by Carl Weber
By the time I was back in my bedroom, the Viagra should have been ready to take effect, and with a little encouragement I’d be ready for action. Slipping out of my robe and under the covers, I waited for Lisa to come out of the bathroom, hoping she’d be wearing something sexy.
I wasn’t disappointed when she walked out. Lisa was wearing an all-white teddy with a white garter and stockings. She also had on a pair of white high heels and bright red lipstick. She looked like a Playboy playmate, and I felt like the luckiest man alive when she climbed on top of me. When she kissed me, her tongue slid into my mouth, reminding me how skilled she could be. I imagined all the other places she’d be using it that night. Finally she had worked her way down to my chest, nibbling on my nipples. I wasn’t positive, because she was lying on top of me, but I knew I must have been rock hard. That Viagra was doing its stuff. Lisa pulled back the covers slowly and began to trail her tongue down my stomach. I opened my eyes and lifted my head, looking down eagerly. I hadn’t seen my poor penis hard in almost two months. I wanted to see it and let out a sigh of relief.
“Kyle, are you concentrating?” Lisa sounded disappointed.
She’d seen it before me. I was limp as an egg noodle. God, what was I gonna do? I knew I couldn’t live my life like this. Lisa tried her best to awaken my manhood, but everything she tried just didn’t work.
Finally in frustration she shouted, “This is fucking ridiculous! I spent a hundred dollars on this outfit. I should have spent it on a good gigolo.” She stomped out of the room.
Lisa slept in the guest room that night. I tried, but couldn’t sleep at all. I didn’t stick around for breakfast, but drove straight to Dr. Rayburn’s office. I had to wait until nine o’clock for him to get in, but when I finally spoke to him he said, “Kyle, I’m sorry to hear that the Viagra didn’t work. But I did tell you that this could be a psychological disorder and not a physical problem. Why don’t I give you the number to Dr. Jerome Stanley? He’s a top-notch psychiatrist, and he’s also a brother.”
I called Dr. Stanley right away for an appointment. After the first visit, I felt comfortable enough to make a second, and before I knew it, I had seen the shrink five times. He hadn’t made any strong conclusions yet, but promised me this would be the visit he would give me his full evaluation of my situation. That’s why I was sitting in his office, sweating like I’d run a marathon.
“Mr. Richmond,” the receptionist called out, “the doctor will see you now.”
I sighed heavily as I entered the doctor’s office. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. I had this terrible image of the doc telling me my problem was permanent. Things were already bad enough at home. I’d been avoiding Lisa and hadn’t slept in our room since the night of the failed Viagra. Not only that, but the girls were starting to sense the problem between us and it was obviously affecting them. My oldest, Jewel, a perfectly behaved kid, was really starting to act up in class.
I shook the doc’s hand when I entered, and he gestured for me to have a seat by his desk. The doc was a brown-skinned man, probably in his fifties. While I sat down, he rummaged through a few of his desk drawers. I couldn’t tell if he was stalling or really trying to find something, but his lack of eye contact made me very uncomfortable.
When he looked up, I tried to lighten my mood by asking, “So, Doc, do you think you can cure me?”
He shuffled the papers on his desk and looked at me with a tiny smirk. “Yes, Kyle, I think I can cure you.” Then he returned to his paper search until he found a folder.
“Sorry about that. I’m a little disorganized today.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry, Doc. I’m disorganized every day.”
“Mr. Richmond, I think we can be certain your problem originated around the time you were falsely arrested. But I don’t think it was entirely your arrest that caused your impotence. I think it was stress-related.”
“Stress?” I was confused.
“Yes, stress-related. I think you need to take a vacation. Preferably just you and your wife. The normal strains of your everyday life had been intensifying, and this fiasco with the police just sent you over the edge.”
I stroked my mustache as I listened intently to the doctor. What he was saying made a lot of sense. I’d been working sixty-plus hours a week for almost five years, and the only time I had to relax was playing ball with the fellas and making love to Lisa. I hadn’t been on a vacation in three years.
