Urban Diaries

by Jackson, Sexcee

  Then, my wheels started spinning and I came up with a plan. I called Elaine and told her to meet me at home for lunch. When she got there, I told her about the money. She was pissed off but then I also told her to quit her job because in the morning, we were leaving. Moving. I lied and told her I wanted to re-new our vows and this time, making sure that I honored them, by not cheating on her or putting my hands on her anymore. I told her we needed a new start, a new beginning. She agreed but I should have paid more attention to that slight twinge of indifference that flashed across her face. Too bad for me, I didn’t. Anyway, I told her to make flight reservations for two for anywhere she wanted to go and not to worry about the furniture or clothes or anything, we would buy all new stuff once we got to where we were going. She said she had been working the last 4 years with no vacation and wanted to go someplace warm, somewhere to relax before deciding where we would start over. I agreed and immediately she got on the phone and booked reservations for two for an 11:30 am flight to Venezuela with hopes of staying in Aruba for a few weeks.

  Next, I went back to work and called Kenya in my office. I lied and said that I told Elaine about us. This made Kenyatta very, very happy and when I said to make reservations for two to Jamaica, from the expression on Kenya’s face, couldn’t nobody tell me that my plan would not work.

  Man, I drove home elated. Both of them, Elaine and Kenyatta fell right into my trap. Dumb Asses. As soon as I got home, I poured myself some Silver Patron and then I got on the phone and made my reservation for a redeye flight to Chicago. I didn't need to pack. In the morning, I would call the bank and transfer all of my money to a bank in Lincoln Park. After the transfer cleared, I would be on my way too…without either of those stupid ass bitches. I poured myself another glass of Patron to celebrate this enormous victory and went on the roof of the penthouse one last time.

  Kenyatta

  On that first night, we were so damn plastered; he told me everything, all his deepest darkest secrets, and his worse fears. He told me how he had been stealing money from the bank by approving loans for 1.5% more than the original amounts and then pocketing the extra money from every loan he approved. Now that really don't sound like much, but when you think about 1.5% in the terms of commercial business loans, we're talking hundreds of thousands of dollars, and over time, such as his tenure at the bank, millions.

  I am Kenyatta; sometimes Kenya, but my boys call me Ken, AKA, Darren's lover. That’s right, Ken-to the Ya to tha double T & A and not tits and ass, more like the tip of a big dick and a fat ass. Hahaha! Whew chile, I just cracks my damn self up sometimes. Darren was such a big punk, so scared to come out of the closet because he was black and successful and married. He said that if Elaine would have found out he was gay, it would have broken her heart. And now that I think about it, I think I was the first person that he came out to. You see, those were the type of things we talked about, me and my Boo, ok?!

  We could have taken that money and lived it up. I kept telling him, "Bay-bee, let's withdraw the money and Poof, be gone like the jheri curl, girlfriend!" But he didn't want to listen, too much damn ego. So I had to do what I had to do and I know you know what I’m talking about, honey.

  Let me tell you what really happened, so hush up, listen up, and gather round. Darren and I did hook up after his wife sold me the house. Honey, I can’t even sit here and manufacture a lie if I wanted to. He was a gorgeous piece of specimen and his cocky bravado reeked all over the first day I met him at work. I had absolutely no idea that he was gay until that day at the bank when I asked if he wanted to grab lunch and he kept undressing me with his eyeballs. OK, maybe he wasn’t undressing me, but I damn sure was undressing him. He did stare at my ass the whole while we were talking though, and I wasn't sure if I was getting my signals crossed or what the hell was going on.

  A few days later, we agreed to have dinner. We did. We drank, we talked, we made love, we drank some more, and it was wonderful. Chile, Pinot Grigio and a fine, black, man with a monster dick will have you doing the huck-a-buck for less than a buck on the side of a truck until you get stuck! Yes it will! But let me assure you all that it was he who kept the pressure turned all the way up, whew! Sky-high! He called me everyday, we texted, AIM-ed, emailed, Face Booked, and all that other good stuff. We hooked up whenever he was free and I know Elaine was not that damn stupid. She had to know that something was going on. In fact, I knew she knew.

