Beauty and The BEAST (excerpt)

Determined to find out the truth about what the fuck The Beast was, Dayleen got out of the cab, paid him and walked over to the door.  The driver left The Beast, and left Dayleen in the parking lot.  As she approached the door of The Beast, a really tall, effeminate, older-looking white man with a deep voice, blonde hair and a pleasant smile was about to come out from the inside.  Dressed in a blue tank top, red skinny jeans and white sandals, with red, white and blue beads around his neck, he was chatting away on his Blueberry when he pushed the door wide open.  He stumbled and instantly apologized to Dayleen for almost hitting her. 

The curious beauty said, “Oh, it’s no problem.  I’m sorry too.  Hey…um…what kinda place is this?”  Still on his phone, he pulled it away from his ear for a second and jokingly stated, “It’s a bath house, honey.”  Clueless, the na├»ve beauty asked him what that was.  He schooled her by saying, “It’s a gay-made term for…this kinda place…for a gay men’s sex club.”  Dayleen’s heart began to sink deeper and deeper as the nice man added, “Some, who like to use euphemisms and sugarcoat shit, call it a social club for a ‘particular’ type of man.  But I call it a fuckin’ whore house.” 

Drowning in the river of denial, Dayleen mumbled to herself about how Marcus can’t be gay.  The man heard her and said, “Who’s Marcus, if you don’t mind me asking?”  While looking away and still drowning in that damn river, she murmured, “My husband.” The charmingly funny man returned to his phone conversation for a split second to tell his friend to hold on a sec.  Then he said to Day, in a very sympathetic tone, “Honey, if your husband’s in there, then there’s three things you need to do: First, get a divorce; second, get tested; and third, when he gets home, tell him to get the fuck out.  You hear me honey?” 

“Wait!” said Day. “This can’t be a gay house or whore bath or whatever you said it is.  Those are illegal and plus, my husband’s not gay…not even close.  We just got married like two weeks ago.”   Cracking a smile, but holding in his laugh to prevent looking insensitive, the gentleman put his phone back to his ear and said, “Baby, most of the guys in there are married.”  Dayleen gasped and her face was covered with a grim look of shock and fear. 


Across town, on that dark Fourth of July night, Dayleen, was running away from her nasty-ass, triflin’ husband.  Marcus was close to catching up to her.  She was still on the corner, waiting to cross the busy street.  The wind blew light gusts of warm air across her face and her sparkling white dress, and caused her bangs and tears to hit her blush-covered cheeks.  Marcus, dressed in black khakis and a white tank top, called her name from a distance, and she turned around.  Realizing it was him, she screamed for him to leave her alone.  That didn’t work, ‘cause he yelled out that he wouldn’t, so she screamed, “Go back to the fuckin’ Beast, and leave me the fuck alone!”  Marcus, still running from afar, was pleading with his wife to wait and let him explain.  He panted like crazy, from jogging up that street, but continued to shout out to his emotional wife.  Dayleen had to get away from him.  The very sight of him had disgusted her.  She felt like he was the scum of the mothafuckin’ earth.  And she was right. ----*

© Terrill Aaron Closs 
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