“Okay, Doc. I think that’s a good idea.”
“I’d also like you and your wife to come in together for an hour session each week, in addition to the time we spend one-on-one.” He reached into his drawer and handed me a business card. “I know this is going to be hard, but I’d also like the two of you to see Beverly Jenkins. She’s one of the best sex therapists in the business.”
“Sex therapist? I’m not going to a sex therapist. Why do I need a sex therapist?” Just the sound of it made me feel that even if I could get it up, this so-called professional didn’t believe I would know what to do with it.
“Doc, you said it was stress. Why can’t I just take a vacation and cut back my hours at work? I’m gonna be seeing you twice a week.”
“I said your problem was stress-related. I didn’t say it had anything to do with work. In fact, work is probably the place you’re least stressed.”
I looked at the doc strangely. He was really confusing me now.
“Kyle, your stress derives from your marriage.”
“Hold on. I have to disagree with you. The only thing stressful about my marriage is that I can’t get it up,” I explained, like I was the one with the medical degree.
Dr. Stanley sat back in his chair and folded his hands. He didn’t say a word, just watched me until I calmed down.
“Let me ask you something, Kyle.”
“Go ahead.”
“Why’d you marry your wife in the first place? Do you have a problem with black women?”
“Hell no. What kind of a question is that?” I was offended.
“Then how come in every session we’ve had you’ve admitted to avoiding affection with your wife when black women are around?”
“That’s because sisters be trippin’, they get all jealous and start talkin’ shit about you.”
“Why should that bother you? You’re married.” I didn’t know how to answer him.
“Didn’t you also say that you don’t let your wife come to your stores because you didn’t want your customers to know you were married to a white woman?”
“Yeah, but that’s just business. Some sisters get offended when they find out I sold out, and they take their business elsewhere.”
“Oh, so you think you sold out by marrying a white woman?”
“Yes. Uh, I mean no. It’s just that sisters don’t wanna do business with a brother who’s married to a white woman.” He was confusing me, and I was getting angry because it seemed so easy for him to do.
“I don’t understand. What’s more important? Your wife, or a few prejudiced women that won’t buy their hair care products from you because you married outside your race?”
“Doc, you’re black. You know how it is.” I shrugged my shoulders, hoping for some sympathy.
“No, Kyle. I don’t know how it is. And whether I’m black or not has nothing to do with it. Especially since my wife happens to be white, too. You have a problem with your wife being white, Kyle. And I think we need to come up with a plan to deal with it.”
“Doc, that can’t be right. I love my wife.” Everything he was saying about me was scaring me.
“Well, Kyle, you can always get a second opinion. But you said yourself that you no longer see your wife as a woman, but as a white woman.” He was killing me with my own words.
“I didn’t mean that, Doc.”
He looked at me with a doubtful expression.
“At least I didn’t mean it that way. Did I?” I must have looked stupid.
He looked at his watch, then
at me. “You’ve gotta make a decision. Either you’re going to get some help or you’re not. Go home and talk to your wife. Give me a call in a few days.”
“Okay, Doc.” I walked out of that office feeling much worse than when I walked in. Could this man really be right about me?
I didn’t go home after seeing Dr. Stanley. I couldn’t. I was just too embarrassed to tell Lisa that the doc diagnosed my impotence as race-related. So I went to the Roadhouse Bar to have a couple of drinks and play some chess. I wasn’t there five minutes when this fine dark-skinned sister, probably about twenty, walked over.
“Hey, baby, the bartender said you’re drinkin’ Dewars on the rocks. If I buy this one, think you can buy the next?” She sat down next to me, handing me a drink. “My name’s Sheika, what’s yours?”
“Just call me married.” I lifted my left hand and showed her my wedding ring.
“What?” She laughed, sitting back in her chair. “You gotta be kidding. Is that supposed to mean something?”
“Look, baby, you look good, real good. But I’m not interested, okay?”
