When your fiancé cheated on you before the wedding, not once but twice, did you think that getting married would transform him into being faithful?
When she withdrew money from the joint bank account without your permission to buy shoes and expensive clothes, why did you believe she would change just because you gave her the label of wife?
And when you were verbally and physically abused, did you really believe that you could love the abuse out of him or her after the wedding?
Listen, folks, having a wedding ceremony won’t change your partner into a better person or into someone else! This idea that reciting vows in front of your family, friends, and in the presence of God Almighty will make your relationship better is nothing but a fantasy.
If he or she was annoying, disrespectful, abusive, dishonest, and irresponsible before the wedding, they’ll be annoying, disrespectful, abusive, dishonest, and irresponsible after the wedding. What you see is what you get!
How many of you remember the old newspaper cartoon called “Love Is”? Each day there was a different expression of the word love. For example, Love is … never having to say I’m sorry! Or Love is…taking one day at a time. Get it? But the one ‘Love Is’ cartoon that everyone needs to read is, Love is … acceptance.
If you’re seriously considering getting married or being in a committed relationship, you’d better cut and paste this on your wall. If you don’t accept a person for who they are, then that’s not love, that’s delusion! And so is the idea that loving someone hard enough will change them!
But let’s address this issue of why people are trying to change their partners in the first place. I thought the whole idea of getting married was to love the person for who they are, not for who you want them to be or for the person they have the potential to be.
If the idea is to make a lifetime commitment, doesn’t it make sense to be with someone you’re already happy and satisfied with? And besides, who has the energy to makeover a grown man or woman? Just the thought of it is exhausting. I’ve got a better idea — why not choose a person who’s already good enough for you.
Excerpt from my book; Raise Your Hands If You Have Issues. G
Read Chapter One Of My Novel, The Maintenance Man By Michael Baisden
The drive to South Beach took twenty-five minutes. Malcolm gave Big Al instructions to pick him up at eleven-thirty, then rushed into the hotel. Tina checked into Room 1001, like always. Malcolm hopped aboard the elevator hoping she was ready.
As he approached the room, he could smell the familiar aroma of jasmine incense burning. He knocked on the door and put his hand over the peephole.
“Who is it?” Tina asked apprehensively.
“It’s the plumber, ma’am,” Malcolm said, trying to disguise his voice. “We received a call that the sink was backed up.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my sink. Are you sure you have the right room?”
“I’m looking right at the job order, ma’am. It says Room 1001. Guest needs drain unstopped.”
When he burst out laughing, she was on to him. Tina opened the door buck naked and popped Malcolm upside the head.
“Malcolm, you scared the hell out of me!”
“I’m sorry, baby. Let me make it up to you.”
Malcolm backed her into the candlelit room and dropped his garment bag. Then he lifted her by the cheeks and carried her over to the bed.
“I love a man who knows how to take control,” she said.
“And I love a woman who knows how to let a man be The Man.” He gently laid her down on the bed and began taking off his clothes.
“Hurry up, Malcolm,” she said while pulling at the buttons on his silk shirt. “I’m horny as hell.”
“Slow down, baby. These clothes aren’t cheap,” Malcolm said while backing away. “Let me do this.”
“Why are you worried about your damn shirt?” She sounded upset. “I can afford a thousand shirts.”
What she really meant was her husband could afford a thousand shirts. Tina was going through an ugly divorce with a former NBA star. Every dime she had come out of his bank account.
Malcolm didn’t want to ruin the mood, so he poured two glasses of the Dom Perignon she had chilling, then he proposed a toast.
“Here’s to six months of good conversation, good company, and great sex.”
“I’ll drink to that!” she said.
While he sipped on his drink, he casually looked at the clock on the nightstand; it read 10:15. He excused himself to the bathroom and immediately went into action. He hung his clothes neatly over the shower rod, brushed his teeth, shaved, and took a quick shower. Within ten minutes he was ready.
“It’s about time,” Tina said with an attitude.
“I promise you it will be worth the wait.”
Malcolm pulled a condom out of his pants pocket and grabbed the metal flask of coconut oil that was sitting on the nightstand. “Turn over on your stomach, baby,” he told her.
He poured the warm oil on her back and massaged it into her shoulders. Once she relaxed, he slowly ran his tongue from her lower back to the base of her neck.
“Umm, do that again, baby,” she begged.
“Say please,” he insisted.
“Please, please, please, with sugar on top.”
Malcolm used his tongue like a wet probe, boldly going where no man had gone before. Twenty minutes into the foreplay, Tina couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop teasing, baby,” she said, sighing. “Give it to me.” He pushed her legs back toward the headboard as far as they would go, then dived in. The candlelight cast an erotic shadow onto the hotel room wall. It was like looking into a smoked mirror. He tried to concentrate but he kept staring at the silhouette of her body. With every flick of his tongue, she winced and quivered.
