entered: 6.15.13

The next day I was in the room, Shawnette came back down. I tried it again (yelling):

“HEY BUTTA. I WAS THE ONE FROM THE LEFT SIDE OF THE STAGE AT THE SHOW BACK IN SEPTEMBER-IN COLUMBUS. I HAD ON A GREEN SHIRT AND BROWN PANTS. “THE LEFT CORNER” LOL (I giggled). That got her attention: “Ohhhhhh I remember youuuu. Send me the pic proof though, but hold on…BRB.” (BRB=Be right back-I’m catching on).

A few seconds later, down beamed the nickname: “QUEENJANET” (in bold caps).

My eyes got really big and I was scanning the room trying to see if anyone else noticed. She said, impulsively, excitedly: “CINAMON, QUEENJANET WANTS YOU TO KNOW

THAT SHE THINKS YOU ARE THE BOMB!!!” Still scanning with my eyes, I felt the room get a little quiet. Butta wasn’t chatting much either, but there was still conversation going on. I wondered if the rest of the room knew what I knew, but looking at the many nicknames that had her name within them like: “JanetLuvR” “Janet4Me” “JanetJackMe-” stuff like that, alongside the fact that it was her room; I figured she felt it was under control. So I responded back: “The feeling is mutual LoL.”

She proceeded to tell me what she thought of me, and I tried as much as I could to return the compliments and be discreet at the same time. We went at it. It was flirty and sexy as hell. She needed to wrap this thing up:

“Is this your normal time?” asked the QUEEN.

“Yes usually, most of the time,” I replied.

“Okay, well, I must go now,” she said.

“Alright, I know the block is hot Boo I’ll watch your spot,” I said, giggling and blushing.

“Will you?” she asked seductively.

“Oh but of course, for you I will. I’ll sit on your throne and keep it real warm for you until you return,” I said-flirting.

She *raised her brows*: “You promise?” she replied.

“Scouts honor!,” I returned, laughing to myself thinking about how stupid I would look saluting her with my chest stuck out.

“LoL” ;) she winked…

After she left, the next nickname that rolled down read: “privacycontrol.” I thought

about the line from her song and claim to fame: “Privacy is my middle name, my last name is control.” Right then and there, I knew for sure it was her-being clever, trying to see if I was clever too; wondering if I knew how to play [what later turned out to be a different kind of game or ours, called: “Life”].

I replied: “I roger that” as I raised my brows.

She replied: “Good...TTYS, my love...” (TTYS=talk to you soon).

Both she and Shawnette (“Butta”) logged off at the same damned time.

The next day, along with a

---excerpt break----

 entered: 6.15.13

I took a deep breath and drove up to my schools computer lab. I logged into her chat room and just sat there. It was entirely different now. Whaddayaknow: The rules had changed.

You could not lurk anymore like before. Now, you had to sign in before you could even see the script to talk to anyone. I immediately went to the chatters page section to see if my picture and bio was still down, and they did me one better; instead, the entire chatter’s bio page was gone.

The note said that the chatters page was “under construction.” I just bet it was…

“Qbenlyric2” came down and said hello to me. I said hello to him/her. S(he) started in by telling me that s(he) was in love with me and thought I was so very beautiful. I looked over at the blank chatters page that was “under construction” again, to see if my memory served me correct (again). I wondered how (again) “Qbenlyric2” could have known that I was “so very beautiful” but I didn’t ask-because at this point I knew that “Qbenlyric2” was Janet’s seductive self. And she too, knew that I knew. She knew I knew the game...

“I have a secret to tell you,” she said.

“Yes, I’m listening, tell me-please,” I replied.

She paused:

“I’m a closet romantic…” she confessed.

Speechless, my heart started pounding and my fingers got stiff. She was mad sexy.

“I WANT YOU,” she yelled (in caps).

My eyes got big: “Yeah, but...I’m at the computer lab at my school because I’m a little

computer blue at home you know…” (she knew what I was talking about).

“Oh yeah Cinamon?” she replied-sarcastically. (I imagined her sitting there laughing at me; brows up, rolling her neck, lips tight, eyes squinting, and whispering: “you’re dayuuummm

right it is. I run your shit...”). Instead, she wanted to reiterate it again:

“I WANT YOU! I LOVE YOU! I PUT THAT ON MY FIRST BORN...” she said truthfully-knowing that I, of all people, knew the truth about the rumors for years, of her even having a first born (or no)...

“Yeah? I want you too, but it’s kind of difficult talking to you like I’d from up at a computer lab you know?” I replied.

“Yeah I KNOW,” she laughed-knowing what she had done to my computer at home.

“So what’s up? I would move to your city if you wanted me to! *packing…lol” she said.

I returned the laugh.

“Cinamon. I WANT you...Do you want me?” she demanded to know.

“Yes, yes I do,” I assured her.

“So what’s it gonna be woman? Can I come to see you? I can be there in about 3hrs,” she said.

Chris and Dread were making comments about what Qbenlyric2 and me thought was a subliminal sexual conversation in the middle of the chat room. The two of us were carrying on like nobody else was there-picking up where “QUEENJANET” and me left off, as if nothing bad had ever happened. This time however, we were carrying on something serious-like we just walked into the door sweating and  anxiously waiting to get to one another. I was so preoccupied with her that I ignored Chris and Dread who couldn’t believe what we were doing and saying. In awe, I was thinking to myself: “Is this what the hell she wanted all this time?”

“Insatiable” was an understatement. Her sexy was something I was at a loss of words for. And I’m seldom at a loss for words. ..

I’ll move to where you are if you want me too. *packing…so what’s it gonna be, can I come or what. Tell me now woman!” she demanded to know. She did not want to waste any more time.

I paused a second.

Then she asked: “What is it? Is it lil’ bit?” (talking about my kid).

“No…” I replied.

“Then, I’m packing, so what’s it gonna be? Girl I’ll pack my things and move there to be with you if you want me too! LoL.” she said again.

I was kind of giggling in my own virtual world because of her aggressiveness-it shocked me. I was sure that she set this whole thing up anyways so that I would be forced to come in to the room. I could feel her sexual tension and impatience. How she got me back on and into her room was certainly crafty. She was crafty-everything about her was. The fear + the apprehension I was feeling kind of turned me on.

I got cocky and responded: “So what girl, what cho’ want from me. You want me to stress you out a lil bit? huh?” I giggled, while thinking nasty thoughts.

She paused a while, and laughed at me in her (virtual) world with her brows up and said to me: “Cinamon, I think you need to go home. Go home now. We need to talk on I.M,” then she gave me her info to go to the private line with her. I wrote it down.

“So I can go home now?” I asked-wondering about my blackout.

“Yes, go home now and get online with me-hurry, “ she said.

“Okay I’m on my way there now. It takes me about 5 minutes to get to my house but since it is rush hour, I know I’ll be in within the next twenty minutes, for sure okay?” I said.

“I don’t care just go home and get on with me,” she said-eagerly.

I rushed home-got there in less than ten minutes.

When I got in the house, the computer was up and running like nothing was ever wrong with it, so I logged in to I.M:

“I’ve been waiting for you…” she whispered seductively, reminding me of the first line from her Rhythm Nation song “Someday is Tonight…”she’s so methodical and slick...

“I’m so happy to be talking to you. I miss you so much. I was so mad at you at first, but I want to tell you that I love you. I love you so much,” she said to me. (I noticed how she said “I

love you” but offered no apology whatsoever-for all that bullshit she did)…

I took a deep swallow and was speechless at this point.

As if she was moaning and yearning she said:

“Cinamonnnnn I WANT YOU! I can fulfill your every emotional, mental, and physical need. I promise you,” said this wild woman. (I immediately knew she must’ve read my files because in one of them in particular, I talk about my emotional, mental, spiritual, and physical needing stimulated before I am able to commit myself to a relationship).

I needed to know: “I’m not understanding, what happened, why all the madness a while back?”

She said: “I was so hurt and mad at you when you left all that time and didn’t come back. I missed you so much that I ached. Why did you leave me? I love you,” she said to me (again)-in place of still, apologizing. “

And I love you too,” I replied.

Sure, I was thinking about putting this I.M conversation on the BULLSHIT disc (just in case), but I figured if she had the power to turn my computer on and off, then I was more than sure she would be able to tell if I was saving things, so I didn’t bother to. And this time, it seemed like she was in no mood to bullshit or play around. I also wanted her to trust me, so that we could get to the bottom of things, then get this party started.

She proceeded to tell me how she and “Bit” (the name she started to refer to when she was speaking of Shawn) were both looking at the screen not believing that it was me talking

to them. “Bit” then wanted to say hello to me. I said hello back to her. Janet said she was happy. Me? I was confused-they were like fans of mine now...

“Do you really love me?” she asked-vulnerably.

“Yes I do. I was just in the dark about what happened, therefore I got a little upset,” I said.

“Oh Cinamon I love you SO much. I wanted to know all this time if you loved me too and it was “Bit” who proved to me that you did. The letters-at first I didn’t think you did, but “Bit” told me that she knew you loved me,” she said innocently and naively.

Although I wasn’t playing games, I was thinking: “Oh my god, she couldn’t be this gullible, she couldn’t be.” I think she was more ‘weird’ than anything-because of how long she has been who she is. This Internet thing was made for her: her lifestyle, and her personality behind her celebrity-I was learning and accepting that about her.

She continued: “I just want you know how much you’ve changed my life, you saved my life!”

I responded: “Well I hoped the information (the books) was very useful and helpful to you.

That was the main thing. So that makes me feel good to know baby.”

At this point, I began to feel somewhat warm to her. She was so candid, and naively raw: “Yes I need you. I miss you so much it hurts. I ache,” she confessed again.

“I really miss you and I really do love you,” I confessed with my softened Kool-Aid smile;

feeling like putty in her hands.

“I have something for you Cinamon,” she said seductively.

“Cinamon, I’m telling you now that I BE DA MAN!,” she wanted to make that clear.

She proceeded to give me what [she felt] I needed: “I got 9 and a 1/2 inches of strap for

you. He’s called Mr. Happy. He’s like a caramel and creamy color,” she bragged.

“How wide is it?” I inquired. “About 3 inches wide,” she said.

“So what, what’s it gonna be woman. Should me and Bit finish packing?”

I got quiet again for a sec, and then she said: “I don’t want to put you under any pressure. I just want to give you a good swab down.”

I responded: “Well, to be honest with you I didn’t see you in that way.”

“What do you mean, what do you mean?” she asked, nervously.

“Well, I’m saying that I saw to have you ‘my way’ and to have me ‘your way’ just seems weird

‘cause I never saw you that way,” I said, trying hard to play thoughts out in my head of

her being freaky soft butch-like.

I assured her: “I don’t mind at all. I guess my brain just has to switch sides, is all.”

 “Well, I’m telling you right here and right now: I BE DA MAN! I’m gonna make you feel so

good. Tell me how you like it and what you like and I’m gonna do it,” she promised.

My heart pounded and dropped down to the seat of my pants:

“Well DAMN, I must say, you punked me way out. I am like so punked out until it aint even

funny,” I laughed and confessed.

She asked me to tell her how I liked it. I told her that I love to be taken: fucked senseless-and that I had a thing for getting fucked at the edge of the bed, on the hard floor, on top of the bed, head down, in corner-from the back. She wanted that work, I was going to give it to her (and Mr. Happy).

Facing or from behind, I told her that I especially got turned on by getting fucked wherever on the floor but as long as it lead to me being fucked senselessly in a corner so that I could not move anymore; only scream and take it all while trying to fuck

back. I told her that I loved to be put at the mercy of my lover in that way because every aggressor handles having that kind of control in their own way-and well, I was curious about the way she handled hers...I want that work.

“Oh my GOODNESS! I love you Cinamon! I love you. You turn me on,” she gasped.

“You sound so cute telling me you feel punked out. I’m gonna make you feel so good my Angel boo. I love you. I’m soooo happy I’m talking to you now. Now I can quit walking around the house singing the love songs that remind me of you to Bit,” she said.

“Sing one to me then,” I challenged.

She proceeded to sing “We Must Be in Love” by Pure Soul, “Baby It’s You” by Jesse Powell and “For You” by Kenny Lattimore. I thought that was so cute.

“Those are songs for marriage. So we’re married now? LoL,” I said.

“I would marry you if I were a man!” she said.

“At least we can pretend we’re married,” I said.

“Yes, Cinamon we can, we really can,” she replied.

I thought it would be interesting being able to pass notes about music and poetry that touched me in various ways with  somebody who could relate to how I feel about my music and the depths I take the lyrics to.

We talked like: forever, and each time she said something that didn’t come out right and I would correct her, she would  apologize and tell me that she really cared about what I thought of her-that kind of melted my heart even more-because she was so sweet and careful about trying to handle me (during conversation).

Truthfully, aside from my reactive and impulsive lust, I was still a little hesitant considering the way she entered my life and the things she did. I was unsure as to whether or not she was really being her true self with me, or if she was working the fit the mold of what she thought I liked (after having my work, emails, all my files and everything in her hands and being able to study me like I could tell she did: my likes, my dislikes, my wants, my needs, my desires-all that). I had so many questions but didn’t want to ruin the mood of the moment.

I was trying hard to feel her out-thoroughly. Outside of her sweetness and her sexiness, I couldn’t forget that she was a master at playing Jedi Mind Tricks, so I just didn’t know what to think (or trust). The bottom line was the obvious I need not belabor: I was indeed very flattered, I won’t lie, but still...I had a couple problems with this whole lil’ setup. I was not about to let “Bit-o-Drama” herself and Miss Control come to my city to set up shop in some hotel room for us to make love without having explained to me why we made war in

the first place. Even with a throbbing clit, I didn’t care who the hell she was, or how she had me turned on. You just can’t go from lust, to hate, and back to lust ten times over without

telling me why (before I step out and to you). I just wasn’t very comfortable without having discussed the: who, what, when, why and how’s. I had been obsessing about it for far too long and especially considering how hurt I was that she and I started off this way, I needed to clear the air first. After that, I would have rushed to be with her-no questions asked. It just seemed like she wanted to never discuss (or apologize for)

the early craziness-squash it, and forget it ever happened. I wasn’t comfortable with that. I could tell that discussing it was a no-no in I.M. And I could tell that this thing was going to have to go her way or no way. So eventually, I let go of the fact that I

wasn’t going to get any conversation whatsoever about what happened and why it happened (especially regarding all that computer commandeering). I had sooooo many questions. But the only who, what, when, where, why and how that Miss Control had in mind what she wanted, how she wanted it, who she wanted, when she wanted it, why she wanted it, and her way-period.

“So let’s quit wasting time, what’s it gonna be?” she asked again (she liked to keep asking that so as to remind me of her song with Busta Rhymes: “What’s it Gonna Be.” She knew that I knew what that meant. I was so perfect—for her (and this game)...

I told her that I had to check on something because I had other plans at first.

“How long will it take?” she demanded to know.

I told her that I was waiting on a phone call or that I could probably get off line and call to see what the status was and that I’d get back on line when I got done.

That “call” I made was merely me calling my friend Dana-telling her that if I called her back talking funny-just play along. Play along as if I needed to honor whatever it was I promised and made up as I talked along (so it would be an obstacle for me to wisp off with Janet and Shawn in like “3 hours” all of a sudden…after three months of drama *cross-eyed face*).

After I called my friend, I got back online. Jan asked me what the status was. I told her some kinda mumbojumbo. She paused. “I don’t want to pressure you,” she said, once again.

“No, it’s no pressure, it’s just something I had already made plans to do and I wanted to clear it up first. Don’t worry, you’re not pressuring me at all,” I assured her. All I wanted to do was

ask her if we could clear the air and my head about our big mess and from there, I could be comfortable. I needed to be comfortable. But I knew that if I said that, this conversation would have been over either by way of a new Jedi Mind Trick or a mere disconnect. But there was hope, she asked:

“I want to hear your voice on the telephone-with me. Can I call you, may I?”

“Yes,” I said. I paused. She paused.

“Well…which...?” she asked.

She asked “which” to have me confirm which of the two phone numbers (she already had) I wanted her to call: “5xx-721-1xx2” I reiterated.

“I’m gonna let you talk to Bit for a while then ease you into talking to me Cinamon okay?” she said.

“Um, don’t worry about all that, you are not “that person” to me right now, okay?” I replied (talking about “Janet the Superstar” person).

I was good and over being start struck over her by this time. I was merely excited and lustful like she was-turned on by her sexiness and aggressiveness that I just found

out about. I was curious, but nervous-and only intimated by that (not about her being “Janet anymore). I liked how she got down. She sounded like she was ready to work me over. I liked the thought of that.

She then gave me three phone numbers: (x1x) 298-4xxx and (x1x) 277-4xxx and (x1x) 277-8xxx” she then said:

“And Cinamon, those are real numbers…” I laughed (we both knew what that meant unlike how I do: have numbers that I really don’t answer for certain people unless

they leave a message)...

“Okay. Call me,” I said.

“Alright Cinamon the next sound you hear will be your phone ringing...”

---excerpt break

Sometimes during the conversation I would write: “*raising my brow…”

And she would ask: “Can you really raise only one brow?” And I would say: “Yeah, for real, I can.”

She would then say: “Wowwwwww, you’re sooooo talented…LoL” …and we’d burst into laughter.

I loved her sense of humor-she was sooo funny. More and more, she became so human; so vulnerable, and I could help but love her to life. I just did-I can’t lie. I was smitten like kitten with that girl. She had me wrapped around her finger...

Next, we began talking about the fact that I had been going through a situation with a couple friends of mine who had accused me of being selfish--selfish with myself and my time (especially here lately)...I had been having an especially terrible time about the selfish issue with my 4:10pm friend who I just started back talking to. Janet told me how she too, was accused of the same exact thing but that she knew she was guilty-fuck it. I fell back laughing.

Speaking of my 4:10pm friend.

Janet had a bone to pick with me about our conversation [over the phone] where she sort of “overheard” my friend and me talking about my eating chicken again. (But it wouldn’t be until later that I found out just how she “overheard” the conversation).

She set me up to throw a bone out there:

“I think I’m gonna order out for pizza. What do you like on yours?” she asked setting me up with the question.

“I like: spinach, tomatoes, onions, green peppers, artichokes and pineapples on my pizza,” I replied.

“Hmm...Well, I’m getting chicken on mine…” she stressed (in bold and italicized)...

I looked at her-wondering why she said it like that, and why she even brought it up.

Because she brought it up as if the only thing she wanted to tell me was that she liked eating CHICKEN on her pizza-chicken was the “bone” [she threw out there].

Next, she wanted to bone (to FUCK). So she started getting real sensual on me: “Do you even know what “Kajira” means?” I responded: “No, tell me.”

“It means: ‘slave to passion.’ I’m guilty of that, selfishness, greed, and lust and…”

I stopped her: “Stop right there because you’re turning me on,” I said.

“Am I? *W” she said.” (*W=wicked. It’s ‘sexual’ in cyber world).

“Yes you are. Stop right now, please.” I said.

“I’m wiggling my tongue piercing,” she bragged.

“Scooting back,” I replied. “What do you have on?” I asked.

“I have on a jersey, boxer shorts, thick wooly socks…AND my black bra…” she

replied. I thought about her notorious black bra she was known for wearing (in “I

Get So Lonely”) that held up her ample breasts and knew that was why she threw

that out there like that.

“Umm…” I said.

 “Umm what?” she asked.

I got very aroused, and started feeling sexually vulgar and said: “I was just thinking,”

“Tell me, what? What are you thinking?” she asked attentively (feeling self-conscious).

“You really wanna know?” I replied-thinkin’ nasty thoughts...

“Yes, tell me,” she said-eagerly.

“I was thinking. Thinking about space between the crouch of your boxers and your pussy…*W” I returned, virtually winking my eye at the computer and sitting back in my comfortable black Futon chair.

“Why? Why?” she asked attentively (having no idea that I was being sexual). I sat up and responded: “Because…Then it could be me rubbing up against you-your clit.”

I was trying to work her slow. That control thing for her, was so mental. And “trust” on so many levels was all wrapped up in it. I knew she had control issues and I wanted to (at some point in this-even if just once) take her out of sexual control and make her give into me too, like I gave in to letting her have me all the time.

She paused a second. I paused with her-wondering if I might be too raunchy for her taste because it took her quite a minute to respond.

She got back on.

We continued to talk about holding one another and kissing madly and wildly, while she caressed my breasts and bit and licked me all over my stomach. I told her not to forget lick, bite and suck on my neck because it drives me crazy. She came up to do it, and get at every area on my body that I begged her to, while in extreme sexual agony.

We were both moaning: oooh’s and ahh’s, uuuh’s and um’s until we couldn’t take it anymore. We were talking raunchy and using raunchy and dirty language like crazy-the way we couldn’t wait to get our hands on one another. My pussy was so fucking wet sitting there. She went for areas that I never ever knew I had. Like a wild woman. She lost control on me and was eating me, sucking me, licking me, biting me and caressing me in ways to make me forget I ever said anything about touching her.

I kept telling her how wet I was. What did I say that for? Another side of her came out, she wanted to take over in a much different way. When I said that, I could feel her pause and sit up in her chair like an attentive animal of some kind-placing her paws on the keyboard.

And again, like I said...she wanted to take over-all the way over.

She told me how she would insert her fingers; finger-by-finger, into me until she could get her whole hand up my wet pussy while she enjoyed the sounds I was making.

My turn now:

“Ouch!” I said aloud (at the computer screen). Iiiiiiii was taken aback and she was a bit much for me. Call me dike-lite I guess. Because for starters, I had never been fucked with a dildo before, so 9 1/2 inches in length and 3-inches girth was a bitch much,

but hey, rocked with it-it was our first cyber sexsion and I didn’t want to spoil the mood. But a whole hand in my pussy too? Oh hell no.

While lookin g at her words on the screen, I sat there and clinched the hole of my vaginal opening and Kegel exercised my pussy walls until the tunnels of those bitches kissed on the inside. I paused and started daydreaming for a minute, thinking, and said aloud to myself: “Now I’ve fingered my share of honeys, and I’ve been fingered (two fingers max).

I’ve gotten my pussy sucked senseless. And betcha by golly wow-I suck a meannnn pussy something terrible and can send a chic out of this world. Hell, I’ve even scissored clit-to-clit a time or two. But I’ve never let a girl fuck me with a dildo and put 3,4,5 fingers and a fucking wrist inside of me!” Oh hell no. I was stunned.

She was way over my head and out of this world with her style and I was a basic dike in comparison.

Are you there? she asked, during my long pause.

I replied: “Uh yeah. I’m here. Ummm. Iiiii don’t think you can get your hand up there Hun, besides, that’ll hurt,” I squinted. I was dying to see what she was going to say.

“No, you won’t even know it. You won’t even feel any pain,” she assured me (sounding like this gyno experience has been tried and tested several times, ten-many).

I imagined her saying aloud to the computer screen: “Shidd, you just don’t know how many honeys I’ve had my fist in”...

We finished up with our I love yous, our ooh’s and ahh’s, our slurps, and shhllss, and moans and groans.

