Thursday, August 25, 2011
Luckily for me, Apollo did not disappoint. After he was done French kissing my love below, he kissed his way back north and proceeded to probe me with his member. My body was ready for him and when he breached security, all types alarms went off in my head but they were telling me to stay right where I was. Not to flee the premises but to follow his lead. As my body writhed underneath Apollo and beckoned for more of what he was giving me, I said a silent thank you to the Vegas Gods for planting this fine specimen of a man right on top of me.
I'd been nervous that I would be wasting a number on him at first, causing a little apprehension. But this was a new me. I used to think of every sexual encounter in terms of my "number" and being ruined for my husband. I know it sounds medieval but I'd fallen prey to some of the ridiculous ideals society lays on women. As Apollo kissed my neck, and maneuvered his body in ways I hadn't dreamed imaginable, the only number I was concerned with was how many more strokes it would take for me to climax.
It wasn't many.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Apollo had taken me to a local diner a few miles off the strip. Sasha and Damien, Apollo's friend from the club, ditched us back in the lobby. Once Sasha saw Damien, and how sexy he was, she wanted to do her own thing. I wasn't one to hate and this was Vegas! Who was I to stop her flow? Plus a little alone time with Mr. Apollo didn't seem like such a bad thing.
"So Kyla, what brings you to Vegas?", he inquired as he took a sip of coffee.
"I'm here under the guise of a convention but I just really needed some girl time."
"Why? Ya man not treating you right?" This dude just got right to it.
"Actually, I don't have a man. I just got out of a relationship and I'm really here to celebrate the break up."
"Celebrate a break up?", he asked. "Never heard that one before but ya'll women come up with a new way to move on every time I turn around, so I can't say I'm surprised. First it was a new pair of shoes or a freakum dress. Clearly you already checked that off your list 'cause you are wearing that dress." He gave me a body scan and continued, "Then it was a new haircut. Now we have divorce parties and celebratory break up trips. What's next?"
"Well ya'll men come up with new ways to screw us over every time I turn around, so maybe you should tell me what's next so I'll be better prepared next time.", I retorted.
"Okay so maybe my "ya'll women" was too broad of a generalization but it just seems like there's always a new trend. But enough with the ill conceived generalizations. I apologize for that. I'm sorry to hear about your break up."
"Thank you. I appreciate it. And an apology without me asking for it? Points for you."
"I'm man enough to admit when I've overspoken."
"That's to be determined but you get an A for effort." I said patting him on the shoulder. "So where's your girl? It's 5:30 in the morning. Do you not have some place to be? Somebody to go home to?"
"The only place I have to be is right here with you. I guess you could say I have a girl but we're going through a bit of a rough patch right now."
Here we go.
"Well listen, rough patch or not, I just got cheated on and I'm not gonna be the girl that does it to somebody else."
"That's the thing. We're in an open relationship. Well at least I thought we were. That's why we're going through a rough patch. Somewhere along the way, she wanted us to be exclusive and I just don't get down like that."
"Get down like what?", I asked confused.
"Like that.", he repeated. "Exclusively. I don't really believe in monogamy."
Here. We. Go.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
"Ms. St. James?? Tristan on line 2 again. Would you like to take it?", the voice said from my intercom.
"Tell him I'm busy...again. And I will be...forever. Make sure you add forever for good measure.", I said releasing the button on the intercom with as much annoyance as I could.
It had been a month since Tristan and I had broken up and I was still adjusting. Being in a relationship for so long, I'd forgotten what it was like to be single. Here it was, a Thursday evening and I was still in the office with no plans. No dinner to rush home and make. No date to catch up on the week's happenings. Just me and another episode of Grey's Anatomy. In a matter of weeks, my life had become so...boring.
There were times, that Tristan would be gone for weeks at a time, but him coming home always gave me something to look forward to. Then there were times that he did nothing but local gigs and I could look forward to laying next to him every night, while he laid other things...like pipe. Now my pipes were a little more than rusty and the only bed buddy I had was my remote control. I was starting to feel pretty pathetic and I needed to do something. Maybe a change of scenery would do me some good.
"Melanie? Get Sasha on the line for me please?", I said through the intercom.
"Right away Ms. St. James.", came the reply.
My assistant Melanie was such a sweetheart, but the poor child thought she was in a real life version of "The Devil Wears Prada". The thing is...I'm no Anna Wintour, and she's no Anne Hathaway. I'm a junior editor for one of the leading Black women's magazines in the country, Sass. I'd spent the early part of my twenties climbing my way up the editorial ladder, and I was just starting to see it pay off. Being an editor at Sass most definitely has its perks. Free clothes from some top designers. Tickets to some of the hottest events in town...networking and otherwise. A corner office, a corporate card, and my very own assistant aka my own little mini me.
On paper, it seemed like I had it all together. Up until a few weeks ago, I thought I did. The fabulous wardrobe, the sweet condo, and the man of my dreams. Too bad he'd turned out to be a nightmare. Albeit, a beautiful one. Over the past few weeks I'd realized, I could kinda see why Tristan would feel like he was behind me career wise, but to do me like that? Please! Straight bitch move. Jealous of my success? How cliche. Somehow my thoughts always drifted back to Tristan and it was really starting to piss me off. This was exactly why I needed a vacay. And stat!
