Head Games

by Mary B. Morrison

  Silently I cried. Picked up my cell, put in my wireless earbuds. Listened to Bishop Paul S. Morton and the Greater St. Stephen Mass Choir.

  “Are you okay?” the woman in my bed asked.

  Sun rays illuminated my drapes. Staring at her, I couldn’t remember if we’d had sex. I slid my hand between her legs, stuck my finger inside of her. She was slurping wet. I had to have inspired her juices.

  “How many times did I make you come?” I asked, seeking confirmation.

  She started smiling and stroking my shit. “You’re an animal. Fuck the shit outta me again. I loved it.” She almost growled.

  Damn, I was glad I didn’t have to make these women fall in love. Otherwise, I’d have to restart my count. “How’d you get here?”

  “Stop playing, Dallas. You drove me,” she said, straddling my knees. Opening her mouth, she leaned forward, feasted on my head vulture-style.

  I told her, “Don’t do that.” Wasn’t as though the shit didn’t feel orgasmic. Wish I could come, but I had nothing left to give her.

  Yank. Suck. Lick. Stroke. It was as though I hadn’t said a word.

  I frowned. Looked down. My shit was limp. Instantly the muscles in my face tightened. Fuck! Took the drug less than twenty-four hours ago. I should have a decent seventy-two hours before dealing with this impotent motherfucker. Not being able to get it up was not the side effect I wanted.

  Smack! Smack! Smack! I knocked that nigga upside the head for being weak. This chick no longer turned me on. That was it.

  “What’s wrong with big daddy?” she asked, pulling on my dick like she was trying to jump-start an old lawn mower. “He jackhammered my pussy all night long. And you fell asleep on top of me. Get hard,” she begged, then smacked my dick several times.

  “Bitch!” I shoved her aside, squeezed her titties, not caring if them implants exploded like an IED. “What the fuck wrong with you? How you like it? Huh?”

  “Ow! You’re crazy! Let my titties go!” she cried, covering my hands, which were still attached to her breasts.

  I released them.

  Easing out of bed, she stared at me while examining herself. “Something is wrong with you. If they’re leaking, I’m suing you.”

  And was I to countersue if that bitch injured my dick? I got up, threw her clothes to her. “Get the fuck outta my house.” If I opened my nightstand drawer, the next nightmare would be her reality. I was shooting her ass.

  Dumb bitch!

  She gathered her phone, purse, shoes, dressed, then left. Saved me from having to physically throw her out. I was tired of women calling me crazy. Guess we both had too much fun drinking and partying at Bertha’s last night.

  I laughed.

  Showering, I put on boxers, made my usual breakfast, called Debbie. Two more days before I’d see my boo boo.

  “Top of the morning to the man of my life,” she answered.

  Debbie had no idea how much hearing her voice made me happy, if only for the moment. “You ready to change your last name to Carter?”

  “If you’re serious, yes, I am. Let’s discuss it Monday. I’ve been looking at rings.”

  I was tired of sleeping alone. Waking up to strangers was starting to piss me off. Debbie had a good job. She was fine as hell. My dick got hard imagining being inside of her. I smiled, then frowned.

  What woman would want to see my face every day? I couldn’t add Debbie to my count. I was technically near zero. Should opt out of the nonsense, request my money back. My ego got me into this bullshit.

  “I say what I mean, and mean what I say. On my mother’s grave I’m dead serious.” That was how I felt in the moment. Finished eating, I placed all the dirty dishes in the sink.

  A text registered from Blitz, Jax Brewery, noon, brother.

  Clang, clang, clang resounded loud in my ears.

  I ducked below the counter, opened the kitchen drawer, got my handgun, released the safety. Crawled to my front door. “Sssh. Be quiet,” I told Debbie.

  “Oh, sorry. I dropped a pot. Getting ready to make oatmeal. Next time I have to cook for you.”

  Dumb bitch! Betta be glad you weren’t near me.

  Falling onto the floor, I replied to Blitz, Cool, then told Debbie, “I’ma call you later,” ending our call before I blasted off a round of profanity. I cleaned the kitchen, then headed to the French Quarter.

  * * *

  Found Kohl and Blitz upstairs, outside on the deck. I squatted next to Kohl, Blitz was across the table facing us.

