by Love Belvin
I didn’t look at Peewee when I dismissed his offer to pay me for today’s work. On good days he’d pay me upward of five hundred dollars for a three hour job he didn’t want to pay triple for. On his tight days, I’d get three hundred. Today was a shitty one. It had been a drought, which is why I hadn’t been here in a while. I didn’t mind giving him a break; he’d been the reason my father was never pulled in, at least, for not finding employment, though he never actually worked. Plus, I knew he’d do me a solid favor, inadvertently.
Peewee stood there for a few seconds, not knowing how to respond to my generosity before giving up and walking off.
“Harlem Pride.” He called over his shoulder.
Like many from my hood, Peewee didn’t always know how to populate appropriate words of gratitude. I understood him, though. I went back to finish up my counts so I could leave to get on with the rest of my day, knowing this would likely be my last day of yet another one of my streams of income.
Lex
I arrived at DiFillippo’s in Tribeca where Ezra and I arranged to meet. With all the crazy things happening between the rec, my job search, the engagement, and the demands of wedding planning, I was incredibly overwhelmed. When I walked in the restaurant and gave my name, I was seated in the back private section right away. He was there waiting on me at the table, engaging the menu as he sat straight and perfectly poised. In those seconds of gaiting over to him, I stifled a snicker at how attractive I found this corny church dude to be. Ezra and I could be no more opposite creatures if he were Japanese and I was Swedish. But yet we were engaged.
He sensed me as the hostess and I neared the table and stood to greet me by stretching for my hands. When I offered them to him, per usual, he glided his big palms up to my wrists, encircling the now sensitive areas as he bent to graze my ear with his mouth, though he didn’t touch me. He didn’t need to; his cool breath hit my skin and my lungs seized and eyes fluttered as they always did at this platonic, yet very sensual greeting I’d become accustomed to.
“Beloved, you look lovely. I am pleased to see you,” he murmured into my ear for only me to experience.
On the surface, it must have appeared weird and formal, but as the receiving party, the simple act tripled my pulse.
Ezra pulled out my seat and I was handed a menu and fresh water. All the while, Ezra and I exchanged energies with our eyes. My core flared with heat. I wasn’t sure what he processed, but I was spellbound, oddly taken by his commanding presence. He wore another three piece suit, this one gray with burnt orange plaid stitching and matching wide-tongue tie over a checkered shirt. On anyone else it would’ve been too decorated, but on this man it made his company flagrantly powerful.
I itched to jump him after this wedding thing. In the back of my mind, I was prepared to take the lead on our sexual affairs; I couldn’t possibly see Carmichael loosen up enough to make it good. He was too tense, grossly official. I didn’t mind. I could work with his delicious package; I’d seen enough of it to know he was sexy as hell bare. I wasn’t all that sexually versed myself, but would show him enough to please the both of us.
In that moment, an unmistakable leer broke on his lips and I quickly shifted my eyes away, embarrassed at my thoughts.
Once the waiter left the table, I exhaled, “I’m so glad we’re talking about the details of this wedding. You have no idea how much of a bonehead I’ve felt like not having anything to give people like Lillian, who wants to know the colors, and Ms. Remah, who’s asking how many people she needs to make rum cake for.” I found myself grimacing.
“Have you been in touch with the wedding coordinator I contracted?” he asked as he rearranged the table setting in front of him.
“Yeah. We’re meeting tomorrow. Your mom will be there, too.” I offered a faux smile. Not that I didn’t want Mary there, because I could use the help, but her presence was more like being policed and reminded me of the crazy bullshit I was getting myself into.
Ezra placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on laced fingers. “We’re not here to discuss the details of our wedding day.”
“You said you wanted to talk about—”
“Things that are pertinent to our marriage.”
“Like?”
“Your past experiences.” His eyes darkened and voice lowered. “Your sexual expectations.”
