Kismet 3

by Raynesha Pittman

  Women have gotten too good at faking it. They can have a dick in them but be mentally fucking themselves. I call it mind over matter because it doesn’t matter what you are working with as long as she can use her mind to imagine it’s something better. She’ll have you thinking you’re putting in work, and the whole time, she’s counting down for you to nut and get the fuck off of her.

  Bitches used to have me feeling like I was King Dick before I caught on to them. Every time I heard them moan, “It’s too big, Daddy,” “You’re in my guts, Dre!” or whatever other sounds they wanted to make to let me know I was causing damage, they had me feeling like a boss. I almost put a caution sign on my boxers. Then I realized the timing was off. I’d be about to stroke, and she’d be moaning and screaming before I even reached midstroke. Get the fuck out of here with that shit. I don’t need an ego boost. I need a good nut. Since then, I’m in and out of it like a drive-through. If she enjoys me, cool. If not, fuck it. She just better hope that she gets hers before I get mine.

  I didn’t have to worry about all that acting with Savannah, though. I knew she loved my plumbing by what she didn’t say in bed, but today, she decided to be as loud as she could. I thought it was acting for a minute, but I was wrong. I had tapped into something Savannah just couldn’t handle. The deeper I went, the less she used the pillow. What once sounded like a bunch of undecipherable, smothered words now sounded like, “Aww, shit, Dre. You’re in too deep.”

  Savannah voicing her limits didn’t mean shit to me. I was ready to make new limits with her. The more she complained, the deeper I went. If I were really causing her pain, I wasn’t about to stop. She deserved to feel some type of pain from me after all the shit she’d been doing. I was beginning to enjoy her yells even more. Savannah attempted to free herself from me again by crawling away, but I was stuck to her. When she climbed up the headboard, I was right there with her, constantly stroking. She was stupid if she thought I was going to stop. My stroke took no breaks even as our location moved, nor did my yearning to go deeper fade away.

  “Where are you going, baby? You know you can’t run from me. Take this dick. It’s yours.”

  I whispered my words in her ear again, and like a chain reaction, Savannah’s third orgasm came, leaving fluids dripping down her legs and her knees ready to buckle. Savannah had nowhere else to run. She was standing up in the bed on those unstable legs of hers with the upper half of her body pressed against the wall, and the other half jammed between me and the headboard. I continued putting in work until her legs gave way, and she fell back down to her knees. Then I prepared myself for the main event.

  I let the liquid build in my mouth, then released it in a steady flow down her backside trail. She had never permitted me to enter her by her exit, but then again, I had never asked. I wasn’t into anal sex. I’m a real man. I only wanted to penetrate parts that I didn’t have, which was a pussy. I love looking at round asses, but their use in sex was only for slapping, spreading, and a place to shoot my business if I was in there raw. Penetration of it has never been a want of mine, but I could tell it was a want of Savannah’s. Her exit sat open, and I could tell by the area around it that it had been touched before. Fuck it. It hadn’t just been touched—somebody had busted it wide open. Since we were starting all over, I decided to make sure I was giving her everything she needed so cheating would be the last thought on her mind.

  I didn’t know how to approach it besides what I saw in pornos, but Savannah had no problem with walking me through it. It was like all the pain she was feeling vanished as she grabbed the hand I had parked on her ass. She put my hand to her mouth and sucked on my middle and index fingers up to the knuckles. It had only been a few hours since I busted them, and even though it was now early Sunday morning, we hadn’t been out of the bed since we made it home Saturday evening. I planned to break Savannah’s back for at least forty-eight hours. Taking time away to work on my fingers wasn’t an option. The comforting feel of her soft lips on my busted knuckles healed my wounds temporarily.

  Savannah then instructed me in a voice I ain’t never heard her speak in. She said, “Dre, you know where I want you to put them. Enter me slowly and then twist your fingers once you get in there.”

  It was a mixture of Savannah’s “in the middle of an orgasm voice” and her “Hit me from the back, Dre” demanding tone. Her words alone almost caused me to top off, but the curiosity of what would follow kept me leveled. I did as I was told, and she kept demanding new things of me. The shit was turning me on like Savannah hadn’t done before. She was a seductress, and I was left seduced. She was bringing out the dog in me, and I was ready to mark my territory. Every time I’d ever touched Savannah, it’d been to make love or caress her body differently than them other niggas had. This was the first time I was ready to fuck Savannah like she was my bitch. I had the pink slip to her, and no one ever again in life would test-drive her. All of her demands, wants, needs, and all the other shit she was talking about got thrown out the window, and she was now a guest on Dre’s Show. She was going to get it like I wanted to give it to her, and that was that. All of her longing for different feels from different niggas was over. It was time I left her with no choice but to be loyal.

