Erotic. Historical. Vampire. Romance.

Oh Kingston! The vampire and world class freak from Thick Blood started out as a poor little slave boy in London. I loved doing the research for it, loved writing the steamy sex scenes, and even had a thrill with Kingston's first kill. All of that made a pretty long hashtag. #erotichistoricalvampireromance

I didn't want to just say, "Yeah, this Kingston dude was bitten by a vampire and now he digs going down on big, beautiful women." No, I wanted to get into his story. Thus, the historical fiction. As much as I felt I knew about slavery, I had to come to terms that my brain was set to: America's south, African chiefs, the Ivory Coast, Toussant, and "yeah black people live there, somebody had to build (name some place you don't expect to see a black person.)" I know my ancestors were rescued before their slave ship made it to Cuba. But I don't think I really thought of Africans enslaved in Scotland, France, or England. At least not in the same harsh way I think of how American slaves were treated. So, it was very interesting to learn how a lot of the slave traders actually got rich because the slave trade ended. Ancestors of slaves, no reparations for you; slave traders, we're so sorry ending the trade ruined your business, here's lots of money as compensation!

Well, Kingston is over 200 years old. Read Thick Blood 2 to find out how it all began, read Thick Blood to get a taste of his blood lust, and we'll wonder where Kingston is now...you just know he's going to turn up again.

Literary Jane?

I call myself the Literary Jane of Erotica.

You see, my interests vary. If I get an idea that I think will make an interesting story and my brain starts to run with it, I write it. I suppose what ties my pieces together is that there will be some sexual heat or content in the mix. So, the idea is that when it comes to writing erotica, I'm a "jack of all trades"...BUT, I wouldn't say I'm a "master of none." While I'm not perfect, I'm not bad. Sex or not, you'll get a story when you read my work.

So, I don't think "jack of all trades, master of none." No, it's more like, "Literary Jane of Erotica, mistress of many genres."

Sure, I have a lot more writing to do. There's plenty of genres I haven't tried (mostly because the story idea hasn't come to me...let me just say if the stars align, I can't wait to write some Steampunk), but when you consider my body of work thus far, I think you'd agree I can't be contained in one box.

My hot, historical romance, "Of Bondage and Freedom," is about a young slave named Curly who is torn between her love for the new slave on the plantation, Gus, and the unspeakable acts her master makes her do.

My steamy, multicultural, interracial romance, "Heart like a Tumbled Stone," is about a tough, mercenary chick from Trenton, New Jersey who has to protect the heir of a prominent, Kuwaiti family. The danger and close quarters brings out the passion.

My out-of-this-world, erotic sci-fi story, "Inner Sanctum," is about a thrifty stripper who buys a spaceship to leave the planet during the mass exodus before the meteor destroys Earth. (She gives new meaning to "cock pit" lol.)

My, "the best way to get over a guy is to get under another one" piece, "Trigger," is a flashback of all the erotic ways Dulaney replaced the memories of her cheating ex with his best friend; while she debates shooting her ex for the pain he'd caused.

And my erotic vampire story, "Thick Blood," that pairs a menstruating, plus-size diva with a menstrual blood thirsty vampire. (And yes, I'm currently writing "Thick Blood 2" for your blood lust this Halloween!)

The above are e-singles, or short stories available as e-books, depending on what you'd like to call them. They're available on Amazon for 99 cents each and also on Kindle Unlimited. 

Of course, I have urban lit in longer forms!

Bubbly, with a Kick is an urban twist on Charlie's Angels that was a salute to Charles Burgess who'd first published "Trigger" in his Chocolate Rose 2 anthology. It's about an ex-cop with anger management issues being scooped up by a very special agency for some very special missions. In this mission, she (codename Champayne because she's bubbly like champagne but loves to inflict pain on bad guys) must get evidence that a dirty cop is raping and beating hookers. This novella is available on Amazon for $1.99.

