The Dirty Red Series

by Vickie M. Stringer

  “What—” he asked, quizzically. “What is this?” He rubbed his hand over his half-naked son. “Kera, why is he so greasy?”

  “That’s holy oil, Mekel. I blessed him.”

  Mekel reached for a wipe on the changing table; he heard a thud and saw the bottle on the floor.

  “Kera, this ain’t no damn holy oil,” he said, picking up the bottle. “This is some extra-virgin olive oil.”

  “It was the closest thing I could find, baby. Don’t worry though, I prayed over it and the Lord is blessing our lil’ angel right now.”

  Mekel shook his head and put his focus back on his son. Kera loved watching him care for their son. He was as skilled as a marksman, but had the gentleness of a baby’s touch when it came to his namesake. The once-scrawny newborn was now beginning to take on a healthier look. His skin tone was beginning to even out and his curly hair looked full. He still had the same eyebrows, almost connecting, that made him unmistakably Mekel Jr. The chubby cheeks he now sported was surely a sign of a healthy baby. Mekel was pleased with his progress.

  “There. All done,” he said to lil’ Mekel. “Here baby, take care of this for me.” He handed Kera the soiled Pamper. Kera shook her head, smiled and playfully tapped Mekel in the head with the bundled-up diaper, then disposed of it.

  Fatigued, they both walked back down the hallway to the bedroom. Mekel absentmindedly slid into bed and pulled the covers back for Kera to join him. Instead, she assumed the prayer position on her side of the bed.

  Please forgive me for all of my sins and those who have sinned against You as we know not what we do, she said silently. After that prayer, she spoke out loud. “Lord, thank You for the blessings You have bestowed upon me. Father God, please continue to watch over my family and we will forever serve You for the rest of the days of our lives. Amen.”

  A calm washed over Kera as she slid into bed next to Mekel and went to sleep.

  • • •

  Kera blinked and her eyes finally focused on the red LCD readout on the digital clock that was on her nightstand. Her eyes grew large as she read 8:49 A.M. She had slept for eight hours without being disturbed.

  “Oh, my God, the baby!” she said out loud. She picked up the nursery monitor and held it close to her ear. She didn’t hear anything. She kept the monitor inside the crib so she could hear the tiny baby breaths lil’ Mekel made, but now, there was nothing but silence.

  Kera’s heart raced as she got out of bed and quickly walked out of their room and down the hall toward the nursery. Kera’s heart trotted, doing Olympic-type somersaults in her chest. Her palms turned sweaty and she began to hyperventilate. Once inside the nursery she looked inside of the crib. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a big “O.”

  “Mekel!” she yelled frantically as she turned around and rushed out of the nursery. “Mekel!” She ran back down the hallway, past the bathroom, past their bedroom and made a right down another short hallway, which led to the kitchen.

  She stumbled into the living room and stopped in her tracks as she exhaled. A small tear dripped from her worried eyes. In front of her on the couch lay Mekel; and their son, swaddled, lying on top of Mekel’s chest. They were both sleeping peacefully. If anything were a Kodak moment, this would be. Having been scared out of her mind, thinking that her baby had died, or was once again a victim of kidnapping, didn’t sit well with Kera. Now her reaction was setting in.

  She went to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet. “Damn, I gotta get myself together,” she said as she felt the warm liquid escape her bladder. After a quick shower, Kera stood at the basin, wrapped in a plush, burgundy towel. She opened the medicine cabinet to retrieve her toothbrush and toothpaste. There was a bottle of Vagisil, which wasn’t hers. Kera scowled. I’ve been here for almost two weeks and it still doesn’t feel like home. Everywhere I look this heifer’s shit is in my face! Lord, please forgive me.

  She tossed the bottle into the trash and it landed with a small clinking sound. She looked at the towel she was wrapped in and immediately thought about Terry being wrapped in the same towel. Everything in the apartment reminded her of the past. Nothing was hers and she was sure Terry had something to do with how it was decorated. Shit ain’t even coordinated. Kera began to visualize the décor throughout the apartment. Angrily, she stormed out of the bathroom and bumped into Mekel.

