Big Girls Do Cry (5 page)

Yes, I had a thing for married men. I loved me a man with a ring on his finger, especially, if by chance, he was in denial and considered himself straight. Breaking in a supposedly straight man was always a challenge. When I finally turned them out, they would shower me with money and gifts for “showing them the light.” I smirked happily as I admired my well-decorated bedroom. Everything in it was given to me by some unsuspecting woman’s husband.

“Hello.” Loraine’s voice on the other end of the phone snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Hey, girl,” I said.

“What you doin’?” she asked. “I thought you were with some man when I didn’t hear from you.”

“I wish,” I replied. “All I been doing is reading. These lips ain’t seen a dick in three days. I think I’m going through withdrawal.” I fell back on my bed dramatically for effect, even though I knew she couldn’t see it.

“You are a hot mess. You know that?” Loraine laughed. “If you’re so damn horny, why don’t you call Big Poppa?”

The corners of my mouth curled up into a grin.
Big Poppa!
Just the sound of his name got me all worked up. Big Poppa was the nickname for my sugar daddy, and he sure was sweet. Loraine and I made up the name years ago, because he was, for lack of a better word, big. Really big. He was also the only man who could truly steal my heart if he wanted to. He was kind and sweet and treated me like gold when we were together. Ain’t no reason to lie; despite the fact that I saw other men, I was in love with him. There was no question in my mind that I would drop everything if he’d leave his wife and settle down with me. The only problem was, he wasn’t having any part of that. Shit, I could fix his favorite meal, then suck his dick until he was unconscious, but when he woke up, he would put his shit on and go home to his wife. Deep down, I think he loved me. It was our lifestyle he was afraid of. I’d gotten used to it by now, but I still hoped that one day he would realize we were meant to be together.

“No can do, Loraine. I ain’t calling Big Poppa. He already told me not to call until the weekend. Last time I broke one of his golden rules, he cut me off for two months. So, I guess I’m just going to bed frustrated.”

“Well, honey, I’m available if things get too backed up down there. A fake mustache and a strap-on and you’ll never know the difference from the back,” Loraine joked. We both laughed, but part of me always felt that she was only half joking when she made little comments like that.

I’d known Loraine a long, long time, since we were in college at Virginia State, to be exact. Believe it or not, we even dated during our freshman year. To this day, she still swears I was her first; I know she was mine, male or female. Of course, that was
before I came out of the closet, admitting to myself and the world that I was gay. The good person and friend that she was, Loraine took it pretty well when I came out to be with this married professor who picked up on my vibe and finally turned me out.

Loraine told me a few years later that the reason she didn’t get upset was because deep down she always knew I was gay. I kind of find that hard to believe, because I always considered myself a man’s man. I wasn’t one for acting feminine, and I was not attracted one bit to feminine-looking or -acting men. I had nothing against them, mind you. I just wanted people to look at me for who I was: a masculine man who just happened to sleep with men.

“Raine, I love you to death. I would do anything for you, and I know you would do anything for me. But fucking me in the ass is not something I want you to do, so get that shit out your mind.” We both laughed so hard behind that.

“Well, then, I suggest you make a call to one of your many sponsors.”

“Hmmm, I might just do that.” I smiled at the thought. “Look, I’ma bring you that M. T. Pope book tomorrow. It’s the bomb. I put it up there with E. Lynn Harris.”

“Really? Then don’t forget it,” she replied. “Look, I gotta go. I took a Tylenol PM and it’s starting to work.”

“Okay, get you some rest. Night, Raine.”

“Good night, Jerome.” I hung up the phone thinking about her last statement. Maybe I should just call one of my “sponsors.” I had a real craving for some lovin’ and a taste for some dick.

Despite what I said to Loraine, I had thought about calling Big Poppa, though I was sure he couldn’t get away from his wife and probably wouldn’t answer his phone. He stuck to our schedule religiously and refused to see me any other time. I guess I was just going to have to wait until our weekly rendezvous on Sunday. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me from enjoying myself. I reached over on my night table and picked up a small piece of paper with a name and number on it. I dialed the number.

