The Sweetest Taboo

by Risqué

  “Jeff—”

  “Kiss my ass….” Jeff said calmly as he walked away and waved his hand.

  Yuri opened the frosted French-glass doors that led to the rooftop terrace and watched the glowing New York City skyline around her. She walked over to the terrace bar, poured herself a glass of Dom and lit a cigarette.

  Doing her best to balance the pain of loving Britt against the desire to leave him alone, Yuri stared at the view, and wondered where she would go. Her mother’s, perhaps? But her mother lived in Chicago and she wasn’t ready to leave New York for Illinois. Besides, when she told her mother she was messing with Britt, her mother warned her not to mess up her marriage for a piece of dick, to take her nut and run, ’cause that’s all Britt was cut out for.

  But Yuri felt like nobody knew Britt the way she did. They’d never seen him cry. They’d never seen him be sweet and cook her food, rub her feet, or sing to her. All they saw was the newly famous reggae artist. But he was more than that. He was not only her lover, he was her best friend. And yeah, maybe she could let go of the dick, but how would she walk away from the friendship?

  But then there was Jeff, who’d been there since she was eighteen, had an unwanted abortion and was broken-hearted. He didn’t ask her who broke her heart, he just stepped in and filled the void…. Yet when he asked her to marry him, she was hesitant because she didn’t want to marry a man who she’d settled for. She wanted to genuinely be in love with her husband. She wanted that love jones, cloud nine, Zora and Franklin, Vera and Taj fiction—erotic book shit. The kinda love that makes you eat, sleep and dream your man. The kind of love where even your man’s funkiest smell is sweet cologne. The kind of love where the newness never leaves…. But her soul-mate resources were limited and, like she’d been taught, you gotta take what you can get, so she did…. And now she was paying for it.

  Still, Britt’s shiny armor was far from being neon or electric, and for the most part he was a selfish motherfucker; stuck on singing a song and banging out a nut. And it seemed that everything they did revolved around him: when they made love; when they saw each other; what type of relationship they had; if and when she could ever tell him she loved him and no longer wanted to be his “man,” that she wanted to be his woman, his wife, who he looked forward to seeing, to being with. Not some chick he could freak on the piano and it was all good.

  Yuri took a deep breath and picked up her cell phone. Continuing to watch the view, she dialed Britt’s number.

  “Yeah,” Britt said, answering the phone. She could tell he was dead asleep.

  “Britt.”

  “Yu.” He sniffed. “What time is it? I’m sleep, man. Call me later.”

  “I can’t, I need to talk to you now.”

  “What?”

  “Me and Jeff really had it out…. and I can’t keep going through this.”

  “Through what? If you didn’t do what I told you to do, then you brought it on yourself.”

  “It’s not about you,” Yuri snapped. “It’s about my marriage and me making up my mind what I need. Do I need to be Jeff’s wife or do I need to be—”

  “Be what?” Britt cut her off. “With me?”

  “Well.” She sighed. “Yeah.”

  “Oh, now that’s a choice?”

  “It’s coming down to that.”

  “A’ight…and…”

  “I was thinking that maybe—”

  “Listen,” Britt cut her off again. “I don’t need speeches, ma’. Plus, this the second time you said the shit, so if you cool wit’ it, then I’m cool wit’ you being this niggah’s wife full time. For real, it’s cool. Like I always say: If you can’t play your position, change your position. So trust me, I’m good. Plus”—he yawned—“I don’t have time to teach you a game that you obviously can’t play. It was good while it lasted, and that’s about it. Now, I’m going back to sleep and you get to handling them marital duties and being faithful.”

  Yuri sat there speechless. She could barely breathe and the tears streaming from her eyes made it hard for her to see. “You know what?” Yuri’s voice trembled as she pointed her index finger toward the air. “I don’t know who the fuck you talking to. ’Cause truth be told you the fuck confused. Every day it’s something different from you. One day you want me and the next day you don’t. Who has time to deal with this bipolar bullshit? I got one crazy niggah. I don’t need two.”

  “Cool, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Finally, we understand each other.”

  “Fuck you, motherfucker. You just said earlier as long as I was real wit’ you, you would never leave me alone. Now here you come with this bullshit.”

