You Had Me at Hello
M arcel Emerson returns with another fast-paced and steamy novel that will
intrigue and captivate you from start to finish.
Demarco Ware is an irresistible and ruggedly-sexy hustler with dynamite looks and
a dazzling smile that can warm the souls of even the most cold-hearted. He uses
his charisma and sex appeal as the ultimate VIP pass, working his way into the lives
of Washington, D.C.’s most elite. In spite of his magnetism and allure, he cannot
escape the past demons which have haunted him for years. When Demarco’s
rocky relationship with Que Reynolds—the pretty boy with swagger and attitude—
is threatened by the emergence of David Johnson and Candice Vasily whose
ambitions knows no bounds, Demarco must confront his greatest fears.
Independent and business-savvy Kenya Bryant, is torn between her thriving
business and the love of her life, NFL star and playboy Cordell Roberts. Growing up
poor and having to fend for herself, Kenya learned at an early age to never
depend on a man for anything. She now faces the dangerous decision of whether
to try to forgive Cordell’s indiscretions and move past their volatile history or to
cut her loses and run.
Set against the political backdrop of one the most powerful cities in the world,
Washington, D.C., You Had Me at Hello and its intricate plot will keep you on the
edge of your seat. Just when you think you’ve figured it all out, you realize you had
no idea what the truth is until the shocking end.
M arcel Emerson returns with another fast-paced and steamy novel that will
intrigue and captivate you from start to finish.
Demarco Ware is an irresistible and ruggedly-sexy hustler with dynamite looks and
a dazzling smile that can warm the souls of even the most cold-hearted. He uses
his charisma and sex appeal as the ultimate VIP pass, working his way into the lives
of Washington, D.C.’s most elite. In spite of his magnetism and allure, he cannot
escape the past demons which have haunted him for years. When Demarco’s
rocky relationship with Que Reynolds—the pretty boy with swagger and attitude—
is threatened by the emergence of David Johnson and Candice Vasily whose
ambitions knows no bounds, Demarco must confront his greatest fears.
Independent and business-savvy Kenya Bryant, is torn between her thriving
business and the love of her life, NFL star and playboy Cordell Roberts. Growing up
poor and having to fend for herself, Kenya learned at an early age to never
depend on a man for anything. She now faces the dangerous decision of whether
to try to forgive Cordell’s indiscretions and move past their volatile history or to
cut her loses and run.
Set against the political backdrop of one the most powerful cities in the world,
Washington, D.C., You Had Me at Hello and its intricate plot will keep you on the
edge of your seat. Just when you think you’ve figured it all out, you realize you had
no idea what the truth is until the shocking end.
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| Below is a preview of You Had Me at Hello: |
CHAPTER 1
Demarco Ware
When I think back to the day I first came to the East Coast and the excitement when I finally landed in New York City, I smile. Damn that first
day I couldn’t believe I’d just made a thousand dollars in a half hour and all I had to do was take my clothes off and let this old white man
use my body like a blowup doll. I guess moving to New York was a good decision. I would normally have to spend more time, and do
much more to get only a hundred dollars from the tricks I used to mess with back in St. Louis. That day I thought that the apples weren’t the
only things that were bigger in the Big Apple. All I had to do was walk along the pier overlooking the Hudson River and act like I had nothing
to do. All the horny undersexed men gawked at me before the one who was tired of waiting for his Adonis to arrive on the stroll, came along
and made an offer I couldn’t refuse.
I knew since it was my first time on the “ho stroll” which was what everyone called this particular spot on the pier, I was going to be able to
make something happen since I was looking good. I had been working out ever since I planned on making the move to New York City. I
knew this was the place for opportunity and I would be competing with a lot of folks that moved here from their hometowns thinking they
were the shit just like me. I was told that I looked like Nelly, but a lot better. We had the same caramel brown skin tone, short faded wavy
black hair and I even had “golds” in my mouth, but only two—my two lateral incisors—which is where the dentist described the location, but
they are directly next to my top two front teeth.
I had one of my regular tricks pay five hundred dollars to convert my ordinary white teeth into fourteen carrot gold. I knew that Nelly sported
gold fronts on probably eight to ten of his top teeth, but I didn’t have Nelly’s dough so I settled with the top two lateral incisors and I must say
that when I’d first got them I just knew I was the shit.
Growing up most people always told me I was handsome or I would be a lady killer one day. That sort of gave me confidence about my
physical appearance. At a young age men and women would give me gifts for just smiling at them or spending time with them. It really
didn’t turn sexual until I was about thirteen and landed in foster care because my mother didn’t have the money to take care of me. So, she
gave me over to the state. She said she was coming back to get me once she got back on her feet. I remember crying all night long waiting
for my mom to decide that she didn’t want to give me up, but she never came back that night or ever. I didn’t know if she’d ever gotten back
on her feet.
My foster mother’s brother, who used to watch us some nights when our foster mother played bingo, would give me five dollar bills to play
with my private. At first I was scared but after the second time he was sucking it so hard that I came for the first time in my life, in his mouth
and I started to enjoy the sensation. From then on, I couldn’t wait until Uncle Peanut came over to the apartment to watch us.
One night, though, my foster mother came home early because there was a black out in the bingo hall, caused by bad weather and caught
Uncle Peanut giving me head right there on her living room floor. She kicked us both out of her house. I was around fourteen when this
happened, and I moved with Uncle Peanut for about a month before I got kicked out of there after one of his friends busted into the
bathroom when I was taking a shower and tried to penetrate me in my ass. I ended up beating the shit out of this guy. Uncle Peanut had to
call the ambulance because the pervert busted his head on the bath tub and blood was gushing out of his head. Uncle Peanut was afraid
that he was going to go to jail for having a minor in his home. That night he gave me all the money he had on him which was around fifty
dollars and told me that I needed to find another place to live. He promised after things settled down he would look for me and I could come
back. Unfortunately, I never saw Uncle Peanut again and ended up in a group home for boys my age after staying on the street, homeless
for a week, until being picked up by the cops.
The group home was the worst; many of the guys that stayed there had real serious issues from drug abuse, violence, and stealing. Many
of them were like me their parents were unable to or didn’t want to take care of them. Many of them, including myself, had emotional
issues that affected the way that they lived their lives. I was the poster child for being an emotionally damaged teen living in that house.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but for some reason I couldn’t get close to anyone anymore. Everyone that I came in contact with
scared me. Not in the sense that I thought they were going to do any physical harm to me; but rather the feeling that nobody really had my
best interest at hand. I thought that everyone wanted to use me or try and take advantage of me.
My high school counselor diagnosed me as a paranoid schizophrenic that basically meant that I was delusional and believed things that
most people didn’t. I also thought that people were out to get me. She prescribed medication for me but after taking it for a month I wasn’t
able to handle the side effects. My mouth was constantly dry and I was always tired, so I never took the meds again. I hated to think that
something was wrong with me psychologically but given all that I had gone through I was sure I had some post traumatic distress
damages—whatever the hell that was.
ON MY FIRST DAY IN NEW YORK CITY I had a grand in my pocket and the hotel room that the trick rented until check out the next day. I’d
copped a bag of weed, a 2-11 and XTC and called my dude Black to the hotel to kick it with me. Black was my homeboy that I’d met back in
St. Louis who was a native New Yorker. He was the one who told me I should move to New York. He seemed to be the coolest and realest
person that I had met in a while. I had met him on the gay phone chat line. He was bisexual like me and still messed with girls. The
reason he’d come back to New York was because he had two kids by this girl that lived in Brooklyn and he wanted to be closer to them.
