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Introduction:

A Jamaican Story

I did not write this story. A lot of the words has been changed to English, so that any reader, unfamiliar with Patois , (pronounced Patwa), which is Jamaican Creole, can better understand the story. I have left some intact though, which I hope readers will be able to understand. As I felt the language added flavour to the story.
Also I had to some parts,( Not too well, I might add), because some of the story is missing and the sex scenes were very few and just not that explicit. Seeing this is a sex site and all. But it isn't my story. I didn't write it.
This first chapter does not contain any sex.
Please approach this story with an open mind. Do not use this story and think all persons in Jamaica are like this. If you look on my profile you will see I am Jamaican. Reading this story however has given me an insight of how some Dancehall people live their lives in my country. This story seem from a different world to me, as it will to some of you who read it. I am sure crime and violence is in all countries. I was aware of it, but this up close glimpse is new for me. And I found the story very interesting , and hope you will too.
Constructive critisms and feedback will be greatly appreciated.
Erotical.

Confessions of A Dancehall Ex Wife Part 1 by Belly Bang

I saw him. Its been years, and he still looks good. Sexy lips. A body that screams sex. Eyes that were still filled with life and humor. Never knew that just looking into his eyes would rekindle that good old feeling. You know what I am talking about. That feeling that sends a spark through the brain, down the spine and all through the body. Any other feelings. Of hunger, depression, fatigue are replaced by that special feeling.
Background. We first met at a friend’s house. Marvin was his name. Sex first, then we got to know each other. He was younger, moved in all circles, from Cherry Gardens to Jungle, a regular patron of the popular clubs, a dancehall personality. I was the working girl, not your average 9-5er, but the checks were coming in and the bills were being paid. He didnt work, traveled frequently, drove a nice car, several cell phones and always had money, lots of it. I didnt ask, he didnt tell. I didnt want to think about it because that wasnt my business. My friends told me not to worry. As long as he wasnt using it I had no problem. We partied hard, fucked harder. We did the family visits, his mother liked me. His father, who was living with second wife, was the older, much sexier version of him. His father liked me, alot, I suppose like how he would like wife # 3.
After visiting with families were out of the way, my man and I eventually moved in with each other.It was then that I made the decision not to crowd him, to give him some space, after all, we were living as man & wife so a little space wouldn’t hurt. I started going out more often with my friends and he partied with his. We liked the arrangement. After all we shared the same bed at nights when he was in the island. It was fun to be featured online in photos and in videos at parties, looking glam & fab. I felt good, a member of the IN crowd. Some of his friends also attended those parties. I never cheated with them though the flirting made me feel sky high. Never cheated with anyone. The unwritten rule was that being wife of a dancehall personality, it was my duty to look good, be seen and be home before him. Compromises they called it. I complied. Lifestyle of the working girl and the party animal.
Yep, he said I was the wife, but I soon realised that being the wife and playing the wife aint the same thing. I met him when he had many women and he chose me to settle down with. I was the one. Me. He gave me money and I was the one whose name was placed on the bank accounts (the accounts I knew of at least). The other women were still there, I suppose. They didnt come to the apartment, I trusted him that way. They didnt disrespect, but they were there. I thought I could live with it. Even though we didn’t party together all the time, I got updates on his nightlife online & from Hype TV & RE TV. He looked happy, very happy, too happy. As a girl's man he was always in the company of other women. Huh? But compromises, so, no problem. Then the other women became one particular woman. Always together, always laughing and dancing, always taking pictures with him and his friends. I asked him about her.
He said she wasn't important. Then things started to change. I saw things as they really were.
Marvin right hand man was Marco. Sexy fucka. Moved real slick. He was a mystery. And I loved a good mystery. Me and this man start to deal.
It was only years later I discovered that Marco was born in St. Elizabeth and raised by his single mother. He later moved to White Wing and settled . By the age of 26, Marco was a “community activist”, whose service to his neighbours included extortion and being linked to several shootings and murders. Frassman was his shadow. Marco knew how to speak the Queen’s English when he was ready. He had women from Denham Town to Papine. He was smooth as he was cold. So they said. He was always warm in my eyes. The only one who was known to control him was Bumpy, his baby mother.
Kelly was pregnant. I called Marco and asked him about it. He asked me what was there to question. I spoke to my girls about it and they said that they knew. So why didn’t you tell me? They thought I heard. They wanted to know how I was taking it. Taking what? The news. What news?
"That Kelly pregger for Marvin!" They all chroused
What?! My man? Set of bitches!
I went home. For a few days I kept to myself. Avoided most calls, tried to concentrate on work. Scrubbed from floor to ceiling every night, cried, went to church.
Marvin called, told me that he missed me. I miss you too. Pff! Didn’t want to face another quarrel. I could hear the whispers and laughter from my neighbours. They looked at me kinda funny. They must be speaking about me. Everyone was speaking about me. The world was against me. I could hear their voices. I couldn’t eat properly and sleep was a stranger. Tired. So tired. I wanted to sleep for a lifetime and leave all my troubles behind.
My mother took me to her doctor. He referred me to a specialist. Mr. Specialist called it clinical depression. Up to today, I cannot understand why doctors prescribe all these huge tablets to someone who doesn’t want to live, and call it treatment. I just don’t get it. I called Marvin’s mom. She asked me to come and look for her. I couldn’t go because I was certain that she too was laughing at me. Fucking tablets were just too big.
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Ring ring. Friday night, I am at home watching Lifetime, Will & Grace. Them battyboys are really hilarious. Ring ring. Cheese on bread, who calling me then!! – so my mind said in my best Bajan accent. You will be surprised at what you meditate on when your mind is turning to mush. Ring ring.
"Hello……"
" Your man name Marvin?……. "
"Who is this please?…….
" Mi seh if your man name Marvin?……"
" I really can't manage the stress now, call back later………"
" Hey fuck out, cant breed gal, Marvin love Kelly, because fi her hole good ……… Click."
Ever since Kelly’s pregnancy became news on local cable, in the entertainment section of the Star, online, every fucking where, I have been receiving those calls. Dancehall regular breed and it becomes gossip. Not yet pregnant home alone wifey becomes target. Fucking idiots.
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I was at the hairdresser on a Friday. Marco called and said that he was coming to look for me. Haven’t seen much of him, he was always busy. Not seeing him was no problem, one less distraction means easier time to swallow the tablets. Marco wanted to talk. I waited and he arrived. The rat Frassman was not in sight.
