The Rebound Girl That Went Hard In The Paint

 

After my divorce, it took three years for some of the smoke to clear enough for me to see my way into a first date.

I know this sounds like a cliche – but I met her at a nightclub.

She was a gorgeous lady that was a dead ringer for Yolanda Adams. I’ll refer to her as “A” in this post. “A”  was sweet, understanding, ambitious, loving, and, unfortunately, the rebound girl.

Rebound girls face a stacked deck. “A” faced a doubled stack deck.

They’re often times walking into an emotion and tension filled room where the previous heels haven’t completely vacated. They subject themselves to playing the roles of friend, counselor, therapist, and if the relationship lasts long enough, they step into the role of lover. They attempt to fill shoes that often times aren’t completely empty.

It’s a slippery slope to navigate – few excel while many fail.

“A” had stepped squarely into somebody else’s shit with her Prada heels.

That’s why my relationship with “A” was as rocky as a bike ride on a cobblestone street.

I’m going to be honest.

I wasn’t over her predecessor.

Her predecessor was still flowing through my veins and was all in my head.

“A” couldn’t do or say anything right because she wasn’t the former Ms. right.

I liked “A” a lot but there were times when I couldn’t stand her ass because her ass wasn’t  the ass playing tricks on my mind.

I admit what I was doing to “A” was crazy. I was fucking over a perfectly good woman because a totally bad woman fucked over me. Yeah, I know a stupid thing to do but when you’re caught up you don’t see stupid.

There were more times than I can count that I didn’t  want her around because she wasn’t the one still in my system. I also knew she was the ice breaker I so desperately needed if I was to break the iron-clad grip the past had on me.

The woman tried like hell to help me move on.

She constantly entertained my purging of feelings about my ex. She listened to me talk about the things my ex did well. She even defended some of the messed up things the woman did. She went out of her way to help me find every venue possible to cleanse my spirit and discard the emotional baggage that was bogging me down.

It was an uphill battle that often backfired.

For instance, there was the time “A” tried to get me into some different fashions.She felt a change of style would help foster a change of  attitude.  You already know how that went. My style was good enough for ***** who the fuck was she not to like them?

“A” would pull out the female artillery every chance she got. I suppose she must have heard that age-old cliche “nothing gets a man over the last one better than the next one”. There may be some truth in that however, I can tell you the next one is never an instant turn-key  solution.

“A” had the skills needed to distract my mind from it’s back peddling ways.

She  was an awesome kisser.

When she lip-locked she went in for the kill. She kissed with passion and fire, really putting herself into communicating with my mind and wreaking havoc on any restraint I had. I didn’t like it because – you already know- it wasn’t like the ex’s.

“A”  had a body with better curves than any professional road course and of course that Yolanda Adams mug was icing on the cake. She was 5’11”, with 44 dds up top, 33 around the middle and 46 out back. Her complexion reminded me of  coffee mixed with a spoonful of coffee. She had her own place, made her own money, had her own ride, she had it like that.

“A” knew what the problem was- hell she used to urge me to talk about it. One evening “A” pulled out all stops, and re-upped . She said to me,

“How was this bitch in bed?”

I attempted to sidestep the question by telling her I didn’t think it was appropriate to talk about that.

“Look, it’s got to be the pussy that’s got you.I’ve done nothing but be good to you, be here for you. We have a great time together for the most part but I sense something else is sticking around in your head.

Let’s cut the bullshit. Tell me what this bitch did so well in the bed that you can’t leave it in the past.”

“I may not  do a lot of things better than her, but I bet I can out fuck her ass.

Tell me how she did whatever it was she did then let me get within two inches of your dick  and that bitch will be a distant thought when I’m done. I’m tired of this shit.”

She was relentless – so I told her some of her predecessor’s moves and skills.

Her response was,

“So you had a little freak bitch? ”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with that but the downside is they can screw your head up for the next one. You think about them doing all that freaky stuff with someone else and you get all screwed up. Then you want some more of it – but you know its not good for you because her ass isn’t good for you. I had a dude get caught up on me behind that one time. Well let me hit you with some truth man – anything she did, I and any other woman out here with the mind and will to do so can do better. And speaking for myself – I’ll do it better because I care about you and want to show you how much I care.”

