Dirty Heat (23 page)

Hell, I've tried putting her out, twice. But she turned around and called the cops on me. Told them, crying, that I was putting her out and she had nowhere else to go, that I was throwing her and our daughter out on the streets. The cops stood there and looked at me like I was the biggest asshole. Then they had the audacity to tell me I couldn't put her out because her name is on the lease, too. The worst thing I ever did, was putting her name on this lease.

Now I can't get rid of her ass.

She's even threatened to take my daughter from me, again. And she knows I'm not having that. The last time she ran off with my Amaya, she stayed gone for almost six months. That fucked me up.

I couldn't eat, or sleep. Or even think straight.

Stephanie knows Amaya is my whole world. And her packing her shit and taking my daughter with her almost had me wanting to beat her ass.

Even though she moved like forty-five minutes away—and I got to see Amaya on the weekends, it felt like she'd kidnapped her and ran off to another country. Coming home and seeing my daughter's closet and dresser drawers cleaned out had my head all fucked up.

I've been in my daughter's life since the day she was conceived. I cut her umbilical cord. I held her in my arms before her own mother did. I got up in the middle of the night and fed her when Stephanie was too exhausted to nurse her. So, no, I'm not leaving. Not without my daughter. Period.

So, yeah, it's no secret. She knows that the only reason I'm still with her is because of Amaya. That's her only leverage. Our daughter. And she knows she has me by the balls. She knows if we didn't have Amaya, I would have bounced seven years ago.

That's when the shit started getting crazy with us. Or maybe it was always crazy, but in the beginning, it was all good, at least that's what I want to believe. So I didn't pay most of her bullshit any mind because she had a little waist, fat ass, looked good in the face. And she was putting it down in the sheets.

So by the time I started noticing it, it was too late. She was pregnant with Amaya and I wasn't going anywhere. Period.

So I married her.

Big fucking mistake.

Seems like once she got that ring, and had Amaya, she got real
loose. She started getting careless with her mouth, cursing me out in the streets and around my daughter. She started thinking it was okay to jump up in my face. And, like now, back then I put up with the shit because I wanted to be in my daughter's life, by any means necessary.

And, I will be.

So I'm fucking stuck, for now.

And I suffer in silence.

And, while Stephanie's drinking and eating herself into piggy heaven, getting all fat and sloppy, I do what I gotta do to be a full-time father to my daughter. I make sure Amaya has what she needs. I make sure shit around here gets done, because that's what I'm supposed to do. I take out the trash, and clean the crib, and do my daughter's and my laundry, and handle the groceries and everything else, leaving Stephanie to her own demise.

So in a word, I'm married to an educated, lazy-ass, loud-mouthed bitch, who is all too comfortable with her tore-up weave and her fake lashes, flopping around the house in funky-ass sweats and oversized shirts and those ugly-ass Chinese slippers with the rhinestones.

Now. You tell me. Who the hell wants to come home to that shit every night?

Not me.

Like I mentioned, I don't even sleep in the same bed with her. One, she hogs the bed. And, two, she snores like one. Sleep apnea or not, the bitch looks like Hannibal with that breathing apparatus strapped to her face at night.

And yet, she wonders why I don't wanna fuck her. Not that we don't fuck. Just not on the regular. And only when jerking out this nut isn't enough.

Yeah, I can't stand her ass. But, fuck. I'm still a man with needs. And I still have a dick that gets hard, and horny.

And she's still a piece of ass, who's laying up in here not paying one motherfucking bill. So, uh, yeah, the least she can do is roll over and get up on all fours whenever I'm feeling generous enough to grace her with a few hard strokes.

So when I give her this hard dick—after I've gotten myself aroused thinking about fucking someone else—it's a pity fuck. A hard, dirty pounding—from the back; always from the back—out of anger and desperation and fucking disgust.

It's fucked up to say this, but I can't fuck her unless I'm thinking of someone else. I close my eyes, imagine I'm somewhere—anywhere else but here, with
her
—then beat her shit up wishing it were her face. Smacking her ass, hard and rough, is the only time I aggressively put my hands on her.

