Chapter Thirty
CHAPTER THIRTY
Be Just What the Doctor Ordered
…The next day
N adia placed her school book aside, then glanced at the clock on her laptop. It was finally time. Mac Miller’s, ‘All I Want Is You’ was playing from her phone. She turned it off, took a deep breath. Clearing her throat, she took a sip of her hot Earl Grey tea sweetened with three teaspoons of honey, and logged into the Zoom meeting. The app appeared on her screen, letting her know that the host was there.
A ball of frenzied tension formed in her gut and clutched her resolve. She’d never done such a thing before, and so much had been happening as of late. Where would she start? How would he respond? Would she say too much or too little? Her nerves warped and twirled around like a spinning top.
Suddenly, a screen appeared on her laptop, and the hard-hitting sounds of Eric B. & Rakim’s, ‘I Ain’t No Joke’ began to play. The bass was heavy. Someone important was entering the chat… The screen was black with the exception of a spinning gold king crown with diamonds. Below it read the initials.
S.A.
The crown slowly faded away, and there sat a man who practically glowed. He looked like he was created from AI, but no, he was quite real. His midnight-black hair was coiffed in an old-fashioned pompadour that suited him perfectly, and a thin streak of bright silver was threaded through the side of his shiny tresses. He had on dark tinted glasses, but his eyes were still partially shown beneath them. A sparse, well-trimmed black beard covered his angular and strong jawline. The bridge of his nose was long and thin, and his nostrils had a natural flare. He exuded masculinity and beauty simultaneously. His vitality was absolutely BDE, and she couldn’t help but stare. He sat behind at a huge black desk that seemed to almost span the length of the room, his body nestled in a black and red oversized royal chair with gold accents that looked fit for a motherfucking king.
Behind him was a view of the New York City skyline. It was real, not some poster or painting—absolutely stunning, all aglow with sparkling lights. The good doctor was wearing a black jacket over a white dress shirt. Simple, yet well made. The shirt was partially unbuttoned, exposing a bit of dark chest hair, accented with a thin gold chain and a Nefertiti pendant. He raised his large hand and waved, exposing two diamond rings on his long, tan fingers. In his other hand he gripped a fat white cigar.
Good God almighty. How is a man of his age looking like this?! Looks even better in person than on the author biography of his books. I know his wife is thrilled! Blessed and highly favored!
She blinked several times, trying to regain her focus, and Dr. Saint Aknaten laughed, as if he’d read her mind. Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. For some reason, it felt like he’d invaded her thoughts right then and there—as if he had some secret way to delve deep into her subconscious and peruse it like a library. He removed his glasses and set them aside.
“Hello, Dr. Aknaten, I’m Nadia. Thank you for—”
“Pause. Your mic isn’t on, baby,” came a smooth, deep, rich voice coated in a pronounced New York vernacular and swag. “Turn up your lights, too. I want to see you better, Queen…”
“Oh!” She quickly adjusted the video lighting and turned herself off mute. “Sorry about that.”
“Not a problem, love. Now, what was it you were trying to say?”
“I am first… hold on. Let me back up. Let me say,” her heart was beating a mile a minute, “I am honored that you accepted my request for a therapy session, Dr. Aknaten. I hope I said your name right.”
“You did.” He picked up a remote and turned the music down low.
“Okay, good. I, uh, I saw that you are booked for several months out, so I appreciate you readin’ my email and doing this for me on such short notice. I know your time is valuable.”
“My time is quite valuable, but so is yours. I’m not any less or more important than you. Did it surprise you when I wrote you back?” He flashed a bright white smile.
“It did, actually! I had mentioned to you that I first heard about you from my boyfriend a long time ago. I coincidentally purchased some of your books, and checked out info about your seminars on your website. Oh, and speaking of Lennox, I take it that you received my follow up email about him giving consent to discuss him?”
“Yes, thank you. The patient/therapist confidentiality agreement is important because it’s built on trust. Since you two are a couple, I have a little leeway here anyway, but getting his consent was still necessary if I were to be speaking in more than just general terms. Based on your email, that will definitely be occurring. Queen, let me look at you for a minute. Scoot a bit closer to the webcam and look straight into it.”
Look at me for a minute? What for? She did as requested though, regardless of her trepidation and confusion.
He rested his cigar in the crack of a dark brown ashtray that appeared to be shaped like an ass. She had to suppress a laugh when she saw it, managing to maintain her composure. He leaned forward and clasped his hands, staring at her with such intensity, it was like she was being examined from the inside out. She felt warm all over, as if he was looking directly into her very soul. He stayed that way for so long, not speaking, that she thought his camera may have frozen, or the Zoom connection was faulty. After a short while that felt like an eternity, he exhaled and leaned back in his chair.
“Okay,” he sighed, then clasped his hands, “that’s good. Continue.”
“Um, okay.” She waited for an explanation, but he simply looked at her and intertwined his fingers over his knee. “Well, like I said in my email, Lennox is the reason why I know about you. He said you were a big inspiration for him, and are part of the reason he is, in his words, emotionally mature enough to handle a serious relationship, and be a man of his word.”
“Yes, your fiancé and I had—”
“Fiancé? He just asked me to marry him yesterday, Dr. Aknaten, but I wrote you several weeks ago for this session. How’d you know he was my fiancé now? Did Lennox call you?”
His jaw tightened, and then he frowned. He looked quite perturbed, much to her surprise. His eyes were now level under thick, dark brows. He abruptly leaned into the camera, his body movements swift and antagonistic. She blinked, feeling a bit unsteady as two bright, sunset-colored eyes with traces of gray and copper gleamed right back at her. Such an unusual shade.
“If what I said is factual, how is my answer to that question going to help you, Nadia? Is he or is he not your husband-to-be?” His voice was so low, so devoid of emotion, that it shook her.
Her heart began to beat all the faster. For some reason, she was suddenly uncomfortable, feeling like she’d been called to the principal’s office, and yet, she couldn’t look away from him.
“Yes, it’s true. He’s my fiancé now, but I just wanted to know how you knew is all.” She shrugged.
“Now, let’s continue. It’s on my website, but I like to give a quick little rundown. I am a licensed clinical psychotherapist, sex therapist, and psychologist who specializes in human sexuality, family counseling, and interracial romantic relationships, with a focus on Black women with non-Black men. I have a license in massage therapy, sexual healing rehabilitation and treatment, and I also have an accreditation to counsel people who have experiences or fantasies involving sexual deviancy. I run an annual private seminar for men who are sex and intimacy addicts, which, for some, falls under the sexual deviancy umbrella. Sexual deviancy, in this case, does not include non-consensual physical interactions. I do not counsel rapists, for I do not believe that the majority of rapists can be rehabilitated, and due to my own bias and hatred of such actions, I am not equipped to engage fairly with men or women who have molested and/or forced themselves upon others without sanction, regardless of the age, race, gender, or creed of the victim.”
She could tell that he had the spiel memorized, and yet, she was intrigued with the manner in which he spoke.
“I’m an award-winning author of over twenty-seven books to date, and have been on many major networks and broadcasts for interviews, or simply to share my expertise regarding some current affairs. I am born and raised in New York City, the South Bronx to be exact, and I am biracial. Half Egyptian—Arab, with no African genetic ancestry on my paternal side. Trust me, I checked and the DNA test proved my father correct despite my desire to claim at least one or two percent African blood.” She smiled at that. “My mother was full blooded North Korean, which some people find surprising since most biracial individuals from Korea have parentals from South Korea.” She nodded in understanding. “So that makes me, in layman’s terms, half Asian and half Egyptian. Now, moving on. You brought up Lennox.
