May the Best Man Win Read online

  Her mouth dropped in shock. I was serious. She just turned and walked away from me. A sloppy-haired ponytail, Juicy Couture jogging suit, and a flat ass is not a good combination.

  “And let something happen to my car and I will do what I did with him last night again, but on purpose!” I spoke loud enough for her to hear me. She kept on walking and I turned and went to the door of my humble abode.

  I couldn’t believe that she caused a scene like that in front of my home. “I guess everybody got a little ghetto in them, especially when it comes to some good wood.” I spoke and then laughed to myself as I entered my apartment.

  I had showered and shaved, and was getting ready to doze on off to sleep when my front doorbell chimed.

  “I know this ugly Asian bitch isn’t knocking on my door about her well-endowed husband.” I was still naked and loved to be that way. I huffed as I threw on some boxers, lavender silk lounging pants, and slippers and walked to my door. I peeped through the peephole to see who it was. I was angry with whoever it was because I was watching The Color Purple and Celie had just got to my favorite part when she fell out on the dirt road when Shug left her hanging.

  When I saw who it was I perked up a little and opened the door. He didn’t even say hi; he just pushed the door open, and walked past me and into my living room.

  “Your wife confronted me today!” I stood with my arms folded against my chest, waiting for an explanation.

  “Me give her two Benadryl in wine. Her pass out and me come over here. I fuck you hard and fast and then me home.” He stepped out of his pants and underwear and started to stroke his dick. I knew I was wrong, but I had to get it at least one more time so on my knees I went.

  After the blow job we made it into my bedroom; here he bent me over the foot end of my wooden sleigh bed.

  “Him like this?” he asked. He was punishing me some kind of good. His wood was good.

  “Yes.” I grunted out a moan because he bent me over so quickly that I didn’t have time to put a pillow or towel in between me and the hard wood of my bed, which was pressing against my pelvic bone. I was a petite guy and right now I was wishing that I ate more like my mother had told me the last time I saw her about two weeks ago. “Give it to me . . . Give it to me hard.” I didn’t know the next time I would be getting any so I might as well take what I can and suffer with the bruises later.

  He pulled out. “Get on bed . . . on all four.”

  I did as I was told as he climbed right behind me and entered me from behind. He immediately began to go back to work. My joyful whimpering encouraged him to thrust harder. He went from doggie style to froggie style and fucked me ferociously. He finished about fifteen minutes later and got up as quickly as he entered me.

  I lay there while he walked into the bathroom. I heard the condom snap as he pulled it off of his penis and then he flushed it down the toilet. The shower ran for the next ten minutes while I continued to lie in the same spot he left me in. He dried off, dressed, waved, and then left. I didn’t get up. I didn’t move. I stayed in the position of a used fool for the rest of the night.

  Love needed to find me and fast.

  Chapter 3

  Kardell

  Fooled Again

  I sat on my chocolate suede chaise in front of my bay window with a bottle of wine and a broken heart. I cried as I stared out the window at the people passing. I was home alone, again. I had “Through the Rain” by Mariah Carey playing on the stereo. I was completely bummed. It had been weeks since I showed Ronald the door. On some nights, I was so lonely that I contemplated calling him up just to have someone to hold me at night. But I knew that it wouldn’t be long before he was in my bank account again, so I ditched that thought.

  I looked at the clock. It was only 8:30. I was a thirty-year-old young man sitting in the house on a Saturday.

  “What in the hell happened to me?” I wondered. A year ago I was up in the club, sweating so hard that my shirt would cling to me like I had showered in my clothes. I had no friends, well, real ones anyway. Those days a gay man couldn’t have gay friends and a man, because somehow my man and one of my friends would always end up sleeping together behind my back. Gay men are so promiscuous that it’s a shame. So now I had neither.

