by Love Belvin
Ezra.
Uninvited, he’d come. He saw it important to celebrate me. To acknowledge this accomplishment my mother declared years ago. With the slight jerk of his neck, he waved me over. It wasn’t necessary. My body seemed to have floated over to him on its own accord. That’s how magnetic his presence was, only tonight I’d decided to not fight the pull. I just went with the compulsion and it led me to the only person to have deemed me important, even if only for a few hours…on the day it mattered. All of my claims of not wanting to see him again had suddenly dissipated.
“Congratulations, Alexis. I couldn’t be more proud of this accomplishment, and I hope to bear witness to countless others God has in store for you.” Those words flew from his sensual lips without effort.
And that easily, I was caught up. Air trapped in my lungs and my eyes blinked, tearlessly fighting back an unfamiliar emotion. What was incredible was I felt no trace of the venom I’d had for him after that incident after the club.
It took a few tries, but eventually I could successfully mutter, “Thanks for coming, Ezra.”
His face spasmed into a sleek grin. “It’s been my pleasure as your man. Now, can I take you to dinner to celebrate, or do you have other plans?” His eyes glanced around the room, questioningly.
Oh, so he’s my man again? Initially that thought was undesirable, but ever so quickly that response dissipated, too, and I was suddenly proud to claim him as mine.
“I’m actually starved,” I lied, not having a better response.
He offered his arm and we walked out of the auditorium. Together. I may have marched in partyless, but I walked out with my faux degree and a big man on my arm, literally and figuratively.
“So, you didn’t tell her about my infertility?” I asked with a doubtful hiked brow.
I could excuse the post-club scandal, but this I had to address. We’d been enjoying a nice creole, soul food fusion dinner at a swanky restaurant nestled in Brooklyn. The ambiance was on par with the jubilee I’d been basking in since I’d seen him in the auditorium. I had to go there, couldn’t brush it under the rug like I had the other issue.
Ezra shifted closer to me at the table, aligning his eyes with mine.
“Alexis, Mother Snell, is 89 years old. She reprimands me for not engaging in weekly prayer with her at the senior facility where she lives; how would I have the time to talk about my girlfriend’s belief of being unable to conceive?” Damn. The mention of being his had become more appealing each time he said it tonight. “Besides your alleged issue is my issue. That’s not something I’m blasting to the congregants.”
“Your issue?” I asked with incredulity before taking in a forkful of my salad.
“Yes,” he replied with ease. “Or at least will be,” Ezra clarified as he motioned for the waiter, “once we’re married.”
“Married?” My eyes damn near popped out of my head. I garbled, “What the fuck, Ezra!”
Ezra’s eyes closed and he exhaled, nostrils wide. “Alexis, we really have to work on your lax language.” His lids opened to hard, angry eyes. “If I felt you simply didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t perceive it to be so flagrantly offensive. However, because I know there’s an especially fluent savant beneath your vulgar veneer, I find it to be disturbing.” There was a muted warning in his reproach. The waiter appeared and Ezra requested more water. “Back to the matter at hand,” he placed his elbows on the table, squaring his thick shoulders. “Yes. I’d like to marry you.”
Yup. He’d said it. Alcohol hadn’t misconstrued his words. And judging by his solemn expression, Ezra was dead serious. And my simple ass considered the possibility right away. My chin fell toward the table, overpowered by his strong will.
“Please tell me you’re not gay. You don’t have demons hidden that will come back to bite me in the ass two months after we do this. Please don’t say you just need me as a cover because what you really want is a man, but know you can’t have that in your religious world. Please, Ezra. Tell me whatever it is that you’re using this marriage to address or cover for won’t hurt me in the end. Is there anything I should know? Tell me. I may be okay with it. But being married to a church boy who likes his booty played with as often as I like to smoke on some good arizona won’t work for me. I may not have been brought up with the same moral bounds as you, but there are still some old fashioned values I subscribe to and an arranged marriage with a down low man is not among them!”
Ezra chuckled. Like one of those snickers that told me I was way off. And I was grateful for what I could discern, but one thing he couldn’t deny was having ulterior motives for wanting to marry someone way out of his league.
He’d brought it up again: marriage. Two days before he snatched me out of the club we were on the phone, speaking about his time in Indonesia and how he’d recently been in touch with the people there, who’d been requesting his return. When I asked when he’d do it, fascinated by the reminder of his extensive travel, he gave a circumvented answer about not wanting to go without his wife. Ezra said he told his friends the next time he’d visit would be with her. And now he’s broaching the subject of marriage again. As if being his girlfriend without the benefit of sex wasn’t crazy enough.
I was on my third drink, surprisingly enjoying a celebratory mood. Our conversation had been nice…normal. He’d been more engaging tonight, almost with real boyfriend and girlfriend dynamics. Until this. I had to explore the questions setting off alarms in my head over the past few months since he began pursuing me, let alone his proposing marriage.
“Not even bisexual? Curious about sex with the same sex?”
He shook his head.
