by Deja King
“Oh, my goodness, you scared me. What are you doing here? I didn’t see your car out front.” My voice was shaky, and I hoped Ian didn’t sense my nervousness.
“TJ is running an errand for me, and I let him hold my car. Where are you coming from and what’s in the bag?” Ian asked as he reached for it. Before I could yank it away from him, he was already opening it up.
“You think you’re pregnant?” Ian asked, his voice mixed with shock and excitement.
“I’m not sure.”
“But you must think there’s a chance. Maybe that’s why you’ve been so sick. Tyler, this would be incredible.”
“Baby, don’t get keyed up yet, because it could very well be a false alarm.”
“Well, damn, no sense standing down here discussing it; let’s go see.”
Walking up the stairs to the bathroom seemed to be the longest walk of my life. I took each step like it was my last. By the time I reached the bedroom, Ian had the box open and the test out. At first I considered dipping the stick in some water so the test would come back negative, but Ian messed that up because he wanted to see the process from start to finish. He actually held the cup when I urinated. He kept saying, “I know you’re carrying my son; I know that’s my son in there.”
It was too much to stomach. Ian set his stopwatch, and when the buzzer went off, with a gleeful smile he said, “It’s time.” When he came out of the bathroom, lifted me up, and wrapped his whole mouth around me to the point I thought I was going to choke, I knew the test was positive.
“Tyler, you’ve made me the happiest man on earth. I have everything now: a beautiful woman and a beautiful child growing inside you. We have to get married. Baby, I’m serious. Let’s go pick out the biggest rock ever.”
“Ian, calm down. You’re moving way too fast.”
“Are you kidding me? I have to call my moms and pops and let them know they’re going to be grandparents, and they’re getting a new daughter. Tyler, I love you so much; I can’t explain how happy you’ve made me.” Ian gave me one last kiss before he picked up his cordless and made calls to share the news with his family and friends. I wanted to pull the emergency brake, but this car was on cruise control and driving itself.
I would have given anything for a doll, but I was carrying a baby inside of me, one that it seemed I would be having. I opted for a glass of juice. I was walking toward the stairs and could hear Ian yelling but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then I heard a loud crash. As I ran closer to the top of the stairs, Ian was running up them, all the color drained from his face. Sweat was trickling down, and his body was trembling.
“Baby, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
Ian moved up the stairs closer to me, and his eyes were stinging. “I just got off the phone with T-Roc. You were fucking my cousin? Tyler, tell me that bastard is lying! Tell me, damnit!”
“Wait, baby, wait, wait… please wait.” I was breathing so hard, I couldn’t hear anything.
“He said that baby growing inside you could be his.Tyler, please tell me there is no chance that our baby could be T-Roc’s… Tyler, why aren’t you saying what I need to hear?” Ian and I were now face-to-face, and I could clearly see the tear coming from his eye.
“Ian, I can explain.” But there would be no explaining. In what seemed like a split second I was free-falling down the stairs. In one quick shot Ian lifted his right arm and gave a blow that knocked me unconscious as I hit the floor.
Finding Love
My love life was in shambles, and between Ian and T-Roc I believed I was walking around with a scarlet letter emblazoned across my chest. I convinced myself that I wasn’t worthy of love and would never truly experience it. But then again, being the optimistic person I am, I told myself that when one door closes in love, another is sure to open.
“Tyler, it’s so good to see you out and about again. I was beginning to worry that you would never come out of your apartment,” Chrissie said.
“Yeah, well there was nothing out here I wanted to see. My life is basically empty. Ian hates me and I hate myself.” It had been over six months since I’d come out of the house looking halfway decent. After my tragic encounter with Ian, I went into mourning, and I always left the house looking like shit. It was now the year 2000, and half of the new year already seemed to have passed me by.
“How can you care what Ian thinks? He pushed you down the stairs and caused you to lose your baby. You should’ve brought him up on criminal charges.”
