It’s late. I’ve spent about 3 hrs scrolling online. It’s almost three AM and I’ve been up since 11. I leave for work at six. This time I closed my eyes and thought about being held in his arms as he kissed me on my forehead. I closed my eyes and snuggled into his chest. As I imagined this, tears quietly rolled down the side of my face. this man was someone I knew but never saw but I could feel his love and passion radiate through me. The only certainty is that if I were to find myself wrapped in this someone’s arms, it would be for my benefit alone. I’d leave him eventually for a man I would want to marry. And it doesn’t work that way. The karma in a one-sided love affair hits hard. I’d be plagued with the idea of being a placeholder and inevitably ruin the prospect of a serious relationship. Until I can enjoy the quiet space & not occlude it with the past, I need to be alone. I don’t want my old lovers or my old friends. I want to feel new. I am in fact brand new.
He watches her methodically undress in the dimly lit hotel room while he stands at the head of the bed. His shoulders are rigid and his back is erect. His rangy limbs are squarely planted on ten and two of his body.
She reaches behind her own back and unzips her long floral dress. The dress slips from her shoulders and allows it to glide to the floor. The silk pools around her feet before she sneaks a glance over her shoulder to see if his attention has been obtained. His eyes are fixed in her direction but his face is unmoved.
She returns to undressing by side-stepping from the middle of the floral fabric around her ankles, her stiletto heel briefly getting snagged in the mess. Her full, natural breasts hang like pumelos on her chest.
When she turns to look at her prospective lover again, his back has relaxed and his nimble fingers have gone to work on unzipping his pants and unbuttoning his shirt.
She turns away again to smile before sensually bending over to collect her dress from the floor. Her round behind separates ever so slightly, allowing him to see a flirtatious wink from her inner thighs.
Her heels subtly click across the floor adding to the soundtrack of scarce traffic flashing past their hotel window. A train horn sounds off in the distance. With her dress now neatly draped across the back of the rickety office chair, she’s ready to follow his remaining instructions.
Her heels click-clack to the hotel dormitory’s entrance. She uses the extra locks to secure the doorway. She looks over to him again. His button-down shirt and slacks are halved over his folded arms. The pair is separated by the bed and his tight, white boxer briefs.
She reassures him by crawling across the bed to him and taking his clothes from his arms.
“Come,” she says seductively.
She leaves his clothes on the bedside table and leans back on the bed. Her long, lean legs spread on each side. He leans over her, his lips stiffly pressing against hers. She uses her tongue to part his lips, his jaw goes slack then their lips engage in a game of cat and mouse.
Using her stilettos as leverage, she digs them into the bed, squeezes her thighs around his waist, then inches him and herself further onto the bed. She digs her teeth into his bottom lip before sucking on it to soothe the sting.
He winces a bit before striking his hand against her throat to give a gentle but stern reminder of their arrangement. Her vagina tightens with anticipation for what’s to come.
He bites her bottom lip in return, then her chin and along her jawline. Her heart skips a beat when he moves down the side of her neck, a small distance beneath her ear. His bites burn with pleasure. Her soft moans feed his flame. Her hands travel the length of his back, her ankles are now crossed delicately around his waist.
She can feel his bulge against her. Her moans plead for him to silence the aching in her most private part, her deepest secret. She uses her fingers to tickle the band of his briefs, his hands catch her wrists then pin them over her head.
Her hips gyrate on his bulge to continue beckoning his phallus, but he continues to take his time.
photo credit: stefan kuhn
He said he’d buy me a collar then we’d do erotic things.
I wonder what those things include.
Would he instruct me to gracefully kneel and lift my hair?
As he fixes the collar to my neck, would his rough finger tips graze the tiny goosebumps on my nape?
Before he walks around to stand in front of me, lifting my chin so he can see me
Staring into my eyes so he can see us
Because I am now his submissive.
A reflection of his dominance,
A result of his care,
“Hey, I haven’t seen you around here before,” Rebecca as she grinned from ear to ear at the stranger as she walked into her building’s laundry room.
“Hi,” he said as he returned a smile. “I just moved here from Georgia. My name is Preston.”
“Preston.” She repeated. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Preston! My name is Rebecca.” She licked her lips subtly as her eyes glazed over Preston’s frame. He was quite exotic; nothing like she’s used to seeing in town. Her neighborhood in Pawtucket did not offer much eye candy. Many of the locals were just that, locals.
