Kismet

by Raynesha Pittman

  “Damn, the Cavs got put out of the playoffs again. LeBron can’t do it by himself.” Was he a LeBron James fan? Okay, I’d heard enough.

  “No, he’s not Kobe.”

  That seemed to spark up conversation all over again. We went back and forth over the players’ stats, teammates, and coaches. We must have spent an additional hour talking about the league in general and all the changes that had been made over the last fifteen years.

  He argued me down that Iverson’s crossover was not a carry. I slipped up and told him I played ball and got the call placed on me every time I did it.

  “You played? Who did you play for and what position?”

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I sparked up a conversation about Penny Hardaway to throw him off course. The conversation seemed to sober us up, and we decided to smoke one more blunt, which was not a good idea.

  The talk of basketball alone was enough to get me wet, but adding weed to the equation made it worse. Drunken, I told him how all the basketball talk had turned me on and how I’d wanted to do nasty things to him since I had met him. I became dominant and informed him that he was giving up the dick whether or not he liked it.

  I’ve always had a potty mouth but tried to contain it around people I didn’t know. But there was something about Dre that made me feel relaxed and comfortable enough to be myself.

  I don’t remember all the details of how I let it all out, but I do remember inviting him to sleep in my bed with me if he wanted a sample of those “nasty things.” I was the aggressor in the beginning, but he soon took the torch from me and put out my flame.

  “There’s something about you too that got a nigga wanting to see what you’re about. But I ain’t no petty-ass nigga, so I’ma wait ’til you’re sober to get that sample. I do wanna lie with you tonight, though. I don’t get no sleep where I stay ’cause I ain’t comfortable, and I’ve been comfortable ’round you all night. I’m not shooting you down, beautiful, just taking a rain check.”

  Did he just turn me down out of respect for me? I was lost for words. I didn’t know if I was happy or pissed off about it.

  I took my shirt and shorts off and got into the bed. He joined me in boxers and a wife beater. He placed my head on his chest and was out like a light.

  Chapter 4

  So Typical

  In the morning, I woke up to an empty bed, but could hear the woman’s voice from last night in my living room.

  “So, how long you gon’ be in Texas? Why can’t you send Mike on the run? I’m so tired of you always traveling. I wish you was back in jail. At least you would stay in one damn place, Dre.”

  In the sexiest morning voice I’ve ever heard in my life, he said, “Damn, you want a nigga to go to jail, huh? Look, I’ll see you Monday. Kiss my son and tell him Daddy loves him. I’m done talking to yo’ stupid ass.”

  I heard his phone power off and him start walking back to my bedroom. He was still in his boxers and beater when he walked back into the room.

  “Good morning,” I said to let him know I was up.

  “Good morning, Miss Savannah, did you sleep well?” he asked, while pointing to the wet spot on his beater that I must have made drooling on it.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I did.” I was blushing so hard my cheeks started hurting.

  “Throw on some sweats and a T-shirt and let’s go have breakfast, beautiful.”

  He put on his clothes from the night before, went downstairs to his car, and came back up with a black duffle bag. He removed a facecloth and toothbrush and began brushing his teeth. I joined him in the restroom and brushed mine.

  Looking at him, I said, “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to say all that stuff to you.”

  Rinsing his mouth out, he said, “I was hoping you did mean it,” with a smile.

  I dressed quickly, and we headed out the door. I suggested we go in my car, since I was more familiar with the area. He agreed, then grabbed my car keys and said he was driving. We pulled into Waffle House.

  “Dre, I don’t eat here. It doesn’t look safe, and it is nowhere near having even two stars, let alone five.”

  He shook his head. “You gon’ eat here today.” After five minutes of debating, he won, and we walked in and sat on stools.

  He ordered for both of us. Not even five minutes later, our food came. He prayed over it and fed me my first spoon of smothered and covered hash browns. I was shocked at how good they were.

  “So, since we slept together, I think it’s time you tell me more about yourself, and you can start off with telling me who that woman was that called last night.”

