Sweeter Than Honey

by Mary B. Morrison

  A cutting of the eyes to the corners with a pensive frozen stare meant he was plotting his next move against me. Droopy eyes that softened indicated he needed my affection but didn’t want to ask. He expected me to read his mind. And in that moment if I showed him affection, instantly he became submissive. That was the time when I could ask for the world, and he’d give me all he had to offer.

  That window of opportunity for women lasted a split second. If she blinked, she missed it. And the look B just gave me signaled inner hatred suppressed behind his thoughts of bashing my face in for crushing his manhood. Most men didn’t hide their anger. Too many women were busy trying to rescue abusive men. Oblivious of the warning signs, women blindly walked wide-eyed into danger.

  There was so much I’d learned from observing a man’s body language, listening to his speech patterns, and reading between his words that I could teach a class on how to recognize an abusive man before he strikes from the inside out.

  Benito leaned closer, holding me firm, then gentle as a lamb as if he were asking for forgiveness of his thoughts. As I stepped back, my foot slid against a familiar piece of plastic that I must’ve forgotten to remove from the throw after peeling away the price tag.

  There was no time for an apology. The money-millionaires were in town tonight and they were dropping C-notes like confetti, so I couldn’t dare be late for work.

  Glancing at the digital clock on the coffee table, I saw I had a good thirty minutes to spare. I moaned when Benito’s lips kissed my clit, trying not to let my personal issues cloud my true feelings. The more I came uncontrollably, the more I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this man. I was completely aware of my emotional attachment to Benito and his insatiable appetite for me.

  Benito was different. I was his fan long before Valentino introduced us. Watching Benito on TV in his tight football uniform, connecting his precision bombs to his running backs and wide receivers, and seeing him sport his championship ring on television made me fantasize about him many nights while he didn’t know I existed.

  B’s stats during his ten years in the league were 197 touchdowns passing, 36 rushing, 26,259 yards passing, 3,700 rushing. I knew how many first, second, third, and fourth downs he’d gotten. I could give a play-by-play recount better than any commentator of all Benito’s games. Now that he was mine, I wasn’t sure how long I could keep him, but I was positive I was not going to a therapist.

  At the end of the day, after working long hours through the night, I was grateful to have someone waiting at home for me. Benito was my star. In many ways my savior. Before Benito, no man had ever consistently cared about me. They weren’t around long enough to. After our first month together I thought B would change. A year later, he still did all the things he’d done when we first met and more, including tolerate my relentless, selfish, won’t-admit-when-I’m-wrong attitude. B did simple things like massage my feet, suck my toes, and run my bathwater every time I arrived home from work at five, sometimes six in the morning.

  At first I resisted dating Benito because while professionally playing football, he was one of Valentino’s top clients and I was the top-paid whore at Pussyland. The day Benito hung up his jersey, coincidentally I’d literally serviced my last john.

  Valentino sat in my room at the Pussyland Ranch negotiating his fee like all the other tricks. Valentino was well known for stealing girls and hiring them to work for him. That evening we sat on my bed doing the usual back-and-forth.

  “So, what would you like, handsome?” I’d asked him.

  “What’s your specialty?” he asked, tugging the straps on my lace bustier.

  “I can suck you real good, fuck you until your dick falls off—”

  He interrupted me, “Or?” staring at my ass.

  “Or what?” I questioned with a frown, ready to have the madam escort his arrogant ass out of my room before I fucked him unconscious. Valentino was so fine he made my pussy drip every time he licked his lips like that L.L. hadn’t-dropped-a-hit-in-a-minute Cool J, but who gave a fuck because he was still a sexy-as-hell rapper.

  “You could let me fuck you in the ass.”

  “Anal sex is against the rules and out of the question. You can get that from your girls.”

  Pulling out a stack of hundreds, Valentino placed ten grand in my hands like it was my usual rate. He looked at me. I stared at him, then said, “Get the hell out,” throwing the money in his face.

  “Straight? You serious?” he asked, drawing his eyebrows together, his forehead buckling.

  Standing over him, I replied, “Dead serious. I’m not compromising my livelihood for you or anyone else.”

  “Lace, I like your style. I guess it’s true what I’ve heard about your no-nonsense reputation. You’re exactly the type of madam I’m looking for.”

