pictures. So, I’m coming there. It’s been long overdue.”
“I can’t wait to see you, Ira!” Xenia exclaimed.
“Yeah, you do need to see your sister and her family. You ain’t met Saint, either.” Mama grimaced, causing Xenia to frown right back at the shady lady.
“I don’t know her husband, but heard about him, too.”
Mama slapped her knee, getting ready to dig into a big ol’ bag of insults.
“Whatever you heard about Saint, I bet I can top it. He is a shifty son of a—”
“Mama!” Xenia’s eyes narrowed on her.
“Oh, hush! You know I love my son-in-law.” Mama grinned as Ira laughed in the background. “I’m in the guest room so we can split it when you come if you like.”
“Mama, I have missed so much … too much time has passed. Xenia said she had plenty of room. Don’t even worry about all of that.”
Xenia nodded, a smile stretching across her face so wide, it started to hurt.
“That’s why I just had to wake you up, Mama. I couldn’t wait to tell you. Had to come right away and let you know!”
“What about Porsche?” Mama said woefully, her smile slowly drifting away.
“Mama, I’m going to see her too. I called her first actually. First stop is you and Xenia. Right after that, I am flyin’ home. When I get back to L.A., I am going to move in with her for a little while till I get my own place. I need to get a job, catch up with the homies and get settled. She and I already worked all of that out.” Mama’s cheeks plumped with a grin. Ira had been in the military so long, it was like he went in as a child but would emerge as a man. Xenia had communicated with him over the phone, and through emails and letters over the years, but nothing could replace actually holding her baby brother in her arms.
“God answered my prayers! When will you be here?” Mama’s eyes widened as she gripped a fistful of her shirt in one hand.
“In a couple days, actually. I’m leaving here in a few hours.” Ira was in Afghanistan. Xenia hadn’t dared to tell Mama, but she’d had her share of nightmares of him dying in that place. The news coverage sure didn’t help. “I want to stay for a few days, then I’m off to L.A.”
“I can’t wait to see you!” Mama got off the bed and jumped up and down, causing the floorboards to boom. “I’mma make all your favorite foods!” She waved her arm about as if painting a rainbow. “You still love smothered pork chops? The hell with Saint and his aversion to pork! Pork ain’t never hurt nobody.” At this, Ira and Xenia burst out laughing. “Collard and turnip greens, hot skillet cornbread, sweet potatoes, you name it!”
“The cornbread you always made with the little pieces of corn and green and red bell peppers in it?” Xenia could practically hear her little brother salivating on the other end of the phone.
“You know it!” Mama laughed, her eyes washed with happy tears.
“Awww damn, Mama. I can’t wait to see everybody. I gotta go right now though, so I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Okay, and be careful gettin’ outta there. Maybe Saint can send his daddy over there to meet you at the gate so you can get through with no problem. He look like he a member of the Taliban.”
“Mama…” Xenia warned, but was entirely too tired to fight with the woman. Ira gave a nervous chuckle.
“I love you. I’ll call you when I touch ground.”
“Love you too, Ira,” she and Mama said at the same time, and then the call ended. Mama held that phone in the palm of her hands as if she were cradling the crown of a newborn baby. She looked down at the thing, her body shaking as she sat back down on the bed.
“Mama?” Xenia spoke quietly and approached her mother, sitting next to her and offering her shoulder. Mama rested her head there, the tears flowing.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see him again, Xenia. I almost thought he ain’t even want to come home. He kept reenlisting; he’d barely call me or write sometimes. This is like a dream come true.”
Xenia smiled and caressed her mother’s arm in a soothing up and down motion.
Who is Ira now? He is my brother, but who is he deep down in his soul?
She had to ask the question because the last time they were face to face, she was full of concern and worry over the young man.
We barely had our father, and he needed Daddy more than even Porsche and me. Without that father figure, he turned to the streets.
The young man had gotten involved in the wrong things at such a young age, but decided to try and escape the lure of it all by enlisting.
I can’t do a better job with my sons than Saint on teaching them how to be a man. That’s Saint’s job, and if he were not in our sons’ life, I can’t imagine how they’d turn out. I’d do the best I could because that is what strong single mothers do, and sometimes our boys do grow up into respectful, loving young men, but other times, you can see the coldness in their hearts spilling out in everything they do. We can only do the best we can, but is it enough in this day and age? Is it ever enough?
She’d watched a skinny pain in her ass turn into a muscular, well-spoken adult who fought for his country and offered apologies for some of the terrible fights they’d had over the years. Ira was a good looking, intelligent, gentle soul who’d surpassed her expectations. He was a Black man living in a White man’s world, and he’d taken the lemons life dealt him and made sweet lemonade. It seemed to have made all the difference in the world.
Thank God my brother is coming home. He’ll finally be with his family, where he belongs…
CHAPTER EIGHT
Saint sat in the chair. A white light shone down on him, highlighting twinkling dust as he took command of the stage. He stared with all of his might at his wide palm, concentrating on his open hand until a flame emerged. The large screen and camera picked up his act. The men around him went insane. Reddish-orange embers glowed between his fingers. Little did they know that it wasn’t sleight of hand or a dime store magic trick.
