by Curtis Bunn
She smiled. “Welcome back.”
“Sorry I had to go for a minute,” he said. “But I feel refreshed.”
She maneuvered across the bed and pulled the covers back. He pulled the knot from his towel and it fell to the floor, revealing his strong, lean, naked body.
“I remember all that,” Michele said.
He climbed in the left side of the bed and under the luxurious six-hundred-count sheets. Neither of them played coy. Immediately, they embraced.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to be right here with you,” she said.
He didn’t answer, not with words. Rather, Solomon kissed her on her neck and shoulders and she sighed with pleasure. He kissed her face and she turned toward him so their lips could meet.
She took in his body. It had been fourteen months since she had been with a man and even longer considering how uneventful that one-time encounter had been. Solomon was a committed lover. There was intense passion between them, even after so many years. So she anticipated the heat.
Caressing his shoulders and back and feeling his lips on her confirmed everything she had tried to suppress:
She loved Solomon Singletary.
In that moment, the pain of the past was so blurry and the pleasure of his presence and touch crystal clear. The reality was that she never stopped loving him.
Solomon’s reality was that he loved her, too. He had never told her as much, not in words. He had always communicated his feelings to her through how he treated her and how he made love to her.
“I remember this, Michele,” he said softly into her ear. “I remember how warm your body is and how soft it is. I’ve missed you close to me like this.”
“Me, too,” she said, reaching down and stroking the throbbing extension between Solomon’s legs. “I’ve missed this.”
That was her not-so-subtle hint that foreplay needed to be over. Always keen, Solomon got the hint and leaned over the side of the bed to pull the condoms from the bag.
As he did so, Michele grabbed his butt. “Still nice and tight.”
He was so caught up in getting the condom out of the box and then out of the wrapper that he did not offer a retort. When he got it free of all the packaging, he lay on his back to apply it to his erection. Michele kissed him deeply as he did.
Once on, he pulled Michele on top of him and caressed her back down to her hips and over her round and soft ass that he had first noticed that night in D.C. In one motion he rolled her over on her back and was on top of her, as a tiger would prey.
She spread her legs and he positioned himself between them to enter her. Just then, he remembered something important: Michele liked to do the honors of inserting him into her hot, wet, “good-good,” as he called it. She said doing so gave her power.
And so, she did, and it was like an injection of life. She held Solomon back by his waist to prevent him from going in too deep too soon. But the sensation was unmistakable and it ricocheted through her body like a pinball.
“Baby, I feel you,” she said. Her muscles began to loosen up and she went from holding Solomon back to pleading for deeper penetration.
“Oh, give it to me. Give to me, baby.”
Solomon, meanwhile, was giving it to her. Her legs in the air and his arms locked inside her thighs keeping them there, he pumped up and down into her wetness, hitting it from angles and depths that made Michele scream.
Aware that Gerald was down the hall, Solomon tossed his pillow over Michele’s face to smother her noise. And she had reason to be loud: She had not been so intensely screwed since Solomon had done the honors the night Gerald was conceived.
She pulled the pillow off her face. “Baby, you getting it. You getting it. Oh, damn. Keep doing that. Keep doing that.”
He kept doing that and doing that and doing that over the next ten minutes or so. Suddenly, Michele’s legs began to tremor. “Oh, oh, oh, oh…” she screamed.
She pulled Solomon down so that their chests met. “Owww, baby, do it, do it.”
Solomon thought he was doing it, so he kept on stroking. Their body movements were synchronized. And her groans were in perfect rhythm to his thrusts.
Michele made sounds that she could only make in the throes of passion. “This is it, baby. Ohhhh, ohhh, awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!”
She climaxed with such a force that her body shook and all she could do was tightly hold on to Solomon. “Oh, my God… I can’t stop…”
The heat that came from her and their passion got the best of Solomon, too. She would not loosen her clutch around his body, but he continued to pump inside her and as she came for the third time, Solomon exploded, too, breathing so heavily into the side of Michele’s face that she had to turn away.
“Oh, my Lord,” he said. “Michele…Michele.”
He was sweating and struggling for air—and for the right words to describe how he felt.
She loosened her grip and they rested there for a minute or so, Solomon’s large body crushing her. Michele’s way was to please, so she did not say anything.
But Solomon knew. “I know you can hardly breathe,” he said as he pulled up from her chest. He made sure the condom was still secure and slowly pulled out. This was one of the unromantic parts of using rubbers.
Michele took a deep breath. “Man, you know how to please me,” she said.
He discarded the heavy condom in the plastic CVS bag and lay on his back. Michele rested her head on his chest and he put his arm around her. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. They caught their breath and collected their thoughts.
Then Solomon felt something wet on his chest. It was Michele’s tears.
“You all right, dear?” he asked with concern in his voice.
She nodded her head and wiped her face and his chest with her hand and kept her head down.
“I’m sorry to cry on you like that,” she said. “I’m just…I…I don’t know if I’ve ever been happier in my life than right now. Solomon, I love you. You probably don’t want to hear that, but I do.”