  “I don’t know about y’all, but this dick-and-dump shit is hard as hell. Plus, it doesn’t seem right,” I confessed, knowing if my mom was alive, I’d rip a dude’s head off with my bare hands if he embarrassed her on social the way I’d done the girl after Keisha. Which reminded me, I had to blast ole broad with the deflated tits later.

  “I’m having fun,” Kohl said, grinning.

  “Don’t get me wrong. Bitches are easy. Talking a chick into giving it up is a cinch. Throwing them outta my bed, I hate doing that shit. Plus, one of ’em”—I bit my bottom lip, thinking about Debbie—“I can’t do her like that.”

  I ordered a round of flights.

  “Don’t tell me your ass met somebody you like,” Kohl said, then started laughing. “Put her on hold for the next three weeks, or you might as well sit this challenge out.”

  The challenge had taken the fun out of chasing pussy. Shit felt like a split shift.

  “Nah, the deal is, the brother is having difficulty keeping it up.” Blitz balled his fist, bent his elbow, flexed his biceps.

  I leaned back, squeezed my dick. “That’s the least of my concerns,” I lied. “Round-the-clock breaking him out, I’m willing to admit, my dick hurts and that nigga is tired.”

  “You not getting your money back,” Blitz insisted. “Dick. Date. Dump. Proof. No exceptions,” Blitz said. “Winner takes all.”

  Then Blitz tapped the table. “I’ll give you a side challenge. Whoever that bitch is, the one you like, do something publicly outrageous to embarrass her ass and . . . if I win, I’ll give you back your two hundred and fifty.”

  With twenty-two days to go, I had a way to at least get back my contribution. Another woman like Debbie could come along.

  Maybe.

  “I wouldn’t give his ass shit back,” Kohl said, downing a shot.

  Blitz laughed at Kohl. “Bruh, you act like you behind on your bills.”

  Kohl choked, cleared his throat. “I’ll make you the same proposition that Blitz just made.”

  If I could convince Trymm to do the same, the only thing I had to lose was my relationship with Debbie.

  “Whoa!” Staring at my cell, I saw a video that had to have been posted by Trymm. “Hashtag Clydesdale2930 on social,” I said.

  Seeing that chick on her knees praising his . . . I wasn’t gay, but I’d dammed near forgot how Trymm was hung like a horse. Whoever she was, she tried, but she couldn’t pack all that meat down her throat. I’d give her an A for effort. My dick got jealous. Rose to an occasion that wasn’t available to him.

  Blitz and Kohl held their phones in one hand, covered their mouths with the other.

  Trymm walked up. Bet dude was in the lead.

  Blitz greeted him with, “Nigga, you cold-blooded, my brother.”

  “His ass always been the most scandalous,” I said. “I got something for y’all tomorrow.” My shit wasn’t nearly as wild, but for the sport of it, I was uploading the chick from this morning to DDD2930. That way they might think I was a chick.

  Trymm stroked his chin, tapped his iPad. “If I told you my official smashdown that’s right here, you’d think I was lying.”

  “Man, this challenge opened my eyes to how small this city is. Even during the festival all I met was local randoms. My face is starting to become too familiar.” That was true.

  Trymm smiled. “New faces require new places, D. Upgrade your locations. What’s up with you, Kohl?”

  One side of Blitz’s mouth
twisted to the left. He squinted at Trymm.

  Bouncing in his seat, Kohl said, “Ain’t never a shortage of big gurls in the South. They come to me. I feed ’em, then fuck ’em, and if they let me fuck ’em first, I might not give ’em a po’boy or a daiquiri.”

  Not sure how to handle Debbie. “Gimme some,” I said, slapping Kohl’s hand.

  CHAPTER 39

  Dallas

  Day 11

  “Hey, boo boo. How was your day? Let me take that.” I took Debbie’s bag, put it in my bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable. My house is your home.” I had to kiss those glossy lips.

  “I missed you all weekend. Did you make it to any of the concerts?” she asked. Debbie snapped her finger. “Dang, that’s what we should’ve done! Next year.” Following me from the bedroom to the kitchen, she inquired, “What did you do this weekend?”

  Bitch, I heard you the first time. “Stay right there.” I opened my linen closet, got a scarf.

