Saint And Sinners: The King Angel Child of New York

by Tiana Laveen

  “Yeah…I knew that would get you going.” Saint gripped his glass of water and gulped half of it down before reaching for his salad and putting in noisy work. He chewed the lettuce a bit, then continued with his tirade. “She is more liberated than you, less inhibited about broaching such a topic. She’s not squeamish regarding these matters.”

  “And how the hell do you know so much about my wife?”

  “Because she told me she read a couple of my books and enjoyed them the last time I called to speak to you…that’s how.”

  His father swallowed hard, as if a toad were caught in his very throat.

  “Look, Dad, in all seriousness, I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m actually trying to help you. I know I’m your son. I know that you created me, not the other way around, and that you are old school. You come from a culture and age where children, adult or not, didn’t discuss such private matters with their parents. But…we are different, Dad. Our relationship is far from conservative, whether you like it or not.” Saint took another bite of his salad. “This is beyond sex, this is about marital fulfillment. You know you’ve wanted to see her do it. She keeps it in the medicine cabinet because she wants you to see it every other morning when you shave, damn it. It’s not there ‘just because’, it’s there as an invitation.”

  His father delicately placed his spoon down and looked at his noodles, as if they, too, were speaking to him telepathically. He moved about in his seat, but remained quiet.

  “How many hints does she have to drop?! Women don’t leave stuff like that in there, especially a woman like Kyung Mi. She is daring you to be a participant. Stop pretending to be a gentleman with her; she knows who you really are in that regard. Let her see it. She wants full access to you, in every way, including sexually. Don’t be afraid to ask her this…tell her you want to sit back and watch her play with herself…just tell her. That’s what she wants!”

  “Shut…up! That’s enough of this raunchy talk, Saint. You’ve gone entirely too far. This conversation is over! I don’t want to hear another word!” The man fisted his hand on the table, a stern look on his face, but Saint knew it was all an act. His father burned with desire for the woman, a bit grateful for the revelation. Sure, he was out of sorts, even a tad angry, but his engine was revved at the news. Oh, the magical possibilities were now endless…

  “Save the song and dance, Pop. We both know that when Xenia and I leave here, you are going to ask her to do exactly what I just said. You won’t be able to contain yourself. I know where I got my perversions now…it’s in my blood line.” He winked at his father, causing the man to abruptly turn away. “Now, pass me the pepper.”

  “Get your own pepper! You seem to be so good at reaching for things that don’t belong to you, surely this aspiration for a seasoning should be no challenge whatsoever.”

  Saint burst out laughing, startling everyone as he leaned to the side, almost falling out of his chair. Even Osaze began to laugh. Then just as suddenly, two men grew quiet, trying to pull themselves together and daring one another to take a glance into each other’s eyes. They’d gone and done it now, fell down at the feet of temptation and lived to regret it, for their bellies swelled with mirth, and their chuckling started up all over again, causing Xenia to shake her head and Kyung Mi to give a slight, confused grin at their antics.

  “I’m glad I’m here, Pop. I love you, man.” Saint placed his fork down, leaned over and kissed his father on the cheek. That urge came over him, a compulsion, something he simply had to do. He was so delighted for his father, seeing newness about the man, revived life. This proved a welcome turn of events that helped them grow even closer.

  The entire table grew silent now as Saint picked his utensil back up and started to eat again. He couldn’t wait until he got to the noodles, while hoping Kyung Mi had made enough where he could have a second helping. He tried to close his eyes to the stares around him, but he was simply too observant for that. He didn’t want anyone to make a big deal about it, but he understood their shocked reaction. His father touched where Saint’s lips had landed and glared at his son, his eyes glossy with something Saint didn’t want to witness anymore.

