Jada couldn’t help smiling at this dumb white man. His eyes were glassy with forbidden lust. Guess it was true about white men, as well as black ones—their little heads did all the thinking and ignored the big one. Jada stood up. Michelle had gotten his shirt off, but …
“You still look overdressed to me,” Jada said to Reid.
“Strip for us,” Michelle suggested from her spot on the bed. She watched as Jada paraded around the foot of the bed in her gorgeous orange satin. She looked great, and so unselfconscious. What would happen when it was her turn? Michelle had never been completely naked in front of any man except Frank. Well, that was then, this was now. And the underwear wasn’t any worse than a skimpy swimsuit, she guessed. It just felt different than a swimsuit. She forced herself to get on her knees and began untying Reid’s shoes. “Do I have to be your geisha?” she asked, and batted her eyelashes up at him. Frank loved to see her kneel.
She pulled off Reid’s shoes and then each sock slowly and suggestively. His feet were big, but she didn’t feel like rubbing them, or any of his other parts, so she tugged at the cuff of his pants leg. As if he’d been mesmerized, and was deep in some kind of sexual daze, Reid unbuckled his pants in slow motion and unzipped his fly. That was the cue for Jada to wiggle up to Reid and tug at Reid’s trouser legs. “Here,” she said, “let Mama help. Mama wants to get to see how good you look, baby.”
Michelle actually blushed, and wondered if that was the way Jada had talked to Clinton when they were in bed. It was funny: you knew a lot about your girlfriends, but you couldn’t know what they were really like with their husbands. They spoke precisely about sex—but not with the feelings.
She felt Reid’s rump rise, giving her the opportunity to pull down his trousers. She began to help Jada, and just hoped that his boxers wouldn’t come off along with his pants. God, he had big, big feet. She really didn’t want to see his thing.
He was actually wearing briefs, and to her relief, they didn’t move when the trousers came off—although something inside them was moving. It wasn’t dignified to think about, but Michelle had always imagined that movement looking like a hamster in a little laundry sack.
“Ooooh, nice chest, counselor,” Jada cooed.
This guy was DDG. Too bad his NUP—or whatever Jada called it—was so screwed up. Michelle glanced at him again. His chest was nice—broad, flat and almost hairless. It looked like a swimmer’s chest, Michelle thought, one of those Olympic guys. But Michelle couldn’t imagine laying her head on it. For a moment it made her miss Frank’s soft, dark hair. Well, she had no time for that. She had to get to work.
“You two are the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen,” Reid said, his voice vague as if lost in a dream. At that, Michelle stood up. How dare he! What about Angie, or even Lisa. He was such a disloyal piece of work. She’d get him. She’d make him suffer, the louse. She put one foot back up on the bed, spike heel still on, then bent her head a little toward him and looked up at him through her veil of blond hair.
“Really?” she asked, and she saw the hamster move again. “Well, do you want us to tell you what we’re going to do to each other? Or do you want to tell us what you’re going to do to us? Or how about if you tell us what you’d like us to do to you?”
“Oh maannn,” Reid groaned and pulled off his briefs.
Leaning against the bed post, Jada looked at Angie’s husband’s three piece combo and then at Michelle with a shrug and a little fluttered hand motion which meant, So-so, nothing impressive. Michelle made the little mouth she did when she didn’t want to laugh out loud. Jada winked at her. She knew she couldn’t laugh at this, of all moments—men were so sensitive about their size—so Michelle put her hands over her mouth. Then, when she was in control again, she moved her arms up over her head. She knew it emphasized her curves.
“Come over here,” Reid said.
“Patience. Patience!” Jada said.
“Slow but steady. I hope we don’t need to bind and gag you,” Michelle warned. “We only do that to each other if we go too fast. Or if we’re very, very naughty.”
Reid’s dick sprang up and almost did a little dance. Men and their machines. They so often lacked dignity. Jada looked at him as he motioned to her with his head. “Come on over here to the bed and join me. Please,” he added, patting the mattress on his other side. That was better.