“Hello.” The man who answered sounded groggy.

“Hello … ah …” I had to look at the paper. I had forgotten his name that quick. “Is this Peter?”

“Yes, this is Peter. Who is this?”

“Hey, Peter, this is Jerome. We met at the gas station the other day. You know, the big black guy? You said I looked like a football player?”

“Hold on a moment,” he whispered, and the phone became muffled, then silent. He was probably trying to get out of bed and as far away from his wife as possible to speak with me.

Finally, I heard, “Hi, Jerome. How you doing?” in this overly excited white-boy voice.

Yes, he was a white man. I didn’t discriminate when it came to the bedroom or whose money I took—especially when he was as fine as Peter, with his George Clooney looks. Mmm, mmm, mmm, I could just eat his fine ass up. I know plenty of people, male and female, who would be jealous if I showed up to a function with him on my arm.

“I’m doing all right. Been thinking a lot about you.”

“I’ve been thinking about you too.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Really? Penny for your thoughts.”

“Good thoughts. No, more than good thoughts.”

“How good?” Damn, I was starting to want this white boy bad. He knew the right things to say.

“Really good.” He wanted me too. I could tell.

“Were they good enough to get you out tonight?”

“I wish I could, but what about my wife?” Always the wife. But I wasn’t giving up that easy. I never did.

“What I’ve got for you is only going to take fifteen, twenty minutes tops.”

“I don’t know, Jerome. I don’t think she’s going to go for that.”

The hell with her! It’s not what she wants. It’s what I want
. He just didn’t understand how good this was going to be. It was time to make him understand what he’d be missing.

“Bet she wouldn’t go for giving you a blow job tonight either, but I will. Best you ever had, and that’s a promise.”

There was silence on the line, which meant he was mulling
over my offer, fighting with himself on whether he should stay home or go get his dick sucked. He wasn’t like most of the guys I went after—he told me at the gas station that he’d been with men before—but he was still in denial. I knew I could win him over, though, because the other thing he’d admitted to me was that he’d never been with a black man. From the way he had been looking at me, I gathered he was having a real bad case of jungle fever.

“Okay, where you want to meet?” His desire finally won over his conscience.

“You remember the gas station we met at?”

“Uh-huh, the BP on Jefferson Davis Highway.”

“Well, there’s a short-stay hotel across the street. Meet me in the parking lot. No need to wear any underwear. They’ll just get in the way.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen. Get us a room.” I hung up the phone, wondering if he was going to make it back home before his wife woke up, because we were going to be there a hell of a lot longer than the twenty minutes I’d promised him.

“Oh, yeah, baby. That’s it. Take that shit. It’s all yours, boo,” I cooed into my husband’s ear.

For lack of a better word, he was fucking the shit outta me, and every stroke was bringing me closer to an orgasm. All I needed was for him to hit the right spot one more time, and I swear I was going to explode. I locked my ankles around his and held on to his waist, grinding my hips against his every time he entered me. Rashad could be very long-winded when he wanted to be, so I always tried to hold out and reach my orgasm with him, but sometimes it just got too good to me, and I had to let it go. I couldn’t help myself. I let out a long moan, and when I finally did explode, my entire body tightened and then contorted underneath him. I can’t even imagine the faces I made as I climaxed, but I felt so good I didn’t give a damn. My God, did he know how to bring out the beast in me.

By the time I had regained control of my body, I was ready to make him come. And, believe me, I did know how to make my man come when I wanted him to. I lowered my hands, taking hold of his butt cheeks to pull him in deeper. Then, lifting my head, I nibbled his earlobe with my lips, whispering as I dug my fingernails deep into the round flesh of his buttocks.

“Come on, Daddy. Give Momma that love juice. I wanna feel your come deep inside me.” It’s amazing what a few words and a little pleasure/pain can do to take a man over the edge, because within seconds, Rashad was moaning and groaning loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

“Baby, I’m coming!”

I placed my hand over his mouth. “Shhhh, baby. You’re being a little too loud. You’re gonna wake up my sister.”

