When she entered through the front doors of the of restaurant, every straight man seated at the table abruptly stopped conversing mid-sentence, and followed the impeccably dressed female as she glided through the crowded lobby, with eloquent grace. Her auburn locks were professionally flat-ironed and hit just past her shoulder. Her full, C-cup sized breasts filled out the snug-fitting, white leather vest she was wearing, exposing her deeply defined, perfume scented cleavage. The matching, hip hugging, leather pants fit so tightly until they looked like a second skin on her, and also looked as if they were struggling to contain that voluptuous ass she had.
She was a vision in white, and the redness of her full, pouty, lightly painted lips was a perfect contrast to her glowing, red-boned, skin color. The confidence she exuded as she walked was similar to the grace of a runway model; like she knew how to work it and was unashamed that she knew how. A table full of portly sisters looked at her as she was walking past their table, and they leaned over to one another, whispering, probably talking about her like a dog, but their envious glares didn’t seem to faze her. Instead of acting uppity towards them, she politely smiled, and said hello, a gesture that must’ve gone over pretty well because they smiled back at her and spoke without giving her any attitude.
The dark lenses of her glasses hid her eyes, so I’m sure that a few people wondered if she was some sort of an entertainer, because she was that stunning. Her 6’ 1”, statuesque frame always drew a lot of unwanted attention but it was unavoidable, she was what many would call, a stone cold knockout with a keen sense of fashion. She didn’t buy clothes to please people; she bought them out of a straight love for fashion. Over the years she had been approached on more than one occasion and propositioned to model, but she always turned down the offers. She had no interest in being a living mannequin, but she didn’t look down on people who chose to be living being whores for the camera. To each their own is what she always said.
When she stopped at our table, all of the brothas present looked at one another asking if she was with one or the other. Once they realized that the mysterious woman wasn’t a friend of any of their cohorts, they returned their attention to the brick house that had stopped at our table. She stood there without saying a word for about thirty seconds before removing her shades. When she finally removed them that is when everyone saw just how pretty she was. Today she was wearing her hazel-colored contacts, and her doe-shaped eyes with the light liner around them looked absolutely dazzling, beneath her perfectly arched eyebrows. Some say she favored Halle, but she couldn’t see it.
“Remy, you didn’t tell me that I was going to be the only lady at the table this evening,” She said, glancing over at me, with a devilish smile on her face.
“Well, don’t feel left out, because he didn’t tell us either,” Pastor Melville Sharpton said, with a lustful look on his face, not befitting a man of the cloth.
Heather giggled, politely, without sending him or any of the other ministers present a wrong signal, but signal or not, the one thing a woman had no control over is the effect that she had on men – especially when the woman looked as sexy as she did. Unfortunately for her, she came into the world an absolute beauty and it was a heavy cross to bear in a world full of beast. When I saw the hungry looks on four of the six pastor’s faces, I realized that I had made a mistake inviting her to join me for dinner. I hadn’t seen my friend in over a month, so I was trying to kill two-birds with one stone – an obvious misjudgment on my part.
“Oh, it looks like I’ve interrupted your meeting, perhaps I should go and find another seat so that you gentlemen can continue your discussion without a lady’s ears all in the mix,” She said, glancing over at me with that look in her eye which assured me that she was going to whip my ass later (figuratively speaking).
“Oh, no…no…no… we wouldn’t hear of it, you sit your fine a…” Pastor Melville Sharpton caught himself, but his slip didn’t miss the ears of anyone present. The nervous way he cleared his throat assured me that he knew his tail was showing.
Instead of owning up and apologizing for his inappropriate comment, he stood up, went to a vacant, nearby table, and pulled an extra chair from it, moving it over to our table. He asked Pastor’s Williams and Johnson to scoot apart so that he could move the chair in between them, as if the gesture was enough to make everyone at the table forget what he almost said. But no one at the table was born yesterday, and the more he continued his mindless babble about how indecent some women were “these days” the more guilty he sounded. None of the ministers bought it, from the look on Heather’s face she wasn’t buying it, and I damn sure didn’t buy it either.