But they had to slow this down, Jada thought, or else it wasn’t going to just look ungodly, it would be ungodly. “Well, before that … first I got some oil I want to put on you, baby,” she said in her sexy voice. Well, it was her sexy voice or else she sounded like a black, female Austin Powers. So she switched to a Suzy Housekeeper tone. “But maybe I should first get a towel to protect the sheets,” she suggested.
She took her time going into and returning from the bathroom, checking the time. She handed a bottle of oil to Michelle while she began to unfold the towel. She tried to think if there was anything she had forgotten, anything that could go wrong. The Cosmo was left downstairs, the timing was on the money, she hadn’t gotten a call on her pager. It seemed all was in readiness.
“It’s show time,” Jada said, using the code term the three of them had created.
Smiling, Michelle walked up to Reid, who reached out and put his hands on her hips. Thank God, she thought, he didn’t touch her breasts—she would have screamed and smacked him with the oil bottle. Instead, she took it and began to pour the oil over Reid’s adulterous shoulders so that it ran down his back and chest. Then she decided to add more. He leaned back against her. Yuck! But “Ooohh,” she crooned, pulling away. “I used too much. It was too big a squirt,” she added with a leer, distracting him as much as she could.
Reid looked down at his glistening body. At that moment, Jada pulled the sheet from the upper corner of the bed, stripped it to the foot, and lay the towel down. “Rub on this, lamb,” she purred. Behind Reid’s back, she made a face at her friend.
Lamb to slaughter, Michelle thought. Or maybe ram.
Then Jada disappeared for a moment at the end of the bed. When she stood up, she turned to Michelle. “Don’t get oil on his dickie-bird, Katherine,” she warned, pouting. “I want to do that myself.”
Michelle almost laughed out loud. Dickie-bird? “Why do you get it first?” she asked, pretending to pout. “I haven’t had one in sooo long.”
“Uh-uh-oooh. You women. You two girls. You …” Reid was breathless. “You’re unbelievable.”
That, Jada thought, was the first accurate thing the jerk had said all night. She smiled and spread herself from the foot of the bed almost up to his lap. His eyes—appropriately in light of what was coming—were glued to her. Michelle chose that moment to put her face in front of his and rub it with oil.
“We’re going to make you nice and slick,” she said.
“Oh yeah,” Jada agreed. “Slick. That’s a good name for you, Mr. Wakefield. You’re very slick now, honey.” Hidden for the moment by Michelle, she popped open the cap of the Crazy Glue and in a single movement applied it all along one side of Reid’s penis. Then she took her hand, asked the Lord’s forgiveness, grabbed hold of the nasty thing, and pushed him on his side, holding his dick down—not against the towel, but the bare mattress.
Reid groaned, partly from the unexpected but longed-for touch, and partly, probably, from Jada’s roughness. “Ummm. Ummmm. Ow. Ouch,” Reid recited in a litany that quickly moved from intense pleasure to intense pain. “Wait! Ow! That hurts! Hey, what …” Just to be safe Jada slid the tube of glue along the exposed side of his penis, leaving a long thin line of wetness. She held his hip down with her own, giving the glue already applied the thirty seconds it needed to set.
Reid put his left hand up against himself just as she finished. Jada actually almost warned him not to. Well, what the hell, she figured, and squirted more glue as he held his rod but also cupped his testicles. Then, as he tried to pull his hand away, he nearly screamed.
“Oh, sorry,” Ja
da said, as she looked over Michelle at Reid’s contorted face. Certain the glue was doing its super job, she ducked down, this time for the Polaroid. “Say cheese,” she requested, and Michelle turned around with a feigned expression of surprise on her face. Reid’s face was more sincere, though less photogenic at the moment. Jada shot off the first picture, which looked through the view finder at least about as sexually guilty as possible, short of showing actual penetration. But, Jada thought, they could do better. She pulled the film out of the camera, put it on the bureau to develop, and stood on the bed to shoot another one.
“Hey. Hey! No pictures. And this oil burns. Come on, girls …”
“Don’t you like getting stung?” Michelle asked.
