by Mary Monroe
“Pffffft!” I squeezed her tittie even harder and laughed. “If I have to die before my time, I can’t think of a better way to go.”
“Well, I don’t want to be a young widow. And you know how much I hate funerals and black clothing,” she complained.
I gave her a loving look. “Vera, not only are you the most beautiful and considerate woman in the world, but you are also the most honest and I appreciate that. I always know where I stand with you.” I sounded like a broken record because these were the things I told her on a regular basis. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” She had a fragile ego, so she needed to be stroked often.
“I know that,” she replied dryly. This was the way she usually responded to my worn-out compliments. Her statement would have sounded arrogant to most people. But to me it was amusing and endearing because my wife was one of a kind. Despite her few minor insecurities, Vera still had a lot of confidence in herself. She was not being arrogant, just honest. To me, honesty was an important virtue, especially in a woman. That was one of the reasons I had married her.
“Baby, if you’re still with me when I die, I will die with a smile on my face,” I whooped.
“I love you, Kenneth,” she whispered as she rubbed the side of my face. “And believe me, I’m not going anywhere.”
Without saying another word, I dived under the covers, grabbed her thighs, and spread them open, and then I licked her crotch like a child licking a lollipop for ten minutes nonstop. “Want some more?” I panted, hoping she’d say no. But I had to ask anyway. No matter how hard it was for me to perform in the bedroom these days, I wanted my woman to think that I was still at the top of my game.
“I’m fine. But please take a break,” Vera told me in a raspy voice.
“Why? Baby, I’m just getting warmed up!”
“Didn’t I just remind you of what Dr. Cortez said?”
“Fuck Dr. Cortez!” I hollered. “I’d like to see him resist a pussy this good!”
“Well, you need to stop because you’re wearing me out,” she accused.
Thank you, I said to myself. Vera gently pulled on my arm, but it was too difficult for a petite woman like her to lift my hefty two-hundred-eighty-five-pound frame. Somehow I managed to sit up on my own.
I was happy to see that Vera was still smiling. I was smiling too. I was so glad she had turned down my offer to continue our romp. My heart was still racing, my dick was numb, and my back was so stiff I felt like I’d been rinsed, starched, and hung out to dry. I may not have even been able to complete another session anyway.
I hadn’t eaten dinner, so when Vera insisted on getting up and going downstairs to get me a plate of the roast that Delia, our cook, had prepared, I didn’t protest. She rolled out of bed and was back in her gown and out of the room within five minutes. That was the last thing I remembered. When I opened my eyes again, it was the next morning.
“You went out like a light last night,” Vera told me. She folded the morning newspaper and set it on the nightstand next to her monogrammed coffee cup. “I went downstairs to fix you a plate and ten minutes later when I got back up here, you were dead to the world. I’m telling you, you need to slow down,” she added, gently lying down next to me.
I felt like hell from head to toe. “I will slow down,” I said, rubbing my chest. What I really meant was that I would take a break from all that young pussy I was getting on the side. I had recently ended a monthlong relationship with a sweet young thing who lived in Oakland. That affair had almost cost me my life. Too Sweet (she refused to tell me her real name), an exotic dancer in a gentlemen’s club that I’d gone to with some clients, had pulled a gun on me when I refused to give her money to bail her eighteen-year-old brother out of jail for carjacking some young woman with her two toddlers in tow. I ended up giving Too Sweet the money, but I knew then that I had to change my ways or choose my women more carefully.
In the meantime, Vera was going to have to be enough woman for me for a while, maybe for the rest of my life. I was tired of all the sneaking around, the lying, and the drama that went with cheating. Not to mention all the money cheating had cost me over the years.
Now my goal was to make sure my wife remained happy and that I remained somewhat faithful. “Honey, why don’t we check into the Mark Hopkins for the weekend? Let’s celebrate the new millennium in a quiet suite with just us and a bottle of champagne. People are going to be acting crazy at most parties and the clubs and I don’t want to get caught up in all that madness.” I stroked Vera’s face.
