Short Story: Flying BAV

Photo by Sacha Verheij on Unsplash

Flying BAV

Hi. My name is Angela Simón and I’m a born again virgin. Now, before you go and judge my sanctify-ness you should know that this wasn’t a faith-based decision. Sure, I’m a child of God and I want to do my best to walk down the righteous path but that’s not why I’m a BAV.

I’ve joined the select group of BAVs who have decided to take control of their relationships by limiting physical interactions. Plus it just helps to keep things simple. And I’m not a BAV that waits until he’s all up on me, breathing down my neck, reaching up my thigh expecting for a fun time. No. I let every man who decides to look my way know what’s up immediately.

He’s either going to get the point or get away and I’m totally ok with either choice.

But when I met Raheem on a red eye to L.A., I damn near turned a corner and went down hoe-dom lane. Shit!

Raheem wore black and red glasses, a “You can call me King” shirt with a black, green and red book bag. He stood about 5 feet 10 inches or maybe even 6 feet tall, with Mahogany skin, you know the kind with a little hint of Red Cherokee in it.

It had been a while since I saw someone that made me stare, but this brother, made me want to climb over seats, stepping on bitches head just to say hello. But I contained myself and just prayed that he would sit next to me.

The only problem with that was the plane was damn near empty and we all could have a seat to ourselves. I look out the window to question God on why he would test my instincts like this.

I shake off the desire and look back up the aisle. Now only three rows from me, I wait for him to plop in the row in front of me, which was completely empty.

I catch a glance from him and see his beautiful hazel eyes shining back at me. Shit! I love men with all eye colors but there is just something so damn alluring when a man, especially a black man, has those exotic hazel and green eyes. It’s like being mesmerized by an 18-carat diamond—just fucking beautiful.

He smiles. I smile. He looks at the row in front of me then lifts his carry-on in the ben above. I grimace from the lost opportunity but then he shocks me.

He sits in the aisle seat in my row.

Word!?

I smile at him. He smiles back. Then another smile grows between my legs. I cross them tight, hoping to make her chill out.

Hey, bitch we are BAVs now. Stop it.

I must have suffocated her enough because she calmed down enough for me to be able to reach under the seat in front of me to grab my water and Starburst. I really should’ve gone to sleep, but my imagination was ready to play.

I watched him out of my peripheral, hoping to catch a few more glimpses of his personality. He definitely wasn’t scared to show his pro-blackness because if you weren’t paying attention to his shirt or bookbag, you could have gauged it from his Africa medallion and in-flight reading, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual by Harold Cruise.

I love an aware black man. Fuck woke. I like them soaked in black pride.

Reminds me of my love for a good protest at my alma mater. It was a PWC (predominately white college) that like to have blacks on their team but not teaching in their classrooms or sitting in the administration. It took us four dedicated years, but we got the first black dean placed. Damn, I miss those days.

“Are you okay?” He asks. I don’t know what face I was making but I couldn’t imagine it being anything but of pride and power.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look like you were about to be sick?”

Word, I make the gage face when I’m prideful. I’ve got to do better.

“No, I’m good. Thanks for asking.” I wonder if it is my turn to ask a question or two but he beats me.

“My name is Raheem.” He reaches out his hand and I gladly shake it.

“I’m Carmen.”

“Nice to meet you, Carmen.”

“Nice to meet you to Raheem.” We turn back to look for the stewardess, but I had other questions I wanted to ask.

“Hey,” I yell, trying to grab his attention again. He turns back to me and I enjoy the stubble growing on his chin. “That’s a good book. I read it in college.”

“Oh yay. It’s my second time reading it.” Yas, to his continuous dedication to re-education. “I just wanted to scan it one more time. You know, keep my head in the right space.”

“No, I get it. Because ‘Either all groups image speak for themselves,’” he joins in “’ and for the nation, or American nationality will never be determined.’” We laugh and smile once more.

“I love that quote.”

“I love it too,” He responds.

The stewardess finally announces that the doors are closing, and we are preparing to take off. Now it’s time for their educational but dull showing of safety around the plan.

