Nympho (8 page)

“L
eslie, I'm just calling to check in with you. Momma has some tickets to see the Washington Nationals play. Take it easy and be sure to put some food in that stomach. Take care and have a good day.”

“Trey, I got your message. You were supposed to take me dancing tonight, remember? Did you forget about our date?” I asked, feeling frustrated. “It's Friday night,” I added.

“Oh hi, Leslie. I guess you got my message. I have some tickets that may never come my way again. I'm not sure what time I'll be back home. You should stay home and rest, since you haven't been feeling well anyway. We'll go another time. I promise, baby. You understand, don't you?”

I rolled my eyes. Not feeling well, hell! When did he become my father?

“Sure, Trey.”

“By the way, do you know what happened to that vase you bought me? I can't find it anywhere.”

“It got broken when those kids broke the window,” I lied.

“I knew I should've said something!”

“Forget it—it was just a cheap ole thing anyway,” I commented.

“You gave it to me and I liked it.”

“Enjoy the game, Trey. Obviously,
that's
what is most important,” I said, then hung up the phone.

“Hey, that was a cheap shot and it wasn't fair,” Trey remarked after calling me back.

“Not fair? I'm beginning to think that you take me for granted. Perhaps you don't think that men perceive me as a hottie given the fact that I have a conservative image. Perhaps you don't take me seriously because I'm a younger woman. I just don't know what to think, Trey.”

“I make good money in my field, and this hectic schedule is the trade off. In case you've forgotten, I work hard. It isn't just to my benefit. It will be to our benefit. Right now, I need a break, and you can't seem to understand that I have needs, too. At first, you liked that I gave you freedom to live your life with lots of choices, but now you're sounding like you feel attention deprived.”

“Well maybe I feel attention deprived because I am.”

“Why are you being such a drama queen? All I want to do is go to a stinking game with my parents! Nothing has changed between us, sheesh.”

“Like I said the first time, enjoy the game. Never mind, Trey. You're right, I'm wrong,” I answered in a sarcastic tone. I hung up the phone with small tears forming in my eyes.

Football, basketball, baseball—it never mattered. If a game was going on, Trey wanted to sit his ass in a seat with someone other than Leslie. I came second, once again. I tried to occupy my mind with something productive, but I was too upset. I did love Trey, I just didn't feel totally fulfilled. A week of taking a breather from Rico gave me time to think about my feelings, including why I'd been so wishy-washy. I didn't want to get caught cheating because Trey did mean something to me. On the other hand, the void in our relationship reignited my “ho tendencies.”

Obviously, being engaged to an almost forty-one-year-old man wasn't a foolproof situation. Trey was too calm around me, and part of me longed to get with a man in his thirties, but the other part knew their typical lack of maturity would drive me crazy. Knuckleheads were a turn off, and someone in my age range would probably fit the bill. No thanks. I had a ring on my finger, so why would I return to the dating jungle? Most women would kill for a proposal, given the ratio of women to men, even from a man who behaved like a cold fish.

Sometimes I just felt like giving up on Trey, but I truly wanted a family of my own with him. My biological clock was ticking, and I wanted everything a normal woman should want at my age. I wish he could've understood how ostracized I felt, but he didn't seem to hear the desperation in my voice when the subject came up.

In his defense, I wasn't perfect and shouldn't have expected my other half to be. The concept of marriage has changed in modern society, but it is what it is. For starters, I began buying into the notion that how I was living wasn't all that bad. I even started taking off my ring before heading out to certain places—clubs for one, yet I still felt as if the reward of a devoted husband was in order.

My wedding was now less than twenty-six days away, and from morning 'til night I fought with feelings that my marriage would be more like a business agreement than the happily ever after I wanted.

