Читать книгу True Confessions - Electa Rome Parks - Страница 11

Dear Journal,

I should start by telling you something about myself. Let’s see. There’s really not much to tell, not that’s interesting anyway. I’m pretty average in most ways and live a relatively tame lifestyle. I’m twenty-eight years old. Work as a senior relations service representative for a telecommunications company in Midtown. By the way, it’s a job I despise with a major passion, but I do my best nevertheless. It could be a cool job, but there is always so much drama going on with the women there. Trivial stuff at that. Why can’t women just get along?

Oh, I’m adopted. Mother and Daddy adopted me when I was two months old. I was born to a crack-addicted biological mother who simply gave me up at birth. Signed over her maternal rights. Just like that. With the snap of two fingers. In the blink of an eye. She signed over her maternal rights, and I became a ward of the state of Georgia. She wasn’t even sure who my biological father was. That line on my birth certificate was left blank. Recently, more and more, I have thought about hiring a detective agency to locate my birth mother because I have many questions. I even researched a few agencies online in the metro Atlanta area but I haven’t made a decision, mainly because I don’t want to hurt Mother.

I don’t get it. And believe me, I’ve tried. How can a mother, any mother, give birth to a child she has carried for nine months, felt her moving around inside her, bonded with, and then, then…just give her up like she’s dumping the trash? Me, I could never do that in a million years. It’s actually ironic, my life didn’t mean anything to my biological mother and I guess it didn’t mean anything to me either since I tried to take it.

Luckily for me, Mother and Daddy came into my life when I was two months old. Mother said she took one look at me lying all alone in the hospital crib, underweight because I was born premature, and knew she had to have me to love, shield, and nurture. Mother said she’d never forget how small, fragile, and vulnerable I appeared. Like I was calling out for her to love and protect me. And she did and hasn’t stopped loving me in all my twenty-eight years.

What else? I guess you could say I’m a loner. As I stated before, I don’t have many friends, male or female. That’s fine with me. I’ve halfway attempted to be friends with women at work, but in the end, there are too many jealousies, insecurities, and backstabbings going on. Mother said I shouldn’t stress or worry about it. She claims these women are jealous of my good looks. I don’t know, I think I have average looks. I’m about five feet seven, very fair skinned, long, naturally wavy brownish-red hair, hazel eyes, and a slim frame. Mother is always saying I could be a model with my long legs, slim waist, and exotic looks.

Anyhow, whatever the reason, I choose to go to work, do my job, and leave. My coworkers wrongly assume I’m a snob since I won’t get involved in their gossip, after-work activities, and petty ways. Until a year ago, most weekends found me at home curled up with a good book.

Occasionally, Taylor, a college friend, would convince me to hit a local nightspot with her. I’d tag along to please her, even though the club scene wasn’t really me. Clubbing wasn’t my thing. Typically, I’d sit in the corner for most of the night, nurse one drink, and turn down dances left and right. Taylor, on the other hand, lived on the dance floor and loved the attention men showered on her.

I’ve never been good with men, either. I’ve never had problems attracting men, only with attracting the right ones. I honestly think I have an invisible sign posted on my forehead that says: USE AND ABUSE ME. PLEASE. The wrong ones flock to me like bees to honey.

After I met Drake, I thought all that had changed, that it was all in my past. I felt like I had won the lottery and I had the chance for love, marriage, and a family. How wrong I was. Love is so blind. It feels right, even when it’s wrong.

Looking back, Drake knew exactly how to make me feel good; sexually, that is.

“Ohhh yeah, baby. That’s right. Don’t stop doing what you’re doing.” Drake was in heaven.

“Okay, babe. Anything you say. You sure you can handle this?” I teased in between licks.

Starting in small circles, I twirled my tongue up and down his shaft and with each flick reached farther and farther out. When I placed all of him inside my warm mouth, I thought Drake was going to collapse in a heap in the middle of the floor.

“Damn, Kennedy. You do that shit too good,” he exclaimed as his eyes rolled back in his head like he was going into convulsions.

“Who do you love?” I asked, momentarily pausing to look up at him. I needed to hear him say it, again.