“Chrissie, what do you expect? His own cousin told him the baby could be his. Talk about being devastated; I’m surprised he didn’t kill me.”
“Hello? That was his intention. You just so happened to live. Or maybe he wanted to guarantee that your baby never saw the light of day because he couldn’t handle it if it turned out to be T-Roc’s. Whatever the reason, he is fucking crazy, and you should be grateful he is out of your life.”
“Maybe, but I don’t feel that way. I’m lost and I don’t know what to do to find my way.”
As Chrissie lectured me about getting over Ian while we ate lunch at Da Silvano, an unassuming gentleman walked passed me, made eye contact, and turned his head to smile. Here was another creep undoubtedly trying to get in my pants. I didn’t take it seriously. After all, it was New York City, and seeing men flirt with just about everything that had a pulse was the norm. Not thinking too much of the crafty glance, I continued chatting with Chrissie and drinking my Kir Royale.
About ten minutes later the waiter sat the flirtatious guy and his friends right behind me. The one sitting closest to me sparked up some half-assed conversation.
“Hi, sexy. Would you and your girlfriend like a drink?”
“You mean besides the one that is already in my mouth?”
“Excuse me, miss, I was just offering you and your girlfriend a drink.”
“No, thank you, we’re fine.”
“Yeah, you definitely that, so can I buy you a drink or what?” After responding sarcastically to his question, I recognized that he was some up-and-coming would-be rapper. At this point anybody remotely in the music industry was a major turnoff. I was hoping the would-be rapper picked up on my cynicism.
A few minutes later he got up, and I heard someone else say, “That’s an interesting tattoo; what does it mean?” I was wearing low-rider jeans, so the Japanese symbol on my lower back was impossible to miss. I turned around and studied the man who made the comment; it was the unassuming gentleman. His eyes were enthralling, and he somehow maneuvered a seat at the table with Chrissie and me.
“So what does the tattoo mean?” the boyishly handsome gentleman asked.
“Freedom.”
“Freedom… that’s interesting. Who are you trying to be free from?”
“Who said I was trying to be free from somebody?”
“Just a thought. So… what’s your name?”
“Tyler, and this is Chrissie.” Chrissie gave a slight wave to show she was annoyed this man was interrupting our lunch. Normally I would be giving the wave too, but something about his subtle cool demeanor was engrossing.
“I’m Brian. I would love to call you, Tyler.”
“I’d like that too,” I responded. Chrissie was burning a hole through my sweater with her intense glare. I wrote my number on a napkin and handed it to Brian.
I was sitting on my red canvas couch engrossed in a juicy Jackie Collins book when the phone rang.
“Hi, it’s Brian. I don’t know if you remember, but I met you yesterday at Da Silvano.”
“I remember you, silly.”
“Oh, I was just checking. I don’t know how many guys you know with the name Brian,” he laughed. I thought it was cute.
We ended up having a meeting of the minds for hours. He seemed to be everything that I needed in order to put my guard down with a man. Nothing about him was threatening, and that was refreshing. His spirit was unlike that of any other man I had ever met.
The next day B
rian and I found ourselves absorbed in another two hours of nonstop chatting. With the conversation never seeming to end, we decided on no more phone talk. We needed up-close-and-personal talk. As I was waiting in front of my apartment building, I kept trying to remember what he looked like because he had on a hat when we first met. I was pleasantly surprised when I opened the car door and saw the cinnamon-complexioned guy with the smooth bald head. He greeted me with a megawatt smile with a dimple on his right cheek. His body frame was small but with strong muscle definition.
Mary J. Blige was playing on the radio, and I was humming along as he drove down Broadway. “Are you a singer?” Brian asked.
“No, why?”
