Saint And Sinners (84 page)

“A dark-skinned Black Queen who may have endured some challenges growing up, due to
taunting and teasing about her complexion, finally breaks out in a smile and looks
coy and sweet and embarrassed by the flattery when
finally
, a man tells her that he prefers her complexion! She now has merit, in her own eyes;
she has worth. Another person had to basically put a price on her, to make her see
her own damn beauty! Now, to some degree, I say cheers to that!” He held up his arm
as if gripping a glass of wine, making a toast. “However, one should ask why? If being
attracted to a black woman begins as physical, then yes, there will be things about
women we’re attracted to that we find, shall we say, alluring, fuckin’ sexy, a turn
on…shit that makes your goddamn dick hard! If dark skin turns that mothafucka on,
more power to him! I get it, I understand because it turns me on, too. However, if
it turns him on because then he can say to himself, ‘Well there is no question that
she’s black’—and he gets his jollies solely on the fact that she is dark-complexioned,
then Wilson! We have a mothafuckin’ problem!

“And do you know why, goddamn it?! Because she has once again become a fetish and
she doesn’t even know it! She has once again been seen
only
as a skin color, just like with that fucking brown paper bag test that has methodically
torn up the self esteem of black people for generations! Instead, these black women
are cheering these men on because all they can think, due to being hurt repeatedly
by society, looked past by black men and light-skinned sistas and white women chosen
over them, time and time again, is that, ‘Finally! Someone is validating me! Finally,
someone loves me for me!’ Bullshit!” His voice rang.

“Men, you better start questioning your goddamn selves! You better unmarry, unhinge,
separate and divorce your preferences from acts of fetishism! They don’t need it and
some of these Black Queens are so brainwashed by Blackistan and feel so angry towards
light-complexioned black women for being born in skin that they, too, did not choose—they
lash out! There is a war going on as we speak! One that none of you fuckers in here
could
ever
understand, but you’re benefiting from it, emotionally profiting from the ill effects
of Blackistan! I know that India and some other parts of Asia have complexion issues
as well, I know this…I’m not stupid. I’ve travelled around this damn globe, and I’ve
seen it. However, it was not born from African slavery; thus, though it is detrimental
and painful, it is not the same. But every time you see it, you bet your bottom mothafuckin’
dollar it began when the Europeans came over, and put that shit in their heads! That
is how you control a nation! You make the people in that nation your whore! The only
white man’s whore are
all
the men and women who wish to assimilate and be like the dominant culture, throwing
your own aside, and that means that the black men that are a part of Blackistan, have
been suckin’ the white man’s cock without even realizing it, due to envy, becoming
money hungry, out here doing his bidding by killing one another and drowning in ‘Me!
Me! Me!’ mentality!

“This white boogie man no longer needs to exist! They’re handling the annihilation
of their race, all on their own! What happened to collective group progression?! Men
want what
other
men perceive as power and clout! It’s been going on since the beginning of time!
When you add race issues to that, you’ve diluted and confused the core issues at hand.
Power and clout are derived from money, land, material items accumulated, sex, sex
appeal and virility! If
anyone
is the white man’s whore, it is
any
mothafucka—black, Asian, you name it—who sits around
envious
of what the white man supposedly has, and doesn’t even see that he has become
exactly
what he said he was fighting against!” The room drew quiet as everyone seemed to
be waiting on their edge of their seat.

“He has put himself out on the corner and sold his soul for a dollar, but instead
of focusing on the fact that he is a whore for riches, trying to assimilate into a
white world and adopt a white mentality, all he can talk about is how these black
women are sleepin’ with the slave master, not seeing that they’ve been
trying
to be the slave master since the goddamn Emancipation Proclamation, mothafucka! Who’s
the whore now,
bitch
!”

The crowd lit up in applause.

“That means to me,” he said, dabbing his face with a tissue. “You really don’t give
a shit about the damn slave master ideology! You want to
be
the one with the damn whip! And you are trying to beat that damn woman into submission!
The mind fucking is non-motha-fuckin’ factor! It won’t STOP! So much energy, so much
fascination. A wise woman, my wife,” he said with a chuckle, “recently told me something
that blew my mind. I am going to paraphrase it. We were talking about something else
actually…” He began to slowly walk again. “She basically said the people we hang around,
the shit we think about—even if we profess to hate it—we become. That’s what is going
on in Blackistan, Rainbeaus. Watch. The. Company. You. Keep! Pay attention to your
obsessions, fetishes and preoccupations! They tell you way more about what you need
you work on than anything else!

“I told you this would not be an easy night. I told you this! I’ve got some shit to
say, some shit that is going to hurt you deep down in here!” He pointed to his heart.
“That’s the only
way
we solve a problem, is if we are honest about it. Understand, Rainbeaus, you can’t
fuel the damn tank! Stand in position, stand in your power, and direct it in the right
way, towards your love interest! Use what you have for
Good
, not Evil! And the next time you hear some self-loathing fucker tell you that the
woman you seek is the white man’s whore, you smile at him… You stand tall, and you
count down the seconds, 10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1… YOU LOSE, MOTHA FUCKA! I
got
your woman, you self-emasculating, sensitive, whiny, sorry excuse for a human being.
Now
deal
with it ’cause neither you nor anyone else is gonna stop me from checkmating your
ass when you disrespect my Queen, and you know why? I’m the King and I protect and
serve while you self-destruct and swerve!”

A storm of applause erupted as men jumped up from their seats, going wild with whistles
and yells.

“She’s
yours
, damn it!” His voice grew hoarse as he continued on, invigorated with passion, lit
up with fervor. “Do you hear me, Rainbeaus?! She’s yours if you claim ’er! She
belongs
only to the man that puts the damn
ring
on her finger! Rubber bands around corrupt money won’t make her ass dance!
Wedding
bands will make her dance, mothafucka!”

