Aria reached up to turn on the light. “Um, ’bout two hundred dollars and some weed,” she told her.
“You?”
“Just fifty. That lame-dick nigga couldn’t fuck either.”
Aria laughed.
“Now we can’t bring no more niggas back to this motel ’cause they might be looking for us.” Jontae pulled to a stop at a red light and the car backfired. They both laughed when several people ducked down to the street, afraid it was gunfire. “Stick with me, cuz, it’s gone be one helluva summer.”
And it had been that.
They ran that “fuck and pluck” scheme all over Jersey that summer and one more summer after that. Aria had lost count of the men and a large part of her life that summer with all the weed, liquor, and lying she pulled.
Many things she wanted to forget. Had to forget. Even now she felt an actual terror at Kingston knowing things she fought hard to keep from him. Things she kept from a lot of people…except her best friend….
Aria accepted the glass of wine Jessa gave her as they lounged on the floor in front of the fireplace in Jessa’s living room. She reached down to pick up one of the many photos scattered on the floor. “Girl, look at how long my hair was,” Aria exclaimed as she looked at the snapshot of herself in her twenties in a pair of tight jeans and a Columbia University sweatshirt. Her hair was six inches longer and her waist five inches smaller. “Don’t show this to Jaime, she’ll freak if she knew I cut off hair she pays good money for.”
Jessa laughed in that husky voice of hers. “Has anyone ever seen her real hair?” she asked, picking up another photo from the floor as the fire crackled before them.
Aria rolled her eyes and waved her hand. “Probably just her hairdresser, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she had to sign a confidentiality agreement.”
They shared another laugh as Aria picked up another photo. Her eyes darkened as she studied it. “This is my first year at Columbia,” she said softly, pursing her lips to let out a long breath as emotions caused her eyes to flood with memories. “To think if I didn’t turn my life around, I don’t know where I would be.”
Jessa frowned. “Oh, good Lord, this isn’t the whole I made it out of Newark thing, because you were hardly in Beirut or some shit, Aria,” Jessa drawled.
Aria smiled but it couldn’t defeat the sadness in her eyes. “I’ve done some things that I ain’t proud of, Jessa,” she admitted in a soft voice.
“Haven’t we all, girl?”
Aria shifted her eyes to her, feeling the effects of the alcohol. “Tricking? Running scams? Threesomes and foursomes? Shoplifting? Smoking weed and drinking? You did all that too?” she asked, her low voice mocking and filled with a tinge of the anger that she had for herself.
Jessa sat back on her haunches as her mouth fell open a bit. “Whoa,” she said, obviously stunned by Aria’s admission.
Aria laughed bitterly before she swallowed down the rest of her wine in one gulp. She thought—hoped—the liquor would numb the pain she felt. It didn’t. “If I knew that being so stupid would still affect my life today…”
Jessa moved over to Aria on her knees, to wrap her arms around her shoulders. “Oh, Aria. That’s all in the past, girl. A shady past, but your past.”
Aria shook her head as she leaned forward to grab the wine bottle. “If only life was that simple and cute,” she snapped before taking a swig of the wine straight from the bottle as all the emotions she had about her past resurfaced.
“See, when you fifteen, fast, and fucking, having abortions left and fucking right, life has a way of punishing you because now…now I can’t have any babies.” Her voice broke. “Now you tell me that ain’t a bitch.”
Jessa was rarely speechless, so Aria knew she had stunned her.
Aria stared into the fire. A solitary tear that was the manifestation of ten years’ worth of her guilt raced down her cheek.
Aria closed her eyes and shook her head in shame, wondering if a secret revealed to someone she thought was a friend had been used by an enemy to weaken her marriage instead.
CHAPTER 10
Jaime had never ever been the wild one.
Growing up, all through high school and college, she had been the good one. The safe one. The predictable one. But over the years she had discovered that at times she wanted to be bad. Naughty. Indulgent.