“Then why are you so adamant about marrying me, someone you don’t know?” I whined. “I have to applaud your persistence because you’re sure chasing me harder than any man ever has.” Including my damn daddy. “You haven’t thought to ask someone who at least has the same upbringing as you? Unlike me, someone who doesn’t even go to church regularly? Who can perhaps articulate why she’s going in the first place other than feeling it’s the right thing to do? Anybody like that?” I was out of breath, so confused by this peculiar man.
“No.” He shook his head with muted adamancy. His hands reached over to the table, taking my wrists and turning them over so his thumb could massage my thrumming pulse. “Haven’t you ever lent your mind to the possibility of stepping out of the world as you know it and into something new…unusual that can elevate your mind to a place where you can experience a deeper meaning? Your pleasure is clearer, your perception of joy is sharper, and those things that confuse you—hurt you—become void, almost nonexistent. You can step out of who you know Alexis to be, along with all of her stressors and tap into a new advent of yourself. Don’t think about what should be or could be; create your own path to contentment.
“Marriage is an institution of binding two people together for eternity to pursue the world together within the parameters set by God, but using whatever tools, props, and or coping mechanisms needed so long as He is used as our arsenal and shield. You and I, together, can bind and create whatever world needed to be happy. I can provide this to you. Don’t think about traditionalism. Don’t consider what you’ve been taught marriage should be; create a new definition of it and chase it with me.
“I can give you a new address; a contrasting landscape to your usual Harlem metropolitan setting. I can take you around the world, introduce you to new food, people, cultures—best and most hidden beauties of the world. I can sit you next to powerful, influential and affluent leaders; change your visage of social philosophy.”
Just when I thought I’d lost my sense of resolve and had begun to buy into his vivid image of liberation, it was doused with the mention of interfacing with stuffy people; so unlike anything I’d ever aspired to. His grip intensified and he inclined toward the table.
“Think about your current projection, beloved. You’ve just completed your education and yet you are content with rema
ining at your job that would likely not increase your pay. I bet you never thought to make a penny beyond your less than fifty-thousand dollar salary. You haven’t considered valuing yourself beyond that even though your education alone—lay aside your extreme passion—should earn you more at your age. You are okay with going back to the same apartment you’ve called home for years, never considering upgrading. You are fine with sleeping each night in the same cold bed, alone.”
I flinched at those spot on assumptions, suddenly feeling inferior in thinking and ambition. That is my future. I had no thoughts of upgrading my lifestyle.
“You’re a generous woman, Alexis. What’s wrong with evolving your routine to include a partner who can help carry the load and give you more? Your career to date has consisted of you assisting people in need on a whim. You provide relief to countless and faceless people. What’s wrong with someone finally looking out for Alexis?”
He stopped and thankfully. His reasoning turned overwhelming. Along with reading my entire existence he shrank my self-esteem, something I’d had a pretty solid handle on. I knew this from years of being friends with Nyree; the biggest snob to ever live. But this… What Ezra was driving at were possibilities I’d never dreamed of. Young girls from poor Harlem don’t dream of rescue; we hustled for small increments of survival, gratified with fighting to live another day.
“And you?”
“Pardon?” He inclined one ear.
“You. What do you get out of it?”
Ezra snorted, released my hands as he sat up in his chair and angled his chin.
Got ‘em.
Ezra was from a different place, raised on the other side of the tracks. I’m a Harlem girl. We don’t get hustled; we hustle hard. He moved away to the countryside of Jersey. I stayed behind to help my people survive another day. To fight another day. Harlem Pride.
“That’s an excellent question…” he sighed. “And one that would be difficult for the average man to admit. But it’s only fair to point out my age. I’ll be forty soon. I don’t exactly have the time you do to continue to wait for that ‘right one’ or perfect opportunity.”
“But you don’t…you’ve never had to wait;” I interjected. “You’ve been back in the States, for what…seven years? You’re the pastor of a big ass church, a good looking man, smart, educated out the anus, and…” I hesitated, hating to blow his head up more than it likely already was. Ezra by all accounts was the fucking man in his world. I exhaled. “…got hella swag. I’m sure those women have been praying to have you consider them.” I raised my hand at the first switch in the expression on his face. “And don’t try and insult me by saying I’m wrong. I go to your church…sometimes.”
“I would never insult you, Alexis. I don’t know why you choose to believe I’m superior to you in any way. We may have had different paths in life, sweetheart, but you’re not some naïve bird from poor Harlem whose feelings I can puppeteer. This is my life I’m addressing here, not just yours. I need a wife. I want one with substance, a strong tenacity, an education is nice, but not required. Most keenly, a woman with no clue of the ridiculous man-made culture of the church. That indoctrination would limit her; stifle her ambition to pursue this unique road I am proposing to travel.” Ezra leveled his eyes with mine. “I don’t want a church girl, Alexis. I need a woman with real life experiences to bind with.”
“You’re a pastor.”
“I’m a man,” he returned with harsher resolve. “Once we get past the title, the frill of my extensive travel and education, the calling on my life that I can’t control, and my family’s socioeconomic status, we can appreciate that I am a hot-blooded man who fights with rigor not to kiss you the way that I want, who struggles against beating his meat every day when I think about your glorious and sinful body while I’m alone, and the man who wants a woman in his bed to defile in each and every way as he chooses. Pastoral image aside, I am a man with carnal need, just one who wants to follow the rules and wait until I’m married to release what I’ve been holding since the day I laid eyes on you.”
