Single Husbands

by HoneyB

  She didn’t have to offer it rough twice. He did want to fuck her hard. Grabbing her hair, Brian slid his dick all the way in her ass, pounding her ass. She slammed her ass onto his dick.

  “Ou, yeah. Um. Yes. You’re making my pussy so wet,” she moaned, reaching for her bullet.

  Turning on her gadget, she pressed it against her clit until she came really hard. Then she reached back with one hand, pulled his dick out of her ass, stroked it tight, then put it back in. She massaged his balls with the vibrator, making him come before he realized the condom was gone and he wasn’t in her ass. He had exploded a full load inside her pussy.

  Coming, Brian yelled, “Aw, fuck!” He was in too deep to stop the flow of his cum. By the time he pulled his dick out of her pussy, he was drained and pissed off. “What the fuck happened here?”

  Looking over her shoulder, frowning, she asked, “What? What’s wrong, baby? Didn’t you like it? Didn’t you come?”

  “You know damn well I came! Why did you take off the fucking condom and stick my dick in your pussy?”

  She started shaking her head. Tears flooded her face. “No, no.” She inserted her finger inside her ass, pulled out the condom, and started crying harder. “My husband is going to kill us if I’m pregnant,” she cried. “You gotta give me another five hundred dollars for an abortion.”

  “Us? Husband? Pregnant? Abortion? What the fuck are you talking about?” Brian asked, putting on his clothes.

  Walking over to the chair to pick up his $500, he glanced at the notepad on the nightstand beside the bed, looked away, then back again. “What the fuck!” How did Carmelita know his wife’s name and cell phone number?

  “I’ll be damned. Bitch, you’re trying to set me up?”

  Carmelita smiled up at him. “Make that ten thousand, or should I call and ask Michelle?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Herschel

  Love. Lust. Lies.

  Herschel stood outside his lover’s bedroom door. They’d shared their beachfront condo almost as many years as he’d been married to Nikki. At the condo, Herschel spent quality time making love to Anthony, resonating in their moments of being away from their wives. Away from a world filled with judgmental people. Away from those who wouldn’t try or care to understand how two men could genuinely love one another.

  What difference did it make if a man sexed a male or female? Human companionship came in many forms. To Herschel, both men and women looked and felt great. Both were aesthetically and intellectually stimulating. Front door, back door, pussy, asshole, mouth—his erect penis penetrated exactly where his lovers craved.

  The mental connections between Nikki, Ivory, and Anthony vastly differed. The orgasmic outcomes produced by the emotional attachment to each of them created the same explosive reactions from his nuts. Contrary to what some women believed, bisexual men were emotionally and physically attracted to one another. Herschel loved Anthony. The depths that two men related to one another was magnified times ten in comparison to the minuscule level of communication men had with women.

  Attitude. Ranting. Crying. Making up their minds before the dyad ever began. Most women never genuinely tried to understand the inner struggle of their men. The women who thought they knew their men well probably drew reactionary insight from how the man treated her, not from how he’d felt about her or himself. Every man fought internally with how society viewed him, shielding all vulnerabilities that could strip away his manhood. Herschel shouldn’t have married a woman like Nikki, who’d spit gasoline on his flaming insecurities with her careless, lethal tongue. Anthony had never degraded him the way Nikki had.

  Opening his bedroom door, Anthony said, “How long you been standing there? Come in here, man.” As he reached inside his cotton boxers, and adjusted his limp dick, Anthony commented, “You look a hot mess. You’re not living right. You need to decide which family you want to be associated with.”

  Why? Herschel thought.

  “You hungry?” Anthony asked. “I can whip you up something to eat.”

  “No, I don’t have an appetite for food, but thanks.” Herschel motioned for Anthony to come into their living room, then replied, “Stop acting like you’re one hundred percent gay. You know you’re not divorcing your wife either.”

