Single Husbands (22 page)

Their rule during single husbands’ weekend was they were forbidden to mention anything about their wives, especially their
wives’ names, or they had to pay a fine each time.

“That’s cool. Y’all know I’ma get my money back. Herschel, you might as well hand me back my money right now. You know you
won’t make it to Atlanta without saying her name at least three times.”

“True that,” Brian said. “Let’s go. I’m ready to do some thangs I ain’t never done befo’.”

They partied hard in first class, all the way to Hotlanta, consuming a lot more alcohol while eagerly anticipating their fuck
fest. Another hour in flight and all the alcohol in first class would’ve been gone. Brian let Herschel and Lexington walk
ahead of him to baggage claim. They were all different, yet the same in many ways.

Herschel let Ivory raise Kwan alone. Brian would never abandon his kids.

Lexington reneged on going to his son’s graduation to be with them in Atlanta. There was no way Brian would miss any of BJ’s
graduations.

Brian knew BJ didn’t want to go to Michelle’s mom’s, but he sent him anyway.

All of them were successful, but none of them were rearing their children. Money. Material gain. Women. Sex. Fun. Success?
They truly were single husbands. But this trip felt different for Brian. They were all getting older. One day, their dicks
wouldn’t get as hard. Their bodies wouldn’t look as great. Their money wouldn’t bring them the same kind of unadulterated
pleasure. Then which women would they turn to for companionship? Brian would have a blast this weekend, but this was his last
trip with his boys. Too many strange things had happened to him lately. If shit came in threes, Brian prayed this weekend
was not his finale.

“You okay, B?” Lexington asked, looking at Brian. “You want another shot? You ain’t there yet, man?”

“Nah, I’m cool. Probably had too many, man. Trying to clear my head. So much shit happening nowadays. But it’s all good,”
Brian said.

“Well, I got what you need,” Lexington said as the limo swerved into the circular driveway of their three-story rental estate
in Buckhead. “We’ve each got our own floor, B, so if you don’t want to see us after the pool party, you don’t.”

Nudging Herschel, Brian said, “Man, wake up. We are here.”

“Damn, this is living, man,” Herschel sleepily said, stretching his arms above his head, yawning.

“B, you got the third floor, because you make the least amount of noise. Herschel, you on second, and I’m on first. Hit the
showers and be by the pool in fifteen minutes for the honeys’ arrival,” Lexington said.

Brian wasn’t surprised. Lexington didn’t waste a minute of time getting the party started. The driver delivered the luggage
to each floor. Brian sat on the side of his bed, then phoned his wife.

“Hey,” she answered, sounding real happy. “You made it there safely. I’m glad you called.”

“Please turn off all cellular devices, electronics . . .” Brian heard the familiar announcement in the background.

“I thought you were working from home. Where are you going?” he asked.

“Baby, I’ll call you when my flight lands,” Michelle said, ending their call.

She could’ve told him she was leaving home. Was his wife seeing someone else? With the exception of penetration, he did satisfy
her sexually before he’d left. Brian showered, brushed his teeth, lathered his body with sunblock so he wouldn’t sunburn,
put on his white swim trunks, his sunglasses, and headed downstairs.

Herschel was already lounging by the pool, drinking.

Before Brian sat in the lounge chair, the bartender handed him his favorite martini. “Thanks, man,” Brian said.

“Enjoy,” he said.

Lexington stood by the pool, stretched his arm toward the perfect blue sky, 75-degree sunshine, then loudly announced, “Ladies!
DJ!”

The DJ on the patio turned up the music. Brian’s twins entered first, but they weren’t walking. Six guys carried them in.
Herschel’s girl was carried in behind them. And Lexington’s quintuplets were hand-delivered poolside, wearing nothing but
shoestring thongs and high heels.

“You wrong for that shit, man,” Herschel said, amazed that all five of the women were identical. “Dick paradise.”

“Believe that,” Lexington said. “Y’all gon’ have to roll my dick up outta here after being with these bootylicious babes for
two straight days.”

The music silenced. A new song played and the curtains behind the ladies parted.

“Ah, yeah.” Brian nodded with approval. “How do you come up with all of this, man?”

Three elegantly draped king-sized beds sat on platforms. One purple. One green. One gold. They did not need to guess who the
golden bed was for, as it was a double-king with two sets of mattresses merged as one.

