A Weekend Affair

by Noelle Vella

  “Well, Mr. Robinson, the earliest we can get you in is one hour from now. Is that acceptable?”

  “That would be fine.”

  I figured Shell would need that amount of time to go shopping.

  “Would that be a massage for just your wife or a couple’s massage?”

  “Couple’s massage.”

  “And would you like fifty or eighty minutes?”

  I thought about it. The more time I had alone with Shell the better. “Fifty is good.”

  “And, sir, is the number we have on file your home or cell phone number?”

  “Cell.”

  “Okay, then, we have you and Mrs. Robinson scheduled for one hour from now for a fifty-minute couple’s massage. The spa will call you fifteen minutes beforehand to remind you. Anything else for you, Mr. Robinson?”

  “No, that’s it. Thanks.”

  “And thank you for staying at the Omni. If there’s anything else you need, please feel free to let us know,” Johnnie said, still over the top.

  As we stepped away from the front desk, Shell stopped me.

  “Carl, why did you say I was your wife?”

  “Would you prefer I said you were my mistress? Or maybe the woman I met and slept with less than twenty-four hours ago?” I quipped.

  “Not funny. I was just asking a question. You don’t have to be an ass about it,” she said, pouting.

  I replied, “I’ve been called worse. Now, come on.”

  She stood firm. “No. Not until you tell me why you’re doing all this.”

  Sighing, I asked her, “Do you remember what I said to you when we were in the parking lot last night?”

  She paused, as if searching her memories. “Carl, you said a lot of things last night. Please just tell me.”

  I could tell she wasn’t in the mood for games, so I begrudgingly relented. “I told you we could pretend that I’m your husband and you’re my wife, and all I wanted to do was make you happy. And that’s what I intend to do. Now, follow me.”

  I took her by the hand, first leading her to the Palmetto Market to buy some toiletries. We then headed to Omni Shores, the hotel’s exclusive boutique.

  Shell stopped at the entrance as if a barrier was in front of her. “What are you waiting for?” I questioned.

  “I can’t afford any of this,” she protested.

  “You can’t, but I can,” I countered.

  A saleswoman approached us. “Hi. Welcome to Omni Shores. My name is Tracey. Can I help you find something?”

  “Yes, Tracey, my wife needs a few things. Can you help her out?” I reached in my wallet, pulling out my American Express Centurion Card, handing it to her.

  She looked at it, saying, “Yes, Mr. Robinson. Whatever she needs.” She smiled, then said to Shell, “Mrs. Robinson, please come with me. Anything in particular . . .” her voice trailed off as she led Shell through the store.

  I took a seat in the waiting area, checking my messages. Dali continued to call and text. Just like before, she got no response. I also received a text message from my sister, Anastasia, or Ana, for short. She was the second-oldest sibling, being ten years my junior at thirty years old. She was about to graduate from Columbia University with a Ph.D. in pharmacology. I was very proud of her. Her text was simply a heart; her way of telling me she loved me. I responded in kind.

  Despite our age difference, Ana and I were pretty close. So much so that when one of her ex-boyfriends attempted to put his hands on her, I was the first person she called. Needless to say, after the ass whooping I gave him, he never bothered her again.

  I had four other siblings. Twenty-seven year old Porshia was a graduate student at the Fashion Institute of Technology studying Global Fashion Management. Malina, twenty-five, worked as a nurse in the neonatal intensive care unit at NYU Langone Medical Center. My nineteen-year-old brother Darian was still trying to find himself, but his time was running out. I told him he had one year after high school to make a decision about what he wanted to do with his life. After that, he either had to go to school or find a job, because he would not be living off of my mother, which essentially meant living off of me. The baby of the family, Nathaniel, was fifteen. He was a freshman in a very exclusive prep school.

