Nympho (6 page)

“Anal sex—that's the problem,” I complained.

“Well, give the man what he wants.”

“That's not how you explained it,” I shot back.

“I thought you would fill in the blanks, you learn fast—never argue with a client. You're always to deliver an unforgettable experience.”

“I tell you what. Why don't you take the five grand and let him stick
you
up the ass with that tree trunk looking thing he's slinging? After you do, I guarantee you won't be able to shit for an entire week—let's see how you like delivering an unforgettable experience then. Why don't you drop your pants and your drawers and put your hands on your knees? Go on . . . ass up, Brian,” I said.

“Do you know how many black girls are selling themselves for fifty bucks a pop? Asian girls, easy sell. All American blondes, easy sell. You're lucky you can get top dollar. My clients pay for discretion and cooperation, and here you come treating one like a crack head with no money. You're far more stupid than I thought. Get out!” Brian screamed, pointing at the door.

I left my clothes behind and even the bikini that I borrowed when I first changed. Feeling angry and insulted, I began storming out butt naked in my heels.

On my way out of the room, I heard Blaze cuss and request two white girls and one Asian one, I said, “As the kids would say…get on your A game. Your rapping sucks. You probably can't even get your music played on the air. Hottest single out here my ass! By the way, you look like something crawled out of the swamp and bit you in the face. The only reason paid for hoes with the pedicured toes jump on your dick is because money is power, just like you said.
I
don't do it for the
money
, I do it for the
excitement
, so you can keep your five grand, Blaze.”

I don't know what came over to me, but exerting my power made me hornier than ever. When I reached the bottom of the steps, I exited by the pool area longing to pull every man in sight by the arm and take them all to bed at the same time. Their eyes glazed over as I proceeded to sashay to my car like a confident exhibitionist. When I reached my vehicle, I unlocked it and masturbated until I began screaming and shaking, my legs waving back and forth. I knew I ran the risk of being watched publicly, but I didn't care. My body found relief. Holding my head upright, I saw two of the guards pointing at me, confirming that I'd just put on a show for them. I pulled a blanket that I'd washed at the Laundromat around myself, started the car, and squealed tires as I left the premises.

This was the first time I realized I was officially out of control. Although I knew I was playing with fire by ignoring logical personal boundaries, I just couldn't stop living out my sexual fantasies. I promised myself I would try my hardest to simmer down before the consequences crept up on me and ruined my life. Whether my effort would work was wholly a question of a different nature.

S
unday morning rolled around and it was time to switch gears and revert back to my original persona, even if I felt like dragging my feet to get it done. While I sat in the house of the Lord, I kept nodding off, tired from my adventure with Blaze in my new secret life. Despite the fact that I could barely focus or stay awake, when Trey nudged me, I sprang to my feet and managed to sing
This Little Light of Mine
on key as if I'd been awake the entire time.

Needless to say, my mind wasn't on the sermon. Instead, I was reminiscing over me having the guts to sex a man who couldn't have been shaving long and who still dressed the part of a free, young spirit. I kept thinking about being banged by the young buck with the exceptionally large tool. Just thinking about what I'd done made me reach over and grab Trey's hand for a moment—not because of guilt, but because opening my legs for someone so different than him turned me on and allowed me to pretend I was content.

Luckily, I didn't attend my church, so Tanya couldn't start any static regarding what had transpired earlier in the week—a cooling off period was a good thing. After I finished sitting in a church pew in Leslie mode, I was stuck having to spend time with Trey's family for the second time since we've been engaged. I made sure to slick my hair back in a neatly done bun and wear a skirt that touched my knees this morning. Boring Leslie had returned to the building. I was most comfortable looking
boring
when I sought to make a good impression on others—especially those over fifty years of age.

Although I didn't know his family well, I got my daily scoop on the conservative Southern Christians through updates from my beau. Every day there was new piece of something that made me despise those strangers for almost everything, beginning with how Trey was reared. It was insane for a young person to be prohibited from dancing, watching movies, television, and doing the normal things any teenager would want to enjoy. I guess all of this explained why Trey wasn't wrapped up into dishing up ghetto fabulous loving. After we got engaged, he always held back and even appeared to feel guilty when we made love.

Since Trey believed we should be serving the Lord
together
, I joined his church and occasionally went there with him. In Trey's eyes, I was a Christian girl with old-school beliefs. But in actuality, I was a Christian with worldly habits, hence my desire to get my freak on. In my mind's eye, there were worse sins I could be committing than lusting over the man I planned to marry.

What I perceived as ambivalence frustrated me and quelled my desire to experience my first orgasm with Trey. It was screwed up that thanks to his family's puritanical outlook the first man I experienced an orgasm with was our best man. Thanks to Trey's cock blocking family, smiles on my face caused by hot, passionate lovemaking were few and far in between. This was new for me because I was used to fighting men off, not begging them to jump on the bandwagon.

