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A Good Woman Scorned
By Darrin Lowery
Chapter One: Intruding on my time
Deja Gamble
It’s 1:00 AM, and Mark is not home. I lay in bed impatiently waiting and wondering when he will come home this time. I know he is with her. I can’t prove that he is, but I know that he is. If I call him now he will lie. He will speak some mistruth that will put further distance between us. I don’t want any more distance between us because I love my husband. I love him dearly. The thing is, the longer he stays with her, the more I feel as if I have been disrespected. Not that this is not disrespectful anyway, but the longer he stays out, the more I feel disrespected.
When a man cheats, there are rules of etiquette. You know, things that he should do if he really respects his woman. My biggest fear is that he no longer wants to be with me and deep down, he wants to be with her.
If he wants to be with her, it’s simply because she is new. He doesn’t love her. He might think that he does, but that is his body talking. His mind and his heart—belong to me. It may not seem like it at the time, but that is the truth. No, I’m not looking at things through rose colored glasses. I am looking at things as how they are. God, I want him home. I want him in my bed. Even if he doesn’t make love to me tonight, I want him here.
Mark is a handsome man in his late twenties. He is a stock broker for Harrison, Buick and Lowery, a financial firm in downtown Chicago. He makes $65,000 a year and keeps me in a lifestyle that a woman could grow to love. We have a huge five bedroom bungalow, no pets, no rug-rats and believe it or not, a healthy sex life. We have twin Toyota Camry’s, a whirlpool on the deck that will fit six people, and an Olympic sized pool in the backyard. We’re living pretty large for what started out as a middle income couple from the south side of Chicago. I have an MBA from National Louis University and he has an MBA from USC. Once upon a time, we were in love. Once upon a time, we were new. This was before her. This was when we were young ambitious and driven. These days we are old, bored with our respective routines and for lack of a better word—tired.
I think we began to grow apart when I got my job at Third Metropolis Bank. I started work as an analyst on the 3-11 shift while Mark worked a 9-5. When I got in he would be sleep, and when I woke up, he would be gone. That, might have been the beginning of the end. I liked my job and he liked his. We didn’t get to spend the time with one another that we used to, but hey, we still had weekends, right?
Every weekend Mark and I went out. We went to clubs, museums, fine restaurants and three times a year we flew out of town to vacation in some exotic spot. So how did we get here? It makes me wonder every time. He still treats me like I am his queen, as he used to call me. He still takes the time out to tell me that he loves me, he still buys me nice things and we make love every other night. The thing is, everything is different. The vibe in the house is different, his mannerisms are different and even the way we make love, is different.
I don’t have the drama that most other women have whose husband has stepped out on them or at least not yet. I don’t get harassing calls, hang ups on the phone where I pay the bill, and he never puts me off for anything. I get my time and its good time at that. But I know that Mark has a mistress. I simply don’t know who she is or where she is at. It certainly isn’t for lack of trying. So how do I know that my man is stepping out on me? The same way that all women know—his patterns of behavior have changed.
Mark is a handsome man. He always has been. He stands 5, 10 he weighs 175 pounds of lean muscle, and from a distance he looks like Gary Dourdan, the fine ass brother with the light eyes from the TV series CSI. His hair is in twists, but it is neatly cropped and lined up nicely. He has arms like Roy Jones Jr. and thighs like an Olympic swimmer. He has the looks, the intelligence and the heart of a man that is to be desired. He is also a smooth operator which is how he hooked me to begin with.
We used to catch the train together every morning to our respective jobs after we both finished college. He was making about $30, 000 then and so was I. He worked as a CPA in a small firm and I worked as a bank teller at First National. We both hated our jobs then because here we both were with Master’s degrees, and we both knew people with Bachelor’s degrees or no degrees that made a lot more money than we did. What’s worse is they didn’t have student loans to pay off.
Anyway, we used to catch the Metra Train in to work together, to downtown Chicago from the Metra station at 89th and Loomis on Chicago’s south-side. He would read his paper and I would read mine. After seeing each other regularly for a while, he would smile and I would exchange one with him as well. We knew each other in passing but for a long time, a year to be exact it seemed as if that was the only way that we would know one another. Each day we rode the train, and each day we exchanged small pleasantries. We either talked about the weather, the bears, the bulls or today’s gas prices which is why we were both on the train. Each day we got to the train at exactly 7:15 and waited on the 7:30 train. Each day we both grabbed a paper and a coffee (large extra extra) and a yellow cake donut.
