Harry was seated on the bed. He wore a Cowboys sweater over his medical gown (a gift from Dr. Thomas), looking over a room swamped with cards, candy, teddy bears, flowers of all kinds and chocolates. Gifts from the gay community at large.
Over on the floor, neatly in five piles, we’re letters from fans all over the world, from nearly thirty countries.
He gave a half smile. “I have all this love from people through my painful ordeal, yet I’m still wondering who you are, exactly. Bad enough I had to remember who Jonathan was through indirect means with a stranger.”
Solemnly, Lady approached him, with a teddy bear and a photo in her hands.
She must admit, the only thing she was concerned with when she confronted Jonathan’s mother, Lynn, was his safety and survival.
Now that he has pulled through she was at a crossroads.
She lied to Lynn about her family being close to her son, Harry.
She omitted a few things. A) Dime, her ex-husband, took Harry away from her when he was young.
And b) if it wasn’t for the well detailed media coverage of her son’s near fatal car accident, she wouldn’t have ever found him again after searching for him, for years.
She was struggling, working in a barely getting by hair salon, making just enough to pay her light bill and rent.
She was introverted, only speaking when spoken to.
After Dime abandoned her (Dime was her world), she lost weight, 170 pounds, sulking and starving herself.
Letting herself go.
She lost so much weight, rapidly, that her body shut down and she was hospitalized. Suffering from severe malnutrition and starvation.
Under her arm pits was hanging skin. She once weighed three hundred pounds.
But her sultry curvaceous body clocked in at 140 pounds, with a huge, giggling booty that caused men to drool months after she was released from the hospital and tons of psychiatric testing.
That was the day that she decided to live after her near death experience.
But she still had a problem with letting go of the past, getting over Dime McFadden, her middle school sweetheart turned baby daddy, and failing to protect her son.
It took her years just to try to find him.
To hide her pain, she turned to liquor, drugs and faceless one night stands.
One after the other, chocolate brothers, preferably married ones, pounded her from the back till she melted in orgasmic bliss on their sheets.
For a fee.
Word traveled around town, in passionate overtones, that Lady was the best hooker in the county.
She did things with both sets of lips that had many married johns ready to leave their wives so they could possess her.
Lady broke up hundreds of happy homes and didn’t break a nail. If she couldn’t be happy then no happily married bitch was safe.
Men were demons with cocks of fire that only thought about themselves.
Her nookie changed all that and put loads of cash in her pockets as well. A wet pussy and a dry purse didn’t match.
Her services became one of the most sought after tricks in town.
Police officers, corrections personnel, doctors, lawyers, you name it, called her over to their respective homes when their spouses were on business trips, work or extended vacations with company funds and had vow-revoking sex in their wives’ beds...
She always left appreciation gifts when johns paid her hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars.
Her panties tied around her johns’ underwear. Hidden in their wives chest of drawers when they weren’t looking...
But it all caught up to her, unsuspectingly.
There was a college frat party she was invited to about forty miles north of her apartment. She was paid two bands, cash, up front and given another two bands when she arrived.
There were six gorgeous, chocolate complexioned brothers handsomely dressed in black jeans, sneakers and black fraternity jackets of silk and suede, with SABD stitched diagonally on the front right side.
They were ruff necks from the ghetto that made it out of the ’hood using the big and small head for financial and educational gain.
College basketball players that had to be initiated into the SABD, Strip A Bitch Dignity, Fraternity.
They were cordial, polite and forthcoming, treating the beautiful, moneyed hood rat with golden nookie like the ascension of Queen Elizabeth over forty plus countries: royalty.
Expensive drinks flowed. Moderate jazz music relaxed them all.
Lady felt like the luckiest woman in the world. She was about to screw all six of the horny ball players.
Mindlessly crotch gazing, they were locked, stocked and barrel with bulges that made her mouth water and her panties stick to her moist shaven lips.
Who needed God for anything when you were a voluptuous woman that banged married men at her disposal and for a fee?
The more she drank, dancing around naked in heels, the more out of control things became.
The men had on pale black masks. She hadn’t realized they were naked.
Tattoos emphasized their breathlessly chiseled bodies. Masked gods in the making.
Between the six of them, they were heavily televised on ESPN.
But their secret sex fraternity was devastatingly private.
One of the men dimmed the lights and another walked up behind her, slowly running his tongue across the back of her neck, making her weak in the knees.
Her head spinning, the third brother dropped to his knees and began eating the forbidden fruit.
She shuddered on his tongue.
The fourth brother raised the video camera, stroking while filming from the comfy sofa.
The fifth brother dumped an entire bottle of vodka on her head and the alcohol burned her eyes.
Shrieking, the sixth brother picked her up and threw her on the sofa.
He glared at Frat brother two. “Get the money back, niggah! There should be four grand in her purse!”
The third brother slid deep inside Lady, while the fourth brother went deep inside her rectum.
“We heard you like it in every orifice on your body! We’re about to find out.”
They pounded her so good she had two orgasms simultaneously.
Her eyes no longer burned.
Taking the pistol from one of their jackets was easy. Shooting the sixth one in the upper arm was even easier.
The video camera fell in the fish tank.
Blood was on her breasts.
Hopping up on her heels, the dark masked brothers attacked her.
One of them snatched her by the weave, and she shot his knee cap into chopped liver.
She shot me!
Intoxicated and semi drugged, she ran, staggering, towards the front door.
Everything were blurs.
A darkened golden ghost leapt at her.
She shot me in the gonads! Kill her! I want her dead!
Suddenly God mattered. Denouncing Him blew up in her face.
Terrified, she was panting. Praying. Lord, please help me! Help me, please, Father!
I don’t want to die!
Raising the gun at a moving golden blur, a black mask was in her face, grabbing her by the neck, raising her off her feet.
Cracking him over his skull, he dropped her body on the floor.
She used the door knob to pull herself up. The room was coming into focus.
Three brothers were running across the room towards her.
Both of them collided into a bookshelf, squirming in pain.
Grabbing her purse, she ran towards her car, fumbling for her keys.
“You shot my bois, bitch! You’re not going anywhere!”
She found her keys, nervously unlocking the door. Hopping inside, she turned the key in the ignition and one of the frat bois shot all four of her tires.
Blood was on his right arm and chest.
Shooting at the windshield (it exploded) Lady mashed on the gas pedal and ran the car into him, throwing his body like a rag doll through the window of the living room.
Her tires flattened, she hightailed out of there. With her dignity and her cash...
A few weeks later she opened her own low key escort service in Atlanta, over two thousand miles from her hometown.
Billing the priciest hoes in town.
Four beautiful, ex porn stars were her money makers and claim to multi-city fame. She was a proud, lethal ghetto superstar with the taste of cash and indiscretions on her lips.
Life was good until the Feds raided her establishment three years later. After ratting everyone out, and exposing pro athletes and politicians, Lady was given four years parole and never saw the inside of a prison cell.
Her hoes were pinned to the college frat murders. They were facing the death penalty and didn’t know how it happened.
The authorities recovered a video camera, but the evidence was ruined.
Stashing her cash in her new rundown apartment, she joined a small church, became celibate and got a job at a small salon in Buckhead.
Simple living was good.
Until a newspaper on one of the salon chairs arrested her attention.