“Maniac,” I said to her (a name I would always call after she fucked me good because that’s what she reminded me of when she would get aroused. She was hot-animal hot, and just my type).

No one would ever understand this part of us. It was just...explosive.

When I would call her a maniac, she would laugh and say:

“I love you Angela. I love you baby-so much. Don’t ever forget that, okay.”

“I love you too,” I said to her. I was whipped. I loved it when she would call me her baby. I felt so special. I loved when she would be this way.

She wanted to step it up: “I want to be able to tell you. I want you to hear me tell you how much I love you

and how you’ve changed my life Angela. I could call you. I could call you from my mobile phone…no, I couldn’t…I can’t...but you can call in to me though. But I’m nervous,” she said-wanting virtuosity.

“Why, why are you nervous?” I asked.

“I can’t wait for you to hear me tell you how much I love you and how much I want, and need you, and how much nothing else matters but you,” she confessed.

In my mind, I was so happy-swinging from vines screaming: “Weeee!” She paused. “Call me, call me at: 011 612 9489 xxxx.”

I figured she was telling the truth about being in Australia [because when we get back over on our role-playing game, the name she was using right now: Kajira” was in Australia]. I really didn’t care where she was anywhere across the globe, all I knew was that I wanted to hear her voice, and hear her tell me how much she looooved her some me dammit. I was feeling so very emotional at this point. Both of us were. I was scared shitless but I didn’t tell her. She didn’t mind sharing her fears with me, though.

She posted: “I’m so nervous, my stank voice right now…LoL,” she said.

I replied: I don’t even care about that, you don’t have to sound “pretty” AND YOU’D BETTER NOT TRY TO SOUND PRETTY EITHER! Just be you, okay? ‘Cause if you don’t, I’m gonna get scared. She replied: “Ok. I’m nervous, I can’t lie.”

I responded: I have to call you on one of my two calling cards because I got the ghetto phone-complete with long distance blocks so I know I sure as hell can’t call overseas without my calling cards! LoL.” We both laughed.

“Here I go,” I said. (*cue the last two beats of the Jeopardy sound-bite*). I tried calling the overseas number on both calling cards and neither card would let me dial it. I came back on line to tell her.

“THAT’S TOO BAD! THAT’S TOO BAD! THAT’S TOO BAD!” she said regretfully.

I sat there waiting for her to suggest calling me from that mobile again, but I figured it must had been a bad idea the first time she said it-because she reneged on the suggestion, so I didn’t press the issue. I knew the rules.

Like two happy people, we just sat online telling each other everything-learning one another more; cracking jokes and crapping on one another for the next couple of hours, until she got sleepy. Throughout the day of my seven days and in between my schedule and her happenings; we were always stuck like glue-hours at a time. At this time, she was good and off tour. So for me, outside of home, school, and work; it was hard-very hard to squeeze anything and anybody else in. So when I would go into the room and her people would post *gone*...that was like my unexpected surprise free time.

She had another request:

“Angela, the time that I am talking to you from, here...it’s a time that’s really hectic.

What time do you usually get up in the mornings?” she asked.

I told her that I get up about 6 a.m.

She asked if I could log on at 5 a.m., because that would be perfect for her time. Of course I told her that I would (although truthfully, the time was not good for me and my much needed rest). I had to set my alarm clock an hour early to get me up, but I would have done anything for her-including losing sleep-I can’t lie. I was terrified to not oblige anything she asked because A: I was loving it and B: It was like PURE DE’ HELL jumping off track with her.

They would all get suspicious. That part was about as nightmare-ish as the role-playing was.

She was my heart though…*puts my fist to my chest* I cannot lie. I was loving all on her and was confident that she would not break my heart, and I promised not to break hers...

At this time, from my comfortable black Futon chair on my CD Rom, I was listening to “Love Ballad”-another song off my old school LTD Greatest Hits CD.

As if all that I was doing to honor her requests wasn’t enough, it wouldn’t be until later that I found out that every song I popped in that very same CD Rom, she could hear too. She. Did. Not. Miss. A. Fucking. Beat! (literally and figuratively).

I had zero secrets from her-in, or away from home.

She was not going to, and I mean she refused to get fucked by me literally (and...literally).

The next morning (5 a.m.), there she was-prompt as me: “*smiling* Hi baby, I miss you,” she said.

(She appreciated my honoring what I said I would).

“I miss you too, and I love you so much baby” I returned.

 “*Nodding my head slowly* Mm.Mm.Mm..I love you...I love you,” she wanted to overpower my way of telling her the same. She got quiet.

“What are you doing babe?” I asked.

“*W” this Maniac responded. “Oooooh, and I just got out of the shower too,” I revealed, virtually laughing and thinking about the look on her attentive face (paws on the keyboard). “Oh...?” she said seductively-with her one brow up: “I’m licking the water beads off of your neck and shoulders while I drop your towel,” she said.

I let her have me how she liked to, and wanted to. She proceeded to lick the water beads off of my neck down through my thighs while the sounds she heard from the pleasure she was giving me drove her crazy. My wetness and my wetness drove her wilder. “I can’t help myself, I love your sexy ass girl!” she confessed.

She then snatched, applied pressure to my clit, and teased me like I like it. She wouldn’t let up. I froze. She dug in. She wanted her to give it all to me, and I took it while she gave--like crazy, like I never had it before...

No one would ever understand…

“I think I’m gonna like this. Letting you have some of my first thoughts when I wake, I love you,” I confessed.

“You’re on my mind all day every day, when I wake through to when I go to sleep. I love you,” she revealed. She paused for a long while. “Baby, what are you doing?” I asked.

“Oh nothing. Just on the line with Rix as well...and I’m also about to call this guy called Michael who acts likes he’s so damn busy and “imPO’ent” all the time. We talk on this one kind of program on the computer where you can communicate but hear one another’s voice as well.” Of course I thought “hearing one another’s voice and communicating” was one in the same, but who knows-they’re probably both paranoid and don’t trust each other without being face-to-face (my knowing her and [of] him). Or maybe she did mean “communicate” (like she and I do) but too, can talk online (voice-to-voice) via headset. I dunno. I didn’t pry or ask any questions-only in my mind I did.

She continued: “I’m dialing him now, again-because he’s had me on hold like...forever…” she said; sounding like the spoiled baby sister that she is (hence why he too, got invited inside her Velvet Rope: Track 3 “You”).

I sat there. I didn’t respond to the comment about Rix being online (or anything about Michael) because I knew that she was only showing me that she was removing her mask and trusting me, and that meant a lot to me. I just took the comment about Rix being on line as my warning: “DO NOT FUCK UP. BECAUSE LIKE A HAND IN THE (LITERAL) NET, YOU ALREADY KNOW BY NOW THAT ‘WE GOT NEXT’ ON YOUR COMPUTER ANYWAYS…” (with her one brow lifted).

Our thing was unique for sure. We sat and talked for hours about everything.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, my first class was at 8 a.m., and on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; my first class was at 9:30 a.m. Sometimes we would talk in the mornings for so long and about so much that she would hate for me to leave. I would call her a spoiled big baby and we would stay on until around 11 in the mornings sometimes. I eventually dropped the 8 a.m. Tuesday/Thursday class because if I wasn’t late, I was at home cuddled up online with her in my comfortable black Futon chair-listening to her just be her, and loving it. I was loving the fact that she was just being her real self: telling me what makes her happy, what makes her sad, what makes her mad-all that. I enjoyed her-immensely. She was enthralled and ecstatic to learn everything about me too: listening to what makes me happy, what makes me mad, and what makes me sad. We were like two kids sometimes. And she was happy as heavens to have someone to love and play with, and well…I was overjoyed that she chose me.

We’d Go Deep. And we would get no sleep, ‘cause we’d be up all night until the early light...

Sometimes we would talk about movies and the stage (Broadway) plays we liked. Other times we would have senseless silly conversation and (pretend) to break into some kind of fight while we were naked because one of us did or said something out of line, and I said to her: “Man can you imagine that? That would look a trip!”

She wrote: “tusslin’ and shit, LoL.” I just busted out laughing-thinking of the two of us booty butt naked trying to fight each other. We had so much fun together, all kinds of fun. I would bring her into my little bitty world, and we would talk about how I liked to drive around for hours at a time-wasting gas-absorbing and ingesting my music (because I always preferred to be in motion when listening to music) “whether it be driving, cleaning up the house, or making love...in slow motion...” I told her.

“Oh goodness I love you Angela,” she sighed. When I would catch her off guard and say stuff like that she would put her paws on that keyboard-ready to go there. I would giggle like a high-school girl. She told me that she wanted to share all of that with me, and promised to ride around with me listening to music for hours-absorbing it together, and make love in slow motion to music (together)...

We would talk about a favored spot of hers that she liked to go. She called it her sanctuary-a place where she liked to sit and think. She said she had never taken anyone there with her before, but she wanted me to share it with her. That made me happy. And I promised I would share that with her-whenever she was ready to.

“That’s fair. We’ll share each other’s world,” I told her.

“Oh Angela,” she gasped. She was sooo smitten with me. I felt so special.

Other times we would (pretend) to go dancing together and freak each other all wild, while laughing and acting silly. Later, we would slow dance and cuddle up-all alone in our own little world with nobody bothering us.

Sometimes she would make fun of my lazy slang when I would post words in chat or in private with her. She said to me: sometimes you write and say words just like the way you talk sometimes-your lazy slang” she specified.

I didn’t quite understand what that meant but I do know that I was comfortable with her by this time, and I would post things like: “Imma” or “I’m ‘bout ta” (I’m going to), “tal’mout” (talking about); things like that. She insisted that I “sounded” like I was from Alabama...“Alabama!? I asked again-and prepared to make her laugh: “Well I wonda how a p’urson wrat like dey soun l’ack dey from Alabama!,” I posted-in a country/southern twang.

She burst into laughter: “lololololololololol.” We laughed our asses off. But little did I know-the joke was on me. Because the funny thing was; she was laughing for reasons more than just a joke. She was also laughing because she had been actually listening to the sound of my voice a long time ago, Iiii just didn’t know it...yet.

One Saturday afternoon, I was going to a carnival and was looking forward to getting a funnel cake.

“A funnel cake? What’s that, like a potato pie-a potato cake thing with holes in it?” she asked greedily.

I laughed: “No baby, it’s like a deep fried piece of dough with holes in it. It’s shaped like a circle and it has powdered sugar, or hot cherries or hot apples poured across the top of it.

It tastes really good. I look forward to this carnival every single year! Baby I wish you could go with me, I would be soooooo happy,” I said to her. (We “baby’d” each other to death-always).

“Baby, I hate that you’re going alone. I wish I could go with youuuuu. We will put that on our list of things to do ok?” she yearned and promised.

“Ok,” I said (acting like a baby). I was so happy. I had to make her laugh again: “Hey Baby,” I posted. “Yes my love,” she replied.

“Picture me on my carnival windmill ride-gripping the bars really tight and looking over at the person next to me with that scared/fear/ready to take off look on my face, as if I really know them!” I posted.

“Oh my goooooooooddneesss. I’m clutching my stomach. Oh noooo lololololol.

You’re going to give me a heart-attack!” she laughed so hard.

We talked while I was getting dressed (the usual). Both of us would always do that: talk while we were getting dressed until the exact time to leave. It would be like pulling teeth to get either one of us off line Monday through Sunday. Sometimes when she would have things to do and I would wait patiently while she showered and got dressed-she would do the same for me. “Let me talk back at you when I get out the shower/get dressed” was unheard of for us. We would type every single detail: “hold on, I’m putting on...” or “hold on, taking off…”

we were crazy like that. We were like two happy lovestruck teens who couldn’t get enough of one another-like each other’s other half. We were ridiculous. I was so in love with her.

At this moment in time, she could do no wrong in my eyes-nothing.

When I got back from the carnival with my funnel cakes, I was eating sharing one with her greedy self. She liked it. She made sure she interjected: “Baby...now let’s save the other one for later.” I frowned, stopped chewing and posted: “Are you still trying to call me fat!”

“LoL. No. No. I promise. LoL!” she posted-reminiscing on the January 21st morning that she and “Drama” (Shawn) were calling me names.

“I’m sooooo sorry baby, just...mixed up emotions...” she said-apologetically.

“That’s ok, I got you whipped now,” I laughed-catching her off guard again.

“Lolololololol,” she replied. “True though!” she finished-seriously.

Her paws hit the keyboard: “Baby, did you think of me when you stuck your tongue in the hole of the potato pie thing?” said this maniac.

I busted out laughing (she knew how to catch me off guard too). She was so funny and so cute.

We promised that we would go to the carnival, the theatre, the movies, her sanctuary, my Think Tank in motion, and see plays together as soon as possible-no matter what, and nothing but death would keep us from it.

She already won me over.

“Head Over Feet” by Alanis Morrisette was blasting from the speakers of my computer’s CD Rom while I sat in my comfortable black Futon chair...

I’m on with her. We were talking about love, trust, pain, and our personal definitions of it. She was very defensive about the pain subject. She yelled: “DON’T TELL ME WHAT PAIN IS, I’VE HAD MY BILL OF PAIN. I KNOW WHAT PAIN IS AND WHAT IT FEELS LIKE. I’D RATHER DIE THAN TO RETURN THERE AGAIN. AND I MEAN IT.”

She talked about how hard she loved before, and the hurt and pain that she had gone through. She told me that she had really never gotten over it, but had learned to move on. It was pretty sad...the way she spoke of it. I could only assume she was talking about her first marriage and all the rumors (and truths) that happened surrounding it.

She then asked me what my definition of love and trust was. I told her that (generally speaking) love is something that can only be mirrored by that which is love itself. If you love you, then you are all the things that love is (and should mirror): trust, honesty, patience, care etc. If you are all the things you believe love is, and you feel those things; you will give, and be open to receiving those things, too-accepting nothing less than that. I told her it was my experience that romantic love should come with conditions: conditions of mutual and like reciprocation. I told her that for me, romantic love is not unconditional. People only say it because it sounds good. A mother loves her children unconditionally, but if a lover crosses you, watch how quickly our so called “unconditional love” changes. I’m true to myself. I love myself in a way that I would never accept anyone who couldn’t match those ways. Romantic love should be mirrored to the extent of the love that you have for yourself. If you are not being loved the way you love you, then I believe that kind of love deserves conditions: to be loved from afar (unless you do not love yourself as you should, or say you do).

“I disagree,” she said, as we debated back and forth about the subject.

“I...I just have a place inside of me that I just can’t get past, I can’t get over. I’ve been hurt so bad in the past that sometimes it stands in the way of the way I love now...” she confessed.

“Well, that’s not good baby. That’s no way to love. It’s just like that quote that we discussed. Your approach to love can’t be with hesitation because of an experience that stunted your growth in love. It’s not good to let one bad thing spoil it for you in love. It’s not healthy.

In love, you don’t come to lose. You come to win. Remember? Even if it doesn’t work, you know that you tried and gave it your all—and that’s how you approach the next relationship.” I told her.

“Angela. You have my all. I gave you my all. You have all that I have to give,” she promised and assured me. “All that you have inside of you to give?” I asked.

“Yes, all that I have to give Angela,” I promise. I promise you that.

I smiled softly, loving her more.

It was her turn to talk [about one of her favorite plays]: “Miss Saigon.”

She started rambling on about it non-stop. I listened and adlibbed.

She paused in spurts, wondering if I was tired of her rambling. I wasn’t-it gave her a different kind of energy. I like to hear and feel people’s energy when they begin to talk about things that interest them, it’s so varying-the octaves and excitement.

I replied: “No-go ahead baby, I’m listening. I want to enjoy what you enjoy. You do the same thing for me don’t you? “Yes, right. I do,” she replied. “Well go on, I’m listening,” I said. She didn’t want to stop.

I cued, probed, and adlibbed until she got it all off her chest. We talked about it for about an hour. When we got done, she told me about how the original character that played Miss Saigon was murdered by her husband in real life (just like the character-on stage).

“Asshole,” she said. I got quiet. “Baby, are you there?” she asked.

 “Yes, I was just thinking. Thinking about how ironic it was that her life ended in the play as it did in real life. That’s all. What a shame. Talk about life imitating art,” I said.

Everything around or that held Janet’s interest and attention was life imitating art in some way or another-and even I knew that included me, this, and us-too...

“The Closer I Get To You,” by Donnie Hathaway and Roberta Flack was blasting from the speakers of my computers CD Rom while I was sitting in my comfortable black Futon chair--emotionally, mentally, sexually, and artistically imitating something like life for this woman who so badly needed it. Here I was, months in, tangled way too deep into her web of “life” now-imitating the art of every single lyric of countless tracks from her very own CD:

The Velvet Rope.

Back to going behind hers (behind her own velvet rope)...

Finally, we got real busy.

After our last few conversations about love, pain, and loss; it was like she was feeling a bunch of things inside and needed to let off some steam.

She started off by leading me to the sauna, began undressing me and kissing me uncontrollably like the maniac she was. Before we could even get in, we fell to the floor and I began kissing her wildly-then holding her face to my neck to kiss me, lick me, bite me and suck me everywhere that I like. I’m shaking and trembling so hard because it’s driving me crazy. She’s biting down on both my collar bone and my jugular making me feel like I’m seizing.

She then began sucking on my breasts. All the pleasure she brought to me seeped through the pores of my skin like sweet poison and made her lips shake and voice moan like a synthesizer. I began to hold my breasts together for her so that she can almost suck them both at the same time. She tells me that she’s loving it-loving that she can use her hands to feel me up while she’s simultaneously caressing my breasts that I’m holding together for her. I’m wet like lava and it’s driving her crazy. She rushed down on me wildly-applying the kind of pressure that I like. We’re both oohing and ahhing and shaking like crazy-we had no sync, we just went at it-our tension was in sync.

She’s wildly aroused and grunting-finally allowing me to touch her. Her grunt was like it was really against her wishes to allow me-but she just couldn’t help herself. While feeling her body and breasts up, I sink my teeth into her neck like butter-to distract her from making me stop (once she realizes what she allowed me to do). I’m sucking, licking and biting her neck, shoulders, chest, and caressing her breasts while I’m gently rubbing her clit. I was all over her body. She was way too intensely distracted and gulping. I’m crazy excited.

Right now she’s too weak to tell me “no” to anything I wanted to do to her-although her trembling, grunting. Gulping was all the “no” tussling she could do for resisting, because her “yes’s” wouldn’t let her resist. She couldn’t get the words: “stop” to roll from her tongue. She was frowning with both disapproval but extreme pleasure while her body was twisting and shivering the direction of “no” but blurting the words “yes” from her mouth. I’m learning more and more that she hates not being in control. I was so nervous because I knew one wrong move would break up the moment that her body was loving but her ego wanted to fight-I couldn’t let that win. She hated being that weak for me but the pleasure was overtaking her. I extended to her: a little bit of control for a short time in this because I knew I was going to be able to get it back. She was way too set ablaze.

I asked her to get my thingy for me (“Mr. Happy”).

“I knew you’d ask for it sooner than later,” she said, in a slow moaning whisper; remembering introducing him to me back in her “Qbenlyric2” days. She knew I liked that, and liked that I remembered.

“Help me put it on,” this maniac said, while biting her bottom lip-preparing to work me over so that she could show me how much she did not like being forced out of control ready to teach me a lesson. I knew she was going to fuck me senseless. I told her: “No I don’t want to help you. I want you to put it on while I watch you. Just let me lay here and anticipate what I’m in for because I know you are going to fuck me crazy, right?”

She licked her lips and told me how sexy she thinks I am: “Ooooh I looooovvve yoooou, I LOVE your sexy ass,” she grunted.

“I love you, too baby,” I responded. “Hurry, fuck me-please,” I begged-desperately.

She’s in the water kissing me wildly. I told her I wanted her to back me up to the corner of the sauna so that I can’t move any further while she thrusts into me.

“You turn me on so damn MUCH. I LOVE your sexy ASS! Why do I love you so MUCH!?” she screamed.

“Oh baby I love you so much, I love you so much,” we said simultaneously, kissing and trying to put those words through one another’s body, heart, and mind.

“How does those bath beads feel beneath that ass?” she asked.

“I love it, it’s driving me crazy. It’s so much going on right now,” I told her.

She took her torso and grinded up into me so precise and deeply: inch-by-inch in a way that had me gasping starting from a barely-there whisper to soprano, screaming into the air. I’m loving it and her, to death, while she’s giving it to me-fiercely. She was grabbing my waist, pounding up and into me with a brutal kind of pleasure that felt like I was cummin’ with every single upstroke. She knew how to fuck and move her body while strapped, like I never could have imagined. I loved how she had those indentations on the sides of her ass like most men do. Not many women are built like that.

Those pronounced indentations were indications to me-that she knew (and had experience) at thrusting into some pussy. That turned me on about her (and she proved me right).

My eyes rolled back into my head. I thought I was going to faint. My whole bodywas trembling and felt like one big out of control nerve-ending. I was so weak and overstimulated that all I could do was gasp and beg. I was like a ragdoll. She pulled out of me mercilessly. I yelled louder with every exiting inch.

We got out of the sauna and she grabbed me by the neck to follow her lead as if I’d better not step one step out of line on the way to the bedroom. She was loving all over my body like crazy while I was shaking and taking it. My moans, trembling, and every bite into my skin was plugging in to her like electricity-giving her life. She was screaming out between each bite into my skin like she was climaxing from it-hard. She started panting so hard that she yelled: “Oh gosh I’m panting like a fucking dog! I can’t help it! I can’t. What the fuck? Oh gosh,” she squealed. It was making her crazy.

She then shoved into me mercilessly. I screamed out. She got her rhythm going holding onto my waist and hitting my spot again with each thrust straight up into me. “I just LOVE how wet you get! I’m throbbing so hard, gosh help me pleaseeeeee!

I’m going crazy!” she panted.

I opened my legs up a little wider and let her listen and watch as she was going in and out. I placed her hands onto my inner thighs to help her balance herself. I had her thrusting straight up and into me to hit my spot squirt right on to her. That made her crazy. She was gasping into the air like she was forcing herself not cum. She was fighting something inside of her. It was so fucking sexy. I knew I was about to have her. The more she moaned, gasped and gulped; I knew she was losing control.

She acted like she wanted cry. Her pussy was throbbing and she wanted that bitch done but did not want to say it. I could tell that she wanted that pussy eaten, fucked or both.

“I’m panting like a dog, I’m panting like a…UHHhhhh” she kept saying ritualistically.

She sighed and faded out at a loss for words. I grabbed underneath her arms and began caressing her breasts, darting my tongue, and sinking my teeth anywhere on her moist body that I could with her still on top of me. I then reached into her harness to manipulate her with my two middle fingers and thumb: round and round while managing to slide her clit between my index and middle finger to manipulate both sides, swiftly while tapping and flickering the tip of it with the tip of my thumb. She was gasping and panting as the same time-literally losing control now, she couldn’t help herself. She was so wet and so weak that it drove me nuts! I couldn’t take it anymore: “Get up here, get up here right now!” I said.

