Free Dear Drama by Braya Spice

chuckled. “These breasts are mine, and that ass is mine, so I’m not tripping.”
    I rolled my eyes at him, but he was too busy kissing my neck, so he didn’t see. “Nothing on me is yours, remember? You’re my friend. And why you rubbing on good but not that good pussy?”
    To tell the truth, I was a damn fool for accepting what he offered. But despite his funky-ass attitude and arrogance, he alleviated this pang, this pang I felt when I was real with myself and faced the fact that I had no man to love me or appreciate me. Lavante was a momentary fill-in. Not because I wanted him to be, but because I could have him no other way. There was a void in my life that Oprah, self-help books, and chocolate just could not fill. This was why I accepted Lavante into my bed. He filled the void when he walked in my door, and he drained it when he left.
    He grabbed my hand in his, gently helped me to my feet, and led me into the bedroom, saying, “I was just messing with you on that part, and as for the friendship thing, maybe that will change.”
    I grimaced inside as he kissed me all over like a pimply-faced fifteen-year-old about to lose his virginity.
    â€œBaby, wanna try something new?” He went between my legs.
    My eyes narrowed as he gnawed at my pussy. “What?”
    He swatted one of my booty cheeks. “That back door.”
    No, he didn’t! “Are you talking about anal sex?”
    â€œYeah. But I’ll take off the condom.”
    â€œNo. My ass is reserved for my future husband.” And you damn sure ain’t that! I thought. He had a lot of nerve. He didn’t want to commit, but he wanted to fuck me in my ass. It wasn’t going to happen.
    So he sighed and slipped his pretzel stick in my pussy. I moaned like I always did to make him feel good. I even grabbed my titties for effect, and shit that was the only thing that aroused my ass any damn way. I counted in my head. I got to fifty-four, and he was lying across my chest, breathing hard like he had asthma. What shocked me even more was when he stretched out across my bed and slept. I felt like pouring a pitcher of ice water on his sorry ass. He had busted his nut and was super pleased, whereas I had felt no pleasure at all. And he was cool with that.
    Again, the voice in my head, which I often tried to tune out with my punk-ass justifications for why I needed Lavante in my life, reminded me that I didn’t. As the hours passed that night and he snored, my mind raced. When I added logic to it and not the weakness of my heart, I knew I deserved better than the bullshit he was subjecting me to. The only thing he was giving me was a squirmy dick that I didn’t even enjoy. I wasn’t getting anything else out of it, certainly not the things I, as a young woman, deserved from the man to whom I was giving myself, like romance and dates and intimacy, without it always being about sex. I also deserved a man who would listen to whatever came out of my mouth, no matter how relevant or irrelevant it was to his life, because it was coming from me.
    But he was getting a whole lot out of it—a young woman with a young body and a mind. He got to drop by whenever he wanted, and he got sex out of me whenever he felt like dealing with me, with no strings attached, so he could do his dirt on the side without having to lie about it. He was winning, and I was losing. I needed to be strong and get his ass out of my house and out of my life.
    I shook him awake.
    â€œOh, you wanna go another round, baby?”
    â€œNo. This ain’t right. I’m not with this shit anymore. Get up, get dressed, and get the fuck out of my house.”
    â€œWhat?”
    I stood and threw his clothes at him. “You heard me. Get up and get out. You got five minutes to get your ass out of my house.”
    He angrily jumped from the bed. “Fine. I don’t need shit from you. I can go to one of my other bitches right