Nice Guys Don't Finish Last Page 3

“Babe, I admit what I did to you was not right. Lord knows I wish I can erase the wrongdoings, but I cannot. The only thing I can do is learn from it and move on, want to love you the best way I can. Sometimes, you make it hard though,” he said as tears dropped from his eyes and gripped my hand to kiss.

  “The situation is not easy to look past. The image stagnantly pops in my head,” I said pondering about the night I wedged him. As much as I wanted to fight against him, my vulnerability set in and I held him into my arms while we embraced each other, and kissed.

  The sexiest attribute about Abdul is how he is upright an inch taller than me, but I appear much shorter when he lifts me in the air and overpower my skinny body. He osculated my neck, and hauled off my shirt itinerant to my nipples extracting them with his might. He elevated me and laid me atop the dining room table, imbibing on my navel as I pressed his head into my stomach.

  “You are a beautiful man, and I will do anything, I mean anything for you,” he stared genuinely in my eyes. I returned a gaze signaling for the first time in a while, I believed everything he said.

  I kissed Abdul’s full lips, whilst dragging his pants down. He clutched both of my hands and forced them beside my head, while straddling me down &sucking on my neck. He pulled my sweatpants off along with my underwear, and began to suck my penis.

  “It still puzzles me how someone slim as you has a big dick like this,” he laughed stroking my ego with the tip of his tongue and joints of his lips. The head of my penis grew big as an oversized mushroom, while being fondled in his hands.

  “Come here,” I lowered the back of his head to kiss me again. I heaved his underwear down frolicking with his solid yet round ass, and we suspended into a world of infinite possibilities.

  He lifted my legs in the air & smacked my thighs against his firm russet brown chest. Abdul pulled my ass into his mouth, and began to suck the life out of me. One would think this man was starving for food the way he ‘ate’.

  “You taste so good,” he said reaching towards the floor to get a condom out of his jeans and managed to retain my legs in midair.

  “Nic baby, I love you so much,” he whispered while applying the condom on his penis.

  “I love you too, Abby.”

  He slowly inserted his penis into me, and all the pain & joys I’ve experienced before this moment was poured onto the dining room table.

  “Blow Your Mind! Featuring Delmar”

  “ Do you think he will call,” I asked as Tyrell & I sat in his 2008 Cranberry Acura in the Sportsman’s parking lot.

  “Girl, I don’t know. I am so over you! You know I wanted him the moment he walked in there. You did not even think he was cute,” Tyrell said.

  “Someone sounds envious! I mean, what do you want me to do? He seemed interested me and I was feeling him.”

  “Whatever, you are supposed to be my good girlfriend yet you pull that stunt,” Tyrell mumbled while watching the group of hoodlums ensure impressive movements as they dropped to the ground on one leg.

  “First of all, I am not a girl! Secondly, I did think he was cute. What are they doing over there?”

  “You never seen anyone vogue before,” he laughed as a frown appeared on my face, profound enough to read.

  “I am surprised you don’t know what it is. Vogue is an expression of movement based on posing, and the gays involved in the ballroom scene made it popular in the 80s. It’s not exactly that bullshit Madonna came out with,” he explained while striking a pose like Madonna.

  “Wait, so what is the ballroom scene,” I asked.

  “Well, balls are considered detailed events where gay individuals compete against each other walking runway or voguing. They are split into different categories such as realness (boys who look straight), butch queen (boys who are in between), fem queen (transgendered male who passes as a woman), and face (a person who’s facial features are flawless). They all do this for the prize of money.”

  “Do you think I could walk face,” I asked.

  “Chile, I envision you being sucked into this lifestyle. You better be careful, choir boy. You been in the scene for a few months, and takes a matter of time to get wrapped in some bullshit.”

  “Excuse me, no different than the shit you do,” I rolled my eyes.

  “You know what? That’s true, but you live a different life than me sweetie. I am a twenty one year old man, living alone without mommy & daddy. On the other hand, you are a baby and live with your hoopla parents for crying out loud. All it takes is exposure to wrong crowds. I am no angel, but you must be careful sunshine,” he said sensibly. However, wrong is wrong, so why preach something you do not practice.

