Insanity, Page 1Omar Tyree
A BIG BAD DRAMA
Also By Omar Tyree
Corrupted, Pecking Order
The Last Street Novel, What They Want
Boss Lady, Diary of a Groupie
Leslie, Just Say No!
For The Love of Money, Sweet St. Louis
Single Mom, A Do Right Man
The Urban Griot Series
One Crazy Night
Dirty Old Men and Other Stories
Not In My Family
Proverbs of the People
Tough Love; The Life and Death of Tupac Shakur
Ebony Chronicles of Elevation
12 Brown Boys
The Equation; Applying the 4 Indisputable Components of Business Success
Copyright (c) 2011 by Omar Tyree
to the visionary artists
who may be forced
in times of darkness
to choose from starving
with moral conviction
with rationalized guilt.
I challenged myself
to look over the edge
while afraid of falling.
But then I got used to it
to the point where
I invited the thrill
of no return
I fell over
And I could no longer climb back up.
The Edge of Insanity
By Omar Tyree
We are all just one step away.
Over The Edge
Stanley Bradshaw sat comfortably at the foot of the king-sized hotel bed and nodded. It was a medium level room, not too fancy, but more than bare budget. And the only light inside the room was from the opened blinds at the window.
“So umm . . . you really wanna do this?”
Stanley looked over at Queen Tillis-Thompson. She stood between him and the 27-inch color television set, fidgeting. She was still trying to make up her mind.
She eyed him and said, “If I had a choice, no. But I don’t have a choice, do I?”
She looked down at Stanley’s massive head and hulking shoulders in a plea for mercy. He wore a clean white dress shirt and dark slacks with no tie. But he ignored her plea with a grin and a chuckle.
“Naw, you got a choice. We all got choices. You don’t have to do what you don’t wanna do. You a grown-ass woman.”
Queen eyed his pearly white teeth and boyish smile. Stan “The Man” had obviously maintained his youthful look and chiseled football frame from their high school days, more than twenty years. They called him “The Man” back then because of his overgrown body and vicious hits, and it rhymed with his first name. But as he had stated, they were both grown now, and it was new day and time.
“Does that mean you’ll still give that to me if I don’t do this?”
Queen had to at least ask him. She stood there before him in her teal shirt, short new haircut, and curvaceous blue jeans. Stan even thought about it . . . for a minute. Then he shook his head with the verdict. He had been waiting far too long to feel himself slipping and sliding inside of her firm, cheerleader legs. Now her body was fuller, curvier and more enticing for the preference of a grown man.
“I mean . . . would you still be here with me if I didn’t have anything to offer you?”
They were playing a cat and mouse game now. But Stanley really wanted to know how she felt. Ever since his junior year at Baltimore Township High School, he had fantasized and masturbated with Queenie on his mind. That was what they called her back then, “Queenie.” She had carried herself with the regal authority of her name. She was a freshman heartbreaker on the cheerleading squad and all of the jocks and playboys wanted her.
She paused to think about her response to him, while standing there in silent frustration. Her life had come down to this, a confidential adult transaction in a dark hotel room, and her hesitancy was only wasting time. However, if she would have liked him more, it could have made the situation easier to swallow. But as it was, and he was only fulfilling a dire need.
The feeling was mutual. Stanley needed to purge himself of Queen’s torturous memories, and how she had turned down his advances in high school.
“I don’t like you like that.”
Her innocent teenaged words continued to burn his ears, even as a grown man. And when Quentin Sparrow, the starting senior quarterback, bragged inside of the boys’ locker room before practice, all about her good, tight, virgin pussy, Stan’s young heart jumped into his throat and choked him into tears of envy.
Adding insult to injury, the older cheerleaders confirmed it all with their corny chanting and teasing; “Quentin and Queenie / hot and steamy / oh, so dreamy / made her creamy . . .”
There was no way in a frozen hell that Stanley would let her off the hook now. He had her right where he wanted her, broken down, desperate and needful.
Queen took a mature, deep breath to calm herself before accepting her fate. What goes around comes around.
She shrugged. “All right, well, let’s do what we’re here to do then.”
She reached up behind her shirt and unclipped her bra.
Stanley sat there and watched her peel out of her dark blue jeans, revealing black silk panties. He grinned like a lustful bachelor at a strip club. He smiled so hard, you would think he had a hundred singles in his pocket to make it rain. But a hundred singles was not enough to get Queen excited, not even as a tip. She needed big money, and this man had it at his discretion.
Speaking of money, Queen made certain their business exchange was clearly understood.
“So, you are gonna write me a check, give me cash or what?”
He frowned, irritated by her abrupt question. Why would she even break the groove by asking him that?
He nodded and was abrasive in his response. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”
She hesitated, annoyed by his tone. He still hadn’t answered the question; cash or check?
