Things Forbidden

by Maryam Diaab

  “I can’t. I’m flying out to Detroit Saturday morning,” I said with sincere regret.

  “Okay. Friday night? I’ll come by your place, cook dinner, help you pack…”

  “You cook?” I asked, seriously considering the offer.

  “Cook and pack a mean weekend bag. Southern fried chicken is my specialty.”

  My mouth began to water at the thought of authentic Southern fried chicken. My diet in Nashville has consisted of McDonald’s and Taco Bell. I was grateful for my fast metabolism; without it, I would easily be over two hundred pounds. “I’ll buy the groceries and you cook.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “That it is,” I said, excited at the prospect of seeing him again.

  “And maybe while I’m there, I can convince you that you should stay.”

  Wendy

  13

  “I know they keep the key here somewhere,” I said to myself, searching under the welcome mat outside Yvette and Terrence’s apartment door for their spare key. Finally locating it under a potted plant in a corner, I slid into the keyhole and opened the door.

  Signs of neglect were everywhere. In the kitchen, dishes were piled high in the sink. In the living room, covers were left on the floor from what must have been a late night of television watching. The funky smell of dirty socks filled the air. I picked up my bag of laundry and carried it to the Whirlpool washer and dryer in a corner of the kitchen. The laundry was merely a prop that would serve as my excuse for breaking into their apartment when Terrence walked through the door.

  I began cleaning and straightening up the apartment. Dishes were scraped and loaded into dishwasher; blankets folded and returned to the linen closet. I moved quickly, realizing that Terrence would be home any minute. After getting that place into some semblance of order, I snatched off my clothes and threw them into the washing machine with the other darks. Then I stood in my best friend’s kitchen in just my panties and bra, knowing what I was about to do was wrong and feeling slightly guilty…but only slightly.

  I heard the key turn in the lock and the door opening; heavy footsteps followed. “Wendy! What are you doing here?” Terrence asked, throwing his keys into the basket on the kitchen counter. He took in my appearance from head to toe, his eyes moving slowly over my nearly naked body. All the while, he looked unreadable.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, pretending I was looking for something to cover my body. “My washing machine is on the fritz, and I didn’t think it would be a big deal to come over here and do some laundry. I thought you would be working the whole day.”

  “How did you get in?” he asked, walking toward me, never taking his eyes off my lacy bra and panties.

  “The key under the mat outside. I’m really sorry about this. I’ll leave,” I said, gathering my pile of whites off the floor.

  “Don’t. It’s cool. Go ahead and finish washing. I have some paperwork to finish up.”

  Then he went to the living room, sat down on the couch and turned on the television. He picked up some papers from the coffee table and began reading. Eyeing me over the island that separated the two spaces, he asked, “Forgot your clothes at home?”

  “No. I didn’t expect anyone to be here, so I just took off what I was wearing and threw it in with the rest of the clothes.” I laughed nervously, hoping that he wasn’t about to kick me out. I was taking a gamble, and if it didn’t pay off I would be in serious trouble. “If you will lend me one of your shirts, I can cover up until my clothes are finished.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” He smiled slowly and placed his papers back on the coffee table. “As a matter of fact, I’m enjoying the view.” The look in his eyes was unmistakable; he knew why I was there, and he wanted the same thing. Jackpot!

  “What are you talking about?” I asked innocently.

  “I’m talking about you prancing around here wearing a little bit of nothing.”

  “I offered to put on something of yours,” I said, leaving the kitchen and walking towards him, my candy-apple red stilettos clicking across the ceramic tiled floor.

  “What are you really doing here?” he asked, leaning forward.

  Taking a deep breath, I looked into Terrence’s eyes and decided it was all or nothing. “I’m here to do what Yvette won’t.”