“Is that so?” Would you believe this bold young sister reached under the table, slid her hands between my legs, and took hold of my penis. Instantly making it hard. “That’s not what your friend’s saying.” She kept massaging me, and I was getting harder and harder.
I knew I should have stopped her, but I couldn’t. It just felt too damn good.
“Come on, baby. Let’s get outta here,” she offered. “I’m horny as hell, and I only live two blocks away.”
“Aw’ight, let’s go,” I agreed with barely another thought.
You know, in seven years of marriage I never once cheated on my wife. I’d had opportunities. Plenty of them. And I came damn close more than once. But I always found the willpower to stop myself. That wasn’t gonna happen this time. My stuff hadn’t had any action in so long, I was powerless against the desire this fine young thing had awakened in me with just one touch.
We both got up, and I followed her to the bar.
“Maria, I’m going home, baby. I found what I was looking for.” She high-fived a gorgeous Latino sister with long black hair.
“Aw’ight, girl. I’ll see you at home in a while,” her friend replied with a devilish laugh.
It didn’t take any time to walk the two blocks to Sheika’s apartment. She lived above a real estate office on Jamaica Avenue. When we entered the apartment, she immediately walked over to the stereo and turned on some slow, romantic music. It was dark in the room and I couldn’t see a thing, so I just stood and waited for her lead.
“Come on, baby, my room’s back here.” She took my hand and guided me down the narrow hall to her room. The lights were still out, and I couldn’t really see how her room was decorated, but I could see the silhouette of the bed, so I sat down.
“You know, you still haven’t told me your name.”
“Kyle. Just call me Kyle.”
“Kyle, I like that.”
A street lamp outside cast a subtle golden light in the room. I watched her slip out of her tank top and jeans, and the light made her spectacular body appear to glow. She had large breasts, and a butt shaped like a Georgia peach. She swayed like an exotic dancer, and I swear I’ve never been so turned on in my life. I gently took hold of her waist and let my fingers do the walking. She was so soft. I pulled her in close, sucking on her breasts until both her nipples were fully erect. Then I laid back on the bed, pulling her up until her womanhood was right over my face.
I performed oral sex on her for what seemed like an eternity. Every time she had an orgasm, I would pull her down to give her another one. Finally she gasped. “Okay, baby, that’s enough. It’s just too sensitive down there.”
I let go of her, and she slowly removed my pants, sliding her head down to return the favor. I was rock hard, and it felt so good when she licked me. I let out a long moan.
“Ohhh, you think that’s somethin’?” She climbed on top of me, mounting me like a horse. “That ain’t nothin’.”
I let out another moan, this one even louder. For twenty minutes I watched her ride me like an expert. Then, out of nowhere, I saw someone standing in the shadows of the doorway. It had to be her roommate Maria. She was taking off her clothes, and I watched her silhouette in amazement, thinking of the possibilities.
“Mind if my friend joins in?” Sheika asked.
“Hell no.” I closed my eyes and savored the moment. I hadn’t done anything like this in ten years.
Sheika slid off me, and immediately a pair of warm hands took hold of my penis. Her friend was stroking me so good I had to open my eyes to watch. That’s when I saw my wife Lisa with my penis in one hand and a twelve-inch butcher knife in the other.
“Hi, honey,” was all she said as she raised the knife above her head, preparing to whack off my best friend.
“Nooooooooooo!!!!!!!!” I screamed, sitting up in the bed. Lisa was still standing in front of me, but she wasn’t holding a knife and I wasn’t in Sheika’s apartment. I was in the guest room of my house.
“Kyle, are you all right?” Lisa asked frantically. “You were screaming so loud I thought you were going to wake the girls.”
I reached down between my legs and held on to my penis for dear life. “It was only a dream,” I muttered, rocking back and forth. “It was only a dream.”
“Kyle, are you all right?” Lisa reached to touch me and I scampered to the other side of the bed. I’d never been so afraid of anyone in my entire life.
