Church Girl Gone Wild (10 page)

 

Every thick-hipped, round brown sword swallower from damn near every flick I'd ever seen was moaning in head calling my name. They were clawing at the blankets, pulling me by my ears, fighting each other for my attention. I picked one of the many faces and imagined myself pinning her thick legs back to her shoulders. She was lovin', straight-up begging for me to stop suckin' on that plump pearl of hers. She wanted all this sea cucumber. My cheeks all the way down to my chin were soaked from her salty-sweet ocean water telling me that's exactly what she wanted. I could have written the beginner and intermediate courses Sex 101. Slide her the tongue then slide her the tip and she'll beg for a nigga to hit all them walls.

“That's too fast. Slow down, Dontay. Small circles; matter fact just do like lowercase ABCs or something. I can't focus when you're down there acting like you've got a sloppy joe,” Eva huffed.

That textbook shit worked on everybody else anyway. My mental mistresses melted away like sugar in warm water. Eva's snippy tone dragged me back to the boring reality of our dark-ass bedroom, with the same tired-ass foreplay. I rolled my eyes repositioning my lips.
It would be nice if a nigga could at least see. I be havin' more fun in my head than in the bedroom. The hell she need to focus for when I'm doing the work anyway?
Eva been on this vampire pitch-black shit since the day Deacon made us friendly-fuck in front of him. At first I thought she just needed someone to break her out of her churchy-ass shell. It swole my ego all the way up to know I'd be that nigga to get all those first time awards. I was her first love, first fuck, first kid, and the first O champion. And in so many years that's
all
I was.

I could tell the pillow was already back over her face from the sound of her muffled humming.
She could probably focus if her crazy ass wasn't doing so much. And, man, I know that ain't that Kenny G shit.

I spelled out “what the fuck” in lowercase letters when I sure as hell picked what sounded like “G-Bop” by Kenny G. I sped up and started writing a thesis with my tongue on why I hated jazz while Eva hummed even faster tapping her fingernails against the headboard.
The things we do for love, I swear.
There was a point in time when I couldn't even get my lips anywhere near her waistline or she'd clam up on me. Now, she'd launch into a one-woman jam session and after three years I knew what “G-Bop” meant. It meant she was gonna get hers and try to bop her ass right to sleep.

I was goin' straight-up stir crazy on some for real love and hate type shit. Eva was my everything. And now that we had a daughter I wasn't even about to let her cult family take that from me. It took months of after we left to keep her from going back for her sister and it took even longer than that to keep her busy enough to not cry about it. I'd found us a nice small spot in Norfolk and when I made enough I'd get us a real place.

Eva needed to stop worrying about them when they ain't give a damn about her. When she'd called to tell Rose and Leslie about the baby, and they insisted she get married or we were all going to hell. No congratulations, none of that. Shit, Eva couldn't get it into her thick head that Leslie was actually happy. I'd told Eva she had my heart and I'd take care of her and I meant it but lately the shit she'd been doin' was workin' my nerves. It didn't even have to be as complicated or as serious as she was making it. I'm talking about things like scheduling sex three days in advance and it had to be no earlier than nine p.m. and no later than eleven p.m. on weekdays. I ain't even bother trying on Saturdays because as she put it, she ain't “want to feel the stain of sin in church Sunday morning.”

We synchronized the calendars in our phones and up until my appointment time I was on eggshells trying not to do or say anything to piss her off or my sex session was cancelled. There was no spontaneity, no doggie style, no hand jobs, no fingering, no talking, and definitely no fucking excitement. Just plain-ass, geriatric, old people eighteenth century vanilla put it in and take it out. If the E is for excitement you can go ahead and take that motherfucka completely out of s-e-x with Eva.

She started humming faster, which meant she was gettin' close. Any kind of touching would throw off her concentration, so my fingers were fisted up in the sheets on either side of her.
We need to wrap this up. I should start humming that shit they play during award shows to cut off the actor's speeches.
The joints in my fingers were getting stiff and uncomfortable and on top of that my jaw and the back of my neck were starting to hurt. I put everything I had into the final stretch of my tongue marathon.

I waited until the humming stopped before wiping my mouth and the sweat out my eyes. Eva squirmed as I worked my way up from underneath the covers. Balancing over her I leaned down to give her a kiss and got a mouthful of pillow. It didn't make any sense. The room was pitch-black plus I was under the damn cover. Everybody always talked all this mess about church girls being the biggest freaks. Myth busted. I had the princess of stone-cold prudishness in my bed every night.

