Ready...(Fabolous fea. Chris Brown)

 

Get Into It... 

     I somehow restrained myself.  And anyone whose abstained from over a year, from sex, while being tempted by a highly practiced individual - as was Gerald - knows my pain.  He started massaging my lower back, and I tried to ignore how good it felt - while hoping he would continue without going any further.  I love massages!

That's how  Chimeze got to me, with his massages.  He was securely friend zoned and I was reaping all of the benefits, but when he put his hands on my butt, I knew he would be "the one" for a long time.The next thing you know, I was taking him to meet my family and cooking him breakfast. I knew my weaknesses and for that reason,   I hoped Gerald didn't get the notion to travel downwards or go any further than the back rub.
  
"No such luck," I thought as he bent in for a passionate kiss.  He is such an amazing kisser.  I don't know what he's better at, kissing or "dick action."  As he closed in on my lips, I thought about the time he picked me up and literally placed me on his --
I bit my lips to keep him from meeting them with his, before pushing him away:
"I told you, we can't have sex anymore.  Not until you fix your dick problems..."

He responded, a bit more forcefully than I was prepared for, by grabbing my wheel-able office chair and turning it to face him.  He did it very quickly, and I was a little afraid, but I had pretty much decided - after the third vaginosis issue -that I wasn't playing Russian roulette with my coochie, no matter how good I knew he would make it feel; it wasn't worth the discomfort that always followed a sensual episode with him.  And then... the smell that would emanate from my vag' and the disappointment on my gynecologist's face when I explained why I allowed this to happen for the third time.  'This nigga had me looking so stupid,' I thought while he stared at me intently:
"I told you before, I don't have a dick problem.  I am clean!  I went to the doctor.  Maybe that African you were fuckin' with broke your shit!  Maybe that's the issue," he exclaimed, before pushing my chair backwards.  I had to stop it with my feet, before I careened into my glass desk and really hurt myself. 

"If my pussy is so diseased, be it African style or whatever, why do you want to be in it so badly? Since I don't want your broken dick and you don't want to fuck behind Africans, why don't you stop harassing me for sex then?"

It got quiet for a while, as he went on to sulk in the corner and type mad-graphs to his other old-ass, abusive friends,I supposed.

All I knew was that I was so tired of him.  Of this!  I knew if we had sex again, I would just give up.  He was really good in bed, and I still couldn't get over how he would nibble on my ass, before licking the hole, gently.  This nigga would do it for thirty minutes; he would make me orgasm in spasms.  And by the time he entered me, I would be squirting within five minutes.  This fool could do the same thing, over and over and over again.  And if I let his dick or tounge near my cupcake, I was a goner for good.  I had to stand my ground, but it had been a year.  I know me, and this situation was a danger zone.  I had to get away from him.
   
     I didn't give a fuck if he believed the spectacular lie that I told him about his behavior resulting in me having to find a new place or being forced to move to a DV shelter or a shelter period, but I cared that his behavior reflected that he believed the lie.  I had spent a lot of time tweaking it and worried that it wouldn't work.  But most of my things were packed; who would live this way unless they had to, unless they were moving?

Another added benefit of packing everything up and living uncomfortably was that no one, with a choice, wants to live that way.  His room at his mom's house ensured that he had a choice.  I had expected that he would exercise his choice; choosing to stay at his home vurses bringing things from his home to mine.

I looked at the box trepidiously.  First of all, his mothers house was infested with a hoard of roaches.  Second of all, I don't like roaches and had finally succeeded in evicting them from my own place.

I just don't believe in any organism, not under my care - that doesn't pay rent, living in my house.  I couldn't see them, but I had a feeling they were there.
'Ugh, how to speak on it,' I pondered.

As far as the food went; his mother was a good cook, but I knew that cooking in a kitchen With roaches meant roach debris in the food; the eggs, waste or some black dust they leave around in their wake - wherever they go.

"I don't think there is any room in the fridge..."
I said suddenly.

Catching his blank look, I continued, "Last week you brought three gallons of milk and put it in there.  There's no room for anything additional."
My first contribution to a conversation where I was pretty much 'talked at' the entire time, reminded me of how frustrated the milk's presence was making me.  Personally, I don't drink cows milk; I don't even keep it in the house.

Even when my niece visits, I only maintain a quart - one 8 oz (school-sized) container.  Every time I looked in my fridge and saw how the milk was taking over ,all of the room, leaving no space for my things - in MY FRIDGE - in the place I paid rent for, was a miniature representation of what had become my life.  Gerald foreshadowed what he was now doing to my mind and life, with fucking milk!  First he crowded out my food and now he was working on my family, friends and general preferences.

I remember a time where I said, "I just need some alone time today... you know."

