Dirty Heat (2 page)

And I do.

Fuck her, that is.

Real good.

But sometimes, I need, want more. Sometimes I want them lips, that tongue, to go lower. Need my smooth-shaven balls in her mouth, her tongue sweeping around my asshole. Dipping in it. Tonguing it. Sometimes, I want her to slip a finger inside my ass and massage my prostate.

But that'll never happen. Not with Krista. Not the way I need it.

Now, hold up. Let me finish before you start twisting your lips up and passing judgment. I already know what some of you lames are thinking: What the fuck? Ass play?

Yeah, I'm a man—a
straight
man, be clear—who wants, nah, loves, ass play. It's my fetish, my deep, dark secret. One I wish I didn't have to keep from Krista. One I'd rather share
and
enjoy with her, my lover, my wife.

But I can't. I won't. That particular desire happens to be some shit she's not into. Not that I've flat out asked her to slide her tongue, or her finger, inside my ass. But I've asked her, numerous times, to lick my balls, to gently suck them into her mouth. And she's failed miserably at each attempt.

She tells me my balls are too big, that her mouth can't fit them in. Or she sucks them too roughly, grazes them with too much teeth. So I've stopped asking her. Shit. My thing is, after almost twelve years of marriage, I shouldn't have to ask her, or coach her, or teach her, how to suck this dick and lick on these balls. Hell, I shouldn't have to tell her how to please me, period. She should already know! She should want to explore more. Should want to be more adventurous. Should want to freak me. And allow me to freak her.

But she doesn't.

She can't.

She won't.

Sadly put, Krista doesn't know how to let go. My wife's painstakingly conservative when it comes to sex. She believes firmly in what roles—and positions—there should be in the bedroom. Missionary, doggy-style, spooning—those are her three positions. Anything else is too much for her. So in a word, my wife's a prude. Like I said, the pussy's good. But that's it. Creativity and openness are nonexistent.

So there's no way I can ever ask her to let down her guard and allow her tongue and fingers to explore my ass. Freak and Krista just doesn't go in the same sentence. And it damn sure isn't going to ever exist in the same room.

Hell, the one time I gently broached the subject to test the waters by—hypothetically speaking—asking her, her thoughts on men who enjoy having their ass licked and fingered, I thought she was about to hit the floor. I'd stretched the truth and told her some cat was talking about how he loved having it done to him and only dated women who enjoyed doing it.

Krista's eyes almost popped out of her head. “Ohmygod! He's a real nasty freak asking his woman to do some shit like that,” she snapped. “What kind of nastiness is that? A man wanting his ass licked
and
fingered.”

Yeah, a man like me,
I thought as I calmly stated, “He claimed it feels good.”

She tilted her head. Frowned. Gave me a questioning look, then said, “He must be gay then, because no
real
man's liking a tongue in his ass. And he's definitely not going to openly admit some shit like that feeling good. And then turn around and say he wants a finger stuffed up in it. Oh, no. He's down low and nasty. Sorry. But a real man is never letting
anyone
or
anything
go anywhere near his ass.” She grunted, frowning up her face while shaking her head. “I don't know not one woman willing to be nasty enough to lick up in some man's ass like it's a vagina.”

Inwardly, I cringed. But outwardly, I laughed. “Come on, baby. You really think a man's gay if he wants his woman to tongue him back there, or insert a finger inside him?”

She grimaced. “Yes, I think he and any other man wanting that nasty mess is gay. And if he isn't, then he's damn sure on his way to being gay.”

Her tone rang with so much conviction and disgust that I thought
my ears would start bleeding. I always knew Krista could be rigid in her thinking, but hearing those words solidified exactly how closed-minded my wife really was.

My body tensed.

“Damn, baby. Don't you think you're going a bit overboard? They say the prostate is a man's version of a woman's G-spot.”

She gave me an incredulous look. “Oh, I'm hardly exaggerating. You asked me my opinion, and I'm sharing it. And who in the heck is
they?”

Shit.

