Messalina: Devourer of Men

by Zetta Brown

  Like a dumb-ass, I would giggle and say, “Yes,” flattered by the attention, but then go home and do sit-ups until I puked.

  Finally, I thought I struck gold when Eddie accepted my invitation to come with me to Trisha Stevens’s New Year’s Eve Party. It would be our first official, non-workout date.

  The party was a few weeks away and in the meantime, I was under all kinds of strain. I had just endured the pressure of finals for the first time at work and was on a “fitness” program that threatened to tear me apart. Then, two days before the party, I had a revelation.

  This was all a bunch of bullshit.

  It came to me one night at the club and I saw Eddie for what he was—a full-metal jackass. I had ignored the way he flirted with and ogled every woman who came through the door that looked like she would snap in half if caught in a strong wind—the ones with chests so flat they made the walls jealous. Eddie was trying to make me look like a string bean with a pulse.

  I saw him hugging, patting, kissing, and gyrating against some of those “broads,” but ignored it because I had all his phone numbers. It made me want to hang my head in shame.

  But, I would get my revenge, and if there’s one thing I can do well, it’s revenge.

  When Eddie picked me up at Ana’s home in Montbello looking like a Russell Crowe wannabe, I noticed how he sized Ana up and down appreciatively. She was and still is a size 4, but she ignored him because a) she saw how he treated me before I figured it out and b) the overly muscle-bound aren’t her type. Then Eddie looked at me.

  “Pretty good, Eva. I may have to get under that toga and try you out for myself.”

  A few weeks, or even a few days before, I would’ve felt flattered, but by then his words were too arrogant for me to take. All I wanted to do was serve him his ego on a plate with his testicles on the side.

  Trisha Stevens lived in a house in the Capital Hill area. That New Year’s Eve, despite the freezing weather, twenty guests showed up. People came appropriately dressed to the party as Trisha requested. The ladies wore togas and the men wore gladiator gear that Trisha reserved at a local theatrical shop. At first, I thought it was a fluke that the men outnumbered the women thirteen-to-seven, but Trisha explained that the men were expected to have a gladiator’s gusto.

  Food, wine, and spirits flowed in our version of bacchanalian worship. It wasn’t long before guests started to feel at home, removed their costumes, and strutted about naked before eleven o’clock. No one cared. We all assumed it could be the last time we’d be able to act with such abandon before being dumped in a nursing home by our kids.

  Since Eddie flexed and posed for anyone who cared to look, it was hard to tell we came there as a couple. I, however, made several new friends. Everybody was nice, but I noticed while dancing that a few of the guys danced closer than necessary and paid a lot of attention to the way my toga clung to my chest. I wasn’t wearing a bra—and it was a little chilly in Trisha’s house.

  Time passed and soon it was next to impossible to pass a dark corner without hearing giggling or heavy breathing over the sound of wet kisses. At about 11:45, everyone had more than their share of alcohol and Trisha imposed a lockdown to keep us off the streets.

  “I don’t know, Trish,” said Brady Sherrer. “With this abundance of feminine pulchritude near defenceless from excessive drink, we may have suitable cause to re-enact the Rape of the Sabine Women.” His speech reflected his recently passing the bar exam.

  There was a cheer from the men and giggles from the women.

  Trisha, tall, raven-haired, and decked out as Minerva, shield and helmet included, stepped out into the middle of the den and spoke.

  “Nay! There shall be no rape on this holy night, centurion! But I’m not adverse to virgin sacrifice.” She tossed down her battle gear. “Line up, virgins!”

  Ana and I looked at each other. Obviously, she didn’t mean us. Trisha noticed our reticence.

  “What is this? Lady Evadne, Lady Ana, you do not obey the order of your goddess, Minerva?”

  I made a point that night not to get too drunk, because I wanted to have a clear head and nerves of steel when I put Eddie in his place, but I had no clue how I would do it—until that moment. I approached the center of the room.

  “O Goddess, I beseech thee, leave these poor young innocents alone!”

  “The goddess, in her infinite wisdom, demands sacrifice!” a man called out.

  I turned in their direction. The guests had formed two camps according to sex. On one side, the “maidens” huddled in various stages of undress, whereas the men looked like the aftermath of a fraternity party. A wicked smile formed on my lips.

  “There is no need for sacrifice when one is willing.” I reached up and untied the knot in my toga. It fell to my feet exposing my nude body. The whistles and catcalls hurt my ears. Someone even started singing “Brown Sugar.”

  Eddie busted through the ranks, his face dark with rage.

  “Evadne, what the fuck are you doing?” He reached out to take me by the arm but I slid out of his way.

  “Now, now, Claudius! No need to get upset. We’re just having fun.”

  Eddie made a face, not comprehending the name I gave him, but others did.

  “Ah!” Brady said. “If he’s Claudius, that means you are—”

  “Messalina,” I said and curtsied. “At your service.” More riotous approval.

