Damaged Goods

By Omar Persaud

“I was so anxious to lose my virginity that I never thought of all the consequences that came with it.”

In this titillating personal account, Damaged Goods, author O. Persaud sums up the sultry sex life of his main character, Chris, from his first intimate experience to finding a woman that he truly loves.

The "every man for himself" mentality has corrupted Chris' ideals, whether regarding friends, family, material possessions, or women. When he makes a move, he never takes other people's feelings into consideration. Therefore, he can never stay true to anyone to whom he supposedly commits. Chris believes that others are only here in this world for his benefit, and he is willing to deny peoples' needs-including his own-to obtain what he wants.

Nowhere in his life is this mentality more evident than in his romantic involvements. Chris soon finds himself questioning his behavior: "Why do I cheat? And how did I become the unfaithful man that I am today?" These questions serve as the basis for his next quest in life, one that may lead to true love-if he can only find the answers.

Damaged Goods provides a fresh, interesting look into the life of a young black male and his search for the nature of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 24, 2006
• ISBN: 9780595821907

Omar Persaud

O. Persaud graduated from the University of Maryland, College Park, where he studied literary text and creative writing.

Book preview

DAMAGED GOODS

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A Novel by

Omar Persaud

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Lincoln Shanghai

Damaged Goods

Copyright © 2006 by O. Persaud

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN-13: 978-0-595-37810-4 (pbk)

ISBN-13: 978-0-595-82190-7 (ebk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-37810-2 (pbk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-82190-1 (ebk)

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

C. L. Smith And The Blue Moon

Chapter 2

The Rapture

Chapter 3

Hunger

Chapter 4

Birds That Prey

Chapter 5

The Light

Chapter 6

The Reasons I Cheat

Chapter 7

Every Dog Has His Day

Chapter 8

Under The Influence

Chapter 9

Man Eater

Chapter 10

Vision

Chapter 11

Broken Glass

Chapter 12

It!

Chapter 13

I Was Better Off Alone

Chapter 14

God’s Gifts

Chapter 15

Bitch!

Chapter 16

Damaged Goods

CHAPTER 1

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C. L. Smith and the Blue Moon

Like a bright full moon that lit up a black night, She needs me so people won’t be blinded by her darkness; So she won’t be blinded by her own darkness.

Yeah, she’s had a few stars in her past, Distant memories, fading in her vast skies. That left a big, black void that no light could fill.

But now it’s my turn to shine bright, To dominate her darkness and to try to bring her some light, And make her know that I’m here to stay, Though forever I’ll be doomed and trapped in her night, ‘Cause she can never come out to see the day.

Men ain’t shit! was Carmen’s slogan, and she used it every chance she got. She had been burned too many times and was tired of placing her faith in good for nothin’ ass men. Or so she told me on many occasions, and part of me knew she was right. Part of me knew it because of all the hearts I had broken and all the dirt I had done over the years. The difference between now and then, however, is that now I’m the one getting dirt thrown in my face.

Did I want her so bad because I knew I could never have her? I’ve known her for half my life now, yet after all these years, she’s managed to elude me. She was already damaged goods by the time I met her, because she couldn’t let this other man go. He was the one who tore her heart into pieces to the likes that no man could ever put it back together again, no matter how bright my light shined through her dark sky. She could never bring herself to see the truth because she had been living with a lie for so long.

She was wrapped up in an illusion. She couldn’t understand why the man she loved so much never loved her back. To cope, she pretended he loved her and ignored the signs. She brushed off his infidelities with excuses. Oh, he just needs to get it out of him before he commits to me fully. She bit her lip when he never called her in the course of the day. I’m just gonna stay my course and be a good woman, and when he realizes he loves me, he’ll appreciate me even more.

But appreciation is a consequence of affection and he never loved her in the first place, so it never mattered what she did. She couldn’t see it though. Therefore all those times she bought things for him, cooked a good meal, cleaned his house, or gave him a good massage, he never appreciated it. So when he never held her hand, or never kissed her, and when he stopped taking her out, she’d say, I’d like to see you find another woman who’d do all this shit for your unappreciative ass! Still, no affection was returned.

The distance between them was evident. You could measure it by the number of steps she followed behind him when they went out to the mall or the park. He never held her hand. He treated her like she was a stranger when they were in public places. Her mistake was thinking he wasn’t affectionate, but a man will find a way to show you love if he loves you. It all depends on the trophy.

I messed up many good things in my lifetime, but she was never one of them. I used to wonder why I held her in such high esteem when I treated almost everyone else like he treated her. What made me do all those things? Why couldn’t I ever be satisfied by just one woman? I mean, I loved a few women in my past, but I could never stay faithful to hardly any of them, no matter what their appeal. When I’d first meet a female, I’d think she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. After a while, the attraction would fade. She’d look the same as she did when I first met her, but something would be missing. I never knew what that something was until all these years later, sitting in this room, trying to figure out why Carmen had never loved me and why she had done the things she had. She had finally come back to confront me; for what, I have no idea.