  “Baby, what’s wrong?” he inquired, seeing her panic.

  “Nothing,” she barked.

  “Baby, for real, what’s up?” He grabbed her arm gently as she tried to walk past him. “You’ve been uptight the last coupla days.”

  Mekel held her in his arms and smoothed her hair with his right hand.

  As she allowed him to embrace her, Kera’s angst began to subside. “Mekel, I thought it would be easy living here, but it’s not.”

  “Wha . . . what you mean?”

  “Everywhere I turn, I think about her.”

  “Who?” Mekel asked innocently.

  “Terry!” she yelled like he should know and pushed away from him. “I’m sleeping in the same bed she slept in, I’m using the same towels and I’m wiping my ass with the same toilet paper she used. You have Cottonelle, I buy Charmin. It’s too many memories here . . . too many of them of the woman who tried to kidnap our child.”

  “Kera, I understand, but you’ve been over here before. What’s different now?”

  “The difference is, we were just fucking, oops, having sex”—she looked up toward the ceiling and asked for forgiveness—“and there was no real idea that we’d be together. You weren’t with me the majority of my pregnancy, but that’s changed. We’re a family now.”

  She had wanted to get with Mekel from the first time she saw him, but she let it pass because she knew his girl, Terry. But Mekel’s reputation was known all over town—and so was his sexual prowess. Terry only validated it when she gave a very graphic, stroke by stroke account of his skills one evening when they were all chillin’ at Red’s.

  Tired of all of the no-good niggas she encountered, Kera began to make herself known to Mekel just in passing. Although both were attracted to each other, neither acted on it until they ran into each other in Vegas and succumbed to the temptation of “What goes on in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

  Kera knew that Mekel had broken up with Terry right before he left for Vegas; however, once they returned, things were different and Kera was left looking stupid: Terry and Mekel were back together and she, unbeknownst to her, had a baby brewing.

  When Mekel learned of her pregnancy he was pissed, cut her off and denied the child. And, because of this, Kera fucked around with some of the niggas she kept on the side for extra ends. The looming pregnancy was something she didn’t think about seriously. She at first thought, out of sight, out of mind; however, the choices she made would be ones that she would have to live with for the rest of her life.

  Whenever they would run into each other, Mekel acted like he hated her. She played along with his fuck-a-ho, leave-a-ho ways. Kera couldn’t lie to herself, though; she had feelings for him, and she played her cards just right. She didn’t hound him . . . and he came right back to her, just like she knew he would.

  “You’re right, we are a family now, but what do you want me to do?”

  Kera walked swiftly to the living room as he followed behind her. “I want to redecorate,” she said with a smile. “First, I want to paint. This room would look great in lavender with white trim. Then we can get rid of all of this,” she said, pointing to all of the furniture. She walked to the bedroom. “And see, close your eyes, baby, and visualize,” she said excitedly. “We need another bed. I have one in mind.” Kera was talking a mile a minute. “The chest is old and I can make—”

  “Whoa . . . whoa . . . whoa,” Mekel protested. “We don’t need anything new. I just bought all this stuff a little over a year ago. There’s nothing wrong with anything in here.” He was becoming irritated.

  Why can’t he get over it? she asked herself. Is
Terry still on his mind? Is this a way to hold on to her? What about me? Kera studied the expression on Mekel’s face. She sighed deeply, trying to formulate her words.

  Mekel looked at Kera then walked toward the bedroom window to peer outside. “I don’t know, Kera, I just—” As he turned around, she dropped the bath towel she had wrapped around her. And walked toward him slowly.

  “You don’t know what, Mekel?” Kera stood up on her toes and kissed him.

  “We can’t,” he protested.

  Kera brought his hands up to her breasts. They were swollen and heavy, but Mekel couldn’t resist the feel of them. He lowered his head to taste the left breast as he gently massaged the right with his hand. Not minding the release of breast milk, he lapped it up happily as if he needed it for nourishment. She reached down and felt his manhood peeping out of the opening of his boxers. Kera lifted her left leg up and placed the flat of her foot on the windowsill right behind Mekel. She then took his penis and ran it along the crack of her pussy, letting him feel how moist she was. Not caring how long it had been since she had given birth, Kera was going to use what got him away from Terry—her pussy. “Make love to me.”