But no Lexus, this was a new ride.
"What happened to the car, where you get this van from?" I asked.
He explained that Marvin imported it several months ago but it was parked at a friend’s house.
"Whose name the van in? Who insure it? Who responsible for it?" I inquired
" What you mean by don’t worry about these things?" I was getting a little pissed.
I got in the van. He drove to Port Royal. Well, I told the girls I was not going to make it. My excuse to them, bad time of life. Marco explained that things are now a bit different, that he has been doing much of Marvin’s business. (Marvin had up and gone to London)
" And So? " ,I responded
The sea breeze felt cool and nice. Marco handed me an envelope, a large brown one. It contained cash. To the brim. Brand new paper money. He explained that Marvin wanted me to move to the house in Stony Hill.
"Whose house? What house?" I questioned.
Marco went on to say that it was Marvin’s house, that it was just completed. Huh! More news! I must move in by month end. That’s next week. Why next week? This was too much for one evening. New X5, house, money on top of money, abandon apartment, move to new house. Marco handed me the spliff he was smoking. I was never a smoker but I took it and made one big draw. Exhale quickly. Another big draw, exhale quickly. Slowly after that, slowly, slowly. Marco then said that Marvin was coming next week Friday. Good. So why Marco looked so strange? Maybe it was the spliff. This is some good shit here. He then said in his low voice, “Kerry due to have baby next week”. I never coughed so much in my life…
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I couldn't describe how I was feeling. To say that heart sank. You know that feeling? Would be putting it mildly.
I found comfort in Marco's arms. His touch. His kiss. Mmmmm. Baby, just take all the pain away.
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Several weeks later...
I missed my monthly. Boboclaat. Marco is definetly the father and I am suppose to be Marvin's wife! The Marvin, that wasn't even in Jamaica. I needed to get to London, quick.
All kinds of fuckery were going down in London. Marco never had time for me. And it was all too obvious he had a bag of English gals lining up to fuck off his big fat cocky. This not what I signed up for. I thought I could handle it. Shit got to me in my delicate condition and I lost my precious baby.
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This house was definitely not a home. But the family and the girls went out of their way to make me feel comfortable. Ever since my return to Jamaica, the support I received was wonderful. The London experience was like a bad episode of Young and the Restless and I wanted it behind me. Mom stayed with me at the Stony Hill house for a few days and Sharon ( My supposedly best friend), came over every day, insisting on carrying the gossip to me first hand.
Miss Marcia, who was no longer just a housekeeper but a tower of strength, placed me on a strict diet as she was determined that I be fit not only mentally but physically. The parties and crowd issues that the house was now famous for was put on pause by Miss Marcia before I returned. The news of the miscarriage apparently was now well known and the calls, the flowers and gift baskets came fast and furious. Those were handled by Mom. Though I was expecting the preaching about my lifestyle and the need to draw closer to my maker, Moms was really supportive and gave me some soothing advice. She was more happy to see me than anything else. Marvin’s mother also came over for a few days. She insisted that I look forward to the future and try not to let the past hold me down. She, Moms and Miss Marcia spent hours together and made the perfect prayer meeting group. Together they had a great dislike for the girls, especially Sharon. But, diversity is what makes life important, so watching them watching Sharon was as interesting as listening to Sharon’s babbling on and on about the daily suss.
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Marvin called often. I had nothing much to say to him. He wondered why.
“I am tired” ,was my constant reply.
He reassured me that when he returned to Jamaica that things will be different. Marvin said that he realised that he treated me really fucked up and that he felt sorry for that because he didn’t know how to deal with the situation. He said that he was looking forward to the birth of his child and the loss was too much for him to bear. He didn’t mention that Kelly and Marvin JR (his new son by that bitch), had returned to the island. That was courtesy of Sharon.
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Marco. Marco. What can I say about him. Everything. Nothing. I haven’t seen him since I arrived home. I tried calling him, the phone went unanswered. Then it appeared that he stopped using that chip. I called his sidekick Frassman. Frassman said that he would pass on my message to Marco.
No call from Marco. I started to feel restless. That yearning. The need was rising inside of me and I was becoming frustrated. The girls thought that I was still undergoing the stress of losing my child. That was there, but each time they consoled me and told me that all would be well, I knew better. It will never be better without Marco. I needed him, I had to have him, but I knew that it would be impossible now. When I called him from London, our last conversation, or should I say my call for forgiveness, he listened. I spoke for over 20 minutes and he listened. I confessed it all. I told him all that happened, the trip to the doctor, the reason I visited Marvin, everything. When I was through, as I wiped away the tears, he said goodbye and hung up. Plain and simple.
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It as a Friday night, and I got ready. I had to get out of the house. I had to shake my soul and let these cobwebs go. I told Moms that I will be back. I headed down the hill, driving slowly, listening to a few love songs, R Kelly. Memories. I pulled into a service station along Constant Spring Road, I needed a few items. As I stepped into the building, I was approached by a man. Strike that. I was approached by a boy. He appeared to be 17 going on 21. He had a swagger about him, cockiness was written all over his face.
“Wassup”, he said.
I looked at him. He was so sure of himself. I smiled and said
“Nothing much, how are you?” as I stood looking at him.
“I saw you and I really want to get to know you better”, he chimed on.
Cute, yeah. A few tattoos here and there. He had an accent. Probably visiting from the States.
“That would be nice, but another time”, was all I said as I moved along and started picking up what I came here.
The child came up beside me and whispered something in my ears. I knew that this was trouble.
“Look here, I am not here to look for company, I am here to shop”.
The words came out nice and easy, sweet, flirty, in perfect english. What the fuck am I thinking? Why don't I just run his nastiness and tell him to guh look a school gal?!
He brushed against me and I felt it. He smiled the smile of a boy well beyond his age. I looked into his eyes. His eyes. Nope, this aint gonna work.
“I have to go”, I said and replaced the items on the shelf and walk out.
As I got in my ride he walked up beside me and handed me a piece of paper. I opened it and saw “ANDRE BLINGERS, 444-6670”. I crushed up the paper threw it in the truck, slammed the door in his face and took off. As I looked in the mirror I saw him smile. Andre Fuck You Blingers?. I stuck my hand through the window and raised my middle finger. Andre waved.

