Counterfeit Wives

by Phillip Thomas Duck

  Sela said, “For the longest time, the thought of two women together like that disgusted me.” She repositioned the pillow, hugged it tighter. “I felt that way even while I was tipping out to Zelda’s bed. Doing things to her and having her do things to me. I was disgusted by my own behavior. Disgusted in myself.”

  I cooled in it, let her talk.

  “I broke whatever it was I was doing with Zelda off eventually,” she continued. “Denied that very real part of myself, got deeply involved with a man.”

  I said, “The lure of a big black dick. That gets the best of us.”

  Sela smiled. “You’re right. And he was so grown and sexy, so handsome, so charming. His name was Levar. Pastor at my sister’s church.”

  I said, “Didn’t know you had a sister.”

  She nodded. “Bevolyn.”

  “And you got with her pastor?”

  She admitted, “Heavy.”

  “You gave him…?”

  “I did. I did. Gave him everything. And he gave as good as he got.” She smiled. “He was truly one of those talented dudes you speak of.”

  I clucked my tongue. “Bitch, you going to hell with gasoline panties on for that. Can’t believe you let the pastor lay hands on you.”

  She smirked.

  I asked, “What happened with Rev Levar?”

  Sela sighed. Finally took her focus off Gustave Courbet’s naked women.

  She didn’t look at me. She looked at her hands. They trembled slightly.

  Shit was about to get serious again. I waited.

  She whispered, “I sat in my car for the longest time. Sat and watched her move. I’d driven off once, but I came back. I wish I’d kept driving, but I was pulled to her and I couldn’t deny that. I’d been denying myself too much for too long.” She paused, cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “I parked away from the streetlights. Made sure I turned off my beams, but kept the engine running. I had my stereo on playing softly—Avant. ‘Don’t Take Your Love Away.’ It was cool outside and I had the heat on full blast. I remember having a little sweat on me. I imagined her touching my sweaty body. I was so excited by the thought.”

  I didn’t fully understand where Sela was taking me, other than it was a trip down memory lane for her. I sat back and enjoyed the ride.

  “She had big beautiful breasts, Nikki. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. I could see the imprint of her large brown nipples through her top. I wanted her nipples in my mouth. I wanted to fall down between her thighs and taste her until she moaned. She wore this sexy white lace outfit. She had a creamy ass, and she shook it like a pocket of loose change whenever she walked.”

  Sela stopped, swallowed and took another deep breath. It was the deepest breath I’ve ever heard. It had more than a little bit of angst at its edges.

  I wasn’t sure if she’d continue so I said, “Shook it like a pocket of loose change…such a poet.”

  Sela looked at me, then reached forward and touched my face. Her touch was tender, soft, caring. No man had ever touched me like that. Most men were too busy in a rush to stick their dicks up in a bitch to take the time and touch her tenderly. James was the closest of all the men I’d known to touching me with the tenderness that Sela did.

  Sela’s hand dropped away from my face after just a moment.

  “Usher was on by then, ‘Caught Up.’ Avant’s song had ended. I drove over to where she was standing with my beams still off. She turned, noticed me, smiled and moved over to my car. Her loose change just jingling. She was surprised to see me when she leaned down into my window but she held it together. She asked me if I was looking to get fucked or sucked. She was just as confused as I was, admitted she’d never done anything like that before. Told me her name was Delilah. It’d cost me a hundred bucks.”

  I realized then what Sela was telling me. I said, “She was a prostitute?”

  Sela shook her head. “I’d thought so. But she was an undercover.”

  I said, “Fuck,” let the word drag out.

  “Yeah, fuck is right. I got charged with a misdemeanor. I had to pay a five-hundred-dollar fine. They impounded my car.”

  “Triple fuck.”

  “Zelda came and got me. She didn’t judge me, either. She didn’t preach to me. She was loving and concerned. I knew then I couldn’t deny my true feelings any longer. I stopped telling myself that what I felt, what I needed, what I was doing was disgusting.