  He ate two more bites of his raisin toast, and then began talking. He told me it was his son’s mother. They had been dating for two years, and his son was now one year old. The love had gone, but he still cared and took care of her as if it never left. He tried to end it many times, but whenever he did, she cut him out of his son’s life, so he played the role to see his son.

  The heartbreaker for me was that they lived together. He had in-house pussy. He didn’t want his son to grow up without him, and applying for full custody wouldn’t be a smart thing to do in his line of work. He went further to tell me that they met while he was in jail. She had written and visited him for two years before they hooked up. She refused to start a relationship with him behind bars.

  Sounded like a smart woman. There is no way I would be faithful to a man that was behind bars. I’m not holding it down while a man is locked up. I would be dating somebody else before his first court date.

  After paying the bill, he asked where the nearest grocery store was. I directed him to Kroger, and when we walked in, he asked if I liked seafood. I said, “I love it.” He spent seventy dollars on lobster tails and shrimp, and then grabbed a few other items.

  “So, I take it you will be here for dinner?”

  He took my face in his hand and said, “I’m hoping to be here for two dinners and another breakfast.”

  My blood started running hot. I had never spent that much time with a man I didn’t know before, and all common sense flew out the door. I was enjoying his company and glad he was enjoying mine. I had only received that type of attention from a man after we had sex. If he was like this now, I know he would be even better after I gave him some of the goods.

  We were talking politics when his phone rang. He listened briefly, and then yelled, “What the hell you mean? I’m on my way.”

  On the ride back to my apartment, he said he had to go handle some business and would be back. I felt like breaking his phone. I pretended to understand, but I really didn’t. I parked my car and carried the bags up as he drove 50 mph out of my complex.

  I tried to guess what the other person had said to him on the other end of the phone, but had no clue what it could have been. When you live the lifestyle he lived, anything was possible.

  I wondered if his baby mama made up something to get his attention. Women are good for faking tragedies to gain the attention of men. I’ve seen some good acting too. The classic flat-tire routine or, my all-time favorite, “the baby is sick” trick. Dealing with married men and men with baby mamas has allowed me to see it all. Woman will do anything to get a man’s attention, even if it meant using the kids as bait.

  I showered, and then put out an all-black Baby Phat dress that my secretary, Stephanie, had given me for my birthday. I had never worn the dress because when I cut off the sex she requested, we kept everything business from then on out. I couldn’t see myself wearing it and having her think I was still interested in her. Don’t get lost in my words . . . The sex was good, but that’s all it was to me—nothing but sex.

  I laid silver accessories out next to it and a pair of sterling silver earrings I had bought from Macy’s. If he was to come back, my hair and makeup would be at its best. Just in case he wanted that sample tonight, I would wax all the important areas and make sure they were baby-powder fresh.

  I needed somebody to talk to. I felt like I was go
ing to explode if I didn’t tell somebody about Dre. I don’t do the girl talk thing, but I needed to tell someone what had happened in the last twenty-four hours, so I called my best friend, Sandy, whom I graduated from Georgia Tech with. Due to her living in France now, we didn’t talk like we used to, but she was the only person who knew the real me.

  I gave her the rundown and waited on her opinion. “Savannah, you ain’t never let no man get to you like this. You sure you should let him come back? What if there is more to that baby-mama thing then he let on? I thought that Jamaican guy was packing enough for you and me both.” Never ask for someone’s opinion when you know you really don’t want to hear it. “And how is he going to be more comfortable at your house than his own? You sure he ain’t got people looking for him, girl?”

  That was so typical of Sandy to turn every thuggish guy she knew into somebody wanted on Cops or The First 48. I loved her because she always spoke her mind, regardless of whether your feelings were going to get hurt.

  “I’m not worried about his baby mama. We’re not talking about marriage. I’m just curious if he can really cook and if his sex is as smooth as he is. As far as Amir goes, I told him I wasn’t looking for anything but sex every now and then. We’re on the same page.” I decided not to tell her that I planned on cooking the food and having the house covered in candles by the time he made it back.