  “Listen, I’m not leaving you alone. You called me. See,” he sighed, “you too fuckin’ confused.”

  “I’m not confused. I want you.”

  “Yuri, what you really trying to do to me? You got love for me but guess which one of us belongs to somebody else? Do you even hear yourself? It’s a catch-twenty-two and somebody gotta lose, so I’m good and I’m not a sore loser. Remember we’re not seventeen and I ain’t fuckin’ you for the first time. For real for real ma’, you don’t even know me. And let’s keep it that way.”

  “I don’t know you?” Yuri said surprised. “You have really lost your fuckin’ mind; its obvious that you couldn’t think of shit else to say. I know you better than you know your damn self; as a matter of fact you’re the confused one. You’re the one that keep coming and going.”

  “And where we going, ma’?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “Exactly.”

  Yuri could feel her eyes start to burn. “You been straight up fuckin’ using me.” She said more to herself than to him.

  “Using you? Check this, Yuri, I’m single. I don’t have no commitment other than my music. I could fuck a million chicks a day and nobody could ever pick up the phone and call me home. I’m grown, boo. My mother lives in Trinidad and I don’t have a wife. So what I’ma use you for? Pussy? Please, it’s sweet but it ain’t like that.”

  “I don’t believe this. You don’t love me, you don’t even care about me—”

  “If you can say that, then that proves you don’t know shit about me.”

  “Please, I know what I see and what I see is me lonely if I keep fuckin’ with you.”

  “Beautiful,” he said cutting her short, “it’s been real. I’m glad you were woman enough to call; ’cause one way or the other it was gon’ have to be done. So I’m up.” And he clicked off the line.

  Okay, Yuri, she said to herself, clutching the phone in her hand. You gotta understand that he’s a man and men say stupid shit. Maybe he was hurt…. Or maybe he just didn’t give a fuck…. Goddamn, why am I fooling myself? I’m always making excuses for this sorry motherfucker, when I got a man crying and practically begging me to love him. What am I really doing? To hell with Britt. Let this teenage crush go! What am I looking for? Acceptance? Recognition? For somebody to scream You’re good enough? Please. I’m killing myself. So…fuck him—fuck you, Britt! She did her best not to scream, but couldn’t help it. You know what, Yuri? Keep on playing yourself for a dick-dumb fool and see don’t you be alone. If you wanna do something, call Britt back and tell him to kiss your ass. Otherwise, be a woman about your shit and call it completely quits. Get your clit under control and show your heart who’s boss. You got this, it don’t have you.

  Yuri walked back to the living room and lay on the couch. Before she could talk herself out of crying, she began to wail with such force that her stomach started to hurt. You still the same stupid-ass little girl, she cried. So goddamn dumb!

  “What you doing out here?” Jeff asked, standing in the doorway, fully dressed for work. Yuri opened her eyes and, as if they’d been waiting to be freed, tears streaked her face. “What?” Jeff went on. “No white horses saving the day?”

  “Jeff, can I speak to you for a minute?” She wiped her face.

  “I’ll do you a favor and give you two.”

 
“Look.” She faced him. “We’ve been together for too many years to end our marriage now.”

  “Our marriage ended a while ago.”

  “Jeff.” Yuri remained calm. “All I know is that I’m here and I didn’t leave, because I need you. I love you, you’re my husband. I can’t tell you anything else, because anything else would be a lie.” Yuri paused for a moment, she’d never spat out so much bullshit in her life; she hoped that if the time ever came she would be able to remember it all. For a moment she wondered if Jeff had done as much or more lying, when he was fucking around with Kathy. “Baby,” she continued, “I’m still Yuri. I’m still me, and let me tell you what I know.” She stood up, walked over to him and grabbed his hand. “I know that you are my husband; and I know that sometimes I act crazy, but it’s because I’m confused. I am. I wanna…be…with…you. But I need you to trust me.” Yuri felt guilty saying this with a straight face, especially knowing that if she had somewhere else to go, she would leave this miserable motherfucker all to himself. “Last night, I was dead wrong, I shoulda called. Or how about I shouldn’t have let the shit happen, and it won’t…again. All I’m saying is that I really don’t wanna give up now. I wanna try and make our marriage work.”

