Head Games

by Mary B. Morrison

  Hit MUTE, told my sis, “Go ride your husband’s dick. Wanna see you bouncing off the walls full of energy in the morning.”

  My sister wiggled her butt. I smiled, watched her dance out the door.

  Atlantis had no idea all I’d gone through. I needed to be with someone who loved me for me. She always took care of me. Not in the motherly way like Francine. Needed that, too. Atlantis knew how to make me feel like a man.

  “Your dick went viral on social media all down some woman’s throat and you need to see me? After leaving me in hemmed up with BobbyRay while you were fucking all those females on the yacht! That’s a new low, man. Explain that shit!” Atlantis became quiet.

  I was hoping she’d cry. That would let me know she was hurting and I could console her. If she cursed me out, that was okay, too. Anger meant she wanted my undivided attention. What I didn’t want her to do was start talking to me like she was a dude and I was her bitch. That would signify she really didn’t give a fuck about me anymore.

  I turned chairs upside down at six tables, placed them legs up, seat down on top. Swept the floor, wall-to-wall. Business was slow. I didn’t feel we needed to remain open another two hours.

  The worst thing was to give a woman time to think. “They paid me to host that cruise. I was their guest. They weren’t mine. It was like one of those wine classes where people paint. I was . . . a model. They were into each other. Don’t act like you’re innocent. For real, though. That wasn’t me online. My boys were playing a joke. Blitz was probably the ring leader. You know how they are. Honestly, I’m more pissed than you could ever be.” Crossed my fingers. A similar lie had worked on Francine.

  “Y’all about to turn thirty and acting like none of you graduated college. Y’all need to grow the hell up.”

  I didn’t want to grow up. Not if it meant having access to one pussy for the rest of my life. “I agree, baby. I was hoping I could see my best friend after I close at midnight. Café Du Monde? Like we used to hang back in the day? Make us a playlist with our favorite songs.” I upped my charm, hit her with my sexy, low voice. “Leave them panties off and wear your hair down.”

  “I got that peach lip gloss, my friend,” she said.

  “Not the peach. That’s my girl. And I got your friend. Seriously, AB. I hear you, but we need to discuss getting back together. You are my soul mate.” That was true.

  A text registered from Kandy: In town. Need to see you, François Dupree.

  Biggest mistake was uploading Kandy French-kissing my asshole and riding my dick. Her smart-ass mouth got that behind posted to my pages soon as she’d left my villa. Now I couldn’t get her off my jock.

  Say hello to your husband for me was my reply. A call from Kandy showed on my screen. I declined.

  No bitch could outsmart François Dupree. Her ass was easy. That was her fault. She texted again.

  Hit her with a canned response, Busy. Can’t talk.

  “I’ll let you know if I can get away from my fiancé.” Atlantis’s tone was melancholy.

  Damn, I was only distracted for two seconds. A minute ago she’d perked up. “I take that as a yes. Thanks, babe.” I ended the call with AB. Sent Kandy’s next call to voice mail. Flipped the remaining chairs. Now that I had a chance to get with Atlantis, I could show Walter that my path to the altar was on the right course.

  I should’ve never bought Francine a piece of ice I couldn’t take back. Black men invested in jewelry we could return, in case she said no, in case we changed our mind. Smart dudes get their diamonds from Costco, just in case they needed the cash or credit back on their card. Might bless Atlantis with my cube, if I can slide that joker’s off her finger.

  A cute petite sistah strutted in wearing a peach romper, large gold hoop earrings, and flat sandals covered with colorful gemstones.

  “Give me a double Atomic Bomb,” she said, sitting at the bar. “I’m about to get faded to the tenth power in an hour. Ya feel me?” She pumped her palms in the air. Blue-chrome coffin nails an inch long scraped her short dark hair into a wavy pattern.

  Happy to see her wedding band, I placed two single cocktails in front of her. “What brings you to New Orleans?”

  “Man, I live here. What you mean is what led to my sitting at a bar at . . .” She checked her watch, held the basketball-sized drinks, one in each hand, then alternated sucking down her drinks.

