Dumb

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Paige is a self-proclaimed “lone wolf,” content with being single after a string of bad relationships. With a blooming writing career, great friends, and her perfect home, she thinks she has it all. That is, until her one major crush, a local musician named Kyra, starts showing interest in her romantically. Thinking that she’s finally found “the one,” Paige ignores the constant red flags on her way toward gaining Kyra’s love.
 

Release date: December 27, 2022

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Lightning flashed across the sky, brightening my room out of its darkness for fleeting moments. It had been an unusually wet couple of weeks for Memphis. The bipolar weather gave us monsoon-like rains instead of snow or ice. The rain pounded, jolting the windows that thudded against each drop, creating an extra layer of ambiance to go with the smooth soul sex playlist echoing through my room.

“Damn, yo’ pussy is so fucking good.” Derrick raised his head to kiss me on my lips. “Fuck, how is your pussy always so tight? You ’bout to make me cum.”

I let out a soft moan. The moment he lowered his head again, I felt my eyes roll. It was the same banter he always did. It was cute when we first started this sexual relationship, but how often did I need to hear my pussy was “tight”? I really wanted him to get over it already. Derrick’s massive body was only matched by his big dick. Six foot three, dark and average looking, it had been four years of our random romps in the bed. The first time we fucked, it was the best sex I had ever had. Now, I just wanted it to end.

I regretted the decision to allow him to come over. I had been doing just fine with the array of sex toys I had purchased over the last year. Between my rose, silver bullets, and magic wand, I didn’t think I needed a man anymore. I didn’t know if it was the rain or just a simple bout of loneliness, but when Derrick texted me, I actually answered.

I needed this to end. I pushed Derrick over on his back and climbed on top. He grabbed my mounds of flesh. He was an avid lover of big girls, which was a total turn-on to me at the beginning of our situationship. But things had changed over the last few years. One thing was that Derrick had let himself go some. His love of beer and liquor had turned into a round beer belly that I definitely wasn’t a fan of. I knew I was wrong to have an issue with another plus-size person. It was just slightly uncomfortable having sex with him at his larger size. Luckily, his massive penis and killer tongue typically did the trick anyway.

I put my hands on his chest, moving my hips in a circular motion. He massaged my flesh he had gripped between his two big hands. I could feel the hard spots from calluses resulting from his construction job. I had told him a million times to get a manicure, but his toxic masculinity wouldn’t let him do things he deemed “girly.”

I closed my eyes, throwing my head back as I gripped his dick with my strong eagle-Kegel skills. He let out a moan as his bottom lip fell open. Derrick closed his eyes and grabbed my sides tight as his body tensed up. I knew what was coming. I gripped and gyrated my hips until his moan turned into a deep, quivering roar.

“Ah, shit.” Derrick picked me up with ease, placing me on the empty side of my king-sized bed. I sat there, basking in my triumph of making him orgasm. Then he sat on the side of the bed, struggling to catch his breath. He was struggling more than usual. It was a bit worrisome to me.

“Are you all right?” I put my hand on his back.

“Yeah, I’m good. You and your pussy trying to take me outta this junt.” Finally, he stood up.

I laughed. “Naw, just proving a point. I think that’s one point for Paige.” I smiled. For years, his stamina was unmatched. I typically ended up tapping out. But these last few times, I was the one in control.

“All right,” he said. I watched as he slowly moved around, picking up each piece of clothing. “I’ll give you that. You fucked the shit out of me tonight. One point for Paige.”

Derrick walked into my master bathroom and closed the door. I could hear the shower turn on. I frowned. I set out his usual facecloth and towel, the same as I did at my apartment. But for some reason, now at my new home, he wanted to take a real shower instead of his usual sink ho bath.

This was his first time in my new home. I was proud of my Fortress of Solitude, which I had recently purchased a few months earlier. I looked around my large bedroom. It was the bedroom of my dreams ... large and spacious. My big king bed sat against the back middle wall as the statement piece I always dreamed it would be. I was so happy to be out of apartments. I loved everything about my house, especially my bedroom. It was the place I found the most solace after a long day.

The water turned off, bringing me back from my happy daydream. I quickly grabbed my oversized sleep shirt and threw it over my head. Derrick was the first man who made me feel completely comfortable in my skin as a big woman. He loved big women and was the first man to insist I be completely naked during sex, but I still wasn’t overly comfortable being naked in front of him when we weren’t between the sheets.

The door opened, and he walked out with my towel rubbing his dick. “Paige, that damn shower. Yeah, I need one of those.” I knew exactly what he meant. Another favorite thing in my bedroom was my bathroom and shower, which were also very spacious. My walk-in shower boasted two showerheads, a handheld shower arm extension, and a large, square showerhead with multiple functions. I currently had it set on a monsoon feature, which provided a strong rainwater flow.

“You’re welcome.” I rolled my eyes. “You just decided to help yourself, I see.”

Derrick paused. “Damn, I can’t use your fancy shower?”

I nodded. “Of course, you can. You’ve just never done it before.”

“Well,” Derrick wiped the brow of his forehead with the towel. His naked body glistened from the dampness. “I saw that shower and just had to check it out. You really did the damn thing with this house.” I had to agree with him on that.