  * * *

  Terrence

  The moment I walked into the apartment and saw Wendy bent over the washing machine half naked, I knew what she was looking for. At first, I told myself that there was absolutely no way that anything would happen between her and me, but after seeing her breasts practically fall out of her bra as she pranced around and with the words, I’m here to do what Yvette won’t, everything began spinning out of control. I grabbed Wendy’s nearly naked body and kissed her vanilla-scented skin. She tasted so good and smelled so sweet that I couldn’t stop myself. I picked her up, and she wrapped her shapely legs around my torso. I carried her from the living room to the kitchen and sat her on top of the washing machine, barely able to catch my breath. “Is this what you want?”

  Instead of answering, she quickly unzipped my pants. I knew I should put a stop to what was happening, ask her to leave and get on a plane to Nashville, but I couldn’t. Having Wendy had always been a fantasy of mine. Granted, I always saw Yvette somewhere in the mix. You know, a nice three-way situation, but what was happening now was the next best thing. What man could turn down hot sex during the spin cycle?

  I kissed, sucked, and rubbed Wendy’s body until she screamed. Then, when she reached a point of unbearable pleasure, I pushed her panties to the side and entered her wetness. With every thrust in and out of my fiancée’s best friend, the guilt grew. I thought about Yvette being lonely in Nashville; saw her walking down the aisle towards me in a beautiful wedding dress. I even thought about her reaction if she was to ever find out what Wendy and I were doing at that very moment. But as guilty as I felt about the situation, it still wasn’t enough for me to stop and ask Wendy to leave. It had been almost two weeks since Yvette and I made love; I was in need and Wendy was gladly accommodating.

  Three hours later, Wendy dressed, folded her laundry and went home. No words were spoken about what had happened or if it would ever happen again. The way she made me feel spoke volumes. I couldn’t get enough of her. She was like the forbidden fruit I had always wanted to taste, and the way she kept screaming my name and clawing at my back, I knew she couldn’t get enough of me. And even though what we had just done was completely wrong, it felt so right—so right, in fact, that it was obvious this would not be our last time meeting like this.

  Yvette

  14

  He was early. Thirty minutes early, and here I was a mess in pajama pants and a tank top. When I heard the first knock, I hurried to my bedroom, snatching off my ponytail holder and letting my hair fall loosely to my shoulders. “Just a minute,” I called out when the knocking become insistent. Grabbing a tube of lip gloss from the dresser, I swiped my lips, took a deep breath and ran to the door.

  “I’m sorry I’m so early,” Ajani said. Dressed casually in a black zippered jacket with ‘Sean John’ displayed in royal blue across the front and matching baggy pants, he looked good enough to eat.

  “I look a mess,” I said, laughing self-consciously as I stepped aside to let him in, but he had other plans. Holding me by my waist, he kissed my cheek softly, sending shock waves through my body.

  “You look great.” Those three simple words and the way he looked at me when said them had me wondering if my invitation had been a bit premature, perhaps even foolhardy. Despite my second thoughts, I couldn’t deny the obvious: I wanted him. Having him in my space while I wore my pajamas could be very, very dangerous.

  “I wouldn’t have come this early normally, and I know this sounds lame, but my barber is right around the corner, and I—” Ajani explained, walking past me.

  “It’s okay. I’ll just go change now—if you don’t mind waiting.”

  “You don’t hav
e to change on my account. I think you look sexy in your pj’s. Definitely less intimidating than your power suits, Ms. Brooks,” he teased, taking a seat on the living room couch.

  “Well, that is something I probably shouldn’t be. I am engaged, after all.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said, smiling brightly.

  He sat on the couch as if this was exactly where he belonged. Watching him, my heart began beating erratically, and I could hardly get my next words out. “I shopped this morning and got everything you’ll need to cook dinner,” I said, walking to the kitchen. I thought it was wise to keep my distance, at least until the urge to kiss him wore off.

  “So you’re going to put me right to work?” Ajani asked, following me into the kitchen, his sleeves already rolled up, revealing well-defined, caramel colored forearms.

  “Isn’t that what you’re here for? To cook?” I asked, handing him the bag of flour.