“I’m … I’m stuck,” Reid said, just beginning to get a clue. He couldn’t move the hand glued to himself, but anyone who didn’t know that would think he seemed to be comfortably cupping one hand there. Michelle leaned in, giving Jada a big cleavage shot. Jada got the two of them in the picture, from chest to thigh. Then she quickly shot another, this one focused higher up on the bed, so she got the two of them against the headboard, their faces beside one another, Michelle’s chest leaning against Reid, and his hand still around his private parts, the other reaching.
“Come on,” Jada coaxed.
Michelle winced, then she put her hand gingerly over Reid’s glued one. It was probably the only Johnson she’d ever touched except for Frank’s. Jada nodded and snapped off another picture. The more intense look of “discomfort” on Reid’s face made it seem—at least for the photo—as if he was almost ejaculating.
“Perfect,” she cooed.
“What are you doing? What’s this on my dick? I’m really stuck!” Reid cried. “And I told you I don’t want pictures!”
“We always do pictures,” Jada said, her voice reasonable. Then, to be as truthful as possible she added, “Every time I’ve done this, I do pictures.”
Michelle actually laughed out loud and held her hand out for the camera, so Jada gave it to her and got onto the bed. Showtime! She squatted over Reid’s trapped body without touching it, and turned to look over her shoulder at the camera. Michelle snapped off two more pictures, lining them up with the others on the bureau to develop. For a moment, Jada wondered how she—a church-going, God-loving Christian woman—had come to be crouched, glistening black and almost naked, over this white toad, but God was forgiving and the cause was a just one.
“What the hell is this?” Reid said. “I’m, I’m …”
“Trapped?” Jada asked.
“Cornered?” Michelle added.
“Ummm, maybe ‘betrayed’ is the word you’re looking for,” Jada suggested, mock-helpfully.
“I tell you I’m stuck. I can’t get this up,” Reid said as he tried to lift his private parts from the mattress.
“You got a lot of problems, Slick, but getting it up didn’t seem to be one of them,” Jada laughed. “Now getting it off,” she continued, “that could be a major problem in this particular situation.”
“Something’s wrong,” Reid said. “You stuck me down.”
“It was an accident,” Jada sneered.
“Yeah. Most accidents happen in the home,” Michelle added and giggled. Jada giggled, too, and it felt good to laugh. Reid pulled himself, then howled.
Mission accomplished, Jada thought. Now Angie just had to do her part of the job.
“What are you doing? What are the two of you doing?” Reid Wakefield III, her first naked white boy, whined. “I mean, is this some kind of sex game? Because I don’t think it’s funny.” He looked at the laughing Jada and his face changed. “Or do you want to rob the house or something?”
It took the smile right off her face. Yeah. There’s always that. When in doubt, figure an African-American is going to rob you, Jada thought. One minute she was his greatest wet dream and the next his most common nightmare.
“Well? Is that it?” Reid asked. “Is that what this is all about?” he demanded, with as much dignity as a naked man with his penis stuck to a bed could muster.
“Slick, baby, you don’t have a clue,” Michelle told him.
54
In which Angie serves the Older Other Woman dessert
Angie stood for a moment outside the condo—the place she had once thought of as her “starter home”—and tried to act unwilling. “He’s not in there, is he?” she asked for at least the third time.
“No. He had a business meeting tonight—some kind of emergency,” Lisa assured her.
Angie was dying to get into the place, but she had to play reluctant. Very reluctant. “Wait. You didn’t tell him you were seeing me?” Angie asked. “You promised. He won’t be here, will he? I don’t want him to see me like this. I mean, fat and all.”
“Oh, Angie, you’re not fat,” Lisa said easily, as if the thirty extra pounds Angie was schlepping didn’t exist. Lies rolled off her lips as easily as frogs slid into ponds. Wasn’t there a fairy tale about a princess who spoke and frogs and toads emerged from her mouth? And another, maybe her sister, who had diamonds and gems fall out instead? Angie couldn’t remember, but there was definitely a toad, a liar, and a few faux gems already in this story.
Angie pulled back her mind to concentrate, and remembered how much she wanted this to happen, so she stood there silently while Lisa threw open the door. She followed Lisa into what had been her own living room, and Lisa seemed to have no remorse or concern at all. She flipped on a few lights, but Angie knew by the Cosmo magazine Jada had left that all was in progress. Show time. Angie concealed her glee, went right to the bookshelves, pretending to look through them while Lisa took off her coat, hung it up, and looked in the mirror on the back of the closet door to fluff her hair. Angie had never had a mirror there. It was a good idea. She hoped it made Lisa very happy. There was going to be lots of new things to see in the house in just a few minutes.