Pastor Shartpon had been a notorious booty chaser for as long as I could remember, and I knew a couple of the girls who had the pleasure of being pleasured by him. His long, thick, dick had a reputation all its own and you would think that the brotha would wear a jock-strap or something because the boxers he chose to wear, and the thin material of his slacks didn’t provide enough support to hold all of that meat. Whenever he stood a certain way, anyone with eyes could see the outline of it snaking down his pants leg. People always discussed the inappropriateness of it behind his back, but nobody, including me, had the balls to address it.
It was almost sickening to watch, looking at him ogling Heather with his eyes, and it got to a point where nobody could really concentrate on anything else other than his sheepish behavior. Why I chose to remain a deacon in his parish was beyond me; the way he carried himself, from his conked out hair, to his colorful array of flashy ¾ length suits, to his assorted matching gators reminded me of a pimp – from what I heard that was his prior occupation before he found the Lord, but found or not, I still believed that his intentions were all about getting into the next tight thing.
When I mentioned my skepticism to a few of the trustees at the church, I was told that we all fall short of the glory, and that may be true, but come on, the only thing holy about this man was his game. I was so disturbed with his questionable behavior that I decided that the meeting needed to be cut short and resumed the following day. I did this out of respect for my girl, Heather, as well as, out of respect for the two ministers who were obviously annoyed by the actions of their peers, especially Pastor Sharpton.
It took forever for the skinny, acne faced, Hispanic waitress to return with the check, and when she showed up fifteen minutes later, I was outdone. I refrained from making any snide remarks because I didn’t want God to strike the table with a lightning bolt – Lord knows if he did it would have been appropriate. The way those four were carrying on you would have thought we were at a brothel instead of a family dining facility.
I laid the church credit card down and told, Helga, to return immediately because we all had places that we needed to be. She shot me a look that assured me she didn’t like being rushed, and I shot her one back that sent the message to her that she had better curb the attitude, because I didn’t feel like embarrassing myself in front of these ministers. When she got back to the table, I reached out my hand to take the leather holder the check was in, but she sat it down on the table instead of putting it into my hand.
Heather glanced at me and I saw in her eyes that I needed to stay cool. I knew to keep my composure but decided that, before we left, I was going to speak with the manager about his employee’s attitude problem. I hated going places and paying my money out and being treated like garbage. Between her and these four wolves at the table, my head couldn’t take much more. Everyone rose from their seats as I signed the ledger, and I rose after them once I was done putting my John Hancock on the dotted lines. I took the carbon copy from beneath the bottom, folded it, and stuck into my black, leather case (The case I kept all the church’s receipts in).
Heather and the ministers walked out ahead of me, but I had to speak to the manager about Helga, because I just couldn’t allow another paying patron to experience the displeasure of being served by her. My motto was, if you didn’t like serving customers then don’t get a customer service job, because if you were an employee, it was the customer who was paying your damn paycheck. When I found the manager, I ran everything down to him and he assured me that he would have a discussion with her. When I saw him smiling at her, it felt like a dagger being stuck into my chest. He wasn’t going to talk to her, for all I know he was probably screwing her.
By the time I made it outside, all the ministers had left, except one and you know who it was, Pastor Sharpton. The shocker to me was, as I approached them, is that Heather looked as if she were enjoying the conversation she was having with him and I thought to myself, this couldn’t be happening. I knew my girl loved fucking, but I couldn’t believe that she was actually chopping it up with this bastard and swapping pleasantries with him. When I reached them it felt as if I had interrupted a private conversation because they clammed up and just exchanged nervous smiles at one another.
“Heather, you wanna go hit a jazz club up, and play catch up?” I asked suspiciously.
“Oh, babe, I know that you’re going to hate me for this, but, Pastor Sharpton already asked me to join him for coffee,” she said, in that phony, squeaky, baby sounding voice that I couldn’t stand.
I was furious and what made me even angrier is when I looked down and saw old anaconda straining against the side of his pants leg. You could have bought me for a tarnished penny. I didn’t understand what women saw in this slick joker standing in front of me, but I decided to let adults be adults. I wasn’t their Lord and I wasn’t their conscious, if the two of them wanted to fuck like rabbits then who was I to stand in their way. I scoffed and walked away from the two of them without saying another word.
