Single Husbands

by HoneyB

  Damn! What the fuck did his wife expect of him? Didn’t she realize he was a man? A man with a dick that got hard every damn day, sometimes six times a day. Whenever his dick got hard—he wasn’t different from any other man—Herschel wanted to stick his dick in his wife, and since most of the time his wife wasn’t available, then he’d stick his dick in whatever pussy was ready, willing, and immediately available.

  Nikki should’ve called ahead and told him she was coming home a week early. The argument Nikki started six days ago was old but far from over this morning, or tomorrow morning, or the next day after that day. Herschel knew he was the man in, not of, his house, because shit between them was never resolved until Nikki said so. Why in the fuck did he have to sleep on the sofa six nights in a row to appease her ass when she adamantly objected to having his baby? Wasn’t his wife supposed to bear his children?

  The nursery room had been decorated for ten years. They didn’t have guests occupying the other four bedrooms. Why did he have to call her ass from the home phone every damn night she was out of town just to prove he was at home? Wasn’t like he stayed or slept at home after hanging up the phone with her. Last night was his last night sleeping on the couch.

  “You know I love you, so why do you keep disrespecting me and threatening to leave me?” Herschel asked, squeezing a little tighter.

  “I can’t breathe.” Nikki whimpered as she struggled to wedge her fingers beneath his. “You’re”—she gasped— “choking me”—she gasped again—“too tight, for real.”

  Herschel had zoned out. He wanted to let go of Nikki, but he couldn’t. He did love his wife. His mind said, “Let go, man,” but his fingers tightened more as he penetrated Nikki deeper. Maybe if she lost consciousness, became brain-dead, then died an accidental death of unknown causes, he’d be free to marry Ivory and move his mistress into Nikki’s home. No, actually, Nikki’s place on The Island was a mansion.

  Their two-thousand-square-foot master bedroom overlooked the Biscayne Bay. The porch outside their bedroom had a tropical theme that complemented living in South Beach. The tangerine stucco walls with high-arched cutaways allowed the perfect amount of sunlight to shine onto the outdoor covered patio and into their bedroom. Tropical punch sofas and burnt orange wicker chairs sparsely scattered about the patio made Herschel want to fuck his wife outside in their flaming red hammock every morning. He imagined bending Nikki’s naked body over the waist-high stucco wall and sticking his hard dick inside her wet pussy.

  When the sun wasn’t shining, the track lighting lined along the patio ceiling created a purple-blue nighttime atmosphere more seductive than the day. The mural of tall palm trees clustering the ceiling reminded him how his wife’s confidence could outlast his greatest storm. Why should Herschel stay home alone in such a romantic space while Nikki whisked her ass in and out of Miami International Airport like the terminal had a revolving door exclusively for her?

  Herschel braced his forearms against Nikki’s shoulders, pulling his wife toward him as he slid his dick deep inside her. He couldn’t deny that stroking Nikki’s pussy felt like dipping his dick in warm milk and honey. Loosening his grip, he slipped his finger into her mouth, imagining it was his dick, then grunted, “Suck it for me, baby.”

  Nikki clamped her teeth around his finger, refusing to let go.

  “Ow!” he screamed, praying his knuckle was still attached. “Goddamn! What the hell’s wrong with you, woman? You almost bit my finger off!” Herschel yelled, pushing Nikki flat against the bed. He wanted to call her a “bitch,” but the last time he’d done that, shit got really bad for him when Nikki threatened to put him out and call his boss. That was too much testosterone power for a woman. In a few minutes, she could’ve made him both homeless and unemployed. His $250,000 white-collar annual salary was less than the yearly interest on their joint bank account.

  Facing him, she rammed her knee into his balls.

  “Ahhh! Woman, are you crazy! What the fuck… uhhh… is wrong with you?”

  Patting her neck, Nikki gasped for air.

  Falling into a Z shape, Herschel grabbed his nuts; then his bald head fell onto the mattress. Shifting his eyes to the corners, he stared at Nikki as she got out of the bed. Orange tiger-striped imprints of his hands remained embedded in his wife’s flesh. He saw his fingerprints spiral her neck like a choker necklace tattoo. Damn, he didn’t mean to do that. Herschel witnessed the bruises darkening to a deep red. Fuck. The taping for Nikki’s prime-time television sex-talk show was tomorrow. It was the middle of spring, and if the bruises hadn’t disappeared by then, she’d have to wear a scarf around her neck to cover up what she’d made him do.

