T he money I earned at the S&M party increased my savings to seventy-five hundred—money I should have put toward paying down my debt, but in desperate need of transportation, I went to the auction and bought a Jeep Grand Cherokee. And I spent even more money getting the truck detailed. I got it waxed to a high-shine that made it look brand-new.
Down to my last two hundred dollars, I went to work realizing that I needed all the tips I could get in order to pay my weekly rent at the hotel. I hustled hard all night at The Dive. Hustled so hard, my face hurt from smiling and laughing, and busting it up with the customers. Toward the end of the night, a glance at my tip jar, which was practically overflowing, told me that all the extra effort had paid off.
After work, when I left the bar and walked over to my shiny truck, I felt good...felt like the money had been well-spent. Then, fifteen minutes into my drive to the hotel, the joy of having reliable transportation disappeared as I was hit with an onslaught of bad memories. First, I
2^2 Allison Hobbs
thought about my man, Curt, who was holding on to life in a nursing home. Guilt hit me hard.
Survivor’s guilt. It could have easily been me laying up in that nursing home. Curt had gotten sprayed with bullets because he’d been going faster than me and our enemies set eyes on him first.
Morose thoughts shifted from Curt to the S&M party. Since that night. I’d been haunted by the image of that poor girl getting whacked repeatedly by the sadist. Though both Sharif and the butler had told me that the party guests were living out their fantasies, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right with the scenario I had witnessed. The girl had been crying and pleading for mercy. I don’t know much about masochists, but from my understanding, they relished pain. If that girl was enjoying the beat down, wouldn’t she have had a crazed smile plastered on her face instead of tears? Since I had no intention of bartending another S&M event, I supposed I’d never find out.
The next morning, I got up early and drove to the nursing home. I showed my identification and signed in on the visitor’s sheet. Seven years was a long time and no one seemed to remember that I’d been banned from visiting Curtis Brown. As I exited the elevator, that sickening nursing home odor started getting to me, reminding
me of what a dead-end place Curt was in. This nursing home was the final stop, and I felt a strong urge to turn around and run for my life, but I pushed onward.
I made slow reluctant steps toward his room, and it dawned on me that being banned fi'om the nursing home had been a handy excuse. I could have gone to legal aid for assistance, but I’d readily accepted being banned. Seeing my boy in that messed up condition had been hard on me. Unbearable. Getting banned had spared me from having to witness him slowly deteriorate.
I paused outside his room. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself for how badly he might have decUned over the years. I stepped inside the room and covered my mouth in shock. Curt had dwindled down to skin and bones. My twenty-six-year-old friend had taken on the appearance of a wizened old man. Merely a shell of his former self; he looked barely alive.
Fun-loving and free-spirited. Curt didn’t deserve to go out this way. I uncovered my mouth and ran a shaky hand over my face. It was heart-wrenching to see my boy balled up in a fetal position, with tubes running everywhere. “Hey, Curt, it’s me. Jaguar,” I greeted as I pulled a chair up to his bedside.
I looked around his quiet, dreary room. There was no TV, no radio. The curtains were drawn tight, making it look like early evening instead of a bright, sunny morning. It was the middle of Jirne, yet childish Easter decorations still covered one of the walls in room. Clearly, whoever
had hung those decorations had forgotten to take them down.
Sighing, I leaned toward my friend. “How you been, man?” It was a stupid question, and I was reUeved that he couldn’t answer. In a fake, cheerful voice, I carried on a one-sided conversation, reminiscing about the good old days, reminding him of the fun times we’d shared together. ReaHzing that most of our “fun” times had been spent doing something illegal or immoral, I changed the subject and told him what I’d done with my Hfe since leaving Philly. “I’m an educated Negro. Can you beUeve that? Anyway, man, now that I’m back. I’ll be visiting regularly.”
He looked straight ahead, giving no indication that he was even aware of my presence.
The nurse came in to give him care and that was my cue to exit. I’d done my duty. Sitting in that dismal room with Curt wasn’t enjoyable. In fact, it felt like some sort of punishment.
“I’ll see you next week, man,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze. “Stay strong,” I added, not knowing what else to say to an incommunicative person.
“It was real nice of you to come see him. He never has visitors,” the nurse said. “I can tell he appreciated the time you spent with him.”
I peeked at Curt to see what the nurse saw, but I didn’t see any changes in his expression. Bewildered, I gazed at the nurse.
“Oh, Curtis and I have a special way of communicating. It may appear-that he doesn’t know what’s going on around him but he does.”
Seven years ago, I’d felt the same way as the nurse did. But not now. It was hard to believe that my friend was inside that withered body.
“Doesn’t his mom visit?” I asked the nurse.
“I’ve never met her. I heard that she stopped coming to visit years ago; she said seeing him in this condition made her blood pressure rise.”
I shook my head. His own mother had bailed on him. “I’ll be back next week,” I assured the nurse. I moved toward the door and stopped. “By the way, why are those Easter decorations still up?” It bothered me that no one had bothered to put up current decorations in his gloomy room.
“Most residents have family members that decorate and brighten up their environment, but when the family isn’t involved, the recreational therapy department does the decorating.” The nurse nodded toward the large, colorful Easter egg that was surrounded by pictures of baby chicks. “I guess rec therapy will get around to removing those decorations when they put up Eourth of July adornments.”
A rush of guilt flooded my system. My boy had been deserted by the whole world, including me. I had to do better. The least I could do was make his environment a little more cheerful.