At that moment, the waiter returned with a glass of red wine. My eyes skated over to Ezra who provided a soft nod of approval. I didn’t ask what type of wine it was because right then I knew I’d need whatever poison they were offering. I’d never been a sexually expressive person, the boldness came when I met Ezra, but I was damn happy to discuss anything freaky with him.
I took a long gulp of the dry wine. “I don’t understand, but shoot.”
“Let’s start off with your level of experience.”
“How does one gauge that?”
“Easily.” He turned up his lips to express his point. “Do you perceive yourself to be an experienced lover or would you say modest? I’m sure you’re not a virgin.”
My eyes widened. “I don’t know how to answer that. Isn’t that a matter of opinion? I mean, I could tell you I’m the freak of a lifetime and my ex’s could all say I suck—” I grimaced and raised my palm into the air. “No pun intended.”
Unperturbed by my slip up, Ezra moved in closer. “How many partners have you had?”
I choked on my spit.
Shit! “Just ask me my social security number, why don’t you.” I felt my face tighten.
“I don’t have to. I already have it.” His head tilted. “How many, beloved?” And before I could ask—because I was going to ask—he clarified, “Your answer will have no bearing on the status of our engagement, sweetheart. I just need an understanding of where we’d begin our sexual excursion.”
Why did things turn so formal when talking about sex? But that’s what happened with Ezra. He’d find a way to mold the world to fit him. It was a fair question, but extremely personal. I wasn’t comfortable answering it because I didn’t know if that answer should’ve included my attack. Did that night count?
“Three,” I murmured with flared nostrils.
He slowly sat back and then nodded. “Very well. Would you say your partners took the lead in your sexual events, or did you?”
I tried rolodexing my sex life. It was hard to talk about the quality of my old partners when my best sex had come from me. Alone. No one made my toes curl, two couldn’t even make me come doing oral. I never shared with anyone how awkward an act sex was in my mind between men and me and how much I preferred it alone.
“I would say they did, but I did contribute.”
“How?”
My eyes skimmed the area for passing wait staff. “When it was my turn to get off…to…come, I told them what to do to help.” Like I will with you because I’m a fucking glutton for punishment and will die a serial masturbator.
“Did it work?” I found Ezra’s head tilted again. He was deeply invested in this conversation.
Fuck, Ezra!
I swiped the remnants of wine from my lips with my tongue. I could tell him whatever suited me. I didn’t have to continue down this awkward path.
“Don’t lie to me, beloved,” he warned just above a chilling whisper.
My eyes blinked excessively. Now nervous, I reached for my glass again and took a huge gulp. Suddenly, I felt the gravity of my bladder.
Shit! Not this again with him.
I found my eyes rolling as I licked my lips again. “Most times it didn’t.”
Ezra exhaled hard and audibly. I didn’t understand what that meant, but it did break us from what felt like a counseling session. I’d been sitting with Ezra Carmichael, the therapist instead of Ezra, my fiancé. I mean really, if this mattered so much to him, why not fuck now to test the goods and get it out of the way? I could bet he wasn’t all that great. How could he be, growing up as a pastor’s kid then traveling the world, getting a bunch
of fancy degrees before the age of thirty-five?
“What method of birth control are you currently using?”
His question caught me off guard. This awkward conversation wasn’t slowing any time soon I realized. My eyes wouldn’t stop rolling.
I sighed. “Ezra, I’ve already told you I can’t have kids. I don’t see why I’d be on birth control.”
He nodded, but there was something eerie in his eyes when he didn’t respond in kind. I knew this from the faint smirk on his face.
“You must start some form of birth control.” His eyes faltered gently, and then appeared again softly. “Humor me, beloved,” he rasped.
The waiter came with our food—food I didn’t order. So flustered, I didn’t take the opportunity to address his bossiness. I was simply happy for the break. The chicken parmesan was delicious and a wonderful distraction from spilling private details of my personal life to a virtual stranger.
One that I’m marrying.
“So, you’ve not had a satisfactory sex history,” he stated instead of asking.