And when she allowed herself to dwell in that place just 5 percent of the time in her life, it made being the good one bearable the other 95 percent of the time.
Jaime parked her nondescript rental car near the rear entrance of the equally nondescript building. The loud thump of the music seemed to make the building shake. She didn’t bother to focus on the pale peach paint that was peeling and revealing the putrid green paint beneath it.
Although she doubted any of her circle of friends would see her, Jaime still slid on her shades as she climbed out of the car and entered the building through the heavy metal door. For a second there was nothing but darkness and music. She waited for her eyes to adjust.
The sounds of Jamie Foxx’s “Blame It” echoed around her as she made her way past the security booth to the front of one of the three large circular stages lit by colorful lights.
Club Trick was the spot for male dancers for their Thursdays ladies’ night, but Jaime didn’t like to share—or try to come up with an excuse to not be at home with her husband—so the early five o’clock show was for her.
Less crowd equaled more dick to peruse. Although Jaime really was here for one dick and one dick alone. She shivered in anticipation and her clit swelled with life between her clean-shaven pussy lips as she strode to a swivel seat right at the base of the stage.
Usher’s “U Got It Bad” filled the surround system, and on the stage the dreadlocked, muscled dancer with a dozen black tattoos switched from making his dick pop in a neon sock contraption to ease down to the floor in a snakelike motion.
Jaime crossed and uncrossed her legs while she watched his smooth hard ass as he ground the floor like he was putting in major work in someone’s pussy. Her nipples tingled and her clit felt like it would explode between her thighs. She was transfixed. Completely mesmerized. Hot. Bothered.
Her demeanor was not that of the women waving and yelling as he gyrated, but she didn’t dare assume she was better than them. She just handled hers differently. She reached in her purse and pulled out a fifty dollar bill to calmly hold up in the air.
Pleasure left the attention of an oversized woman with bright orange hair to dance his way over to her. He dropped on his knees, straddling her body in her chair as he popped his hips so that his dick flip-flopped against the valley of her breasts. His hips worked in a clockwise and counterclockwise motion that was in tune with the music. The rock-hard ridges of his abdomen were defined and glistening with some oil beneath the colorful strobe lights.
Jaime felt so breathless and so bad as she pushed the fifty dollar bill into the front of his sock. He grabbed her hand and eased it down until her hand brushed against his dick.
She jumped back a bit at the smooth and hard feel of it.
“Don’t be scared,” he said to her loudly to counter the music.
It was one of the rare moments when they’d spoken during their five-year dance, and the sound of his voice thrilled her just as much as the sight and smell of him.
Jaime was first introduced to Pleasure at a bachelorette party while a senior in college. And something—no, everything—about the six-foot-nine caramel-dipped walking piece of pure hot sex had turned her. When he left them all a card with his contact info, Jaime had snuggled it away…first.
Constant wet dreams for three weeks after had led her to pull out that card and find the club where he worked. That first night she watched him perform, Jaime had almost cum on herself. The little virgin with the sheltered life in suburbia was hooked.
And once a month for the last few years she allowed herself to indulge in the sinful goodness that was Pleasure. Just an hour
or so watching him titillate a bunch of horny women with erotic gyrations and the print of what had to be a ruler-sized dick. In time he came to recognize her, and she knew that he knew he had her hooked.
But she never crossed the line. She never told anyone either, including Eric—although Jaime was sure that when she got home on those Thursday nights and released all her pent-up sex drive on him, he was more than happy, whether he knew why or not.
Pleasure jumped down off the stage, still straddling her as he placed one hand behind his head and the other one eased down his abdomen as he ground his hips.
Jaime’s eyes were transfixed on the up-and-down motion of his dick and she swallowed over a lump in her throat. He straddled her lap and she didn’t even care if some of his body oil ruined her Tahari skirt.
“You know what you need? A private dance,” he whispered near her ear. “You game?”
Her pussy was soaked at that point.
