In The Company of My Sistahs Page 8

  “But would you try it?”

  The way he scrunched up his face you would have thought he was about to take a shit. “No way. That’s voodoo, mon.”

  “Well, when I was a kid my mother used to send my dad to the butcher for chicken feet.” Langley’s brow rose. “Yeah, I know. My mama’s ass was crazy. Anyway, she would fry them and put it on our plate along with macaroni and cheese and Brussels sprouts or some other green shit. Anyway, it was considered a norm in my household like chicken thighs is obviously a norm in yours.”

  I could tell the exact moment when my point came across because he gave me a wide dimple smile.

  “Now, if you’re not even willing to try sucking on some chicken feet, how the hell you gonna get pissed off because I don’t want no goddamn chicken thighs?”

  He started laughing, and his boy, who obviously had been listening, started laughing also. Shit, he probably thought I had made that shit up, but I was for real. The butcher probably thought our asses was so poor we couldn’t afford anything on the chicken but the damn feet. He must have felt sorry for my stepfather because he used to give him those feet for free. My sister and I used to suck between toenails looking for meat. When I think about that shit now, I wonder why I didn’t realize until I was thirteen that my mother’s ass was crazy. Shit, my stepfather was just as crazy for going to the store and picking up them damn feet.

  Langley carried over a plate of Jamaican jerk pork. I scooted over to the last stool and grabbed a fork. The blackened meat was hot and spicy. I swallowed it down with my rum punch.

  “So, what do you think?” He gave me a look that reminded me of a child after showing his mother a picture he had drawn in art class.

  “Mmm, very good. Hot as shit, but good.”

  I glanced over at his jug-head friend, who was grinning as he prepared plates for two teenagers that came up to the hut. They looked like college students with their perfect bodies and long blond hair.

  “Where’s your husband?” Langley asked me. He leaned against the counter and stared down into my mouth as I ate.

  I took my time chewing my food before I spoke. “Who said I got a husband? Do you see a ring on my finger?” I wiggled my hand in his face.

  “No, mon. But that doesn’t mean nothing in America.”

  I had to laugh at that because he was right, it didn’t mean shit. Take me, for example. I wore my wedding ring the first year of my marriage, then suddenly I became “allergic” to gold. I’d wear it Monday through Thursday, but on Friday the sucker was itching so bad, it came off the finger. Seriously, although Lisa says it’s some psychological bullshit I came up with so I could party on the weekends, ring free. I tried showing her the red irritated line but she wasn’t hearing that shit. Not that it mattered. A brotha could care less. In fact, some of them consider a married woman more of a challenge.

  “No husband. I’m here with my friends.”

  “Are they as lovely as you?” he inquired.

  Now how the hell was I supposed to answer a question like that? Hell naw, they ain’t as lovely as me. Instead I said, “I don’t hang around with no ugly people.”

  I could have stood there and flirted with him all evening but the line was growing long and I already had one hook-up for the evening. I would save Langley for another time. “I’ll catch you later.” I wiggled my fingers, then spun on my heels and headed toward the beach.

  I took a seat in a chaise that was all the way at the edge of the beach. Every time a large wave came, water spilled around my ankles and feet. That shit was refreshing, to say the least. While I sat there eating my food my thoughts drifted to my husband.

  He had been so disappointed to hear that I preferred to go to Jamaica with my friends instead of him. We had just gone to the Bahamas the year before on a cruise. I spent more time in the bed with my legs up in the air than I did out on the deck enjoying the ship. I don’t know why a man thinks if you go somewhere romantic all there is to do is fuck. Sure, I don’t mind a little dick from time to time but not all the damn time. If I am paying good money to visit an exotic location then goddammit, I want to get my money’s worth. If I wanted to fuck all day, I could have stayed home and stared at my own damn ceiling. I couldn’t get John to understand that so I made sure that Lisa told him it was her idea. Sure enough, she told him she needed to spend some time alone with her sister, and he bought that shit.