  I gave all my siblings the same deal; do well in school with nothing less than a B+ average and I would fully subsidize them. All their needs were covered by me, including clothing, tuition, books, electronics, and an allowance to cover day-to-day expenses. I even bought the older ones co-ops close to school in order to decrease travel time.

  I made them all sign contracts agreeing to my terms. I had full access to their online grades. That way, I could keep track of them. If they fell short, they knew the consequences. Allowances would be decreased and certain privileges would be revoked until grades came back up. And if they didn’t come back up, they would eventually be cut off. Luckily, I never had to go that far.

  Some may have thought my methods were harsh, but I saw it as making sure my sisters and brothers lived up to their fullest potential. I wanted them to make the most of the opportunities presented to them, like I did.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t do the same for my mother. Raped by her mother’s husband from the time she was ten, she never really had a chance to see what life had to offer. Her stepfather got her pregnant when she was only thirteen, then made her get an abortion. After that, she stayed in one dysfunctional relationship after another, including the one she had with my sperm donor, a married man who played on her daddy issues and knocked her up when she was fifteen.

  Even her relationship with her own mother was dysfunctional. Mom claims that woman didn’t know about the abuse. I call bullshit. There was no way she couldn’t have known what was going on, living in a small, two-bedroom shack in Mississippi. That’s why, to this day, if that bitch was on fire, I wouldn’t spit on her to help her out. And that son-of-a-bitch sperm donor of mine . . . let’s just say I better not ever see him on the street.

  Because of everything that she went through, I didn’t press Mom too hard. Even though I had to take responsibility for the household, becoming the man of house way too early, I understood why she was the way she was. I got used to managing her money in order to make sure all the bills were paid, there was food on the table, and everyone had clothes on their backs. I organized the house so everyone got up on time for school every morning, did their chores, and had their homework done before bedtime, all the while still going to school myself. As they say, I pulled myself up by my bootstraps, so my brothers and sisters had no excuse for not doing the same.

  To hear Diego tell it, that was why I never dated black women; because they reminded me too much of my mother and my fucked-up childhood. He had been saying that for years. Personally, I think he’s full of shit, but he is entitled to his opinion.

  I was pulled out of my thoughts by the vibration of my phone. It was Dali . . . again. Dammit. I answered in the hopes that she was agreeing to the terms of the divorce. No such luck.

  “Yeah,” I answered dryly.

  “Hello, Carl. I was just checking to see if you had a chance to think about what I had said earlier.”

  I took a deep breath, not wanting to show my natural ass in the boutique. “There’s nothing to think about. I want a divorce, plain and simple.”

  “But, Carl, why would you want to throw away seventeen years of marriage?”

  Was this bitch really asking me that? To hell with showing my ass. I stepped outside.

  “Why would I throw away seventeen years? You did that shit, Dali, not me. You’re the one who destroyed our marriage. Do us both a favor and stop calling me with this bullshit before I say something I definitely will not regret.” I gave her the dial tone. Then I proceeded to block her calls and text messages.

  As I walked back into the boutique, Shell was coming toward the front of the store. She observed the look of irritation on my face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. What’s up?”

&n
bsp; She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. I could tell she wanted to press me further, but thought better of it, instead, continuing with her reason for seeking me out.

  “Uh, Carl, yeah, about these prices, I can get a full wardrobe at Walmart for the price of one of these items.”

  “Your point being?” I queried, once again taking a seat.

  “These things are really expensive.”

  “Again, so what’s your point?” I folded my hands, resting my chin on them.

  “Carl—”

  I had had my fill of Walmart growing up. At one point, things had gotten so bad that, aside from food, we had to buy mostly everything else on layaway. Which was why I had an aversion to shopping there now.

  “Look, Shell,” I said, cutting her off, “I told you I was going to treat you like you’re my wife. Well, this is how I treat my wife. You can shop at Walmart on your own time, but right now, you’re on mine, so run along,” I said, shooing her away, a smile on my face.

  “Fine,” she muttered, walking away.

