The Small House, Chapter 6

“Virgil…”

Virgil is at my door. I open up and let him in.

“I got your text. And they weren’t your nightly texts saying you were drunk and you wouldn’t mind getting nudes—-are you alright?”

I was having an emergency until I see Virgil and I’m already irritated that I didn’t ask for nudes, wondering if it would be my lucky day.

“You’re not wearing a shirt.”

Virgil just seems like the guy who can do it all. He’s dripping sweat right now and I can see the glistening of it on the little V on his abdomen. He had this chin dimple and his shoulders were much broader than his waist. His jeans hugged him tightly except around the waist where they were loose revealing a dip into the Wonderland of Virgil.

“I was doing some handiwork for my dad on one of the apartments.”

“I don’t know what you’re fixing but mines broke,” I state.

“Bishop can you focus for one second. Your text really had me concerned.”

“It’s just…it’s…

Fuck. Here it comes.

I find myself sitting on the couch, “I sent a letter to the Stuyvesants telling them about our possible link to the family. I haven’t heard back. Nothing. It’s been 3 weeks. 3 weeks and nothing.”

“It’s still early.”

“I don’t have much time. A week ago my brother told me someone I owed money to is out here to collect,” I state, “A very dangerous guy.”

“Like a mob?

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I state, “No. Not the mob. Just a guy.”

“Just a guy?”

I nod, “Yeah but he’s dangerous. And it’s extra stress. Everyone is depending on me. My youngest brother is living in some fantasy. My brother Lerrick is turning into a mini-me. Our business is suffering. We’re in debt to our eyeballs. Your dad is going to have us evicted. I feel so weak…”

“Hey…hey come here…”

“Don’t.”

“Come here…”

He looks down at his chest. I’m crying on it and strangely enough, he lets me. Virgil just allows me to cry on it and I just don’t know why I’m allowing myself to. I’ve never been the type to let someone just see me vulnerable. NEVER in my life. Virgil makes me feel that though. He makes me feel like I am completely his in all states of the word.

Why did I text Virgil of all people? Why was he here even when my brothers weren’t.

“I’ll talk to my dad, I’ll get him to give you some more time for rent.”

“I tried already.”

“Well, then I’ll help you out myself. I’ll pay for it in advance.”

I’m surprised he’s offering to do this. He’s stroking my hair in an attempt to calm me down. Right at that moment, I feel like Kwamie. Is this what Kwamie meant when he watched those old movies. Is this what he meant when he talked about love. There were butterflies in my stomach. I believe that’s what they were. They were fluttering about back and forth everywhere. I feel my body just edging closer to it.

“You’d do that?”

“Yes.”

“I just feel like a burden. You don’t even know me like that.”

“You came to me because you needed help. I told you I was going to help you. I didn’t just mean to get the back child support from the Stuyvesants. I’m going to help you —-in any way that I can. Crying doesn’t mean you’re weak. It just means you’ve been strong for too long.

He lets me be weak at that moment. At that moment I let him be strong. I don’t force myself on him in the way that I do all these other guys. I become passive. I look up at him and without having to say a word my eyes are swelling into him.

“You’re so handsome,” I whisper.

If this guy knew how much of a stalker I was to him before this moment. I remember all the long walks we took around the neighborhood. Or all the times we had romantic late-night dinners at the local eatery. The problem this whole time is that when we were having these moments only one of us knew about it. There was a time I literally became a runner because Virgil liked to go on the run. Are you judging me? Cardio is important when you’re trying to stalk someone you can’t keep up with.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he tells me.

He liked to be in control. I should have known. That was the problem I had with Virgil this whole time. I’d been too aggressive. Now here I was crying and shit and I swear he seems like he’s ready to fuck my brains out. Who knew I had to give my best impersonation of Kwamie to win over the man of my dreams.

“OK, I guess,” I state, “Don’t hurt me.”

It sounds stupid when I say that because I want him to hurt me. I want him to hurt me so long and hard that I can’t walk the next day. I feel like there’s no way he’s going to like that. But I’m wrong. A smile spreads across his face.

“I’d never hurt something so fragile.”

Fragile?

Me?

I almost look around to see if Kwamie had just walked in the room and I’d have to beat his ass for flirting with my crush, but he was talking to me. I know because he stops me from turning my head and pushes his tongue down my throat.