  “Please, I haven’t touched hers or any other woman’s pussy in years,” Anthony countered. “I have a marriage of convenience, ’cause I love living on The Island and neither one of us wants to downgrade our lifestyles. She does her thing and I do mine. You know that. You’re the one who is still fucking Nikki once a month and your baby mama every time you feel like controlling somebody,” Anthony exclaimed, massaging Herschel’s shoulders. “Relax. I know what you’re going through. Once I accepted the fact that I’m gay, I stopped pretending, and met you. You need to do the same so we can move forward.”

  Herschel slouched on the black leather sectional in their living room. Anthony stood behind him and continued massaging his neck and shoulders. Herschel stretched his neck left, then right.

  “You know what it would take for me to get Nikki to give me a massage?”

  “A handwritten demand note from God cemented on stone like the Ten Commandments,” Anthony said jokingly. “And even then, she might take her chances on going to hell.”

  Herschel didn’t share in Anthony’s laughter. “You think she hates me? Am I that bad of a person?” Herschel asked. He needed answers to the multitude of questions plaguing him. Slowly he exhaled, figuring he’d go to his grave without understanding his wife.

  “Stop avoiding my question,” Anthony said, rubbing the nape of Herschel’s neck.

  “I’m not avoiding choosing sides. That’s not it. I don’t need to choose if we’re going to be together or if I’m going to be with my wife. I have intentions on leaving Nikki, but she’s the one who doesn’t want me to go,” Herschel lied, wondering why Nikki hadn’t mentioned Anthony or Ivory again, then continued, “Besides, I don’t want to downgrade my lifestyle any more than you do.”

  Anthony dug his fingertips deeper, saying, “What about Ivory? What’s your excuse for still fucking her?” Walking over to the entertainment center, he turned on the sports channel so they could watch the basketball pregame show.

  “What about Ivory? I’m never going to marry her. She’s not the marrying kind,” Herschel said.

  “And Nikki was?” Anthony said rhetorically, then asked, “Aren’t you considering moving in with Ivory?” Anthony stretched his body across the floor in front of the television.

  Herschel then lay on the floor beside Anthony, reclining in his arms. “Hell no. And live full-time with a gay kid? Never. I’m cool with what Ivory and I have.”

  Sliding from underneath Herschel, Anthony braced himself on his elbow, then stared down at Herschel in disbelief of what he’d heard. “A gay kid? That’s your damn son, man. That’s your seed. So you’re lying to Ivory about being with her? You’re fucking confused. You can’t accept Kwan, ’cause you haven’t accepted yourself,” Anthony said, sitting up and bracing his back against the sofa.

  “I’m not gay.” Herschel sat up too. “I love Ivory in my special way, but she complains too much. I couldn’t deal with that headache every day. She’d make me go off.” Herschel wanted to stand and pace the floor, but he continued sitting next to Anthony.

  “Can you blame her for being upset? She’s not stupid. She probably senses something’s up with you, but she can’t imagine we—two masculine-looking men—would be sexing each other crazy. She has no idea you come here to kick it with me the same way you chill with her, except without all the drama. You invite me over to your place to hang and have sex whenever Nikki is gone. Correction, whenever you want me to suck your dick and you don’t want to be alone.”

  Herschel shook his head. “Stop. You don’t even know where you’re going with all of this nonsense. You’re all over the place. That last part isn’t true, man, and you know it. Our shit is special. For real.”

  “
Then why can’t you tell me you love me?” Anthony asked, staring into Herschel’s eyes.

  Herschel’s eyes drifted to the television. The truth was, Herschel didn’t want to love Anthony. Loving Anthony was too permanent. Too gay. Just not right. Herschel was married. He had a mistress. A kid. Those were the people society dictated that he should love, not Anthony.

  Herschel glanced at Anthony. His eyes darted back to the television. His thoughts were scattered. He felt Anthony staring at him. The silence made Herschel uncomfortable. Easing his hand onto Anthony’s thigh, Herschel said, “I do care about you.” Herschel massaged inside Anthony’s thigh, inching his hand toward Anthony’s dick. Anthony’s erection sent a signal of approval. A stiff dick was always in search of a hole.

  “Lie down and let me make love to you,” Herschel said, sliding Anthony’s boxers over his butt. Anthony’s dick sprang forward.