  All his wife had to do to keep peace with him was give him some time, undivided attention, and genuine affection every now and then. “Baby, baby,” Herschel repeated, then said, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what got into me. It wasn’t me. It was some demon inside of me that unleashed. Please forgive me. Nikki, don’t you see how much I need you.” Stumbling toward her, his lips pressed softly against hers. His mouth circled hers, trying to pry her thick, luscious lips apart with his tongue.

  Honestly, if Nikki had contracted to do a normal talk show or a cook show even, he would’ve been okay with that. But why did his wife have to be the acclaimed Sexpert for Sexcipes? Why did Nikki have to interview good-looking, wealthy men about how her natural aphrodisiac, high-protein appetizers and entrees would ignite their sex drive without the aid of penile-enhancement drugs? Wasn’t like she cooked at home anymore or catered to his dick. Herschel was a man, and he knew how other men viewed women. The thought of his wife laughing and giggling with men who also wanted to fuck her drove Herschel insane. How many times had his wife succumbed to being a tramp, then come home offering him her sloppy secondhand pussy?

  “Umph, umph,” Nikki groaned, placing her hand in the center of the chiseled chest she used to drizzle her edible heated wax on, then lick it off. “No, not this time, Herschel.” Smack! Nikki’s palm landed against his face. “You need to go be with that bitch you had up in my bed when I got home! All we have left between us is great sex once a month and you’ve managed to fuck that up too! You can’t even fuck me right. Unleash this!” Reaching behind her, Nikki kept her eyes on him as he walked away from her.

  Fuck. It was a good thing he had quick reflexes. Herschel ducked just in time to dodge the hand-sized crystal ball that came zooming toward his head like she was a professional shot-putter. Crash! The sparkling ball stuck into the Sheetrock, looking like an intentional creation.

  “You are so fucking crazy, Nikki! Stop this shit. Baby,” he said. Racing toward her and snatching her biceps, Herschel rattled Nikki’s body, trying to shake common sense into her. Couldn’t she look into his dejected eyes and see his aching heart crying out to her? Probably not.

  Swiftly turning her shoulders side to side, Nikki couldn’t break free unless he wanted her to. Herschel didn’t believe in hitting women, but Nikki was pushing him to do the unthinkable… kill her.

  “Herschel, please,” she pleaded. “I just want you to take your things and get out of my house. Let me be. We’re both miserable. Why can’t you just let me be?”

  Oh, now that she’d made it, she didn’t need him anymore? Was that it? If she really wanted him out, Nikki would have to buy him out. “Baby,” Herschel said, wrapping his chocolate muscular arms around Nikki’s long, shapely torso, “listen to me.” He glided his hand over her short hair, which was neatly tapered around her mocha face. “That bitch that was here don’t mean shit to me. I was lonely. I miss you. I mean, like, fuck, you’re pissed off at me and it’s like you’re the one who’s never home. I miss my wife. Damn, Nikki, you’re gone all the time. You’re never here to fall asleep in my arms at night. You’re never here to let me make love to you. Coming once a fuckin’ month is all I get and you’re the one pissed off. A nut a month is all I’m worth? Let’s work on rekindling our marriage. I need you, Nikki. Baby, please, let me make love to
you right now like we’re on our second honeymoon.”

  Staring at him, Nikki frowned.

  The woman who was in their bed six nights ago honestly didn’t mean anything to Herschel. But he meant everything to Ivory Henderson. Truth was, Ivory wasn’t legally his wife, but he’d given her the title “wife” and unofficially he’d given Ivory his last name. It was a mind-control game to keep Ivory faithful to him. He wasn’t serious about leaving Nikki for Ivory. But if Ivory had had half the money and assets Nikki had, Herschel would’ve never married Nikki, because while he did love his wife, Nikki had become too mannish for him.

  In spite of her callous ways, Nikki had gotten what she’d paid for: companionship, a fine-ass man to escort her to public events, and a damn good lover. Those were the things Herschel still wanted to offer his wife. He hadn’t changed at all. Nikki had done a one-eighty, turning her back toward him.