I pulled the pillow off her face. “Baby, you all right?”

“Mmm hmm,” Eva sighed.

“You know it'd be nice if I felt all right too,” I told her.

I pressed the length of myself against her stomach so she could feel my frustration. She'd done left me high and hard one too many times to count. I could feel the start of the worst concentrated cramp known to man building up in my groin like a pissed off corked bottle of champagne. You don't shake that shit up and just set it down; hell no, you pop the fuckin' bottle and enjoy that champagne shower.

Eva exhaled, giving me a quick apology peck on my shoulder. “And if we did all that I'd have to get up, take a shower, get clean sheets, probably wake the baby up and then I'd have to put her back to sleep. Dontay, baby, I'm tired. And I came too hard; my booty hole got a charley horse,” she complained.

My shoulders slumped in disappointment. I pressed my lips to her forehead and rolled over to my side of the bed feeling like I could tear a building down with my bare hands. The sheets on my half were cold but not cold enough. This whole situation was frustrating enough to drive a priest to the bottle. No man wants to walk around feeling like his girl has some kind of dick aversion because she always running away or hiding from it.

Glaring up at the ceiling I wondered if there was a step I'd forgotten or if my game had really just fallen off all together. None of my exes were this hard to crack; hell I used to have make up shit just to get a break from puttin' in work. Frustration was compounding on top of fuckstration. The only way I was going to feel any kind of relief would be from an ice-cold shower.

Eva had already dozed off so I left the lights off, stubbed my toe twice, and hobbled into the shower cursing under my breath. I cursed again when I lathered up with one of her botanical explosion shower gels that smelled like it could make a bee go in heat.
How is it Bath & Body Works can come up with a million ways to remix fruit and flowers but they can't put the men's line in a different shaped bottle?

When I finally had myself under control I climbed out realizing I ain't have a towel. I snatched one of Eva's out the hamper. She never used the same one more than two days in a row anyway so by my standards it was damn near laundry fresh. I toweled off wishing I knew how to break through her mental block. For a minute I just stood there like a lovesick fool, shaking my head at myself.
How did I go from getting more ass in my parents' crib to living on my own and getting next to none?
I'd retired my player jersey and let my whole stable of on-call super freaks go just for her. Woodsy karo karounde blossoms and soft baie rose scents were imprinted on the fluffed cotton towel from Eva's skin. It was intoxicating and haunting, like the scent of her I'd just washed off my face. I looked down pissed that I'd managed to work myself back up into a frenzy.
Guess I'm gonna have to handle this the old
-
fashioned way.

A hand is man's best friend. I revisited my playgirls from earlier, letting them moan and dance in my head. Every dude has a favorite selection of on-demand porn clips in his head. Multitasking would probably be a helluva lot better if we deleted that mental memory file, but we'd probably use that brain power to focus on getting in trouble. In a last-second call to increase the reality and freak level I fought back a moan feeling the first pulls of release. I grabbed panties from the hamper ignoring the crazy weirdo impression anyone would have gotten if I got caught. I needed some freakiness in my life something serious.

The soft pussy-perfumed lace touched my nose and the reaction was instant. My knees almost buckled. Liquid heat splat up against the bathroom wall and Eva's panties landed on my foot. My nostrils were still filled with that unmistakable putrid odor. To a dude it's like sitting in your own fart cloud: you can tolerate it all day easy. But when it ain't your own, it turns your stomach, makes you gag and run for the nearest window. No nigga wants to smell another nigga's spunk.

Hands down, that was the most painfully disgusting and infuriating way to find out Eva was cheating.

Our apartment complex was one of those starter apartments with two families on each floor and each building goes up three floors. We were somehow lucky enough to have landed on the middle floor underneath a professional mover. No, really, the man above us never stayed still for more than a few minutes at a time. He stomped, paced, or whatever it is you want to call it, from one end of his apartment to the next all day and night. We couldn't hang pictures or mirrors, the walls shook, they'd rattle, jingle, and fall. This was our starter apartment; that's what Dontay called it. I was just happy for once buffalo butt upstairs didn't sound like he was coming through the ceiling and I could finish what Dontay had tried to start.

