Written By: Kelli Ledford
It’s hard to be in a place that you do not want to be. Like lying here now, I would trade it for almost anything. Of course there is nothing on TV. All I can hear are the sounds of the dope circus in the adjacent room. Her laughing, a mindless sound. My father placating her. I hear the strike of a lighter, and I see the smoke rolling towards me in a haze. I’m not sure of anything. I do know they are smoking the drugs that I helped purchase with our famous lie. I do not know why I am in this room, playing subject to this madness. Curiosity gets the best of me. Surely they cannot see me; maybe they have forgotten I am even alive at this point. I creep to the bottom of the bed.
The nigger lady is sitting now, perched up like a rare African bird, on the edge of the bathroom vanity sink. Her long dark legs dangling from its hollow. My father is relaxing; his back against the wall to the neighboring toilet and tub. One hand he has on her thigh, the other holds a silver slim pipe. I watch him move. He reaches over to the aluminum and retrieves another piece of the white rock. I watch him put it on the end of the pipe. With much grace he holds it to his mouth, and adds flame to the other end. With a few quick pulls, smoke rises, from his lips. All the while she watches him like a tribal woman lost in a trance. He then lowers the silver tool and hands it to her.
She takes it from him and reaches down for more of the white rock, places it on the end and repeats the same motion. I watch his hand move up her skirt. Her legs spread open in welcome for him. His hand moving leisurely towards her panties. I watch him touch her in the most private place. She leans her back against the mirror and pulls her heels up onto the cabinet surface. She never drops the pipe. He moves with her, other hand now cupping her breast. Her legs are spread open for me to see. Her panties are bright pink. I am spying on him.
I cannot pull my gaze away. He tugs the pink garment to the side to reveal her secret place. I have never seen one before and I am in awe. It is pinkish brown and wet. I want to watch, feeling a stir deep within me. Something is telling me to turn away but I can’t. Hands moving quickly to her breast pulling at the fabric until her nipple falls free of the garment. He squeezes it between his thumb and finger. Her moan, surprises me. It’s a deep growl. Hastily his other hand moves and I watch him thrust his fingers inside her. Her head drops back and her bottom rises up to meet his greedy fingers.
She is raised up on the sink cabinet, her leg she wraps around his torso to pull him closer. He is standing at full width and brings her legs to encircle his back. My father is groaning now. She drops the drugs and takes her hands into his hair and grabs fistfuls. Her legs pushing him into her.
I see his hands pulling his Levis off, throwing them to the floor to gather around his ankles. With that he takes his hands and jerks the pink fabric making it rip off her thigh. He very skillfully grabs her behind and lifts her onto him, in a swift motion. Her arms are wrapped around his neck clawing for life. He keeps moving rhythmically in and out of her. She is breathing heavy; abruptly he pulls out of her, turns her, to face the cabinet. Her feet find the floor and she is facing the mirror now her bottom aligned with his. His hand grabs the back of her neck and forces it down on the counter. His other hand grabs her hip and he enters her again from behind. He moans loudly this time. Forcefully pumping her into the mirror. I catch a glimpse of her face and she is watching herself in the glass. Her eyes meeting his. He shoves hard one last time and I hear his voice shudder. She exhales deeply “That’s right baby,”
As quick as it started the escapade has finished. He pulls out of her and begins pulling up his pants. I move immediately under the covers and back to the safety of the headboard. Knowing I should not have watched this. I am not sure what I have just witnessed. I know that my own little girl white panties have become moist and there is a heavy feeling in the bottom of my tummy. I am suddenly ashamed and I want to cry. I must not ever tell.
I hear shuffling and quiet mumbling now. The lighter strikes again and I smell the smoke. My daddy is giggling. Then she walks past the foot of the bed with a roll of money in her hands, straight to the door and out of my life without a glance. I stayed so still. I stayed like that for a long while. Listening to the lighter strike. Lost in my own thoughts and fears. I lay there so long that it grew dark only to be met with new nightmares, me running, screaming, and no one there to hear me.
Number of views (1008) Comments (0)
Through hardship to the stars, a futurist at heart.
As a director of photography and film production, Josh is provided an opportunity to work intimately with very unique and interesting people. From these interactions, he has discovered many challenges but in turn, he has explored the strengths and weaknesses of those same people who have entrus
As a director of photography and film production, Josh is provided an opportunity to work intimately with very unique and interesting people. From these interactions, he has discovered many challenges but in turn, he has explored the strengths and weaknesses of those same people who have entrusted him with their brand. As a media strategist, these warm encounters are very important. From this partnership, creative innovation can flourish and a passion for cutting edge production & development can take form.
Josh is a gifted educator, and a good listener. He does not strive for perfection, but finds great joy in perfect moments. It is his obligation to capture these moments for others to enjoy.
Josh is pulling together a team of creatives with special abilities. He believes that significant change is coming and plans to connect with people like you. Do you have what it takes to be a contributor at The Ridge? Subscribe to learn more.
"May I discover these visions in ways I have never imagined."
Joshua A. Lloyd
Founding Creative @ Ridge Journal