My Husband's Girlfriend (16 page)

“Mmm, mmmm…” Neil is sucking my breast so hard I feel like a newborn baby. I want something to suck, too, so I move his head gently away and lower myself in front of his body until his magic wand is staring me in the face.

“Hey there,” I say to it. “Remember me?” I stroke the head, kiss and lick it, then swallow the entire shaft.

“Damn, oh shit…” Neil jerks and sways. I want to laugh and scream. I take my man and work him like I’m a veteran ho with benefits. Neil is moving his hips back and forth, shoving himself farther and deeper inside my mouth. I want to gag. It feels like someone has stuffed a huge, dry bath towel in my mouth. I can think of other things that would feel more comfortable than this, but that’s irrelevant right now.

Once I finish up on Neil, I lie back on the Oriental rug. Gerald Levert’s commanding voice continues to serenade us in the background. An intense rose fragrance from burning candles saturates the air. I steer Neil’s big hand to my private parts and he traces his fingers inside the silkiness.

“Is this for me, Anya?”

“It’s all yours, Neil,” I murmur.

He smashes his face against me, eating me out, slurping, licking, lapping at my surprised but delighted vagina. I’m holding his head between my hands, squirming, grimacing. He pecks at and licks me until I shudder under the loving weight of his skillful tongue.

Neil has thrown his robe to the floor. Now he’s lying on top of me. The air conditioner makes choking sounds, as if it’s shocked at what we’re doing. Our bodies feel like mass and liquid and heat, pressed deeply against each other. Neil bites my shoulders, and I nip on his arms. I feel his lips gnawing on my nipples and I take his dick and lead it where it oughta be.

“This is it, D,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

Why’d he say D? Am I hearing things?

Even though Neil is heavy, I dig my feet in the carpet and scoot back. He scoots up, urgently pressing himself against my opening. I scoot back some more. He scoots up, trying to find my hole.

“Anya, stop that. Now, c’mon,” he pleads, unaware of the pissed-off look on my face.

“Oh, so you
do
remember my name?”

“Yes, I remember…” He glances down at me and pauses. “Oh, okay, what I, uh, I–I meant to say didn’t come out right. That was just…I’m s–sorry, baby,” he murmurs, and starts up again.

I can’t believe Neil’s fumbling around trying to stab my coochie with his dick. I think about how long it’s been since I’ve felt him inside of me, but I’m torn between keeping my legs open and furthering our relationship, or slamming them shut and gaining some self-respect.

I’m lying on my back and my toes feel frozen, as if I’m standing on a bag of ice cubes. He looks down with pleading eyes and whispers that he’s sorry. Neil admitting he’s wrong makes him look too fine, like he’s a precocious little boy.

“You still want to do this?” he asks in a subdued voice.

I nod and let him gratefully kiss me on the lips.

I wonder if I should get a reality check and make him go find a condom, a balloon, some cling wrap. But I’m sooo horny. And it’s been sooo long. Besides, he is my freaking husband. I have a right to this. I have a right to…to shove my foot up his butt. He can’t call me D and expect me to stay in the mood.

I start scooting back again until I’m sitting up, my behind tingling from the sting of carpet burn.

“What you trying to do, Anya? You think this is funny?” He’s rubbing himself but I have zero sympathy for him or his thing.

“Nothing’s funny, Neil. I take this very seriously. Why else would I do all this?”

My voice sounds as mechanical as an automated message that you hear when a woman instructs you to press 1 for customer service.

“Hijacking my dick?” he squeals. “That’s for me? Or for you?”

“I know you’ve always hated when I shift gears, but this time I didn’t shift them without provocation.”

“I apologized more than once, Anya. What more you want me to do?”

“Why don’t you watch me closely—while I get the heck away from you?” I stand up and scratch my itchy scalp, eager to rid myself of these new strands of hair. Five wasted hours of sitting in a beautician’s chair; five hours of pain—for this.

I turn to walk away but Neil grabs me around the shoulders. He squeezes me tight and silently rocks me. I feel his hands patting me softly on my back. His eyes are closed and he continues to mumble more apologies than I’ve ever heard in my life.

“Neil, you say that a lot, but ‘sorry’ grows old after the fifth time.”

“But I’m trying, Anya. You have to believe that. Whether you know it or not, these kinds of things are…hard for me. I feel like I’m out of touch…and I feel like I need help,
your
help, to push me in the right direction. So even though you’re mad, why can’t we talk about this?”