When I first met him I was attracted to Black because he was masculine and really chocolate, just like I liked them. He also had that New
York City “B-boy” swagger that I was drawn to immediately. Black was about an inch shorter than me, five-nine, he had short wavy hair that
he always kept in a du-rag with a fitted hat on top. I was sure many people didn’t even know what he looked like with his hat off because he
always sported the same look. He had a thin pointed nose; thin lips and small ears which made him look a lot younger than what he was.
In my opinion the most attractive thing about Black was his skin tone. His skin was the perfect shade of dark brown, with no blemishes or
scars. His skin color and texture resembled the chocolate on a Hershey’s bar before they carved in the name.
When we first met I thought that I would just fuck the shit out of him like I do most dudes that I was attracted to. But unfortunately, he too was
a top, which meant he wasn’t taking it in the ass, so we didn’t sleep with each other. And I sure as hell wasn’t giving up my ass. Therefore,
we started hooking up with girls and guys together and having orgies and running trains—both of us screwing the same person at the
same time. These experiences were so hot and I kind of wished afterwards that he would give up the ass but it never happened. I think,
though, if either one of us did decide to bottom for the other it would change the dynamic of our friendship which I enjoyed so much. I knew
it wasn’t worth it and he was probably thinking the same thing. He was like a brother to me anyway, even though he was a struggling black
man just like I was. I looked up to him because he seemed to be a lot more emotionally stable than me. He had no problems keeping a job
or a relationship. He hustled sometimes, but not very often. Black could usually keep a relationship whether it was with a girl or guy and that
person would usually take care of him and provide him a place to stay so he didn’t really need to be out on the stroll every day like me.
For some reason I felt like I could do the same thing, but I was so twisted in the head. I didn’t know how to sustain a relationship or
maintain someone constant in my life. Black had been the only friend that I had been able to keep around for sometime. I guess it was
because he genuinely cared about me and for some reason I hadn’t done anything to drive him away like I had done everyone else in my
life.
Black was staying over at this older dudes crib in Harlem that he called his uncle. I knew this wasn’t his real damn uncle and I’m sure they
had something sexual in the past. Before I arrived in New York, Black asked, ‘ole dude, if I could hang around until I got on my feet. ‘Ole
dude said it was fine. I didn’t really feel comfortable being over there but I used it as a place to rest my head until something else popped
off for me.
When I had been on the train earlier that day heading over to the ho stroll on my first day in New York, I had met this broad that was all up in
my face. She was talking about how fine I was and gave me her number. I told her that I had just moved here and I didn’t really have a
place to stay, and just like that, she offered to let me come and stay with her. I knew all she wanted was a boy-toy, and that she figured that
she’d just found herself a young-dumb-country-bumpkin, but since she had a fat ass and she was on her way to work I knew she had
some money. I took her number and knew I was going to call her. I wouldn’t be calling her on the first night since I still had the hotel room,
but I knew I would see what she was talking about soon and made a note to self.
I waited in the room and watched some television alone until Black brought his ass down to the room. I didn’t have any idea what we would
be getting into that night since I wasn’t that familiar with New York City. I did know that Black always knew of something to get into or we
always seemed to find something to get into together. It took him two hours to get to the hotel room and by that time I had fallen asleep
watching Ricky Lake on the tube. I woke up hearing someone beating on the door of the room. I figured it was Black’s ass because nobody
in their right mind would be knocking that damn hard.
“What up my nigga? I see it ain’t taking you any time to get it cracking in the N-Y-C. Your first night you got a room, and some dough.” Black
said this as he walked in the room giving me some dap.
“Well you know how I do! I am working these clowns for their paper. They see the kid and just start throwing money at him.” I said
bragging. My first time, however, was a good day, but sometimes I had to work too hard for this money. Then there were the times when I
got setup. The trick would be talking about how much dough they had, and how it was nothing to drop me something nice so that I would
be straight for a while. They would have me all excited but after we finished with the session there was a lame ass excuse like “I left my
wallet at home” or “damn all I have is twenty dollars on me and I left my ATM at the crib.” It took all the will power in me to not beat the fuck
out of these broke ass motherfuckers, but running into law enforcement was something I tried to stay clear from. I knew what I was doing
wasn’t necessarily legal anyway. I just bounced and made sure to never give my services out to them again unless I had the paper in my
hand up front.
Black and I chilled in the hotel room, smoking and drinking. I was watching television just relaxing, while he was on the telephone chat line
trying to hook up an orgy or get a few folks to come to the room. There was no telling with Black if it would be men or women that would be
coming to the room. Women weren’t as eager as the men were to let us both have sex with them at the same time, although, we did run
across a few women that didn’t mind us slutting them out. The men however were the freakiest ones, they had no problems or
reservations about letting two thugs bang their backs out like we were two dogs in heat.
It was crazy how so many professional men or men period loved to get their asses waxed by two overly masculine thugs that didn’t give a
shit about them. They would allow us to do the most degrading things to them. I mean things that I couldn’t imagine permitting someone to
do to me. Some wanted us to pee on them, whip them and invoke pain on their bodies. I have actually had a trick who wanted me to
mutilate his chest with a razor blade. This was where I drew the line. I didn’t want anyone’s blood anywhere near me. I told that sick
motherfucker to put his clothes on and I bounced. I guess everyone had their sexual fantasies, mine was just to be able to make love to
someone and get up the next morning and have them lay beside me; look me in my eyes and tell me that they cared about me and was
never going to leave my side.
I didn’t dare tell Black or anyone that this was how I really felt. I masked my true feelings by always having an attitude and not letting anyone
get too close to me. Folks that knew me would always ask me why I was so mean to them, or why I had that “I don’t give a fuck attitude.” I
came across this way because I thought this was what they wanted. It was such a fad right now for both women and gay men to be
attracted to the bad guy…the thug. I was just giving them what they wanted, and I didn’t have any problems playing this role. Being an
asshole was very natural to me, it was nothing for me to make someone want to cry or beat the shit out of me because I said something
disrespectful to them, like “shut the fuck up” or “move your punk ass out the way.” I also sometimes borrowed things from tricks houses
without them knowing. They called it stealing but hey, I was a brother in need so it was borrowing to me. The funny thing about the whole
borrowing thing was; that it was nothing for them to invite me back over to their cribs again. Of course, repeat invites came after they had
gotten over whatever they were going through because of the loss and were ready for some more of what I was serving up. Since they
allowed me to come back so easily I could have cared less and never felt guilty about the borrowing. Shit they must not have needed it that
bad if I could come back all willy-nilly. Some of them didn’t even bring up the fact that I took anything. I liked them the most, because they
usually paid more money, and were constantly calling me back.
Black had finally found two dudes that said they would come over to the hotel and check us out. He always had something jumping off, I
didn’t care I didn’t have shit else to do with myself. I knew I needed to get a job, find my own place and try to get back in school, but I didn’t
know were to begin. I just decided, once again, to do whatever until something came along to motivate me.
The two dudes that came over were no more than twenty-years old. They were dressed fresh, sporting the latest Jordans with their fitted
hats rep’ing New York City. They looked pretty good too with their ghetto gold chains accessorizing.