  “Among other things.”

  “Ajani,” I warned.

  “What? I’m talking about helping you pack. Would you please get your mind out of the gutter?”

  “What else will we have with the chicken?” I asked, changing the subject. The kitchen was becoming unbearably hot, and it had nothing to do with the oil heating on the stove.

  “I don’t know. I’m in charge of the chicken. It’s my specialty, remember?”

  I remembered, so I decided to make a tossed salad, and I got busy rinsing the romaine lettuce and other ingredients, but wasn’t too busy to notice how adorably domestic Ajani looked seasoning the chicken.

  “How was your day, Yvette?” he asked, breaking the easy silence and interrupting my wayward thoughts.

  “Pretty uneventful. I mostly sat around here and watched TV reruns.”

  When the food was ready, we took everything into the living room and ate on the floor.

  “I’ve been forgetting to ask you the meaning of your name,” I said, finishing off a piece of perfectly seasoned chicken.

  “Ajani means ‘young man who likes an engaged woman.’ ”

  I smiled at his stab at humor. “Well, if you’re not going to be serious about that, then you tell me where you learned to cook. Did your mother teach you everything you know?” I asked, taking our plates to the kitchen.

  “Actually, my mother died when I was three days old. She had complications during my birth and never recovered. I grew up living with my dad and brothers, but my grandmother taught me all I know about Southern fried chicken.”

  “Oh, Ajani, I am so sorry,” I said. “I had no idea.”

  “No, it’s okay. You can’t miss what you’ve never had,” Ajani said, taking a few logs and throwing them into the fireplace, causing orange flames to jump and dance in front of us.

  “I can relate to the can’t miss part. My mother is still alive, but my grandmother raised me. My mother has been in and out of rehab for as long as I can remember,” I revealed, sipping my wine and staring at the fire. I was amazed at how comfortable I felt with Ajani. It took me almost six months to relate that same story to Terrence.

  “Where is she now?” he asked.

  “Around. I send her money for her bills and living expenses once a month, but we don’t talk much.”

  “Everybody has demons,” Ajani said gently, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear. “What are yours?”

  “Besides the fact that I’m here with you when I’m getting married five months from now?” He kept running his fingers up and down my bare arm, and it was making me nervous.

  “You’re getting married, Yvette, but you’re not dead. You are still entitled to a little fun every now and then.”

  “But the problem is, Ajani, I’m not sure what kind of fun you have in mind.” He touched me and I became weak. And the look in his eyes made me wet.

  “Why don’t we just see where this takes us?” Ajani asked, lifting the hair off my neck and nuzzling his face against my skin. He brushed his lips against my neck, not quite kissing, more like teasing.

  “Ajani?” I whispered, wanting him to continue but knowing I should make him stop.

  “Yeah, baby?” he answered. His lips left my neck and headed to my jawline. His face was so close to mine that all I had to do was move a fraction of an inch and our lips would meet.

  “I think maybe you should go,” I said, without much conviction. In my heart, I knew that was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “You really want me to leave?” he asked, running his hands through my hair.

  I closed my eyes, loving the way he was making me feel. “I don’t know what I want, Ajani. I feel so good, so relaxed around you, but what about Terrence?”

  “I can respect your concern,” Ajani whispered, his hands nonetheless leaving my hair and going straight to my thighs.

  I found myself responding pleasurably to the way he caressed me. How amazing that this man, this boy, made me feel better and more special than Terrence ever had. Then it abruptly ended.

  “I’m going to go,” Ajani said, pulling his hands away and clapping them together. “I really want to kiss you. I mean, I really want to kiss you.” He clapped his hands together again, as if only that kept him from touching me.

  “Ajani I—”

  He rose quickly and looked down at me. “It’s cool, Yvette. You don’t have to say anything. I would hate for you to do something that you’ll regret in the morning.” Ajani held his hand out and helped me up.