I was thirsty to the point I felt I would lose my mind if I didn't get a cool drink of pleasure—one, two, or even three sips wouldn't do. There was no passion in my life, at least not from the correct person. I no longer wanted the pleasure I was being offered, courtesy of the new thorn in my side. Rico texted me all night long, professing his love for me and explaining that he'd turn in his player's card if I promptly broke off my engagement. Hurricane Tanya was pushing her luck by calling my home line and hanging up over and over again. She finally shot her last marble my way when she bothered to leave an unsettling message.

“Look, I don't want to talk to you, but I do want to give you a reality check,” Tanya stated. “I hired a private investigator to get the goods on you and Rico. How was your walk in the park, Leslie? You looked like you were enjoying the stars. Maybe Trey would like to see how you've been spending your time. I'll keep it simple—if you try to make good on any of the threats you made, I'll see to it that the pastor, the entire congregation, and Trey get to see how orally talented you are. Your keys are on your lawn. I expect you to mail mine within the next business day. I deserve a man like Trey, you don't! There you have it, folks. Tanya the quiet church mouse officially flipped the script on Ms. Bitch; located at 666 Whore's Lane—home of the devil's daughter.”

After hearing Tanya plunk down her two cents, I peered out of my window. As promised, emergency keys to my car and home were sprawled out on the lawn, held together by a large Atlanta key ring. I ran downstairs to collect them. As I opened the door, eggs pelted my body from head to toe, and then I heard tires squeal. I sighed while the slimy texture of the yolks slid down to my feet. I wasn't sure how I was going to handle Tanya's streak of revenge, but I knew I'd think of something after I took a mental break from the entire ugly scenario.

With not much else to do, I managed to survey my messy place and decided to clean what appeared to be the site of World War II. I began picking up things, including leaves from dead plants, and the empty cartons that were flowing out of the trashcan. I also decided to tackle the dishes that had been sitting in stale dish water for at least a week. I had been in such an ugly funk that week I hadn't lifted a finger to clean a thing. When I first turned on the radio, Yolanda Adams was singing something inspirational, in her silky, smooth voice. I turned the dial of the radio, searching for something else, although I wasn't sure what. As a song I never caught the title of played, the lyrics about a woman not taking shit flowed from the radio. The beat and message of the catchy tune fueled me to clean my dirty place. As I listened intently to every word, I reminded myself that a workaholic prude was what I felt Trey had become. When the reality of my unhappiness resurfaced, I decided to compensate by putting on my come hither attitude and indulging in a makeover.

I took a trip to the M·A·C counter at Nordstrom's, purchasing lipsticks in several colors, and eye shadows to accentuate my sultry eyes. While I was out, I splurged on sexy clothes, and even took a plunge and got a tattoo and wig. I finished my attitude with a Brazilian wax job for my bikini line, and a deep tissue massage from an upscale day spa. I could always pretend to be conservative whenever Trey decided to give me some time. The thought of having two personalities was exciting. I was backsliding as a Christian, but didn't feel regretful about it—I'd repent with Jesus later. I'd lost interest in church, but that wouldn't affect my wedding plans. I had time to find a preacher to preside over the ceremony if I was kicked out of the congregation for not bothering to show up faithfully. Besides, I'd already decided we would have everything in a hotel as opposed to a house of worship. That settled, I was done beating myself up and putting myself down. I decided to get my ass up in the club to get some stress off my chest.

 

Once I got to the club, I intended to put my skills to use. If I could pull a rapper, I could surely get my boogie on solo, especially looking as fly as I was. At first I was going to head to a typical club, but then I made a U turn so I could go to a spot in D.C. I'd heard about. It was rumored to be wild as hell. I didn't know if the stories I'd heard were true, but I was about to find out, since I was looking for some erotic fun above and beyond the average experience.

I parked the car about two streets over from my destination, according to map quest. I was decked out in a hot pink spandex dress that stopped about four inches below my kitty kat and hugged my ass firmly in the back before sloping down a bit longer. I was bra-less and loving how my breasts felt full in the V shaped front that scooped low enough to reveal my belly button. As I walked along the dark street, I heard a voice.

