There was a man she thought loved her. She didn't realize it at the time but he was a pimp. An emotional pimp. People get it twisted. Pimpin' isn't about sex. It's about control. Emotional control.
If you can control a woman's feelings, her body will follow. So will her loyalty.
A good pimp doesn't have to hit or force his women to do his bidding. If he has mastered the art, we do it because we love him. An emotional pimp is a collector. He can only tolerate broken things. Women, boys, little girls who have turned their backs on themselves because life had already turned their back on them.
So he collected women who were broken, fatherless, without a home.
Or he would find a weakness to exploit for his own personal gain. He traffics in power. He peddles pleasure. He knows how to seduce; to have women fall in love so he can turn their love into currency. A good pimp is brilliant. He understands EXACTLY what you need to hear to have you take an action that makes you more and more his possession. He is amoral and empathetic. We have to believe he loves us in order to take his word over everyone else’s.
For the weak among us, after being "loved" by him, we try to commit suicide.
He pimps pleasure.He punishes with his absence.
No call.
No reason.
No touch.
Just silence. Withdrawal. Absence.
Love cannot sustain itself without his presence. So her own heart compelled her, to get back in his good graces.
She calls.
She knocks.
She stands outside his door for hours. Days.
He makes her wait.
He wants her to beg.
To drive herself crazy with worry and doubt that he has left her for good.
Hours. Days. Weeks go by.
Then one day he shows up. Looking like money. Smelling like dollars.
He dresses his ass off—from the money his women give him. A Caesar low cut fade. Edged up. Sporting’ new brown leather shoes, matching belt, brown and blue sports jacket, crisp white shirt, and a silk blue tie to contrast the brown. His look was replete with a precisely folded pocket square and customized cufflinks. He’s beautiful. Big eyes, that see too much, full lips practiced at pulling secrets out of women they didn’t know they had.
“Open the door. I heard you’ve been looking for me.”
Liar. He knows She had been reaching out to him for weeks. He knows because he had watched her. He always watches from afar. Larking in the shadows. Making friends with her friends to keep tabs. Slow-roll in his Black Escalade, late night drive-bys in the rain, when she is walking. He watches to see when she is about to let go and move on—that’s when he shows up.
Good pimpin’ is a game of mental chess. It’s strategy. The game is to get her to want him so badly, she forgets how he fucked over her and left her out there—cold and alone.
So he starts.
First, it’s just a lean on the doorframe.
Next, it’s a casual touch on the arm. He lets her say her piece, as he gets closer and closer to her skin. She’s angry and relieved at the same time. He strokes her hair and starts to whisper to her. That she is so beautiful. And smart. And sexy. That she deserves to be treated like a queen.
He squeezes her hands. Her arm. Her thigh…
She feels her body swelling. He can smell her scent.
He makes a safe space for her to tell him the truth. How much she loves him and how she has missed him. Painfully so. As she confesses, he touches her soft, tenderly whispering how he has missed her… how she is his best friend… how much he needs her…
"What do I have to do daddy to make you love me again?"
"You've been a bad girl..."
"I'm sorry daddy. Please. Tell me what to do. I need you. I love you. I am so sorry."
"Take off your clothes."
"Daddy, please, I didn't mean to--"
"Take them off."
"Yes, daddy."
"Get on your knees bitch." It sounds like a caress….
"Yes, daddy."
"You know better than to disobey me."
"I'm sorry--I thought you wanted--"
"Shhhhh. you make me punish you. I love you, baby. Why do you make me do this? It hurts me to hurt you."
Pimps ALWAYS make it your fault. It’s NEVER them.
He slowly takes off his belt.
"Put your hands behind your back, baby... please."
"Yes, daddy."
"Lift your legs up."
Yes, daddy... I am sorr---"
"Shhhhh… hush. Let me take care of you. Let me please you... You want this... this is why you disrespect me... you want me to fuck you like a bitch. Treat you like a slut. You want this. Say you want this. Tell your daddy you want this."
"I want this daddy... I want you..."
He hog-ties her hands and feet behind her back.
Then he lays in front of her face with his breath caressing her cheek as he talks to her.
"You belong to me. You are mine. I love you. When you talk back to me or don’t obey you disrespect the only person in the world who loves you. Who could ever love you? I saved you. Haven't I been there for you?" His voice is soft and he starts to touch her, fondle her. The tenderness of his touch brings tears to her eyes.