This house was my gift to me after my last book hit the Essence bestsellers list. After three consecutive books making it to the Top Ten, I finally decided to take some of my hard-earned money and splurge on my dream home. Three bedrooms, an office, a living room, and my own little nerdy lair. I loved everything about my home.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I said as I watched him dress.

“Yeah, I really did.”

I continued to watch as he buckled his pants. Derrick waited ’til after he put on his shoes to put on his shirt. I never quite understood why he always did that. We had been doing our thing for so long that I couldn’t help but notice his usual routines.

“Derrick, do you know we have been doing whatever this is for almost five years?”

He paused. “Damn, has it really been that long?”

I nodded. “I mean, should we go out and celebrate our fuck-aversary?” I smirked.

Derrick threw his shirt over his head. “I’ll pass.”

His response wasn’t surprising, but for some reason, it bothered me. It dawned on me that we had never been out in public in five years. From the moment he fell into my DMs, it was his place or mine. Although sometimes, we would watch a little TV or play a video game before smashing, dinner and movies never were in the equation. I don’t know why this was suddenly bothering me. I shook off the strange feelings. After all, I knew what this was. Derrick wasn’t someone to date; he was just someone to fuck.

I pulled myself out of bed to walk him to the door. I suddenly felt this odd sense of regret. I just wanted him gone. Derrick went in for a hug. I gently patted him on the back, pulling away quickly. He looked at me. It was apparent he could feel the attitude, but he didn’t question it at all.

“See ya later, Paige.” He opened the door. “Hit me when you want another session.”

I closed the door behind him. I didn’t know why Derrick’s response was bothering me so much. It wasn’t like I wanted to date him. I threw the towel in on dating years ago. After multiple failed attempts at love, I had made a vow. I was going to stay single and embrace being alone for a while. I had my fill of bad relationships with undeserving individuals. I had always been a plus-size woman. My entire life, I was judged because of my size, so I decided never to do the same to another person when I was younger. Instead, I would give almost anyone who showed genuine interest in me the opportunity to get to know me. This decision turned out to be an epic failure that resulted in me dating a bunch of terrible people. But that wasn’t nearly as much as I was boxed into the friend category because “we are just better as friends,” only to see the objects of my affection with the universal standard of beauty on their arms. I knew in the end that my size was a factor. Too often, I was friend zoned for a size six, and I had finally accepted that fact. I knew I was cute. Too bad the rest of the world didn’t think so as well.

I typically ended up dating people I wasn’t attracted to. I wasn’t even attracted to Derrick. But I never needed to be attracted to his face to get dicked down properly. I knew that since my size twenty-eight body wasn’t the ideal body type, I felt it only right never to judge a person on their looks. Even though I put my personal preferences aside, the outcome was the same. I lowered my standards and usually ended up alone, wondering how and why in the hell did I date the lame, to begin with.

After my last failed dating attempt, I knew it was time to give it a rest. All my efforts at love had crashed and burned, but I also watched friends go through hell, all in the name of love. I started to wonder what was the purpose of all of it. Falling in love, getting your heart broken, and doing it all over again just seemed dumb. After all, insanity is repeating the same mistakes and expecting different results, and I was tired of being insane. So I focused on my writing career and things I loved doing. I started traveling, finally getting stamps in my passport. I let my inner geek out and found a love of comic-cons and cosplay. There was nothing better than throwing on a costume and becoming someone else, even if it was just for a little while. Now, I had six novels, three even making it on the Essence bestsellers list, and my dream home. If I needed sex, I had Derrick, and for five years, it was working. Then suddenly, it wasn’t anymore.

I turned on my shower, allowing the hot water to steam up the bathroom. Then I pulled my sleep shirt off, dropped it to the floor, and walked into the shower, allowing the hot water to send a jolt of energy through my body. I hated feeling the way I did. I didn’t want Derrick, but for some reason, knowing that I was good enough for sex but not good enough for a public date rubbed me the wrong way. And to make things worse, I didn’t even enjoy the damn sex. I let the water hit my body, wanting to wash away the night—and Derrick.

I pulled into the dimly lit parking lot of a shabby shopping complex. Three men stood outside the door to the small bar. I never understood why the best open mic spots were always in the middle of the hood. It was unusually warm for a December night. And considering the rain we had been having, it was so warm I expected tornado warnings coming sometime in the next few days.

A knock on my window scared the shit out of me. I saw my friend Morgan standing there with her big goofy grin. Morgan’s long, curly hair hung down past her shoulders. I was surprised she didn’t have it in her signature ponytail. Morgan was completely black but incredibly light-skinned. And with her curly hair, people often assumed she was biracial, which irritated her to her core.

I opened my car door. “Does your girlfriend only DJ at shitty establishments?” I frowned at her.

“Don’t be a bougie bitch tonight, Paige. This entire area is Black-owned and is being revamped to be a dope-ass area.” Morgan closed my door behind me.

“And you couldn’t invite me after the revamping was finished?”

“Shut up, hooker, and come on.” Morgan grabbed my arm. I reluctantly trailed along.