“You left your car lights on,” a male said.

“I did?” I replied. I walked back to check the front of my car but the only lights I saw on were on someone else's car.

“You didn't leave your lights on. I just wanted to see you up close. Where's your man?” he asked.

“At home,” I lied, turning around.

“You better be careful walking around like that. There are some perverts out here like me.”

I smiled without uttering a word. In that brief moment I'd already assessed him. The man was not on my level. His caliber was too low to turn my head. He had too much gut for his height, which was a tell tale sign of eating too many fried foods, and all of nine and a half teeth in his head. Additionally, he was busy drawing up on a marijuana cigarette, looking as dirty as a soap-deprived refugee. As far as I was concerned, he could take his compliment and shove it up his ass.

When I reached the entrance of a place that will remain nameless, a few people were standing outside. I pushed my way through the crowd and opened the door. After showing my ID, I paid the cover charge, and then walked down three small steps. I could hear remnants of the conversation behind me floating in my ears. Apparently, all men needed a date to get into the club, and one man had to hit the road because of the rule.

I stopped near the bar where a small crowd of people were assembled around a young black woman who was topless. She waved her arms around in the middle of the circle, bragging about her assets and about how they should want to see much more. She was a trip. I couldn't believe the maniac was imitating a wobbly bobble head, allowing her audience to inspect her cow udders which each had nipple ring. The funny thing was that no one outside of the circle gawked at her. Acting sexually liberated and free appeared to be the norm.

I walked into the next room and entered a whole new world of freakiness; the aura reminded me of an old-fashioned house party. People were grooving and grinding to Little Kim's “Lighters Up.” It was so dark, all I could make out were shadows of faces and bodies. Women were dancing with women. Couples were dancing with couples. One man was indulging by getting his penis sucked as he stood against a wall. Next to him sat a brother who was enjoying a lap dance. The room was definitely hot, and not in a way that the fan in the corner could cool it off. As rumored, this place was off the hook, and I enjoyed being a voyeur. People stared at me a lot, but for the most part, I was left alone.

Next, I took a walk upstairs to find out what that scene was like. As soon as my foot hit the top step, I observed a crowd watching three women dance in a large cage. One was topless, bent over, and gripping the bars while another simulated screwing her doggy style. They appeared to be college students, no doubt on the rolls of a university less than fifteen minutes away. As they laughed and enjoyed giving a freak show, I wondered how their parents would feel if they knew what was going down. I would sure they were clueless, believing their kids were studying hard in summer school. Yeah, right—studying. They were studying Freakology 101, just like me.

Long, loose curtains flowed, brushing the floor almost in time with the strange music that was playing. There were benches built into the sides of both walls, and I assumed they were for the convenience of other voyeurs, or those who needed the leverage. The atmosphere and the music conjured a strange vibe that proved to be too eerie for my taste. I carefully pushed my way through the crowd and walked back downstairs.

Suddenly, I felt as if I needed a cool, stiff glass of liquor, although I'd never had anything stronger than organic cran-apple juice in my life. One drink led to two, and two led to three. Before I knew it, I had exceeded my alcohol tolerance, which was, apparently, extremely low. I quickly learned I was the type who could nearly get drunk just smelling communion wine, let alone consuming it.

I pulled the cherry from my last drink, and tilted back my head to bite it from the stem, just as I'd seen sex sirens do in old, low budget movies. I swallowed it and noticed that my nipples were peeking out of my dress. When I looked up, a handsome-looking man was staring at me.

“Hi, I'm Rich.” A tall brown-skinned man with smooth skin stuck out his hand to shake mine. “This is my girl, Deja.”

“Hello.” I looked at the both of them, wondering why they had me hemmed up.

“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked bluntly. That's when I noticed his mustache and goatee.

I smiled. “No ring . . . no man. I do have a friend with benefits, but I don't think that's quite what you were asking about.”