  “You wanted to know what it’s like to eat pussy? What it tastes like?”

  I nodded.

  Sela looked at me, hard. “I can only speak for myself.”

  “True.”

  She said, “It’s like being able to bottle heaven and having an opportunity to sip from that bottle forever because it never runs out.” She smiled at me. “And it tastes like freedom.”

  I whispered, “Such a poet.”

  Sela touched my stomach, rubbed it gently. I still hadn’t completely come to grips with my pregnancy. Still was at the point where I could forget I was gonna be a fat bitch in a matter of months.

  Sela said, “What your husband did to you was unconscionable. You should never take from another. I learned that with Zelda. She’s a giving, loving soul. And that’s what I’m striving to be, as well. It isn’t easy. I flounder. I struggle. But giving is what it’s about. That’s the way it should be.” She rubbed my stomach with a circular motion. “You should only give. Give out of love. Give because giving is good.”

  “Nikki, this is Ridley. Ridley, this is Nikki.”

  That was Zelda’s giving ass.

  Trying to give me something I didn’t ask for or want.

  She’d called Sela and me down for dinner and straight blindsided me. She put emphasis on my introduction, which let me know she’d been talking to this Ridley dude about me. I was pissed off by the whole thing. Who the fuck did Zelda think she was? She’d fucked up my flow in Macy’s with fine-as-frog-hair Darnell. Called me out on feeling the dude because I was married and pregnant, and yet, here she was playing Miss eHarmony.com. And why was it okay for a pregnant slash married bitch such as myself to get to know the likes of Ridley. Why? Because Zelda co-signed the situation. That pissed me off. Fuck her.

  Ridley said, “So nice to meet you, Nikki.”

  I gave him the ugly fuck face I make when I’m concentrating on my poetry writing. One of his eyebrows rose, and a smile thought about forming itself on his face. He had the same disease that infected so many of the new R & B dudes. Skinny, manorexia in full effect, with cornrows and shit, dressed real nice, though. He sported a brown leather jacket, corduroy pants, and his watch was straight Alaska with all the ice. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he told me he had a song on the radio and a video on television. I couldn’t have told him apart from Trey Songz or J. Holiday if somebody promised me they’d bring Big Mama and Hot Mama back from the grave.

  Zelda said, “I invited Ridley to have dinner with us.”

  She got the poetry-writing fuck face, too. I had plenty to spread around.

  Ridley, brave soul, said, “Zelda tells me you write poetry, Nikki. I’d love to hear some of it. From what Zelda tells me I bet I could really get into it.”

  I looked at him. “Bet that ain’t the only thing of mines you’d like to get into, nigga.”

  Zelda gasped.

  Ridley’s other eyebrow rose.

  Sela moved from the shadows and placed a hand on my shoulder.

  I said, “No disrespect, Ridley. I’m sure you’re a good dude if Zelda’s sending you my way—”

  Zelda cut in with, “Nikki, you’re—”

  I talked right over her. “I ain’t had a dick in me in a minute, Ridley. And fuck it, I might as well be real, I’m starting to get that itch. I’m all fucked up in the game. Shit got a bitch naming shit…shower massage head is Chuck—” I held up a finger “—this is Tyrone. My thumb is Fat Joe.”

  Ridley smiled.

  I went on, “But I don’t want to do it like this. This shit
is too forced. I like to pick my own nig. You feel me? You’re cool and all, but you’re a little prettier than I usually go for.”

  Ridley’s smile widened. “I am pretty, girl. Thanks for noticing.” He put his hand up for a high-five. Homeboy’s wrist was a little loose.

  My eyebrow rose at that.

  There was a sugary edge to his voice I hadn’t picked up before.

  I couldn’t form my mouth to speak.

  Zelda said, “You through, Nikki?”

  I nodded.

  She said, “Chuck and Tyrone and Fat Joe aren’t getting severance packages. And Ridley isn’t here to satisfy your itch.”

  Ridley wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “No, girl. No.”