Speaking of puritanical outlooks, all Trey's immediate family seemed to do was judge people, and I was not looking forward to a second inspection. I'd have to tolerate seeing them at wedding rehearsal soon enough anyway. Trey's mother had her dress altered four times. Maybe if she would've stopped sampling different types of menus for the wedding plate, she would've kept a stable size. I sensed that before long, the total amount paid for her alterations would surpass the cost of my wedding dress. It seemed as though she was the one walking down the aisle instead of me. She and her mother seemed rather comfortable planning how many friends and family would be attending, and how the seating for parents and relatives would be arranged. She was also intent on dictating that grape juice toasts be made since champagne was off limits, and explained that the vows would be read right out of the Bible, even though I made it clear that Trey and I had agreed to compose our own commitment of marriage. Arrangements for the honeymoon and moving in together also came up, but I tuned the suckers out hours prior, reminding myself that the person footing the bill should have the final say so—me.

Since I was estranged from my family and they wouldn't be involved, I was responsible for coughing up the money by the contract due date. Our modest wedding would cost around fifteen thousand dollars. I planned to use my savings to pay for most of it. The remaining tab was small stuff, which I wasn't going to sweat, although it did cut into my reserve stash. My reasoning was that Trey was worth it, and he meant enough for me to part with my rainy day fund.

Hopefully, Trey would take time off from his job and walk down the aisle with me. It sounded like a basic premise, being available for your wedding and honeymoon, but who could tell, especially since he still gave his mother and grandmother spending money every week. Perhaps he wouldn't have had to be a workaholic if he took them off of his payroll account.

“There's my son,” Trey's mother said, hugging him tightly. “Leslie,” she grunted as I walked through the door behind him.

Mabel inspected me from head to toe. I could tell she didn't approve of my outfit although it was conservative. Even so, I didn't give a damn.

“Mrs. Williams, it's always a pleasure,” I lied in the same unpleasant tone.

Her ass was looking more and more like a train caboose every day. I'm not sure if she ever thought about gastric bypass surgery, but the option should've been considered. Tyler Perry's get ups had nothing on hers except that hers wasn't a get up—it was something she wore in real life.

As we passed through the living room, I felt an overwhelming sense of fear that I was being suffocated by plastic. I noticed that
everything
was coated in plastic—transparent plastic on the furniture, yellow plastic runners covering the carpet, fake plastic fruit on the dining room table, plastic figurines tucked inside of nooks . . . plastic, plastic, plastic! When I noticed a painting depicting a cowboy scene and cellophane on a lampshade below it, I stopped myself from laughing at the thought that she and Fred Sanford would have been great friends.

I had an inkling of an idea that something was amiss when I spotted an unused, yellow legal notepad and a Parker pen sitting on the table. Before long, Trey's mother was writing down everything I said. I couldn't believe she was actually taking notes on what I was saying to her son. When I turned around and addressed her rude intrusion, she said something outlandish that made me feel as if I were on the second round of a job interview. I was amazed that she was serious, but when her shriveled up mother sat alongside of her like the member of a panel, I knew she wasn't bluffing.

“Okay, Leslie, you will be read a series of questions. Since you will soon be a part of our lovely family, we'd like to get to know
the real you
. The only way we can do so is if we have a heart-to-heart talk and ask you everything that we've collectively discussed in a family meeting, and would like to know. I would greatly appreciate your cooperation. Now please pay attention and keep up. Do you owe any money for student loans? Is that your hair? Are you still employed as a teacher? Are you a faithful servant of the Lord? Have you ever smoked, puffed, or inhaled a marijuana cigarette, blunt, or any variation thereof? Are you a virgin? Can you cook, bake, and sew?”

While Trey's mother paused awaiting my thoughtful replies, his nutty grandmother added something way over the top. “Would you submit to a polygraph exam? I see them things used on lawyer shows on TV—maybe that would be more accurate.”

“Ma—Grandma—easy on my wife-to-be. Stop it. You're insulting her,” Trey said. “This is ridiculous,” he added.

“Something is wrong with someone who says they have no family. You ought to do a background check. She knows everything about your people, but what do you know about hers? We've met not one of her folks—that's what's ridiculous!” his mother added.

“No disrespect intended, but I'm a grown man with my own home,” Trey shot back. “I think I can pick a wife, and you must respect my choice. Please don't do this. You can't protect a forty plus year old man from life—it's just not your place to try and control who I fall in love with.”