“When I spoke to Lennox over a year ago, you were not in the picture, but I was helping him in regard to some things he was dealing with at the time in his own life, and also to prepare him for you. His future wife.” He skipped right over her prior question, and she realized she was simply going to have to be okay with that. The man was not paying her no mind. “As you already know from my emailed response to you, my main mission is to address men. We are the ones, in my informed opinion, who need the most assistance when it comes to relationships—because we are not creators, we are hunters and builders. That is not one in the same. That aside, we have issues with managing our emotions contrary to the stereotype that women aren’t able to see things logically.
“Men are naturally domineering—we are designed to be that way. The problem comes in when we abuse our physical strength and leadership skills to control others under false pretenses. Typically fueled by our own insecurities. As men, we are greedy for power and province, controlling, and lack accountability due to the collapse of societal regulations as it pertains to male self-governing. Even some of our convictions and faiths express that women are to blame should a man be weak when it comes to controlling himself. If he feels he’s been seduced or sexually stimulated by simply seeing a beautiful woman out and about, then it is the woman whom the blame is placed.
“It’s not his fault if he forces himself upon her, men all around this world proclaim. Men of so-called faith. Her ass shouldn’t have been outside, or, she shouldn’t have worn that dress, or shown her hair due to male temptation. As men, we express our shame, fears and sadness through anger, and are propelled by our sex drives. We want more of what we enjoy, all the time, regardless of the expense to others. This is why my focus is typically on male improvement and regulation. We don’t understand ourselves, Nadia, and we don’t acknowledge our problems if we are the root cause of them.
“We blame, versus looking within. Looking within would denote failure, and men struggle with admission of failure, because it ties right into our perceived masculinity. Women, characteristically, are much more self-aware. Without acceptance of the truth, there will never be acknowledgement. Without acknowledgement, there will never be improvement as a male, or a community. Excuse me, sweetheart. Hold on a second, please.”
“Sure.” Damn. Shit was just getting good. I could listen to him speak all day!
Saint shifted in his seat, leaned forward and picked up his phone. “Hey, baby, can you bring a glass of wine to my study, please?… Yeah, that’s fine… No, I’m in a counseling session with someone right now, but let him know that I’ll call him back later… okay, baby, I love you… Yes, and thank you.” He hung up the phone. “Sorry about that. I’ll add an extra five minutes to your session to cover it.”
“It’s all good.”
“Now, back to what I was saying. I am a man. I know how we think, the good, the bad and the ugly. Men will listen to me, before they listen to a woman telling him the exact same thing. It’s just a sad truth. So, that’s where I put the bulk of my energy. Just wanted to shed a bit more light onto that.”
She nodded in understanding.
“Thank you again for that consideration. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course. Now, please understand that my delivery is often blunt and not sugar-coated. I don’t care who the fuck you are. If I believe you need to hear it, I am going to say it.” She was silenced by his dark, angry expression. “That withstanding, my job is to help, not hurt, but sometimes when you’re trying to fix a broken leg, you have to snap it back into place before putting a cast around it, and that snap of reality, if you will, causes a lot of pain.”
“I understand. I’m not overly sensitive, so it’s fine.”
“Fantastic, but I’ve heard that before. I am letting you know in no uncertain terms that there is going to be nothin’ pretty, enjoyable, or comfortable about this therapy session. If it becomes too much, you are always free to end the meeting. Just know that if you become a chicken shit and bail, I’m not refunding a damn dime. It’s in writing.”
“I know.” She smirked, getting a kick out of this guy. “I saw it.”
“Besides, I live in Manhattan, in one of the most expensive properties in the city.” He ran his thumb over his hand, massaging it as he glared at her, his expression somewhat twisted, condescending, as if he knew something she didn’t. “I am bougie about the shoes I wear, the cigars I smoke, and fussy as fuck about the foods I consume. I have two sons who eat everything in this house that isn’t tied down. One of them is hooked on war video games, and wants everything that comes out on day one. The other one somehow believes he should receive brand new cars fresh off the lot even though he drives like a demon out of hell and has the speeding and parking tickets to prove it.
“I have a daughter who thinks that only expensive name brand clothing that somehow manages to look used up and second hand should be in her closet, and a wife who collects high priced perfumes and those damn Fabergé eggs.” Nadia placed her hand over her mouth to squelch her amusement. The man was going clean off. “Xenia, that’s my wife, makes annual week-long trips to Paris and London, and she is charitable as fuck, so there’s that. I myself am not excluded from the fuckery.” He placed his hand over his heart as if about to pledge allegiance to something. “I collect vintage pornographic materials, and you wouldn’t believe the going rate for the original copies of interracial dirty movies from the 1920s and 1930s. It’s highway robbery, but I have to have them. There’s nothin’ like a bunch of unshaved, wild hairy pussies on adorable Black queens being pummeled to death by White men wearing Charlie Chaplin Derby hats and suspenders while fucking women right out of their thick ass stockings and pantaloons to the sounds of Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin, in the back of a motherfuckin’ Ford Model T.”
She burst out laughing. “You are hilarious!” He shrugged, then winked at her, showing a gorgeous smile. “I get it though, I understand. We all have our vices. As I said, I’m not sensitive. I’m not bailing. I have tough skin—I’ll be okay.”
He cleared his throat, then took a sip of what appeared to be water in a gorgeous, chilled wine glass. D-Nice’s, ‘Call Me D-Nice’ started to play. He suddenly looked up from the camera, and she could hear a door opening.
“Heeeey, baby,” The man’s eyes lit up as if he hadn’t seen her in years. It was really sweet. A woman’s hand and arm entered the frame, handing him a glass of red wine. “Don’t be shy,” he whispered. “Give me a kiss.” The lady bent down in her silk purple robe and pressed her mouth to his. She was gorgeous. An African American woman with amazing facial bone structure, full lips, thick dark hair that was pinned up in a sloppy bun, and small silver hoops hanging from her ears. A huge blinged out wedding ring was on her finger. The woman turned directly towards the camera and smiled. It was one of the kindest, warmest expressions Nadia had ever seen.
“Hi, Queen. I’m Xenia, Saint’s wife.”
“Hi Xenia, nice to meet you. I’m Nadia.”
“What a pretty name. I’ll let you two get back at it. You take care, Nadia.”
“Thank you so much, you do the same.”
Xenia waved goodbye, but before she got completely out of the frame, Saint smacked her ass. He was staring up at the woman as she walked away, clearly utterly obsessed with his lady. Nadia loved watching them… They still seem so in love . He got up, and she could hear him smack her ass again. This was followed by feminine laughter, him whispering something she couldn’t quite decipher, and then the sound of the door closing.
Saint returned to his desk, a huge smile on his face. He picked up the glass of wine and took a sip, then another.
“Mmm, this is good. This must be the new merlot she bought. Adding another five minutes to your tally, Nadia. Sorry about that. You shouldn’t have to lose time on account of me needing a drink and flirting with my wife. Don’t want to short you.”
“Okay.” Nadia smiled. “That was cute though. Thank you.”
“Also,” he took one more sip of his drink and set it down, “please keep in mind that I can look at a person and figure out certain things about them fairly easily. That’s why I was studying you earlier. That freaks some people out, so I just want to give you a heads up.”
“I’ve been told I’m observant, too.”
“Yeah, but you’re observant more than likely due to being hunted. You weren’t observant because you were hunting.”
“Hunting?”
“I used to be a gotdamn predator.” He said this as if it were obvious.
“A predator? I don’t mean to keep echoing you, and I know this isn’t what my therapy session is about, but I’m just curious. What do you mean?”
“Predators have to watch prey carefully to see how to capture them. We spend a lot of time listening and learning things about a woman for nefarious reasons. Even just the way a woman walks can tell me a lot. As a teenager who was popular in high school, and later as a well-educated single man, I used my charisma, gift of gab, financial status and physique to ensnare my target. I understood that a woman’s brain has to be made love to before her body is ever touched, if you want to make her consumed with you.” She nodded in agreement. “To control a woman’s pussy, you first need to control her mind. I did it deliberately. That was part of the thrill.” A sudden icy contempt flashed in his eyes.
