Category: Book Club Published on Thursday, 30 June 2011 21:40 Written by Latoya Brown Hits: 926
The words played over in my head like a broken tape recorder. Sitting in the corner I could hear, but I couldn’t see. Looking back, my thoughts play that same song. This couldn’t be real. November 17, 2008, I didn’t see my life here. That coward! All of these years passed. I’m sticking it through the good, the bad, and the ups and downs; all that for it to turn out likes this. He actually looked for understanding. He, the head of my household, too strong to crawl, too weak to stand tall through it all; this man is a joke. Yes, I know I made a few mistakes, hell a lot of mistakes; but for this to fall like this. I was honest about my mistakes. He torched me, lit my soul on fire. I regretted everything I did. I repented. Every day in and out, out and in, I heard about things I have done. He has to be kidding me. He didn’t even have the gall to tell me. No, I had to walk in. He cradled them in the shower, in love on my marble floor. Bubbles all over the walls, candles burning, music playing; Gerald Levert, I need a love song. He needs love, seems to me he had all the love he needed. Me the ice cream and the topping somewhere hiding in the closet, he had it his way. Now it will be my turn to have it my way.
Now that I have this knife to his throat, seems to me he can’t get a word out. No more moans. Mumbles, cries, and whines are all I hear. He must have thought I wouldn’t flip. As if I would smile and join. “Baby, let me soap you up.” I looked and listened for over an hour. I couldn’t breathe. I exhaled and inhaled like a spy on a WWIII mission. I was the Russian spy, and my country was depending on me to break the code of “what the fuck is going on.” Lives would truly not be the same when I made it home with this information.
Tears began to run down my face as I discovered my husband loved another soul. Watching him caress this chocolate body sent rages through me. They washed their hair with my Herbal Essence bodybuilder shampoo. “Baby, I love how that smells on you,” were his next words. I could have thrown the breakfast he cooked for me up and out of my intestines. Every second of every day began to replay in my head. I heard how he genuinely loves this soul. I love you. Their response, are you sure this is OK? His response, she doesn’t care. She knows about us. I damn near died. I damn near swallowed my tongue when I heard the words flow so easy. Every word cutting me slowly! If blood was to flow upward, my soul would have burst on site. This man was a true heartbreaker. I needed to know, I needed to see how he reacted to another. I wanted to see, will he do the same things to them as he has done to me just a few short hours ago? Will he fall to his knees and take them in his mouth? Will he take his lingam; put it headfirst into their mouth? What would be the first move?
So I watched. Regretfully, I watched. I watched and hated myself for doing so. I was mad. I watched. They kissed, not just any kiss, a passionate, make-love-to-me kiss. Down the shoulders, across the elbows, licking each fingertip, they enjoyed my husband. Every fingernail, wet from the mouth of his lover. This person was in love with my husband. They were making love to my husband in ways I have yet to discover his body. Why not allow me to do that? His lingam hung long against the shower wall. His shadow allowed his manhood to be a foot long. It was thick. The veins were bulging out, and he was ready to explode. He was not a minute man this time. He held his own. He held the shower wall as if he was ready to climb it. If not for the water flowing off the wall and his body, I believe he would have been a spider dangling off its web, a web of deceit or cum, whichever is thick enough to hold him. I watch this love machine spread my husband’s ass cheeks and stick his finger in his ass. He enjoyed it. They touched. They touched some more. He rubbed him, kissed him down his back. He told him to relax, just as my husband asked me to do this morning. He called his name, Jerrad. Jerrad, that name sounds so familiar. Jerrad, baby, deeper! Get that, get it.
The more I heard, the more rage seeped out of me. I blacked out; I blacked out and came to, standing over them. I was soak and wet. I am assuming I jumped right in the shower with them. The candles were knocked down, the fire was out. Or removed and placed in me. The devil had complete control of my over exhausted, idle hand. The blade dug, multifaceted into my hand. I closed my eyes. I wanted blood but did not want to see it. The finger in the booty junky was gone. Where did he go? Not sure. My husband, the “I love the finger in the booty,” was trapped and wordless.
Thinking back to my affair, I thought mine was beautiful. My affair was not meant to be. It didn’t start that way. We were friends. We were caught up; looking for what we should have gotten at home. We were unsure of what we were doing. Confused! Never in either one of our homes, and not so boldly! He wanted to get caught. My home! Our home! He was a criminal looking for forgiveness. This was unforgivable. We were sexy. A hug, a small kiss, an “I love you” when one of us needed to hear it. One night, he decided not to come home, my husband. He just did not show up after a meeting. I cried, I cried, and was tired of crying. I called the hospitals, the jails, friends, families, and local bars; no one had heard from him or seen him. I went to his job. The doors were locked. No sign of trouble. No glass broken. His car was gone.