  Herschel took his time enjoying and exploring Anthony’s body as though it were their first time together, but he was searching for signs of infidelity. Anthony had to have somebody on the side. Herschel’s fingers strummed over Anthony’s chest, down to his abs. There was no need to rush the moment. They could catch the highlights of the basketball game at halftime.

  His lips pressed against Anthony’s pubic hairs. Lowering his mouth over Anthony’s erection, Herschel extended his wet tongue, then glazed his saliva from Anthony’s balls up his shaft to his head. He savored the slight saltiness that lingered in their exchanging moisture.

  Stroking his own dick, Herschel gripped Anthony’s dick, shoving the head deep into his throat until Herschel’s lips pressed against his hand. Precum oozed from both of their dicks. “Stay right there,” Herschel insisted, unwrapping a condom. He slid the condom over his dick, reached for the water-based lubrication, squirted it onto Anthony’s swollen erection, and began massaging him.

  Anthony exhaled. Herschel knew Anthony wanted to hear him say, “I love you,” but he couldn’t say it. Professing love during sex was bad timing. Sex clouded judgment. Orgasms eclipsed reality.

  Herschel smeared more lube over Anthony’s asshole, raised Anthony’s legs missionary-style, slowly penetrating him. Herschel fucked Anthony hard, never raw. Their moments together were more than sexual; they were spiritual.

  The more Anthony’s dick rubbed against Herschel’s stomach, the more excited they both became. “You ready?” Herschel asked, penetrating as deep as he could.

  “Fuck yes,” Anthony said, palming his strong masculine hands onto Herschel’s ass. Passionately Anthony extended his tongue into Herschel’s mouth.

  Exploding like fireworks, Herschel released himself inside Anthony. Semen flowed from Anthony’s dick onto their stomachs. Motionless, Herschel’s body weighed heavily, relaxing on top of Anthony. Herschel was in a place where he didn’t have to guess; he knew he was wanted. Anthony made him feel at peace. Herschel lay atop his lover and his friend, whispering inside his mind, I love you, Anthony, but the words never escaped his lips.

  CHAPTER 15

  Lexington

  Laissez les bons temps rouler… Let the good times roll!

  The Big Easy was oh so sleazy, and Lexington loved that shit!

  He didn’t give a fuck about Donna tossing his phone in the bay. All of his information was backed up. In anticipation of the accidental death or the premeditated murder of his personal property, Lexington stored in his safe at work a spare set of keys to his house, the condo Nikki owned, and all of his cars. He had two brand-new iPhones with separate phone numbers, one precharged and preprogrammed with all of his personal information ready for immediate use. One phone call and his main cell phone number would replace either of the current cellular numbers. He’d bought three laptops, four business suits, and five pair of shoes that were stored in his closet at work. Two travel suitcases—one for personal use, the other for business, both loaded with toiletries, casual attire, and underwear—were always ready for him to take flight with short notice. Those were the things Donna didn’t need to know about him.

  Lexington was sufficiently prepared for “Hurricane Donna” and any other hurricane, tornado, or tropical storm headed his way. He was always ahead of, yet never in the path of, the eye of the storm. Donna’s anger had stirred for three-plus years, secretly gathering strength offshore in her fucked-up head. Finally, after whirling around and around, she’d gathered the courage to hit him, scratch him, slap him in his face, and she came assured with a vengeance to make him do the right things. What Donna had done to Lexington didn’t mean much to her. But he was furiously fuming, and unlike Hurricane Katrina that destroyed people’s lives and livelihoods in New Orleans, and adversely impacted the world, Donna would live to regret what she’d wrecked. Their marriage.

  A lot of the important things every businessman should know and do, Lexington had learned from his boy Brian. Knowing basic shit helped Lexington keep his cool. Donna thought he was going to freak-the-fuck-out over a damn phone? Her mistake. Lexington would bet money that Donna didn’t have a backup for anything, not even her list of clients’ profiles and their orders. She’d probably thought saving information to a USB and keeping the data in the same location as her computer was brilliant.