  I picked up my cell phone and scrolled through the possible candidates I could invite over for company— someone from my past. I knew I was acting desperate. Chalk it up as me being human and horny. Yes, I had my moments of promiscuity but for the most part I pretty much kept to myself. As I scrolled down my phone it began to ring. The caller ID showed it was my mother.

  “Hello,” I answered with a sigh.

  “Boy, what’s wrong with you?” my mother asked. “You sound like you lost your best friend.”

  “Nothing, ma, I’m just a little down.”

  “My baby needs his mama to come over there and fix you some of my lasagna. That always makes you feel better.”

  “No, ma, I’ll be fine. I just need to get out of this house before I jump out the window.”

  “Kardell, baby, you know I can always call one of the Carter girls over to cheer you up.” Mom loved me just as I was, but she still tried every chance she could to get me to go out on a date with a girl.

  “Now, ma, you know that will only happen when pigs fly.”

  “Don’t make Mama throw some bacon out the window.”

  She laughed. So did I, but harder.

  “You never said how the pig was going to get in the air.” She laughed again.

  “I knew that would get a laugh out of you.”

  “You know ya sister baby daddy is acting up again,” she huffed into the phone. My sister, Angela, was a single mom, well sort of. She had a man, but he was in and out of her life like a three-minute man during sex. It was like choosing losers ran in my family. Truth was I wasn’t surprised to hear this, because he did it all the time. She refused to let him go because she said “he has potential.” And she didn’t want my nephew to grow up in a single household. She was blind because most of the time he was doing what he wanted to do anyway. When the street called, he answered, and she waited around for him to make it back home. When he made it back home.

  “I don’t know what to do with that girl.” She huffed again like I was going to try to offer a solution to the problem. She didn’t know I was in the same type of predicament myself: denial. My sister didn’t know that her baby daddy swung both ways either. It was news to me, too. About three months ago, I was downtown and I bumped into him in the Sportsman bar in Mount Vernon. I remembered it like it was yesterday.

  I was in the club doing what I did worst: trying to find a man. I was on the dance floor, giving the boys a show, and a good show, too. I was hot and sweaty, but I kept it going. A classic song came on that had everybody scramble to the dance floor and dance. At the club, you know, sometimes you let a few guys grind on you and get their feels so you saw how much they were packing and if they were packing at all.

  The guy who was rubbing on me was grinding like he was ready to fuck, and, truth be told, I was down for it. I wanted to get laid that night too. He was packing, too, and that made me turn around to see the face that came with the dick.

  “Wassup, shorty, you tryin’a go somewhere?” His eyes were glassy and his breath was laced with the smell of hard liquor. He was just as sweaty as I was.

  “Alex?” I looked at him, shocked. Neither one of us was dancing anymore. The thrill was gone for me.

  “You know me, shorty?” he asked as he reached to squeeze my ass.

  I knocked his hand away and walked back toward the tables that were near the walls of the club. He followed me.

  “And you know me,” I countered angrily. How someone could be this drunk, where they didn’t recognize their baby mother’s brother? I mean it was a little dark in the place, but not that dark.

  “I do?” His ass was toasted. He was almost pissy drunk.

  “My sister is your baby’s mother. You remember her right?
Your son’s name is Anthony,” I reminded him.

  “Ohhhhh, shit.” He covered his mouth in shock and shook his head from side to side. I was pretty sure his high was gone. He was quiet for a few seconds. I would be speechless too if my girl’s brother caught me in a gay club grinding up on him.

  “So are you going to tell her or am I?” I asked him. He was still silent.

  “Yo, this not what it looks like. I was just in here getting a drink and just getting my party on.” He actually looked like he believed he was telling the truth.

  “You expect me to believe that this is the first time you were grinding up on another man?” I was looking at him with doubt all over my face.

  “It’s the truth. I got no reason to lie. I just wanted to see what it was like. You know . . . try it out.” He looked pathetic. I almost felt sorry for him.

  “Okay, let’s say this is the first time. What are you going to do after this? Leave and never do it again?”