“Huh?” He stopped moving and glared down at me like I had robbed him of something. Considering he’d been in the middle of his orgasm when I quieted him, I guess he sort of had a point. But he knew how I felt about getting all loud with my sister in the house. We’d had this conversation before, so I really didn’t see why he was acting all indignant now.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked.

“If you have to ask, then it really doesn’t matter.” He rolled off of me, staring at the ceiling. I heard him mutter, “This is bullshit.”

“Rashad,” I whined, trying to snuggle up against him, but I knew he wouldn’t forgive me that quickly. He’d explained to me plenty of times that he didn’t care who heard us having sex. As far as he was concerned, we were a married couple, and anyone who had a problem with the fact that we had a healthy sex life would just have to deal with it.

That was fine with me, too, except when it came to my sister. I didn’t know how to explain it to him—hell, I barely understood it myself—but something just felt weird to me knowing she could be listening to us. It had something to do with the fact that Rashad used to be her man. She could imagine full well what he was doing to make me scream, which was why I never allowed myself to go there when she was in the house. When we had the house to ourselves, I would scream and moan like a porn star. I guess that made it even more frustrating for him when I held back.

He’d been dealing with it pretty well up until now. Tonight the look on his face told me he’d reached his breaking point. Damn. Why the hell did I have to bring up my sister? I tried once more to explain my side.

“I just didn’t want Isis to hear us having sex. It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing! No, you didn’t just go there. Look, this is my damn house. If I want to scream while I make love to my wife, I should be able to holler from the top of the damn roof. So should you.”

I felt bad that he was frustrated, but his angry tone put me on the defensive. I couldn’t believe he was so upset.

“C’mon, Rashad. You know what I mean.”

“I sure do.”

The next thing I knew, he’d rolled over and turned his back to me, threatening for the first time since we’d been married not to kiss me good night.

“Aw, baby, don’t be like that.” I reached out and tried to turn him back toward me, but he yanked his shoulder away. His back formed a wall between us. “Rashad, don’t do this. Talk to me.”

“I would, but I’m afraid your sister might hear us. Wouldn’t want to disturb her freeloading ass while she’s getting her beauty rest—if you know what I mean.”

I sighed. Our conversation felt like a CD stuck on repeat. He was forever putting down my sister, but the way I saw it, she just needed some help getting back on her feet. “She’s not freeloading. She’s just staying here until things turn around for her. We talked about this. You agreed she should stay with us until she got better.”

“I agreed to three months.” He turned over to face me. “She’s been here almost a year, Egypt. You swore it would be only three months. Shit, she ain’t even got a job yet. Eating us out of house and home.”

“I know, baby.” She was my sister and I loved her, but Rashad was right about everything he’d said. You could look at the situation and see that Isis was taking advantage of us to a certain extent. Shoot, I was just thankful that he hadn’t mentioned that she hadn’t so much as picked up a broom since she arrived.

“Rashad, you’re the best husband in the world, and you have been so understanding. You know Isis ain’t wrapped too tight. I promise I’ll talk to her about getting a job tomorrow, okay? I just can’t see her out in the cold.”

“I know, but, you know, this is awkward for me.”

“Awkward how?”

“Uh, are you kidding? I used to sleep with her, remember?” he asked with a bite to his tone.

“How could I forget? I mean, I know you used to be together, but I thought that didn’t matter to you anymore.” Yeah, I know I was being a hypocrite. The fact that they used to be a couple
was always in the back of my mind too. It’s just that he’d promised me he never thought about their relationship anymore, so it irked me that he still felt awkward. Or so I thought. His explanation was actually a little deeper than that.

“I don’t know. I always feel like I’m walking on eggshells when she’s around. I can’t explain it except to say sometimes I think she feels she’s the wife.”

I jackknifed straight up in the bed. “She what?”

Rashad hesitated for a second. I folded my arms and raised my eyebrows, waiting for an answer. I loved my sister, but I knew she had done some devious shit in the past. I wouldn’t have expected her to do something shady with my man, but now Rashad had me wondering.

“Well?”