“I see… so you can speak from experience.”
“Most definitely. Only a predator can teach prey how to escape from men like me effectively. With that said, I believe in spirit, one Creator, karma, divinity, vibes and energy. My debt to society is to do exactly what I am doing right now… to pay for my sins by offering what I know, assisting men in understanding their nature and controlling that, and helping women heal after dealing with mothafuckas like me.”
“Understood.” She sat up straighter.
He moved a bit over to the right, and she noticed a lit stick of incense behind him, as well as a candle.
“Okay, Queen. Here we go… I want you to close your eyes, then take a deep breath for me.”
She inhaled, then exhaled.
“Beautiful. Do it again.” She did. “Now, open your eyes.”
She slowly opened her eyes and looked into his. They were beautiful, seemingly even more so than before. Unusual. Warm. Clear.
He glanced at his computer, then looked back into the camera.
“My diagnosis of you, off the rip, is a Q.L.”
“And Q.L. is what?”
“I list it in my book: ‘The Queen Wears the Crown.’ There are thirty-two types of Queens, variations if you will, but most fall under ten major categories. Q.L. is Queen Lust.” Her skin went hot. “A temptress from the top of your fucking head, down to your pedicured feet. Your mind, your soul, your heart make men lose their minds. They stalk you. Annoy you. Beg you for your time. They can even become violent when you reject them. You probably have police reports to prove it. You are aloof, yet show enough sweetness to keep them hooked. You bleed, sweat and cry sex.” She forced a demure smile. “From the time you wake the fuck up until your head hits the pillow at night, your pussy is throbbing and gushing, your nipples are rock hard, your mouth full of saliva from anticipating slobbing a knob, and your ass is puckered and greased because men are constantly thinking about you. They are sending energy your way, and your body is receiving it. Loud and clear. You have that ‘IT’ factor. You’re a puppet master. Throat goat. Classy, beautiful fucking whore.
“Revenge is held tight between your thighs. You’ve always had a problem getting men to leave you alone when you didn’t want to be bothered, and it’s not because you’re the prettiest fucking woman in the room, either. It’s because you are in fact gorgeous, but more importantly, you are mentally sharp. At times you’re vengeful and unforgiving, but you can also be kind and benevolent when it suits you. You have a big heart, but you only show it to a select few. You’re not naturally rude, you simply keep to yourself. You’re a mystery that everyone wants to solve. You know your way around a dick, and bring men to their knees. You also have taboo sexual fantasies…” She swallowed and stiffened. “I told you not to get your panties in a bunch, woman. We’re just getting started. You haven’t heard shit yet.”
He chuckled, then took another sip of his wine.
“You come out swinging, huh?” She laughed. “Okay, that’s fine. I don’t know how you know this shit, but I’ll agree with most of it.” She shrugged.
“This is not a bad thing. If you know anything about my background, then you are aware that I am a sex addict. Hence the whole spiel about being a predator. I know women. I read women like you’re an article in a magazine, without skipping a beat.”
“Yes, yes. I can see that. Do you think I am a sex addict, too?” Sometimes, she honestly wondered.
He weighed her with a critical squint. “No. You’re fully able to control yourself. You just like to fuck a lot.” She tittered and nodded in agreement. “Men who are sex addicts are often attracted to vixens like you. We’re attracted to the temptresses. The lust radars. Women who have high sex drives, can handle a big dick, and do it again and again, many times a day. My wife is a Lust Queen, so don’t be embarrassed or ashamed, or think it’s an insult. It’s not. I just recognize one when I see one.” He tossed up his hands. “Women like you are usually highly feminine as far as physique is concerned. Your hair and nails are always done. You smell nice. Practice good hygiene. You’re comfortable with your sexuality. You also light up a room when you enter.
“You elicit jealousy from other women because you’re confident, and the confidence is real. Your self-esteem is high, which men like me would see as a challenge, instead of something to beware of. You’re also ambitious, and have your own ideas and goals. However, women like you are often susceptible to predators like me. Why? Because you are looking for love from the strong, protective sort. A man with charisma, one who can make you believe that you’re the center of his universe. Lust Queens are actually, Love Queens, but you just don’t know it. Lust is simply used as a means to an end. You’re trying to replace something you always wanted. Something you never had. It’s your biggest weakness: Daddy issues.”
She sucked her teeth, then sighed.
“I’ll get back to that in a little bit. Back on topic. Alpha men, true alpha men, are not intimidated by independent women. We in fact want you to be that way. There are too many men running around here calling themselves an alpha but they fall apart when their woman has multiple degrees, her own interests, and what not. This is super weak. Pathetic. Frail ego shit. It’s embarrassing.” He snatched his cigar from the ashtray and took a long drag of it. “Remember, a sex addict doesn’t always just want sex. He wants to conquer. Break a woman down. We’re like vampires. We feed off of your desires and hidden insecurities.”
“Do you think Lennox is a sex addict? Did you diagnose him?”
Saint shrugged and tapped ashes into the ashtray. “Lennox isn’t a sex addict, but I would classify him as borderline, and I told him such. When being observed and scored, he had more self-control and discipline than most sex addicts possess, but he still used sex as an insalubrious tool. He was still using sex to self-medicate for an extensive period of time at one point in his life. That’s why I am mentioning all of this to you.” She nodded in understanding. “I taught him how to control his impulses and stop sleeping with women he didn’t want to have a future with. Women get hooked on him, Q.L.s included. He’s good in bed, right? He fucks you seven ways to Sunday?”
She grinned and turned away, hearing his deep, guttural laugh. “Right… because he knows his way around a woman’s body, and he respects you. He wants you to always feel safe, loved, and adored, even when his dick is lodged down your throat and he’s shooting cum at your uvula like some water-gun game at a fucking carnival.”
Her heart quickened. Somehow, he was roaming the aisles of her mind. A part of her wanted to leave the session, while another part was too intrigued to do such a thing. Saint’s eyes hooded as he leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk. He looked smug. Arrogant. Lovely. All she saw after a while were the bottoms of what were probably very expensive dress shoes.
“Will I be a good wife?”
“I don’t know, will you?” he asked with a smirk. “That’s a choice, baby girl. Look, your fiancé likes you because of all the reasons I have mentioned, and because you are like his mother, Queen Nadia. Your personality and some of your likes and dislikes are even similar to hers. You captivate him.”
She was enthralled by the way he spoke, and his body language. He spoke with his hands and eyes. It was obvious he’d done this so many times, he had it down pat.
“How would you describe the way you view sex as a whole, Nadia?”
“Well, I view sex as ordinary as brushing my teeth, or going to the post office. Despite my profession, well, past profession, it doesn’t define me. It’s an enjoyable part of my life, but not my focus all the time. To me, the human body is natural, and I have autonomy over my own body.”
He leaned back, crossed his leg, and chapelled his hands. “In other words, you are capable of seeing sex and intimacy in a healthy way, versus just for commerce.”
“Exactly.”
He glanced at his computer, then looked back at her. “You explained in your email that you were an OnlyFans model, as well as an exotic dancer, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right. Now I’m back in law school though. I retired.”
“You retired publicly, but not privately.”
“No, I don’t give any private tours, so to speak.”
“That’s not what I mean. Your entire childhood was spent trying to get people you loved to look at you. See you. Notice you. Pay attention to you. Not for ego, but for safety.” She swallowed. “It is a part of you.” Mac Miller’s, ‘Fight the Feeling,’ the instrumental version featuring Kendrick Lamar, played as he spoke. He’s a Mac Miller and Kendrick Lamar fan, too? Interesting. “You thought you were taking control of the situation, and any traumas that happened due to the men in your life you believed you could corral those horrors, and force men to submit to you. True or false?”