  “Yeah, man, this is it. I won’t do this again. I promise.” He actually put his hand over his heart like he was sincere.

  “No, I can’t do that. I can’t do that to my sister or my nephew. I am going to give you some time to tell the truth and if you don’t then I will. I promise.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  “Also, I need you to get tested for everything and have it to me ASAP. And you don’t have sex with my sister until I get this.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. I watched him leave and shook my head in astonishment.

  Alex was your typical sports-watching, booty-chasing brother. I had seen him on several occasions and we never really paid each other any mind. Come to think of it, on every function we had as a family, he never said anything to me and he always stayed clear of me. It all came together as I drove home that night. He must have been scared that I was going to notice his secret or something. The truth was most people thought gay men could tell who was gay and who wasn’t, but that was so far from the truth. I couldn’t have cared less about his or anybody else’s choice of dating.

  That was about three months ago and I never told anyone, yet, and each time we saw each other now he tried to have conversations with me to ease the tension between us. He was an attractive man and I could see why my sister kept him around as long as she did. He was quite easy on the eyes.

  “Ma, I don’t know what to tell you. She loves him and he is her son’s father. We just need to mind our business and let her be.” I know what you’re thinking. She was my sister and I should have been spilling the beans. But she was one of them people you had to show and not tell. She’s a “kill the messenger” type of person. I wasn’t even going to touch that with a ten-inch stick. We already didn’t see eye to eye most of the time as it was. All I need is for me to go and tell her that her man is a bisexual and she is liable to curse me out and try and tell me that I pursued him. She believed that all gay men were on a course to take men from women for spite and sport. So not true, we only pursued the pursuer. If your man was gay, then it would come out eventually. Gay guys didn’t have to take what was already taken. She didn’t believe that at all though. My sister, Angela, was a very pretty girl, but she had a nasty attitude and I wasn’t going to add wood to an already-burning fire.

  “Well . . . you’re right, baby.” She sighed. “Your sister is just as stubborn as her father.” She laughed at that one. I did too. “So what are you doing tonight, just sitting in the house and moping?”

  “I guess so, Ma.”

  “Baby, why don’t you come over here and keep me company since your father is gone again?” Oh, Lord, I loved my mom, but I could not get through a night with her. She will have me shifting furniture or playing Scrabble or gin rummy all night long. That wasn’t my kind of night.

  “No, thanks, Ma. I think I’m going to get dressed and go out.”

  “Sure, baby, be careful. Love you, baby.” She blew a kiss into the phone.

  “Love you too, Ma.” I hung up the phone and headed toward my closet in my bedroom. I pulled on some black linen slacks and a cream-colored short-sleeved button up. I hopped in the shower, washed off, and then got dressed. I practically ran to my Volvo and pulled off. I didn’t even know where I was headed. I just needed to get out of the house.

  I ended up heading out to the Sportsman bar/club. It was a familiar place to me. There was nothing like the familiar. I had some good times here and I met some good prospects. Maybe, just maybe, I might find me a good guy out of the bunch who is in the club tonight. It isn’t likely, but it’s worth a try, I figured.

  I walked in the club at about 10:30; it was not jumping with young hoppers yet, so I was good. All I needed was a couple of twirling prissies to come in and ruin my night. I went to the bar and ordered me a rum and Coke, just to add to the buzz that I got from the wine I was drinking at home. I wasn’t a heavy drinker, but tonight was different; I wanted to be. I was alone and I was disgusted with my choice in men. Maybe the drunken me could pick out a winner, because the sober me sucked.

  I found a table in the corner in the back with an eagle-eye view of the bar and dance floor. I could see everybody who came and went. I sat in the corner for about forty-five minutes and three drinks later I was swaying to the beats of some of my favorite singers: Mariah Carey, Janet Jackson, Ciara, and, my ultimate favorite, Jennifer Hudson. Homegirl was a vocal force to be reckoned with.