Rebecca moved back to her home town five years ago to help her aunt while her grandmother was ill. Something about her neighborhood reminded her of being in a barrel of crabs. Once you are in the barrel, there’s no way out unless someone pulls you out. And usually, once you’ve found a way out, you’ve found yourself in more trouble.
Rebecca joined the field of underground logistics working for an organization she never had a front seat in. She was more of a middleman, making arrangements for the organization’s shipments on different ports around the world. When she was ready to leave, she was allowed to do so, no questions asked. She did not look over her shoulder once. Her sister Helena managed to be the exception to their neighborhood’s rule and went off to college. Rebecca’s proudest moment was listening to her sister’s salutatorian speech. Helena was her baby and from the moment she laid eyes on her she promised to always watch over her.
“So Preston, how’d you find yourself in Pawtucket?”
“Just looking for a change of pace. So far I’m liking what I’ve seen.” He replied as he returned a flirtatious look.
“I’m in apartment 503D. Stop by if you need anything,” Rebecca’s tone was suggestive.
He smiled but did not reply as Rebecca strolled out of the laundry room.
Rebecca settled into bed but could not rest. Her mind was on her mother and the last time she saw her. Her mother disappeared when Helena was two and she was seven. Their grandmother would always promise them that their mother would return but Danica never came home. Rumors circulated the neighborhood that she may have been murdered or sold away by her dealer. No one could say for sure. At a ripe twenty years old, where ever Danica disappeared to, it was no where good. Rebecca would still relive their last moment together every so often and it would startle her out of a deep sleep. Rebecca tossed in her bed trying to avoid the recurring dream of her mother’s departure.
“Momma will be right back, baby girl. I love you and Lena very much,” she said in Russian, her native language. Her slight accent always lingered in the back of Rebecca’s thoughts. That was the last time Rebecca heard her mother’s voice. She remembers her mother’s jet black hair being soaked as she kissed her good bye. Danica wore her father’s gold crucifix around her neck every day. She cast a look over her shoulder and kissed the crucifix as she walked out of her children’s life for good.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Given the late hour, Rebecca assumed it was an emergency and rushed to the door.
“Lena, what are you doing here?’ Rebecca whispered as she swung open her apartment door.
“I had to get away!” Helena tried to catch her breath. “I think someone is following me.”
Rebecca ushered her inside before peeking down her hallway to make sure it was clear. She turned to face her sister whose face was streaked with tears.
“What’s going on?” Rebecca asked.
“I can’t tell you,” Helena stammered. Her tawny brown skin was flushed. “I just need your help getting out of here.”
“Here, where? You have to tell me what’s going on or how can I help you?”
Helena leapt from the sofa and started pacing the floor and wringing her hands.
“Did you kill someone?” Rebecca continued her interrogation.
Helena shook her head vigorously in response and continued to ring her hands.
Before Rebecca could continue questioning her younger sister, there was a knock on her door. Both sisters froze in the living room.
The unannounced guest rapped on the door again.
“Who is it?” Rebecca called out.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s late but I need to call the maintenance guy and I don’t have his number,” Preston yelled through the door.
Rebecca turned to her sister to reassure her that the man at the door was her new neighbor but Helena went to hide elsewhere in the apartment.
“Just a minute!” After giving herself a once over in the hallway mirror, she opened the door.
“What’s up?” Rebecca asked.
“I need the number for the maintenance guy,” he repeated.
“Kinda late, no?” Rebecca flirted casually.
“I guess,” Preston started walking towards Rebecca to close the space between them.
“Let me get that number for you, ” she dipped around Preston and headed to the back room.
“I would have never guessed you and Helena are related,” he said following Rebecca towards the back.
She stopped in her tracks.
“What did you say?” Rebecca queried; she turned around cautiously to look Preston in his eyes.
“Helena, your sister, she never mentioned you,” his tone was ominous as he stepped closer to Rebecca.
“I never mentioned a sister to you,” Rebecca stepped backwards, matching his pace. Her mind flashed through the self defense techniques she learned during her years traveling as a logistics expert.
Preston lunged for Rebecca but she instinctively side stepped his aim and spun around so she was facing his back. As he tried to catch his balance from missing his target, Rebecca quickly lifted the heel of her foot and landed it into Preston’s back. She took the opportunity to race past him when he stumbled into her kitchen island.
Helena could hear the commotion from her hiding place. Her heart pounded in her ears as she sat on the floor anxiously. Preston promised he would not chase her down and yet he managed to locate her older sister.