  Oh come on, man, don’t go getting emotional on me…

  Xenia reached under the table, took his free hand that he ran nervously over his pants and squeezed it affectionately. He could see her grinning at him, though he refused to look the woman in the face. He hadn’t kissed his father in a long time—and this time, it wasn’t forced. It wasn’t because he was desperate, fearing he may never see the man again. No, this time, he did it simply because he felt like it…because that was his father, and Saint finally had a seat, was welcomed with open arms at the man’s table…

  *

  Chapter Five

  Sex therapist Aubrey Jericho was an L.A. radio waves sensation. The quirky woman stood an even five’ two, her short cropped dark hair reminiscent of Demi Moore from the movie, Ghost. Wearing a snow white, fitted power suit that hugged her rounded breasts, unusually large for her petite frame, she definitely had a commanding presence about her.

  The woman took a seat, her thin shoulder brushing lightly against Saint’s. He grinned suspiciously as he leaned back a bit, trying to subtly widen the gap between their bodies, maintain some semblance of personal space while her fingers moved dials back and forth in an almost obscene fashion. He was accustomed to radio shows, those with and without a slew of producers, but it had been a lengthy time since his last radio interview so he second guessed himself. Perhaps the time lapse accounted for the reason he felt a little out of sorts.

  This time, he had been invited to the show for his discipline, his schooling, his first career, his vocational love—sex therapy. Everyone who studied interracial dating, the constitution of marriage and all that entailed, had either heard of Dr. Saint Aknaten or knew of some of his teachings. He was a household name, particularly a bedroom name, in the interracial community. Swirlers around the globe had purchased his books and videos, it was simply the way that it was. It proved rather refreshing to finally receive an invitation to speak on sex therapy and education, his original claim to fame.

  “Saint, is it okay if I call you Saint?” A flash of something appeared in her iridescent cerulean eyes. Her thin yet well-shaped lips turned up at the ends in a rascally smile, as if she were in on some joke that had been hidden from the rest of the world.

  “Yes, that’s fine, Ms. Jericho.” He looked at her, his expression blank, trying to figure out the woman’s angle and what she was up to. He didn’t want to read into the matter, make much ado about nothing. Aubrey had done nothing but brush her shoulder against his…could have simply been an accident. But then there was her smile…he knew that smile. The one tossed his way in years past when a woman begged him to plow her back out, to fuck the shit out of her so she’d have lewd stories to tell for years on end. Yes…that smile haunted him as he’d seen it on so many different damn faces from his former life as a happy whore. He’d forgotten names, claims and how many trains he’d singlehandedly handled as the conductor giving the caboose all that he could, blowing his whistle, steam and load. His wild nights, crazy mornings and insane afternoons had been filled with the shit that porno stars relish and dick-addicted women crave. He had astounding stamina to screw many women at once in a hotel room oftentimes chock full of pussy and one cock—his… taught and trained for the battle of orgy combat. He shot and never missed, sending women into orgasmic chaos they’d never known before or after him. When they walked out of his room, it was s l o w l y… Oh, it felt good to be King…

  Leaving his thoughts of previous lurid affairs, Saint returned to the current scene of the crime and decided the woman was unmistakably flirting with him when he caught her batting her lashes for no particular reason at all.

  Though her attentions flattered him, he was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Her leg brushed again against his as she crossed her ankles, the action exposing the white hee
l of her tall, sparkling stilettos. She brought the long, winding microphone close to her lips after sucking the bottom one as if attempting to bring it to climax. He didn’t miss the little kitten staring at him from the corner of her eye, gauging him, wondering if he was trying to catch what she was throwing. He’d attempted to give her the benefit of the doubt, especially since he’d been accused of believing every being on the planet with a vagina was hungry for the touch of his tongue and aching to be filled with his cum. That simply wasn’t true, but he knew when a woman was attracted to him. He’d honed in on such nuances and subtleties that the most perceptive of men, missed. He had to, for his life at one point in time revolved around collecting primo pussy, and getting as much of it as he could squeeze into a twenty-four hour day. But that was over; there was only one pussy he wanted to repeatedly conquer, and it belonged to a woman to whom he’d given his last name…

  “We’ve got some calls lined up,” the tiny woman said in an alluring voice, sensual with an edge. She reminded Saint of a call girl who’d been coached from the best of the slutty best. A woman with a silver tongue that she was exhibiting way too much of. She slid the damn thing seductively over her upper lip, leaving a slight sheen across the pink flesh. The woman was attractive, albeit nothing show stopping, but that voice was sexy as fuck! She held an intonation that could make a man cum from her merely screaming his name. Aubrey was one of those women that many would classify as average, a basic model, but she had major sex appeal, and she knew how to wield it.

  There was no doubt in Saint’s mind that she was proficient in the art of making love, not simply the logistics of the matter. The woman had the power, and she was used to abusing it. She got what she wanted, who she wanted, when she wanted it, and wouldn’t take ‘No’ from him without a fight.

  “Are you ready?” She smiled coyly, the microphone bumping slightly against her mouth like the big head of a cock. She flicked her tongue at it, as if it were a damn accident while she kept on smiling, pretending to be oblivious of the fellatio demonstration she churned in his direction. He nodded curtly and left his response short, damn near rude. But Aubrey wouldn’t be daunted. In reaction, she released the hounds, also known as the callers, but not before caressing his upper thigh in the subtlest of ways. The touch was over before it began, leaving Saint in a daze and brewing with freshly plucked anger at the intrusion.

  She put her damn hands on me… Why do I run into this shit every now and again? So many women think that, because of my past, I am some windup toy with no scruples and ready to fuck them at the drop of a hat…

  “Yes, I’m ready,” he said grimly. There wasn’t much else that could be done. It was simply too late, for he was on the air…

  “Tonight we have the famous, revered, controversial and highly intelligent Dr. Saint Aknaten with us, ladies and gentlemen. He has joined us for the ‘Sensual Shower Hour’, so please have your questions ready and give him time to respond. First, I’ve asked Dr. Aknaten to give us our sex tip of the day before we begin to take calls.” She shot him a haughty glance. “Please, share with us a tip before our show gets underway.” She leaned back in her seat, a satisfied expression on her face.

  “Of course.” Saint thought for a moment, cleared his throat, then began. “Let’s take a look at oral sex for a moment. One of the questions I have been asked the most from male clients is: how do you know when your sexual partner, in this case a woman, is turned on? Well, naturally, all women are different; however, there is a physiological way, besides the vagina becoming wetter in anticipation of penetration, erect nipples, and a flushing of the skin. What you can do is put your finger on her perineum. The perineum is the spot right above her anus. It will vibrate without her control. It is a tell-tale sign that she is actually contracting, at the pinnacle of orgasm. It lets you know if she is turned on or not. So,” he cocked his head to the side and grinned, “that’s one way to check in on your mate, make sure you are on the right path to bringing her optimal pleasure.”

  “Thank you so much for that tip, Saint! Alright, let the calls begin. Avis from Atlanta, Georgia, you are on the air…” she said in a voice that would titillate the masses as she hung onto the last syllable. Saint glared at her and grasped the material of his gray pants, bunching it tightly in the palm of his hand.

  “Evening, Aubrey and Dr. Aknaten.”

  “Good evening,” they said in unison.

  The woman shot him a look, as if they were some sort of kindred spirit, beating on one drum to create a tune to last an eternity. His ‘fed up’ level had been surpassed as he cleared his throat and shot a glance down at his shoes, knitting escape plans together that unraveled before they were nearly finished. He was growing tired of her, and the night had just begun.

  “My question is, how often do people have sex, like on average? My wife and I have been married for four and a half years. When we first got married, it was hot ’nd heavy. Now, I barely get it once every two or three weeks. Honestly?” The man huffed in frustration. “It is making me think of getting it somewhere else. I told her that this had to change, but she hasn’t done anything to improve the situation. At this point, my marriage is in trouble.” The man took a deep breath. “I don’t want to cheat on her, but I got needs.”

  “Avis.” Saint stretched his legs, relaxing a bit, leaned back in the brown leather seat and crossed his ankles. He reclined to the side and placed his hand along his jaw as he formed his answer in his mind before speaking. “How long has this been going on? The lack of consistent intimacy?”

  “Hell, for at least two years.”

