by Pope, M. T.
When I left home for college I thought I was done and over sexing women after fumbling the ball with Antoinette (Tony), but it was on when I got to UCLA; it all came flooding back again. Now I am living on campus across the country from my family. It’s just me and Alex, my twin brother, who was accepted here on a partial football scholarship. I was well out of control within the second year of arriving at college. At first, I tried to holler at some of the young chicks, but they just weren’t on my level mentally. I stumbled onto Grace off-campus at a bar on the other side of town. It was a seedy place that most undercover bi-curious women or men frequented. It wasn’t a gay bar, but it was a non-limits type of environment. Which meant anything goes.
Liquid Nights was its name and it was jumping every Friday night after midnight. It was a normal night.
“It’s Not Right But It’s Okay” by Whitney Houston was blasting and it was packed in the place. There was a mixed crowd of all types of men and women in the joint that night. I was sizing up the ladies in a dimly-lit corner as they walked in, trying not to be obvious, but more like copping a feel with my eyes as well. When Grace walked in, she was camouflaged with big glasses, blond wig, and her body was covered in a knee-length black trench coat. She immediately went to the bar for a drink. She looked around a little. I could tell it was her first time. She was a little jumpy as people walked by her. Several ladies approached her and I could see her turn them all away within seconds. She wasn’t going to be an easy pull. I knew this only after five minutes of observing her. She had a wall up and I had to be inconspicuous in chipping it away. Homosexuality for newbies is like jumping in freezing cold water; it’s a culture shock for the body because it’s not used to it, but after a while of swimming around, the body adjusts and gets used to the temperature. I was about to take her into the deep end.
I walked across the dance floor and through a throng of people. A few guys tugged at my clothes, showing interest in me. And why wouldn’t they? I was a good catch. I had on some tight silky black leggings, with a chocolate sweater dress that cupped my butt oh-so-right. I didn’t have a big bust, but my flowing hair, baby-doll face, and thick lips deflected the attention of most from that region anyway. I had on some shades, but I would lift them and give them a brief glare deep into their eyes letting them know, quickly, that it was hands off of me unless I invited them into my space. I was not a showgirl. I was a show-out girl. Trust. But, don’t get it twisted though. Dudes weren’t totally off of my list. They just weren’t at the top. I had evolved over the last couple of years and knew that I had to keep my options open.
“Can I get me a shot of Hpnotiq?” I sat down at the U-shaped bar and pretended I didn’t see Grace across the bar nursing what looked like soft drink. It let me know she was new at this.
“We Belong Together” by Mariah Carey started to play. And I decided to make my move. It was now or never. I grabbed my drink as soon as I saw the last person ease out of the seat next to her. They didn’t look too pleased. It was their loss and my gain.
“Hey, how you doing, beautiful?” I sat on the bar stool and lightly rocked to the melody of the music.
“I’m good.” She spoke plainly.
“Yes, all good.” I smiled. “It’s all about you tonight, I take it?”
“Huh?” she questioned.
“You look so beautiful. Most women that come to a club looking as good as you do, know that it’s going to be all about them the whole night they are out.”
“Well, that’s maybe true.” She took a sip of what she was drinking and looked around the club again. I took all of her in at close range real quick. She was well put together, for sure.
“Maybe? ... nahh ... You got it! All of it!”
“Thank you.” She smiled. For an older woman she was gorgeous. Almost flawless.
“So who broke your heart?” I asked.
“No one broke my heart.”
“You look like you lost your best friend.” I sipped on my drink and stared at her intently.
“No, I don’t do friends. They are too much trouble.” Again, she spoke in a low monotone. No umph to it at all.
“True that.” I nodded.
“Can I buy you another of what you are drinking? What is it that you are drinking?”
“Rum and Coke.”
I signaled the bartender and ordered her another drink.
“Thank you.” She smiled.
“No problem. There is plenty more where that came from,” I said, hoping she read between the lines.
After another ten minutes, she finally took her glasses off and I did the same. Both of our mouths hit the floor as we recognized each other in a place like this. All this time we were in class I thought she was giving me funny looks because I was not meeting up with the full requirements of the class. All the eye contact in class was her trying to figure out if she could trust me with her secret. I didn’t know. I would have made my move a lot faster. I also wanted to know how she knew about me. But, as I thought about it, I knew the saying “it takes one to know one” was very true in most cases—not all, but most.
“Ashley, I love my husband and my job, but I will not tolerate you belittling me.” She had the authoritative voice in full effect, but ask me if I cared. “Your little scare tactics don’t work on me.”
“Sure they don’t.” I walked back around to the front of her desk, opened my book bag, and pulled out several sheets of paper. I laid them on the desk in front of her and watched her stern face disintegrate right before my eyes.
“Wh—where did you get this from?” she fearfully quizzed me.
“Don’t worry about that. Just know that I have copies. Don’t make me use them.” I grabbed my bag and left her in her office to think about her next move.
Chapter 2
Grace
Uncovered
April 1st 6:40 P.M.
I sat at my desk and put my head in my hands. “How in the hell did she find this?”
I looked at the paper that Ashley had sat in front of me and shook my head. My past was resurfacing right before my eyes. Tears watered up in my eyes as I thought about my past. I just couldn’t deal with this then or now. I folded up the papers, walked over to my filing cabinet, and neatly tucked them into an empty folder and closed the drawer back up again and locked it up.
“I will deal with this later.” I walked over to my coat, on the back of my office door, put it on, then grabbed my briefcase from off my desk, and walked out of my office with my head held high. I was not going to let some wet-behind-the-ears, spoiled brat, run me. Somehow I have to get some leverage on her to even the score. I know it sounds harsh, me squabbling with a barely legal child that is less than half my age, but I needed things to go back to the way they were before I ventured out on this trail of destruction.
The wind was blowing as I walked across the parking lot toward my car, pulling my Dolce & Gabbana jacket closed with the hand that held my briefcase and fumbling with my lunch bag in the other. I put my finger on the fingerprint reader to open my door. I quickly got in, threw the briefcase on the passenger seat, put my finger on the fingerprint reader to start the car, and pulled off. I looked at the dashboard clock and it read a quarter till seven.
I was still a little emotional fifteen minutes later as I pulled up to the fancy carryout that my husband and I frequented. Because of our busy schedules as professionals, we often had to eat out or bring something home because our days usually started pretty early in the morning. It was the reason he was overweight and why I was beginning to pick up some extra pounds myself.
I walked into the take-out side of Benson’s Bistro and ordered some fried chicken, pilaf rice, sweet potatoes, string beans, and a gallon of their peach tea to go. I smiled at the African owner, who knew me all too well. As he slid me my order I put my finger on the fingerprint reader to charge my bank account. I selected the correct account and was done in seconds.
“Have a good day,” he said as I turned and walked out
of the establishment. I hopped back into my car and head toward my home. About twenty-five minutes later I pulled up to my Tudor-style home in Ingleside and parked my car beside my husband’s.
I grabbed my bags of food, the gallon of tea, my briefcase, and struggled my way up our short, cobblestone walkway. I was loaded down with baggage of pain and secrets, but my husband only saw me struggling with the bags in my hands as he opened the door.
“Aww, baby, give me that,” he said as he took all the things that cluttered my hands and let me walk in the house freely. I trailed behind him as he scolded me about not calling him on the cell phone from the car.
“I’m sorry, babe.” I pouted and kissed him on his cheek before I sat down at our dining room table and watched him go into our kitchen and bring back dinnerware for our meal.
My husband, David, has picked up about eighty pounds since we have been married. He was still handsome in the face, but the extra weight that threw him into 250-pound range, which he picked up over the years, was a complete turnoff for me. We had met when I was in grad school. I was twenty-six years old and he was two years younger. He was this five foot nine, 170-pound, caramel brick house. At a moment’s whim he would pick me up into the air and spin me around like a rag doll. We had a whirlwind love affair for about six months before he popped the question. At the beginning of the honeymoon period in our marriage, we were having nonstop sex, we worked out together in between classes, and we both were toned and athletic. He was so romantic and spontaneous to the point where I would literally have to fight him off of me just to get a good night’s sleep in.
Now, almost thirty years later, he was getting pretty sloppy, but that was only one of the reasons I was looking for attention in other places. All he wanted to talk about was work. After grad school, we both received reputable positions in both our fields of study at UCLA. Soon both our careers began moving, but his was moving a bit faster than mine. At first, I was a little jealous, but I got over it because I knew David worked really hard for his position. Over the years, his priorities shifted heavily toward his career and less on me. Now, he was just so boring at times. I know I wasn’t a beauty pageant queen or anything anymore, but a sister still had it going on.
My Coke-bottle figure was long gone, but I wasn’t anywhere near a two-liter shape either. And if a sister ever got to the gallon-shaped size, I will pay someone to off a bitch and put me out of my misery. I was pleased with my dark chocolate skin and thick sister-girl hips. I stood only at five feet six and toted a healthy 165 pounds. It is said as a woman hits a certain age she hits her sexual peak. I was there now—shit, I was always there—but my husband just couldn’t keep up. It was like we switched positions and I was now the horny toad. The less he satisfied my urges, the more I looked for means of sexual relief. I had brought dildos and porn to try and curb my savage hunger, but it was to no avail. The dildos would burn out and the porn only made me more curious.
In fact, a particular woman-on-woman scene in a porn flick I was watching sent me over the edge. The more I watched it, the more I wanted to see what it was all about. On one particular Friday night, David was asleep in his office, something he does more and more as time went on, I decided that it was then or never. I had looked up lesbian/gay hangout spots on the Internet and one in particular caught my attention.
