I Ain't Like Them Other Niggas 2

By: LaToya Charmain



When I first met Mike, freshman year in college, I thought the nigga was a complete cornball… Sexy as fuck, but still a cornball compared to the real niggas that I was used to dealing with. Over time, his corny ass just seemed to grow on me, and we quickly became best friends and later lovers. Now, I was in love with this man, who I think was still secretly in love with his soon-to-be ex-wife, Janisha; even though he repeatedly told me he wasn’t.

For the life of me, I could not understand why Mike could not move the fuck on already. I mean, really, what type of woman you know would take her husband back after catching him getting fucked in the ass by another man? Needless to say, that ship had sailed for Mike a long time ago in my opinion, and he just didn’t want to admit it to himself. It had been almost eight months since Mike moved in with me after Nisha kicked him out of their home and filed for a divorce, and the muthafucka was still no closer to being divorced. Every time I thought that it was getting close to the end, Mike always came up with some random bullshit that seemed to keep prolonging their divorce proceedings.

Unlike Mike, Nisha had moved on and was dating some sexy ass thuggish white Detective for Savannah-Chatham PD. I had only met the man once when he came to the hospital with Nisha when Mike was robbed and badly beaten up, and girl let me tell you, that nigga there was fine with a Capital F. I would love to drink from that tall glass of milk any day, but any who… his ass was straighter than a fucking arrow. If that nigga would’ve been on the DL like I have found so many of these “straight” niggas was supposed to be, I would’ve had to steal his fine self from Nisha’s fat ass. But to my disappointment, honey dip wasn’t down with the swirl. I had to give it to Nisha’s chunky ass; she sure knew how to pick em and make them fall head over heels in love with her. I guess it was her personality, because it sure wasn’t her body in my opinion. I mean, yeah she was pretty in the face, but she could definitely stand to lose a good fifty pounds or so.

You see, I’m that type of nigga that lived in the gym to maintain my six feet, two-inch muscular brown chocolate frame, and I was proud to say that there wasn’t an ounce of fat on me anywhere but my ass, unlike Nisha.

When Mike came in the house yesterday after picking MJ up for his weekend, he was mad as hell, talking about how Nisha allowed some black thug to get all up in his face. I just sat there and listened to his ranting and raving, trying to be the supportive best friend/boyfriend, but I knew that his son would not be staying in my house for any extended period of time past this weekend like was originally planned. I tried to talk him out of that custody shit a couple months ago when he thought that he would file for sole custody of their son and move him in my house. Don’t get me wrong, I love little MJ to death with his badass, but I did not want the little muthafucka living in my home full-time. I am thirty-six years old, man, with no kids, because I don’t want any. Plenty of bitches would’ve loved to have birth my seeds, but I could definitely do without having any crumb snatchers in my life, and I made that shit perfectly clear.

I used to play professional football for the Philadelphia Eagles briefly after the college before I blew my knee out, so bitches and dick came a dime a dozen to me. However, I had to fall in love with Mike’s stupid ass, and he was really pushing me to my limit lately wanting to keep our relationship a secret. I was on the verge of being done waiting for his ass; eight months was a long time to not claim someone, who was supporting you, while you lived with them rent free, sleeping in the same bed every night fucking each other brains out. Mike had quit his job as an investment banker to pursue he dreams of owning his own automotive repair shop that had not turned a decent fucking profit yet, leaving me to have to support him, all in the name of love. I even paid for this nigga’s divorce attorney, cosigned for the small business loan that he took out to purchase his shop, and on occasion paid his child support that he had been ordered to pay, so I think I deserved the fucking title as boyfriend.

This morning, after I gave Mike time to calm down from his ranting and raving about who the fuck Nisha be having at her house, or how Nisha was going out of town with her white boy, I tried to casually address our relationship status again with him, which ended in a big fucking argument. He got up and left about 11 o’clock this morning, taken MJ with him, and I hadn’t heard from him since; it was now going on 9 o’clock, and I still hadn’t heard from him, which is why I ain’t give a shit about what I was about to do.

I had just pulled up to Adam Connor’s big ass house that sat on the water in Richmond Hill Georgia, an expensive little city right on the outskirts of Savannah. Knocking on the expansive front door, Brooke Conner, Adam’s wife opened the door for me wearing a short lavender satin robe with nothing underneath. The robe sat slightly open, causing one of her perky pink nipples to peek out at me. Instantly, my nature started to rise from the anticipation of what was to come. I stepped inside the large cream colored foyer, closing the door behind me, and immediately captured her mouth with mines, letting my hand drop down to her exposed nipple, so that I could pinch it.

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