***************************************************************************************
[PRESENT]
"Motherfucker." I found myself looking at a clip of my Uncle Grady "flossing" with two hoochies in an il-advised sex tape. My portly uncle looked outmatched and on the verge of a coronary as the clip ended quickly.
I'd muted my phone leaving everybody on read due to my second controversial exposure as part of my Auntie Esther's bubble. There was no doubt I was nuclear to any of my family peers, and I was wisely bowing out of the situation until things cooled off. Karma didn't seem to want to get off my bumper as I went into the administrative side of my site making all of Esther's content inactive. I found that a few cousins on my father's side of the family had already picked up a clip or two leaving the more expensive full episodes untouched. My father's name popped up as the only person who picked up all of her content.
"Figures." I knew he wasn't doing it for my uncle recalling the story of my auntie slapping the shit out of him with a dishrag when he got too close for comfort in a big enough kitchen. I guess he had to scratch a long nagging itch wondering how he felt watching his son do what he only wished he could've done in the past.
My social media page blew up in an online witch hunt by people from both sides of the family, a lot I hadn't seen since I was a kid. Instead of deleting or making that page inactive, I left it up without responding to a single disparaging comment or insult about sleeping with my "auntie" which was mostly clueless people who didn't know we weren't actually related. This page was to serve as my sounding board and ear to the ground, metaphorically speaking. It was hard to look at and take from hypocrites who side eyed Esther talking behind closed doors calling her a gold digger. Grady was her legitimacy.
I downloaded the embarrassing clip holding off on blocking my foolish uncle.
My body was still out of it after fooling around with Charity Gilbert's mother over the course of the weekend in several bouts of hysterical bonding. Angela cleaned up the house and fixed me a decent plate after leaving me lying. Her humorous side was laid bare with her own little video clip left behind to playfully stick the fact that I couldn't hang to me. After watching that clip more than a few times, I almost dialed her up but thought better of it. She'd likely leave me in a wheelchair, I mused smiling.
I had other things on my mind, namely a mysterious call from what was probably a burner phone. At the time I was utterly oblivious and out of it from my sexual drubbing. It became plain I'd answered the call in my sleep, so I didn't recall any specifics. Charity Gilbert was out of the question as a possible culprit which led me to Andre's shitty wife, Dayna. This didn't make sense because I was in custody of his android while I took the weekend to work on his situation. I went online with the intent of ordering up his marriage license but couldn't find one. I checked his phone finding some calls and angry texts.
After learning of the diminutive woman's malfeasance, I ended up trolling her with a double catfish in the guise of Andre's former girlfriend and online talent, Shawnee Thompson and my own cousin Jaquan. The text messages suggested she felt Shawnee was flexing and disrespecting her with each becoming increasingly panic filled. On the other hand, she was engaged in fostering an active affair with the fake version of Jaquan with his face strategically obscured. I was working Dayna in an attempt to get her to send me some nudes or something, but she was hesitating. She was wisely all about "Quid Pro Quo."
I chopped up some footage of Jaquan jerking it from the day prior during the shoot with Mz. Giggles aka Auntie Esther sending her a thirty second clip. I reasoned that he already appeared online in several porn scenes between two sites already having an alibi should things go sideways. I'd just tell Jaquan to go with the modeling to "make ends meet" narrative even though he was pretty much a trust fund baby. His doctor mother set up a living trust that took care of the mortgage and bills, leaving him with a monthly stipend which he'd always taken for granted.
Part of me wondered if that was extra incentive for Renee Kelly's entrance into his life besides his obvious physical charms.
"Put up or shut up bitch." I sat there after sending Dayna that seconds long clip waiting for her to reciprocate.
A few more texts found their way onto Andre's phone along with a voicemail that I hesitated before activating. Dayna was doing double duty on an early Sunday afternoon, but my multi-task game dwarfed hers. I drummed my fingers on the kitchen table finishing up the plate left behind. Angela Gilbert was one hell of a cook. I kept looking at the portion of her little movie in which she did the laundry wearing nothing but an apron using it as a sexual prop after dumping my dirty clothes. I wished I could post it, but knew it was out of the question.