“If you tell his social worker that you’re a relative, you can request that he gets a TV and a radio for his room. There’s a fee, but it’s affordable. To be honest, I think part of the reason he’s been declining is that he’s sensory deprived.”
Damn with all he’d lost, it was fucked up that he was being sensory-deprived. “What’s the social worker’s name?”
“Ms. Beckwith.”
“Okay, I’ll give her a call.”
On my way to the elevator, I peered in the patients’ rooms as I passed by. There were cheerful wreaths on the doors, flowers and plants on dressers. Curtains pulled back to admit sunshine. Signs that the other patients were loved and cared for.
After I left the nursing home, I sat in my truck for a moment as my eyes swam with helpless tears. I had to do better by Curt. He’d been my best friend and he should have been able to count on me. With the back of my hand, I wiped my eyes and started the engine.
(To\wm
I slipped up—had a sexual relapse.
I had planned to check out a new action flick that was playing on Delaware Avenue, but after visiting Curt, I was too depressed to do anything. In a somber mood, I went back to my hotel, deciding to lie around and contemplate the meaning of life before starting my shift at six.
As I approached my room, I noticed that the door was open. Rayna was inside, cleaning. “How long are you going to be?” I asked as politely as I could. I didn’t want to say anything that was liable to set her off. She’d finally stopped sucking her teeth and rolling her eyes whenever she saw me, and I didn’t want her to revert back to that behavior.
“I’m almost finished,” she said. Surprisingly, Rayna had a pleasant tone in her voice, which I appreciated. I was too emotionally fragile after my visit with Curt to deal with her sulking and murmuring under her breath.
“What’s wrong, papi? You seem a Httle down. Like you lost your best friend in the world.”
I gave a wry laugh. “I did lose a friend.”
“Wanna talk about it?” Rayna asked, closing the door.
I shook my head. The pain was too raw. Shedding a few tears alone in my car had been bad enough, but to spill my guts and expose my sensitive side in front of Rayna was out of the question.
“Do you mind if I have a drink?” Rayna pointed to the bottle of scotch on my nightstand. Hard liquor helped calm my nerves after work whenever I was too wired to sleep.
“Help yourself,” I said.
“I hate drinking alone; why don’t you have one with me.”
I nodded and she poured liquor into two tumblers, and handed me one.
Rayna sipped slowly, but I downed my mine in a few seconds, welcoming the burn as the alcohol traveled down my throat.
She lifted the bottle. “More?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Is your friend a female...did you two get into an argument?” Rayna pressed.
“No, my best friend was a dude I grew up with. He’s in a bad state. Totally paralyzed and brain dead from a shooting incident.”
“That’s too bad,” she said, taking a seat next to me on the bed and patting my thigh comfortingly.
Like they say, one thing led to another, and before I knew it, Rayna offered her lips and my lips opened over hers. Welcoming the intimate contact, which was long overdue, my hands shook with urgency as I unbuttoned the front of her uniform, running my hands over the soft skin of her shoulders and liberating her breasts from her bra.
Hungered lips sought her bare breasts. The feel of a firm nipple inside my mouth was pacifying. The longer I sucked, the harder my dick got. My body ached for a woman; I’d denied myself for too long. In that moment of heat, I convinced myself that being ceHbate was torturous and served no purpose whatsoever. The moist sex between Rayna’s legs was the only thing that could heal me. Yes, a sexual healing was exactly what I needed.
Rayna fondled my erection. “Missed you,” she mur-
mured hoarsely, and my dick responded with visible quivers and jerks.
She came out of her uniform swifdy, and I untied my sneakers and yanked off my pants. As I pulled my shirt over my head, she stretched out on the bed and spread her ample thighs for me. Rayna was so far gone with need, she began fingering herself as she waited for me to join her.
I inhaled sharply as I watched her play in her pussy, and then suck the moisture from her finger. Wanting a taste of her flavor, I pulled her to the side of the bed and knelt before her, spreading her legs further apart.
At the first flick of my tongue against her pussy lips, she gasped in appreciation. “You got a fat pussy,” I murmured lustfully as I spread her petals apart with my fingers. I lapped between those satiny lips in slow strokes that made her squeeze her eyes tight and shake her head back and forth as if the pleasure was unbearable. With my tongue embedded inside her pussy, I began thrusting it deeper, causing her hips to rise off the bed and her thighs to tremble.
“Good pussy, baby. So sweet!” I murmured between laps.
“Jag. Oh, my God, you’re driving me crazy. I’ve been waiting so long for you to give me some more dick; I’m ready for you to fuck me,” she cried in desperation as she pulled me on top of her.
Entering her slowly, I fed her dick in increments until
her pussy was filled so exquisitely, she threw her legs around me, tightly, locking my body against hers until we were sealed together, skin against skin.
“Deeper,” Rayna whimpered as she thrashed, nearly delirious from desire. Each thrust seemed to send her deeper into the depths of sexual madness.
Steady and slow, I set the pace, forcing Rayna to slow down. I enjoyed watching as my dick eased in and out of her pussy. The sight heightened my arousal, prompting me to increase the speed of my stroke.
Rayna cried out, thrusting as she tightened her legs around my back. Spasms wracked her and she writhed and bucked beneath me. She clenched the sheets as she came. Moving in tandem with her, I groaned as I gave into the sensations that had been bottled up inside me.