“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we spend the whole weekend in Clear Lake,” she chirped, rising. She stood by her side of the bed with her hands on her hips. “They have a few new wineries that we can visit. You can do some fishing and I can shop in some of those cute little boutiques.”
“You want to go to our cabin in Clear Lake? Uh, I don’t want to go back up there so soon,” I said quickly.
“Huh? What do you mean by ‘so soon,’ sugar? We haven’t been up there in six months!”
I hated getting old. In addition to my most important body parts breaking down, my memory wasn’t what it used to be. I had forgotten that I had recently been to our cabin in the wine country, but not with Vera. I had spent a couple of nights there just last week with that dancer from Oakland—that’s where she’d pulled the gun on me. I had told Vera that I was attending a two-day sales meeting in Silicon Valley.
“Huh? Oh! That’s right.” I sat bolt upright in bed and blinked hard. “I forgot. I really must be getting old, huh?”
Vera gave me a blank look and shrugged. She strutted over to the full-length mirror on the wall facing the bed and started vigorously brushing her long hair, which was platinum blond. That made her look even more exotic and sexy than the black hair she’d had when I met her. “Well, do you want to go to the cabin or not?” she asked, talking with her back to me.
“Sure. Let’s do that,” I said, swinging my legs to the side of the bed with a groan. Almost every morning before I got up and about, I either passed a gallon of gas or something on my body ached. I experienced both this time. I was glad that Vera was too far away from the bed to smell or hear me. I was surprised that I was still able to get around without the aid of cane, a walker, or a wheelchair. I wondered if all older men with young wives felt and thought the way I did.
“Baby, I want you to know that I love you,” I said. “I might not be as exciting as I used to be under the sheets, but I’ll always do my best because I don’t ever want to lose you.”
Vera looked surprised. She gasped and walked back to the bed and sat down next to me, still brushing her hair.
“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not going anywhere?” she said in mock anger, rubbing my tightening chest. “You’re stuck with me. And in case you haven’t noticed, the years are creeping up on me too. I’m probably not as frisky under the sheets as I used to be either,” she chuckled, glancing at her watch.
One of the few things I didn’t like about my wife was her annoying habit of looking at her watch more frequently than most people. In just the past five minutes, she had checked the time twice. I knew she didn’t like to be scolded or questioned about things as trivial as that, so whenever she felt the need to check the time in my presence, I never asked her why. But this time I couldn’t help myself. “Is there somewhere you need to go this morning, Vera?”
She stopped brushing her hair and gave me a puzzled look. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you can’t seem to keep your eyes off your watch.”
“Well, if we’re going up to the cabin, I’d like to keep track of the time. I’ll need to pick up a few things before we leave. I’d like to visit that little place on Clement Street that sells those edible crotchless panties you like to feed on so much,” she replied. She winked and slid her tongue across her lips.
“Oh shit,” I managed. “Make sure you get a few pairs of the cherry-flavored ones.”
> “I will.” She winked again and kissed me on the forehead. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t forget to pack your pills.”
CHAPTER 3
VERA
AFTER I HAD DRIVEN TO THAT ADULT TOY STORE ON CLEMENT Street and purchased the edible panties Kenneth loved so much, I headed downtown. I couldn’t concentrate on any more shopping, so I ducked into the first bar I saw and ordered a martini. I quickly downed the martini and left the bar with my cell phone in my hand. If I was going to be holed up alone with Kenneth for a whole weekend, suffering through his frequent gas attacks and belly-aching, I was going to need something to keep me from losing my mind. Just being away from him for a few hours now was one way to avoid that. But I had another way that was even more effective: some rough, raw sex with a real man.
I needed a session with Tony Anderson, my mechanic and newest lover. He kept my BMW and my body tuned up.
