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freak like me

I’m a freak and I am not ashamed to say it. The things that your man wouldn’t do to you, I would and then drop your ass like a bad pair of drawlz. My freshman year in college was not as Joe College would see it. I loved the women and the women loved me; so my bed was never empty. I was an AP student so I graduated high school as second semester freshman; plus took a few hours at the University of Houston’s satellite campus in Clear Lake. I was getting accustomed to college life and the freedom I had was off-da-chain. High school was confined, freedom was null and void. There were people constantly breathing down your neck. I was ready to conquer this college thing and any young tender that let me talk to her.

The Madd Hatta Morning show was going off as I was pulled up to my driveway in my brand new silver Dodge Charger. I realized that I had to put some pep in my step. The smell of sulfur, and burnt rubber from the local refinery mixed with a hint of honeysuckle and lavender filled the yard of our quaint cottage styled house in the small town of La Marque, Texas. La Marque is a small suburban town located 35 miles south of downtown Houston. The area is known for its refinery and medical industries. The locals figure that if you have a plant job or worked at UTMB, you had it made, but there was more to life than Galveston County. I knew my mother was not going to be home for sometime so I might as well make use of the time alone. I had a short day at school and wanted to get into some trouble. My Jacobean Literature professor didn’t show and that was the only class I had on T-days. I decided to come home and relax. As I was leaving the class I saw pastor’s daughter sitting in the lobby and of course I had to run some game. She was one of those goody-two-shoes that all the fellas were scared to talk to. She would cut you down with her words in a heartbeat. As I walked up to her I could see that she was reading ReShonda Tate Billingsley’s Let The Church Say Amen.
“I am a huge fan of her work,” I said as she looked up at me with an attitude.

I could tell that she was about to start quizzing me. I am glad that my mother was a member of Black Expressions. We would get all those books coming through the house every month, and I am not gon’ to lie, I read every one of them.
“What is your favorite title by her?”
“Well, still to this day My Brother’s Keeper is my favorite.” As soon as I said that, her whole demeanor changed. Her posture became inviting and she leaned forward.
“I like to see brothas reading; it’s an attractive attribute.
“How about you come over this afternoon and we can have our own little private book discussion? I have an array of other titles that we can look at and talk about.”

Even though she wanted to discuss influential Christian fiction authors, she had no idea that I was going to do her like one of those characters in a Zane novel. You could see it all over her face the contemplation, I was standing there dressed in a new argyle sweater vest, a starched white button-down, Ralph Lauren khakis, and a pair of chocolate-brown Prada driving shoes. If I didn’t sound the part, I sure as hell looked it. She hesitated but quickly accepted my invite. I gave her the address to the house. I got her! I thought to myself. Man that was easy as hell! I had to stop by the local barber college to get faded up, but I would be at home in ample time to freshen up and set the atmosphere for the pastor’s daughter. The barber college was one of the only places in La Marque that you could get a $5 haircut that looked like you paid $15. I liked going there because I was like a celebrity with the young barbers. They were infatuated with the persona that I built. There was one dude there that I had a run in with at the club a few weeks ago and every time I walked in he gave me the eye like he wanted to do something. I hadn’t given a good ole ass whipping in days and I was itching for this fool to look at me sideways. I was ready to go there! As soon as my boy hooked m taper fade up, I headed to CVS to get some rubbers. I was ready to go set the atmosphere at the house, and get the good pastors daughter to drop her panties at the door.

I walked into the house, and it was as I left it this morning. My mother had great taste and decorated the house nicely with a New Orleans flair. The pastors’ daughter was prime real estate and I wanted to make sure I added this notch to my belt. My blood was pumping and I was ready to take care of business.

On her way from working a double shift at University of Texas Medical Branch or as the locals call it UTMB, physically fatigued but on a spiritual high, my mother Irene Whitaker pulled into the driveway blasting Cedrick Ford and the Worshippers’ new hit single “We Praise Your Name”.
“Oh Lord we glorify your name, your goodness and mercy we proclaim it’s by your grace that we are sustained and we thank you. We Praise your name.” She sings as she puts the car in park.