I don’t think Carmen ever really saw me. She was always looking through me to find something else. I guess she was tired of waiting in a woman’s place and decided to venture out and see things through a man’s eyes. So now it was her turn to screw whomever she pleased, no matter how many of them there were. It was her turn to cycle through the opposite sex and use them for whatever purpose she saw fit. The problem, however, was that this premise she had bought into had no moral standing. It was an excuse, made up to justify the greed that grows in all children in this society and to deem the consequences of that greed acceptable.

As a man growing up in America, I also bought into these principles. I was born unselfish, but was raised to be greedy; I know this now. It was through no fault of my parents, of course. They raised me to treat others with the same kindness I hoped to receive and to take care of my friends and family. I was always tempted, however, by a greed that exuded itself through a basic instinct to survive and thrive amongst in my surroundings.

This every man for himself mentality corrupted my ideals. No value was left untouched. Friends, family, materialistic possessions, women—I was always going about things the wrong way. I could never take other people’s feelings into consideration when I made a move, because I was always thinking about my profit margin. I could never stay true to anyone I committed to, because their feelings didn’t exist to me. They were only in this world to enrich my life. In fact, I was willing to deny many people’s needs, including my own, to obtain what I wanted. My desires dictated my actions.

I began my journey in life lost in the ways of the world, as we all are in childhood, ignorant of the games we play to get what we want from others. As a child, I saw everything through a sense of innocence. I guess that’s why puppy love is probably the rawest but truest form of love. When I was with a woman back then, she wasn’t a bitch, a hoe, a slut, or even scandalous. She was just the girl next door. Someone I had known practically my whole life. She was my best friend, who I had gradually developed a more sensual bond as we acted on our growing feelings—experimenting with our first kiss or our first sexual encounter.

In my youth, sex didn’t necessarily mean penetration. It may have been a touch, an embrace that exuded purity. It was like Adam and Eve playing in the Garden of Eden in their nakedness, before their minds became tainted by the forbidden fruit. Everything was simple back then: what you saw was really what you got, nobody expected anything. But the older we get and the more we learn about the way things work in this society, the more corrupted we become. As my hormones kicked in and my emotions changed, so did my attitudes toward others.

During my early adolescence, I was driven by one distinct objective alone: to have sex as much as possible. This urge took me by surprise at an early age, maybe eleven or twelve, when I was first launched into my quest for manhood. At that time, I had a dream of a girl who lived down the street. She was half Asian and half black; her long, dark hair streaked down the light brown skin of her back. Her sharp, pointed eyes pierced through the bangs that always swayed toward the outer edges of her cheeks. I had always liked Michelle, but never yearned for her the way I did when I awoke that night with my pants all wet and slimy. I reached my hand down into my pants and felt the result of my wet dream. I had never felt more disgusted in my life, but I couldn’t escape the powerful sensations and desires of that erotic dream.

The child in me died that night. That was when my thoughts and experiences mutated from an innocent experimentation to a deliberate fornication. Michelle was my best friend. Sure, I thought she was beautiful, but my mentality toward her changed after that night. Instead of getting excited over a kiss, I was now trying to see and feel that world between her legs. I could no longer see her as my best friend, a friend who was like a sister to me; she became someone I wanted to screw. That’s how powerful a nut could be to a boy. It changed my ideals, altered my thoughts about the opposite sex, and fuelled my sexual appetite.

My hunger was only intensified by media projected to me as a child. As swiftly as my transition from cartoons to music videos, so was my metamorphosis from a boy to a dog. The more I saw those beautiful women in videos or in magazines, with their bustling bodies and skimpy outfits, the more I lusted for the girls on the street. The more I wanted the girls on the street, the more I tried to obtain the things they wanted, whether those things were emotional, physical, or material. After all, in society’s eyes, the more you had, the better off you were.

When I was young, I was always trying to please the society I existed in, whether that society consisted of my peers, siblings, or people I didn’t know. I remember that my friends in middle school used to brag about all the ass they used to get; I felt left out. The only ass I ever saw was in porn. I always wondered what it would feel like to be inside a girl. What did she feel like inside? Wet, warm, slimy? How soft would her breasts be? I was so anxious to lose my virginity that I never thought of the consequences.

I lost my virginity toward the end of my sophomore year of high school. My cousin, Marcus, had a scrambler, and I would go over to his place to watch the porn channels when he and his roommate went to the store. One day, they stumbled in on me.