One day I was running late as hell. My apartment sink flooded the night before, the dryer in my laundry room didn’t dry a damn thing the night before when I did laundry, and my hair, lord knows my hair was a mess. I remember it clearly. It was a rainy Thursday morning and I missed the 7:30 train and just barely made it to the train station in time for the 8:00 train. I had no time to get a paper, no time for a donut, and I still needed to do my makeup. I ran for the train as it was ready to pull off. I quickly maneuvered between the doors and was upset at how my day was starting. I walked through the cars to the seat that I normally sit in on the earlier train, and sitting there with a smile, two coffees, two donuts and an umbrella, was Mark.
“I waited for you. I thought you were going to stand me up today.”
“You waited for me?”
“Yeah, you missed the 7:30 train and my day just doesn’t seem the same without seeing you first each morning.”
“Really?”
I smiled a gentle smile. He was sweet. He had to be kidding though because my hair was barley done, my clothes could have used a second bout with the iron and I felt naked without my makeup.
“You’re sweet, but you must also be partially blind.” I said jokingly.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I know that I look a hot mess.”
“Actually, from where I’m standing, you look kinda fine.”
“Really?” I said a second time with a hand on my hip like I was in third grade.
“Really. Would you like a little something to warm you up?” He said with a smile.
I was thinking to myself, “Only if you think you can hang.” I kept my dirty thoughts to myself.
“Sure, how thoughtful” I said.
“I find myself thinking about you a lot. Tell me, what’s your name?”
“Deja.”
“Deja? I like that. Well Deja, my name is Mark, Mark Gamble.”
“Well Mark Gamble, my name is Deja Gamble… I mean Hawkins!”
I blushed and we both smiled at my error. I don’t know what it was about Mark but at that moment in that instant, I pictured myself as his wife. I thought we would make a beautiful couple and although I never want kids, if we ever had them, I think they would be beautiful. They would just be short.
Mark is 5, 10 but I’m 5, 2. Not only am I short, but all the men in my family are short. From the waist up people tell me that I look like Jada Pinkett Smith. From the waist down, everyone tells me that I look like I should be the spokeswoman for Nelly’s clothing line, Applebottoms. I guess that means that I have a big ass. Hell, I know I do, but I try to down play it as much as I can. That day, Mark and I shared coffee donuts and the occasional smile. At the end of the ride that day, I went to work, he went to work, and neither of made an attempt at collecting the other’s phone number. I thought about him throughout the day at work. That night I thought about him as well.
That next day, we were both surprised to see each other even earlier than expected. We both arrived at the train station at 6:55, twenty minutes earlier than we normally arrived. I guess we were both anxious to see one another again. I smiled as I saw him and he smiled an equally precious smile to me.
I was looking at him to see if he had coffee and donuts for me today. That next day was when he gave me my first fix of something sweet. He handed me coffee and GHIRARDELLI chocolates. I had my first taste of that chocolate and thought that I was in love (with the chocolate of course). Since we were both early, we decided to make use of the time by getting to know each other better. I told him how I grew up in a two parent household, and how I went to school at NLU. He told me about growing up with only his mother in a single parent household and how she had to bust her ass all her life in order to send him off to school at USC.
In twenty minutes we talked about life goals, children (neither of us wanted any) and career goals. We were both in jobs that we hated, and we were both in agreement that we were no where near being paid what we were worth. We talked and talked and talked until the train came. We then got on the train and talked some more. This time, at the end of the ride we exchanged phone numbers. He was 25 at the time and so was I. We talked everyday and night on the phone for four months. Every day we chatted to one another via email from our jobs. Then in another six months we had both switched jobs and were we working hard at climbing the ladder of success. We discussed triumphs, failures and gossip from our respective workplaces.
A year later, we went out on our first date. We had dinner at the Olive Garden, dancing at the Wild Hare, dancing at Secrets Nightclub in Dolton Illinois, and a romantic car ride back to my south-side Roseland apartment. That first night he did not come in and gently gave me a light romantic peck on the lips and told me goodnight. I made Mark wait for a taste of honey. He waited patiently for another six months. After waiting so long, I saw no reason why I shouldn’t give him some and also marry him. In fact, I asked Mark to marry me. He said yes. That was four and a half years ago. In four and a half years we have traveled, bought property, time shares and seen all of the U.S and most of the world.