  Backing Nikki onto the bed, he knew his wife wasn’t finished coming. This time, Herschel climbed on top of Nikki missionary-style. His muscular thighs parted her legs nice and wide, pressing her legs against the mattress. The head of his dick slithered over her pussy hairs and along her shaft. He held his hard dick against Nikki’s clit until he felt her pussy pulsating.

  Feverishly Nikki kissed him, panting with her mouth covering his. The heat in her breath was the passion that had drawn him to her on their first date. Maybe if he got himself together, he could make things right between them again.

  Mindful not to place his hands anywhere close to Nikki’s mouth or neck, he cupped her ass while roaming his lips all over hers. He eased his dick inside his wife, slowly penetrating her the way she liked.

  “Deeper, damn it,” Nikki moaned, grabbing his ass, pulling him into her. “Fuck me harder. Fuck me harder, I said.”

  The day Herschel proposed to Nikki, he promised Ivory he’d never leave her—no matter what. He wasn’t serious about Ivory. In case things didn’t work out with Nikki, he wanted to make sure he could hit his backup pussy anytime he wanted. Having two lovers assured Herschel he’d never be alone.

  The day Herschel stood at the altar with Nikki, he’d recited the same vows later that night at the hospital for Ivory. Role-playing had gotten him into more trouble than he’d imagined possible. Sex with Ivory had gotten better than sexing his wife. Herschel laughed with Ivory, cried with Ivory. They dreamt aloud together. Unlike Nikki, Ivory believed in him. Every man needed a woman who believed in him. But there was one thing he’d regret the rest of his life, and that was missing the delivery of his son with Ivory while he stood at that altar with Nikki.

  Why couldn’t Herschel respond when the pastor said, “If anyone has cause why this man and this woman should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace”?

  Herschel slid his entire body up and down over Nikki’s, trying to figure out how to emotionally reconnect with her. His lips began to glide from hers down to her chin. Was his once-a-month rationing sympathy sex? If so, he’d take whatever he could get. Gently he kissed her neck, noticing his fingerprints had slightly faded. He traced her collarbone with his tongue. Positioning his mouth over one of her breasts, then squeezing her other nipple, he suctioned her nipple between his teeth. Firmly he drew her areola into his mouth, while twisting her other nipple back and forth.

  “That feels so good.” Nikki moaned, loosely wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

  Slowly his mouth trailed down to his wife’s navel, to her pussy hairs, and onto her shaft. He cupped his mouth over her clit, pausing for a moment to inhale the sweet aroma of her juices mixed with his. The taste of pineapple-honey-coconut swarmed all around his mouth. Nikki knew all the right foods to eat to taste sweet. She knew which foods heightened a woman’s libido.

  Nikki’s culinary skills started out being for the palate at the dinner table; now his wife was a sexpert: a cunnilingus culinary chef one day and a fellatio cuisine queen the next, and in unbelievably high demand by singles and couples—straight, lesbian, and gay people—all around the world. Nikki’s clients didn’t hesitate to meet her demands of fifty grand a day, plus travel expenses. She was booked for the next two years and had already banked $10 million in nonrefundable deposits.

  Licking his wife’s pussy, Herschel thought, Maybe I should learn how to do the same thing. Bet if I made more money than her, she’d love and sex me crazy. He’d have to find another way to get rich quick. Nikki’s niche was secure—she refused to give anyone her sex recipes, including him.

  Standing at the altar on their wedding day, Herschel should’ve looked Nikki in her eyes and said, “Baby, I don’t love you enough to marry you.” But that would’ve meant no all-expense-paid vacations for him with his boys, Brian and Lexington. No single-family three-bedroom home for Ivory and his son. And Ivory would’ve had to stop lounging around the house all day and get a nine-to-five job like him. As long as Herschel kept their agreement and lived off Nikki’s interest, Nikki never missed the monthly mortgage payments from their joint bank account.

  Swallowing every drop, Herschel savored the juices oozing from Nikki’s clit. Easing his finger inside his wife’s pussy made her hotter and wetter. His dick leaked precum onto the sheet. Frantically strumming her G-spot, Herschel felt Nikki’s back arch. His mouth took in her entire shaft. He suctioned her shaft as if he were drinking one of those mouthwatering piña coladas at Deco Blue in South Beach. Nikki’s legs started trembling uncontrollably. Swiftly he probed her G-spot… deeper . . . and deeper… until he tapped her squirt zone. Nikki’s fluids showered his face, pissing clear fluids all over him.