  Tightening my lips to conceal my interest, I thought, Me? Madam? Opening the door, I demanded, “Get the fuck out and stop playing games.”

  “Naw, straight. Come work for me and you’ll never have to fuck another john. Here’s my number. Keep the ten g’s as a welcome bonus. I want you to start tomorrow night. Nine sharp. Not nine-oh-one.” Tossing the money on my bed, Valentino walked out and I was right behind him.

  “Lace, you ready for this dick? I have to get knee deep inside you, baby. My dick is so swollen he’s getting a migraine. Let Daddy hit his pussy from the back.”

  “No way, not the back.”

  Benito went buck wild, slapping my ass like he was starring in a rodeo. Lying on the faux fur, I spread my legs wide, then pulled Benito’s ass close to my pussy. Beads of sweat swished in his hairs slurping against my flesh. Benito wasn’t my most creative lover, but what I really liked was how our chemistry sizzled, making him by far my best man. I guess I should thank Valentino.

  Once Valentino discovered I was a huge fan of Benito Bannister, he surprised me with a blind date. I didn’t know how to act! I mean, I’d never imagined sitting across the table from my brightest star let alone having him fall in love with me.

  Benito’s ass relaxed as he slowly stroked himself.

  Pulling him closer, I yelled, “Stop playing, man, and give me this dick!”

  Pressing his chest against my breasts, Benito got serious. “I looovvve you, Lace. Don’t ever doubt my love for you.”

  The sparkle in my eyes shot toward his. After Benito’s last game he reassured me he wanted to stop running women and settle down. I thought the real deal was he’d spent the majority of his money on maintaining a player’s lifestyle and he was looking to freeload off me. When we first met, Benito owned a big house, fancy cars, and dated lots of women, but I wasn’t sure how much money he had. I was still unsure how broke was broke, but he claimed he had his house up for sale and the cars in his garage were bought by one of his former teammates but he didn’t sleep around anymore. I was his one and only woman.

  B’s dick slammed into my pussy so hard the penetration hurt, but that shit felt so good I wanted to cum so bad and he sensed it. Every time my body tensed, B quickly pulled back instead of thrusting like I wanted him to.

  “Fuck you, B. Just fuck me deeper!” I yelled, ready to cum all over his dick. My mouth gaped open. I tried to inhale and gulped the air.

  Careful not to let his fingernails touch me, B covered my lips and said, “Not yet, Lace. Relax. I know what you want. But I also know what you need. Trust me. Give me a few more minutes of pleasure before Daddy busts this big-ass nut inside you, baby.”

  Heat consumed my entire body as I tried to focus my energy outward. But I didn’t want to lose my momentum. Plus, I had to get ready for work. Shit, I was at the edge of cuming and determined to have a vaginal orgasm instead of a clitoral one. Those clitoral orgasms zapped my energy. But the vaginal orgasm I eagerly awaited to release would boost my energy level so high I’d cum hours after Benito was done.

  B swung his thick dick side to side, sticking to the bottom of my pussy with his head a few seconds each time. Instinctively when that
next stroke hit, aw, shit! my legs clamped around B’s waist, pulling him in closer. Arching my back this time, I pressed my breasts into his chest, burying my face against his sweaty neck and shoulders.

  “Ow! Yes! B! Yes! Damn it, baby, I’m coming!” My legs trembled. My juices flowed in waves onto his thick muscular dick for a good sixty seconds. “Deeper, B. Cum with me, baby,” I whispered, then screamed louder than before when a second orgasm hit harder than the first. I rotated my hips on his dick until I couldn’t cum anymore.

  B smiled, arching his back. “Whew, your ass is so good. I love you. But you know you cheated, Lace. You came too soon.”

  “You’d better quit fucking with me.”

  “Not this shit again, Lace,” Benito said, grabbing my waist. “I’m not finished pleasing you. Come back here, woman.”

  “Fucking around with you, I’ma have to rush like hell.”

  “Tell Valentino I was puttin’ it down. You can be late one time. For me. Can’t cha?”

  “No, I can’t.” I never wanted to find out what Valentino meant when he’d said, “Not nine-oh-one.”