  “Oh please! All the stuff I received about you, go ahead with that. But wasn’t it funny when the bouncer stopped me from entering the club,” I laughed transitioning the subject.

  “Girl yes! I thought they caught you. I gagged for a minute,” he laughed gazing out the car window.

  “I know right! I can’t believe he stopped me to wish a happy birthday. He told me today is March 3rd, and the license states your birthday is March 3rd,” I laughed.

  “Not even your birthday, that’s the shade,” he laughed again.

  “Were the boys you talked to in the restroom snorting coke?”

  “Damn boy, you are so nosey,” he nudged his head and jerked his legs anxiously, while my eyes wandered below his belt again. The bulge stared directly in my face, and I anticipated the dick to bust out the seams of his skinny jeans. “Yes, they were snorting coke, Delmar.”

  Then followed an awkward pause… I could practically overhear the violins play in my head & forcibly break the silence.

  “Tyrell, let me see your meat,” I asked.

  “What? Delmar, what are you giving,” he laughed uncomfortably stretching his legs to maneuver his pants.

  “I noticed a big lump in your slacks at church the other day. Can I see it?”

  “Delmar, no,” he yelled. “That is nasty; you are one of my friends!”

  “I just want to see it, nothing else.”

  “Boy, you confuse the hell out of me,” he turned his body to the right side of the car.

  “Ty, come here. Unzip your pants, boy,” I licked my lips.

  “No, I am going to check on my chicken,” he said as he slammed the car door to walk inside the corner store called “Mama’s”. I did not understand why he wouldn’t show it. In contrast, Abdul is trapped in my head.

  I wonder if he’ll ever call me and if he could potentially be my---- whatever you call it. His eyes were captivating and his charm was endearing. I have no doubt he’s a top, based off his masculine appearance & tall stature.

  “This chicken is so hot, you want some,” Tyrell asked shutting the car door.

  “Not really. Do you think Abdul is boyfriend material? He seems like he could be,” I asked.

  “Yeah, he’s probably someone else’s! How could you assume a person may be boyfriend material after dancing with him one time? I am going to tell you like this, nine times out of ten, a guy like him is already involved with someone and he will play you. So keep your eyes open, baby boy,” he informed me.

  “You are probably telling me these things because you want him for yourself,” I insisted.

  “Honestly, he is fine as hell. But I do not believe in serious relationships with someone I met at a club. The only thing they’re good for is a one night stand. Nothing more— nothing less,” he said.

  “Yeah whatever! When are you going to let me see your dick?”

  “Boy here-- shit,” he yelled as he unzipped his pants and pulled them down. I reached over to the driver’s seat and grabbed his penis out of his boxer briefs. It looked exactly like I predicted it to be, thick and at least eight inches long. I started to stroke his dick, while he grabbed me by the back of the head & kissed me. I could smell the hot sauce on his breath, so I pushed away from him immediately.

  “I don’t really like kissing,” I said as I kneeled down my head and
began to blow!

  “The Morning after Featuring Abdul”

  “ Baby, wake up! The time is seven thirty, we both overslept,” Nico whispered tapping my shoulder as I lift my head, and squinted my eyes at the digital clock on the wooden dresser.

  “Oh, shit. I am going to be late and 695 is going to be dumb jammed,” I jumped up quickly & banged my fist into the mattress. I became light-headed from rising hastily.

  “Just tell them you are going to be a few minutes delayed. You are one of their best social workers. Why hold it against you,” he asked.

  “You’re right, I hate being late for anything,” I slipped on the jeans I wore to the club the night before.

  “Well at least you don’t dress up today,” Nico laughed rubbing the crust from my eyes. “You are so ugly in the morning.”

  “Shut up, and pass me the navy blue Polo shirt sitting on the floor,” I laughed as I slipped the shirt on and headed towards the bathroom to brush my teeth & wash face.