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “You. Turn around.” I blindfolded her, opened the refrigerator, removed five plastic containers, then untied the knot. “Boo boo, look what we have for dinner.”

  The smile on her face showed approval as I uncovered each one.

  “Fresh catfish, scallops, shrimp, oysters, and soft-shell crabs. This is what I’ve been doing. Shopping for my future wife,” I said, initiating a kiss.

  Debbie laid a wild and wet one on me. “My ex never cooked for me. You’re different.”

  “You got a real man to take care of you. I told you, this is what I’ve been doing all weekend. Getting ready to make my boo boo the biggest seafood platter you’ve seen. And . . .” I raised the tops off of my special red beans and rice, with andouille sausage. I took out the gallon of 190 octane I’d gotten from the drive-thru daiquiri shop.

  She bounced that ass like a basketball, but her small titties barely moved. Debbie filled a pair of twenty-ounce Styrofoam cups, secured the lids, inserted the straws. She suctioned her drink slow, swallowed. “Ooh-wee! I might have to call in sick tomorrow if I finish this.”

  Rubbing her hair, I said, “Cool with me,” stealing another kiss from that pretty mouth.

  Washing her hands, she said, “Let me help you.”

  I had something for Debbie to do later. “You gon’ need your energy to bless the cook.”

  The female I’d met on a free dating site had left this morning. Trymm was right about new locations, and I now understood why Blitz used apps. All that chick wanted was to fuck.

  “Go take a shower. I have shampoo, conditioner, extra toothbrushes, toothpaste, shower caps, fragrance body oil, lotion, spray, and lots of scrunchies under the counter. If you need a scarf for your hair, I got lots of those, too. You better put one on. If you don’t, you gon’ have huckleberries around your edges.”

  She laughed. “Why you have so much stuff for women?”

  That was nothing. I had women’s socks, shorts, tops, panties, with tags on. Had one of those expensive gold designer purses a chick left. I refused to give it back. Waited for the right female to gift it to. Anything anybody left in my house instantly became my property. My possession.

  “Woman, who over here? You! Go wash your ass!”

  My future wife entered my bedroom. I closed the door to give her privacy. I felt calm. Happiness struggled to break my emotional barrier. A half smile was all I mustered, but on the inside I was superexcited about Debbie. Downing two enhancement pills, tonight we might consummate our relationship. That was, if Debbie was ready.

  Dumping an entire box of Zatarain’s fish fry into a brown paper bag, I coated the seafood, shook it several times. Turned the bag upside down, then right side up. Sat it on the counter. I layered a metal pan with torn pieces of a brown paper bag. I opened the patio door off the kitchen, stepped outside, closed the screen. Floating the fish into the deep fryer filled with lard, I sprinkled my French fries with Tony Chachere’s.

  I cleared the coffee table, draped it with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth. The platter I placed in the center was better than one of my favorite restaurants in Metairie, Deanie’s Seafood. I topped off our 190.

  Plates. Napkins. Beans and rice. Tossed two plush sofa pillows on the floor. Loaded Training Day, with Denzel Washington into my Blu-Ray player.

  We were set!

  “Oh, my God.” My chin dropped.

  Soft and simple. A sleeveless white dress clung to every curve. Her makeup was fresh, blond hair was wavy. The lashes were new.

  “Behold the most beautiful boo boo in the world. This is our first date. Mark this as our anniversary.” Had to remind myself to breathe.

  Inhaling sweet perfume, I kissed Debbie on her lips, neck, collarbone. Drew her closer, shoved my tongue far as it would go into her mouth, then wiggled it around. Suctioned her tongue into my mouth, sucked it hard. I had to stop myself, but it was too late for my dick. He was on the verge of having a fracture.

  She placed her palms on my cheeks. Pressed gently. Her eyes were wide. She exhaled. No woman had handled me with her level of care. There was love in her every touch.

  “I’m glad we’re taking our time, baby. The food looks amazing. Thank you.”

  Fuck the food! I wanted to bury my face in her sweet pussy. She smelled fruity. I led her to the living room, said grace.

  “Thank You, Lord, for blessing us with this opportunity to come together and enjoy this seafood, the libations, and great company. Amen.”

  “Amen,” she repeated.