I hadn't meant to say that. Trying to educate Krista on how a man's prostate is called his sacred spot, like that of the G-spot in a woman and how tantric philosophy describes it as a man's emotional sex center would have turned the conversation into an ugly fight filled with accusations, leaving her doubting my manhood and questioning my masculinity. So there was no way I could enlighten her on the joys of prostate stimulation—of how the lobes of the prostate are highly sensitive and when stroked through the rectal wall can cause ecstatic, mind-blowing pleasure—without sounding like a man who'd had a few fingers wedged in his ass over the years of our marriage.

“Someone asked him what he got out of being fingered,” I lied, masking my own hidden desires, “and licked back there and he said it was one of the most intense, most pleasurable orgasms he'd ever had.”

That was my reality. One she would never know about.

She gave me a blank look. “You're joking, right? Sounds like he was trying to recruit him a few good ass lickers and some hard dick. I've never heard some mess like that. And I don't know if it's true or not. All I know is, the prostate and a man's ass aren't there for fingering. A straight man's pleasure is not coming from having
a tongue or finger anywhere near his asshole.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is there something you're trying to tell me here?”

I gave her an incredulous look, repeating in my head what she'd just asked me.
Is there something you're trying to tell me?
“Where is that coming from? There's nothing to tell. How did this all of a sudden become about me?”

She tilted her head, seemingly unconvinced. “I don't know. You seem a bit animated about some man getting his ass tongued.”

I forced a laugh. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Krista, come on. I ask you your thoughts on something I overheard, and all of a sudden, you think I have some hidden agenda.” I shake my head.

“Well, do you?”

I frowned. Stared her dead in the eyes. “Hell no. I'm not gay,” I said defensively, feeling as if I'd opened up a box of chocolates covered in shit. “You know that.”

“Well, that's a relief,” she said, looking me over. “I mean, I don't think you are. But nowadays, you never know. You see what happened to Latrice and Herbie. After all those years together, she catches him in some motel room with a tranny. And here she thought he was as straight as an arrow. Then come to find out, he likes men in wigs and fishnet stockings and nasty-ass kitten heels. He didn't even look like he'd go that way. So you never know.”

I cringed.
Here we go with this shit.
Herbie is her sister's husband. And the fact that she was bringing that sordid shit up at that moment was like comparing apples to oranges. They were two separate things. But not in my wife's eyes. Apparently, I'd hit a nerve with her.

I let her vent her dismay with how he hurt her sister. Still, at the end of the day, that shit had nothing to do with me, or my question to her. Hell. I wasn't interested in same-sex nothing. He was. And, shit, the question I'd asked had nothing to do with me…directly, anyway. Well, as far as she knew.

Yeah, it was my indirect way to gauge how she'd react to the idea before I broached the subject of her possibly trying it with me. However, all that extra shit she was talking wasn't necessary. But truth be told, she had her opinion. And I had my own. And for me, ass play had nothing to do with sexual preference. It was about pleasure. Period.

However, I kept my true feelings to myself.

“Well, that's not me,” I assured her, keeping my eyes locked on her. “I'm not into any of that. You know that.”

She smirked. “Oh, really? Do I? I mean, since when you start asking me about men wanting to be fucked in the ass? That sounds a little suspect to me.”

“C'mon, Krista. Let's not turn this into something more than what it is. First of all, it was a theoretical question, baby. And, secondly, I thought you and I were able to talk about any-and-every-thing.”

She eyed me, long and hard. “We can. But that kind of talk—ass licking and fingering—makes all kinds of red flags go up for me.”

I sighed. Told her not to let her imagination run wild. That she had nothing to be worried about, or anything to doubt. I was completely heterosexual.

“Well, then, since you're asking—
hypothetically
, that is, is that something you want, someone to poke around in your ass?”

Hell yeah.

I swallowed. “Nah. I was simply sharing some shit I overheard down at the barbershop, that's all.”

