Side Chick Nation

by Aya De León

  Dulce took a drag and let the smoke fill her lungs. She used to smoke when she was with Jerry. She’d given it up in Cuba. The times in Puerto Rico didn’t really count. It was a hurricane. She’d been tempted since she got back to New York, but she didn’t want to start again. It cost too much money.

  “To be honest, that’s probably a big part of why I’m so emotional,” he said.

  “I’m surprised,” she said. “It’s been months. Plenty of time to move on.”

  “I’ve been mostly working,” he said. “No time to feel.”

  She nodded again and took another drag.

  “I also been reading your other columns,” he said. “The ones about sex work.”

  “You mean ‘Celia’s’ columns?” Dulce asked with a wry smile.

  “I can’t get one of those women’s lines out of my head,” he said. “One of the girls who’d been pimped. The sixteen-year-old.”

  “ ‘You learn to come when men call you,’” Dulce knew the line.

  “I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—maybe something—maybe you—”

  Dulce could feel her heart beating wildly now. This was the chance to say it. Not that it would make a difference now, but she had always felt so bitter that she never even had that opportunity to explain.

  “Yeah,” Dulce said. “That was part of it. Gerard called and I answered.”

  “I didn’t mean to bring all this up,” Zavier said.

  “It’s okay,” Dulce said. She swallowed to keep her voice from shaking. “Good to air it out.”

  He nodded and took another inhalation of smoke.

  “There was something else,” Dulce said. If this was her one chance, she might as well fucking say it all. “I never really thought any guy would want a future with me. Guys wanted to fuck me, but really be with me? Nice guys? It just seemed like it wasn’t gonna work. So I should sort of just get out before I got too attached.”

  “But what about in Puerto Rico?” he asked. “After I found out you had been a sex worker? You knew I still wanted to be with you.”

  Dulce wondered if this was like dreaming about a loved one who had died. To wake up and realize all over again that they were gone. Even hearing him say that he had wanted her, wanted to be with her—it was excruciating to hear him describe it in the past tense.

  “I should have told you,” she said. Confession. She recalled the priest from Puerto Rico. “The viejita with the flipped car in her front yard even said so. When you went out of the room, she told me not to keep any secrets from you, but I was scared.”

  “Of what?” he asked, bitterly.

  “Of everything,” she said, her voice raised, higher in pitch than she expected. “Rejection. Humiliation. I feel like a fucking fraud all the time these days.”

  “Most people of color have impostor syndrome,” Zavier said. “It’s not that unusual.”

  “You don’t get it,” she fought for the words. “From the time I was fourteen to the time I was eighteen, I had a guy tell me how deep up my ass to put my thong. Everything I know about sex is how to please a man. I know how to fuck, suck dick, tickle your balls—”

  “Enough with the details,” Zavier said it as if the words were painful. “You know, I been asking myself since I read what that girl said, could I forgive you? If you even wanted me to. If you even wanted to get back—”

  Dulce shook her head. How did he think he was ready to be her man if he couldn’t even listen to a few specifics about what she had done, sometimes was forced to do? “I don’t think you need to forgive me. I think I need to forgive you.”

  “Perdón?” he said, eyebrows raised.

  “Yeah,” Dulce said, she felt unmoored, reckless. It was over and she would get her final say. “For not even letting me explain. You think you’re so cool with me having been a sex worker as long as it’s something that exists all wrapped up neatly in the past and it never has to touch you. When I went off with Gerard, we had only been on a date and a half, and you already felt like you owned me? Yeah, it’s fucked up that I lied. And I should have told you. But it’s not like I broke a commitment. There’s someplace in your mind you had already started thinking of me as ‘your girl.’ And part of why I lied is because I thought you needed that fantasy. Be honest now. What would you have said that day if I’d told you I was a former sex worker, and that a sugar daddy was calling me? Would you still have thought of me as girlfriend material?”

