Deondre was supposed to come thru last night. He text’d me around 8pm saying his mother had taken his car and went to the salon. Now, I know how certain black salons get down.
On average, I spend 22 hours in the salon every month, so I didn’t trip at the excuse. But I lost it when his ass told me he wasn’t going to show. WTF?
I told him he could come later. 10pm turned into 11pm. When Sex and the City came on and I saw Samantha giving some corporate guru fellatio, I knew she’d be the only one sucking any dick that night.
I sent him a text letting him know I was pissed and felt played. No response. I know Deondre well, so no response means he read it, realizes he fucked up, but knows I won’t do anything about it and went back to his existence.
Do I think he’s lying about his mom using his car? No. I actually believe him, but if he is lying it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t owe me anything except good sex, and right now he has breached our contract.
All I could do was pace around the house screaming, “Pussy Ass Nigga” at different octaves. Faye sat on the couch and just laughed.
It was funny, but it wasn’t. I had actually gone to the mall earlier that day to purchase lingerie. I’m returning that bitch today.
In hindsight, none of this surprises me.
I told my girl yesterday in class that I had a bad feeling about last night. I was way too tired during class. My head started hurting, and I was cramping out of nowhere. It wasn’t time for my friend to visit so I knew something was up.
When it comes to Deondre nothing is promised. He is the most unreliable man (other than my father) that I know. Yet, I still deal with his ass.
I tolerate him because the man is sexy as hell and I’ve wanted his dick for too long.
Faye told me the horrible truth last night. That I was getting played.
PLAYED.
I have always been the player but not the playee. Karma ia a bitch.
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