Shattered Part Iv: The Story of Morgan

By DD Jewell

Defying stereotypes attached to young black males raised in the hood by teen mothers and absentee fathers, Morgan Mitchell excelled to one the most prestigious universities in the nation. During college, Morgan meets friends who help shape his life’s experiences. One such friend, Giselle Gibson, a student from his hometown of Baltimore, becomes his love interest. Unable to speak love’s language to one another, Morgan and Giselle venture on a winding and potentially deadly slope. Plagued by an STD, rejected by the love of his life, devastated about the news of his father, and cut by broken images of those closest to him, Morgan’s life shatters to the point of no repair. Will he be able to reach the only one who can save his soul before it’s too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359803156

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Shattered Part Iv: The Story of Morgan

Shattered Part IV:            The Story of Morgan

Also by DD Jewell

Shattered Part I

The Story of Giselle

Shattered Part II

The Story of John

Shattered Part III

The Story of Fatima

Copyright © 2019 by DD Jewell.

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-359-80315-6

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Book Cover designed by Channing Parham.

Author Photo by Keith Gulley.

Printed in the United States of America

Prologue

As I stared at the ring I bought her, I couldn’t help but think about the first day we met. It was Valentine’s Day Eve, ten years ago, during my second year of college. It was an average day like any other except my annual ritual of buying a dozen, yellow roses for the ladies in my life. On Valentine’s Day, I would give four roses to girls whose hearts I had broken; four to girls I was currently smashing, and four to girls I would soon smash. Every girl was a placeholder with an expiration date.

That morning, I woke up to Amy, a white sorority girl, who liked giving me head and had no problem letting me do anal. She told me she had never done anal with anyone besides me as I so easily thrust it in and out of her like a jar of Vaseline. What I had grown to know since middle school, when I first starting boning, is that chicks are horrible liars. However, I acquiesced to their nonsense because when it’s all said and done, it’s just a nut. Amy knew her place and played by my rules, which included her never speaking to me in public. I didn’t want her messing up anything else I had going on with my other chicks.

Black girls were so damn sensitive; if they knew I was boning others, they would attack me with all their racial bullshit and foolery. I just liked sex, and it didn’t matter to me what color the woman was. However, if I were going to date them, which I seldom found anyone that could tempt me to do so, they would have to be a thick Redbone. The mere fact that I was 6’1" and dark chocolate was my entry into Redbone heaven. They loved me, and I loved them. I loved seeing their beautiful skin up against mine while sexing, which brings me to the others, Cindy, Melissa, and Kendra. They all were gorgeous Redbones that would do anything for me.

Cindy was a second-year, e-School, country girl from Virginia; Melissa was a fourth-year, Nursing major, sorority chick from New York, and Kendra was a second-year, medical student from California. I had a cornucopia of beautiful, intelligent girls, and I was going to duly satisfy them all on Valentine’s Eve. I wasn’t going to spend the actual holiday with any of them because I didn’t want to mislead them into thinking we had something we didn’t.  I would give them one yellow rose apiece and be done with it. Yellow roses symbolize friendship, and at best, we were friends.

On the other hand, they would lavish me with gifts and sentiments about their feelings for me. Next year, it would be the four girls I was currently wooing, and it would start all over again. The number four symbolizes Earth, Wind, Fire, and Air, and the women I messed with possessed all of those elements, yet none embodied them all.

At 5am, I visited Amy’s for about 20 minutes; my dick couldn’t get hard. We got into an argument about the remnants of coke on her nose when she greeted me. She tried to deny it, but I told shorty, I’m from Baltimore. She dared to say it wasn’t any different than me smoking weed. Laughing, she said, weed kills brain cells, but coke doesn’t, and that’s why my GPA is higher than yours. I rebutted by telling her, Perhaps me being an Electrical Engineering major and you being a Music major makes the difference between my 3.8 and your 4.0. Here, keep your gift. Don’t waste it on little ole me. I couldn’t appreciate it with these dying brain cells.

I left Amy with her mouth open and went to Melissa’s. Melissa wasn’t a saint, but she only smoked weed, which we did together when I had time. However, on school days, I refrained from smoking. She loved when I tied her up, spanked her, and called her my bitch. She was my bad girl and liked it rough; so, I put her on all fours and knocked it out the park. She gave me a bottle of cologne and a card, and I kissed her on the cheek.

