He's Just A Friend

by Mary B. Morrison

  Darius’s large thick fingers and manicured nails wrapped snug around his slippery shaft as his dick penetrated an imaginary womb. “Aw, yes. Make your pussy suck this dick, gurl,” Darius moaned daydreaming about the one woman he was in love with. Ashlee.

  With numerous hidden agendas, women, including Ashlee, refused to have sex when they were mad, teased him with sex if they were interested, and gladly fucked him unconscious whenever he surrendered his money or his time. But when Darius treated a woman like a whore, even if she wasn’t a ho, that was when her ass became transformed into a black widow—fucking, devouring, then killing him—defacing his personal property, determined to strip him of his dignity, cash, or whatever else she could sap out of him all in exchange for pussy and sometimes bad pussy. Like his wife, Ciara.

  “Huuhhh,” Darius exhaled releasing his grip. “I’m not wasting an orgasm on feline frustrations. I might fuck around and impregnate some sewer animal.”

  Layering his wet skin with baby oil then toweling dry, Darius covered his locks with a terrycloth silk lined cap, sprawled his naked flesh atop his oversized king comforter, then clamped his hands behind his head, gazing in the mirrored ceiling, admiring his sexy body.

  “Damn, you look good, boy-ie.”

  Darius’s sexy physique and manly facial features were a blessing and a curse. It wasn’t Darius’s fault women couldn’t resist surrendering their pussies to him, but, unfortunately, their troubles had become his. Today was one of those rare days Darius didn’t feel like doing a goddamn thing. Seeing anybody. Talking to no damn body on the phone. Not even his mother. Especially, not his mom.

  After all he’d been through last year, almost losing his life in a fire that destroyed his business, and supposedly getting three women pregnant, his mom had the audacity to exacerbate his problems and side with his stepfather insisting that he, Darius Jones, the only child of a self-made millionaire woman, Jada Diamond Tanner, sole owner of Black Diamonds, get a job? What a joke.

  Taking in the entire view of his lean six-foot-seven, two-hundred-twenty-pound body stretched atop the royal blue-and-gold suede comforter—the colors that represented his future college, UCLA—Darius closed his eyes and prayed.

  “Dear God, I know I don’t deserve Your mercy, but as Your child, I have Your permission to ask. Right? Please, Lord, please send me a sign that those unborn children aren’t mine. I’m still a kid at heart myself and, well Lord, honestly, I’m not ready to be a father. Yes, I know You spared me from contracting HIV from my ex-fiancée, Maxine. And, yes, You did deliver me from almost committing suicide when I thought I had HIV. And I’m so grateful you’ve given me an opportunity to play professional basketball. Well, almost. So You can see with so many positive things in my future, there’s no way I can deal with any negativity. Thank you, Jesus for listening. But as I lay here today, needing You again Lord, I beg You to deliver me once more from having to get a job, deliver me from being broke, and please, Lord, please deliver me from being a father. Amen.”

  Darius’s grandma, Ma Dear, had taught him how to pray for what he wanted. That God answered prayers. Well, right now, lying in the midst of loneliness, Darius certainly hoped Ma Dear was right when she’d said, “No matter how down you get, pray. And don’t forget to pray when God blesses you with good fortune, my child, because just like the Lord giveth, the Lord also taketh away. God is forgiving. But you can’t outsmart Him.” Yeah, Pastor Tellings spoke those same words New Year’s Eve while Darius sat in church on the back pew next to a fine woman.

  Tears escaped Darius’s closed eyelids, rolled down his temples, and into his ears. The only woman Darius respected was dead. Ma Dear, no matter how upsetting it was, always kept things real by telling him the truth. So why didn’t Ma Dear tell him that Wellington wasn’t his biological dad. But Ma Dear never said that Wellington was his father. Cupping his hands over his face, Darius wished his grandmother was alive. “Oh, shit.” The side of his bed closest to his ribs moved slightly. Lifting his head, Darius saw an imprint in his mattress next to his torso.

  “Couldn’t be,” Darius thought laying his head on the pillow. “Chill out man. Stop trippin’. It’s all good. Ma Dear, if you’re here, I need you.”

  Ma Dear also told him, “Never kick a man while he’s down.” Darius wished those words would’ve held true for him last year when he was hospitalized.

