He's Just A Friend Read online

  He’s Just A Friend

  Mary B. Morrison

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  A WOMAN’S FIRST ORGASM

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  EXPECTATIONS

  CHRONOLOGY

  AUTHOR’S MESSAGE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  SOMEBODY’S GOTTA BE ON TOP.

  NOTHING HAS EVER FELT LIKE THIS.

  Copyright Page

  Dedicated to all my children. When each of you

  are ready, love yourself first and choose

  your friends carefully.

  I love you

  Jesse Bernard Byrd, Jr., my son

  Rachelle Isadora Davis, my niece

  Lauren Nicole Davis, my niece

  Angela Dionne Davis, my niece

  Delisia Noel, my niece

  Jo Vanté Morrison, my niece

  Janard “The Preacher” Morrison, my nephew

  Roland Morrison, my nephew

  Christina Morrison, my niece

  Omar Noel, my nephew and godson

  Marianna “Tomorrow” Morrison, my niece

  Joseph Henry Morrison, II, my nephew

  Annissa “Ladybug” Rickerson, my niece

  Derianna “Muffy” Morrison, my niece

  Ulalila “Lady” Lee Morrison, my niece

  Acknowledgments

  I render all praises to God. I’m thankful for my parents, the late Joseph Henry Morrison, Elester Noel, Ella Beatrice Turner, and Willie Frinkle. I don’t know what I’d do without the love and support of my siblings, Wayne, Andrea, Regina, and Derrick Morrison, Margie Rickerson and Debra Noel.

  Thanks to my wonderful son, Jesse Bernard Byrd Jr., one of Northern California’s Super 100 basketball players, one of the top three sophomore ballers in Northern California, one of the elite Slam-N-Jam Soldiers basketball players, and most importantly, a brilliant academic achiever on track to becoming an NCAA Division-1 basketball player.

  Continued love and appreciation to the greatest editor, my editor, Karen Thomas. Thanks to my agent, Claudia Menza, for also being my friend. To my entire Kensington Publishing family, thanks for your hard work and support.

  Thanks to Felicia Polk, my publicist and friend. I love you and attribute a great deal of my literary success to your untiring efforts. Thanks to L. Peggy Hicks, my publicist, for working so diligently on my tours.

  A special thanks to my guardian angels, Howard and Ruth Kees, Andrea and Regina Morrison, Malissa Tafere-Walton, Vyllorya A. Evans, Shannette Slaughter, Michaela Burnett, and Gail Fred. You guys stood behind me, believed in me, and supported me.

  Thanks to all the bookstore owners, readers, radio and TV hosts for supporting my work.

