Looking so Victoria's Secret in my purple panties, I gave my best puppy dog look, clad in a long, huge-belted trench coat standing in my living room. Looking so Beyonce Ring the Goddamn Alarm, but I wasn't angry. And my name was Rosaline Cowart, but I was known as “Roz.” I was full of love, and I wanted to be full of my man's you know what I'm saying.

"Baby, you work too much," I told him with my Ima-bad-girl voice.

He looked me over, I knew he loved me but sometimes I didn't know. We've been having problems lately, and now it seemed like we argued over toothpaste as well as other trivial things. We argued over who was going to walk the German Sheppard. We argued over who was going to take my Mama diner. She was in a wheel chair and couldn't get around like she used to. Blame it on the car crash three years before. And my Daddy was too busy running around, at 60, still making different families with these young, can’t control-the-pussy hoes. He has four families so far. His dick was legend, women talked about his twelve inches in the hair salons from Miami, Florida to Savannah, Georgia.

"I don't work enough," my boyfriend said exhaustedly, clad in his Publix supermarket uniform. Goddamn the attitude was starting to get to me. Why couldn't we be happy, like in the beginning? I know I told my share of lies. I know I haven't been completely honest with him but what woman was completely honest?

He cut off the goatee, Publix Supermarket regulations, which was a dumb ass regulation. His mustache had to be at a moderate length, barely there I called it. No earrings and my man loved his bling. He was the Stock Manager in the downtown Miami store.

My brows rose. "You don't what?"

"Have you been taking showers effectively?" he asked off-handedly.
I was deeply offended. "What do you mean?" I asked breathlessly, trying to control myself, trying to keep it together like the girl singing group 702 and those singing bitches from Vegas haven't been a real group since, well, you get the point.
He gave a tart smile. He shot icily, "Because if you have, you woulda stayed in the shower long enough to clean the wax out of your ears so I wouldn't have to repeat myself. No wonder Q-Tips went down on the NASDAQ."

No he didn't! "Fuck you, Pierre."

My words seemed to have knocked him in the gut. He winced a tad. And I didn't goddamn care! He stared deeply into my eyes with his famous sexy gaze. The one that set me on fire. He said simply, "You wish…"

That made my blood boiled, how nonchalant he was. I was hurt beyond reason. I didn't deserve this shit. I said, "And that's beginning to be a problem. I want to be fucked, baby."

He rolled his eyes and threw his hands like the Matrix. "I don't have any babies, I don't remember seeing you go through nine months of labor, Missy, your ex fathered all your children, who you barely see and barely know, no wonder he has custody of them...and that's all we ever do is fuck. We get mad we fuck. Happy we fuck. Cook, we fuck. Come home from a funeral, we fuck."

My nipples were hard. I loved when he got mad, he got aggressive and that If-I- ever-Crossed-your-Mind-Brian-McKnight shit went right out the window.

I said, "And is that so bad?"

"You don't know me."

"I know you like the back of my hand."

He had challenging eyes. "What size boxers I wear?"

Now see, this was the kinda shit that made me mad. Why did he challenge me like that? "You wear draws."
His eyes lit up. "Wrong. Draws gives me a rash. What size do I wear?"

I shot from the hip. "A nine."

He loved me so much, so deeply. It danced in his eyes, his gorgeously brown honey-dew colored eyes. He was sexy, super fine and he had a heart of gold but I didn't love myself and I didn't believe in gold and I just wanted good dick, which was why I dated him. I never anticipated getting feelings for a man who treated me like royalty in the beginning, until I started getting demanding and misunderstanding everything he ever said or did. I wanted to show him these sexy purple panties, so I could play the Black Kim Bassinger or was it Sharon Stone? from Basic Instinct, to show this young Ho Beyonce Knowles how to properly do it without all the SWAT members in her crazy, stupid, rushed video.

"A nine? I said boxers, not shoe size." He was appalled. Right now he couldn't stand the sight of me and the only sight I wanted to see was his dick going in and out of me until I came the gushy stuff all over it. The Niggah had good good good dick!

"Anyways, this is pointless."

He got in my face. "My favorite color?"

"Blue," I guessed.

"Black. And my favorite entertainer?"

"Toni Braxton."

"I can’t stand the bitch. Whitney is my favorite entertainer." He rolled his eyes and released a large gush of air.

OK. So I didn't know him like the back of my hand, which is probably why I barely look at my hands. "We need to talk."

He sneered. Made my heart jump. "All you do is talk, Inspector Gadget."

I tucked my chin back. "Inspector Gadget."

"Yea." He walked up to me, his hands in his pockets. Hold me! Touch me! Kiss me! Do something, Niggah! I craved his touch. He hadn't touched me in a few months. Always working, and when he got home, he crawled into bed. Funk and all, and snored so loud my ears packed up and left town. "What's with the trench coat?"

"I'm cold."