She wanted more than what my fingers were doing. She was weak like the effects of Superman’s Kryptonite. I grabbed the back of her head, tongued, and French-kissed her deeply. Her brows were dipped and seriously into this. Her eyes wanted to cry. I grabbed the back of her hair, lifted it and placed her forehead to mine: “You’re about to get this, you’re about to get it just like that,” I insisted. I began unstrapping her. Her lips and body were shaking badly. “Helpppp meeee, I’m panting like a fucking dog!” she panted deeply-she was in a hurry to cum.

I whispered: “I want you. I need you to come up here. Mark your spot for me-right here. Come here.”

I lifted her body slowly above me until I could get that pussy right on my face. She’s was up there-legs shaking like a baby doe. I grabbed her by her waist and plopped that shit right on the target-locking her in place on my face, she could not move. She threw her head back and began howling into the mid-air. That moment would’ve sent the authorities kicking our door down if we were anywhere but her own private quarters of the world. I grabbed her and guided her to wipe her entire pussy all over my face while I chased her clit. It was teasing her like crazy. That pussy was on fire. She kept howling: “Whoooooooo Hooooo” repeating it over and over as she grabbed my face and hair while I was sucking her senselessly-loving the feel of her swelling inside my mouth. She was riding it like a pro; thrusting and cummin’ so hard while biting down trying to shout words between her clenched jowls.

She was shaking and screaming like she was turning from a human to a werewolf. “You lost control huh? I got you howling at the moon now huh?” I said, while she was screaming to the top of her lungs-straddled over my face. She then fell forward toward the headboard. I turned my face sideways to meet the side of her clit rather than facing it. I trapped it in between my soft lips and played games with that fucker between both my lips and tongue while I rolled my head and face like the figure 8. She started going crazier: riding my face and going at it-panting like a racehorse; shaking, trembling and screaming some language that I-nor she could understand.

I isolated her while holding her waist tightly and flipped her onto her back.

I then stretched her legs open and got to her like feed for my famine. She was up there in tears. I was so fucking lit. I pinned her there with her legs open-full concentration on her entire pussy. I took my lips, my warm mouth, and tongue and did tricks on, in, up, down and around her entire world in ways that she never experienced-I could tell. In high to low and low to high octaves, all she could do was belt out: “Ohh-ho-ho-ho-ho” as she tried folding herself in fetal position on while on her back. She was in a stiff trance as if my venom was going through her veins. She couldn’t move-only scream, jerk, holler and cum like she was going crazy. I swelled her up so good. I turned my head to the side and figure 8’ed her with her entire clit in my mouth while my tongue whipped across her clit ‘til she came-harder. She was pulsating and throbbing so hard that it drove me nuts, I felt like I was about to cum--through my mouth.

Her loud moans got softer and more faint. Then sneakily, like a cat, she flipped me over and went down on me, snatching me with her mouth just like I like it. She caught me off guard, and at a good time-because I was throbbing like a beat drum. I started climaxing like crrrrrazy-hollering like the siren of the Emergency Broadcast System, I needed to bust, and I mean I busted-hard. “I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU” was all we could say-all we could say. 

I’m convinced we shook the world off its axis the way we fucked that day. When we calmed down, all we could do was laugh because nobody but nobody could ever understand… “Unbelievable...” I said. “Damn right,” she gasped. She’s so damn sexy.

All was going perfectly normal, gentle, and sweet between us. A couple days later, we were online about to get aroused and she immediately gave me some rules-a list of places not to touch her: armpits, anus, or feet. I sat there and covered my mouth then posted: “I don’t fuck with feet, and armpit licking aint my thing. But if I tongued your ass-my bad baby, I got carried away, lol” I burst into laughter.

“LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL” she replied.

She kept hesitating, trying to inch into a conversation I could tell she was obviously coached on something, ridiculed about, or she later over thunk something. She went for it:  

“Um… Don’t be telling me to mark my spot again. Don’t you ever say that to me again!” (Hmm. Now I see what she was trying to get at).

I replied: “Excuse me, that was just impulse-not to insult or to degrade you. YOU are the one who was panting like a dog and kept saying that YOU couldn’t help it! I was merely trying to get you to sit on my face-and that just came out! I didn’t mean anything derogatory or insulting by it,” I said to this control freak.

“I know, but…I don’t like it-those words. Just…don’t say it like that again,” she said.

Normally, something like that would have turned me off. Because during sex, if I do or say something-it most certainly is not pre-planned and obviously turned me on. And if at any time after sex, I’m met with a disapproval about any act that went down, my desire’d go south. I’m the type that would never ever touch you again (or let you touch me ever again).

But I thought about how much privacy we didn’t have, and how by the time the I.M script had gotten through so many hands, they had made fun of her and she felt like that belittled her or something. I knew someone else had to have influenced her, because we talked for a while after that sexsion and she didn’t seem to have a problem with it-at all. That bothered me. I knew I was in for it with this woman and her hired help. Because I’ll never forget that day [when she was “panting like a dog”]a while afterwards, when we had gone over to her room, the nickname: “ALOTAVAGINA” had rolled down. I knew that it was most probably Lissa’s silly ass. That was her kind of language (and fun). But that let me know for sure that she really did save the I.M script and let her digerati team view the contents in it (because it damned sure was a lot of vagina poppin’ off in that sexsion right there).

Right after Lissa’s comment, I immediately turned to her in our private I.M and said:

“How nice of you to reveal to them how we cyberfucked! Damn!”

“No, I didn’t! No I did not!” she replied, (laughing and lying).

“You saw that ‘ALOTAVAGINA’ nickname-unless it was your silly ass!” I said.

“It was not me though!” she swore.

“Well, if it wasn’t you then it was your buddies, whore!” I said.

“LoL. Welllll… it was a lot, though” she laughed.

Although the jokes were funny, it was then that I knew for sure nothing about us or between us was ever going to be just between “us.” That was the moment I knew I was not only going to be in for it with her, but as well-fucking them too. This whole covert operation was on lock. Everything said and done was being clocked, combed through and dissected.

Her people seemed to be more on top of it all than she was. They could give two fucks about our lil’ “love” and too, were on top of all our messaging and the digital end of this thing with lightning-speed fast eyes and hands-hands down. In that regard, it was like she was working for them and they had too much too lose (rather than her being in “control” of her own life).

That, eventually, played a part in my decision to not place her in as high regard as I was holding her in-in the beginning of this. Because one thing about me, whether it be somebody rich and famous or somebody I met in the grocery store; I don’t take up with and relationship with “workers”-I like bosses (well-respected people) who I can see (and know) are in full control of their own life (every aspect of it). Because in my eyes, like I eventually discovered later in this thing; if they could control her, then they could control me. And well, I wasn’t having that-at all.

I knew Rix was the head digerati cohort in this thing from the very day that he was “testing,” “test,” “testing” my computer [the day my friend talked me into going to her chat room after my being gone for a while]. He was most probably sending all kinds of packet sniffers to my poor little cheap, unprotected piece of metal [otherwise known as a computer] that day. This conversation clocking, these I.M comb-over sessions and dissecting moments kind of reminded me of when she was on the line with Rix the day she was holding on waiting for Michael. It made me know that (remotely) he most probably was never too far from Janet in between nobody-not even Michael (her own brother). I really don’t think anybody was fully trusted by Janet’s digerati, not even Rene (her own man of over 13 years). So in this moment, I was realizing that I was probably at the bottom of the trust totem-pole in her life.

And just when I would get comfortable with “us” being “us,” it was like Rix was this guy with some emotional barometer that could send a jolt to Janet to her to remind her that she was still “Janet,” and it was time to get me back to being not so comfortable with her giving me the full and real Janet behind the “Janet” (that the world knows).

We could be us for a good stretch of time, but like every third day or so she would piss me off in conversation where she would break off into this “Joanna” character. I hated when she would do that because I felt like she wanted complete normalcy from me-on my end, but when it was convenient for her-she acted like I was that stranger that she pulled up on stage at her concerts and strapping me to a chair while she danced around me and acted out her lil’ cyber fantasies, while absorbing my real feelings and my real life. And then whenever she would feel the need to [or perhaps may have been reminded] that was behaving too Janet-like she would heavily get into this Joanna character and it would catch me off guard sometimes. We could be getting along like “Angela” and “Janet” and then she’d pause and come back with her Outback charm-like someone tapped her on the shoulder to remind her. Although I understood, I told her that I’d rather not talk to her at all if we were going to go through that because it seemed like that would be the only time we would fight.

We’re in I.M. We start to talk.

We start off fine and then she strapped me to the chair again, but this time I let her have it. I told her about the so called “trust” she claimed to have in me was so temporary because if it was the way we had discussed, we wouldn’t be going through these types of things that cause us to argue. We argued because I refused to sit there and accept it when well over too many times, I had her normalcy. I’m not a fucking puppet. I wasn’t that desperate to have her in my life that I was going to let her dangle me like one either.

I told her that she had the nerve to claim to love me, when she really was walking around withthat dent in her heart, and doing the crazy things she would do. I told her I was starting to think it was mental-some kind of substitute for the lack of normalcy in her life, and she was getting (literally) sick with it-the habit of this kind of lifestyle and communicating. And my stupidly entertaining, aiding and abetting it was no better when I knew that sitting around tending to her and this shit was fucking up my own life and my own time, too. I told her that I would tend to her-but nothing extra.

I lit into her: “You kill me, talking about how scared you are. Yeah you are scared. It scares you because of the way you came into my life and ended up feeling things you didn’t expect. Yeah you’re scared all right. You’re scared because you and me have done things and gone more places than most people do in years-and many not at all, including YOU with anyone else. You’re scared because of how you feel about me was something you ‘sneaked and peeked’ upon and you didn’t expect it-now look at you. The game backfired on you and your heart, and now you don’t know what to do with yourself. That room was a trap and it’s trapping you too. But you expect me to be ok with what you feel is safe for you “until when[ever].” “Bulllll-shit” I told her.

“It just don’t seem real, it just doesn’t. I’m so confused,” she confessed (and playing out Velvet Rope’s Track 12 & 13 in her mind). I drilled in:

“Yeah I bet you are confused. Look at your whole approach and how you go about things. Look at how you are deep down inside. How are you going to be walking around claiming to know love but afraid to trust. You were right, all you know is pain! All that you do creates it! You’re scared because you are so impulsive, and this (what you and me have), is probably the most time you have ever taken to let someone know you and love you for you and you didn’t expect that either. Had I let you come here to see me that one time in 3 hours, we probably wouldn’t have gotten as far as we’ve gotten today (at least as close as we are right now). That’s because you are so used to getting your way-and fast. And that’s why you felt you had some inalienable right to come into my life the way you did. Because all your life you have obviously had things expeditiously go your way. Well, it doesn’t work like that with me Hun. I’m telling you right now. I’m not about to play into your little cyber fantasies and shit. You can go your way and I’ll go mine. So fuck you. Carry your stupid ass on somewhere else and leave me the hell alone,” I told her.

“Don’t talk to me that way! Don’t talk like that to me Angela. Don’t do that to me.

You’re hurting me! You’re making me cry. You’re hurting me!” she said.

When she would try to convey her version of “normalcy” and seriousness (whether when feeling warm and fuzzy, sexual, or during our serious and deep conversations), she would always stress my real name-never: “Cin,” not even “Angie,” but: “Angela” (regardless whatever “character” she was). She may have been able to overpower me with her resources and abilities to commandeer and do all the things she did, but when it came down to my being able to put her mentality and emotions on display by holding a mirror to her face; I was the head bitch in charge of the psychology behind her Jedi Mind Tricks and games.

I drilled in more: “Well too bad “ J-oanna!” Too bad that you aren’t the right J (for me) ‘cause we would have it going on. We would love like crazy, play like crazy, fuck like crazy and just be crazy.” I said (to soften her).

“I know, I know, I know. Don’t say that. ‘Cause I know,” she said (softly).

I came down on her like a ton of bricks-catching her by surprise by continuing: “...so when you talk to her, just send her back my way. Would you? Crazy bitch!” I said-bluntly. I wanted her to feel as degraded as only she knew how to make me feel demoted.

“STOP! STOP! It’s like you are putting a knife in my heart and twisting it over and over. QUIT talking to me like that and just leave! Just leave now! You are hurting me!” she said.

I wouldn’t stop, I wouldn’t quit: “Yeah and don’t expect me to log in to I.M for your ass anymore you stupid bitch you!” I said, trying hard to cut + disrespect her with my words. She kept crying, begging and yelling at me until I disconnected. I was so pissed at her.

It was like she didn’t know what it was like to continue having a good time for too long-like she was afraid, and things were almost too good to be true (and real), but I loved her so much and I felt badly for her. The normalcy that she just did not have; I tried hard to give it to her. I was getting so used to “us” being “us,” and then she would pull the rug from beneath my feet right when I would get comfortable with her all over again. I could almost imagine what it would be like for any man to try and love this woman, or even any woman to be her friend. She was such a basket case, just…much too much. (Track 16 now)…

Down beamed Sassy: “Angela.”

“Don’t call me by my name-it’s Cinamon to you Hun!” I said.

This woman was wild: “Angela? Angela!” she said twice, as if I didn’t just tell her not to call my name, once.

“Don’t talk to me crazy girl, I’m talking to somebody right now,” I said.

Immediately, my power completely goes out of my computer. I had to reboot it to get back on. She loved that type of shit. When she would do stuff like this, she reminded me of a type of Samantha Montgomery of Bewitched; standing there with her hands on her hips-snapping her fingers and changing shit the way she wanted.

I got back on and headed back for the room. She was sitting right there waiting:

“Angela… I’m waiting on you to answer me,” she said.

Feeling like I was raising and grasping for air responded: “Waiting? If you are waiting on anything from me then you’ll just be a lady in waiting.”

She blinked her really eyes fast and said: “Then I’ll be just that then: waiting.”

She continued: “Look, I’m having some connection problems and when they are fixed I’ll let you know. I can’t hookup to I.M until it’s fixed though,” she said.

I shook my head in amazement because I knew that I was in for much bigger than I ever could imagine with this woman, and this was all a big brew-ha: happening, bit-by-bit [and literally: bit by bit]. She was just too much for my head. Although I knew things would go much smoother if I would just put my pride aside and be content with knowing that everything really was everything-and allow Rix to do his job; we would have much better time consistently. I just couldn’t see myself not resisting knowing that I was openly revealing my true and real self and allowing myself to be put out there at their disposal in ways that they were working overtime to protect Janet from--as if my trust in them meant nothing (either way), and as if my little unimportant life (as compared to their mistrust in me) meant everything to her and her big important life.

Thinking about it all, I decided to go on a “Fuckitall sabbatical.”

I went to my Hell Mail account and blocked Janet out every which way that I could (including all of our I.M’s). I blocked LockiejawsLissa out, I blocked Alina out and anybody that was associated with Janet-OUT-every which way I could. I was so hurt and so mad at her (and this thing). I knew she couldn’t take that.

She would call and hang up on me sometimes once, sometimes three or more times, back to back. I knew that what I did would hurt her, but I was hurt too (and exhausted). She was used to being exhausting-so I could care less about her getting exhausted with calling me (or that she could exhaust me).

  entered: 6.17.13

From my black comfortable Futon chair, I’m listening to Celine Dion’s “It’s All Coming Back to me Now” in my CD Rom while I’m in I.M with her. My maniac damned sure made her way in for a quickie (she was lit like she had been deprived for two days too long):

“*W…I missed youuuuu,” she yearned. “I miss you too, baby. I do. I really do,” I returned. We got quiet. “How are you feeling?” I asked, concerned.

“Well, a little…hesitant,” she confessed.

“Well...we don’t need to waste time debating about why we fought, but I do know that I don’t want hesitance from you because it just wastes precious time,” I said (I knew what she wanted-and I wanted her to get straight to it).

“Yes, I agree,” she said.

This time we start off in the bed. She started from the bottom and worked her way to the top. We hardly say a word to one another except for how much one missed the other and how much we loved each other (in unison and in sync).

“Go get my thingy,” I said (I knew that would make her happy-my asking for it).

She strapped on Mr. Happy while biting her bottom lip.

“You still mad at me?” I asked, seductively.

“No, I’m not mad at you anymore,” she said.

She had an axe to grind with me and she couldn’t wait to get it off. All of this was more than emotional for her-it was mental too (she needed a fix). These couple of days that I stayed away put her heart through it, I could tell.

She grinded it in to me slowly-about midways up into me. She couldn’t wait anymore. She had anticipated hearing me scream out at the mercy of her because she really was still mad at me, but was glad that we were back on again from that short [but what felt like a

long time] for the both of us. She thrust into me wildly, so wild that we fall to the floor. She told me she liked the thickness of the carpet scraping her knees-the pain of it burning her knees was turning her on, making her mad, but arousing her at the same time. I opened wider for her to insert Mr. Happy as far as she could until she could feel the very bottom of me. I began to scoot and pull away from her to force her to keep trying to catch up and stay inside of me (and so she could continue to feel the burn on her knees).

“Oh my gosh-the carpet burns…they’re driving me crazy,” she belted out, feeling masochistic.

I’m still backing away from her while she was trying to grab and secure me in place to drill deep into me.

The more I backed away, the more she had to scrape her knees on the carpet in order to keep Mr. Happy inside of me. She did not want it to come out of me at all. The agony was doing something to her mind-like she thought I was going to run away again. She dug her nails into my skin and tried her damnedest to hold on to me, and hold it inside of me. The task of trying to keep it inside of me while I was moving backwards (and making her scrape her knees) made her crazy. She kept shivering and yelling out: “Ooh!” as if she was the one getting fucked. Her arousal was like she was feeling a tremendous amount of pain, but nearing a strange kind of climax at the same time. It was fun to watch…When she felt my body back into that solid wall, it sent a jolt through her entire body. She yelled into the air like she hit the jackpot:

“Yessss!” She was waiting on that moment. I gave her full access to me and opened my legs so that I could let her all the way in. She grunted, folded her lips and dipped her brows like serious business while she dug her nails into my skin like she was punishing me-forcing Mr. Happy inside of-me inch by inch. It was incredible. Every

inch she slid into me had me moaning and breathless. Her grinding skills were impeccable. She knew how to fuck, use her body and get in that pussy in ways even a man would envy. We were both moaning helplessly. I couldn’t move anymore. I was officially backed into the wall, and she made it official: She was aroused, bull-mad ready to tear this pussy up! I surrendered to her.

 “Just take it, do what you wish to it,” I pleaded.

She started her grinding. Ohhhh my goodness she was awesome at it.

“I’m gonna fuck the shit out of this juicy pussy, girl!” she shouted out.

“Fuck me harder since you know I can’t go any further! Fuck me harder!” I demanded. I needed it. I held myself up by my hands with my legs wrapped tightly around her waist while she supported herself by holding her hands to the wall.

“Squeeze me tighter, hold your legs around me tighter,” she said impatiently, like she was on to something and was about to throw down. Oh goodness she was so good.

She began to bang up and into me. I was taking it. We were wild and screaming like crazy.

“Now show me how mad you were at me! Fuck me the way you were mad at me,” I cried out.

She began to pounding senselessly like she was gone mad. I told her to put both her hands around my neck while she thrusts. Her knuckles were scraping against the wall.

That one kind of pain hit her body again and something went through her: she threw her head back into the air and began shaking and gargling like she was cumming all in the seat of her harness.

“Now, fuck me the way you were mad at me. Tell me what you were going through,” I demanded. She started to thrust with crazy reminiscent anger from our fight. Her knuckles were being pinched against the wall while she was holding me by the neck:

“AN-GEL-A, don’t you EVER IN YOUR LIFE TELL ME THAT YOU ARE LEAVING ME. DON’T EVER! DON’T EVER! DON’T EVER TELL ME YOU ARE GOING ANYWHERE!. YOU DON’T EVER TELL ME YOU’RE LEAVING ME!” she said cried out over and over. I was cumming so hard that my breath took my voice away. It felt so good I cried. The deep, desperate gasps of her voice let me know she was cumming something serious. I reached into the harness to cuff her pussy and smash and rub her clit so that she could get hers. She was screaming and moaning while biting down into my shoulders, and speaking that language and saying those words I never could understand when she would cum so hard.

We fell to the floor and held each other tightly.

“Skin to skin;” she said, reminding me of a line from another one of her songs called “The Body That Loves You” (off of her “janet” album). I just shook my head and laughed. She knew that I knew what she meant.

Our hearts raced a mile a minute. “I love your sexy ass,” she said.

“I love YOUR sexy ass,” I returned. No one would ever understand…

---excerpt break

  entered: 6.17.13

We didn’t talk that Saturday at all for some reason. I did come into the room, and there were a few people in talking a bunch of nothing. The nickname: “BidnezzHandla” dropped down a couple times but didn’t post anything. I figured that was probably silly Lissa, because that was her kind of language (“Bidnezz,” “2DollaHooka,” “Alotavagina,” “GubmentCheese)” stuff like that. I didn’t say anything, and no one said anything to me either. I just lurked for a little while. No Janet in the room, no Janet in I.M, no Janet in email either. It was weird this time because if she was gone, they would let me know by posting: “*******gone.” This was the very first time in history that nobody said nothing-at all, so I left.

I just figured that Janet most probably told them not to say one word to me when I came in while she was gone (she knew they knew how to fuck up our ambiance).

Busta Rhymes and the Flip Mode Squad was coming to my college to perform at a culture fest that was being held on the 15th of May and it was free. He came with Goodie Mob, and a few local rappers had performed as well. It was the bomb. I’ve always loved Busta since Leaders of the New School and I was mad-obsessed with Goody Mob’s “Soul Food” CD and song at this time, so I had a great time.

It was especially good for my friend Ahoo because it was her birthday and she was having problems with her lover. When they would fight I would giggle at Ahoo and say: “Whooooa Nellie, you and KD Lang are going through the motions again!”

Her lover didn’t have a style like KD Lang; I would just call her “KD Lang” because she was a stud like KD Lang (but she always wore her hat turned to the back). When I would mimic her [lover] it would tickle Ahoo pink, especially when I would say: “Girllll when she cocks that hat to the backkkk…it’s on and poppin!” Ahoo would get a kick out of me making dike jokes about the two of them-so Janet had listened to that a time or two, too...

The very next day, May 16th, I got online at 2:15 p.m. Janet was sooooo excited.

Her turn now-it was her birthday. As soon as I logged onto I.M, she came down: “Angela, I-LOVE-YOU-BEAUTIFUL!”

“Who loves you baby?” I asked. “NOBODY-like you do…” she responded.

“I miss you so much,” she said. “I miss you too beautiful,” I confessed.

We sat there telling each other how much we were smiling like crazy.

We just kept “*giggling”…it was crazy.

I knew it was her birthday, but she was acting like it was mine.

I was still on cloud nine about her open letter-wanting to tell her so bad, but I couldn’t say anything about it in I.M. She said to me: “Angela, I’m turning my hat to the back…my…NY YANKEES cap…” she stressed and capitalized.