  Through watery eyes, Darius gazed at his ceiling vividly recalling the night he was incapacitated—the night his life changed for the worst—his stepdad, Wellington stood over his hospital bed preaching, “Son, lay back down. The only thing you’re going to do right now is listen to us. We’ve decided that the money we loaned you must be repaid by the end of the year. And, since we already know you can’t afford to repay us, we’re taking over your company. And you can’t work for us, son. You’re going to have to get a job. Working for someone else.”

  Wellington was twisted. Confused. Who in hell Wellington thought he was talking down to. Instantly, Darius had rebelled and said, “Oh, hell no!” then pleaded with his mother, “Ma! You can’t let him do this!”

  What a joke. Standing in his hospital room, Moms didn’t say a word that night so Wellington had continued his soliloquy, “Son, you don’t respect your mother. You don’t respect me. You don’t respect your wife. You don’t even respect yourself. So why should we contribute to you using other people? We won’t. Never again. And if you don’t get a job, we’re taking your name out of our will. You’ll inherit nothing.”

  What made Wellington a sanctified authority on Darius’s behavior? Judging Darius when Wellington should’ve been confessing to Darius’s mother the affair he was having. But Moms wasn’t any better than Wellington. They deserved one another. That same night at the hospital Wellington couldn’t leave the conversation alone. No, seemed like he was just getting warmed up.

  Wellington had insisted, “Darius, you owe Lawrence an apology for misleading Ashlee.”

  Misleading Ashlee? Darius had thought, lying in that hospital bed glancing over at Ashlee who was lying in the hospital bed across from him. Ashlee’s second-degree face wound was wrapped in bandages. Darius felt sorry for her wounds but he’d risked his life to save Ashlee. Seems as though he was the one who deserved a thank-you.

  Besides, Ashlee wasn’t a kid. She’d made her own decisions. At first Ashlee didn’t want to have sex with Darius because his mom had married Ashlee’s dad, Lawrence. But, to Darius, their parents’ commitment could never make Ashlee his biological sister so Darius explained to Ashlee, after they’d made love, that there was no incest.

  Since Wellington wouldn’t back the fuck up, Darius caved Wellington’s chest in with a backlash and replied, “Maybe your wife owes Lawrence an apology for aborting his baby.”

  Darius’s mom stood there like she was the one shocked. But having aborted her ex-husband’s baby when Lawrence never knew she was pregnant was wrong. Hell, just like his mom had waited over twenty years to disclose that Wellington wasn’t his biological father, maybe Darius’s mother wasn’t pregnant from Lawrence. Maybe she’d aborted Wellington’s child. Darius’s mother wasn’t perfect, but she seemed innocent, so no one had ever questioned her motives, actions, or whereabouts. But Darius knew his mom never stopped fucking Wellington, even while she was married to Lawrence. Darius knew a lot of secrets his parents assumed he had no knowledge of. As screwed-up as his life was at times, Darius didn’t hate on other people, but if Wellington didn’t stop trying to control him, Darius would tell his mother about Wellington’s other woman. What a fucked-up world to live in when Darius couldn’t trust anyone but himself.

  Picking up the remote and pressing a few buttons, Darius’s circular bed elevated three feet above the hardwood floor then rotated one hundred and eighty degrees clockwise. He started to see if the indent in his bed was still adjacent to his side when unexpectedly, a damn near foot-long erection distracted Darius, so he blocked Ma Dear from his mind and began stroking his dick.

/>   Darius didn’t have a problem working for his mom again, holding down her Executive VP position or working for himself at the company his mother had given him, Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top Enterprises. But Darius should’ve known his company was subject to takeover by his parents when they insisted on holding sixty-six and two-thirds percent ownership.

  Now instead of organizing, funding, and producing film projects in Los Angeles, Darius was home alone in his Oakland mansion jacking-off his frustrations. On the verge of cumming, Darius said, “Fuck this bullshit,” pissed that his parents were jocking him to sign over the multimillion dollar insurance claim check from when his office building burned to ashes.

  Wellington already had plans to keep all of Darius’s settlement money, expanding Wellington Jones and Associates’ two office locations—Los Angeles and San Francisco—to include the Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top two offices. While Darius was hospitalized, Wellington had secured three new film options for Never Again Once More, He’s Just a Friend, and Player Haters. And Wellington had planned to take credit at the Premier for the release of Darius’s first film, Soul Mates Dissipate and stated, “If you find yourself a job, I might invite you to the Premier.”

