Best Black Women's Erotica 2 (9 page)

He grabbed his crutches and hobbled into the bathroom. With his wife away, Rick had another week to wait until his next marital copulation, and was left with chicken-choking as his only form of sexual release. Remembering that all of his audiovisual aids were locked in his office at work, and feeling the chubby in his briefs, he looked in the video tower for something that would take him to the next level. Finding nothing with a rating higher than PG-13 he grabbed his only option, the wedding video.

Maddie had told him she found it embarrassing, but he could not get over how comfortable and enticing she appeared in the video. His bride was completely naked in it for the first twenty minutes as she was indulged and bathed by her bridesmaids. Renee, Maddie's sister-in-law, had felt creative and decided to do a takeoff on the opening scene of
Coming to America
where Eddie Murphy is being prepared for marriage. The gentle spraying of rose water on her face awakens her. In a white T-shirt and thong Maddie appears more like Chaka Khan than her usual Lois Lane. Her hair is bushy and wild. Renee pulls off her clingy T-shirt and uses sweet almond oil to moisturize her entire chest. Maddie's dark areolas are smaller and less protruding than they are now, but the shots of just the fingers on the nipples and the varied shades of hands loving them made Rick long for a piece of the action. As the oil puddles onto the small of her back, the manicured fingers seem to disappear into her fleshy thighs. Her back is arched as the camera focuses in on her clearly enjoying both the attention and the massage. There appear to be a few breaks in the action, but by the time Maddie is in the bathtub, there is a pretty good mess on the sheets.

After successfully fulfilling himself Rick fell into a deep
slumber only to be startled by the annoying ring of the phone on his nightstand.

“Hello?”

“This is MasterCard, can we please speak with Madison Shelton?”

Always handling the financial affairs of the family, Rick sharply stated, “Yes, go ahead, please.”

“Well, Mr. Shelton, the charges on your card exceed the normal daily balance and as a safety check, we are just inquiring about the recent purchases in Providence.”

“What?”

“Sir, there are numerous recent charges on your bill, from the Motel 6 in Providence and the Kitty Cat Lounge, which we just need to verify so that we can prevent fraudulent activity.”

“Yeah, well, that has got to be some kind of error. I haven't been to a Motel 6 in, like, ten years.”

“According to our records you have been there at least three times since June 2001. Mr. Shelton, before we begin the preliminary phase of our fraudulent spending investigation, we need to ask you a few questions. Of the two cards registered with this phone contact, is it possible your domestic partner, or uh, significant other, Richard Shelton, is responsible for these charges unbeknownst to you?”

“First of all, my wife, Madison, does have a separate MasterCard, but I can assure you that she ain't at no Motel 6 either.”

“Sir, I specifically asked to speak to Madison Shelton. I can no longer speak to you about this account since it is registered to a name other than yours. Please ask Mrs. Shelton to notify us, at 1-800-555-4444, at her earliest convenience.” Click.

Rick could not believe she hung up after dropping some news like that. What the fuck was going on? On
Oprah,
just yesterday, Dr. Phil said that it was crucial for couples to
maintain a strong level of intimacy and that secrets were not appropriate in any circumstance. He was sick of being shut out of Maddie's life. Today he would find out the answers to many of the mysteries that intrigued him about his wife. Of course, he would pay for this betrayal somehow, but he convinced himself that what he was doing was taking a bold step toward saving his marriage.

He realized that what he wanted to know about her could only be found in her locked shrine of memories. To her, it was the most exquisite piece of furniture they owned. It was solid mahogany with a huge silver
ohm
as its latch. It came from the Ming Dynasty and was given to her by her university's history department. The journals that she kept inside served as Maddie's memories, a part of her soul and a way for her to know herself in ways she could never share. Fumbling through the kitchen for a suitable weapon of choice, he found a metal nail file in the junk drawer and hoped it would be as easy as
Rockford
made it look.

Thumbing the lock Rick took the nail file and gently moved it along the grooves of the opening. The lemon oil she used to clean and shine the piece made it slick to the touch. He was surprised to look down and see that his white BVDs were sticking to the couch from his sweat. He was even more amazed when the lock popped and he saw what lay inside.

“Damn,” Rick muttered to himself as he lay dazed and confused on the couch amidst a pile of books. Looking at the journals, he shook his head silently. Rick had no idea there were so many of them. There were at least thirty in all different shapes, sizes, and colors. Some of the covers had juvenile themes like teddy bears, hearts, and unicorns. When he spotted the one of brown hand-sewn leather with the turquoise dream-catcher and the silver latch, he knew he had struck gold.

Rick was not much of a reader, but he was proud that both
his wife and his daughter considered reading a hobby and collected books like stamps. He didn't know where to start as he looked through the pile. He picked up the soft leather journal and his fingertips felt warm as he leafed through the gold-edged pages. The thing that he noticed first was all the tickets and receipts that had been glued to the pages. The first entry that he stopped at had a folded receipt from the Motel 6 on Route 280. It was placed in front of her handwriting:

 

Hearing noises upstairs Rick closed the journal and sat straight up. For the past ten years of their lives together, Rick had watched his wife conduct a nightly ritual of writing in her journal. There would be times that she would come in late and not even kiss Allison goodnight or brush her teeth but she would always manage to get to that damn shrine and start writing in her book. When he encouraged her to make some money with those “stories,” she would only smugly say that she was not a writer. She had to be the most writing nonwriter in history.