“I want you,” she said, in all seriousness with her brow up. Serious in a different kind of way this time—it was very…very... “matter of [definite] fact.”

I smiled and laughed to myself-thinking about my picking at Ahoo about her stud girlfriend turning her hat to the back, while I thought about Janet on the birthday picture holding her NY Yankees cap over top of her head on that birthday party photo. “This girl is so damned slick and clever,” I said to myself while I sat there giggling. She repeated:

“I WANT YOU,” she emphasized and italicized in caps-as if she was sitting there darting her index finger into the monitor of her computer screen while biting her bottom lip.

“*W…I’m staring at you from across the room, sitting up on the bed covering myself with a quilt. Come here, right now. *Signaling you with my finger,” said this maniac. She began forcing her tongue down my throat with the force of her desire for me-pulling my desire for her from me while taking the breath from my lifeless body. I was so weak. We were kissing wildly. I placed her mouth to my neck so that she could caress me where I liked it. She drove me crazy with it while sinking her teeth into my skin while I was trembling. She was crazy with it today. Her desire was completely

reset and resurged. While the candle was flickering, I lay there and looked up at her while she rolled off my neck at sat up over me then stared down at me. She began rubbing my face while she squint her eyes; looking down into my face like this was the very first time she really looked at me. She was biting her bottom lip and thinking really hard about something. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking but—it was very sexy…very sexy…I was getting so wet.

“You like these don’t you?” she whispered. “Like what?” I whispered back.

“These things,” she guided my hand down to her harness-to touch my thingy.

I was afraid to say “Yes,” so I nodded my head: “Yes.”

I then whispered: “Only sometimes.”

“I’m talking about the real ones” she said-in a slightly bullying tone of voice.

I didn’t respond. “I saw you-real good…You look like the type. Tell me what you like about these things?” she whispered and demanded to know-squinting her eyes and looking at me like she had me cornered, straddled, and locked in—and she did. I took a deep breath and lead her by the thingy up towards my face. She followed my directing. I grabbed it and traced it all over my face-softly until it tickled. I heard her gasp. She took over and began to trace all over my face with it while I rubbed the sides of her waist, hips, and thighs.

I reached up to grab it and placed it upon my lips.

She gasped again as if she could literally feel what I was doing-like the thingy really had nerve endings connected to her body.

I puckered my lips somewhat and thumped the thingy back and forth on my full lips as it bounced back and forth. She was breathing deeply-telling me that I was so wonderful.

I opened my mouth, sat up a little bit and devoured the head of it, then took it straight back until her whole crotch met my face. I pushed my face into it hard enough to manipulate her clit.

She screamed out-as if that thingy was hers. It was too mental for her physical. She grabbed the back of my head and wouldn’t let go. I continued to devour and manipulate that harness pressed into her clit, she was cummin’ and screaming like crazy. When she came, I pulled the thingy out of my mouth and slid her down to my tummy. I grabbed my breasts and held them together, took one hand and slid the thingy between them. She got a rhythm going. When she did, I opened my mouth somewhat and let her slide it up and down between my ample breasts as I sucked it while buried between my ample breasts. She kept the rhythm going, as if the thingy was really hers.

“Oh AN-GEL-A!” she yelled out.

She started slurping and grunting like she was getting angry at the thought of me doing this to a real one, but she was aroused her at the same time.

It was her fault, she asked me to show her what I’d do with it, so I did-but it began to make her sexually jealous.

“Since you like it on the edge, I’ll take you to the edge!” she yelled-like she had something to prove. She grabbed me mercilessly and led me to the dining room table. She pushed everything off of that table-not caring what broke or busted. Immediately, she went down on me like a mad-woman while I held my legs up for her, throwing my head back and screaming out from the pleasure.

She grunted out while standing in front of me, then shoved the thingy inside of me, holding it there-grinding-in me until my scream died down to a cry.

Without warning, she swiftly pulled it out of me like she wanted to cut me. She was both angry and aroused.

She then slid the head back in and began to push it in and out-listening to the mess she was making, my wetness was driving her crazy. She began to thrust out of control while I was screaming from the pleasure she was bringing me. I reached down to touch her clit, and she threw my hand out of the way this time: insisting on grinding deeper and harder as if she was in a bottomless pit.

“Fuck me like you mean business about it. Fuck me like you mean business about it…please!” I said to her. I tried hard to take all of it. She kept putting it to me like she never had before: up and down, in and out, round and round, side to side. I loved the way she knew how to fuck and work a strap.

When I came, she told me she still wasn’t going to stop. She went back down on me and sent sparks to my brain.

My legs were numb and shaking so badly.

She grabbed me by my hair and threw me to the carpeted floor. I opened my legs and held on to her. She crawled back up on me, held on to my waist, and slid into me nice and slow while she held her head down in between both of us-listening to the sounds of my tightness and my wetness. It always aroused her to slide into me.

When she would go slow and inside me, she would always concentrate while doing it as if it was getting her off that she could literally feel the thingy dividing my walls-in harmony with my moans. She loved to listen to my overflow below while she stuffed it up inside of me. She fucked me with a kind of perfection and precision so good that I started to cry when I came again-it was awesome. As she slowed it down, she whispered in my ear: “Angela did you think I was gonna stay in you like this without massaging that clit for you at the same time? Come here!” she demanded. I opened my legs slightly wider and threw my crotch right up to her stubby fingers. She cuffed my crouch with her hands and did a dance on my clit that had me damned near singing opera. I busted on her hands while placing my hands on top of hers and grinding my pussy into her firm cuff and grasp.

I was shaking uncontrollably while she grabbed my neck to take my breath away. She was kissing me slowly and deeply like she wanted my life breathed inside of her body. It was intense. Oh I was loving her...

She kept telling me over and over how much she loved me so hard that she started crying and cummin’ in the seat of that harness.

I couldn’t understand what had gotten into her today, she was lit…

She paused a second and came up for air from and posted with all seriousness, in her serious voice…post-climax: “Angela… I cannot wait to hold onto your sides and fuck the shit out of that red pussy do you hear me? Then I’m gonna smack the shit out of that ass of yours…” she said raunchily.

I giggled and blushed.

“I love your red sexy ass,” said this maniac.

“I love your sexy ass too, you fucking maniac,” I replied-embarrassed.

“Oh, I got your maniac,” she challenged seductively-with her brow up.

*Sigh…We “*giggled” again like two sneaky kids, hiding from a world who knew nothing about our secret-our real secret…

Since it was her birthday, she had a busy day ahead of her. But she said she wanted to speak to me so badly that she could not wait. So we talked for a while after our sexsion-then we logged off.

My intuition wouldn’t let it ride. My ears went up so many times during our conversation. Her enthusiasm was way too fresh and way too “new.” Her behavior was a little more aggressive and textured than ever before. I thought about the words she used like, “your red ass/red” (my skin’s undertone) and “I can’t wait to hold on to your sides” (the obvious curvature of my guitar hips) things like that. Her enthusiasm kind of reminded me of how she first came down on me as QUEENJANET after having a clear picture in her head of what I looked like and who I was (from her remembering me from the night of the concert). Only this time, this particular day—she obviously got a bird’s eye view of me. I was like 99.9% sure.

She knew that I loved Busta Rhymes and that I was only in walking distance of seeing him (at a free outdoor concert at that), so there was no chance in hell that I would miss him. All week long, through the morning of the concert on the phone, friends and me were making plans on the: who, what, when, where, and how’s.

I thought about how when I stepped into the room the morning of; I saw “BidnezzHandla” roll down, but I merely assumed it was posted because Janet was away handling some kind of business but that she told them not to bother me-not even to tell me that she was: “ ******gone.”

At first, I thought my notion was too far-fetched, but with this very serious woman, I could never discount anything. What she wants, she gets, and when she wants it. With this woman, the sky is the limit.

I thought about all the boundaries she crossed that brought us together and I thought: “with nothing but time and money on her hands, why would she not take a couple hours out of her day to get a birds-eye-view of the person she was so much in love with, and talking all this shit with.

Why not? Why would she not anyway?” I could just imagine her hoping I wasn’t cross-eyed and pizza-faced. I mean-I too, eventually would have done the same thing—just to make sure I was really talking to the person I remembered and recollected.

That made me want to find out how and through what process Busta was chosen to perform at my college, but I was scared to even do the research. I was scared to find out that Janet had something to do with it-almost as scared to dig into the crevices of my mind trying to figure out why he performed for such a short period of time, but definitely sang all the songs that I liked and often played while sitting in my comfortable black Futon chair-listening from my CD Rom.

“BidnezzHandla” is an understatement, but I let that ride as pure coincidence…

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That got her attention:

Girl

I hope you didn’t think I wasn’t answering you on purpose. I received all your messages

and I appreciated them. I suppose you are right, as sad as I am to say so I love you to Angela.

Don’t ever be too far away ok? I wish I could write more to you...

Love, Joanna

…She made sure she signed it: “Joanna” (rather than ‘J’) for a reason-just about as much as she meant every word in every syllable she wrote in it. She wanted to write more to explain, but absolutely positively could not. She was really and truly in the middle of something major and wanted me to give her some breathing room too-but just but leave one foot in the door for her return and at her convenience.

She made sure she made her way to I.M (while I opened and was reading it).

We talked around her situation that she was going through.

I then told her: “People kill me complicating things. The only thing that makes relationships seem so complicated is the fear of removing things that bring peace of mind.”

She came back with:

 “Sometimes the less complicated way isn’t always the easiest way…”

I challenged: “But I thought you had so much shit under your control?”

She responded-in all seriousness, as if she was holding her index finger up and shaking her head in a serious and slow, left to right movement:

“No…not this…This…is not under my control,” she insisted.

She quickly jumped over that with something else: “Say, why don’t you quit worrying, and think about what ahead is in store for you,” she wanted to assure me.

An unexpected jolt of tears shot to my eyes. My nose burned and began to run. I sniffed and said: “I want you…the right way…” I said to her, humming in my mind Marvin Gaye singing: “I want you. The right way. I want you, but I want you to want me too...”

She softened up for a minute as if she pulled the camouflage war helmet that she had

been wearing, and for that moment; she remembered that I was the girl she claimed to be in love with-and wanted to place special emphasis on calling out my name-hoping I could feel her sincerity:

“Angela. I know...I know EXACTLY what you are saying when you say that Angela...I am feeling you right now. You hear me?” she said seriously and compassionately, finishing the song in her mind too.

I held my head down and cried then replied: “I hear you.”

I was very confused and hurt as hell, and for the first time: scared-scared that I was losing her. That was the first moment in all this time that I knew for sure that I knew I loved her for more than my fear of all that she had on me, knew about me, could control, or ruin.

Because none of that was on my mind-just her leaving me was all that was on my mind and made me cry.

She “couldn’t stay on long” (again)...I wrote her:

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She still did not respond. I sent this one, same day, different time:

19:19pm PDT

Subject: you are terrible

It’s terrible that u would take advantage of the fact that I wouldn’t do anything to retaliate against you and shit. It’s terrible that u would behave like this and take advantage of that. WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU? WHAT? I’ve been patient with all this shit I took from you for MANY months and Sundays and u start back in while I’m minding my OWN FUCKIN BUSINESS, trying to get MY shit done and u snatch it!!!!!!!!!! WHY???

PLEASE send it back. I don’t have time to be here like this all night. Girl u are really hurting me. My chest is so fucking busted up.

That got her attention. I think she took that as a threat or warning of a threat (although it wasn’t).

She showed her ass up in I.M then.

She spoke ominously:

“So Cinamon...tell me something…What…made you call me Janet?” she asserted.

I can’t lie-I sat there with my heart pounding a mile a minute because I could tell that it pissed her off and most probably made her paranoid-thinking that I was doing what she and her digerati were working overtime trying to spearhead and avoid: Me setting her up.

In the greater scheme of things, I knew my place was no match for her and the things she could do to make shit hard for me. So I humbled myself and played along: “I was about to come to the room and was probably thinking about Janet and got it mixed up with your name: Joanna, that’s all.”

“Oh? Oh really? Okay…mmkay…” was all she said-but most probably meant those words as my warning-wondering why and how I grew the balls to mention her real name. And although it was probably against the advice of her buddies, she thought she would just pay me a quick visit to sit on those balls I had grown. She had no concern about what I was feeling, or how I was feeling-at all.

She was just pissed and concerned about her “big” self.

I was so hurt.

I really wanted to tell her how hurt I was.

I was so tired of how everything went her way-everything.

I made good on what I lied about. I showed up in the room and in addition, logged onto I.M. She came into I.M.

She wasn’t mean nor was she nice. We talked about a bunch of nothing while she told me she was listening to some music.

“What are you listening to?” I asked. She threw this response out there to try and soften and soothe me (and because she knew that I knew that she knew as well, “Jade’s” CD was the last CD I played in my CD Rom).

She replied: “I’m listening to: ‘Don’t Walk Away’ by Jade,” she said (really meaning those words, and knowing I would catch what she meant). I rejected the gesture and replied: “Yeah, I like that song and ‘5432 Yo Time is Up...’”

She didn’t say anything; it just got quiet.

She struck back-picking up where she last left off (about that damned Shawn): “So yeah, Cinamon, we have a relationship…but it’s kind of an open relationship, so, she’s not going to mind if I see you. I see you in a different way…”

I already knew what she meant by: “in a different way:” Shawn’s request that she kept me the submissive and that I not touch Janet the way she was doing.

She continued to explain:

...“And although I’ll be committed to her, I can still fool around with you since you and I cannot have a relationship. I still want to know if we can get together and fuck. I know you’re not going to agree with that, but I thought I’d ask,” said this wild ass woman.

Of course I didn’t reply.

We both sat there for a long time, saying nothing to one another. I don’t even remember who logged out first-probably me, because that girl knew how to outwait you and out-persist you no matter what. And she would show me better than she could tell me-in due

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I just shook my head once again, because I didn’t know quite what to make of all that. I do know however, that Jiggs was coming down off of her “high” from her night out at the movies, and she was at a loss for words after a while. She caught me by surprise and totally off-guard. Little did I expect, she had a major sucker attack coming on.

I knew in my heart that Janet was missing her love and business partner of 13 years.

She broke down and cried. It was so very sad.

This day-July 16-was his birthday, and she went through it this night. I guess because it was his first birthday without her in all these years, it felt weird for her. She and I would be throwing words at each other off and on in I.M and then all of a sudden she had come back bursting to tears, telling me how she was going to kill herself and how terrible she was feeling.

She started telling me how she was trying to find the only pills in the house she had: Tylenol, so that she could take them all. I could hardly get a word in, because it was so sudden, dramatic and traumatic. It startled me shitless. I begged her to calm down and tell me what the problem was. I assured her that she had my undivided attention and that she could trust me and talk to me; hoping my telling her how much I loved her was enough.

I said to her: “I love you and I do care. Isn’t that good enough a reason to want to live? I love you girl, I do and I care. I know what you are feeling and going through tonight…Just talk to me.”

She replied: “I know you do. And I know can trust you. It’s just…” she said.

“It’s just…what? Talk to me. Please talk to me (((((((holding you tight)))))))” I responded.

“It’s that plus everything. I mean…The people...The people I interact with…” she confessed.

“Tell me, I’m listening…I’m here for you,” I told her.

She told me she was crying uncontrollably. She asked that I give her a second.

“What are they doing to you! What is it that you are feeling right now?” I demanded to know.

“I don’t know, I just feel…” she got quiet again.

“I hope you are not fooling around girl—trying to get a rise out of me, because this shit aint funny,” I said.

“NO I’M SERIOUS! I’M CRYING MY HEART OUT AND DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!! You can I.M my friend: loxxxxixxm2x8 SHE WILL TELL YOU! I’M CRYING MY HEART OUT!!!!” she yelled.

I responded: “No I’m not going to I.M her, I want you to throw some words out to me about what it is and how you are feeling right now.”

She took too long to reply so threw some words out at her.

“Unappreciated?”…

“Yes,” she replied.

“You gotta help me out,” I said.

She paused for a while-then she responded: “They can just take me down in one minute flat!” she confessed.

I didn’t know how to respond to that-because that one was unexpected as well.

My mind instantly flashed back to that one Sunday when I was in the room arguing with all of them and she mentioned something about a cult. I just waited on her to say more about it but she didn’t.

“I’m sleepy, I’m so sleepy and I’m about to go to bed,” she said.

“Okay, but I need your word that I’ll hear from you tomorrow you hear me woman?” I demanded.

“Yes, yes…here, email me here: EsCaPaDexxxxx@aol.com okay? I love you,” she said.

“I love you” I returned. “Goodnight…” I finished.

I knew she knew how to manipulate me when she felt I was slipping away, just like I knew that she and I would probably be at each other’s throats tomorrow or the next day. At this moment though, I didn’t care-she needed somebody and she wanted to vent. She’s manipulative, she can be vicious, she can be vindictive, but you still love her just as hard (if you ever did love her)-you can’t help to. All I wished was for her to not feel this way from this point through and until the morning hours brought her a new character, a new emotion and most of all-new sun.

Well, I got my wish.

I was concerned about her and put the new email she had just given me to use.

Sometime in the early morning, I sent her an email asking how she was doing and feeling-telling her to promise me that what happened last night would never happen again. I told her to promise me that if I was not around, she would never go through it alone and to find somebody that she trusts to help her through (rather than Tylenol). I told her that I hoped she was okay and I expected to hear from her by the end of the day. She wrote back:

Date: Sat, 17 Jul 06:01am PDT

From: EsCaPaDexxxxx@aol.com

To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

Subject: Re:.

I am fine…Don’t worry about me. Thank you for your support. I love you for it very much.

Love J…

When I went back to my Hell Mail to select the email that I wrote to check on her (only so that I could reply/send another email from it), she had gone into my account deleted it quicker than a New York minute. I mean, it was gone like I had never written it. The only thing that sat in my Hell Mail was her response to it [advising me not to worry about her as if nothing ever happened]. Feeling shut out, I took a deep breath and wrote:

Date: Sat, 17 Jul 08:17am PDT

From: EsCaPaDexxxxx@aol.com

To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

Subject: thought

Well dang…I just thought about writing you to let you know that I got it. I aint on that stuff

you’re thinking…Take care ok. Bye.

I didn’t talk to her for the rest of that Saturday, that entire Sunday, nor Monday morning. She was M.I.A. 

Later that evening, we talked in I.M. She was in a pretty good mood. She was telling me how her own cat was nibbling at her nose and how cute it was. We were just laughing.

Virtually (in my real world), I was back and forth baking some chicken for dinner.

“What kind of chicken?” she asked.

“Chicken breasts with pepper, season-salt, garlic, and onions.” I responded.

“*Staring at you*…” she said.

“*Cleaning myself with my paws and watching you*” she said.

“*Staring at you*…” I responded.

“*Waiting on my chicken*…” she replied.

“*Putting your chicken on a saucer on the floor for you*…” I said.

She frowned: “How come you can’t put it in a bowl for me?”

“Okay, *putting it in a bowl for you*…” I responded.

*Hopping up in the chair at the table* “How come I can’t eat at the table?” she asked.

“Okay, *putting your bowl of chicken breasts on the table for you*…” I responded.

“Atchoo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Atchoo!ssnarrlllllll!!!!!!!!!:::::::::” said this black cat.

“Um what’s the problem?” I asked, sounding like a serving winch.

“Hint: atchoo! Atchoo! The pepper!!!!!!” she replied.

“Then why’d you let me come this far if you knew the pepper was gonna bother you,

you picky lil’ pus! LoL,” I said.

 “LoL!….:::::::::::::::snnnarrllllll!::::::::::” she said.

“Okay, I’ll do anything for you baby. I have to go way back up to the store to buy more chicken breasts okay?” I said.

“You would do that for me?” she asked-completely out of her cat character and in her Janet self.

“Of course I would, you know I would. I’ll do anything for you…” I replied (serious about my statement).

(She paused).

“*Smacking my hand on my butt, rolling my eyes and twisting my hands*…” she said.

“Huh?” I responded.

“Nothing, that’s just something that Janet does in the new Scream movie, Scream 3…” she said, still speaking in third person about her contingent role in the movie (that obviously fell through).

“Oh, really?” I asked. “I’m serious, I’m for real,” she responded.

“I’ll see when it comes out…” I replied.

(We paused a moment. She wanted to get into another “character.”)

“Are you sassing me?” she asked.

“No you are sassing me, I’m gonna whoop your butt!” I said.

“*About to bend over, shall I?” she asked seductively.

“*Looking at you…” I said, just thinking about her…the real-her (she’s so seductive).

But then he caught me off-guard:

“Don’t be sassing or else Joseph’s gonna send you to get a switch! You hear me!” she

said (crying out for a friend, confidant and the therapy her soul so badly yearned for).

I frowned, then I responded:

“Yes, I’m listening to you…”

“Be careful not to let him have you…” she sneaked in (and confessed)...

That really caught me off-guard-I paused, my brows raised:

“He’s not very nice huh?” I asked.

It was crazy. She instantly turned into “Penny” from “Good Times”-lying to defend

the parent that was abusing her:

“No, no, he’s changed a lot though. He’s much much nicer to the grandchildren. He’s changed,” she quickly defended, wondering if her four walls could talk and tell on her…

(I stared at her):

“*Looking at you(((((((((((holding you)))))))))))))) I love you baby. Do you know that?” I asked her-Janet.

“Yes. I know. I love you too. I really do…” she replied, knowing what I meant appreciating my sincerity…

It got really quiet between us.

We hung around for a while saying nothing much and got back on later that night.

She was in such a good mood, back to her same ole’ “Jiggs” self again.

She asked me if she could show me a love letter that she wrote (it was posted in the room-the way that 3-paged open love letter she had posted for me back in May was posted. And like that one, I had to speed read to get the gist of it in the 15-20 seconds before the contents of the letter would disappear).

This time it was a short one. It read: “I’m so overcome with so much emotion that I can’t fight it. I know it must be love and if it wasn’t, I can’t understand why I can’t keep you out of my mind despite all…you stay on my mind…”

It was so sweet, but I was so afraid to fully embrace it because I remembered all too well how bad my nose was opened after her last open letter (and what happened shortly after having sent the open letter).

As the screen rolled down, like a kid with a high school crush, she quickly changed her [“to whom it concerned”] by stating that she found that love letter in her boyfriend’s pocket, and it must be to her (or something silly like that). I just shook my head.

We just sat on I.M as I watched her do her norm in the room while carrying on in several I.M’s with her buddies as we sat off to the side in our private I.M for hours saying “words” to one another until I got tired and ready to go to bed.

The next day I was trying to get in the room from home, my computer was extremely slow. All the words were scrambled and there were blocks within every other letter of everything on the entire page of any page that I would try to access (even a mere word file again).

When I was on my way to the room; sitting at the top of my screen were the words: “velvetbg3.gif ” (I guessed that was the title of the default named file that they used to block entrance to the room). I knew they were in the middle of doing something with my computer at that very moment, but wasn’t finished just yet.