Then Virgil asked me to stand in front of him. I was shaking as though I was nervous. Maybe a part of me was nervous as a virgin almost. I knew EXACTLY what Madonna was referring to now.

I stood where he told me, “Like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that.”

Virgil was a control freak. Maybe that’s why he was a lawyer, a private investigator, a plumber, a handyman, and a mental health counselor. He was the kind of guy who could do everything. And I loved it.

Virgil reached for my pants and pulled my dick out of my tight briefs. I had never felt such a hard-on in my life. He took his tongue and began licking the head of my dick.

“Virgil that feels great.”

I turn and fell back on the couch. Virgil continued to pull my pants all the way off. He kneeled on the floor and started sucking my dick while he played with my ass. I started pushing my ass in the air so he could work his fingers up my tight asshole while he continued to suck my dick.

“Your ass is so tight man…” Virgil whispers to me.

“How big is your dick Virgil? You think I can take it up my ass?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

I smile sneakily as he got up and removed his pants and undershorts. His massive dick came into view. It was fucking beautiful. It was about 9 inches long, uncut and hard as a rock. Even though I was fascinated by his dick, I honestly couldn’t stop looking back into his eyes. This was happening. I was about to get fucked by the biggest crush I’d ever had in my life.

“Just use your spit…” I state and realize almost immediately how aggressive I sound. I can almost tell Virgil getting slightly turned off by me barking an order like that.

“Condom?” he asks.

Condom. Damn. I was hoping he’d go in raw. I wanted to feel his babies swimming up my intestines. I sigh though realizing how desperate and creepy it would look for me to beg for something like that. So I just nod.

“Yeah, …we always keep them by the door.”

I get up and walk over to the door. I grab a condom at that moment and walk over to him.

“I can’t believe this is happening…” I admit out loud.

He bites his lip, “You wanted it?”

“You have no idea…”

“Bend over for me. I’m about to dominate the fuck out of you,” Virgil tells me.

He wags his dick. Damn it was nice and thick. I can almost feel it going deep inside of me already without him even touching me or being close enough to enter me. I’m so ready for him.

That’s when Virgil starts putting on the condom. He unrolls it just a little bit and starts putting his dick inside.

“Damn I’m wet…”

I’m trying to tell him to hurry up without sounding too dominating. The truth, however, was that I was wet. My male juices were soaking up the upholstery. Lerrick would be pissed about it. He liked to sleep on the couch a lot.

“This feels a little weird…”

“Too small?”

“Yeah it’s kinda small for my dick but it’s not that. It’s just…AHH! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?”

I turn. I see Virgil squeezing his dick. He’s doing it hard. He throws the condom on the floor. I notice his dick is red. Really red. It’s this deep beet red color that looks almost like it’s infected with something. I see tears immediately running down his eyes.

THIS ISN’T HAPPENING!

THIS ISN’T HAPPENING!

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“It’s burning! MY DICK IS BURNING! MY DICK IS BURNING! OH, GOD!”

He keeps repeating it. I do the only thing I can do. I run and get him some sprite. I pour the sprite all over his dick and balls. The sticky sprite stains the carpet as it bubbles up in his pubic hair.

“I’m sorry I don’t know what happened…”

“It’s the condoms…” he states.

“Virgil—those condoms are fine. I use them all the time. I mean…uh…”

I wasn’t making things any better by making Virgil know I wasn’t a complete bottom or making him think that I was out here just having sex often. I should have just shut my mouth.

“I should go,” Virgil states.

He pulls his pants up and starts walking out. It’s clear that he was embarrassed. I can’t believe I almost had gotten the man of my life to fuck me and this weird freak accident had happened that I still couldn’t quite explain. None of it made sense when Virgil walked away storming down the hallway with a pissed off look. It doesn’t make sense until I see who Virgil walks past.

A boy is standing there in the hallway…

“How long have you been there?” I ask him.

“Long enough. He’s a cutie, isn’t he?”

“What did you do?”

“You put a few holes in there and put in some habanero pepper juices. Did it get your attention? Bishop.”

I think about asking Syn how he found me or how he got in my house but it was pointless. This was Syn Clinton. He probably learned to track and lockpick doors while other kids were wondering how to hold a nipple while breastfeeding.

“How’d you know it was me?”

