Be Careful What You Wish For

By M. W. Moore

Preceding the end of a previous relationship gone sour with Ex Terrell Marshall, Jeremiah Johnson throws his dating hat back into the dating game arena. His desire to not give-up on love in the same-gender loving community was considered special by some, and yet rare for many. Still, nothing could fizzle out Jeremiah's desire at obtaining an emotional healthy relationship again as he once had with Terrell and his Ex-girlfriend, and now best friend Kelly Owen. Yes, Jeremiah once dated Kelly until the day she discovered the facts concerning Jeremiah's sexuality. But as time moved forward, so did the healing process for Jeremiah and Kelly. Forgiveness was a given. However, at the zenith of his career, Jeremiah meets the Man of his dreams; so at least he thought. Now, for the third time in recent years Jeremiah is at a crossroads, as dirty little secrets comes to surface. Shall he stay the course and wish for a better tomorrow or will he bail like a slave running for freedom and refuge?

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. W. Moore
• Release date: May 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9780977611683

M. W. Moore

Novelist M.W. Moore is a former four-time NCAA All-American track and field champion, who competed against or shared the spotlight with some of the greatest in the sport, such as the legendary Carl Lewis, Edwin Moses and Florence Griffith-Joyner. Moore, a native and current resident of Houston, Texas, attended Mississippi State University studying Industrial Technology. He is the third of five children. For What I Hate I Do is the first in a trilogy, with the blockbuster installment -- Internal Chaos -- also currently available. The IC sequel focuses on the protagonist's first year in prison, including the loneliness and the loss of dignity and respect. It also exposes the warring nature of offenders, their gang and religious affiliations, social cliques and street-wise manipulation. The final installment, An About-Face, is being prepared for an upcoming release.

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BE

CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR…

You Just Might Get It

M. W. Moore Publications 2013

Printing by API Print Productions at Smashwords

www.apiprintproductions.com

M. W. Moore

Copyright ©2013 by M. W. Moore

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without publisher consent.

M. W. Moore Publications

Houston, Texas 77047

www.mwmoore.com

Library of Congress Control Number: N/A

ISBN-10: 0-9776116-3-9

ISBN-13: 978-0-9776116-3-8

Printed in the United States of America

Book Concept & Layout: M. W. Moore

Illustrator & Design: Daymond Lavine

Editor: Jerri Newman

Although loosely based on actual episodic events and geographical locations, this work chronicles embellished tales with fictionalized names as part of the author’s creativity. There is no intent to disparage likenesses.

M. W. Moore Publications

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Prologue

Here is one thing that’s obvious and true about Jeremiah Johnston. I am dark skinned, muscular and a masculine black male who stands at 6 feet 2 inches tall. I’m also a 29-year-old ex-athlete who isn’t intimidated by other strong, masculine men of any ethnicity. As far as my spirituality is concerned, I am a man of the Christian faith. My profession is in science and I’m one of three Social and Behavior Counselors at a Historical Black College. The profession can be challenging at times, but those same issues make it exceptionally rewarding. Even more challenging than my day job is the pursuit of my Ph.D., starting with night classes. But that is beside the present point, a whole other issue that I will discuss later within this story.

At any rate, recent events had taught me that sometimes we experience things in life that grab us emotionally and refuse to let go. Regardless of how hard we struggle to break free, we become slaves to an

emotional rhythm. Yet in the same nature of things, we try to reach for something better than what we had embraced, and then discover that breaking free can be difficult and cunning and require a certain mindset, to say the least. We often find ourselves submitting to people, places and things that cause us to crave and desire them even more, to the point that our actions become habit-forming and emotionally dangerous. I’ve also discovered through past experiences that those same dangerous behaviors we embrace as being normal when we begin indulging in them, will eventually dominate and control our lives until it is too late and we become out of control and unmanageable.

Case in point, I remember the day when I asked God for a life partner, any partner, and many months later, I regretted that I’d ever made such a blind request to a Holy God. I can honestly admit that my intentions were not genuinely true. When I had to analyze my true intent later down the road, I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Now here I was recalling the day that I stood in shock before my hypermasculine and older ex-lover with my eyes wide open for the very first time. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing as I stood before him in disbelief.

Witnessing this fool slam himself against his living room wall as if demon-possessed was not even the shocker. That came when I saw him grasp in his right hand a butcher knife and threaten to kill himself if I did not meet his demands. He wanted me to make a promise to him that I would never leave him, despite his addictions and warped emotions that had caused us so

much pain.

I often wondered how I had allowed myself to get into a situation such as that. Heck, I was a day late and a

dollar short mentally, when I finally realized that I had fallen in love with a narcissistic borderline sociopath, who had threatened to commit suicide on more than one occasion. Several times I had been warned about him, but my smartass ignored all the signs and the warnings from people who knew him best. I had thought I could rescue a man who had suffered from borderline personality disorder (BPD). But this time he was out of control and couldn’t be contained. I wasn’t about to be a victim of his madness or of my unwillingness to act on my own behalf, to protect myself as I so often had not done in the past.

Disgusted, I yelled from afar at the top of my lungs at him. Do it, dammit, and get it over with! I was mad as hell and the tension in my voice made that very clear.

Fist tight.

Breathing hard.

Heart racing.

He looked at me with pitiful eyes before he fell to his knees. He raised the butcher knife and held it just inches from his throat, crying like a bitch.