  I rested all my weight on my forearm in her back until her body collapsed under me. I traced the arch of her back with my tongue as I reached both of my hands under her to grip her breasts. Her nipples felt like small boulders in my hands, but when twisted, they felt like rolling marbles. Savannah didn’t know what I was about to do, but she knew she was going to like it. The shaking in her legs told me that. I no-handed my way back inside of her and got a few more strokes in. Then I went for it. I dipped in her exit and pulled right back out of it. Instantly, I knew that anal shit wasn’t for me. Maybe I wasn’t high enough, or I should have been drunk. One thing I know for sure is that I’m leaving anal sex to them unsure or those triple-X-rated niggas and stick to head and pussy alone. The virginlike tightness of it was too much for me to stomach, and I refused to allow myself to enjoy it. I can’t picture myself craving some ass. That doesn’t even sound straight.

  “Why did you stop?” She sounded pissed, and I knew the freaky bitch would, but I can’t get on that level with her. She’ll have to settle for some fingers from time to time.

  “That ain’t what I want,” I said.

  “But it’s what I want.”

  “Naw, you ain’t had enough of this dick to know what you want yet,” I said, getting up.

  I didn’t let my dislike for mining her body for coal ruin the mood. Instead, I relocated our session back to the bathroom where her MP3 player was still spitting out the hits. I hopped in the shower and told Savannah to join me. I cleaned my pipe off for some natural sex, Adam and Eve style, not that Mike and Steve shit that I had just experienced. After three pullouts to prevent my eruption, I let it go.

  “Oh shit...”

  It was the first time since we made Sade that I went off inside of her. My knees felt like they would snap if I didn’t sit down soon. I jumped out of the shower, water still running, body soaking wet, and lay across the foot of the bed to try to recover. Savannah wrapped us up in her towel, then straddled my limpness like a horse’s back, and we fell straight to sleep.

  We didn’t wake up until Sunday night, dehydrated and hungry. I could feel it from the time I opened my eyes that something about that night just wasn’t right. It felt like I had something important to do, but I couldn’t remember what it was. I tried to ease my mind by smoking a blunt but didn’t have a cigar to roll one in. I sliced my finger with the knife cutting up vegetables for Savannah’s omelet that she later confessed she never wanted. I really should have gone to the hospital and gotten a stitch or two, but I used whatever I could find in the first aid kit.

  After all of that, I got a text from my mama saying she signed Andre Jr. up to play football this year. He finally met the age requirements, and I’m on the other side of the map in Seattle, about to miss
my son’s first game tonight. I didn’t think it could get any worse, but like a never-ending nightmare... It did. I got a voicemail from my boy Ryan back in Nashville, “I don’t know why you’re unreachable at the moment, but I need you to call me back ASAP. You don’t have time to put this call off. Call me back. You know who it is.”

  The last time Ryan sent a message for me like this was on a night like this one. I’ll never forget it because it was the same day I met Savannah. I was on my way to bring her some weed to her spot in Bellevue, Tennessee. I was less than ten miles away from her apartment when I finally got the text message I was dreading to receive. It was Ryan informing me that a warrant had been issued for my arrest. I knew the day was coming when I’d have to turn myself in and lie down for a while or go on the run. I had been preparing for it, but preparations were useless. How do you prepare yourself to face time in prison? There’s some shit in life you just can’t prepare for, and ten years in prison was one of them.

  Before I could stomach that my time on these streets was numbered, my boy Ryan had sent one more text that read, Yo’ baby mama gave you up. Get low, my nigga.

  He didn’t just tell me I was headed to prison any more, but that my bitch was helping to put me there. That made the whole scenario different. I would have dealt with facing all that time a little better if I was going because I got caught dirty-handed. It would be my fault for slipping. But knowing I had been voluntarily snitched on by somebody I loved—somebody that I one time planned on spending forever with and the woman I’m supposed to honor for the rest of my life for carrying my child—had me feeling sick. The thought of my bitch working as an informant, telling the cops everything she could about me for free, nauseated me. I had to pull over on the side of the road in case I needed to vomit.

  I had told her too much and made her the protector of my secrets. My baby mama, Tasha, had enough information on me to have me buried behind bars. One minute we were together, strong in our relationship, and then we hated each other and went against each other the next. I thought Tasha was in it for the long run, but nothing lasts forever. I should have known she’d turn on me, and in the back of my head, I always did.

  Tasha showed she couldn’t be loyal every time we broke up. She’d have a new nigga in less than a week, and my son would become my mama’s responsibility until the new guy broke her heart or cut her off. She was ready to drop her title with me and replace it with somebody else’s before we could cool down enough to try to figure our shit out.

  She had started being questioned by the police three weeks before I got that text message. So, I had a three-week notice, thanks to Ryan. I knew he was right about her deciding to work with the police by the words she said. For three weeks, Tasha would say shit like, “I wish you were back in jail so that I can have my man back” or some stupid shit like, “The only way I can trust you to be where you say you’re at, Dre, is when you’re in jail.” She meant it when she said it. I could see the realness that lay painfully in her eyes.

  I had an exit plan on getting out of the dope game, but I never thought I’d be forced to execute it. The part I don’t understand is what the fuck I did to have her change up on me. I wasn’t the perfect nigga, but I was close. When I wasn’t practicing medicine via the streets, I had my ass home with her and my son. It was me who did all the cooking and cleaning while her ass sat on her throne of designer name bags and clothes, pretending to be something she was not. Tasha grew up with me in Jo Johnson projects. She didn’t come from money, but she had no problem adjusting to it. I watched her taste go from five dollars Old Navy holiday tees to different designers’ seasonal collections. There was a time when Tasha’s gelled down ponytail was all she needed. Now, she can’t step out without hair touching her ass.

