Nympho

by Andrea Blackstone

  “Trey . . . I need to call Trey,” I said, struggling to make sense as I spoke.

  “No,” he said, completely unaffected.

  “What if he’s looking for me, Rico!” I complained. He pulled his penis from my vagina and began licking me with a skilled and willing tongue. Time and time again, Rico proved that he was a highly educated freak who didn’t mind getting his face wet in some suckable pussy. In fact, he ate my dripping wet kitty kat like it had never been eaten before.

  “Oh fuck! Rico. Rico. Oh fuck!” I yelled like a broken record. “I need to call Trey. I need to, I need to—”

  “Five more minutes,” he said between licks, as he traced the contour of my half naked body with his fingertips.

  “No. Now,” I whined.

  “Rico!” I complained. He pulled his penis from my vagina and began licking me with a skilled and willing tongue. “Oh fuck! Rico . . . Rico . . . oh fuck!” I yelled like a broken record. “I need to call Trey. I need to . . . I need to—”

  “I think you’re kind of busy right now. I told you, five minutes,” he said between licks.

  “No. Now,” I whined.

  “Okay, have it your way then.” He stood erect, snatched my cell phone from my purse, and then handed it to me. “So dial your keeper, Leslie,” he told me, placing my legs over his head and driving his penis into me again.

  “I can’t,” I said, gasping for air.

  “Do it. Call your man while the best man is pounding you like nobody’s business. If he cared about what might happen, we wouldn’t have had the opportunity to do what we’re doing. Relax and enjoy all of this. Stop being overly analytical, mujer. I’m trying to give you a way out.”

  The more Rico talked, fucked me, and talked dirty, the hornier I got. So much so that I followed his insane suggestion to lie and say that I made it home, and got comfortable after Rico left, all while having him inside of me. Thankfully, Trey didn’t keep me on the phone long, so I didn’t have to hold in the near explosion of guilty sounds for too long. I told Rico to call him five minutes later and give him the same version of events, and he did, while still enjoying our romp. As soon as he hung up his cell phone, I pushed him away and managed to rise from the hood.

  My mouth wandered straight toward his middle as I crouched down in front of the headlights. Rico began moaning as I gave him oral joy, seemingly to the point in which he lost control of his thoughts and reached his orgasm.

  “I’m not trying to smother you, Leslie. I just don’t want you to marry Trey because I know that I’m crazy about you. I’m falling in love with you. If I had one wish, it would be for you to really be mine without having to sneak. I’ve waited all my life to feel this way about someone,” he blurted out as he released a load of semen into my mouth.

  “Damn, I’m a freak. I can’t believe what just jumped off,” I mumbled, standing up and spitting out the fluid on the black top.

  We both got into the car. I wiped my mouth, and lay nude in his lap, looking up at the stars. Part of me didn’t want to address what he’d slipped and said, while the other half wanted to enjoy his warmth on such a romantic night. After awhile, I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. I began to dress fearing a policeman or voyeur would soon find us.

  “I don’t want to throw my relationship away, Rico. Let’s go,” I said firmly.

  When he tried to stick his tongue into my mouth, I turned my head, snubbing him. A spurt of guilt fell upon me, and I knew that what Rico and I had been doing was cold-blooded. The loud stillness of silence consumed the rest of car ride. I was only interested in getting off; I wasn’t trying to fall in love again. Didn’t Rico understand where I was coming from? He was just my temporary boy toy—something for my enjoyment. I didn’t give a shit about anything prolific and earth shattering.

  The full moon tinted by a subtle yellow hue, lit up the night as Rico pulled into my driveway. The turn of events had given me a reason not to invite him in for another rendezvous. While proceeding to my front door, I had a bigger annoyance than Rico following me. The closer I got to my steps, an eerie feeling swirled around me as my eyes were drawn to a foot tall picture that was affixed to the front door. My head was cut out of the enlarged photograph. I got her message, loud and clear. It was my favorite picture; one we took together while we were in Cozumel, Mexico. Crossing this emotional line stung a little bit, but it didn’t hurt me as much as Tanya probably thought it would.

