A Lonely Christmas...
What happens when a Down Low NFL player makes everything public AFTER his death?

Chapter 1:


My boyfriend died on me. Yes. I hated to say it but I swear its true. Today was Christmas, and I had to enjoy it without him. It would have been our first Christmas together. Now that my love is gone, I felt like Uncle Scrooge. Bah hum bug to all you bit*hes.

I was smoking the eleventh cigarette, I sipped from the twentieth cup of coffee. Couldn't sleep. Didn't want to sleep. Should I sleep, knowing my man is dead? I was sitting on my bedroom floor dead to the world. I called in and quit my job. I called my folks and told them to never bother me again. We were going to move in together and be a happy couple. I remember running the idea by him when we met and he said he would love for me to move in his house with him.

And I didn't even know him 24 hours. Just this morning he made me nut without touching myself, pushing his delicious d***k up in my tight assh*le with a fire I've never known. After all the lovers I rolled around the hay with, this man, this intelligent, beautifully created man changed my life. When we first me he helped me put a huge Christmas tree on the back of my Ford F150. I was struggling trying to do it myself, and being that I stood 6 feet 5 inches didn't help matters because with all this height and my big ass feet I was still light in the ass.

He was one of the stock handlers.A tall, scrawny white boy with dark freckles on his round face came over to help me. Hell, he struggled with me. Shyt, I can do bad by myself. But when one of the tall, sexy stock men came over to help me I couldn't stop staring, my booty hole slammed shut and I stood at attention. Like he was my first sergeant,and I hated th Army. They asked me I would tell them so that in itself was the epic military fail.

His swagger, and the way he walked up to us had me shell shocked. Smiling, he shook my hand, told the white boy to go find Ar
mistad inside the store and said he'd help me out.

"You need a real man to get this tree on your truck."

I was staring at this Niggah like are you for real?

I was intimidated. That a man so gorgeous and so tall was cock strong. Lifted my tree like a midget on skates.

We locked eyes and I felt his soul reach out for me. Mine did too, and I knew he was my soul mate. Fine ass women were walking past us, heels clicking on the pavement and they looked at him then at me and we kissed, fell into each other like asteroids slapping sparks from stars...we were now black and blue paint combined to make a resilient color. The richness of his skin color dominated the thought of what I thought black men to be: full of blues, bulls*it, child support payments and sagging pants dumb asses with nothing better to do then hang out on store front porches, shooting craps, grabbing their crotches and Glocks and whistling at the loose pu*sy Hoes.

The women were talking s***t, cursing us out and calling us names.

Oh girl, look at those f@ggots over there kissing.

Oh, Chile. what a god*amn waste of good d*ck.

God, what is your world coming to.

I looked at them, sticking my tongue down his throat and he held my ass, pressing himself up against and me and I was like the Savannah b*tch in Waiting to Exhale. I was holding my damn breath about to pass out.

I wasn't out the closet and this man wasn't either but our locking eyes was so powerful we couldn't stop touching one another. Another group of white women were clapping and whistling, pulling out their cameras and recording our act of love.

By the time we came to we were in my bed and I was riding his d***k. He had a huge one, and we made sure condoms were used. We didn't know each other from a can of paint but deep in my heart I knew it was real. He made me nut out the ass all night.

The next morning I awakened late and he had my entire house cleaned. I smelled strawberry air freshener. Folded clothes were on my dresser. He dusted my TV and the shelves. He even cleaned my mirrors. Not a finger print in sight. I smiled like a Cheshire Cat.

Thank you Jesus for a take charge man. He cleaned my assh*le last nigh and now was cleaning my place. The dirty socks and draws were in the washer and breakfast was on the stove. A Top niggah cooking and cleaning for his bottom.

Was I his bottom? We just met. I wasn't trying to move fast into this. Probably was a booty call. But couldn't be because if it was he would have been gone by the time I woke up.

He walked in the room with a red bow tied around his d***k. Yummy. Huge nipples, ripped abs, and he had tattoos of Egyptian s***t everywhere. The ankh, key of life, was on the back of his neck and the scar under his right eye made him even more appealing.