After I left Melissa, I went to the class that I shared with Cindy, who was an Electrical Engineering major like me. She was homely but smart as shit and thick as hell; she ran track. After class, she took me to our secret place in the stacks. I ate her out and told her I would finish her later when I got back to my dorm. After my next class, I went to the Black Bus Stop, also known as the BBS, to catch the bus off grounds to have lunch with Kendra at her apartment.

As I waited, my best friend and suitemate, Sean, entertained me with his thoughts concerning my love life.

Morgan, how do you get these girls to be ok with no commitment from you? he asked, already knowing the answer.

Women want what they can’t have. I oblige them, I laughed.

That sounds more like dudes, Morgan. Out of all these girls, who do you love? he asked, sounding redundant.

Didn’t you ask me this last year? I asked. Although the girls have changed, my answer hasn’t.

Why are you leaving Cindy for last if you don’t love her or have some feelings for her? he insisted.

It’s a convenience. We live near each other, and I can slip out after she falls asleep. Plus, she’s my favorite. I might keep her around for next year, I answered, drifting into thoughts of her cumming in the stacks.

Why? She was a virgin before you, wasn’t she? Sean continued.

Exactly. Everything Cindy is experiencing with me is for the first time, and that is dope. I don’t think I’ve ever been with a virgin. She’s like my very own chalkboard. I can draw whatever I want with no comparisons to any other nigga, I smiled.

Dude, I remember when we met first-year, and you were already over the fifty mark. When is enough, enough? he asked in a paternal tone.

Sean, why are you trying to sound like my pops or something? Remember, I didn’t have one of those and don’t dig the patriarchal tone, Bruh, I rebutted, annoyed by his question.

Bro, I just don’t want you to get caught out there, and something bad happens to you, he said in a reassuring voice.

Look, I use protection for the most part, and when I don’t, I have solidified my title as the Pull-Out King. I get tested every year, so no STDs or babies are headed my way.

You know the pull-out method is some bullshit, right? And it doesn’t prevent STDs, but you know this, he said, catching himself becoming preachy again.

I got this. You need not be worried. I’m not hurting anyone. Life is good. Relax, I said, thinking about what was awaiting me for the remainder of my day.

Bro, let me make this last patriarchal comment, and I am done. Karma is a mother. You better enjoy it while you can because when love comes your way, it’s going to sucker punch you in the face. You think you have it all figured out. You’re so in control, but man, some girl is not going to want you, and it’s going to drive you crazy. It’s going to make you fall deeply in love with her.

As he spoke those words, Amy walked by the BBS and said, Hey, Morgan. It was good seeing you.

Looks like it’s already beginning, Sean said, laughing and looking at me with a cynical brow.

Did she just do that? She broke the rule. Was this payback for me calling her out about snorting coke? I was so infuriated that I almost spoke to her, but I didn’t want to lose my cool. There weren’t any cute Black girls at the BBS anyway, nonetheless, by that act, Amy created a vacancy on my menu. There were two girls, one Brazilian and the other Dominican, begging for it. Lost in my thoughts, I forgot that I was meeting Kendra and began storming to the bookstore when I heard a squeal. When I looked down, there she was, milk chocolate brown with long, curly dark- brown hair and beautiful brown eyes.

I am so sorry. I am running late and got turned around, she said as I reached down to help her to her feet.

I am sorry. Are you okay? I inquired, examining her curves. Damn, she was beautiful, even for a dark-skinned girl. I was going nowhere very fast and not paying attention.

I think so, she said, looking down and noticing blood on her knee. Oh, no. Shoot!

Shoot, how cute I thought.

Do you mind if I take a look at it? I asked, trying not to look too long in her eyes. Damn, she was beautiful!

I’m good. A little blood never hurt anyone, she smiled, unmoved by my concern.

What’s your name? Are you a first-year student? I asked with piqued curiosity.

Giselle Gibson and yes, I am a freshman, she answered.

Around here, we say first-year, second-year, and so forth. We don’t use freshman at Thomas Jefferson’s university, I smiled, joking with her.

Thank you for the lesson, and you are? she asked.