"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to disrespect you. I didn't mean to make you angry."
"Shhhhh... I know. But you did and you have to pay."
He takes off his beautiful tie and wraps it around her neck, gently.
"You belong to me. Nobody else wants you. Your momma didn't want you. She turned you out. I was the one who saved you. And you act like you think you are better than me; smarter than me. But you are not." He gets behind her, threads the tie through the belt and gently pulls it as he fingers her wet pussy. She gasps. Tears running down her cheeks. He inhales her. She can hear his breathing change. Her body ripens…
"See your body wants me. You want me. Tell me you love me."
He enters her from the back, all the while gently pulling his tie.
"I want you to have my baby. That's how much I love you. I am going to cum inside of you. So all day you will feel me seeping out of your pussy and you will think of me. You will imagine carrying my child. Having my baby. Do you want that? Do you want to have my baby"
“Yes… yes… I… dooooo. o.o.o.o daaaaaaaddddddddddddyyyyyyyy…”
A good pimp, one who has mastered the art, ALWAYS has his women feel special; like she is the only one—even though she knows she is not. But in her heart, she believes—knows—he loves her special. And it’s that knowing that makes her his slave.
They climate together.
He unties her and pulls her close to him.
He bathes her in scented water and tends to her body with Egyptian musk oil. He makes her feel beautiful. Sensual. His.
She BELONGS to him.
And she will do whatever he wants her to do.
No force.
It feels like it’s her idea.
And besides, who else would want her? She’s not pretty or smart.
Who else would understand her appetites?
Her fears?
Her insecurities?
She needs him.
He made sure of it.
_________________________________________________________________
He has a habit of leaving.
But each time he leaves her. She gets stronger.
She starts to see the pattern.
And she learns.
She learns how to pimp.
She learns how to walk away and stay away until he wants her.
Needs her.
Begs her.
She lies in wait for the perfect moment to strike.
To hurt him like he has hurt her.
She becomes MASTERFUL at pleasure.
Men. Women. Both.
She can change the pace of her breathing and make a man cum.
She becomes a bad bitch. And she knows it.
So does he.
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“What are you afraid of daddy? I won’t hurt you.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Open the fucking door. NOW!” He obeys. He is broken too.
“Take off your clothes.”
“No.”
She looks at him and tilts her head. She sees the damaged little boy in him. She sees the little boy that was molested by a woman when he was nine. The little boy who was held down while his little boy face was forced between her greedy grown ass woman thighs. He survived the woman by closing his eyes.
But it tarnished him.
Turned him cruel on the inside. From nine to now, he hates women. He became a bully. She sees a wounded nine-year-old boy in a grown man’s body making every woman he meets his bitch. She sees the weakness in his jaw. She sees that he is a coward who uses sex to feel like he has control.
She starts to whisper to him. Telling him secrets that make him feel special. She touches him soft. Gentle. She pats his face. She strokes his hair. He relaxes. He can only relax when he feels complete submission. When he is related to like a god.
She takes off her clothes, except her heels and walks to his dressing closet. She rummages around until she finds what she was looking for.
“Sit with me, daddy. Let me take care of you. Let me please you. I love you. Do you love me?”
“Yes, baby.”
“Then let me take care of you. Just close your eyes and relax. Let me love you.”
He closes his eyes and she blindfolds him with a silk blue tie.
She pulls his pants down to his knees, pushes him back on the king size bed and straddles him.
“No touch.” She rubs her breast on his shirt and face. He moans. She lets her wetness seep through his shirt on his belly.
He reaches for her.
“No touch.”
He relaxes.
She takes him inside of her—her mouth, her wetness—until he is panting, squirming, sweating…
But she won’t let him cum.
She tantalizes him for hours.
Until he is a ball of raw nerves shaking, quivering on the bed…
She takes his blindfold off. She sees the yearning in his eyes... and something else. She sees the little boy in him. Something in her softens.
“I love you.”
"I know. I love you too.”
Then she does something neither one of them ever thought was possible.
She gets dressed and leaves.
He is shocked. Numb. Dumbfounded—his pants down around his ankles. The silk blue tie, on the floor, crumpled. Just like his heart. And he weeps. The love of his life just walked out the door. He can hear her heels, confidently walking down the hallway. He can smell her musk on his breath and face. He can taste her, his her, on his lips.
He knows she loves herself now more than she loves him.
And that she will never come back.
She loved him enough to let him go…
… and set herself free.