Angie heard a little noise, a murmur or a dick of a lamp being switched on, and looked toward the stairwell. She kept running her hands over the books in the bookshelf though. “I don’t see it here, Lisa,” she whined, as if the journal wasn’t in her coat pocket. “Maybe I should go upstairs. Maybe I might have left it on that shelf across the top of the armoire.”
“Oh,” Lisa said. “Yeah, maybe. I can’t even reach up there.” Together they moved up the stairs and through the dark hallway. There was a light coming from under the door of the bedroom. Angie stopped.
“Is he here?” she asked again, trying to sound both frightened and accusatory.
“No,” Lisa reassured her. “He said he’d be late. And he would have said hello when I came in.”
She strode up to the door and Angie had a moment to wonder again whether Lisa, in pure spite, was hoping he was there, to finalize Angie’s humiliation. But she just shrugged and followed Lisa.
When the door was thrown open, the scene before them was better than Angie possibly could have imagined. The light spilled out of the room, freezing Lisa in the doorway. The shock of the scene, the colors, and the shapes was amazing: “Jenette’s” darkness, her brown legs bent up in high triangles on either side of Reid’s ruddy arms, the blond of his hair contrasted by Mich’s slightly darker tones, and her pale, matte back behind Jada’s deep glossy one. Even the orange and the pink of their bras and scanty panties added to the visual shock of it. This wasn’t some black lace prostitute or a red garter belt joke. The entire scene was so totally unpredictable, so real and yet so incredibly strange, it was mind-blowing. Michelle was sitting on Reid’s feet, while Jada, in the unbelievably tiny pair of panties, was sitting on his chest. Ha! Take that! Angie had expected it—but what was Lisa seeing? And what about Reid?
Golden Boy looked at Lisa with horror and comprehension, but it was when Angie stepped out from behind her that he turned a real fish-belly white.
Angie looked over his head to the wall. Taped over the bed were several photos, and more of them lay scattered on the floor.
“Oh
my God!” Lisa gasped and took another step into the room. Jada jumped off Reid and stood by the side of the bed so that the view would be clear for Angie and Lisa. Her breasts were barely contained by the orange brassiere. The color made her mouth, her breasts, and her orange silk crotch stand out against the deep burnished color of her skin.
“Oh my God!” Angie echoed. It looked so real, and so very, very sordid. Ha! Oh yes!
Michelle now turned her head. Her hair floated like a princess’s, and her finely chiseled, beautiful face and milk-white body looked like a pornographer’s wet dream. “Oh my God!” she too said.
But Jada wasn’t going there. “You all religious?” she asked. “Or do you want to join us?”
“Lisa! Thank God! I mean … I … you don’t understand … I’m trapped here,” Reid said. “I’m … stuck. I mean it. I’m stuck to the mattress.”
“Hey baby, from what I hear, you’ve always been stuck on yourself,” Jada said, laughed and threw a smirk at Angie.
Lisa’s mouth opened and closed like a guppy’s. Angela stepped out from behind her and moved closer to the bed for a better look. Reid, his hands still cupped over his genitalia, gazed at her, his face becoming a mask of shock—and something else she couldn’t identify. Pain? Shame?
“Angie?” he asked, as if he doubted his vision. She just looked down at his package, and wondered just how much glue Jada had used. “I … I didn’t know you were in town,” he said. “I mean … I didn’t mean to see you.”
“That’s obvious. Oh, Reid. I thought you’d promised to stop these sick games of yours.” She almost laughed, and covered it with a choking noise. “I thought that maybe he was over all this.” She tried to sound sincerely disappointed. “I better go,” she said to Lisa. “I … I just better go.” She turned and walked out and down the stairs. Only then did she smile, the deeply satisfied grin of a happy consumer. After all, she had bought that mattress and the Crazy Glue that Reid was tethered to it with. She was pleased with both. Her grin broadened.
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