I started talking to the dark skin one because dark skin dudes just turned me the fuck on. He had a whole lot of swagger, plus he was the
one with the weed and blunts so I thought lil man must have had a little bit of dough. He was checking me out as he walked through the
door. I knew he was feeling me by all the grinning he was doing. Black had already taken his little light skin friend in the bathroom and Lord
knows what they were already doing.
“So what’s good B, your boy said you just moved here from St. Louis. What were you trying to do; my name is Taj, what they call you?” He
said.
“Yo they call me Knock,” I replied” “I am trying to get this big ‘ole fat dick sucked and then I am trying to bend your little ass over and fuck the
shit out you, while your man and my boy watch. You down for that freaky ass shit? That is what you came to the hotel for, to get some dick,
right?”
“Oh hell yeah Son, you ain’t said nuffin,” Taj said looking down at me grabbing on my meat through my jeans. I decided I would take it out
so he could see what I was working with. When I pulled out my joint it wasn’t all the way hard but my lil man never disappoints even when it
was soft the thickness of it had folks doing a double take like “damn man that’s all you?” And just like I had expected Taj was like, “Damn,
Pa, let me see that joint all the way, it ain’t even hard yet Son.” He went grabbing for it like he was in control and I stood up, and looked at
him like “what the fuck!”
“Hold on slim, don’t get too excited you going to be coughing on this joint soon enough. What’s up with them blunts? When are you going
to roll up that shit so we can blaze?” I had this nigga right where I wanted him, it always amazed me how people were so predictable. It
was like if you had one you had them all.
“My bad, yeah let me twist one so we can get this party started. I almost couldn’t control myself after seeing what you’re working with. I’m
normally not into dicks like that but since you got a nice one, you can do whatever you want to me.” I didn’t know why niggas always talking
about they not into dicks and shit—like that was supposed to impress me or something. If you like dick, you like dick, why all the fronting? I
didn’t even respond. While I was waiting for him to finish rolling the blunt, I walked to the bathroom to see what Black was doing with ‘ole
boy.
When I walked around the bed to the bathroom, the door was slightly cracked and I saw Black standing up with a drink in his hand with his
shorts off and his dick being slurped up and down by the light skin dude. Black’s plumb chocolate muscular bootie was looking real good
as the muscles flexed back and forth while he was enjoying getting some head. It took all the strength in the world to not walk behind him
and stick my tongue in his ass. Just the thought of being up inside Black made my joint jump from being semi-erect to rock hard. Instead I
opened up the door all the way, dropped my pants and underwear and joined in on the head action that my boy was receiving. This was my
first time on the East Coast and it started off with a bang.
CHAPTER 2
Kenya
This was the second time Cordel proposed to me. The first time I was more excited than I was now. When Cordel first proposed I thought I’
d died and gone to heaven; lucky to have and met the perfect man. Cordel was fine, rich, confident, successful and a very great and intense
lover. Cordel stood 6’4 and weighed around 225 pounds of solid muscle. He had vanilla wafer skin tone and wavy black hair. He looked
like he was Egyptian or mixed with Latin or something, but he was all “brotha.” He was always the only one to give my body the sexual
healing that it deserved. When I first made love to him my body trembled in ecstasy, my heart melted and I was lost in his spell forever. Or
so I thought. This proposal was different though: It’s wasn’t met with the same anticipation and excitement as before. Cordel was not the
perfect man, and I’ve learned that there’s really no such thing. As much as I had enjoyed the couple of years of learning to forgive him and
getting to know his Christian side, I was still very apprehensive about taking that final step toward marriage.
At first when Cordel first proposed to me I thought I needed a man to take care of me, and since he was a NFL player he had the means to
do so. Now, after three years of hard work, I was very independent and self sufficient when it came to financial stability. I had made some
good investments in real estate; my company experienced significant growth, with four offices around the country showing a profit every
year. What I needed was a companion, a man to come home to at night, take vacations with and start a family. Although Cordel, was
offering me all this I still wasn’t sure if I could really trust him with my life again. I hated to admit it but he really hurt me and as much as I
tried to get over what had happened, I honestly didn’t know how.
I hadn’t been quick to accept the second engagement proposal. I felt that it was too early, but Cordel was adamant that he had changed his
life for the better. I had accepted the engagement but under one condition: I told him that we needed to have a long engagement and
during this time we had to go to marriage counseling at my home church. I had been praying and talking to my pastor about everything that
had happened between us. My pastor suggested that he meet Cordel and that we’d go through his counseling sessions before we get
married. While Cordel was in town during his off season I decided to tell him about the counseling before we went to bed. I didn’t see a
problem with this but when I’d talked to Cordel about it he looked kind of shocked and apprehensive.
“Babe you really think we need to go through a year long engagement with monthly marriage counseling sessions with your pastor? We
have been seeing each other again for over two years and I thought I showed you how committed I am to us and this relationship.” As he
was talking I could see the apprehension in his face and I could hear it in his voice. But there was no way I would consider marrying him
without going through these sessions.
“Yeah and I have enjoyed every minute, but I only want to get married once in my life and I need to make sure this is something God has
blessed. I know marriage counseling can be a little weird, and with all the rehabilitation and counseling that you have gone through with
your drug addiction issues this can seem a little overwhelming, but I think this would really benefit the both of us.”
“Come on babe don’t you trust me? I would never hurt you again!” As much as I wanted to believe him, emotionally I wasn’t sure I could
deal with a relapse from him. In a way I was buying time, because I didn’t want to outright say no and I still needed time to figure everything
out.
I stayed firm, “We have to do this babe, we have to, and that is the only way I am going to be comfortable with moving forward with marring
you.”
“Geeze, babe, but if you really think we need this then just let me know and I will be there holding your hand. You will see at the end of the
sessions that we are good and we really didn’t need all of this. I got you, for life.” He kissed me gently on my cheek and turned the light off
and went to sleep. I stayed awake tossing and turning all night unsure if I had made the right decision to get back with this man.
WHEN WE ARRIVED TO OUR FIRST counseling session I could tell that Cordel was nervous. Cordel’s palms were sweaty as we walked
slow and steady up the church steps. I squeezed his hand right before he released my hand to open the door of the church, to reassure
him that everything was going to be fine, and I was right here with him. Pastor Mannaway mentioned that the first two sessions would be
one-on-one sessions with the three of us in his private office. This was to allow us to feel comfortable sharing our feelings and relationship
issues as a couple with someone else. However, the remainder of the sessions would be group sessions with other couples that were
also planning to get married soon.
I went to a small Baptist church because I liked the personal touch that you get at a smaller church compared to a mega church. Mt. Olivet
only had about three hundred members, who attended church faithfully. Pastor Mannaway was a young minister. He was only about forty
years old, but he and his wife had been married for twenty-two years. While attending his church on a regular basis I had learned that,
Sister Mannaway and the pastor had been high school sweet hearts and had gotten married right after high school. I thought this was so
sweet, that they were so young and had been together for so many years. Marriage can be long-lasting after all.
Pastor Mannaway was a fine brother too; he stood about five foot eleven, perfect caramel colored brown skin complexion. He wore his hair
in a short Afro and had some of the thickest grade of hair I had ever seen. The way it looked, all oil-sheened up, made you want to pat it.
His little Afro looked like a ball of cotton, dyed black. He sported long side burns that connected to a light shadowed beard connecting to a
mustache and goatee. He was a very distinguished looking man and he drew a young following. I would say most of his members were
between the ages of eighteen and fifty. Pastor Mannaway had a way that when he looked at you it made you feel welcome and
comfortable—almost like family and that feeling that I’d known him my whole life. I could sit and talk to this man for hours about any issue
that I was going through and I would leave feeling spiritually “fed” and grounded.