  Mekel picked her up and carried her over to the bed. “You sure it’s okay?” he asked against his better judgment.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she reassured him as she guided him inside.

  Although awkward at first, they found a groove they both enjoyed. Mekel was glad to be back inside of Kera’s warm crevice and she was glad to accommodate his needs.

  Twenty minutes later, they lay back on the bed, spent and out of breath.

  “Mekel, I’m sorry,” Kera said quietly. “It was wrong of me to ask you to get rid of your stuff. It’s just hard to live behind another woman. Not only another woman, but a woman who hurt our son. That’s it.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’ll get over it.” Kera wiped a fake tear from her eye.

  Mekel watched her. He could see how much living in Terry’s shadow was bothering her.

  “There’s no need to apologize. I should have taken care of this way before now. I know we can’t erase the past, but if redecorating is what you want to do, then we’ll do it. Go get your clothes on and I’ll get the baby ready. Looks like you got a job to do.”

  Kera smiled as she layered kisses all over his face. That was easy. Out with the old, in with the new. Thank you, Jesus.

  He smacked her on the ass as she jetted away to change, hoping he was doing the right thing.

  CHAPTER 10

  Maurice, a couple of his teammates and Bacon climbed off the plane in Cancun, and began walking toward baggage claim. Out of nowhere, children, young and old, immediately bombarded them, asking for autographs.

  “Mr. Clarence! M. C.!” someone shouted.

  “There’s Tony!” a teenaged girl shrieked. “I can’t believe it’s you!”

  “Kavaughn!” a young boy shouted. “You’re my hero!”

  The men graciously signed notebooks, shirts and shoes, and posed for pictures as Bacon blended into the swarm. Never one to be envious of others, he looked at them, and then himself. There was an obvious difference.

  As the crowd dispersed, Maurice looked around for his friend. Understanding the perplexed look on his face, Maurice playfully boxed toward him.

  Instinctively Bacon playfully blocked Maurice’s punches.

  “Come on, man,” Maurice chided Bacon and draped his arm over his shoulder, “let’s go get our luggage and change.”

  Just then, a group of women switched and swiveled their hips up to them. The men knew instantly that they were groupies by the overt sexual promiscuity they exuded. All four of them looked like local skeezers. From thick to bone-thin, short to tall, raven-colored to blond hair, each woman had her own look but seemed to be wearing the same uniform: painfully high stilettos, short miniskirts and tube tops so tight it looked as if their breasts were being massaged.

  “Welcome, papi,” the tallest one of the four said to the men. She turned around and did the bend-over-and-show-’em-my-ass routine. The guys didn’t seem too put off by it, because she wasn’t wearing any panties, and from what they saw, her pussy was fat.

  The guys knew that whatever they asked for the women would allow it to go down. They were practically in the airport, fucking them. Each man walked away with a woman on their arm, Maurice with the fat-pussy one. The thick woman was left, and she looked at Bacon strangely.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, trying to make conversation. She knew just by looking at him he wasn’t a ballplayer.

  “Bacon,” he said with the mack in his voice. “What’s yo’ name?”

  “What kinda name is that?” The woman spoke English in a broken accent, ignoring his attempt to get hers.

  “It means I got the bacon, you know . . . cash.” Bacon motioned like he was rubbing money in between his fingers.

  “Papi, if you gotta do all that,” the woman said, irritated, realizing she got the runt of the bunch, “then you ain’t sheit.”

  Bacon couldn’t believe what she had just said to him. No woman had ever spoken to him in that tone before. Bacon’s blood pressure began to rise. Red had shitted on him, and now this bitch was telling him to his face he wasn’t shit? Aw, hell naw.

  Maurice heard what the woman had said and walked toward his friend, leaving the woman he was talking to standing alone. “All that ain’t called for,” he warned her. “You need to calm that shit down, mami.”