He looked at me like he had no clue as to what I was talking about:

"But we barely see each other as it is.  Why do you need alone time?  Aren't you a part of me?  When you're in my space it feels like I'm alone-because I love you.  If you loved me you --"

He took a deep breath and walked around the room briefly, but rapidly, before stepping almost into me and grabbing my cheeks:

"You need to cultivate that sense of our time together Ryndra.  Ok?"
 And he walked over to the love seat:
"Why didn't you get a couch with a higher back again?"

Then there were the times he would bitch about having a right to access my super private spaces, like my bed:
"Look... " he would say, while reaching over and grabbing my thigh playfully
"I just don't see what the big deal is..."

I would then look at him with my most practiced blank face, until he continued:
"...It's just a bed."

Inwardly I sighed, knowing we were about to have the same tired conversation - about the bed - we had been having since Chimeze left and he had decided to enact a coupe on my life.

So, I braced myself and stopped whatever I was doing, as he wouldn't hesitate to bring this stupid shit that I had already told him about -quite a few times - when I was busy.  Maybe he thought he could finally get his way if I was too distracted to make sure I maintained my way.

Living in a smaller space - that what you are used to - does something to you.  I felt the environment made me more aware of my surroundings - over my private spaces - territorial even.  As of right now though, I wanted to dedicate my apartment to be that space - in it's entirety.

Since he had come over - months ago, and not left, I only retained two spaces to myself: my desk - he never sat there, and my bed - as I told him it was damaged, waiting on repair.  To belie this, I would pull out and set up my blow up bed.

He may have been in my head, for now, but he couldn't get access to my bed.  I didn't want his energy poisoning that.  My bed was full of such good, pure memories... and I wanted to keep it that way.

18 months prior, right after I signed my first lease, I remembered trying out numerous mattresses: the sales persons reminders:

"Lay on each mattress for 10 -15 minutes before you decide on the one you want." 
As I laid there - bored and wishing I had my ipad - something - and in some cases uncomfortable as hell, he would meander by at the ten minute mark:
 "Price shouldn't be a factor... maybe you should try the temper-pedic?"

Though, I  am known to be extravagant - at times - I didn't think I could justify a 3,000 (or more) bed - to Chimeze.  I remembered how he looked at me like I was crazy, when I openly considered spending a grand or more on a sectional we looked at.

He may have thought I would bring him along in the hope that he would help me purchase things, but I really brought him along to hold me back from making too large of a purchase.  That's the one thing cheapness is good for; it will make a man be cheap - for you.  Lord knows I needed that then, as I really liked that couch: it was bright and firm.  Even though one cushion wouldnt have fit in my apartment, I was too hype to not, at least, consider it.

In any event, thanks to his guidance overpowering my impulsiveness, we managed to leave the mall without it.  He took me to California Pizza ('Cali Pizza' as we took to calling it) to reward me for making, "the right decision..."
"Really, Ryn.... 4,000 couches, is that where we're at ? 
I looked at him blankly.

"Oh no... don't do that, because you were ready to drop 4 stacks on a couch you could get for much cheaper, if we looked around."
I just stuffed my mouth with one of our shared fried appetizers and rolled my eyes, even though I knew he was right.


It seems as though my eyes finished that roll,  just in time for the Sleepy's salesperson to see it.  He stopped guiding me and ultimately, after a few more hours of faking sleep, I got a price match on a wonderfully made, memory foam mattress - with insurance; even though Chimeze didnt strike me as a bed breaker - one didn't want to take chances.

I remembered paying for it - in full - I didn't even ask for help - though 'Meze' offered.  All I can say is that it made me feel so good to fulfill a promise I made to him when he schlepped it out in the rooming house with me - on the full bed - that seemed to be made of cardboard and rocks:
 "Don't worry, one day soon I'm gonna get us a big, soft bed that will envelope you in sleep.  It will be super comfortable and I'm only sharing it with you." 

Now, it was a cushy moment, but I don't know weather he believed that I would, or even could, follow through w(ith the cushy bed), but I felt like his confidence in me was building.  It's always good to feel like the man you love has confidence in you.In your abilities...

Even now, with him missing in action for about a year now; I had said what I meant and I meant what I said:  I wasn't sharing the bed or the vagina with anyone else but him.  So, I knew this niggaroach had no place in my bed: our bed; fuck it, the bed in my house.

***
"Fuck you!"  I thought in Gerald's direction, though I was too fearful to say it aloud,
"I told you when you first asked me why you and I can't sleep in the bed."
He shot me a venomous glare:
 "Oh, did you?  Well I don't remember... besides I don't see a damn thing wrong with it, so..."
 He couldn't even keep from revealing that he was a liar in his "lie of an answer," he knew what I had told him, but I had to keep control.  I had it and I was too close to meeting my goal to lose it .

MOOD