I gulped thick air. The sensual density hovering over the table. Then found myself doing the same to my drink to gain fortitude.
“You,” Ezra shook his head as he echoed. “I want you. I want to do dirty things with you that will blow your mind and prove you’re just as hot-blooded a creature as I am and unveil that deeper you. Please, Alexis. Let’s make a pact…a covenant to explore our own path to wedded bliss.”
This was crazy. He was crazy. He had to be. If he thought it was of sound judgment to negotiate something as serious as marriage while I’d been drinking just because he showed up to my graduation—And no one else did. But he didn’t know they wouldn’t—with roses and balloons that I would be foolish enough to agree to this, he was wrong. Did he think because I was damn near thirty years old without a prospect in sight I’d jump at his proposal? Just because I would now be inundated with gloomy, haunting thoughts of my lack of planning a better life for myself after graduation and now realizing I failed to set real goals for my mundane life at this point didn’t mean I’d fall for this half assed proposal. I didn’t give a damn that Ms. Remah would be greatly disappointed that I turned down the first man to propose to me, knowing she wants me to get a partner.
Fuck that!
“Okay,” I shrilled in pain.
This motherfucker doesn’t even have a ring!
“Pardon?” Ezra’s face screwed, totally bemused.
I squealed like a child. “Okay! I’ll marry you.”
Ezra’s big chest rose in reaction to the stupidest decision I’d likely made. He let out a long breath as he sat back in his chair, eyes dancing in their sockets.
“Al-Alexis…” He swallowed hard. “You’re not just saying this because you’ve been drinking, are you?”
“Yes,” I breathed as my eyes fluttered. “I am agreeing because I’ve been drinking, and although I will wake up tomorrow and cuss myself out something fierce for doing something so stupid tonight, this something stupid has never felt so fucking liberating. And the relief and…elation I feel in this moment, I’m sure, will linger for a while—at least until we do this asinine marriage thing. But, Ezra, I mean it! There better not be any gay agenda—”
My cautioning was quieted by his thick tongue darting into my mouth with dominating skill that reminded me there was a beast behind this man’s clergy collar. It was something I couldn’t articulate to explain, but soundly believed there was something dark and sensual lurking in Ezra. It was that very thing that had goose bumps covering my whole body at the mere sound of his voice, much less his touch.
It was the same force that had me push him against the wall and demand his mouth outside my apartment door when he walked me in during my drunken state after we left the restaurant. He let me explore his mouth with liquid-induced boldness. I was horny as hell and in my inebriated shell I couldn’t give a fuck that he was a preacher. He was hot as holy fuck and smelled so damn good. His hard body was too tempting to not touch. My hands roved his hard chest muscles and scraped greedily down his abs enjoying every inch of exploration. I was so goddamn horny, no title or amount of etiquette could control my need to enjoy his masculinity.
And Ezra let me. I couldn’t believe he did. As my tongue danced greedily with his, my restless hands rounded to his broad back and I felt muscles there I’d never seen in a man. He was hard, oh so hard. That thought led to a curiosity. My next move did come with a bit of consciousness, but fuck it! I wanted him so bad. I wanted to end my graduation night with a bang and Ezra would be the biggest damn explosion of them all. My palms scraped from his shoulders down to the small of his back and pulled to the front of his bubbly abdomen. I wasn’t done, I wanted to feel him. If I’d just agreed to marrying him in haste, why in the hell could I not know what he was working with? But my desire was more than curiosity, it was sheer need. It had been years since I’d been with a man and while I thought I was good with the digits of my hands, su
ddenly I wanted Ezra.
My fingers pushed lower, onto his pelvis and my right hands pressed further now feeling the trunk of his dick—
My body was yanked from the floor and flipped until my back was against the wall, arms in the air with my wrists captured by his one hand, just like during our first kiss, and Ezra’s thigh wedged between my legs to render me immobile. But my hot ass wasn’t. As he began thrusting in my mouth with more force. All of my limbs collapsed and I felt as though my body hung against the wall. Except when my leg fell onto his hard thigh. In an instant, I shifted, aligning my pussy with it. I was thankful for the thin material of my dress and for the athletic build of Ezra’s body. He rocked first. Fuck! I couldn’t believe he was allowing this, initiating it. I was grateful for the concession and started grinding with him.
As he assaulted my mouth with brute force, Ezra rocked his thigh and I thrust against his movement. He groaned like an injured animal in response to my helpless purrs. I knew at any moment someone could enter the hall and find us dry humping, but I had a feeling that like me, Ezra couldn’t give a damn. As he explained earlier, he was just as hot-blooded and carnal as me. He understood I needed it in the moment. My climax neared, and Ezra must’ve miraculously sensed it and increased his thigh strokes. I felt the quickening in my belly, my spine shivered, and pussy grounded feverishly, chasing my release.