“You see this flame? Ask yourself, how do we keep this going in our relationships, in our marriages? How do we keep the fires burning in regard to romance, communication, time spent together, and of course, our quest for better sex?” He inhaled deeply, then exhaled a wisp of purple smoke to extinguish the fire. He turned towards the crowd to find everyone’s eyes riveted on him. He could hear their fervent heartbeats, their eagerness to be delivered from their confusion and pain.
“If you’re middle aged or even elderly, please don’t think your mate doesn’t want to feel you inside of her anymore. That’s a lie. Sex is not owned by teenagers and everyone under thirty. Did you hear me? I said sex is not owned by youth. It is preserved by everybody, regardless of age. The human libido shifts, dulls, transforms and increases, but sexual desire never fully dies once we’ve reached puberty. It may lie dormant due to circumstances or events, but death is out of the question. Once that button is turned on, there’s
no going back. I’ve discussed this at prior conferences, but even a man who is having issues with his erections—and I’ve counselled many men with erectile dysfunction because more times than not, it is in their mind unless they have an underlying illness—can have a strong libido. The equipment, if you will, is simply not taking directions properly.
“The problem is that life gets in the way. Stress gets in the way. Poor diets get in the way. Lack of exercise gets in the way. Lack of confidence gets in the way. If one is single, not having a quality mate gets in the way. Being tired gets in the way. Our jobs get in the way, and the list goes and on. When we were twenty-one and out here fuckin’ and suckin’ everything that moved, we didn’t have all of this shit to deal with, right?” He grinned. “All we needed to be concerned about was what party was goin’ on over the weekend, shit like that. We had no mortgage, no huge car note, no job that demanded 60+ hours, none of that. Those things happen as we age. They are called responsibilities, and they affect your sex drive, especially if things are not going well in those arenas.
“I look at my second eldest,” Saint said. “My son, Dakarai. He’s a firecracker. He’s so carefree, a bit immature even for his age and blissfully naïve. He believes he is slick, but his mother and I are onto him. He will change one day, grow up, mature and some of the things he does and says right now will be long gone, a thing of the past. But one thing about him I believe will remain constant, and that is his ability to make people laugh. He’s the comedian of the family, very silly and even when you don’t want to laugh at him, you can’t help it. He’s nine. He is completely unaware of what I and his mother do to keep a roof over his head. For him, the lights are just on magically, from some electricity fairy high in the sky tangled amongst the wires and telephone poles.” He heard a few chuckles. “The water runs when he turns on the faucet, the cars start up when he puts on his seatbelt, the refrigerator is stocked by some grocery wizard too, I suppose, chock full of his favorite fruity yogurts, juices, and string cheese,” he went on. “And that’s fine, because we were all like him at some point, but now we’re men. There is no fairy floating about to help us out. The bills won’t pay themselves. We’ve lived lives with highs and lows. All he knows is that his parents love him, and life is fun. Fellas, that’s because he hasn’t met his enemy. His balance hasn’t been disrupted. As much as I’d like to protect him, I can’t stop it from eventually happening.
“My son will be broken down and broken in by the cruel world, just as we’ve all been. Once you identify your enemy, whether it’s impotence, alienation, financial hardship, lack of affection, depression, or what have you, you must ask yourself—what are you going to do about it? Once that flame in your bedroom begins to fade, are you going to pretend to be oblivious, like you were as a child, believing some pixie or elf is going to fix the problem? Will you run from your troubles or will you be proactive?” Saint stood from his seat and paced the stage in slow, methodic strides.
“The choice is yours and you’ve already taken the first step by being here with me tonight. To keep her wanting you, you must want her. That may seem like a given, but if we’re not telling our mate we want her both verbally and physically, it will cause some problems. Women are not wired like us. I’ve said this a million times, but it bears repeating. Encourage her to touch you. Not just your dick, but all over. She needs to awaken your chakras, and vice versa. You both balance one another out, so whatever she does to you, she will feel your response in ways you didn’t think possible. When we as men think of sex, we think of our dick inside some pussy, thrusting in some pretty little thing’s mouth as she sucks us dry, or plowing some primo ass. Yeah, that’s sex, but it’s so much deeper than that. Sex begins the moment you wake up until the time you fall asleep. Intercourse is not the grand finale.
“Your dick should be the last stop at the station. Make love with your body, mind, and soul. That’s how you keep the flame alive! You surprise her, you connect with her on a deeper level than just her pussy. By the time you touch her pussy, you want her to be craving you so badly that she can’t contain herself. You achieve that with your words, the way you caress her, the way you treat her in your day-to-day lives! The people having the best sex are those who feel respected by their partners, fellas. You can have great sex with a woman you don’t give a fuck about, but you will experience mind-blowing climaxes that take hold of your chakras and bring you to your knees if you engage with a partner with whom you share mutual respect and devotion. Toe-curling orgasms come and go. If you have someone who knows how to fuck, that is reachable. I know how to fuck.” He pointed to himself. “I’ve never had an issue bringing women to orgasm, but I had never experienced a full-bodied orgasm myself until I met my wife. I thought I had, but I hadn’t, because it required a special connection to a woman, which I had never experienced before.