  “Fuck, him!” Darius yelled. “This is bullshit!” What a trip. What a goddamn trip.

  Damn, Darius’s dick was functioning independent of his brain. His dick was hot from the friction and hard as steel ready to explode in his hand. Pumping Slugger several times, Darius slowed his pace to prolong his ejaculation.

  “Fuck ’em! Treating me like some orphan. Shit! I’d starve before kissing their asses or work for “the man.” That’s not how Darius Jones gets down. I’m a man. The man.”

  And that fine sistah Darius had met at church on New Year’s Eve, what was her name, Fancy, yeah Fancy Tyler or Taylor or somethin’ like that, she was all woman. Picturing sliding his dick between Fancy’s nice large perky breasts with firm nipples beckoning him to suck ’em, Darius stroked faster.

  Sexy teasing cocoa complexion. Beautiful brown eyes. Immaculate physique. From her pedicure to the top of her head Fancy was without question the most beautiful woman Darius had ever met. They’d make a great-looking couple. He’d wanted to hit that pussy for almost a year, and Darius would be straight lyin’ if he said he cared that Fancy was dating his boy Byron. She’d mentioned something about being single when they’d met so maybe she was no longer dating Byron. Either way, Darius wasn’t trying to take Fancy from Byron, be her man, be her sponsor, marry her, or any ig’nant shit like that. Why did females take him seriously? He just wanted to bang her a time or two ’til the backed-up cum inside his balls rumbled through his big-ass nuts and blasted inside his jimmie, then he’d move on to the next female.

  “Whoa!” Darius watched his thick white cum squirt in the air like a fountain landing in the crevices of his stomach. “Wheeww. Oh, my gosh. Damn, that shit felt good.” Massaging the semen into his balls, Darius’s erection wouldn’t subside so he continued stroking his shaft. Forget Fancy, today wasn’t a good day for anything except putting his life in order.

  Three expecting women were liable for Darius’s fucked-up mood: Ciara, Ashlee, and Desire. Ciara had it coming. Any woman who tried to date like a man could only blame herself for getting caught up in the game.

  Darius was lucky, and luck did have a way of protecting his ass from the dumb shit he’d done, but he hadn’t been very fortunate since Ma Dear had died. Ma Dear was his foundation. His salvation. The edge of his bed moved again. Cool air swept his feet. Darius lifted his head to witness a different indent, only this time the imprint was at the edge of his bed, closer, seemingly holding his feet. Darius smiled.

  Every man needed a woman that he cherished. If Ma Dear were alive instead of visiting him in spirit, Darius was positive she’d convince his mother to give him back his business. Death was inevitable and having his grandmother was impossible. Or so he’d thought until now. He knew she was there with him. Darius was a survivor but hopefully his mom wouldn’t let him suffer much longer.

  With a measly quarter of a million dollars in his combined accounts, Darius could sponge off of that until he started college at UCLA in the fall, about seven months from now. Around the same time all of those money-consuming brats were due to arrive, crying, eating, shitting, and sleeping all day long. Fortunately child-rearing was a woman’s job. The only dependent Darius wanted to treasure was Ashlee.

  Ashlee. Darius thought he could trust his stepsister. They shared everything from childhood memories to walking down the aisle in their parents’ wedding to a hospital room after they were injured when Darius rescued Ashlee from the fire that Ciara had set to his office building. But when Ashlee’s nurse handed Darius that small brown paper bag with a bottle of prenatal vitamins inside prescribed for Ashlee Anderson, that’s how Darius had discovered Ashlee was carrying his child. Ashlee was the one woman who wouldn’t fuck around on him.

  “Huuhhh.” Sighing heavily, Darius couldn’t imagine another guy nibbling on Ashlee’s pink nipples, gently kissing her small clit, or bringing Ashlee to a sweet, savory release of vaginal fluids that he’d grown to enjoy tasting. Narrowing his eyes, Darius couldn’t envision another man’s dick roaming inside Ashlee, spitting seeds inside his woman. No man could love a woman better than Darius. Leaning on his side, Darius held his dick at the base of his shaft, smiling. Slugger was nine and three-quarters of an inch long, four inches thick, skilled in pussy satisfaction, and certified triple platinum. A dick made to share.