The sisters did not call out to one another for fear they would give up their hiding places. Rebecca ran into her bedroom and closed the door. There was no where for her to go besides out of the window and she would not leave her sister behind. She could hear Preston approaching the bedroom door so she planted her feet firmly on the ground in anticipation of his attack.
“Okay, Rebecca,” he reasoned through her locked bedroom door, “let’s not do this. Perhaps I came on too strong. Open the door.”
Rebecca did not respond; instead, she took several paces back preparing herself for a worse outcome. The sweat from her brow started to trickle down the side of her face.
“Three,” Preston warned. He began attaching a silencer to his Colt M1911, “two, one.”
He raised his weapon to the door handle, cocked it back then fired at the door knob.
Two more shots fired as he lunged for Rebecca. Helena stepped over his body and ran to her sister’s arms.
“That’s not Preston,” Helena commented. She looked down at the rangy man writhing on the floor and kicked his gun out of his reach.
“Get his arms,” Rebecca instructed her sister. The man roared in pain as Helena pulled his arms behind his back.
Rebecca grabbed one of her silk scarves and began tying his legs vigorously while Helena kept pressure on his bleeding shoulder. Rebecca finished tying his feet then got another scarf to tie his arms taut behind his back.
“There’s a bleeding man on my floor, Helena,” Rebecca was out of breath. “Explain.” She rolled the wailing man on to his side and crammed a pair of socks into his mouth.
“Thank you for coming, Preston,” I said with a smirk as I walked my lover to the door. I leaned in to kiss him deeply as he stepped into the hallway. As he backed me back into my apartment, the kiss was ignited with more passion. I bit his bottom lip as he picked me up and pressed me against the wall. I felt so light in his large hands. I could still smell my pussy on his top lip. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer to me. There was not an inch between us, only his nine and a half.
My pale pink robe lifted around my waist as Preston pressed against me; his weight held me up against the wall in my foyer. As he tussled with his belt, I watched the way my silk robe flowed on his tattooed arms as I cradled his head and shoulders. I thought about how well he was suited for pink as he proceeded to wear my pink out. We couldn’t get enough of one another. My nipples hardened as they brushed again his chest and tears welled in my eyes as he pinned me to the wall.
Preston linked his fingers in mine and moved our hands over my head. He looked me in my soul as he continued stroking. Each stroke tapped my erogenous zone effortlessly and he received my cream as a gift. My thighs squeezed around him as I bucked to his to his rhythm. I could feel his penis throbbing as he climaxed inside of me.
Preston carried me to my couch and we laid there in silence. I was starting to feel hindered. Preston was over staying his welcome.
“Okay, love, you have to get up,” I said to him as I nudged him off of my chest.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Nothing, Preston. Don’t you think you’ve been here long enough?” I responded as I fidgeted under his gaze.
“Are we still doing this, Helena?” He said frowning.
“Doing what? You shouldn’t be here. We did what you came to do,” I was getting a little defensive.
This argument was getting rather old. When we first had sex, it was a fluke.
Preston was extremely attractive and had a great body. He’s popular and smart while I am just smart. He plays sports and is on pretty much every student interest poster. I managed to stay invisible for my entire first year in college. The first night he and I had sex, I was drinking. I was drinking alone and I’m usually alone but this night being alone felt different and different did not feel good.
So I walked up to him and his friends and told him that I thought he was sexy. I also said that he should look past my thick black square framed glasses and ‘understand that my pussy would ensnare him like a Venus Fly Trap.’ I wince every time I replay that lapse in judgement. His friends chuckled in disbelief and I in turn grew extremely red and stormed off. Like out of a love story, he chased after. We’re both bewildered as to why he did but I’m not complaining. Here’s what I’m complaining about – he doesn’t want to date in public but at the same time, he doesn’t care if anyone sees him coming from my dorm. Does this make sense; “he doesn’t care, but he cares?”
I didn’t get it but it’s better for me to keep things strictly about sex. I had grown addicted to his fix. I couldn’t focus on anything without my daily dose but ever addiction comes at a price. He had me feeling things that neither of us were ready for me to feel. I needed to keep things casual if he wanted to continue. If no one was to know we were fooling around, then we should keep it that way. This relationship limbo was killing me. My synapses were scrambling in an attempt to remain indifferent to his presence therefore they should be no cuddling. We fuck then he is returned. Why ever is this concept so hard to grasp?