“Brother McKinney, wait a minute, you’ve got the wrong idea,” Pastor Sharpton said, as he ran to catch up with me.
“Man, brother, you walk fast. Now, what was I saying…Oh, yea, you’ve got it all wrong, Heather asked wanted a non-biased opinion about a personal matter that she felt more comfortable discussing with a minister…who knows, by the time we have our discussion, we might have another sheep to add to the flock,” He said, poking me in the side with his elbow, chuckling like the conniving manipulator he was.
After everything that happened during dinner, I was done being the nice guy, I laid into his ass. “Who in the fuck do you think you’re talking to, Pastor, one of your obedient followers? I know all about you and your philandering ways; hell I even heard you fucking the church secretary in your office one Saturday evening when you thought nobody was in the church…how can you stand up at that pulpit every Sunday doing what you do?” I said, as I turned my back on him to walk away.
He grabbed me on the shoulder and spun me around.
“Look, let me explain something to you, I am a man, and men like pussy; I’m not sure what you’re into but you have no judgments from me, but I’m going to tell you this once and once only, you keep your mouth shut and stay out of my affairs or I’ll make you wish you had…you got me!” He said, with a cross, stern, look in his eyes.
I backed away from him.
“Don’t you ever put your damned hands on me like that again, or I’ll forget that you are a minister and rearrange your lying ass face,” I told him, gritting my teeth. Out the corner of my eyes I saw Heather standing at the entrance of the restaurant with her arms folded, watching the two of us go at it.
I cut my eyes at her and re focused my attention back on the serpent in front of me. I was seething with anger. I swore to myself that I was never going to return back to that church because I felt nothing but disdain for this asshole that stood before me. He was no better than a corner hustler, but to me he was worse, because he was using God’s house to hustle, and there was nothing lower to me than that. He was right down in the gutter with the pedophiles, drug-dealers and murderers.
“Here you go, motherfucker, this is my resignation,” I told him, handing him the black, leather case. I don’t want any part of the filth that you emit. It’s bad enough that the world has people like you in it, but even worse when it’s brought into the church,” I said, as I spun around to leave.
“You little faggot, I always knew you couldn’t cut it,” He said, growling out the insult.
“You don’t know shit about me, you son of a bitch, not a damn thing, so before I do something I’ll regret, let me bounce the fuck up out of here,” I said, walking away from him.
I heard him laughing, trying to play off what had just happened. I heard him calling for Heather too, and by the time I made it to my car, I could see that they were nowhere in sight. Before I started my car, I waited to see them pulling away and at that thought, his Black, Lexus Coupe rolled by, she was sitting in the passenger seat. In passing he turned and looked at me, smiling like a wild coyote, and he winked, mouthing “I’m about to tear her pussy up.”
I promised myself that it was far from over.
I told myself that I needed to pull the cover off the eyes of the church members.
I was going to get him so good that he’d regret the day that he ever threatened me. By the time I got through with him he will have lost his church, his family, and his reputation as an upstanding citizen in the community. Pastor Sharpton was about to get a taste of his own medicine. If it wasn’t me, then who else was going to bring down this false prophet?
These were unspeakable acts he was committing.
A man like him was a disgrace to the pulpit.
I wasn’t trying to judge him I was trying to stop him for destroying people’s lives. His moral cavity was rotten down to the core, and he needed a spiritual root canal in the worst way. The atrocities of his vile actions were unspeakable but that is why God gave us courage and a voice, to fight and speak up when necessary. One of the other deacons who used to run the streets with him confided in me and told me that the trustees had made a grave mistake when they picked him to pastor the church. He said that Pastor Sharpton was beyond crooked and that if he wasn’t stopped he would not only break many hearts, he would also break the church’s bank account.
I couldn’t allow the deception to continue, one way or the other I was going to stop him from tip-toeing through the tulips, even if it meant that I would wind up having a few enemies. If I stayed silent and overlooked his disgusting activities then I certainly couldn’t point a finger at all the others who chose to keep their mouths shut tight. Smiling and acting as if nothing was going on was just as low as committing the acts myself.
His days as pastor were numbered.
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