Liquid Nights was all the way across town and I knew I wouldn’t be spotted by anybody that knew me or what I did for a living. I went in just to be curious, but Ashley spotted me and proceeded to spit her game at me. She had a way with her words and the next thing I knew she had me in the backseat of my car with my ass in the air and my face pressed against my back door, moaning as she made me cum multiple times. The things she did with her tongue and the strength of my orgasms kept me coming back for more. I was now what people called a cougar. More and more I kept doing things irrationally, like sex in my office during breaks in between class and even in bathroom stalls in multiple locations on campus. I loved the thrill until I noticed that Ashley was demanding more and more of me. She would barely come to class, halfway participate when she did show up, and she would leave in the middle of class as if she felt “she had better things to do,” as she said. The more she made me cum, the more control she exerted over me. And I didn’t like to be controlled. Now she had a secret about me that only a few people knew about me, and that few didn‘t include my husband. It was something that could ruin my marriage and my career. I wish I knew she was going to be behaving like this, because I would have never gotten involved with her in the first place. I also wondered how she uncovered my secret. I made sure I paid close attention to keeping my past in the past. Now she was threatening me with it and now she had my back against the wall.
I sat in my chair across from my husband and smiled as I watched him devour two chicken breasts, a heap of rice and potatoes, all while slurping down two large cups of tea. The slurping of his tea and the loud burp that followed had brought me back from my trip down memory lane. Where is the husband that I married? Because the one sitting across from me must be an impostor! I’m beginning to think I’m the reason for his weight gain. Nahhh! He’s in charge of his own weight. I will not add that to my list of stress.
“Honey, don’t you think you should have taken your time eating that food?” I asked with a sympathetic tone. He had crumbs on his shirt, making me wonder what the napkin he had tucked in his shirt was for.
“Yes, dear, I know I should eat slower, but I have mountains of work to do on my desk. I needed to cut some time out of somewhere to compensate for the lack of time in the day.”
“Honey, I know that seems logical, but at the same time you are cutting time off of your life expectancy as well. It‘s just not healthy. I can‘t sit here and watch you eat yourself into a casket.” His face flushed from content to depressed, all in a matter of seconds.
“You’re right, Grace.” He took the napkin from around his neck, wiped his face, and pushed away from the table. Something he should have been doing long before now. “Next week I’ll put myself on a strict diet.” He got up, removed his plate and mine and casually walked toward the kitchen in the back of the house.
“I’ve heard that before,” I mumbled under my breath.
David walked back from inside the kitchen seconds later, walked up to me, and kissed me on the cheek. “Grace, you’ve put on a couple of pounds as well. I suggest you start the diet with me.”
I wanted to bust him upside his head for that comment, but I let him slide since I had noticed the weight gain myself. “We can even work out together like we used to do,” he suggested. The smile on his face was one of genuine love. I saw his eyes glimmer with memories of our beginnings. I take it he too wanted to go back to when we first started dating. He didn’t know that was also all a lie.
“Sure,” was the only response I could get out of my mouth. I was not ready for this. My opening my big mouth always seems to get me into more undesired tasks. And keeping my weight together is a task in itself.
“I’ll be in my office for a little while, catching up on some paperwork. I’ll be up later on.”
“Well, don’t fall asleep at your desk like you did the last time,” I spoke as he headed toward his office.
I in turn wiped off the table, vacuumed the carpet around where he and I ate, and made my way upstairs to take a shower. I was exhausted and a nice, hot shower always did the trick for me. I was in and out of the shower within twenty minutes, making my way into my walk-in closet to pull out a bra and panty set to sleep in. In my closet was a mirror that stretched from the floor almost to the ceiling. I posed a couple of times and surveyed the extra weight my husband said that I had picked up.
“It’s not that bad.” I did notice that I was beginning to grow a mushroom stomach and my arms were getting to be a little bit flabby. I had a plan to indeed work out with my husband. And maybe, we could work on our marriage as well. Our sex life is almost nonexistent; besides, the little bit I do get only lasts a
couple of minutes before his big ass is out of breath, huffing and puffing next to me saying, “Damn, baby that was good.” So many nights I wanted to roll over and smother him with my pillow while screaming, “Is this good? Is this good, muthafucka?”, but I didn’t, I just let that shit roll off my back like oil and water.
I flicked on the plasma television and found something to watch that would put me to sleep. Eventually I fell off to sleep, hoping my life would be different when I woke up.
Later that night ...
“Hello,” I whispered into my cell phone. My husband was snoring so loud in the bed that you would have thought that we fucked twelve times. He didn’t even move when I got out of the bed and grabbed my terry cloth robe off of the end of the bed. I walked down my stairs with a lot still on my mind. I was glad it wasn’t Ashley on the phone, but I wasn’t completely happy about who was on the phone. I walked down the hallway and to my kitchen to get as much privacy as I could. I didn’t trust David even though he was asleep. All sleeping eyes aren’t always sleeping. I knew that from experience, but that is another story for another time.
“Hello Mother.” I was a little annoyed that she would call me this late at night. “Is everything okay?”
“No, everything is not fine.” She sound annoyed too. “My only child left on this earth has not called me in a while.”
“I know, Mama. I’m sorry. I just have been busy. You know I have a very time-consuming job.”
“So that is your excuse now. Work.” She shot down my excuses for not coming to visit her every time she called. I had an excuse for every call. This was our relationship now. This is what it has come to.