Every time I fuck her, I try to beat her ovaries up. Try to gut out her uterus. Sometimes, I even grab her in a chokehold while I'm hitting that shit from the back, wishing I could snap her fucking neck. That's how bad it is. That's how deep my hate for her runs. But then I think about Amaya and keep from snatching her breath.

And the irony is, she loves it. Begs for it.

Her pussy gets real wet when I yank her by the hair and try to snatch her scalp off. Or when I manhandle her.

“Yes, nigga, ooh, fuck me! Beat that shit up! Aah! Aah! Aah! Yassss! Yasss! I know you hate me, nigga. But you love this pussy…”

Yeah, okay, if she only knew.

True. I used to love the pussy. Used to.

All that pussy is to me, now, is a wet hole. A convenience. A cum-dump. And it being at my disposal when I'm high and horny enough to wanna put my dick in it is all I care about.

Here's another crazy thing. After I beat that shit down, she's good for a few days, up whistling and smiling and trying to be nice, wanting to fix us.

But, like I said, it's too late. There's nothing to fix. We're gonna keep doing what we do.

Nothing.

So now when she gets in her feelings, I leave her ass sitting in them, biding my time. And, if she starts popping shit, I let her argue by her damn self, which usually only sets her off more. Then she gets it in her little, crazy-ass head that there's someone else.

“Motherfucker, are you cheating on me?!”

“Hell no, I'm not cheating. I should be. But I'm not.”

“Well, you're fucking something because you're damn sure
not
fucking me!”

“Listen, go 'head with that. I'm not doing this with you with Maya in the other room.”

“Nigga, I don't give a fuck about Maya being in the other room! Maybe she needs to hear how fucked up you are.”

“Listen. Watch your fucking mouth, aiight?”

“Or what, nigga? I asked you a fucking question. Who you out there fucking?”

“No one. Damn. Now get the fuck off my back.”

“Nigga, I ain't on your back, yet! I know you fucking some dirty bitch. But if I find out who the bitch is, I'ma fuck her up. Try me!”

“Think what you want. I can get pussy anytime I want. But I don't. So to answer your question, dumbass, I'm not fucking you because of
you,
not because of some other broad.”

“Nigga, fuck you and that little-ass dick! You ain't gotta fuck me, bitch! That little-ass dick ain't about shit anyway.”

“Yeah, aiight. Then why you sweating
it
if it ain't about shit, huh?”

“Motherfucker, get the fuck out of my face!”

And, of course, Amaya heard that shit, too.

I frown, shaking the thought of our last argument two weeks ago out of my head. Yeah, I'm miserable in this marriage. But I'm still
married. So until she leaves, or I can get up this money to file for a divorce—and get custody of our daughter—cheating is out, no matter how bad I want some stress-free pussy.

Shit, if I could afford one of those “happy-ending” massages, I'd let some slanted-eyed babe work the nut out of me.

But I'm not even chancing that. Just my luck, she'd fuck around and catch me getting this dick handled. Then try to fuck me over more than she already has. So, nah, I'll get this nut off solo—well, with the help of porn and phone sex, for now. Otherwise, I'm not giving her any ammunition to use against me when it's time to take her ass to court. But, trust me. If I was the kind of man to step out and fuck other women, I would. It's not like I'm not being tempted. Pussy is always being thrown at me.

It's like the more I say no, the more it's being tossed at me. Still, as hard as it is, I resist. But fuck. Do you know how badly I want some new pussy? Some head? I'd love to have my dick sucked right now. And these balls licked, slow and wet. Would love to give this dick to someone who appreciated a good man and some good goddamn dick.

But I don't need the added drama.

Not right now.

So I'll pass.

I just want this bitch gone.

I want her to go on with her pathetic life, and leave Amaya and me alone. Let her ass be the weekend parent. It's not like she's doing much of the parenting any-damn-way. But, for now, I take the high road. Bite my tongue. And keep pretending.

I glance at the time on my iPad. 7:30 p.m.