  The crowd was getting heavier as the night wore on. I noticed nothing but losers walking through the door. A couple of them had been bed buddies of my past. They glanced my way and scurried away like mice toward a hole. I didn’t care, because I was over them.

  But one dude caught my eye. He was a well-dressed older-looking guy. I’d say around forty years old. Low cut curly hair and goatee. He had toasted hazelnut–colored skin. My eyes danced with excitement. He looked sophisticated and classy, with a hint of a rough edge. My type of guy. This was the drunk me talking now. In my mind we had already done the deed and were nestled, sleeping in each other’s arms.

  “Excuse me, can I set my drink here?” I was brought back to reality with the brother I just sexed up in my quickie fantasy.

  I screamed, hell yeah! in my mind. My mouth said, “Sure.”

  “Thanks,” he said with a smile. His lips looked soft with a hint of wetness. “This place is packed,” he said as he took his jacket off and set it on the open chair next to me. He was well dressed with denim jeans and a cream-colored sweater vest alone. His arms were muscular but not overly so. I liked what I saw, but I didn’t let on.

  “Yeah, it is,” I said back nonchalantly. Before I knew it he was out on the dance floor, getting his groove on. All the young bucks flocked toward him as he jammed to song after song. He was out on the dance floor for about twenty minutes before he came back to the table to get his drink. I wanted to go out there and dance with him but I wanted to see what he could do first. I liked to observe my prospects for a while. I usually just sat here and let them come to me. Dancing was optional for me.

  He looked good out there. I couldn’t help but wonder how this brother worked in the bedroom. He had to be good. When I was a kid Mama always joked around with my aunt in the kitchen about their one-night stands from time to time. One time I heard her say, “He was good on the dance floor, girl, so I had to try him out in the bedroom.” They would both break out in a fit of laughter, carrying on wildly.

  “Whew!” He came back to the table, grabbed a napkin, and wiped his sweaty brow. “Those young boys know how to work it out there on that floor. They keep an old boy like me blood flowing to all the right places if you know what I mean,” he said with a huge smile.

  “Yeah, I bet,” I said with a little contempt in my voice. I wasn’t a hater, but these young boys knew nothing about how to get and keep a man. All they wanted was a quick fuck and moved on. I knew how to romance a brother. Keep him coming back for more, and not just sexually either. I was smart, funny, and I knew how to hold a conversation. In retrospect I guessed
none of that mattered to men and I was in the same vicious cycle as them.

  “I’m pretty sure you know all about that though,” he said, sitting down and facing me. He was even more attractive up close. He had a few gray hairs in his goatee; to me that meant he was experienced. At least I hoped so. “What are you, about twenty-one, twenty-two?” he asked me.

  Okay, was this a line or was he serious? I had to be smart about this and not get played like I had in the past.

  “No, actually I’m thirty,” I said proudly, as I picked up my drink and sipped it.

  “Really? . . . Nah, man . . . you are lying,” he said, grinning. “You’re going to have to prove this to me. Show me some ID.”

  I quickly whipped out my driver’s license and he looked at it and handed it back to me.

  “Umph . . . umph . . . umph, time has sure been good to you. You look good,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Well, attribute that to no smoking, very little drinking, and plenty of good sex,” I said, shamelessly flirting. This guy looked like he was relationship material. I had to go in for the kill. “Then again you probably can say the same thing. What are you thirty, thirty-two?”

  “Yeah, about ten years ago.” He chuckled.

  “Well, I guess time has been good to you too.” I showed my pearly whites.

  “My name is Darius.” He reached out to shake my hand.

  “I’m Kardell.”

  “Now that we got the age and name thing cleared up, I think we’ve checked each other out long enough. Unless you want to see a brother’s social security card, so you can run a criminal and credit check on me.” I laughed very hard. He was on to me. I take it he’s been in my shoes before.

  “So, how can a brother get a dance out of you?” he said, looking out at the dance floor and back at me. “I know you aren’t going to let them young bucks outdo you out there on the floor.”