“You have to go, Preston. I have class in about,” I paused to look at my wall clock, “thirty minutes.”
“Oh I see,” he replied. “You don’t have to walk me out.”
As I started to adjust my robe, he started to kiss on my neck and worked himself down to my belly. As he kissed me, his fingers taunted my tender clit. I opened my legs to assist him as my mind resisted. I really did have class in thirty minutes, but how long would it take for those beautiful lips to bring me to climax? I grabbed a fistful of his blondish brown hair and pushed his head past my waist line.
“Good girl,” he said before his mouth enclosed my pussy. I rolled my eyes back and cried out. It was simply the act of him doing this that drove me crazy. Sometimes I would stop and ask myself why he had followed me back to my dorm that night and then I would decide that it didn’t matter. I wasn’t a virgin but I was gently used up until this point. I closed my eyes and allowed his warm mouth to silence my thoughts.
As his tongue gently swirled around my labia, his fingers slid in and out to the same rhythm. It seemed that the young man was an old professional. He hooked his arms around my thighs to prevent me from scooting backwards after my first climax. I dug my heels into the small of his back and bucked my hips back at him. He didn’t stop eating until my body went limp and I was panting.
He sat down on the floor with his penis still erect and his face covered in my orgasm. He eyes beckoned me to him and my body agreed but my mind was unsure. My body wanted him more and more but I wouldn’t move. He reach up and pulled me to the floor to join him. We laughed at the way my knees knocked and trembled before he sat me on top of him. I didn’t ride him right away. I started with kissing his neck and even the tip of his nose. I don’t know why I did that. It was far too intimate. So I reeled myself in and raised my ass to slowly slide down his shaft. Entry was always the best part to me. I like that he let me go my pace.
Writing has been the siren to my soul calling me to sea for many years. My children are my anchor but I have yet to find a balance. My desire to write furiously is obsessive. I am aching to be surrounded by crumpled ideas, whimsical people, and unabated love. Rather than rushing off to work, I’d prefer to rush to a pen and pad. I’m dying to live again.
I was up next to perform at the open mic night showcase in Brooklyn. Taste the Stage had become my second home after attending for a few months and I was ready to greet my guests. I stepped on to the small stage after a warm welcome and proceeded to belt the first verse to “Canto a Yemaya.”
Ya le recé a Xangó
ya le imploré a Oyá
también pedí clemencia a Olofín
y hoy le canto a Yemayá
y Oxum caridad del pobre
Yemayá, mi guía espiritual
Virgencita, yo que soy tan pobre
sólo clamo por la tranquilidad
de mi familia, de mis amigos
sólo clamo por la tranquilidad
The band and the crowd fell silent as I continued to sing without the music. This song I listened to every morning and every evening had become my bread and wine. I didn’t practice Santeria; hell, I barely knew what it was but the lyrics of this song and the beautiful Afro-Caribbean rhythm speak to my soul. I had to share this feeling.
I squeezed my eyes tight and held my hand to my belly. With every word I could feel a weight being lifted from my chest. My hips slowly began to sway to the beat and then my feet started to join in. I felt like I was dancing with someone. Towards the end of the song, I finally opened my eyes to see that some of the members of the audience got up to dance as well. Once I had finished my rendition, there was an eruption of applause. I thanked the crowd and hurried back to my table.
I was so flustered that I didn’t even notice him sitting in the booth next to the table I was sharing with my friend. She and I made Wednesdays our date night away from our kids; I was eager to hear her thoughts on my set. Before I could ask her anything, she pinched my arm and nodded to his booth.
I had no idea who this guy was. He looked a little familiar but I couldn’t place him. He grabbed the notebook and introduced the next performer. Once they stepped up, he reclaimed his seat in the booth next to me and my friend. I don’t know, maybe it was my imagination or maybe it was wishful thinking because it seemed to me there was a connection between us. Our eyes kept meeting and you know, we would smile a little bit. There was something brewing.
When I told my homegirl about this connection, she laughed and told me his name. J. Cole? Never heard of him. He’s a rapper. She also made a point to mention that he would never be involved with a brown skinned beauty like myself. That’s fine. I’m not truly interested anyway, right?
For the rest of the night, I crushed on everything about J. Cole from his knowing smirk to his laid back demeanor. His presence spoke for itself without the loud and excessive jewelry. I chatted with my homegirl a while longer while keeping a steady eye on J. He was laughing and speaking casually to his entourage and a few others between sets.