  A few minutes later she returned. She tried on one dress, modeled it for me, asking my opinion.

  “Nah, looks like a muumuu.”

  She put her hands on her full hips, glowering at me. Then she gave me the finger.

  “Later,” I said, laughing.

  When she came back, she had on a sea-foam-green sundress. It was very flattering, showing off her cleavage, thick hips, and round ass. “Yeah, I like that,” I said appraisingly.

  “Figures,” she teased. “It shows off my boobs.”

  “Yes, it does. And the view from here is outstanding.”

  She rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at me before walking back to the fitting room.

  “I’m going to hold you to that,” I yelled.

  By the time Shell was done, she had picked out two bras with matching boyshorts, a red and white tank top, a pair of red capris, the sundress, a pair of silver thong sandals, and a silver jewelry set consisting of a matching bracelet, necklace, and earrings. Just as we walked up to the register, my phone rang. It was the spa reminding us that our appointment was in fifteen minutes.

  “Will there be anything else for you, Mr. and Mrs. Robinson?”

  I looked at Shell, making sure she was satisfied with what she had picked out.

  “I’m good,” she stated.

  “Thank you, Tracey, that will be all,” I said.

  Once she rang up the purchases, Shell and I took her bags to the room before walking over to Hilton Head’s Luxury Spa Resort. Upon our arrival, we were greeted by two staff members, one male, one female. The female spoke up. “Good afternoon. Mr. and Mrs. Robinson?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Welcome to Hilton Head’s Luxury Spa Resort. My name is Miranda, and this is Rob. We’ll be giving you your massages today. If you will follow us, we will take you to your room.”

  As we passed through the main sitting area, I noticed the furniture color scheme of blues, browns, and tans. It blended well with the camel-colored carpet. The chairs were all loungers, some that were extra long, and some with removable ottomans. They all had several throw pillows and a blanket on them.

  Miranda led us into a room that contained two massage tables with two work tables set up next to them. The work tables contained what I assumed were massage oils. “You can change in here. Rob and I will be back in a few minutes,” she said, closing the door behind her.

  Shell looked at me, a smile on her face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’m just having a good time is all,” she said, attempting to cover up as she changed her clothes.

  “I don’t know why you’re doing that now,” I chided. “I’ve already seen your goods,” I said playfully, taking off my clothes.

  I could have sworn I made her blush. We both put our clothes neatly on the two chairs at opposite ends of the small room. Just as we climbed onto the massage tables and covered ourselves with the sheets provided, we heard a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Shell said.

  Miranda and Rob reentered the room, closing the door behind them. “Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, you’re in for a real treat. Our couple’s massage is a classic therapeutic, Swedish-style massage that uses light to moderate touch performed in synchronized unison. When we’re done, you’ll be left feeling relaxed, refreshed, and rejuvenated. Now, for your music, would you prefer New Age, classical, or smooth jazz?”

  “Smooth jazz, thank you,” I replied.

  “Okay, well, let’s get started.”

  I wasn’t really one for getting a massage, but after the past few months I had, I needed something to relax. As Miranda worked her magic, I started to feel my stress fade away, all the bullshit in my life taking a backseat for the moment. Before closing my eyes, I looked over at Shell. She already had her eyes closed. She looked very peaceful.

  Before I knew it, I heard a bell go off indicating the end of our session.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, our time is up. On behalf of Rob and myself, we would like to thank you for staying at the Omni,” Miranda said. “We don’t need the room for another thirty minutes, so please feel free to take your time getting dressed. Enjoy the rest of your stay.”

  With that, she and Rob exited, leaving Shell and me alone.

  I sat up, then climbed down from the massage table, walked to the chair containing my clothes, and pulled out my wallet, placing a twenty-dollar bill in the envelopes sitting on each work table. Shell finally rose, looking very relaxed. She took a long stretch, causing the sheet she was wrapped in to fall lower on her breasts. I walked over to her.

