Girl Bye Part IV “Mae”

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She drove a two-tone, 12 year old mini van.  It had one of those “baby on board” signs in the back passenger window.  Sometimes the sign would fall but the suction cup that held it up would remain.  She was middle aged and her children were grown but she said the sign made people drive “sensibly. ”  Her “luxury car” as she sometimes called it,  was dated but it was hers…she owned it. She didn’t have many things that she owned.

Mae pulled right up next to a 2014 Camaro in the parking lot of the local popular pizzeria. They advertised you could get a large pie for $10.95 and that would be enough for Mae.  She could save some for breakfast the following morning with a cup of instant coffee. The Camaro had a confederate flag in the back window.  Mae had a “Obama 2012” sticker in the window.  The two drivers exchanged glances but no pleasantries were made.

Mae used to take long drives when she was stressed out. Those days were long gone. There was 123,000 miles on her van. Gas prices went up to 3.78 a gallon. So there was no escape.  Mae used to do hair but she was no longer as easy on the eyes as she once was. Women don’t usually trust you to make them beautiful when you aren’t. So age and a hard life retired her. Mae used to be an escort. She was good at it too. She still unofficially “did favors” as she liked to call it. She would frequently meet new clients at “Biddies. ”

Aniya saved Mae’s ass multiple times. She pulled an old dirty bastard off of Mae once. A brute who had no intention of paying for the “merchandise.” She let Mae sleep on her lazy boy recliner one night when Mae was evicted.  Aniya was the closest thing Mae would have to a friend. 

When Aniya called Mae after 2 years of not speaking,  she knew something was up.  Aniya always said no favor was free.  Mae was a benefit because she had nothing to lose…not even her life.

To be continued

By:Shaun Nickens

*Day 11 I didn’t post but I wrote! #30daywritingchallenge Comment.  Like. Share. 

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Girl Bye ( Part II)

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Courtesy of abc news

Aniya danced around her studio apartment in bare feet. She had on her high school track shorts and her bra.  Those shorts were indestructible.  They didn’t quite fit the way they did so many years ago but they “fit.”  She was blasting “Bust the Windows” by Jasmine Sullivan.  The place was spotless.  She cleaned every nook and cranny of the apartment.  It smelled of Ammonia and Febreeze. She loved candles that had water scents like “ocean breeze” or “morning mist.” The candles were strategically placed. She was an old school girl but she had to admit she liked the gritty 90’s Mary J feel of Jasmine Sullivan’s music. A strong voice and beautiful melodies to overshadow really harsh lyrics.

“Yeah I did it/you should know it/I ain’t sorry/you deserved it/After what you did to me it was worth it/I ain’t sorry nooo oooooooo…”

Yea, Jasmine was cut from the same cloth as Aniya. Or she was just an artist who made music for women who made some tough choices.  Reckless and heartless women. Yea, those women need a good song too.

Aniya recently became more than a wife and a exotic dancer.  She had to make DJ pay for the pain and embarrassment.  Sloppy pathetic loser leaving all his mistakes under the bed they lie in every night as a couple.  He was an unbelievable idiot to think she wouldn’t find out. She confiscated everything and she “unofficially divorced” DJ and moved out. She told her friends and loved ones (he didn’t have any loved ones) he was on a business conference in Segal. Who would question that? No one is going to buy a calling card to talk to him in Ecuador!  He wasn’t that important.  It was funny how quickly her emotions dissipated.  As soon as she saw the betrayal,  it was enough to essentially make him disappear. 

For now she was enjoying her new found freedom.  She had 20 minutes before she had to get ready for work.  “Biddies” was 27 minutes away exactly.  She decided to play her song one more time and decide how she would use her talents on the pole to make her “problem” go away. She had a special client of hers who would definitely be interested in the task.

“May God forgive me”, she muttered to herself. 

The song faded while she dove into the company of her conscience.

“You caused me pain/so I did the same…”

~To be continued~

By: Shaun Nickens

*Day 7 of the 30 day writing challenge!

Girl Bye

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Aniya was the color of Jiffy cornbread.  She drove a 2012 Dodge Dart. She was 5’9″ about 190 lbs. She had 14% body fat and it was all in one place. She was proud of her masterpiece. No use in describing her face.  It didn’t matter.  It never would.  Men admired her body. She was well aware of that.  She decided a long time ago she wasn’t working a day job. She was going to work a traditional job though. Nothing was more traditional,  proven,  and no one was more hard working than a stripper. She made about $400-600 a night at “Biddies.” Men and women loved her.

They would watch her “fireman spin” down the poll. They marveled at her “body wave.” You could see her abdominal muscles working and the bruises on her thighs from the pole.  She called them her “battle scars” and she charged clients $50 per leg to kiss or touch them.  She was the most talented at “Biddies” because this was her career.  She wasn’t working her way through school or a single mother supporting her kid. This was what she wanted to be…a fantasy.

Aniya’s husband was 42 years old. He was his wife’s senior by 15 years. He was her anger management counselor when she was mandated by a judge to “get right or go to jail.” He was stereotypically “tall, dark and handsome.” Yet, he was socially awkward and always had trouble keeping a woman. A great smile and pretty lips would draw the women in but then he would speak and stumble all over himself. Goofy behavior is woman repellent and DJ had a lifetime supply of goof.  Aniya was different.  She was self assured and confident enough for the both of them. She would twerk on a one armed handstand at work.  Then she would come home and order dinner (not the domestic type.) She paid for a cleaning service visit once a week.  DJ was happy.  As long as she fell asleep in his lap at least twice a month, he had nothing to complain about. 