In the beginning we used to hold hands, send one another cute notes, go on private picnics, and make love anywhere there was a hard surface. Now a days, we make love consistently and we always talk, but it’s just not the same anymore. He makes time for me, we communicate now as much as we ever did and like I said earlier, we still make love. These days though, he just seems somewhat…distracted; it’s also like I said, some of his behavioral patterns have changed as well.
Mark has started moisturizing his skin. He not only moisturizes, he uses some top shelf stuff on his face. I mean stuff like Lancome and Elizabeth Arden. He always went to the gym, but now he has begun to swim competitively at 30 years of age. He plays organized softball with his company in Grant Park which is something that he vowed to never do because we both hate baseball. Now he says that he does it to stay in shape. I’m like, “yeah right.” He has recently given up Pork and Red Meat, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. He also drinks water by the gallon. Over the years he had gained a few pounds. He was always handsome and had amazing arms, but he was just starting to get just a bit of a stomach on him. In the past few months not only is the stomach gone, he is looking ripped like he did back in the day. His skin is also smoother and even his style of clothing has changed. He had a nice beard and goatee, but he shaved all that off. Rather than sport suits like he used to, he wears a simple silk shirt to work, and dress slacks. I don’t mind the new and improved Mark, but I can’t help but to wonder if the change is for me or another woman.
I gave in to the temptation. I ‘m tired of waiting on him to come home. I phoned him and his phone rang four times. Then his voice message came on:
“Hi, this is Mark. I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message as well as the time that you called, I will get back to you at my earliest possible convenience, thanks.”
“To page this person, press 1 now, to leave a message press two or wait for the tone.” Said the mechanical voice of a woman.
[BEEP]
“Mark, it’s me. Where are you? I’m waiting up for you. Please call me back.”
[CLICK]
I hope I didn’t sound too desperate. I hope I didn’t sound too suspicious. He may be working. He may be out with his boys. Aw, shit. Who am I fooling? It’s after 1:00 and it’s a weeknight. He’s out there messing around. I sat up in bed, turned on the digital cable and ate GHIRARDELLI chocolate until a half hour later when I heard the click of the front door.
CHAPTER TWO: AN HOUR OR MORE EARLIER
MARK
I don’t know why Mercedes waits until the last damned minute to want to have sex. We had dinner today after work, we talked, watched some videos, listened to some music and now at 11:30, when I am getting ready to go home, she pulls this shit. She knows I have a wife at home. She knows that Deja will be home at any minute. There is no way that I can explain being out this late on a work night--again.
I was getting ready to go and I went to the bathroom to relieve myself of all the wine that she and I drank. When I emerged from the bathroom she had on a red baby-doll silk teddy with red high heels. She had on no stockings and apparently had placed lotion on her bare and muscular legs. Mercedes had the body of a cheerleader. She had so much ass, that you could see it from the front by just looking at her hips. She had a golden yet caramel complexion, ruby red suckable lips, and long black hair. My wife, Deja used to have long hair, but like most women in their thirties, she got lazy and decided that she could no longer keep it up.
“It’s my goddamned hair and you aren’t the one that has to pay for it or keep it up!”
That’s what my wife told me when she and I argued about her cutting her hair.
“What if I offer to pay to have your hair done, will you keep it long then?” I asked.
“What? No! I’m tired of the long hair so I want to try something new!”
She tried something new. Yes she is still pretty, but I hate the hell out of her short hair. I kept telling her that every black woman can’t get away with the short Halle Berry cut. Some women go with the short hairstyle knowing damn well that their hair will never grow back. Others get their hair cut short and it looks nice for a quick minute, then that summer heat hits it and rather than looking like a fine ass black woman, she looks like a cute boy by looking at her head. Others still, cut their hair thinking that it will grow back, and when it doesn’t they get that damned weave in their hair. That shit sometimes looks awful. I begged her not to cut her hair and she insisted that she needed to try something new. So while she is trying something new, I’m trying something new. No, cutting her hair is not grounds for having an affair. In fact cutting her hair is just a small thing that is wrong in our marriage. My thing is this; we have a lot of small problems that have evolved into big problems in our marriage. One of the problems is yes, the length of her hair.
Sisters say that their hair is theirs to do what they want with it. They say that we don’t know what it’s like to maintain a hairstyle. They say that we are insensitive. Fuck that. The woman I met and dated had long hair. The woman I married had long hair, and the woman that I plan on continuing to have sex with will have long hair. White girls cut their hair and the shit grows back in months. Most sisters I know cut their hair and the shit never comes back. Then when they realize that they look like a cute ass boy rather than a woman, they want their hair back. Some sisters, can grow their hair back or so I’ve heard. Most, when they figure out that the Halle Berry or Jada Pinkett style doesn’t work for them, they go and get a weave. Wait, I said that already, didn’t I? That’s how strongly I feel. That’s how a lot of brothers that I know feel. They just don’t have the balls to tell their woman what is really on their minds. So, my wife now has short hair and I am betting that any day now I am going to come home to tracks and a weave.
I didn’t sign up for a weave.
Mercedes hair is long as hell.
It’s all hers.
And right now, it’s looking good as hell to me.
Mercedes gives me a devilish grin and takes me by the hand. She walks me over to the couch and sits me down. She kneels in front of me and smiles. She undid my belt buckle.
“Mercedes, what are you doing?”
“What does it look like I am doing?”
“It’s late. I have to get home. You know she will be looking for me.”
I refer to my wife as she. It’s one of the tell, tell signs of an affair. I use her name as little as possible. Because I know I’m doing wrong, I try not to say her name at all. I try not to think about her, about us, about my breaking one of the commandments. I finger my ring and I think about the vows I took. I think about the promise I made to her in front of God and our families. I imagine us dancing on our wedding day, laughing, kissing and being ever so much in love. As Mercedes tries to be my temptress I close my eyes. Mercedes thinks that I’m enjoying her presence. In truth, I’m asking God for both strength and forgiveness. I don’t want to disrespect my wife any more than I have. I try to get home before her and I try to keep my visits to Mercedes’ house to a minimum. I try…but I’m weak. My mistress has a spell on me. I’m enchanted with her. For whatever reason, I have a hard time saying no.
She ignores my statement and begins to undo my pants. I move my hands to stop her although I don’t try very hard. She is 5,4 and 140 pounds of just ass and tits. She looks like the rap artist, Trina. You know, the baddest bitch? I could easily overpower her, but I know what time this is, and she knows what time this is. She smiles at my act to try and stop her and she uses the little strength that she had to force my hands down and overpower me. I play along like she is too strong as she places her head in my lap and begins to bob up and down on my thickness. We play our roles as if they were scripted. I feign like I don’t want this and she pretends to be insistent. She pretends that she is the aggressor.
I protest for a second or two more, and then there is the warmth of her mouth.
I look down at her head and I can’t see her face because of her hair; her long, strong and beautiful hair. She takes me deeper into her mouth. She moans as if she is the one getting off on the act. My chest and stomach rise and fall, as she slowly takes me to a special place. Her warmth is inviting…intoxicating. I close my eyes and feel as if I’m floating as she slowly and meticulously takes me there. I bite by bottom lip to help stifle my moans. I then allow passion to take over and I grab a fist full of her hair and help her up and down my shaft. I hold on to her mane of strong black hair as if it’s the reigns of a horse. I help her to help me get to that special destination. The room is filled with slurping sounds, my moans and her moans. She reached out for two small pillows on the couch. She rests one on my legs and grabs another for her knees beneath her. She is getting comfortable and plans to make her home in my lap for a time.
She licks me with abandon. She kisses the head and the shaft as if to pay homage to it. She strokes me up and down slowly exposing pre-cum juices. She licks the head and gets every drop. She handles my manhood like a frozen popsicle on a warm day in the south in August. She licks, slurps, moans and savors my taste. I grab a second fist full of hair and savagely fuck her mouth.
I’m ready to come. She knows this. She waits until my leg begins to tremble and rather than keep a rhythm going so I can explode, she slows down. She does so to keep me hard and also to stop my soldiers from abandoning the fort. She sucks me slowly. She uses one hand to firmly hold on to me. The other she uses to play with herself. The more she plays with herself, the louder she moans. The louder she moans, the more turned on I am. That’s not what is going through my mind though. I am thinking what all men think when they are being given head. She enjoys this. She loves this. She is getting off on sucking my dick. She loves this special muscle of mine that brings her so much pleasure. She not only loves this dick, she worships it. She must. I watch her slowly take me in and go down far enough to choke. Her gagging turns me on as does the saliva running down the sides of my shaft. It flows down me like sap from a tree, but she is there to lick every drop right back up. She fingers herself faster and faster and her moans become louder and louder. All that can be heard now is slurping and moaning, both coming from her. I’m now quiet because her sounds are turning me on. They are taking me there, she moans and purrs like a new car, a fast car, a Porsche, a Lamborghini or yes, a Mercedes.
She moans louder and louder and finally she comes.
She comes.
She gets up and turns her back to me. She hikes up the teddy and exposes her juicy ass. Her sex is already wet and ready for me. Without asking, she tears open a condom, puts it on me and lowers her ass, her prize onto my manhood.
Again, I feel warmth, sweet, wet warmth.
Her back is to me and she leans forward and places her hands palms down on the coffee table in front of the couch. Bent over like this her ass is just—perfect. She bounces up and down slowly. She flicks back her hair and looks back at me to make sure that I am satisfied. I look at her as if to say she is insatiable. She smiles a devilish grin and looks forward. She bounces on my shaft and I’m loving her warmth while smacking her round juicy bottom over and over again. I am smacking her caramel cheeks until they turn red. With each slap she moans louder. I swear she’s getting wetter by the minute.
She reaches out across the table and grabs the remote. She turns the TV on. I think that it’s a porno being played on the screen until I realize it’s us.
I stop stroking in mid-stride. “What the fuck?”
She looks back at me and smiles again.
“You don’t want to see yourself? You don’t want to watch yourself banging this ass?”
I didn’t know what to say. She began to pick up speed and make that ass clap. She didn’t seem to mind that I had stopped. My mind was racing, my heart was pounding and I lost part of my erection. Realizing this, she began to squeeze her inner vaginal muscles. The pulse of her vagina got me hard again. Her wet warmth slowly relaxed me like the icy rush of a first time heroine high.
“Do you want me to stop? Do you want me to slow down?”
“No, keep going.” I responded.
“You like this shit?”
“I love it baby.”
“Not as much as I love this dick!”
She began to roll back and forth allowing me to go deeper and deeper in her. With each stroke, she became more vocal.
“That’s it. That’s it, yeah! Hit that shit. Oh baby, that’s your shit. That’s your shit right there. Damn you got a big ass dick. Damn you are opening me up, Shit papi, shit papi, I might not be able to walk tomorrow, damn this is some good dick. That’s that good shit right there!”
Mercedes knew how to stroke my ego. I was now watching myself on TV and watching that ass. When she started talking shit, I got right into character. I watched my image on the monitor and then looked forward at her ass bouncing up and down on top of me. I slapped that ass and in that moment, felt like a porno star.
“You like that dick? Then say that shit! Let a nigga know! Let loose up in this MF. Don’t stop now [slap] move that ass [slap] get that shit. Go on, ride that dick [slap] handle that shit Mercedes. Do that shit, give that pussy to me, work that juicy wet MF.”
Mercedes got up and turned that ass around so it would face the TV. I began to suck her breasts and play with her clit. She offered me one breast and then the other. She held both of them and made me take turns sucking them slowly and hard.
“Let me taste my pussy juices. Let’s take this condom off for a minute.”
“Mercedes…no.”
She pulled off the condom and straddled me. I expected her to give me more head but she didn’t. The warmth of her pussy was overwhelming. I got a few strokes off but then tried to get her off me. I wasn’t trying to have a baby or bring anything home.
“Mercedes, get up.”
She kept rocking.
“I just want to ride a little while” She whispered in my ear. “I just want your bare dick wet with my pussy juice. You feel how wet it is, just six more strokes and I will get up. Please baby? Just six more…five more…oh shit…three more…two more…oh baby, oh baby just…oh baby just one more…one more…stroke…that’s it. That’s it, I’m cumming.” She rocked and rocked and rocked and what was supposed to be six strokes came out to be about thirty. I was in control though. Her pussy was throbbing. I could feel her pulse. I could feel her vaginal and stomach muscles tighten. She came—hard. My dick was soppy wet with her juices. She then rested on top of me, kissing me deeply on the mouth. She trembled uncontrollably as she continued to come. She whispered sweet seductive nothings in my ear as she waited on the orgasmic tremors to subside. She bit my earlobe and sucked on it as she ran her hands and nails up and down my back trying to savor every second of her orgasm. Minutes later she got up and as promised, she began jagging me off and licking and sucking all her juices off my dick. That shit turned me on. I loved being given head, but more than that, I loved it when a woman gave head like it was some shit she was born to do.
“I love the way my pussy tastes on your dick.”
Just saying that shit almost made me explode in her mouth.
“Cum in my mouth.”
“What did you say?”
“Cum in my mouth.”
Generally I would climax in her, in a condom. Sometimes when she gave me head, I would cum on her chest and she would rub it all in like a lotion. Today was new. Today’s shit was extra. She said the one thing that most men want to hear.
“Mark baby, cum in my mouth…please?”