  “Feeling good?” I asked.

  “Very good,” she replied, a look of contentment on her face.

  “I can make you feel even better. Let me give you a happy ending,” I said, pulling the sheet down further, fully exposing her abundant breasts. I placed my hands over each nipple, massaging them.

  “Carl, we can’t. They’ll be back soon,” she said, her body betraying her, as she closed her eyes, a soft moan escaping her lips.

  “We have thirty minutes. That’s plenty of time,” I said.

  One hand still fondled her breasts, while the other reached under the sheet. Using my knee, I parted her thighs, then ran a finger up and down her damp slit. When I inserted it between her folds, it caused her to hiss. My thumb ran across her clit. Her head went back as she bit her bottom lip. I continued to caress her breasts, all the while finger fucking her and teasing her clit. I could tell by the way her pussy was starting to pulse that she was going to come soon.

  I wanted to put my dick inside her so badly my balls ached. We didn’t have enough time for that now, but we would later.

  I leaned in close, whispering in her ear, “Has your husband ever made you feel this?”

  “What?” She opened her eyes, a confused look on her face.

  I looked her squarely in the eyes. “You heard me. Has your husband ever made you feel like this?”

  “Yes . . . well, no,” she panted.

  I inserted another finger and quickened my strokes.

  “That’s what I thought. When you get back home and you’re in your bed at night, I want you to remember who made you feel like this, remember who made your pussy wet like this,” I baited. I felt her walls contract as she buried her face in my chest, stifling her screams of passion. “And remember who made you come like this.”

  I only stopped once her body stopped shaking. When she was done, I removed my fingers from her sopping wet pussy, lifting her chin up with my other hand. I kissed her slowly.

  “Now, get dressed,” I told her, just as everything went dark.

  Chapter 17

  Mischelle

  A blackout? I couldn’t believe it. I rushed to put my clothes back on. One of the masseuses had come back in to inform us of the power outage in the hotel. My lady parts were soaking wet because Carl had decided to play hide-and-seek with his fingers inside of me.

&nb
sp; “Don’t panic,” Carl said to me. “A place like this should have backup generators or something.”

  “I’m not panicking. I just need to be sure Gabby’s okay.”

  “Why wouldn’t she be? She’s with Diego.”

  “What’s that mean? I still need to be sure she’s okay.”

  I could hear Carl’s belt buckle clinking as he pulled his pants on. Since the massage room had little candles lit about, we weren’t in total blackness. Once dressed, he took my hand and led me from the room. I liked that about Carl. He was always in control. Never seemed flustered. Even though he made it known his marriage was on the rocks, he didn’t seem fazed.

  “Why not just use your cell?”

  “It’s dead.”

  “Diego and I are on the same floor. When we get to the room, we can call his room to see if she’s there. Cool?” he asked me as we made our way to the elevators.

  It took us a minute to get on as the elevator line was long and the electricity was out so the line wasn’t moving. By the time the lights had come back up, the staff of the Omni was walking around apologizing for the inconvenience, assuring everyone that they had everything covered. We hopped on the elevator with about seven other people. It was a tight squeeze. Carl stood against the back wall and pulled me against him. I felt a little flushed. I could feel his manhood pressed against my back. One arm was wrapped around my waist like I belonged to him.

  Shell, what in hell are you doing? I asked myself.

  Having fun?

  Playing with fire?

  What?

  I had no answers for the questions floating around in my head. All I knew in that moment was that Carl’s protective hold felt good to me. It made me feel safe. It had been awhile since Malik had held me that way. The elevator dinged for the fifth floor. Carl and I waited for everyone else to get off before we did. We walked hand in hand down the hall.

  “How old are you?” I asked him out of the blue.

  He looked down at me. “Forty. Why?”

  Both my brows rose. “You’re forty?”

  I looked him up and down. Damn, forty was looking like that these days? I thought. I guess the old adage good black don’t crack was real.