RIPPED & READY (S4/PART 8 )
RIPPED & READY S4/VIII
As I rested my head on Collin’s shoulder, I couldn’t help but think about the demise of Peewee Jones, which was odd because I was sitting out in a hospital lobby waiting for a doctor to appear and give me some type of information concerning the well being of my mother. It’s funny the way the mind works, how it can shift gears almost as if it is buffering the spirit so that it won’t feel the full impact of despair caused by a tragedy such as the one that was currently in progress.
I closed my eyes and the warming caress of Collin’s hand on my cheek seemed to be working like a mild sedative, because every nerve in my body was relaxed and it had me feeling a little light headed — almost like I was levitating above the chair I was sitting on. His touch had that effect on me and the deeper I slipped into the spell that he was casting on me by it, my thoughts drifted back to the Motel 6, the first time we made love — he was so tender and gentle with me. Even when he broke the seal of my virginity he made the discomfort feel less uncomfortable.
Oh, the places we encountered during our evening of erotic bliss seemed so real until I could literally feel the change in climate about the room with every passing second and how lucky could one guy get, having his first time out be as intense and passionate as that one was. Collin Clarke may be a pot head from Mendocino County (supposedly that’s where they grow a lot of pot at in Northern California), and he may need a little lotion on his elbows and knees — he may even look like a common hoodlum, but one thing that he was not was a lazy lay.
I never imagined that lovemaking could be as beautiful as it was the night when we shared our emotions, our minds, and our bodies with one another. Without a doubt the intimate activities of our tender moment together left a profound impression on me — perhaps one that would be hard to fulfill on that same level. I mean how many can honestly say that they can remember the moment when their “pee-pees” first started getting hard? Not many, and for that reason alone I believe that I will never experience something like that with anyone ever again.
As I sat there with my head resting on his shoulder, I glanced periodically over at D’Andre when I was certain that he wasn’t looking over at Collin and I. Even though there was no need for me to feel guilty about what I was thinking, I didn’t want get caught in his gaze because he would definitely figure out where my thoughts were at that moment. Even though we all had similar connections, Collin’s and mine overshadowed the one that D and I once had.
Images began flashing against the back drop of my mind as I recounted the numerous times that D’Andre made me feel like a receptacle for passion’s seed — like the time I was giving him “boss” and he inquired about my half sister Denise (Who I didn’t know was my half sister at the time). Then to add insult to injury, he tried giving me some “pity-dick” as a way of getting me to give my blessings for his and her relationship at the time — and she had the nerve to try and put her “got-dayum” stamp of approval on it with a phone call telling me that he needed to get “me” out of his system.
I’m telling you that I have never felt so “got-dayum” cheap. It’s the reason why I tried to keep a respectable distance away from D, but he caught me off guard and I willingly surrendered to his overt advances. Sure, it was bound to happen, however, I didn’t want it to because I felt as if he didn’t deserve my affections. I tend to contradict myself all the time whenever I allow myself to replay the encounter — I wanted him, but I didn’t want him. I suppose I needed to “get him out of my system” like Denise said, but I certainly didn’t want to admit it.
Not to her, not to him, but hell, there was no way I could even begin to lie to myself.
“De-Nile” isn’t just a river in Egypt y’all.
I keep reminding myself that I am a human being with human needs — sex being one of them, but it just seems as though I am on a totally different chapter than the men I seem to meet. I’m not certain what I was looking for when I let myself entertain the thought of being involved with a ruthless “Nicca” like Peewee Jones. Between his cocaine sniffing, his drug peddling, his gang activity, and his overall distorted take on life there was no room inside of his head or heart for anything or anyone else — except, perhaps, a shrink.
But men aside, I need to get a handle on a few important things in my life once this health scare blows over with my mother. Something within me assures me that she will pull through again, and once she did I was going to sign up for a gym membership and start taking better care of myself. I had my whole life ahead of me and needed to act as though I wanted to be around for the next forty or fifty years.
I made a silent pact with myself to “inhale, relate, release…” (Like Debbie Allen said in that episode of “A Different World”). There comes a point in life when you had to evaluate your situation and make the proper adjustments to become the solid person that you want to be. I mean, if I wanted to continue to conduct myself like a “Liquid-ass-nicca” then all I had to do was go on acting like a victim and wait for some damn prince to ride up on his white horse to save me from myself.
Captain Save A Ho
Sometimes I crack my own damn self up.
“What’s that all about, sir?” he asked, just above a whisper.
“Nothing, Collin, just sorting some things out in my head, that’s all” I told him, as a stretched my legs without removing my head from his shoulder.
“I hear you, bro. I was doing the same, wondering about little August and Tootchie. I need to clean up my act, Marco, I have a son . It’s time for me to cut my ties with a bunch of the knuckleheads I hang out with,” He said, lowering his voice so that he wouldn’t be overheard by the others.
The honesty in his tone assured me that he was being sincere about what he had just disclosed to me privately, and my heart went out to him. I know that his mother’s murder had to be weighing heavy on his mind, and then something deep down told me that he had to be questioning the paternity of his son. Hell who wouldn’t? Hazel eyes just didn’t appear out of the blue — especially when nobody in that family line had them. As bad as I wanted to force him to face the fact, I kept my mouth closed and decided to wait for him to bring it up.
“Collin, you’re my boy and I only want to see you succeed in life, but before any of that can occur you will need to let “The Chronic” go, man. Getting high everyday isn’t a productive activity, and most employers test for drugs before they hire someone. I’d hate to see you make it through the interview process and get turned down because your test comes back dirty,” I told him, stroking the top of his left hand, which was resting on his knee.
He let out a big sigh, but didn’t respond.
After about a minute, I inquired about his parent’s house, to lighten up the conversation — I’m sure that he wasn’t prepared to go to deep off into the “weed” subject, but I had accomplished what I wanted to do. I planted the seed to make him think about the consequences of his actions. Point blank, he needed to hear it — no company wants to have a pot head on their payroll. He really needed to give his brain a rest — hell, anyone that I knew who smoked the shit wasn’t doing a “got-dayum” thing but lounging around all day long.
Before I had a chance to change the subject, Collin threw a knuckle ball that slipped past me and left me speechless.
“Marco, who in the fuck is my son’s father?!” He asked, in a huff.
Even though they had no idea what we were talking about, the others looked at us with concerned looks on their faces. Suddenly, all of my personal thoughts were pushed to the side as I instantly went into clean up mode. This discussion could not happen here in the lobby of a hospital.
No, it had to be some place where he could display all of the emotions that he had been keeping inside all of this time.
Finally a breakthrough…
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