  “Yes! I, Messalina, do hereby propose a competition between me and this beautiful wench—the number one prostitute in all Rome.” I ran up and took Ana by the arm.

  “Hey,” she pouted. “Who you calling a ’ho?”

  I laughed. After years of her scolding me for being uptight and not rattling the cage, she damn well couldn’t refuse me.

  “Okay. I challenge this—Scarlet Woman—to best me in satisfying all you fine, strapping centurions!”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure, sure,” Eddie butted in. “If it’s satisfaction you want—” He made another attempt to embrace me but I pushed him away.

  “Please! Messalina only made love to Claudius out of duty! You will get none of me tonight, O Emperor.”

  The look in Eddie’s eyes was colder than the blizzard outside and I gave as good as I got, crossing my arms over my chest, daring him to try me.

  “Eva,” he ground out through gritted teeth, “you are drunk.”

  I smiled patronizingly and patted his cheek. “You just keep telling yourself that, dear.”

  The locker room “oohs” from everyone didn’t help. Eddie gave me the once-over, as if to say, Good luck with that body, sister . But I didn’t care. He and his body-obsessed bullshit could take a walk and from that moment on, I orchestrated the festivities. I had the men arrange two couches parallel to each other in the den.

  “Hey, I like this,” Trish said. “I think I’ll keep it this way.”

  She made everyone ante up any condoms they had and put them in a giant bowl on the coffee table. That, along with her private stash, provided more than enough for our Roman orgy. Our hostess then became a participant when I assigned her and the other four women the duty of getting the men’s blood boiling before sending them over to Ana and me.

  I’d be lying if I said all the men present were representative of Roman gods. If they represented anything it would be different races and body types. On the other hand, Eddie was fully prepared to ignore me and try his luck on Ana who brushed him off.

  “Get in line,” she ordered and lay on the opposite couch, where one man fanned her wi
th a giant decorative fan while he received a blow job from one of the wenches.

  As I watched men and women stripping off, jerking off, and blowing off, no one was paying attention to any so-called body “defects.” I saw muscles so taught I thought they would rip to threads and mounds of dimpled, dough-like flesh so pale, all it needed was thirty minutes in an oven to make it that more tempting to bite into. Tan lines created stark demarcations as brown flesh turned white, whereas other bodies had all-over natural tans of honey-gold or melted dark chocolate. Breasts stood at attention while others lay against their owners’ chests and penises unfurled obeying their masters’ wish to join the party. I was getting hot.

  “Hurry up!” I said. “’Tis nearly midnight. Time to get this ball rolling.”

  “My Lady Messalina,” hailed Ana.

  “Yes, my Scarlet Woman?”

  “The stallions approach.” With a languid gesture, Ana pointed to two men at the ends of our couches, standing proud in more ways than one.

  I stretched and purred. “Very well, centurions. Proceed.”

  I hadn’t had sex since breaking up with my last boyfriend a year before, so I kept my eyes closed, not out of fright, but to heighten the sensation as mouths came down on my skin. Some were moist like a soft sponge, teasing with their tongues; others were wet and overflowing, drenching me as they sucked my flesh before clamping down with hard pearls of teeth. Still other mouths were dry, rough, and hungry, their teeth nipping here and grinding there.

  Hands addressed me in similar fashion. One pair would caress, another would cling. One man had manicured fingers, another needed his cuticles trimmed.

  I had no idea about Ana, but I didn’t let anyone kiss me. I had no stomach for the aftertaste of liquor, food, and cigarettes. I wanted them to be intimate with me from the neck down.

  As the air became electrified with excitement, the flowery and spicy mix of perfume and cologne dissolved into the thick musk of sex. With regard to actual penetration, I have little recollection, except my body had to adjust more for some than for others. My eyes closed, and I wasn’t interested in supporting or debunking stereotypes.

  It amazed me that the men could still get it up after all the drinking we’d done. What did fascinate me were the sounds the men made, from low, powerful grunts to whistling “Dixie” through their teeth. One character, nibbling and breathing heavily against my ear as he reached his climax started reciting Shakespeare—Julius Caesar’s final speech, to be exact.

  “I am constant as the Northern star!”

  I busted out laughing. I couldn’t help it. When he rolled off me and onto the floor, he mumbled, “I was constant . . . constant . . .”

  That performance garnered applause and made me feel better for my lack of composure. It was the only time I opened my eyes and from my vantage point, I couldn’t see Eddie. But I did see people having sex one-on-one, two-on-one, three-on-one, and gender was not an issue. That got me wondering if any women sneaked in on me, because there were a few times when I thought the fingernails were a little too long or the skin a little too soft.

  I had no idea what time it was when I stopped getting mauled with frequency. Opening my eyes again, I sat up and around me bodies were strewn with as much care as a bomb blast. Some slept and others masturbated half-heartedly.

  Rome had fallen.

  I looked over at Ana who was in a similar state. She was alone but eating grapes from a bowl. The Queen of the Prostitutes lay in repose, her dark hair glistening with sweat, and her long spiral tresses cascading limply over her shoulder and off the side of the couch.