“I pushed you out and your grandmother did the same for me. I own you 'til death because I brought you into this world. If I need to, I can take you right on out. You're not equally yoked. This woman isn't a true woman of God—I know these things. Don't be stupid. I have a right to express myself, and its no secret that I don't like this little fast, hot in the tail girl you picked out. Her drawers aren't golden. What is it you see in her that's got your nose wide open like a hypnotized fool? If you marry her instead of a nice church girl, your life won't end happily ever after,” Mabel said, ignoring my presence.

She had definitely said too much in my face, and I wasn't going to hold Innocence back much longer.

“I'm not a child. Stop it, Momma.”

I put my hand up and interjected. “No, it's fine. I'll answer. Look you two—you're messing with the wrong girl. I've tried to be respectful, but you've pushed me beyond my limit. My social security number is 212 . . .” I said, rambling off the numbers. “As you know, I'm a teacher. I earn $40,000 a year, before taxes, that is. I'm not a virgin. By no means am I rich, but I can more than cover the mortgage and light bill. The next matter I'd like to address is that I do like dick, and I'm not going to apologize for my appreciation of God's precious art, otherwise known as the penis. To you, it may seem that I'm all worn out and used up for admitting that I'm not a prude, but rest assured, you can still put Leslie in a room of high-classed people or church folk. Furthermore, I attended church today, although I may miss a Sunday here and there.

“I do owe a few more payments on my student loan but Uncle Sam is well aware of my payment schedule. He and I get along well and are on speaking terms. I know what you may be thinking—I'm thirty and Trey is forty. In case you have it twisted, I'm not looking for a man to take care of me. I am an independent, educated woman, and there's no reason that I can't take care of myself. I don't want to marry your precious Trey for his money or whatever you may feel would cause a younger woman to accept a ring from an older gentleman. If I wanted a sugar daddy to take care of me financially, I could've had one a long time ago.

“Next up, the hair issue—unlike the wigs you two are wearing, if and when I choose to style my hair with extensions, no one will know. As far as the pot smoking, I've considered taking a few tokes when I've been highly stressed, but I never have. Try it, you may like it. Then again, Momma Mabel, you can't afford the munchies. With whatever sort of genes you have, you'd blow up just
looking
at a cupcake.

“I'm not trying to be rude here, but neither of you will be sticking your nose in my business, commenting on how I scrub my kitchen floor, my douching regimen, or how often I change my bed sheets. I will be marrying Trey, so wake up and accept that he picked me, and I said yes. I'm madly in love with him and his opinion is the only one that counts in my eyes.

“Now all of this is out of the way, we can talk about more important things. I'm starving. Is dinner almost ready? What's on the menu, family?”

“Leslie, may I have a word with you outside?” Trey said, once I finished my tirade. He had the nerve to look upset.

I pushed the chair back, rose to my feet, and walked out behind him with my head held high. When we reached the comfort of the outdoors, all of his tension was released.

“What did you just do? What got into you?”

“What did
I
just do? Are you kidding, Trey? Those two bats started it. I could've said far worse things than what I did say.”

“They're elders. I could've handled it. You were out of line to speak to my mother and grandmother that way.”

“I'm about to become your wife, and I'm telling you that if you don't grow a dick and act like you know how to use it, we will have big problems. God should come first, and I should always come second,” I blurted out in one explosive breath.

I opened the door, walked back into the house, then sat at the table and pulled out my cell phone to play games on it while dinner was cooking. I did lose my temper but like I told Trey, I didn't start it—they did.

 

While playing games on my phone, I heard the ring tone signaling a text message had been received. When I checked to see who'd sent something my way, I found out it was that damned Rico.

U SEEM SHY BUT
1
ON
1
U R DA BOMB
!
BTW, U GOT DA MOST SQUEEZABLE BOOTY
!
JUST WANTED
2
SEND YOU A TEXT
2
BRIGHTEN UR DAY.

Trey and his fan club were in the kitchen. His mother was letting him sample some homemade tomato-basil bisque off of a tablespoon, petting him up, and treating him like a punk in a dress as he raved over her cooking talents. Mabel continued to try to put a wedge between her son and I by letting him know she would keep plenty of home cooked food around, and that he had an open invitation for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I rolled my eyes wondering what he'd need me for. Trey was already too self-sufficient—almost to the point it made me feel ostracized—he didn't need any help treating me as if he really didn't need me. Since he didn't seem to need me emotionally, physically, or mentally, I no longer craved the fullness of an ideal relationship.

Although I fought the feeling for a while, I had to admit to myself that his boy, Rico, turned me on about as much as Trey turned me off. Since no one was paying me any mind, my fingers began traveling to the middle of my skirt. I found myself reading text messages without feeling guilty, holding the phone with one hand, while rubbing myself through the fabric with the other.