I hear the engine on my side rev up and the plan jolt back from the terminal. Somehow the exhausts creep through my window and I want to move to the middle seat. At least I’ll be closer to him.

But we’re all supposed to be seated, except he stands up and then takes the seat next to me.

Like minds, I see.

Once he has repositioned his things under the seat he leans into me.

“They are too loud and I would love to continue our conversation.”

I’d be lying if I said that he wasn’t making me glow, but he was. He was also making me question if I was going to still be a BAV by the end of this flight.

One then two hours pass and we were still talking about blackness. We’ve touched on college, now we’re talking about discrepancies plaguing the corporate arena. Soon the conversation shifts again, and this time to relationships. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to but I could feel that it was time for me to drop the “coochie is on lock” bomb.

“So, do you have a man?”

Right before I can respond, he stops me. “Wait, I’m not sure I want to know. I don’t want to be disappointed.”

“Well,” I continue anyway, “no I don’t have a man.”

“But?”

“But I am a BAV and that’s probably why.”

He sits back in his seat for a second, looking toward the front.

See I knew it. Well, it was nice talking with him while it lasted.

Then without looking at me, he leans in close and whispers, “No disrespect, but what’s a BAV?”

A high-pitch squeal slips out of me but his confused looked reminded me that I had some explaining to do.

“I’m a born again virgin.”

“Oh, shit. Word. Cool. I thought that was some new African religion I hadn’t learned about yet. I was about to Google that shit without you seeing.”

“Sorry, I forget that not everyone is verse in BAVism.”

“So, that’s why you think you’re single?”

“Yeah, you know guys, especially black men, just don’t understand it.”

“I hate to fall into that category myself but what does it really mean.”

“Well,” I take a sip before releasing the next missile. “It means that I won’t have sex before I’m married. I’ve had sex before and it has only complicated my relationships, then left me yearning for love. I mean I don’t blame myself, but I want to know that someone loves me for me and not because of the tricks I can do in the bedroom.”

“Oh, so you do tricks?”


See what happens with Carmen and Raheem on Pateron. Subscribe the Passionate Addict tier to read this full story, other short stories and view exclusive video.

 

#WritersLife Finally my NaNoWriMo Recap!

November was a beast; a beautiful beast but a beast nonetheless. Even though I didn’t hit my mark of 50,000 words by Nov. 31, I still knocked out over 22,000 words and learned new tricks for 2017. Check out my recap.

Oh…and I did release my second book last month too!

New cover, new outlook, same sexy verbiage.

If you have been following my social media accounts (Twitter, Facebook and Instagram) you might have noticed something different…yep my book cover.

Here are five reasons why I change my book cover:

  • Change for the better: As a businesswoman and a marketer, I understand that winter-2017-untraditional-cover_b_frontsometimes you have to adapt your strategy to get your product, i.e. my words, more visible to an ideal audience. FYI, keep reading to get a discount on this “change”.
  • Realism vs. animation: I like to think of myself as a creative being, and even though I love my original cover because it depicts the woman who I strive to be—quietly sexy and choosing to go my own unique way—I needed it to draw in new readers within the current contemporary/erotica genre. My reality check is that Passion-fy is in it’s grassroots phase, and will take time to catch on. And that’s okay too.
  • Standing out and not away: So yes, my cover was depicted from my own thought, which was untraditionally outside of the normal erotica theme. But I was okay with that until I noticed that maybe it was a tad too far from those who are used to seeing other books within the genre. I’ve received great feedback on the stories so I took a take a step back, but still up, on the cover.
  • Feedback from a big wig: They, as in Barnes & Noble, didn’t say they didn’t like my cover, but they did bring up “helping” with cover designs *wink wink*.
  • Gut feeling a.k.a. instinctual: The last and probably the most important reason is this; I already knew this was going to happen. This new cover was actually the mock up for the final illustration. So I think I already knew this day would come and here it is.