I was bluffed. I went home. I made a call. I called a hotel, made reservations, and called my friend to comfort me. I ask, “Can you come?” I have a few dollars; we can go to the casino downstairs. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think. “Can you come?” “Less than few long hours, half a bottle of Grey Goose later, I was fine. I was OK and not crying anymore. We were in the casino having an exuberant time. I forgot the reason why I was there. Just as I was numb, it hit me. My dear husband, Jonathon, was missing in action. He was MIA and was not concerned. I almost was hoping something was wrong just so I could feel guilty. Somehow I knew he was fine.
I let loose some more. We were drunk. We went back upstairs. I had flown into bed. My friend was as drunk as me, and we didn’t care. She came clean, she told me her husband didn’t come home either. That’s why it was not such a big deal that she came. Those bitches, we thought aloud. We laughed and order room service. The food came, and we were profoundly kissing. Our tongues wrestling. She was sweet. A fresh scent. She took one of my breasts and sucked my nipple slow. She was out to please the both of us. As she sucked, she moaned. I was lost in the moment. I skimmed inside of her. I was nervous. I didn’t know how far to go and how far not to go. She was erotic. She had this way of looking up at me when she began to massage my skin, with the flesh of her lips. I wanted this woman not to stop. I wanted her to continue down my legs and into my womanhood. I wanted her to be my husband. I wanted my husband to be her. To relish what I had to offer.
She called me with her eyes. I moved to her beat. Her drums were on my face. Moving, riding my face. She was feeding me. While I was feeding her, I moved her satin pants to the side. It was sexy. I closed my eyes and loved her, all of her. That feeling I experienced was magical. She rolled her hips across my face. She smelled so wonderful. I dined on her as you dined on me. I became wetter with each passing moment. I took my limbs and wrapped them around her so she couldn’t move. I smacked her ass. She lost control. She cried out, again. I smacked it on the other cheek. She cried out, Mary-Jane. That turned me out. I was taming her. I was pleasing her. She so caught up in being pleased she forgot her part. She stopped physically pleasing. I grabbed a handful of her sandy blonde hair and forced her face in my pussy. In my womanhood I wanted her to find sanity. I smacked her backside again, it bounced. She came all over me, my first time I was able to make her climax.
She was jealous; she wanted that feeling of completeness. I tingled. She rolled off of me. Lying breathless she pulled me on top of her. My roundness not on her face but on her strap on, her manhood, her being; she fucked me. She fucked me as if this was her plan. She told me about how she experienced this before. She fucked me more and harder than any man had. This was sexually more than I could handle. I was coming. Because it was unreal flesh no reason to go down. She just kept going. With each movement, she did something different, one time she would pull my hair. Then she would let go and grab my throat from behind. Just as I was about to pass out, she let go and turned me over on my stomach. Doggy style, she was getting it from behind. In and out her tongue moved over my body. I had a tongue, fingers, and a fake flesh lingam all in my yoni at one time, different moment in the same timeframe. She kissed my ass crack. Assassination of all I knew of lovemaking was taking place, and I didn’t mind. I was turned out.
Really I was not concerned. This was one night. I was going to go home and not be mad. This was my great revenge. I woke up in the arms of the same sex, comfortable. She was, I was, and we dared not to scare the other person. She woke up first. She kissed me awake. She said, “We were not wrong.” She said that as if she knew what I was thinking. Maybe I should have been thinking that. Because I wasn’t; I was more concerned with the smell of my breath. I smiled. She held me. “If just for one night I had you and treated you like the woman you should always be treated like, when your body is being touched.” If only for one night you were mine. Those were the last words spoke before we left the room. She walked to her car, and I walked in the opposite direction. Even though I showered, I could still smell her on me. I could smell the strawberries of the Herbal Essence shampoo and conditioner.
This incident is far from that. This is not sexy. This is sick and perverted. My husband was getting sexually excited by a strong, tattooed man; a man who look as if he just got out of prison. Now hiding in the closet, he was bitch made for sure. A mad black woman, I know who wouldn’t run. I saw the blood I wanted to see. It was mine from holding the knife too hard. Then it was my weak-minded, I-love-a-finger-in-butt husband. He bled like a fresh catfish. I loved every moment of it, until I realized what I had done. I cut his fingers off, all four of them that ran across the flesh of another soul that was not mine. I blacked out after that. It was well over the amount of blood that I wanted to see. I passed out. The next time I came to, I was in the hospital handcuffed to the bed. He didn’t press charges. This embosom of love he tried to give me was a day too late. The state picked them up. Now I am doing three and a half years. Now a felon, I wish I were in her arms when he was enjoying Jarred. Looking at my paperwork, it was a surprise the name Jarred I remembered was the name of my good friend Star’s husband. He was doing my fingerless husband, and I was doing time. She lay in the middle, the middle of the two of them. She caresses their manhood with her mouth and her yoni. While they pleased each other, they pleased her as well. Sick picture! Yet I’d rather be there with them than here missing her. Their great revenge! They all knew. They wanted me out of the picture. They wanted the money, the house, the car, and my bed. They won until my next great revenge.
The Pampered Book Club hopes that you found this stimulating - there's more to read. Continue the mental tease and buy the book here: JojobaEssence