I swear, if his ass tries to . . .
Queen stopped her hasty thoughts. A negative reaction would only make her change her mind. But she wanted to go through with it because she needed the money. Her children needed the money. And she wanted to keep them safe and sound with her. So she stopped her stalling and stripped butt naked, feeling foolish but proud; proud that she would do anything for the benefit of her three kids.
“All right, are you just gonna sit there or what?” Let’s get this shit over with, she thought.
She wanted to rush the whole process, like a hooker with five more John’s waiting. Slow ass made slow money. But Stan “The Man” was calling the shots now, and as far as he was concerned, she on his time. So he relaxed, determined to enjoy every minute of it.
Let’s me see how bad she wants this money, he pondered.
He pointed to the floor in front of him and stood up, just long enough to undo his pants, with no draws on. When he sat back down at the foot of the bed, he allowed his raging hard-on to throb at sixty degrees West and raining.
He was still grinning when he addressed her. “I’ve been waiting a lonnng time for this.”
Queen looked at him as if he was crazy. “First of all, you need some protection. And if you don’t have it, I have my own. Second of all, ther
e is no amount of money in this world that’s gonna make me do that with you.”
Not only was the man shamelessly dripping to the carpet, but his dark brown Johnson looked big enough to break her damn jaw. She even wondered if she had enough width and length in her coochie to deal with him.
Stanley asked her calmly, “Did you do it for your husband? Or is it just my size that scares you? Your husband probably wasn’t packing it like this, right?”
He didn’t even address the protection part. Who gives blow jobs over a condom but hookers? So he didn’t plan to spend time arguing about it.
Queen snapped, “Whatever I did with my deceased husband is none of your damn business.”
She was being audacious for a woman in desperate need of hard cash. Beggars can’t be choosers. However, Stan was being a little flagrant himself, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Queen’s angst made him more excited. Now she could feel what he felt for so many years.
He laughed and said, “Yeah, you still the same Queenie, all right. No matter what, you’re still in here dictating shit. Your momma sure named you right. But you gon’ get a mouthful tonight.”
Queen paused for the last time to rethink everything.
This asshole still wants payback from our high school days! How fucking juvenile can you be?
She grabbed her clothes from the floor in a flash and began to redress. “You know what? You win. This is ridiculous. I’ll find another way to get what I need.”
“Are you sure?”
He sounded as if he was genuinely concerned for a second. She stopped to read his face and make sure. But when she looked, he maintained his silly-ass grin, unnerving her. He couldn’t have been serious.
“Do you think this is a fucking joke?” she ranted. “My whole damn life is falling apart, and you think this is a damn game? How could you?”
She threw her shirt and bra into his face, enraged, while wishing she had something more solid and heavy to throw, like a damn bowling ball. Then the tears of frustration began to flow down her face.
“I don’t believe this. I don’t believe it.” But yet her burden was real. She was at the economic mercy of a man who had not even seen her in a dozen years.
Stan was shocked into silence for a moment. But that didn’t mean he was sympathetic to her struggles. She should have thought of all this when she was treating everybody else bad. I guess she thought she was gonna get away with it all.
Nevertheless, a deal was a deal. So he backed down from his past ire and decided to have a little heart.
“Aw’ight, I apologize for that. I went a little overboard. I mean, but . . . you gave me a lot to cry about too.”
Queen looked into his softened face and deciphered his humanity. She saw the overgrown, but still young and fragile football player, who had held a high school crush on her. And in his moment of vulnerable reflection, she had to admit to her past wrongs, not only with Stan, but with a number of people who had crossed her path.
He was right. She had been far from perfect, but so had everyone else. No one was without flaws. Nevertheless, in her moment of revelation, Queen felt that she was being forced to start all over again and to repent with Stanley Bradshaw of all people.
If this is what I need to do to get my life back . . . ?
Before she realized what she was doing, she sank to her knees in front him and inched in between his dark legs.
“Okay . . . I’ll do it,” she told him with a nod.
Queen was speaking more to the higher power of God than she was to Stan. Stan was only a man, and he was not in control of anything. In fact, if he had more control, he would have stopped her. But he didn’t. He allowed her, in a desperate time of need and disorder, to put her mouth on his raw and dripping hard-on and suck it, while he flexed his abdomen in bliss and rowed himself forward to jam his erection deeper and deeper into her mouth.
“Ooooh, yesss,” he moaned. He reached out and held her smooth head of shortened hair in both of his massive hands to steady their motions.
Queen Tillis-Thompson squeezed her eyes shut while she serviced him and prayed. Is this what I need to do, God? I’ll do whatever I have to. For I have sinned, I know I have. But I’m begging you for mercy. I’M BEGGING YOU!
Stanley had no idea what Queen was thinking. All he knew was that she was sucking him toward a mammoth climax with long and careful slurps from her soft lips.
