Shattering the Myth (13 page)

“Maybe some water or a soft drink?”

“No thanks, I'm fine. Really!”

“Indeed, you are!” Our eyes met again. My knee took on a
life of its own. It started rocking back and forth, causing a friction on my clit. “If I had known such an attractive sista would be showing up on my doorstep this morning, I would've dressed for the occasion.”

“You look just fine.” Hell, he looked better than fine. He looked like a glass of ice cold water in the middle of the desert; mouthwatering. He was wearing a pair of drawstring navy cotton pants and a white body-hugging T-shirt that revealed every ripple and muscle of his toned physique.

“Well, I'm going to grab some coffee if you don't mind. I'm still feeling a little sheepish this morning. I tend to be a night owl.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” I commented. “I work very long hours myself.”

“I hope you're not all work and no play. A young, vivacious sista like yourself needs to paint the town every now and then.”

“I wish. The only painting I get to do is touching up my nails.”

We shared a laugh, and he headed off to the kitchen. I couldn't help but notice the size of his feet. Umph, umph, umph! Let's just say my peter heater went up about fifty degrees.

While he was gone, I took a quick survey of his place. It was a huge apartment with a loft. I immediately wondered what type of bed he had stowed away. He looked like a waterbed man to me. I was willing to bet he could make a lot of waves.

There were photographs hanging all over the walls of beautiful African-Americans: men, women, and children. I was thoroughly impressed. The walls were an eggshell hue, and they worked wonderfully in contrast to the colorful pictures. The flooring was wooden parquet, and he had expensive throw rugs scattered here and there.

His voice in my ear startled me because I didn't hear him come back in the room, rather less walk up so close to me that
I could feel his breath on the nape of my neck. “Shall we get started?”

“Fine by me,” I mumbled, not looking forward to posing for a camera. “Where would you like me to sit?”

He surveyed the room while he sipped on his java and then pointed to one of the windows with his free hand. “I think over by that window would be great. The sunlight hitting up against your beautiful skin would be perfect.”

I tried to control the blush, but it simply wasn't happening. I looked into his mesmerizing eyes. “You really think I have beautiful skin?”

He quickly responded. “I think you have beautiful everything!”

We stared at each other, and I suddenly had the urge to jump his bones. He finally broke the trance and cleared his throat before taking another swig out of his mug. He put the coffee down on an end table and then moved a crate over by the window. I watched him intensely while he covered it with a black velvet blanket. Then he held out his hand for me.

I walked over to him. The moment I took his hand, a surge of electricity shot through my entire body. I wondered if he felt it too.

“Why don't you have a seat right here?”

“Thanks!”

He positioned my shoulders and held my chin up until he was satisfied with the pose. “Hold it right there. Don't move.”

He quickly retrieved a camera with a long lens and squatted down a few feet in front of me. “Smile for me, beautiful.”

I couldn't do it. I couldn't smile. I was suddenly encased by fear. I started gnawing on my bottom lip and my hands began trembling uncontrollably.

“What's wrong, Evoni?”

I looked into Curtis's eyes, but no answer would come to my lips. Instead, tears came to my eyes.

“I'm so ashamed!” I jumped up from the crate, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my suit. “Look, this just isn't a good day for me. Is it alright if I schedule another appointment? Maybe for next week sometime?”

I was headed to the door, after retrieving my purse and keys off his sofa, when he grabbed me by the hand and swung me around. “What's wrong with you, Evoni?” he reiterated. “Have I done something to upset you?”

“No, it's not you!” I exclaimed. The last thing I wanted him to think was that he had offended me. “I know that this is silly, but—”

“But what?”

He looked so sincere, so comforting, so sexy. “I hate having my picture taken.”

He started laughing something terrible. “Is that all?” I lowered my eyes to the floor. “A lot of people get nervous about having their picture taken. Just relax.”

He let go of my hand and started caressing my shoulders. It felt so damn good. I still wasn't relaxed enough to pose for a picture, though. I had no idea what I was going to tell my boss. I would just have to make up something. The brochure would have to go out to our clients minus my picture.

I pulled away from his embrace. “I'm sorry. I just can't do this. You've been so kind to me. I'll definitely recommend you to all of my friends. Do you have some extra business cards I can hand out?”

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. I could sense his eyes all over me, exploring my face, my body. Then it came out of nowhere.
The kiss
.

He took my face in his hands and lifted it until I was lost in
his eyes again. He started with my forehead. Short, sweet, tender kisses. His lips moved down to the ridge of my nose and glided down slowly and methodically until they found mine. My mouth gratefully and hungrily accepted his tongue without hesitation. Before I knew it, I was totally engrossed in his arms and he in mine.

Our kisses became deeper. The next thing I knew he had me up against the wall with my legs straddled around his waist, and my blazer was toppling to the floor. Then the kisses stopped as suddenly as they began.

He put me back down on the floor gently and took my hand. “Follow me.”

I whispered, “I would follow you anywhere.”

He led me into the bathroom and then shut the door. I assumed he wanted to take a shower or bath together. Much to my surprise, he twirled me around until we were both facing a full-length mirror on the back of the door.

“Why don't you like to take pictures, Evoni?” He reached around me and started unbuttoning my blouse. “You're so incredibly beautiful.”