  I got that bitch out of New Balances and put her in Off Broadway heels, and look how she repaid me. My boy Mike told me he had seen her in the club a few months before that happened. She was with some nigga, smiling and grinning in his face like she was single, and I let it go. I told myself not to react off the words of others. If she were living funky, I’d smell it.

  Breaking up with me would have been a lot easier, but that would have been too normal for Tasha. In all honesty, she was crazy. My mama said I made her that way, but I refuse to take the blame for it. I only did what she allowed me to do, and the cheating in our relationship went both ways. I started it, but Tasha made sure to finish it. Her mental health should have been under suspicion before I got with her. She was crazy, and that’s the truth. She found a way to cut off my visitation with my son while we lived under the same roof. How her crazy ass pulled that off I’ll never understand.

  “I put this shit on everything I love... Until you treat me better, you’ll never see your son again. I bet my life on that,” she screamed and then threw our son’s bottle at me.

  “Shut that shit up. You ain’t going nowhere with my son. He’s staying right here in this house with his daddy, and so are you.”

  “I never said we were leaving this raggedy motherfucka, Dre. I said you won’t see your son again.”

  She told me I couldn’t see our son and did everything she could to keep me away from him when he was lying in the bedroom next to mines. I don’t know how she pulled it off, but whenever I was home, he was asleep, and if I decided to stay in the house for the day, he’d always get shipped off somewhere before I told her of my decision to stay indoors.

  “You gotta move around to somebody else with the dumb shit. I can’t see my son, but I’m supposed to keep giving you money and the dick? That ain’t gon’ work.”

  So, I cut her ass off and started fucking the streets. I watched my money triple in three weeks of not coming home. I’m sure she thought I was with another bitch, but that wasn’t the case. I turned an eight-hour shift of grinding into a seventy-two-hour one. Money was stacking, but my son was suffering. He spent more time with my mama than he spent with his mother or me. There are just some things I’m caveman about, and one is a mother takes care of her kids, and they see granny on the weekends. Tasha had Andre Jr. with my mama Tuesday through Sunday and only had him Sunday night to Tuesday morning. Tasha ain’t working, trying to work, or nothing like that, but she ain’t got time for my son? Fuck that. I slowed down to take care of mines, and when Tasha saw that, she was ready to stay at home and be a parent too, which was cool, but I still cut her off. After the shit she pulled, my dick wasn’t going to get hard for her. I’m not trying to be cold about it, but ain’t nothing sexy about a woman who doesn’t take care of her kids. And to top it off, it was my son. She was really cut off. I couldn’t have sex with her if I wanted to. It wouldn’t get hard, and I wasn’t about to force it to.

  Hearing Ryan on my voicemail now wasn’t a welcoming thing, and I knew I had to call him back ASAP, but Savannah’s needs came first again.

  Trisha had left Savannah a voicemail saying, “I love you, but fuck you.” She was thanking Savannah for not stopping the money transfer and wanted her to know that first thing Monday morning, she’d have her cash in hand. She told Savannah she could get with Royce to get her notebook and movies of revenge back, and she wished her all the best in life. Before the length of the voicemail cut her off, she managed to get out one last sentence.

  “Oh, Savannah, you need to watch Dre.”

  That bitch Trisha was cold for that one. She gave her daughter a warning about me like I wasn’t to be trusted. After all the shit Savannah had done to me, I felt like I deserved to plot against her. I was protecting Savannah, and Trisha knew it, but she turned me into enemy number one. I played it off like I didn’t hear the message because Savannah had started dialing, and I knew she was calling the bank. When she verified she was broke by the pending transfer, she began stressing away. I hated to see her all upset over it, but she left me no choice. My heart was black when it came to it. If she wasn’t cheating and living sloppy, her mama wouldn’t have been able to blackmail her. I even went as far as to fuck with her about it.
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  “What’s wrong, baby? You keep pacing.”

  Savannah quickly said, “Nothing, daddy, just thinking about work.”

  “What about work, baby? You look like you’re stressed out.”

  “Um, just wondering how this shit is going to play out with Stephanie being back at the home office. That’s all.”

  I knew she couldn’t tell me the truth because it would convict her of sleeping with Royce. I kept asking her the same question to remind her of what caused all this in the first place. That little thing was too hot in between her legs and had caused her to go broke. I wanted that fact to marinate in her head the next time she thought about cheating or using sex to get revenge.

  I’m not completely heartless, so I jumped in my Hummer and ran to the store to get some cigars. I wanted to get her mind off of it for a while, and weed had the most promising results. When I made it back home, we smoked, then hopped right back in the bed. I was drained, so we only went one round, which knocked us both out. If it hadn’t been vibrating under my back, I wouldn’t have known my cell phone was ringing. I checked the caller ID and it read International. It was Peaches calling. I slid out of bed to get away from Savannah and went to Sade’s room before I answered.