Intersecting Events: A Novel

By Relin Kay

She cared more about that kid then she did about Tam. It was sad that that kid died, but I don't care; I didn't know him. I knew Tam and her life was more important to me. I can't believe she said I wasn't acting like a man. I was acting like a man. How she wanted me to act would've been acting like a coward. A man protects the ones he loves, he'll die for the ones he loves, that's a man. I'm a man, and I'm gonna be a man till the day I die, and no one's gonna change that.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798823001212

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2023 Relin Kay. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/24/2023

ISBN: 979-8-8230-0120-5 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-0119-9 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-0121-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023902982

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Good Morning Chris

Chapter 2: Wake Up Omar And Get Some Chocolate

Chapter 3: Just Pee Pee Trish, Then Come Get Me

Chapter 4: Chris’s Wishful Memories

Chapter 5: Omar, What Are You Thinking

Chapter 6: How Trish Do It

Chapter 7: Okay Then Raquel

Chapter 8: Horny Out of Jail

Chapter 9: Omar Has A Rhondaful Day

Chapter 10: Picking up Kim and A Small Order of Side Nigga

Chapter 11: Omar And Raquel’s Difference of Opinion

Chapter 12: Chris: Sadness to a Good Game

Chapter 13: Jason Don’t Be Looking at My Cousin

Chapter 14: Tamara: Trick Him for a Treat

Chapter 15: Better Than Omar Thought

Chapter 16: Meet Kim

Chapter 17: Trish: A Shift in The Action

Chapter 18: Come on Chris, Let’s Do Something

Chapter 19: What In The World Trish

Chapter 20: Omar And Raquel Entering Perfection

Chapter 21: Chris Getting Back on The Grind

Chapter 22: Trish, Pick Me up and Tell Me What Happened

Chapter 23: Tamara Debates

Chapter 24: Chris up In the Club

Chapter 25: Jason! What Are You Thinking?

Chapter 26: Let’s go, Trish

Chapter 27: Time with Quida

Chapter 28: Waky Waky Chris

Chapter 29: Finding Out

Chapter 30: What Happened

Chapter 31: What Needs to Be Done

Chapter 32: It’s Done

Chapter 33: All Over but the Crying

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CHAPTER 1

GOOD MORNING CHRIS

I woke up in the morning, startled by a fist of sunlight creeping through the curtains of my bedroom window, punching me dead between the eyes. It was Saturday and like most Saturdays other than those every now and then weekends when duty calls. I felt a sense of relief that I didn’t have to work. I don’t care who you are, how long you went to school, what school you went to, or what kind of job you have. You’re gonna eventually wake up one day in the mood that everyone acquires with time, and from that day on, hate going to work. It’s inevitable. We’re not meant to like working; it’s not intended to be a pleasurable experience. Why do you think God punished Adam with it?

I don’t know where I heard it or if I’m even saying it right, but someone said. A man will climb a mountain for fun, but as soon as someone pays him to do it, it becomes work. The way I look at it is, if you want to do it, it’s fun. If you have to do it, it’s work. Work expunges fun. Very few people find pleasure in working every day, five to six days a week, month after month, year after year, with almost no breaks. To those mental cases, I say more power to you. As for me! When I’m off work, I’m happier than Pharrell.

I got out of the bed and walked out of the room, wondering what I was going to do. Should I go work out? Or should I lounge around wasting the day away watching boring movies? Which was, for one reason or another, a usual practice for me on my off days. Well, at least until Tamara comes home and calls to me in that voice that always seems to rejuvenate my pitiful soul.

Tamara! For the last couple of years, she has slowly become my heart, my corridor to a place where life, sex, and love are all the same. Tam. How can one woman cause so much pleasure and, at the same time, so much pain? A pain that she knows exists but will never know the severity of the wounds caused by the bond that was broken in the pursuit of her.