"Hearted, tell me about it." He shook his head, sneering at me. Clearly not wanting to play my game, he checked his watch.

"Why are you acting like this? Are we about to argue again?" I asked him, getting unnerved really quickly. "I'd rather fuck baby. Let me suck on that dick a little, come on baby, goddamn, you’re so uptight."

"Why should we? It'll be pointless. Your favorite color is pink."

Ok he caught me off guard with this, what kinda game is this Niggah playing with me? "And?"

"Pink because your favorite spot on your body is your pussy and pink reminds you of that and your favorite food is shrimp, grilled shrimp with extra Lawry's Season Salt and Louisiana Hot Sauce, which is more for flavoring. And you are a Leo, you hate Valentines Day, your wear your bra one size too small cause you like the way your pretty titties look in it, you hate chocolate, you detest peanuts and your favorite entertainer is Patti Labelle."
I got real quiet. And my pussy was WET WET WET!! I could see the tears biting at the bottom of his eyes, but he didn't want to be or look like a wuss so he said, “Damn it must be dust in here ‘cause my allergies are fucking me up.”

He didn't have allergies. My temperature rose. "I hate you," I said out of anger and he just winked at me, grabbing his car keys from the low-table. I've been with Tay for three years. He was so attentive and sincere, well he was in the beginning, when we met at the Red Lobster. I was just getting out of a ten year relationship, not looking forward to divorce or fighting over custody of my children.

But I was facing it, and being in my early forties, when your shit was supposed to be together, this just made me sick to my stomach. A white bitch destroyed my happy home. All because I wouldn't go down on my ex husband and suck his dick. He figured all wives all over the world suck dick, so baby you aren't an exception, he told me and I showed him what part of my ass he could kiss. Truth be told, he pissed from his dick so why would I want to suck on the Piss Carrier?

"I know. You hated me for months."
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. I said, calmly, "Why do you say that?"
He paused at the front door. His head hung low and my heart hung lower. Something was eating him alive, I wanted to know what? What could it possibly be? He looked sad, like every light in his mental house went dark, power outage.

"I gotta go to work, Roz. I’ll see you when I get off at 11 PM."

I gave a faint smile, my heart melting for him. "Ok."

He turned to face me. Tears fell from his eyes. Now I knew something was wrong. I rushed up to him, my patent leather boots itching my feet.

"What is it, baby, tell me. Why are you crying?" A knot formed in my throat. My chest felt tight. I couldn't breathe.

He held my face. "Have fun tonight."

"I won't be gone long, baby."

"I know. How is my god brother doing?" he asked sarcastically.

Shit, what made him ask about his god brother? "He's doing all right."

"Good, tell him when he gets back in town I want him to call me. Pierre."

The color left my face. “Get back, what are you talking about, baby? And your name is Tay."

"I know, you called me Pierre a few minutes ago. Pierre is my god brother's name, not mine."

I covered my mouth, trying to find a quick lie to cover my ass. But no words formulated. "Baby…" Words failed me.

He smiled evilly. "I know he's out of town. And you've been going over to his house every night, baby. Screwing his wife with your plastic humming goddamn toys. Wasn't my dick enough? I didn't eat you right?"

My world exploding painfully, he went on and on and I felt like complete shit. I wanted to run and pull my hair out. I hurt this man. How could I?

He went on. "You told me you were hanging out with him and his wife, that ya'll played spades. Those were lies. I followed you last night. I saw your lesbian lover eating your pussy on his couch. I didn't know I had a gay girlfriend and no I am not fucking happy. I didn't even know she licked pussy! I wonder if he knows. I'ma find out, believe me I am! Next time close the door all the way and make sure it’s locked."

"I can explain…"

He held up his hand, shutting me up. His eyes were blood shot red. "I should cook her some chicken and throw a party that she took my lady from me."

"She hates chicken. She loves lasagna."

"And buy green streamers and throw a party--"

"She loves the color gray, and she hates a crowd."

"Maybe I can buy her some damn crotchless panties; I know she's a size 9."

"No, she's a size 6."

"And I can buy her some of them nine inch pumps; I think she's a size 5."

"She's a size six, and she hates heels over four inches."

"Viola! And there you have it. You know more about her than me, you can't even get my favorite color right, I was testing you; you stupid muthafucking cunt bitch!"

Before I could get over my shock for falling in his trap, incriminating myself beyond repair, he pushed me on the couch and I shattered like glass. I felt like I was on fire.

"Oh, God baby! I'm sorry! I can explain.

"Explain what? Tell me about it while I'm at work. When Ken’s Moving Service get here tonight show them my things so they can pack it up and Ill be gone forever. Oh," he went on, faking a smile, "…love the Purple Panties! Those same panties I bought my homeboy's wife for their wedding. And now you have them on, but of course you didn't know me at the time. That was also a dead give away, slut!"

Angrily, he slammed the door closed behind him and the force made me jump.

My man busted me.


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