“Don’t stop now. Put it back in. I was almost there. Put it in,” Drake moaned, trying to place his stiff, massive organ back in the comfort and warmth of my eager, accommodating mouth.

“No, not until you answer my question,” I stated, shyly looking up at him from beside the sofa in my living room.

“Damn, Kennedy, you can’t tease a man like this,” he exclaimed, pushing my long hair back out of my flushed face. Unsuccessfully, he tried to force my head back down with his other hand.

“Who do you love?” I asked determinedly.

I took the opportunity to suck down on his tip, just like he had taught me. Not too hard, but with enough pressure to cause him to involuntarily shudder and close his eyes. Drake had patiently and expertly instructed me on everything he liked me to do to him in bed. The things I didn’t care for, I did them anyway. Just to please him. Cosmopolitan magazine articles revealed that what you wouldn’t do for your man, another woman would. Women should learn to be accommodating in the bedroom. I went above and beyond for Drake.

Tonight was costume night. Sometimes Drake and I played these games where I’d dress up in costumes and live out his fantasies. It kept the sex exciting and interesting, is what Drake said. I had no complaints. Tonight, I had on this red and blue cheerleading outfit minus the panties and bra. I even sported long socks and tennis shoes to complete the look.

As I squatted on the floor with my open, bent legs, Drake manually stimulated me and squeezed my breasts through the fabric while I pleased him. My wetness was all over his fingers. I think I was addicted to his dick; it was beautiful just like him, and I could suck him for hours.

“Kennedy, baby. You know I love you. From the first day I saw you, I’ve loved you,” he exclaimed, rubbing some more on my spot. I felt my knees getting weak.

I let out a slow, sensual moan, closed my eyes and bit down on my bottom lip. “Yeah, right there.” I opened my legs even wider, granting Drake full access.

He reached to push my head back down, and I searched his face for the truth. I knew Drake sometimes told me what he thought I wanted to hear. His confessions, sometimes, didn’t hold an ounce of truth.

“Come on, baby. Work my dick. Do it like I taught you. Suck that lollipop.”

“Hmmm, you taste sweet,” I cooed, licking my lips.

“It was love at first sight when you walked through my door. I knew you were the one.”

Drake had told me all I needed to hear. His words were music to my soul. I went to work, harder and faster than before. How many licks does it take to get to the center of the Tootsie Roll Pop? Slurping, wet sounds echoed throughout the stillness of the moment. We never made love with any background music or noise. Drake was turned on by the sensual, raw sounds and smells of our lovemaking.

“Oh, yeah. That’s it. That’s my girl. Damn,” he screa-med out in ecstasy as I moved just in time before he spewed all over me. With his eyes still closed and a big smile on his gorgeous face, Drake collapsed against my sofa, pulled me to him, and caressed my hair and face over and over. He loved to run his hands through my wavy locks. Drake despised when I wore my hair pulled up in a ponytail, and he expected me to take it down when I was with him. I obliged. I was always accommodating.

“You’re getting better. Go get a warm washcloth for your man,” he said, pulling up my skirt and smacking me on the ass two times, leaving a light red mark.

I stared at him from my spot on the floor. Getting better? I thought he’d enjoyed that. I knew he did. I was on point with all he had taught me. I made a mental note to do better the next time. I had finally gotten my gag reflex under control. Maybe next time I’d surprise him by swallowing.

“Go on, baby. Hurry up,” he demanded, bending down from the sofa and taking one of my throbbing nipples in his mouth like he possessed it, and absently playing between my quivering legs. “I’m ready to eat some honey because your pussy always tastes like some.”

I quickly jumped up to retrieve a towel because I knew what was in store for me. My kitty twitched. Twitched again. Drake was off the chain when it came to sexing me. He had turned me out; inside and out.

In my daze, I glanced around and surveyed my surroundings. In my bed, safe and sound in my tiny apartment. The ringing telephone woke me from my flashback of events that had transpired several months earlier, during happier times. The tingling between my legs was present day and very real. My coochie was having some serious dick withdrawals and feeling like an addict, craving a piece of Drake. However, that would happen only over my dead body.