  I shoveled the last piece of pork in my mouth, then set my plate beside me. Glancing up from my drink, I spotted Kayla heading my way. I tried to hide the scowl on my face. I just couldn’t understand why she was so ashamed of her body. I mean, I know she big, but damn, if you’re that embarrassed why not do something about it. That probably sounded insensitive, because I know losing weight is no easy task. I tried many times and failed. Believe it or not, after I gave birth to Tamara, I was wearing a size fourteen for years, until one day I looked in the mirror and saw the rolls around my waist and said, “Enough with this shit!” I started running three times a week and cutting back on my sweets. It was a tough hill to climb but I did it.

  Anyway, I know it takes willpower and that is one thing I know my girl is lacking. She has very low self-esteem that shows. And it’s a shame, because she is so pretty.

  Kayla flopped down in the chair beside me. “I should have known you’d have a drink in your hand.”

  I sucked my tongue. “Hell, yeah. I’m on vacation.” I took another sip. “Where’s Nadine and Lisa?”

  “They’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  I took a deep breath and allowed my body to completely relax. Sitting near the ocean there was a nice cool breeze.

  “How’s John?”

  I glanced over at her, then back out onto the water. I had wondered how long it was going to take before she got around to mentioning him.

  I picked up my sunglasses, slid them on, and stretched out in the chair before speaking.

  “Fine ... I guess.”

  “You guess? When was the last time you spoke to him?”

  “A couple of weeks ago.”

  She shook her head. “Y’all got the weirdest marriage. So, have you decided what you’re gonna do?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “You need to just go on down to Delaware. You know that man is waiting on you.”

  “I know he’s waiting. He bought that big old house and he’s waiting for us to join him.”

  Kayla squinted her eyes. “So what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is, I don’t want to be with him. But because he’s so nice, I don’t know how to tell him.”

  Kayla looked at me as if I had lost my damn mind. “Renee, he’s a good man with a good job. He doesn’t cheat. You don’t have to work. I don’t understand you.”

  “Because there is so much more to it than that.” I inhaled deeply. “I’m so sick of people thinking I’ve got it made. Y’all just don’t know what I have to go through.”

  “I’m listening.”

  I sighed heavily. “I just don’t love him.”

  Kayla was thoughtful for a moment before saying, “I don’t think you know what love is.”

  “Maybe I don’t, but I know what love isn’t, and it’s my relationship with John. I married him for all the wrong reasons and that was my fault. I have tried so hard to love that man and look past all his faults and I can’t.” How can I get people to understand that I’ve made a mistake? What’s even harder is getting myself to truly accept that I’ve made a mistake and then finding the strength to move on.

  “What bothers me the most is that he is exactly the same man I married three years ago. I knew then that his dick was little and that he was too damn old, yet I tried to convince myself that neither of those things matter. All that mattered was that he was a good man who was willing to do anything to make me happy. Yet money and stability is not enough.”

  Kayla sucked her teeth. “Girl, I would love for a man to help me and the girls.”

  “Yeah, but
at what expense? I feel that I have given up a piece of who I am to be with him. Yeah, maybe I don’t have to work but that privilege comes at a cost. John wants a wife to cook his meals, clean his house, and cater to his needs. At one time I was so excited to be able to do those things because I never had the luxury. For years I had been working two jobs and going to school at night to get my degree, then I lose my job, and here comes John offering to marry me so I wouldn’t have to worry about health benefits, and rushing to find another dead-end job. He put this fairy-tale life in front of me on a silver platter and I grabbed it. And as soon as the excitement wore off, I’ve been regretting it ever since.

  “You know, my sister told me that I didn’t know how to have normalcy in my life. That I live for drama and disruption, and don’t you know she had my ass thinking that maybe she was right. Maybe I don’t know how to have a real relationship, and because of it I keep trying to make things work between John and I.”