  Anyway, after about 5 months 22 days 13 hours and 42 minutes, I decided that I wanted to have my way and be with Darren exclusively and he was going to have to leave that lil strumpet Elaine. I told him we could take the money, shake the spot, and retire in Jamaica somewhere. I really didn't have anything against Elaine, other than the fact that Darren made her seem like a naïve, materialistic, nobody that thought her shit smelled liked Lemon Fresh Pine-Sol and Gain fabric sheets. Not like that, but, she was just simply in the way of my progress. I wanted some of that money but not without Darren. He was FINE, and rich, and gay, you hear me? Now usually, I only get 2 out of the 3 so girlfriend, I was excited about having it all, brand new socks and draws. I told him that I would give him 48 hours to let the cat out of the bag, (meow) or I would go to Elaine and then to the Branch Manager and ruin his life forever.

  Darren went to lunch and when he came back, he called me in his office and pleasantly surprised me with too much good news. He said that he gave Elaine the boot and now his booty belonged to me. Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers! He told me to make reservations at a resort in Kingston, Jamaica set to leave the following morning and chile, my face lit up brighter than a Christmas tree on Christmas Day under a police spotlight in broad day light, yes it did! I hurried up and finalized those reservations and then he left work early, said he'd see me in the morning.

  When his wife called her little, tired, self coming all up in here trying to confront somebody, I flipped the script on her and told her I wanted to talk to her too. I couldn’t wait to drop my Hiroshima on Ms. High & Mighty; that her fine ass husband was ass riding my dick at least 3 times a week and enjoying my tongue and lips all over his massively, huge, package. I was so ready to slice that chick with my words, yeah, about to rip that saddity bitch a new one, but wouldn’t you know? She already knew Darren was gay; sure did. Caught us fucking and she even had a picture of us at the very house she sold me. It was a trip cause she didn’t seem upset or angry about it at all. I still was ready to rock Ms. Thang’s world and tell her that he was leaving her to jump out the closet and be with me until she told me about how he was beating the shit out of her. Chile, that’s when my whole demeanor did a 7 muthafuckin 20 and my whole ambiance changed. This Queen ain’t got no love for violent bullies, ya heard? I was in love with a liar and an abuser. How on EARF did that happen?

  See, that right there just added shit to my coffee and destroyed my whole, entire, mood. Not only because my father was a violent, no-good, terrorizer, but that sorry ass excuse for a man beat and bullied me until I left home at 15. He called me so many Faggots and Ass Lickers, and Butt Pirates, and Pansy Asses, and Fudge Packers, and Dick Suckers that I preferred to be a chile of the streets and live from pillar to post rather than deal with his evil and hateful ass. Honey, it was straight CRA-to the ZEE but I’m good, I made it out ok. I always had a roof; I mostly stayed with different homies every night if they had cool parents. If not, then I can tell you about my adventures of sucking many a dicks in the cabs of big rig trucks to earn enough for a skuzzy mo-mo for the night. I can see it now, “Diary of a Vicious Stunt Queen”! Now bay-bee, that’s one page turner that will leave yo mouth watering and yo face cracked like glass! Sweep it up and sweep it up quick!

  It was rough for me for a while but then eventually, I learned how to hustle which allowed me to get my shit together and turn my life around for the better but, believe me when I tell you, I AM SPARTA!! That’s right, a WARRIOR BITCH and in the end, I ALWAYS gets what I want. I was just so pissed off with Darren cause I had been totally ho
nest with this twisted fucker and the bastard tried to pull one over on me. Yeah, I’m not gon lie, I really had feelings for him, shit I may have even loved him, but not better than the love I have for these millions of dollars I'm about to go spend. Now Runtelldat…and make sure you tell them with broken wrists and a hip swing too!! BAM!

  Elaine

  When I first met Darren, I thought he was perfect. He was tall, fine, and a walking portrait of S-U-C-C-E-S-S. He had everything a girl could ever want, looks, money, charisma, a good job, a nice place, a brand new Lexus LH600 Hybrid, did I mention, money?