One night Aniya came in the house and there was a bit of commotion.  She pranced into the bedroom and DJ was straightening up.

“What are you doing?” she asked in an accusing manner.

“Cleaning”, he said dryly. 

“Why? I pay for that. I pay for your lifestyle.”

“Oh please.  You drive a Dart and you wanna act like a boss! When I met you, you were nothing.  Well I want more, I want something. ”

Aniya took a breath of calm. Ironically,  DJ taught her that in anger management.  Something was up. DJ isn’t stern.  That’s what made him attractive.  He was easily controlled. 
She walked over to the bed and she looked underneath it. She saw a few condom wrappers.  Aniya made a mental note to talk to the cleaning lady about that. No big deal. She knew of DJ’s affairs the same as he knew of her “champagne room” escapades at “Biddies.” That was the dynamic of their relationship.  No judgement. 

It was what she saw beyond the wrappers that took all the air out of her lungs. Her skin turned blue and her fingertips lost feeling.  Her breaths became shallow.  She could no longer hear anything and all she could see was red. She couldn’t even stand up to confront DJ. She could hear her friends chuckling. The conversations they had about her “great relationship” and “unconditional love.” “Girl bye!” is all they would say. She felt stupid.  There was no conversation to be had. She felt like her body was inside out.

“DJ”, she whispered. 

He just stood smiling. 

“What the hell is this?”

-By:Shaun Nickens

Day 3 of the writing challenge.  Let me know what you think or if you want more! For entries like this one, check out my “Chest Naked In The Park” archived category. Tweet your feedback @shutyamouthnow
Thanks!

Nothing To Lose {Chest Naked In The Park Part 8} (Meet the Demigod)

He walked carefully.  All his belongings were in a black backpack, with the straps adjusted so he could feel the pressure of all his “monetary assets” up against him.  Inside were his running sneakers, his last packet of protein powder, his bible, “The Autobiography of Malcolm X”, 2 boxer briefs, and a white V-neck t-shirt.  He had a money clip with no money.  His sister bought it for him for his 21st birthday.  The engraving said “Take or be taken.” He had a pre-paid cell phone with about 14 minutes left on it.  He had Vaseline wrapped in aluminum foil just in case his lips got chapped. His keys were digging into his side so he reached into his fitted jeans and threw them in a gutter.  He had no need for them now.  He was never going back “home” again.  It wasn’t safe there.

He walked carefully.  Not by choice but by circumstance.  He walked corner to corner.  He looked both ways before he crossed the street. Left foot…hobble…cane.  Left foot…hobble…cane.  Left foot…hobble…cane.  He once was a quick, strong, sexy, confident, man with an unrivaled stature and an intimidating presence.  Now he was unemployed, homeless, single, scared, far from athletic, and semi-cripple.  What happened to him?  All he wanted to do was make enough money to do something big for a change.  He spent his whole life running both literally and figuratively. Fight or flight?  He was the biggest bird you’ve ever seen.  He was a big pigeon defecating on anyone who got in his way.  High school dropout, 2-3 dead-end jobs a year, hoopty after hoopty, and still women would flock towards him.  Tamara was no different at first.

He didn’t even have to say a word.  His significant others had been telling him for years, “just stand there and look good baby.”  He was always the trophy piece.  He knew how to stay in his lane and never ever speak unless he was confident that he could add something intelligent to the conversation.  His looks were his weapon.  His strong jaw, white bright smile with a subtle gap, flawless skin and full lips were comparable to a Mac-10.  His love-making was his suppressor.  So even if a woman had become displeased with his performance as a sound “life partner”, she would stay and shut the hell up.   Tamara was supposed to be no different.

His instructions were simple.  He was to seduce Tamara, divert her attention away from her husband, and make her fall in love.  Then she would divorce Travis and move in with her “chest naked demigod” (he heard her refer to him as a demigod when he was spying on one of her conversations one day.)  Yet, Tamara was different.

There were a few times when he tried to get her attention at the track but she was so emotionally committed to Travis.  Deep down he knew that she wanted things to work with her man.  She was attracted to him but she had self-control.  He wasn’t accustomed to that.  He approached her a few times but it seemed as though Tamara didn’t recognize him with his shirt on.  That wasn’t entirely Tamara’s fault.  Leon didn’t have much character with his clothes on.  Leon was far from a demigod.  Leon was Hades himself.

He had way too much fun with this assignment.  He slept with Tamara’s cousin, Courtney (he couldn’t resist.)  He slept with Travis’ girlfriend, Special (it was so easy.)  He even slept with Travis’ loud mouth bitter mother (she needed some loving.)  He couldn’t complete the task so he figured he would enjoy the perks.  When he and Travis had a falling out over payment, Leon decided to make things more interesting.  He stalked Tamara at her job and he shot out her back window.  He knew all signs would lead to Travis and he thought for sure that Courtney’s feisty ass would retaliate and remove Travis from his list of unhappy clients.  Instead, Travis disfigured Leon’s leg and threatened to do more harm unless Leon left New York.  Leon had one stop to make first.  One person had taken away his chance to do something big.  He had nothing left to lose.  He stopped, readjusted his backpack, and pulled out the only sentimental valuable thing he had left.  “Take or be taken”, he read aloud.  “Damn right,” he said.

To Be Continued…