I was a member of the usher board and many of the young ladies that ushered with me, confessed having huge crushes on Pastor
Mannaway. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that I too had a crush on the pastor. But I could see why these young ladies always commented
on how fine he was, and made mention of every move he made.
When Cordel and I were guided into the pastor’s office by his secretary I saw all the various paintings and pictures that I had admired so
much, and enjoyed seeing before in his office. There were two pieces that I just adored; the first one was of a choir singing, the men and
the women were drawn with the same face, but the men had short hair and the women had long hair. The thing that was so great about
this painting was the choice of colors. The choir members seemed to just pop out of the painting.
The other painting was of black children lined up in front of a church waiting for the doors of the church to open and their was an usher
standing out front positioned like he was about to open the door. The detailing of this painting was so real and I wanted to take both of
these painting home with me. I also noticed a new picture on his desk of him and the first Black President Barak Obama.
“Brother Phillips it is nice meeting you. I became a huge fan of yours when you played for the Falcons. I am not a Miami fan, but it is really
nice meeting you.” The pastor chuckled and gave Cordel a hand shake. “Sister Bryant it is always a pleasure to see you, and I am still so
glad that you have chosen little ‘ole Mt. Olivet to be your church home.” The Pastor gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek. “Have a
seat next to each other on the sofa next to the book shelf right here. Let me get my notebook so I can take some notes before we begin.”
Pastor Mannaway had a way of looking at me—making me feel as if he was looking through me. I could have sworn the last time I saw him
he was staring at my breast, but I dismissed that because I wasn’t all that blessed in that area. I chalked it up to, I was tripping. His wife
wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the church but her body was a sight to see. If you looked in her eyes, saw her face and thought to
yourself—what any man could see in her—all you had to do was look down and around. Sister Mannaway had that brick house body that I’
m sure made some men want to salivate at the sight of it.
The pastor and his wife had five children. I knew he was very well taking care of in the bedroom. However, I couldn’t help feel his eyes on
me every time I entered his presence. He definitely was fine and under different circumstances I would try and see if he was flirting with me.
That, however, would be the ultimate no-no, committing adultery with my pastor. I needed to pray a little harder and longer tonight, because
I was thinking about this too much.
“I am glad that you young people have decided to participate in marriage counseling as a couple. I believe it is so important to take time out
and seek God first and learn to apply biblical scriptures that deal with marriage, to be sure that you’re taking the appropriate step.” Pastor
Mannaway begun. “Having been Sister Bryant’s Pastor for sometime now, she has you at a little bit of a disadvantage, Brother Phillips.
What I mean is that she has spoken to me about her trust issues regarding the past during her time in Atlanta.” I was kind of shocked that
he went straight for the gusto. Plus he was getting excited like he was in the pulpit, with an agitated tone and being very accusatory towards
Cordel. I was taken aback myself at the pastor’s tone, which was very loud and confrontational.
Cordel squeezed my hand hard and looked in my direction. He squeezed my hand so hard I had to squeeze his hand back to let him know
he was hurting me. I knew in his mind he was envisioning that it was the pastor’s throat he was squeezing. His temper was always quick
and the “hand squeeze” was what he learned in anger management to avoid physical altercations. He was supposed to divert the
adrenaline rush somewhere else, and by squeezing the hand of a loved one was supposed to relieve the stress/tension that he’d
undergone. Yeah, I could see my pastor’s tone really pushed Cordel’s buttons. There was sadness and regret in Cordel’s face for about a
mili-second, he glanced at me and then looked back at the pastor, he had finally gained his composure back and he loosened my hand a
little bit. We continued to listen intently.
“The Bible says, ‘Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord…For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the
church, his body, of which he is the Savior’ Ephesians 5:22-23. We know that Sister Bryant is a Christian woman and intends to abide by
this passage when she gets married. However, in order for this passage to manifest itself in its Holy intent, it is necessary that she marry
the man that God chooses. The Bible also speaks of forgiveness and we all know she has forgiven you or she wouldn’t even be
considering marriage. These sessions will hopefully bring a lot of pain and anger to the forefront, which is good. This will test you
emotionally, mentally and maybe even physically, but marriage isn’t something to play with. I want to make sure that you both know what
you’re getting yourselves into by the end.”
Cordel and I stayed in the first counseling session for a little under an hour. The pastor asked us a series of questions, where he jotted
down our answers. Before we left, he gave us both workbooks with assignments that he wanted us to get through before our next session.
There was a deafening silence in the car heading back to my place. There was so much I wanted to say. I wanted to ask Cordel if he
thought the session went good, but he didn’t say a word. When we pulled in front of my house he stopped on the street and said that he
needed sometime to think, and would be back later and I wasn’t surprised. Pastor Mannaway was kind of hard on Cordel in the session.
He kept asking Cordel why he thought I should give him a second chance, cutting him off several times and not accepting his answers as
legitimate. I could tell he was getting angry and for a moment I thought he was going to walkout of the session, but he stood his ground.
There was something in his eyes right now that I hadn’t ever seen before. It frightened me, because I didn’t want to lose him over this. I
just thought that we needed marriage counseling to help us move forward with our lives together. I was second guessing my decision now
as I was walking to my front door and heard the sound of my gold Denali skeet-skirt off my block like it was in a high speed chase. Cordel
didn’t even say goodbye, when he was going to come back or wait to see if I made it in the house alright. Things were just too complicated
between us and I guess adding this extra layer with the counseling sessions further complicated matters.
When I got back in the house I thought about calling Pastor Mannaway to get his thoughts about what just transpired. But I erased that
thought instantly. I had already shared enough, maybe too much because he treated Cordel like he was the devil reincarnated. I thought I
needed to talk to somebody, so I dialed JP’s (short for Jennifer Peale) number, my best girlfriend. I knew she was in London on tour, but I
was hoping I would catch her before she went to sleep; I knew it was close to midnight over there. When I called her phone it went straight
to voicemail and I was pissed. I decided to call my homeboy Dontae who lived out in Atlanta. He was the next best thing when I couldn’t
reach JP. When I dialed his number he picked up on the first ring. “Wassup Kenya how are things in Chocolate City?” He had excitement
in his voice and he sounded like he was in a good mood. I tired my best to match his mood but I couldn’t.
“It is-what-it-is Dontae. I am not as chipper as you are, but it is good to hear your voice,” I said trying to hold back tears. I didn’t know what it
was but just hearing a familiar voice made me feel sad, and alone. I only had Dontae and JP who were like family and they led such busy
lives, that I felt I didn’t have anywhere to turn but to my pastor for comfort and guidance. Which I thought was the best thing at first, but now I
didn’t know what was best.
“What’s going on Kenya, you caught me right when I was about to board my flight back to Atlanta. You know Omar and I spent the last week
in the Bahamas and we are laid over in Miami. So I gotta go, call you later.” He hung up, just like that.
Since I didn’t have anyone to talk to I was left to my very own thoughts, which I guess was a good thing. I decided to take a hot shower and
wrap my hair up. It was only four in the early evening on a Saturday. Ordinarily, when Cordel was in town we would be going out for a nice
night out on the town. I didn’t know when he was getting home so I put on my pajamas, and checked my messages on Facebook and
Gmail. I went on ahead and clicked on the email to open it up and I was shocked when I read its contents:
Sis Bryant,
I have a confession to make: ever since the day you walked into the doors of the church there was something really familiar about you. I
couldn’t put my finger on it until today as you were leaving my office. Please meet me tomorrow after church at the Beacon Hotel for brunch.