  Damn! “You need to slow down, shorty. It’s the middle of the week and we’re closing in exactly one hour. Chill for a sec. Let me help this customer right quick.” I sidestepped two stools over. I could tell shorty was easy. Suck it up gurl! I was bending shorty over my desk in less than sixty minutes.

  Nawlins wasn’t like most cities. One could always find a place that served alcohol twenty-fo–seven. People walked the gritty streets with fishbowls filled with liquor that came with a $5 refill. If shorty passed out on the sidewalk, she’d get stepped on, over, but no one was picking her lil ass up. She’d have to sleep that shit off and pray the cockroaches, dragonflies, and rats didn’t snack on dat pretty ass of hers.

  “What can I get you to drink?” I asked the new guy.

  Tapping on his phone, he said, “Let me have a po’boy. Half and half, shrimp and oysters. Oysters fried hard, man.”

  I followed with, “You want that dressed?”

  “What?” he said, looking up at me while still holding his cell.

  Shorty jumped in with a quickness. “You want lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, mayo, and ketchup on your po’boy?”

  He laughed at her. Licked his lips. “Yeah, I want all of that lil baller, and you, too. Whatever she wants, man, is on me.”

  Shorty didn’t hesitate to move over a seat. Her cocktails made it first. “Seafood platter.”

  Dude interrupted my stroke count, but I couldn’t be mad at him. Shorty was bad. I heard her say, “My husband think he did something by staying out all weekend at Essence Fest. He won’t see me until I feel like walking through the door.”

  Did that mean she was MIA for damn near ten days straight? I glanced at the most recent family photo hanging on the brick wall of Mom, Dad, all of my siblings and their spouses. Then there was me, without Francine. The same picture hung in all our restaurants. Walter was probably set to have a replacement taken at the anniversary party.

  “I’m in town for the next two days,” dude said. “You want to get down and show me around? You’ll never touch your wallet.”

  Sad, but true. A lot of females in the Big Easy hadn’t been anywhere outside of New Orleans. True what Kohl always said, their pussy could be bartered for a lot less than a po’boy and two Atomic Bombs.

  I had to rush the lingering guests along. Our policy of not putting diners out was not in effect tonight. Sticking my head across the threshold into the kitchen, I said, “I need—”

  “Already gotcha, boss,” my cook said.

  Stepping out back by the Dumpsters, I hit up BobbyRay.

  “Hey, Trymm, what’s up? Boy, people still talking about your wild ass.”

  Like he wasn’t there. “Man, I need you to fire up the triple decker, load it with babes just like the last times, but this round I want two hundred.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” BobbyRay said, laughing. “Those women would throw your ass overboard and me right along with you.”

  I got quiet. Gave his ass a moment to marinate.

  “Cool. Can’t guarantee that many females, but I’ll try.”

  “Set it up for July thirtieth. Sunset. Oh, and the only recordable devices allowed on deck is mine and yours. Charge it to the same card. Send the contract first.”

  No way any of the crewe could top five hundred. This would be my final and I wasn’t posting shit until the last day. Dipping back in, I resumed multitasking while helping my two customers. Prepared to smash a home run the final weekend of the month made me relax a little.

  A text and video came from my Scottish friend, Alex: I couldn’t wait, François. Scottish had popped the b
ig question and his quirky girlfriend accepted.

  Looking at the bar in disbelief, I did a double take, shook my head.

  Atlantis and Francine were seated next to one another.

  I approached Francine from behind. She turned around, smiled, gave me a hug. I hugged her tight, whispered in her ear, “You need to get your ass up and outta here. Now.”

  Francine stared in my face like I was a damn ghost. I kissed Atlantis on the cheek, then escorted Francine out the door. We stood on the curb.

  “You fucking her again? That’s why I have to leave?” she questioned with trepidation in her eyes. “I came to tell you I got our certificate.”

  The ink wasn’t dry and Francine was using profanity. I did not have time for this stupidity. “You know what.” I shook my head. “I have to decide if your last name deserves to be Dupree. I don’t think it’s me you want. You fucking Walter?”

  “Stop being silly. I’m hungry. I’m going to order a bite to eat,” she said, trying to reenter the restaurant.