She looked at her house and realized how good God has been to her. My mother has been through so much in the four years. Yet, she is still standing. Originally from New Orleans, she packed us up and we moved to La Marque, Texas one day before Hurricane Katrina hit da boot. Something in her spirit told her that this was going to be a storm that could destroy New Orleans. Mamma really didn’t know what life had in store for us but she had to get out of New Orleans before the melee. She took a leap of faith and ever since God has blessed her. She didn't want to be dependent on the government so she and her family came to La Marque where her mother and other extended family members lived. She immediately started working at UTMB as a nurse. She wanted to live her life as an example for us. She attended Southern University on a full academic scholarship and graduated cum laude with a Bachelors of Science in Nursing and was a member of Delta. Soon after graduation she started working at Charity Hospital in New Orleans, a place where she learned the good and the ugly of the medical field. One of the things that she promoted was education. She always said,

“An education is one of the things that the “man” can't take away from you. No matter what, you will always have that and they can’t take it away.”
As she reflected on her life and all that God has done for her, a tear rolled down her face. She looks, takes the moment in and has a private praise moment. Not wanting to get out of her car because the song is ministering to her, she knows that her motherly duties hung in the valences.
I lit incense, and the aroma of cherry and chocolate began to engulf the living room. I decided to smoke the other half of a blunt, I was nursing to get me in the mental mood to deal with this chick. I turned on 97.9 the box and the song My Body by Pretty Ricky was on. What a perfect song for what I was getting ready to do! Tyra commuted from home like I did so I knew it was going to be minutes before she got to my house. I set the atmosphere with books, biscotti and coffee. I even put on my glasses. I didn’t wear them that much because my astigmatism was very weak but I wanted to cover up my red eyes from the slight buzz I had. There was the doorbell. Once I got her into the lion’s den it was over. We sat down and talked through a few books, but she would not loosen up. A dense haze from the incense filled the room. I had to show some skin in order for this girl to put out.

“Do you mind if I change into something more comfortable?”
“Sure, this is your house,” she said with an attitude.
I walked over to my room and moved the mirror so she could get a glimpse of me changing my clothes. As I took off my shirt, I could see her in the mirror looking at me, so I grabbed some baby oil off my dresser and started rubbing my pecs and my arms. I am proud of my body because I hit the gym daily.

“Hey feel free to eat some of that food I prepared,” I said to her. I took off my jeans and put on my baggy basketball shorts.
I know that I am magnificence personified, with my light cocoa caramel skin, piercing light brown eyes that make all the women young and old quiver. I got that “good hair” as they say. My mother is Creole and my father is mixed with Cherokee Indian and Black, so that infamous taboo saying “you got Indian in your family” is really true for me. The haters called me a gym bunny; I am narcissistic but when you have the physique of a Greek god it comes with the territory. I knew if I took off my shirt I was going to get this girl.
“Hey do you mind if I smoke?”
“Not at all,” she replied.

I had this girl, and she didn’t know it! I could tell that she was getting a contact from the heavy smoke I was blowing from the blunt. People don’t think I smoke as much as I do because it doesn’t show on my lips but I loved to smoke weed. The purple haze intensified every moment for me. I took a long drag, and I was trying to hold back the cough. I was smoking on the strongest dro that Galveston County had to offer. I make it a point to sample my product before I let the locals partake in consumption. I cut yards on the side. My high school buddy Diablo introduced me to selling weed to make extra cash. From her flirtatious demeanor, she wanted more than a book discussion. I glanced at the mirror. She was lying back on the couch waiting for me to explore the unknown peaks and valleys of her tight body. This girl was short and muscular. She was a cheerleader and very athletic. That’s the way I like my women, but there are often times when I like a girl with an apple bottom, or as my home boy Sleepy calls it, onion booty syndrome. I turned on the radio and the song Bed, by J. Holiday came on and it just solidifies the mood.
“I have wanted to get in this for the longest, baby girl,” I said while continuing to smoke on the blunt.