He screamed, I swear, I’ll do it man! I’ll do it! Fear was in his eyes. From the foamy spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth, saliva dripped down his right cheek and found refuge on his open shirt collar.

I screamed back. Do it, GOD DAMN YOU! DO IT! I yelled just as hard, and studied the evil in my ex-lover’s eyes. He looked pitiful, hopeless even, as the frown in his eyes surfaced and turned into helplessness.

It appeared that my ex-lover was at the point of no return, about to finally commit the unthinkable. Yes, this fool had flipped his wig before my very eyes.

Then he yelled the unexpected. I hate you, mutha fukka! Rage was all over his face and in his body motion.

Never before had I heard those very words directed at me. Hate is a powerful statement. My heart sank deeper inside my chest as I tried to digest the statement of hate, but I couldn’t.

Nonetheless, what happened next took me aback. My ex committed a cowardly act that I will never forget in my lifetime.

Yet amazingly so, what had been said about him was true. He was a man with the body of a Greek god, yet he was emotionally and mentally as soft as a baby’s ass!

Chapter One

Nine months prior

By no means during that spring season, was I anxious to find a prime partner or a so-called lover. Truth be told, I was somewhat lonely all season, but I didn’t feel alone to the point that I was depressed or anything of the sort. I don’t want to mislead you into thinking that I felt better than the next man because I knew how to handle loneliness better than some. I just had a lot more practice at being lonely than I can chew on. I guess that’s why they say experience is a great teacher.

Past midnight one Friday, as I strolled down a quiet aisle in an Uptown Whole Foods Market, I admired the top forty music playing through overhead speakers. I carried a plastic shopping basket in my right hand and

reminded myself that I’d rather be alone than be stuck in

a dysfunctional relationship with some fool who had no vision or sense of awareness as to who he is or where he was going in life. I also had plenty of practice with those types of individuals from my past relationships. I refer to those relationships as damaged.

I reached the end of the long aisle and turned the corner into the next aisle, colliding with a light-skinned brother, about 6 feet tall, his upper body so perfectly muscled. He gave me a small frown at first glance.

Eyes hazel.

Hair neat and cropped.

Skin clear.

Teeth white.

Sorry bro, he said in a thuggish tone of voice.

The white wife-beater he was wearing was on point as it fit snug to his muscular upper body, and so were his loose fitting jeans that hugged his large thighs and maxed-out glutes.

I took a step back. Naw man, that one was on me. I’m the one who is at fault, I uttered sincerely, and became frozen in time and step too, mesmerized by his magnificent presence. His face was handsome, yet harsh looking at the same time. But it was that look in his eyes that gave him away. The look was lustful, but controlled.

We both matched up like white on rice, two peas in a pod, a hand in glove. We connected with our eyes, apprehension in full force. Neither of us seemed to want to walk away after that little mishap without first getting acquainted.

In a normal situation, people would just go about their business after the apologies were offered. Instead we stood there like long-lost buddies, and then held an out of nowhere conversation.

So what were you looking for on this aisle? He asked his smile wide and brilliant.

Jam. I pointed down the aisle and watched him look in that direction. Strawberry jams, to be exact, I said, and noticed that he had suddenly faced me again with that wide smile and a curious look.

In most cases, I wasn’t attracted to light-skinned hyper-masculine guys. I was still somewhat stuck on the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice concept when it came down to finding my perfectly masculine soul mate.

Out of nowhere, he said, Crap! and snapped his fingers. I needed jam too and I just passed it up, he said with a wild smile. By the way, I’m Damon. Damon Faircloth. He reached out to shake, and I extended my left hand.

Handshake strong.

Eyes smiling.

Stare intense.

So, you left-handed I see? Damon said in a seductive manner. His handshake was firm and overly masculine.

Naw man, I’m right-handed. It’s just that my right hand isn’t free at the moment, I said and laughed as I watched him look down toward the basket in my right hand. I laughed again and said, I’m Jeremiah, by the way; Jeremiah Johnston I looked over my left shoulder before I continued the conversation, because the moment felt so awkward. Heck we were still standing at the end of a grocery store aisle flirting, shucking and jiving. And yes, I was still a bit homophobic, even though I’d em-

braced my sexuality long ago. I just wasn’t one of those guys who wore his sexuality on his shoulders. I’m not judging anyone, just being frank about the matter, that’s all.

At any rate, we continued the conversation when I asked, You wanna go get that jam now? I walked off in the direction of the jams and jellies with my soul smiling.

Moments later, Damon looked over his right shoulder and then back at me, and asked, I guess you’ve figured me out by now, huh? He smiled.

For a moment, I continued to look down the aisle. Then I looked into his eyes and said. What is there to figure out, my man? We stood before the jams and jellies. I then selected Smuckers strawberry jam and I watched Damon do the same.

Damn dude, I like you already, he said and continued. Usually I shop at night to avoid groupies and the media. Damon laughed out loud for no apparent reason and suddenly grasped my right shoulder.

Only if he had known what I had felt at that moment under his tight grasp, he might have thought I was desperate for love. I couldn’t remember the last time I was touched by a man so passionately and hadn’t invited it, yet enjoyed it. Who was this guy anyway to be avoiding media and groupies from within the city?

I then responded, "Sometimes, Damon, things are better left