Kickin' it is what they call it today. In the old school daze, it was called a relationship, for better or worse. A relationship between a man and woman, involves the dating, the support and affection shared there of. "Kickin' it" is, I'm in it for me.

The first time I saw Mary was in a Burger King restaurant. She was a voluptuous, short woman with curves on her body from every angle to be seen. She was a thick sistah who was probably a cheeseburger away from 200 pounds. Her face was as pretty as any other, with penetrating eyes, and a hypnotic smile. There was without a doubt a physical attraction.

I was two places in line behind Mary and her two children. Her children; a boy and a girl looked to be about five and six years of age. An older man draped in gold chains and matching rings was next in line behind Mary and I watched him eyeing her and trying to make small talk. He complimented her on her cute children. When it was Mary's turn to order, the children offered up what they wanted. "I want the one with the toy mommy." "Me too," they blurted. Just as quickly, Mary responded with "No. I told you I don't have no money for that." That was all she needed to say and Mr. Goldie pulled out a money clip and shuffled through a selection of currency to cover the order. Mary looked from his fist full of dollars to his face and said thank you with a smile that made every man in line extremely jealous.

I left the newly found couple and family sitting at a table eating and talking. I was glad to have left the fast food chain that night, because from the moment I saw Mary, I had coveted and, lusted after her. Only later to become envious of the man who had won her as his prize for the moment. It was all behind me now . . . so I thought.

Two weeks later on a hot summer day, I was driving and spotted Mary and her children walking. Mary was actually hobbling with a bandage around her left knee. I would like to say it was the Good Samaritan in me, but I have to admit that the sight of her big thick thighs in a pair of shorts greatly influenced my decision to offer them a ride. I drove the family to a medical clinic where Mary was having her injured knee from a car accident checked out. Mary's car had been totaled in the accident.

After leaving them at the clinic's door Mary thanked me then her children thanked me by her order. Half way down the street, I found myself turning around, parking in the clinic's lot and waiting. About an hour and a half later, out comes Mary and the kids. The boy was crying, whining about having to walk. That is when I pulled up. "May I offer you a lift?" I asked. It took less than a moment for Mary to accept my invitation. The little boy, (Gerald) must have seen me as a gift horse. Once settled in the backseat, he asked for some ice cream, with his sister (Sapphire) seconding his request. Mary said nothing. She did look at me with those penetrating eyes of hers, which looked in my head and without saying a word I knew she wanted some ice cream as well. The next thing I knew, I was offering and there we were in Baskin Robbins 31 Flavors enjoying four of their offerings.

I spent time getting to know Mary, the person behind the beauty and the body. She was 25 years of age, raising her two kids, living in low income housing, on the salary of a Tele-marketer. There were six years between our ages. The only information I cared about was whether there was a man in her life. She said no one special. Mary gave me her beeper number and instructed me to hit her on the hip some time. I know that should have been my first clue. A woman who gives out her beeper number instead of her home phone number should be of suspect.

I waited a week before I paged Mary. The following day is when she returned the call. I offered to take her out to dinner and to the movies. Mary accepted and we went out for the first time. The children were with her sister. The night's events were pleasant and the pleasantries continued at my house. We had several glasses of wine and talked late into the night.

Mary's life story was that of struggle and growing up in the streets, because her mother put her and her sister out at an early age, over a man the mother was shacking up with. The man approached Mary and her older sister for sex and when they told their mother, she didn't believe them. The girls went to live with an aunt who was on welfare, who had to supplement her lack of income with prostitution. Knowing the environment from where Mary came helped me understand Mary's idea of the man woman relationship. It was about barter to her. There was no bonding or carryover of the relationship passed the current exchange of favors.

Mary spent the night at my house and we had unbridled sex. Her body was truly like butter, soft and smooth to the touch and when it became hot, it was easy to spread. My fingers would sink deeply in the folds and mounds of Mary's flesh. Despite the rotund size of Mary's legs, she was surprisingly limber. Her thick thighs pushing against one another kneaded them into a fluffy passageway. It was indeed my pleasure in viewing her jiggle and wiggle as she moved about my king-size bed. Mary's agility inspired the best sex I had with any woman.

When morning came, I awoke in the gaze of a beautiful face sleeping in front of me, eye bugger included. I draped the back of my hand across Mary's bare arm to verify the smoothness I felt in the night. It was real and so was she. I had not dreamt it. My body was relaxed and so was my mind. I mistook what stemmed from my physical satisfaction for a sense of emotional joy and called it love. When Mary woke, she did not say much. She grabbed her purse, pulled out a toothbrush and washcloth and told me she had to pick up her children.

After that night I paged Mary for a week, blowing her pager up, with no return call. What should have been chalked up as the best one night stand ever for me, was erased when I received a call came from Mary asking me if I would give her a ride to pick up her children. Without hesitation, I replied "yes." Whatever Mary wants, Mary gets. Returning Mary and her children to the house, I asked if I could come in. She hesitated for a moment, but conceded.

The living room was a mess with evidence of a party. Wine glasses and beer bottles were about the tables and residue of incense and marijuana was in the air. Mary began picking up around the apartment. I could only imagine what had gone on and it made me resentful that I wasn't a part of it. I didn't know how to broach the subject other than to ask directly why she hadn't return my pages. "I've been busy," was her aloof reply. Busy doing what is what I didn't want to know. Mary went about the chore of cleaning the apartment as if I weren't there. When she pulled out the vacuum I took that as my queue to leave. There was no attempt to stop me. On my way home, I vowed never to call Mary again.

It wasn't as hard as I thought to put Mary out of my mind after gaining control of my hormones. That was until one Friday night, late. Mary calls out of the blue and asks, "what I'm doing" as if we were old friends checking in on one another. It had been a long day at work so I conveyed enough to tell her that. I doubt that she heard a word I said. As soon as I came to a notable pause Mary asked me if I wanted to come over and she gave me her preference for some wine. My hormones sprung into action and stood up in my pants.

A stop at a corner store on my way to Mary's, I bought a couple of bottles of Spumante. Mary could put away some alcohol. I showed up about 11:15 p.m. and Mary came to the door wearing nothing but a man's under-shirt. The sleeveless type. Her breasts were swinging, as were her hips as she walked. Thick and meaty, sheeny legs were the most incredible sight I had ever seen. Mary sat on the couch pulling her heavy, hairless legs beneath her big bottom. The kids were asleep in their room.

On the table were two wineglasses. We began drinking and talking. With more drinking came more talking. I knew where the night was headed and I was going along for the ride and the ride to come. Before the inevitable sex drive, there came a bump in the road. I'm not sure if it was the Spumante or the joint, Mary lit, but she became very comfortable with disclosing more of her life story. She did say that she was surprised that I was still calling her. She said that most guys don't call again after they get in her pants. If the men do call again, it's for a second helping only. I guess that made me special or just like the rest.

The story of her life sounded made up, until I saw watery eyes at points of painful memories. But tears can be manufactured. Nonetheless, the story was painful to hear and heartbreaking. Everything from a drunkard father, to an abusive mother to men cumming and going, including her children's father. Men abused her, misused and used her. She told me of personal and professional tragedies of rape episodes and being caught up in the legal and welfare system. I sat dumbfounded by what I heard. To keep from being pulled totally in by what could be an award winning performance, I listened with a skeptic ear. Mary told some parts of the story convincingly and nonchalantly, as if she had placed the hurt behind her. I came to believe her. During the course of the late night, Mary's phone rang and her pager beeped several times. She ignored them. I suspected they were booty calls gone unanswered.

A quiet moment fell and Mary moved on. She stretched out one of her pillowy legs and placed her foot against my thigh. She gazed at me with lazy eyes, giving me a look that every man knows what it is when he sees it and sometimes can't believe it. There was no more talking. Mary stood from the couch and reached out her hand for mine. She led me to the bedroom where she showed me a sexplosive night. That’s why my boy gave her a return standing ovation for each performance. With that aside, the best part of that night was going to sleep holding Mary in my arms. I have had sex with many women and have fallen asleep on the far side of the bed afterwards. But there was something about holding Mary.

Saturday morning came bright and early. Once again I looked into the face of a sleeping beauty. Thoughts of the night came flooding into my head. An instant hard-on erected itself. Instead of acting on the impulsive urge, I climbed out of bed headed for the kitchen, when one of life's awkward moments occurred. Outside her mother's door, sat Sapphire holding an open half-gallon of milk. "Is this any good? I'm hungry," she stated. I felt as if I needed to explain why I was coming out of her mother's room this early in the morning. Sadly, the little girl didn't need any explanation. I probably wasn't the first and I wouldn't be the last. I looked at the expiration date on the carton and gave the contents a whiff. "It's good." I assured her.

I followed the little girl to the kitchen to quench my parched mouth. Gerald, Mary's son sat on the floor watching cartoons. He paused for a moment to see who the overnight guest was this time. There was no reaction on his face. He turned back to his television viewing. "My brother, he don't eat breakfast," Sapphire offered. The little girl opened the refrigerator to retrieve a box of cereal. Inside the refrigerator were an assortment of bags and Styrofoam containers from fast food and take out rest aurants.

I sat in the kitchen getting to know Sapphire, who was a bright little girl for six. She confirmed her age to me before she told me about her dream. Once she paused, which I never thought she would, I went and sat with Gerald in the living room. He was just the opposite of his sister. He had hardly a word to say even upon me asking. I concluded that they were good kids with potential. I felt the same about their mother, convincing myself that what they needed was a stable home environment and a good man to take care of them. I went to Mary's bedroom to propose to be that man.

Mary stirred and moaned with pleasure when I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed one of her massive breasts. She backed herself into me, laying one of her soft legs across me. We did the simulated bump and grind for as long as we could until the real event had to take place. Once that love making session was over Mary left the room. While she was gone, I decided to suggest that she and I hookup for the long term. I know it was crazy to even think, but I liked Mary and her kids and knew that give n the right opportunity and support, their lives would be different. I was prepared to make that commitment, that support, that difference.

Mary returned to the bedroom with a request perched on her lips, "I need a favor." Immediately I thought to myself, what did last night cost me? Was Mary's services rendered just a prelude to returning a favor upon request? The answer was sure to follow. "I need a hundred dollars," Mary voiced. It wasn’t as much of a shock to me as it could have been. I knew Mary better now and how she operated. I was one of probably many men who she swapped favors with. In order for me to make a difference in Mary’s life I had to start right then and there.

"You know you could have just asked me," I informed her.

"What are you talking about?" Mary replied.

"You could have just asked me for the money. You didn’t have to do what you did last night and this morning to get it. Not that I’m complaining."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I’m saying that as a friend, I would have given you the money if only you had asked."

"Oh really." Mary sounded disbelieving. "No questions asked?"

"I wouldn't say all that. I would want to know if this was a loan or a gift."

"You wouldn’t want to know why I needed the money?"

"Not necessarily. Should I?"

There was a long pause after that question. Mary looked around the room seemingly trying to avoid looking directly at me. Then she let out a long exhausting sigh, followed by a slow stream of tears. I wondered if another great performance was about to follow. Then she let it out.

"I need the money to pay for an abortion." Mary divulged. Now she looked right at me, to note my reaction no doubt. I didn’t let the brain churn be noted on my face. Knowing that we had practiced safe sex, for the most part anyway, I was assured the unborn wasn’t mine. But did that matter. I had just convinced myself to be supportive of this woman, but this was not part of the equation. Being supportive could mean the killing of a child. By saying no, it could mean a child would be born in an already messed up situation or Mary would find another friend to give her the money. Mary's eyes remained on me and asked, "So what?"

"What do you mean, so what?" I replied.

"Can you lend me the money or what?"

"Of course I can. But what about asking the father?"

"He said it wasn’t his and I didn’t want to argue with his no good ass."

"Instead, you would ask someone else."

"If you don’t want to give me the money then just say so. I don’t need to hear a bunch of shit."

"You’re right, you don’t need to hear a bunch of shit. What you need to hear is that you need to change your life around and stop sleeping with men who only care to go to bed with you. They may buy you material things, take you out to eat or pay some of your bills. There is more to a relationship than that. Or at least there should be. Maybe not for them, but it should be for you. You have two children in there. They need . . ."

Cutting me off, Mary wailed out, "What? What do they need? Some sorry ass man to lie to them, make broken promises, try to be a daddy when he’s around then leave when he’s tired of the responsibility. I don’t think so. I can do bad by myself."

"And that you seem to be doing, bad, by yourself."

"Are you going to give me the money or what?"

My head was reeling between yes, no, yes, no. I wanted to reach across the bed and shake the decision out of my head and some sense into Mary. Yes is what I decided on, I would give her the money and I would never call Mary again. I saw the potential of what she could be, but in order for Mary to be better than she was, she had to see the potential within herself.

I had to drive to an ATM to get the money. Mary didn’t have a checking account, so she would have been charged for cashing the check at some corner store or check cashing company. It was a long drive for me. I didn’t feel good at all about what I was contributing to. Losing the relationship with Mary and her children also hurt me. When I handed Mary the money, she hugged me and kissed me. There was no feeling in my kiss. There was no feeling in me. I was finished.

A week later I got a call from Mary, left on my answering machine. Okay, so I went.