SHARIECE
I had officially slammed the door in Love’s face after that mess with Myrick. I’d admitted that I used to be hardheaded when it came to men. Most of them were “hit it and quit its,” and after I got what I wanted out of them, they got kicked to the curve, their names never remembered. I didn’t see anything wrong with getting my freak nasty on every now and then. Men do that shit and they’re kings, but if a woman does it, she’s a slut. Fuck that double standard. Men think if they treat you to lobster and cheese biscuits, then they’re entitled to some pussy, but I was quick to set a brother straight. After a while, the one-night stands get old. Most of the men I met were from pickup bars and grown folk nights at a number of clubs around town.
I’d met Myrick at this club called Top Flight on the South Side of town. That night, I was being hit on by just about every loser in the club. After three Vodka Cranberries, and the fact that none of the men in the club lived up to my standards, I had decided to call it a night. It was pouring rain. It had been raining for three days straight. It’d reminded me how much I hated Florida and how Tallahassee only worked on two cylinders: hot and wet. Either it was raining all the time or it was hot as hell. I was wearing this new dress I’d bought from Macy’s, one of my splurge purchases when I had a little disposable spending change, and black platform heels courtesy of Belladonna. After a night of watered-down drinks and tacky pickup lines, I had wanted to get out of the shoes that were putting a killing on my feet, and soak them in a warm bubble bath. I had gotten tired of waiting for the rain to slack up, so I’d decided to make a run to my car. As I’d pulled my weave behind my back, this beautiful, dark-skinned brother had held his umbrella over me. “Need a lift?” He’d had a nice smile with pretty white teeth and luscious lips.
“My car’s right over here.” He was exactly what I needed that night. Running in platforms is nothing cute, so I’d taken him up on his offer.
“You ready?” Myrick had asked.
“Let’s do it.”
We were shoulder to shoulder; creeping to my car like the rain was something we couldn’t let touch our skin. I took in the faint aroma of Polo Red permeating off his body as we walked to my car. I hoped he wasn’t some weirdo rapist with a taste for big girls. I thought of how long it would take me to grab the pepper spray from my purse. When we got to my car, I started digging frantically for my keys.
“Sorry. I know they’re in here.”
“Take your time.”
I thought to myself, Shariece, you are such a dizzy bitch.
“I’m Myrick, by the way,” he said, extending his hand out.
I stopped looking for my keys to take the time to introduce myself. “Shariece.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Ah, here they are.”
I shoved my key into the hole of the driver’s side door.
“I know that you have probably been getting this question all night, but I’ve had my eyes on you all night, but was too shy to approach you. I guess this rain presented the perfect opportunity. I would love to take you out sometime.”
Now this was the first that a man ever bothered to offer me his number. It was quite different, but I was feeling him.
“True, but if I let a beautiful sister like you get away without giving you my number, I might regret it for the rest of my life.”
His line wasn’t the most original, but Myrick had heart.
“Do you have a pen?”
He padded his shirt and jean pockets, looking for something to write with.
“Hold on,” I said, and took a pen out of the side pouch of my purse and handed it to him. Myrick jotted my number on his palm as I read it off.
“Now if you go home and accidently wash that off your hand, it’s on you.” I smiled.
“I won’t. I’ve already memorized it. I’ll call you. Maybe we can have dinner.”
Myrick was not only cute, but a gentleman, so that earned him a few brownie points.
“We’ll see.”
“That’s all I ask, pretty lady. Well, let me let you get out of this rain. Have a good night, drive safe.”
“You too. Stay dry.”
Two days later, Myrick and I’d had dinner at this Italian restaurant Bella Bella. Their raviolis were the best I’d ever had. I made a mental note to take Leandra there who thinks calzones from Sbarro is real Italian.
The first date had ended with a goodnight; the second date had concluded with a kiss. By the third date, we were comfortable enough with one another that a little touch here and tickle there ensued. I could tell Myrick was getting anxious. I had tortured the man long enough, so by the fourth date, it was time to let him taste my candy.