  I didn't realize how big his ego was until after we got married. He changed. No, I take that back, he morphed right before my eyes, I ain't lyin. All of a sudden, he considered himself the man of the house and wanted to make ALL the decisions by himself. Where the hell did that stank ass attitude come from? Only God knows. I allowed him some freedom at first, thinking he would somehow see the light but then the fool began telling me how to dress, even what color panties to wear. I laughed at him at first, thinking he was joking, but I got a scar under my right eye that I use make-up to hide everyday that shows the world that he wasn't playing.

  That was the first time he hit me and from that point on, over a seven-year period, he pretty much hit me whenever I upset him. Whether I questioned him about staying out at his brother's house so late all the time, or asked him why he spent so much time on the roof of our penthouse, Darren would strike me without a second thought. Shit, I thought he was going to kill me on more than one occasion.

  I will never forget the time I went out with my best friend Monyette and he accused us of having sex. He said that we were lesbians. With no proof whatsoever, he just accused of bumping uglies. I always knew he hated gays, but where the fuck did that shit come from? When I first introduced him to Monyette, she told him outright that she was bi-sexual and he even joked about us having a three-some. He had always been cool with her coming to the house, or meeting me for drinks, or whatever. On a few occasions, he had given us both money to go hit up Tiffany’s, Hermes, and my favorite, Yves Saint Laurent just to keep me occupied and gone for the day so he could go ahead and entertain some nasty slore (slore = slut whore) without me blowing up his cell. I didn’t understand why my relationship with Monyette suddenly bothered him so. I just didn’t, not then, anyway.

  I will never know what really set him off that night, but this “being a lesbian” thing had hit me from left field and I didn’t even want to believe him at all until he went into this uncontrollable rage and started punching me in the face while choking me at the same time. He grabbed me by the hair and slammed my face repeatedly on the kitchen counter until I felt blood oozing from my skull. He beat me so bad, I remember welcoming death, just laying there waiting to see God or one of His angels. Much to my disappointment, neither showed up and I lived. I was too scared to press charges and leaving him was out of the question. He said I belonged to him and for a long time, I felt that I did.

  See, you don't understand that my Darren, my Boo, my man, rescued me. Before we got married, I was in a hell of a bind. The whole year that we dated, he practically took care of me. I sold maybe three houses during that whole year and prior to that, when the market was booming, I had created this high-class lifestyle. I was accustomed to nothing but the most expensive and the best, including but not limited to, cars - Benz, Beamers, & Lexus trucks…clothes - Dior, Prada, & Gucci…jewelry - Tiffany’s & Harry Winston’s… restaurants - Masa, Bistro Moderne, & Le Cirque 2000; Shit, it didn’t matter, whatever it was, houses, cell phones, furniture, parties or whatever. If it was FANCY, it was me.

  When the market took a nosedive, I was a fool to think that it was just temporary. And lawd hammercy, my poor, poor attempts at calling myself “trimming the fat” failed miserably. I finally had come to the realization that being greedy for things I could no longer afford almost had my ass calling both of my parents for help, something I vowed I would never do like my weak ass sisters. That would entail keeping the Family Curse alive, something I promised myself I didn’t want no parts of, no matter what.

  Both of my sisters have been stricken by the curse in our family, the Never-Getting-Married-Only Shacking & Mooching-Off-My-Parents-Forever-Curse. My mother and father are cool with each other, but they never married and my mother mooched off her parents until they both passed. My grandmother, her mother, lived the same exact lifestyle. She had three kids by my grandfather but never married him and lived in the same house as her parents their whole lives.

  Right now, my two sisters are keeping the curse alive and well. Both of them have kids out of wedlock and my oldest lives with my mom and my baby sister lives with my dad. I was so determined to break the curse, right after high school I went to real estate school, got my license and got a career so I would never ever have to mooch off my parents. I am the only one in my family to get a career and when the market started tanking how could I not give in to the curse and go beg from my parents? Darren. He was the answer to the curse because marrying him for money killed two birds with one stone. He knew my situation about my finances and even understood when I told him about the curse. He stepped right in and saved me, took care of me physically and financially.

