He's Just A Friend (26 page)

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Authors: Mary B. Morrison

BOOK: He's Just A Friend
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AUTHOR'S MESSAGE
Here's my take, spin, belief, on life, love, and relationships. Change is constant but some folk want to change the people and things around them, but not themselves. They believe their values and concepts are more valid than others, thereby having a need to mold and clone offspring and mates. If I had a dollar for every time I've heard a man say, “I want to get married, and I really don't expect that much of my wife, all I want is blah, blah, blah,” I'd be richer than Oprah. Okay, maybe not Oprah, maybe her friend Gail, but you get my point. So here's the deal. Change the way you think. Change the way you feel.
Relationships are emotionally based for both men and women. Yes, men, too. The public or outward display differs depending upon gender but the suffocating thoughts of betrayal and abandonment can psychologically paralyze a couple rendering both numb to their true feelings of love. Breakups are seemingly devastating because mentally people permit themselves to experience a tremendous loss. A loss so grave some individuals take their own lives and/or the lives of loved ones. Change the way you think and you'll change the way you feel.
Understand that separation anxiety manifests in numerous ways from infancy to adulthood. Children are comforted as long as they can see their parents. Adults feel secure when they know their spouses are constructively present and in their corner—emotionally, spiritually, financially, and so forth. Kindergartners cry when their parents leave them on the first day of school. Parents cry when their children go off to college. Lovers argue and sometimes fight, wishing their partner would just go away. The same individuals cry themselves to sleep, praying their fleeing mate will soon return.
When the ties that bond begin to tear, lovers panic. Why? Because they perceive the problem cannot be resolved even before they've attempted to effectively communicate, therefore adding pressure and stress to an already deteriorating relationship. When times are challenging, take a deep breath and ask yourself, “What is the real issue at hand?” Not problem. But issue. Perceive your dilemma as a resolvable issue. The answer always resides within because you are the hammer, the driving force, equipped to repair or condemn your relationship.
Change the way you think. Change the way you feel.
Grow in love as one. Oneness in love is key. Oneness in love is
the
key. Conceptualize that the man is the soil and the woman is the seed. One cannot flourish without the other. True love can never be separate and equal. Independently, neither man nor woman is complete. Jointly the halves become a whole, but only when the two fuse as one. Immediately begin replacing the I, me, mine with us, we, ours.
Never allow others to pollute your garden of love and solidarity. If you conclude the soil or seed is incompatible, first seek to find what nutritional supplements are deficient. Then gradually add each element. Don't expect an overnight change. Only after you've given your best, if you still haven't reaped a ripe harvest, you can move forward with a clear conscience. If you decide to uproot to find a more compatible mate, discard the weeds that plagued your garden, lest you contaminate your new soil or seed. Once you realize you already possess everything you need to cultivate a healthy relationship, only then will you experience the joy and happiness of giving and receiving the love you deserve.
Change the way you think. Change the way you feel.
Think positive. Smile at your mate. Lovingly stroke your mate. Whisper kind and kinky thoughts to your mate, especially in public. I did say whisper, right? Okay. Reflect on the good times. Let go of the bad times. Generally you won't forget but you must learn to forgive—forgive others as well as yourself. Share your dreams. Embrace your fears with faith. Fear is faith twisted upside down. So learn to turn fear around. Absorb one another's tears in the soil. Collectively the tears will cleanse the soil and both souls. The water will fertilize the seed and revitalize the spirits.
Never take life for granted. And don't assume you'll always have the love of your life. A relationship is a commitment that requires dedication just like operating a successful business, being an outstanding employee, and lovingly parenting children. Develop a passion for a healthy relationship. And when you use the word friend, never use it in a complete sentence with the word “just” as a qualifier. Because no friend is just a friend. And when you marry, marry your friend first and become his or her lover second. For a friend will always be a true love. But a lover won't always be a true friend.
Peace and Blessings
And so it is
Mary B. Morrison
If you desire to learn more about making healthier relationship choices, purchase a copy of my relationship workbook entitled
Who's Making Love
and/or attend one of my Who's Making Love workshops.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The other side of what I do that many are unaware of is I'm the Founder and President of The RaW Advantage
. The RaW Advantage
is a business dedicated to avid readers and aspiring writers. I conduct self-publishing workshops for writers and host author receptions for readers.
The RaW Advantage
also encompasses The SHIFT Program and Who's Making Love workshops. I created The SHIFT (Supporting Healthy Inner Freedom for Teens) Program to help teenagers build self-esteem and make healthy relationship choices. Anyone who hasn't listened—I mean truly listened—to a teenager speak from the heart concerning their views on love, let me tell you, society has stripped away many of their hopes and dreams of having healthy relationships. I strive to show teenagers—especially young ladies who set the tone and establish the bar for relationships—how to use their inner strength to assist with their decisions. Decisions that parents, teachers, and friends can influence but cannot make for them.
