Skeletons in my closet

The silent running dialogue that I often have with myself.

Friday, February 24, 2006


Break in the Story….Sorry but you guys will have to wait for the continuation of My Life IV. This came to me two days ago and I had to flesh it out. Its some true shyte, hope you enjoy. Be back on Monday to complete the story.

I held her. I marked the passing moments as I lay there holding her. I am not much for tender moments during lovemaking but I think she needed this more than I needed the sex. Her breath was even now, and I could feel the tension leaving her body. I didn’t know why she cried or why I cared but both events were true. So I laid with her in my arms and I contemplated…

How I got there…
You ever run across your match, or someone who believe they to be your equal. A person who can give and get just as much as you can dispense and receive. Well, I was lucky enough to run across this during a much-needed time in my life, someone who had the ability to care for and about me without being consumed by me.

We met at one of my fraternity’s functions. A casual meeting that almost went unmarked. In hindsight it appears that we both employed the same dating strategy. In a crowd of people I mesh in, never draw attention. First appearance is that of a shy person or loner, someone introspective and aloof.

When I saw her she was standing away from the crowd. Cutest little hair cut, with prim and proper eyeglasses. She looked as though she was in a constant state of contemplation, almost a worried look on her brow. The only thing that gave her away was her body. She was cute, almost girl-next-door kinda cute. She had a very sexy figure, nice breast small waist followed by ample ass and thighs. She could almost go unnoticed until that ass came into to view. But never the less I held my cards and continued my morose ploy.

Later that night as the boys hung until the wee hours of the morning between a bit of player hating and obvious adulation I discovered that this young lady had inquired about me, and wanted me to take possession of her number.

I gladly accepted the number, and called to see if she had needs I could meet that night. And frankly I cant remember what happened that first night, I am not sure if we connected or not but I do recall many hours spent in each others arms making love to one another. For the continued evolution of the story we will call her Squeaky. Her voice was highly pitched on the verge of being annoying but at the same time sweet.

The is such a huge difference between making love and phuking. If anybody disagrees then chances are either you aint never been phucked, or you have never been made love to. Further I don’t believe one has to be in love to make love, people can be at the same place and time in their lives and shyte just works. That is what we had, we worked.

I will add that we were very dumb in as we had unsafe sex. But for the grace of god no children were produced of our many unions. Nor did we transmit or receive any communicable social diseases. I will admit that I suffered one malady that all brothers can identify with, ‘Brush Burn’. I contribute that malady to our frequent bouts of grown buck-naked sex fun. Her appetite was insatiable, and I was likewise unrelenting.

TMI moment, I have been blessed or cursed with no refractory period. Look it up.

There was a feeling out phase that I escalated for some reason. At the time I was damn near homeless, driving a raggedy automobile…with no air…and a door that didn’t work. She was a focused and intelligent college student. That summer with her and my friends was one of the best of my life. I spent most of my nights with her. Shyte was lovely. I really think I opened her mind up, a proposition that she will never own up to even till this day.
Squeaky was a tad bit controlling. When she didn’t get her way she could really put on a display. We started out as typical boy girl relationships do. We ended as typical boy girls do, in a fight.

At the time of our kicking it, I was still married. Okay, I know that comes as a shock to all of you, but allow me to explain. I was married technically! I had filed for divorce and hadn’t been living with my wife for 3-4 years. We were separate and apart. I had filed my divorce papers with the help of a friend, but I couldn’t pay to finish the deal, so that shyte sat in limbo. If you read My Life, I will supplement this divorce story in greater detail.

I neglected to inform Squeaky of my quasi-marital status. How did she find out?

Well, let me tell you, the shyte was a classic embarrassing moment, the likes of which I have yet to surpass even to this day.

One morning, after leaving my current abode, with Squeaky in tow, my ex-wife just happened to pass in front of my driveway. I made it a point to stay out of her way cause she was a bit crazy…. violent…and crazy. My poor Squeaky never saw it coming. My ex-wife/current wife at the time jumped out of her car and raced toward us. I braced for impact unable to predict from where the blows would come. Like I said she was violent.