  “Okay, and I assume you’ve told her you love her and you wish to express that feeling to her sometimes in an intimate manner?”

  “All the time. I tell her she’s beautiful, that I love her, I love our kids, all of that.”

  “Okay, well, to answer your initial question, the average sexual interactions between married couples vary, but, on average, for those under fifty-five, it is one to two times per week so clearly, you are not anywhere near that. I would say that excessive periods of non-sexual intimacy can be a detriment to a relationship, especially if previously the sex was customary, which set up expectations and a foundation for what was to come. Now, it is normal for many married couples to go through cycles. Even couples that have sex several times a day may go through a cool down period where it drops to, say…”—Saint’s lips dipped as he mulled it over—“…once a day, or maybe only a few times a week, which would be below average for that particular couple. Children can interfere with one’s love life. Hormonal shifts can interfere with libido and sex drive.

  “In these cases, communication is key. Not just what you say, but how you say it.” Saint clasped his hands over his lap. He didn’t like how Aubrey was now stealing glances at his crotch, her eyes shifty and glossing over with epic sneakiness. “If you are pressuring her and she only hears, ‘I love you’, when you are trying to engage in sexual activity with her, it may be turning her off. She will associate the term of endearment with you wanting something, a simple ploy and manipulative tactic. Thus, she will be subconsciously rebelling, even if she isn’t aware of it, and may begin to pull away even further. Now, there is another reason for such a thing to occur, besides infidelity. Has she had any recent health issues, surgeries or medical procedures minus the routine physical and dental tooth cleaning in the last couple of years?”

  “Uh, she had our daughter last year in May and then she had to have surgery for her arm. Other than that, not really.”

  “How old is your wife, Avis?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “Mmmm, okay.” Saint ran his index finger along his chin as he pondered the information. “What are your work schedules and home life like? Does she work a lot?”

  “Yeah, like fifty hours a week. That’s been going on for, like, a year and a half now. She took maternity leave, and then it started again. I stay home with the kids.”

  “Were you recently working similar
hours?”

  “Nah, I’ve been laid off for six months now. I do construction.”

  “Okay, well, without having the time to delve further, what I think is going on is a simple case of exhaustion, Avis. You have more energy because you are not working that type of schedule. This isn’t to say that childcare isn’t hard, it in fact is, but if a woman is working fifty plus hours a week, comes home, helps with cooking and cleaning—which I’m assuming she may but please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong—by the time the evening hours approach, the last thing she may want to do is engage in intercourse. That requires work and energy, not to mention, for a woman to enjoy a sexual encounter she has to be mentally and emotionally present.”

  “Well, uh, what can I do to make her feel, I guess, more energetic?”

  Saint gave a slight chuckle and slowly licked his bottom lip as he prepared his answer.

  “Avis, this requires you to make her feel special, okay? You have to romance her. There is no magic pill to solve this. You will have to invest in your relationship. She is tired, overwhelmed, possibly even depressed. Here is what I want you to do. I want you, first thing tomorrow…” Saint pointed at the microphone as if it were the man’s face, “…to send flowers to her job. If the delivery charges are out of your price range, pick her up some less costly ones from, say, the grocery store. Pull up to the job and deliver them to the front desk then walk out, don’t let her see you. When she gets home, I want you to have dinner cooked or picked up.”

  “I cook dinner already.”

  “But is it food she wants? Is it something that shows you put some thought into it?”

  The man laughed.

  “See? I didn’t think so.” Saint smirked. “Beans and sliced up wieners won’t cut it. Make her favorite meal. Put the kids to bed a bit early, too, or have a neighbor, babysitter or friend watch them. Have a glass of wine sitting there for her, then, don’t approach her for sex that night. Just let her enjoy the moment. The next day, I want you to have a card and candy for her. If she doesn’t like candy or there is some problem with that, pick up a magazine you know she’d like, something like that. It could even just be a little piece of costume jewelry from Wal-Mart and a little two dollar card, or a hand-written note from you—this has more to do with the thought process, all that was involved, do you understand?”