I followed her into the building. The good thing about her girlfriend being a DJ was that we never paid to get into her events. Morgan took my hand and led me to the table with some other local poets. The inside was a lot nicer than the outside. Besides the potent mix of weed and incense, the lounge was filled with plush couches, giving it a very comfortable and intimate setting. Large paintings of various artists like Bob Marley, Jimi Hendrix, and Prince hung on the wall. Next to them were little business cards with the artists’ names and prices of the paintings printed on them. I noticed a painting of Whitney Houston that I made a mental note to check the price on for my house.

“I’m going to go get a drink.” I stopped and turned toward the bar.

“Oh, it’s BYOB.”

I frowned. “Bitch, why didn’t you tell me that before we got here? So you want me to be in this place with no liquor in my system?”

“Don’t worry. I brought some Ciroc. Just go get us some setups.” Morgan pulled a bottle out of her oversized backpack.

The bartender, an older man, taking more time staring at the women walking in than actually doing his job, handed me two cups, ice, and a Sprite. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and immediately turned back to the bartender. Standing a few feet away was the band guitarist, Kyra. I felt a warm wave come over my body. I had a tiny girl crush on Kyra, a girl crush that amused Morgan, considering I hadn’t dated a woman in over fifteen years. I knew I was the type of bisexual that lesbians weren’t particularly fond of. I considered myself a lesbian throughout my twenties, but I met a guy one day and fell head over heels in love with him. After that breakup, I just never dated another woman. But in actuality, I didn’t go back to anyone. After enough heartbreak, I took a break and had been single for almost ten years. I just stuck to random sex sessions with guys like Derrick. Kyra was a little taller than me, with these adorable, deep-inset dimples that appeared whenever she smiled or talked. I took a deep breath and glanced back her way. We locked eyes. I typically didn’t like colored contacts, but she wore hazel contacts that she rocked very well.

I could almost feel her stepping closer to me. I braced myself, hoping I didn’t look crazy. “Is your name Paige?” she asked with an inquisitive expression on her face.

“Um, yes, that’s my name.” My voice trembled as I responded. My fingertips were tingling. I set the ice down, fearing I might drop the cups.

“I thought so. You don’t know me, but I have read a few of your books.”

“What?”

“What?” she chuckled. “What? Can a musician not read your books?”

I smiled. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just surprising that you even know about my books at all.”

Kyra folded her arms. I glanced at how cut her biceps were. Up close, they looked even better than when she was on stage. Kyra had a unique look about her. She always wore baggy cargo pants or jeans with rips at the knees and tees that fit and accentuated her biceps. Her deep sepia-colored skin was blemish free. I always wanted to ask her about her skin care routine. She had thick, naturally curly hair she usually wore in a ’fro or pulled back in a curly Afro puff. Sometimes, she switched it up, wearing some elaborate braided style. Although none of my friends shared the same opinion, they always thought she looked unkempt, or in their words, “dusty,” but I found her to be very alluring. They said it was just me being attracted to another artist, but I knew it had to be something more than that. I was drawn to masculine-presenting women primarily, but there was something different about her. She exuded “big dick energy,” which was impressive for a woman.

“Yeah, I have a close friend who has all your books. She gave me Promised Forever. I was hooked. You are brilliant. I’m still waiting on a follow-up to that book,” she declared as she put her left arm on my shoulder. “Seriously, I wanna know what happens to the crew, especially Papi. She was my favorite.”

“Wow, you really have read it. And yeah, the lesbians are waiting on me to write a sequel. It’s coming, I promise.” I knew I had to be blushing. I just hoped she didn’t notice.

I didn’t know what part amazed me more: that she knew my books or that she was talking to me. I tried to concentrate as she gushed over my books. She spoke about the parts she liked the most and what shocked her. The passion she had for my work was intoxicating. I didn’t typically enjoy talking about my work, but I could listen to her talk for hours.

“Oh, I love the straight ones too. But I gotta know, are you writing a follow-up for Crave Me? That book had me questioning my sexuality for a moment. That scene with Chris and Melisha ... sheesh.” Kyra’s bright eyes fixated on me. I wanted her to stop looking at me. I felt she was looking through me.

“There is a follow-up already. It’s coming out in a couple of months. I can bring you an early copy at next month’s event. And I’m having a book release party, so I can put you on the list if you’d like.”

Kyra clapped her hands together. “Don’t tease me, woman. Are you for real?”

I nodded my head. “I got you.”

“Beautiful and generous. I swear you got a nigga feeling real special right now. I wish it were next month already,” Kyra said as her deep dimples appeared. There was something about her smile. It was cute and mischievous, and very sexy.

The host called for the musicians to return to the stage to start the night’s final set.

“That’s my cue to go crush some shit. Until next time, Ms. Paige.” Kyra took my hand, pulling it to her mouth and placing a kiss on it. My butterflies were in full flight now.

I smiled as she walked away. As soon as the coast was clear, I grabbed the cups and returned to my friends. I took the bottle and poured myself a shot, taking it back instantly. I needed something to cool the heat radiating from my body, but the burning from the vodka only intensified my cr. . .