  “Yuri.” Jeff caressed her face and wiped the tears falling from her eyes. “Let me ask you something, baby.”

  “Anything.”

  “Shootin’ game is a motherfucker, ain’t it?” He turned to go back into the other room. “I’ma give you another chance,” he threw over his shoulder, “but know that, after this, there will be no more.”

  Drae

  Drae lay in her California king-sized bed not quite asleep or awake. Her swollen cherry was throbbing and her pussy cried tears. She loved the turbulence of a building orgasm. The tossing, the turning and the flipping in her belly. She grabbed Hassan’s hand, squeezed it and said a prayer hoping that his caressing her pussy and whispering in her ear was his way of bringing them back to where they once were.

  “Damn, baby….” She moaned, her sleepy eyes still closed. “I missed this soooo much.” His touch was unbelievably soft. The way he circled his fingertips ever so lightly across her nipples, taking his tongue and licking each of them as if they were melting. His plush lips enveloped her nipples and he sucked them so intensely that she swore her titties had a clit.

  “You like that baby?” Hassan whispered in her ear.

  “Yes,” Drae cried, tears now sliding from her eyes. “Don’t stop.”

  “I’m not gon’ stop.” He wiped her tears as she felt three fingers traveling inside her; maneuvering their way through her hot flesh.

  “I want it to just be me and you, baby,” Drae said, as the sensual touch reminded her of Naz. She did her best to push Naz out of her mind. After all, no matter what, she wanted her marriage to work. And she needed some sort of normalcy in her reality; otherwise she stood to lose it all. She was tired of the porno auditions and the unconventional sex. Now she wanted simple shit, like missionary position, stretch marks, babies, Chinese food and slow jams.

  “You gon’ fuck me, baby? I mean, really fuck me?” She felt a wet stroke to her clit.

  “Don’t I always fuck you?”

  “No, baby”—she squeezed her eyes tight—“you don’t. You been holding back on the dick…and that’s what I want.”

  “You don’t want this…?”

  She felt a warm tongue pressed against her clit. “The right side,” she instructed. “Lick the right side…it’ll make me cum.” Drae’s legs began to shake involuntarily, something that always happened before she reached her peak. As she grabbed Hassan’s head to push it in deeper, his hair felt like silk and the length of it went on forever. Instantly Drae’s eyes popped open and she saw a redheaded white woman eating her pussy, while Hassan was playing with his dick and whispering in her ear, telling her how much he loved her. Drae’s heart felt as if it had cracked and fallen into a puddle of piss on the floor.

  She scooted backward on the bed until she bumped the back of her head on the headboard. The white woman’s lips were glazed with Drae’s pussy. The woman sat on her knees and looked at Hassan. “Is this supposed to happen?”

  After a few moments of blinking her eyes and assuring herself that she wasn’t dreaming, Drae raised up and slapped the woman so hard that she fell off the bed. Her neck jerked and her eyes popped out. “What the fuck you call yourself doing?! I’ma kick yo’ fuckin’ ass!” Drae went diving behind her, landing on top of her and whipping her ass like Laila Ali would do Britney Spears. Drae punched and kicked the woman as if she were fighting for her life. There was red hair swinging everywhere. And although some of it blinded Drae, she continued to drive the ass-kicking home as she swung her arms like runaway bats. After a few moments of being entertained, Hassan pulled the two women apart. “Chill, it’s too early in the morning to be fighting.” He laughed holding Drae back. “Besides, it’s not that fuckin’ serious.”

  “It ain’t that fuckin’ serious?!” Drae spat. She looked at Hassan and threw a punch at him, but he blocked it. “What the hell is wrong with you?! I was goddamn ’sleep and this is what you do? I’m thinking it’s you, but got some bitch sucking my shit! Oh my God.” She began to gasp. She leaned against the windowsill and did her best to catch her breath.

  “Don’t act like you never had a bitch sucking your clit before.”

  Drae knew that this was it: no more auditions, no more of this life. No more, period. She was beyond tired. How and why would her husband do this to her? Didn’t he care about what she wanted? Or was all of this more important than she was?