  So you see, had it not been for him, I don't know what I would have done or where I would be today. I felt like I owed him and even though I wasn’t really in love, I put up with all his bullshit to keep from falling into the trap of the CURSE. That’s why I put up with the abuse, both verbal and physical; for money and marriage and all the super unimportant, materialistic, bullshit that came attached with it.

  The day he hit me in my mouth after I sold Dalyn's house was the last straw. His brother had died a few months after we were married from AIDS but Darren lied and told his friends and co-workers that it was lung cancer, or pancreatic cancer, or skin cancer. Maybe it was throat cancer? I don’t know, too many different lies, hell, I don’t even remember which one he finally settled on. I understood that he hated homosexuals but his own damn brother was gay. Dalyn lived as a gay man for over 20 years before he decided to “go back” to women. I can understand Darren not telling anyone that he “used to” be gay but lying about how he died was just stupid. I couldn’t understand why the hell he was hanging on to that house, but I figured it was his “PUSSY SHACK”, you know, where his cheap ass could wine and dine his Slut-Puppies instead of paying for hotel rooms, which left a paper trail.

  We both knew that he cheated but why was it oh so very important for him NOT to leave a paper trail? Easy. A paper trail held a whole lotta ground in divorce court, meaning, I could have my suspicions and accusations all I wanted, but without any proof, that’s all they were, unfounded suspicions and accusations. I really didn’t care whether or not he cheated but he wasn’t just gonna keep beating the dog shit outta me and then go fuck some random chick as he pleased. Damn that. I wasn’t gonna just roll over and make it super easy for him all the damn time. I figured, if I made him work to cheat, he would get lazy and forget to cross all his T’s or dot all his I’s. He knew I checked all credit card receipts and balanced the checkbook like clockwork every month, so fucking bitches at his dead brother’s house was an easy solution for him. By the same token, selling it was just as easy for me.

  As I was in the bathroom staring at the bright red blood trickling down my face, I could hear him in the other room cursing me out furiously about selling Dalyn’s house, but something happened to me as I went to go lock the door. I kinda blacked out as I stared at my pummeled face in the mirror. FINALLY. I had became fed up and all I could think of was REVENGE. It was like every time that he had ever put his hands on me all came flashing back, like the time I made filet mignon instead of salmon. He grabbed me violently and forced all that fucking meat down my mouth and throat and then choked me until I vomited it all back up. Then he made me undress and clean the shit up naked while he stared and jacked off, sick BASTARD.

  I remembered when I came home from th
e doctor with what I thought was good news, that I was pregnant and we were finally going to start a family. Silly me. He was very adamant about not having kids but damn, if we keep fucking bareback, exactly what the hell did he expect to happen, fucking genius? He played it off like he was cool at first, but then he slung me to the ground and started punching me in the face and chastising me for being so stupid and getting pregnant. Just when he got off me and I thought he was done, he started kicking me in the stomach trying to kick the baby out, but it didn’t work. I was still pregnant and ended up getting the first of many abortions.

  The thought of killing five innocent babies, whom their mother loved and their father hated made me cry. I had even given them names, Rocquel, Gerrard, Ahreia, Zaahid, Paige, and Nicholai. I know it may seem silly to you, but I loved each one of them and a piece of my self, my self-esteem, and my soul died with everyone of my aborted babies, despite their father’s detestation, disgust, and hatred.

  All the times I was slapped for no reason, made to swallow his cum after he forced his dick in my mouth, I was punched cause he had a bad day at work, all that shit just kept playing in my head like a horror movie that wouldn’t end. I was sick of being his punching bag and I was sick of taking orders. I felt like I needed to get out, but I couldn't just leave. I had to have a hellava plan in order to divorce him and not leave penniless. I knew he was cheating on me, but I had to get some proof, and boy did I ever. Now listen to me because this is the truth with no chaser. This is how it really went down.