There was a bullet wound by the right side of his torso, and another bullet wound on his right shoulder. He had some untold war stories, and I hope he allowed me to know each one.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, setting the tray of food on my bed. I didn't have breakfast trays. Where did they come from?

I was shaking my head. "I don't have breakfast trays baby," I said and he smiled.

"I know. I bought them while you slept. You looked so peaceful." He kissed my forehead, my cheek, then my lips. His breath smelled so fresh. Mine was dried cum city. I could still smell his nut on my breath from last night.

I smiled, a glow about my eyes that brought out the radiance of my high cheek bones.

"You didn't have to do that."

"But I wanted to." He put a slice of bacon in my mouth and I slowly chewed, sucking his fingers. He leaned over the tray and kissed me.

I looked at my toes. Lord. He cut my toe nails. Was I sleeping that hard? And he actually cut my finger nails. Damn it, Man! I loved it.

"I don't like to rush into relationships." He gave me some tongue. "But your insides felt so incredible I just knew I wanted to make you mine. We should move in together. I'm behind on my mortgage and I see bill after bill piled on your dresser."

"I have been looking for a room mate. I owe three credit cards over $5,000 combined."

"Wow, baby. We can get that paid off."

"But I hardly know you."

"Want me to leave?"

"Um, hell no!"

"I wanna get to know your heart," he said.

"And I want to get to know yours."

"I never done this. Met a man and wanted to be around him 24/7. We haven't even known each other that long. But your body brought me back to life, and since you were made in God's image you breathed new life into my lungs."

"Wow, man. That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"What's your favorite color..."

My eyes sparkled. "Blue!" I chided, rubbing his right shoulder blade. His muscles flexed in his upper chest and I started to laugh playfully.

"And your favorite singer."

I had to think a moment. Mariah Carey? Ashanti? Hell naw. Not Ashanti. Brandy? Nope. "Patti Labelle."

"And your zodiac sign."

"Cancer!"

He looked at me more fixedly, playing with my fingers. "And your biggest fear."

"Growing old alone," I said sadly, closing my eyes. Remembering all the bad dudes that came along before him. Teddy gave me HIV, Johnny gave me gonorrhea and by the time I got on meds and my viral load dropped, I had to take medications for the gonorrhea while going to therapy so this shrink could help me deal with HIV.

HIV! Damn it! I forgot to tell him. Oh, no! What would he think? Would he hate me? By law I was supposed to tell anybody I decided to have sex with. Was I no better than my ex boyfriend who knowingly infected me? A man that looked in my eyes and said he loved me, that he would die for me only to talk me into letting my guard down and he came in me for three years infecting me just as long and I hadn't a clue?

Even when we broke up he never said a thing. And the irony was that we got tested together before we first had sex and we were both negative and in the beginning of our relationship he cheated on me, got infected, found out and was actually taking meds behind my back without telling me a thing.

He was prolonging his life and I was slowly dying with that Death Slow they called HIV, which was a bunch of bulls***t. When I confronted him he was distant. Cold inside. Told me he didn't know how to tell me; that he didn't want to lose me. OS i guess he made the choice for me by giving me the gift that kept giving. Bastard! I tried to cut him. I chased him all over his house with a machete knife, swinging it at him and slicing everything from the curtains to his clothes.

I looked in his eyes. Praying hard to my heavenly father, a God that wanted me happy, despite what society said about homosexuality. What about the inter-sexuals? Born with a d***k and a p***y. Did God say they were going to hell, too? Just seemed that homosexuality wasn't wrong. In my heart it felt so right.

"Baby. We gotta talk," I said, manning up. Time to be the grown and sexy, mature adult I've gone through bulls***t with other niggahs to become.

"Ok." He took the tray and put it on the floor. "Talk to me."

I avoided his eyes. Tears welled and I didn't have pennies to throw in them and make a wish. To wish for a loving man, that was trapped inside my new boyfriend, if you called it that,and call him my own.

"Baby boy," he went on, taking his index finger, putting it under my chin and turning my gaze into his understanding eyes. "Talk to me."

"This won't last."