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Just wanted to drop a quick line to say my bad about the missing Kyla Chronicles on Thursday. I had some family come into town and I haven't had a minute to breathe. So now...I'm just breathin'. Check back on Wednesday for last week's Kyla Chronicles and Thursday there will still be a new one!
Hope everyone is well! Enjoy the rest of the weekend!
Hope everyone is well! Enjoy the rest of the weekend!
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
I hate to admit that I'm such a hardcore fan of Basketball Wives, but to my own chagrin, I will concede that I watch right along with the other 4.2 million viewers. As much coonery and buffoonery runs rampant round them parts, I routinely tune in to catch it. When the show first premiered, I was one of the main ones talking about "that show does nothing for our community", and it "does nothing for the relationships of black women". That is until one day I caught one of those Saturday marathons that VH1 and MTV use to suck you in. As a marketing major, I can appreciate their tactics.
As I watch Basketball Wives get outta control with the women going upside each other's heads, the tonguing men down on camera before the divorce papers are signed, and let's not forget the bitchassness of the men on the show (Eric Williams throwing that drink in Jen's face was downright despicable), I realize that Basketball Wives does a great thing for our community. It shows us what not to do, and how impulsiveness can quickly lead to foolishness.
Foolishness aside, people love drama. And as Tami Roman said in a recent article with The Examiner, drama is what viewers want to see. We probably wouldn't be talking about Basketball Wives (and I probably wouldn't be writing about it), were there no drama. They have earned a spot in pop culture today and, like it or not, they've become more than relevant. So relevant that they even have their own catchprases. From Gloria's "that's whassup" to Evelyn's "non-muthaf*ckn factor", the ladies have definitely coined their fair share of phrases. In an interview with 24WiredTV, Jennifer Williams breaks down the BW lingo. One phrase in particular that stood out to me was "the circle".
Thursday, August 4, 2011
The next morning when Cash awoke he offered to take me to breakfast but I told him we'd have to raincheck that. Enough time had elapsed, and I knew it was time to face Tristan. I kept on the tshirt he'd given me to sleep in, since I hadn't exactly brought a change of clothes. Or any clothes for that matter. I'd told him I didn't usually leave the house clothed in La Perla and a Trenchcoat but, under the circumstances he could surely understand. He just gave me a teasing look, that said whatever you gotta tell yourself.
The ride back to Brooklyn from Cash's place was about an hour, since he lived out in a ritzy neighborhood on Long Island. I wasn't feeling much like talking, since I'd been consumed with thoughts of my impending conversation with Tristan. I looked out the window, watching the trees whiz by, trying to ignore the hollow feeling of anticipation that was plaguing my stomach. Cash was perceptive, as I'd come to realize was part of his personality, as he turned the music up loud enough for me to get lost in my thoughts. I'd settled comfortably in my seat, drinking my Dunkin' Donuts French Vanilla coffee, when I heard Jay Z's "Say Hello" come through the speakers. I drifted off into my own little world and I began to think of my life in terms of Hov's songbook.
Last night I was thinking, this can't be life. But soon after I'd had a moment of clarity. I had 99 Problems, and Tristan was no longer one. It didn't take me long to realize aint no nigga worth all that. That much I know. I was so appalled but it was time to get that dirt off my shoulder. But one thing I did know was that if Tristan told me he was just f*ckin' that girl, he was gon get right back, Jay was gon' write his mouth a check his ass couldn't cash. Snapping back to reality, it was hello brooklyn and I was that much closer to hearing what he had to say for himself. Cash dropped me to my car and told me he was there if I needed him. He said from the brief time we'd spent together he was pretty sure I could hold my own. I was a regular American Gangsta.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
*Takes foot out of mouth* (Pause)
I'd say I pride myself on being a good friend. I guess you could say I'm a friend 'til the end *Chucky voice*. There are only a few things, for me, that there's no coming back from. They're pretty much limited to distrust, disloyalty, and betrayal. I don't think that's too much to ask. Once those things rear their ugly heads, the relationship is pretty much a goner. Deuces! What can I say? I'm not really a fool me twice kind of gal. Actually, one of my pet peeves is when someone gets done dirty, and when the person who did them dirty is a repeat offender, the offendee hits you with the "Can you believe (s)he did that?". Often times, I'm sitting there thinking, Yeah I can, why can't you?
But I don't say that now do I? I listen and try to be a good friend. I try to be conscious of the feelings of my loved ones, but I think there's a thin line between being considerate and being a cosigner just for argument's sake. Sometimes our friends need to hear the real, whether they want to or not. Being a real friend isn't about being a "yes" (wo)man, and agreeing with everything your friends say. It's about being able to give them the truth, whether they're ready to hear it or not. But it all goes back to what we all learn as children; it's not what you say, it's how you say it. It's not the message, it's the delivery.
This past weekend I was put on a "timeout" by a great friend. A classic case of when keeping it real goes wrong put me there. My friend came to me with a very personal and delicate situation, that I gave her my true feelings about. We got into a heated discussion, and she told me she had to call me back.