  “I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days; I need to finish my observations.” We walked hand in hand to the door.

  “Yes, I know.”

  Ajani slowly came closer, gently pushing my nervous body against the doorframe.

  “You know I don’t want to leave, and I really don’t think you want me to,” Ajani breathed, pressing his hard body against mine, causing an involuntary gasp to escape my lips. Then he leaned down and planted a trail of kisses from my jawline to my lips.

  His mouth felt even better than what I had imagined. His lips were soft, and they met mine with an urgency that produced an intense throbbing between my legs. His tongue explored my mouth and he wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me as if he never wanted to let me go.

  What was happening was wrong, I knew that. I also knew that I should push him away, should tell him to stop, but I couldn’t and didn’t because I really didn’t want him to.

  Ajani pulled me close and deepened the kiss. He lifted my top slightly and touched my bare flesh. I wanted him to stop and keep going at the same time. Confusing images zoomed in and out my head, sometimes in blur, sometimes sharp—at the speed of light, Terrence, my wedding dress, my grandmother, Terrence, those lacy red panties. Terrence.

  “My phone’s ringing,” I said, as Ajani’s mouth left mine and kissed my chin. He was slowly making his way down to my breasts.

  “So what?” he asked, slipping the strap off my shoulder.

  “Ajani, I have to answer the phone. It might be important.” I gently pushed him away and went to pick up the phone, not waiting to catch my breath before answering.

  “Yvette?” he persisted, reaching for me again.

  I pulled away and hurried to the other side of the room. “Hello?” I said, sounding as if I had just run a mile.

  “Why are you out of breath? Are you okay?” Terrence asked, sounding genuinely alarmed.

  “I’m fine, Terrence. I just got out of the shower and had to run through the apartment to answer the phone,” I lied glibly.

  Ajani just watched me, the expression on his face saying he was preparing to leave.

  I turned my back to him.

  “I was just calling to get your flight information.”

  “Terrence, can you hold on for a minute?” I pressed the mute button.

  “Ajani, you don’t have to leave.”

  “Yes, I do,” he said, zipping up his jacket and checking his pockets for his car keys. “It’s cool. Go handle your phone call.” He took long quick strides across the room and
leaned down. He kissed me softly on the lips. “Call me when you get back home.”

  It wasn’t until Ajani left my apartment that I realized he had slipped a small piece of paper onto the coffee table.

  Ajani means ‘He who wins the struggle.’

  Yvette

  15

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Ajani. Even now, back in Detroit for a couple of days, I could still smell his cologne, taste his lips, and feel his hands.

  I had looked his name up on the Internet, not because I didn’t believe him but because he who wins the struggle seemed entirely too apt for the situation we were slowly creating for ourselves.

  And he was still not letting up. He called me and left a voicemail as soon as my plane touched down. Walking through Detroit Metro Airport, I listened to his message over and over. I couldn’t seem to get enough of his deep, sexy voice.

  “Yvette, this is Ajani. I had a really nice time last night, and I’m looking forward to seeing you when you get back.”

  The mere sound of his voice aroused and scared me. I had never in my life felt so strongly about a man so soon. And one so young. Just thinking about him did things to my body that Terrence never had in twelve years of a relationship. And the more I thought about him, the more I wished I wasn’t a thirty-four-year-old engaged woman.

  Guilt kicked in the moment I saw Terrence waiting for me in the baggage claim area. Not only had I cheated on him, but I was also seriously considering letting it happen again. But the excited and happy feeling that I used to get after being apart from him for an extended time was missing. In a way, I wished he were more like Ajani.

  “Everything is ready for tonight,” Terrence said as we entered the apartment, the wide-open space of the loft reminding me of the huge hole in my heart.

  “Great. Have you met Wendy’s new boy toy?” I asked, checking the food Terrence had catered for tonight’s get-together. I had invited Wendy and the guy she was seeing over because I missed her. I wanted to catch up and have a couples’ evening at the same time.