When Tony didn’t answer his phone, I dialed up Lincoln Harbor’s number. Lincoln was my current trainer and he was an adequate backup for a good fuck when I couldn’t get in touch with Tony. When Lincoln didn’t answer, I gave up. I was frantic. I had always been able to reach at least one of my lovers. Good sex had become like a drug to me over the years. As I stood there glaring at the telephone in my hand as if it were the reason one of my lovers didn’t answer on his end, I experienced withdrawal symptoms. My head began to throb and my hands began to shake. It looked like I was going to do a whole lot of drinking this weekend. That was the only way I was going to get through it with Kenneth.
Sex with Kenneth had become a chore I despised. For one thing, he had problems performing. It had been months since he had climaxed—at least with me. Last night had been a joke and I had almost laughed out loud as he pumped into me, flopping around like a fish out of water. But I didn’t feel like laughing when he slipped up and called out another bitch’s name again while he was still inside me!
I had kept myself from going off on Kenneth because I’d focused on something more pleasant than him lying on top of me. Like the day we met and how important that random encounter turned out to be.
The first time I laid eyes on him, during a software conference in Houston more than twenty-eight years ago, I decided I was going to marry him. And I didn’t care what I had to do to make that happen. I was twenty-two at the time, struggling to make it from one day to the next, and I hated being poor.
My father, a janitor in a fast-food restaurant, died before I was even old enough to walk. Every man who came into my mother’s life after him was broke and/or physically and verbally abusive. But that didn’t stop her from having three more daughters, each with a different man, each one just as broke and unambitious as the next. I vowed that I would never marry a broke man or a man who abused his woman. My younger sisters, all attracted to the same kind of men that my mother liked, came home one after the other pregnant.
The last year that I lived at home, two of my sisters were pregnant at the same time. So was I for that matter, but I knew what to do about the situation. I’d get rid of it and move on.
“I’m moving out. I just got hired as a cashier at Jupiter’s department store,” I told my mother as I packed my clothes that night. It was the Friday after Christmas. I had turned nineteen a week earlier. “I’ll be staying with Cynthia Spivey until I find my own place.” I had always wanted to be a teacher, but I knew that the only way I’d ever be able to attend college would be in my dreams. We didn’t have the money to pay for that and my grades had not been good enough for me to land a scholarship. I had accepted the fact that with only a high school education, I wasn’t going to have a lot of job opportunities. But I was determined to live the good life. And that was the main reason why I had to find me a wealthy husband.
“I’m proud of you, baby,” my mother said with tears in her eyes. “I’m glad you ain’t as weak or as unlucky as me and your sisters when it comes to men. They’ll end up like me, alone and on welfare with a bunch of kids, and a useless man that’s going to keep them down. But find you a man anyhow. God didn’t mean for you to be alone. A piece of a man is better than no man.” My mother had been saying stupid shit like that about men as far back as I could remember. I had never commented on her opinions because I had not wanted to burst her bubble about men. My stepfather at the time shined shoes on his good days in a downtown hotel lobby. And he beat my mother, and us, on his bad days. To me, having “a piece of a man” was unacceptable, and now that I was about to move out, it was time for me to let my mother know how I felt.
“I will not stay with a trifling, violent man. The first time he hits me will be his last. And the only thing a broke man can do for me is tell me where I can find the men with the money,” I declared.
My mother’s mouth dropped open and she looked at me as if I had just lost my mind. “Vera Lou! I can’t believe you’d say something like that. How do you expect to find a husband with such a negative attitude? Men ain’t perfect, and we women ain’t neither. We all got flaws and we just have to learn to live with them flaws. I hope you don’t teach your unrealistic beliefs to your children!”
“And that’s another thing—I’d rather get a whupping than raise a child. I know how hard it is and how crazy they might turn out, and that’s not something I ever want to go through. If I do accidentally get pregnant, I’m getting an abortion lickety-split!” My mother looked like she was going to faint, so I didn’t have the nerve to tell her the whole truth. I had already made arrangements with a med student I’d met at a party the week before to abort the baby in my belly that had been fathered by a stock boy who worked at a feed store.
“Vera, I’m going to pray for you day and night!” my mother wailed. Despite my outburst, she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me. “I just hope you find happiness with somebody.”
“Don’t you worry about me, Mama. I will find the right man for me.”