  “If I’m honest?” he asked. “No, but that’s just because it brings up a lot of fucking insecurity in me. I grew up in the hood and broke-ass cats like me never got the girls. They went for the guys with money. How would I know that you wouldn’t just come when someone else calls in the future?”

  “You don’t,” she said. “You would need to actually trust me. But first you’d need to take the time to lock it down with me. Even after everything we went through together in Puerto Rico, you never actually asked me to be your girlfriend.”

  “I never asked?” he said. “I was sure I’d asked.”

  “Trust me,” Dulce said. “I was listening really hard for that question.”

  “Okay then,” he asked. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

  It was as if all her blood had turned to ice. “Don’t play with me,” she said.

  “Wait,” he said. “First I’m supposed to apologize. Dulce, I’m sorry for not giving you a chance to explain what happened. And will you be my girlfriend?”

  “Are you serious?” she asked. She wanted to flee. This had to be a trap. Did he want a revenge fuck? Asking if she wanted to be his girlfriend? One more thing a man dangled in front of her to get her off balance, then knock her down. “Because I will fucking kill you if you’re playing with me right now.”

  “I’m serious,” he said, and gave her that searing look into her eyes. The one that made her the most uncomfortable of all.

  Her blood had gone from ice to fire. Her face flushed. “This isn’t some kind of payback?” she asked. “Get my hopes up only to . . . to . . . ?” The tears were falling now.

  He stepped forward and took her hand. “Please, Dulce,” he said. “Will you please be my novia?”

  “Yes,” she said, laughing through her tears. “But on the condition that you stop smoking.”

  “Whatever you say, baby,” he stubbed out the cigarette.

  Just as he leaned in to kiss her, someone called Dulce’s name. It was Yunisa.

  “So . . . I just wanted to say I’m headed home,” Yunisa said, looking Zavier up and down.

  Dulce introduced them.

  “Nice to meet you,” Yunisa said. “I hope your intentions are honorable.”

  “Very much so,” he said.

  Yunisa sucked her teeth, then turned and waved to them over her shoulder. “See you at home, Luqui,” Yunisa said.

  Zavier turned to Dulce with an openmouthed grin. “Luqui!” he said. “I told you I’d find out. Your family nickname is Luqui? Can I call you that?”

  Dulce cut her eyes at Yunisa’s retreating back. “I knew my sister would be my downfall.”

  * * *

  Zavier’s apartment in Brooklyn had once been a single family home, with hardwood floors and tall windows. It had a high-ceilinged living room, a dining room, and a large kitchen with two refrigerators. The walls were decorated with political posters, including one that had a bright, multicolored butterfly that said “migration is beautiful.” On the wall of the kitchen was an elaborate chore wheel and a white board that said “RECYCLED paper products, please” and “when you open a new almond milk, please put a date on it w/ a sharpie.”

  Zavier stood at the kitchen sink and washed his hands.

  “I like to scrub the subway off when I come home,” he said. He lathered up his hands with dishwashing liquid. Dulce did the same.

  A shyness had descended onto her. She was unsure what to say. They dried off their hands and went upstairs.

  The second floor had several bedrooms, and another bathroom. Zavie
r had two small, connected rooms. One had a cozy sofa and desk and the other had a bed and a bureau.

  He and Dulce sat down on the couch.

  When they had been standing on the street, and she had agreed to be his girlfriend, she was overwhelmed with passion for him. But now, after running into her sister, and a long train ride, she felt awkward. Especially knowing there were other housemates in the apartment.

  “How many people live here,” Dulce asked.

  “There are five of us,” Zavier said. “It’s a collective. We have rules and house meetings, and stuff.”

  “So is there like a policy about overnight guests?” she asked.

  “Funny you should ask,” he said. “We have a boyfriend/ girlfriend policy. No more than three overnights per week. And no sex in the bathroom.”

  Dulce grinned. “Anything else?” she asked.