  Zelda said, “Ridley’s a lawyer friend of mine.”

  “And gay,” Ridley added.

  I touched my throat. I was embarrassed as fuck.

  Running off at the mouth, as Big Mama would say, had me fucked up in the game for the umpteenth time in my life.

  I managed, “A gay lawyer.”

  Ridley smiled.

  Zelda said, “I asked Ridley to come over and go over some things with you.” She reached for Sela. Her life partner came over. They embraced. Zelda continued, “Asked Ridley to come over and go over some things with all of us.”

  I was confused as fuck. “What things?”

  Sela had been quiet the entire time. She finally spoke then. “Zelda and I would like to adopt your child, Nikki. When the baby is born we’d like for you to give her to us.”

  CHAPTER 12

  I was startled awake by a cool, wet kiss on my forehead.

  I opened my eyes to complete darkness.

  And found myself in the living room, lying on the couch. I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten there. Last thing I remembered, I was in the bedroom, making love to my fiancée. Camera rolling, I believe. Sex, lies and videotape, that was us.

  The air conditioner was on, wheezing like it needed Primatene Mist, but blowing out cool air just the same. A soft pillow cushioned my head. My shoes were off. My clothes were on. At least, my shirt was. I was without pants, in boxers and dress socks. The buttoned-down shirt I had on was a wrinkled mess.

  I sat up. Tried to remember what had happened to me. There was a wet cloth on my forehead. What I thought was a kiss. I removed it and dropped it on the coffee table, an Ikea piece of furniture that seriously needed upgrading. I didn’t care if the cloth left a stain on the table or made the surface bubble. It wasn’t mine. It was hers.

  A second later, I was removing the cloth from the table, dropping it on the carpet. That was a less obtrusive spot. I’d take care of it later.

  My penis was hard and I needed to urinate, but I didn’t have the energy to get up just yet.

  A figure crawled down the hallway.

  I heard soft footfalls in a woman’s rhythm.

  My pulse was scattershot and my brain was groggy. The figure moved closer. I wasn’t frightened. I didn’t have fear. Fear didn’t live in my life. I was just trying to remember what had happened.

  “Hey you,” my wife-to-be said to me as she appeared at the edge of the living room.

  I nodded in the direction of her shadow. I couldn’t make her out clearly.

  But even her black silhouette made my heart flutter.

  Our situation wasn’t good. It was quickly becoming something the others hadn’t been. I was getting more involved than I should. Emotionally invested, for some reason. And I didn’t know why.

  She moved farther into the living room, started opening blinds and then turning on lamps. She was very deliberate in how she turned the lights on. Her moves were delicate like a dancer’s. More delicate than Nikki ever was. I sat and watched her move about. Sat and appreciated her grace and beauty.

  She flipped a switch for the overhead chandelier.

  The light threw me off. I squinted. Covered my eyes with my fingers.

  “Too bright for you?” she asked. Her voice was gentle and caring, loving. “I’ll turn it off. And I can shut the blinds again.”

  I dropped my hands from my eyes, blinked a few times, got my bearings. I shook my head. “No. It’s fine. You can leave it, love.”

  She cleared her throat, touched her neck. There was something she wanted to say.

  I said, “Last thing I remember is making love to you.”

  She smiled. “You were insatiable. Never saw you like that before.”

  I strained to remember. “We taped it, right?”

  She nodded in answer. “We sure did, Mr. Marcus.”

  Mr. Marcus was a black porn star. I’d introduced her to that world. She knew them all. Still, she said I was the best.

  Jada Fire, Dee, Mercedez, they were my favorites. But she was the best.

  She moved closer, by the edge of the couch. I could have easily reached out and pulled her to me. I wanted to. But I didn’t.

  She fingered her engagement ring, turned it on her finger. That piece of jewelry was a trick mirror. No matter how you looked at it, you wouldn’t get a clear picture of our relationship. I didn’t even have a clear picture anymore.

  She said, “I want to talk to you about what happened…”

  “What happened?”

  She said, “After we made love.”