I short shoving match between Squeaky and the X-wife ensued. Followed by the deafening words:

“Did he tell you he was married!!!!!”

I really wish I completed my life for you so you could have a better frame of reference, but I needed to get this story out of my head. Further, I really don’t know why my X went there. She may have wanted me back, I don’t know. We hadn’t communicated for months. I just think she was hating on my sexy little companion.

At this point my X came after me. My training in blocking wife attacks was a little rusty, but I could still get the job done. The trick is to block without counter attacking. (Because if you counterattack the police will arrest you!) I was able to fend of her blows and separate her and Squeaky. Somehow, and I promise it was unintentional my X ended up falling over a pile of trash while Squeaky and I made our get-a-way.

That ride in my broken door, airless, hooptie was even more unbearable. We sat in silence, until she cried. I hurt her, I knew, it, my apologies were mere words. I would never repair this damage. All the “I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell yous” in the world couldn’t fix this mess. I knew from that point on our little summer love was over.

Fast forward a few years…

Somehow I managed to keep my foot in the door, and keep myself wedged somewhere between her legs and her heart. I ended up at her door that evening. She invited me in as coyly. The few years had been kind to her. Actually amplifying her natural gifts. Her, azz was tadow! Her look was even sexier. She was a woman now, all traces of little girl and been bleed from her by men with there lies, and women with their sorrows.

I reached for her and we embraced. My excitement was already evident and she understood. However, we still played the game of being social. A game of TV and drinks, game that only raised the level of stimulation. I was chomping at the bit to start chomping at her bits.

She finally invited me upstairs to do grown folks stuff. We played and teased until the moment was right. And it was right, right were I left it, feeling oh so incredible. Our magic was still there in my mind, no matter where she and gone and what she had done she was still my Squeaky.

Her, softness and curves I touched, remembering thighs that still danced through my mind. Breast that caught my attention, still commanded my attention. And the last enabler, her wetness. How could one not sin when presented with this taste of beauty, this morsel of devils delight, all that with manna from heaven between her thighs, inviting ,,,nah enticing me forward. As I made love to her, I felt that oneness again!

Then she cried. Her tears flowed down my face firstly being mistaken for sweat. She cried!

I want to leave you with the story at that point. But I am such a fan of closing right. All I will say is I never was told the reason for her tears. I just take it as it was given to me.

We had a really close bond though for some reason. A bond that continues to this day…maybe not so close but still a bond.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

My Life Part III

I met my ex-wife. She walked in my job with a smile and a pair of shorts. Her, cuteness was only matched by her sex appeal. She spoke with such attention, and focus I was destined to be locked in.

I was in the process of getting my own apartment with the fellas at the time. So she fit right in. Shyte was bliss. There was only one little problem that wouldn’t go away. And true to the letter Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned.

My 29 year old dalliance was somewhat flustered at the recent turn of events. She remarked often about the decrease in QT. As true as that statement was, I offered no apologies or solace and continued doing me. I was a brash young dude with my mojo on swole, handling any chick that popped up on the radar screen, so I knew no, did no, wrong. And I was dead wrong.

On one visit to Ms. 29, I was tricked into a discussion about the future. She started with the casual open ended question, ”So what is this we doing?”
Oblivous I repliy, “We kicking it, right…Straight Chillin, you my girl and we good to go…Right?”

There forth issued the litany of seemingly prepared responses.

Ms. 29:
“I am not getting any younger!”
“I thought we had a future!”
“I am to old to just kick it!”
“I have just wasted my time with you and this relationship!”

Her preparation for this conversation was in stark contrast to my unprepardeness. My whats?…I-don’t-knows…You tripping…ChillOut… did not serve to better the situation, or slow her boiling roll. The next torrent of questioning became more and accusatory and more demanding, and more demented.

Ms. 29
“What do you want that I’m not given you?”
“You don’t care about me!”
“Who else are you seeing?!”
“I thought we were planning our future!?”
“Who else are you seeing!?
“Why are you doing this to us?
“Why do you hate me?”
“I was planning our future…OUR MARRIAGE!”