“I’m married,” she said as he moved closer to grind his dick against her stomach.
“I don’t give a fuck.”
And in that moment, neither did she.
Usher faded into Ginuwine’s “So Anxious”—and that she was. He stood and took her hand to pull her to her feet and lead her around the stage and past a heavy black curtain into a small room lit only with a red light, with nothing in it but a few club chairs and a small stage. The sound of Ginuwine followed them into the room as he pressed her into one of the black leather club chairs and then climbed onto the small stage.
Suddenly the lights began to flicker in a wicked strobe effect as he worked his hips and slowly worked the sock/ thong contraption off.
“What exactly happens during a private dance?” she asked as he jumped down to straddle her hips before he bent backwards to lean against the stage.
Jaime wanted to fan herself as his dick stood up straight, pointing to the ceiling before the wide tip curved to the right. And it was a beautiful piece of work. Dark and smooth, with wide veins that ran along the side up to the tip.
She licked her lips, surprised that she wanted so very badly to just bend forward and take it into her mouth. Eric wouldn’t let her give him head…and sometimes she wanted to, but she hadn’t worked up the nerve to talk about it with him.
Pleasure licked his lips as he wrapped his hand around the base of his dick before he massaged the length of it.
Jaime knew she shouldn’t be in the strip club, and certainly not in a private room with a stripper named Pleasure whose dick was twice the size of her husband’s. Her mind and body were focused on him and just him as he jacked his dick.
“Touch it,” he ordered thickly as he moved to stand before her. “Come on, you been coming to my shows for years. You know you wanna touch it. Go ahead, I won’t tell.”
Jaime hesitated for just a moment just before she wrapped her hand around it tightly and stroked him. She felt a rush as he shivered and pressed his hips forward.
“That’s right. Beat that motherfucker,” he told her hotly.
Sex with Eric was just like her life. Normal. Predictable. Sometimes so very boring. She couldn’t remember the last time the man she loved made her cum, while she was near an explosion just from watching Pleasure dance.
He brought his hands up to stroke her nipples through her silk shirt, and Jaime nearly fainted from the pure electricity shimmering over her body.
“You need to be fucked, don’t you?” he asked, dropping to his knees to press her legs open wide. He moaned as he sniffed the air. “Damn, that pussy smell good.”
Jaime fainted back against the chair and shivered while her clit ached and she felt the seat of her silk La Perla panties cling wetly to her lips. She closed her eyes and pushed her chest higher with her tingling nipples pointed to the ceiling as his strong and warm hands massaged her inner thighs.
She gasped as one of his fingers pulled her panties aside and dipped deeply within her. The cry she released was one of anguish and pleasure.
It was wrong. So wrong. But it felt so good. And so very, very bad.
“Your husband ain’t taking care of this pussy, is he?” Pleasure asked, his heated words blowing against her clit before he pushed her legs wide to run his tongue up her pussy to circle and then flicker against her clit.
Jaime felt bolts of electricity hit her as she nearly passed out.
Eric had never tasted her there. No man had.
“Do it again,” she begged in a hoarse voice.
And he did. Again and again until she was shivering and sweating like a fiend.
She barely heard the tear of foil as she reached to tease her own nipples—another first. She felt his lubricated latex-covered dick strike her thigh as he bent forward to move her hands and suck her nipples through her shirt.
“Yes,” she sighed as his hands easily lifted her hips to hitch her skirt up around her waist. He tore away her panties with one strong pull, and Jaime didn’t care.
She wanted him inside her. She needed him inside her.
“You want me to fuck the shit out of you, don’t you?” he whispered to her.
“Yes. Please,” she begged without shame as she squirmed her hips in anticipation.
“What’s my name?”
“Pleasure.”
“And what do I give?”
“Pleasure.”
He laughed huskily as he pushed deep inside her with one swift thrust.
Jaime felt the pressure of him against her walls. She felt the heat of him deep inside her. “Fuck me,” she ordered, hardly believing her words or her actions.