I am shocked by his serious tone. Neil’s actions resemble those of the man I used to know when we first met, the one who refused to fall asleep with the sun going down on our wrath.

“I don’t want to wake up with this issue hanging between us,” Neil continues. “Now, if I ask for forgiveness, and I plead with you to understand me, what else can I do to convince you I’m for real? Baby, I can’t help but see how hard you’re trying, and I know you want things to be different. Have you considered I might want that, too?”

Because Neil’s expressing words I seldom hear, he captures my attention.

“You forgive me?” he begs, sounding like the young and the desperate.

I nod.

“That’s what you claimed the last time,” he says.

“Well, I’m going to try to do better this time,” I promise him. We embrace each other again, and my heart feels a little uplifted from knowing that my man came after me, instead of letting me walk away.

Fifteen minutes later we’re in the kitchen. Lights on. Rose-scented candles blown out and thick, smoky scents choking the air. We’re hyped and kinda hungry after some almost-but-not-quite ravenous sex.

“Anya, what’s this?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs. I made the meatballs myself.”

“But it’s beef.” He sniffs, like
beef
is a four-letter word.

“Oh, please, Neil. Don’t tell me you’re scared by those news reports. I always pray over everything I cook or eat. Mad cow. Deliriously happy cow. We’re still gonna eat this food, so pick up that fork and disregard what you’ve seen on the news.”

I try to stab a fat, slippery meatball with my fork. It flies over the table like a volleyball and lands on the floor. I pick up the slimy-looking thing with my fingers, try to cram it in my mouth, but end up plopping the meat on a napkin.

Neil snickers. I roll my eyes. He puts his hand over his lips and I see his shoulders shaking. Then mine start shaking. I began screeching and clutching my naked belly. Neil comes to sit on my lap, placing one arm across my back, plastering my cheek with a gentle kiss.

“Why doesn’t everything go perfect?” I say.

Neil just shakes his head. “Tonight wasn’t so bad. You tried. I did, too. And for the record, D stands for ‘Damn, this pussy good.’”

“Neil, that sounds so gross, plus it’s not even true, you lying liar.”

He makes a noise of protest. I move my leg back and forth until he’s forced to slide off and returns to his seat.

“What else you have planned for this evening,
Anya
?”

“You don’t have to pronounce my name so diligently. It’s cool.”

“Th–thanks.”

“I know what. Let’s return to the den. Sit on the floor in front of the couch and…” I begin to describe what I want us to do. Neil nods and raises his eyebrows. We hastily finish dinner and head back for a second chance.

Neil and I meet in the den underneath a wool blanket. He pitches the blanket so it resembles a tent. It feels like we’re outside at a campsite, underneath the twinkling stars, both afraid, with only each other for protection. We keep it simple. We’re closed in together, sitting on the floor shielded by the blanket. Now Luther Vandross is crooning in the background. We’re eating some cold white grapes. There’s lots of sweet kissing, a little feeding each other here and there. Neil insists on placing grapes on my thighs, navel, and in between my legs, then he slowly eats them off me. I wonder if he learned that from a video, but it doesn’t matter because it makes me moist. And I love that I’m able to feel wet again.

When the foreplay/foodplay winds down, a condom is ready and waiting for us. Neil gets me even more ready by massaging my neck, arms, breasts, thighs, ankles, and toes with oil. Then I spread my legs and gasp when he thrusts continually inside me. In, out. In, out. It feels good, rubber-glove tight, so I close my eyes. Suck in my breath. Suffer heated pain. And remember why I initially hooked up with this man. His love-making is tender, raunchy, patient, and complete. And I make a mental note: We definitely should pull out all the stops to regain what we’ve had; whatever difficulty we must endure to save our marriage is worth the effort.

“Neil.” I hear Dani’s voice. “You never take me anywhere.”

“And I’m not gonna,” Neil tells her.

“Hmm, I just think it’s weird that I can have an experience like having a baby with you, but you can’t even take me to, shoot, to the Piggly Wiggly.”

“There is no Piggly Wiggly in Houston.”

“Oh, you know what I’m trying to say.”

“I know, but no, not gonna do that, Dani.”