  “Okay, Savannah, I know you know what you’re doing. Get enough for me. I’ve been working so much I haven’t even had time to masturbate.”

  Sandy worked for a historian, rejuvenating priceless artifacts without taking away from their worth. Her job took a lot of concentration and attention to detail. I missed her dearly, but I knew our schedules didn’t allow for frequent visits, so I promised to visit on my next vacation and said good-bye.

  At about a quarter to five, I received a text message from Dre asking if it was okay to come back at 8:00 p.m. I texted back: Yes, and come hungry.

  I started cooking dinner, and then got dressed. The dress fit my body like a glove. I must thank Stephanie for it again. I changed my mind about wearing heavy makeup and only applied eye shadow and a thin layer of lip gloss. My hair was easy to do since it was so short. Next, I slipped on my heels. Right as I dropped the lobsters in the boiling water, I got a call from the security gate.

  Dre was almost an hour early, which worked out fine since the only things that needed to be cooked were the lobster tails. He had bought the frozen, precooked ones, so they only needed ten minutes of boiling.

  I buzzed him in, and then peeked out of the window. He had changed clothes. He was now wearing a long-sleeved Christian Audigier shirt with matching jeans. It was hard to see what kind of shoes he was wearing, but they matched in color. He had his dreads pulled back and his cell phone stuck to his ear.

  As I walked to the door to unlock it, I could hear his cell phone powering off. Thank you, Jesus. No more unwanted interruptions. I opened up the door. “Welcome back.”

  Looking like an embarrassed child by the way he put his head down, he said, “Glad to be welcomed back.”

  I led him into the dimly lit dining area and sat him down. His eyes followed me all around the kitchen. “It smells good in here, Savannah. Who you pay to cook while I was gone?”

  Giving him the middle finger, I placed jumbo shrimp, asparagus, and three-cheese mashed potatoes on his plate. I did the same for myself as the lobster tails continued to cook.

  I handed him a bottle of red wine to open, and he poured us a glass, and then sparked up a blunt. He hit it three times and passed it and told me to put it out when I was done. I did.

  As I walked to my side of the table to sit down, he beat me there and pulled out my chair. After I was seated, we prayed over the food.

  “Savannah, I got to be real with you. I had dreams of having a meal like this with a beautiful and educated woman like yourself when I was in college, and the shit never happened. So you got to excuse me if it seems like I’m overdoing it.”

  I sipped my wine and said, “Just be you. That’s who I want to get to know.”

  Over dinner, he told me what the call was about. It seemed his boy, Mike, had accepted $1,200 for some product that he was expecting $1,500 for. He not only got the missing $300 back, but also convinced the guy to spend an additional $1,000 with him.

  Drug-selling stories don’t impress me. I didn’t stop him because he was giving me all the details of his day, which prevented me from asking why he didn’t hurry back. Dre had so much potential. If he would just get a real job and start over, we might be able to date.

  Once dinner was done, he insisted on washing the dishes while I found a NBA playoff game to watch. He joined me on the couch and pulled me closer to him. I heard him breathe in deeply, and then watched his pants rise.

  I was wearing “Love Spell,” and it looked like he was under my magic. I placed my hand on his zipper, rubbing softly to acknowledge his hard-on. He kissed my neck. I looked up at him, and he grabbed my face and started kissing me long and hard.

  His mouth tasted so good, and his lips were soft and sweet, like the wine we had been drinking. His pants rose higher, so I freed the beast from his cage and let him run free.

  What a beautiful piece of artwork he had hiding beneath his pants. It must have been nine inches, and it didn’t curve at all. His balls were evenly proportioned on each side. It was a masterpiece. I fell to my knees and swallowed the whole thing. It fit perfectly down my throat.

  Going up and down on his shaft, adding more in my mouth with every bob of my head, I started sucking on the head of it, and then going right back down until my chin rested in his hairs, which were neatly trimmed. Covering his girth in my saliva, I stroked it with my hands as I placed both of his balls in my mouth. He let out a deep moan.

  “Damn, you’re beautiful.” He said this when our eyes met and my mouth was filled to capacity with his balls.

  I started sucking his girth again, this time much faster and a lot wetter than before. I moaned and played with my clit as I sucked it. He pulled it out of my mouth, and then laid me on the floor.

  Sliding his hands up my legs, he removed my panties and began licking my pearl tongue and sucking on it with his lips at the same time. The vibration his mouth was giving off sent chills throughout my entire body. “You even taste sweet, baby,” he moaned. He went back down and started all over again with the licking and sucking. He then nibbled on my inner lips from side to side.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. “I want it, Dre. What are you waiting for?”

  He dug in his back pocket and came out with a condom. Lifting my dress over my head, he kissed both of my hard nipples while putting the condom on. He squeezed both of my breasts together and placed both nipples into his mouth, sucking hard. Using his legs to spread my legs, he put the tip of his rock-solid dick in me. Dre threw out the thirty-second rule within the first five strokes, causing me to come and shake from his first deep stroke.

  He tucked my thighs into the folds of his arms and went deeper. I don’t know what he hit, but it made tears roll out of my eyes. Wiping my eyes with his index fingers, he buried his face into my breasts. This went on for about twenty minutes; then he flipped me on top of him.

  I became the cowgirl I was used to being. I rode him from the bottom of his shaft and back up, then circled around his head and dropped back down. My hands rested on his almond-colored chest. I grinded hard and used my hips to make him squint his eyes. “Hell, naw, this shit ain’t going to work.”

  He flipped me on my stomach and hit me doggie style while talking shit the whole time. “So you thought you was going to ride me and make me nut, huh? You can forget that. I’m going to be inside you ’til the sun comes up.”

  I bit the throw rug on the floor in hopes of covering up the scream I felt coming, but it didn’t work. “Damn, Dre, shit!” The words felt perfect flowing out of my mouth. He put my arms together by my elbows and banged my back out.

  “You’re goi
ng to be mine, ain’t that right?” I didn’t answer, so he went deeper. “I said ain’t that right, Savannah?” His sex was off the chain.

  I screamed out, “Yes!” I wasn’t sure if I meant it or not, but we could work something out. He pulled his dick out of me and began slapping my ass with it.

  “Damn, this pussy good. Get back on your back. Let me see how much you can take.”

  I should have stayed on my knees. When I got back in the missionary position, there was nothing missionary about it.

  There was something about the word pussy and the way Dre said it that was sexier to me than anything else you can call it. There was a dirtier feel about it, no more daddy’s little girl. He said it like there was a desire and a craving for my pussy and me. For that moment in time, in the arms of a real man, I felt like I was a woman. Pure feline with the heart of a lion. Like a wildcat—free and able to be me. There was a completeness to that very same moment our cocoa-butter skin tones met that let me know the Queen had met her King.

  The way the word slid out of his mouth made me want to be as free as I wanted to be sexually with him, but there was one problem. Dre was working with way too much. He dug his girth so deep inside of me that his balls rested in between my butt checks, and I couldn’t move.

  “Dre, you’re too deep!” I screamed out.

  He just smiled like he was possessed and said, “No, I ain’t, because you’re still awake. Got to go into overtime; forgot you’re an athlete.”

  I don’t remember how it ended because I was awakened by the same thing that caused me to go to sleep—him fucking the shit out of me.

  It had to be about eight in the morning before he actually called it quits, and I only know that because his phone rang and I opened my eyes to glance at the clock. He must have turned his phone back on while I was asleep. All I know is that when I woke up around noon, I was naked, uncovered, and alone.

  After I soaked in the tub to try to help heal the soreness from the beating I received, I called Dre’s cell, but there was no answer. I waited an hour and tried again; still no answer. I didn’t want to look attached, so I decided not to call him again until I had washed all my clothes and packed for my trip back home to Atlanta.