Married on Mondays (23 page)

M
onday evening Winton left his office, sat in his car. Should he go to Isis’s house first or Nova’s? Nova was supposed to return
to his office in two hours, but he hadn’t heard from her since she’d left this morning. He decided business before pleasurable
disappointment. Visiting Dallas was third on his list.

Winton drove to Nova’s house, rang her bell.

“You are so crazy,” she said, opening the door. “I forgive you for what happened earlier. Come in here.”

Forgive him? She had things twisted. He stared at her ass as she led the way to her living room. Nova’s orange boy shorts
separated her butt cheeks like a Georgia peach. She sat on the sofa sectional facing him. The spaghetti strap tank top barely
covered those nipples he loved to suck.

“Was that woman your wife?” she asked.

Winton nodded.

“Then you are crazier than my boyfriend. Did you know she was coming to your office?”

Her nipples screamed,
Bite me!
Winton scratched the nape of his neck. “I didn’t stop by to discuss my wife. I came over to let you know I cannot represent
you,” he said, sucking in his lips, staring at hers. The ones spilling out the sides of her shorts.

“What am I supposed to do? I need you. You’re the best,” she said. “All you men are alike. I know what’ll change your mind.”
She licked her lips, kissed him.

Winton carefully held her arms. “Please, don’t do that.” His dick disagreed.
Come on, man. Hey, down here. Don’t I have some say so?
His dick hardened.

Why, when he tried to do right by his wife, did women entice him to do wrong? Was self-preservation the law of the pussy?
He let go of her arms.

Nova left the room, then quickly returned. “Look what I have for my friend,” she said, waving a black and white XL condom
packet. “Is that a smile I see?”

He shook his head, squeezed his dick, wondering which of them was her friend.

Nova frowned. “Let him go. Don’t treat him like that. That’s not nice.”

Yeah, that’s not nice,
his dick repeated.

What the hell? Since she was giving her pussy to him, he’d take one for the road. Winton unzipped his pants.

Nova smiled.

He stood, removed his clothes. Her lips devoured his head.

“Um, um. I love the way your dick tastes like mango, papaya, pineapple,” she said, slobbering her juicy lips all over him.

Winton fantasized they were filming a porno flick and he was the star. His daily consumption of fresh fruits and eight ounces
of pineapple juice used to make his wife love the taste of his dick. At least Nova confirmed his ritual still worked.

“Suck that dick, girl. Take it all in. Spit on the head. Yeah, like that,” he said. Interlocking his fingers behind his head,
he spread his thighs wide, slid down, got more comfortable, and a better view of Nova polishing his dick with her tongue.

“Ou, yes! This is the best big black dick I’ve ever sucked. I’ll suck your dick anytime,” she said. Her head bobbed up and
down on his.

He watched her. No doubt she was having a good time sucking his dick. She gripped his shaft, held his dick tight, then tea-bagged
his balls like a big-mouth bass feasting.

He’d guessed he was wrong. He was a lucky man. He could get for free what lots of men had to pay for. But nothing was truly
free. Would Nova demand he keep her on as a client? Maybe he was her rebound, just a good dick to take her mind off her boyfriend
until her case was settled. Or perhaps she was getting all the good dick she could before going to jail. Hopefully she wouldn’t
have to serve time. As good as he was, Winton wasn’t sure he could get her off as good as she was getting him off.

“Suck it, girl, suck it. Do your thang. Sandwich my dick between those titties and suck the head,” he said.

She did. He watched closely, so he could replay the images whenever he masturbated. Man, she had beautiful titties.

“Come here. Ride this dick,” he said.

“Ou, yes.” She squeezed his dick from the base to the head, then sucked all his precum into her mouth.

“You gon’ fuck around and make me cum down your throat.” Briefly he thought about how he missed his wife’s morning blow jobs.
Pa-yah!
He slapped her ass, then said, “Saddle up on this horse.”

Nova placed the condom in her mouth, put her mouth over his head, and rolled the condom down his shaft with her lips.

“Ou, girl.” He finished securing the condom down to his nuts, held his dick at the base. “You sure know what to do with that
mouth and this dick.”

She smiled. “I sure do.”

The second Nova mounted his dick, she started moaning. “Ou, yeah. Uh, yeah. Yeah. Yeah. You feel so good. Fuck, yeah. I love
this dick.” She grunted. “I love this big black dick.” She yelled, “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.”

Her mouth gaped open. Her breathing became sporadic. Fast. Short. She inhaled. Held her breath.

“Breathe, baby,” he said, slapping her on the ass.

“Umm! I’m cumming,” she said. “Slap me again.”

Winton massaged her clit to help her cum harder.

“Ughhhhh!” he grunted from the pit of his gut. “Fuck! Yes! Ugh!” He shook his head, then kissed her forehead.

Denying himself the pleasure of what he knew was incredible sex was not working when Nova was in his presence. Tomorrow he’d
mail her a letter.

Winton leaned back on Nova’s sofa. He had to regroup before getting dressed. Guess he’d done wrong for so long it was harder
than he’d realized to do right. Now that his nuts were milked, it would be easy stopping by Isis’s on his way home to give
Isis her key back again, but it wasn’t a smart idea to stop by Dallas’s.

Fuck that. Isis had that voodoo pussy too. He’d just mail the damn key to her.

S
ix o’clock, Monday night. No husband. And she was not cooking dinner.