He never saw a picture of me. Not really. I was nothing more than a fan of his. I wrote to him all the time. I tried to be like him. I tried to be as smart as him. I tried to be as clever. I was a fuck up though. All the life hacks that Syn Clinton had gotten famous for didn’t work for me. I was still unhappy and broke on top of that.

“How couldn’t I know? I met your brothers and the resemblance is uncanny…”

“Don’t trust my brother Lerrick. You can’t trust a man with clear skin, great hair and long eyelashes. They look good because they don’t deal with stress. They only dish it out,” I tell him.

Syn smiles clearly seeming amused.

I laugh hoping to lighten the mood. For the first time in forever, I wished that Lerrick would have laid the dick on someone whose last name wasn’t Stuyvesant.

“You reached out to me desperate for help. I decide to be charitable and reach back out to you almost immediately. I give you an idea. A plan. Apparently, you died of excitement because months later I’m still waiting for a response.”

“I—I—I was going to reach out.”

“Bishop. Badass Bishop. You’re walking around sagging your pants and acting tough. Don’t stutter now. Don’t tell me your gangster image has been restored to factory settings.”

He was making me look like a pussy without even trying. I don’t get it either. I was bigger than this guy. I was stronger than this guy. Sure I had heard stories about the guy all on the news. I heard stories about him literally getting his ex-boyfriend quarantined for cheating on him or when he broke all the toilets in a school right before lacing the entire school’s lunch with extra strength laxatives.

“What do you want?”

“Where’s the Stuyvesant money?”

“I don’t have it yet.”

“I don’t speak failure, you’re going to have to try a different language. Try Spanish or something…”

“I don’t have it.”

“You’re boyfriend with the inflamed dick was just a warning Bishop. I can get much worse. A deal is a deal,” I state.

“Is that a threat? I’ll call the cops.”

“Bitch—- I live in a constant state of Jesus take the Wheel and bitch I wish you would. I’m not bothered. You want me to dial for you?”

He reaches over and hands me the phone. Or at least he tries to. I don’t take his phone. I just cross my arms and shake.

“Look, I just found out I am related to the Stuyvesants! Meaning Papa Stuyvesant will owe me for all those years he didn’t take care of me and my brothers. Meaning more money for you.”

He sighs.

“Interesting. Now that’s more like it. You should have started off with it. Maybe your boyfriend wouldn’t be in the emergency room.”

He had a point.

“So you’ll give me more time.”

“I will. But I’ll be sticking around. Making sure my investment in on the track,” he states, “Remember advice isn’t free…”

With that, he walks away.

I always get so mad when I forget to say shit in an argument. Motherfucker. I want to reargue.

~

Two days have passed. Every day Syn is reaching out to me like the fucking bone collector. This man wants something and I definitely need to get it together. I arrive at Virgil’s door. I feel the awkwardness as soon as I open the door.

“You still mad?”

“Nah,” he states almost immediately, “Just trying to find out how my dick got a first-degree burn.”

“I warned you I was involved with dangerous guys?”

“Who wants to give you dick burns?”

“It’s a long story.”

Not really. It’s more of an embarrassing story and it would only get worse if I didn’t satisfy the one man-rainbow mob known as Syn.

“Well, I didn’t call you down here to discuss your perverted torturers. I’m here to tell you I have an offer.”

“An offer.”

“From the Stuyvesants.”

I look over at him and I can tell he isn’t joking. Virgil was all about his business. He really wasn’t the joking type. He’s dead serious.

“You’re saying they responded to the letter we sent them? Does he agree to get a paternity test?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. He wants to give you 100k just so that you can leave him alone. Never bring this up again. No paternity test. No nothing.”

He knew. There was something he was worried about. Who would try to offer someone that much money for them to go away without even having a paternity test? Something was definitely wrong. Something was definitely going on.

I had a feeling about it.

“Syn isn’t going to be OK with that.”

“Who gives a fuck about him?” he states, “What is it that you want to do?”

I think about it. 100k would be enough to change my life. It would be enough to change my brother’s lives. I could get them everything they wanted. I could finally NOT be the shitty Bradshaw brother for once in my life.

But that wasn’t me.

I was shit. I was a PROUD piece of shit, at that.

Fuck that.

“I want more.”

“How much more…”

I think about it. What would Syn do?

“Write the kind, Mr. Cadmus Stuyvesant, back. Tell him I want ALL of it.”