"Bingo." Dayna sent a clip.
Once I hit it, I was treated to a view of what was obviously the bathroom in the home she shared with Andre. It was cluttered and sort of dingy looking as I realized it was shot using the mirror. At first the bathroom seemed empty, but the top of her head appeared in frame first for a gradual reveal of her face. Her diminutive stature was evident as her face rose into view framed by a big, oversized shock of frizzy looking brownish blonde, kinky afro wig. She wasn't unattractive, just cursed with a sort of arresting bitch face. The reveal continued as her shoulders and chest came into view in a sheer top.
"I guess I laid it on way too thick." I rested my chin on my fist unimpressed.
Dayna was thin leaning almost towards a sinewy build that brought up all sorts of questions but well defined from what I could see. Her small tits were veritable pancakes simply outlined against her torso and not much else as she slipped out of the top. I snickered as she cupped her invisible boobs grinning at the camera on her phone like a jackal. The difference between her and my former Puerto Rican ingenue was night and day. This tiny petite little thing could fit inside Ms. WTF's zaftig body no problem.
Things got even more humorous as Andre's better half decided to play hide and seek with me, virtually quickly dropping out of view. The sound of some sort of stool scraping across the floor followed before Dayna popped up again almost spring loaded. She was standing on a stool or something leaving me with a view of her flat tummy and some high waisted black panties, particularly her visible camel toe. This lasted a second as she turned her tight shallow butt in my direction, mooning me for a moment.
I was still unimpressed with this noting the large sunflower tattoos that dominated a hip and left buttock. The clip ended as quick as it began, leaving me sitting there in static dead air, befuddled.
"Uhm, okay." For comparison I pulled up an off-site clip of the last time Andre hit Shawnee's ridiculously mountainous badonkadunk during what seemed like an intended dig at me shot by one Renee Kelly. The resident stud was seen judiciously railing the stuffing out of the monster sized Boricuas donk with impunity while she barely reacted. The contrast between these women was jarring bringing all sorts of questions to the fore. Andre and Jaquan had one hell of a night with the latter more than knowledgeable he was taking part in a burn directed at yours truly. Dayna to me, was utterly blah.
"Oh yeah, alright." Dayna was blowing up my messenger wanting to know what I thought, so I forwarded her the rest of Jaquan clip edited down to the crucial moment. I should've felt weird about it knowing Jaquan got so hot and bothered during the prior shoot that he actually "took matters into his own hands" while Mz. Giggles was getting railed and had the wherewithal to get it on camera.
The decidedly messy seconds long clip of my cousin blasting several ropes in the camera's direction had to be edited down because the appropriate level of shame engulfed him at the outset making the lothario wipe up his mess with a towel in a panic. That was not the image I wanted to convey with my sanctioned bootleg version of Jaquan.
"That didn't take long." Dayna replied with several eggplant emojis enthused by the visual as I suspected talking about a meetup. I ghosted her watching more unanswered texts flood my bootleg phone.
I was letting it percolate going so far as to switch off my burner leaving it unattended to get a bit of editing done in-between other multi-tasks. My calls to Jaquan's iPhone went unanswered telling me that my wayward auntie by marriage had properly done her job of distracting him too well.
Calls to customer service and some serious schmoozing on my part led to pinpointing Andre's switch console. The version I purchased was a used display model picked up used by the staff there with a number of features already activated, but more importantly was the connected USB add-on at no extra cost. After getting the location of the game I looked it up on Google.
"Martha Jacobs; who the fuck is that?" My brow furrowed as I ran a shallow background check using free services online trying to figure out why Andre would've gone to the small home revealed using the street feature of google maps. The neighborhood was okay, sort of a semi-suburb Mid City, but this odd shiver ran up my back as I dialed up Jaquan getting his voicemail again. It was just after noon as my android rang with a facetime request that made me bite my nails before answering.
"Good morning, Tressie!" I tried to look and sound innocuous, but I could tell this was all business.