  “Hey, ho,” I said and smiled.

  She looked at me, mid-grape.

  “Was it good for you?”

  She shrugged, went back to her grapes, and I laughed. Stiff and sore, I picked my way over the debris of bodies and found the bathroom. I gave myself a thorough scrubbing with hot water, even washing my hair knowing I wouldn’t be able to fix it properly until I got home. I bumped into Ana as I came out. “You see Eddie anywhere?”

  “Oh, he left after we started.”

  “Bastard.”

  We laughed. Years later, we are still laughing.

  “I gained all the weight back of course,” I say, looking down at Jared, who is grinning up at me. “But I think you’ve helped me work some of it back off.” I stroke his cheek.

  “Wow. Talk about your dark horses.”

  I hit him playfully in the gut. “It’s not something I brag about.”

  “You should.” He’s serious so I hit him again.

  “No way, man. Fortunately, almost everyone involved has moved away. But,” I giggle. “A year later, at another New Year’s party, I did run into the few who are still around and we just started laughing. No one could get us to tell them why. It’s a big inside joke, really.”

  Jared takes my hand and starts kissing it. His lips are like the softest, richest velvet on my skin. “How could anyone want to change you like that? Why did you let him?”

  I sigh. “I thought it was what I wanted. It’s hard ‘living large,’ as some blond chick once said.” I give him a pointed glance. “All my life I’ve had to deal with going out and wondering: Will my hips fit in this seat? Will this shirt close over my boobs? What are those people looking at? And when I was thinner, I felt like a fish in a bowl with people being less than tactful with their staring. I’d much rather keep in the background.”

  He studies me but says nothing for a long while. Yes, I’m defensive, but after years of criticism at home and living in an image-obsessed society, it’s hard not to be. My reference to Sarah probably tells him the whole incident still has me harboring a grudge.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know.”

  “Why should you be sorry? It’s not your problem.”

  “Why is it yours? I think you’re beautiful. You are beautiful.”

  I close my eyes to keep from rolling them.

  “Jared, I don’t want pity.”

  “Who’s giving you pity? I don’t get it. You say you want to be in the background, but at the theater, you wanted men to see you. You wanted to tempt them.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “Because I’m the one in control.” I scowl. “It’s up to me when, where, and how I choose to be seen.”

  He shakes his head in amazement. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You’re a cocktease.” He rolls onto his back. “Why are you so fucking concerned about how people see you?”

  “I don’t need eyes on me, judging me.”

  “Who’s judging you?”

  “Everyone! My work, my family.”

  “For crying out—Eva, will you grow up? You’re thirty-five years old. Why do you worry what mommy and daddy think?”

  This pisses me off.

  “Jared, unlike you, my parents care about what I do. I have to live with my family.”

  Oops. But it’s too late.

  He lays motionless on his back, staring at the ceiling. I don’t even see him breathe. Two or more minutes pass. I can’t stand it. I reach out and touch the bed sheet close to his waist.

  “Jared, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  I frown. Easy for him to say. “I didn’t mean to throw it at you like that. It’s just that you hit a nerve.”

  “So you decided to hit one back?”

  “No!” I’m about to show
him how sorry I am when he looks at me with a rueful smile. I change my position so I’m lying next to him on my back, both of us with our feet resting against the headboard. Together we watch the flickering shadows from the candlelight on the ceiling. “Talk to me, Jared. You know my deep, dark secrets. Now it’s your turn.”

  He moves his arm beneath my head and pulls me close.

  “My earliest memory is of living in a trailer,” he begins, “one of those silver bullet kinds, you know?”

  I nod.

  “The grass was brown, what grass was there anyway. And mud. Lots of mud. Couldn’t tell you where exactly we were if I tried, but when they found my birth certificate, it says I was born in Dime Box.” He laughs. “What a name, huh?”

  I prop myself on my elbow and look at him. “Talley told me about your name.”

  At first, I thought he would get angry. How easy can it be to admit you were four years old and didn’t know your own name? But he just keeps gazing up, his eyes as dark as the ceiling.

  “That was the one smart thing either of them did—getting that birth certificate. By that time, I was living in a home in Weatherford, Texas. Started school there. It all started there. I was moved six times in five years.”

  I shake my head. I haven’t moved that much in my life. “Were the homes bad?”

  “No. No, not really. Let’s just say I knew that it wasn’t permanent, so I didn’t make plans to stay very long.”

  “Did you get into trouble?”

  “Not more than any other kid.” He stretches and his body resembles an ivory statue in the candlelight. “But when you’re a foster child, trouble is amplified.” Settled once again, he strokes my arm.

  “Talley said something about the . . . ?”

  “The Petries?”

  “Yes, that’s it. Sorry. Couldn’t remember.” I glance away.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. I really should have talked about them before now. If it wasn’t for them, I probably would have ended up like my dad.”