“I thought I was having great sex.” He shrugged. “And I was, but I had just tasted the tip of the iceberg. You want to be the man who’ll make her pussy wet just by you calling her and telling her to put on something pretty because you’re taking her to her favorite restaurant. You want a woman who will make your dick hard at the mere thought of her whispering, ‘I want you,’ in your damn ear. You don’t have to upgrade; you need to invest! We are so quick to look elsewhere to find our fix, when something new will never do the trick. We need to take care of what we have, but we treat our women like the latest gadget! I can teach you how to have and give better orgasms, but foreplay happens 24/7—you are always on the clock, and love is always on time. Tick tock, mothafuckas. It’s time to have that pussy in the palm of your hand.”
Loud applause broke out at those words.
“As most of my fanbase knows I am a recovering sexaholic. For whatever reason, even in this day and age, there is still debate on whether such a thing exists or not. Some people laugh at the mention of it, thinking it couldn’t possibly be a problem. But it is. It practically destroyed my life. No one wants to be slave to anything that controls them and takes away their power to choose. Even a consensual BDSM relationship has rules, options, and a workable framework the parties involved use to conduct that part of their lives. To be a true slave to a situation is unpleasant, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I was depressed. I was never satisfied. I was constantly trying to get high through these interactions. Even in the middle of fucking, I would be worried about when I’d get my next lay and make arrangements in my mind for whom I was going to call or where I was going to go to try and pick up some random woman. Addiction is slavery. There is nothing sexy, sensual, or beautiful about it.
“I am no longer a slave to that addiction, but it is a part of who I am as a person,” he said, pointing at his chest. “I use it as a stepping stone to help teach and educate men such as you. Those of you trying to fill a void … trying to fix a marriage that is falling apart … trying to convince a girlfriend to stay by your side and give you another chance. This is for you. Tonight, men, you are in a hospital. I enjoy this sort of surgery and repair—fixing the sins of the King. You,” he pointed out into the audience, “are Kings. You’re here either because you’ve fallen, you want to avoid falling, or you’ve gotten back up and want to stay there. Right now, you are in surgery, in ICU.
“You’ve already been diagnosed. We’ve established balance, we’ve witnessed the flame, and now we are trying to maintain it. I want to help you heal yourself and your woman through your intimacy and as I’ve stated countless times in my books, my interviews, and events such as this, the way into a woman’s pussy is first into her mind.” He tapped his temple. “If you fuck her here first, you will have her here.” He pointed to his groin. “You will for as long as you desire her. I understand women down to their bones, and that is why I was so successful at manipulating them, toying with them, using them for my own selfish needs.
“I’ve had some guys tell me, ‘Well it’s easy for you, Saint. You’re tall, attractive, have a decent income, and are a natural pickup artist.
Those are all excuses. One of the most successful guys at getting women that I’ve ever known was only 5’6, skinny, and made a modest income. The women loved him! You know why? Because he was confident. He had a take charge attitude, and he was good in bed because he studied women and gave a damn about making them reach orgasm. The idea is not to focus on your shortcomings, but to use what you have to your advantage, and exploit the hell out of it. Each and every one of you has something that is appealing about you. That can work to either attract a mate or benefit your current relationship.
“I used my powers in the past, if you will, to destroy women. Something inside of me, a lack of self-worth mainly, caused that situation to happen. Now that I’m out of that affliction, am married and have a daughter of my own, I could not in good conscience continue down such a path. Additionally, I was working on a low vibration and drowning in ignorance. I didn’t understand that when this all first started. I had no clue about soul networks, karmic ties, soulmates, cosmic connections, yoni reverence, chakra health, so on and so forth.
“I believe the Creator forgave me because, well,” he said with a shrug, “that’s what the Creator does, but also because He knew I could turn this around and use it to help my brothers out of the forest. I could use my mistakes and the knowledge I’ve obtained to help you climb higher. And I love what I do. I enjoy teaching people like you how to hunt, fuck, and foster lasting marriages. Plain and simple.” He slicked his tongue over his lower lip as he gazed out at the audience. “The use of words, language, is essential to seducing your woman and helping to keep her excited in the bedroom. Why? Because women are cerebral lovers. You don’t have to be eloquent. You just need to learn what she likes, and expand upon it.
“Some men are afraid to curse during sex, thinking their mate will be offended. Do you know how many women would sit in my sex therapy office and complain that their man refused to take charge? He refused to tell her how good her pussy tasted, in just that way. You want to look into that woman’s eyes and say, ‘Baby, the taste of your sweet, dripping wet pussy on my tongue could sustain me for days.’” Cheers erupted from the crowd. “Sometimes a woman just wants to be told how you want to fuck the shit outta her … not how you want to ‘make love’ or use little cute code words. Those are fine and useful, but sometimes that woman needs you to grab her by the back of the neck,”—He extended his arm as if pulling someone towards him as he gritted his teeth—“lay a kiss on her that makes her lose her balance, and then look her in the eye and say, ‘Tonight, your mouth, your ass, and your pussy are mine. I’m going to fuck each and every hole on your body until we both are knocked the hell out.”