He kissed me and I fell into him, enjoying the final moments of love, sex or whatever you wanted to call it.

"Tell me," he said. "Why won't it last."

I closed my eyes. "I'm HIV positive."

I held my breath. Kept my eyes closed. Clammed up. My heart stopped. I broke apart. He didn't say anything. Withdrew from me. I opened my eyes same time he picked up his cell phone. He was putting on his pants. Slowly. Avoiding me. Yup. F***K! It was over. I couldn't have him.

Deep in thought (wrinkles on his forehead) he slowly put on his shirt, then his shoes. He dialed a number and put the phone to his ear.

I got out of bed and kept my back turned. Naked and exposed. Vulnerable and quiet.

I shuddered from the feeling of loneliness that washed over me like waves on sandy shores. My soul would sponsor the footprints.

"Hey, man. I was supposed to come into work." He walked around me, and looked into my eyes. "I am not coming in today. No. I'm taking my boyfriend out somewhere. He needs me," he went on, wrapping his arms around me and I broke apart. Yes! YES! He was going to stay.

He hung up the phone, looked me in the eyes and said, "So what. It's not a death sentence. This is what I do for a living. I am a case manager. I work with HIV/AIDS infected individuals. No, I don't have it but both my parents died from it."

"Thank you, for giving me a chance and for being so understanding."

He held both my hands, kissing each one. "I'm going home to get ready. I'm taking you out. I want you to put on a suit. Look real jazzy for Daddy. I'm spoiling my b***h today and all night. I'm going to make you feel beautiful."

"Yes, sir." He spun me around and f***ked me long, hard and deep and left me cumming on myself.

"In one hour I'm calling you. Be ready."

He was gone.

I was watching TV two hours later. He was late. Or did he chicken out on me. I should have known he was too good to be true. Got me in a suit and he didn't call me. I called him over and over and no answer. Kept going to voice mail. I was so upset I couldn't breathe. I poured a small glass of vodka with three ice cubes and the ice melted in the liquor thirty minutes ago. I was still toying with the glass, staring into the liquid. Heart sick.

I sat back and focused on the news. I was quiet, telling myself I woudl never be a fool again to a heartless ass b***h ass f***k Niggah. Broke my f***king heart all goddamn ready. What the f***k!

I threw the glass across the living room, watching it shatter into my TV screen. "I can't believe you stood me up! And you, Teddy! My ex boyfriend who I gave my all to. Giving me f***king HIV and didn't even tell me. And if I didn't go get tested, I would have never found out. And by then I had full blown AIDS."

I was pacing the living room, hating life, love and myself. Could I truly live with HIV? Could I?

"Teddy how could you do this to me? And when I confronted you you committed suicide right in front of me. Pulled out a gun and shot your brains all over my face, and some got in my mouth. You weren't even man enough to help me get through this! GOD!" I went on, picking up the Bible and throwing it into the Jesus painting on my wall. "I gotta stop blaming Teddy. He didn't put a gun to my head and made my Hoe ass f***k without rubbers."

I sat down, bringing it down a notch. It ain't God's fault. We all had the free will to choose our destiny. Every decision we make chisels our fate. Leads us to success or destruction.

I started to turn the TV and my boyfriend's picture popped on TV and all the breath left my body.

Twenty five year old Maurice Kevins, one of the most respected NFL football players who hardly got playing time, has died in a fiery car accident. Witnesses said a gasoline tanker collided with his car and exploded upon impact. He burned alive trapped by his seal belt.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Oh my God! No! NO! This could not be happening! I turned the TV up as far ad it'd go.

He has been a shining jewel in his community. Helping over 45,000 people world wide get tested for HIV, his life is certainly one to be remembered. He works harder in his office to teach his clients about the dangers of unsafe sex and IV drug use, and he started a very successful foundation for kids living with HIV. A memorial is being planned by his grandmother. She recently lost Maurice's parents to AIDS.

I turned off the TV, turning over the low table. This had to be a sick joke. I broke all the liquor bottles and cut my hand open accidentally and didn't feel a thing. He was dead. Came into my life, opened me up and he's gone.