I try hard not to think about what happened, how it happened, or its effect on my conscience. I do feel guilty, though. But why should I feel guilty for falling in love? How is this my fault? I couldn’t hold what I felt, and neither could she. I met her first anyway; he stepped in where he shouldn’t have. Is it guilt, I feel? Or is it remorse from losing someone I care about? Either way, I’m having a hard time letting it go. The more I try to fight, the more I’m imprisoned by thoughts of gaining love while losing the person that has been my best friend and brother since the age of five.

We grew up inseparable. People used to say if you see Chris, Omar wasn’t far behind. If you see Omar, Chris should be hitting the corner in just a second. We went to elementary together, middle school, high school. We even went to the same college. Omar had a basketball scholarship, and my scholarship came from academics. I won three awards my senior year. Two of them were for outstanding student. A small group of us were asked to attend a meeting with several business recruiters. My name was called several times during the meeting by three different executives who wanted to know what I thought. They told me that I had fresh ideas and a go-getter frame of mind. But I needed to develop a dog-eat-dog attitude to survive in the business world.

I had my choice of schools, and it wasn’t hard for me to pick Wayne State after they gave Omar a full ride. Plus, I didn’t want to live too far away from my parents and the church. They needed me. Yep. Go ahead and say it. I’m a church boy, a choir boy, a P.K., the son of a preacher man. Yes, I am, yes, I am. Yes, I am. And not ashamed of it. I sang, I played the organ, I do it all. I didn’t always pay my tithes, but I was there. I support my parents in their ministry, and Wayne State was the perfect solution for doing that and doing what I wanted. It was a win, win. I could do what I needed to at church and still be with my best friend. It’s like Simone in Punta. Hakuna Matata. I didn’t have any worries. Everything was all wrapped up in a nice little packaged area.

I was the nerd out of the group. Omar, he was more of the lady’s man. They flocked to him. I just shook my head, wondering what he was saying to get them so easily. Maybe it’s just his looks. Omar is 6 foot 2 and about 210 pounds. He’s one of those smooth, dark-skinned, lean, supercut dudes that looks good no matter what he has on. He could throw on some old jogs and a T-shirt and look like a model in it. His demeanor is always calm. I think he gets them with his soft, deep voice that seems to somehow carry throughout a room with little effort. He was forever hooking me up, even though I had no trouble with the ladies. Omar just brought me a grade of lady a little higher than I felt I could get by myself.

I miss Omar. I don’t know any other friend like him, or that could ever be as close. Tamara harasses me every now and then about contacting Omar, but she’s not getting it. I broke one of the core rules of man friendship.

#1. Never snitch on your boy, even if he’s cheating on a friend or a family member. You don’t tell. You talk to him about it.

#2. Unless she’s an undercover freak that secretly gives it up to the whole crew. Never bang your boy’s moms. Even if she’s throwing it at you, and he says it’s okay. It’s not okay. He’s not gonna look at you the same after you’ve pounded his moms like a mad man on his first day out of the asylum. He’s not gonna be able to handle it. Especially if you tore it up and moms keep calling you back over. You’re not gonna be able to talk to other women around him without him feeling like you’re cheating on moms or something. I say, don’t do it or stop being friends. There’s only so many times he’s gonna be able to see your car in his momma’s driveway at two in the morning before he snaps.

#3. If your boy calls you and says, he was with you last night. Then he was with you last night and every night from that day forth. So, when his girl calls and tries to question you. He was with you last night. Oh yeah, make sure he has his story straight. You don’t want to be that friend; his girl hates.

#4. The main and most unforgivable rule of all. Never! Never ever mess with your boy’s main girl. You might get away with a side chick or a one-hitter quitter but never the main. Ever! And that’s what I did. I broke a major Manship commandment and did it with pleasure. How can I face him? Especially knowing how things went the last time we saw each other.

This how we do, mutha fucka? We’re fuckin each other’s girls now!? Omar shouted as he got out of his car in front of my apartment building.

I jumped into a defensive stance, startled by the roaring words darting at me through the dimness of the setting sun. Seeing that it was Omar, I relaxed physically but remained mentally on guard.

Omar, man, it wasn’t nothing like that.