“Is this your first time?”
“Yes, and I am scared.”
One thing I know, and that is what to say to get what I want.
“Baby, smoke on some of this, it will loosen you up a little,” I said seductively.
I put the end of the blunt in her mouth and she inhaled. From the way she was smoking, looked as if she had done it before. I guess the rumor is true about preacher’s daughters. They were true freaks and had skeletons in their closets. I was amazed by the way she was smoking.
“Girl you are something else.” I said as she inched her way closer to me.
She began to rub my knee slowly making her way up to a place that will start trouble if she entices. I smiled to myself because I have woven a web of seduction and she was trapped.
“Don’t worry I will take care of you.”

  I began to kiss her neck hitting all of the pleasure points that seemed to drive most women crazy. I was going to have to take it easy on her, I didn’t want her to cry or not like this at all. I am a pro at sex and I take pride in making a woman feel like a woman. Even though I am 20 years old I know how to lay it down in the bedroom. The ladies loved it but in all actuality I am a nympho-maniac I love sex. I have no emotional connection when I have sex. By this time she and I both were dazed and completely aroused by the lust of the moment. I took my final drag off the blunt taking the smoke deep into my lungs and blowing a thick cloud of smoke in the air. I looked at the damsel in distress I was ready to go in for the kill. I was now starting to feel the effect of the weed and it made me feel as if I could conquer the world. We began to make sultry and melodic music with our bodies. I glanced over in the mirror and I was enthralled with the primal lust that we were engaged in. This would make any church lady blush and fall to her knees in prayer. The smell of sweat and the chocolate flavored blunt infused the living room of my house. There are footsteps at the front door; the passion intensifies, a key rustles in the lock; as our bodies become one. The passion of the moment is indescribable, the door opens, and I hear a loud scream,
“LORD HAVE MERCY!”

We stopped what we were doing and looked towards the door; we were both sweating profusely in our birthday suits.
“Mamma it’s not what it looks like,” I said.

I saw her go in her purse and she pulled out her holy oil and started running through the house anointing the couch yelling,
“Devil, get out of here right now. I rebuke you right now in the name of Jesus. Jordan Michael Whitaker, how dare you disrespect my house like this? How Jordan? I can’t believe that you are having sex in my house.”
She sniffs, and from the look on her face I know that she can tell that I was smoking weed in here, too. I didn’t know what was worse, the smoking weed in the house or having sex.

“Mamma, you see what had happened was…”
“Save it, Jordan! Tyra, Tyra Watkins is that you?” My mother asked. Tyra grabs the pillow and put it over her face as if she were a little kid who got caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“Jordan that is the pastor’s daughter. Boy, you are going straight to hell. Get dressed, both of you.” I was trying to speak but she interrupted me by the motion of her hand. "Jordan, I don't want to hear a word from you.” All of a sudden she breaks into prayer, and we were standing there as naked as the day we were born.
“Father God, right now I ask that you touch these two lustful souls. Let them know that premarital sex will lead them straight to the bowels of hell, and Father I ask that you touch Jordan right now. Let him know that preying on young innocent girls isn't right, help him understand that sex is meant for marriage and not meant to manipulate.”
You could hear a rat piss on cotton from the silence in the room.
“Now I am going to go to my room and I want you out of here, Tyra. This is taking every thing in me not to call your Daddy, but I know it would kill him. Get dressed both of you!”

As my mother walked out of the room she started quoting her scripture of purpose Psalms 23.
“Yay, do I walk through the valley of death I will fear no evil”

She said as she walked passed us. As we were getting dressed, I could sense that Tyra regretted what happened. It’s going to be hard to look her father in the face when she walks through the door. While she was feeling sorry for herself, I was trying to devise a plan to finish what we started. When Tyra walked out the door, I knew that I had to talk to her and make the situation better than it actually was.
“Hey, don't tell your daddy, ok? I am going to talk to my moms and smooth all this over. Ok? Hey, I love you Tyra.”
That four letter word seems to get them every time. Man, if I know it was going to be this easy I would have been throwing this word out more often. I could tell from her body language that she felt reassured and I gave her a heartfelt hug. Once we broke from the hug I leaned over and kissed her so passionately that her knees began to buckle. During the kiss she began to shiver and cry.
“Hey, it’s going to be ok, I promise.” With a quiver in her voice she replied
“Ok!”

Even though I wanted sex, there was something innocent and peaceful about this girl that attracted me. I closed the door and smiled, pimping ain’t easy.