Head Games

by Mary B. Morrison

  I trailed them, observing my . . . wife ask more questions while dictating notes in her phone. After listening to my father yesterday, I realized that Francine was a lot like my mother.

  Francine wasn’t weak, or easy, or passive, or dumb. She was basic. Didn’t need designer anything. Having babies was more important than sucking dick or having orgasms. Her ideas, opinions—now that I listened—most of them were good. She was what I wanted in a wife and a mother of my children.

  Submissive.

  Thought about my dad. He worked a lot, but he wasn’t always puttin’ in work, on his job. Certain I’d missed a few facts, I should’ve recorded our conversation.

  “It was built two years ago. No one expired here. The family is relocating to California. You will not believe the state-of-the-art everything, from window treatments to the surveillance system, which allows you to see every room, outside up to three hundred feet away, and it comes with its own drone that spans nearly four-and-a-half miles. Every wall in every room, including the bathroom, is wired for cable, but, of course, you have other entertainment options. The roof is solar.”

  Francine’s cell rang. “Excuse me a moment, Quinisha.” Her eyes shined as she answered, “Hey, Penny! . . . Yes, François and I are touring a potential residence near where Bryan lives.... Okay . . . I’ll pick that up. . . . Yes . . . I’ll be sure to remind François. See you later. Bye.”

  “What did she say, babe?” Soon as the word “babe” escaped my mouth, it sounded awkward.

  Tapping on her phone, she answered, “I’ve got it covered. Just ordered an Uber to pick up the doberge cakes and deliver them to your mom’s for dinner tonight. Quinisha?”

  Quinisha turned to Francine. “Yes.”

  “My husband and I need a moment to discuss which of the locations we’d like to make an offer on.” Francine held my hand, coaxed me upstairs to the master suite. “I like this one.” Francine unbuckled my pants, pulled out my dick.

  A part of me cared about Francine more than I’d thought. “Make an offer of ten grand under asking.”

  Francine opened her mouth. Stuck my head in it. “What are you doing?” I said, in a tug-of-war to put Clydesdale up.

  “C’mon. Let’s have a little fun. Soon it will be ours.”

  In some ways this lovey-dovey shit was getting on my damn nerves. But I saw how sane Francine was when I was nice, and for now, I could deal with respecting her. But looking at her on her knees, with my dick in her mouth, made me feel she was trying to compete with Southern Belle. Yes, I wanted a ‘bj.’ No, I didn’t want it from Francine. She was bad it.

  My dick was flaccid the whole time Francine sucked it. “Get up. Let’s finish handling business.”

  Reuniting downstairs with Quinisha, Francine seemed dejected as she said, “We want to make an offer of four hundred eighty-nine thousand and nine hundred ninety-nine dollars. Write it up. Email the contract to me. We’ve got to go.”

  Quinisha extended her hand. First to Francine, then to me. “Thanks. I’ll have that to both of you within the hour. Here’s another card, just in case.”

  I shoved mine in my pocket. I was definitely following up with Ms. Quinisha Ferguson soon after we closed this deal.

  Driving to my parents’ home, Francine was quiet.

  “You good?” I asked, turning down the music.

  Francine stared through the windshield. “Being your wife is making me realize, I don’t know how to make you happy.”

  No shit!

  “And if I can’t make you happy, I can’t keep you satisfied.”

  That was “breaking news,” and my . . . wife was the reporter.

  I swear I should’ve never married that woman. I did it for Walter. For my dad. For my family’s honor. But all this shit was a fucking joke.

  Bottom line . . . God-to-honest truth. I did not love Francine. The certificate was in my safe and I could make this situation and Francine, go away.

  CHAPTER 17

  Trymm

  Day 30

  Saturday night, after-sunset cruise, big finale, homey, I texted BobbyRay.

  Don’t leave me hangin’ when you chillin’ with yo’ million, bruh, he replied.

  Wasn’t copacetic but I had to drop BobbyRay’s asking price on him. And I had to break Penny off, and the reimbursement to the business line of credit. Money hadn’t hit my account and I was already out $410,000.