  Sympathizing with B’s desire to continue pleasing me, I said, “Aw, baby. Mama’ll make it up to you when she gets back. Promise.”

  “But you won’t be back for six hours. What am I supposed to do?”

  Jack off! I don’t care! “Get a job so you’re not sitting around the house all day and night. Besides, you know what’s going down this weekend. I may be three hours late.”

  “Three hours late!”

  “Just like you, I was accustomed to a certain lifestyle before we met and I still am. Business before pleasure. Besides, somebody’s gotta pay the bills,” I said, tiptoeing to my bathroom. Closing the door, and then pressing the lock, I turned on the shower and waited for the steam to emerge. Before stepping inside the fog, I glanced over at my large white porcelain tub, wishing I had time to soak in some hot bubbly water.

  Unexpectedly my thoughts shifted. I whispered, “What makes women cold-hearted toward men?”

  Lathering my white exfoliating gloves, I wondered what could make a man so angry that he’d walk into a woman’s job, a woman he once made love to, and hate her so much that he’d douse her with gasoline, strike a match, set her ablaze, then walk away like nothing happened. I was so pissed when I read that article on abuse in Essence magazine. Those women in Prince George’s County living in big ol’ beautiful mansions driving expensive cars had the same problems as me, a little girl who’d grown up way too fast in Flagstaff, Arizona.

  One thing Sunny had taught me was that the stronger women had to protect weaker women from abusive men.

  “Fuck!” A needlelike jolt darted through my breast. “What the hell was that?”

  “You okay in there?” Benito asked, jiggling the doorknob.

  “I’m fine. Too much hot water,” I lied, stepping out of the shower, massaging my back.

  I was glad I had B. The way he swaggered when he walked. Dragged certain words when he spoke like, “I love you, Lace.” How he laughed deeply from his stomach each time I said something funny. And the way B grabbed my booty when I shook it in his face. No man’s stroke of my silky hair was softer. I adored how Benito’s muscles bulged when he voluntarily took out the trash. How his thigh muscles hardened when he picked me up. I liked the simple things about our relationship maybe because I’d never had a real relationship.

  Rinsing my body, I lathered again, careful not to scrub too hard.

  Benito was a charming motherfucka. Most athletes were. But eventually the charm wears off, the lies unfold, and a woman has to either be honest with herself or her whole life becomes one big lie. But I wasn’t waiting in vain. Benito wasn’t like that. He was honest with me all the time. B wasn’t perfect but he was my perfect man.

  Tearing a piece of floss, I glided the string between my teeth. Once I stopped wasting my time waiting for Benito to fuck up, our relationship grew stronger. The less I cared, the more he loved me.

  Stepping out of the bathroom, I wrapped my body in an oversized towel, thankful I now lived a life better than most of the men I’d serviced. Watching Benito sprawled across my bed was divine. For once, a real man was in my bed. It was hard not to love B. But that was how dumb shit happened. Whenever I forgot, believing everything was right, shit happened. Usually to me.

  I watched Benito with his thighs spread stroking his dick. Why did he do that shit every time he knew I had to go to work? His broke ass needed to earn his keep.

  I smiled, then said, “I love you, B.”

  All six feet four inches, two hundred and twenty pounds with muscular quarterback thighs. Full succulent chocolate lips. Nice teeth that were slightly uneven but perfect to me. Although his NFL career was over, Benito still hadn’t decided what he wanted to do. Open a nightclub or utilize his communication’s degree and become a sports commentator.

  Over the past twelve months, I watched Benito’s sexy waistline grow from a solid thirty-two inches to a softer thirty-six. But he was still the most handsome sight I’d seen. His attentiveness and confidence held me by his side. The strangest thing about our communication or lack thereof was neither of us ever discussed our family.

  “You know what your problem is.” Benito paused, then said, “You work too damn much, Lace.”

  “Hardly enough,” I replied, fastening my red garter strap to my sheer stockings, then glanced at the crystal chime clock Benito had given me on our second date. Five minutes.

  “When are you going to slow down and give our relationship a real chance? You’re not getting any younger, you know, and I want a son. I want us to start a family.”