I smile to myself and quietly hang up the telephone. I’m upstairs in the bedroom. Neil’s downstairs. I am organizing my underwear drawer. I didn’t mean to listen in, but the phone rang and Neil and I picked up at the same time. It was her, so…I’ve never heard them talk directly to each other without an audience. I think it’s natural to wonder how someone will act if they’re not aware you can hear what they’re saying.

I am curious about what Neil does, but one thing I’ve learned is a woman will never be content if she’s constantly checking on her man. He’ll either become more creative or she’ll grow more insecure. I believe no matter what a man promises, he’ll do what he’s gonna do, and if I have to try to control my husband and eyeball him and force him to love me, then that’s not love, that’s manipulation. So I told myself don’t listen in anymore. I am pleased that he told Dani he won’t take her anywhere, and hope he means what he says.

It’s Friday night, a week after our rendezvous. We’ve all eaten dinner, and Neil, Vette, Reesy, and I play a few rounds of Monopoly Junior until eight-thirty. The girls then run upstairs, sounding like a stampede of buffalos. Neil tells me he’ll probably sip a glass of wine, read the newspaper, and go crash on the sofa as usual. I’ve dressed down to a nightgown and am about to grab a few fashion magazines and read in bed, when suddenly I remember I left something—a grocery bag—in Neil’s SUV the last time I used it to go shopping. So I go out to the garage. The door hasn’t been let down yet. I open the latch at the back of the Explorer. The green Wal-Mart bag is still there with two tubes of toothpaste and a box of cotton swabs. I grab the bag and, for some reason, decide to sit down. The night air is cool, there’s nobody else outside, no cars driving down the street. I scoot back until I’m further in the vehicle, then I reach up and close the door. I’m in Neil’s Explorer and it’s dark and lonely, but I feel adventurous.

I meditate for a while, then I’m ready to go back in the house, but I hear footsteps. I lower myself in the small space so that I’m not visible. I’m pressed against the backseat that’s closest to the driver’s side. The driver’s-side door opens. I freeze. Neil coughs and slides into the car. He starts the ignition. I suck in my breath and close my eyes. Even though the engine is loud and the radio is playing, it seems like Neil may hear me just because I can hear myself. There’s a ringing sound in my ear and I’m trembling while Neil backs the car out the driveway, then heads down the street. I try to memorize the turns we’re making but soon give up. Neil has stopped listening to the radio and is now singing along with his CD player. He’s listening to the R&B group Jagged Edge and singing loud like he’s in the band. My hip gets banged every time he rides over a bump. I feel like I’m at an amusement park on a tiny roller coaster that jerks a lot. I have to pee and I press my legs together. My feet are bare. I’m listening for specific sounds, like Neil talking on his cell phone, but that hasn’t happened.

We travel along the freeway, engine sputtering and tapping. When we’re not driving as fast as we were, I figure Neil has exited and we’re back on the surface street. I see streetlights every time I’m brave enough to open my eyes and look up through the window. We stop several times, probably at intersections. Then I feel us going up a slight incline like we’re entering a parking lot.

The driver’s-side window rolls down. Neil punches some buttons. I hear a beep. A gate screeches open, sounding like Godzilla. We roll and dip over a few speed bumps. My toes are curled. Lack of saliva has dried my mouth. I look around and notice the tops of buildings, more streetlights.

Neil parks, turns off the ignition, opens and shuts his door. I raise my neck and watch. He walks upstairs to the door of a three-story brick apartment; he doesn’t knock. Neil removes his key ring, inserts a key. He opens the door and disappears behind it. I rub my neck to soothe the cramp that’s developed from my attempt to stay unnoticed.

I check the time. I have a Guess watch that glows in the dark. It’s 9:28. I wish I had my purse and the extra set of keys; if I did I’d drive off and make Neil think someone stole his ride. Wouldn’t that be radical? I laugh at the thought, but get sober real quick. I have no time to play tricks on him. Playing tricks can get you killed, and I’m not down for anything like that.

If only my husband could offer me a fair explanation. No promises. No signing papers. No vowing to do this or that on tape. Make me understand. Let me know what to expect. Is it going to be me? Or her? If I know for sure, I feel I can handle whatever comes my way. Who says life has to be logical? And right? And fair? I am willing to go through the fire, so I told myself years ago. The fire is now raging hot, stinging, and I bleed from its burns. But it’s my fire, my truth, and that’s where I am right now. As unbelievable as it is, this is my life!