PM
“Something familiar about me?” I thought what could this possibly mean? Cordel didn’t leave until Monday so I didn’t know how I was
going to just up and go to brunch tomorrow, but we would see.
I’d lain down and must have fell in a deep sleep because I woke up at eleven at night to Cordel crawling in the bed. He smelled like he’d
been drinking and I could smell the stench of cigarette smoke, which meant he most likely had just came from a bar. Cordel had been
sober, or so he said for over two and half years, so the strong smell surprised the hell out of me. He brushed up against me naked and I
could feel his erect manhood on my back. The pastor knew we had fornicated in the past and said that we were grown, but he felt we
should refrain from having sex until we get married, to really allow the counseling and the Word to take effect in our lives. Cordel had gone
through so much so I decided to bypass the pastor’s recommendation and made love to my man. However, I couldn’t get into it fully. I didn’
t know if it was because I was thinking about Pastor Mannaway or that Cordel was stroking me so hard like he was trying to punish me for
putting him through that counseling turned interrogation session.
Demarco Ware
When I think back to the day I first came to the East Coast and the excitement when I finally landed in New York City, I smile. Damn that first
day I couldn’t believe I’d just made a thousand dollars in a half hour and all I had to do was take my clothes off and let this old white man
use my body like a blowup doll. I guess moving to New York was a good decision. I would normally have to spend more time, and do
much more to get only a hundred dollars from the tricks I used to mess with back in St. Louis. That day I thought that the apples weren’t the
only things that were bigger in the Big Apple. All I had to do was walk along the pier overlooking the Hudson River and act like I had nothing
to do. All the horny undersexed men gawked at me before the one who was tired of waiting for his Adonis to arrive on the stroll, came along
and made an offer I couldn’t refuse.
I knew since it was my first time on the “ho stroll” which was what everyone called this particular spot on the pier, I was going to be able to
make something happen since I was looking good. I had been working out ever since I planned on making the move to New York City. I
knew this was the place for opportunity and I would be competing with a lot of folks that moved here from their hometowns thinking they
were the shit just like me. I was told that I looked like Nelly, but a lot better. We had the same caramel brown skin tone, short faded wavy
black hair and I even had “golds” in my mouth, but only two—my two lateral incisors—which is where the dentist described the location, but
they are directly next to my top two front teeth.
I had one of my regular tricks pay five hundred dollars to convert my ordinary white teeth into fourteen carrot gold. I knew that Nelly sported
gold fronts on probably eight to ten of his top teeth, but I didn’t have Nelly’s dough so I settled with the top two lateral incisors and I must say
that when I’d first got them I just knew I was the shit.
Growing up most people always told me I was handsome or I would be a lady killer one day. That sort of gave me confidence about my
physical appearance. At a young age men and women would give me gifts for just smiling at them or spending time with them. It really
didn’t turn sexual until I was about thirteen and landed in foster care because my mother didn’t have the money to take care of me. So, she
gave me over to the state. She said she was coming back to get me once she got back on her feet. I remember crying all night long waiting
for my mom to decide that she didn’t want to give me up, but she never came back that night or ever. I didn’t know if she’d ever gotten back
on her feet.
My foster mother’s brother, who used to watch us some nights when our foster mother played bingo, would give me five dollar bills to play
with my private. At first I was scared but after the second time he was sucking it so hard that I came for the first time in my life, in his mouth
and I started to enjoy the sensation. From then on, I couldn’t wait until Uncle Peanut came over to the apartment to watch us.
One night, though, my foster mother came home early because there was a black out in the bingo hall, caused by bad weather and caught
Uncle Peanut giving me head right there on her living room floor. She kicked us both out of her house. I was around fourteen when this
happened, and I moved with Uncle Peanut for about a month before I got kicked out of there after one of his friends busted into the
bathroom when I was taking a shower and tried to penetrate me in my ass. I ended up beating the shit out of this guy. Uncle Peanut had to
call the ambulance because the pervert busted his head on the bath tub and blood was gushing out of his head. Uncle Peanut was afraid
that he was going to go to jail for having a minor in his home. That night he gave me all the money he had on him which was around fifty
dollars and told me that I needed to find another place to live. He promised after things settled down he would look for me and I could come
back. Unfortunately, I never saw Uncle Peanut again and ended up in a group home for boys my age after staying on the street, homeless
for a week, until being picked up by the cops.
The group home was the worst; many of the guys that stayed there had real serious issues from drug abuse, violence, and stealing. Many
of them were like me their parents were unable to or didn’t want to take care of them. Many of them, including myself, had emotional
issues that affected the way that they lived their lives. I was the poster child for being an emotionally damaged teen living in that house.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but for some reason I couldn’t get close to anyone anymore. Everyone that I came in contact with
scared me. Not in the sense that I thought they were going to do any physical harm to me; but rather the feeling that nobody really had my
best interest at hand. I thought that everyone wanted to use me or try and take advantage of me.
My high school counselor diagnosed me as a paranoid schizophrenic that basically meant that I was delusional and believed things that
most people didn’t. I also thought that people were out to get me. She prescribed medication for me but after taking it for a month I wasn’t
able to handle the side effects. My mouth was constantly dry and I was always tired, so I never took the meds again. I hated to think that
something was wrong with me psychologically but given all that I had gone through I was sure I had some post traumatic distress
damages—whatever the hell that was.
ON MY FIRST DAY IN NEW YORK CITY I had a grand in my pocket and the hotel room that the trick rented until check out the next day. I’d
copped a bag of weed, a 2-11 and XTC and called my dude Black to the hotel to kick it with me. Black was my homeboy that I’d met back in
St. Louis who was a native New Yorker. He was the one who told me I should move to New York. He seemed to be the coolest and realest
person that I had met in a while. I had met him on the gay phone chat line. He was bisexual like me and still messed with girls. The
reason he’d come back to New York was because he had two kids by this girl that lived in Brooklyn and he wanted to be closer to them.
When I first met him I was attracted to Black because he was masculine and really chocolate, just like I liked them. He also had that New
York City “B-boy” swagger that I was drawn to immediately. Black was about an inch shorter than me, five-nine, he had short wavy hair that
he always kept in a du-rag with a fitted hat on top. I was sure many people didn’t even know what he looked like with his hat off because he
always sported the same look. He had a thin pointed nose; thin lips and small ears which made him look a lot younger than what he was.
In my opinion the most attractive thing about Black was his skin tone. His skin was the perfect shade of dark brown, with no blemishes or
scars. His skin color and texture resembled the chocolate on a Hershey’s bar before they carved in the name.
When we first met I thought that I would just fuck the shit out of him like I do most dudes that I was attracted to. But unfortunately, he too was
a top, which meant he wasn’t taking it in the ass, so we didn’t sleep with each other. And I sure as hell wasn’t giving up my ass. Therefore,
we started hooking up with girls and guys together and having orgies and running trains—both of us screwing the same person at the
same time. These experiences were so hot and I kind of wished afterwards that he would give up the ass but it never happened. I think,
though, if either one of us did decide to bottom for the other it would change the dynamic of our friendship which I enjoyed so much. I knew
it wasn’t worth it and he was probably thinking the same thing. He was like a brother to me anyway, even though he was a struggling black
man just like I was. I looked up to him because he seemed to be a lot more emotionally stable than me. He had no problems keeping a job
or a relationship. He hustled sometimes, but not very often. Black could usually keep a relationship whether it was with a girl or guy and that
person would usually take care of him and provide him a place to stay so he didn’t really need to be out on the stroll every day like me.