Solomon rubbed her arms and shoulders. “Can I give you something?”
She lifted her head. “You gave me plenty, but I’ll take more.”
He laughed. “You’ve got to turn on the light.”
As she did, he reached over and picked up the card he had purchased from the drugstore.
“What’s this?” she said as he handed it to her.
“It’s yours.”
She opened the envelope and then the card. It read:
“Michele, it is important for me to let you know that you have changed my life. I cannot go on without again apologizing for my big mistake. But through fate and God, here we are.
“I believe we can/will be better than ever because I have grown and I see the light. And the light is you. I appreciate who you are as a woman, as a mother, as a friend, as MY woman. I am committed to you and to our son. Don’t ever forget that.
“Above all, I love you, Michele.
“Yours, Solomon.”
Michele’s shoulders dropped and she raised her head toward the ceiling.
“I love you, too, Solomon,” she turned to him and said. “Thank you for this. It means a lot.”
She read the card again before placing it on the nightstand and turning off the light. Michele arranged the covers so that they were comfortable, kissed Solomon on his face and lay on his chest.
It was reminiscent of eight years previous, when Solomon had vanished. But this time, when she awoke the next morning, Solomon was there, holding her securely. Neither of them was going anywhere.
CHAPTER 15
THE POWER OF (GOOD) SEX
That night of passion unleashed desires in both of them that had been distracted or untapped for eight years. And so, their sensual romps became nightly escapades. Over the next three weeks, a routine was established. They would spend post-school with Gerald, helping with the mounds of homework, having dinner, talking, playing. By nine, like clockwork
, the kid was exhausted and actually asking to go to bed.
It got to be that Solomon and Michele would look at each other with a devilish grin when Gerald started yawning. They knew their time was near.
The consistent, fulfilling sex changed Michele. She was perky and optimistic, smiling and energetic, jovial and spry. Spirited.
At her book club meeting one Saturday afternoon, she could not contain her glee—or desire to share the source of it to her five co-members. She did not go there planning to tell her business. But one conversation led her on a path of free speech.
“I enjoyed the book,” said club member Renita, who hosted the meeting at her house in Southwest Atlanta, “but I don’t know if it’s realistic.”
“How do you mean?” Michele asked.
“Well, the main female character let the guy get away with too much because the sex was good,” Renita said. “No, I’m not having that. No way.”
Michele laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Renita said. “And why have you been so upbeat and happy lately anyway?”
“You noticed that, too?” Cassandra, another member, said. “When I called her last week, she could hardly stay on the phone with me. And I heard a man’s voice in the background. Unless your son got old pretty fast, that was a man’s voice I heard.”
Michele hardly was one to expose her business to the masses. But her book club members were close friends and she could not hold back. Plus, she wanted them to know.
“Well,” she started, “there is a man—the father of my son.”
“No, wait a minute,” Angie said. She was the audacious member who had a lot to say to everyone about everything. Every book club had an Angie. Diplomacy was not her forte.
“You telling me the guy who ran out on you all those years ago is back?” Angie said. “Since when?”
“It’s a long story, but, yes, he is back,” Michele said. “We’ve been working on things for about five months now.”
“What?” Angie said. “And you held all this back because?”
“I wanted to see if it was real, where it was going,” Michele said. “Here’s what happened, and you’re not going to believe this.”
All the members closed their books and moved to the edge of their seats that were set up in a circle in the living room. No drama in a book was better than real-life drama; especially from someone they knew.
“My son played in this basketball league over at Gresham Park, and he kept talking about this ‘Coach Money’ that he loved. I never met the coach; when I signed him up, I signed him with the director of the program. And when I dropped him off at practices and games, I kept going.
“And when I got progress reports, it was from the director, not his coach. So, anyway, they had a banquet at the end of the season. I was excited because I could finally meet this ‘Coach Money.’
“You know how obsessed I’ve been with Gerald having a male influence in his life and his coach was having an impact. So, we get to the banquet and it’s ‘Coach Money’s’ time to give out his awards.
“I look up on the stage and I can’t believe my eyes. ‘Coach Money’ was actually Solomon Singletary, Gerald’s father.”
The women let out a series of expressions that told of their shock:
“Stop lying.”
“Get outta here.”
“Oh, my God.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“What?”
“For real. Solomon was coaching his son and neither of us realized it. Can you believe that? I was shocked, to say the least. When he saw me, he was shocked, too. Still, he didn’t know Gerald was his son.”
The women looked at each other, shaking their heads.
“So what happened, girl?” Angie pressed on.
“He apologized about what he had done and I gave him a hard time about it,” Michele continued. “But the truth of the matter was I still had feelings for him, even after all that happened and all that time, even after what he had done. The problem was, I didn’t trust him.”
“How could you?” Angie said. “How can you?”
“He had to build it,” Michele said. “If Gerald wasn’t involved, I probably wouldn’t have given him a chance. But it was always there that he was his father and should be in his life. That was always important to me.