“True.”
“Yes, men paid money to see your body, but really, they gained more than you ever could. They were still using you, baby.” Her eyes welled with tears. “You were nothin’ more to them than a wet, soft hole to cum on, cum in, or cum to, as they watched you on the pole, or their computer screen. That’s why you’re still unhealed, Queen, but you’ve improved… because it’s in your nature to never stay stuck. Lust Queens are resilient. You are constantly looking for solutions. That’s why you reached out to me. When you look at the men who want to see you shake your ass, you don’t actually see them—you see someone else. Now, we’ve come full circle. You were looking for your daddy…” She sighed, then crossed her legs and arms, holding herself tight.
“And that was the problem. You saw Daddy in all of them, and that made you hate your customers even more. You hate weak men. Lying men. Begging men. You’re attracted to men who know what they want in life, and how to get it. You like aggressive men. Not so aggressive that they try to define you, or control and rule over you, but aggressive where they mean what they say, and they show and prove. Physical strength. Intelligence. Reliability. This probably plays into even how you get turned on sexually. Fantasies… Say it, baby… You want to be taken.”
“Yes.”
“This competed with a trauma you endured, but you had the fantasy before what happened to you. What happened was, the traumatic experience made you think it was bad. It’s not. It’s a fairly common fantasy for women to want to be overpowered sexually, but society makes you feel like there is something wrong with you for wanting it. Craving it. You love it when Lennox pins you down. Fucks you hard, sometimes even choking you. You have intertwined potency, virility, a touch of violence, and strength with masculinity. It’s not right or wrong. It simply IS.” He was quiet for a moment, as if allowing her to absorb his words. “If you voluntarily allow a man to make you submit in the bedroom when you are not the submissive sort, in some strange way, you believe you are getting your power back, and that turns you on a great deal. It’s a slap in the face to Daddy, right?”
Her chest tightened and a burning in her heart felt like a slow, horrible burn.
“Nadia, I need for you to not run and hide within yourself. I know what I’m saying is true about you. You know it, too. You struggle with shame and guilt though. I’ll repeat it. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be dominated in bed by an alpha male, or any man for that matter. Strong women still want to feel like women, no matter how robust they believe themselves to be.”
“Lennox I would consider an alpha, from the way you defined it.” He nodded in agreement and sat up. “I’m afraid we’ll bump heads a lot because of that. We have minor power struggles from time to time. I don’t want that. What’s your advice?”
“There’s a stereotype that alpha women can’t have alpha mates, or that alpha women can’t be feminine. There’s also this thought process that alpha men can’t handle an alpha woman. That’s not true. Just don’t try to rule over your man. The key is balance.” She nodded in agreement as he made his hands like scales. “You’re a resilient, strong woman who is about to marry a resilient, strong man. You listen to him though, or at least you try. I imagine you try and pick your battles. Just keep doing that. When Lennox is really pissed off about something you’ve done, don’t try to get in his face, argue, things like that. Give him some space, so y’all can talk calmly. He should do the same for you.
“For instance, I wouldn’t classify my wife as necessarily having an alpha woman, or alpha-dominant personality. She’s somewhere in the middle, but she is definitely not someone that I or anyone else can walk all over, either. Every now and again, we bump heads, too. The best marriages aren’t perfect, Nadia, and occasional disagreements with your mate are normal and natural. It’s how you deal with those disagreements that set you apart and determine if your union will last. It’s all about give and take, and as long as you both know that you have each other’s back and each other’s best interests at heart, you should be fine.”
“Yes, sir. I understand. Thank you.”
“As we move along here, I am going in a different direction. We’ve established the type of woman you are, what you want, and who Lennox is. Now, I am going deeper. What that means is, I use my education and observation skills to pick up your energy and figure out what you need to hear so you get your life back on track. I’m going to say a lot of shit you’re not going to like. It’s going to be disrespectful and highly offensive, and no fucks will be given. What I said earlier wasn’t shit compared to this. Regardless, when I ask you a question, I need one word answers, and one word answers only. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“There’s that Southern hospitality.” He smirked. “Aren’t you just lovely? Here we go…” He zoomed the camera onto his face, offering a cold stare. “Let’s start with Nadia, the child… Your mother ignored your emotional desires, but did take care of your basic needs. You feel like you owe her due to this, but you resent her, too. Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Your father ignored you by abandoning you and your mother, and then when he was around, he spent the majority of that time chastising you and degrading you, in order to pump himself up and feel better about what a fucked-up individual he was. He was derelict in his duties. Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“He was a stupid motherfucker who thought himself smarter than everyone else, and gassed his own self up. He had a little charm, a couple coins to rub together, and thought he was the man. He created a whole fucking human being, a female soul, and named her Nadia. Nadia is a name that means hope. That’s all he gave you—false hope. He left his baby girl out here on her fucking own with a damaged woman he’d lied to and tricked. Bitter baby mama. Yes or fucking no?”
“Yes.”
“Instead of seeing his role in the reason that you, his daughter, became a stripper to essentially gain control over the pain that men have caused you, he showed absolutely no responsibility or accountability. Baby girl was forcing men to pay for a look at her pussy, to lust after you, and you wanted him to know about it because you wanted him to suffer! True or false?”
“…True.” She was shaking, trying to keep it all together.
“Stop hesitating when I ask you a gotdamn question that you know the answer to. Trying to keep control of this conversation. Don’t play with me, Queen Nadia. I’m not one of your fucking gentleman’s club groupies, or Only Fan tricks!” he yelled. “I see through you.” He pointed at the camera with steely eyes. She blinked back angry tears. “Not all strippers are traumatized, but the great majority of them are and men like me who are sexual predators—because a sex addict is always a predator, too, Nadia—seek women like you to dominate and destroy. Y’all are a big prize. We love to take you down! It’s like getting Wonder Woman to give us dome in the middle of rush-hour traffic. What a high.
“Your mother was a big fish, and your father was out to get that big catch of the day. He wanted to terrorize her. Lennox said that his mother escorted during her college years but in fact it was also a deep-seeded need to break free from her religion’s restrictions, mostly imposed by her father. She never told her children that part. Your father got this all in motion, the trajectory you were on, but you became an adult and instead of making this a temporary stepping stone to get your money up and bounce, you turned it into a career because you were self-medicating, trying to suppress the trauma. Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“LOUDER! I know you can speak louder than that, damn it! Don’t be timid now! You weren’t introverted on the stage when you were ripping off your clothes and pumping your hips in a slow grind! You weren’t shy behind the camera when you rubbing and sucking your own titties! Do I need to CashApp you?!” He reached in his pocket, pulled out a stack of money and tossed it in the air. It landed all over his desk and the floor. “I’m not a fucking lame, john, simp, square, or a trick! NOW SAY IT! SCREAM LIKE YOU DO WHEN LENNOX IS DICKIN’ YOU THE FUCK DOWN! HITTIN’ THAT DRIPPIN’ WET TWAT FROM THE MOTHAFUCKIN’ BACK! OWN IT!”
“YES!” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
“Your father wasn’t shit. Most of your ex-boyfriends weren’t shit and you were almost sexually assaulted by a man who you rejected, in typical Queen Lust fashion. Making him not shit, too since he was too damn fragile to accept that you didn’t want him. YES OR NO?!”
“Jesus… Yes! Yes!”
“You were unable to talk to anyone about that assault, or prove that it happened in the manner that you described to the authorities, and that made you all the more bitter and traumatized. You still blame your father for this. HE IS TO BLAME, BUT YOU WERE A GROWN ASS WOMAN STILL NOT GETTING REAL HELP, FOR YOUR REAL TRAUMAS! YOU WERE SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW SOMETHING WAS WRONG WITH YOU, BUT YOU DID NOTHING! YOU CAN’T BLAME HIM ANYMORE! ALPHA WOMEN STRUGGLE FUCKING ACCOUNTABILITY SOMETIMES, TOO! OWN IT, DAMN IT!”
