Cairo - Deep Throat Diva

He smirks, letting his eyes drop down to my hard nipples, then to my stomach. I’m not really showing yet. “Oh, you mine?”

“All yours,” I tell him, stepping up into his space. The tension between us begins to lift. I press my body up against his. Grind my pelvis into him.

“Then get ya ass back in bed.” He steps back to let me by. I glance over my shoulder and catch him staring back at my laptop. “I’m tellin’ you, Pasha, don’t have me fuck you up, yo.”

Between the long hours at the salon, trying to tie-up last-minute wedding details—like making sure my dress will fit me by the time it’s time to go down the aisle, and Jasper’s constant mood swings, I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Shit, I’m the one who should be on an emotional roller coaster—I’m the one knocked up! But, the way Jasper carries on, you would think he’s the one three months’ pregnant. The nigga’s moods are too damn unpredictable for me, and it’s nerve-wracking. One minute, he’s yelling and cursing and screaming at me; the next minute he’s telling me how much he loves me. A few days’ll go by and everything will be good between us. Then without provocation, his moody ass will flip the switch and start accusing and threatening me. I’m telling you. The way he’s been acting, I have to wonder if he isn’t out there doing his own dirt. I mean, damn! The nigga has me walking on eggshells. I don’t know what little voices he’s hearing in his head, but whatever they’re saying to him has him acting like a certified fool.

Since that last incident a month or so ago when Jasper walked up on me in the middle of the night while I was online, I’ve been keeping it real low-key. That shit was too close for comfort and I don’t need any more close calls like that. I didn’t even go off and meet the nigga like I had planned. And I haven’t been going online looking for extra dick to suck, either. Yes, the thought crossed my mind once or twice…but, that’s it. I’m not doing shit. One, I’m pregnant; and, two, it’s too damn dangerous. Jasper watches and checks every move I make. The last thing I’m interested in is having him snap the fuck out on me. I’m seriously thinking he needs to see someone to help him with whatever is going on with him. I don’t know if it’s nerves or what, but something isn’t right. And it’s starting to get on my last goddamn nerve!

Two weeks ago, he snapped to the point where I thought he was going to have a damn heart attack the way he was screaming and carrying on. “Yo, where the fuck you been at?” he snapped the minute I walked through the door. He caught me off guard, startling me. I dropped my shopping bags.

“ Excuse you !” I said with major attitude. He had this wild, crazy look on his face, practically foaming at the mouth. Something told me he would have hit me if I wasn’t pregnant.

“I asked you where the fuck you was at, yo! It’s almost eight-thirty and you just walkin’ up in this muthafucka when you left the shop at five. Pasha, don’t have me beat ya ass, yo.”

“Yeah, nigga, and when I spoke to you this afternoon, I told your black ass that I was going to the mall. So what the fuck is your problem? I’m really getting sick of this shit. Always fucking threatening me. Nigga, if you wanna beat my ass, then do it.” Although I said that, I didn’t really mean it. “I can’t put up with this stress. It’s too much for me. And it’s too much for my baby.”

He glanced down at the shopping bags in the middle of the floor. His tone changed. “Oh, now it’s your baby. Fuck me, right?”

“Yeah, basically,” I said, picking my bags up and brushing past him to go upstairs. “I think you should move out,” I told him, climbing the steps.

“Say what?”

“You heard me. Pack your shit and get the fuck out. I need some time away from you.”

“For what? So you can go out and fuck around on me, yo. I ain’t goin’ no fuckin’ where. My name’s on this shit, too.”

I sighed. “Then don’t,” I told him, walking into my walk-in closet and pulling out a suitcase and overnight bag. I opened up drawers and started pulling out underwear and yanking shit off hangers, then stuffing it in the suitcases.

He snatched my travel bag. “Yo, where the fuck you think you goin’, yo?”

“I can’t do this with you; this constant nitpicking and badgering me. I need a break from you and your craziness.”

Then he started apologizing; telling me how he worries about me when he can’t get me on the phone or when I don’t come home right away. “Baby, the shit stresses me. I don’t want anything happening to you or our baby; feel me?” He grabbed my arm, pulled me toward him. “You’re my world, Pash. You and our unborn baby are all I have in this world, yo. Without you two, I have nothing.”

Needless to say, I ended up lying in his arms and falling asleep. The next day, this nigga woke up like nothing had ever happened. Then two days later, he has the audacity to tell me that when I’m not at the salon or out with Felecia or Mona planning the wedding, he wants me to check in with him every fifteen minutes. I screamed at him. “Nigga, first of all, I’m not on parole. You are. Second of all, you are out of your crazy-ass mind if you think I’m gonna be doing all that shit. I’ma grown-ass woman; what the fuck I look like checking in with you like I’m some damn child.”

“Because I said so,” he responded as if my statement was a question. It wasn’t.

“Well, too bad. What you are asking is ridiculous. And I’m not doing it.”

“Yo, you heard what I said,” he calmly stated.

“Yeah, and you heard what I said. You not keeping me on a leash like I’m some goddamn poodle you tryna train. If you want a slave, then you need to go out and find you one ’cause you are not gonna be chaining me down.” I snatched up my bag and keys, then made my way out the door.

Surprisingly, the last two weeks all has been calm. Honestly, a little too peaceful if you ask me. Almost like the calm before the storm. But I’m not going to complain. Jasper’s curfew has been modified to eleven P.M. on weeknights, and midnight on the weekends. Although he’s bitching about that, it definitely seems to have lessened the stress around here. I think the nigga was getting stir-crazy or something.

In any case, I am home, enjoying me time. Jasper has been out all day with Stax doing whatever they do. Though he’s called to check in on me a few times, he seemed perfectly fine knowing I was home, lounging. Now I’m sitting here on the sofa, Sade’s “Babyfather” is playing on the stereo. I rub my belly and sing. Your daddy knows…your daddy knows…for you he is the best he can be…

“Yo, baby,” Jasper says, walking through the door, disrupting my moment. He’s carrying a long white box with a big red bow wrapped around it.

Flowers, I think, smiling. “Hey,” I say, reaching for the stereo remote and turning the sound down. He walks over and plants a kiss on my lips. He hands me the box. “Thank you,” I say, pulling the ribbon apart, then opening the box. “This is so sweet.” There’s a white envelope atop a dozen Birds of Paradise. I open the envelope and pull out the card. It reads:

Pasha, baby,

I know there are times when I’m buggin’ ’n shit; when you think I don’t give a fuck ’bout us, or you. But, that’s far from true. You are all I think about, baby. Life with you in it is what brings me joy. You keep me smiling. Don’t give up on me, baby. Or on us. One day, I’ma be the man you need me to be.

I love you, need you, and want you, baby…forever!

One love, one heart,