I drove to New Kingston and headed straight to The Hilton. It was buzzing and I stopped by the bar. I had a seat. The bartender that approached smiled. Handsome. He recommended a drink. It tasted good. We started talking. After a while he gave me another one on the house. My phone rang and I answered. It was Marvin, saying that he heard I was out of the house. I told him that I wanted to have some time to myself and he agreed that it was a good idea.
“I love you and see you soon”, he whispered.
“I love you too”, I managed to say as the bartender looked at me, taking every word out my mouth. The call ended and the bartender continued where he had stopped. I knew that he was trying to pick me up. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t interesting. He was singing a good song. Assured me that he was single, only goes from home to the gym to work. I asked a few questions, confirmed that he has two baby mothers. They were living in Spanish Town and he supported his children.
I am someone. I was alive. I have needs. I am human. Nothing is wrong with striking up a conversation with a man. I aint promising sex. But. It wouldn’t hurt to get some. He got a text on his phone and he excused himself to make a call. I signalled to his supervisor and left some money for the bill as well as a hefty tip. My head was really buzzing. But it was still early, 10:30 p.m. ,and the night was still young.
As I walked across the parking lot, my heel broke, the ground started getting nearer. Shit. I didn’t hit the ground. A pair of hands were holding me. I managed to hobble to my feet, spun around and used my hand to strike out at the fucker. He grabbed my hand and I used the other to slap at his face. He held that one too. I started struggling with him and he pushed me against a car. I squinted, trying to see clearly as I fought this shit. There was no light in this section and the security guard was on the other side of the lot. The truck was parked under a light but that was in another row. Too far from where I was. I opened my mouth to scream and his hand clamped over my mouth, the other now holding my two hands behind me. He braced himself against me and I was trying to get away. He was too powerful.
Strong. Sturdy. Sure. He removed his hand and kissed me. He released my hands and I wrapped then around his shoulder , pulling him closer. I felt the gun in the waist of his jeans. But I wasn’t scared. I wanted this. Familiar. As our lips locked he raised my legs and placed them around his waist. Jah know. I couldn’t help myself. It was like passion gone wild. I felt like a woman again. The spell was broken. Or was it. It was when I pulled his T-shirt over his head and started to caress his muscled chest, while he still had me pinned on the car, that he spoke.
“Next time you go to the gas station, pay attention”.
Marco said it so casually, yet wrapped with 100% pure sexuality.
" Marco..." , I moaned softly, as his sweet cock slid right into my wet pussy...

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