  “Does he have any idea?”

  I shrugged. “I think he does, but he chooses to ignore it. He loves me so much it’s scary. So many times I find myself looking for reasons to end our relationship, searching for an excuse to get out of the marriage, and can’t ever seem to find one.”

  “Well, you can’t blame the man.”

  “No, but I truly believe it is unfair for me to continue to stay with him. I refuse to sleep with him but once a week, and even then I feel sick to my stomach.”

  “Poor John.”

  I swung around on the seat and glared at her. “Poor John? What about me?” I asked with straight attitude. “Every time he touches me I feel like I’m being raped.”

  Kayla’s eyes were wide. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, it is a terrible feeling. You just don’t know what it feels like to have some big fat man on top of you huffing and puffing when you don’t want to be touched by him. He spends almost an hour kissing and caressing every part of my body, telling me how much he loves me, and it drives me crazy. Then he makes love to me slowly, trying to savor the moment, and I want to scream. I can’t even get on top and control the moment because his thing is too damn short. Doggy style is a big waste of time because he can’t seem to do that shit right or maybe it’s because his dick is too short to hit my spot. So instead I lie there on my back and fake an orgasm just so he’ll come and get the fuck off of me.” I reached for my drink, feeling tears at the back of my throat. “I can’t continue like that.”

  “Dang, girl. I didn’t know it was that bad.” Kayla actually looked like she truly felt sorry for me.

  “It’s worse. But I also know it is unfair to him. He is a wonderful man and he deserves a chance to be happy with someone else. And I think the best thing I could ever do for him is let him go so that he has a chance to meet someone that’s right for him.”

  “So what are you going to tell him?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I can’t tell him the truth. I’ve tried to come up with every possible excuse and still haven’t been able to come up with shit.”

  “Well, it should be easier since the two of you aren’t living together.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I just can’t see telling him something like that over the phone. He’s flying to Missouri in two weeks, so I guess I’ll have to tell him then.”

  Letting go had always been easy. All I needed was a reason to justify my actions and then I could walk away. That was the case with both my first and second husband. But what I find with John is that it’s not going to be that way. Because this time I don’t have a legitimate reason, except that he doesn’t satisfy me in bed, but I knew that long before I said “I do,” only I chose to ignore it.

  I have never met a nicer man. John’s kind, considerate. Ever since I told him I was unhappy he has been doing everything in his power to make things better. He doesn’t have a clue that nothing is going to make a difference. So far, I haven’t had the heart to tell him so.

  You’re probably thinking, “Renee, that heartless bitch, when does she have feelings for anyone?” Well, believe it or not, I am considerate of other’s feelings, especially when they’ve been nothing but good to me.

  I look at John with a stomach as wide as his smile and the gold band shining on his left hand, and I want to cry because I wish I could be everything he wants me to be. And it hurts because I can’t. Lord knows I’ve tried. We’ve been married for three years and I have been miserable for two. For one year I played the role of Suzy Homemaker, cooking, cleaning, catering to his every sexual need, and even before the twelve months were up I was asking myself what the hell was I doing trying to be someone I was not. However, I continued to try.

  Every time he reached under the covers and placed his hand on my knee, I cringed. My entire body would stiffen, and I would hope that by me not responding he would leave it alone, but he never does. The last time we were together was two months ago. As soon as I brought him home from the airport he mentioned he was exhausted, so we moved to the bedroom and I lay across the bed while he took a nap. The kids were still at school so it was a good time for a little rest and relaxation. Just as my eyes began to close, I felt his hand caressing the inside of my thigh. I tried to pretend I was already asleep.

  “How about giving your husband a little bit?” he whispered close to my ear.

  I didn’t respond, hoping he would just leave me the fuck alone, but since he hadn’t had any coochie in months I should have known better.