Myrick had taken me to dinner at Silver Slipper the night we had consummated our relationship. I was rocking these blue-black, low-waist jeans that accentuated my booty nicely. I wore this white blouse that hung seductively off one shoulder, something to keep his dick hard. We got back to my place, and didn’t even make it past the sofa before things got hot and heavy. And my coochie was wet and down for whatever. We were kissing, Myrick feeling my breasts, sucking on my nipples. If having a rock-hard dick was a law, Myrick would have been tried and convicted. When we got to my bedroom, I smeared myself on the bed. My jeans and fuchsia panties were off faster than you could say “scantily clad.”
“Turn over,” he said. What was he going to do? I didn’t ask, but just did what he wanted.
“Get up on your knees.”
Oh shit.
* * *
I arched my back that made my ass arch. I was startled by the first touch of Myrick’s tongue lapping at my booty hole. Damn, he never said anything about being freaky.
I had never had so much as a dick anywhere near my asshole, not to mention a man’s tongue. Not that men haven’t tried to ass-fuck me, talking all pretty, but I was quick to let them know that my starfish was exit only. Myrick’s tongue was ticklish and slick as he teased the ring of my anus. He pried my cheeks apart, smothering his face in. He sucked and slurped, giving equal attention to my pussy.
“You ready for this dick?”
“Yes.”
“What’s that, baby?”
Myrick kept on licking my spot like it was a strawberry pudding pop. “Give it to me.”
“You want it? You want this dick?”
His dirty talk had me horny as hell.
“Beg me.”
“Beg me to fuck you.”
“Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Fuck me.”
“You want it?”
“Yes.”
“You want Myrick’s dick?”
“Yes. I want your dick, Myrick. Fuck me.”
“Are you on the pill, baby?”
I was taken aback by his question. “Yeah.”
I felt the meaty tip of his dick graze against my pussy lips, and then enter me. Myrick didn’t waste any time dicking me down.
“You like that?”
“You like how this dick feels in that pussy?”
“Damn, baby.”
“You got some sweet pussy.”
“Fuck me.”
“Whose pussy is this?”
“Yours.”
“What, I didn’t hear you.”
“Yours. This pussy is yours!”
“Turn over for me on your back. I want you to look at me while I fuck you, baby.”
He tossed my legs up over my shoulders, and slipped his dick like a dirty secret back inside me. Myrick fucked me better than any man I had been with before. We fucked twice, sometimes three times a day. He would be sitting watching TV, and I would whip out his dick and start sucking it right there in the living room. “Damn, I like it when you get freak nasty like that.”
I was so in love with him, I didn’t think about how fast we were going. As months passed, and our relationship grew, Myrick started to get clingy, calling, if not texting me several times a day, wanting to know my every move and whereabouts. I had come home from work one night to find Myrick sitting on my stoop. I had worked a ten-hour shift at Target and was not in the mood for his mess.
“Myrick, what are you doing here? I told you I would call you.”
He’d looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
“I know, but I just wanted to see you. You’ve been working so much. I’ve missed you.”
The smell of alcohol was hot on his breath. “Have you been drinking?”
Myrick took me into his arms. I pushed him off of me like something smelly and stinking. “You’re drunk. You need to go home and sleep it off.”
“What I need is my girlfriend to not be such a bitch,” he said, tugging me by the arm like I was some rag doll.
I had a small thing of mace on my key chain, and was ready to pepper-spray his ass. “You need to get your fucking hands off me.”
“Or what? What the fuck you go’n do?”
I held up the mace and sprayed Myrick in the face. I frantically unlocked the door and ran inside. I slammed the door behind me and locked it, leaving him rubbing pepper spray out of his eyes. “Fuckin’ bitch!” He banged on my door.
“Go home, Myrick, before I call the cops!” I watched him from my living room window.
“Shariece, open this goddamn door!”
After about forty-five minutes, he got into his truck and screeched out of the lot. As far as I was concerned, we were over. Leandra went down with me to the police station where I filed a restraining order against his psychotic ass, but that only made things worse. On a couple of occasions, I found my tires slashed. Two-hundred and forty dollars—that shit set me back. He would crank call me and say, “How do you like, bitch?”
“Stay the hell away from me, you crazy fuck!”
“Next time it will be you I slash.”