This is when he blew my mind. He stepped to the mic and began to perform a spoken word piece. It was so sexy. I loved to hear him talk about his struggle. There is so much power behind his words. So anyway after his set, it was time for band games. This is when the band played tunes and we, the audience, had to guess the song. I saw J. lean over to NJOB, the host, and whisper a request for the next tune.
No one got it. The band kept performing the same snippet and BAM, it hit me what the song was and I jumped up screaming the title. He smirked. I guess I was too excited but the audience was pleased and most importantly, so was he.
All in all Taste the Stage was amazing as usual. I was picking over my catfish nuggets when a rugged voice with a subtle southern accent whispered in my ear. In the flesh, shoulder to shoulder, I sat with J. Cole. He spoke to me like he knew me for ever. His smooth words were so hypnotic and of course, I can’t get into detail but his words sent chills through my body.
I mean at the end of it all, I left with him. His boys went their way and my homegirl went with them. We hopped in his car and drove to the Westin in Jersey City. It was around five in the morning at this point and I was tipsy and tired. The conversation was sexy but polite. J wasn’t crude or disrespectful, he put the moves on just right.
My life started to imitate art once his song about morning sex whispered on the radio. I couldn’t turn him down now, could I?
To be continued…..
There’s never a good place to start when you are discussing politically or socially driven topics. Topics like the one in this title, (heh heh) but I am going to jump in and simply start from the top.
I’m writing this because I want you to consider every police interaction you’ve had and what the outcome was. As each of my own occurrences replay In my mind, the tears begin to well. All it takes is one negative experience to smudge the rest of the positive experiences. That very well could be just me, I am not sure. There are billions of people in the world, so it is quite possible that for some people, negative experiences do not make or break their outlook on a group of people or a certain profession.
When I was a little girl, I was taught to respect and trust the police. They would come to my school almost every week for the D.A.R.E program and when I would come home late from school, they were at my home “waiting at the door.” (No joke. If I was thirty minutes or more late coming home from school, my mom would panic and report me missing.) Then as I got older, the police officers in my town started an after school program that branched into movie night. Movie night was low key awesome and all in all, I have to say that they generally made me feel protected.
Fast forward, if you have to ask then I would answer, “Yes, I am Black as were most of the police officers in my town growing up.”
Onward to some of my experiences.
1. (16 yrs)
Don’t ask me what led up to this other than being with the wrong crowd. We were on our way to a participate in a neighborhood brawl and for what ever reason we were pulled over. I don’t remember how I managed to get out of the house that late at night, nor do I recall who’s car I was in. I solely remember squinting at the bright flood flashlights the police officers beamed into the windows. I was so scared.
I remember them asking how old each of us were, where we were from, as well as where we were going. We answered the officers’ questions and were sent on my way. Right after that, I was taken home by someone from the group we were in.
The officers were all White.
2. (18 years)
I had my driver’s license for about six months and I had no sense of direction. I was out on a busy highway not too far from my home. I was exhausted because I was up all night and had been driving around all morning. So, I’m on this highway dead sleepy, lost, and driving in the far left lane going about 25 miles per hour crying with my hazards on. I had no idea this was not a proper thing to do. I can’t tell you how long I was driving like this before I was pulled over by a police officer. I got my credentials out and I’m pretty sure he didn’t bother looking them up. He took one look at me and my license then scoffed a little bit.
“You’re a new driver. Do you know what you were doing wrong?” he’d asked me.
“No,” I was two seconds from breaking out into a full out sob.
“You were in the fast lane with your hazards on. You can’t do that,” this time he chuckled a little bit.
“I – I didn’t know,” I replied. I went on to explain that I was lost and trying to pick up my boyfriend from work. I then told him where I was trying to go and he told me how to get there.
I have no idea what his race was. I just remember that he wasn’t White.
3. (19 years)
I was driving down the same road. My friends and I were trying to decide if we were going to ride down to the beach or go to a theme park. We had decided to go to a theme park but had gotten lost.
This time I was speeding. It had been a year or so since I had gotten pulled over last. I saw the squad car in the next lane so I slowed down. Safe! Right? Nope. I got pulled over. This time by a White female officer and her White male partner. I wasn’t pressed. I was a little nervous because I didn’t want a ticket but at the same time, I was speeding so this is what I get. No big deal.