Madison worked as an associate librarian at Brown
University. She loved books and she loved people immersed in research. She was also a control freak who loved order and accuracy. Madison seemed to have few passions, but one of them certainly was reading and writing. At home, Maddie became the Ice Queen soon after the wedding. There was sex on Sundays before breakfast, but that was only with her on top. On special occasions, like their anniversary, there was oral gratification. For a woman who seemed to enjoy sex as much as she did, he thought it was a shame she did not let herself go more often. For the most part Rick was happy with their perfunctory arrangement. He was more than happy with a beautiful wife and daughter, the mortgage being paid in advance, the house routine being tight.

Maddie got off on dressing in the porno-librarian chic that was seen in X-rated films. Her uniform consisted mostly of blue or black pantsuits, worn with a rainbow of Lycra bodysuits that barely held her crowded bosom. In fact it was the only thing that appeared to be deliberately sexual about her. She liked to be looked at but only on
her
terms. Her full body was ripe with fleshy thighs and pendulant breasts. Her cleavage was as natural a part of her body as the deep dimples that always appeared when she smiled. The eyeglasses she wore were petite tortoiseshell ovals that masked nothing. Her skin was smooth like peanut butter, marred only by the small freckles on the bridge of her nose. On most days she wore her hair in a stern brunette bun. The only time it hung loose was when she played seductress.

In her world, she likened herself to a modern-day Mata Hari, or at least one of Charlie's Angels. Her job as a librarian kept her safe from speculation about the reality of her dual lives. It was the perfect cover and it allowed her the freedom to live life on terms she constructed. Her other life made being a wife and mother tolerable.

The grandfather clock in the dining room alerted Rick
that Allison would be awake any minute. Before he even had a chance to gather up all the journals from the floor, he looked up to see his daughter's smile. She knew at once there was something wrong. Allison was determined to avoid her father's eyes. She wanted to retreat and go back upstairs with Nancy Drew, but it was too late, she had been spotted. Rick hoped that she could not see over the breakfast nook and into the living room. Before he had a chance to come up with a lie, she quickly blurted, “So, Daddy, are we still going out to see Uncle Jimmy?”

“Uh, yeah,” Rick stammered. “Of course. Get yourself ready after breakfast.”

Just like her mother, this girl was a master of the routine. At the same time every day, she went into the kitchen for her bowl of Cheerios. She would get a book and sit and eat and read. Allison was nine, precocious and independent. Her parents needed her, as the only child, to take care of herself, and she did. They had her conditioned to need very little, and she liked to pretend to be invisible.

He could not resist the temptation of reading more so he grabbed the dream-catcher journal and read on:

 

Rick was startled by his daughter's shrieking voice. “Daddy,” Allison screamed from the top of the white staircase, “did you wash my yellow bathing suit?” Rick laid the journal on the center of his chest and rubbed his temples. Reaching into his night table drawer he took out a stale pack of Newports and a lighter. At that moment he was not sure how he had ever actually quit.

“Look in the wicker hamper in the hallway,” he yelled back. At that moment, he needed to smoke that cigarette more than he needed to continue reading, but there was no turning back.

“DAD, I don't see it, can you come help me get the summer stuff out of the attic?”

Stepping over the mess, with the journal still in hand, Rick got up and walked to the mount of the staircase. The phone rang and broke the stillness of the living room.

“Don't answer that!”

“Why!!!!!!!!!, I can see from the caller ID it's Uncle Jimmy!” Maddie's younger brother Jim lived an hour and a half east of Providence in Hyannis and hated it. He was always looking for company because he had not yet made many friends. After his divorce from Renee, he managed to get custody of his three kids every single weekend. Whenever Rick was left alone with Allison for the weekend, he postponed his games and they met up for miniature golf, bowling, ice cream, and so on.

Picking up the receiver in the front hallway, Rick balanced the phone on his chin while trying to find his place back in the journal. “Hey Jimmy, I am just getting Allison's bathing suit and shit together. We should be out there by noon.”

“Cool, I was just confirming because when I picked up the kids last night Renee wasn't sure if Maddie was still going to that research conference in New Haven.” Jimmy chuckled, “I think Renee is in need of that sister-girl bonding shit, ya know. That damn book club won't meet for another month
and she always acts better after that little bullshit.”

Allison clicked on from the upstairs phone, “Uncle Jimmy, are you on the way to meet us?”

“Yeah, baby, I will see you guys soon!”

“Hold up, Jimmy, let me ask you a question. Allison, hang up the phone and get your butt in the shower!” After he heard the click of the extension, Rick lowered his voice and asked, “Do you keep a journal like your sister?”

“Whoa, whoa, dead that, the only vicious fight we ever got into growing up was about that damn journal of hers, I stole that shit once and when she found out she threw an iron at me, you see that scar on my left cheek?”

“Yeah, yeah, uuhhh, whatever, cool. Is it all right if Allison spends the night with you tonight and I will pick her up tomorrow? I am not sure, but I may need to do some work tonight.”

“Shit yeah, I hope the ‘work' you have to do is worth it!”

“Alright man, I'll let you know when I am on my way there. If anything comes up, just hit me on the cell.” Rick closed the door to his private bathroom and reached for the wedding picture that was set upon the bureau. He was looking for visible signs of clandestine behavior in her face. Lying on his stomach with his feet on the pillows, he grabbed the journal and began to thumb through all the pages with receipts attached. Many of them appeared to come from that same motel on Route 280. The first page read: