Single Husbands

by HoneyB

  Brian listened at the bathroom door, making certain the shower was still running, then retrieved the envelope from his suitcase. Moving to the bench at the edge of their bed, he slowly removed the papers again.

  Exhaling heavily, Brian slid the papers back inside, setting the envelope aside, then called his father. Waiting for his dad to answer, he stared at the envelope.

  “Hey, son! You’re back in town. BJ is so excited about his day out on the yacht with you tomorrow, he’s gotten me excited too. Maybe I should join you, since it’s just going to be the fellas, huh? What do you think? You want your ole man cruising around with you? Besides, it’s time we have the family talk with BJ about girls. He’s getting a little too attached to the sweet little chocolate girl next door.”

  This was a great idea. Not having the talk with BJ. There was no harm in him playing with the girl next door as long as BJ wasn’t claiming her as his girlfriend. But it was better if Brian sought his dad’s advice face to face rather than over the phone. Confined on the yacht, three generations of Flaw men could spend quality time together.

  “Dad, I’d love to have you join us.”

  “Fine, it’s done. I’ll let BJ and your mother know. What’s up?”

  “It can wait,” Brian said, dwelling on Zahra. “I have to meet Marcus in Chicago tomorrow,” Brian said, edging toward telling his dad about Zahra. But he feared Michelle might overhear his conversation. Women had bionic hearing, strength, and every skill imaginable when it came to snooping on their husbands. “I’ll see you in the morning. We can talk then,” Brian said.

  Could Zahra pose a threat to his marriage?

  “Son, what’s wrong with you? How are you going to keep your word to BJ and be in Chicago tomorrow?” his dad whispered.

  “Damn, you’re right. I can’t afford to miss this meeting, Dad. I’ll make it up to BJ later.”

  His heart tightened when Michelle asked, “What’s that, baby?”

  “Shit!” Brian hadn’t heard his wife open the bathroom door.

  “Son, what is going on with you?”

  “Dad, let me call you back. Bye,” Brian said, ending the call. Stuffing the papers inside the envelope, he closed it, placed it in his suitcase, then zipped his luggage. “Just some stats on a new guy. Nothing serious,” he said. “Just got a call from Marcus. I have to fly to Chicago in the morning.”

  “Well, the look on your face sure says whatever is in that envelope is serious. The stats must be horrible. Mind if I take a look?” Michelle asked.

  “I said it’s not,” Brian insisted, staring through Michelle.

  “Fine. If you’re going to lie, don’t answer. But you need to check that attitude,” Michelle said, tightening her lips.

  Why did the woman he’d met at the arena suck his dick so fantastic, Brian wanted to hook up with her the next two nights he was in Houston? Stick with the rules and another woman would never show up at his front door. He hoped. After fucking Zahra, how could he make sure? Did anyone take pictures of them at the mall, the restaurant, arriving at or leaving the hotel together? Fuck. Would he end up on an episode of Cheaters?

  Rubbing his forehead, Brian said, “Damn, woman, come here. I apologize, baby. I just want this contract with Marcus to be a done deal.” He kissed his wife. “You are so sexy. Enough about work, you ready for me to please you?” he asked as Michelle stood in front of the mirror, then released the towel from her glistening body, dropping it to the floor.

  His eyes trailed her to the bed. Brian watched his wife relax atop the sheets, the same as she’d done every first Saturday of the month since they’d exchanged wedding vows. It was yoni massage time. The one day of every month that he spiritually reconnected with his wife. Just like a car needed regularly scheduled tune-ups, his wife did too.

  Michelle spread her thighs, nice and wide, then smiled at him.

  Brian absolutely adored his wife. She was the mother of his two children, his very best friend, and his confidant. Brian told Michelle everything that he considered significant, but there were a few things not worth mentioning. Not if what he’d have to say would evoke sadness inside his home.

  Red satin sheets covered their king-sized bed. A goddess of heavenly beauty stretched from the headboard toward the foot of the bed. The softest coco-buttered creamy skin he’d ever laid hands upon wrapped around his wife’s flesh. Having Michelle as his eternal mate made Brian the happiest man alive.

  Michelle’s yoni was a precious space and a sacred temple. She’d taught him to love and respect her pussy before the first time they’d made love, before their wedding and before she gave birth to their children, saying to him, “Baby, it’s my responsibility to teach you how to appreciate and pleasure my entire body. If you want to touch, taste, or feel your dick inside of this good pussy, you’ll have to earn it. Don’t worry. Mama’s gonna show you exactly how to make and keep her happy.”

  The day Michelle let him watch her masturbate was etched in his mind forever, but it didn’t have to be. The videotape was stored in their safe, along with the other XXX-rated home videos they’d done during their ten years of marriage. Brian knew Michelle was especially unique, because she was the only woman who had taught him how to make passionate love to her without fucking her. And no matter how many women he fucked outside their marriage, Brian would divorce Michelle if she ever gave his pussy away. The other women that he’d fucked didn’t mean anything to him. What Michelle didn’t know kept peace within their family.

  Sitting on the bench at the foot of their bed, Brian buffed his fingernails as he admired his wife. She’d taught him that it was a man’s responsibility to make certain his fingernails didn’t cut or scratch a woman’s delicate pussy, leaving her miserably sore with painful scars that would hurt her so much she’d resent him and regret having allowed him to touch her sacredness. Brian had learned so much from his wife. Admiring Michelle, he believed she was more beautiful today than the day they’d met.

  Brian stood with his erection pointing toward the ceiling. Moving about their spacious bedroom, he lit twelve white floating candles, dripped a few drops of cinnamon oil (which Michelle had bought from their neighbor Donna) on the tall lamps beside the bed; then he walked over to their patio and opened the sliding glass door. The South Beach salty summer breeze engulfed their bedroom.

  Standing over his wife, Brian leaned toward her, softly kissing her forehead. “Are you relaxed, baby?” he asked Michelle.

  “Yes, baby. I’m relaxed and patiently awaiting my wonderful husband.”

  Brian whispered in Michelle’s ear. “I’m here to please you, not just today but every day. Whatever I have to give, I freely give it unto you.” That was true. Everything they possessed was jointly owned.

  Delicately he fluffed, then placed a red satin pillow underneath his wife’s head so she could comfortably watch him whenever she desired. Then he slid a pillow under her right knee and another under her left, separating her thighs for clear access to his pussy. The pillow Brian tucked under Michelle’s curvaceous hips was sealed inside plastic, then covered with a satin pillowcase.

  Seated at the foot of the bed, Brian whispered, “Spread your legs a little wider and bend your knees a little bit more so I can admire my pretty pussy.”

  Lowering his nose inches above her, Brian sniffed his wife’s pussy. The scent of pink cotton candy stimulated his senses. “Inhale for me, baby,” he said, backing away from his pussy. Together they inhaled deep into their bellies, then exhaled as much air as they could, like they’d done in Yoga classes on second Saturdays of each month.

  “Inhale again,” he said as they began to breathe deeply two more times.

  Careful not to touch her yoni, Brian’s strong yet smooth hands journeyed up Michelle’s thighs, passionately massaging her legs with his fingertips. Meandering up her thighs, he pressed his thumbs in the crevices between her outer labia and her thighs. Slowly he journeyed up to her abdomen, her breasts, then lightly teased the tips of her nipples. Pi
cking up the bottle of WET, he squeezed a few drops of lubrication, then watched the moisture seep between the crevice of his wife’s thighs and outer vaginal lips.

  Slowly he caressed her pussy, starting from the outside, massaging her outer lips between his thumb and index finger. Gently twirling her outer vaginal lips all the way up, then all the way down, Brian took his time before he began massaging her inner lips, occasionally teasing the opening of her vagina. The time had not yet come to penetrate his wife.

  Noticing Michelle’s shallow breaths, Brian softly reminded her, “Breathe a little deeper, baby.”

  Their yoni massage ritual was a treat Brian never grew tired of doing for his wife. He wanted to make sure Michelle was always sexually pleased beyond her satisfaction. Brian’s commitment to himself was to ensure Michelle never had the desire to or thought of being with another man. He glanced up at the framed wedding photo that Michelle’s mother had given him, knowing he’d made Michelle’s mom proud of how he’d treated her daughter.

  No man could please Michelle better than Brian. And no matter how many women he fucked, no woman could please him better than his wife. Each third Saturday of the month, Michelle gave him a lingam massage. Imagining his wife’s hands all over his body, Brian felt his dick go from limp to hard.

  Keeping his thoughts inside the head on his shoulders, Brian knew it was best not to talk too much, although he wanted to say, “Baby, please let me slide my hard-ass dick inside your hot, juicy pussy. Just for a few minutes.”

  Michelle had taught him that excessive talking by either of them during her pussy massage would detract from maximizing her pleasure. Michelle’s eyes rolled to the top of her head, exposing the whiteness of her eyeballs through the tiny slits in her lids. She’d told him that was the moment when she could feel his energy moving from her feet all the way up to the crown of her head.

  That was the perfect timing for Brian to massage her precious pearl. Brian was slightly jealous when he’d learned a woman’s clitoris was four times more sensitive than a male’s glans, and that a woman could easily have five times more orgasms per session than a man. He recalled the day Michelle told him, “Look at me, Brian. I want to make myself clear. A woman’s precious pearl has only one purpose—and don’t you ever forget it—and that’s to give her pleasure, pleasure, and more pleasure. So don’t ever overlook touching, stroking, and kissing my clit.”

  Adding a little more lubrication, he stroked his wife’s clitoris in tiny clockwise and counterclockwise circles, as if he were operating the controller of one of his son’s video systems. Then he gently squeezed her clit between his thumb and index fingers, using various rhythms.

  “Breathe, baby,” he reminded her again.

  Inserting his right middle finger into his wife’s yoni, Brian lightly explored and massaged the inside of her vagina. Slowly stroking up, down, around, and sideways—varying the depth, speed, and pressure—he honed in on her G-spot then moved his middle finger silently, as if saying, “Come here, my pretty-ass pussy.” Sliding in his ring finger, he stroked Michelle’s G-spot to her liking and satisfaction. Putting his thumb to work, he massaged her clit in an up-and-down motion. Brian didn’t stop there. Using the same hand, he slipped his pinky inside her anus.

  Lifting her head, Michelle gazed into his eyes.

  Brian softly said, “Thanks for letting me hold God’s greatest ‘gift’ to mankind in the palm of my hand. I cherish your mind, body, and spirit.” Then he caressed his wife’s breasts with his left hand, pausing for a moment to feel her heartbeat.

  Michelle’s hips jerked. Her pussy squeezed his fingers. Tears streamed down her cheeks, as though it were their first time bonding. Brian closed his eyes and said, “Thank you, God, for trusting me with the most beautiful woman in the world. Baby, I love you.”

  Culminating the massage, slowly, gently, respectfully, and passionately, he eased his fingers out, one at a time, from inside his wife. He held his left hand against her heart until all of his fingers were removed. Then Brian lifted his left hand away from her body. Joining Michelle in the afterglow of her yoni massage, Brian cuddled in a spoon position with his wife in his arms, telling her, “Baby, I appreciate and respect you.”

  Michelle had greatly enriched Brian’s life and there was no way he could repay her; therefore, no matter what happened in their lives, Brian would never divorce his wonderful wife, nor would he let her leave him.

  CHAPTER 10

  Herschel

  Huh? What?” Herschel vigorously shook, then scratched his bald head, frowning at Ivory. All he heard was “Wonk, wonk, wonk, wonk.”

  “You know Kwan’s birthday is coming up and he wants to go to Disney World with three of his friends,” she said. “I prepared the budget and for three days it’s going to cost five thousand two hundred for top accommodations for the six of us, or if we stay five days it’ll cost a little under eight grand. That’s all-inclusive airfare, hotel, six five-day passes, food, and souvenirs. What do you think? Which package do you want to pay for?”

  The trip for their son’s birthday was perfect—except there was no way Herschel was spending five days with a bunch of ten-year-olds. “Baby, please. Put it on mute for a second,” Herschel insisted, sitting on the edge of the sofa, trying to concentrate on the basketball play-offs.

  Ivory picked up the remote, silencing the television. Was she fucking crazy? His fingers wrapped around the cable remote. Snatching the controller back from her, he restored the volume.

  “Not the television. Your mouth. Damn. Just shut up for a minute. I can’t focus on what’s happening. I can’t hear the sports commentator or hear myself think, and I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he said, moving from the sofa to the reclining chair.

  The fourth quarter had just started and the Hornets were on fire. She knew better than to come between him and basketball. She was the one who begged him to come over. Fuck. Herschel should’ve gone to his place with Anthony or the sports bar. Anyplace else would’ve been better. And why did she wait until the last quarter to bring this shit up? Did she think he’d agree with her to shut her up so he could concentrate on the game?