Find a Penny, brings you Crimson Green, a budding fashion designer who celebrates her big break by going to the club with her hilarious, best friend. There, she meets the ever sexy gentleman, Isaac, and soon finds herself in the headlines for all the wrong reasons. Isaac's ex-girlfriend, Penny Preston, goes missing and all fingers point to Isaac. Sexy detective, Nate Richardson, wants to know if Crimson was involved even though it's very clear that to him, she's wanted for a lot more than a mugshot. Get this page-turner on Amazon for $2.99.

If you need to feel the pages on your fingertips, send me an email at cottoncarpenter@gmail.com. I have a few in print.

The dream that inspired my novel, Find a Penny

The dream that inspired my novel, Find a Penny.

Biggie's "It was all a dream" comes to mind every time I think about what inspired me to write, Find a Penny. It was a dream. Nothing scary. Nothing prolific. Just a scene real enough to leave an impression on my mind and have me thinking about scenarios hours after waking.

So...you know how we always tell people about our crazy dreams...we start with, "So, I had this dream..." Anyway...so, I had this dream where I was in a dark alley outside of a night club and there was a lot of loose change on the ground. I started picking it up...and it was grimy and sticky...but every time I picked up another quarter, another dime, my eye caught a glimpse of more change on the ground. I followed the trail of change and picked it all up until my purse was bulging from it. The trail took me to the front door of the night club where a broken purse was on the ground. Other things, like a driver's license and lipstick, were scattered around it. In the dream, I had the mind to pick up the purse, license, etc. and bang on the door to the club. I handed the purse to the bouncer and explained I found it on the ground. Then I left.

That was it. That was the dream.

Well, when I woke up, the first thing that came to my mind was, "My fingerprints are all over that purse! What if something happened to that lady? The police would think I did it!"

And that's how Find a Penny was born! I'd been thinking about writing a spicy, urban fiction piece with a sexy lead character trapped between two sexy men. I didn't know what anyone would be doing in the book other than having sex or sexual tension, but then I had the dream. Everything came to me in waves. The only thing left was to write.

So, I did, in notebooks, in stolen moments. I'd drive to work while scenes played out in my head. If I had a few minutes before I had to clock in, I scribbled things down in whatever notebook I was on. (This novel, originally written by hand, spanned three and a half notebooks.) I wrote through breaks and lunches. When I waited for my kids to get out of school, or get done with scout meetings and sports/dance practice, I was in my car, scribbling in a notebook. Crimson, Isaac, Detective Richardson, and Chantal, waited in my notebooks for a few years before my friend, Author D. Monroe, told me about an anthology Charles Burgess was doing. By then, I'd written "Trigger" and wondered what to do with it.

I'm so glad I had the opportunity to free them from all that lined paper (you know how Crimson feels about stripes). And I'm glad I was able to get the rights to re-publish it as an e-book so my characters remain available to anybody who wants to give them life, time and time again. Just a sidenote: I have some print copies. Email me if you'd like to buy one. Cottoncarpenter@gmail.com.

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An excerpt

“Oh girl, this alley stinks.”  Chantal said.  It did.  The stench from the dumpster coalesced with the piss and vomit on the ground.  The alley had a motion-sensor flood light that basked the damp and dirt in a blue haze.  Just enough light to see the shine on a brand new quarter on the ground.

“Money!”  I yelled.  I bent over to pick it up and noticed there were also two dimes and a penny as well.  “Find a penny, pick it up and all day long, you’ll have good luck.”

“Was the penny on heads?”  Chantal asked, looking down around her.  “They say it’s only lucky if it’s on heads.”

“I don’t remember,” I said as I popped open my Prada and dropped the change in.

“You just picked it up, how could you forget already?  You could have put a bad penny in your purse.”

I rolled my eyes, “Chantal!  Damn.  It’s dark and funky out here. I could barely see the penny.  Besides, I also found a quarter and two dimes.  That’s like finding 45 pennies.  That’s a lot of good luck.”

“One can only hope.”