Who was I to argue with her? I began to jag myself off with my right hand and guide her head onto my dick with the other. Between the warmth of her mouth, the sight of her head bobbing up and down on my dick and the sight of her naked ass on the TV screen, I was excited as hell. Just as I was about to cum, my cell phone started buzzing. It buzzed long and hard as if to warn me that what I was doing was wrong. As if to say, Nigga, get your ass home!
“Aw shit.” I said.
“Fuck her, keep going.”
“What did you say?”
“Fuck her.”
I was about to stop. This bitch has obviously forgotten her place. She could tell that I was getting mad. It’s one thing to be a party to an affair. It’s another thing entirely to disrespect my woman.
My wife.
“Fuck…” she started to say.
“Don’t say that shit again.” If she would have said it, I swear I would have smacked the black off her ass. Her words were sobering, they hit hard like a car crash. Her words, reminded me that this, this was a sin.
“Fuck my mouth.”
That softened my stance for a minute.
“Fuck my mouth Mark. Cum in my mouth. Make me swallow your seed. I want your cum in my mouth. “
That got my attention. That got me more erect as well. I let out a sigh as I decided that I was already at the point of no return. I wasn’t going to just go home and chance my marriage being over and be sexually frustrated.
I stood up, grabbed a fist full of hair, moved the rest to the side and began to fuck her mouth as ordered. I was jagging off faster with one hand and forcing Mercedes to take in as much of me as she could. Minutes later I was almost there.
“Oh shit, I’m gonna cum. Oh shit, I’m gonna cum. Oh shit…Oh shit…Oh…shiiiit!”
I exploded in her mouth. She closed her eyes and I made her take all of me. I made her lick every drop and lick me clean. I made her take all of my dick as if she were being punished, as if she were the one that transgressed and this was her penance. She continued to jag me off and lick my balls and I swear that so much seed came out of me I was ready to re-populate the planet.
“Oh shit.” I said as I collapsed onto the couch. She rested her head in my lap and continued to ever so slowly, suck me clean.
That’s that good shit right there. All these years of marriage and never has my wife let me come in her mouth. Not only did Mercedes let me come in her mouth, she liked it.
At least she acted like she liked it.
Mercedes got up, turned off the TV and went to clean herself up in the bathroom. As she did, I pulled up my pants, listened to my voicemail and tried to find the tape that was just made while I thought up a good lie to tell Deja when I got home. Minutes later after gargling and washing up, Mercedes emerged from the bathroom.
“Where’s the video?” I asked.
“There isn’t one. I figured you were too chicken shit for that, so I just turned a camera onto you to get you warmed up to the idea.”
“So there is no tape?” I said in a concerned tone.
“No, look in the VCR and the DVD and the small camera on the TV set. There is no tape or video. There’s nothing.”
I looked at her suspiciously. I looked at the camera set up and sure enough, there was no tape or DVD to speak of. I was feeling more comfortable now.
“So, what did wifey want?”
“Probably to know where I am.”
“And what are you going to tell her?”
“I don’t know.”
“You could tell her that you have found someone younger, better looking and that will give you the sex that you really want.”
“I could. Or I could just walk out of the door and never come back again.”
“You would leave her?”
“I meant your door. Look, Mercedes, you’re fine as hell. You have no equal in bed, but I love my wife.”
“If you love your wife, then why are you here?” She said cynically.
“Because you asked me to hook up with you remember?”
“You didn’t have to say yes.”
“But I did.”
“So again, you are here because?”
“Because I love the sex.”
“And me?”
“Don’t get it twisted. I like you. I love her. You and I? We’re friends, that’s all.”
“You mean friends that fuck?”
“Yeah, I mean friends that fuck.”
“Okay Mark, then I guess it’s time that you went home to your wife.”
“I guess so.”
“Will I see you tomorrow?”
“I will probably stop at your job tomorrow.”
“With Flowers?”
“With Flowers.”
“Can I get a goodnight kiss tonight?”
I kissed her.
“Can you kiss me like you aren’t going to lay in another woman’s bed tonight?”
I kissed her again the same way I first kissed her.
“I’m going home to my bed, don’t you forget that.”
“So what am I supposed to do Mark?”
“I don’t know, start seeing someone.”
I walked out of Mercedes condo, jumped in my car and sped off toward home.
I first had to stop at white castle and get a few burgers with extra onion.
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Weekend Books
c/o Darrin Lowery
516 N. Ogden #142
Chicago Illinois 60622
If you are in Chicago, call 773-412-8589
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