She glared at him, hating the man behind the camera. She wanted to reach through the screen and wring his fucking egotistical, conceited neck. He leaned in close again, pointing at the camera, and she jumped back.
“Don’t you ever, in your fuckin’ life, look at me like that again.” He gritted his teeth. “ You chose these fucked-up men for partners as an adult! One after a fuckin’ ’nother, you chose emotional and mental bums! They were spiritually void! No God was in them! DON’T GET MAD AT THE MESSENGER. You were no longer a child. You chose losers, users and abusers! And do you know why? YOU KEPT CHOOSING YOUR DADDY OVER AND OVER AGAIN! TRYING TO MAKE HIM LOVE YOU THROUGH TERRIBLE TOM, DIRTY DICK AND HORRIBLE HARRY! AND WHEN HE DIED, YOU COULD NOT BLAME HIM ANYMORE, AND THAT PISSED YOU OFF! Dead men make poor punching bags! You needed him to stick around so you could keep throwing darts at him, landing on that gotdamn bullseye! DADDY IS GONE. HE WAS NEVER HERE. YOU HAVE TO FACE THIS ALONE! IT’S TIME TO HEAL!”
A tear streamed down her face, and she clutched the edge of her shirt…
“You showed your beautiful pussy, your divine gateway, that wet, sweet hole that is there to please your mate and bring forth life, your lush garden, your oasis, your womb portal, to hundreds of men who didn’t deserve for you to even spit on them, let alone see the loveliness of your physical form, and the delightful snatch that is between two warm thighs, made to wrap around your future husband. This is not a condemnation of your past, present or future, baby. Sex is beautiful. The female human body is beautiful. You are beautiful. You are loved. You just need to start loving yourself more… Come here… Look at me…” His voice calmed then, and she looked back up at the camera, her face a wet mess. He curled his finger, motioning for her to lean in.
“This is a look in the mirror and for you to understand why you’ve been behaving badly.” He pressed his hands together as if praying. “Not because you stripped off your clothes, but you didn’t strip off your ego. You didn’t strip off the layers of pain. You held onto anger because it was easier than letting go. You have been dealing with peasants, when you are not only the Queen but run the entire queendom. You fell asleep and forgot who you were. WAKE THE FUCK UP!” More tears budded in her eyes and she shook her head. Her chest heaved so hard, it hurt. “Your body is sacred, my Love. You are Q.L. for a reason. Y’all are rare, baby… It’s a compliment. Women like you just aren’t born every day. When I speak about you exuding sex, and use the word lust to define you, I am not just talking about your body and sensuality. I am talking about people lusting to be like you, with you, or steal what you have. Your essence. Your inner-beauty. Lust isn’t always just about sex. It’s about wanting what someone has, and wanting it so badly, that they can taste it. You are special. Don’t you realize that?”
She smiled and nodded, then wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
“Strangers ask you for help, younger women look up to you, and predators seek to consume and destroy you. You are the light! Light attracts light, and it attracts darkness, too. The sins of the father… Lennox is the first man who had romantic feelings for you that didn’t remind you of your father in some way. That scared you. You didn’t recognize him. He felt unfamiliar. That made you uncomfortable. He was the exact opposite of what you’d seen, and what you were used to. You knew deep down that that big Optimus Prime Megatron Transformer built mothafucka wanted to fuck you, be with you, and just love you,” She fought a chuckle in between her tears, and he smiled back at her. “He was crazy about you way back then, and even more so now.” He spoke so softly…
The man glanced at his Rolex, then flopped back in his chair, grabbed his glass, and brought it to his lips, his wine half gone. They didn’t speak for several seconds. He took another taste and set the glass down.
“Your father was a habitual and pathological liar. He couldn’t keep his dick in his pants and his mouth off of other women’s pussies. As a young lady, your mother, though bright and capable, didn’t understand men well, so she was an easy target. True or false?”
“I’d say true.”
“One word only, baby. One word.” The instrumental version of Mac Miller’s, ‘Desperado’ started to play, the guitar riff wickedly sexy and classic. She had to hand it to the man—he had great musical tastes. It helped her, in some strange way, from feeling even worse than she already did. “Your mother is also intelligent, and intuitive, like you. She’s also unpleasant. Nadia, I haven’t spoken to your mother, obviously, but I’d venture to say she suffers from depression. When she looks at you, she sees herself and weeps! She hates that you hurt deep inside. Your mother doesn’t show emotion in front of you, does she?”
“No.”
“Well, I have a secret to tell you. You can choose to believe me or not, but sometimes, when she’s alone, mark my words, the tears flow all night long. Some nights that woman cries herself to sleep.”
Nadia hung her head and fought tears like her life depended on it. Her stomach caved and her heart kept seizing up. It hurt so bad… so very, very bad.
“She has closed herself off from love. She wants no parts of it, because it’s too excruciating for her to deal with. Your mother was fucked up in the head due to her childhood and instead of dealing with it, she pretended the emotions she felt were stupid, and she buried those emotions somewhere in an imaginary field a long time ago. When she expressed her feelings in the past, they were used against her. Like when she told your father that she loved him…”
Nadia sat up, forcing herself to face the music. She blinked back tears, closing her eyes for a brief moment and promising to get through this. How this man knew such things from reading a damn email and looking at her for a few seconds on a camera was beyond her, but Lennox had warned her… Told her that the man was spooky, and he knew shit he shouldn’t.
“And then she turned around and expected her son and daughter to do the same. Cut off your emotions. That was unfair of her. That was abusive. That was neglectful. The Creator gave us feelings for a reason, Nadia. They are not pointless. They are not useless. They are not stupid. They are to be acknowledged, explored, controlled and understood. FEELINGS MAKE US HUMAN. She trusted no fucking body because of past betrayals. Now, that brings us to the final frontier of this session. In your email, you specifically stated that you want to end the cycle. The family curse, as you called it. You need to speak to your mother, and do so with confidence. Now, you are free to speak, Queen.” He grabbed his water this time, and took a small sip.
“How do I talk to her about this shit? I’ve tried, but she doesn’t listen.”
“She’s the only person you tiptoe around. Do what you do to everyone else when you have a bone to pick with them. Don’t back down.” She nodded in understanding. “Your mother shuts down in the face of wavering, which she perceives as weakness. She wakes up when she stands before strength. She respects when people are direct with her. Do not worry about her responses, receptiveness, or lack thereof when you confront her. She may get defensive, she may not. Either way, don’t beat around the bush with her, either. If you say what you need to say, your job is done. Her feelings about it are irrelevant.”
She took a deep breath, and then another, trying to slow her racing heartbeat. It had been one hell of an emotional ride.
“I wanted to speak to you a little more about Lennox. I want our relationship to work. I know we both have had a lot of trauma. What advice can you give me?”
He tapped his fingers on his desk to the sounds of ‘Soul Sista,’ by Bilal. He began to rock back and forth to the music, then lit a fresh cigar.
“Nadia,” he placed the cigar to his lips, puffed, then blew out perfect rings of smoke, “the man you are engaged to comes from the same shit you came from. Dysfunction. Trauma. Lust. That’s why y’all are so powerful and so sexy together… Sex is a demon and an angel. Sex was all over his mother. Sex is all over you. What drew Lennox’s father to his mother was her beauty and natural sultriness. You were created out of lust… Your father was strongly attracted to your mother—so much so that he lied and stole to get her. Now, Lennox’s background is a bit different from yours because there are power dynamics at play in Lennox’s family. Serious ones.
“Yes, that’s true. I have another question. Sometimes I feel like Lennox hides aspects of himself from me. He doesn’t lie about it, per se, but he doesn’t share it. Like, we were friends and he never told me his mother was Lebanese until we linked back up, or that he was from the Wilde family. He even spelled his last name differently to throw people off the trail.”