  I grabbed her biceps. “Stop coming here without prior permission.” I was serious. Had to squash her thinking that damn ring had superpowers.

  “You are fucking her!” Francine shouted, loud enough for Atlantis to turn around.

  But Atlantis did not look in our direction.

  “This ain’t your first rodeo. Won’t be your last,” I told her. “We’re on break until the ceremony.”

  “But we just came off of break, Trymm. I don’t want another one.”

  “Bitch, I’m not asking. Get the hell away from here,” I said, then went inside.

  Atlantis asked, “Why you treat that girl so bad?”

  “She treats herself worse than I ever could.” Francine was hanging on to opportunity, not love.

  I gave Atlantis a kiss. “Glad you made it. Chill until I close up. You hungry? Want something to drink?”

  Everybody was looking for something, including Atlantis.

  CHAPTER 11

  Trymm

  Day 13

  Hugging Atlantis over her shoulders, I wasn’t sure which was hotter: the mid-July humidity invading every cell of my skin, or the yearning in my soul? No doubt I wanted to fuck Atlantis, hear her scream my name, then call out Jesus’ name.

  We strolled through the French Quarter, holding hands. If I had to be exclusive, this was the one-and-only woman that could make me come close. Atlantis was not getting away this time.

  “Damn.” I whispered toward her ear, “You look and smell good, baby.” Not wanting to let this moment go, I stopped, pressed my stomach against her breasts. She laid the side of her face on my chest. Felt my dick hardening.

  “We should get to Café Du Monde. I have to be home at a decent hour,” she said.

  Fuck that lame laid up at her spot. It was twelve-thirty and we were just getting started. In New Orleans decent varied from sunset to sunrise.

  “Why do you do it?” she asked.

  “What?” I was not attempting to read her mind.

  “Disrespect Francine. That woman on the boat. Me—” she said.

  I was cool with it until she added her name to the list. “Nah, see that’s where you’re wrong. You’re different. I’ve always loved and been in love with you.” That was my truth.

  “You’re in love with me? Right now?” she wanted to know.

  I scratched my brow. “Yes. And yes. I love you. So much.” What I was about to confess—“I want you to call off your engagement”—was real. I wasn’t ready to become any woman’s husband, but I sure as hell didn’t want Atlantis to take herself off the market by marrying dude or fuck Blitz to get back at me for the cruise.

  As I pulled out her chair at the café, the wrought iron scraped atop a thick layer of powdered sugar that coated the concrete patio.

  “Come here,” I said.

  Atlantis leaned in my arms, glanced up at the stars.

  She was that Nicki Minaj, Kim Kardashian, Amber Rose kinda fine that men lusted for. If Atlantis wanted, she could easily top those wannabe IG models. She had that long, straight, black Indian natural hair that chicks in the NOLA couldn’t afford. Every strand was hers. She was blessed with a perfect smile, all of her teeth, and pretty pink lips. Both sets, I recalled.

  The finest woman in the world couldn’t keep a man from cheating. But I would always keep Atlantis first. That was fair.

  I sniffed her hair. She had on one of those sexy white dresses I’d seen in lots of gift shop windows downtown. A saxophone covered in rhinestones, the shiny mouthpiece separated her titties, the lower keys wedged right where I wanted to lick.

  “We’ll have two orders of beignets and two cafés au lait,” I told the waiter. I desperately desired to taste her sweetness. Tilting her chin, I opened my mouth, let my tongue dance with hers.

  “You remember how we used to cut class, come here, eat, and chill?” she asked, stroking my thigh.

  Staring into the light of her beautiful brown eyes, I nodded. “What do you see in him?”

  “Who?”

  I held her left hand, fingered her ring. “Him?”

  “He loves me.”

  “Does he love you more than you love him?” If that were true for Kandy, that would explain why she was back on the prowl chasing my “d.”

  She nodded. “And he respects me.”

  If respect was a prerequisite to marriage, nine out of ten single women could forget about changing their last name. I rubbed Atlantis’s hair. “He can never love you the way I do.”