  “People are expected to just sort of use common sense,” he said.

  He pulled out his iPhone and plugged it in to a speaker. “Like if people were going to fool around or something,” he said. “Common sense would be to put on some music. You know, out of courtesy.”

  Dulce nodded. “This isn’t awkward at all.”

  Zavier laughed. “I thought I’d just play something familiar,” he said. “To put my guest at ease.”

  “Guest?”

  “Or should I say, new girlfriend?” he asked.

  “Much better.”

  And then he put on her favorite Nashonna song. Her heart leaped.

  She leaned back against the couch. “This is my jam.”

  “I had to download it again on the subway,” he said. “I deleted it from my phone when we weren’t talking.”

  It was the song she had quoted in one of her tweets. Dulce closed her eyes. She felt the bass of the music, and the melody and rhythm of Nashonna’s yearning voice as she sang and rapped about wanting love.

  Mastering lyrics has always been my goal

  But love is what I want that I can’t control

  Love shoots like a bullet that I try to dodge

  Sometimes love finds me then I sabotage

  Say I won’t settle for the okey doke

  Be sure to ghost good so I don’t get my heart broke

  Nashonna’s words brought it all back. The swell of emotion that he wanted to be with her. She had sabotaged the love of her family twice, and his love once. But not again. She wanted this. She wanted him. She wanted love. And maybe he would break her heart. But she was willing to take the risk.

  He had that look again. That searing look, but it was different this time. She had nothing to hide anymore. Suddenly all her fears and hesitation felt ridiculous.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. His mouth met hers with an aching hunger, reflecting the yearning of Nashonna’s words.

  He kissed her ear, her neck, her shoulders each one of her ribs. She unhooked her bra, and he kissed her breasts, licked her nipples.

  When he stood up to take off his shirt, Dulce followed, pressed her tongue into his mouth as he unbuttoned his guayabera shirt. She slid her hands across the smooth muscles of his back, his chest, his shoulders, his sides, his belly.

  He was backing away from her.

  “Where are you going?” she murmured as he kissed her earlobe.

  “To the bed,” he said, one hand sliding down the back of her skirt.

  Now, instead of him pulling her, she was pushing him. He nearly stumbled over their shoes as he walked backwards.

  With both hands, she unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, along with her underwear, a boring yellow cotton pair. Again, she hadn’t waxed anything, but he didn’t seem to care. He slid his hands over her hips, gently squeezed her ass, and cupped her pubic mound with one hand.

  She groaned at the contact with her vulva, as he slid his entire hand up and down.

  She lay back on the bed, and he leaned down above her. Then he used one finger, and traced it up and down through the hair at the opening.

  Gently, with each glide back and forth, he worked that single finger just slightly between her lips.

  “You’re so wet,” he murmured.

  Dulce could only moan in response.

  “Can I come inside you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered into his neck.

  She lay back on the bed, and he followed. When he entered her, she cried out with the sweetness of it.

  “Oh my god,” he said. “You feel so good. It’s all I can do to go slow.”

  She moaned with his measured stroke.

  “Are you loud?” he asked, conspiratorially.

  “Am I what?” Dulce asked, confused, getting pulled out of the moment.

  “When you come?” he asked. “Are you loud when you come? Should I turn up the music? Roommate courtesy and all?”

  Dulce flushed with sudden shame.

  His face shifted from sly to concerned. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked. “Are you okay?” He pulled out, but continued to hold her.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I’m loud or not.”

  His brow was furrowed in a frown, but then it smoothed out and his eyes widened. “You’ve never—”

  She shook her head, tears falling silently down her face.

  “Oh, mi amor,” he said, and wrapped his arms more tightly around her.

  She cried into his shoulder.

  “I—” she began through the tears.

  “You don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want to,” he whispered.

  She cried for a moment, then sank into the bed. She lay there, face down, a tumble of hair covering her face.

  “Hey baby,” he said gently. “Can you look at me?”