“Nadia, Lennox feels he has to protect others by not speaking every single truth. Now, I believe if you’d somehow found out back then and asked him directly, he wouldn’t have lied, but no, he wasn’t just going to give up that information. Lennox is a monster and an angel, all rolled into one. Lennox will always be a monster, Nadia, so accept him as he is, but he’ll never turn that monstrous behavior towards you . He knows better, and he has no desire to, anyway. These are just facts. Just as I will always be a sex addict. I can’t change that. My wife accepts it because she loves and trusts me. It’s an unfortunate part of loving a damaged man.”
“How does she deal with that, if you don’t mind me asking?”
He looked at her, smirking, and his eyes sparkled. “I use myself, little bits of my life in therapy sessions, to help make things relatable. I try to steer away from specifics though regarding my private life, especially when it is not explicitly about me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I thought that—”
“Some days are tough for her. It can be challenging.” He tapped embers into the ashtray. His expression was a bit melancholy as he stared at the ashes. “As a sex addict, I think about sex every day. Think about a drug addict, right? It’s the same thing for me.”
He puffed on his cigar again, and his eyes turned to slits as he briefly looked up at his ceiling. “It doesn’t control me anymore though. Just like in this session. I am sitting here looking at you, a very pretty Black woman. My kryptonite. Lennox has excellent taste,” She smiled at that. “You have amazing lips, beautiful eyes, and some big fuckin’ titties. Trust me, I love me some tig o’l bitties but I am not the least bit sexually aroused.” He said the shit so matter-of-factly, it blew her mind. She believed him.
“Wow…” She laughed.
“It’s true. I make sure I am in the right frame of mind when I’m working, and I’m always a professional. I can discuss sex in depth without becoming overly stimulated. My wife knows I’m faithful despite my compulsions and obsessions. I do not lust after other women because I have control over myself, Nadia. It took me a long time to get here, but many years ago, I arrived. I have trained myself not to respond to outside stimuli in that manner. Now, don’t get it twisted. I do find many women attractive, and always will, I’m human after all, but I do not act inappropriately, and don’t fantasize about fucking other women.
“I can acknowledge that a woman is beautiful, tell her without hesitation, just like I did with you today. I can see that she has a nice body or whatever, and it will go no further than that.” She nodded in understanding. “Besides, I would never disrespect my wife and the mother of my children that way, and I wouldn’t want another man to disrespect me or my wife that way, either. I am in a healthy marriage with my soulmate. She is fully aware of who I am, how I behave, what I expect, and what I will and will not put up with. She knows what she signed up for.”
Nadia smiled.
“Therefore, my wife helps me get my needs met with the understanding that I am going to need more physical and sexual intimacy than most men. She takes care of it and when she’s tired, I just go to Palm Beach.” Nadia burst out laughing, and he grinned. “Hey, it’s not cheating if it’s just my hand,” he teased. “All jokes aside, my wife is my helpmate, and I don’t think I’d even still be here, alive, if it wasn’t for her. Her love has gotten me through some really rough times. I definitely wouldn’t be as happy as I am without her. She is my lover, and truly my best friend.”
“That’s… that’s just beautiful. I love that.”
He placed his cigar down and looked directly into the camera. “But, uh, make no mistake about it, Nadia. Her husband is sick. I will always be sick. I will always be a pervert and sexual deviant. I hate saying that. It doesn’t sound good. I like to be seen in a good light, but I also have to be honest with myself. My issues affect her, and that is how relationships work. If we don’t heal, we hurt the people we love.” She swallowed. “My sexual demands at times can be a bit much, but she understands where it is coming from, and we work through it.”
“May I ask how you found out for certain that you’re a sex addict? Did you diagnose yourself, or did someone else do it?”
“I’ve known something was wrong with me at an early age but back then, we didn’t have names for these sorts of problems. People would just say, ‘Oh, he’s just a curious kid,’ then when I got a little older and was sexually active, it was, ‘He’s a horndog,’ or if it’s a woman doing what I did, people would say, ‘She’s a fucking nympho.’ People laugh it off because it’s sex, ya know? People like talking and joking about sex. But this is real , and when you have a compulsion like this, it’s not funny. There’s nothing pleasant about wanting to fuck all day, seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day, if you could. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.
“There’s nothing enjoyable about getting angry at your spouse for not wanting to go a fifth round with you when she has work in the morning, or she’s tired or sore from all the previous rounds… and you’re fucking losing your mind about her telling you ‘no’ because you’re in the middle of a compulsive episode. You’re making a scene, trying to make her feel guilty for not allowing you to at this point, cause her physical or emotional pain because you need your sickness fed. She’s physically worn-out, or she’s just plain tired of arguing with you, ya know?
“These are the things that used to happen early on in my marriage from time to time. Not always, but often enough that it was disruptive. Because see, I had control over it when I met my wife. But then, because I was with her, in a committed relationship followed by marriage, I allowed myself to start having sex regularly again. I was in the throes of my healing journey, and had been abstinent by choice. Well, that triggered something in my brain.” He pointed to his head. “I didn’t want sex with other women—that wasn’t it at all. I only wanted to make love to her , but I became obsessed with the sex with her. I transferred my addiction to just one person, but it was still an active addiction. I wanted it continuously, incessantly. It became a new spin off of the original compulsion and there is no way that it is humanly possible to keep up. Plus, mothafuckas got to eat, and work! Live their lives! Do other shit besides lay around fucking all day.” He laughed dismally.
“Damn.”
“Exactly. I never expected something like that to happen, but it did, and she worked with me through that. The few times these episodes did occur, once I settled down, I felt terrible afterwards because I knew I had said some things in the heat of the moment, cruel things that should not have been said, all in an effort to get my way.”
“How do you think you became this way?”
“I know exactly how it happened. I experienced the loss of my mother at an early age. She was hit by a car. I saw her lying in the middle of the street, she was torn to pieces, and it messed me up. There was so much blood, her scream I kept hearing in my mind… My mother was my best friend. I was a mama’s boy, through and through. It fucked me up.”
“Oh my God, I’m sorry.”
He nodded, took a sip of water, then continued. “I was developing. My psychiatrist at the time explained that I was a little boy when this happened, and somehow, in some odd, unfortunate way, I fused my interest in girls and sex with pain and trauma. It’s rather complicated to explain, but that’s the gist of it. I found a way to grieve by blocking it with something that felt good. Something that would distract me. Every time I would get depressed about my mother, or angry about being poor or whatever it was that was upsetting me at any given period of time, I had this to fall back on now. As inappropriate as it was. In spite of all of this, I am quite self-aware. I knew it wasn’t normal to fuck five, six or seven different women in one day, and still want more pussy afterwards. It had to stop.” He leaned back, an angry scowl on his face as he folded his arms. “It was also risky behavior.
“It wasn’t normal to have an amazing sexual experience with a woman, and then five minutes later, jack off to a porno when I just busted a nut. There’s nothing ordinary about that. I was formerly diagnosed by one of the best psychiatrists and sex addiction therapists in the world, Nadia. He spent significant time with me, and I was identified as having a level 5 sex addiction, which is the highest you can get from the chart that he designed, and is still used by many professionals in the field today. It is unusual to get that high of a score, but I did. I was also diagnosed with hypersexual compulsive disorder—level 5 again—and possessing sexual deviancy tendencies, level 4.
“I wanted to do kinky shit because regular ol’ vanilla sex wasn’t getting me off anymore. There’s nothin’ wrong with kinky shit as long as it’s consensual, and no one is being irreparably wounded.” He smiled, and she smiled back. “I love kinky and regular ol’ vanilla sex just fine, but if the kinky stuff is always the preferred method to achieve orgasm, then it’s a problem. My doctor who diagnosed me said I was one of the worst cases he’d ever seen. He even put me, anonymously, in one of his medical textbooks. Patient #0821A-K. How crazy is that?!”