This could not be happening. I sank to my knees in my suit and I cried myself to sleep.

Wishing it was all a dream. I want to wake up and never have the memory of Maurice Kevins.

It was time to take my HIV medicine, and I didn't move from this fuking spot. Why should I move? I should make the floor my personal coffin. I felt like a vampire anyway.

I stared at the Epzicom, Norvir and Lexiva bottles. I had to take two little pink Lexiva pills, 1 dark orange Epzicom pill and one huge coated white Norvir pill every morning around 9:30 a.m. with food. I wasn't hungry, and I didn't feel like drinking anything. I should skip my dossage and die with him. Its not suicide, its not like I would put a gun to my head and pull a Rhianna Russian Roulette and watch my soul flop like her Rated R album.

I closed my eyes. Tight. Am I alive? Was I dead? If I didn't take this medicine how long would it take me to die? How long would it take HIV to progress to AIDS, slash my helper T4 cells into little meaningless bytches and watch them yell retreat when the grim reaper come for my soul.

Would I have a chance at heaven? Then I could see Maurice and hug him and kiss him and be with him forever. I struggled with this.

Take your medicine.
No, damn it.
But if you don't you will cause yourself problems.
Bring them on. I lost Maurice.
Life goes on, dude. Man up. Grow the f***k up. He wasn't your man.
SHUT UP! GODDAMN IT SHUT UP CONSCIENCE! WHAT THE FUK YOU KNOW BYTCH?
Give it to God. He will help you through.
There is no God. THERE IS NO GOD! THERE IS NO FUKIGN GOD!
Place your burdens on him.
I did. And he took Maurice away from me.
Maybe he was a burden...

The thought made me tremble with fear.

***

There was a knock on my door and I lay on the floor, blood dried on my hand, staring at the wall. I took the HIV pills dry, swallowed them down, the sour taste in my mouth making me squirm. On the wall were pictures of my Mother. She was my hero, and there wasn't a time I didn't call on her when I was in need. Miles Davis played at a moderate tone from my speakers, and my lips were chapped and cracking. I refused to lick them. If I couldn't lick Maurice why should I add moisture to my lips, when he died inside my lips when I gave him head and made him cum all over my bussy.

I was in need now, thinking back to all the times she used to put alcohol on my wounds, pat my ass and tell me to dust myself off and try again. She used to do this when I played optimist football, running circles around the secret gay boys on the team. I scored five touchdowns when I was 12 years old because the opposing team were too busy looking at the cute boy with braids and the fat ass in football pads and Nike cleats.

I used to bury my head under her bosom and cry from fear when my uncle used to scare me when I watched horror movies. I needed mother now, but I refused to call her. Because I was a grown ass man and my last conversation with her didn't go very well. She used to call me once a day and check on me, especially when I graduated college. But I got besides myself, talked down to her because she barely got her G.E.D., and when I stopped going to church Mama cut me off, saying I was too damn disrespectful.

There was another knock. A more defiant sound than the last. I tried to sit up but my heart was nailed to the floor and my soul five miles to empty. I literally shook all over, feeling God played some kind of trick on me.

I thought about church, and remembering the last thing my pastor said about putting anything before God. He would take it away. He was a jealous God. Right now God hated me. He had to. God took Maurice away from me. I hadn't an entire week with him, hardly even an entire day and his life was gone just as quickly as he came into my life.

My cell phone rang and I reached up and took it from the nightstand. I pressed Ignore, then turned the bastard off. Didn't feel like talking to anyone.

A NFL football player was in my home and I hadn't a clue. Talk about luck. I was glad I didn't know he played ball because I probably would have been blinded by the numbers soaking in his bank account. I had a little gold digger in me. But this man, Maurice, changed how I viewed black men. He could have been broke and homeless and I would have felt the same way about him. A real genuine, sexy black man who wasn't blinded by my ass. Even when he was deep inside me he was more focused on my pleasure. When I came tears fell from his eyes and he kissed me, whispering, "Get it for me baby," in my ear, biting the bottom of my earlobe, fuking the sh*t out of me. "I can feel that bussy gripping me dik. Cum on my sh*t, baby. Hell yea. Moan for Daddy..."