  Seated in first class, looking out the window over the “Crescent City,” Lexington smiled. In less than an hour, he’d be holding Nikki in his arms. He’d checked out a few local swingers clubs online in case Nikki wanted to venture out. It wasn’t Wednesday, so Lexington didn’t have to dismiss going to the club on Gravier. It wasn’t local night, where local resident couples were admitted free. He did not want any unexpected classmate reunions with a group of known voyeurs watching Nikki suck his dick.

  Exiting Concourse C, taking the escalator to baggage claim, Lexington’s driver greeted him. “Hey, man, what’s up? You creeping in town before sunrise to get laid or here on unofficial business?”

  There was no use in Lexington being professional with his local clients, with his family, his driver, or his friends in and from New Orleans. Nawlins natives spoke to everybody—from the preacher to the homeless—the same. Direct. Even the elderly would curse anybody out without hesitation. But New Orleans was also home to the kindest and most hospitable citizens in the world.

  “This is all I have,” Lexington said, giving his driver his suitcase.

  Following him to the limo, Lexington settled in, poured himself a shot of his favorite tequila, then phoned Nikki. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Have my pussy ready and waiting. I need to taste you,” he told her. “On second thought, get dressed. Let’s take an after-midnight stroll along the Riverwalk and go to Café du Monde for some café au lait, beignets, and down-home conversation, like we did when we were kids.”

  Lexington wasn’t ready for Nikki to see his back all scratched. He’d have to explain to her what Donna had done—so Nikki wouldn’t think some other woman had clawed him in the heat of passion. His eyes narrowed. That’s exactly what Donna wanted Nikki to believe.

  “Whew! That sounds great! See you in a few,” Nikki said.

  What was that “whew!” all about?

  Women. What man, other than his boy Brian, had figured out how to separate his emotions for his wife from his sexual encounters with so many women? When Lexington divorced Donna, if he didn’t marry Nikki, he was never volunteering for a trip through hell wearing gasoline drawers with any other woman. Marriage to the wrong woman was torture. With the exception of a few desperate women, most women seemed loving and normal in the beginning, then turned to werewolves right before his eyes. From now on, Lexington preferred the crazy ones. At least he knew what he was getting into from the beginning.

  Texting Nikki, I’m here, Lexington told his driver, “Wait a minute” as the bellman removed the suitcase from the trunk.

  “I got it, man,” Lexington said, taking his suitcase and rolling his bag to the elevators.

  Nikki greeted him with a hug and a long, passionate kiss, then said, “How was your flight?” H
is scarred shoulders tensed as she let go.

  “The trip was good. You just don’t know how happy I am to see you,” he said, staring at her.

  “You okay?” she asked, frowning.

  “Now that I’m here with you, I’m great. You okay?” he asked eyeing the green wrap on Nikki’s head.

  “Oh, this,” she said, patting her head as if she’d forgotten she’d wrapped her head. “Yeah, I’m good. Just having a bad hair day,” she said, tugging the wrap over her ears.

  “Bad hair day, my ass. Whoever fucked the shit out of you, I don’t want to know his name,” Lexington said, leaving his suitcase in the foyer of Nikki’s suite.

  “Man, go on, we’ll walk,” Lexington told his driver as they exited the hotel.

  Holding hands, they strolled past Harrah’s casino over to Decatur Street, bypassing a few people along the Riverwalk. Thankfully, no major events, like Mardi Gras, the All-Star Game, or Essence, were happening in town, or downtown would have been packed with partiers this time of the morning. Pre-Katrina, every week some major organization had held its convention in New Orleans. After the devastation, some of them had returned slowly. It was kind of nice experiencing a quieter side of the city. The French Quarters, with the exception of new and newly renovated places, was barely impacted by the hurricane. Holding Nikki’s hand and strolling through the Quarters reminded Lexington of his good days growing up.

  “I can feel what you’re thinking,” Nikki said. “You know, we take so much for granted. Being here reminds me of how so many of our family and friends lost everything. Lexington, we have to live and not be so attached to material things. We have to accept life and death. Do you have any idea how many people were swept away in that river and never accounted for?”

  “Nikki?”

  “Yes.”

  Lexington took a deep breath, then said, “I want you to marry me. I’m asking. Please don’t say no.”