I'm taking an additional step to provide references. The rest is up to you.
Spiritual Guidance
Meditate and ask God or
your spiritual leader
SHIFT Program
www.therawadvantage.com
Free Testing for
1-866-RAP-IT-UP
HIV/AIDS
Rape Crisis Hotline
1-800-656-HOPE
Teen Pregnancy &
1-800-BABY-999
Prevention
The following is a sample chapter from Mary B. Morrison's novel
SOMEBODY'S GOTTA BE ON TOP.
It is available wherever hardcover books are sold.
ENJOY!
Somebody's Gotta Be On Top
Stop!
Somebody's Gotta Be On Top
How much are you willing to pay
To live another day
What are you afraid of. . . .
Money isn't keen
It's the realization of a dream
In the color green
Envy
Slime
Slipping
Tripping
Through time
Exchanging hands
Yours
Mine
What are you afraid of. . . .
Wishing
Wanting
Never daunting
Taunting
Your faith
Or taking a risk
Or waiting for break
To take a piss
Shit!
Piss on
Those who sing
Piss off
Those who scream
I'm living my dream!
Stop!
Somebody's Gotta Be On Top
How much are you willing to pay
To live another day
What are you afraid of. . . .
Success
Achieving your best
Willing to live with less
In order to attain more
Are you afraid to open the door
Before you knock
Or maybe you're content
Shoulda
Coulda
Woulda
Only if. . . .
You'd spent
Time Time Time
How much are you willing to pay
To live another day
Frivolous chatter
Doesn't matter
Settling
Meddling
Gabbing
Back-stabbing
Shattering hope
Slipper y slope
Walking a tightrope
What are you waiting for. . . .
An invite
When the time is right
Not tonight
Tomorrow
Sorrow
Today
You'll borrow
Someone else's
Money
Honey
Hopes
Dreams
Anything
Sign an I.O.U.
Promise to repay
In dismay
That which you haven't earned today
Belongs to someone else
Isn't that funny
Yesterday is gone
You're sitting at home
On a diminishing throne
Of hopes
Dreams
Envy
Green
You scream
Money ain't a thing!
That's a lie
Can't miss what you never had
Lad
Your slice of the pie
Is on someone else's table
You're able
But. . . .
Unwilling
What are you afraid of….
Stop!
Somebody's Gotta Be On Top
How much are you willing to pay
To live another day
No pain
No sweat
No blood
No tears
Just fears
Who cares
What's new
What are you really going to do
Successful people are the same as you
Living with fears too
What are you afraid of. . . .
How much are you willing to pay
Today
Or Not
Regardless
Somebody's Gotta Be On Top
CHAPTER 1
M
onogamy wasn't natural. Monogamy was a learned behavior that Darius couldn't be taught. When would women realize sex wasn't a bed partner of love? Besides, who would teach him how to be faithful? Jesse Jackson? Bill Cosby? Willie Brown? Bill Clinton? His dad, the ménage à trois king? All the men he respected, all the men he knew, were men. Fornicators. Adulterers. Players. The distinction of a real man was a real man kept his family in the foreground and his females in the background. Like backup singers. Once the song was over, their job was done. Thanks for having made him cum. Now go. With Darius, not many of his lovers deserved an encore.
“Ha!” Darius laughed, then said aloud to himself, “You a fool boy.” His office was quiet all morning. No constant phone calls or interruptions by his secretary, Angel.
Any woman who wanted Darius Jones had to commit to him and only him. His woman had to have a job. Not any job. A high paying job. Preferably her own business. So what if he had enough money to take care of her. Her mama. And her grandmama. A woman without a steady income was venomous. A woman with too much idle time was lethal. No piece of ass was worth his millions of dollars. He was the only heir to his mother's empire and one day would split his father's fortune with one sibling who was barely four years old.
Those broke leeches in thongs, jiggling their asses on beaches or benches, at the bus stop, were the ones who were constantly plotting and planning—pregnancy, rape, battery—on how to become rich off of a man. For sex. For real. Any wealthy man would suffice. Mike. Kobe. Deon. Including him. Bullshit conniving tricks. They weren't privy to suck his dick.
Rich pussy like the Vivica A's, and Mary J's, Halles, and Janets of the world needed stroking too. But they also had reputations worth protecting. Lawsuits to them translated into bad publicity. Lost revenue. They'd end the relationship before bringing forth charges. That's the kind of woman Darius wanted. And if Darius ever caught his woman cheating, she didn't need to waste his time explaining. Or packing. Because he'd personally have all of her shit moved out of his house. Immediately! With Darius, no one got a second chance to make a bad impression. Except his mother.