  I pressed PLAY on our movie. My favorite part was the ending. Denzel went down like a real man. That was how I would’ve gone out if the enemy had opened fire on me.

  “You want kids?” Debbie asked, after the movie had ended.

  “Nooooooooo . . . more than two,” I answered. The eyes of that thirteen-year-old flashed before me. “Go to bed. I’ll be in shortly.” She’d ruined my appetite. Wasn’t her fault.

  Clearing the table, I restored everything back to its original state. Would I be a good father? What would I do if the baby screamed or cried all the time? Having a family seemed like a good idea, but if I had a daughter and any fool mishandled her, he wouldn’t live to do it again.

  I showered, slid back my foreskin, scrubbed under my corona. Couldn’t take any chances that my . . . whatever Keisha had called it . . . had the same negative impact on Debbie. Slipping on boxer briefs, I peeled back the cover.

  “Just let me taste her and I promise I’ll let you get some rest.”

  Debbie didn’t resist me.

  A smooth strip of hair led down to nice, plump licorice-colored outer lips. Carefully I spread them. Wow! Pretty red flesh covered her clit, her wing tips, and the entry to her pussy.

  I sucked her clit real soft.

  “Mmm,” she moaned along with me.

  Juices streamed into my mouth. I craved more. Licked her from the opening up to her clit, then suctioned harder.

  “Mmm.” This time we were louder. I’d followed her lead.

  Inserting my middle finger in her hotness, I did a come hither, kept eating her out. I squeezed my dick. It was the hardest I’d felt it in years.

  “Can I put it in?” I asked, eager to feel her flesh.

  “I’m not on anything,” she said. “I stop taking the pill after I broke up with my ex.”

  Shocked, but not willing to miss this moment, I told her, “I’ll get condoms next time.”

  Truth was, I had a drawer full of condoms, but I hated wearing them.

  “Okay, just this one time,” she said, then spread her thigh.

  Pulling back my foreskin, I eased the head in. “Ah,” I exhaled, penetrating her deeper. “Oh yes! You are the best, boo boo. I swear.”

  Debbie passionately thrust her hips toward me, squeezed her vaginal muscles.

  My entire body trembled.

  She squeezed tighter.

  “Oh, shit! Oh, shit!” I said, shaking.

  Her pussy throbbed to the rapid be
at of my heart.

  “Aw . . . shit! I’m fucking coming! I’m coming!” Seemed as though I was a teenager ejaculating for the first time. The load was heavy. I couldn’t stop coming.

  I couldn’t pull out. Collapsing on top of Debbie, felt like someone had freed me from a foxhole I’d been buried in for seven years.

  CHAPTER 40

  Dallas

  Day 14

  “Put him six feet under, Carter!”

  Hunching, I balled my fists, flexed my biceps, hiked my shoulders, felt my veins pop out in my neck. Killing had become our entertainment when the situation allowed. I growled, grabbed the dude over his shoulder and between his legs. Hoisted him in the air, then slammed his body into the jagged mountainside.

  He fell on his back. I could cut his head off or worse.

  “Finish him, Carter!”

  Pulling out my pistol. One to the head. He was done. An extra bullet could cost me my life. I had no remorse. All in a day’s work in a hundred-degrees weather. Helmet, T-shirt, jacket, pants, boots, and a backpack stuffed with ammunition.

  “Ambush!” someone yelled, and just like that . . . it was showtime.

  We were outnumbered. Outgunned.

  Shoop! Soldier down. Couldn’t abandon the body.

  Firing at the enemy, I dragged our wounded sergeant with my other arm.

  Shoop! Another one of our men fell.

  Soon there were more soldiers down than we had men to carry them. Use the dead to shield my body, or die. I reloaded. Resumed combat. Six of us fought off what seemed like a hundred of them. The last enemy soldier went down. More resurfaced out of nowhere.

  Fuck! I was shooting blanks, had no more bullets. Determined this was not going to be my last fight, I threw my hand grenade.

  “Mama! Mama!” Rattled my head until my eyes opened. My pillow drenched. Sheets soaked.

  I cried.

  Picking up my phone, I played my song. Releasing my pain, I realized Hawk’s wife, Noelle, asking for my number was an olive branch.

  I texted Noelle, Let me know when and where you’d like to meet.