The Real Trap Wives Of Memphis by Monica Parker Page A

and then and I called her a stress reliever. I needed my stress relieved so against my better judgment I sat in my driveway and made a phone call. As usual she answered on the first ring.
     
     
    I left Jasmine’s house with an empty nut sack and two less blunts. She tried to suck it, but the pair of bumps on her bottom lip quickly lost her that privilege. We smoked a few blunts and I let her jack me off while watching an amateur porn video of her with 4 other niggas. The way she handled them made me tempted to try her, but I couldn’t risk the infection. Once I got my nut, I left her ass right there with a wet pussy and wet couch to clean up. I was never into her like that.
    Once I left, my mind when back to all of my problems. Makayla’s ass had officially gone too far burning up my shit. I was scared of what I might do when I saw her again. On the other hand, I was thinking about Jacori and wondering whether I should involve myself with his issues. He was my nigga, true enough, but he was too hot for me. What nigga would make a serve in public like that? I didn’t have it in me to go back to jail. Nobody but my girl looked out for me when I was locked up.
                  That realization made it clear to me what I would have to do. I tucked my tail between my legs and took my ass home. I needed to make shit right with her even if I was mad. Most of the shit she had burned was shit she had bought me any way. I could replace that, but never her loyalty. Her car was missing, but I didn’t trip because I assumed she was parked in the garage. She never stayed gone when she got mad. I opened the front door and everything was the way I had left it so I knew she hadn’t been back. I grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and froze as I observed an envelope on the table along with her keys.
    I opened the letter:
                  Davion,
    I will make this short and sweet. I feel as if I have been a stand-up woman to you. All I ever asked was that you did the same. I have made it clear that I am to come first in your life, but you have treated me like all that matters is your pockets. Where were the streets when I was holding you down? Who helped you get out? Who worked two jobs to make sure you had commissary every week and then held down the bills at home? Who made sure you came home to a wardrobe that most niggas only dreamed of? That “who” is me. The one you jump out of bed with to go play in the streets. The one that you talk crazy to. The one that you make feel worthless. You have tried to buy my love with material things which is why I left the keys to the Mercedes. The one thing I needed from you was free… and that’s love.
    After reading Makayla's letter a rush of anger came flooding through my body. Not only had she burnt up my shit, but she also left me. I rolled up a blunt to smoke on to relax my mind before I lost what little cool I had left. Tomorrow I would have to buy all new clothes and shoes. This shit was rock-bottom for me as I really thought about it. How could she not see that I was trying to pay her back with the lifestyle she deserved? We had a nice house in a decent neighborhood with three cars. I made sure she got her hair done and manicures and pedicures weekly. She had money to blow and she didn’t have to lift a finger unless she chose to. The only thing she had to sacrifice was some of our time together.
    I called her phone and was more than pissed when I heard it ring in the living room. I picked it up and almost threw it when it dawned on me where she might be. Six hours had passed and she still hadn't come home yet. Makayla was out somewhere probably with Alisha or Legacy. I tried my best to not contact them first, so I called Jacori; but he didn't answer his phone. Next I dialed up Kortez and he actually answered the phone on the third ring.
    “What's up? Have you seen my wife?”
    “Have I seen your wife? Do I look like the wife hunter around here home