SAY WHAT… this bitch must be crazy, how the hell, why the hell, who the hell….never mind that just hell-to-the-no! I was not feeling her like that. Didn’t she know I was “Still a Young Man” (insert horn section blowing…know your musical history) Shyte was getting to deep for ole mister non-confrontational here, so I knew of only one thing…”Time to shake the spot”…So I bounced.

I decided it would be best if I steered clear of Ms. 29 for a while. Her phone calls and pages went unanswered. As her calls subsided I assumed that shyte was getting better, but inactivity from any female is a sign of some master plan being hatched. I didn’t have my level of women smarts that I have now so what happened next totally floored me.

It appears that women on the wig-out have some pretty standard operating procedures. First she started calling my friends.

Homeboys1: Damn man whats up with ya girl calling asking where you at! Nigga, what you running from the chick.

Homeboy2: Dang bruh, you scared of the puzzy. Man up nigga!

Associate1: What she tripping about?

CO: Yeah dog, she crazy…I am just trying to let this shyte blow over. She tripping cause I aint really trying to go there with her…like that.

Then she started calling family.
Mom: Closet what is up with this girl calling this house. Is everything okay?
Co: What! Are you serious? I can’t believe it! Sorry Mom…don’t worry I will handle it.

Then next she pulled out the last resort!
Caught me in the club and pretended everything was cool, even convinced me, in my buzz, to follow her back to her place. I resisted slightly but in need of a good lay, I gave in and swallowed her bait.

After a serious thrashing (ie make up sex) I attempted to gather my things and bounce.
I heard her cries, and tears as I turned to leave the room. Between the sobs and snot she spoke, “I cant believe you are leaving, like this, right now. It really is over!”

I hesitated and foolishly replied, “Nah, we always going to be cool, you my girl…right?”

Shyte didn’t work, never has, but I peddled that smack at her anyway. She jumped on me with both feet, “I didn’t want to tell you like this, but seeing as how we are over, I guess it is better for you to know now better than later.”

My heart stopped, I stopped, the world froze. Aids had just jumped big at this time and niggas was the last to know about. I was one of the last of the last, so I often played unprotected. I just knew the words coming next would be some form of acronym for some shyte that would kill me.

I wrote this shyte when I was on a creative tear…So I cant really incorporate responses into the next post…it would phuck my flow.

So to answer so of your comments.

Mwabi asked: What kind of balls did you think you had to be talking to your Pops like that? damn!

CO: Big ones. Ms. 29 had done a good job of inflating my ego.

Serenity Said: I'm dying laughing at you getting "them blows" by the old man.:)

Co: Shyte wasn’t funny, shyte hurt!

Tam Said: I think those were my stepdad's last words to was it, "Oh since you're leaving...I'll take my keys back - you won't be needing them."

CO: You know the funny part is my Mom never took my keys back. After all these years, I still have the same house keys I had since I was like an 11 year old latch key kid.

Serial Said: That was just like the animal kingdom.


Dee Asked: How about you??? Regrets????

CO: Nary a one! It made me a man, it grew me up quick. The best lessons I ever learned came from being on my own at a young age.

Missy Remarked: Its called Survival and other people can't relate unless they been through it themselves.

CO: True…But on the real many people couldn’t go that route. IF being good, and finishing school is your thang, you may not need to get put out. But many of us make choices that require us to learn the hard way. Some of us it is just thrust upon, those are the people I feel badly for.

Mwabi inquired: I hope you called your Mama and didn't leave and not call out of spite!!

CO: Hell yeah I called my Mom. Shyte, she the only nigga that will love me from sperm to worm.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

My Life Part II

Sorry for the delay....but I was off Monday...

My need was shelter and food. So I hopped in my father supplied automobile and headed to the source of my arrogance. Of course I was accepted with open arms, as I am sure many prey are welcome before the pounce of the hunter.

My new family consisted of my older woman phenomenon, her sister (who had just split from a matrimonial regime), her sister’s two kids…and me. Not exactly what I expected, but I was dealing with a no turning back now situation.

