It has been a long while since I have released a book or even a sneak peek of something that I am working on. I am pleased to give you all a sneak peek into my next novel which will be released this summer/fall. I haven’t been excited about a project in so long, I can barely contain my excitement. I am not nearly done with this novel, but I can say it will be well worth the wait. Without further a do, click below to read the beginning of my next piece of work. I would greatly appreciate if you left a comment about what you think, below.
I got out the cab and tipped the driver. Bag held close I walked to the 20 story hotel. I can’t believe this man lives in this palace off of my fucking money. Walking to the concierge’s desk, the woman behind the desk looked up and smiled.
“Hi, how may I help you?”
“I’m here to meet Mr. Walker. He is expecting me.”
“It’s just Xiochitl.”
“No, not like Beyoncé. Xiochitl.”
“I’m sorry. Uh yes, I see your name on the list. He’s in room 2060.”
Like Beyoncé. Tuh. I walked to the bank of elevators and waited with a few other people that were standing there. The doors opened and we got in. Luckily I was the only one going to the top floor. Once the others had gotten off, the elevator finally stopped at the 2oth floor. It was quiet. Almost too quiet.
I looked at the sign to see which way to go and turned left. His room was in the corner of the hall at the end. I looked at the window, fixing my wig. I rang the doorbell. I waited a few seconds then heard someone coming to the door. He opened the door completely naked, dick hard. He wastes no time.
“Glad you made it. Did you find it okay?”
“Who doesn’t know this hotel?” I said sarcastically, walking in, pulling my gloves tighter.
He had furnished the place nicely. Gold trim, black suede couches, a pool table, typical bachelor’s pad. There were pieces of art on the wall, all naked women in sexual positions.
“Where’s the bedroom?”
“My kind of woman. This way.”
I followed him down the hall to a room that was the size of my downstairs kitchen. For a place like this you would think the bedroom would be bigger. I threw my bad at the head of the bed and took off my coat. I wore nothing underneath. I knew this was going to be a messy job and didn’t want to leave any evidence I had been here.
He came up behind me and kissed my neck, squeezing my breasts. I pushed him off.
He quickly got in the bed and laid on his back. I secured each limb with some rope to the four bed posts. I could see his chest rising and falling quickly. He must’ve taken something.
“What did you pop?”
“Ecstasy and a molly.”
“Aren’t you going to take your gloves off?”
Ignoring him, I took out my whip and let the tassels run up his leg before I snapped it against his chest. He groaned and his eyes grew wild. I pulled out a condom and climbed between my legs, taking the condom out the wrapper and sliding it down his dick with my mouth, sucking as I went down.
I didn’t have much time and needed this to be quick before the real escort got here. I straddled him and slid down slowly, watching his wild eyes. They were beginning to turn read. I rode him up and down, bouncing fast and hard. I could see him foaming at the mouth. Fuck, this was going to be shitty.
He writhed under me as he came. I got off before he could finish.
“Why’d you get off?” he seethed. “I was fucking cumming.!”
“Yeah, I know, but then I thought about it and decided you didn’t deserve it.”
“I paid you $2,000!”
“No, you paid Xiochtil $2,000.”
I took off my wig and threw it in my bag, and then pulled off the silicon mask Tyrell made for me. His eyes got big.
“Damn fucking right.”
“What is this?”
“You fucked me over, now it’s time for payback.”
“What you’re going to leave me here tied up?”
I pulled out my syringe and placed it in one of his needle marks on his arm. He screamed and tried to move, but I knew this place had sound proof walls.
“I have cameras,” he foamed.
“My team has already taken care of that.”
I injected his arm with potassium chloride, only enough that he would die slowly. All it would do was stop his heart. He began seizing and foaming at the mouth. With the drugs in his system, they would think he overdosed. I untied his arms and legs and put everything back in my bag. Giving the room a once over as his body moved about wildly, veins popping out of his neck, I put on the mask , wig and coat.
When I got to the door of the bedroom, I remembered the condom. I walked back in and took it off, placing it in a Ziploc bag in my bag’s side pocket. My head snapped when I heard the sound of the front door unlocking.
“Shit!” I whispered.
Grabbing I bag, I ran to the window.
“Will?” called out a female voice.
I opened the window to a fire escape.
I climbed out and closed the window behind me. I peeked in as a woman came in the room. When she realized he was dead, she screamed. Then another person came in.
I felt the blood boiling under my skin. That piece of shit. Why is he here? I ran down the fire escape. I dialed my sisters number.
“We have a motherfucking problem!”
I was talking to a friend a couple days ago about something that he was going through and we got on the subject of Black people seeking professional help. What also brought this to my mind is the recent incidents with Kanye West. Now I am not saying that he does or doesn’t have mental issues, because I am not in his inner circle or close to him, but it made me wonder why is it that when Black people profess that they are going through something or that they need help, it is seen as being taboo or they are shunned for it?
Now I have written a post about this topic before, but I wanted to bring it back up. I feel it’s a serious, relevant topic especially given the increased police brutality our community has faced over the past few years. We are still dealing with the aftermath of slavery, which our great-great grandparents, and so forth, have endured and have passed down these mental illnesses through generations.
Going to a psychiatrist is seen as a white thing and that only white people can have mental illnesses. My thing is with white privilege and white supremacy, there is nothing for them to have issues about. For hundreds of years they have oppressed, raped, mutilated, murdered, etc., a great many people of color. If anything, there should be more people of color seeking professional help.
In our community, we always get the “I’ll pray for you” or “Stay strong” or “You are man/woman and you have to be strong for you family.” Excuse my language, but that’s bullshit. Praying for me and telling me to stay strong is not going to help me get through what I’m going through. Sometimes we need someone to just listen or be able to just cry to. Often times not being able to have those options, causes us to bottle things up and we lash out in very dangerous ways.
I’ve been to therapy and it was a very traumatic experience for me and I hadn’t gone back. This was about 7 years ago, which is how long I’ve been single. I’ve been thinking of going back and this time to a Black therapist. I went through a lot with my last relationship and I still haven’t recovered from it. When people go through terrible breakups, they carry that baggage and all that hurt with them throughout their relationships that follow.
There are many other things that affect our mental health such as rape, murder, racism, being passed over for a job, unequal pay and our diet. I think that our diet is one of the main factors when it comes to mental health in the Black community, we have been brainwashed and mentally conditioned to believe that the way that we eat is okay because our families have eaten that way for generations. Well truth be told, our grandparents, and those before them, did not have other options or the resources to educate themselves on why this food was killing them or making them ill. That goes back again to slavery. We have not healed from any of that.
As a community we have to seek the help that we need and stop thinking that it’s not okay to be going through something that you can’t handle on your own.