It wasn’t like what bitch! Omar shouted with more intense anger in his voice. He clenched his fist, and his eyes turned glossy and red. This how we do? He said, gasping as if he couldn’t breathe.

I didn’t want this to happen, O. I tried to block it.

Block it, he screamed! Block what? Sneaking behind my back. Or smiling in my face after you’ve been fuckin my girl in the next room!

I’ve never so much as kissed her, I explained, clasping my hands together in a praying manner begging for forgiveness. Still, till this day, we haven’t touched out of respect for you.

Respect, he shouted at the top of his lungs. If you and that bitch had any respect, you wouldn’t have been fuckin behind my back! That’s respect! I would’ve expected this from that trifling bitch. But you?

I love her, O.

Love? His eyes widened in rage as he stomped toward me with huge steps.

I retreated three large quick steps while keeping on guard to defend myself.

You don’t know how to love! He stopped, bowed his head, and in a voice full of pain, said. You had your love, and you let it leave. Why did you have to take mine?

I couldn’t hold it any longer. My eyes filled with tears. Not only from the sorrow of causing my best friend’s agony but from the feeling rekindled by Omar’s statement about Kim, my ex-girlfriend, who I still loved and missed. My heart dropped into my stomach, triggering a sick souring pain spreading from my belly into my chest. I could hardly breathe. I’m sorry, O, I bellowed, crying uncontrollably.

Those words rejuvenated his anger. Omar turned and walked away, arms flinging in the air, giving me a moment of relaxation. He clenched his fist at the top of his forehead and turned toward me again. You were supposed to be my best friend, he said, dropping his arms and spreading his fingers palms facing me. You were supposed to be looking out for me, Omar shouted as he paced back and forth, puffing air through his jaws. But now I see. You’ve never been my friend. You’ve always been my enemy.

Those words shot out like a fist punching through my chest, smashing my heart against the inner walls of my back. The pain traveled through my heart into my spine, down both my thighs and weakened my knees. I felt myself wobble.

Tears fell from Omar’s face as he looked at the ground, shaking his head. After all we’ve been through, he said in a trembling voice. After all, we’ve been through. Omar said again in a deep whisper. You were always my enemy."

Omar, I’m sor…

You were always my enemy! He screamed, stretching his left arm toward me like a shotgun with his index finger as the barrel pointing dead between my eyes. You are dead to me, he roared as he jumped into his car and took off before I could say anything. But what could I say? He had every right to be upset, and I had no right to be anything but sorrowful.

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CHAPTER 2

WAKE UP OMAR AND GET SOME CHOCOLATE

I think I opened my eyes because that was the only thing on my body I could move. Sunlight filled the room like mist across a field on a cool summer morning. The thick glare squinted my eyes, forcing me to rest my right hand on my forehead. I didn’t want to move; I laid in bed nauseous, dehydrated, and staring miserably at the ceiling. I guess I was hoping something would happen, something I wouldn’t have to do myself.

I hesitated before looking at the clock, worrying that the leftover drunkenness from last night would be disturbed from its slumber, turning my brain into a merry-go-around of painful gyration. I conjured enough strength to swing my left arm across my body and rolled over on my right elbow. I moaned painfully as my headache fell from the back of my head and collided into my eyes. I blew hot liquor drenched air out of my mouth, hoping to soothe the pain and calm my souring belly. Raising my eyes, I saw 9:15 shining from my alarm clock in dim red digits. Oh, God. I moaned, dropped my head to the pillow, and returned to my back. Oh. I moaned again, rubbing my head as a tornado of woozy pain spun its way through my skull, producing an eruption that threatened to upheave the contents of my stomach.