  Thinking of dicks, the corners of Darius’s mouth retracted as he rolled onto his back. If his half-brother, Kevin, hadn’t stolen over a million dollars from his company, well the company wasn’t his anymore but that nigga had done righteous to get out of town overnight. Kevin wasn’t slick. But Darius blamed himself for going against his main principal, to never trust anyone except himself. After Darius announced Kevin as his Executive Vice President at Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top, Kevin had gotten closer to Ashlee, and Darius had foolishly appointed Ashlee as his Finance Director. No woman would ever manage his money again. Kevin was clever enough not to steal any checks. Instead, Kevin had copied one check then ordered duplicates.

  Kevin had probably flown the red-eye back to Harlem to beg for that old janitorial position he’d had before working for Darius. Lots of shit fell apart last year, all in one day. That same night Kevin left L.A., Ashlee’s father picked her up from the hospital in Los Angeles and flew her back with him to live in Dallas like he was her knight in shining armor and shit. Darius hadn’t seen nor spoken with Ashlee since that night because Lawrence kept answering her goddamn phone. When would Lawrence realize he couldn’t protect his grown-ass daughter from Slugger? No man could. With or without Lawrence’s blessings Darius would fulfill his desires of divorcing Ciara and marrying Ashlee.

  Desire. Now that was a bitch who had a slither of faith so shallow it could effortlessly slide underneath the belly of a dead snake without touching a thing. Darius was too drunk to remember to put on a condom and Desire was too eager to claim her baby from a twenty-two year old multimillionaire. Trickster. That’s why she’d raced back to London, so Darius wouldn’t confront her and make her have an abortion. Desire’s baby probably wasn’t his anyway. A one night stand and passions for hardcore sex was all they’d shared in common.

  The way Desire circled the outside of Darius’s ass-hole with her tongue then tea-bagged his balls into her mouth before squatting down onto his thick chocolate bar as she wrapped her pussy muscles around his shaft, suctioning the cum from his nuts, made Darius yell her name twice, and that was a first. If he could remember all that shit, why couldn’t he remember to wrap up Slugger? Wait a minute. Sitting up in his bed, Darius suddenly recalled he had put on a condom. But it was nowhere in sight the next morning. “That trickster pulled my protection off.” Otherwise how could she possibly be pregnant with his baby?

  The hell with females. Darius decided to chill at his Oakland residence—
his home away from his Los Angeles home—for a few more days until after his half-brother’s funeral. Darius didn’t mean to sound as though he didn’t give a damn about Darryl Jr., but “Ou-wee,” Darius was relieved like a muthafucka when Kevin clarified that the Darryl who was shot and killed on New Year’s Eve wasn’t their father.

  Answering his phone on New Year’s Day, Darius was ready to hang up as soon as he’d recognized Kevin’s voice then Kevin yelled, “Darryl’s dead!”

  Immediately Darius thought it was Darryl Sr., his father. The dad he’d never known. The dad who’d finally accepted responsibility for being his father. Darius was speechless.

  “Man you still there?” Kevin had asked.

  Darius recalled whispering, “What happened?”

  “On that corner, mein. Wrong place. Wrong time.”

  “You mean DJ? Not Dad?”

  “Yes, brother. Our brother. DJ.”

  Inhaling through his nostrils for what appeared to be a full sixty seconds, Darius’s lungs had inflated. Slowly the warm air escaped his mouth. “Where are you?”

  “Don’t worry about me, mein. I gotta run. I’ll see you at the funeral.”

  Darius was relieved because his biological dad, a former NBA All-Star had become more of a friend than a father, and Darius was so happy to have Darryl Sr. acknowledge him as his son.

  Irrespective of age, every man needed his father just as much as his mother, if not more. And hearing his real dad say, “I love you, son,” allowed Darius to shed tears of forgiveness for Darryl Sr. not being a part of his childhood. Now that Darius’s funds were dwindling, and his Mom and Wellington were trippin’, Darius desperately needed Darryl’s continuous help. Darryl Sr. had single-handedly gotten Darius the full basketball scholarship to UCLA with the promise of Darius entering the NBA draft within a year or two.

  The lubricant had dried to a crust but Darius’s dick was still on swole. He hadn’t had sex in over a week. That was ridiculous.