I didn’t like the way that my roommate, Cynthia, was always up in my business. That was bad enough. But there were other things that I didn’t like about her. She was a slob who would leave her nasty underwear on the bathroom floor and she was always late with her share of the rent. She was always depressed about one thing or another and couldn’t stand the fact that I was so optimistic and upbeat. Her family situation had been a lot like mine, but she had never complained about it. It saddened me to know that, like my mother and sisters, she was also willing to settle for so little. She cleaned rooms in a cheap motel and was involved with an unemployed cabdriver who lived in somebody’s garage.
“I don’t know what makes you think some rich man is going to want to be with you, Vera. You don’t have any more to offer than I do,” Cynthia told me the night I packed to move out of our shabby apartment.
“Except for money, I have the same things to offer a rich man that a rich woman has. If he’s a good man, it won’t matter to him that I’m poor.” I had so much confidence in my ability to get what I wanted I didn’t even get upset with Cynthia.
As soon as I got situated in a furnished studio apartment above a Chinese-owned fish market, I began to search for my prey like a well-armed hunter. I read business magazines and the society pages in the newspaper. That’s how I found out where the rich black men hung out in Houston. And I wasn’t choosey. As long as the man had very deep pockets and was generous, his looks didn’t matter. I preferred older men. They were easier to manipulate than younger men. Another important factor was that a girl my age was more likely to outlive an elderly husband.
A geezer who was in poor health and had no children or other close relatives was a bonus.
CHAPTER 4
VERA
I HAD KISSED A LOT OF FROGS ALONG THE WAY. IT HAD BEEN FUN BECAUSE I loved men and I loved sex. A few times I had even fallen in love—but usually with men who had less than me and small dicks. Well, there was no chance in hell that I was going to settle for that. I learned from my mistakes. It didn’t take long for me to decide that good money was a lot mor
e important to me than good sex.
I promptly developed a routine I was comfortable with. I socialized only with wealthy older men. And to get what I wanted, I was willing to spread my legs as many times as I had to. I ate at the most expensive restaurants, my sugar daddies paid the rent on my cute little apartment, I rarely had to pay the note on my three-year-old Thunderbird out of my own pocket, and I shopped in the finest boutiques.
The more I learned, the more prudent I became in everything I did. But I still ran into a lot of obstacles anyway. One childless retired doctor, who had lost his wife to cancer, hired me to be his live-in caretaker. He was a dirty old man, so seducing him on the first night I moved in was a walk in the park. Less than a minute after I’d lowered my head down into his flabby, naked crotch, he immediately began to howl and yip like he had never been with a woman before in his life.
In less than a month, I had him right where I wanted him. He gave me a credit card and the keys to his Cadillac, which he was no longer able to drive anyway. I got so slap happy I did everything he asked me to do no matter how unpleasant it was. And there was nothing more disgusting than having to remove his diaper every time he wanted to have sex or get his dick sucked. He began to drop hints that he was going to make sure I was “well taken care of” when he passed. He was so frail and senile I expected to collect on my investment and be on easy street by the end of that year. When he went to sleep one night a week before Christmas and didn’t wake up the next morning, I was elated. But my euphoria was short-lived.
Come to find out, that old goat was in debt up to his receding hairline. His creditors and the IRS took his house and everything in it. I had given up my apartment to move in with the retired doctor, and when he died and left me nothing, I had to move back in with Cynthia until I found another mark. But that didn’t take long. A month later I was up and running again when I got a job as a waitress in the restaurant in a private gentlemen’s club near the Houston airport. I got involved with a mysterious man who had told me up front that if he ever found out I was playing him for a fool, I’d be “real sorry.” I immediately did some snooping around to see what I could find out about him. When I found out that he had beaten one of his previous girlfriends so severely they had to wire her jaw shut and that he had ties to the Jamaican mafia, I hauled ass. Despite the risks involved, my plan was still to find myself a wealthy husband, but I didn’t want to die trying. I decided to search for a man in less threatening environments than gentlemen’s clubs.