I am Morgan Mitchell. I’m a second-year E-School student from Baltimore. Where are you from? I asked, giving her more than what she asked for. Girls loved men who would talk and that they didn’t have to drag things out of.  The more I shared, the more transparent they believed I was, which made it easier for them to trust me.

That was a mouthful. I see you are quite full of yourself, but I won’t hold that against you given that you are B-more, she said, smiling.

Get out of here! Are you from Charm City? I went to Poly. What school did you attend? I asked, smirking at her fine ass.

I graduated from Bryn Mawr, she said, feeling herself as she should.

What a waste! You paid all that money, and public schools could have gotten you to the same destination, I rebutted, trying to bring her down a couple of notches.

Assumptions make an ass out of you, anyone ever told you that? she rebutted. Have you heard of scholarships? Did they teach you that word at Poly or did you just learn numbers and equations?

Feisty, aren’t we? I said, trying to refrain from calling her a bitch. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.

Are you serious? Don’t tell me you can’t take a little joke. We are B-more strong, Shorty! she laughed.

So, you want to play with me? I think I have a couple of tricks that I would like to teach you, I said before I could catch the words leaving my mouth.

Tricks are for kids, but you know that, right? You’re supposed to give treats on Valentine’s Day, Morgan, not tricks, she continued in her jesting.

It’s not Valentine’s yet, and I have treats too, I smiled while biting my bottom lip. Her mouth was delectable. I wanted to tongue her deeply, touch her breast, and grab her cartoon-booty. She looked clean and pure. I wanted to taste her. I had to find an excuse to touch her.

Come here, let’s sit down on this bench. You know you’re late for your class, right? I asked, hoping she didn’t mind.

Yeah, thanks to you running into me, she laughed as she began limping.

Let me carry you. It’s the least I can do. I won’t bite, I insisted as a burning yen filled my soul to make contact with this complete stranger that I felt was bewitching me.

I guess, she hesitated. I have never before had a man other than my Dad pick me up.

Wow. Ok, I will be gentle, I uttered as I touched Giselle to lift her into my arms. She felt unbelievably good. My dick awakened.

Morgan, you are so strong. You picked me up like I was a feather, she said, seeming flabbergasted.

You’re not heavy. You’re perfect, I whispered, smelling her hair.

I could get used to this, she looked up at me suddenly.

Briefly, our eyes connected. It was as if our souls connected. I felt like I was looking into my future through her eyes. At that moment, no one existed except Giselle. When I placed her on the bench, I put her legs on my thighs. We talked and laughed. She was bright yet naïve, down to earth yet bougie. Giselle was a medley of all the things I liked in my chicks, except she was a better version. She was unapologetically a virgin with a strong ambition. Although she was not my preferred skin tone, everything in me wanted her and not just for a night. She was Earth, Wind, Fire, and Air. While I tried to reconcile my thoughts and feelings, an intruder interrupted our paradise.

Hey, Gee. I was looking all over for you, he said, panting like a Golden Retriever. What happened to you? he inquired as he looked at her bloody knee on my thigh.

I fell, and Morgan helped me. Morgan, meet Chris, she said, not noticing the silent tension between Chris and me. She began to move her leg, but I held on to it.

I can take care of her from here, Dawg, Chris said, trying to sound hard.

Where you from, Bruh? I asked, assuming he was a first-year student as well. It dawned on me how little attention I paid to students beneath my class.

I’m from DC proper. Where you from? he asked, trying to mean mug me. It was laughable. He stood about 5’9", high-yellow, with curly hair and a chiseled jawline. He looked like a little bitch. So, I stood up to answer so he could see that I was not a punk motherfucker.

I’m from Baltimore, Shorty, I said, hovering over him.

Yo, that’s where my girl is from, I mean Giselle, he said, backing down and becoming jovial like a little kid that made some great discovery.

Morgan has been so nice to me, Chris, Giselle smiled at me with her ebony eyes.

Yeah, I am glad you’re not into chocolate or I might have had a fight on my hands, he said, revealing that Giselle’s preference was similar to mine.

I tried not to be wounded because that would have been hypocritical, but all the same, I was offended. I examined Chris from top to bottom, and he had nothing on me. So, what if he is light-skinned! That shouldn’t matter. I was a better match for her; I felt it in my heart.