  When I reached the door and turned the key, I found trails of pink fabric lining the floor—pieces of what had once been Tanya’s maid of honor dress. Each trail led to a mirror. NYMPHO was written on each large mirror in the same shade of red lipstick as before. I looked at Rico. I assumed Tanya wouldn’t be creating the welcome baskets for the out-of-town guests as promised, since she was forfeiting her maid of honor title. Shit! How was I going to explain that? I wasn’t surprised she’d pulled out of participating in my wedding—it was more that I hadn’t thought about how and when she’d actually do it. I suppose I was more focused on other matters.

  When Rico still tried to pull me into my bedroom and suggested that we undress and crawl into bed and make love to me despite all of this, I realized he truly was getting too attached. Without a doubt, I’d have to find a way to cut our affair off. Now I had two problems: him and Tanya.

  As I walked around in back of him and physically pushed him out of the door, I truly began to feel ill. A migraine began to fester, and it grew to astronomical levels of pain when Rico opened his mouth again.

  “I know you feel this thing between us, too. You may choose to look the other way, but I know the truth about your feelings, and so do you.” He shook his head, then chuckled. “If I were your man, I’d come home to you every night. If you were sick, I’d never let someone else look after you. In time, you will see you’re making a mistake marrying Trey. This is all such a shame. I almost reached Heaven and now it’s about to slip away, mami. We’ve got good chemistry—much better than the sham with the person whose ring you’re wearing. I see who you really are, and it’s not who Trey would like for you to be. He may be older and established, but that doesn’t mean he’s the one. Dame su corazon. You know I’m a good man. You know. Give me your love, Leslie.”

  “Out!” I commanded. “You said what we did the first time would be a one time thing!”

  “How was I to know I was going to feel this way about you? I’ve got nothing but time, Leslie. I’m going to get to know you. You’ll see.”

  “Like hell you will. Don’t call, write, send Indian smoke signals, or fax me in this lifetime. You’re tripping, Rico. You’re really, really tripping like you’re on something. Shake it off . . . I’m not the only woman in the world. We’re through, end of subject.”

  “Whether you like it or not, this isn’t over, Leslie. I won’t let us go our separate ways. Rico always gets what he wants. I’ve got my eye on you. I don’t want to just be your lover, and I don’t just want to be your friend. As far as I’m concerned, you are the only woman in the world,” he said, walking out of the door.

  In my book, the subject of our short affair was over. Unfortunately, in Rico’s mind, it wasn’t hardly that simple. It didn’t seem to matter that Trey regarded him as a brother and trusted him with his back turned. What I didn’t know was that I’d live to regret the stupid decision of stirring up drama too close to home with a half Puerto Rican lover boy who had nice abs and the ability to speak broken Spanish. Even when he spoke the Spanish, I had no idea what it all meant, but I could identify words here and there. I hate to admit it, but hearing the whispers of a part-time Latin lover was a turn on. That is, until Rico began dropping major indicators that he was overly possessive of me. In his mind, he and I were just getting our private party started, while I was fighting to say one of the two Spanish words I knew the best—adios.

  7

  Ménage Trois

  “Leslie, I’m just calling to check in with you. Momma has some tickets to see the Washington
Nationals play. Take it easy and be sure to put some food in that stomach. Take care and have a good day.”

  “Trey, I got your message. You were supposed to take me dancing tonight, remember? Did you forget about our date?” I asked, feeling frustrated. “It’s Friday night,” I added.

  “Oh hi, Leslie. I guess you got my message. I have some tickets that may never come my way again. I’m not sure what time I’ll be back home. You should stay home and rest, since you haven’t been feeling well anyway. We’ll go another time. I promise, baby. You understand, don’t you?”

  I rolled my eyes. Not feeling well, hell! When did he become my father?

  “Sure, Trey.”

  “By the way, do you know what happened to that vase you bought me? I can’t find it anywhere.”

  “It got broken when those kids broke the window,” I lied.

  “I knew I should’ve said something!”

  “Forget it—it was just a cheap ole thing anyway,” I commented.