What day is it? Oh Shit, I’m late for work. Jumping up and attempting to run made the tornado even more fierce, throwing me off balance. Struggling to regain my equilibrium, I stumbled toward the bathroom catching myself in the doorway. I rumbled to the sink, crashing my palms against the wall on both sides of the medicine cabinet. I could feel hot liquid sneaking its way up my throat, unsuccessfully disguising itself as a burp. After taking about five deep breaths, I turned on the cold water throwing it into my face and all over the sink. I took another deep breath before staggering out of the bathroom in the direction of my closet and blindly grabbed a pair of pants. I snatched a shirt from a hanger, threw it on, and buttoned it up wildly off-center. Still feeling woozy, I ran back to the bathroom, opened the mouthwash, and poured it in, wrenching it around in my mouth. I moved to the sock drawer, grabbed a ball of socks, and unraveled it.

There I was, flopping a load of mouthwash around in my mouth, splattering it partially on the floor, trying to put on my sock, missing the sock hole with my foot, and becoming more and more frustrated when I heard.

What are you doing, Mr. Williams?

The voice caught my attention, causing me to swallow the mouthwash and stumble backward against my dresser with a crash. The voice laughed hysterically as I caught myself before falling backward over the side of the dresser. I paused as my eyes adjusted slowly into focus upon the dark and lovely image of Raquel Green, a student of mine when I taught at John J Pershing High School. It had been at least five years since I last saw her at graduation, and Raquel still looked good.

I remembered her mostly because she was hard not to remember. She was incredibly sexy with a flat stomach, thick thighs, a fat ass, and a walk that would make a preacher ask the Lord for forgiveness for sinning with his eyes and the lust of his heart. Hell, even females walking by would turn their heads back to get a good look at that ass. Imagine Gabrielle Union, with Serena Williams’s ass, but better and with a wiggle. You can’t help but be absorbed by her silky black skin, long shiny flowing hair, and beckoning brown eyes. She laid in my bed, hair all over her head, leaning back on her elbows. The sheet covered her at the waist, giving me a magnificent view of her perfectly round, perky, chocolate breast, which I freely gawked at with no shame.

I’m late for work, I yelled, standing up straight.

When did you start working Saturdays? She enquired as she sat up, leaning on her hands.

Now I’m really noticing her little, pretty dark brown hard nipples. I don’t, I said, sitting back down on the dresser.

Well, today is Saturday. Tilting her head and lifting her eyebrows.

I felt so stupid. I dropped my arms, elbows resting on my thighs, and shook my head. Saturday, I whispered under my breath.

Come back to bed, she said, lying back down on her belly, with both arms folded under the pillow. I thought you were trying to run away from me or something.

Hell no! I would have to be gay. Besides, I would have a hard time running away from my own apartment. Right?

I guess.

Standing up and undoing the missed placed buttons on my shirt, I looked at Raquel with what would have been disbelief if the events of last night hadn’t started falling sluggishly from my aching brain. My throbbing head dug up the memories of the events that led to me standing there at that moment, mentally beating my chest proudly like a great silverback gorilla. Yeah, that’s right. I was at a Jazz bar last night. I reflected as I looked over at her noticing how the sheets had formed to her body like a smooth plaster mold, recording every detail, every hump, every curve.

My eyes were summoned to her heels. Her toes pointed downward, feet slightly apart. My eyes fell from her heel, sliding down the sheet, landing on her lower left calf and, traced the slope rolling to the dip in the back of her knee. My focus took a rapid leap over the breach between her legs, landing on her lower right thigh, then jumped back and forth from thigh to thigh. I observed every line and curve until I reached the wonderfully smooth round mountain in the sheets that her beautiful chocolate ass had made. I sucked air through my teeth. My eyes squinted as my mind screamed like a drunken cowboy at a bar. I couldn’t take it anymore. I took three huge steps toward her, throwing the sheets to the other side of the room, revealing what I already knew was there; A perfectly formed sculpting of chocolaty thickness. I grunted like a wild beast, dropped one knee between her feet, and grabbed her by her hips. I pulled her to the edge of the bed and smacked her ass to see it jiggle.

Hell yeah, she howled, spreading her legs, falling to her elbows, and poking her big jello ass higher.