“Fuck you, Myrick!” I hung up and drove over to Leandra’s.
“He’s not going to stop. The only thing a man like that knows is a bullet to the head,” Leandra said.
I had no idea how right Leandra was when Myrick and I came to a final head. I had just gotten home from work, tired as hell. Every muscle in my body ached. When I got home, I threw my purse on the sofa and dragged myself to my bedroom like a zombie out of a bad horror movie. I couldn’t wait to wash the stink of the day off of me. I sensed a large figure behind me when I flicked on the bathroom light. Before I could turn around, I felt a hand muffle my mouth. I couldn’t scream. From the smell of his cologne, I knew it was Myrick. He grabbed me tight around my midsection as we struggled.
“Hey, baby girl. Miss me?” I pawed at his hand over my mouth, scratching at his skin in hopes that the pain would be too much that he would let me go.
“Stop struggling, bitch.” Afraid for my life, I did what Myrick wanted. My heart was pounding crazy in my chest thinking I was about to die.
“Baby, did you really think that a piece of paper would keep me away from you?” Myrick slid his hand up along my inner thigh, between my legs. I clamped my legs around his intruding hand in protest. “Nothing is going to keep me away from the woman I love.” I never envisioned that I would die by the hands of a crazy-ass man, but that’s exactly how I was going to meet my maker. “Why’d you go to the cops? We could have talked about this, worked things out like a normal couple, but you started overreacting, getting the damn cops and that bitch Leandra involved in our business.” Myrick tugged at my pants until the button popped from the waistline. “We can work things out, right?” Myrick yanked my pants down past my ass and slid his hand down into my panties, parting my legs with brute force. I could hear him unzip his jeans. I knew what he had in mind. I stood to be raped if I didn’t do something quick. “Come back to me, Shariece. You’re mine and a restraining order isn’t going to change that.” I shook my head in agreement. “Good girl. Now if I let you go, you promise not to scream?”
I caressed his hand lovingly and nodded. Myrick dropped his hand from my mouth. I didn’t scream knowing that he would kill me if I did. I turned around, looked at him, his face sweaty with a murderous expression. “You’re right, Myrick. I’m sorry, baby. I did overreact.” I fondled his dick to distract him. “Let’s forget any of this ever happened, okay?”
“That’s what’s—” With a swift kick to his balls, I shut him up. A man’s nuts are his Achilles heel. “Ah, fuckin’ bitch!” The crystal vase that was given to me as a birthday gift from Leandra sat on the bedroom dresser. I took it and smashed it over Myrick’s head, hard enough to knock him unconscious. I thought to continue hitting him with the vase until he was dead, but I decided that he wasn’t worth ruining a pretty vase over, so I went for my cell phone to dial 9-1-1. I called Leandra afterward, and she got to my house before the cops’ slow asses did.
“Shariece!” I heard Leandra yell from outside my door. I was sitting on the end of the bed with the vase in my hand in case Myrick came to. “In here.” Leandra gasped to Myrick lying on my bedroom floor, bleeding from his head. “Girl, is he . . .”
“He’s alive.”
“He must have jimmied the lock.” Leandra came over to hug me as I was on the brink of tears. Cop cars and ambulances filled the driveway. My nosey-ass neighbors gathered around the scene. I wondered where they were when I was screaming for my life. That’s black folks for you: don’t hear, see or say shit. Myrick was still out of it when the EMTs lifted him handcuffed into the ambulance. This white lady cop interrogated me like I had done something wrong. “I don’t know how he got in. I told you he didn’t have a key to my place.” After I gave them a statement, they told me I could go. “There’s no way I’m staying in that house tonight.”
“Girl, you can stay with me as long as you want,” Leandra said.
* * *
I went to the hearing to see Myrick sentenced. The judge gave him five years in prison for not only violating his restraining order, but the cops found out that he had three warrants for numerous offenses. As far as I was concerned, five years was not long enough for that sick bastard. He gave me a sinister stare as the bailiff took him away. I turned away. I couldn’t stand to look at the man who damn-near killed me. After Myrick, I was done with the club and bar scene, and swore off men until this thing with Emjay happened. I made a promise to myself that I would never allow a man to have that much control over me again.