We headed out of the alley.  I saw more change on the ground and picked it all up, coin by grimy coin.  I must’ve had two dollars in loose change floating around my purse.

“I hope you wash your hands.  Who knows what kind of piss and herpes that money could have fallen in?”

“I didn’t need to hear that.”  I thought about wiping my hands on my dress but that was out.  It was already a shame to have sweated in it like I did.  Isaac.  Nobody has had me worked up like that for quite some time.  Maybe it was because I haven’t had any for over two months.  I’m starting to re-think this whole, “career first, love later” idea.

My arrangement with DeVaughn, who Chantal referred to as my “cock-on-call,” kept me focused for a year and a half.  Then I found out he was engaged.  He wanted to continue with what we had; me calling him when I needed a little, or a lot in his case, and him coming over to give me a hand, or some head, whatever.  In fact, as he left my apartment after blowing my back out, he handed me the newspaper from my doormat and that’s where I saw the announcement in the society pages.  Trifling.  I wasn’t about to be a homewrecker.  Too much drama.  Bad karma.  I had to take that brothah off of speed dial with the quickness.

We turned out of the alley towards the front of the club.  Between the doors closing at midnight and the general sweep from the police enforcing the No Loitering law, the street was desolate and would be for at least an hour when people would start to exit in larger numbers.

“Look, more change!”  I rushed to the sidewalk, my black Prada pumps clicking on the pavement.  I squatted down, very unlady-like, and grabbed a handful of change and some ones and five dollar bills as I saw them.  Somebody’s purse must have exploded out there but her loss was my gain.

Chantal watched me, shaking her head.  “Girl, you wouldn’t be so hard up for cash if you didn’t spend all your money on Prada, Manolo, etc.”

I took offense, “I got these on eBay!  Only two hundred dollars!”

“Two hundred you could be paying me back from when I helped you with your rent.”

“You said I could make you an outfit…that outfit…and we’d be straight.”  Chantal had on the black satin blouse I made for her with claw-like cut-outs slanting down her chest and the red satin capris specifically cut to accentuate her ass.  Nobody else’s ass.  That was tailor made for her behind.

Chantal screwed up her face.  “Just get up.”  

I dumped the money in my purse until it bulged.  There was also a lipstick container (by Mac, nice!) on the ground near broken sunglasses (D & G, somebody had some taste) and a Kate Spade wallet with the credit card sleeve hanging out.  “What the hell happened here?”  I said, putting the wallet back together.  “Somebody dropped her purse and was too drunk to see all the stuff that fell out.  Should I bang on the door and turn the wallet in?”

“Just toss it, let’s go.”

“I’d rather someone turn my wallet in.”  And I probably would hope all my money, change, and tasteful fashion accessories too, but we’ll just keep that to ourselves for now.  I stood up and banged on the Panacea’s door.  A bouncer cracked it open.

“We’re not taking any more in, get here earlier next time.”

“No, I’m leaving.  I found this wallet over there on the ground and thought I should turn it in.”

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Get Find a Penny and stop by my author page on Amazon at www.amazon.com/author/cottoncarpenter.

Arise Aroused

I called in for my friend's radio show, (shout out to Nakia and World of Poes'ia!) and shared this piece. I hope you enjoy it!

Arise Aroused

Arise aroused

Dreams of wetness and mouths

Textured tongues twisted
Pressed together, saliva blended
Fingers curled in twirled hair
Tugging with the tension from teases
Nearing climax, then ceases,
Plea, “Please?” “Yes”
Soft hands roving, roaming, claiming, owning
Guiding, prying thighs open wide
Slide into slickness
Feel the thickness, is there a witness?
Make the bed a stage
All eyes, stuttering I-I-I’s
Lowered body as hips writhe and rise
Rapid thigh movement
Labored breath, savored sweat
Thrusts…harder…yet
Whisper, “Not yet”
Say it louder, love will linger
Hold that spot with moistened finger
Poke it, pull it, push it, pluck it
Bend it, stretch it, address it, “Whose is it?”
Your “yours” become snores
Sleep ends leaving you wanting more
Heart rate elevated, sheets saturated
You awake infatuated with a phantom tongue,
A faceless mouth;
You dreamed of wetness, and
Arose aroused.

