Category: Twisted Circle - Book One

One Year Earlier

~ Rockye Haynes ~

The guilty harbor their own secrets and endure their own punishment in silence.

“You sucked!” she shouted out loud to herself, socking the leather steering wheel with a fully clenched right hand. The thickness of the traffic greatly added to her frustration as she anxiously navigated out of the CBS studio’s parking lot on Beverly Blvd. The sweltering sun of the August afternoon was causing her meticulously applied MAC makeup to liquefy down her face, leaving a trail of unsightly streaks.

Rockye left the Taco Bell commercial audition, feeling terribly distraught while fighting back a wall of angry tears. Angry not only because of her poor performance but the knowledge that that poor audition would ensure her that she would not get a call-back, only a complaint to her booking agent. Why did she have such a poor performance? Rockye had essentially forgotten all of her two lines, as well as missed every single cue. What an idiot!

Those producers had to conclude that she was an amateur, and not a very good one at that! What kind of person can’t even remember two simple lines? All she had to do was open her mouth, bite a Doritos Locos Taco, wipe her mouth, and then roll her eyes back as though it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted while cooing out two lines. What a dumb ass I am! she thought. Was she really a dumb ass or was it just the guilt from the earlier indiscretion? Apparently it weighed so heavily on her mind, causing her to be remiss from even being able to find a sliver of focus in order to sell the Super Crunchy Taco made with premium seasoned beef, crisp lettuce, and real cheddar cheese, in a shell made from Nacho Cheese Doritos Chips.

Moments earlier, while hurrying out of Stage 15 at the CBS Studio from the audition, the leg of her nylon snagged on a nail protruding from the doorway as she quickly slid out of the massive warehouse roll up door. Damn! Shit! Now her leg was throbbing. The nail must have nicked her leg as well. She gingerly slid her left hand down the length of her leg to find a tender wet spot a couple inches above her ankle. Great! What else was going to happen to her today? She felt wretched and believed that whatever bad thing that happened to her today, she deserved every bit of it! The guilt became consuming!

The traffic on Fairfax was abnormally slow for midday, midweek traffic with impatient drivers honking their horns as traffic lights turned from green to red repeatedly without any movement. In the distance, sirens blared, sounding increasingly closer as the hovering August heat began to greatly affect her temperament in a not-so-positive way. She was once again experiencing that claustrophobic feeling. Like she was going to implode if she didn’t get some relief—right away!

As the thickness cleared, the object of the cluster fuck was a nasty accident where she witnessed a white-haired lady lying sprawled out on the sidewalk with paramedics urgently moving about her. Rockye said a prayer for the lady and in that moment she felt the presence of her Higher Power. She felt God! And at that moment she knew she needed to get to church to make her confession. Rockye needed absolution—and she needed it right away.


Rockye had been attending St. Patrick’s Catholic Church ever since she was a young child of eight. The altar, the pews, and the lighted candles in the vestibule always gave her immense comfort and peace; it was the first place she always went to find solace. Once tucked inside the confessional, Rockye slid the little wooden door of the window that afforded her the opportunity to share with the priest and confess her scandalous sin. Once again, she was here feeling horrible after throwing her morals to the wind and looking for the priest to wipe her sins away and make her feel better. She wanted to feel clean again.

“Bless me, Father; for I have sinned. It has been 2 weeks since my last confession.” It was always the same she thought as she poured out the Readers Digest PG13 version of her sin to the priest. Answering the urging of her overactive libido, Rockye submitted to and satisfied the primal cry of her ravenous body. She didn’t merely want to but needed to scratch the itch; heed the call, respond to the burning desire. Her body desperately craved to be mounted, pounded, and climaxed! This longing innately burned within her so much that it seemed to forcibly overtake her. At the moment when this sensation permeated her mind, body, and soul, she didn’t have the power to fight it but to fall into it, into the spell and the promise for satiation that it ensured. Afterward, she was always burning with remorse, remorse from compromising her body, putting herself in dangerous situations. Not only was she morally breaking her commitment to Andy, she was betraying and being unfaithful to the only man who ever really loved her. As she adjusted her buttocks on the hard wooden seat, she confessed, seeking forgiveness from the priest. Rockye allowed her mind to revisit the reason for her confession.

Last night, at the recording session of her demo CD, “Just listen to me,” she performed a song she had written about a girl, who, ironically, is pleading with her husband not to leave her because she was caught cheating on him with his brother. That evening the chemistry between her and her producer, T Max, felt immensely strong, like a current that hung in the air during a winter storm. This combined energy between the two was responsible for propelling her to a whole other level of creative genius. The notes that emanated from her vocal cords were surreal.

About 20 minutes after the session was over all of the crew had quickly vanished, except for Rockye, the producer, T Max, and the janitor who faded into the background polishing the hardwood floors. She could feel T Max’s licentious eyes tracing her movements as she slid on a multi-colored crocheted shawl over a form-fitting yellow wife beater T-shirt which held her form like a second skin. Rockye could sense the sexual energy emanating through his pores, which fuelled her more than she cared to admit.

“Rock, you laid it down tonight! Where the hell did you pull that shit from, I don’t know,” he commented.

“It was you, T. You brought that shit out of me. You have a way of making me feel so invincible! I feel so uninhibited; I feel like I have no limitations. You make me feel like I can do anything, and that shit just turns me the hell on!” she teased seductively.

“You turn me on!” T Max said, easing up behind her and cupping her firm breasts with his massive hands.

“T, you should stop!” Rockye moaned, half-meaning it.

He ignored her weak rejection, and instead, grabbed her hand and placed it on his engorged crotch. She squeezed it. He groaned.

Next, he unzipped his pants and released “Big Max,” as T Max often referred to his penis.

Rockye gasped at the sight. “Damn, T, I didn’t know that you was packin’ like that!”

“Now that you do, what ya gonna do ’bout it?” His head tilted to the right as he slid his pink tongue across the smooth curvature of his symmetrical lips.

Seconds before grabbing his penis with both hands, Rockye hesitated slightly, as the image of her man, Andy, briefly flashed across her mind.

“What’s wrong, girl? Too much for ya?” he teased.

Then just as quickly as it came, the face of her man of 3 years just vanished. His wide set darting eyes, his thick eyebrows that rose slightly when he was perplexed about something, his thin upper lip and wide full bottom lip that kissed and teased her full lips with such passion; his sexy full moustache, sometimes spilling into a light beard, his smooth vanilla-toned skinned that burned so easily when exposed too long to the sun, his spiky dark brown hair full of gel and the 1 carat diamond earring she bought him on their first-year anniversary which decorated his left lobe—vanished—was gone—poof!

“Never too much!” Rockye breathlessly mouthed, simultaneously plunging her tongue down his open mouth to the depth of his hot throat.

T Max ripped the shawl and wife beater right off her body in one full motion. In reciprocity, she tore off his shirt so quickly that all six buttons scattered to the floor beneath them.

Things were so dangerously erotic that they didn’t even see that the night janitor had eased up behind the door, his narrow-set, voyeur-transfixed eyes on their salacious behavior. He laid down his mop, rolled out his penis from the dusty dungarees, and pleasured himself. Nothing like a live porn show right in front of you!

In that instant the only thing that concerned Rockye was chasing the climax that her body craved and tweaked for. The need for breathless intercourse—sucking, thrusting, mounting, exploding, and vigorous activity overrode all sensibilities. No one or nothing at that moment mattered for she was chasing that orgasm, and she would get it at all costs—nothing other than an intense explosion, a voluminous climax and the release of the fire in her body would satisfy her. At that time, nothing else mattered!

Now there she was at church, confessing to the priest and dealing with the aftermath of a guilty conscience.

Rockye Haynes grew up in the Jordan Downs projects in Los Angeles where everything she learned about life came with a great deal of calculated sexual manipulation. She was a product of a welfare system West Indian mother from Trinidad and an African American father, who abandoned them seconds after finding out that the woman he had been having casual sex with outside of his marriage was pregnant.

Soon after hitting puberty, it didn’t take Rockye long to learn that her large, sultry, almond-shaped eyes, pouty, curvilinear lips coupled with her cocoa-brown skin highlighted by her West Indian red undertones and 38-24-40 measurements, if used correctly, would award her opportunities and benefits that her female counterparts could only dream about.

Rockye was an exotic-looking beauty. Carrying her 132 pounds on a 5 foot 7½ inch frame proportionately, Rock, affectionately called by her friends, would complement her wavy mid back-length hair with extravagant bejeweled hair ornaments and her body with designer form-fitting fashion. If her beauty, gregarious personality, or uninhibited style of dress didn’t call attention to her, the amazing sounds that emanated from her vocal cords would cause anyone to stand up and take notice. Rockye was a truly gifted singer, and as most men labelled her, “drop-dead gorgeous.”

After many unsuccessful years of dating black men, Rockye investigated other races, and eventually settled on Andy, a Caucasian who had slightly favored Matthew McConaughey, carrying an ample amount of black swagger. He was so vastly different from the black men she was used to going out with. Instead of hard, controlling, and inflexible, she found Andy loving, attentive, easy to please, and agreeable. His lovemaking, while not pounding headboards like she was used to, was satisfying and extremely unselfish. He loved on her body for hours before he even took to getting himself pleasure.

Growing up without a father, Rockye wasn’t sure exactly how a man should behave. As a result, she cultivated a lot of insecurities and inadequacies. She didn’t know why she did a lot of the things that she did; she just knew that it satisfied something in her for the moment. Meeting strange men, exchanging sexual overtures provided a thrill like nothing else in her life could. Rockye loved sex for the mere pleasure of it, and she returned to it over and over again at every opportunity that presented itself.

Conversely, afterward, she was utterly appalled and disgusted with herself and her careless actions. Rockye constantly prayed for healing. She prayed that she could stop before it was too late. God help her if Andy ever found out!


“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 2 weeks since my last confession. I had sex again with a strange man! I didn’t even know him and I just . . . I just did it! I did it again!” Rockye confessed to Father Maloney at St. Patrick’s Catholic Church.

“. . . and also pray 10 Hail Mary’s. And may God be with you, my child!” the priest concluded after briefly counseling her before closing the little window that allowed her access to his holiness for a few precious minutes during confession. Making the sign of the cross, Rockye rushed to the altar to do the penance given by the priest for absolution.


Two days later, Rockye rushed to an appointment with a holistic doctor, Dr. Tong. He was known for his unconventional treatments with sexual addictions. She was desperate to do whatever it took to rid herself of this monkey on her back. Dr. Tong’s office was clear across town and traffic was thick on the Santa Monica Freeway. She heard that his treatment was a bit unorthodox, but in her desperate need to find a solution to her addiction, she was willing to try just about anything.

Rockye had been having illicit sex with strange men ever since she discovered the pleasures it rendered after the first experience she had with Mr. Clayton, the owner of the neighborhood corner market at the age of 12. And after he helped her discover the pleasures of the many erogenous zones on her body and how to master them, there was no turning back. But after falling in love with Andy, so many times she felt appalled by her behavior afterward and the excessive need for sex and desperately wanted to get help.

As she entered the underground garage of the medical building, she reached into her purse and discarded the extra condoms she stored for her encounters. She tossed them at the receptacle, but they landed on the outer rim. Rockye couldn’t even do that right! Dumb ass!

The doctor’s quaint office smelled like a mixture of herbs, incense, and musk. Dr. Tong was a small man with an odd, offensive odor emanating from his person. She held her breath as he talked. His mouth smelled like stale ass.

“That smells awful! You expect me to drink that foul-smelling stuff?” Rockye complained as the Korean homeopathic physician poured a sludgy brown-colored brew into a tiny china cup. After their brief consultation, he ushered her into a tiny room no bigger than an apartment closet which barely held an exam table, a folding chair, and a stool. He pointed to the metal folding chair.


From the cabinets above which overflowed with tiny drawers full of various exotic herbs and plants, he proceeded to produce an admixture of the contents of several drawers into a steeping pot of water that smelled of vinegar. After 10 minutes of brewing, he handed her the cup of the smelly concoction.

“You must drink now!”

Her face wrinkled up instantly from the strong bitter taste as the mixture landed on her tongue. Halfway through the swig she asked, “Is this really necessary, Dr. Tong?”

“Drink! Drink all now!”

After finishing the putrid brew, the doctor summoned her onto the examination table.

“Take all off,” he gestured to her lower extremities. “Lay down! Open legs!”

He proceeded to rub a sticky substance onto her abdomen, inner thighs, and pubic area.

Immediately following, he lit a series of candles and started chanting. Intermittently, he pulled in a mouth full of liquid from a canteen on a small table behind him and spit it all over her.

“Open leg! Wide!”

Next, he inserted a cold, plastic-textured tube into her vagina. His chants became louder and quicker as his strokes of the cold, textured tube fell in line with the beat.

He sucked in more liquid from the canteen and continued to spit on her over and over.

Rockye wanted to ask him what all that shit had to do with helping her overcome her addiction with sex. She had read an article about Dr. Tong and his revolutionary procedures in the treatment of sexual perversion. And that was why she was subjecting herself to this craziness. She was desperate to find out why her body craved the physical attention of men when she had a wonderful man at home who loved and adored the ground she walked on!

Rockye needed to kill the inner demons driving her to this aberrant sexual behavior. Those demons called her into dark places and dangerous, risqué situations. She had finally found a good man and didn’t want to lose him. She would try anything, including this weird Korean man spitting some liquid all over her while inserting some cold, plastic-textured tube into her vagina.

Forty-five minutes and $175 later, he instructed her to go into the bathroom.

“Wash now! Cleanse your body, inside too!” He pointed to her vagina.

“Next 3 weeks you come back. We do again!” He turned and left, leaving Rockye feeling absolutely ridiculous and duped out of $175. Dr. Tong took her money once, but it would not happen again. She would not be insane enough to return to this foolishness.

As she washed the sticky substance from her body, all Rockye could think about was that there wasn’t anything that she wouldn’t do to kill the insatiable appetite burgeoning within her. She would try anything to kill it . . . before it killed her.