Breakfast was lovely, everyday in the beginning. Dinner was just as cool. No quips whips or problems. I even hung with my boys most of the time. It was unbearable doing the family thing with this group of characters. Just imagine the generational overlapping going on in this house. I was 18 so I have all kind of issues going on with myself, from being a man to my daddy didn’t hug me enough. The older sister was 30 something and her husband just left her apparently after years of physical and mental abuse. The son was14 going on 9 with a stuttering problem. A complete introvert and rarely accounted for in the house, he followed orders well, so that is what they gave him. And last but not least, the coup de grace of the apartment, a 120 pound eleven year old girl, with issues out the ying yang.

The older sister didn’t have the looks are the body of my fem fatale. Plus she had two responsibilities. Her past abusive relationship left his scares, and she was searching for attention, a man, and sex. For the record, I didn’t go there. And for the record, I was amazed at the number of catz that crawled in at the wee hours of the morning. I would sit from my window perch smoking a Newport in solitude, watching as someone I probably knew, darted from his car to the lower stair case, check the address verifying the location of his target, and then stop as the motion censored lighting popped on in the doubled halogen stare of disbelief. The Lights were on some steroid, krypton technology so the shyte was too bright…damn near disturbing. Kinda like the truth would hit a nigga right before he hit the door. I had been in that spot before and that light did put shyte in perspective, a last chance to do the right thing.

The most troubling thing about the whole new family was the little girl. Okay, she wasn’t so little, but it was obvious that her eating and her weight were request for attention. However, her eating and her weight were the obvious reasons for her mother’s rejection. I wasn’t as sensitive to this back then. It took my own dealings with an ineffectual mother to realize that abuse can be as simple as neglect, and neglect can be as simple as failing to hug and love…unconditionally.

I spent most of my time in the field. Running and gunning. My hustle was on full blast as well as my social. I was hell to tell the captain that is for shore, but every night, or every other, I would sink back into the comforts of this woman, who new how to pull me into the thicker parts of the web.

I swear if she had money I would have been a goner and not here with you guys today. The only problem she had was what she had for living arrangements. Now I wasn’t paying a dime. I was just there for the puzzy. Whenever I came over we stayed locked up in her room, phucking and eating ice cream. Life wasn’t too bad.

Sexually, she schooled me. Before I was shooting piss water, after I was performing. She had a snapper. Yeah an old Richard Pryor term. She could make it talk, jump, and bite you back. Phucking her was like learning to read. At first it was constant correction and cries for help, but as I got better, I advanced well ahead of my grade level.

One of my fondest memories revolves around Hurricane Andrew.

That was the last Hurricane that hit my city before Katrina. And as I recall it was a killer. It shut the city down for a week, but it was not anything on the scale of Katrina. During the night that the Hurricane hit we laid in bed with a bottle of Crown. We phucked from the bed to the bathroom, and back again. I did some things she did some things, we did some things. All we had was candlelight, Crown, and a young mans sex drive, oh yeah two gallons of ice cream. A palatable combination.

I was working at Baskin Robbins at the time. I have always had a serious jones for the cream. Every house I have ever resided has been full stocked with ice cream essentials

She woke me during the initial deluge of Hurricane Andrew, to teach me about anal sex. Yeah I know…gross…perverted…some may even say it lends me to homo-erotic tendencies. Well sorry to disappoint. Nothing but cutting going on in this camp. And I ask you this, IF some gorgeous young female is lubing the head of your penis with copious amounts of Astro-Glide, then softly, eagerly, erotically inserting said penis into her ass…You going to complain. Thought Not!

How-some-ever, I will tell you this after the romance, excitement, tension, is gone (aka after you cum) doo-doo dick is not a pretty site. I am not trying to say don’t do it, because the shyte his highly erotic and I have been told that women experience the most intense orgasms via this method of intercourse. I back door action BDA and having sex during the rainy season are kinda on the same level for most guys. Its kinda tough to wrap your mind around it in the beginning. After you get started you really enjoy the ride. But the after the party, clean up is a bitch.

She had toys, lube, and a self-deprecating ability that knew no bounds. She would get the job done no matter what it took, how long it took, or how bad her jaws hurt. I would not be surprised if she suffered TMJ because of me.

Well, I had never had that much constant, private, worry free sex in my life. We finished the crown, ice cream and each other every night, and started again each morning. Then my life opened changed and fell apart at the same time.