This is kismet, I thought as her hands raced the highway of my tightened back and hamstrings. I didn’t need to mention that it’d been a stressful day at work and even more stressful on the court. Amaya just knew.
The guys and I made a pact not to take it easy during 21, no matter what was happening in life. I got caught in the crosshairs of one of Darnel’s epic crossovers, the move so nasty and disrespectful that it would warrant endless fleets of boastful memes and text reminders for weeks. And worse, it nearly broke my ankles (not just in the colloquial sense, but for real), forcing me to play off a Charlie horse and hobble to the bench.
That shit was smooth and took my mind off the news I’d received after closing a painstaking deal at work: “We’ve got to let you go.”
On the way home, I expressed this to Amaya, who encouraged me to hoop with my still gainfully employed friends to release the shock from my body. It sounded like some shit she learned from Fatima’s ass, but admittedly, it helped. I felt less uptight by the end of the game, just confused about how I got here.
Amaya overwhelmed me with a full-body hug and a smorgasbord of hospitality when I entered the door. Tuckered in the corner, oils and towels sat on top of the massage table we brought out occasionally. I didn’t nag about those smelly organic oils she insisted on using on her scalp, skin, chicken, hell, everything. I appreciated the effort made after such an abysmal day. Besides, before I could stammer over one scent too long, the aroma of my favorite meal floated through my nostrils – homemade lasagna, garlic bread, and roasted asparagus.
My bags fell to the floor, and in the same way, I fell deeply into Amaya’s embrace.
“Hey, babe. I love you. Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, looking up at me with those dark brown eyes like she’d done so many times before.
“Nah, not right now, Maya. But you’re a real one for asking,” I replied, kissing her squarely and intimately. “I love you too.”
“I know that. You got lipstick on your lips, homie,” she laughed. “Let’s eat.”
“Hell yeah. It smells so good here. Let me shower first. I know that I don’t smell good.”
“I mean, I ain’t wanna say it, but I’ll agree with you.”
“Hush! Gimme ten minutes.”
I returned to the kitchen after my speedy but efficient shower. Amaya had slipped into one of three of the three-piece lingerie sets I recently bought her from an online shop that I now regret for two reasons. Firstly, how will I focus on this meal when she’s standing there looking like one? Secondly, that shit was expensive, and I need all the money I can get right now. I’m not sure which of these thoughts my face wore the most, but after one look, Amaya hit me with her typical, “Don’t worry. I got you, babe.”
Taking me by the hand, she walked me to my seat where my food and drink were so neatly plated. She made eyes at me throughout dinner, a feat that’d usually reciprocate steam. Today, it fell flat. As much as I cherish all of this, the fact that my joblessness could be one of Maya’s new kinks is unsettling. Since her last “friend-cation” in Peru with Fatima (when they tried ayahuasca), she’s been open to doing and trying things more. It was initially captivating, considering how far she’d come from her shell. But the exploits were inconvenient on nights when I’d worked in the office for 12 hours or fresh off a flight from a five-day training.
Today’s no different.
I’d be a fool to turn down a soul-snatching massage and head, whichever came first. So, I kept my mouth closed and ate my damned food.
“You’re so quiet. Do you want to talk about what happened now?”
“Can we wait until tomorrow or the next day? I need to sort through it all first.”
“That’s fair. I understand.”
“How? You’ve never been fired.” Shut up, fool.
“No, but I sympathize, babe. You worked hard at Sedgeland Solutions.”
“Sympathy. Thanks.” Sarcasm coiled my tone.
“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by that. I was trying to—”
I held my hands in the air, palms up. She didn’t mean harm, and I knew that, so I told her.
“I know. I’m sorry. Just give me a couple of days, OK?”
“You got it.”
I sliced the pending tension in two. Her allure was too powerful to let the night fade in silence.
“This food is good, but you look better. Honestly, I don’t even want to think about Sedge or Darnel beating my ass on the court. All I want to think about is you.” I walked to her side of the table and started kissing her hands.
“Ooooh, I thought you’d never notice. Get to the table,” she commanded.
I straightened my back and raised my right hand to my temple, imitating a soldier. “Yes, ma’am!”
With the first sensual touch, I felt my soul and the built-up anguish leaving my body. Effortlessly. I’d face tomorrow then. Right now, I am a willing victim to all my girl has in store for me – on this massage table, the floor, the kitchen counter, the sofa, and the bed. When I reached my second nut, nothing other than sleeping soundly beside the woman who made it possible mattered.
*******
That was thirteen months ago.
Like Maya’s ceaseless sexual craving, the job search has been unpredictable at best and formidable at worst. I swear it’s like the worse off I feel, the wetter she gets between her legs. As a man, how the fuck am I supposed to handle that?
Juggling applications, acing interviews, refining skills, and diligently following up with potential employers leaves me as exhausted as a full day's toil. While it is true, it has been a comfortable crutch I rely on to ward off my girlfriend.
I know that’s some jerk shit, and if I didn’t, the boys remind me of it often. And trust me, I get it. I got a fine, freaky ass, go-getter of a woman who’s got my back no matter what. Darnel and Trell joke about trading places with me so much that I think one of them niggas would try something if we fell out.
It’s just…it’s tough to compare myself to who or what I was a year ago—stable, competitive, equal, a provider. I struggle to comprehend how she doesn’t…and why my plight seems to turn her on.
Albeit mad unsettling, the lingering dissonance catalyzes me to voice my needs more. I need a job with benefits. I also need Maya to give my dick, give me, a break.
*******
I awakened assed out in a quiet, Amaya-free apartment.
Not this again.
Except it had happened again, only this time, unintentionally. Maya sucked me dry (again) and subsequently, by accident, I left her that way (again).
I orchestrated it the last few times this occurred. I was fucking tired and “No” simply did not signal NO in her thirsty brain.
Tonight was different, though. I wanted to redeem myself and us, hoping the “very professional and refreshing” interview I had with a tactical firearm firm today would be favorable. The interviewers seemed impressed with my attitude and how I spent my time unemployed. When sulking, searching, or hiding from my resident sex goddess doesn’t consume me, volunteerism does.
At first, I did it to beef up my resume. Then it was to pass the time between my mainstay activities. Lately, it’s been a call to serve that’s surprised me with myself. Previously, I erred on the side of writing a check for a cause without regard to where the money went. I knew I’d done a thing that would look good to my bosses and Uncle Sam. But the Illuminated Alliance has grown from an object of fascination to innate healing…and a tool of war between me and Maya.
No matter, I did want to rock her world tonight…at least as much as I could stomach. That thing about habits dying hard applies to new ones, too. But that held no significance. Amaya had left.
When she leaves the house after one of our blowouts, I worry if (and sometimes privately hope) she’s gone for good. Everything I’m learning in therapy contradicts those beliefs. Dr. Rogers’ swole ass would encourage me to combat them with positive, grounding ones. The Illuminated Alliance group would dare me to double down and make good on what lies in the recesses of my mind.
Before I can decide what to do, a lightning bolt of text messages floods my phone. I grab it off the end table, grateful for the vibration, which is certainly helping me regain consciousness.
BABY😘 accompanied by a selfie of her from our Cancun trip glares across my screen with a new incoming text:
WE NEED TO TALK! 🚨
Yeah. We do.
I'm looking forward to knowing more about Dex and why he is so confused about why Amaya still loves him, lol.