  A WOMAN’S FIRST ORGASM

  A woman’s first orgasm

  Should be by masturbation

  Or maybe from oral copulation

  But never strictly penetration

  She doesn’t need permission

  To explore herself

  By herself

  She should try herself

  And hold on to her virginity

  Not for infinity

  But until he can prove

  He’s the one she should choose

  Because penetration the first time hurts

  Then she’ll bleed

  And perhaps end up on her knees

  Praying to a porcelain bowl

  Through the eyes of her unborn soul

  Because he’s left her holding his seed

  Instead of a deed

  Of trust

  Signed joint partners

  She doesn’t even know what an orgasm is

  Or how it feels

  But oh well he’s got his

  And she’s got his kid

  He’ll probably jump ship

  Before he’s burdened with a child

  A child who has the same smile

  She had when he first met her

  Now that she’s pregnant

  She’s no longer smart enough

  Pretty enough

  Pure enough

  Nor good enough

  To be his stuff

  He’ll leave her with a load of chores

  Because he’s out to score

  With someone else

  Who’s willing to help

  Add another notch to his manhood belt

  Maybe it’s the good girl

  Whose parents merely said don’t have sex

  Or maybe it’s the curious girl

  Who was beaten for having a passion mark on

  her neck

  Or maybe it’s the loud girl

  Who doesn’t understand self-respect

  Or maybe it’s the shy girl

  Who couldn’t talk openly to anyone about sex

  Or perhaps it’s the quiet girl

  Who no one suspects

  If only she knew how to please herself

  A baby didn’t have to be left behind

  She could have taught him

  How to stoke her mind

  A woman’s first orgasm

  Should be by masturbation

  Or maybe from oral copulation

  But never strictly penetration

  If someone had told her to spread her thighs

  Look into her own eyes

  Eyes that would not lie

  Her vagina is a beautiful flower

  Smile

  Look

  Look

  And lick her fingertips

  Then tease her clit

  And don’t be afraid to touch her tits

  Oh there’s so much

  Her precious temple should learn

  Before feeling the burning sensation

  Of his manhood’s penetration

  He should kiss her lips

  The moist ones closest to her eyes

  Like it’s his favorite dish

  And his only wish

  Is never to make her cry

  Or degrade her womanhood to his boys

  By creating a bunch of lies

  Then she could return the favor

  And they both could savor the flavor

  His manhood would be intact

  Because he knows his girl has got his back

  With a smile

  Instead of a child

  Not my daughter one might say

  Well like or not

  The girl will someday

  Have sex anyway

  Ignorance does not prepare

  A lover who’s unaware

  Will learn from someone out therer />
  Someone who probably doesn’t care

  And despite the parents’ good deeds

  Someone is willing to share his seeds

  With a female harboring unfulfilled needs

  A woman’s first orgasm

  Should be by masturbation

  Or maybe from oral copulation

  But never strictly penetration

  She doesn’t need permission

  To explore herself

  By herself

  She really should try herself

  And hold on to her virginity

  Not for infinity

  But until he can prove

  He’s the one she should choose

  To carry his last name

  Before carrying his baby

  She must be taught to respect herself

  Love herself

  No if but and or maybe

  Because far too often she’s still somebody’s baby

  It’s a new generation

  And boys masturbate all the time

  Let’s teach our girls about masturbation

  Let’s empower our girls with alternatives

  To unhealthy situations

  A woman’s first orgasm

  Should be by masturbation

  Or maybe from oral copulation

  But never strictly penetration

  Talk to your child(ren) about sex

  Please

  CHAPTER 1

  “How could you be so stupid?!” Fancy yelled in the mirror at her reflection. Swish. Swish. Swish! Her fists chased the July summer night’s breeze blowing through the patio screen into her lonely bedroom. How could she have not known that Byron Van Lee was a married man? A man she’d done everything with. A man she was willing to do anything for. What was she going to do? Fancy swiftly turned, landing three blows against her shadow. Mimicking Laila Ali she struck faster. Harder. Swish! Swish! Swish! Long strands of black hair whipped around her neck and clung to her sweaty face.

  Fancy massaged her heaving breastbone in an attempt to give her aching heart relief. Maybe if that were the first time a man had lied to her about his marital status, she’d forgive him. Not this time. Not this one. This kind of shit was supposed to happen to other women.

  “Why me? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why me?” Fancy questioned herself repeatedly. Why was it so difficult for her to find an honest man? Byron would definitely regret playing with her emotions.

  Perspiration beads gathered on her feverish forehead. The salty streams burned her cheeks. White lines remained where tears once flowed. The angrier she became the more she perspired. The more she cried. New salty lines replaced old ones as Fancy recalled the lies Byron had told on their very first date.

  Byron had unmistakably said, “Actually, I’m happily single. Thirty going on thirty-one. Never married. Would love to have two kids, a boy and a girl, but I hardly have time for myself.”

  That night over dinner his roaming brown eyes traveled from her face down to her cleavage and back to her glowing smile. Then he had proclaimed, “And so far I love what I see, Ms. Taylor.” Following his statement, Byron gradually fed her a large chocolate-dipped strawberry. Setting the green stem aside, Byron eased his manicured nail between her lips.

  Fancy shivered at the memory. She felt foolish as she visualized sucking the juices off Byron’s finger, pretending it was his dick. “Fuck you, Byron! I hate you! I hate your lying ass!” Fancy hugged herself so tight the only thing missing was a straightjacket.

  Maybe if Byron hadn’t lavished her with everything she wanted. Maybe if he hadn’t spoken all the right words. Maybe if he hadn’t spanked her with his colossal dick. Maybe. Just maybe she could think straight and delete his phone numbers from her cell phone book like the rest of her rejects. Tears flowed. The red squiggly veins in her eyes doubled. Tripled. Quadrupled. She hated the thought of letting Byron go, but did she hate Byron enough to let him go?

  Rocking back and forth on the gold padded stool, Fancy snatched the red washcloth from her vanity and vigorously dried her tears. Sniffles accompanied short quick breaths that escaped her runny nose. Byron had recently dropped her off after another one of their sizzling dates in the city. Again, he’d taken care of her, showing her off to his rich male friends. And in return—just moments ago—Fancy leaned in Byron’s lap while he drove across the San Rafael Bridge, en route to her apartment in Oakland. She sucked his head, because that was all she desired to fit into her mouth. Fancy stroked Byron’s shaft long and hard until his cum became hers. With each suck, she’d hoped Byron would change his mind and spend the night at her place, but the screeching sound of his tires as he pulled out of the circular driveway still echoed in her ears.