I dropped my pants. My dick jumped out with excitement. He was ready, whether I was or not. Grabbing and squeezing her cheeks, I drove my stiff rod into an ocean of soft tight goodness. She inhaled deeply as I plunged for the bottom. I pulled back slow then thrusted in with a strike. She let out a cry. I repeated my thrust, gradually increasing to a rapid pace. I continued, grabbing her waist as she gave a wail of whining delight with every stroke. I intensified momentum, pounding my hips into her magnificent ass as it jiggled upward, tapping against my wrist. I straightened my arms, leveraging myself, pounding harder and harder.

Mr. Williams! She moaned. Shit, shit, shit, Mr. Williams!"

Omar, I shouted at her, pulling her to me with my left hand around her throat, then grabbing a wad of hair in my right fist. I kissed her shoulder then ran my tongue up her neck to her ear, biting and kissing her ear lobe while still delivering hard strokes.

Get that pussy over here, bitch, I commanded her, pushing her down to her hands by her hair.

With total obedience, she dropped to her elbows and scooted closer to me, opening her legs wider. I grabbed her by her waist firmly with both hands. Yeah, bitch, sexy bitch, chocolate fine ass bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch. With every bitch came a hard, deep thrust, and with every thrust, she gave a howl that was accompanied by the sound of my pelvis striking hard against her shiny black ass. The sound echoed loudly off the walls giving applause to the actions and effort I was giving, trying to please this African goddess, whose pussy I had the privilege of giving total worship and praise with all of my sexual being. I grabbed her by her hair and pulled her to me, wrapping both hands around her neck, looking down and watching her ass bounce as she growled yes, yes, yes through her teeth, while I pounded her as rapid as machine gunfire. I put my mouth to her right ear as I slowed my pace. Say my name. I thrusted in deep. She barked a high pitch cry. I backed out slowly, then thrusted in again, listening for the bark. I wasn’t disappointed. She let out another yelp. It sounded so sexy to me; I continued with deep strikes, enjoying her bark as it echoed through the room. I whispered in her ear. You like this dick?"

Yes, daddy. She whined in a sexy high-pitched voice.

Yes, who? I asked, going in for another strike.

Yes, daddy.

Yes, Who?

"Yes, daddy.

Who?

Daddy.

Who?

Daddy.

I kept stroking, straightening my arms, looking at her ass.

Raquel kept going with me. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. The more daddies she said, the higher and louder her voice got until it reached a level that sounded more like crying.

I sped up again to a steady fast rhythm.

Daddy! Daddy! Oh, daddyyy! Raquel held the E, in a long, high-pitched crying-like squeal as I felt her hot cum, slowly warm my dick.

Hell yeah. Cum on this dick bitch. I told her in a soft, deep, relaxed voice.

Raquel started again, her pitch lowering to her normal voice as I changed my rhythm to long deep strokes. Yes, daddy! Yes, daddy! Ooh, daddy! Turning her head back, looking at me with a wanting look on her face.

What’s my name? I asked her, placing the palm of my right-hand flat on the small of her back, getting ready to start another pound session.

Omar! She declared with a sexy face.

Raquel dropped to her elbows, resituating herself from a submissive position to one of command. She rocked forward, lifting her ass, then came back, dropping that beautiful ass down on my dick, slapping her soft round ass cheeks against my hips. I watched as her ass repeatedly spread like wings and came back flapping against my hips like a smooth, shiny chocolate bird in midflight. I matched her rhythm, perfectly meeting the wings as they flapped down, meeting my hips with a thunderous clap that sent tidal waves of booty cheek crashing into my right hand. I started pounding harder, smacking her cheeks every three strokes, transforming the tidal wave into a magnificent wobble.

I plunged in harder, trying to make that ass wobble even harder while listening to Raquel’s sexy voice whine to the feeling of my now even harder shaft stab into her tight pussy. I pulled back to the tip then plunged in, stretching my dick to its limits. I pulled back again. My dick slipped out, and before I could do anything, an eruption of clear liquid splashed hard against my belly. I angrily shoved myself back in her, repeatedly driving in as hard as I could. My mind had snapped. There was no longer thought being processed. I was so hard it hurt. Grabbing her by the elbows, I drove back