For some reason I felt like I could do the same thing, but I was so twisted in the head. I didn’t know how to sustain a relationship or
maintain someone constant in my life. Black had been the only friend that I had been able to keep around for sometime. I guess it was
because he genuinely cared about me and for some reason I hadn’t done anything to drive him away like I had done everyone else in my
life.
Black was staying over at this older dudes crib in Harlem that he called his uncle. I knew this wasn’t his real damn uncle and I’m sure they
had something sexual in the past. Before I arrived in New York, Black asked, ‘ole dude, if I could hang around until I got on my feet. ‘Ole
dude said it was fine. I didn’t really feel comfortable being over there but I used it as a place to rest my head until something else popped
off for me.
When I had been on the train earlier that day heading over to the ho stroll on my first day in New York, I had met this broad that was all up in
my face. She was talking about how fine I was and gave me her number. I told her that I had just moved here and I didn’t really have a
place to stay, and just like that, she offered to let me come and stay with her. I knew all she wanted was a boy-toy, and that she figured that
she’d just found herself a young-dumb-country-bumpkin, but since she had a fat ass and she was on her way to work I knew she had
some money. I took her number and knew I was going to call her. I wouldn’t be calling her on the first night since I still had the hotel room,
but I knew I would see what she was talking about soon and made a note to self.
I waited in the room and watched some television alone until Black brought his ass down to the room. I didn’t have any idea what we would
be getting into that night since I wasn’t that familiar with New York City. I did know that Black always knew of something to get into or we
always seemed to find something to get into together. It took him two hours to get to the hotel room and by that time I had fallen asleep
watching Ricky Lake on the tube. I woke up hearing someone beating on the door of the room. I figured it was Black’s ass because nobody
in their right mind would be knocking that damn hard.
“What up my nigga? I see it ain’t taking you any time to get it cracking in the N-Y-C. Your first night you got a room, and some dough.” Black
said this as he walked in the room giving me some dap.
“Well you know how I do! I am working these clowns for their paper. They see the kid and just start throwing money at him.” I said
bragging. My first time, however, was a good day, but sometimes I had to work too hard for this money. Then there were the times when I
got setup. The trick would be talking about how much dough they had, and how it was nothing to drop me something nice so that I would
be straight for a while. They would have me all excited but after we finished with the session there was a lame ass excuse like “I left my
wallet at home” or “damn all I have is twenty dollars on me and I left my ATM at the crib.” It took all the will power in me to not beat the fuck
out of these broke ass motherfuckers, but running into law enforcement was something I tried to stay clear from. I knew what I was doing
wasn’t necessarily legal anyway. I just bounced and made sure to never give my services out to them again unless I had the paper in my
hand up front.
Black and I chilled in the hotel room, smoking and drinking. I was watching television just relaxing, while he was on the telephone chat line
trying to hook up an orgy or get a few folks to come to the room. There was no telling with Black if it would be men or women that would be
coming to the room. Women weren’t as eager as the men were to let us both have sex with them at the same time, although, we did run
across a few women that didn’t mind us slutting them out. The men however were the freakiest ones, they had no problems or
reservations about letting two thugs bang their backs out like we were two dogs in heat.
It was crazy how so many professional men or men period loved to get their asses waxed by two overly masculine thugs that didn’t give a
shit about them. They would allow us to do the most degrading things to them. I mean things that I couldn’t imagine permitting someone to
do to me. Some wanted us to pee on them, whip them and invoke pain on their bodies. I have actually had a trick who wanted me to
mutilate his chest with a razor blade. This was where I drew the line. I didn’t want anyone’s blood anywhere near me. I told that sick
motherfucker to put his clothes on and I bounced. I guess everyone had their sexual fantasies, mine was just to be able to make love to
someone and get up the next morning and have them lay beside me; look me in my eyes and tell me that they cared about me and was
never going to leave my side.
I didn’t dare tell Black or anyone that this was how I really felt. I masked my true feelings by always having an attitude and not letting anyone
get too close to me. Folks that knew me would always ask me why I was so mean to them, or why I had that “I don’t give a fuck attitude.” I
came across this way because I thought this was what they wanted. It was such a fad right now for both women and gay men to be
attracted to the bad guy…the thug. I was just giving them what they wanted, and I didn’t have any problems playing this role. Being an
asshole was very natural to me, it was nothing for me to make someone want to cry or beat the shit out of me because I said something
disrespectful to them, like “shut the fuck up” or “move your punk ass out the way.” I also sometimes borrowed things from tricks houses
without them knowing. They called it stealing but hey, I was a brother in need so it was borrowing to me. The funny thing about the whole
borrowing thing was; that it was nothing for them to invite me back over to their cribs again. Of course, repeat invites came after they had
gotten over whatever they were going through because of the loss and were ready for some more of what I was serving up. Since they
allowed me to come back so easily I could have cared less and never felt guilty about the borrowing. Shit they must not have needed it that
bad if I could come back all willy-nilly. Some of them didn’t even bring up the fact that I took anything. I liked them the most, because they
usually paid more money, and were constantly calling me back.
Black had finally found two dudes that said they would come over to the hotel and check us out. He always had something jumping off, I
didn’t care I didn’t have shit else to do with myself. I knew I needed to get a job, find my own place and try to get back in school, but I didn’t
know were to begin. I just decided, once again, to do whatever until something came along to motivate me.
The two dudes that came over were no more than twenty-years old. They were dressed fresh, sporting the latest Jordans with their fitted
hats rep’ing New York City. They looked pretty good too with their ghetto gold chains accessorizing.
I started talking to the dark skin one because dark skin dudes just turned me the fuck on. He had a whole lot of swagger, plus he was the
one with the weed and blunts so I thought lil man must have had a little bit of dough. He was checking me out as he walked through the
door. I knew he was feeling me by all the grinning he was doing. Black had already taken his little light skin friend in the bathroom and Lord
knows what they were already doing.
“So what’s good B, your boy said you just moved here from St. Louis. What were you trying to do; my name is Taj, what they call you?” He
said.
“Yo they call me Knock,” I replied” “I am trying to get this big ‘ole fat dick sucked and then I am trying to bend your little ass over and fuck the
shit out you, while your man and my boy watch. You down for that freaky ass shit? That is what you came to the hotel for, to get some dick,
right?”
“Oh hell yeah Son, you ain’t said nuffin,” Taj said looking down at me grabbing on my meat through my jeans. I decided I would take it out
so he could see what I was working with. When I pulled out my joint it wasn’t all the way hard but my lil man never disappoints even when it
was soft the thickness of it had folks doing a double take like “damn man that’s all you?” And just like I had expected Taj was like, “Damn,
Pa, let me see that joint all the way, it ain’t even hard yet Son.” He went grabbing for it like he was in control and I stood up, and looked at
him like “what the fuck!”
“Hold on slim, don’t get too excited you going to be coughing on this joint soon enough. What’s up with them blunts? When are you going
to roll up that shit so we can blaze?” I had this nigga right where I wanted him, it always amazed me how people were so predictable. It
was like if you had one you had them all.