“Look, I’m going back to bed. This is bullshit.” I was trembling as I watched Lisa walk out of the room.
I hadn’t been able to sleep for two weeks. Every time I laid my head down, I had that same damn dream. I swear, there are a lot of bad things you can dream about, but your wife cutting off your penis has to be the worst. I’d basically isolated myself from Lisa and the kids. I was so paranoid and sleep deprived that I was at the point where I would snap at anyone and everyone for no good reason. Finally, perhaps out of desperation, I decided to confront my problem. I sat at the breakfast table with my family for the first time in over two weeks.
“We’re having omelets and sausage, Daddy,” my daughter Jade told me.
“He can see that, Jade. You’re so stupid,” Jewel told her.
“I’m not stupid.” Jade began to cry.
“Jewel, stop making your sister cry,” I ordered.
“Why should I, Daddy? You make Mommy cry every night.” I turned to look at Lisa, who had her back to me, preparing something at the counter.
“What have you been telling her?”
“Kyle, she’s seven years old. She doesn’t need me to tell her anything. She sees things.” She turned to look at me, and that’s when I saw the knife she was holding. I swear it was pointed right at my penis. I broke into a cold sweat and nearly had a heart attack on the spot.
“Kyle, are you all right? Maybe you should go see Dr. Stanley again.” Lisa placed the knife on the counter and walked toward me. It took me a second to recover from the nightmare image I had just seen.
“I’m aw’right.” I got up from my seat, trying to put some distance between Lisa and me.
“What is wrong with you? You’re acting so strange lately.” Lisa had an attitude.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I insisted, though I still had flashes of her wielding the knife.
“Look, I gotta get outta here. I gotta go to work.” I walked toward the foyer leading to the front door and picked up my briefcase and coat.
“Kyle.” I turned, and there was Lisa, standing behind my three daughters.
“You forgot to kiss them goodbye.” She looked down at the girls.
My mind was in another world. I had never forgotten to kiss my girls goodbye. Even when I was mad at Lisa, I always kissed them goodbye.
“Daddy’s sorry, girls.” I bent over and gave my two youngest a big kiss on the lips. Jewel resisted, turning her head so that I could only kiss her c
heek. I didn’t even look at Lisa. I just turned and walked out the door.
“Excuse me, sir?” the woman said in a soft Jamaican accent.
I opened my eyes and smiled at the beautiful, golden brown stewardess as she politely placed the delicious smelling tray of food in front of me. I was glad I decided to spend the extra money on first class instead of coach. The service was excellent.
“You said you couldn’t make up your mind between the filet mignon and the lobster, so I brought you both.” She smiled.
“Thanks.”
“No problem at all. Just call me if you need anything else.” As I placed my napkin on my lap and started my meal, I thought about Lisa. She’d probably gotten my note by now.
When I left the house that morning, I drove straight to the nearest real estate office. Two hours later I was back home, packing my stuff to move into my new apartment. Thank God Lisa wasn’t home. I don’t think I could have faced her. But I also couldn’t take living with her anymore. The dreams were driving me crazy, and being around her was making me constantly paranoid. On my way out the door, I wrote her a ten-thousand-dollar check, and a note that said:
Dear Lisa,
I’m going on vacation alone. I don’t know when I’ll be back, so don’t wait up. Trust me, it won ’t be anytime soon.
Kyle
It was a cruel way to leave things, and it would probably come back to haunt me, but I just didn’t want to face her. Not until I cleared my head and got rid of those damn dreams. I finished my dinner and leaned my head back to try to sleep. If things turned out right, I would have a dreamless sleep, and wouldn’t wake up until the plane had already landed in Africa.
9
Wil
It was almost midnight when the phone rang, and I was feeling pretty good. Diane was lying on her back, half-asleep, and I was giving her one of my patented foot massages. We’d just made love for the second time that night, which was pretty amazing, considering the baby was due in less than ten days. I reached for the phone, trying not to disturb her.