  Glad as hell this was the last day, I tossed my cell on my pillow. Swallowed two tablets to enhance my erection; showtime for Clydesdale was in two hours. Time off from the family business, I’d taken advantage of the opportunity to spoil my Atlantis, but she’d been here five days straight. Started leaving her stuff after day two. Dresses. Sandals. Thongs. Stopped wearing her engagement ring.

  It was time for Atlantis to get out of my villa and go home to dude. Being with one woman was driving me insane. He could have her.

  I placed the unmarked pill bottle on the headboard next to the half-full glass of water. Being with Atlantis was something I thought I wanted. This wasn’t it, either. If a relationship was the thing to do, after the initial excitement, why was it so fucking mundane? Might need to give our situation some time, not do anything irrational. But she couldn’t post up at my spot. Francine was hanging out with my sisters furniture shopping for her, not our, new house in Eastover.

  Atlantis’s hips were under the red satin sheet. Her breasts were uncovered, nipples hard. Her untamed hair was all over my pillowcase. Literally. No makeup. Naturally beautiful glow. Staring at her, I wondered, why wasn’t she enough? Had to talk with Dad again.

  “You got stunned. I got stunned,” I joked, laughing. “That shit was stupid.” But at the time nothing was funny about ole gurl damn near roasting my nuts.

  “I’ve got to be crazy laying up with you after all that’s happened to me. But I can’t stop loving you,” Atlantis said, then asked, “What’s that you just took?”

  “Have a slight headache.” That was the truth. She’d worn my dick out. Had to cut her off yesterday in preparation for tonight.

  “Mine hurts, too. I need one.”

  Before I could deny her, Atlantis popped a pill in her mouth, then washed it down with the water in my glass. Oh, shit! I had no idea what effect the drug had on women. Couldn’t be that serious.

  Atlantis stretched sideways across my bed. Showed me her pussy. “Let’s go one more round, baby.”

  “Damn, you want all the dick. Slow your roll. It ain’t going nowhere. This lil staycation has been nice, but I got some things to handle.” I shut the bathroom door, praying she’d leave on her own.

  Starting the water, I got in the shower, to cut down on time, while she acted as though “mi casa es su casa” was in effect. Heard the door open.

  “What’s up, AB?”

  “I came to wash your back. We need to talk,” Atlantis said, inviting herself where she wasn’t welcome.

  Women, they did that annoying shit all the fucking time. I couldn’t stand to look at her right now.

  Atlantis began lathering my back with body wash. Her hands rotated in opposite directions. She said, “I did it.”

  I turned my back to the hot water, which I was no longer enjoying, faced her. “Did what?”

  “You asked me to call off my engagement so we could be together. I did it. I called off my engagement. I was waiting for you to notice I hadn’t been wearing my ring.”

  You don’t drop that shit on a nigga out of the blue! I wasn’t for sure ... for sure she was who I wanted to be with. I already had one certificate that wasn’t going to get filed locked in my safe. Didn’t need two. That reminded me, I had to snag my iPad before I left.

  Atlantis cleansed my genitals, squatted, circled her tongue around my corona.

  Not that again. Why did women think we always wanted them to get on our mic? Even when I did want a “bj,” a fresh set of lips was the hype. Not the same-o, same-o.

  Cupping my hands underneath her armpits, I lifted
her up, exited the shower, closed the door with her inside. I rubbed every part of my body with baby oil, then toweled off. She got out, did the same.

  Quickly I slipped on a pair of pajamas pants. “I’ll meet you for brunch in the morning. Commander’s Palace. But I have a long day tomorrow and need to get some rest. Baby, you wore my thang out!”

  “Trymm, I did what you asked. Don’t ignore me. What are we going to do?”

  I was speechless.

  “Don’t fuck me over again. I can’t take it.” Atlantis started crying. I meant bawlin’, ugly face, snotty nose and all. “I need to move in with you.”

  Nothing I’d say would keep her from being angry. She had a house. I wasn’t laying down a welcome mat for her at my place. But I did need her to: “Stop fucking crying.”

  Atlantis placed her hand on her belly, sat on my bed, sniffled. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I don’t feel well.”