“So what’s it going to be man, me or the TV?”

That spill blew me away.

“A” jumped me, humped me, bit me, leg locked me, nibbled me, and anything else she could come up with.

During the first encounter with her  she said something I’ll never forget.

“Some folks pray problems away, I’m going to fuck this one away”.

All I could say to that was “dayum”.

I’ll tell you this she worked hard on that promise.

But I kept getting in these funks.

After I stood her up when I didn’t show at her house one day – she’d had enough.

She’d called me at work and told me she’d found a mini skirt that was too little and I should come over during my lunch and see it. I knew what was up and no man in his right mind is going to turn down his woman’s mid day invitation to see her at home in mini skirt two sizes too little.

I wasn’t in my right mind.

I told her I’d come through.

Then my ex called me about having lunch with her to discuss some post-breakup business. You already know where I went.

“A” called me and heaped a tirade of expletives on me before telling me stay my ass right where it was she was coming over.

Ten minutes later she was walking through my patio door.

She continued to walk through the house and went in the bathroom. I’m feeling like something is about to bust. My heart rate sped up, my breathing increased, my pupils had to be dilated. Know what I mean? Is she in the bathroom loading up a gun?

“A” reappeared in a black negligee that barely hid her jiggling 44Ds.

As a matter of a fact, I remember one of them just fell out of the side of the lace garment as she was walking up the hallway toward me. She scooped up the jiggling sphere and tucked it back behind the black lace.

“Since you like ass so much you can’t stop chasing ass that’s not good for you, what do you think of this ass? One more and one last time man. ”

She twirled around giving me a flash of  a scantly black lace covered ample derrière. The dimples in her valentine shaped ass momentarily sucked the breath out of my lungs.

“You’re more than a piece of ass.” I blurted out.

She came over to the sofa and sat her big soft ass on my lap.

“Look. You’re a wonderful man and I’m falling for you. I wouldn’t be doing this shit If I didn’t care about you. And yes I know I’m more than a piece of ass. But you got problem – you got a crack problem.”

“I’m willing to do anything you need to build something for us – but you got to get off the crack.”

“Crack, who the fuck’s on crack? I’m not on crack you know I don’t do drugs.”

“Oh, you’re on crack. You have a problem keeping that last bitch’s cunt crack, ass crack, mouth crack and any other crack she has off your mind. You go to sleep thinking about that crack. You get up thinking about that crack. She popped and twisted your ass man”.

“The cracks are calling you man.”.

“Yeah man, you know you been in them all and she knows it too. And your mind just won’t let the wetness, the funkiness, the salty taste go. Yeah, you jonesing for them cracks.”

“Even when you  know she’s spreading that ill nana around like butter on toast – giving up pussy through both draw legs – you want you some. That’s crack head tendencies man. I can fix that – as long as you don’t relapse.”

“Relapse?”

“Sleep with her ass again. You see if you do that then we gotta start over again and man I ain’t starting over again behind some bitch that didn’t want you then and don’t want you now. Make no mistake about it, you’re coming off a bad crack habit. ”

“Damn “A” that’s cold.”

“That’s a fact. And you need to swallow a good spoonful of that medicine. She ain’t going to be fucking around in something I’m invested in. I don’t fuck random niggers for cheap thrills so when I give this up like I did to you, I’m serious and I need to know that the nigger that’s running up in me is serious. If not – I got a rod and batteries at home minus the bullshit. So what’s it going to be? Me, the ho bitch, or the TV?”

I turned off the TV.

The skimpy black lace barely covering her trimmed mid-section erased memories of any cracks from the past.

She yanked at the buckle of the belt around my waist.

My jeans fell to the floor at the same time her knees hit the floor…

This rebound girl  was going hell bent and hard it the paint with one second left before the buzzer and damned determined to slam dunk herself into my life.

If you know anything about basketball then you know “going hard in the paint with a dunk” is indefensible.

Trying to defend that combination almost always draws a foul call and the combination almost always gets a score.

There was nothing foul about this woman and that move scored.

She succeeded at her mission.

That rebound gave me the my swag, my confidence, my me back.

I stand accused of being slammed dunked.