Famished thanks to this smooth and potent GMO Cookie, I comb through my finances to solidify I’m poor. This doesn’t register with my munchies at all. My only option is to order a frozen pizza from Amazon Prime, which will arrive at 10PM tonight. It’s 1:30PM. The wait time is devastating as my mind mass in frustration. My head loses balance falling but being caught by the mahogany desk.
My personal phone vibrates, a text from the smooth criminal, so I smile. He is the epidemy of my coffee in strength and enthusiasm. His suave is like a dance I haven’t quite figured out yet. His voice is as light as a feather, and laying around his house are artifacts of the Black Panthers and encouragement to the black community. Also, our flag waves proudly in his closet?
My thought was interrupted by another text from him. He asked if I wanted to come over after he gets off work. What are the odds? He gets off at the delivery time of my pizza. Feeling anxious, my mind scramble for the words to ask for money for food. All of the negative consequences emerge, and I defend my privation: the disparity, impoverish, unattractiveness that bundle and manipulates this question. My phone vibrates again. I respond quickly, “yes,” and add, “… could we also stop for something to eat?” It’s 3PM now, and I realize I indeed have enough time to make something to eat before ten. Even after overcoming those mental obstacles, I still carry them thanks to this link chain of inadequacy.
My focus centered on how I could distract myself from hunger. Binging Nora from Queens seemed sufficient. I find myself ominous because finding comfort in a windowless room seems eerie. Still, it does help with the illusion of time passing faster. Sure enough, my phone rang, and it was the smooth criminal, letting me know he was outside. I looked at the time and saw it was 9:30PM; he was early. I ravaged my panty and bras tangled in my suitcase for a notable pair and covered myself. I carelessly threw on some shorts, a hoody, a jean jacket, and my Nike Shocks while running for the door. I locked my room door, and while turning for the front door, I noticed the darkness through the glass entrance.
“You should probably be concerned with your contempt to be sheltered in a windowless room,” I told myself in solicitude.
Once in the car, I kissed his bottom lip and relaxed. He looked to me with this displeasing look and pushed his chin forward, saying, “Put on your seat belt.” I felt diminutive and not in a sexy way. I fastened my seatbelt, biting my bottom lip in deep thought of my dishonor. In route to his house, things lightened up, and we discussed the current updates on the election. That alone was enough chatter to entertain us. He lit the fire, and we burned our way to his place in smoke, his Mitsubishi, and election suspense. Once we got to his home, I slowly unbuckled the seat belt. I’m always uncertain when making moves in his presence. It’s one of the things that drives me crazy about him. None the less, this isn’t the first time I’ve reproached him.
My first time going to his place, I laid my jacket on his couch. He gave me this disdained smile, picked up my jean jacket, and hung it on his closet door. I was quiet. Shortly after, he lit all three fires, his chimney, a blunt, and the passion between us.
I sat in the seat for a moment, then reminded myself, “He likes me!” I got out of the car, grabbing my bag all at once but somehow looping my foot in the car door, catching myself before my face attached itself to the cement. I tried to play it off by walking to the stairway, but he got out of the driver’s seat, walked to the passenger door, opened it, and adjusted the seat belt. The embarrassment set, yet not sinking in until he walked around the car, and I saw the reproach in his face again. I felt disgusting, but I wasn’t quite sure why.
Once upstairs, I walked into his apartment and noticed a picture I didn’t see before. It was a painting of a black crow with a variation of pink shades in the background. The crows here in Seattle scare me. Their florescent black feathers that silk with green and purple indicate a disturbing stair that provokes sudden movements, whether it’s through their eyes or my feet.
I was taken from the picture when he offered me to pick something to watch other than the news. I hate when guys do this. I hate to be asked what I want to eat or watch because I’m the most indecisive creature that walked this earth.
“What are you doing?” He asked.
I focused on the TV to find a greeting for Jocelyn Alexander. “I… I don’t know. I was looking for something to watch.” I tried to collect myself.
“You’re going through things you shouldn’t.” He answered jokingly, with a little unsettling in his voice. I was soundless again, handed him the remote, and curled into the corner of the couch. I don’t know what I was doing. I got lost in my thoughts, which I often do, so up until his unsettling concern, I wasn’t paying attention. He picked a movie I didn’t care to watch and started cooking. “I’m making you a grilled cheese sandwich. Is that ok?” I shook my head yes, and bite my bottom lip. He turned to walk away but stopped and focused on me again. With his free hand, he benevolently took my chin and kissed my bottom lip. I quietly smiled and relaxed. “He likes me.” I reminded myself. Shortly after the movie started, he came in with a sandwich that smiled like garment herbs. It was the most beautiful sandwich I’ve ever seen. This man can cook, tare me down, and build me back up. Before my fingers touched the herbs complimenting the oil toasted on the bread, he snatched the half that sat on top and bit the most prominent arch out of the sandwich. I felt a hasty rage flush my cheeks. My emotions were suddenly interrupted when my phone vibrated. It was Amazon reassuring me my pizza was delivered with a lovely picture of my pizza placed at my front door. “My frozen pizza made it home,” I announced.
Shortly after the sandwich, we undressed. My panties were not the prettiest. The purple strip that penetrated the navy blue verticle lines was bleached in the vagina pocket, leaving a white smudge. No matter, I kicked my panties off, leaving them in a horrid manner openly on the ground, my bra was not so unattractive, but not pleasing to a man’s eye either. I didn’t care; I tossed that on the ottoman at the end of his bed, hopped in the bed, and immediately twirled my tongue on the outskirts of his penis profusely. He hurled out a grown and clenched his thighs, pointing his toes forward. This encouraged me, mouth-watering. I left the saliva sweating from my mouth like beads of perspiration on a condensed glass of water. His fingers shook as they managed to slowing ripple through my hair. I gradually coasted down his shaft, saliva intensifying his experience through the interim. While maneuvering up, I sucked small air pockets while on his penis while googling the saliva on the crevice on his penis shaft. The night ended, he rested, and I remained still for hours to ensure he felt nothing but peace and rest. As for my satisfaction, I was no longer hungry.