“Three black men, living on The Island, holding our shit down—we’re royalty, fellas, and that’s how we’re about to get treated,”
Lexington said. “This is a take-it-to-your-grave weekend that we’ll never forget.”

The bartender, who doubled as waiter, opened the chafing dishes, then said, “On the menu for today, at station number one,
we have pineapple buffalo hot wings, Kobe beef meatballs with orange marmalade, USDA Prime grilled steak kabobs, and Southern
fried chicken. At station number two, we have chilled oysters on the half shell, cocktail prawns, and Alaskan king crab legs.
Station number three is “choose the toppings for your dick sundae.” We have toppings from, of course, whipped cream, warm
fudge, cool caramel, which sticks to the dick, making you a human dickpop, strawberries, cherries, bananas, which can be dipped
in chocolate, and we have coconut cream pie filling. Be careful with the sprinkles.”

Every damn day should be this fucking good,
Brian thought, heading over to his green bed. Purple was too dark and gold was already taken. Brian lay out in the sunshine,
his arms and legs spread wide. “Make me the kitchen-sink sundae. I want it all, including the banana. Just don’t put that
banana anywhere close to my asshole and we good.”

“I’m with you, B,” Herschel said, following and flopping onto his purple bed. “The kitchen sink sounds good.”

Lexington snapped his fingers. His ladies escorted him to his bed. “You,” he said, pointing to the one closest to him, “your
job this weekend is to feed me.” He pointed at another. “Your job is to bathe me. The rest of you, your jobs are to take turns
sucking my dick all weekend long. The word for this weekend is ‘share.’ I want my dick in a mouth or a pussy nonstop for the
next forty-eight hours… starting now.”

Brian’s body was covered from the neck down with all the toppings. Cherry juice seeped between his toes.

One of the twins asked Brian, “Would you like for me to pop your cork?”

He wasn’t quite ready for champagne, but it was cool. Brian answered, “Sure.”

She scooped up a handful of whipped cream, smeared it all over her sister’s titties. Her sister sat beside him, spread her
legs, then slowly peeled a banana. Somehow Brian knew he wasn’t getting any champagne.

She scooped another handful of thick cream, and this time smeared it all over her breasts, stomach, and pussy. Straddling
him, she glided her creamy clit, nice and slow, up and down his shaft.

“Damn,” Herschel said. “I want what he’s having. Lexington, man, can I borrow one of your chicks?”

The DJ played,
“Come, girl, I’m tryna get your pussy wet . . .”
Lexington had a woman straddling his face, his stomach, and riding his dick like he was the main attraction at an amusement
park. They rotated their pussies over his body in unison.

Herschel mumbled, “With all that pussy, he can’t hear shit. I bet if I yelled ‘fire,’ he wouldn’t move.”

The twin straddling Brian scooped a handful of coconut cream, then rubbed her hands together. She circled her thumb and index
fingers to form human cock rings, the tips of her fingers touched, forming O shapes.

Pop!

She tightly slid the first hand over Brian’s dickhead.

Pop!

She slid her second hand over his head, joining the circles in the middle.

Alternating her hands, she maintained pressure, squeezing upward, popping over the ridge of his dickhead, swerving to the
right with her right hand, and the left with her left, until she had his dick nice and hard. The coconut in the cream added
a nice, natural abrasion.

Gradually, with each stroke, she moved a little closer and closer to the base of his dick until she pleasured him with long,
tight, full, upward strokes—each time popping her O-shaped fingers over his ridge. Adding in her palms, she started gripping
his shaft from the base to the head, quickly massaging his cork with her palm before working him from the base up.

Her hands flowed in a rhythmic motion that had Brian’s mouth wide open. Her sister spread coconut cream on her titties, then
put a nipple in Brian’s mouth for him to suck on. Brian sucked her sister’s breasts like he hadn’t eaten all day.

“Damn, these are the best twins I’ve ever tasted,” Brian said, rubbing her creamy breasts all over his face. “Put some of
that coconut cream on my head. Then I want you to fuck the top of my head with your pussy.”