  Removing her tan designer minidress, she tossed it across the foot of her bed. Fancy enjoyed prancing around her apartment in the nude and as soon as she made it home, her clothes made it to the bed. This time all except her neutral-colored thigh-high stockings, a thong, and a garter belt. She forced her fingernails inside the runs she’d created shuffling back and forth on the white carpet and ripped a larger hole.

  “Why couldn’t he just tell me the truth?”

  Even if Byron had told Fancy he had a wife, she still would’ve fucked him. But she wouldn’t have fallen madly in love with him.

  Snatching the cordless phone from the charger, Fancy punched in the home number she’d memorized earlier from Byron’s cellular ID. After he’d hung up from that call, suddenly their night, which was just getting started, was over. “We’ve gotta go,” was all he said, because Byron never offered an explanation or an excuse. He wasn’t slick. He was the one who was stupid! Not her. If he lived alone, who’d call him from home?

  Shaking Byron from her thoughts, Fancy dialed the number. A woman’s voice muttered, “Hel-lo,” as though she’d been awakened.

  Faster than a Polaroid snapshot sliding out of a camera, a million thoughts flashed in Fancy’s mind. The sun rays peeping through her vertical blinds were fading. Fading right along with her undeveloped hopes and dreams for a future she’d fantasized about for well over six months, with Byron. Friday night happy hour at the Pacific Heights members only club that Byron had taken her to wasn’t over until eight and according to her clock it wasn’t quite seven. Maybe his conniving ass had returned without her so he could fuck the black Amazon goddess with the London accent all the other men were idiotically hounding and drooling over. Beads of sweat resumed popping out on her forehead. Fancy watched as a thin liquid necklace formed in the crevices above her collarbone.

  “Hello?” the woman’s voice repeated.

  Sitting quietly at her vanity, Fancy pressed the mute button, then rocked back and forth, staring at her reflection in the oval-shaped mirror. “Why do you keep choosing the wrong man?” She rocked faster. Not adoring herself at the moment, Fancy rolled her eyes so hard her green contacts shifted, revealing her natural brown eyes. Green. Gray. Hazel. Violet. Fancy owned a pair of lenses in every color except blue. She flipped the swivel mirror horizontally so she could no longer see how pitiful she looked.

  This was insane. What was she going to do if the woman was his wife? Stalk her? Harass her? Make her divorce Byron? Shoot her? Maybe Fancy could beat the woman with the belt she used to spank Byron with during role-play.

  “Hello? Is anybody there?” the woman asked with a tone indicating if someone didn’t speak up this time, she would hang up.

  Suddenly Fancy stopped rocking, pressed the mute button again, and delightfully said, “Hi! Is this the lady of the house?”

  Fancy wondered many things about the woman on the other end of the line. Was she the same woman who was with Byron the night they’d met? Was she Byron’s wife? If so, how long had they been married? Did the woman have a nine-to-five job? Maybe they weren’t married. Maybe they were separated. And in the process of getting a divorce. That’s probably why Byron hadn’t mention he had a wife.

  “Yes, this is Mrs. Lee.” Mrs. Lee’s voice was choppy and faint, like she
should have cleared her throat but she didn’t.

  Fancy spoke happily. “I’m calling from the Chronicle Tribune. We have an introductory special that your family is guaranteed to enjoy. We’re combining the best articles and advertisements, and we have a fabulous sports edition I’m sure the man of the house would love! Instead of ordering two papers or missing out on both, your family can be among the first Bay Area residents to get all the news in one paper! Delivered to your front door! For an unbelievable price of twenty-nine ninety-nine for an entire year.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Lee spoke slightly louder. “I’m sure my husband would love that. But then again . . .” she hesitated. “We—”

  “Your husband is a sports fan, isn’t he?” Fancy asked, already knowing Byron sat on the Board of Directors for the Oakland Coliseum. Byron had suite tickets for the Warriors, Raiders, and the A’s games. He also had season tickets for the Sacramento Kings. He’d taken Fancy to enough games for her to know if she ever met Chris Webber face-to-face again she’d become Mrs. Webber. What sense did it make for her to be loyal to Byron’s lying ass?

  “He’s the biggest sports fan. Okay, why not. It’s only thirty dollars.” Mrs. Lee had finally spoken in a normal tone. “We’ll sign up.”

  Nervous, still wondering if Byron would arrive home soon, Fancy said, “Wonderful! All I need is your name, delivery address, phone number, and credit card number with the expiration date. And you’ll start receiving the paper in three to five days.”

  “Can you hold for a moment?” Mrs. Lee asked. “I was trying not to wake the baby but he’s crying.”

  Fancy pressed her ear to the phone and listened carefully.