“My pleasure,” he told her thickly as he stroked deep and fast inside her before switching up to a slow grind.
Her pussy walls throbbed against the length of him as her juices drizzled around his dick and down to wet the cleavage of her buttocks.
She brought her hands up to twist in his dreadlocks, feeling bold. Feeling free.
“Say you my nasty bitch,” he ordered.
“I’m your nasty bitch.”
And she was.
In the midst of the heat Jaime lost track of time as that man fucked her as if his whole life depended on it. From the back. In her back. On her back. She lost count of how many times he made her cum as he twisted and turned her body inside out until she was just as naked as he and not caring if the people in the outer club could hear her moans and cries.
“Have you been pleasured?” he asked her as he fucked her from behind with his hand twisting her weave in his tight grasp as he rode her like she’d stolen something.
“Yes,” she cried out, nearly weak and faint from pure satisfaction as she dropped her head to the floor.
He stiffened and she felt his dick throbbing against her walls. “This dick ’bout to cum,” he told her.
He grunted and pumped inside her fast and furious, like he was trying to win a race, before he snatched his dick out. She heard the snap of him removing the rubber and then the steady smacking of him jacking his dick before she felt the warm and wet drizzle of his nut on her ass and back.
“Damn. Whoo. Damn it. Shit,” he swore between hoarse cries.
Jaime slumped to the floor, not caring that her sweat caused her to stick to the wood or linoleum.
“That’s two hundred dollars.”
Jaime’s eyes popped open. The lights were on and he was already back in his thong contraption standing over her, holding her purse out to her. Shame flooded her in the light of the aftermath. She grabbed the purse and hurried to pay him.
“Um, thank you. I guess,” she said, rising to her feet to rush into her clothes and shove her torn panties inside her purse.
“You’re more than welcome. Call me sometime,” he told her before he stepped forward to press a kiss to her forehead and then walked through the curtain like he hadn’t just fucked the hell out of her.
Jaime spotted her cell phone on the floor beside the club chair and she bent to pick it up, ignoring the soreness and wetness between her thighs. She pushed
it inside her purse and scurried out of the room and out of the club, feeling as if all eyes were on her.
Embarrassment and shame were her fuel.
Nearly six months had passed and Jaime felt herself flush with humiliation at that night. Her little flirtations with being bad had led her skidding straight across the line into the ultimate betrayal of her husband, her values, and her upbringing. The man had completely freaked her out and then totally fucked her up by leaving her sex funky and sweaty on the dirty floor of the back room.
And then charged her for the privilege. Jaime was done with being bad, and even gave up her one indulgence…smoking.
Jaime shook her head at her own foolishness as she walked throughout her house, taking in her prized possessions. Everything about her home was a reflection of everything about her life. Perfectly designed. Skillfully organized. Beautifully presented.
She paused as she walked down the long hall to the guest room. For a long time she just stood there and stared at the door. It was more than a piece of wood shutting off the room from onlookers. Since the night her husband moved into the bedroom, that door had shut her out from his life. His world.
Ever since the night he found out about her infidelity, everything about their marriage changed. Everything.
She reached out and touched the wood, knowing that she’d caused the door and his heart to be locked to her….
Jaime shook from her head to her feet during her entire ride home from the strip club. She had to grip the wheel tighter to keep her hands from trembling. And there seemed to be nothing she could do for her fast-racing heart.
“Oh, my God, I just had a one-night stand with a stripper,” she thought as she pulled to a red light. With a little shriek she leaned forward and banged her head lightly against the steering wheel.
The pleasure. The passion. The excitement.
All of it was gone. Forgotten. Resented.
Someone laid on the horn behind her and Jaime jumped and sped ahead, zooming her car under the green light. The sun was just beginning to set and traffic was heavy as people made their way back home from their jobs after a long workday.
Message from a Mistress Page 11