  Hell yeah! That shit turned Herschel the fuck on! No matter how hard he’d tried, he never could make Ivory squirt. Few men could make a woman squirt and most women didn’t know much, if anything, about female ejaculation. Until Herschel had met Ivory, he’d thought every woman at least knew she could ejaculate.

  Nikki collapsed against the bed. Herschel lay beside Nikki. With all the money they had, he didn’t know how to keep Nikki happy anymore. Eventually the inevitable would happen. Divorce. Then he’d find out how much he truly loved Ivory.

  Nikki whispered, “Herschel, don’t ever fuck some bitch in my house, in my bed. If it happens again, don’t say a word. I’ll personally pack your shit and put your ass out.”

  Correction—now that they’d been married ten years, it was their house and their bed. A divorce was the least of his worries. Keeping his love affair with Anthony a secret was Herschel’s biggest challenge.

  Herschel wasn’t stupid. If it weren’t for what she’d have to pay, Nikki would have divorced him a long time ago. The longer she stayed in the marriage, the harder it had become for her to force him out. And the other woman in their bed wasn’t some bitch. She was a one-night stand he’d met at the gym, and Herschel couldn’t remember her name.

  Just in case Nikki was serious, Herschel softened his voice. “Baby, I’m sorry, and I mean that,” he lied again. “Please forgive me.” Raising his right hand, he continued, “I swear on my mother’s grave, you are the finest, the sexiest, the most beautiful black woman in the world, and I am so fucking proud of you.”

  Herschel was proud of Nikki, but he also despised that she didn’t need him. He knew that shit. Nikki could have any man she wanted. Why she’d married him? Herschel knew the answer to that too. He’d spoken all the words Nikki and every other successful, single, sexy woman wanted to hear. There were a lot of lonely women in the world. So lonely that they’d marry down just to have a man in their bed, in their life, on their arms, and to have bragging rights over their single girlfriends. A woman like his wife would stay in a fucked-up relationship to avoid being alone. Nikki wouldn’t admit it, but he knew he filled a void in her life. He was like her favorite shoes. She didn’t wear them often, but she’d have a fit if anyone threw them out.

  “Herschel, hush. Your mother is not dead,” Nikki said, getting out of bed.

  “Well, she will be one day,” he said, rolling
over and pulling the covers up to his chin.

  CHAPTER 3

  Lexington

  Lexington Lewis lived for the weekends. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. And occasionally Monday. Saturday night, singles night, was his favorite night out. Dancing in the shower, he flossed twice between all twenty-eight teeth, including the gap in his two front upper teeth, then brushed for four minutes, one minute per quadrant. Roaming the bristles between his upper lip and gums, then doing the same at the bottom, he swiped under his tongue, then back and forth across the roof of his mouth. Filling his mouth, he swished the warm water between his teeth, then spat the water into the circular drain centered between his fourteen-inch-long-feet. He thoroughly rinsed his toothbrush, placed it inside the holder, then tossed it on the shower rack, picking up the bottle of citrus mouthwash. He filled the cap, poured the tingling tangy contents into his mouth, swished it around, and began lathering up his face towel.

  Lexington bobbed his head as he scrubbed the inside of his ears. He intensely washed behind his earlobes and around his neck. He cleansed his broad shoulders, his slightly hairy chest, and rotated the towel six times under each armpit, singing, “Meet me at the club, I’m going down . . .”

  “Humph. You gon’ mess around with some bitch and catch something you can’t get rid of. And you want to know why I won’t give you any pussy or suck your dick,” his wife, Donna, said, entering the bathroom. She hiked up her thin cotton robe, sat on the toilet, then began pissing.

  What happened to his wife? Donna used to be happy, self-assured, and ladylike. Now she acted more masculine than he did. She could have used any of the other five bathrooms in their home, or even her side of their double master bathroom, but she didn’t. Invading his privacy was his wife’s way of protesting his going out. Complaining out loud to herself, she’d either gotten accustomed to his leaving most nights or tired of discussing the topic with him, realizing nothing she’d say or do would change his mind. Donna flushed the toilet and his warm water instantly turned cold.