“Down at the barbershop?”
she scoffed. “Oh hell no. You mean to tell me a man getting an ass licking was some open discussion being had by a bunch of so-called straight men?” She shook her head. “Mmmph. Sounds like somebody's up in there trying to have themselves some kind of booty-fest. And, if not, I'd be looking at him,
or any other man side-eyed for even entertaining that conversation, especially in the company of other men.”

I let out a nervous chuckle. “Whoa, baby. Hold up. You're blowing a simple question all out of proportion. This was about a man letting a woman finger and tongue him. Not another man. The question was simply, ‘do you think he's gay for letting a woman do it?' ”

“Mmph. You already know my answer to that. Like I said, any man who wants to be played with back there is suspect, period. And, all I know is, if you ever came home and asked me to lick your ass, or to stick my fingers, or anything else, up in it, I'd be hurt. And I wouldn't be able to trust you.”

I gave her a look of disbelief. “Are you serious?

“As a heart attack. I love you, Kendall. But I know me. I'd always be thinking in the back of my mind that it'd only be a matter of time before you'd be on all fours glancing over your shoulder, looking to get some dick.”

My jaws tightened. I shook my head. “Now you're talking real crazy.”

“How am I talking crazy, huh? I'm telling you how I'd feel about it.”

“And I'm telling you I'd have to be attracted to another man to want
dick
, Krista. Trust me, baby. Another mofo's dick is the last thing I'm interested in.”

“Well, I'm not saying you are. I thought we were speaking hypothetically.”

“We were. I mean, we are.”

“Then,
hypothetically
speaking, it'd still be in the back of my mind. And I'd always be looking at you sideways, looking for signs that maybe you were bisexual.” She shook her head. “It'd be too much for me. I'd have to divorce you.”

I scoffed.
“Divorce?
See. Now you're letting this spin way to the left. It was a simple question.”

She glanced meaningfully at me. “And I gave you my answer;
hypothetically
speaking; remember? I'm not accusing you, Kendall, of any sketchy wrongdoing. I'm simply stating a fact. And now I'm asking
you
, again, is that what you want? Your ass fucked?”

No. Licked. Fingered.

I considered her question. Considered her very visceral reaction to the question I'd posed about a man wanting ass play. “Come on, babe. I already told you. No.”

“Well, since we're having this conversation, is it a secret fantasy of yours?”

It used to be. Now it's a reality.

“No. No fantasy of mine.” I reached for her. Pulled her up from her seat, then pulled her into my arms, kissing her. “My
only
fantasy is
you,
baby.”

She smirked. “Yeah, right. Every man has some secret desire.”

Yeah, like you licking my ass and kissing this asshole every now and then.

I raised a brow, smirking. “Oh, yeah? And what secret desires do you have, baby? Do tell.”

“I only have one. I don't want my man desiring some nastiness with another man; that's all I desire.”

I blinked. I couldn't believe what had come out of her mouth. Of all the things to secretly crave, or fantasize about, the only thing Krista could focus on was the idea of her man,
me
, wanting to get down with another man. Like damn. My dick would have jumped if she'd said she fantasized about having a threesome. That she secretly fantasized about being tied up and gang-fucked.

Or better yet, about pleasing her damn man. But, hell, no such luck! The only shit she could come up with was, her man not fucking, or getting fucked by, another man. Talk about creativity at its finest.

“Well, no worries there, baby,” I said reassuringly. “Believe
that.” I kissed her again. This time, cupping her ass. “You feel that hard dick? Does that feel like a man wanting to be with another man?”

She relaxed and grinned. “Not really. But…”

“ ‘But' nothing. I'm not looking to have nothing stuck in my ass.”

Only a woman's tongue, a few fingers…maybe a small, thin vibrator if I'm horny enough.
I couldn't believe Krista, my wife, was going there with
me
, of all people. I'd never been the type to knock what someone else did behind closed doors. Their likes, their desires, are none of my concern. I respect everyone's space and their right to their private moments. What they do sexually has nothing to do with me. So if Herbie has a thing for trannies on the side, that wasn't/isn't my cross to bear. It's his. And it's his wife's decision to either deal with it or not.