Darius pressed sixty-nine on his speed dial. His lungs expanded. The warm air escaped his nostrils, grazing his smooth upper lip.
“Hey, you,” she answered.
Her voice penetrated his soul. Chill bumps invaded his skin. The hairs on his arms stood tall. Darius wasn't cold. He swallowed the lump clogging his vocal cords and said, “So, you packed yet? I can hardly wait to see you tonight. Make sure you arrive two hours early at the airport.” Darius deepened his voice then emphasized, “I don't want you to miss your flight this time.”
Darius rolled his leather high-back chair until his abdomen pressed against the edge of his glass-top desk creating a crease in his wool jacket. Slowly he smoothed his finger over the photographic image of her naturally pink-colored lips. Thin and seemingly oh-so-ver y soft. She looked ravishing in the family picture they'd taken a month ago at Thanksgiving dinner with his parents.
“Are you still in the office?” she asked.
His hand traveled from her temple and traced the outline along her straight black hair, which cast a strikingly beautiful contrast against her nearly white complexion. His eyes fixated on hers.
Loving someone more than himself, more than life, more than making money, was absurd and not what Darius had planned. But this special woman—naw, she was more than a woman, she was a lady—had stolen his heart. First she'd become his platonic childhood playmate. Now she was his best friend. His only friend.
The honeysuckle scent of her hair, the subtle movement of her hips when she walked, the provocative melody of her voice each time she innocently laughed while calling his name, the gentleness of her touch whenever she groomed his dreadlocks, the taste of her words lingering on his palate as he gasped into the receiver consumed his thoughts. Nervous energy growled in the pit of his stomach reminding him he'd forgotten to eat lunch again today. Consciously he erased his boyish grin. She evoked feelings Darius swore he'd never harbor for any woman after having been betrayed by his ex-fiancée.
“Of course I'm still in the office. And my staff too. Just because it's Friday and New Year's Eve, doesn't mean they're entitled to leave early. I might let 'em go at three. Maybe. Now answer my question.”
“Don't worry. I packed last night. And my dad is dropping me off in a few. I'll call you when my plane lands in Oakland.” She paused then whispered, “I miss you, brother.”
Darius remained silent. Damn. Although they spoke every day, three to five times each day, he'd practically forgotten about the incident with her dad. Darius hadn't seen her father since the day, over two years ago, when he'd beaten her father's ass for causing his mother to hurt her arm and leg. In retrospect, Darius understood Lawrence's frustrations with his mother because after that physical altercation Darius's mother gave him the shock of his life. Thereafter, his feelings for his mother numbed his compassion toward women even more. If his mother were a liar, then every other woman was too. Except his lady on the opposite end of the phone. But the feasibility existed, so he couldn't completely trust her either. What a fucked-up world to live in, Darius thought, when the only person he could trust one hundred percent of the time was himself.
Forgetting about her dad and his mom, Darius massaged his erection through his pleated slacks hoping she'd continue talking, but hopefully not about her dad. Her voice had him so turned on he wanted to make love. To her. For years.
Say something. Anything. Please,
his dick urged, her tone repeating in his mind.
I miss you
. He'd missed her too. But silence lingered in his ear.
New Year's Eve this year would be unforgettable. He wasn't going to propose, but he'd finally gathered the courage to logically express the depth of his love. His birth parents weren't hers so factually they weren't related. And since his mom was remarried to her soul mate, Wellington Jones, the man his mother should've married instead of Lawrence, Darius felt Ashlee and he were two consenting adults capable of making their own decisions.
Darius's flight from Los Angeles would arrive into Oakland International Airport one hour before Ashlee's plane from Dallas was scheduled to land. His luggage would remain at baggage claim because he wanted to surprise Ashlee by waiting at her gate with a dozen of her favorite long-stem white roses.
Breaking the silence she finally spoke, “Did you hear me?” Lightly she articulated, “I said, I miss you.”
Ashlee's delayed response made Darius believe she was also thinking about him. The cordless phone slipped from between his ear and shoulder so he quickly activated the speaker. “Of course I heard you. I just wanted you to repeat it. That's all.” He placed his fingers against his thick lips then laid the same two fingers atop the glass frame over her mouth.
She inhaled then softly said, “I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. How's that? Turn on your cam so I can see you.”
No way
, Darius thought as he unzipped his pants and squeezed his head suppressing the cum vowing to escape his hard-on. He imagined what she looked like in the nude. Although they'd visited one another for more than ten years—he still had no idea if her nipples were lighter or darker than her breasts. If her pubic hairs were curly or straight. If her clitoris was small or large.
“Hey, lady. I've gotta run. I'll see you later.” Darius stood. Securing his relaxed muscle into his black silk boxers, he then watched the tiny metal clamps overlap until the last one reached the top.
