dragged... (Part 34)

                   Strange Fruit

The tension in Nick's and my relationship was tighter than a frog’s pussy, and I knew that my insecurity was the main culprit, but I just couldn’t seem to stop obsessing over him.  I had never met anyone as kind, sweet, and handsome as he; the fear of losing him was absolutely overwhelming.  I had always been treated like a semen receptacle for men (Both anally and orally).  Sex with men, prior to Nick had always been void of passion, sensuality, and warmth.  It was always, lift up your legs, get on all fours, open up your mouth, swallow this dick and the ultimate request let me squirt it in your face. 

I always felt such a loss of pride whenever I had sex because it never mattered if I had gotten mine or not – ever!  I remember when I asked this one brotha about me getting mine, he wiped his dick off on the side of my face, chuckled, and said “…there I just gave you yours.”  My eyes welled up with tears like clockwork and when he saw me teary eyed he scoffed and added insult to injury by saying “…damn, you fruity ass muthafuckas don’t know how to just get the dick without getting all bitchified…hey, do me a favor, lose my number.”

It was truly one of the most humiliating experiences of all and do you know that when I saw him the following week out kicking it at the local basketball court with some of his home boys he had nerve to hurl a rock at me as I walked by.  It sent a vile surge of energy up my spine and I ran over to where he was standing holding that basketball and I sent him a five-fingered message, compliments of your friendly neighborhood “fruity ass nigga” (as he called me).  He fell face first onto the asphalt and as the ball rolled away I looked at the other three members of his crew and asked point blank, “Anyone else feel like chopping up some fruit?”

When I told Nick why I was so insecure, he told me that he understood; however, he still could not allow me to smother him like I was doing because it was making him uncomfortable.  He asked, outside of swearing to God, how much more did he have to say for me to understand that he wasn’t like those other niggas from my past.  He told me that I cannot expect him to continue paying for their mistakes and that if I really wanted to lose him all I needed to do was continue doing what I was doing. 

That didn’t sit well with me at all.  It was as if someone had put a muzzle on my mouth and a straight jacket around my arms.  It was a true test of faith for me so instead of going about my insecure behavior in the manner that I had been, I decided to go silent during those heightened feelings of insecurity, but the silence was drawing scrutiny from him too. 

“Oh, so I guess we’re on the silent tip right now, huh, Missouri?” he asked, frowning in frustration. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nicholas,” I said, as I made sure there was no whine in my tone. 

He slammed the sugar box onto the kitchen table, and stirred his cup of tea with an attitude.  Instead of responding right away, he kept staring off into his tea cup like it was going to hold a damn conversation with him.  I knew that he wasn’t done picking with me just yet, so I braced myself for another verbal assault. 

He finally looked up, and shot a glare at me out the corner of his eyes, and he snarled.  “Missouri Meadows, Ms $5000 winner, what do you think your fans would say if they knew that all that confidence you flaunted up on that damn stage beneath all the bright lights was merely as masquerade you were parading?  Huh, baby girl, huh?” He asked, sounding flippant. 

“Nicholas, you need to stop right now before you say something that you don’t mean out of frustration.  Baby, I know all of that; I don’t need you to remind me of my insecurities because I live with them every day, okay.  So, don’t patronize me like that…don’t do that, okay” I told him, waving my index finger at him for emphasis.  

“Oh, no, baby, you don’t get that luxury from me, Missouri, I wouldn’t dare patronize you because you would love for me to do it, so that you’d have another reason to point the finger at me instead of your miserable self!” he said, as he hurled the metal spoon against the wall in anger.   

Its impact caused me to jump.  It was totally out of character for him to throw things, but then, I really didn’t know as much as I was going to know about Mr. Nicholas Harper. Good or bad, the verdict was still out on that one and I knew that I was keeping my guards of up for a reason.  Men were always the same; they say they’re good and that they’re gonna be true, but then when you turned your back for a second, they always started treating you like you were disposable. 

This latest little outburst was sending off red flags in every direction because I knew that he wasn’t all Disneyland like he professes to be; everybody had a dark side, even Fairytale characters, I mean, didn’t Dorothy’s ass pour water onto the Wicked Witch and melt her ass?  Hell yea, that’s what I’m saying.  They wanted you to believe it was an accident, like she was trying to save that little black dog, but that bitch wanted that green ass hag dead.  I’m just saying. 

After the hurling of the spoon move, I turned away from him, walked down the hallway that led to the room, and I closed the door behind me.  I didn’t appreciate that display of violence in the least because it assured me that the wall was first, and next could be my eye or jaw.  I wasn’t having it.  The last nigga that I let beat on me got some get right in his attitude when I tried to crack a cast iron skillet upside his head.    

I’m sure people see me as this little docile, helpless ass bitch, but if you pushed me the wrong way for longer than a minute, I could really make you wish you hadn’t.  Now, when I heard the front door slam it sent another signal to me that he was somebody who handled his problems by running off and disappearing – where he was going I had no idea, but all I knew is that I was making a list of mental notes. 

When he returned later that night, I knew two things;  he had been drinking because I smelled the liquor on his breath, and two, he had been with somebody else because I smelled the hoes perfume on him when he slid in between the covers with me.  When he moved in closer to me, wrapping his legs around mine, and sliding his arm beneath mine to pull me into him, I was disgusted.  Had I not wanted to feel his body next to mine at that moment, I would have really caused a scene, but I decided that it was best to get what I needed out of it. 

“I love you, Missouri, you need to just know that,” he said, in a slurry tone. 

I pretended I was asleep so that I didn’t have to respond. 

What a crock of shit; he smelled just like perfume and pussy and he wanted me to know that he loved me?  Yea, just like he loved that bitch’s pussy he had just fucked…. 

Nigga, don’t piss on my damn face and tell me that it’s raining…