NEW VLOG ABOUT THE COVER CHANGE!

new-cover-vlog

Those are my reasons and I’m optimistic at this new look. My hope that this, you and anyone else who hasn’t picked up my book, will take a look at the cover + the reviews and go ahead and take a chance on a new, passionate author.

For those of you are prefer the new cover to the old, I’m giving a discount on the paperback version for a limited time. Use promo code 3RJC3YSM when you purchase through CreateSpace to save 20% on a newly wrapped piece of passion-fy. Just in time for the holidays!

Tell me what you think of the cover? Who wore it better: Cover A or Cover B. 

-DNC

[Writing Prompt] 600-Word Short Story

This weekend, I met with a fellow author who just completed an amazing 500-word short story. And I wanted to try and do the same, but haven’t nailed it yet. So, enjoy this under 600-word short story tapping into my response to a comment made recently.

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights are reserved so don’t go and still my stuff, and think that I won’t come after you! Enjoy!

Locker Room Talk: What He Didn’t Know

Sunrise Zumba exhausted even the fittest athlete, and today would’ve felt the same if the ladies hadn’t encountered something more draining and deplorable.

“Was Roxanne on one today or nah?” Jamie spouted as she fell over the bench.

“I have no clue but, I tell ya, my ass hurts! I think I’ll crawl those 10 miles to work, rather than riding on this thang.” Claire looked at her tender tush.

“Still the same sagging sac.” The others felt her disappointment.

Jamie to rescue!

“Hey, I could have sworn Amber Rose walked in here before you turned around.”
Laughter filled the air.

They were all on a mission to get rid of the baby fat, therapeutic calories and years of inconsistent dieting. A community of women who knew that uniting was the fastest way over any obstacle.

Group chatter continued until a sobbing echo drifted through the room. They stopped and listened. Someone was broken, hurting, lost and looking to be found.

With each step toward the roaring shower, the crying grew louder. Down on the floor sat a cradled Lauren, drowning in her own tears.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong,” several ladies blurted out. Lauren’s swollen eyes and sobbing speech keep her story buried. Surrounding her, they covered her, lifting her up to walk back to the locker room, hoping to console and uncover the mysterious crisis.

Magnetized to her pain, the women wrapped their arms around her. The warm embrace slowed her rapid pulse and calmed her hyperventilating lungs. Words finally came out.

“I just let him do whatever he wanted.” Her broken voice spoke of her most recent visit with her millionaire boyfriend.

“It was my fault. I couldn’t save enough money to furnish my apartment. I didn’t say no when he said he would pay for the couch. Then out of nowhere, he grabbed me.”

“Grabbed you, like put his hands on you?” Jamie began, already devising a payback trip to wherever he was now.

“No. He put his hands between my legs saying that he now ‘owned’ me.”

The loving crowd turned into a ravenous mob spewing “What the fuck” and “I’ll kick his ass”. They wouldn’t let their sister remain draped in his disgust.

“And I did absolutely nothing to stop him.” New tears began to form, but then Jaime began her sermon.

“Listen to me: Never allow any man to take your most precious gift from God – your essence. You didn’t see it coming but you always have a choice. Get out the car, punch him in the balls, or better yet, tell him to take that couch and shove it right where his soon-to-be cellmate would enjoy, after charges were filed. You have rights, my young sister.” She pulled her chin up high.

“Rights to defend yourself at all times. Rights to protect your temple, no matter the circumstances. You’re the sole owner of its glory. NO ONE ELSE!”
The church yelled “Amen”.

“Oh and if you’re still seeing or talking to him, stop! Don’t waste your energy. Save it for someone who doesn’t have the audacity to feel good about ‘owning’ something or someone. Stay strong. We’ll be here, day after day, to build you back up until you find a King worthy of your temple. Remember, we got you and YOU got you too! You don’t have to take shit from anyone”

Tears dried. Confidence grew. Lauren stood up, gazing at the new self-aware woman looking back at her in the mirror. It was time for her new day.

…..

Join today’s writing prompt and share your 600-word short story!

-DNC