“I’m always looking for talent; I’m a music producer.” As the walls seemed to be closing in on me, I realized that throughout the hours of conversation not once did we discuss his profession. I didn’t ask and he didn’t volunteer the information. The last person I wanted to get involved with was another industry cat. It seemed that when you dated one guy in the music industry, there was a domino effect. Maybe he was new to the industry and wasn’t turned out yet. His ride was fly, but niggas can buy that after they sell their first track, which most do.
“So you’re a music producer? Who have you worked with?”
“Jay-Z, Jennifer Lopez, Mary J. Blige, Nas,” and the list went on and on. He definitely wasn’t new to this. There was only one music producer named Brian that I’d heard of, and I was hoping he wasn’t him. But I had to ask.
“Are you Brian McCall?”
“Yep, you’ve heard of me?” he said with a big smile.
“Who hasn’t heard of you? You’re one of the biggest hip-hop producers in the business. Your beats are classics.”
“I’m flattered. Are you in the music business?”
“Hell, no!”
“Why you say it like that?” Brian asked with a frown.
“Actually if I knew you were in the music industry, I would’ve run in the opposite direction. But then again I should’ve known. This is New York, you’re driving a hundred-thousand-dollar car, and you’re young and black. I haven’t seen you on the big screen or in any sneaker ads, so you’re not an actor or an athlete. What else can you do but be in the music business? You don’t really strike me as a pharmaceutical dealer.”
“That’s a little cynical, wouldn’t you say?”
“Call it what you like,” I said, fidgeting.
“Does that mean you won’t go inside with me for a minute?” I glanced out the window. We were on West Fifty-fourth Street parked in front of the Hit Factory.
“Oh, no thanks, I’ll wait in the car for you.”
“What’s the problem? Who is it you don’t want to see?”
“Brian, go handle what you have to do. We’ll talk when you get back.” He shut the door, a bit put off by my attitude. Between T-Roc and his flunkies, and Mark and his flunkies, I was bound to run into somebody I knew at the studio. I wanted to avoid an encounter at all costs.
Brian was gone about fifteen minutes, but he came back with the same attitude he left with. He didn’t say two words to me until we were sitting down in the American Park restaurant at Battery Park.
“Talk to me, Tyler. Tell me, what ghosts are haunting you?”
“Excuse me?” Brian’s question threw my mind in a tailspin.
“For someone so young, you are so intense. What has your mind so damaged?”
“I seem damaged to you?”
“To be quite honest? Hell, yeah—but I want to help you.”
“Help me? I’m beyond help.”
“Everyone can be helped, Tyler, but you can’t be afraid to let people in who want to help.”
I spent the rest of the evening divulging all my skeletons to Brian. My disastrous relationships with Ian and T-Roc, my momentary bout as a rapper under the guidance of shady Mark, and even the nightmare I have every night of Trey blowing his brains out. His face truly did haunt me. Eventually I even confessed how my lies destroyed my relationship with Patrick.
Brian sat and listened without interrupting me once. He was so sweet and attentive. With other industry cats I dealt with, it was all about them. Their attention came with strings attached. Brian seemed to genuinely care about the demons I was fighting. He was extremely humble and down to earth, especially for a producer of his status. Not once did he make a move on me. He never so much as tried to kiss me, and unlike Ian, Brian was intellectually stimulating. The combination of his mind and the physical attraction drew me in.
When we pulled up to my apartment, I couldn’t hold back. “Brian, will you give me a kiss good night?” I asked, wondering if I sounded as innocent as I felt. Brian leaned toward me, and when his lips and tongue touched mine the chemistry was undeniable. I got butterflies in my stomach and that tingling feeling. It was amazing.
That night my mind was filled with all sorts of thoughts. I kept tossing and turning, thinking maybe he wasn’t any good in bed because he wasn’t putting the moves on me. I wondered if he was lacking in the area where it counted. I decided to nip my thoughts in the bud. I needed to find out what was going on down there. If he was lacking, there was nothing I could do for him besides be his new best friend.