  “What are you doing when you get off? We should go to dinner or the movies after I get out of Morgan’s studio,” he said as he walked into the bathroom to fetch my black & white Nike dunks, dressed in zilch but Spider-Man briefs slight enough for a three year old boy.

  “That’d be cool. Don’t forget to feed, Milo. I must get out of here, I may speed there.”

  “Abdul, you carry enough speeding tickets. I am sure you can get there on time though. I mean, it’s only Towson,” he kissed my cheek.

  “Well, I’m out of here. I’ll call you when I get to work, and make sure you kill those tracks today,” I said relaying a peck on the lips, while groping his narrow ass. One of the features he remains insecure about, but I adore everything about him.

  “Here’s your coat, I hope you have a good day. Love you,” he opened the door.

  “Love you too, and have a great day as well,” I said as I walked out the door and transitioned to the parking lot where the radiant silver Altima Coupe assembled.

  ….

  The clock ticked twelve thirty P.M and I spent lunch at Chipotle, nearby the detention center. Everyone from the customers erect beside me to the cashiers upended behind the register gazed at me like shit was splattered on my face. I never felt as uncomfortable in my life, whereas I pulled out a twenty dollar bill to offer to the female cashier and a small piece of paper fell out.

  I unfolded the paper to discover the number from the guy I pirouetted with at the club the previous night. I did not remember probing him for his number, nor did I recall taking the paper from him. My first impulse was to rip the number & dispose, but what is the harm of a new friend? He appeared cool, and we merely danced.

  When I got back to the office, the case load was deliberate & a new client did not transport until Monday morning. So why not give shorty a call? I stalled for a few minutes, inquiring if a phone call would complicate life…. Oh what the hell, we only live once. I selected the office phone and constrained star sixty seven before dialing the number.

  “It was Calvary where they crucified my Lord, It was Calvary where He purchased my salvation, it was Calvary,” the voice of Kim Burrell echoed across the call tone as I hummed along. I assumed dude must be a church head because gospel lovers adore her. I recall Nico playing her albums repeatedly on our road trip to Atlanta last summer.

  “Hello,” a semi-sharp voice answered.

  “Yes, can I speak to Delmar please,” I asked. “This is Delmar, who is calling?”

  “Oh, this is Abdul from the club last night. I wanted to

  say hello.”

  “Hey Abdul,” he responded, noticeably altering his tone.

  An image constructed of Delmar blushing from ear to ear. “I wondered if I was going to receive a call. Why you

  block your number out,” he asked.

  “Well, I’m calling from my job phone and never appears

  on anyone’s i.d,” I lied!

  “Oh okay. That’s cool. So what’s up? Do you have any

  plans tonight?”

  “Ummm I sort of do! Why what’s up,” I asked. “Cause maybe we can do the movies or dinner. I heard

  that movie with Taraji P. Henson comes out today.”

  “Oh okay. I might have to update you throughout the

  day. How old are you,” I asked.

  “I’m 21. I just turned 21 yesterday. And you,” he

  laughed while chatter in his background clashed with

  conversation. The noise resembled a public school environment. “Oh, I’m 24. Well, I am going to let you go. I was just

  calling to speak and hope you have a good day.”

  “That’s cool. Give me a call later, so we can plan,” he

  said.

  “Will do,” I lied as we both hung up and sensed guilty

  for calling a stranger. I shall never call again!

  “A Song for You Featuring Nico”

  It was quarter ‘til two as I sat in the lobby of Morgan State’s Communications Studio waiting for Roger to congregate me. Desperation led me to verify my wristwatch & update my Twitter every ten seconds with bullshit tweets predicating Nico the “artist”. At least the former occupied my time because the latest I planned to stay was three thirty.

  The clamor of the students nearby pushed the envelope as college jocks threw footballs at each other, in disregard to the school’s policy of “no food, drinks, childish activity.” If I ran the school, they would be on academic probation for being black, stupid & ugly.