Fuck it. Why lie?
“Nope!” I popped my lips like a petulant teenager.
“You have a dildo…in your drawer.” My eyes shot up in shock. Then my neck and face heated at the memory of him giving me a hundred damn orgasms with it. “Yes. I recall that night very well, beloved.” That name did all types of things to me. Silly, but true. It could have been the way his timbre dropped and turned husky whenever it hurled from his tongue. “Are you with me?”
My eyes shot up from his mouth to his eyes.
“Ye-yeah. I’m here.” I went for my drink.
“Have you ever used it with a man or is that an implement for private, individual usage.”
“Okay, let me just put it right out there.” I waved my palms in the air, recalling our conversation in my kitchen. “I masturbate…like…a lot. In fact, I do it so often and so well, I prefer me to a man because I know how to set me straight. I guess it’s best to eliminate that expectation. I rub it off a lot…well and am okay with that.” I shrugged and went for my glass again.
I felt a ton of weights being lifted from my shoulders. What a relief. It was important for him to know. It was clear that Ezra could arouse me; he’d done it countless times since the first time I laid eyes on him. I’d be, more than likely, rubbing it off right after he’s done getting off during sex.
“Alexis, do you have any sexual fantasies?” he asked without a flinch.
Oddly, this personal question didn’t cause me to cringe. I was almost expecting him to assure me that he’d be able to get me off without effort. Thought he’d at least save face. But Ezra breezed past my admittance with ease. I quickly thought this question would be an opportunity to turn the tables on this invasive chat. I knew from how adverse he was to pre-marital sex with me that Ezra hadn’t been wrapped in legs in a long time. He was maddeningly serious about his celibacy.
I swallowed my food. “I never had any…until…” I went for my glass and slowly sipped from it.
“Until when?” he asked impatiently.
“Until you tied me up that night after the club.” Strangely, there was lots of truth to this. It was fun bringing him into an answer regarding my sexual life. Also, I knew he’d get a lewd sense of satisfaction from knowing this.
He dropped his utensils in his plate and drew closer to the table. “And?”
“Shit. I can’t believe I’m sharing this,” I whispered, my eyes squeezed shut.
“Mouth, Alexis,” he warned, voice perceptively glacial.
My shoulders collapsed.
I swear I’m gonna do better.
“Go on…” he pushed.
That small act of enticement on his part lit my internal furnace. I shifted in my seat, suddenly feeling the dampness of my crotch.
“And now I can’t stop wondering what it would be like if…” I exhaled, eyelids collapsing in shame again. I bit my bottom lip, clearly embarrassed now. Shame on me for dropping the role of inciter that quickly. “If yo-you went down on me while I was…you know…tied up like that.”
Then he released it. Ezra sat up even straighter in his seat, if that were possible. The vast space between his broad shoulders expanded with sensual wonder. There was no doubt in my mind that there was something…some power in those words I shared. I sensed a predator behind his now lidded eyes.
But was that possible? This is Ezra here, not some ordinary Joe who never stepped foot inside a religious organization, much less being groomed to lead one.
“I’d like that very much, beloved,” his tone heavy with subterranean-level depth. His eyes exploded with unrestrained exhilaration.
There was now something undeniably arousing about this probing conversation. Ezra’s response was like a fragrant carnal promise.
Lex
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM-BOOM!
I leaped from my pillow into a sitting position, hair a packed nest atop my head, eyes wide and wild. Progressively, my heart jolted in panic.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM-BOOM!
That sequence. It rang familiar, but at this early hour it frightened the shit out of me. Ms. Remah had a key and would never bang. She would call if she somehow lost her key. This pounding was urgent, violent.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM-BOOM!
I jumped to my feet, grabbed my phone and punched in 911, prepared to initiate the call if shit popped off.
“Who is it?” I conjured my fiercest bark.
“Open the damn door, Lexi! Now!”
Shit!
