Frustrated, I struggled with my tie, loosening it up before I arrived to me and Giselle first couple’s session. Crazy thing is I thought we were done this last time. I mean done done. After twelve years of the many makeups and breakups, off and on engagements even down to picking an actual venue that I lost twenty grand on, I had mentally tapped out of whatever this was we had.
For the past two years, she’d been sleeping in the condo I paid for religiously whether we were together or not not to mention riding in the 2020 Range Rover I had delivered to her on New Year’s just to avoid seeing her. She had a house, but the condo was my guilt gift for embarrassing her when I refused to walk down that aisle two years ago.
Giselle was a bad one. Looks not a factor and credit so high, FICO had no score that could match her lifestyle. She was smart too, and decent in bed. On the surface, there were no complaints, but I wasn’t a surface type of dude. I needed substance and that seemed to have ran out.
Do I love her? Hell yeah.
Do I miss her? Sometimes.
Do I want to be with her forever? Now that is the shit that remains unknown.
Some days I sit back with my best friend Smoke and drink, reminiscing about all the women we’ve been with and we’re both thirty-five. That’s a lot of women and a lot of time. Most of mine, Giselle was a part of, but the last few years, I had a few others that were in rotation who understood their position. I wouldn’t call it cheating though. They mostly came around when Giselle and I were on one of our “off again” moments.
Smoke was never fond of Giselle but he respected her. He knew that no matter what I may have done behind her back or bitched about her, I was always taught to respect a woman, and push that crown up when it was slipping. You know how you women stay on the internet talking about helping a Queen when her crown is tilted. Yeah, that. Now if I’m being honest, most women would say they are doing the same thing about their fellow Queen, but ask Keisha who was Giselle’s college roommate. Let’s just say Keisha was one of my rotation situations. The crown she tilted was not Giselle's. That's all I have to say on Queens supporting Queens.
There was a time when Giselle truly wanted me for me because I didn’t always come with a black American Express card she could swipe limitlessly or take her on trips to Greece of Dubai just because I could. I was just a kid hungry to hit that diamond, a black kid at that playing the highest paid sport outside of golf—major league baseball.
I wanted to be the Tiger Woods of baseball too and I shit, I was. Google me—Jehmiah “The Bear” Cleveland. Most figured a young, black male at 6’4” close to two hundred pounds in high school was built for basketball or football. As soon as I was old enough to hold a baseball in my hand, it felt like magic and I never put it down. I guess it's also why Giselle won't let me go.
“So tell me why you’re going to couples therapy again?” Smoke probbed, being the ass he was known to be as he smirked.
“According to Giselle, this is her final time making sure we have a marriage built on the right foundation,” I said, laughing as I shook my head.
“After twelve years, bruh, the foundation has been laid. I’m just saying, B. You sure you really want to spend more money to do what we both already know?”
“What is it that we both know, Smoke?” I asked just to humor him.
I had less than two hours to get this first couples therapy session, but when an opportunity to make money presents itself, I’m on it. So I took a ride with him to seek if we wanted to invest in another restaurant off of Brickell in the downtown Miami area. I mentioned wanting to open up a high-end, cultural type soul food spot. It would have mom and pop type food but the energy and ambiance would be like Georgia Brown’s in DC. Anytime Smoke I visited DC to see his father, Georgia Brown’s was a must.
“That you love her, but you’ve outgrown that situation. You’re already providing for her yet refuse to live with her and…” he said and paused, as he smiled while tugging on his goatee. “You like variety. The feel of another bitch. Come on, B. Why are you playing?”
“Hey, only when we are not together. I never make them think it’s anything more than sex and a good time. Besides, who doesn’t know Giselle and I are together? What’s the name they call us?” I asked him, sucking my teeth.
“Pick one. Jeselle or Gemiah,” he chuckled, thinking that shit was funny. I swear the fake news the paparazzi gets paid to make up is hilarious at my expense. Both of those names sounded like two bitches’ name—Jeselle and Gemiah. How in the hell? Just thinking about it had me fuming until a ray of warm brown sunshine dropped in the middle of the street, crossing in front of me at the light.
Shorty was minding her own business, speed walking. She was dressed in a business suit—a skirt that did a poor job of hiding all that goodness she had packed inside. I could be tripping right about now, but damn, she had me turning my neck like I was on a baseball field ready to sneak a steal.
Crazy thing is she wasn’t my type if you stacked her assets next to Giselle, but I always appreciated a woman with something to hold on to. She wasn’t tall, actually a lot shorter than what I’m used to entertaining, but she was packaged just right if the dip in her back that collided with her backside counted. And once she crossed the straight, giving me more to assess—little bit had a nice size order of breasts to go along with that shake.
The more I stared though, I realized she that librarian look though. You know the intelligent kind that let loose behind closed doors. They dressed as if they were no nonsense, business minded and all of that. Their hair is usually simple, no frills but complementing the business acumen they brought to the arena in which they worked in. A bookworm’s dream if book worms only went to the library to really fuck on the librarian.
Little bit was making a big man like myself pause for the occasion. I chuckled to myself, giving her a name already as if I would see her again. I wanted to be that dark blue skirt that held her thighs and ass hostage along with that baby blue button down top with a jacket holding in those voluptuous twins called breasts.
She was wearing a pair a glasses too with a long ponytail that swung as she swayed all that ass from left to right. Hell, I wanted to swing her on this manhood as she stopped and posed, gazing in a store as if something had caught her interest. Whatever it was or whoever, I wanted to tell them thank you as I bricked up hard.
Comments