“But I didn’t tell Solomon about Gerald. I kinda-sorta got over the disappearing act he played on me. But it took a lot of time. I had to see what he was about before I told him about Gerald. I mean, it was eight years ago and we all grow up.”
“Not all of us, honey,” Angie said. “I know men who are the same jerks now as they were in their twenties. So...”
“Well, from what I’ve seen, Solomon has changed,” Michele said. “He admitted a lot to me and he really has been amazing. The part I was nervous about was telling him about Gerald. I didn’t know if he would run or if he would be mad at me or if he’d just refuse to be a part of his life.
“But he’s been totally committed to being a father.”
“Well, congratulations, girl. That had to be a relief,” Cassandra said.
“I feel like a different person, you know? Like I’ve done something great for my son—and myself,” Michele said.
“That’s what men can do—the right man, the righteous man,” Renita said. “When my husband and I are doing well, there’s no better feeling. The trick that I haven’t figured out is how to feel that way all the time.”
“’Nita, no one has or ever will figure that one out,” Angie said. “It would be the ninth Wonder of the World.”
The ladies laughed.
“But let’s get back to the original question,” Angie said when the laughter subsided. “What’s all this glow about? It can’t be just because Solomon... That’s his name, right?...has been a good father. Can it?”
All eyes shifted to Michele, who took a large gulp of her glass of Oya wine and decided she would share her good news with her friends. Their previous book club meetings had turned into complaint sessions about their jobs, finances, kids, men or the lack of quality men. She decided she would color that meeting with real talk about how her life had changed in five months.
“You asked for it.” Michele smiled. “It was one thing to see Solomon and to learn that he wanted to be with me again. And it was another thing that he loves his son and is doing his part as his father.
“But...” Michele shook her head and looked off at nothing in particular, “...to consistently feel a man’s hands on my body and to feel his passion...oh, my God, it has been something that changed how I feel about myself and about life.”
“What?” Angie said.
“Angie, be quiet,” Renita said. “Let her finish.”
Michele continued. “It’s just that—and I never felt like I needed a man to make me whole—having the passion we have is something that has stuck to me. The way he handles me and caresses me and kisses me and makes love to me...it’s something that physically brings me pleasure all day long.
“It’s like he’s all over me. Even though we may have been together the night before, the next day I’m still carrying that intimacy with me. My body sometimes aches, but not like pain. It’s like an intense yearning to feel him.
“But it really is more than that. It all starts with the physical; he knows what he’s doing to me in bed. But—for me anyway— there’s something really comforting about knowing you have good sex in your life.
“It gives me confidence and comfort. And it might seem like a little thing, but it makes me feel joyous. So, yeah, I’m glowing. I feel like an important part of my life is there and it brings that extra pep in my step. It makes me feel sexy and desired. It makes me more patient and understanding. It makes me feel better than happy. Happiness can come and go. Being joyous or joyful is a state of being, no matter what else is going on. That’s how I feel. Joyous.”
Her friends looked at her in amazement. They had never heard her talk so much at once and they were
captivated by her thoughts. No one said anything, so Michele kept going.
“This is different from having somebody come over on a booty call—we’ve all had them—and, you know, basically provide a service. Feeling so strongly about him it makes the love-making so much more intense and so much more pleasurable.
“It was good before with him, but it is something incredible now. And you know what? It makes me understand why a woman would cheat on her husband. I don’t condone it; don’t get me wrong. If Solomon and I broke up—God forbid—and I had to move on to someone who didn’t give me loving that stuck with me all the next day or I didn’t crave his touch, it would be a disappointment.
“I probably would, eventually, seek that feeling that I have now. That’s awful to say, I know. And I hope that, if it ever came to that, I’d be more committed than I’m sounding right now. But I’ve learned that sex is critical to a relationship. We must be honest enough to admit that. I know now that it changes my whole attitude about my everyday life.
“What woman doesn’t want a man who is good to her and is a good provider and a good father? I’m convinced now that he could be all that, but if he isn’t making you crave him sexually, well, it’s not the same. Unbelievable sex can make up for a lot of flaws.”
Her book club members nodded their heads knowingly.
“Girl, you sound like that man is putting it down,” Angie said. “I joke around a lot, but I understand what you’re saying. I almost married a guy once because that fool knew how to knock some boots. Damn, he was good.”
“So why didn’t you marry him?” Renita said.
“He was knocking boots with anyone he could, that’s why,” Angie answered. “Then he ended up in prison for selling drugs or something.”
“He probably started getting his boots knocked in prison,” Cassandra joked.
“Yeah, but you get her point, though?” Michele said. “He obviously had flaws. But he made her feel good.”
“If you’re so tied to the sex, aren’t you giving him all the power?” Cassandra asked.
“I have two answers for that,” Michele said. “Who cares about power if he’s changing your outlook on life and the attitude you have going about your day? That’s a fight for power that I don’t even care to be involved in. He can have the power; as long as he doesn’t abuse it.