I scrambled to the door, phone fumbling and nearly to the floor as I pulled the locks back in a frenzy. It’s only Friday! I wasn’t expecting him. I swung the door open.
“The fuck you mean, you gettin’ married?” Rasul Grier, my aging father barked back, face twisted in a terrifying scowl.
He’d grayed, gained a belly, lost a few teeth, but stubbornly kept his braids. He seemed to have shrunk a few inches, shoulders now curling. But his threatening and incredibly intimidating B-boy stance hadn’t lost an ounce of its menace. My father was flexing, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was at me.
I glanced behind him and found a pensive and fidgeting Peewee, alternating from one hip to the other nervously.
As I widened the door, inviting them in, I sighed, “Thanks a fucking mill, Peewee. You never seem to let me down.”
Though I was relieved he’d taken the bait and broken the news to my overbearing father, my tone was wry, not expecting his second round of venom from hearing the news this early in the morning—because I was sure Peewee bore the brunt of the first explosive round in the car when he spilled the beans.
I padded into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
“Wait a damn minute!” my father howled. “Answer my goddamn question before I black out in this bitch!”
I turned to find him in the doorway, and arched a brow.
“Welcome home, Rasul. How was your ride into the City? Oh, I’m fine. Just up a little early from someone banging down my damn door!” I mocked, hand now on my hip.
“Lex, baby, you gotta understand my position. I get out the can from a six year bid to find out my only child is getting married. I just kicked it with you two months ago and you ain’t say shit about it.”
“Like you want to hear about my dating life.”
He moved into the kitchen and I realized Peewee must have decided, wisely, to keep his ass out of the pan. I could fry his punk ass sometimes. Didn’t respect cowards. However, this time it worked in my favor.
“Where he from?” my father demanded.
“Not here,” I muttered and turned toward the coffee maker.
“Word? Not Harlem World? Then where? The BX, BK?”
“Long Island.”
“L.I.?” He sucked in a breath. “Well, wherever the fuck he from, he ain’t staying here unless he know who the fuck I am.” He pounded his chest, bestially.
That brings me to another contr
oversial fact.
“I’m moving in with him.” I fight for an unperturbed resolve. “To Jersey.”
“What the hell? And where the fuck I’mma go?” He extended his index finger behind him. “With that Remah lady? Oh, hell no! You can cancel that shit!”
I rolled my eyes. Ms. Remah didn’t know or like my father for such an arrangement. They’d seen very little of each other because of my father’s revolving jail and prison stints, but it was clear she didn’t like him and for that reason—and possible jealousy ones of my bond with her—he didn’t like her either.
“She’s moving to Jersey with me.” My back was to him, palms misting.
I heard a chair shriek across the floor. I bounded around and saw that he’d thrown himself into one.
“The fuck, Lex? Why you ain’t tell me before? Parole ain’t gonna let me live in Jersey! No fucking way.” It was painful to watch a fifty-year-old man sulk.
It was also laughable to even consider Ezra allowing Rasul to live on his property…no matter how immense it was.
“You won’t be moving to Jersey. I’ll figure out something.”
That’s what happens when you agree to marry a stranger within just months of knowing them. You don’t smooth out every detail. There’s no time.
Coffee now brewing, I moved to leave the kitchen.
“Where the hell you going?” He took me at the arm. “I just got out the pin and I’m hungry as fuck.”
“To take a damn leak! I just got scared the hell out of my bed.”
I pulled my arm back, trying to avoid rolling my eyes in his face as I paced out of the kitchen.
I figured now that I was up, I could get ready for my doctor’s appointment.
Ezra
“I need her full name, address and a few other pieces of information and I can have the flight booked by the end of the business day, Pastor,” Shannon assured in my Bluetooth device as I pulled onto Alexis’ block.
Perfect. I noted the space almost in front of her building and pulled in to park.
“Would you send me a text itemizing the details you need? I can forward it to Alexis for her to provide.”
“Yes, Pastor. I’ll do that now.”
