Southern Passion
Synopsis
Mercedes is a hardworking, passionate, and loving college student struggling to find love and stay there. Brian is supposed to be the love of her life. Or is he? She absolutely adores their relationship and wouldn't do anything to jeopardize what they have. However, Brian doesn't hold the same adoration and respect for her, he comes and goes as he pleases and deals with her when it's convenient for him.
How long will it take before Mercedes is tired of his games? They spend the majority of their time together arguing and she is constantly trying to revive what once was. One day a handsome and sincerely loving man, Antonio, walks into her life. He proves to her over and over again that real men do know how to love wholeheartedly as well as be compassionate, sincere, and faithful. Will Mercedes finally realize what real love is with Antonio? Or will she continue to put with Brian's shenanigans just because of the history they share?
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Southern Passion
Excerpt #1
Mercedes Jai Montgomery
Someone should write a book about how to deal with a black man in this new century because those jokers are crazy. Men, especially black men, are complicated as I don’t know what. And they have the nerve to say that women don’t know what they want. I’ll be the first to say I know exactly what I want in my man, and it has nothing to do with a roughneck, abuser, or a drug dealer.
I need a man with some ambition and a few goals. He needs to want something out of life other than some twenty-inch rims, some twelve inch subwoofers, and an SUV big enough to be called a bus. I need a man that isn’t excited about impressing the world, but more excited about having a real status in America.
I hate when men say that women are mysterious and hard to figure out. All they have to do is open up a serious line of communication and all the mystery is revealed. Instead of trying to figure us out, ask questions and we’ll tell you what you need to know. Men complain about our mood swings, our attitudes, and our menstrual cycles. They cry when we’re bloated, cramping, and bleeding; then they punk out, run, and hide when our monthly friend misses a visit.
I’d like to meet one man that could survive just one day of what we go through for seven days out of every month. The bleeding, cramping, bloating, hot flashes and all – I’d like to see if any one of them could continue on about their normal lives. They can’t even do right when they’ve got something as simple as a cold, but they’re supposed to be so strong and all that bull.
Men talk about us nagging, gossiping, and just plain old being too talkative. They get mad at you if you don’t express yourself immediately and hold your feelings inside, but they don’t know how to act or respond when you express yourself freely.
I get so tired of hearing men complain about the stuff we do. What about them? They act like the things they do are always so perfect. Like farting, sweating, and cumming too fast. Ladies you know what I’m talking about. I wrote a poem about that right there, because I was fed up with that nonsense.
Men think that because they don’t bleed on a monthly that they don’t menstruate. Well, I’m here to set the record straight. It’s not all about the fluids leaking each month, that’s not the factor of it. Those fools have more aches and pains, mood swings, and bad attitudes than we do. They go through so much its ridiculous. And please don’t ignore them, because it only gets worse if you do. And please don’t get me started about the nagging and gossiping that they do; they're worse at it than we are. At least we know when to stop; they just keep going and going and going. Just like that pink bunny!
I don’t want to come off as a male-basher, because by far that is not what I am. I just want men to be held to the same standards they expect us women to be upheld to. They don’t want us too fat or too skinny or too tall or whatever. They want a big butt and a smile and who knows what else. But when we ask for them to get, keep, and hold down a job, we’re asking too much or expecting too much. What’s that about?
Or when we ask them to spend time with us or hold us or whatever, it’s like we’ve asked them to do the ultimate worse chore in all the land. I just don’t understand why men can’t be what we women need them to be while women are running around trying to become everything they want us to be.
Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about these trifling men. I came to talk about what I want in one. I have one now, but things have changed. He used to be so sweet and caring and sensitive to my needs. He used to listen to me and actively participate in a conversation with me. Notice the past tense that I’m using because he doesn’t do any of that anymore.
Oh well, the past is behind us and cannot be brought back no matter how many memories one has. I just hope it gets better. I’ve invested too much into this man to start over now. I need him not to be so self-absorbed and be more willing to sacrifice a little bit for me. I mean, I’m more than willing to sacrifice a little for love, but if I’ve got to work or if I’m sick and you know I’ve got classes, come by with some soup or massage my feet… or something. Give me something other than that big hard magic stick he’s got going on between his legs.
But don’t get me wrong, he must have a nice sized one ready and available when I want and need it, because a little one will only piss me off. I’ve been disappointed enough in my life to know that a little one will only make me want to kick his butt.
I want the black man in America to be more sensitive to my needs and understand that I have feelings just like him. I need my man to be a great listener, a true conversationalist, and a perfect gentleman. I’m a first semester senior and I’ve already got a few job possibilities lined up. My road map to life has been planned out and I don’t need any potholes in the street, flat tires, or stalled engines. I need this mess Brian is putting me through to go away and fix itself. Fast! I just want to be treated like the queen my mother taught me to be.
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Excerpt #2
Antonio came in just as I was finishing his plate. He came in the kitchen and was surprised to see me standing there in a silk robe, stockings, and heels. The way his eyes opened wide and the corners of his mouth turned up, ever so slightly, let me know he was pleased with what he saw.
He looked at the table which held a setting for one. I gestured for him to have a seat and he obliged. I served him his dinner and sat next to him as close as I could. Then I began to feed him.
After watching him eat and feeding him the last few bites it was time for me to have dessert. I moved my hand down to his pants and quickly unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. I moved my head down to his already swollen manhood.
I put the one-eyed snake into my mouth and listened to my man moan with pleasure. I heard his fork hit the plate when he dropped it. I sucked him until he couldn’t take it anymore.
Then I rose and smiled at his fine ass. I stood and removed my silk robe, exposing all the secrets of my white lace thong, matching garter belt, and white laced top thigh high stockings – topping it all off with the matching white lace bra.
Antonio’s eyes bulged from his head as he saw me standing before him in all my gloriousness. I mounted him in the chair carefully, putting my breasts in his face. He immediately started kissing them and sucking my hardened nipples through the fabric.
He began pushing the items on the table to the floor. He lifted me up and sat me on the table, gently. After laying me on my back, he made a trail of kisses from my bra to my panties.
When he couldn’t figure out how to get the garter off, so he could get to my panties, he just decided to rip my panties off. I laughed and Antonio began to eat my goodies like he hadn’t just eaten a whole meal.
Shit, he acted like he hadn’t eaten a meal in a long ass time. I smiled and moaned with pure pleasure. It felt good. Damn good.
Before I reached my point, he stopped. I hated when he did that. He let his pants fall to the floor, when he stood up straight. Then he entered me. Slowly.
We made love on the table three times that night. After the third time I had to ask for a timeout because he was wearing my ass out.
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