  She took another tentative step in my direction. I patted a spot next to me. She studied it for a moment before finally settling into the give of the couch.

  I asked, “What happened after we made love?”

  “You had an anxiety attack.”

  I was stunned. “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  I shook my head. “No way. You are seriously wrong on that.”

  She said, “I know about anxiety attacks. I used to have them myself.”

  “Wasn’t an anxiety attack,” I answered.

  She wasn’t hearing me. “It feels like your chest is closing in. It takes the air out of your lungs. It’s a very frightening experience. I know, Michael.”

  I had nothing to say.

  She said, “You were sleeping, and then you woke up breathing like that.”

  “No.”

  She said, “The camera was still running.” She smiled. “I wanted to document our every moment. You can watch for yourself.”

  I looked at her, hard.

  Then, surprisingly, she asked, “Do I satisfy you, Michael?”

  I swallowed. “Yes.”

  She slid over on the couch, snaked a hand through the waist of my boxers, and dug for that bone. She gave me serious eye contact the entire time. My body went rigid. My heartbeat pulsed. What was she doing to me?

  “You’re sure I satisfy you?” She was massaging me like I was wet clay.

  My dick grew in her hand. I was harder than an exit strategy from Iraq.

  I bit my lip, nodded. She more than satisfied me.

  She took a deep breath. I wanted to be on her lips like the warmth on her breath.

  She dropped to her knees right in front of me, stopped massaging my bone and looked up at me. Her hazel eyes were a weakness of mine. They touched something inside of me, shifted it around. They affected me.

  She asked, “You want me to suck your dick, Michael? You want me to suck it like Mercedez and Tyra Banks?”

  I whispered, “Briana. Briana Banks.”

  “You want me to take it deep in my mouth, Michael?”

  She’d never done it before. Talked about it earlier, but shied away from it when we got in the bedroom, when the camera was rolling. The fact that she was then asking was a victory for me. But I was too caught up to even realize it at the time. All I wanted was for her to suck it. Hell yeah, I wanted to be in the warmth of her mouth. I wanted to feel her tongue.

  I said, “Yes. I want you to take it deep in your mouth.”

  “I was going to do it earlier. But I chickened out while the camera was on,” she admitted. She paused then and I heard the silence of regret. “I should have just done it. I’m going to do it now. I know it’s something yo
u want from me. I’m going to do it. I don’t want to lose you, Michael.”

  “You’re not going to lose me.”

  No more words were spoken.

  She helped me out of my boxers, slid them down and let them pool around my ankles. I stepped out of them. She tossed them to the side.

  She took me in her hand, regarded my dick for a moment.

  And then moved to business.

  The length of my dick disappeared in her mouth.

  I was at the back of her throat and she didn’t gag.

  I watched the rhythm of her head bobbing as she sucked me.

  My breathing was ragged. My chest rose and fell. The warmth of her mouth had me on fire.

  I could only manage a weak, “Damn.”

  She gripped the base of my dick and sucked hard on my tip.

  “Fuck. Shit.” I growled, “Suck it.”

  My words must have moved her because her pace picked up.

  She stopped playing with just the tip and was taking in the whole thing again. Wet sounds filled the room. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t keep them open any longer. Closed my eyes and fought to keep a growl in my chest. The look on my face was of pure pain, I’m sure. But I felt nothing but the pain of pleasure.

  She cupped my testicles, and then sucked them as well.

  She took me into the deepest part of her throat again.

  After a while I said, “Enough. I want to fuck you, love.”

  She shook her head, kept on sucking.

  I tried to force her away. She wouldn’t budge. She used her leverage against me.

  I hated her. I loved her.

  She stopped briefly and said, “I want to taste you, Michael. I want to taste your seeds.”

  “No.”

  She barked, “You’re going to come in my mouth.”

  “No.”

  She paid no attention to my weak resistance. She started sucking me again.

  I didn’t resist any longer.

  Fellatio.

  That’s the Latin word for oral stimulation of the penis.