I was always filled with the guiltiest feeling when we were together. You really don't forget your first and Dontay wasn't giving me any crazy insane comparisons. Sighing, I lay back trying to block out all the sounds of people living on top of people. The pipes clanked in the wall whenever anyone in the building flushed or showered. The moisture also formed a pretty tight seal around the door so you had to yank a few good times to get the door open. Dontay finished his shower and the sound of the bathroom door popping loose broke me completely out of my zone.

And the Didn't Get to Finish for the Second Time in One Night Award goes to none other than yours truly.
I eased my vibrator back into its hiding place between the mattresses. He came into the bedroom smelling like gardenia and sweet cassis mixed with manly sandalwood and black coriander, and making way more noise than normal. I peeked at Jada in her crib.

“Shhh. And how many times I gotta remind you to just reach your Stretch Armstrong arms up? You'll find all your shower gels along the top ledge. Because you're, duh, taller,” I whispered at him in the dark before rolling over and facing the wall.

After a few minutes when I didn't feel the bed shift or hear him moving around the bed room I realized I was all by my lonesome. Carefully leaning over the side of the bed I scanned the place with my ears on sonar. The living room was still dark but I was able to just barely make him out lying on the couch. He was probably pissed and pouting because he didn't get any booty or head. If he thought throwing a temper tantrum was about to make it happen it wasn't. It wasn't that I didn't want to or didn't like to. We used to sneak and do things all the time all over the place. Something was just, ugh, off.

Like how I couldn't stand his nipple game. He'd latch on like one of those fish that cleans the sides of aquariums. His lips and tongue never really moved; they just sat there around my nipple until it started to become the most annoying feeling in the world. And he forgot there were two nipples so I literally had to pop his face off one only for him to do the same irritating shit to the other side. Teaching didn't work because, just like with his shower gel in the bathroom, he did the same thing every time no matter what. Eventually I just gave up and came up with the “don't touch my nipples” rule.

Dontay's idea of eating coochie was like watching Flick from
A Christmas Story
sticking the tip of his tongue on a frozen flagpole: fearful, timid, tip only, one-spot action. I was pretty sure he got more wet from drooling than from me. Since when had the tip ever satisfied anybody? I hummed so I could keep track of how long his behind had been down there. Humming came in really handy now because it helped me stay focused, too.

The sound of Dontay's phone vibrating against the wooden coffee table echoed through our apartment like a swarm of bees. Those same bees started gathering in the pit of my stomach in the form of an angry feeling. I wasn't the jealous type but then again he wasn't normally the type to sleep on the couch or text late at night either.
What does it mean if I love someone with all my heart but I just don't love it when he touches me?

 

 

I woke up in the same position I fell asleep in. Dontay was making so much noise trying to open the closet door he'd have had better luck just snatching it open. I watched him for a few minutes wondering if maybe I was just taking him for granted. His shoulders were almost as wide as the doorway; he ducked into the closet coming out a few seconds later empty-handed.

It was barely light outside and it sounded like a scene from Alfred Hitchcock's
The Birds
outside. We happened to have the only patch of trees in the entire apartment complex outside of our bedroom window. Most mornings every walk of wildlife would convene out there like I was some kind of urban Cinderella.

“Dontay, you okay, baby?”

“Yeah. I'll be back later; gonna see about this warehouse job.” He didn't look in my direction or further acknowledge me before just strolling out.

Where was my good-bye kiss or at least a hug? I grabbed my phone off the charger on the nightstand.

Storie sounded drunk and half asleep. “You okay? My godbaby good?”

“Dontay left and he didn't kiss me or the baby,” I told her.

“Girl, I am free and manless. You know Bear been out of town for his job. Do I need me to get my ski mask and come through?” she asked.

“No, I got this. But if you're using my place to creep again, please take your funky-ass drawers with you. I'm tired of doing your stank ho laundry. If I find one more pair of your crusty-cum drawers somewhere crazy I'm taking your key back. You and that side squirtle you humpin' can go to a hotel like regular creepers,” I warned her.

She hung up still laughing. Praise the Lord I got home before Dontay because I'd have had one hell of a time trying to explain that. Only because she was like a sister to me did those nasty things not go in the trash. Vicki's ain't cheap so I wrapped them up good in a towel and buried them in the one place Dontay didn't know existed: the laundry hamper. They'd get washed when I went to the laundromat.