I scowl, wondering where the fuck Stephanie is with my daughter. But I'm not about to text her to find out.
On second thought,
I think, grabbing my cell.
Where's Maya?
I text.

A few seconds later, my phone
pings
. It's her. I'm surprised she's hit me back so quickly. Usually it takes her twenty, sometimes thirty, minutes before she decides to get back at me, if not at all, unless
she
wants something.

@ TeeTee's. she's gnna stay the night. teetee's takn the kids 2 storybook land 2morrow. i 4got 2 tell u

You forgot? Yeah, right. Whatever!

She ain't forget shit!

I don't respond back.

TeeTee is my sister. So it's not that I have a problem with Amaya staying over. It's the fact that Stephanie stays doing shit without consulting me,
first
, to see what I think. But I know her passive-aggressive ass. She did that she being funny. I know Amaya told her that I was planning to take her up to Pennsylvania Dutch Country tomorrow because I overheard her telling her in the kitchen the other night.

“Who else's going?”

“Nobody. Just me and Daddy.”

“Mmph. Dutch Country, my ass. Why is he taking you there?”

“Because I like it there. And I asked him to.”

“Mmph. All I know is, I better not find out he's bringing some Quaker bitch around you, or I'ma get real ugly on his ass.”

“Mommy, don't talk like that. Why are you always so mean to Daddy?”

“What? Oh, so you're taking up for his ass, huh?”

“No. I'm not taking up for him. I just don't like when you say mean things about him.”

“Girl, take your little fresh-ass to bed before I smack you in your mouth.”

It took everything in me not to storm in and shut it down. But I let her have her moment. Although Stephanie's never put her
hands on Amaya, she's come at her real crazy with her mouth. And Amaya is smart enough to know what time it is. She knows her mother's a loose cannon.

Now I gotta be up in this motherfucker with her ass..

Ping.
Another text message.
Now what the fuck does she want?

I'm omw home. U want sumthn while I'm out?

I frown. Stephanie hasn't asked me if I've wanted something while she's out in years. Now all of sudden she's asking?

Yeah, for your ass to stay gone!

Nah. I'm good,
I text back.

I open my desk drawer and pull out my stash, deciding to roll a blunt and chill out.

Usually “I'm on my way home” means I'll be home in about two hours. And that's fine with me.

I pack my cigar with weed, then light it.

Thirty minutes later, I'm real mellow, feeling nice as hell. And, Stephanie's still not home like I knew she wouldn't be. If I'm lucky, maybe she'll stay out all night.

I decide to hit up a few of my boys trying to see who wants to get up and maybe hit up a titty-bar. But, to my dismay, they all on house arrest tonight. Wifeys got 'em all on lock.

I shake my head. It's Friday night, and I don't have shit to get into tonight. At least if Amaya was home, I could rent a movie and order pizza or play one of her favorite board games with her.

This is some pathetic bullshit.

I light another blunt, taking a few deep pulls.

“Hey, you want some shrimp fried rice?” Stephanie says all nice and sweet, knocking on the door and walking in at the same time. I didn't even hear her come in the crib. I cringe. Fuck. I'm in the third bedroom, the one I've taken over, and turned into my man cave.

I keep from sucking my teeth at the unwanted intrusion.

This bitch…

“Nah, I'm good,” I say, not looking up at her, scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed, hoping she gets the hint.

That I'm not beat for chitchat.

“You wanna watch this Zane movie with me. It just came out on DVD.”

Now this makes me look up at her. Look at her. Standing here with her broad-shouldered-linebacker-looking ass. She used to have a sexy-ass body, thick in all the right places. Now she's all stomach and back fat, just sloppy with it. And I'm supposed to wanna be with something looking like this. Fuck outta here.

I blink. She's gotten her hair done. She's cut that raggedy weave out and has her hair cut in a short style and has it highlighted. And, I won't front. It looks nice on her. She even has on lipstick. A burgundy color, I think. I have to be straight up. She might have let her body go, but she's still pretty in the face. Still, I keep from frowning at her offer. Why the hell would I want to sit through some shit with a bunch of sex scenes in it with her?