When I was finally able to get into the room I could see conversation and their posts, but they blocked out the nicknames so that I could not see who was saying what. When I would try to post-my posts, too, would be scrambled with blocks between every word through anything I posted (so that I couldn’t see my own posts-but they could). I was really confused as to why they would be doing something with my computer since she and I had been getting

along, but I had to remember that she was still “who she is” and their guards were up even more so since they got those 13 pages. Besides, no matter how much we got along anyways, no

matter how “EXCITED” or sweet, and cute she would be; there would always be things like this happening to my computer. I never knew what they were up to-ever; hence, the birth of the 13 pages (and going forward)....

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For me, I was in was in a very bad place at this point of this thing with her because she knew soooo much about me like: how I liked to have sex, oral sex, positions, my sexual way, my sensual way, my feelings, my personality, what moved me, just-everything…everything

that in a normal circumstance, that “other pretty girl” is not supposed to know. Yet here it was that “other pretty girl” was the one who had me in all those ways (but at the time—had not had those 13 pages in her hand as yet). Thirteen pages that now, fucked with her twisted mind such that, one part of her lusted and loved me madly, now (with the missing links connected and the mystery removed), it all began to play tricks on her head. At this point, she didn’t want to receive me like before and this all gave her a reason to churn this whole entire thing up twice

over what she had done thus far…and I mean it was ON...

We went AT it:

After feeling stupid at her hissing at me after that email I sent her, that next day (in the afternoon) when I checked my snail mail box (at the post office), I had gotten a cute little Kangol styled fisherman’s hat from my one of my besties: Kim (it was leopard print ironically tan and brown). Kim liked to stop by the Swap meet and pick up cute things for me to send in my care packages. She got a kick out of the fact that the Swap Meet was an L.A staple-she loved herself some California.

It was such a pleasant surprise because I wasn’t expecting it.

When I got home, I called her immediately to tell her how much I loved the hat and that I was shocked at how great it looked on me (because I’ve never been a hat person). We were laughing and joking around-happy to talk to each other (as usual). I was telling her about how I was in the mirror trying it on at that moment, and how I had put it down to my brow so that you could barely see my eyes. We laughed because she told me that was what she did when she put hers on too.

When I got off the phone, I took a deep breath, because I knew that damned Janet

had “overheard” every single word and was probably going to have an attitude the next time I talked to her (fuck the attitude I should have at being hissed at—with Janet, that did not matter to her-whatever she did-that’s how she was).

Even without this happening, it would make her soooooo jealous to hear me give any joy, laughter or time to anybody else outside of her. That would make her bazooka crazy, which was why I hated for my friends to call me on the phone and I preferred them to ride by.

Sometimes when they would call, I would purposely drag my voice in an almost standoffish kind of way just so I could tweak any excitement that Janet could pick up and get jealous over.

I learned how to keep my enthusiasm and tone of voice at a certain robotic-like decibel. It was that serious. I would feel so bad when they called me with too much excitement and I couldn’t greet them back with the same enthusiasm, but they could not image how much drama in my life that would cause me with Janet. It was hard with her, but with them-I could explain later not to her though.

When I went into the room, sure enough, she was bad-real bad: Michael Jackson.

She was mad, real mad: Joe Jackson.

She had a major attitude with me and couldn’t even hide it (nor did she try to).

Before knowing her, I used to be so fooled by her (public) sweet smile and gentle ways-all that. But as I had been in this thing with this girl, this little bitch was a tyrant and Tasmanian devil-a total bully. Every sweet and “gentle” way about her, even down to the way she pronounced the words she speaks, I learned was all by design. She was a master at the fuckery of public persona and imagery. That little bitch bites-hard. She wore me out. Her persistence is unmatched.

She turned things up.

We were logged into the room, and off to the side in I.M as well.

This panther set me up to move in for the kill:

She told me she was having a terrible time trying to do something with her hair and asked me if I had any suggestions. (She only said that to set up a fight between us. I knew that was her sneaky lil’ cue for me to say: “just put on a hat.”) Fuck her, I did it: “Just do like I do, pull it up in a ponytail or pull it back and pull a few strands out, OR you can just throw a hat on. My friend sent me a hat that I’m going to wear on my next bad hair day. Man I love it! It’s sooo cute.”

She simply responded: “Oh.”

She was sooo jealous.

We didn’t say anything else to one another for a while-a long while too. That tyrant could outwait and out-persist anything or anybody. She was Spanish-bull stubborn.

I eventually turned my attention away from her.

I turned things up.

In my virtual world, I looked over to my left at Madonna’s “Beautiful Stranger” video and I posted to her:

“My video is on-heeeeyyy *doing the snake*”

(I started literally started doing the “snake,” back and forth, as if she was really around me-she was getting pissed. “Hiss at that, bitch!” I said aloud-looking at the screen).

“What?” she asked.

“BEAUTIFUL STRANGER,” I yelled then sang (and posted to her): “Haven’t you heard/I fell in love with a beautiful stranger/You could be good for me/I have the taste danger/If I’m smart then I’ll run away. But I’m not so I guess I’ll stay/Haven’t you heard, I took my chance on a beautiful stranger/I looked into your eyes and my world start tumbling down/You’re the devil in disguise, that’s why I’m singing this song/To know you, is to love you/To love you, is to be part of you/ You’re everywhere I go and everybody knows/I pay for you in tears/I swallowed all my pride..And pay for you in tears…Dada da da da da da da da da-Beautiful Stranger.”

…typically those lyrics would have reached her-she knew that we both could relate to every single lyric (which was why I posted the song’s bridge and chorus). But instead of receiving it, she’s such a tyrant-all she wanted to do was fight me.

“Oh. Never seen it,” she replied.

I shook my head at this video junkie who was in the room when one of her employees and me had talked about the video a few days prior where I mentioned how Madonna was freaking Michael Myers while he was driving. She put her butt on his shoulder and she started twerking on him.

It was hilarious.

If Janet hadn’t seen it then, she damned sure saw it by this time-especially knowing that I liked it so much. (But I forgot that she wasn’t that fond of Madonna, so I chopped it up to her just being her same ole’ mean self again; jealous and hating to have any possession of hers give any attention whatsoever to anything else). She was already (still) jealous about Kim and the cat-printed hat…

Her turn (this little bitch):

“Yeah Cin, I think I’m going to get my brow pierced,” trying to make me jealous because her troublemaking ass friend [slash] lover (Shawn) has hers pierced.

I responded (cynically):

“Yeah? I never understood those things. Why one would pierce their eyebrow? I thought it was because of something you do sexually with it, sort of like how you can bat your lashes onto someone to tickle them. I always thought that’s what they were for-batting the brow instead. I can deal with the little flat barbell thingy but not an actual earring hanging from my eye…Something about that just does not compute with me.” I then giggled (to myself pissing her ass off).

Smirking, I shrugged my shoulders with my lips tight, imagining the anger on she and Shawn’s troublemaking ass face over there saying, “Oooh I can’t STAND her!”

I turned things up higher.

The next video was Mary’s “All That I Could Say.”

We were both commenting on it.

Then I posted:

“Did you hear Mary same my name baby? *singing* ‘Sweeter than CINNAMON.’ “

A few minutes later, some wild comment came through the room:

“THE BLACKER THE BERRY THE SWEETER THE JUICE!”

I knew that was Shawn hiding behind the name.

Laughing, I replied:

“It’s not sweeter than the taste of Cinamon though,” I purposely spelled it with one

‘n’-my nickname.

The next thing I know, I got disconnected from my computer-they rebooted me.

She turned things up even higher.

When I logged got back in, I didn’t say anything or ask why I was disconnected, nor did Janet apologize this time. We both just sat there watching conversation in the room.

This rebel started again:

“Oh it’s so refreshing to hear songs like: “Chante’s Got a Man,” she said that because of “No Scrubs” and “Bills Bill Bills,” I had been bumping both of those songs on my CD Room earlier that day and we had a discussion about both songs before.

She was in a rebellious and combative mood; ready to start an argument in the room around her buddies so that she could have an audience, because she knew that were waiting in

the wings to assist her for when things got out of hand.

She only said that because once while we were in the room, she said that she liked “Bills Bills Bills” but she felt like the line: “You trifling; good for nothing type of brotha” was too harsh and that she could never say anything like that to a man.

To that, I had responded:

“Well, I love the song and every word in it. I think that if you listen to the lyrics of the entire song, I’d say he was a ‘Trifling good for nothing type of brotha.’ I don’t have a problem with it and am appalled at the responses I’ve heard from women complaining about ‘No Scrubs’ and ‘Bills Bills Bills’ when all day every day, you see men degrading women in their videos and in their songs like clockwork, while women are still singing about losing them, how to get and keep them.

Here it is, you get two itty-bitty songs where women are degrading men, somewhat, and it’s a problem. I cram to understand that whole argument, especially coming from women.

Even before ‘No Scrubs’ got out good, some somebody had to put out a rebuttal to it. Men sing and rap songs like that about women like it’s a rite of passage. Women hardly ever sing songs like that. I mean you would really have to search your memory archives to find a song where a woman degraded a man, whereas it would take no time to pull one out about men degrading women. I’m appreciating this liberated approach to music that I’m hearing. It’s time, I’d say…”

I felt good annoying those bitches (with the truth). I could just see Janet rolling her eyes at me so hard that she gave herself an eye-ache.

They listened on. I continued:

“Sure, don’t get me wrong, I like snapping my fingers and nodding my head to some of the very same degrading songs and videos, and even though I am offended (as “woman,”) I am not offended personally, because I do not allow men to treat me like the women they sing about in these kinds of songs, nor would I ever entertain the thought of shucking and jiving in any video for any man who is rapping or singing about degrading women, so to each his own. It doesn’t bother me-either way.”

She figured I would respond about Chante Moore’s song because she knows I am an old Chante’ Moore fan (since her first CD-long before “Chante’s Got a Man),” but I didn’t respond-I ignored it on purpose.

Janet knows me like a book. She knew what to say to pick me-so that she could start an argument.

She knows personally that although I do love the song (and played it a lot); I still feel Chante’s [story in the song] is a “situational” thing, like our story is a “situation”-an isolated special circumstance…

For the women who really feel that they have a man like Chante’s then I am happy, because everyone in a committed relationship should be happy like that. The lyrics to the song is exactly what women should wear, know, and feel all day everyday about a man that she commits herself to. But Janet, knowing me like she does, knows that I feel Chante has an exceptional “situation” that she chose to take a chance and sing about, which is a change from the “I need a man, my man left me, and my man aint no good,” kinds of songs.

“Chante’s Got a Man” is a song [in which most women whose situation doesn’t identify with Chante’s “situational ballad]” still fantasize about, which is fine and good, too.

The poor woman could hardly even get through performing the song without all the “Amen!”’s and the: “I know that’s right” ’s and all. I saw her once on television performing it and I’d never heard so many cat-calls and praises during one performance in all my life!

However, Janet knows that I personally feel that there is such a difference in the way that we love today as compared to way back when. Back in the day, it used to be, “Only YOU

Can Make Me Happy,” now, it’s “Only the LOOT Can Make Me Happy…”

Don’t get me started. Janet knows (first hand) that until I have seen a change in the ways that we live and love today; I will always feel that although Chante’s got a man, she’s got an exceptional “situation” too. And since all this was really about us being in the middle of throwing blows at one another, she was just ready to rebel and battle, but I wasn’t up for it. I ignored the fact that she even said: “Oh it’s so refreshing to hear songs like “Chante’s Got a Man.” She was sure that would conjure up a debate.

The next conversation was about “Gay Pride” weekend.

Off in I.M, she told me she wanted go to one day.

My turn now-higher...

I made another comment that I knew would piss her off again (since we were already throwing blows at one another. Besides, I had a bone to pick with this cat since her “Booing” and “Hissing” at me the other day.)

Fuckinwither (and knowing it would send her through the roof, I responded): “Yeah, I remember my East African friend asked me on my birthday if she could taste me for Gay Pride weekend, I thought that was pretty funny…”

The shit hit the fan then.

They started dropping down the nicknames to make fun of this friend to carefully identify her like: “Boomshackalacka” (because she was from East Africa, very cultured and into all Third World country culture) so they learned-by listening in on her conversations also, where by listening; they learned that she would allow her 12-year old and her 10-year old sons to stay at home when they would not want to go to summer camp while she would need to work her 4 hour a day job, three days per week). I didn’t even know my friend was doing that until I brought it to her attention after this day-when Janet and her buddies had started making conversation about their preparing to call Social Services on her come morning-first thing. I had no idea.

That’s the kind of shit I’m talking about. She knew things and would hold on to them for her safe keeping-to use as an arsenal whenever she needed to fire (whether it would be about me or my friends) she would use her “overheard” information at opportune times.

It was getting ruthless in the room. They turned-up even higher than I did.

Next, they started making jokes about my personal business and dropping down nicknames and carrying on skits to let me know that she knew much more than I even thought she did from other people’s conversations that she was listening to-more stuff she hunted and

gathered as well.

It got really wild in the room.

I sat and watched, boiling mad, as she kept posting to me in I.M:

“HOODY HOOOOO!!!! HOODY HOOOOO!!!!” and “Drop it like it’s hot, drop it like it’s hot,” over and over like she was jumping up and down on a mattress or something-like a hyper ass kid. That was turning me the hell off-for real.

I was sitting there like: “uuhhhhddd…fucks wrong with her?”

It annoyed the shit out of me.

Next, the nickname: “MeHo” came down, like: “Me...Hoe.”

I just sat there in shock. I could not believe the sight in front of my eyes.

She and they were in rare form that evening.

They continued to carry on conversations asking her if she still wanted me, and she responded:

“I don’t know what I’m going do with my lil’ girlfriend y’all.”

“So much for nine and a half inches!” said one of her buddies (they all responded in “lolololol” laughter).

I just sat there shaking my head, pissed and hurt as hell-clueless as to how we got this far. It was so brutal.

Next, a sexual nickname came down as they made jokes about my “sexual prowess,” and treated one of mine and Janet’s lil’ sexual shin-digs like I was a completely packaged whore of hers and she was some dude who fucked me and treated me like a slut in front of his friends. I bit back-to mind fuck her: “Why envy? Perhaps if you stayed on your job you could’ve kept your man. Maybe I can show you how it’s really done one day…with a real man!”

She then posted a message to me over in I.M: “WOW! Really?”

I replied:

“Yeah…REALLY…and I can do that to a real man with a real thingy…How talented I am huh?…” I replied to her (laughing to myself).

I then went to the chat room and posted:

“Does anybody have Rene’s addy to his chat room, because this one is starting to bore me?”

Somebody responded: “Yeah Cinamon” …and posted some way to get to it through one of Janet’s links. Knowing them, they probably tapped every IP of every damned computer that clicked through the link to get to that man’s chat room from her room. I knew their moves. I laughed and responded:

“Do you really think I would go to Rene’s chat room through a Janet link? We would have NO privacy!”

Nobody responded.

Janet was pissed. She asks me in I.M:

“So Cin, have you been over to your friend’s house with the cat lately?”

“Um Lena’s house? No,” I responded.

“Dirty Pussy…” she rolled her eyes and posted.

I couldn’t understand at first what the hell she could have been talking about with that comment right there. Lena had no kids, and treated that cat like a newborn baby and it was cleaner than some people I know.

I thought back to the day Janet and I first brought her cat (named Cleo) and Lena’s cat into the picture. We were joking about how prissy they both were because they were indoor exotic cats. Janet and I started joking about the dirty little cats in my neighborhood and how they were always outside screamin,’ fuckin’ and fightin’ every night. We busted out laughing

because she responded: “Well you know those out door cats in the hood got to fight to survive…” and we laughed.

But this day, the cat joke wasn’t funny-this was about real pussy (so I found out).

I cursed them all out in chat, logged out and drove over to my friend Lena’s house to find out why Janet would say something like that. I felt awkward bringing this conversation to her but I needed to know what sense Lena could make of Janet’s “Dirty Pussy” comment. I asked her had she been on her phone saying anything that had to do with the contents of what I had just told her [Janet posting: “Dirty Pussy”]. Sure enough, she informed me that she had told another friend of hers that she was upset about the smell of her vagina and that she had made an appointment to see her doctor. Turns out she had something in the yeast family (nothing sexually transmitted), which let me know that was the reason for Janet’s comment. I was l.i.v.i.d, and embarrassed for my friend and definitely tired of Janet’s shit. I wanted to kick her ass this day. She and they were all up in people’s business.

When I got back home, I made phone calls to Shauntay, Janine and “Boomshacklacka.”

I told them that they had my permission to talk about her like a dog, whereas at one time (many times), I would stop them in their tracks. Together, we talked about her from head to toe, inside and out, up and down. My energy was bursting out like crazy-overpowering theirs because I was soooo mad at her.

---excerpt break

Two days later, I guess she felt it was time to remove her mask-she and all involved.

Sunday, August 22nd, I was lurking in the room but watching television in my own virtual world. All of a sudden the nickname “Bravo19” came in.

Bravo had asked me about a week before this particular day, if (he/she) could personally introduce (him/her self) to me each time (he/she) came into the room and I simply responded: “Yeah, sure, I don’t mind,” but didn’t think anything of it. I guess they wanted me to merely remark and bookmark the nickname in my head [for this day].

After “Bravo19” came in, crazy “Brie” I.M’ed me, telling me that she was making one of her famous parfaits while she talked about school and Emeril Lagasse and such. (Of course Janet revealed herself from behind “Brie” ions ago which too, was the last time we talked under her “Brie” nickname) so I was trying to figure out what was going on-because I knew something was about to happen-some kind of new reveal, because she hadn’t used “Brie” in like forever.

The next nicknames (one after the other) came in-like roll call:

Welcome New User {LittleBit}: authorized

I said aloud to myself: “Ok, that’s Shawn. I already know that.” Next to come down:

Welcome New User {Drama}: authorized

I said aloud to myself again: “Ok that’s Shawn’s other nickname, too. I already know that. And?”

Meanwhile, in I.M off to the side with me, “Brie” logged out without saying

goodbye, then “Dunk” (Janet’s real/public nickname) traded places with “Brie” and came down in the room:

Welcome New User {Dunk}: authorized

…Ok, so there’s Janet-I knew for sure something was about to go down now. Next to come down:

Welcome New User {Rix}: authorized

I said aloud to myself: “Ok, that’s Rix-Janet’s digerati king. I already know that, now what?”Next to come down:

Welcome New User {LV}: authorized

I said aloud to myself, again: “Ok, that’s Louisa-Janet’s digerati queen. I already know that, and?” Next to come down:

Welcome New User {Lissa}: authorized

(If they could have, they would have dropped her “Poet”) nickname down but of course, it was currently in use-and we needed that...after they get done with whatever it was they were trying to do here…

I said aloud to myself, again: “Ok, that’s LissFOSD (a.k.a Miss: “ ‘FOSD’ Not to be Confused with Falling Off Slippery Dicks I Manage To Stay on Those”). I knew it! I knew she was in on this with Janet’s Team. But still...what the fucks going on?” I wondered.

For me, it only confirmed-for sure-that Lissa was a part of this setup just like I always thought because on that January 21st day that I left Janet’s room (right after she, Shawn, and Louisa dissed me); from the very moment I peeped back in to the room that first again on that early March day, Lissa hopped right on me like she was on a mission.

Mission accomplished the day she sent that email to me (with the virus attached) on that March 8th day.

Mission accomplished the day she hopped on I.M with me that March 10th day and set up Janet’s digerati’s “Packet-Sniff Her Computer Files So I Can Find Out Everything I Need to Know About Her Before I Hook Up with Her” poison).

Mission discovered July 21-the day after Janet’s digerati retrieved the first 13 pages of the chronology and Lissa (along with the rest of them) circled around me and came at me to (indirectly) let me know what they “found me doing.”

Mission discovered (again) on the day they sent her undercover to “clarify” something I said [within the contents of our I.M conversation] that because of; I ended up kirking out on Lissa (via email) for keeping drama up between Janet and I and she called my phone to leave a message-bitching me out-stating that no one “unnecessary” knew what was going on between Janet and me].

Lissa was on my radar too because there had also been comments about her wearing Janet’s “Pleasure Principle” hairstyle (like Janet’s hairstyle in the video). Talk was about how she was Janet’s niece or some relative of hers and how much she looked like her and all. I had also gathered she was an Aries born on or around April 17. I had my eye on her while she was sent on “Special Mission [Me-Angie].”

At any rate, I sat there and watched them all line up on the screen in cyber world looking as if they were 6 of the 12 constellations in alignment.

I started to post: “Clappppp!!! Ooook now I get it! ‘Bravo19’, is this why (a week ago) you asked if you could speak to me the next time you came in? Ok, bravo! Clap Clap-now what? Some kind of reveal is going on-but why. What’s up this time?”

I only thought to post that in my head because everybody just sat there quiet-still in alignment. Not one single word was posted behind their authorized nicknames. It was fucking weird. I was wondering if Rix was about to mess with my computer again. I was about to get mad at first, because I just didn’t know what to make of all of them coming down (in their official/real/public nicknames) from behind their countless other nicknames (that we would talk under).

I broke the ice and posted: “Oh my gosh, let me hold on to my computer!”

All of a sudden, the nickname: “DigiTEK” came down.

(I remembered that name floating around the room since my meeting “Bravo19” a short while back.)

DigiTEK responded: “So funny how one could admit that they got played…”

I just sat there, knowing DigiTEK’s comment couldn’t have been because they thought all this time I didn’t know that all six of those “authorized” people were the ones behind the many nicknames on any given day I was in the room with Janet. We all knew that, so I didn’t respond, I just let “DigiTEK” have that one. I kept quiet because I thought back to the night when I was in the room with them for a second (when Janet was gone to the Source Awards that night), “DigiTEK” had made his entrance claiming to be a hacker, sending down language that looked something like this:

£ëä;êbð°zëDv,J:ì^μ8‰ÃDisÒ9iߦ•¥~Õ6ÃDcÔ ¯©ÅÊ?¨´‘’GMíÝ $Íìº/

>6÷T•0Pû6-FÆÇ’Ô•‡ig¨‰EÀ¼ß

That day, I knew now for sure that “DigiTEK” was a part of her hired help but was only there playing around trying to be funny (for whatever reason-I did not know). I just sat there with my brows up wondering what the hell was going on and what they were going to do next.

We sat there trying to outstare one another. They won, because I just logged out and went to bed. I wasn’t taking any chances. I was all too used to Rix remotely doing magic on my computer for Janet and this time, I wasn’t having it.

The next evening I came in. She wasted no time.

“SAVVY” came down and stared, licking her lips slowly and seductively. I knew this was the seductress herself: that damned Janet. I shook my head and laughed to myself. She loved to get sexy and play-and it had been a while since we did. We fought so damned much, and so badly that I thought we were pretty much beyond repair and rapport.

She took a seat and placed her elbows on top of her legs-resting her head in the palm of her hands. A conversation was going on about the Internet and computers so I dropped down a quote for old-times sake: “If you embrace technology but do it blindly, you may find

less freedom, not more…”

The SAVVY one got up and walked over to me and spoke:

“Cinamon. Hello Cinamon. How are you?”