Well, she came banging on the window and I rolled it down. Her partner came over to the other window with his flash light on and beaming in the window. It was nine in the morning so I’m not sure what he was doing that for. Yet I still wasn’t too pressed.
I could hear my high school teacher’s voice in my ear this time. He told us that he keeps his hands on the steering wheel and his wrists crossed. I followed suit. The male officer did a visual search. You know, scanning the car and flashing the light in visible places that were tucked in small corners of the car.
She gave me the same introductory run down. I gave her credentials and waited patiently while she looked them over. She came back to the car with a ticket for my brake light. I was relieved but annoyed at the production.
4. Same day as #3
This was for the same issue in a different town. We didn’t get a ticket because I already had one from that morning.
5. (22 years old)
I went to a strip club with my best friend. Wrong place. I should not have been there at all but I was and of course, I got in trouble. We were getting ready to leave because the ATM had broken. The nearest bank was a fifteen minute drive away and there was no way I was going to go to the bank then come back. I had already given the bar manager money to make change for me and I wanted it back so that I could leave.
I started calling out to the manager as he disappeared behind the bar. I was waving my arm trying to get someone’s attention. Anyone at this point. The manager looked back and gave me the ‘one minute finger.’ As I backed down, this huge security guard (he had to be at least six foot seven inches tall) walked up to me and told me to get away from the bar. I was confused and inebriated.
I explained to him that I was waiting for the manager. He started yelling about me being behind the bar but I wasn’t behind the bar. So as I am backing up from him, he grabs me around my waist and carries me out of the club. I started screaming and crying because I had no idea what was going on or why. Everything happened so fast. My friend (non drinker and very quiet) hurried out behind us.
There were officers already in the parking lot and they rushed over to see what was going on. I’m yelling and crying because as I said, I had no idea what was going on. I could hear my friend calmly explaining the situation. She told me to be quiet and of course I refused because I wanted my money. I deserved an explanation! How could someone so large just bully someone like that. What had I done?
It was such an odd experience. Both odd and troubling. The bar manager came out and gave me my receipt to show that he gave me back the money. Then the police told me to walk away so I turned my back and began walking to my car. I took one step and was tackled by the officers.
“Cuff this whore, cuff this whore!” the Hispanic officer was grunting and growling. And I fought back. It was a natural response. Two men were on top of me calling me a bitch and a whore and I had no idea what I had done wrong. The Hispanic officer had his knee in my back screaming still, “Cuff this whore,” and I could hear my friend yelling my name and screaming “Oh my God!” There were guys outside and I’m not sure what they were doing.
“She’s resisting, she’s resisting!” thot
I felt like I stepped outside of my own body and watched myself being groped, dragged, and tackled. How did I get here? Finally I took heed to my friend’s hollers and my body went limp. I was pulled off the ground and put into the back of a squad car.
While I was being processed, the Black officer’s eyes pleaded with me. “Why didn’t you just stop talking?” his voice was sorrowful.
I didn’t reply. I had sobered up during the scuffle. He continued with, “He’s my superior, I’m sorry.” And I still had no response.
Assault Against a Police Officer
$1,000 and a few months later, the charges were dropped.
6. Same year in a Commonwealth State
I was speeding. I can’t recall the speed limit but I was going 74 miles per hour and the day was gorgeous. He pulled me over, ran my license but couldn’t pull anything up because my driving record is clean. The officer gave me the ticket anyway and told me to slow down.
Okay. *speeds into the sunset*
7. Same year & same state as numero 6
This particular situation I find to be at the very least amusing. I call to mind the words that were shared one day on Facebook, I hate when people bash the police. Who do you call when you need help?
I call the only people that may possibly make a difference in the outcome. (duh)
This particular day I was around two months pregnant and arguing with my boyfriend at the time. We had such a tumultuous relationship. Any how, the guy had no idea how to maintain his car. He knew nothing down to the simplest facts of nuts, bolts, and screws.
Conversely, I knew enough about body work to do visible damage. When I say “visible damage” I mean removing the screws from the brake and head lights as well as unhooking his battery cable. Why? Why did I do this? How could I be so childish. Because he started it that’s why.
He came back to the car while I was standing by and “putting it back together.” I wasn’t really putting the car back together; I was giving it the appearance of “nothing to see here.” When he came storming towards the car, I scurried away leaving his trunk and hood popped while the headlights and brake lights sat in there places.
