RIPPED & READY (PART 9)

RIPPED & READY (PART IX)

     After last night's eye-opening ordeal, I couldn't get the images of my father and Denise having sex out of my head.  It was a vivid blow by thrust recount live in color, detailed and outlined.  I kept hearing the sounds of their passion echoing in my head as if they were trapped and couldn't get out.   Sitting at a red light, the momentum kept building and building until I put up both my hands, covered my ears, and yelled out "STOP!!!!!!!".  

     I was so engulfed in my thoughts until I never even noticed that the light had turned green.  The brotha in the car behind me, hit is horn, snapping me out of it and, without looking back,  I waved my hand side to side in an apologetic gesture.  When I started driving again, their voices started replaying over and over again. By the time I reached the house I was a basket case.  When I turned into the court, I saw that mother had returned home.  I had gotten re-agitated during my drive home.  I wasn't even sure if I could look at my pops without cursing his black ass out.  

     When I entered through the front door, I smelled breakfast food cooking and my mother humming in the kitchen.  I looked towards the living room and saw my father's legs sticking out in mid-air which meant, he was sitting in his favorite recliner and, as usual, he was watching one of those forensic television shows he loved looking at.   I smirked silently, and said to myself, it all makes sense now; he is one sick ass bastard.  

     "Is that you, boy?" He asked belching afterwards – nasty ass motherfucker.  He was such a chauvinistic asshole.  I don't know how my mother put up with his ill-mannered ass all these years.  He'd expel gas at the dinner table, pick his damn nose while he was driving (When we were younger, my sister and I hated going on road trips with him because he was so fricking gross).  He'd cut a silent-but-deadly fart without saying a word --when he started giggling for no reason, the funk from his rank ass would be hitting your nose at the same time.  To make matters worse, he'd lock the windows so you couldn't roll them down.  

     "Marco, is that you, boy?" He repeated his question.  

     "Yea, it's me," was all I managed to say.   I hated how he called me boy.  It wasn't in an affectionate way; it was always in a condescending way.  I honestly believe that when it dawned him that his son was different from all the other little boys, he really despised me.  I remember how he tried teaching me how to box, throw a football, and hit a baseball, but it all came to a screeching halt when he saw how pathetic I looked trying to dribble a basketball.  He tossed his hands in the air and said he was done trying to make a sissy into an athlete.  That was the first and last time I ever saw my mother come out of her sweetness -- she slapped the shit out of his ass. 

     "Don't you ever let me hear you refer to our child like that again", she said in a heated tone. 

     "Dang girl, I didn't know you had that kind of fire in you", he said, laughing in a sinister tone. 

     Some memories were made to be forgotten.

     I really did not want to face pops this morning and, I was saved from the inevitable by a knock at the door.  "Will you get that, boy?" He asked. 

     If he called me boy one more time, I was going to go in there and wring his cheating ass neck.  I opened the door and, his CK1 cologne hit my nostrils before his presence did. 

     It was D'Andre. 

     The dark blue, nylon, warm-up suit against the honey-color of his skin tones, had him looking especially right. I could tell he was pleased that I was the one who opened the door, because he smiled exposing that brilliant white smile of his.   Looking at him standing their grinning and looking so fine, momentarily, took my mind off of the events from the night before.  

     I could've stood there admiring him for hours.  Sigh.  The spell, however, quickly diminished when I saw Denise walking up the walk-way behind him, wearing a matronly looking ensemble, with her hair pulled back, neatly, in a pony-tail.  I wondered what look she was going for -- senator’s wife, or preacher's concubine. 

     "What are you two handsome men doing standing here staring each other down for?" she asked giggling like she was so fucking innocent.  I leered at her before I could catch myself, and D picked up on it instantly. 

     "Hey, you two", he put his arms around both of our necks and said, "If you both love me like you say, then you will really have to learn how to get along," he said, squeezing us in his massive arms. 

     I wasn't sure how much more of this phoniness I could stand.  Between pops' lying ass sitting in his lounger, to my mother's angelic humming, to the D and Denise's surprising visit, I felt like I was about to crack under the pressure.  

     Denise gave me a peck on the cheek, and then took D by the arm, and pulled him with her, as she led him into the living room – fake ass bitch.  I wondered if the leather couch still smelled like ass, dick, and pussy. 

     "Hey, babies, how are you doing?" moms asked, giving, first D a hug, then next, Denise a hug.   As my mother hugged her, she looked at me, smiling.  When she winked, that was when I thought I was going to go all the way the fuck off, but I managed to keep my composure. 

     I wish she could read my mind, because in it I was saying, little bitch, your day is coming.  

     "Okay, everyone, it's time to eat," moms announced, removing her apron. 

     Moms, you just don't know, pops had already eaten before you got home.   

     This shit was getting crazier by the minute.