“Damn, you suck it good. Ooooh shit, girl. Don’t stop. Don’t STOP!”
It was the best blow job he had ever experienced in his life! He began to run a hundred-meter dash inside of her mouth toward the finish line. Usain Bolt was ready to shoot up out of him and break the world record from the island of Jamaican. And if that was what it took to be given another chance at life, Queen expected to swallow down all of her humbling medicine.
I will do it. I will do whatever I need to do. I will do whatever I need me to dooooooo.
“Ooooooohhhhh . . .” Stan moaned in unison with Queen’s diligence and determination. He gripped the back of her head and exploded into her mouth, praying that he wouldn’t choke her to death from his volcanic eruption of cum.
Queen held her head down and took it all in, gulping and swallowing, while crying and praying to the Lord for forgiveness.
Please forgive me for my sins! I honor you! I HONOR YOUUU!
Stanley fell back across the hotel bed and was absolutely spent, as if five straight tidal waves had hit him and sent him crashing upon the shore like a drowned man. But he had survived it, and he was still alive and loving it.
“Damn!” he belted. He began to chuckle, not believing his lustful good fortune.
Did that just happen? That shit didn’t happen, right? he questioned. No-fuckin’-way! I’m ready to marry this girl if it did! I’ll take her in with all three of her kids. I’ll even keep my own son if his momma lets me.
He continued to giggle to himself with delirious satisfaction. And when he opened his eyes and witnessed his teenage crush, Queen Tillis, still there inside of the room with him, he knew that it was all real this time and not just another hopeless fantasy of masturbation.
However, as Queen paced the room like a caged tigress, Stan tried his best to ignore it. He was too exhausted with elation to bother. He didn’t even wonder how she had gotten dressed so fast. But he knew what she wanted, and he knew what he wanted.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get your money,” he told her. “But umm . . . why you get dressed so fast? We ain’t goin’ nowhere yet.”
Queen stopped a moment to exhale. She said, “I told you, I have to get back to my children tonight.”
“Yeah, but we’re not finished yet,” he told her. “You should have told your babysitter to spend the night. But don’t worry, you’re gonna get your money’s worth. I just wanna make sure I get mine.”
Queen hesitated again in anguish. This mother-
But she stopped herself from cursing. Okay, God. I understand. I’m your child. I’m your servant. So I will be obedient.
Without another word, she stripped back out of her clothes, piece by piece, and climbed under the bed sheets, naked.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Stanley boasted. He pulled off his own clothes without climbing out of from the bed.
“Umm, you are gonna wear protection, aren’t you?” Queen asked him.
Stan looked at her, confused. “I thought you said you had your own.”
Queen moved in silence and climbed out of bed to get her purse with condoms. She carried it all back and placed it on the floor next to the bed.
“Here,” she told him, handing over a three-pack of Lifestyles.
Stanley took the condoms in his massive hands and chuckled.
“Shit, you need some Magnums for my dick. You don’t want to get pregnant again do you?”
Queen thought about it. She had had her tubes tied after giving birth to her son Raymond, but Stanley didn’t need to know that.
“Just try it and see if it works,” she told him.
He shrugged. “Aw’ight.”
He opened up one of the condoms and worked it on. When he climbed on top of her under the sheets, Queen thanked God that he at least smelled good. But his massive weight was excruciating. She could hardly breathe. He must have weighed more than two-hundred sixty pounds. She had never slept with a man of his size before.
She squeezed her eyes shut as Stan forced his entry.
Oh God, PLEASE let him finish this fast, she begged.
To anchor himself in her tightness, he reached underneath her with both hands and gripped her ass cheeks as if they were a pair of cantaloupes.
“Yeah, girl, nice and tight,” he moaned into her face with his first thrust.
Queen didn’t know whether to hold him, wrap her legs or what. So she gripped the bed sheets, confused about everything.
What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I DOING?
Stanley didn’t care. He had her right where he wanted her, so he thrust a thousand pounds a second, grunting.
“Mmmph, mmmph, mmmph, mmmph . . .”
Queen endured the pain and dug her nails deep into the bed sheets, balling them up into her clenched fists.
God, help me! Help me, Goddd!
But there was no fast finish. Stan continued to hump her for what seemed like an eternity.
Maybe I need to help him. Do I help him, God? Show me the light, she questioned. She wrapped her legs around him in the hope that her involvement would increase his excitement and bring him to a climax.
That didn’t work either. It only gave him a bigger head.
“You feeling it, hunh, girl? You feeling it?”
Queen went with his boasts and catered to him.
“Yeah, baby, I’m feeling it. I’m feeling it,” she groaned.
“I know you are. I can tell.”
All the while, the bed creaked under the strain of their weight.
How much longer, God? How much longer? Queen questioned.