Ay man, what’s up with your cousin? Let me find out he be beating his meat while we’re not here! That’s disgusting, Derrick said, mocking me.

Derrick was a bit older than my cousin. He was a light brown brother of medium height. He shaved is head bald to cover up his receding hairline and give the illusion that he was younger. His eyes were always squinted half closed, and I always assumed that he never got enough sleep.

Awe, he probably never had his thing wet yet, Derrick continued with his verbal assault.

Whatever, I had plenty of girls before. Of course I was lying. I have no idea why their opinions were so important to me, but, for some reason, I lied to appease a lot of people in my youth.

Chris, are you a virgin? You can tell me, my cousin Marcus asked.

Marcus was twenty-one. He was a black, Rico Suave look-alike: dark, red skin and black, curly hair. He was a true ladies’ man. Marcus didn’t care if a woman had a man or a husband, or if she was too young or too old. As long as she looked good and had a nice body, she was good enough in Marcus’s book.

Hell no! Like I said, I had plenty of girls before, I lied again.

Look, man, if you never had any, we can get you some. Just admit it, and we can make it all go away, Derrick persisted.

Bullshit! Y’all can’t get me no ass. If you can, then prove it, I replied, hoping they would take on my challenge.

Derrick looked at Marcus and whispered something in his ear. Marcus nodded as he listened to the plot. Then they both turned to me.

You just keep watching that Playboy, and we’ll be right back, Derrick said as they both left the apartment again.

It seemed as if I waited hours for them to return. I probably watched two movies before I received the call that they were on their way. Back then, the movies shown on TV weren’t even close to being as explicit as those shown today. But as a young man who had never seen a naked lady in person, I found that anything would get me off. I used to masturbate a lot back in those days; that’s what guys do. It was the easiest way to relieve the tension built up by an uncontrollable lust and to bring me back down to earth. Never having sex with a woman didn’t help control my appetite, either; the curiosity I felt only fueled the fire burning inside me. That’s one reason I was so determined to lose my virginity. Also, I was tired of all the other guys bragging about how young they had been when they lost theirs. Now, of course, I know they were more than likely lying anyway. I waited impatiently until Derrick and Marcus finally walked through that door. Of all people, they had Carmen, Derrick’s ex-wife, with them.

Carmen was considerably older than me; she was twenty-five to be exact. She and Derrick got married when she was about twenty, stayed together for two years, and had been divorced ever since. She was of medium height and had an amazing body: every voluptuous curve peaked at precisely the perfect point. She had a dark brown complexion, silky smooth like dark chocolate. She had blackish hair that was cut in a bob style that was popular at the time. I had no idea why they would bring her back to the apartment.

They have got to be joking, I thought to myself, jumped up to changed the channel and save myself some embarrassment. She is way too beautiful to want to do it to me. Damn them for playing with my emotions!

I was about to get my first life lesson about women: appearances can be deceiving, especially when it comes to the opposite sex. I was ignorant of the way things worked and I was still very naive. I used to think that just because a woman was beautiful, she couldn’t be a freak or wouldn’t want sex in the same manner an ordinary woman would.

I noticed that Marcus was carrying a bag in his hand; I could only assume that there was liquor in it. Marcus and Carmen walked into the kitchen and started making drinks. Derrick walked into his bedroom and waved me in that direction.

Ay, Chris, come here, he whispered in near silence. He had to gesture twice, because I couldn’t read his lips the first time. I looked back toward the kitchen counter and noticed that both Carmen and Marcus had their backs turned to me. I darted into Derrick’s room.

You ready to get your thing wet boy? Derrick snickered.

What are you talking about? That chick out there would never do it to me, unless...hold up. I ain’t doing it to no dirty prostitute, man. Forget that, I replied.

Shut up, man! That ain’t no prostitute out there; that’s my wife.

Damn! That’s your wife! I didn’t know you was married. That’s even worse. You let your wife screw other people? Man, you’re sick.

No, stupid. That’s my ex-wife, and she can screw whoever she wants to now.

Huh? I don’t understand. Why would someone like that do it to me? She’s way older than me, and besides, she’s pretty.

I forgot I was talking to a youngster. Look, man, let me teach you a lesson about women right now. I can’t believe you got all those sisters and not one of them told you the secret yet.

What secret? I asked, confused.

Look, son, the secret about women is that there is no secret, dummy. Women think just like men.

Huh?

Yeah, fool. Just like you think about sex, every minute of every hour, there are a lot of women who do to. And most of them almost all the time will act on their urge. The problem is that society has structured itself so a woman has to seem like a freak or slut or whore if she acts on those urges as often as men do, so they have to play a game in order to salvage their respectability.

Games like what? I anxiously interrupted.

"Well, most women