“What medical book was it? I want to read it.”
He paused, then burst out laughing.
“I’m serious.” She chuckled.
“I know you are. You like to learn… you’re a brilliant student, and that’s wonderful. I’ll send you the link to buy it online. I’m sure it’s still in print. Anyway, I became a case study for people all over the world. Me and my dick were a menace to society. I was Darth Vader and my cock was my lightsaber. I was definitely using the force, and I loved the dark side.” She stifled a laugh at that, knowing he was for real. “I was in college getting my Masters and PhD, a licensed therapist, which adds another crazy layer to this. I scheduled my life around sexual encounters. Work. Sex. Eat. Sex. Take a piss. Sex. Go to the gym, in an effort to not necessarily stay healthy, but to garner more attention during my hunting of women. To get sex. It was absolutely insane.”
“Were you exhausted?”
“ALL THE TIME! But I was also running on adrenaline, which fooled me into thinking I was fine. I would hunt women every waking moment, and even when I was asleep because when online dating began to get pretty popular, I had profiles working for me twenty-four-seven to help catch women to hook up with, too. I’d go to clubs. See women on the street. In the store. At airports while I’d travel for business. Even on phone chat lines before the online dating boom. I would meet up with these women, fuck their brains out, then discard them—like they weren’t even human. Most times though, I didn’t even have to approach women. They’d come to me, which made things both ten times easier and ten times worse.
“I am a sex addict to my core. There is no cure for sexual addiction, only coping mechanisms and strategies. I refused to become a priest, or abstain forever, so I had to figure out what I could do, realistically, to get control of myself—especially once I realized how serious sex is, and how who we share our bodies with matters. Sex is a spiritual connection. We form attachments, like wires to people, when we give them our bodies. We become one when we have intercourse with someone. I was out here with women all over the damn city, attached to me. I’d made soul ties because I would get into these women’s brains, and then I would fuck these women with skill and passion. I had been inside of them, re-wiring them to fit me . Did I know this shit back then? No, but when I did realize it, I knew I needed help. I was hurting people, including myself. You worked in the sex industry, so I know you at least have a basic understanding regarding what I am talking about.”
“Yes, I do. There are men who I suspected were sex addicts because they were on my OnlyFans all the time, spending thousands of dollars every month. Or, they’d be in the club practically every day of the week.”
“Yes, that’s often a telling sign of someone suffering from an addiction. You are not a sex addict, but some of your clients were. It goes with the territory.” She nodded in agreement.
“Has things slowed down since you’ve been married for quite a while?”
“Unfortunately for my wife, my libido has not lowered or slowed down in the least over the years, but she’s okay, and I am satisfied. Now, do you know why I decided to answer such personal questions tonight, Nadia?”
“No, why?”
“Because something told me that if I give you this gift, the gift of personal information regarding my own biggest flaw, it will assist you in something that you’ll encounter. Me sharing something with you that only a few people know, in such detail, was important today. I would have preferred not to, but you needed to hear it more than I needed to keep it close to my chest. I don’t hide my sex addiction. I talk about it all the time in my seminars, but the particulars of some of the things that transpired in my life and my marriage due to it, well, that’s different because it involves other people, and I wish to protect my wife and children from any embarrassment that my past actions could bring.”
“I can understand that.”
“But, I’m talking about it anyway. With you. Because something may happen between you and Lennox, something out of either of your control, and you need to have patience and show compassion for and towards one another. Something, or someone, that is disruptive or evil may enter the picture, and you two will need to be united to confront and combat it. It may not be an addiction, as in my case, but it will be something that is potentially destructive. Something that is trying to take ahold and control of either your or Lennox’s life, and you must resist, and push back. You have to work together on it, just like me and my wife.” She got chills. “My addiction was definitely disruptive, and it was also evil because it did not yield good fruits. I did not make strong connections due to it. In fact, I did the exact opposite.
“I tore connections apart. I had to use those iniquitous deeds as fuel, and turn them into something positive. That’s why I am sitting behind this desk. When the evil disruption comes to your doorstep, because it will if it has not already, I want you to remember this conversation. To every problem, there is a solution. No matter how hard or huge the difficulty seems. I was level five. Level fuckin’ five.” He held up five fingers. “There seemed no way out, but there was. There is nothing Satan can create that God does not have an antidote for, baby, but it’s up to you to find it, and then to use it.”
She grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.
“My antidote was learning skills for self-control, prayer, accepting myself for who I am, teaching, training, and coaching others, and Xenia. She’s my medicine. I have this problem, but I have a wife who loves me and is understanding of the situation, and she’s seen me grow and conquer it. I can go days, even weeks now without sex if necessary. Before? That would have been unheard of, and quite frankly, impossible. I would attempt celibacy and be successful for a while, but I always eventually fell off the wagon. Our first year of marriage was overshadowed by my addiction. If it is possible to be fucked to death, she was damn near close to that, but once she had our first child, things were greatly improved. She and I make jokes about it now, but at the time it wasn’t funny at all. We were newlyweds, and I was stressing her the hell out. She had patience with me, and now, here we are. I am not a problem in that regard anymore, and our sex life is fantastic.”
“I love hearing stories like this. Overcoming obstacles. It gives people hope, and you know what? I believe you when you tell me that you sharing something so deeply personal may help me later down the line. In fact, I think I already know what this applies to. Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome. So, since you asked me about that, I can use it to go into another point that needs to be made since you wanted my advice about your relationship.”
“Yes, please do.”
“Lennox is a ladies’ man. He enjoys the company of women, but he also respects women. He’s also enthusiastic about fighting and violent physical altercations, but he doesn’t act on it often. He discovered, unfortunately, that when he physically hurt someone, it felt good and made him forget his trauma for a short while. He wishes it weren’t true, and he finds it shameful. Like me, he found a way to cope with it. This is why he’s attracted to the gym, Nadia. This is why he is a gym rat, and it is a good, healthy profession for him. He needs it.”
She sat there thinking about what Dr. Saint Aknaten had stated. The puzzle pieces were coming together. Damn if he wasn’t right.
“That makes perfect sense. Actually, he is right now starting his own fitness center. I’m so proud of him. He bought this old dealership, and they are adding to it to make the area larger. They’ve already broken ground and the addition is being built. It’s going to be really nice when they’re all done.”
“That’s great news. I’m very happy for him. He has to keep moving and burning off steam, if you will. Your fiancé has a lot of rage and physical strength, and that can be quite dangerous if he doesn’t have an outlet.”
“I know. Believe me,” she shook her head, “I know.”
“As I told you earlier, I don’t believe for a second though, that he’d ever hurt you, or anyone he loves, in a million years. That’s control. That’s mastery over oneself. He and I spoke about it in depth, and he was one of the more self-aware clients that I’ve had over the years. I admired that about him. Lennox is a soldier, by birth. He was bred with the intention to destroy.” A wave of confusion flowed within her. “It’s complicated, would take a long time to explain, but in a nutshell, it’s in his genes. He needs to hurt things. Someone, long ago, had a propensity to be warlike. A harsh warrior, an iron-fisted ruler, and that gene kept getting passed down in his family, especially amongst the boys.
“The more testosterone the person has, the worse it shows up in them. It’s in his bloodline, a family curse, just like what you mentioned in your email regarding your own grandmother’s warning. Lennox though, having a good moral compass, wants to mainly focus his wrath onto bad people. He wants to destroy the ugly things in this world and stop bad people from hurting good people. This goes against how it was typically done in his family. He’s breaking code, and that may be pissing some people off.” How in the hell does this man know this?! Lennox obviously spoke to him, ’cause ain’t no way. “He struggles with accepting this about himself because he resents having any violent tendencies at all. He’s a work in progress.”