  Just minutes before he’d gotten off the phone with the Radisson Hotel after booking a suite for the night. He was about to get broke off. He didn’t want this smart-mouthed heifer to block what was about to go down.

  The feisty woman knew opportunity when she saw it, so she threw her hands up in surrender, and went along with the flow.

  They were taken to the Radisson via limousine and retreated upstairs to the penthouse suite. Not long after hitting the door sounds of ecstasy filled the room. Nobody had shame in their game. It was one big orgy. Bacon watched on with a hard dick, as the woman who insulted him was doubling with one of Maurice’s teammates. As she lay on her back getting pounded into, she looked at Bacon, licked her lips and mouthed, “You want it, don’t you?” True enough, Bacon wanted it, but he knew that she was out of his league.

  Bacon watched Maurice as he fucked Ms. Fat Pussy. Glad his boy was getting his, Bacon sulked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Obviously upset that he couldn’t get up in some pussy, he would handle his. He did before, and this wouldn’t be any exception. As Bacon got into the shower and lathered himself, his hand instinctively went down to his thick erection. He closed his eyes as he went back in time.

  “Bacon, what if we get caught? I’m scared.”

  “Don’t be scared. The guard gave me some time. Stop playing.” He undid the zipper of her slacks, revealing her G-string. He turned her around and admired her ass cheeks before spreading them apart. His tongue penetrated her asshole. Bacon rammed his thick dick into her pussy. He began to hump furiously, moving in and out with powerful thrusts. He was finally home again, in his bed, getting right.

  “Don’t come inside me,” he remembered her saying.

  “Too late,” he said, grunting, as he shot his load in the shower. “Too fucking late.”

  Bacon’s relief came at Red’s expense. “In due time, we’ll meet again,” he said as he finished showering. He stepped out of the shower, dried off and went to bed, relieved. They had a big vacation day ahead of them.

  • • •

  Maurice and Bacon settled in at Maurice’s off-season villa, nestled in the cut on Playa de Carmen. After showing Bacon the house he decided to hit the town. Maurice had some things he needed to do, and who else to do it with but his longtime buddy.

  Maurice made a few calls as he drove toward the mainland. “Man, so how was them freaks last night?” Bacon questioned.

  “You fuck one freak, you fucked them all.” Maurice threw his head back and laughed.

 
As the two pulled away from Maurice’s home, Bacon looked back. “Damn, you straight ballin’! Who would have thought?” he asked as Maurice drove away from the four-bedroom villa. “Yo’ shit make my house look like a studio apartment.” Both men chortled.

  Maurice knew that his taste was extravagant but he also knew that Bacon was at the lowest point a man could be at in his life. He had nothing. All the stuff he worked hard for had landed him in jail; and even once he got out, he had nothing to go back to. No home, no family, no woman, no nothing.

  “Do you believe in karma?” Maurice asked seriously.

  “Yeah, what goes around comes around.”

  “Well, maybe we were supposed to meet up like this,” Maurice rationalized. “Don’t stress, you’ll get back on your feet soon.”

  Maurice reached into his console, pulled out a toothpick and popped it into his mouth just as Bacon was about to ask how he figured that. Coming to his first location, Maurice parked the car and got out.

  “It’s nothing but a thing, man,” Maurice assured him. “Come on. Follow me.”

  They walked through the entrance of Jose’s. Jose was Maurice’s favorite Mexican barber. He could cut the shit outta some hair. Mainly, black hair. Jose’s was where the majority of the locals spent their time, imitating black hair, styles, walk and talk.

  “Jose, my man!” Maurice greeted him with the customary one-arm hug.

  “Ah . . . Reece, good to see you, mayne,” he responded. “How’s the knee?”

  Maurice looked down at his long limb and nodded. “It’s getting better. It’s about eighty-five percent.”

  “Good,” a patron chimed in. “Yo’ team ain’t shit with-out you.”

  “Damn right,” another person said. “When you went down, they went down. All those damned rookies!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Jose, this my main man, Is—”

  “Bacon,” he interrupted. Isadore was his middle name. His mother refused to call him by his birth name after his daddy left her. She said it reminded her too much of him.