  “Get real. What you really want isn’t a son. You want a reason for me to gain weight, quit my job, and become your precious trophy wife. And that’s what’s not going to happen. I’m not ruining my perfect figure for you to marry, then divorce me like you did your ex-wife after she got fat from having the daughter you never take care of or talk to. You know how I feel about you. You’re a deadbeat dad. But you’re all that matters to me.” At that precise moment B was honestly all that mattered. “Not a piece of paper or the promise of this expensive engagement ring on my finger and certainly not a baby,” I said, wiggling into my red lace skirt.

  “Yeah, whatever. All I have to do is finalize my marketing plan for my sports apparel business. You see, a black man—”

  Lifting my eyebrows, I cut B off. “Not now, B. I don’t want to hear another one of your soliloquies about the black man’s plight, fight, or flight, okay? So, now you’re starting a clothing line? Whatever, man.”

  B walked toward me. “Lace, don’t. I don’t downplay your ideas. Don’t insult my manhood. I’m proud to have a woman like you by my side who’s got her shit together.” B crisscrossed his hands and said, “But after we get married, no more working at that whorehouse for Valentino. I don’t give a damn how much he pays you, I refuse to have my son grow up around prostitutes.”

  Benito knew that bullshit only mattered because he was no longer in the spotlight. Newcomers had taken over the media and B was no longer an Immaculate Perception client.

  I rebutted, “Married? Who said anything about getting married? We’re engaged.”

  I know my thought process was unrealistic but I liked the idea of being engaged but dreaded the thought of a permanent commitment. What if B changed on me? I’d fucked many unhappily married men in my days, and if their wives knew the things they told me—“I hate that bitch! She can’t fuck worth a shit! Fat slob done let herself go! I never loved her and wished I hadn’t married her lazy trifling ass! I should kill her for the insurance money and buy me a sexy woman like you.”—they would’ve packed up and moved out while their husbands’ dicks were deep inside my pussy.

  Frowning, I glimpsed at the digital clock on my nightstand, stared at my watch as I fastened it around my wrist, then looked at B. “Did you change the clock? My watch has ten thirty and that clock,” I said, pointing, “has eight th
irty.”

  “Baby, I had to make a little extra time for us somehow. A few minutes won’t hurt.”

  “A few what? You dumb fuck. I knew something didn’t feel right. I really can’t trust you.”

  Benito lay across my bed. His lips tightened, then curled upward. “I need you, Lace. More than Valentino. Can’t you be okay with putting me first just once?”

  “How many football games did you miss ’cause some groupie wanted to suck your dick? Huh?”

  “You’re not missing work, Lace. You’re just a little late.”

  “Fuck you, B!” The home phone rang, interrupting my thoughts of slapping the shit out of this ignorant just-don’t-get-it motherfucka. “If that’s Valentino, tell him I’m on my way. I swear, B, you’re a good-for-nothing sorry-ass bastard for that one,” I yelled before slamming the bedroom door. “If I get fired, your fuckin’ ass had best not be here when I get back!”

  B yelled, “I love you, baby!”

  CHAPTER 8

  Sunny

  Picking at my natural nails glued underneath the acrylic, Lace was the only person who could’ve changed my mind. But she was too late. For the first time since I’d started working for Lace, I had to protect myself and my girlfriends from men like Valentino.

  “Shit!” I dug from one side to the other, popping off the white tip that flipped into my hair. Separating the strands, I found the piece of plastic and held it in my hand. Sticking my thumb in my mouth, I began wedging my teeth between the remaining acrylic that was fused to my nail. “Ouch! Ouch!” I was suffering so much on the inside, I no longer cared about the self-inflicted pain I’d caused.

  Neither Onyx, Starlet, nor I should’ve accepted this job. But we were young and adventurous, hot and sexy. Onyx had an insanely jealous high school sweetheart whom she’d married knowing that she shouldn’t have and he’d go ballistic if he had a clue he wasn’t the only man Onyx had fucked. Starlet’s fiancé, a professional surfer, who lived in Santa Barbara, California, would call off their wedding if he found out Starlet was a call girl, escort, hooker, prostitute, groupie, whatever someone would call either of us. They thought Onyx and Starlet worked at a casino serving drinks in a private high rollers’ suite and the thousand dollars in cash they brought home every night was from tips.