“Fine,” I said.

“I know,” she responded.

 “LOL” I giggled. She didn’t laugh out loud, giggle, nor crack a smile.

I knew then that she was *W and ready.

“I love how you so eloquently posted that quote,” she said.

“Gee thanks, it is so very true,” I returned.

(She didn’t respond. She posted something for me in French that ended with

something like “je suis amour avec toi.” I laughed and posted):

“Alls I know is that “avec toi”means: ‘with you!’ meaning: “Me!” What now with me?”

(She still didn’t laugh, giggle, nor crack a smile). She replied:

“Cinamon. You are soooo very clever. You’ve played the game so well.”

“Clever eh?” I replied.

“Yes…very…I mean it…I love it…I’ve never in my life been

sooo…sooo….romantic in here…” she said.

“Oh, in here? LoL” I responded, feeling like I had been the “lucky” (victim?).

She still wouldn’t laugh out loud, giggle, nor crack a smile.

“I.M me,” she said.

(I didn’t respond, because I assumed she wanted me to take my pick on which I.M nickname to use. But she was reaching in her bag o’tricks and pulled one out for me) *drum roll*…ta daaaaaaa!!!!:

“FEMMEHOUND…” she posted in caps and in bold letters.

My eyes stretched like a kid on Christmas morning:

“Dayyyyuuuum,” I said (to myself).

“Do it NOW…” she demanded.

I could tell she wasn’t going to let me get away this time.

We went off to the side to whisper to each other in I.M.

“I want you Cinamon. I want all of you,” she said, immediately.

“When?” I asked.

She paused then responded: “Let’s see, right after Labor Day, because I’ll be totally free after then.”

“When is Labor Day?” I asked.

“September 6…any time after then, because I have to fly to Hawaii,” she said.

I just shook my head at this maniac and said:

“Oh okay that’s cool, because after the 29th of August I’m real free until almost the end of September, but you know anytime is time for you…LoL”

She still didn’t laugh, giggle nor crack a smile.

“I want you,” she reiterated and posted in bold.

“You can have me…do whatever-I’m yours. I won’t fight this anymore,” I

submitted.

“*Sticking my tongue ring out.” she said.

“Where do you live?” she asked.

“Ok, I’m about to go!” I responded, because she was trying to f lip the game (she knew I hated that).

 “No, no…okay…I understand. LoL” she said.

I didn’t laugh (or crack a smile)…

“Ok I understand,” she reiterated.

“I’m telling you now…” I warned her-so as to let her know that I was going to log off if she couldn’t trust me and if the game playing shit would begin.

“I know,” she said…with her shoulders up, trying hard not to piss me off again.

We had been through this time and time again despite the fact we all knew Janet and me were both on some “Mr.-and-Mrs.-Smith-We-Love-One-Another-But-We’re-On Assignment-and-on-Guard-to-Kill-One-Another-at-Any-Moment” type shit. Me: With the chronology of which they were in possession of the first 13 pages while watching me complete. She and her digerati:

Ready to detonate upon infiltration and come out leaving no traces of footsteps or stains.

She continued: “You wanna know what I look like?” she asked.

I didn’t respond because I knew she only threw that out there to prepare to “undescribe” herself for this I.M conversation’s record. It was crazy how she wanted to keep talking and get us together, but still playing everything like playing with fire. If you’re in you’re in, if you’re out you’re out. These were the kinds of things that kept me away from her and treating her badly. “If I’m transparent totally on record, you have to, too. I’m just as important as you bitch,” was my thinking (and expressing). I refused to leap to her on whispers, clues, footprints in the sand and connect-the-dot-to get to that cock. Shid. I was not budging.

Whatever she wanted from me-on record, if she didn’t do that same (for this printable record), she was not going to be hounding this femme.

She dropped the description:

“I got long ass hair, about 3/4th’s Caucasian, but I look more black. I have light eyes and I’m very fit,” she said.

I replied by throwing this out there: “Oh. Like Janet in the “Everytime” video huh?

(I dared her ass to reject that and switch up on me).

She didn’t, but she was in no mood to play around either.

She and I was like a sweet poison to one another-like some strange concoction developed in a lab by some mad scientist who hadn’t completed the potion and because of, every time it was mixed, it would combust-that was us. It was crazy. We needed to get this fuck

off our chest or we were going to explode-the both of us. I never experienced anything like this-this sexual angst, she hadn’t either. Me: Making her take her time unlike (because of who she is) she wasn’t used to being forced to do. Her: Going through the fire, to the limits through the wall, for the chance to be with me, would gladly risk it all.

It was very scary for the both of us, but we needed to get this thing up, and on.

She was ready to get this showdown locked in before yet another fight would start. It seemed inevitable, and we tried hard to avoid our fights because we really wanted one another badly. But it was like this strong shaking magnetic force bringing us together yet, this other force would keep wiggling us apart: My intimidation versus her paranoia. I could always handle her in our normal conversations-even when we were romantic and nonsexual. She seemed to be intimated by me when we would talk about life and regular subjects-regular conversation. She was always afraid that she sounded stupid, and I would have to peel her apart gently-to relax.

We could meet in the middle when we would talk romantic and nonsexual, or when we would be silly together. But she had a way about her when she would get into another kind of sexual “her”—it was like a whole other person, she could be verrrryyyyy intimidating…like in this next conversation-this was one of those times. It was like reverse, where, she would have to peel me apart to get me to relax.

She continued:

“*Looking at U. So shall I fly down? Do you live in a house or apartment?” asked the Femmehound.

“*Deep sigh. Looking at u…” I replied, with my brow up-knowing that she already knew everything: where I lived, my dwelling, and all that. I was ready to start the fight and she knew my brow was raised.

“LOL!” she said.

“I’m just kidding. I’ll fly you out here. I have a big house in the hills of California…” she said-truthfully.

I responded: “I need complete privacy in order to work my special brand of magic…”

“I’m definitely going to give you that…” she promised.

“No one can see me?” I asked.

“No, not even the raccoons,” she assured me.

“ No one can hear me?” I asked, coyly.

“No one, I promise,” she assured me. I knew she was getting aroused. She was such a sexual maniac.

“No one can smell…while you follow the trail…to wet tail…Femmehound?” I asked seductively with my one brow up.

“Oh Cinamon, you turn me on so…” she gasped seductively, yearning as if she had stomped her foot like a spoiled child.

“LoL” I giggled and smiled.

“I want your everything,” she demanded.

“I want to have you on the beach, in the park, in the car. I want strawberries, honey, whipped cream. I want it outside, anywhere anytime…anyplace...I want spontaneity. I want intimacy from you. I want everything,” she demanded, with her brow up-SERIOUSLY.

“Greedy is an understatement,” I thought to myself about this self-confessed greedy, lusty, and selfish woman. If she were a line out of a song it would be: I’ve been hurting for a long time. And you’ve been playing for a long time. You know it’s true. I’ve been holding for a long time. And you’ve been running for a long time. It’s time to do. Oh what we have to do / She says her love is much too deep for what her lover hasn’t heard. But what she doesn’t realize is that I’ve listened to every word. That’s why I’m gonna tell her that I love her. And I want her. And my mind and soul and body needs her. Tell her that I’d love to. And I want to. And I need to do all that I have to, to be in her love,” because I thought about the contents of Denise’s and my conversation on the phone that Friday August 20th night again. We were talking about intimacy and oral-sex and I told her that kissing was more intimate to me than oral sex (something she never knew I felt). I told her that I could count on my hands how many people I had kissed in my life-kissing was special to me, especially passionate, deep, open-mouth kissing-that is for real love.

She (Janet-“overhearing”) had also been briefed on how I feel about

spontaneity, and how it had to be earned with me. She felt like she had already earned it and wanted it all.

Janet knew just what to say in this cybersexion as if she pre-planned it with a checklist. I imagined her stating her list of things she was going to take from me while she looked at me as if I had better not buck (which is what I knew she meant when this lustful, selfish, and greedy woman said: “I want you. I want everything”).

I already knew that she is the type who would see to it that I not hold back on nothing that she had hunted and gathered, or read [or heard me say was off limits]; she knew she would be the exception to all my rules: mentally, emotionally and sexually. This moment had been too long a time coming, and she was double-checking, twice, her long list of all things she knew about me that made me naughty and nice. She’s methodical and premeditated like that-in every way. She does not play. Janet is a mechanical human being about everything. She paid attention to everything. I thought about the time in the room we were talking sexual (in third person), and I said: “Me and my woman are gonna fuck so hard that the world is gonna feel it.” I knew at this moment she was ready for me to put my body where my mouth was. So this maniac femmehound was going to see to it that I backed up everything I had ever said (in addition to everything she “overheard”).

“I’m aggressive in the bedroom and I want passion, I want all your passion…” she gripped.

I then replied with lyrics from one of my favorite classics: “Back and forth, raging scenes of lust I want you madly can’t you tell? Can’t you tell? Can’t you tell? Oh, take me in your arms oh baby. If the crime was death I’d rather die, here in your, screams of passion…”

“I know that you are hard to please, but I’m gon’ work you…” she said confidently and slowly. I know she folded and bit her lips when she said that-I know her well.

“No, it’s just a front. Trust me. I’m easy to please. I’m relaxed and easily stimulated.

You already know how to get me started…LoL.” I replied.

“Oh my gosh, I’m getting so wet now thinking about it. I know you are wet right now aren’t you?” she asked.

“Oh Yes,” I replied.

“Touch it for me” she instructed.

“*Touching it…smelling it. It smells so good.” I responded.

“I know it does, ooh you turn me on so,” she said-yearning.

“Oooh you turn me onnn. You do everything that brings out the fire in me, like I fantasize about,” I confessed.

“I’d taste it for you, in the heat of a moment as we kiss,” I said.

“And then I’m gonna put my tongue down your throat” she said (knowing-from “overhearing” mine and Denise’s conversation where I told Denise how I feel about kissing being more intimate than oral sex). This maniac wanted to make sure she had permission to take everything I felt was sacred. She did not want to be left out.

“In the moment-you can,” I returned-to assure her.

“I’m gonna put my tongue down your throat and you’re gonna sit on my face right?”she asked.

“Yes, in the heat of the moment,” I gulped, she caught me by surprise.

“I got nine and a half inches of strap for you…” she bragged (again).

“You gon’ work it?” I asked, softly and seductively.

“Hell yeah…we’re gonna marothon fuck,” she said-confidently.

“You know what that is?” she asked.

“Marathon fuck?” I responded.

She got intimidated:

“Thanks for correcting my spelling,” she said, as if I was about to spoil the mood.

 “No, no, no, no, I wasn’t trying to be funny. What is it though, is what I’m asking?”

I replied-feeling way too aroused to have the mood spoiled.

“It’s non-stop fucking. It’s better than the best work out you could ever have,” she said.

“I think I can work with that. *opening my legs to let you watch insertion. Moaning slowly-every inch in. Do you want me to stretch my legs wide open or wrap them around you to grip you tight?” I asked.

“Ah grip me tight, grip me tight,” she breathed hard and said.

“I want you to see it and hear it talk to you…If you hit my spot…oooh…I bet you I wet you,” I whispered shyly.

“Oh I’m gonna find it,” she challenged-confidently.

Her sexual confidence was unmatched, I must say. It had been a quite a few weeks since we had a cybersexsion and I was noticing she had been brushing up on her already potent sexual skills so I was feeling a little intimidated at this point but I was hanging in there and ready for her aggressive ass: “You like manual stimulation?” she asked.

“Yes, you gonna be doing it while you’re inside of me? It’s gon’ be slipping and sliding. You gon’ try to hold on to my clit while you play with it?” I asked.

“I’m gonna find your spot. I know I can…” she said with extra confidence.

She already knew my vaginal anatomy-every curve and cavity. So she was preparing her mission in her head-most probably remembering all too well; those nudies and close up vaginal shots she got from me by merely asking for them. I loved her. So I did it. And it made her so happy-and us closer. I could see the picture in her mind-I know her. She could see getting to my spot like x-ray vision through the phone, but until she got a hold of me, the pictures would have to do. In the middle of our moment, I didn’t tell her, but only one person could make that happen to me-and I thought he was magic for it too. I didn’t want her to feel too challenged in a “slim to none” kind of way. I wanted her just like she was: challenged in a “ready to go” kind of way. So I kept that secret. It added to my excitement, my anticipation-those butterflies in my stomach traveling down to my cooter knob making it throb had me going. I couldn’t wait. I loved her sexual arrogance. I knew if she was going to be any good at finding my spot; that would make her a motherfucking magician. And we were already magic. “So make my rabbit purrr dammit!” I yelled out to myself-while looking at the screen.

“Okay, when you do, you’ll know. It’ll skeet right out on you…” I replied.

“You promise?” she asked-seductively.

“I promise.” I responded.

“While you’re fucking me, I want to you hold me down by my waist and stomach so I can’t move, then I want you to fuck me harder and harder like you just don’t care.

You know I like it hard, but grind it like you mean business.” Just hurt me ‘til it feels good,” I asked.

“Ooooh. I’m gonna do it too. I’m strong. Real strong and fit. Very fit…LoL,” she said (bragging).

“Oooh I’m loving you,” I confessed and stressed in bold-something I hadn’t told her in a long time.

“You had better not try to move cause I’m gonna get the cuffs out on you,” she said sadistically-planning and preparing me for some S&M.

 “Promise?” I asked softly.

“PROMISE” she confirmed (in caps-meaning that shit). Now down to business.

She demanded to know some concrete answers no...she needed a (one) concrete answer:

WHEN:

“Alright then, when?” she said, quickly-stressing “when” in bold letters.

She wasn’t having no games this time.

I replied:

“Well, with you…we will have to cross that bridge when we get to it around the 6th.”

...I said, knowing how crazy we could be fighting in like hours or a day after getting me comfortable. It was insane how that would happen, and mostly because of her buddies arousing too much unnecessary suspicion. If Mrs. Smith sat her gun down, I dropped mine. When she picked hers up-well, so did I. It was the name of the game. We could fight viciously like it was the end and we both could care less. Then the next day we could be on again and stuck like glue. Even at this particular moment in time, she knew that I had started the chronology and she was in possession of the first 13 pages, but still-she wanted this thing we had to happen. That made me happy, because then I wouldn’t have to be bothered with the nuisance of completing it, and more importantly, she and I could be together-happily (like we both wanted)-that was the plan from the start.

She continued:

“LoL… I’m serious. Real serious,” she stressed in bold.

“I need to know if you are you ready for this relationship?” she questioned-sealing the deal to end all bullshit (mine and hers).

“Yes, yes, I am-real ready,” I assured her-seriously. I was so happy.

“Ok” she confirmed with ellipsis and her brows up as if to say: “don’t play with me.”

“I’m soooo embarrassed. I aint never coming back to the room,” I said to her; thinking about how everybody was probably reading on, too.

“No, don’t do that-why silly?” she asked.

We just laughed…then she stopped laughing, took a deep breath, and paused as if to look me in the eyes (seriously) once again. She wanted to double-check: “I don’t want my heart splattered all over the floor…” she warned-vulnerably.

I responded (seriously):

“Never…….

ever…..

ever…”

She then disconnected from me.

I went over to the room and sat for a few minutes. I didn’t say anything to anybody.

Nobody said anything to me either.

It was very quiet and still-screen just rolling.

I waited on her to come into the room or back in I.M.

No sign of her, so I told her team (whoever was watching) that I was going to go to bed because I was very drowsy.

I then I left.

The next day (August 24th) I didn’t come in until almost four in the afternoon.

What the hell did I wait that long to talk to her for? My goodness that was a federal crime, especially after last night.

I had lots to do that next day, but I was both nervous to talk to her and rushing to start my day-running late. We seemed to be at a different level after last night. I was happy as hell, but nervous too. This was it. We were finally about to do it right and I just didn’t know how to handle it. I wanted to get my important day out the way and come back home to process her (and this new level) all over again. I knew if I talked to her first (especially after last night) even if I logged onto I.M for five minutes, she would take over my mind for the whole day. I needed a clear head for what I had to do. And there was no guarantee I could log on for five minutes and that five minutes not turn into one hour, then two hours or three-and I end up missing what I had to do (that had happened many times before, too).

Back in the room later this afternoon, “SAVVY” got her chime telling her I was there.

She came in right behind me.

I spoke to her and though she spoke back, she gave me a weird feeling.

“What happened to you last night girl?” she stressed and italicized-like a bully.

“Why did you leave? I had gotten disconnected, but I came back in looking for you.

Where did you go?” she demanded to know. I could feel her tyranny coming on-I could just feel it.

“Well actually I thought that was your sign...(that you had to leave). I went over to the chat room to see if you were there. I made mention that I was sleepy and was going to go right to bed. I was sooooo sleepy. It was almost 11:30, you know I don’t mind talking dirty but I was soooo sleepy…LoL.” I sang my rendition of Ginuine’s “So Anxious.” She knew I loved that song and had been playing it a lot (on my computer’s CD Rom). But she did not give a damn right now though, she was pissed. She didn’t laugh with me, nor was she in any mood for *Wickedness at least not that kind: “Yeah, LoL. Um Cin did I meet you in here Thursday or Friday of last week?” asked this savvy one-back to playing games again (knowing I would be getting pissed off in: 1-2-3...).

I knew some kind of shit was about to start. She only came down (in the room) as “SAVVY” to remind me of the previous day when she first came down as “SAVVY” (but then sent me to meet her over in I.M under her: “FEMMEHOUND” name-and we solidified everything). But instead, she was ready to fight under SAVVY (to hell with “FEMMEHOUND” today. I could feel her anger.

I knew yesterday, her goal was for us to seal the deal on this thing we had and needed to make sure I was for real this time. She knew all this time I really was ready and serious-but I could tell now, this time for different for her than all the times before. In all these months for most of all the seven days, yes, we talked at the start of every day-no matter what I had to do.

She was always available (because she was mobile-I wasn’t). There have been a few times-just a literal few-when I left the house in the mornings and carried on with my day, then got back with her in the afternoon and it wasn’t a problem. But this time—noooo she wasn’t having it.

When she had gotten disconnected last night (especially considering the very timely moment-after we sealed the deal and were coming to a close) I really did think she was told to purposely disconnect from me. She wasn’t trying to hear that though. We were back to the drawing board yet again…ugh. She was wayyyy too paranoid. It was crazy-too much over caution where (understandably) our communication had to be on her turf where they could control things, versus mobile (on my end); but my life sometimes did not permit me to tend to that (and a very few sometimes I might add). I typically cooperated and made time for her-always, and her under her terms and time zones-from wherever she would be in or out of the state or country, always. None of that mattered this day. Again, today was a different.

She treated it like I pulled a complete disappearing act on purpose-like totally rejecting her + running off to show the world our "Certificate of Relationship."

---excerpt break

  entered: 6.19.13

Date: Fri, 13 Aug 00:38am PDT

From: Poetlaure@aol.com

To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

Subject: Re: “Don’t let yesterday use too much of today”

That was a different Kris, her name is actually Kristie, she goes by Kris sometimes. Whatever. The ball is not in my court. I am in the room if you want to talk.

I simply responded to this nut:

Date: Fri, 13 Aug 05:51am PDT

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: Poetlaure@aol.com

Subject: (((((((((((((((((YOU))))))))))))))))))))

….......need a mu’fuckin’ hug.

I took a deep breath and headed for the room. This time, I flipped the script.

I made it my business to humiliate her in front of her buddies because she made me so very mad all over again, because she got her instant gratification in my being so apologetic and then jumped back into her silly little character all over again.

I was pissed. Pissed because I was always transparent, and she always takes, takes, takes, (always did since the beginning). 

She takes everything, and spits out rations in return yet, hated for me to think or breathe without letting her know the who, what, when, where, why and how’s.

I hoped I could stay on and finish her up before they would block me out from typing because I came to let her have it. 

When I entered, she was sitting in the room-probably looking at me and breathing hard and looking crazy as ever; wondering what the hell I was about to do and say.

“So what’s up, POET?” I asked confrontationally-sounding as if I was busting through the door. 

“Nothing Cin, don’t start,” she replied, knowing me all too well.

She knew what was up… 

“I’m not starting anything, I think that’s you with all the tricks up your sleeves,” I responded. 

She went on to talk about my disrespecting one of her “character” friends (in her head) and talking all her crazy talk. I just shook my head and watched her.

She didn’t care either.

She just kept rambling on with that crazy talk, then had to nerve to conclude with: 

“...And besides, I’m always so busy with the Vet thing, and I just don’t have time to argue and fight with you Cinamon.” (remember “Poet” was supposed to be a veterinarian).

To that I said: “Yeah, you are a vet! The TOP DOG of all this bullshit you done got started. Crazy girl, you are fuckin’ sick and you don’t even know it. You need to be seeing a professional, for real-like…really for real.” I drilled in. 

She responded:

“Go ahead and say what you want to say about me Cinamon, your words can’t hurt me, they can’t hurt me! They can’t hurt me!” she kept trying to assure herself. 

I responded:

“Oh how poetic. By the way, do a favor for me and spell out the word ‘Vet’ will you?”

It took her a few minutes. 

(She probably went to grab a dictionary or looked it up online):

“V.E.T.E.R.A.N.A.R.I.A.N,” she spelled.

I replied: “Oh yeah, and while you’re at it, why don’t you look up the word “Zigadeeboo” and tell me whose face is next to it, will you?” I drilled.

“All right Cin…” she warned.

I then asked: “No I’m serious, is your face pictured there, huh? I’m sure it is. You’re so sick, it’s sad.”

She kept talking and sticking to her “Poet” character all the while I kept drilling in the insults about her (current) mental state (because she had others too).

I kept talking about considering how sick she was, how shocked I was that none of

her buddies were normal either, and if so, they were enabling her to get sicker by the day. I told her how much a shame it was that they would even allow her to carry on this way knowing she really needed some help. I could tell that Janet really needed some help.

The sad part about that is she has such control issues, and on top of that-has money; so she will never go and seek help. And the illegal part about what she does that (feeds her sickness) happens to be something that:

a) she can afford (time, resources and money)

b) she can be fed “life” from without her victims’ knowledge

…so she can do this for years at a time-a lifetime (and she has been doing it for many years—even before she came into my picture) I stopped lessoning my blows by referring to her as being eccentric, anymore. 

Janet is very sick, like...multi-sick, really (not a joke). It comes out at certain times. And the way she found a way to deal with it and keep it fed happens to be illegal (and habitual)-her buddies know it, too. She copes with her sickness just like I have coping strategies to deal with being the recipient of her sickness-because I have no way out and away from it. And for fourteen years I haven’t, so I cope and I hope...

Her buddies on the other end, they know...they’re just eating from it so they aide and abet her in doing it no different than somebody who claims to be your friend but will keep you supplied with hard drugs (if you’re on hard drugs and you have the money to keep affording them). 