  Her ass had to go! I needed to get dressed, and make it to the riverfront in an hour. This was the last day, man. Pretending I had to rest wasn’t working. I picked up my cell. “My parents’ fiftieth anniversary celebration is tomorrow evening at Gallier Hall. Penny needs me to help her out with some last-minute deets. I’ve got to go.”

  “Wow. Fifty years. If we get married this year, we’d be eighty years old on our fiftieth. Is it cool if I stay the night and go with you tomorrow?”

  I don’t know. Ask my wife.

  Francine had to be at the gathering. I wasn’t trying to get my ass kicked by Walter for ruining the celebration. “I’d love for you to come, but the guest list is closed and restricted to family members only.”

  Why in the fuck is Atlantis still on my damn bed?!

  “That’s cool. I love your parents.” She flopped onto her back, held on to her stomach. “I’ll just drop them off a gift from us.”

  Fuck it! I undressed, then put on slacks, shoes, and a T-shirt.

  Atlantis sprang to her feet, raced to the toilet. Heaved once, twice.

  I stood in the bathroom doorway. “Seriously. You’ve got to go.”

  She stared up from the toilet. “I should’ve known this was going to happen!” She stood. “You ain’t gon’ never change! All you care about is your feelings! I’m pregnant, Trymm.”

  Maybe male enhancements didn’t agree with a woman’s system but women played too many games. First, I knew she was lying. She wasn’t pregnant before I told her to get out. Second, now I understood how my boy Kohl felt about Ramona trapping him. And third, it was her fault she was an easy lay and didn’t insist on my using a condom.

  Somebody needed to make pussy-on-a-stick. Thinking of pussy, I was about to miss my own yacht. “Can, you, get, dressed?”

  Atlantis shook her head.

  “Fuck it. Lock the door when you leave and don’t come back.” I couldn’t play live-in attendant to her faking ass. Unlocking my safe, I retrieved my iPad, then left.

  Hopefully, she’d be gone by the time I got back or I might have to call her fiancé and let him know where she’s at.

  CHAPTER 18

  Trymm

  Day 31

  Midnight. July 30. My final #smashdown was 526, and I have proof.

  Unlocking the front door to the break of dawn, I practically dragged myself over the threshold, into my bedroom.

  No fucking way! I placed my iPad on my nightstand.

  “Hey! Atlantis.” I shook her hard. “Wake up.”

  A shake that hard would’ve made anybody jump out of bed. Slowly she opened her eyes. “Huh, what?”

  “Get your ass up. You need to go home.”

  “What time is it?” she asked sleepily. “We’re going to Commander’s Palace remember?”

  I swear, I hate her so much right now! “It’s five o’clock in the morning.”

  She stared at the sun’s rays beaming through the window. “Wow. You have a lot of explaining to do. Where are my clothes?” she said, getting out of the bed in slow motion.

  Glad to be of assistance, I tossed her dress and purse on the bed, placed her shoes on her feet. Collected the rest of her personals. Tossed them on the bed.

  “I’ma have to take a rain check on brunch,” she said, washing her face.

  No shit! No sweeter words could’ve been spoken because my dick was tired as fuck, and I had to put together my super-reel. I had the women stand around me on the yacht. On a “one, two, three” count, all two hundred shouted, “Trymm, you were wonderful!” BobbyRay came up with that idea to avoid missing anyone.

  Totally exhausted, I wouldn’t dare get in bed with the combined DNA on my body. “Text me when you get in.”

  “I’ll see myself out,” Atlantis said. “We still have to talk. I can make brunch.”

  All I did was shake my head.

  Leaving Atlantis to do the same as Mrs. Kandy, with a capital k, and let herself out. I hadn’t heard any more from Kandy. I’d blocked her to keep her dumb wannabe trick ass from bothering me—hopefully, she convinced her husband to take her back.

  I closed the bathroom door; I took a long, hot, relaxing shower, massaged my body with oil, brushed my teeth, toweled off; then I opened the door, praying Atlantis had not doubled-back to my bed.

  Women had a way of lingering, and I had to make sure before I comfortably closed my eyes, I was not going to awaken to any surprises.

  “Atlantis!” I called out.

  No answer.