In my opinion if two people aren’t sexually compatible, the relationship is dead before it has even started. Several elements go into making a relationship work, but at the end of the day when they are having problems like every relationship does, then sex is important. If the two don’t have enough passion and lust to make love and forget their differences for just a moment, then how are they ever going to get through any real storms? I had to know if Brian and I were compatible sexually, because I was falling for him.
“It’s beautiful out here tonight,” I said as Brian and I took a nighttime stroll through Central Park. We were laughing and holding hands when I suggested, “Why not play a game of truth-or-dare?”
“Truth-or-dare… you’re taking it way back to junior high school.”
“We can play the adult version.”
“Which is?”
“Truth-or-dare and take off your clothes.”
“We can skip all that. How ’bout I just dare you to strip down right now?” I glanced around the park and not a soul was in sight. I went behind a tree and reappeared in my midnight-blue bra and panties. Brian scanned me up and down and said, “That’s not naked; you basically have on a bikini.”
“Really?” with that, I unclipped my bra and slid out of my panties. The whole episode was turning me on.
“That’s more like it,” Brian said with greed in his eyes. Although I could see how much he wanted me, I respected the way he took his time crossing my path. His hands were touching my skin and gently exploring my body. He obviously had never done any sort of manual labor, because his hands were as soft as a baby’s. His touch was sending chills down my spine. His lips melted on my neck, and the nighttime summer breeze on my naked body escalated my arousal. The kisses became more and more passionate, and I wanted to be with him right under the tree. I rubbed down his pants for a spot check, but with his big baggy jeans it was impossible to get a read. I decided to take my chances. This had to happen tonight.
Between kisses and heavy panting I managed to say, “Brian, I want you now; I can’t wait.”
“Right here under the tree? Tyler, there is nothing but dirt and grass here.”
“Well, let’s go back to my place.” I threw my clothes on, and we headed to his car. Once inside we could barely keep our hands off one another. I was so anxious and overcome with desire that I demanded he pull over.
“You want me to pull over?” Brian asked in disbelief.
“Yes, please,” I said in an I-want-you-so-bad tone. Realizing how serious I was, he looked for a quiet place to pull over.
I stripped off my clothes as Brian parked the car. Luckily he was pushing a Range, so there was plenty of room to make it happen. Once he was in the backseat, the fervent kisses back and forth were in
full swing. My curiosity was driving me wild. For a minute I thought about LL Cool J’s song “Back Seat (of My Jeep).” When I watched the video, I imagined playing a part in one of the scenes, and now the experience was happening to me.
I eagerly undressed Brian, starting with his pants. He stepped in and took off his boxers. I ogled his better half for the first time. Wow, he definitely had nothing to be ashamed of, and he wasn’t holding back out of embarrassment. As a matter of fact he was on point; I couldn’t have created a more perfect size. I wanted him inside me, and when he entered we became one.
During our ride home Brian and I continued our fervent kisses, and while he ran his fingers through my hair, he grabbed it tightly. He turned my face toward his so we were eye-to-eye, and he asked, “Why are you trying to make me love you?” His mood surrounding the question was eerie yet powerful.
“Because I need you to love me,” I said intensely. You know me; I love intense because intensity spells drama and drama spells stimulation—everything I crave in a relationship.
After our night of passion we were inseparable. Even though we loved to talk and laugh at one another, we loved being in the bed even more; our favorite pastime bonded us.
In the beginning of our relationship I don’t want to call what we did making love because it was more like obsessive sex. Our lust for one another absorbed our whole minds. We would do it anywhere at anytime. Brian couldn’t get enough of my insatiable appetite for sex. It was never enough for me, and I only craved it from him.
“Big Pimpin’” by Jay-Z was blaring from my CD player, and I danced in front of the full-length mirror like I was the star of his video. While pretending to be Jigga, I was getting dressed to go to the movies with Brian. When my phone rang, I didn’t bother to look at caller ID because I knew it was him telling me to hurry up. “Brian, I’m almost ready.”