The vampire, Kingston Walker, has been on my mind lately.

The vampire, Kingston Walker, has been on my mind lately.

When I opened my Facebook account this morning, that status-hungry question was staring back at me. It asks, "What's on your mind?" The vampire, Kingston Walker, has been on my mind lately. Before I took what turned into a three year hiatus, I'd written an erotic vampire short story, "Thick Blood." As one reviewer called it a "hot sexy mess," it is a story that takes blood lust to another level.

The readers I'd interacted with during a Facebook chat one Halloween really had me, as well as my readers, wondering about Kingston's story. He talked about his seductress, his father and his father's wife. But, and I'm just talking as a reader here, not an arrogant author, Kingston just makes you want to know more about him.

It was my intention to write his story after I'd gotten my novel, Find a Penny, published. Then life got in the way...a story I may tell one day...but not today.

I read "Thick Blood" again. As fun and sexy as my girl Lavish is, Kingston is so complex. His story can't just end there. Hell, he's a vampire, HE can't end! I've enjoyed writing historical romance before and now I am looking forward to doing it again. The questions I have going through my head are: "What was Kingston's mother like?" "Did he have a girlfriend before he was turned?" "Who was this seductress lady?!!" We have a villain, his father's wife. "What did she do when she found out her attempts to kill her husband's bastard son failed?"

And those are just the questions of his turning. "What about his first bite? His first kill?" "How did he survive in a world that killed people just for being black, let alone those who'd hunted vampires?" And then there's the story about his sweet, blind wife.

This story can go in so many directions. I don't always have an end in mind when I write. (And when I do, the story usually takes over and my plans go out the window anyway.) So, I'm so excited to strap myself in and see where Kingston will take me. But don't worry, I won't keep him all to myself. Let's make a date for sometime next month, shall we?

Take some time to feed your blood lust this freakin' weekend and read, or re-read, "Thick Blood."

Summer Strange: Scandalous Fan Fiction

Happy Labor Day! The one good thing about summer coming to an end is that my favorite fall television shows will be back on soon. Other than that, meh! Give me more time by the pool or at the beach!

Now I know my favorite TV shows have fictional characters with fictional lives but that doesn't keep me from wondering what the characters have been doing with their summers. So, I decided to have a little fun with it in true Cotton Carpenter style. I present to you a little erotic fan fiction. I hope it heats you up long after the summer is over. xox

Summer Strange

Scandalous Fan Fiction by Cotton Carpenter

“The nerve of Fitz!” Mellie growled at herself in the hotel mirror. She was still reeling from her husband, President Fitzgerald Grant, who just threw her out of the White House. “After all I’ve done for him! He wouldn’t even BE in the White House if it wasn’t for me!”

It was true. Mellie Grant was a driven woman. She knew what needed to be done and when to do it. Sure, the WAY she got things done may not have always been good, or right, or legal. But, damn it Fitz, she did what she had to do and he surely reaped the rewards. She rigged an election, she induced her own damn labor, she even jumped the bones of his vice president just to get his sidechick free from kidnappers.

“Having an arrangement so your husband can have his whore while you keep his image looking clean and honest is one thing, but saving that bitch’s life and then getting kicked out from your own damned home is something else!”

Mellie paced around the Presidential suite of the five-star hotel...that she checked in under an alias and her Secret Service detail was guarding heavily...and balled her fists hard enough for her fingernails to claw into her skin. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew she wanted to do something. The more she paced, the more she felt a little reckless.