  His hand started traveling up my thigh, then, as I held my breath, he reached under my shirt. I wasn’t wearing a bra, so he had easy access to my breasts. He took my nipple between his thumb and pointer finger and began to tweak it. Now I have always considered my nipples my weak spot. All it took was tweaking it just so lightly to get me turned on, but with John it became a turn-off.

  He shifted on the bed and raised my shirt so that he could feast his eyes on my breasts, then as I laid there the entire time like a board, he moved his hand to my left nipple while he captured the right with his lips. Eventually feelings of arousal sailed through me, and even though I wanted to moan I didn’t because with John if you responded his ass would never stop. So I continued to lay there as he suckled and tweaked one nipple and then the other over and over again until I lost the moment and was ready to scream. I held it in because I have told him many times before that my nipples were going to fall the fuck off from him playing with them so damn much. However, talking to him was like talking to a rock. He never remembered and the torture continued until he was done.

  He paused long enough to slide my pants and underwear down my hips, then his lips traveled past my belly button to the patch of hair between my legs. I parted my thighs so he could have access and started counting in my head. He found my clit and suckled while his fingers continued to tweak my nipples like they were the knobs to a damn transistor radio. I tried not to think about my poor nipples and concentrated on his tongue. Beneath the hooded skin, he found my spot and suckled but I knew better to respond for long because the more you responded the harder and longer he sucked until he made me so damn mad I had to push his mouth away.

  John rolled over to his side of the bed, then took my hand and guided it to his dick, which I wasn’t surprised to find was still soft.

  “Play with it.”

  I cringed inwardly before I allowed my fingers to wrap around the base of his dick and stroke it up and down. The entire time he continued to play with my damn nipples. I lay there, asking myself, “why the hell am I doing this?” I wanted to cry because his eyes were closed and he was smiling and mumbling how much he loved his wife, and all I could think about is how pitiful this mothafucka is.

  Finally, when I was seconds away from giving up, his dick got hard. John quickly positioned himself between my legs and tried to find my coochie. It was so dry it took several attempts at pushing before I finally reached over and grabbed the damn K-Y Jelly and lubricated his semihard dick. It took a few minutes of stroking to bring him back to hi
s full erection, then I guided him to my coochie and helped him find my damn hole.

  He slid in quickly and lowered his three-hundred-plus body on top of me and began to pump. I rocked my hips slightly and tried to find a rhythm, which we can never find.

  Finally, he lifted his weight off of me and I breathed freely until his hands found my nipples again. All I wanted was to get the shit over with. I tightened the walls of my coochie and tried rocking harder because I know moaning and faking an orgasm is the only way he is going to get the fuck off of me.

  If only his dick was just a little longer, then maybe he could reach my spot. I’ve tried putting my legs on his shoulders but all I get is his weight slamming against my body. If he had a dick, he would be something fierce in the bedroom, but that isn’t the case so there is no point in wishing.

  He lowered his weight over me again and pumped faster and faster while he still had one hand plastered to my left nipple.

  “Yes, baby,” I moaned on cue.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  “Uh-huh,” I whispered.

  I rocked my hips harder to meet each of his strokes and when he cried, I cried. When he moaned, I moaned, and when he finally came, I pretended to come with him. Then he rolled over and within seconds he fell asleep while I lay beside him and allowed the tears to fall freely.

  “Here come Nadine and Lisa,” Kayla said, breaking into my thoughts.

  I slid my glasses on top of my head and grinned. “Check her ass out. Nadine, that suit is cute.” For once she had on something that wasn’t country. The one-piece was made for someone with big titties and a short torso. “Lisa, you look good, too.”

  “Thanks. Michael bought this for me.” She took a seat at the bottom of my chair.

  “Must be nice to have a man to buy you things,” Kayla said with envy.

  “Girl, this is a first, because most of the shit he buys me is either too big or something my damn grandma would wear.”

  We laughed.

  “Shit. John’s the same way. That’s why I tell his ass to just give me the money instead.”