  “You gave it to me and I liked it.”

  “Enjoy the game, Trey. Obviously, that’s what is most important,” I said, then hung up the phone.

  “Hey, that was a cheap shot and it wasn’t fair,” Trey remarked after calling me back.

  “Not fair? I’m beginning to think that you take me for granted. Perhaps you don’t think that men perceive me as a hottie given the fact that I have a conservative image. Perhaps you don’t take me seriously because I’m a younger woman. I just don’t know what to think, Trey.”

  “I make good money in my field, and this hectic schedule is the trade off. In case you’ve forgotten, I work hard. It isn’t just to my benefit. It will be to our benefit. Right now, I need a break, and you can’t seem to understand that I have needs, too. At first, you liked that I gave you freedom to live your life with lots of choices, but now you’re sounding like you feel attention deprived.”

  “Well maybe I feel attention deprived because I am.”

  “Why are you being such a drama queen? All I want to do is go to a stinking game with my parents! Nothing has changed between us, sheesh.”

  “Like I said the first time, enjoy the game. Never mind, Trey. You’re right, I’m wrong,” I answered in a sarcastic tone. I hung up the phone with small tears forming in my eyes.

  Football, basketball, baseball—it never mattered. If a game was going on, Trey wanted to sit his ass in a seat with someone other than Leslie. I came second, once again. I tried to occupy my mind with something productive, but I was too upset. I did love Trey, I just didn’t feel totally fulfilled. A week of taking a breather from Rico gave me time to think about my feelings, including why I’d been so wishy-washy. I didn’t want to get caught cheating because Trey did mean something to me. On the other hand, the void in our relationship reignited my “ho tendencies.”

  Obviously, being engaged to an almost forty-one-year-old man wasn’t a foolproof situation. Trey was too calm around me, and part of me longed to get with a man in his thirties, but the other part knew their typical lack of maturity would drive me crazy. Knuckleheads were a turn off, and someone in my age range would probably fit the bill. No thanks. I had a ring on my finger, so why would I return to the dating jungle? Most women would kill for a proposal, given the ratio of women to men, even from a man who behaved like a cold fish.

  Sometimes I just felt like giving up on Trey, but I truly wanted a family of my own with him. My biological clock was ticking, and I wanted everything a normal woman should want at my age. I wish he could’ve understood how ostracized I felt, but he didn’t seem to hear the desperation in my voice when the subject came up.

  In his defense, I wasn’t perfect and shouldn’t have expected my other half to be. The concept of marriage has changed in modern society, but it is what it is. For starters, I began buying into the notion that how I was living wasn’t all that bad. I even started taking off my ring before heading out to certain places—clubs for one, yet I still felt as if the reward of a devoted husband was in order.

  My wedding was now less than twenty-six days away, and from morning ’til night I fought with feelings that my marriage would be more like a business agreement than the happily ever after I wanted.

  I was thirsty to the point I felt I would lose my mind if I didn’t get a cool drink of pleasure—one, two, or even three sips wouldn’t do. There was no passion in my life, at least not from the correct person. I no longer wanted the pleasure I was being offered, courtesy of the new thorn in my side. Rico texted me all night long, professing his love for me and explaining that he’d turn in his player’s card if I promptly broke off my engagement. Hurricane Tanya was pushing her luck by calling my home line and hanging up over and over again. She finally shot her last marble my way when she bothered to leave an unsettling message.

  “Look, I don’t want to talk to you, but I do want to give you a reality check,” Tanya stated. “I hired a private investigator to get the goods on you and Rico. How was your walk in the park, Leslie? You looked like you were enjoying the stars. Maybe Trey would like to see how you’ve been spending your time. I’ll keep it simple—if you try to make good on any of the threats you made, I’ll see to it that the pastor, the entire congregation, and Trey get to see how orally talented you are. Your keys are on your lawn. I expect you to mail mine within the next business day. I deserve a man like Trey, you don’t! There you have it, folks. Tanya the quiet church mouse officially flipped the script on Ms. Bitch; located at 666 Whore’s Lane—home of the devil’s daughter.”

  After hearing Tanya plunk down her two cents, I peered out of my window. As promised, emergency keys to my car and home were sprawled out on the lawn, held together by a large Atlanta key ring. I ran downstairs to collect them. As I opened the door, eggs pelted my body from head to toe, and then I heard tires squeal. I sighed while the slimy texture of the yolks slid down to my feet. I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle Tanya’s streak of revenge, but I knew I’d think of something after I took a mental break from the entire ugly scenario.

  With not much else to do, I managed to survey my messy place and decided to clean what appeared to be the site of World War II. I began picking up things, including leaves from dead plants, and the empty cartons that were flowing out of the trashcan. I also decided to tackle the dishes that had been sitting in stale dish water for at least a week. I had been in such an ugly funk that week I hadn’t lifted a finger to clean a thing. When I first turned on the radio, Yolanda Adams was singing something inspirational, in her silky, smooth voice. I turned the dial of the radio, searching for something else, although I wasn’t sure what. As a song I never caught the title of played, the lyrics about a woman not taking shit flowed from the radio. The beat and message of the catchy tune fueled me to clean my dirty place. As I listened intently to every word, I reminded myself that a workaholic prude was what I felt Trey had become. When the reality of my unhappiness resurfaced, I decided to compensate by putting on my come hither attitude and indulging in a makeover.

  I took a trip to the M·A·C counter at Nordstrom’s, purchasing lipsticks in several colors, and eye shadows to accentuate my sultry eyes. While I was out, I splurged on sexy clothes, and even took a plunge and got a tattoo and wig. I finished my attitude with a Brazilian wax job for my bikini line, and a deep tissue massage from an upscale day spa. I could always pretend to be conservative whenever Trey decided to give me some time. The thought of having two personalities was exciting. I was backsliding as a Christian, but didn’t feel regretful about it—I’d repent with Jesus later. I’d lost interest in church, but that wouldn’t affect my wedding plans. I had time to find a preacher to preside over the ceremony if I was kicked out of the congregation for not bothering to show up faithfully. Besides, I’d already decided we would have everything in a hotel as opposed to a house of worship. That settled, I was done beating myself up and putting myself down. I decided to get my ass up in the club to get some stress off my chest.

  Once I got to the club
, I intended to put my skills to use. If I could pull a rapper, I could surely get my boogie on solo, especially looking as fly as I was. At first I was going to head to a typical club, but then I made a U turn so I could go to a spot in D.C. I’d heard about. It was rumored to be wild as hell. I didn’t know if the stories I’d heard were true, but I was about to find out, since I was looking for some erotic fun above and beyond the average experience.

  I parked the car about two streets over from my destination, according to map quest. I was decked out in a hot pink spandex dress that stopped about four inches below my kitty kat and hugged my ass firmly in the back before sloping down a bit longer. I was bra-less and loving how my breasts felt full in the V shaped front that scooped low enough to reveal my belly button. As I walked along the dark street, I heard a voice.

  “You left your car lights on,” a male said.

  “I did?” I replied. I walked back to check the front of my car but the only lights I saw on were on someone else’s car.

  “You didn’t leave your lights on. I just wanted to see you up close. Where’s your man?” he asked.

  “At home,” I lied, turning around.

  “You better be careful walking around like that. There are some perverts out here like me.”

  I smiled without uttering a word. In that brief moment I’d already assessed him. The man was not on my level. His caliber was too low to turn my head. He had too much gut for his height, which was a tell tale sign of eating too many fried foods, and all of nine and a half teeth in his head. Additionally, he was busy drawing up on a marijuana cigarette, looking as dirty as a soap-deprived refugee. As far as I was concerned, he could take his compliment and shove it up his ass.

  When I reached the entrance of a place that will remain nameless, a few people were standing outside. I pushed my way through the crowd and opened the door. After showing my ID, I paid the cover charge, and then walked down three small steps. I could hear remnants of the conversation behind me floating in my ears. Apparently, all men needed a date to get into the club, and one man had to hit the road because of the rule.