Unless you’re unlucky enough to be caught in the clinches of being involved with her personally (away from the “Janet” that the public knows) you wouldn’t detect it. This thing for her was mental like a seemingly normal man at work with a good suit and tie on-who’s able to function and do his job. To his co-workers, he seems perfectly normal yet, after five, he had a compulsion for coming home and dressing up in a wig, full make-up, skirt, and high heels every day and into the night.

She has all the classic symptoms of something mental going on with her-I’ve seen them too many times to count. It’s some kind of extreme Dissociative Personality Disorder.

I empathized with her-totally. Because I could tell it was real. But still, sitting right next to that-her “sane” self was never too far, and I was more interested in honing in on that, than to spend too much time aiding her in disassociating herself from reality.

Her sane self was so clinically manipulative that if I let her know that I empathized with her too much; she would play on that with an undetectable and overwhelming kind of gentleness and kindness (to get into my good graces in case she ever needs it).

The confusing part about that is that beyond manipulation, in just normal conversation-her normal “way”--she is a sweet girl: naturally open, raw, and revealing (if she loves you with her strange brand of “love”). 

Janet knows how to work on you. And she gets me every time.

The thing I noticed about her is that she could come in and out of both sides of herself like someone with Multiple Personality Disorders can come in and out of their different personalities, then eventually back to their [her] “self.” But her “self ” has elements of being kind and gentle (but mostly for the purpose of manipulation and getting what she wants from you whether it’s affection, sex, empathy, some kind of favored reaction from you, or just---You).

The bigger part of her “self ” is very manipulative, very cunning and very slick.

In dealing with her, I learned that even if I started to put forth [this thing I assessed about what I think about her—her being sick in this way], she will play on that to derive pity and empathy from me because she’s auto-manipulative and has a way of literally sickening everyone around her with something-that becomes of, and changes them as a result of dealing with her for so long. I know, because I’m that person. She will damage you. She, it, this, and they already have.

Inevitably, dealing with her for a long period of time; you are going to come out with something wrong with you as a result of her:

1) extreme manipulation

2) dissociative illness or

3) illegal voyeurism

...And I do not care to elaborate on what that is-I just cope and hope...

She’s a danger to herself and because of what she does [to feed her sicknesses] it makes her a danger to other people as well, especially because they won’t know it, and she gets fatter (sicker) from feeding off that. As long as her co-conspirators keep the secret along with her, she can do this thing indefinitely-until the day she dies. She has the money, time, resources and anonymity to be able to feed this need and keep it going on forever-undetected. Because keep in mind that as I write this (on this 2013 date), this thing (with me) began in 1999. And all these years she’s been as much a part of my life as I have been hers-so I can speak for knowing that how she is and what she does, goes on and on and on.

Rene knows-he got lucky and got away, and then got 11 million dollars and a beach house home in Malibu taped to his mouth. The irony of that is, he got away from her arms reach-but what he knows (like I know) is that as long as she is free and living out in the world and still associating with the same people that she “interact” ’s with; he’s just walking around

with a Malibu home and 11 million dollars, but he’s still not free from Janet-he and I both know this.

Play with that for a second...

For me, it had been a struggle over the years of fighting (and caring) to redirect her, but I’m nothing and nobody compared to an unnatural habit that’s fed her for years even before my walking into her mess. I’m nothing and nobody compared to the people that assist her, aide, abet, and enable her (and too) are right within arms reach of her.

That being said, I turned it on them (her buddies): “Come on, somebody, anybody. I know it’s got to be at least one normal motherfucker working for you!” I yelled, waiting for one of her buddies to read what I wrote so they could respond. Her craziness continued: Janet (“Poet”) logged off and came back as the “Forgotten One” (a nickname made from a line out of one of her songs called “God’s Stepchild”). 

Whenever we would argue in the room while she was the “Poet,” she would always leave the room and come back as the “Forgotten one,” and then she’d come down under “LuckyOne” when we would be getting along. If there was any normalcy about her crazy; that was about one of the most normal nicknames she could have come down under actually, because she should have considered herself the “LuckyOne” to have had somebody like me in her life putting up with her crazy ass. 

I posted: “Oh now you are the ForgottenOne again. Girl you just don’t know how much I’d love to forget you. If you didn’t have these taps and tags on my life and I was 100% positive that I could get you out of my life, I would drop your ass like it’s hot…I SWEAR!” I wouldn’t stop. I kept flooring her with the insults. It got worse. 

By this time she was yelling: “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” over and over, like a crazy person covering their ears.

In my virtual world, I stared at her (the screen) with my face twisted and tilted to the side; watching her carry on like a kid having a tantrum, swinging her arms and yelling at me.

All I could do was shake my head and keep looking at her yell: “NO!” over and over in chat. It was crazy. She was losing it. When I got a breather in, I posted: “Man, I’m gonna quit fucking with your crazy ass real soon girl I swear. I don’t know what you are going to do when I stop caring about my life being tapped. Your ass is gonna be bored then.”

“Alright Cin” she warned, again-in her normal/Janet self (that was sitting right beside her crazy self).

“Alright my ass, look at your crazy lil’ self. Just look at you!” I replied. 

Next, the nickname “Janetbabe” came down (in bold).

Finally-someone normal, a normal buddy of hers was trying to get her to calm down from making a fool of herself. I had to respond: “Finally somebody with some sense! I knew there was somebody on her team who had some kind of sense. Will you control this damn girl? Y’all got to know she is sick. Y’all got to know,” I said (but I guess I got too carried away), so “Janetbabe” said to me: 

“Um I’d watch what I say, even if I were talking to Janet…”

I raised my brow. I guess that was my warning, and they were most probably telling her how much a fool of herself she was making.

Although “Janetbabe” came down to tap her on the shoulder to tell her to calm down, he/she also felt the need to tell me I had better as well. But then “BuGABOO” came down after I got quiet.

“So Good” and “Bugaboo” by Destiny’s Child were songs that were getting heavy rotation in my computer’s CD Rom, so they knew the nickname would give me a jolt. I knew they were crapping on Janet for behaving like a bugaboo, so I started singing the chorus to “Bugaboo.”

“Oh you’re trying to be funny Cin?” said Janet (the Forgotten One).

I responded: “No, I was just singing a song called “Bugaboo” by Destiny’s Child, oh Forgotten One, that’s all.” I then posted the chorus to “So Good.”

“Ok Cin. Alright…” she said.

I replied: “No, that’s just another song of theirs that I really like too,” I laughed to myself-fucking with her head.

She knew me so well and knew I was trying to be funny.

She just stared.

“BuGABOO” came back down repeating the words to the song “Bugaboo” too, but

posted: “ break my knees so I can move ‘cause you’re a bugaboo, a bugaboo…”

I laughed and said:

“Hey “BuGABOO,” don’t you think it would be a lot easier if you broke your lease so you could move—like the song says? I would think breaking your knees would make it kinda hard for you to move, ya think?”

“Yeah Cin, LoL. It would…” he/she laughed (and ended) with ellipsis.’ 

I figured that “Janetbabe” and “BuGABOO” was the same person. I guess he/she had to “warn” me or (subliminally threaten) me after humiliating Janet the way that I did. So maybe it was my knees they were talking about breaking.

Although I knew in the back of my mind, I was really far from victorious in this whole ordeal; any little bit counted for me. I felt like any little win during any coping strategy used (whether I chilled, cooperated, or submitted-and especially when I would win during a fight) gave me pieces of my mental and emotional self back-even if it was just a smidgen, it helped while in the interim; helped her, by turning a mirror to her face and forcing her see herself, because I could tell that her buddies would never dream of doing it. I don’t think her buddies were necessarily “yes men,” as a matter of fact; it seemed to me that they had more on her that could ruin her than she could ruin them without she + all of them going down as one. 

(I say that because of that third-person statement she made to me that July 10th day about “someone being in a cult” and as well, that July 16th panic-attack where she bluntly stated to me “the people that I interact with can take me down in one minute flat”). So her buddies wouldn’t be afraid to turn a mirror to her face like the regular “yes men” in people’s lives [who are famous, have money and because they’re scared or intimidated] no—her buddies were definitely not. And too, they wouldn’t care to redirect her, help her see herself or care to hide the truth from her because they cared-and didn’t want to hurt her or shatter her “world” either.

What they were doing was enabling her to do and live in a way that was no different than keeping an addicted person high. If Janet “gets well” all that she is doing (illegal, unhealthy, and otherwise), there will be no need (and no work) for them. There’s nothing else to do if they don’t assist her in escaping reality by stealing real realities and creating lives and another kind of reality for her. 

At any rate, she must have seen herself in that mirror I turned to her. She came to the room again to explain herself: “I’m not crazy Cinamon, it’s just that I need an outlet sometimes. All my life I have been performing on stage and this enables me to kick back and have some downtime and this relaxes my mind.” 

She rambled on about it over and over, I guess until she got her tap on the shoulder from her “coach” telling her that she sounded too much like Janet (her real self). She then switched her story and said: “I meant, how I need an outlet from acting-performing poetry on stage…”

I just shook my head and told her that I understood, but that it only wasted such precious time and I didn’t like it. She knew what I meant, just like I knew what she meant…

We sat there and stared at one another without saying a word. I didn’t know if she was still mad at me, and she didn’t know if I was mad at her, so I just tried to blow it all off for her emotional sake-still-knowing deep down inside that in a war of words with facts and truth; I could remove any sheep’s clothing and too, could handle her better than she could manipulate, threat, control, or anger me. So I eased out of the room while she was talking to someone else there. 

In all this time-that was a milestone for me-her admitting what I felt was true: that the other part of this was some kind of escape from her worldly reality-affording her to be, and live several realities in order to feel like a real person from beyond the glitter, glam, and illusion that she’s lived since birth. With having her say that from her mouth (rather than my setting the stage for her to manipulate me from the kind of understanding, care and empathy I’d usually give her); the fact that it came straight from her mouth as a reply-to me, meant that she was aware, and not in denial about everything I felt about her mind state. Because if she was in denial, then to me, she would definitely be beyond repair (all things considered, convenient and accessible to her)… 

Although there were parts of the makings of creating realities for her that I’d never agree with, throughout all my anger and humiliating her; I couldn’t ignore other elements about this, it, and her that a side of me would rather ignore altogether, and instead-totally shit on her and mind-fuck her even more. No, I was never going to be “ok” with it all, but the fact of the matter was: I was no freer of her than a man with 11 million dollars and a Malibu home was[n’t] free of her. So, I went back to the drawing board of my coping strategies: chill, cooperate, and submit… 

The next day, I wrote her so as to let her know I wanted do away with the whole issue from the previous exhausting day. I was kind. She was receptive (and needed that from me):

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: Poetlaure@aol.com

Subject: Not today…I just don’t want to start

Don’t start today. I was just writing you to tell you to have a nice day…((((squeezing you real tight))))))) hopin’ u aint pullin’ away while I’m huggin’ you…take care

She responded:

Date: Fri, 13 Aug 13:11am PDT

From: Poetlaxxxx@aol.com

To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

Subject: Re: Not today…I don’t wanna start

I haven’t started anything…yet (((((((((allowing you to hug me)))))))))))))))) are you happy?

I laughed and shook my head-loving her, still...(chilling, submitting and cooperating):

Date: Fri, 13 Aug 15:00pm PDT

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: Poetlaure@aol.com

Subject: see…

LoL. Look at your lil mean self! *shakin my head I know you are probably still mad at my ass from last night but you’ve been heavily on my mind all day, ok? I’m just wanna say that I was playing in the back of my mind, all the things I’ve said and done to hurt you when you’d upset me-how you’d still be there to pick up where we left off (sort of…) lol…and I love that about you…the fact that you never hold a grudge against me for all the hurtful things I do to you…I do want to say that I just want all this madness to stop so that I can love u and treat u like u need to (and deserve) to be treated because I just don’t want to take my love away from you because I know that you want (and need) it…I do care. Have you ever thought about what it would really be like for u to be without me?…I have…Despite what we go through, underneath it all, I love you first, and being without you is a hard habit to break…for both of us. I just want the madness to stop. Perhaps we just need a break from each other? Maybe we do…

The next day I heard from her, I got this email where she’d sent me a poem (that I guess she liked) called: “I’LL BE THERE,” which had been forwarded to several people: 

After the poem, she wrote:

“Send this to all friends that u have. All the friends that uve lost, and to all the friends uve lost touch with just to let them know that ull be there. This is not a chain letter just a letter from the heart of one friend to another. (Send this back to the person who sent it to u if u consider them a friend as well)…

…I didn’t send it back because I was just barely warm to her. And half the time, I didn’t know who, or what the hell I was dealing with so...

Soon thereafter, me and my [“4:10 p.m.”] friend were on the telephone one day laughing and talking about our childhood lies we told each other when we were kids.

Our friend Nikki had a sleepy eye and she told us all that her eyeball rolled down the hill and was found, so they took her to the hospital to put it back in and as a result, she had a lazy eye. 

My [“4:10 p.m.”] friend’s childhood lie that she stuck to was that she got hit by a Camaro-a car…(don’t ask why, but in third grade-a Camaro was a nice sports car).

My childhood lie was that my mom said I was born with a pencil in my hand (because everybody wondered why I had nice handwriting), so I would say: “I don’t know. My mom said I was born with a pencil in my hand.”

Janet already knew that I was a writer. And she also “hunted and gathered” (by reading a booking I was writing at the time, called “Innocence”) that as a child, the main character was wise beyond her years.

When I got this next email I just didn’t know what to think. I do know however, that her talent for characterization and incorporating real life was unbelievable.

After this next email, I knew then (for sure) that some part of people she knew personally was within each of the characters that she would take on as her alter ego.

(Now I knew why she would get so defensive when I would call this characterization thing “stupid.” It was some truth to all of them whether or not she stole the personality from my real life or whomever else’s).

Date: Sat, 14 Aug 12:20pm PDT

From: Poetlaure@aol.com

To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net, Akk1xxx@aol.com HMDxxxx@aol.com, Poimxxxx@aol.com,

halimahy@hotmail.com

Subject: Fwd: Fw: Re: Fwd: I’ll be there

Attached Message

>From: “Jennifer Pxxxxxxx” socxxxxxxx@hotmail.com To: baxxxx@norwich.net,

>afoxxxxxx@hotmail.com, oneinxxxxx@hotmail.com kmxxxxxxxxx@citilink.net

>Lindsxxxxxxxx@hotmail.com, avoxxxxx@ascent.net s x x xx@hotmail.com

>Subject:Re: Fw: Re:Fwd: I’ll be there

>Date: Mon, 09 Aug 15:17:21 PDT

>>>From: “Betsy xxx” baxxxx@norwich.net

>>To: “Jennifer Pxxxxxxx” socxxxxxxx@hotmail.com

>>Subject: Fw: Re: Fwd: I’LL BE THERE

>>Date: Thu, 5 Aug 21:10:25 –0400

>>>>>———Original message———

>>From: Maren Mcxxxxxxx xxxgxxl59@hotmail.com

>>To: bixxxxx@ibm.net, cxxxxxx87@hotmail.com

>>dancin_bbbbbb@hotmail.com lindsay_n_xxxx@hotmail.com, Maxx@goplay.com,

>>bxxxcatskill.net, >>mxxxx35@hotmail.com, megxxxx_chexxxxx25@hotmail.com,

>>baxxxx@norwich.net

>>Date: Wednesday, August 04, 11:17am

>>Subject: Fwd: Re: Fwd: I’LL BE THERE”

In this email, she was doing well--being her very own true to life self (at first). That whole beginning was true to (her) real life. Then when she started talking about writing-she stole that from me (my life). From there, it went bonkers (stolen from some else’s life). Read this shit:

Date: Sat, 14 Aug 12:45pm PDT

From: Poetlaure@aol.com

To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

Subject: Re: see…

You’re right, I don’t hold grudges, It’s not in my nature. I have found that holding grudges doesn’t do anything to the other person, but it does tear you up inside. The only thing that I have against you is the fact that when I poured my heart out to you (even though I was very angry when I did), you laughed at it. I can’t respect that, not with the shit that has happened to me in my life... It’s not easy being me, and someday you will see that...I have found it very hard to open up to those I trust because it’s some hard stuff to deal with.

That’s why I write, to escape the pain. Writing is my passion, my mother told me I was born with a pen in my hand. I know that I started writing when I was 7 and by age 13 all my friends called me Poet. I grew up way to fast. I was an only child and grew up with 3 women in the house, no kids. You respond and develop into your environment, so I acted like these women. They made school really hard, I was much older in the mind than my fellow classmates were. I graduated high school two years early, and was immediately in college.

That’s why im so young and doing this job, the vet thing. I know it’s hard to believe, but u can believe whatever u want.

(I have to mention this-don’t get angry) when Deanna died, I was a sophomore (I never spelled that word right for some reason) in college. Like I said, she was my world. I would have done anything for her. Deanna was behind me no matter what I did, she was, at times, like my silent pillar, always there to catch me before I was falling. That’s why her death is still a very hard thing for me to deal with. I was in the car, when it happened, I was doing some things I shouldn’t have been doing. I was the last one who technically saw her alive.

What hurts me the most is that I never really knew how much she loved me until she woke up out of her coma. She woke up just to tell me she loved me, that’s love. I guess, maybe, that’s what I am searching for, someone who cares enough to come out of a coma to say it…

I couldn’t stop reading that damned email, just thinking about how deliberate and crazy this whore was. I couldn’t believe she wrote that madness. I wondered so bad-if she was laughing when she wrote it, or had she really (subconsciously) taken all that in (from the lives of myself and other people’s lives she was intruding upon) and made it a part of this “Poet” character. 

Shauntay and I were cracking up laughing when we read this email together. I’ll never forget the day we sat in BW3’s having wings and blue cheese while Shauntay read it-how she took on some weird voice (while reading it). We laughed so fucking hard that we spit food everywhere. I mean, we laughed until we almost pissed our pants. This shit was bazookas. Shauntay loved this “Poet” episodic shit.

When I would come over to her house, she would be like: “what’s ‘The Poet’ doing today?

You talk to her? Now that’s my girl right there!” …and we would fall to the floor laughing.

Understand, at this very moment in time, I did not have a full-grasp of the extent of just how sick she really was. At this particular moment in time, I merely thought she was going through extreme, deliberate, and methodical measures to un-be “Janet.” And when she confessed that she needed an outlet, it softened me. In 2013 as I write this-I wouldn’t laugh (not so much). Because I know full well (now) the extent of how sick she really was.

Everything she said while in these characters and alter egos was true to somebody’s real life. She knew how to melt [into the character and of her choosing] snippets from other people’s real lives and take them on as her own (through these characters and nicknames etc.) 

I didn’t realize it myself (how great the extent) until things started adding up-how like (years well after this moment in time); I remember specifically debating with her about sounding like one of the chicks she used to mess around with. When her “All For You” CD came out, although I had it since the first day it came out; it took a while for me to listen to it (the whole way through) because as far as Janet (the person) was, I would go through so much up and down craziness with her that sometimes, I couldn’t bare to hear her name, her voice, or the sight of her (off and on-at times).

When we were on, I coped.

When we were fighting hard-I couldn’t deal with anything having to do with her-at all.

Many months later, I was finally able to get through the CD and while listening, on some interludes (where she was talking); she totally wasn’t herself-like she took on this voice that sounded just like [the chick]—dead on her. It was like she was mimicking the voice of the girl. It caught me by surprise-I instantly picked up on it.

But then I remembered how it would irk me when I would hear her “Speakerphone” Interlude on the “Velvet Rope” CD (when she was talking with Shawn) where she said: “mmmmmm maybe when can hook up.” I didn’t even know Janet (personally) before that CD came out, but I remembered [when I heard that “Speakerphone” interlude] saying to myself: “who’s she trying to sound and act like?” So, especially after knowing the “real Janet;” I knew for sure that she had taken on [trying to sound or act] like somebody else [when she said that line on “Speakerphone” interlude]. 

So when I heard her speaking on her “All For You” interludes (and those beginning parts of a few of the songs), I was not clueless, I had long been caught up into Janet’s clinches and knew her all too well therefore, I picked right up on it-so much so that I mentioned it to her; how weird it was that she took on [that chick’s] voice and speaking style. It was so obvious (and mastered) that even if I didn’t know that Janet and the chick had messed around before, I still would have known that she was “acting” like someone else. It was that obvious (but only if you truly know Janet). It you don’t know Janet, it would certainly blow right past you.

Mimicry is like a methodical talent for her. It’s like something she does (automatically) that seems very deliberate but if you notice it for long enough, it really is an escape for her but little does she even know (or probably wouldn’t care to admit if she did), it’s also an escape-an escape from her self. And when she morphs herself into these characters, she goes all the way and that’s where her sensuality comes into play. Janet’s five senses are heightened to the point where she has to experience hearing, touching, tasting, smelling and seeing-much deeper-by way of certain experiences when she is “in character,” and she kind of takes it on as a substitute of her self. That’s the best way I can explain it.

Like that “All For You” cover art/towel between the leg incident (where way back in ‘99 we were talking, and I told her how I liked to leave the towel between my legs after I got done bathing-she thought that was odd but cute). So after that discussion about it, we never talked about it again yet, two years later; she’s laying there on the cover of her CD with a [fur] towel between her legs-like nothing. At the time, I thought it was cute and merely another one of her deliberate and methodical ways she did so many things-her intense attention to detail and hanging on to everything I said and did; but later on, in getting to really see beneath it all, it was at that moment, I found that it too, was a part of her personality. 

The other aspect of her personality in feeding off of life and energy was such (that then) I found it cute that she knew I was obsessed over Pink’s first CD, a major “Pink” fan and would pay to see her in concert, but for me-that’s it. I don’t want to call her, hang out and hob-knob with her. Janet however, wanted a piece of my love for Pink [and something she could sink her teeth into] so much so that she made it her business to go see

Pink-complete with pink fur around her jacket collar. She wanted all aspects of your thoughts, life, and anything. She’s an automatic life-absorber but doesn’t even realize it. It can be cute (and flattering) but it can be bad (when she’s “bad.”) 

Her “bad” is because she doesn’t know “what’s real” and that fine line of what she takes on as real, and what is-is hard for her to differentiate. Like when she told me ‘it doesn’t seem real,” but knowing and giving of herself to great and risky extents that she wouldn’t even do unless she knew it was real. But her divide (of what’s really real) is like an invisible line and she walks that line-dangerously. That’s the point of where many of ours fights would happen-because I could see where she could easily step into “being real” (her “real” self) but then morph into some other form of “real” (that wasn’t hers-or our “real”). But if she can’t see the divide, my fighting her was like trying to fight a blind man into being able to see.

She was like that-and so in the habit of taking on the style, personality, or certain life events of other people’s real life and person that she didn’t even realize it. It was a disassociation of sorts. I loved her enough and got past being a fan of hers enough to care to look past her façade and public image. She wasn’t paying me-I didn’t work, or dance for her, she loved me and I loved her (even over the taboo things we had going). I was very into observing her as a person-a human being. And day by day, month by month, year by year; I could see what all this was [and what it meant for her emotional and mental survival actually].

