Pt. 1 of 3
"Oooh, shit, baby... That feels so good," she
moaned softly into his ear"
"Yeah? Am I the best you've ever had, Phylicia?"
"Mmm. Fuck yeah," she spoke hoarsely.
"Michael! What the hell was that for?"
"What's wrong, baby? You don't like that?" Michael laughed, rubbing her ass gently.
"No, I don't! You know I don't like that rough shit!"
"Oh come on, Phylicia! You never want to do anything different or fun," he replied disappointedly, rolling his eyes.
When Phylicia and Michael started dating a few months prior, he enjoyed spending time with her for the most part but he didn't always enjoy her attitude. She could be a bit stuck up at times and a little rude. But at least the sex was decent. And though she wasn't the most horrible woman he dated, she was certainly the most unreasonable. Every time he wanted to try something new, she would immediately turn up her nose, having something smart to say. Sure, he wanted to try out new things in the bedroom but that wasn't the only thing—it was everything. Whether it be going out to a new restaurant or buying new bedsheets, she complained about it all.
Hopping out of bed, Phylicia started putting her clothes on. As Michael looked at her in amusement, he quipped, "God! It's not that damn serious, Phylicia! Come back to bed!"
"Nothing is ever serious to you! I've told you once before! I don't fucking like that shit! Listen—until you can respect my wishes, maybe it's best we spend a little time apart!'"
Michael sighed. "OK, whatever. Do whatchu gotta do."
"Ugh! You know what? Fuck you, Michael!"
"Precisely my dear, I wish you would fuck me," he scoffed.
When Phylicia stormed out of their hotel room, Michael thought about going after her but decided not to. He was sick of her attitude. For the most part, he always put her needs before his own but rarely did she do the same. Was staying at the 'Waldorf Astoria' instead of the 'Four Seasons' such a big deal when he still booked the penthouse? Of course, it wasn't. But this was what he was dealing with. His wanting to try new things and her unwillingness to entertain the idea was just the tip of the iceberg. He was growing tired of spoiling her when all he wanted to do was give her a small pat on the ass.
Westlake Recording Studios, Studio B
"Damn Mike! You look like shit. Rough night?" His good friend Eddie teased. "Let me guess... Phylicia again—huh?"
Michael grimaced. "How'd you guess?"
"Cos' 9 out of 10 when you're looking like shit, she's the reason why," Eddie replied in a snarky tone, followed by his signature laugh.
"Eddie, can you stop with the jokes, please? I know I look like shit, no need to remind me." Michael sighed, passing a lyric sheet to him.
"So what do you think of the song Mike?"
Replying as nicely as he could without offending, Michael chuckled and said, "it's umm... It's different."
"So basically that's your way of saying you don't like it?"
"Damn Mike! I thought we were friends."
"We are. And a part of being a friend is letting you know the truth. The song is terrible, but it's got a good beat."
"Yeah well, I'm not changing it so learn to love it."
"Hmm, ok." Michael grimaced. "But don't blame me when it tanks on the charts. Not even I can save this."
"Man! Why are you so mean today? Phylicia must not have given you any last night."
"Now Eddie you know that I'm a--"
"Yeah yeah... I know. You're a gentleman."
"Correct! So don't expect an answer."
"A'ight Mike. Geeze! Let me stop messing with you before you change your mind about recording this song."
After Michael finished recording the song "Whatzupwitu" with Eddie, he headed back to his hotel. He wanted to call up Phylicia and apologize. Looking back on what had transpired between them, he felt as though they were both in the wrong. He knew that he should respect Phylicia's wishes but he still felt as though she could lighten up a little.
"Did she just hang up on me?" Michael said aloud in disbelief.
"Yes, Michael, What do you want? We're on a break remember?"
"Come on Phylicia... Are you serious?"
"Very... Now, what do you want?"
"Well, how in the hell am I supposed to know when this so-called break is over?"
"I'll let you know. But anyway, what do you want?"
"We need to talk. I just want to apologize for not being considerate of your feelings."
"Hpmf... Oh, so now you want to apologize? How noble of you Mr. Jackson."
"You know what... I don't have to take this shit! I called to apologize but how could I be so stupid? You always have something smart to say and think the world revolves around you. I'm done!"
"Hold on Michael. I'm--"
Michael hung up the phone.
Tossing the phone across the room, he yelled in frustration. This time it was over. No more taking her back. Since this wasn't their first fight, he had no qualms over ending it. He and Phylicia had been down this road many times before. She would be rude to him, he'd bark back—then apologize— and in return, she would act all high and mighty.
As Michael angrily paced back and forths across the floor, he let out a sarcastic laugh and exclaimed, "You're free Michael! Time to start making yourself happy."
Two weeks later
Chest heaving, sweat running down his face, Michael moaned. "Uhhh!" His body jerked violently, hot liquid running over his hand. After catching his breath, he cleaned himself up. "I need to get laid." He sighed, falling backward into bed. It had been two weeks since he had sex and he was growing tired of pleasuring himself. He often thought about calling Phylicia but quickly changed his mind. There was no way he was going back to her even if his balls felt like they were about to fall off. She had her chance and she blew it.
Later that night while flipping through the latest issue of 'Playboy' magazine, he started reading an article about BDSM. Even though it was cliché, he read 'Playboy' for the articles and not just the naked women. As he continued reading, he found the idea of BDSM intriguing. After years of having gentle sex, he was looking to shake things up a bit.