  “Nico, I apologize. I got wedged in traffic. I am so excited to hear the demo,” Roger said as he walked through the lobby door beholding downwards, as I assembled on the orange plush sofa. He is a handsome elder white guy, around his earlymid 50s with gorgeous gray hair and ocean blue eyes.

  “Yeah, you are only forty five minutes late,” I responded as I gazed at my watch.

  “Either you accept my apology or not, son,” he replied.

  “I accept. Where do you want to listen,” I asked.

  “We’ll go in the green room. We actually have a student who’s interested in re-recording the track for us,” he smiled.

  Roger is one of the people who pressed me throughout my career, from the moment I was an undergrad freshman at Morgan. He reassured “Nico, the artist” live up to full potential as a singer/ songwriter, entering me in many contests and helped gain exposure through the radio as an intern.

  Roger has no idea how much he means to me. He is the father figure in my life, since my real sperm donor no longer speaks to me!

  “Oh okay, that’s cool. Is he coming in today or is he going to record the song on a different occasion? Because I plan to be here to arrange everything with him! The song has the potential to be a big hit, if we shop around to the right people,” I said removing myself from the chair to walk to the studio area.

  “Yes. Actually I got a call from my assistant, Barbara, and she informed me that the young man has an appointment for three thirty,” Roger said as he reached for the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. After we entered the room, he turned the light on and booted the laptop.

  “Oh, I won’t be able to stay that long. I planned on leaving at three thirty. I must run errands before I dinner with Abdul tonight.”

  “Well, I am certain the guy could latch on to the melody after listening to the demo. So we may not need you,” he said.

  “I believe the artist must sing with conviction and the harmonies must be out of this world. You know what I mean,” I asked.

  “Yeah, I do son. This guy might interpret the lyrics differently. We don’t want him to sound like ‘Nico’ singing it,” he said as the wrinkles in his forehead formed deep waves.

  “Oh I know he won’t sound like ‘Nico’. There is only one me, and don’t you forget that,” I laughed while Roger cleared his throat presumably in disgust.

  “Oh Roger, stop taking things seriously. I was being sarcastic, but a great artist can never be duplicated like there is only one
‘Whitney’, one ‘Phyllis’, Leontyne. Catch my drift?”

  “NICO, I GET THE POINT! Sometimes I worry about you. How do you expect to make to be successful with an arrogant attitude,” Roger asked while the computer finished loading.

  “I am not being arrogant; I am sarcastic & honest.”

  “Yes you are! You feel like you need an answer for every single thing,” he said irritably.

  “Roger, no I don’t! I just want my music to sound a certain way, if my name is attached to something, I want it to be the best it can be. I wouldn’t want my name on the credits of a disaster like “Turnin’ Me On.”

  “Nico, I understand your perspective. But you are not the kindest person and I said this for the past five years.”

  “Well I’m sorry. I do not understand why people can say what they want. But when it comes to me, I get attacked for being honest & not biting my tongue.”

  “I am hard on you because you are an aspiring artist, and the way you present yourself is studied under a microscope. I think your approach is negative; it is not what you say but how you say it. I believe you need a slice of humble pie, man. Don’t obtain offense to what I say, perceive as fatherly advice,” he said as I pouted and fiddled my thumbs waiting for the process to be over.

  “I don’t understand why artists are obligated to appear cookie cutter and live the public relations lifestyle,” I sighed.

  “Well, this is the career you crave. You must accept what comes along the territory,” Roger stated as he reached for the demo sitting on the table before me, and inserted disk into the CD drive. My stomach dropped, anticipating Roger’s reaction to the song and wondering if he would say “Yay” or “Nay”.

  The slow haunting piano chords graced the room, stabbing my body with pins & needles. The passion in my tenor voice crooned within the framework of the song, and the lyrics cling to my soul like no other song ever written or performed in my life.

  “Memories-- fade away! I’ve been caught in your rapture…” were the words I was stuck on the day before. Roger was enticed with the musicality; smiling and mimicking the piano with his fingers in the air.