The house was quiet. Peaceful. “This is a good thing,” Foxy said. “I’m going to enjoy me some me time. I’m going to take a
nice hot soak in his Jacuzzi with a bottle of merlot and read
Sexaholics.
Maybe my problem isn’t my husband. Maybe it’s me. Should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

Foxy turned on the bathwater, removed her clothes. “Whew! Sure feels good to be naked.”

Walking in on Nova smelling and looking like a tramp as she left Winton’s office, Foxy had indeed asked for more of her husband’s
time than she wanted. She’d interfered in his game.

He wasn’t supposed to surprise her by messing up her rotation, coming home earlier than usual. She wasn’t supposed to catch
him with that bitch in his office. How many times had he fucked in his office? Foxy had assumed her request for more time
went unheard. If he had come home
after
midnight as he’d normally done, she would’ve had time to douche and bathe as she’d always done. Whose fault was it that her
husband discovered Dallas had ejaculated inside her?

Thinking how screwed up her marriage was, Foxy consumed the entire bottle of wine, tossed the erotic novel to the floor beside
the tub. The hot and steamy sex in Pynk’s book had her heated. She placed her pussy in front of the jet and stroked her clit.
Good thing Winton wasn’t home; she’d take her dick tonight. She came quick and hard.

Foxy rested her head on the inflated pillow, continued playing with her pussy. She spread her lips, clenched her shaft with
one hand. Imagining Dallas was making love to her, she stroked her pearl with the other hand.

“Why, oh, why does masturbation feel so good?” She sped up her rhythm.

“Oh, yes!” She closed her eyes, concentrated on her clit. “This shit does not make sense,” she said as her back arched. “Forget
holding back,” she said, releasing herself a second time. She yelled, “Goddamn!” Thank goodness for Dallas or she’d have a
serious case of carpal tunnel from getting herself off.

She picked up the book, tossed it on her husband’s vanity. “I’m definitely no sexaholic. The freaks in that book are in fuck
mode 24/7. When they’re not having sex, they’re thinking about having sex.”

Lifting the lever inside the Jacuzzi, Foxy placed a cap over her hair, stepped in the cold shower to sober up. The pulsating
water carried her tears down the drain. “I hate you, Winton Brown!” she yelled.

Where did we go wrong? I should’ve talked to my husband three years ago. Is it too late? As wonderful as Dallas is, God knows,
I don’t want him on a permanent basis, and I am not trying to find another husband. Not with all the miserable men I get paid
to service.

She exited her husband’s shower. Midnight had arrived. Foxy dried, then moisturized her body, and went to bed alone. She tossed
and turned for six hours. Opening her eyes, she saw her husband’s side of the bed was neatly tucked. Winton hadn’t come home
again.

Foxy texted DéJà and Victoria. “I’m taking the day off. Please don’t call me.”

DéJà texted back, “I’m running late. Be there at eight.”

Draping a blue, white, and gold strapless maxidress over her head, she adjusted her breasts, then lowered the dress to her
ankles. Foxy slipped on a white thong and her blue heels. Checking her appearance in the full mirror, she saw that her hair
and makeup were flawless. Foxy eased her sunglasses on top of her head.

As she walked past Winton’s study, she saw he was seated in his bourbon-colored chair with the newspaper in his lap. He must’ve
heard her footsteps. Peeping inside the door, she scanned from his feet to his face to his feet again, then back to his face.
His reading glasses were on the tip of nose.
Damn, he is fine.

She stood tall, giving him an unobstructed view of how good she looked. She knew it. She didn’t need his confirmation. “Have
a good day at work,” she said smiling. No need to confront him about what happened. She wanted a day of peace, alone.

“Foxy, we need to talk,” he said. “Come here, gorgeous.”

Sarcastically, she replied, “We can talk tonight. That is, if you’ll be home. If you’re not here, I won’t be here either.”

“What in hell has gotten into you, woman? I asked you to come here so we can talk.”

Foxy glanced at her husband’s face. Veins protruded on his forehead. Staying in control, Foxy left.

She drove west along Shoreline Drive. Bypassed Victoria’s house, cruised by Dallas’s home, and sped past DéJà’s place. Driving
and thinking, she must’ve circled the city twice before parking at the pier.

She wanted to cry but was tired of crying. She had so much to give thanks for. She was frustrated but clothed in her right
mind. She was sad but had so much to be happy about. Family. Food. Clothes. Money. Good health. At times she forgot how many
millions of dollars she and her sisters had. She opened her purse, placed the bootees side by side in her palm.

A part of her felt like driving to her dad’s. Another part just felt like driving. Then there was the part of her that felt
like doing nothing at all.

D
idn’t come this far

To stop being the star

Made my own decisions

Sink or swim

Succeed or fail

The blazing trail

Is rugged

Struggle

Strife

Deception

Confessions

Are all a part of life

Tuesday morning it was Foxy’s day to work the register. Victoria busied herself prepping a tray of raspberry strudel for Foxy’s
clients, blueberry scones for DéJà’s clients, and apple dumplings for her clients.

Victoria smiled thinking about the thin man and his wife. She hadn’t heard from them, but surely he’d run out of cotton candy
body dust by now. She had a one o’clock appointment with a soccer mom. A recently divorced fifty-year-old mom with a five-year-old
daughter and a seven-year-old-son who wished she had remained married to their father.

Divorce wasn’t the woman’s decision. She loved her kids more than life but never envisioned she’d have to rear them alone.
Her body hadn’t changed much on the outside. She exercised regularly, enjoyed playing with her kids. What she didn’t enjoy
any longer was sex. Her libido was zapped, and she wanted it back.