After Fitz banished her from the White House, Mellie went to her bedroom to pack a few things. She knew she had to check into a hotel but if she showed up as herself, the gossip columns would be on fire with so many assumptions. And she didn’t want them to actually get it right, either, the FIRST LADY DUMPED BY THE PRESIDENT headline didn’t need to be on every newsstand in the morning. So, she grabbed her favorite blonde wig and her dark, Jackie O-ish sunglasses. Her assistant reserved the Presidential suite for “a family member of the President who is not to be disturbed.” Mellie wanted to be disturbed a little. Not anything major, just distracting. She wanted to be someone else for the evening. And she wanted to be bad!

She put the wig back on and fished out the sexiest thing she packed, a simple black dress with the hem cut just above the knee. Enough red lipstick and her highest heels would bring the spice. If anyone said she looked like the First Lady, she’d claim being her own slutty sister and swear the guy to secrecy.

“To hell with Fitz,” she said after blotting her lips. “He’s probably with Olivia Pope right now just wrinkling the hell out of my sheets. The weather is nice and I could use a little summer strange in my life.” She put her room key into her little black clutch and sashayed her way out of the door. She only gave the agents working her door a nod and they followed her to the elevator. A few minutes later and she was in the hotel bar asking for a martini.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” A familiar voice fell over her shoulder and landed somewhere near her lonely breasts.

Mellie turned to find that Idris Elba was behind her. The heat from his body, both his physical proximity and his extremely hot sex appeal, made her own skin begin to mist. “Um, no. No it isn’t.” Mellie had her security detail seated at nearby tables so she could sit alone at the bar. She figured some frisky business man would buy her drinks until she snuck off to the ladies room with him for a steady pounding inside one of the stalls. She didn’t care if the guy was bald or fat, married or single, just that he had a condom and decent breath mints. What she got was a man so beautiful, she was afraid to look at him directly for fear of going blind. How should she play this? Flirty but uninformed. Mellie figured if she acted like she didn’t know who Idris was, he’d do the same.

He hoisted himself onto the stool to her right and sighed as he settled in. “Long night?” He asked. Even with his economy of words, his British accent rocked every syllable like a panty-dropping R&B singer.

Mellie couldn’t help herself, “Yeah, but I’d go for it getting even longer...under the right circumstances.” She smiled slyly and rolled her finger around the rim of her glass.

Idris smiled too. He knew what time it was. “Yes. I agree.” He signaled for the bartender to come over. “So what’s your name?” He tilted his head and gave her the winning smile everyone sees in magazines.

Mellie felt herself getting wet but forgot what name she said she’d give to her potential one-night-stand. She looked Idris up and down seductively. “Are names really necessary?”

Idris scanned her as well. He noticed her left hand and the wedding ring she forgot to take off. “Well, I guess for tonight, no. No they’re not.”

The bartender approached and Idris whispered his order so that Mellie could not hear. When he left, Idris turned and said, “I’m going to slide you my spare room key and give you a few minutes to get to my room and get comfortable. How long should I sip my drink? Five minutes? Ten?” He reached inside of his jacket and discreetly passed along his keycard.

Mellie hesitated for a few seconds but she couldn’t help flashing to an image of Fitz and Olivia grinding on the antique dresser that held the delicates of First Ladies for over a century. She palmed the keycard. “Give me 7.” She swiveled so that she could step down from her stool and walked out of the bar knowing Idris’s eyes were watching every step.

When Mellie and her security detail reached the 8th floor, she gave them the order to keep clear until after her suitor made it into the room and then they could stand outside of the door to await her exit. They did as they were told and she let herself into the room and was welcomed by the manly scent of Idris’s cologne. “Fitz couldn’t pull that scent off. He’s so Old Spice.” She grew in her boldness and stepped into the bathroom to freshen up. A few minutes later, she heard a door shut.

“‘ello, love? Are you ‘ere?”

Mellie took a deep breath and decided she was going to get it like she never had it before. There was no way Fitz or Jon or even Big Jerry could bring what Idris was packing. First LADY aside, she wasn’t dead, she saw the pics on the internet. Oh yes, she was getting some of that. Fitz wasn’t the only one who had a love for chocolate. She opened the door wearing only her bra and panties. “Oh yes, I’m here.”

Idris stepped to her quickly and pressed her into the door jamb as his plush, full lips stole a kiss that sent electric surges through Mellie’s body.

Mellie had to know if the pictures on the internet were real or photoshopped. She went straight for the goods and was pleased to find his rock hard lump was as substantial as the photos promised. She tore at his belt, his button, his zipper. She had to free the beast she was so determined to ride.

Idris took her lead and stepped back so he could drop his pants to the floor. Eggplant! He stroked his gourd for a moment as Mellie’s mouth began to water. Before he took off his dress shirt, he pulled a condom out of the shirt pocket. Once totally naked, he handed the condom to Mellie so that she could do the honors of gift wrapping the package she was waiting for.

Oh how she rolled it on! Slowly...delicately...expectantly. She’d waited long enough. She walked to the bed while unhooking her bra. She slid her panties down and beckoned for Idris to meet her.

Ever so obedient, Idris approached her, picked her up, and eased her down on the bed as her legs fell open. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Mellie couldn’t take her eyes of his massive pleasure-maker. She nodded. “Yes! I want it! I want all of it!”

Idris grabbed hold of her ass and lifted her for entry. He inserted his plump mushroom and Mellie took a deep breath. He pulled it out and then slipped in a little more. Mellie bit on her bottom lip and he pulled out again.

“All of it!” Mellie demanded.

He obliged. Idris thrust himself as far as he could go sending ripples of ecstasy through Mellie’s body. He administered slow strokes as she moaned and squeezed her own breasts.

“Fuck Fitz!” she thought. “Fuck me!” she pled.

Idris picked up his pace and delivered hard, masterful pumps. Mellie’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and she squealed in the most pleasureful pain she ever felt.

“Fuck Fitz! Fuck me!” she yelled. She didn’t care if she could be heard all the way over at the White House. She began to laugh wickedly as she thought about how much Olivia Pope had been riding on Fitz with his mediocre package. Fitz was okay, but now that Mellie experienced all the meat Idris was packing, it was clear Olivia never had it so good if she was sprung on Fitz.

No sooner had the thought passed when her body tensed up as she totally lost control. Idris had been hitting a spot no one had ever been able to touch and the orgasm spasmed explosively. She felt hot wetness pool beneath her and tried to speak. She had no command over her muscles down there and wanted to say, “Am I peeing?” All she could get out was…”My! My! My! My! Mmmm...mmmm...mmmmmmmm...errrgghh!” Had she ever cum for that long?

Idris followed suit and let out a long, hard sigh himself before falling on top of her.

They felt the hot, sweatiness of each other. Their hearts pounded enough for the other to hear. His thickness rested inside of her and she regained enough strength to squeeze her vaginal walls around him as though she could record every inch of him through muscle memory. He flinched a little as he was still sensitive to touch. Then he said softly, “Did I help you get over him at all?”

Mellie sighed. “We have years of history, but I think you helped me get over today. And I have a good memory to help me get through tomorrow.”

“Glad I could help, love.” He kissed her on the forehead and rolled off of her.

The chill came over her in his sudden absence but the soreness he left between her legs warmed her heart. She’d worry about image control in the morning...hell...she might even hire Olivia Pope to help her win the election. But for that moment, she was going to relish her piece of summer strange...the Damn It Was So Good, summer strange.

Fitz who?

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New on Amazon! My erotic, short story, "Heart like a Tumbled Stone," is available for only 99 cents!

Also, I released my short story, "Trigger," as an e-single on Amazon as well. If you didn't get a chance to read it in Chocolate Rose 2, read it now!

And my novel, Find a Penny, is available as an e-book again. If you missed it, check it out!

Reality in Fiction: How my short story, "Trigger," was born.

