So… last night’s #Verzuz “battle”/lovefest on Instagram between Jill Scott and Erykah Badu left me feeling a number of ways.
Full and yet also lighter.
Warm and inspired.
Ready to create something.
As a final song and in dedication to Andre Harrell (RIP), Jill Scott played “Cross My Mind”. And the way I do after all of these battles, I found myself listening to different songs that were played throughout, that song, in particular, staying on repeat because whew… what a song.
I mean… what. a. SONG.
If you’ve never heard it, here’s a link to it on Youtube. And if you haven’t heard it in a while, I encourage you to go back and listen so you can understand exactly where this short came from.
The short. lol
In the high of all of Jill Scott and Erykah Badu’s energies, I felt inclined to create, even going as far as tweeting about it lol
And so now here we are, with a women’s fiction short that has a happy-for-her ending and is affectionately named after the song that inspired it.
(note: this was something super quick and fun and free for me to do that is only lightly edited. also, these characters were intentionally not given real names because I don’t waste good ones LOL)
Staring at my phone, I knew I was about to make a bad decision.
Texting him, right now, during peak booty call hours?
Yeah, that shit was not it. Still, I couldn’t help myself, my fingers skimming the screen as I thought about how to approach the conversation without making myself sound completely desperate for everything him.
He was worth being desperate for, though.
That rich, brown skin.
Those broad shoulders.
The confidence in his walk.
God, I’d do anything just to smell him right now. And while I knew part of that energy had to be a result of the liquor I’d consumed tonight, my fingers still continued to hover my phone as I thought about everything I would do immediately following the high from just one whiff of his uniquely enticing scent.
I’m talking about a Jill Scott “Crown Royal” kinda night. I had the hair for it and everything. But did I really need a man, that man, pulling on my braids while I caught his thrust?
Yes, I absolutely did.
I needed it bad.
So bad that I started a text thread to the number I no longer had saved in my contacts but had remembered by heart because I somehow knew it would come in handy in this exact kind of emergency.
“Hey, you up?” – B
I didn’t send it right away. Just stared and considered why he was so heavy on my mind in the first place. That random run-in while I was out with my girls and he was out looking good as fuck with his boys.
We hadn’t spoken in months. And even tonight, we only shared a look.
It made my heart race when he shot me the masculine smirk and nod before sipping his drink, and I pretended to go back to having my fun like my thoughts weren’t completely dominated by everything that man used to do to me. When he’d give me that same smirk right after he devoured my pussy like it was the only one he ever wanted to taste, or like it was the only one he was tasting at the time.
Honestly, I still didn’t know.
It didn’t even matter.
I was that far gone, and that was the exact reason why that text should’ve gone unsent.
It didn’t, though.
Watching it be marked as “delivered” quickly turned me sober as I considered the huge mistake I’d just made. The one I was getting ready to follow-up with some lie of a text about sending the previous message to the wrong number until I saw a reply had come through.
“For you? Always.”
Swallowing hard, I weighed my options. I could ignore the fact that he’d responded, block his number the way it should’ve already been, and force myself to sleep. Or I could invite him over, get all the dick I thought I deserved, and pretend like it didn’t happen the same way I liked to pretend that “we” didn’t happen. But the reality was, there was no forgetting the time we spent together. No erasing the chills I still got just thinking about how quickly I’d fallen for the man who was only supposed to be a fling.
He’d held up his end of the bargain.
I mean, living in a different city made that just a little bit easier for him. But as for me, the one who still slept in the same sheets we’d spent weekend after weekend making love between, the one who prepped meals on the same counters he used to bend me over in front of, and the one who couldn’t take a shower without thinking about him covering my body in kisses like he was apart of the cleansing process…
It was much harder for me to disconnect from what once was, his response taunting me as I wet my lips and typed out what seemed like an important question.
“How long are you in town?” – B
“Only until morning. You still at the same spot?”
I was still at the same spot. But I knew I shouldn’t have been confirming it since confirming it was practically an invitation for him to come through which would lead to us doing things we didn’t need to be doing no matter how badly I wanted to do it.