  Dulce shook her head beneath the curtain of hair.

  Zavier gently put one finger under her chin. As he lifted her face, he said, “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Dulce mumbled.

  “I feel honored,” Zavier said. “I have the pleasure of giving pleasure to the woman I love.”

  Dulce’s eyes opened wide. “You love me?”

  “Of course,” Zavier said. “Why do you think I was outside the hotel tonight smoking ten cigarettes? Because I’m in love with you, and I have been since we found each other in a fucking hurricane.”

  Dulce bit her lip. “I love you too.”

  “So you have nothing to be embarrassed about with me,” he said. “Do you want to try again?”

  “Yes?” she said, but it came out like a question.

  “So there’s this affirmative consent thing,” he said. “You need to really want to do this if we’re gonna go forward.”

  “Yes,” she said more firmly. “I want to. I’m just . . . a little nervous.”

  “Good,” he said. “Because I really want to do this, too.”

  She giggled.

  “All you need to do is tell me if you like what I’m doing,” he said. “Okay?”

  She nodded, but he raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Can I come back inside you?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Carefully, he entered her.

  “Do you like this?” he asked, stroking slowly inside her.

  “Mmmmm, yes.”

  He eased in and out and she moaned with the pleasure of it, but it didn’t ignite the fire she had felt when he went down on her.

  He tried harder and faster. He tried slower and more intense. It all felt good, but nothing really seemed to get her going.

  “You don’t have to—” she began.

  But he shushed her with a finger across her lips. Then he licked his thumb and slid his hand down below her navel. Slowly, without interrupting a stroke, he slid his thumb between her lips.

  She gasped with the intensity of it.

  “Yes?” he said, with a delighted, openmouthed grin on his face.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “How about this?” he a
sked, sliding his thumb sideways across her clitoris.

  Dulce let out a sharp moan.

  He turned his head from her and used a voice command for the speaker system. “Turn the music up to maximum volume,” he said loudly.

  So with Nashonna’s voice soaring in the background, Dulce had her first orgasm. And the music still wasn’t loud enough.

  * * *

  The next morning, Dulce got home a little before noon.

  “Where you been?” Yunisa asked.

  “Most recently at the bank,” Dulce said. “I got a cashier’s check for half the rent.”

  Yunisa took the check. “Oh shit,” she said. “You paying half the renta?”

  “Yeah,” Dulce said. “My balance is getting low, but I can help out with groceries, too.”

  “You need to keep a little something,” Yunisa said. “Stay sexy for that man of yours. Is he in college?”

  “He’s got a Masters degree,” Dulce said.

  “He’s skinny but cute,” Yunisa said. “You need to keep him. He make good money?”

  “Not really,” Dulce said. “He lives in Brooklyn with four roommates.”

  “Where does he work?”

  “He’s a freelance journalist, but he has this big project working on a radio documentary about colonization and climate change in Puerto Rico.”

  “Damn,” Yunisa said. “He’ll be lucky to break even on some shit like that. Why he waste all that time in college if he wanted to be poor?”

  “Because that wouldn’t help raise awareness about Puerto Rico,” Dulce said.

  “I know,” Yunisa said. “He’s obviously got a good heart. And he’s good to you?”

  “And he knows what I used to do,” Dulce said.

  “About Jerry?”

  “All of it.”

  “Damn,” Yunisa said. “Yeah. He’s for real. Don’t fuck this up.”

  * * *

  Three days later, Dulce walked over to the Vega clinic to meet with one of the new women who had come to the shelter from PR. She had come from a networking event for young journalists of color. She had a pocket full of cards for editors she could pitch. Her head was buzzing with story ideas.

  She had her hair loose. Zavier liked it that way. She didn’t do it for him, but it was just the way her hair was. She had always flatiorned it for men, assuming they liked that better. But if her man didn’t prefer straight hair, then good. It was one less thing to have to do.