Just Can't Let Go

Spencer’s best decision would’ve been not showing up at my house after watching me walk out of my daughter’s apartment yesterday. Last night he wasn’t here. This morning he strolled in all casual.

“Really, Spencer? You and your dick could’ve stayed wherever you were last night. You come at the break of dawn talking mess to me. You can get out of my house.” I put Max in his pen, gave him a toy.

Our being in my bedroom was uncomfortable for me. He sat at the foot of my bed. Thoughts of us spooning, his making love to me every night, then again in the morning made me weak. I did not want to start over hoping to find a man to call mine. Yet, there was no way I could move forward with this one.

He sat there wearing loosely fitted sweatpants, no underwear. The black Nike shirt with “We Run Atlanta” hugged his firm abs. The caramel smooth skin, square chin, full lips, and captivating dreamy eyes I’d fallen in love with had transformed into a complete asshole.

“How dare you have the audacity to tell me what I’ll never get knowing you’re the one at fault.” Staring into his face, I didn’t want his beautiful, young, hard dick or him. Spencer was just like all the rest of these men in Atlanta. “You’re a male whore.”

He sat there speechless. Stared at me. Picked up the remote. Turned on the television. I snatched the controller, pointed it at his face, then powered off my seventy-inch flat screen.

“That’s cool, Blake.”

The scream I suppressed was not to scare my puppy. My lids did not blink when I told Spencer, “I hate you. I wish I’d never met you. My life wasn’t the best on my fiftieth birthday, but—”

“Or the day after when Fortune gave you two black eyes. He’s probably the one better off being dead. Don’t forget who was there for you, Blake. Who never left your side for two solid weeks?”

“I don’t owe you a damn thing.” I wasn’t indebted to Spencer. Wasn’t about to play this immature mind game with his attempt to make me feel guilty.

My lips tightened, then quivered. I fought to hold back tears. No bow or standing ovation from me was in order for his slinging mud in my face. I could strike back. Ask if Alexis strapped on and fucked him in the ass like his uncle.

Men started shit, overlooking that women harbored enough ammunition to ambush them. Softly, to throw him off, I agreed, “You’re right. Thanks.”

He frowned. “I doubt that Billy fucks you the way I do.” He stood, grabbed his dick. “He can have you.”

I saw the impression and the left hook of his shaft. Not raising my voice, I told him, “Fucked. Past tense.”

Billy Blackstone was my first love. First lover. But he wasn’t the man for me. What I hadn’t known when I had sex with Billy that night (and the following morning) was he already had a wife. Was there one man in Atlanta not out to fuck and then fuck over a woman?

Fortune was an inconsiderate asshole who made me feel like a meal ticket, not a sexy, hot woman to feast on the way I admit Spencer had done! Fortune’s heart attack was the best gift he’d given me.

“I’m glad Fortune is dead. And—” I stopped. Wanted to add, I wish you were dead, too, but that wouldn’t have been true.

Spencer relocated to my chaise, reclined, placed his hands behind his head, then stared at me. “Is that your idea of a comp, Fab?”

Comprise? Not hardly. Seriously. After all I’d said. That was his comeback? I was not trying to flatter this man young enough to be my son. I sat diagonally across the room from him in an oversized chair with my legs folded like a chicken wing so he could see underneath my nightgown that I wasn’t wearing panties.

“Don’t refer to me as Fab, or Fabulous!” I lowered my voice. “My eggs have never been scrambled or fried as my disrespectful daughter, who uses her vagina as a credit card swiping device, claimed in front of my entire family.” Then I shouted, “I’m nobody’s whore!”

Shit. My Yorkie started barking and clawing at the side of his pen. I rushed and picked him up. Instantly, he calmed me.

Spencer replied, “That’s debatable. Listen, Blake. This isn’t a pissing match and it’s not about my sister, Alexis. You lied to me. Before I gave you the relationship ring that you’ve stopped wearing, I asked you if any other dick had been inside of your pussy since we met. You looked into these eyes,” he said, pointing two fingers at his face. “You and women like you are the reason why I don’t trust bitches, especially the old ass ones like you!”

Hairs sprouted on the nape of my neck. I put Max in his pen, sat back in my chair. Rubbing my hands, I blew so hard my jaws puffed. I squeezed the toes on my right foot, exhaled hard. I got up, walked toward Spencer. Stood over him. Looked down at him.

“Call me a bitch again and I’ll give you a reason. You. You were the one who lied first. You. Slept with my daughter and she might be pregnant with your child. You. Stayed at her house with Chanel and God only knows what happened last night. And this morning.”

“Precisely.” He placed his feet on the floor, put his hands on my hips, gently pushed me back. His touch felt good.

“You need to get that out of my face,” he said to my pussy. “If you were fertile you might be carrying Billy’s, Blackstone is it, baby. You fucked him before I had sex with Alexis.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Cute. Lead. You’re too old to follow. I hadn’t planned on doing your daughter. It just happened because you betrayed me first.”

I stepped back. “Regardless to whether I’m leading or following, I’m not slow. Okay. I’m supposed to understand because you’re a man? Oh, I see. I provoked you. Is that it?”

He nodded. “Yup.”

Moving away, I gave him a good six feet to keep from slapping his face. “Get your shit and get out of my house.”

Spencer stood. “Fuck you and all this shit. Keep it. Burn it Angela Bassett–style and hold your breath for the next twenty-seven, thirty-seven, forty-seven, fifty plus nigga that’ll make you squirt the first time he taps your ass. I’m done with you for good.”

Decent point. Took me five decades to experience ejaculation. Damn, why’d he have to go there? I tried to conceal my flashback to the first time we made love. The mind-blowing sex didn’t make me feel he was the one. It was how he cared for me after Fortune had beaten me. It was the way Spencer dabbed witch hazel on my bruised eyes, cheeks, and lips several times a day for two weeks. I missed our chilling in my Jacuzzi sharing intimate details about our past.

Spencer Domino could still be my man if my daughter wasn’t pregnant. Secretly, I sided with Mercedes. I prayed Alexis got an abortion. The fact that they slept together, I could deal with his unfaithfulness if he could forgive mine.

He’d said he was done with me before and here he was. Here we were.

“You don’t mean that,” I said. “If you were serious, you would’ve been gone by now instead of standing here arguing with me.”

“Cuddle up with your dog. You two deserve one another.”

No he didn’t go there. “Good-bye, Spencer. Let yourself out. Go fuck your sister and her girlfriend. Go take care of your unborn daughter, son, niece, nephew. One better. Go get fucked.”

On that statement, he headed downstairs to my front door. I hadn’t intended on stooping to his level, but I refused to allow him to trash me without scratching his eyes out.

I refused to chase Spencer. Thank God for Max. I put a cute orange Ralph Lauren polo shirt on him; then I changed into a sexy fitted orange crop-sleeved dress with a pair of three-inch heels. I smeared on pussy pink lipstick, released my ponytail. Wasn’t trying to look half my age. Opening my jewelry box, I put Spencer’s ring in my purse to give myself a reason to show up at his place. I eased into a red thong, oiled my legs, put Max in his RL tote bag, picked up the keys to my red Ferrari, and trotted downstairs.

“I apologize, Fabulous. Forgive me,” Spencer said.

He was seated on my leather sofa . . . naked, stroking his big, long, black dick.

I gasped. My breathing became shallow. Max barked at Spencer. I had to laugh.

Opening my purse, I removed my relationship ring, flipped it to Spencer as though he could choose heads or tails. He released his dick, caught it midair.

My last words to this young, disrespectful asshole were, “Let yourself out.”