Well, I have to go. I have plans, I said, bowing out graciously. Something inside of me felt broken.

Morgan, do you have a date? Giselle asked, limping toward me.

Something like that, I replied, wanting to hold her one last time. Here’s my number if you should need anything.

Well, here’s my number, and I stay in the new dorms. It’s good to know I have a big brother now, she said, hugging me.

A big brother was the furthest thing from my mind, but, indeed, that’s what I became to Gee. That night, my dick couldn’t get hard when I was with Cindy. She asked what was wrong, and I told her I was just tired. In a sense, I was tired. Tired of playing games with all these different girls when, in fact, I could have it all with Giselle. When I went back to my dorm that night, I dreamt about being on my knee and asking Giselle to marry me. We were crying and smiling at the same time. I didn’t understand the meaning of it, but one thing I knew for sure was Giselle Gibson touched my soul. 

The next morning, I left twelve yellow roses outside of her dorm room with a note that read, Happy Valentine’s Day. From that day, I vowed never to tell her that the roses were from me. As they died daily, I prayed my infatuation with her would also.

Ten years later, I lay wide awake the eve before I propose to the woman of my dreams. I never saw us getting here, especially when John happened or even Leslie. However, we persevered, and I have no one to thank but God.

1  | Cycles

After what seemed like a week from hell, working from six in the morning until 11 every night, I was ready for a couple of days of relaxation. After work on Friday, I planned to hook up with Amber, an Afro-Asian flight attendant I met on the way to Jamaica a few years ago. I had another chick with me, but Amber slipped me her phone number on a napkin when she took our beverage orders. Since I wasn’t in a committed relationship, I called her, and she seemed pretty cool. We started hooking up every time she had a layover in Baltimore. Friday was my lucky day.

Saturday, I was stopping by my Mom’s for our weekly dinner, and Sunday, I was going to Charlottesville for my man, Sean’s graduation from law school. I met Sean when I was a first-year student at UVA, and we remained friends ever since. I was going to have a drama-free weekend, and I was looking forward to it.

Morgan, I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all week, Amber said, looking like a black China doll. She hugged me and pulled me into her hotel suite.

Hey to you too, I said as she grabbed my crotch and began kissing me.

Here, let me help you, I said as I began undoing my belt.

No, she said abruptly. I have a surprise for you, she said, as we turned the corner to a table set for two.

Whoa! Ok, I didn’t know we were eating, I said, looking astonished at the candlelit table set for two. She and I never went on a date. We usually stayed in her hotel room and had sex. I never stayed the night.

Well, I wanted to try something new, plus I’m on my cycle, she said, looking at me with her Puss in Boots’ eyes.

She was on her damn cycle! Why didn’t she tell me? I could have stayed home and chilled.

Why didn’t you just tell me you were on? We could have hooked up the next time you came to town, I said, wanting to leave abruptly but trying not to be a complete jerk.

Like I said, I want us to try something new. All we do is have sex. We have never gone on a date, she said as if there was something wrong with that.

And what is wrong with that? I asked, feeling like a broken record.

Morgan, I don’t really know anything about you except that you love your mom. I don’t even know her name, she said, pouting and whining.

I felt an argument brewing. Why me, I thought.

Amber, what is this about? We only have sex because straight off the bat, before we could have a conversation, you were putting my dick in your mouth, I responded, somewhat disgusted.

Ok, well you liked your dick in my mouth, she replied like she made some Earth-shattering discovery.

My dick likes most holes it finds itself in. What dude doesn’t like getting his dick sucked? My point is, now, you want to have dinner, talk, and know my mother’s name. Why now, Amber, when you didn’t care before? I asked already knowing her answer, which sounded like the many before her.

Well, I like you Morgan, a lot. I don’t know how you can have sex the way we have sex and not have feelings, Amber said, with a blank stare.

Amber, I have been fucking since I was 13 years old. It’s very easy. Exactly how are we having sex? I asked out of sheer curiosity.

Morgan, oh my God! You don’t feel something when you go deep inside of me. It’s almost spiritual, like a soul connection. Well, at least for me, she said, trying to hold my hands.

That’s some deep shit, Amber. I think it’s time for me to go, I said, putting