I stood there, frozen, and glared in the mirror while he seductively removed all of my clothing, nibbling on my neck and shoulder blades while he went about his task. Once I was entirely nude, he took my pert breasts into his palms and rubbed my hard nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

One of his hands dropped down and found the cherry between my thighs. I was in a trance, somewhere between reality and heaven's gate. His fingers worked magic on my clit and explored my pussy lips with a tenderness I had never felt.

Then he blurted it out. “Let me take your picture. Let me take a picture of the
real
you.”

I was still nervous, but by that point, I was so much into
him that even taking a picture was acceptable. Posing in the nude was something I never imagined doing. Hell, I never even wanted to pose with clothes on, but for this man who went by the name of Curtis, I was not only willing but eager to please him.

“Okay,” I replied, taking a hold of the hand between my legs and guiding his fingers deeper into me. I stared at him in the mirror. “Take my picture.”

We left the bathroom, and he laid me down on his waterbed. It was covered with red satin sheets. He removed the pins from my hair, letting my hair flow down around my shoulders. He bent over and kissed me. “Wait right here, baby.”

He left to get his camera, and while he was gone, I played with my nipples. I had never masturbated in front of a man before, but I didn't stop when he reentered the room. In fact, I put on a show for him.

I masturbated while he took pictures of me. I can't believe I can actually just come out and say it like that, but that's exactly what I did and I have no regrets. I didn't look at the camera, though. I shut my eyes and pretended it was his hands on my breasts and fingering my pussy. I imagined him taking me right there on his bed, grabbing my full hips and pulling them deeper onto his dick, partaking of me from the front and then from the back. I imagined him suckling on my nipples and nibbling on my ass cheeks. I imagined him sliding his dick in and out of my mouth, and his cum trickling out of the sides and down my chin, splattering on my breasts. Then, when I had imagined it all, I came all over his red satin sheets. I came in front of the camera. I came like I never had.

He snapped one last picture, and then I heard the humming while the camera automatically rewound the film. It was that moment I opened my eyes. I was shocked to see that he was
naked. To this day, I still don't know when he took off his clothes. All I know is that he looked good. Damn good.

I sat up on the bed and reached out my arms for him. He put the camera down on the foot of the bed and joined me. Then I jumped his bones for real. We did all the things I had imagined when I was masturbating.

Curtis and I have been living together for more than a year now. Our wedding is next month. I just can't wait to see how the wedding pictures turn out.

Drake and I had been married for less than two years when I was ready to pack my things up and leave his ass for good. Don't get me wrong! He wasn't physically or emotionally abusive or anything of that nature. It wasn't from lack of attention or quality time together either. I was on the verge of deserting him and heading home to Momma for one reason and one reason only. He didn't fuck me right.

I know what you're thinking. Why didn't I know he couldn't fuck before the marriage? I agree it is a logical question. I only wish I had a logical answer. Drake was very romantic during our dating relationship and extremely sincere. I guess I let those qualities overshadow his lack of sexual skills. I didn't feel putting sex in front of other priorities was the
mature
thing to do.

On my wedding night, I realized my horrid mistake. Throughout the engagement, Drake and I always talked about how we were going to save some things for the honeymoon, such as performing oral sex on one another, and that was cool with me. I wanted something special to look forward to just like him.

We had a beautiful wedding ceremony in my mother's backyard in Cleveland. By that time, we were already settled down in a cozy little apartment together in Akron but still abstained from oral sex until the wedding. It was on my wedding night that Drake made it apparent he only planned to go downtown to window-shop and never intended to actually purchase anything.

The sex on our honeymoon was swift and effortless, boring even. I should've gotten an annulment, but I truly love Drake. For almost two years, I suffered through lying in the dark in the missionary position, exactly two times a week, while he had his way with me. I never had orgasms because he was done before I could ever become aroused enough to come. Half of the time I was so turned off, he fucked me dry, and it became painful.

I tried everything I could possibly think of, including romantic, seductive evenings, wearing sexy lingerie, etc. He was totally unreceptive to all these things. He would just fuck me quick and then go to sleep, assuming the satisfaction was mutual.

I tried reading erotic material aloud to him in bed, buying him skin mags, and even renting pornos. He would listen to the erotica, although it obviously made him uncomfortable, but flat-out refused to look at the mags or porno movies.

Despite constant temptation from men at the office and the gym where I work out, I couldn't bring myself to cheat on Drake, so I did the next best thing. Men made love to me the way I wanted them to in my mind. I became a mental nymphomaniac, thinking about sex every second of every day, no matter where I was or what I was doing. It satisfied my sexual urges for a little while, but not for long.

Then I asked a female friend of mine, who always seemed so sexually in tune with herself, to tell me how to masturbate, and she gave me blow-by-blow instructions. I would sneak and do it whenever I could, while Drake was working late at the
office or gone out to the store. I tried to make every private moment an erotic one. Once, I even masturbated in the bathtub while he was right in the other room.

I was going nuts! The daydreams and masturbation were cool, but I needed Drake to make love to me in all the ways I desired. He just wasn't responding though.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. So one night, over a dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas, I told Drake when my vacation from work came up in a couple weeks, I was going home to visit my mother. Then I added, “I may not be coming back!”

They were the most difficult words I had ever spoken, but they had to come out. He asked me, “Why? What do you mean? Are you saying you want a divorce?”

I got up from the kitchen table, walked over, and leaned on the counter. “Drake, I love you more than anything in this world, but there are some issues we need to work out.”