In a slow circular motion, he ascended from her pierced belly button to her supple nipples. She inhaled, then turned her head to the side and let out a soft moan. “Oh, Malcolm, you feel so good. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He moved his hand slowly down her long smooth leg until he felt the warmth from within. He paused briefly to massage her, then he put on his condom and slid inside. Her head sprang up in one quick motion.
“Wha—wha–what are you doing?” she stuttered.
“I’m doing my job,” I replied confidently. “Now, lie down!”
She flopped back down onto the pillow and began to shake violently. Seconds later she let out a loud scream. “Oh, shit, that’s the spot, baby, right there!” Her legs tensed as she grasped the sheets into her fists. “I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” Tina bit down on her lip and frantically tossed her head from side to side. If there were an Academy Award for best orgasm, she would have won, hands down. When it was over, she rolled onto her side, clutched the pillow between her legs, and dozed off.
“Perfect timing!” Malcolm said with a sly grin. “Mission accomplished.”
The clock read 11:09 P.M. Her time was up. He tiptoed into the bathroom and closed the door. As he ran the shower, he checked his cell phone to confirm his appointment. It read: Helen—Melvin’s Jazz Club—midnight. “So much for a long, hot bath!” he said in disgust.
He turned the shower lever to hot and quickly jumped in. While he washed in the hot drizzle, he tried to relax. The ten-hour flight from Paris had worn him out. He thought about canceling his appointment, but Helen was a priority customer. According to the article he had read in Fortune magazine, she was worth ten million dollars. He wasn’t about to disappoint his golden goose, especially for a basket case like Tina. She had more drama in her life than a soap opera: death in the family, relatives in jail, and a pending divorce. He couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. So, he penciled her in as a courtesy fuck.
After ten minutes of standing in the steam-filled shower, he was rejuvenated. He stepped out of the bathroom and slipped on his clothes. He expected Tina to still be asleep but she was standing outside on the terrace naked, smoking a cigarette. The moonlight accentuated her tanned skin and long silky hair that extended to the middle of her back. He paused to admire her one last time. As he was about to announce he was leaving, she muttered something.
“Did you say something, Tina?” he asked while walking towards her.
“You heard what I said; men are no damn good! All they do is tell lies, get you pregnant, and then move on to the next young piece.”
“I don’t know what kind of drug you’re on but I don’t have time for another one of your tantrums, not tonight. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to collect my money and leave.”
She turned suddenly; her eyes filled with tears. “Fuck you, Malcolm!” she shouted. “I knew you didn’t give a damn about me. All I am to you is another trick.”
She tossed her cigarette over the balcony, then stormed past him looking for her purse.
“Here, is this what you want?” Tina pulled ten crisp hundred-dollar bills out of her wallet and threw them in his face. “Take them!”
Malcolm looked at her like she was out of her mind. Then he calmly took his black book out of his pants pocket and began writing.
“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding concerned.
“I’m scratching your name out of my book.”
“But I want to see you next month.” Tina quickly composed herself, clearing her throat and wiping phony tears from her eyes.
“Next month? I’m scratching your crazy ass out for good!” he said. “I’m sick and tired of these dramatic episodes. This is the third time in six months I’ve had to deal with this shit. Enough is enough!” He put his book inside his pocket and headed for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” She tried to block his way with her naked one-hundred-and-twenty-five-pound frame. “I paid you for your time, plus a hundred-dollar tip.”
“You think you can throw money at me like I’m some kind of cheap prostitute? I couldn’t buy a decent suit with that chump change.”
“I’m sorry, Malcolm. Don’t go, please don’t go!” Tina gathered the bills off the floor and handed them to him. “You know this divorce has me under a lot of pressure.”
“I can’t believe you’re still trippin’ over this bullshit,” he said. “Let it go and get on with your life.”
“I gave that bastard the best years of my life. I’m not about to let him walk away Scott-free.”
“Scott-free? He offered to settle out of court for 10 million dollars, the house, the Range Rover, and ten thousand dollars a month in child support. What more do you want?”
“I want to break that son-of-a-bitch, that’s what! If it weren’t for me he would never have gotten that fifty-million-dollar contract with Nike. I’m not going anywhere until I get paid!”
Malcolm lifted her by the waist and tossed her onto the bed. “You’re nothing but a gold-digging tramp.”
“You’ll be back, Malcolm,” she said seductively while caressing her breasts. “I’ll give you a call when I get my first check. We’ll spread the cash on top of the bed and fuck on it.”
“You’re pathetic,” he said. Then he rushed out the door.
While he waited on the elevator, he searched through his pocket for the small pack of aspirin he always carried with him. The stress of playing the role of lover and psychiatrist was getting the best of him. His reflection in the corridor mirror spoke volumes. His eyes were red and his hair was graying in places. As he stepped onto the elevator, he popped two Tylenol and laughed, “I’m getting too old for this shit!”
Excerpt from my hottest novel, The Maintenance Man (Collectors Edition) By Michael Baisden