Whoever tried to date me after Maurice had a hell of a sophisticated grading scale to live up to. I had a feeling I would be comparing every man who comes after him (if my heart allowed me to move past the hurt) to him. Would they have his almond-colored eyes or his charisma and drive? Would they be sexy without trying, talked about things other than sex and actually had empathy for another human being? Would they love themselves more for their flaws, like he had, and move beyond accomplishments to achieve what's next in our short life on earth?

Dealing with Tops over the years proved to be a feat. Fifteen percent of them was all bark but that needle d***k was all dust. No bite. A complete rip off. If their d***ks were a garage sale I'd donate all that bulls*it to Good Will.

Thirty percent of the Tops were big d***k niggahs with a cute face, slim in the waist, abs looking better than a bi*ch with titties and couldn't fuk to save their lives. There was nothing worse than a Top niggah who couldn't eat an assh*le to save his life and couldn't fuk.

The other Tops were secret bottoms. Dressed as thugs, bashed out the closet homos online and popped their pus*ies faster than a drunk bit*h when Beyawnsay Knowles' songs***t the club air waves.

And Maurice. Changed all that. Tough yet tender. Smooth yet aggressive. Fuked the sh*t out of me and cooked me dinner, cleaned my crib and put my clothes in the washer.

Standing up, I staggered towards my room door, wondering who was knocking. I smelled him. Throughout my place. His Cool Water cologne. I froze in place, looking over my shoulder. I was inhaling deeply. Yes. Oh my God! He's here. In spirit. I can feel him, smell him. His aroma hugged me like a winter coat on an anorexic b***h in Buffalo, New York during the summer time. Didn't make sense, but damn it felt so damn good!

The tears fell. Oh my God, I was about to die.

I walked over to the bed and stared at it. I would never wash my sheets. His scent was embedded on my pillow cases. Some of his cum dried on the comforter. I unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down, laying in the bed. I was sobbing so hard my hands became zombies and sought out the small jar of Vaseline in the nightstand. I stuck my finger deep in my ass and sucked it off my finger, smacking my lips. I tasted a hint of Maurice.

I rolled over in the bed, humping the pillows, electricity snapping through my perspiring body.

I opened the dark blue cap and rubbed Vaseline in my hands and coated my d***k and rubbed some over my assh*le, thinking about him. Getting lost in the memory of his smile.

Inhaling the sheets, I realized his underwear was under one of my pillows. I picked them up, my hands trembling.

GOD I MISS HIM!

Please bring him back. I put his underwear over my face, cocked my legs open till my ball hung like monkeys and I slowly stroked my chocolate rose bud, jacking my d***k. Inhaling/exhaling his lovely masculine scent...I felt connected to him, closing my eyes, fuking my hand like a drunk b***h devouring too much GHB. Maurice was my GHB. He made love to my body, planted seeds deep in my tight hot a***e and left me to blossom instead of sprout.

Sensation rendered me speechless, as I took the eight inch black dildo from the top nightstand drawer and slid it up into perfection, slowly grinding on it with tears escaping my eyes and soaking in the underwear. Running my tongue across them, hoping it matched the scent recorded in my heart.

I thrust forward, arching my back, penetrating my hole and ballroom dancing with my prostate. My toes curling with the sheets, I screamed out in pleasure as I began to cum. Cum out what I felt inside for Maurice, telling myself I will never love another man. YES I LOVED MAURICE! This had to be a dream!

Opening my eyes my body shivered with abandon. I sat up, taking his underwear from my face and hugging it close to my chest, my heart hammering nails throughout my mental frame of mind.

I sighed, staring straight ahead.

A woman stood in my bedroom door way, her mouth open and in complete shock. I was too devastated and sexually pleasure to say anything to the stranger.

"Who are you?" I asked, gazing sadly into her Bandi shaded eyes.

"I'm Maurice's grandmother."

My heart dropped. In her hand was an envelope. And a bundle of white roses. And a small framed 5 X 7 gold framed photo of her son.