  “Oh! That’s what’s up!” Herschel said, rocking in his seat. “That was the fucking play of the century! Baby, look. You’ve got to see the replay.”

  Ivory cried. Standing in front of him, she said, “This is important to Kwan. You promised him and I want you to keep your word. Why won’t you talk to me? I can see you’re excited about the game, but can’t you get excited about your son too? We have to keep our word to Kwan this time. We have to.” Tears glazed her eyes.

  Ou, this bitch is pushing me to the fucking edge. If she don’t move from in front of the television! Damn! She’s ruined my best play-off moment.

  It wasn’t their word that had to be kept, it was hers. She dreamt of this grandiose Snow White, Mickey and Minnie, family vacation and birthday celebration package by her damn self. He never agreed to go to no amusement park. Besides, Kwan was a boy and should’ve been anxious to go to football camp. After ten years of him not taking Kwan anywhere, she knew he wasn’t going, but somehow convinced herself that she could, what, change his mind? Oh, yeah. Herschel could see that happening, only in his damn dreams. Now she was fucking crying in the middle of the last quarter of the greatest play-off game ever for New Orleans.

  Not this shit again, Herschel thought. Ivory cried more than Kwan. “Is this what I’m going to have to deal with if I marry your ass? I can’t fucking tolerate your crying all the time. It’s driving me fucking crazy. Get out of my way and shut the hell up. In that order!”

  Damn, what was it that I saw in her lately?

  Herschel picked up his Blackberry. Anthony had texted, ? u c da b2b play? Almost str8 pissed on myself. Need 2 c u. Miss & luv u.

  What? He missed a play? Amazing moments in sports happened in a split second. That’s why Herschel had to have his eyes glued to the flat screen and not to Ivory’s miserable ass.


  Responding to Anthony, Herschel texted, Meet me @ my place n exactly 3 hrs. Wear those blk spandex boxer briefs I bought you. I’ma tear that ass up!

  Anthony texted back, Can’t u meet me @ our condo? I’m already here.

  No, Nikki is gone and I want to fuck you in my bed tonight.

  Well, aw’ight. It’s ur dick. I’m just tryna bust a nut n ur gut, Anthony replied.

  Herschel hit him back: Oh, you won’t have to try too hard when I dig in dat ass.

  His lover would chill at the condo for two hours. By the time Anthony would change into his jogging shorts, T-shirt, boxers, and cross-trainers, and make it to The Island, Herschel would be waiting. Anthony would pretend to jog by Herschel’s mansion, fake to the left, then cut to right into the wide driveway. He’d jog along the dimly lit driveway until reaching the back entrance, which Herschel and Nikki never locked. Anthony would find Herschel on the porch with a couple of ice-cold beers and a hard dick.

  Ivory sat on the arm of the sofa closest to him. “Herschel, what do you want from me? I can’t plan our first family vacation without you getting angry. Obviously, you don’t know how to be a father to Kwan, but it’s time you learn. What about me? I need you to care about me, about us. This trip is important to Kwan.”

  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be a father to Kwan; Ivory was right. Herschel didn’t know how to father Kwan’s openly gay ways. Was being gay genetic? Why did his son have to be gay? Wasn’t paying Kwan’s tuition, buying his colorful outfits, and giving him a weekly allowance enough?

  “I already explained my situation to you. What are you, deaf? How many times do I have to remind you I’m married? I can’t go on no fucking five-day vacation with you until after my divorce is final, and that’s final.”

  “Herschel! You’re the one who’s deaf! We’ve been together longer than you’ve been married. You don’t take me anywhere anymore. You don’t spend time with Kwan. You tell me to send him across the street to his cousins’ house every time you come over, as if you’re ashamed of our son being gay. What! You don’t think he knows? Every time I complain, you throw Nikki in my face. I don’t bring that bitch’s name up. You do. You conveniently mention Nikki when you don’t want to do the right things for us. ‘I can’t jeopardize Nikki’s career. She’s a celebrity. We’ve got to wait.’ I’ve been waiting over a decade. For what? I’m tired of fucking waiting, Herschel. Where’s that bitch right now? Probably fucking some other man, just like you come over here all the damn time to fuck me. If you believe she’s not sucking another man’s dick, you’re crazy. You need to decide right here, right now. Do you want her? Do you want me? Or do you want me to get another man and leave your selfish, inconsiderate, confused ass alone?”