Placing her O-shaped fingers at the base, the other sister focused on his dick. She trapped the blood inside his dickhead.
Holding her right hand at the base, she spiraled his dick upward with her opposite hand until he screamed, “Fuck!” Then she
circled both hands an inch below his head, swiftly alternating up and up and up and up, until his dick popped, shooting cum
in the air like a freshly opened bottle of champagne.

“Oh, shit!” Brian yelled, spreading his arms and legs like a frog sprawled on its back.

“Come pop my cork!” Herschel yelled.

“It’s up to you,” Brian said, watching her smear his cum all over her beautiful, creamy body. “If I never come again this
weekend, damn, I’m straight for the next two days,” he said, closing his eyes.

M
ultiple orgasms were a beautiful thing.

Herschel was on an unbelievable high, having had his cork popped two days in a row. Brian had chilled out the rest of the
weekend, trying to catch up with Michelle. Lexington rode his gravy train all day, both days. Passing out was his temporary
sleep time.

Being back at home, Herschel felt great. His wife was home. His mistress was home, and Anthony was at the condo. Herschel
had all the options he wanted—except Nikki hadn’t spoken a word to him since he arrived home early this morning. Her ostracizing
him crushed his weekend high.

Emasculation.

A melancholy glimpse of his wife sitting in the wicker chair on the patio porch outside their bedroom, sipping iced tea, reminded
him of the love they once shared. Crackling. Vibrant. Happy. Crisp. Clear. Her silhouette of perfection, shadowing the glowing
sunrise, appeared at peace. At ease. Without him beside her. She seemed content. What was she thinking? Why did he care?

The time had come for him to seriously entertain moving. Where? Move on? Move out? Move aside? How much longer could he live
under the same roof with a woman who didn’t want him? Which of his lovers would roll out a welcome mat for him? Ivory? Anthony?
A man’s stock was easily tradable when his demand was high. Sure, Nikki would continue tolerating him. Ivory would be happy
with him, but for how long? Anthony adamantly refused to move off The Island permanently.

Nikki stood, exhaled, then walked inside. Her packed suitcase was at the back door awaiting her departure to… He’d stopped
trying to keep track of his wife’s destinations. What was the use? She didn’t need him. Even worse, she didn’t want him any
day of the month. Herschel wondered if it was his mother who didn’t want his father around. Perhaps his father wasn’t a deadbeat
dad, after all. What difference did his feelings about his parents make?

Call me when you get in,
Herschel tried to say, but his lips remained shut as the words resounded in his head.

Herschel texted Anthony,
I really need to see you. Can you come by in an hour?

Anthony texted back,
Of course. I know you. She’s leaving again. Right?
Lately, Anthony knew whenever Nikki was leaving. He probably sensed the dejected tone of Herschel’s text message.

Nikki’s driver parked in the driveway, opened the door for her, then drove off.

No “Good-bye, call me” or “I’ll call you.” How could people live under the same roof, sleep in the same bed, and not speak?

Come right now,
Herschel texted, standing in front of his home, watching the limo exit The Island. The distance between him and his neighbors
varied, but Anthony was a short jog across the two streets that separated their estates.

Greeting Anthony at the back door, Herschel was already naked, with his dick in his hand.

“You happy to see me or what? I’ve told you, you need to make up your mind,” Anthony said, sitting in the wicker chair where
Nikki was less than an hour ago.

Having sex was Herschel’s way of avoiding and coping with the issues he didn’t want to address. An escapism. Coming was a
sedative to numb his aching heart. “Suck my dick,” he said, standing in front of Anthony.

“I’ma do you, but I want to hear all about your golfing weekend in Atlanta, because you didn’t call or text me once,” Anthony
said, gripping Herschel’s limp dick.

“Ah, that feels so damn wonderful,” Herschel said, closing his eyes. His dick was soft, but the more Anthony sucked and stroked
him, the harder he got.

“I’m the one who needs the tune-up,” Anthony said, removing a condom from his pocket. “Do me.”

“Don’t stop. You make me feel so good. I’m coming already,” Herschel said, ejaculating his newly rejuvenated seeds.

Depending on what release he sought, Herschel could come in a minute or in an hour. He felt the clear, waterlike fluids flowing
from his prostate. The semen generated with his testicle orgasms were thicker, more like cream.

Anthony continued sucking him, then said, “Okay, my turn. And since you can’t get another erection right now, I’ma do you.”