  “Why are you acting like this?” Hassan looked at Drae as the tears drenched her face.

  “I’m your wife!” Drae screamed. “Not some jump-off! Some side bitch. And you’re pimping me, you’re really fucking pimping me.” She said more to herself than to him, “What the fuck am I doing?!”

  “You gon’ tell me that Kimmie wasn’t fulfilling your fantasy?”

  “My fantasy?! Me? Mine? This has nothing to do with me, this is all about you. The directing the porno,”—she held her right hand out as if she were counting on her fingers—“the auditions, the men coming in and out of here, the nasty-ass carpet munchers that you insist on sucking my clit—all of this is yo’ shit. The next thing I know, you gon’ want me to watch you trading in the loaded dildo for a niggah dicking you in the ass—”

  As if lightning struck, Hassan slapped Drae so hard that she stumbled. “Kimmie, wait outside!” Hassan yelled.

  “You ain’t got to wait, you can go the hell home!” Drae screamed as she jumped on Hassan. Hassan did all he could to hold her off him. After seeing that his attempts were failing, he swung Drae across the room. “Sit yo’ ass down!” He looked at Kimmie. “I said leave!” She grabbed her things and scurried out of the room.

  “I’m done. This is over,” Drae said, pushing herself off the floor. She thought about reaching for the knife they kept under the bed and slicing his throat, but quickly changed her mind. “Either you stop doing this porno shit or I’m leaving you!”

  “Oh, now you wanna leave?” Hassan raised his eyebrows. “And go where? To do what? To teach? That dumb-ass job ain’t got you living like this—I don’t know why you would wanna be a teacher anyway—”

  “I’m not a teacher, I’m a guidance counselor!”

  “And who the fuck is you guiding? A buncha young-ass tricks and hos? You just a fuckin’ fake. You think you one thing when you really something else! Now you tryna front on me and my shit? You ain’t complain when you was nuttin’ all over the place. You know you liked them niggahs fucking you. You liked that freaky shit. Look me in the face and tell me Nasty Naz ain’t fuck the shit outta you. Tell me that, swear on your mother that you ain’t still thinking about that niggah.”

  Drae didn’t respond fast enough, so Hassan continued, “That’s what I thought. You ain’t shit, Drae, but a ho’n-ass gold digger. Ya raggedy, bitch! Now, how’s that for your
sanity?!” He flicked his hand. “Step.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and crossed his legs; the only thing missing was a cigarette.

  Drae was shaking so bad she could feel hives taking over her body. Only God knew how bad she wanted to leave, but how would she do that when Hassan was her everything. Everything she ever dreamed was riding on his being her man. “Don’t expect me to be a part of this shit no more. I’m done.”

  “Whatever,” he said nonchalantly. “Whatever.”

  Drae went into the master bathroom and locked the door behind her. She held the lump in her throat for as long as she could, but the weight of her fear exploded like an asthma attack. Her chest heaved up and down as she fell to the toilet and cried for what felt like forever. She held her head in her hands, her temples began to pound. For the moment, she felt as if she’d been robbed and she herself was the thief. She robbed herself of loving, of living and being free. Instead she chose to be locked up in a world of bullshit, and now she had nowhere to go. And since she was too weak to kill herself, she had no choice but to fight with life. But life was kicking her ass and here she sat on the face of the shit bowl, wondering how and when all of this happened….

  “And who is this niggah, Drae?” Yuri had asked when they were seventeen, sitting on the edge of Drae’s bed.

  “You should see him. He is so fuckin’ fine and his pockets, oh my God, ‘laced’ ain’t the word.”

  “You don’t even know this dude.”

  “I know enough to know he’s the one.”

  “I hope so, Drae.”

  “I don’t hope, bitch. I claim.”

  “Drae, it’s me,” Hassan yelled through the crack of the bathroom door and interrupted Drae’s thoughts. She took a deep breath. “Listen, honey,” he went on, “you know I hate it when you cry; especially when you cry like this. I’m sorry. A’ight?” he twisted the knob, but the door was locked. “Drae,” he called again, “let me in…you hear me?…Drae…”