An outburst of laughter boomed throughout the auditorium.

“That’s what makes her dance, goddamn it! Not the one that looks like her! Not the
one that fetishizes her! Not the one that only gives her a baby but no papers! Not
the one that verbally and emotionally abuses her in order to keep her in her place,
and to keep her from runnin’ off with a damn Rainbeau! She
belongs
to her
goddamn
self and her Creator! She gives her heart to whoever meets her at the end of that
damn aisle promising to honor, in sickness and in health, mothafucka!” The clapping
became so loud, he had to wait it out before he started to speak again. “When she
loves you, you don’t need to try to trick her ass! Your sincere words, followed by
action, will be
all
the mind control you need! You don’t need to dominate her to prove your damn authority!
Your genuine love for her will work magic! You don’t
need
to cut her down, to make yourself feel better because if you lift her ass up, once
she is in the clouds, she will turn the fuck around, bend low, seize your hand and
say, ‘Hold on, mothafucka! You’re coming with me! The Queen Goddess has got this in
the damn bag!”

This time, the crowd became so invigorated, he was unable to keep his smile from cracking.
The way the men moved, screamed and applauded was like nothing he’d seen before. He
was reaching them. They were
getting
it; his message was settling in. In those split seconds, his words came back to him,
mixing with Krishna’s and Xenia’s sentiments, as if regurgitated with an inner echo…

‘…He will try to trick you…’ Krishna had stated.

‘…You become obsessed with what you hate… Three times, you’re out…’

‘…Your genuine love will work magic…’

And I love Xenia…magic…trick…he will trick you…

…Obsessed with what you hate. Piru.

Lawrence’s and Xenia’s explanation of Gang Warfare…

Shit! It’s him! It’s not her! She does want me! He knew he could get me in a weakened
state if my mate was impaired…you son of a bitch!

Saint felt copious sweat accumulate around his brow as he stood there in the midst
of a breakthrough. He didn’t know how, or exactly when, but his soul within him screamed
in horror.

Koki, it was you!

At that moment, he cracked up laughing, going insane as the realization hit him. He
was so damn grateful he had almost finished with his spiel. He was going to draw the
crowd in, bring it home, then make some much needed phone calls when this was all
said and done, get to the bottom of this.

“Alright, you all sit down now, settle down.” He grinned, feeling a heating of his
irises. Closing his eyes, he tried to regain some peace, cool his jets. “Yeah…so now
you see why this conference was called, ‘The White Man’s Whore.’ The Black Queen is
a
not
a whore for being with us… She’s a lover and a friend. She’s a helpmate. She’s a
leader. She’s a mother that gave birth to all the nations. She’s the keeper of your
future. She’s the rock, the foundation of the family!”

“Amen!” someone shouted loudly.

“She’s the heart and soul of the collective unit. She’s the glue that binds. She’s
your confidant and partner! She’s your teacher and your student! She’s your comedian
and the times you aren’t too afraid to let it out, drop a tear or two in front of
her, she’s the one that wipes them away and keeps your secrets!”

The crowd got to their feet again, almost drowning him out with applause.

“She’s the woman that was made
specifically
for
you
! So in my book, if she MUST be labeled a whore by our union oppressors, then whore
stands for:

W
 – Woman of my dreams

H
 – Heiress to my throne

O
 – Owner of my heart

R
 – Recipient of my seed

E
 – Earner of my trust!!!

Then yes, damn it! She’s
my
whore!” His brows dipped as he scowled and stomped the stage with his foot. This
set the place into a damn frenzy. Men began to run up and down the aisles laughing,
hollering and high-fiving one another. An ignited party happened right then and motherfucking
there. Saint snatched his microphone off his shirt, letting it hit the ground, and
waved as he made his way off the damn stage. He fought the thick curtains and hightailed
towards the exit, his phone in hand. He could barely hear as the cheers continued,
but he dialed the number nevertheless.

“Hey Saint! You shut that shit down!” Jagger chortled, not giving Saint a second to
state the nature of his call.

“Thank you, man. It was a great crowd tonight. They were lively as hell. Chicago showed
me mass love tonight. I’m glad you all could see it well from satellite connection.
How is everything?” He changed gears, loath to cut the man off. After all, Koki’s
damage was done—two more seconds weren’t going to change anything.

“Well, I didn’t have to check on Xenia tonight like you asked me to, because she’s
at my house right now visiting with Traci. At this point, she’d probably spend the
night if she could!” He chuckled.

Hmmmm…interesting.

“Really? Is it just a friendly visit?”

“Yeah, they are just doing girl talk. Xenia seemed a little depressed, though. Everything
okay?”

Saint paused, unsure whether to tell Jagger what the hell was going on. After all,
he regretted telling Lawrence. The shit was embarrassing. He felt silly about that
reaction, but he simply couldn’t help himself. It was a Saint thing, something many
wouldn’t understand.

“Just tired… Okay, I figured she was asleep.” He brushed it off, hoping Jagger wouldn’t
redirect him. “… So I wasn’t going to call her just yet. Let me give her a call on
her cell then, okay? Are the kids over there, too?”

“Nah, your mother-in-law has them.”

“Alright. Bet.”

“I’ll let her know you’re about to call.”

“No need. I got it from here. Just let them do their thing and I’ll touch base with
her.”

“Okay and good job again, man. That was amazing, almost magical!” Jagger joked.

“Yeah…funny you should mention that word,” Saint mumbled so low, he knew the man couldn’t
hear him. “Anyway, see you tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

A plan it is…and I have one, too. Koki, you’ve messed with the wrong damn one… Anyone
who fucks up my sex life has got to pay. Only problem is, you don’t have enough currency,
so I’m going to have to add it to your tab…

*