Rain poured down as Sunday night became Monday morning. Jackie Maddison lay in her bed as content as she could, resting on her light blue bed sheets. A wooden cross laminated by the moon cast a shadow on the room's interior. Every night, it was the last thing she saw when she entered a slumber and the first thing she saw when she awoke. God was most important in her life, and as a saved soul amongst the lost ones, she devoted every second to him.
Back in the day, Jackie was a young woman in her 20s looking for love, which was expected of her. Like for everyone, the societal duty was to become an adult, find a partner, get married, and have children. She was a great student, graduated from high school, and found the love of her life while attending university. After graduating from college, they settled down and were engaged to be married sometime in the year after. During that time, however, she went to the doctor and was told her ultimate dream would be out of reach.
Jackie was diagnosed with a rare disease that would make it difficult to bear and carry children. This news strained her relationship, and after a few months, the once-loving couple who were madly in love were now barely tolerating each other. Jackie turned her back on the idea of being loved and giving it the way she was taught all women were supposed to. She stopped being the innocent mouse that she was to then a "loose screw". She slept with men and sometimes women and turned to a life of pacifying instead of purpose.
*CH-CH
Jackie's eyes blinked, but she calmed herself. The sound of a gun cocking was heard. It was too distinctive not to go unnoticed. Maybe it was her imagination, but there is nothing wrong with checking to ensure that was the case. She looked at the cross and noticed a shadow figure in her left peripheral vision. Jackie turned and saw two men looking for their next payday.
"Get up."
The man raised the gun and aimed at Jackie's head. He was tall and had a mask that covered his face. It was a black cloth that didn't fully cover his eyes. It was clear this was a person of color, and what a shame it was. She was always modest in a way that looked at life with her cup being half full, despite her feeling like it was more so the other way. Jackie didn't have much to steal. She used to, but living that street life and hanging around empty people resulted in people having sticky fingers. She didn't have as much as she used to, but what she did have was dear to her. The poor stealing from the less fortunate, crab mentality. Shame it was indeed. It was unfortunate, but that didn't stop Jackie from getting up and doing as the man told her.
"Don't speak unless spoken to. If you move or raise your voice, a bullet will be in your dome. Do you understand?"
Jackie nodded.
"Where is your purse?"
Jackie looked at the other man. Like the first one, he was black. He was a bit shorter and chubbier, but he had that life-of-crime attitude about him, which troubled her spirit. She pointed towards the closet and told the intruders the location of her bag.
"Go get it."
Jackie walked toward the closet as the thunder and lightning became more thunderous. She got on her tippy toes, careful not to make a mess of the carpet below her feet, and not to make quick movements to ease the gunman's suspicions of her. All she had was $40, which she would offer to the church when they had their special service tomorrow. She offered the man the money from her purse, but he slapped it out of her hand and got closer to her.
"Bitch, did I tell you to do that? Did I tell you to take anything out? Huh! Hand me the fucking thing and pick the money up."
The man was too close. She could smell the saltiness of the rainfall on his clothing, and she became worried. The shock of the hit angered her, but what kept her steady was the belief that these lost babes would eventually find their way out of the comfort of her home soon. Just as long as she cooperates with them, everything will be fine.
"Q, ease up. We might not need the purse anyway."
The other man looked through her dark brown dresser drawers. Finally, he got to the bottom, where a hidden compartment contained jewelry pieces and some bonds her ex-fiance gave her. She never cashed them in and only saw their sentimental value.
"Jackpot."
The man found some of her most valuable possessions, which made the one known as Q smile. He saw Jackie look at his accomplice, frustrated, and struck her in the face.
*SLAP
The man who scavenged through her belongings looked up and saw the older woman holding the side of her face.
"Aye, man. What the FUCK are you doing?"
The man stopped his search and looked at his partner. 'What is this Nigga thinking' he thought.
"Relax. The storm is on our side. It's too loud to hear anything. Plus I'm just putting this bitch in her place."
Q looked down at the lady he had just hit. He could feel himself hardening at the sight. She hunched over, and he felt pleasure knowing that was his doing. Jackie held her face as tears swelled in her God fearing eyes. 'Jesus,' she called. She would often call on his name for strength and guidance. This time wouldn't be different. She sniffled and began to kneel in her prayer position. One of the first things you learn at her church is how to pray correctly. As a child of God, you revere him by kneeling, closing your eyes, and tapping into the spiritual realm. This is what she did in front of her captors. It was muscle memory at this point as she got on the floor, tilted her head, and locked her hands in prayer.
Q's once-smiling face had a scowl now. 'She's one of those,' he thought. He hated the religious holier-than-thou people who acted better than others. He grew to have a disdain for their practices and their way of life. He sought to destroy and saw them to be the real evil on this plane of existence. Q saw how the woman prayed and unzipped his pants and fished out his dick and stroked it. The other thief continued to search but noticed Q's changed demeanor.
"What the fuck are you doing?!"
"Shut the fuck up J! Focus over there."
Q used his left hand, which held the gun, and tapped on the lady's forehead. Jackie raised her head and was face to face with a part of a man she hadn't seen in over 15 years.
"Suck my dick old bitch or die."
'Lord Jesus,' Jackie was stunned. This was a level of disrespect that she couldn't ignore. She had the confidence to tell the intruder no, but once she opened to speak, Q pushed himself into Jackie's mouth. He wasn't asking and wasn't waiting for her permission. From where he was standing, she wasn't in a place where she could refuse or make any demands. Q knew she would fight him, so his hand rested on the back of her head as her warm mouth got used to the weight of his thick, meaty manhood in her jaws.
*GULP *GULP *GLUP
"Fuck yea. Suck my dick. God answered your prayers today."
Q fucked the throat of the woman and could care less how anyone felt about it.
"Shhyit! I can tell you used to suck dummy amounts of dick before you got saved huh".
Q chuckled to himself at the skill level of the woman before him. He was tempted to pinch her nose to see what she would do when her only source of breath was filled. He enjoyed the sounds of a typical session but what made him giddy was the bubbles that came from every stroke of her sucking. It looked like suds from a beer mug or leftover soap in the sink. He doesn't often interact with women in his work, but he wouldn't want to get too comfortable even if he did.
Misogyny is a word used to describe a deep hatred for women. But what if there was no way around hating your counterpart? As men, most gain their manhood from acts that other men have deemed acceptable, but where does that acceptability get its validity from? The ordeal drives the appeal and division of the sexes for as long as history has been told. For Q, a woman was only seen as a tool men could use when needed. He learned from his dad to never trust a hoe, but what was more influential was what he did not teach him. Women aren't objects that men can use. Just because his balls enjoyed the humiliation of others didn't mean it was morally right to.