  “From the ninth ward, third, Hollygrove, uptown, downtown, the French Quarter, back-a-town, Carrollton, the East, Eastover, Gentilly, the Garden District—”

  Interrupting her, I asked, “Man, where are you taking me with this?”

  “Too many females done rode your wild horse. Be honest. You have zero consideration for who you stick your dick in.”

  Could argue the fairness of it all. Most of the times women were the aggressors. Wasn’t defending myself against her insecurities. Give me another kiss.

  “I love you the most.” That was the truth, too.

  “More than my fiancé? Maybe. More than I love you?” She shook her leg the way she used to whenever she caught feelings she didn’t want to release. “I can’t trade places with Francine. How long she been hanging in there? Eight? Nine? Ten years?” Atlantis said, wedging our hands between her moist thighs the way she did when we were teenagers.

  “Whatever you want, I’ll do,” I said, putting her hand on my erection.

  “For old times’ sake, all I need from you is a good lickin’ and great penetration.”

  With that said I placed a twenty on the table, stood, knowing once she creamed on my shit, it’d be like old times; and before she knew it, she’d be blowin’ up my cell with texts, calls, and voice mails. Memories flooded my mind. Damn, I’m a dog.

  Holding hands, we strolled along Decatur, stopped, kissed like two kids in heat. She put her tongue in my mouth. I put mine in hers. She sucked. I slurped. Pushing, pulling, swerving, more sucking, I couldn’t get enough of her sweetness. AB reminded me how passionate our kisses were.

  If I were in this moment for personal gain, like with Kandy and Southern Belle, I would not—nor would I want to—kiss Atlantis in the mouth. Intimacy was reserved for the women I genuinely gave a fuck about.

  I scooped Atlantis in my arms, swung her around, then carried her off to a dimly lit area by the stairway near Jax Brewery. We continued to laugh and play as though we were a happily married couple.

  She snatched my neck, pulled me to her. This time she kissed me with her eyes open. Whenever she did that, it was her signal that she wanted me to take her. It was on!

  I refused to waste a second. “Let’s go.”

  “I miss this kind of love,” she said. “I don’t want to wait until we get to your place.”

  “What are you saying?” My dick and tongue got hard. I knew damn well what she meant. Had to make certain she wasn’t on that “fuck me
, fuck me not” roller coaster some bitches teased with, leaving me with blue balls.

  “Take me down to the riverfront and make love to me until the sun comes up,” she said, removing my shirt.

  Guess that need to get home dissipated.

  I found a deserted location on the other side of the train tracks, where water splashed underneath a pier. The moonlight cast shadows upon our bodies.

  “I want to see you completely naked,” I said. Lifting the hem of her dress, I eased it over her head, gripped her ass. Pressing my lips against her neck, I started sucking softly.

  Atlantis blocked my mouth. “Don’t do that, Trymm. We are together, but I’m not going home with your brand on me.”

  “Cool.” Had to respect her, but I was tryin’ to let her nigga know he had competition. I put my middle finger inside her pussy. Damn! My baby is hot-n-juicy.

  Atlantis pulled my finger out. Blocked my next insertion. “Don’t put your dirty-ass finger inside of me. Your dick is cleaner,” she said, unfastening my pants.

  True dat. Shit I never think about. I might’ve banged many a whores, but I kept Clydesdale in order. Decided letting her take the lead was best.

  “Pick me up,” she whispered.

  I did.

  “Put it in,” she grunted.

  I did.

  Atlantis braced her forearms on my shoulders, raised herself almost to a stance.

  Holding her, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I forgot how big you are, that’s all.” She laughed out loud.

  “Be quiet, woman.” I flipped her facedown as I interlocked my fingers under her stomach; she held on to the rail. “Relax, I got you.”

  “You crazy, Trymm,” she yelped.

  “Shh, before someone hears us,” I said, putting her down. My dick was rock solid. I hadn’t felt this pussy since high school.

  “It’ll be easier for you to hit it doggie-style,” Atlantis whispered, bending over, spreading her cheeks.

  I was six-nine. She was five-eight. Fuck it. I took my best option. Stooping, I held those sexy hips, then told her, “Do your thang.”