“My bad, yeah let me twist one so we can get this party started. I almost couldn’t control myself after seeing what you’re working with. I’m
normally not into dicks like that but since you got a nice one, you can do whatever you want to me.” I didn’t know why niggas always talking
about they not into dicks and shit—like that was supposed to impress me or something. If you like dick, you like dick, why all the fronting? I
didn’t even respond. While I was waiting for him to finish rolling the blunt, I walked to the bathroom to see what Black was doing with ‘ole
boy.
When I walked around the bed to the bathroom, the door was slightly cracked and I saw Black standing up with a drink in his hand with his
shorts off and his dick being slurped up and down by the light skin dude. Black’s plumb chocolate muscular bootie was looking real good
as the muscles flexed back and forth while he was enjoying getting some head. It took all the strength in the world to not walk behind him
and stick my tongue in his ass. Just the thought of being up inside Black made my joint jump from being semi-erect to rock hard. Instead I
opened up the door all the way, dropped my pants and underwear and joined in on the head action that my boy was receiving. This was my
first time on the East Coast and it started off with a bang.
CHAPTER 2
Kenya
This was the second time Cordel proposed to me. The first time I was more excited than I was now. When Cordel first proposed I thought I’
d died and gone to heaven; lucky to have and met the perfect man. Cordel was fine, rich, confident, successful and a very great and intense
lover. Cordel stood 6’4 and weighed around 225 pounds of solid muscle. He had vanilla wafer skin tone and wavy black hair. He looked
like he was Egyptian or mixed with Latin or something, but he was all “brotha.” He was always the only one to give my body the sexual
healing that it deserved. When I first made love to him my body trembled in ecstasy, my heart melted and I was lost in his spell forever. Or
so I thought. This proposal was different though: It’s wasn’t met with the same anticipation and excitement as before. Cordel was not the
perfect man, and I’ve learned that there’s really no such thing. As much as I had enjoyed the couple of years of learning to forgive him and
getting to know his Christian side, I was still very apprehensive about taking that final step toward marriage.
At first when Cordel first proposed to me I thought I needed a man to take care of me, and since he was a NFL player he had the means to
do so. Now, after three years of hard work, I was very independent and self sufficient when it came to financial stability. I had made some
good investments in real estate; my company experienced significant growth, with four offices around the country showing a profit every
year. What I needed was a companion, a man to come home to at night, take vacations with and start a family. Although Cordel, was
offering me all this I still wasn’t sure if I could really trust him with my life again. I hated to admit it but he really hurt me and as much as I
tried to get over what had happened, I honestly didn’t know how.
I hadn’t been quick to accept the second engagement proposal. I felt that it was too early, but Cordel was adamant that he had changed his
life for the better. I had accepted the engagement but under one condition: I told him that we needed to have a long engagement and
during this time we had to go to marriage counseling at my home church. I had been praying and talking to my pastor about everything that
had happened between us. My pastor suggested that he meet Cordel and that we’d go through his counseling sessions before we get
married. While Cordel was in town during his off season I decided to tell him about the counseling before we went to bed. I didn’t see a
problem with this but when I’d talked to Cordel about it he looked kind of shocked and apprehensive.
“Babe you really think we need to go through a year long engagement with monthly marriage counseling sessions with your pastor? We
have been seeing each other again for over two years and I thought I showed you how committed I am to us and this relationship.” As he
was talking I could see the apprehension in his face and I could hear it in his voice. But there was no way I would consider marrying him
without going through these sessions.
“Yeah and I have enjoyed every minute, but I only want to get married once in my life and I need to make sure this is something God has
blessed. I know marriage counseling can be a little weird, and with all the rehabilitation and counseling that you have gone through with
your drug addiction issues this can seem a little overwhelming, but I think this would really benefit the both of us.”
“Come on babe don’t you trust me? I would never hurt you again!” As much as I wanted to believe him, emotionally I wasn’t sure I could
deal with a relapse from him. In a way I was buying time, because I didn’t want to outright say no and I still needed time to figure everything
out.
I stayed firm, “We have to do this babe, we have to, and that is the only way I am going to be comfortable with moving forward with marring
you.”
“Geeze, babe, but if you really think we need this then just let me know and I will be there holding your hand. You will see at the end of the
sessions that we are good and we really didn’t need all of this. I got you, for life.” He kissed me gently on my cheek and turned the light off
and went to sleep. I stayed awake tossing and turning all night unsure if I had made the right decision to get back with this man.
WHEN WE ARRIVED TO OUR FIRST counseling session I could tell that Cordel was nervous. Cordel’s palms were sweaty as we walked
slow and steady up the church steps. I squeezed his hand right before he released my hand to open the door of the church, to reassure
him that everything was going to be fine, and I was right here with him. Pastor Mannaway mentioned that the first two sessions would be
one-on-one sessions with the three of us in his private office. This was to allow us to feel comfortable sharing our feelings and relationship
issues as a couple with someone else. However, the remainder of the sessions would be group sessions with other couples that were
also planning to get married soon.
I went to a small Baptist church because I liked the personal touch that you get at a smaller church compared to a mega church. Mt. Olivet
only had about three hundred members, who attended church faithfully. Pastor Mannaway was a young minister. He was only about forty
years old, but he and his wife had been married for twenty-two years. While attending his church on a regular basis I had learned that,
Sister Mannaway and the pastor had been high school sweet hearts and had gotten married right after high school. I thought this was so
sweet, that they were so young and had been together for so many years. Marriage can be long-lasting after all.
Pastor Mannaway was a fine brother too; he stood about five foot eleven, perfect caramel colored brown skin complexion. He wore his hair
in a short Afro and had some of the thickest grade of hair I had ever seen. The way it looked, all oil-sheened up, made you want to pat it.
His little Afro looked like a ball of cotton, dyed black. He sported long side burns that connected to a light shadowed beard connecting to a
mustache and goatee. He was a very distinguished looking man and he drew a young following. I would say most of his members were
between the ages of eighteen and fifty. Pastor Mannaway had a way that when he looked at you it made you feel welcome and
comfortable—almost like family and that feeling that I’d known him my whole life. I could sit and talk to this man for hours about any issue
that I was going through and I would leave feeling spiritually “fed” and grounded.
I was a member of the usher board and many of the young ladies that ushered with me, confessed having huge crushes on Pastor
Mannaway. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that I too had a crush on the pastor. But I could see why these young ladies always commented
on how fine he was, and made mention of every move he made.
When Cordel and I were guided into the pastor’s office by his secretary I saw all the various paintings and pictures that I had admired so
much, and enjoyed seeing before in his office. There were two pieces that I just adored; the first one was of a choir singing, the men and
the women were drawn with the same face, but the men had short hair and the women had long hair. The thing that was so great about
this painting was the choice of colors. The choir members seemed to just pop out of the painting.
The other painting was of black children lined up in front of a church waiting for the doors of the church to open and their was an usher
standing out front positioned like he was about to open the door. The detailing of this painting was so real and I wanted to take both of
these painting home with me. I also noticed a new picture on his desk of him and the first Black President Barak Obama.
“Brother Phillips it is nice meeting you. I became a huge fan of yours when you played for the Falcons. I am not a Miami fan, but it is really
nice meeting you.” The pastor chuckled and gave Cordel a hand shake. “Sister Bryant it is always a pleasure to see you, and I am still so
glad that you have chosen little ‘ole Mt. Olivet to be your church home.” The Pastor gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek. “Have a
seat next to each other on the sofa next to the book shelf right here. Let me get my notebook so I can take some notes before we begin.”