It was coping mechanism (from the “life” she’s always had and been forced to “put on” for the world). And aside from that, she has personal issues that haven’t been dealt with-so she escapes—at any moment in time. 

Sensually, when she loves you-she wants apart of your experiences and thoughts.

Additionally, and even if she doesn’t know you or love you; she can automatically (and has a need to), take on “life” your reality-because all her life-she hasn’t had one (a reality). So she’s in search of one—many of them, as many as she can absorb, take, and take on.

Like “Angela” (the girl from TRL with Carson that day) it wasn’t enough just that the girl [in the crowd hanging outside the studio]’s name was “Angela,” Janet took it one step further and asked if she could invite “Angela” upstairs (which absolutely, positively, and complete threw Carson off so much so that he kept saying it-jokingly). But little did he know, Janet was off over into this dark-side life of hers with a girl named “Angela” (too), and she wanted to sink her teeth into an “Angela” anyway she could (no matter how odd it seemed to Carson). It was an experience forher-even to how she touched the girl’s face and treated her gently. It was a sensual experience for

her (not in a sexual-sensual sense, but it was a reality in her hands and right there in her face, like another reality going on in her private life-me-back home, somebody named: Angela—that she loved).

But understand something. Understanding her in this way wasn’t overnight, it took many years of hard love, long conversations, good conversations, bizarre and addictive emotions we had for one another (healthy and unhealthy), as well as a lot of vicious fighting before I could piece it together and understand that it was very much apart of her reality and person, before I could officially understand (and accept it as such).

So in the meantime, there were plenty of ups and downs, like such. Back to the drawing board:

Date: Sun, 15 Aug 9 17:12pm PDT

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: Poetlaxxxx@aol.com

Subject: got em…

This is just to let you know: I got your email…

Her response:

Date: Sun, 15 Aug 22:49pm PDT

From: Poetlaure@aol.com

To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

Subject: Re: got em…

What did you think of my e-mail?

I wondered if she laughed while she wrote that crazy email but after reading that she wanted my opinion about the email-wanting to know what I thought about it-it was like she wanted an applause from me on her “gift” [of stolen improvisations and ability to mix it all like a beat-making producer of music can steal samples from a classic and mix and make-in to his own creation-a beat brought to life].

I wrote back:

Date: Tue, 17 Aug 09:23am PDT

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: Poetlaure@aol.com

Subject: what I like

I like the “I’LL BE THERE” poem and if it was true and from the heart then I love it…as far as this email…you were touching me until you got to the part where u stated “my mother said I was born with a pen in my hand” (and throughout the rest of it)…it doesn’t matter though…it don’t hurt no more…so…

It was neither thing that I thought: her wondering what I thought of her ability to improvise, nor did she laugh when she wrote it (knowing that the email contained mixture of my life and other people’s lives).

Turns out, she and her character-personality really did take on that “life” (correction)…those lives (mine included). She didn’t even joke or laugh about the part where she interjected the “pen in my hand” line and even had the nerve to get offended at my annoyance. She really wasn’t joking-at all. She’s such a life-absorber so much so that she “overheard” me talking to my friend about my childhood lie being that my mom said I was born with a pencil in my hand, and made it into a character-personality of her own (magnetically). 

I seriously don’t think she recalled that she stole “born with a pencil in my hand” but instead; took it on-just like when she was going through that phase where she was literally talking (voice and diction) like one of her former lovers.

She selects then projects. And when she rebutted it, as if I had nerve--shitting on her [made up “life”], I knew then, that it was mental (and serious for her-no joke).

She replied back to my email:

Date: Tue, 17 Aug 15:04pm PDT

From: Poetlaure@aol.com

To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

Subject: Re: what I like

What do you mean that hurt you? This is my life, and if it hurts you, I am sorry. This is who I am, love me or leave me.

I simply replied:

Date: Tue, 17 Aug 17:07pm PDT

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: Poetlaure@aol.com

Subject: misunderstanding

I didn’t say THAT hurt me. I said YOU can’t hurt me anymore with your shit. In other words…I am like so numb to your kind of pain. That’s what I meant. Anyways…I hope u are having a nice day.

…I’ll say it again.

Again, understand at this very moment in time, I did not have a full-grasp of the extent of just how sick she really was--how this life absorbing for the sake of characterization thing was serious business for her (and the “outlet” she needed).

She got pissed:  

Date: Tue, 17 Aug 09:23am PDT

From: Poetlaure@aol.com

To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

Subject: Re: misunderstanding

So, let me see if I understand you correctly now, my life is shit? Whatever. By telling you the truth about my life, I am hurting you? That is some shit right there. There was no hurt intended in that e-mail, I opened up to you... Just like you to make fun of me, when I open up to you…

I logged out and went to do something in my virtual world, but I was blocked out from the room when I tried to return. I knew that it was for a reason, I just didn’t know what reason (other than the fact that I logged out and didn’t reply back to this last email of hers). I knew they were up to something. I was too tired to care though. I went to bed and wrote the next morning:

Date: Wed, 18 Aug 08:18am PDT

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: Poetlaure@aol.com

Subject: at school…

Nall, well, I mentioned that I was about to leave out of the room last night and I tried to get in and couldn’t…I’m not poking fun at you at all anymore because I do understand…lets just have a good time and call it a day everyday cause I don’t want to upset you like I don’t want you upsetting me (and that’s for real) I’m not gonna worry about the other “stuff” anymore girl cause I’m really over it…I’ll talk to you later. Have a good day.

Speaking of taking on the lives of other people.

Remember her JigglineJanine/EsCaPaDeJ character (the life she took on of my friend Janine)? Well she showed up in I.M later that day-at 2:11 p.m. my time.

I logged on to I.M. “(((((((((((Cinny)))))))))))).”

That wild thing EsCaPaDeJ returned.

She was talking about a bunch of nothing, then out of nowhere, she goes on to mention (in third person-to tell me what was really true and going on, right now):

“I bet Janet Jackson and her dancer Shawnette are probably in the sauna and at a day spa getting ready for the award show tonight, I can’t wait to see them. I love them!”

I listened on.

Then she says: “Hey Cinny guess what, I got a pic of Shanice Wilson and Janet Jackson together. They look like they were being silly, you wanna see it?”

I responded: “Uh, no I don’t think so, what makes you think I trust you enough to send me an attachment Hun?”

“Why not?” she asked. “Send it, I’ll check it out,” I responded.

Playtime was over I guess. Right then and there, I knew something was up.

She sent the poison right out to me:

Date: Wed, 18 Aug 11:11am PDT

From: EsCaPxxxxxx@aol.com

To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

Subject: Janet and Shanice

They are soooo goofy you know they were giggling together about something.

Love, JigglinJanine

Janet’sha.bmp (65K)

I knew it was a trap but I was one step ahead of her. I went up to the poor lil’ café, and opened the email + attachment there. It really was a picture of her (Janet Jackson) with Shanice Wilson (and one that she knew would be made public soon I’m sure). And guess what? Just like I thought, two months after, I did end up seeing the same picture in the “Black Beat” magazine’s November issue-interestingly. So from the same email that contained the poison, I forwarded this one:

Date: Wed, 18 Aug 12:48pm PDT

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: EsCaPxxxxxx@aol.com

Subject: Re: [Janet and Shanice]

I like the picture. I love it!…

>—————————————————--

>Attachment:Janet’sha.bmp

>MIME Type: application/ocet-stream

>——————————————————

When she sent the picture as an attachment by way of that MIME program-which would usually read: “MIME type: version 1.0”-I got alarmed, because this time, the MIME type read: “application/ocet-stream.” I knew the poison was something major-different than the usual ones, and I knew why: The Chronology.

All this time, I had been sitting on it-annoyed that I had to even write it; hoping that all this silliness would subside and things could be normal so that I would even have to. But after she sent that poison: it sent me into fight or flight mode-all over again. I really hoped during all this time, things between us would be as such that I wouldn’t have to write a book, but she kept pressing buttons-it just didn’t seem like my wish to not have to write a book about it all was ever going to come true. I dreaded having to do it too. Ooh man I hated it. I just did not have the time in my life for that shit. Urgh.

But with this poison she sent me, I knew they hadn’t rested their guns. I knew I had to whip out the good book again, when little did she know; I hadn’t even touched it much since that July 20th day-only saved [some] stuff, printed [some] things, and took lots of handwritten notes-daily. 

With this happening, I knew their goal (from here on out) was to find pages 14-on, and of course she wasn’t going to ask me for it, so she figured she’d do what she did best: take it (and watch it being done). What did I do? I made sure that while she sat in the audience at the awards show that August 18th day, that I got everything I needed out of our Hell Mail. I flew up to my school computer lab and printed everything to add with my notes and other printed files. 

It was so funny how my friend Shauntay would bitch at me about going to I.M. and the room and putting up with all her stuff, but this one time, had I not talked to her; I would have gotten busted making copies from our Hell Mail account, because television said the award show was supposed to be live Friday, August 20th when actually (because I had talked to her) I found out that it was actually live: Wednesday, August 18th but going to be televised that Friday August 20th. If I hadn’t checked in and talked to her, I would have been stuck like chuck up at the school on Friday, August 20th looking real stupid and busted. But because I talked to her and knew, I managed to get up there and in to our Hell Mail account before Janet or her buddies could catch it. It was only a matter of time, but I got it all. They were busy with Janet and feeling like I was off my game (and actually I was, and had been), but now, I was back on top of my game. Because at the end of the day, so I was learning, love don’t love nobody or conquers all things.

That next day Thursday Aug 19th, the café’ was a mess. Their phone systems and the whole corner of computers where I had opened up that email attachment was a wrap. The owner said that they were going to get a new server for their computers. He identified the email attachment that this wild thing sent me (of the “pic” of she and Shanice) the “MIME” program-as being something that enables someone to send to you by way of it-viruses, malicious (and good/shared programs too). According to what had been going on with my computer at home, he said it was a type of “PC Anywhere,” or “Back Door” or “Trojan Horse” virus or program where somebody can retrieve files and work your computer from anywhere over the world without having to be physically around you/your computer (the way she does mine which, by my guesstimate came from that first “MIME” batch of poison that Lissa brought to me with her first email back on that March 8th day-the one with all the funny language, arrows and numbers that confused me so).

From home, I tried to send her a couple poems by unknown authors; one to explain the human being in me, and the other; an explanation of my opinion the two of us. She would not accept my attachment though. She probably thought I was trying to infect her computer as she had just [tried] to do me. The nerve of her. She watched me as I typed outthe poems to send to her, but she just did not want to accept the email (because she had already read it, and knew it meant goodbye). It was returned back to me:  

Date: Thu, 19 Aug 06:28am PDT

From: Mail Delivery Subsystem <MAILER-DAEMON@aol.com>

To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

Subject: Mail Delivery Problem

Sorry xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net Your mail to Poetlaure@aol.com could not be delivered because Poetlaure@aol.com is not accepting mail with attachments

That was just her way of “acting” as if she knew nothing about the two poems.

I went to the room and she was in there talking.

I peeped in and said: “BRB.”

While I was there, guess what nickname she dropped down: “DAEMON” down.

“Daemon,” is to email what “return to sender” is in post office snail mail.

In that returned email (where: “Poetlaure@aol.com could not be delivered because Poetlaure@aol.com is not accepting mail with attachments”) “Daemon” is the “return to sender” email extension that’s used when email is returned/bounced back to you.

Obviously (because she would never dream of talking directly to me about all that she could see me type on my computer) she could act like she didn’t see me typing the goodbye poem if she wanted to, but I sure as hell was going to get it to her (to make sure she had no way out of acknowledging it). So I typed it directly onto the email (without attaching it to a word.doc) then I re-sent it. 

When I came back to the room, she was still carrying on this conversation with someone nicknamed “Halimah.” I knew Halimah was one of her friends that I didn’t know, but indeed a friend of hers because Halimah’s email was one of the email addy’s included in that “I’ll Be There” poem that Janet sent me. She was in there talking to Halimah about how she had been really depressed, and then she sent the nickname: “IGGIN” down-to let me know she was ignoring me and my having sent that [goodbye] poem in email. I looked at her, shook my head, then sent a quote down to her that read: “Whatever you vividly imagine, ardently desire, sincerely believe and enthusiastically act upon, must inevitably come to pass.”

I then went back to email and sent her this email:

Date: Thu, 19 Aug 17:16pm PDT

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: Poetlaure@aol.com

Subject: my last

Well, I hope you aren’t ignoring me because I sent you that poem. Anyways. When I said I was thinking about you I did mean it. But I hope you are ok…I won’t check email for you because I’m sure you are not going to respond…however…I do want to tell you that I meant EVERY kind word I have ever said to you from the deepest depths of my heart. Take care and I DO mean take care because I do care…have a good one…

Classic Janet Manipulation Mode was in full-effect. She

---excerpt break

  entered: 6.19.13

I was just about to log out of her cyberspace and she slid into I.M on me, she still wasn’t done trying-at all. She refused to give up. The ghost of Linda Goodman returned again when she said: “Lady Taurus always finishes what she starts”…this next moment was an understatement of that having been stated.

Janet ran to the other side of her home in those “hills of California,” to make sure she could get far away from that goat Shawn-to avoid any interruption. She was fighting for her love life, her life, and the breath of life I gave her for far too long that she knew she did not deserve. She knew nothing thus far was working. Her flattery didn’t. Her charm didn’t.

Her depression claims didn’t, her threats of suicide didn’t-nothing did. She knew she was out of time with me and was looking to pull out another stop to stop me and make me change my mind.

She found the nearest dark closet, closed the door and quickly sent me an I.M.

In her last-ditch effort, since all else failed, she hoped that her sex would work because at many-a-times, for so long; it never failed.

This nickname was a new one on me-she went straight for it:

Fck1tHrdr: hey ;-)

(looking sideways ;-) is a wink and a smile-how we would start all our I.M conversations. That sentiment, for old time sake, did not work either).

Cinamon 2u: what?

Fck1tHrdr: ummm…I said hey

(she tried to exert some control-as if I was going to be afraid again)

Cinamon2u: what’s that shit s’posed to mean?

Fck1tHrdr: the name u mean?

(She needed to clarify if I was talking about her trying to exert control or the meaning of her new I.M nickname)

Cinamon2u: yeah that first… “FckOnetHarder” ?

Fck1tHrdr: well I think it’s pretty self-explanatory…what else do u wanna know?

Cinamon2u: seriously I don’t understand…I’m serious, tell me then we can move on.

Fck1tHrdr: no…it’s: Fuck it harder…should I say please? The name says “fuck it harder”

Cinamon2u: oh!!!!!!!!! Silly me…im thinking it said fuck 1-t harder…(like: fuck the number 1 then t, goofy me)

Fck1tHrdr: what do u think? Lol…u like that huh?

(in her seductive voice that used to work for me. She knew that if she couldn’t affect me any other way, no matter what, I could NEVER resist her when she was like this, but this sure as hell wasn’t that time)

Cinamon2u: depends…lol

Fck1tHrdr: on?

Cinamon2u: I dunno, fuck what harder?…lol

(I’m still playing dumb…)

Fck1tHrdr: well…I’m female…does that give u any clues?

Fck1tHrdr: with a name like Cinamon…u must be female too…

(she came back with that to try and play some “stranger” who just dropped in on some random I.M name that he happened to have just typed in right)

Cinamon2u: lol…yeah…*smiles

Fck1tHrdr: I can only hope that u like women…*wink* ;p

(if you turn you look at the ;p sideways-in chat language that is a wink with the tongue stuck out of the mouth…that meant she was flagging that fucking tongue ring-she hoped I would warm up, she didn’t stand the chance)…

Cinamon2u: with a name like Fck1tHrdr u also must be a magician…

Fck1tHrdr: how u figure that? *looking at u…

Cinamon2u: *looking at YOU…With my brow up (unaffected...)

(she knew she needed to be covering her ass, she jumped back into “stranger” mode):

Fck1tHrdr: how old are u?

Cinamon2u: don’t play with me I aint on this shit…

Fck1tHrdr: ummm…ok

Fck1tHrdr: *looking at u again…wonderin’ if u got a pic

Cinamon2u: either you know me or I know u, or your mu’fuckin’ ass IS a magician cause I sure as hell never gave nobody named Fck1tHrdr my I.M info!

Fck1tHrdr: well…then yeah, I’m a magician..

(she is so damned clever. That response really worked me in an annoying way because that was her “fight” to stay on-she wasn’t going to rebut it because she knew to do so, would cause us to fight and I would log off).

Fck1tHrdr: well…I think we know mutual people…how’s that?

(...clever of her to use of the word “mutual,” knowing that I would know for surethat it was her.I respond with something to hurt her feelings):

Cinamon2u: well, I just play around with a few people in the room for kicks how’s that?…

(look at her lusty self):

Fck1tHrdr: uumm, what room would that be? *looking around* u aint here wit me

Cinamon2u: NOT interested, sorry...

(her heart started pounding)

Fck1tHrdr: is that right? You don’t even know what I got to offer… that’s no fair.

Cinamon2u: I’m a fair person, too bad the world and other people aren’t…

(she knows talk of getting my “thingy” always worked…at one time. Here she goes with that good ole “nine and a half inches” a.k.a “Mr. Happy”):

Fck1tHrdr: Well…I got nine and a half inches of strap on that never goes limp...sound good? Familiar?…

(I need not belabor the obvious as to why she interjected the word and question: “Familiar?”)

Cinamon2u: …*I’m turned off by u

(her heart raced):

Fck1tHrdr: is that right? Too bad…i’ll give it to someone else…

Cinamon2u: please do. I don’t want it.

Fck1tHrdr: if the pussy aint gonna get wet…then im turned off by u too…

Cinamon2u: please, I never had that problem…I’m sure u done heard (I mean, know)…

Fck1tHrdr: um.no, I haven’t heard…but it’s good that u can stay wet, wet is good 

Cinamon2u: yep, real good

Fck1tHrdr: too bad it aint getting wet now…I’d ask u to touch it…maybe

(I held the line for a while, amazed at what the hell I was dealing with-she was PERSISTENT---SERIOUSLY).

Fck1tHrdr: *buzzer sound, you took too long to answer…

Cinamon2u: I was just looking at you…

Fck1tHrdr: and how do I look? U like?

Cinamon2u: I used to…

(that alarmed her, she jumped back into “stranger” mode):

Fck1tHrdr: huh? Want my pic?

Cinamon2u: don’t play with me…I aint playin’ with you right now (and no more)….

(it just dawned on her what I had said):

Fck1tHrdr: and if u used to, why am I just now finding out now? Who’s playing now?

(uh oh…she got out of “character”)

Cinamon2u: anyways…anyways…

Fck1tHrdr: look, I’m looking to fuck, and u aint giving me that, so I’m going…see ya...

Cinamon2u: bye.

Fck1tHrdr: hit me up when u get horny

Cinamon2u: plaaaaaaaa eeeeessse

Fck1tHrdr: what?

Cinamon2u: goodbye

Fck1tHrdr: who am I? You, you think u know me but u don’t…

(She went back into “stranger mode” and dying for me to use he real name so she could have a perfect alibi out of this whole mess by claiming I thought I was talking to her-”Janet” the “Superstar” this whole time…)

Cinamon2u: I just came into chat to see if u had something to say or perhaps an apology even

Fck1tHrdr: why would I apologize to you?

(perfect-that was a “stranger mode” response from a “stranger” to naturally reply back with, so she used it. But too, knowing her-the “real” her: Janet-the Superstar, she really didn’t feel like she owed me an apology)

Cinamon2u: I aint thinkin’ about you. I aint on this shit.

Fck1tHrdr: you are really crazy.

Cinamon2u: u aint seen crazy yet…

(I said-seriously-while looking up my sleeve with my one brow up, because I had a trick for her, real soon)...

Too bad my CD Rom hadn’t been working at this moment in time, because I would have put on: “Take a Bow” by Madonna, through my speakers and to the ears of this “Poet” who to all (including me) the world (on and off stage) really is a stage and two different kinds of unreal realities for her, where she has no clue with how to deal with a self that she’s never even been introduced to until she met me.

Play with, and ponder that for a second...

I just sat there, thinking about Track 12/13, Janet’s Internet love song called “Empty” off the Velvet Rope CD. At the end of that very song, she says: Damn…disconnected…”

as are we, how ironic? Because at this moment, after all this performing and online fascination she has with finding love and lust online; so are we…for real this time, though. This was it for me. And now that I think about it, I know for sure that this whole thing really was some fantasy of hers. Each and every song off of that CD; I played a part in-her private and perfect example of life imitating art. I never would have thought my mentioning to her (the day we were talking about “Miss Saigon”) that ours too would end in real life as did the life of the real person who played Miss Saigon: dead-lifeless, and no more...

I guess you do have to be careful what you speak into the air-because words really do create environment. To some extent, you really can speak (or think) things into existence. In her case, and thanks to me (her leading lady): she sang them into existence.

I just laughed-at myself. Finally, I felt like I could.

Thinking about how in the beginning when I first entered that damned chat room; I called it-early on. When I came upon that red and black photo of her upon entrance to the room, I knew she was trouble when I walked in.

I remember when I would be up in that haven of hell like: “Hey, does she ever come in here?”

Hmm.

I summoned her devil ass like into my life like the wiggling of the mouse of a Ouiji board séance.

Thinking about the saying: “be careful what you ask for you just might get it”…

It’s not funny-because you just might, even if it’s not how you imagined it could ever be (like her)…I couldn’t have ever imagined she would be like this.

Interesting...

The moment she knew I would be school-free from August 29th until Sept 24th, the nickname: “Heavenly829” kept rolling down in the room for almost the whole month of August-as if the person hiding behind the nickname was jumping up and down-happily anticipating 8/29 to get here…

One time while I was in there, I remember asking “Heavenly829”:

“Hey, is Heavenly829 heavenly because it’s Michael Jackson’s birthday?”

(At the time, I wasn’t thinking about the fact that she felt it was “heavenly” that I would be totally free beginning 8/29).

The owner of the nickname never answered me back.

Ironically...

Because what happened today (8/29) turned out to be only heavenly for me.

But besides gloved one’s birthday (8/29), his lil’ sister has more than one reason to remember 8-2-9 than she probably could have ever imagined.

I laughed-finally.

And happy I could-for the first time considering all the times I couldn’t laugh-only cry and listen. I laughed for the first time without any anger, crying, or even feeling like crying. I was finally ok with being over her ass and getting on with my script and real-real life. Now it’s time to get down to handlin’ my “bidnezz.”

I made sure I put all of my proof, prints, and copies in my $.29 folders and discs named: BULLSHIT #1 and BULLSHIT #2.

I even went back to Hell Mail, and much to my surprise, all “The Poet’s” were still sitting there. I guess they felt she did a great job with this particular character [who was never to I.M me and supposed to remain as detached as possible by staying within “her character” in all her emails to me]. But, I guess after careful review of “The Poets” emails, the coaches must’ve decided that seven of them sounded too much like the attached Janet rather than the detached “Poet.” And those seven emails in particular (sitting in my Hell Mail inbox) looked exactly like this: