To be honest, I am not bad to look at, if I must say so myself. I am five-foot-nine, covered from head to toe with the prettiest, smoothest honey brown skin you ever want to see, not a pimple or wrinkle in sight. I have the most sensual green eyes on the face of the earth. Yes, I said green eyes. You know some of us have a little white in us. To top it off, I have long, fine, jet-black curly hair that is all mine, I might add, and, no, I did not pay for it. Some of us are just born that way! There isn't a fake thing on me. Well, maybe, but I will never tell. I even have enough money that I could retire in a few more years. I can make Puffy's bank account look like chump change. Girl, you know I am lying, but hey, can't a sistah dream a little?

Anyway, I'm a 38-year-old heterosexual woman who is a M.D. with a MBA. I own two of the sharpest cars you ever want to see--a silver Lexus and a beet red BMW. I worked my ass off to get where I am today. I wasn't born with any silver spoon in my mouth. And, no, I am not any babies' momma. Some say I'm stuck up, but those comments just come from jealous women who haven't got a man who are stuck at home with four, five, or six kids. Well, damn, I don't have a man either. And it's not because a lack of trying.

As I laid here trying to get warm, my mind wandered to the only man who could really light my fire. His name was David Jackson, known as DJ for short. He was a fine ass brother with beautiful, dark skin like the midnight sky and the whitest teeth I've ever seen. When you looked into his black eyes, you could feel him penetrate every inch of your soul. He had a body that looked like a chiseled rock that just made you want to climb onto his ass and hold on for the ride. Girl, you should see the muscles on him; he could make you wet just by saying your name.

When it came to making a woman feel good, DJ was too ready to please. He was a master in the art of making love. Once he finished with you, you would retire your vibrator, if you know what I mean. DJ was a multi millionaire who got his money by investing. That was not all DJ could do; he could sing like Luther. Girl, I am here to tell you, with his combination of good looks, money and talent-he could just kill you.

Funny I should mention the word, kill. You see there is only one problem with DJ... he is dead and I think I killed him. You heard me right. I, Lila Louise named after both of my grandmothers, the woman who has it going on, can't remember if she killed her on-again-off- again lover, DJ.

The only thing that gives me a clue is this damn knot on the front of my head.