I wanted it so bad.
Had thought about it every time I found myself dealing with a mediocre man who had tried – and failed – to follow after him.
Nobody could do it like him.
Nobody could do me like him, which was why I was so heavily considering taking advantage of this opportunity even though I knew it would be taking so, so many steps backwards.
Honestly, I could already hear my therapist dragging me for even letting things get this far. But the longer I stared at his question, the more it felt like the dragging would be worth the trouble of experiencing him one last time.
I mean, he’d be leaving town in the morning, going back to his life hundreds of miles away, so it wasn’t like it could be anything more than that anyway. Still, somehow I knew that if I let him have me even for a night, he’d be taking a piece of me back home with him.
Leaving me a little emptier.
Could I handle that?
He wanted me to.
That was the only explanation I had for the double text that hit my phone with him once again asking if I was still at the same spot.
Did that single moment from earlier set off the same kind of lusty thoughts for him that it’d done for me? Was he still feeling empty from where we’d left things months ago and in need of a fill? Was he just as desperate as me?
Believing that granted me a whole new perspective, one that brought a lazy grin to my lips as I finally typed out a response.
“Yes.” – B
The thrill that came with sending that single word made my heart take off in a full sprint as my body began to prepare itself for what was to come, every nerve bracing itself to be overwhelmed in a way only he had the power to do.
He had me.
Even still, after one random look when he hadn’t even bothered to let me know he was visiting town to begin with, here I was willing and ready, the anticipation alone making me wet as I thought about his usual plan of action.
He was a kisser, the best kind, loved to take his time in that regard and explore my mouth like he was searching for gold.
Clothes would be shed, every inch of skin would be touched in some form or fashion, and then he’d taste me with the passion of a man who knew how to use his tongue like a weapon to torture me senseless.
From there, he’d make me taste myself on his lips, a hypnotizing flavor that made it easy for me to understand why it always seemed to put him under a spell. And then I’d return the favor, and get lost in doing so. Be happily led by his wants and commands until he decided it was time to give me everything I didn’t know I needed; everything I never seemed to be prepared for no matter how much I anticipated it.
He was just so good, so skilled, so… perfect.
A perfect man who wasn’t good for me.
Beyond dick, what I really wanted wasn’t something he was willing to give. We’d established that from day one, and still, I’d done the stupid thing of pretending like I was good with the minimum, like I was okay with our arrangement, like being a “weekend lover” for an otherwise single man was something I could get used to.
I never could and it started to show, so much so that I was forced to end things before it got really ugly. And now here I was, getting ready to undo all the work I’d put into getting over that situation, getting ready to temporarily erase all the hurt for one single, meaningless moment of this man’s time.
I couldn’t go out like that.
Regardless of the fond memories I still held about the time we’d spent together, regardless of the way my body felt from just thinking about having him all over me, none of it was worth reopening the wound I’d already allowed him to leave on my being.
The imaginary scab would always be a reminder, sure. But eventually, it would begin to fade and I’d find another. Eventually, the feel of him would no longer immediately register in my limbs. If I just… stayed the course, I could get to the point where he crossed my mind and I quickly moved onto the next thought instead of doing the silly thing of actually getting in touch.
The sound of the doorbell ringing only reminded me that I was nowhere near close to that point, especially once I took a quick peek through the peephole and saw him looking just as good as he did earlier at the bar. And before I could even process it all, my fingers were already rushing to dislodge the multiple locks keeping us apart, the final lock making me pause as I came face-to-face with my questionable decision making.
Was I really about to let this man in?
I wanted to.
But it would’ve been a mistake. We both knew that, both knew we were no longer good for each other. The memories would always be there, and there was nothing either of us could do about that. But opening ourselves back up like this only to be reminded of why we’d ended up apart in the first place?
Even if he didn’t see it that way, I couldn’t shake the thoughts. And when I peeked through the peephole once again to find him waiting ever-so-patiently, I realized the same way I’d gotten into this mess was the same way I was going to get out of it as I rested my back against the door and sent him a text.
“I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” – B
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