  “Atlantis,” I said, searching the living room. My front door was ajar. I stepped into the hallway. No one was there. Securing the lock, I searched my second bedroom and bathroom. The comforter, pillows and towels were untouched.

  I went to the kitchen; as I opened a bottle of water, I heard sirens in the distance.

  As I sat on my bed, sirens blared louder.

  I exhaled and rubbed my palms together, time to replay my latest footage. The reel was going to be surreal. Shit would be so long I’d have to upload it to YouTube. The smile on my face was so wide, both sets of my cheeks hurt.

  As I reached for my iPad, my smile vanished. Ass relaxed. Sirens stopped outside my building.

  What the fuck?!

  Certain I’d left my tablet on my nightstand, frantically I ripped all the sheets off the bed. Going to my closet . . . fuck!

  The marriage certificate was gone.

  I called Atlantis. Got her voice mail. Called again. Same shit. This time I left a voice mail: “Bitch, I’ma kill your ass if you took my shit!”

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  Who the fuck is banging like they were the police?

  I grabbed my gun, stood to the left of the door. “Who is it?” I yelled.

  “François, it’s me. Francine.”

  What the fuck she . . . I put my gun on the coffee table, opened the door.

  “I felt something wasn’t right. Are you okay?” she asked, entering without permission.

  Francine motioned to close the door, someone pushed back. “We need to enter your unit.”

  “Nah, homey. You not just intruding here. You have a warrant?” I asked.

  “Sir, there’s a dead body below your balcony. We—”

  My French doors were ajar. Francine started screaming, “Noooo!”

  I stood on the balcony, leaned over the rail. Yellow caution tape, and a white chalk outline was in motion. “Oh, God, Jesus.” All I saw was Atlantis’s dress.

  I ran down the stairs, into the courtyard, praying my mind was playing tricks.

  Stared through tears . . . it was . . . Kandy with capital k and small y.

  CHAPTER 19

  Kohl

  Day 1

  If all dogs went to heaven, why shouldn’t men cheat? Women couldn’t be mad that God had given us a pass.

  Lying in bed, I stared up at the ceiling, assessing the mechanics of the challenge.

  Told myself, you need a master plan, bro. I had to treat this $1 million like an acquisition deal. It was 5:30 a.m. Time to get my butt up and go to work.

 
I was never in the military like my boy Dallas, but for sure, as stated in the Bible, sleep was for the weak. Powering on my laptop, I sat at my desk in my home office, listed my goals, objectives, and strategy on how to be the victorious one.

  The goal was clear. To win the money. My objectives were: One, date more females than other members of my crewe. Two, dick—that meant sex—as many females as I could, without having them fall in love with me. That was my understanding, which meant I was going to be one cold “smash and text” brother. Three, to have documented proof of each dump.

  I imagined my competitors’ baseline was somewhere around two females a day, seventy at best for Dallas. Eighty for Blitz, that vagina-licking lover. Trymm, having played professional basketball overseas, that brother might be on three a day, threesomes, and orgies; but the amount of blood it would take to fill up his snake, and the fact that he didn’t care much for putting his mouth on a clit, those two factors were going to hold down his count.

  My guaranteed number was 101. Anything more was lagniappe. Creating a spreadsheet, I had four columns for their names, numbers, videos, and photos. My shit was going to be so organized it would hold up in any court.

  If I convinced every stripper at my club to do me, kept it honest with them about the challenge, offered them a thousand-dollar kickback if I won, they’d do it. Their support would account for one-third of my goal.

  Smashing customers, I could manage one a day. If I let her order from the menu whatever she wanted to eat, offered her free drinks and hookah, they’d at least suck me off in the back room at my club, but no way could I tell them the truth. That group would up me at least another thirty.

  Church . . . I paused, scrolled a visual in my mind: Fifteen, make that sixteen if I included the assistant pastor’s wife that’s been propositioning me since I’d turned eighteen. Sister Eleanor Lewis was ten years my senior, and her husband was twenty years hers.

  Word in the sacred circle was Assistant Pastor Eric Lewis was impotent. I’d have to keep my intent to accept her offer on the low, or my parents would ban me from stepping foot inside their tabernacle. The total prospects left was twenty-five on my random hit list. Had to expound on that later today.