His lungs suctioned in the much-needed oxygen for his brain when she exhaled an intoxicating, “Bye.”
Darius waited until she hung up then removed his tan coat, tossing it onto his chair. He entered the private rest room connected to his office and vigorously rinsed his face with cold water. While staring at his reflection in the mirror, Darius wondered why his mother had lied to him about his biological father? Why she'd waited twenty years to reveal the truth? Why didn't his biological father, Darryl Williams, Sr., display the same love for him as he did for Darius's two half brothers?
Darryl was a former NBA all-star whom Darius had overtly idolized most of his childhood, including the four years Darius started on the varsity basketball team in high school. Darryl was his college basketball coach at Georgetown, which explained why his mother never came to any of his college games. His mother apparently had an epiphany when her mother died and decided it was time for a damn confession. A truth that mentally scarred him. Possibly for life.
Fuck Darryl Williams! Darius Jones didn't need anybody but Darius Jones. His beloved grandmother, Ma Dear, the only woman that had never lied to him, would've said, “Don't waste time disliking people who don't like you when you can appreciate the many people that do love you.” Darius knew Ma Dear was right, but after Ma Dear died disappointment and resentment befriended him.
Although sometimes Darius drowned in his waterless tears, real men, when their hearts ached with sadness and their souls suffocated from failure, didn't show signs of weakness. Darius remembered because Ma Dear's husband, Grandpa Robert, whom she'd joined in heaven, told Darius when Darius was four years old, “Boy, looks like you been crying. Crying is for girls and sissies. Remember that.” Darius never forgot. Tears. Confessions. There was no way Darius would ever let Grandpa Robert down by displaying a wimpish attitude. Sensitivity belonged to losers like Rodney, the undercover bisexual brother who infected his ex-fiancée with HIV. Anger and outrage were more acceptable. Darius thought again, what a fucked-up world to live in.
Buying his office building and loaning him a million dollars was just another one of his mother's ways to compensate for her guilt. And he had every intention of making her suffer for the next twenty years or at least until he felt she'd repaid her debt. Everyone was indebted to something or someone. But if his mother hadn't married Lawrence, Darius would've never met his number one lady. So perhaps he should've been grateful, but gratitude required expressing feelings.
Shifting his thoughts back to his lady, he smiled in the mirror, running his fingers over his locks. He gathered each shoulder-length strand in a ponytail then admired the sweet brown succulent flesh hundreds of women had enjoyed feasting upon. Her flight would arrive at ten o'clock tonight. What would she wear to his parents' ball tomorrow? Hell, it didn't matter. Possessing the same qualities as his mother, his stepsister always looked great. Just like his ex-fiancée, Maxine. Ladylike. Feminine.
Why was his childhood so innocent and his adult life so skeptical? As a child he could do no wrong. Women adored him. Fantasies of having his own family. A loving wife who'd only love him and he'd exclusively love her. At one time he believed that was true. Until those two fifth graders told him he could have both of them or his boring girlfriend. She wasn't boring. She was quiet. There was a difference. But two were definitely better than one. Darius once believed marriage was sacred. Until he witnessed his mother divorcing Lawrence for no good reason other than she wanted another man.
Why did grown-ups lie about simple shit? Santa? The Easter bunny? Who was this dude Cupid? Someone who was supposed to make him believe he was in love? Most people weren't. Most people were lonely or afraid of being alone so, good or bad, they clung to the familiar. Not Darius.
Darius walked out of his corner office, one flight down the back stairway, entered the exit door, stood over his new employee and folded his arms high across his cashmere shirt. Quickly she clicked on the minimize box at the top of her computer screen and the game vanished.
“Naw, put the screen back up,” Darius insisted, staring over her shoulder. “I wanna see how good you are because obviously you're no good for my company.” Darius waited. “You've got ten seconds. Ten. Nine. Eight . . .” he always counted backward so when he stopped, he was at number one because he was number one. The best at business, politics, economics, sports, and sex. Especially, sex. Darius's eyes focused on the digital clock at the bottom of the seventeen-inch flat screen monitor. Two hours remaining before his driver would take him to the airport.
When the screen came into view, Darius pointed toward the door and said, “Get your shit and get the fuck out of my office.”
“But, it's the holidays and there isn't any work to do. I can ex—”
“Don't waste any more of my time or my money.” He'd warned her in the orientation last month not to use his company's equipment or services for personal reasons. At the top of the items listed on the acknowledgment form by his Human Resources Director was the computer, followed by the telephone—both cellular and office—supplies, beverages, and so forth. “What's my mission statement?” Darius asked, watching the woman hesitantly remove his company's cell phone and credit card from her purse.
She mumbled, “If it doesn't make money, it doesn't make sense.”
“So, what? You thought I was joking?”

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