When he closed the trunk and hood, the lights fell off. They didn’t fall off completely but they hung down. He tried to start his car to chase after me, naturally, but was unable to. I in turn started to speed walk backwards, yelling obscenities in his direction. I could be quite the menace, I suppose.
Either way, he was able to start his car after seeing that the cable was detached and reattaching it. He sped into the parking lot I was now jogging across and cut my path off. He was screaming at me about his car and I responded with pure amusement. He wanted me to fix it and again, I laughed and held my closed hands out to him.
“Here. You fix it.”
He opened his hands to receive my handful of screws. The guy flipped out and then my amusement vanished. I knew that while this was a ten minute fix, I may have gone too far. His mouth appeared to be foaming when he grabbed me by my arm and shoved me in the back seat.
We started to tussle in the small space and I had started to fear for my life. Maybe I really went to far. Well, the people in the hotel across the street were watching and felt like I needed help and they called the police.
The police officers separated us and asked for our stories. I told the police officer what I had done and he laughed. He laughed. I was somewhat relieved but very sorry because I didn’t think of how far this could go.
At the end of it all we made up and the officers allowed me to take the car home. My ex walked down the street to his second home.
All is well.
8. Home state ( 25 years old)
This is a new boyfriend with new drama. This particular situation is hard to write about so I’m going to keep it short. I had to go to the hospital while I was pregnant with our daughter. While I was there, his ex calls my phone. One thing led to another and he and I were fighting in my exam room.
I was arrested. *insert exasperated emoji here* One officer was understanding, while the other was over eager. All in all, it was an eye opener for me because I already had a child. She was at home with her grandmother while I was at the hospital. The police still wanted to know her name, age, and where she was. The possibility that she could be taken from me due to my inability to control my temper was alarming.
That was my wake up call. My kids are a weak point for me. Their livelihoods are what keep me focused. I take care of my kids so that in the future, they will know how to care for themselves. Who will raise them with the same discernment if I have unwittingly found myself locked up?
The prosecutor dropped the charges but noted that I had been arrested for similar charges two years prior to this incident. That’s when I knew the circumstances don’t matter and are not considered. Not guilty? Yea, right. I looked like I have an anger problem and maybe back then but I certainly don’t have one now.
“Be careful,” the prosecutor cautioned as she glanced at my boyfriend and the father of my children. And from that moment on, I think and rethink on how I respond to people. No more physical reactions.
9, 10, 11, & 12. Home state (27 years old *ack* I’m so old!)
All of these are traffic stops. Let me tell you that once your license is suspended, it is next to impossible to get back on track. At least that’s what it feels like. There’s so much money involved in the restoration process. This includes time off of work and actually paying for the tickets.
Did you know they suspend your license for parking tickets now? Neither did I. So, boom — #9, I was speeding on a street that is called “parkway.” I mean really, who goes twenty five miles on a parkway? So I was pulled over by officers holding those damn speed guns.
My wig, yes wig was sliding back because my head was killing me and my kids were annoying me. It was five in the evening and I couldn’t get home fast enough. The officer gave me his spiel. I was flustered and I gave him my stuff (you know, stuff).
My kids were all, “Mommy, I want eat. Mommy, I want eat.” He saw them and went back to the other officer to confer. They both walked back to my car and gave me a warning. They sent us on our way with kisses. Seriously blowing kisses at my daughters.
#10 I don’t remember why. I can’t believe I don’t remember why. I was let go, nonetheless.
#11 My plate popped as I drove by a police officer. This goes back to my license being suspended for parking tickets. So, he also let me go. Thanks to my kids for that too.
#12 *insert wall slide* I never do this ever! Using a port of land as a port of travel happens to be illegal even when there is only five cars between you and your right turn. So I pulled up on the shoulder and happened to pull up next to an officer. Either way, as I said before, I never do this because I’m a chicken and today I decided to buck the system and do it anyway.
No kids with me this time and my papers are straight so, I was let go with another warning.
In summation, all cops are not bad and yet I still feel compelled to get to the highest point of anywhere and scream ‘FVKC THE COPS!’ But why? I guess it’s the way they are portrayed in the media. I had one terrible experience with the police. It is an experience that still brings me to tears.
It would honestly be a relief to know that when the police arrive, they will be objective above all else at all times. Think about it, you never know who you’re going to get or what mood they’re going to be in. Just keep your eyes low and have your papers straight.
“You hate the police until you need the police.” Well, I can’t call Ghostbusters.