My friend Nakia does this thing on her Facebook page, (Shout out to Nakias' Open Book) where she posts a letter every Thursday about relationships. A lot of conversation starts on Thursday and takes us right through the weekend. As the Facebook world goes, my letter is now buried and is not being commented on anymore but I wanted to have it archived with my blog as well as it very much applies to my writing. So, without any further delay, my Thursday Letter:

           “Even in the dark, with his brazil-nut-brown skin blending into the night, the headlights from a car in the desolate parking lot across the street displayed the outline of a man I could never forget. Forgiveness seemed equally impossible and before I knew what I was doing, my hand stroked the cold steel of the handgun my boss kept under the counter for protection.”
            This is how my short story, “Trigger,” begins and though it is a work of fiction, the paragraph above is based in truth. There’s an ex-factor in my life that even 15 years later, I feel uneasy if I see his name or face.
            The backstory is young love, the college years, the guy I thought was the one so I was blind to all the signs that said he wasn’t. One major sign:  he told me that the reason why his parents stayed together as long as they did was because even though his dad knew he didn’t want to be with his mother anymore, he didn’t want anyone else to have her either. Like father, like son? It’s possible.
            We seemed to be on-again-off-again for almost two years. He’d never let me have a clean break because our friendship was so important but for me, the love was. Every tender comment he made during our off moments filled me with hope of our future together.  If it seemed like he wasn’t interested in reconciling, I pulled back for my own survival. That was cause for him to pull me in with proclamations of love and sticking things out. When we were on, he could hold my hand and cuddle with me around those who knew we were a couple, yet around others, it was the friend zone. After our relationship was truly over, mutual friends were actually shocked to find out we broke up because they never knew we were together. It wasn’t the emotional rollercoaster everyone talks about, what we had was a yo-yo. He flung me away and pulled me back in before I got too far away.
            The final straw was getting word of a family tragedy during one of our off times. I was down but a guy-friend was hanging with me and cheering me up. When the ex saw this, he approached me and told me he heard about what I was going through and he wanted to be there for me no matter what. In my vulnerable stage, I really needed that glimmer of hope. I held on to the thought of “us” when everything else felt hopeless, but when I needed him to actually be there, he was with another girl. I didn’t know until rumors got back to me and I did some math. He gave me a crap excuse for not being able to see me because he’d gone out of his way to be with someone else. That did it for me and I was free.
            Free, but still enslaved to a lot of pain and distrust: I didn’t make it easy for the man I married. It would have been best to just let me go and do my own healing instead of playing with my emotions. On top of that, to promise being there in my darkest moment only to hook up with some other person went deeper than anything else. Even thinking about it, I feel a heaviness in my heart and he’d been evacuated from it a long time ago.
            So one night, even though I’d moved on, fell in love, made real promises to the man I am married to, I saw the ex walking by the little pizza place I once worked at. I’d say almost a year had gone by since the break-up but the sight of him ripped open the wound and I wanted him to hurt like I’d hurt. The store owner kept a gun under the register. I’d felt it before while cleaning and got freaked out. There was no freaking out when I saw him. My hand felt up under the counter and caressed the hard, cold steel. I fantasized about shooting him. Would I take out his kneecap and leave him with the gun to finish the job if the pain got too unbearable? Could I kill him and make up some story about him trying to rob us to get away with it? By the time he was out of shooting distance, I was exhilarated with all the lovely images of his mangled skull and guttural whimpers. He lived to cheat another day and I was happy to have someone dependable at home waiting.
            The cautionary tale here for the guys is to be honest with yourself and your significant other. If you are only holding on so that someone else cannot have her, you are only hurting her more than letting her go. If you cared enough to be in the relationship, care enough about her to want her to be happy, even if it is with another guy. Furthermore, don’t promise anything you cannot deliver, especially if she’s vulnerable enough to believe anything you say. Don’t make a woman fantasize about killing you, not every woman knows when to leave a fantasy a fantasy.
            For the ladies, a sign is a sign. The first time he tried to pull me back by the yo-yo string, I should have remembered the story about his parents and cut the string myself. And real talk here, if you’ve got your hand on a weapon and finding joy in his possible pain, step away. It’s better to find love elsewhere than do serious time. You know those orange jumpsuits are NOT a good look.