Pastor Mannaway had a way of looking at me—making me feel as if he was looking through me. I could have sworn the last time I saw him
he was staring at my breast, but I dismissed that because I wasn’t all that blessed in that area. I chalked it up to, I was tripping. His wife
wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the church but her body was a sight to see. If you looked in her eyes, saw her face and thought to
yourself—what any man could see in her—all you had to do was look down and around. Sister Mannaway had that brick house body that I’
m sure made some men want to salivate at the sight of it.
The pastor and his wife had five children. I knew he was very well taking care of in the bedroom. However, I couldn’t help feel his eyes on
me every time I entered his presence. He definitely was fine and under different circumstances I would try and see if he was flirting with me.
That, however, would be the ultimate no-no, committing adultery with my pastor. I needed to pray a little harder and longer tonight, because
I was thinking about this too much.
“I am glad that you young people have decided to participate in marriage counseling as a couple. I believe it is so important to take time out
and seek God first and learn to apply biblical scriptures that deal with marriage, to be sure that you’re taking the appropriate step.” Pastor
Mannaway begun. “Having been Sister Bryant’s Pastor for sometime now, she has you at a little bit of a disadvantage, Brother Phillips.
What I mean is that she has spoken to me about her trust issues regarding the past during her time in Atlanta.” I was kind of shocked that
he went straight for the gusto. Plus he was getting excited like he was in the pulpit, with an agitated tone and being very accusatory towards
Cordel. I was taken aback myself at the pastor’s tone, which was very loud and confrontational.
Cordel squeezed my hand hard and looked in my direction. He squeezed my hand so hard I had to squeeze his hand back to let him know
he was hurting me. I knew in his mind he was envisioning that it was the pastor’s throat he was squeezing. His temper was always quick
and the “hand squeeze” was what he learned in anger management to avoid physical altercations. He was supposed to divert the
adrenaline rush somewhere else, and by squeezing the hand of a loved one was supposed to relieve the stress/tension that he’d
undergone. Yeah, I could see my pastor’s tone really pushed Cordel’s buttons. There was sadness and regret in Cordel’s face for about a
mili-second, he glanced at me and then looked back at the pastor, he had finally gained his composure back and he loosened my hand a
little bit. We continued to listen intently.
“The Bible says, ‘Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord…For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the
church, his body, of which he is the Savior’ Ephesians 5:22-23. We know that Sister Bryant is a Christian woman and intends to abide by
this passage when she gets married. However, in order for this passage to manifest itself in its Holy intent, it is necessary that she marry
the man that God chooses. The Bible also speaks of forgiveness and we all know she has forgiven you or she wouldn’t even be
considering marriage. These sessions will hopefully bring a lot of pain and anger to the forefront, which is good. This will test you
emotionally, mentally and maybe even physically, but marriage isn’t something to play with. I want to make sure that you both know what
you’re getting yourselves into by the end.”
Cordel and I stayed in the first counseling session for a little under an hour. The pastor asked us a series of questions, where he jotted
down our answers. Before we left, he gave us both workbooks with assignments that he wanted us to get through before our next session.
There was a deafening silence in the car heading back to my place. There was so much I wanted to say. I wanted to ask Cordel if he
thought the session went good, but he didn’t say a word. When we pulled in front of my house he stopped on the street and said that he
needed sometime to think, and would be back later and I wasn’t surprised. Pastor Mannaway was kind of hard on Cordel in the session.
He kept asking Cordel why he thought I should give him a second chance, cutting him off several times and not accepting his answers as
legitimate. I could tell he was getting angry and for a moment I thought he was going to walkout of the session, but he stood his ground.
There was something in his eyes right now that I hadn’t ever seen before. It frightened me, because I didn’t want to lose him over this. I
just thought that we needed marriage counseling to help us move forward with our lives together. I was second guessing my decision now
as I was walking to my front door and heard the sound of my gold Denali skeet-skirt off my block like it was in a high speed chase. Cordel
didn’t even say goodbye, when he was going to come back or wait to see if I made it in the house alright. Things were just too complicated
between us and I guess adding this extra layer with the counseling sessions further complicated matters.
When I got back in the house I thought about calling Pastor Mannaway to get his thoughts about what just transpired. But I erased that
thought instantly. I had already shared enough, maybe too much because he treated Cordel like he was the devil reincarnated. I thought I
needed to talk to somebody, so I dialed JP’s (short for Jennifer Peale) number, my best girlfriend. I knew she was in London on tour, but I
was hoping I would catch her before she went to sleep; I knew it was close to midnight over there. When I called her phone it went straight
to voicemail and I was pissed. I decided to call my homeboy Dontae who lived out in Atlanta. He was the next best thing when I couldn’t
reach JP. When I dialed his number he picked up on the first ring. “Wassup Kenya how are things in Chocolate City?” He had excitement
in his voice and he sounded like he was in a good mood. I tired my best to match his mood but I couldn’t.
“It is-what-it-is Dontae. I am not as chipper as you are, but it is good to hear your voice,” I said trying to hold back tears. I didn’t know what it
was but just hearing a familiar voice made me feel sad, and alone. I only had Dontae and JP who were like family and they led such busy
lives, that I felt I didn’t have anywhere to turn but to my pastor for comfort and guidance. Which I thought was the best thing at first, but now I
didn’t know what was best.
“What’s going on Kenya, you caught me right when I was about to board my flight back to Atlanta. You know Omar and I spent the last week
in the Bahamas and we are laid over in Miami. So I gotta go, call you later.” He hung up, just like that.
Since I didn’t have anyone to talk to I was left to my very own thoughts, which I guess was a good thing. I decided to take a hot shower and
wrap my hair up. It was only four in the early evening on a Saturday. Ordinarily, when Cordel was in town we would be going out for a nice
night out on the town. I didn’t know when he was getting home so I put on my pajamas, and checked my messages on Facebook and
Gmail. I went on ahead and clicked on the email to open it up and I was shocked when I read its contents:
Sis Bryant,
I have a confession to make: ever since the day you walked into the doors of the church there was something really familiar about you. I
couldn’t put my finger on it until today as you were leaving my office. Please meet me tomorrow after church at the Beacon Hotel for brunch.
PM
“Something familiar about me?” I thought what could this possibly mean? Cordel didn’t leave until Monday so I didn’t know how I was
going to just up and go to brunch tomorrow, but we would see.
I’d lain down and must have fell in a deep sleep because I woke up at eleven at night to Cordel crawling in the bed. He smelled like he’d
been drinking and I could smell the stench of cigarette smoke, which meant he most likely had just came from a bar. Cordel had been
sober, or so he said for over two and half years, so the strong smell surprised the hell out of me. He brushed up against me naked and I
could feel his erect manhood on my back. The pastor knew we had fornicated in the past and said that we were grown, but he felt we
should refrain from having sex until we get married, to really allow the counseling and the Word to take effect in our lives. Cordel had gone
through so much so I decided to bypass the pastor’s recommendation and made love to my man. However, I couldn’t get into it fully. I didn’
t know if it was because I was thinking about Pastor Mannaway or that Cordel was stroking me so hard like he was trying to punish me for
putting him through that counseling turned interrogation session.
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| COPYRIGHT @ 2009 Marcel Emerson Marcel Emerson author of My Eyes Are Green/You Had Me At Hello Maintained by DaTruth Publications |