“He said you helped him with a lot of stuff, and this was one of them.”
“Yeah, I did. I helped him learn how to admit it, live with it, but control it better. When Lennox is in emotional pain, he is susceptible to acting out when he is depressed or angry. It could be excessive drinking to numb it—which from my understanding he has not abused alcohol in years—being promiscuous which stopped soon after his therapy with me, or beating someone up when a warning would have sufficed. Something tells me that this has slowed down, but not ceased.” The man leaned back and smirked.
That’s an understatement…
“I’ll just say that he’s been a little active.”
Saint cracked up at this, laughing loudly. He had a really great laugh, one that came from the belly.
“Okay, okay, that’s fine, as long as he is using his coping skills, he’ll be okay.”
“You mentioned I was like his mother, and he’s said that to me several times, too. I wonder though if that could be a bad thing in some way? Like, I want to be this man’s wife. Don’t want him to subconsciously see me as his mom.”
“That’s not how this works, though I understand your question and concern. It’s not a sexual thing, and it’s not a replacement issue, per se, either. Lennox has mommy issues, but in a good way, too. His mother was good to him, but she died too soon. Just like mine did. It was sudden, and he was still quite young when it took place. He was traumatized, and from my understanding, he did not have the support he needed during that time. In fact, he had to step up in areas that he shouldn’t have been expected to. He was never allowed the time to properly grieve because he had to take care of everyone else. That resentment and anger built up, and built up, and built up, until it exploded. And that is why he needed help.
“It was the root of his acting out, but you being like his mother, and him wanting someone like her, is about him being drawn to women who are emotionally intelligent, have a desire to learn, spiritual strength, are intellectually sound and gifted, possess external beauty since he is a visual person. His mother was known to be an attractive woman, but more importantly, he wanted a mate with a good heart. Someone who gave a damn about others. Like his mother. Yes, both you and his mother worked in the sex industry, but he is not looking at that sexual aspect, per se. He is looking at it as you both did what you felt you needed to do to reach certain goals, and you both just happened to choose a similar profession.”
“I see that, yes.”
“He wanted basically a female version of himself, Nadia, because he is quite similar to his own mother. Lennox is a caretaker. He is the quintessential definition of a strong protector. He wants a wife, babies, two dogs and a cat, the white picket fence, all of that, but he refused to settle. It had to be with the right person, and the person is you .” She smiled at that. “It has nothing to do with him wanting you to fill his mother’s shoes, or anything like that.”
“Okay, thanks for clearing that up.” She reached for her tea which had gone cold, and took a much-needed chug.
“I think you two will be magnificent together. You have similar goals and outlooks on life, and you appreciate your differences. As long as you both continue to try to compromise with one another, you’ll be fine. Any more questions, Queen, before I wrap this up?”
She took a deep breath and wondered if she should even say it…
“Yes, I have one more. About my father… I want to forgive him, Saint. But I’m struggling. You were right regarding what you said earlier about me and my father. I truly want to be able to let this go and heal.”
“First, have a serious conversation with your mother. Then, I want you to speak to your father as if he’s here. If that’s too difficult, write a letter to your father, and go to his grave and read it to him. Aloud. Say everything that you need to say, and then you must force yourself to let it go. I will send you my meditation book for free. Lastly, I want you to read my book, “Broken Black Highness.” It deals with racism, sexism, patriarchy, religious abuse and how this has directly affected Black women in America, and caused you all to be stuck in a never-ending cycle of your pain. Pay close attention to Chapter Seventeen. My wife experienced an absentee father too, okay?” He was speaking softly now, and his eyes shone with warmth and kindness. “I witnessed firsthand what can happen when a woman’s father abandons the family. Please read that chapter, and then feel free to follow up with me regarding any questions you may have.”
“Okay, thank you so much.” She reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes again. She felt completely drained, but also, in some strange way, hopeful and rejuvenated. He grabbed his remote and turned the music completely off. Leaning into his desk, he rested his hands upon it.
“Do you believe in prayer and a Higher Power, baby?”
“Yes.” She nodded, crying harder. “I do.”
“I know you do, or Lennox wouldn’t even be with you since that’s important to him, but I wanted to hear you say it yourself. I’m going to talk to you, off the record, and say a prayer for you, if that’s okay?”
“Okay, thank you so much.” She sniffed.
“Close your eyes, beautiful.” He spoke softly, his voice deep and warm like a brandy. It was healing. A spiritual balm.
She closed her eyes and listened. Suddenly, music began to play again. Robert Glasper’s, ‘Better Than I Imagined’, featuring H.E.R. and Meshell Ndegeocello. An instrumental version though. Her eyes immediately watered with emotion.
“Listen to the music… think about the man you love. Lennox. Go deep into your memory bank, and ponder how you two met, and how you felt about one another… The beauty of your friendship. It was unique, innocent, and divine.” She nodded and wiped a tear away, keeping her eyes closed. “Think about how it feels when he kisses you… his lips against yours… when he lays his head against your shoulder and hugs you… think about how it feels when he is inside of you, making love to you… Deep, deep, inside of you… strengthening your connection, becoming one.” She shuddered, feeling the sensation as if Lennox was right there.
“Your bond is beyond the physical. It’s made of iron. Evil is designed to try and destroy all that is good. All that is strong. Think about your strengths, Queen. You cause lust. Lust, in the way I am describing it, is a super power, Nadia. Not a sin. Lust, in the way I am describing it, is the unbridled desire of one person, for another person, with the intention of a happily ever after. Your man desires not only your body, but your mind, and your soul. You’re not a cheap thrill for him. You’re not dealing with a fan or a customer. He’s a real man who desires a real woman. Desire spawns excitement and creativity. New life comes forth.
“Most babies are created from sexual desire… and that’s beautiful. A desire to be loved, and in love. A desire to be close to someone who makes us feel good physically, and makes us feel special. You make this man feel special. You’ve brought him literally to his knees, as only a good Queen Lust can. He paid you nothing, and you didn’t have to pay with your soul. When he claimed you and told you that he wanted you to be his woman, he didn’t want you to take anything off, except for your defenses. He wanted you to let him inside. Not inside your pussy, ass or mouth, but your mind and heart.”
She smiled through her tears.
“Lennox wasn’t ready when he first consulted me, but he wanted to get prepared for his bride. He did what I advised him to do. It took a long time, but he did it. And what do you know? He found his queen. She came back, returned to him, drinking a glass of wine while red and purple lights spun above her head like a halo…” She grabbed another tissue. “…It was the right place, the right time. The Creator saw that he was ready. Nadia, talk to the garden. She can still grow. Write a letter to the sprinkler. He is gone, but you are still here. Then, allow your soulmate to plant a seed in your soil, and he’ll vow to never walk away from the fruits of your labor. The death of evil begins with you. Heal for you , first. Heal for him, second. Healing hurts. It’s ugly, but the results are everlasting. When we heal, we are at our strongest. When we wallow in the past with no plans for recovery, we are at our weakest. We have to feel pain before we can understand and appreciate true pleasure. You and I are here, right now, on purpose.
“Creator, I ask that you help guide this Queen’s steps. I ask that you continue to put the right words in her mouth so she can encourage her King, and for her King to do the same for her. I ask that any evil that comes their way is eradicated, cut off at the knees, and all who wish to cause damage to this union be stopped in their tracks. They are like rocks. They are strong in the face of adversity, but they must conquer their traumas. Lennox and Nadia are stones. They’ve been discarded by people they loved. Trotted upon and thrown away, left to die. But may those two stones remember that when they were thrown in deep water, they rose to the mothafuckin’ top. Straighten up and fly right, Queen. Don’t be afraid of the rain. Dance in it, for you are the garden of life…”