Authors: Allison Hobbs
A
t the end of the evening, Matt and the male members of the crew loaded up the van with the heavy equipment. Carrying only her purse and a package of disposable cleaning cloths, Onika ambled to the back of the van and tossed in the package and then strolled over to the front passenger door. “Is it locked?” she yelled to Matt as she placed her hand on the door handle. Matt, still hard at work helping the fellows load up the van, responded by clicking a button to disarm the lock.
“Whassup, Onika? You too cute to help us out back here?” an irritated Cochise asked.
“Stop frontin’, Cochise,” she said, laughing. “You know I don’t do no heavy lifting.”
“Seems like you don’t do much of nothing,” Cochise complained, shooting Matt an accusatory look.
Matt ignored the look and gave an industrial-sized carpet cleaner a hard shove inside the van. With all the equipment accounted for and loaded, Matt slammed the door. “Let’s go, fellows,” he said, wiping his hands down the front of his shirt.
Eager to bring the work evening to a close and more than ready to get his drink on, Theo pulled open the side door and hopped in. Mr. Faison shuffled along behind him. With a tooth
pick jutting defiantly out the side of his mouth, Cochise gave Matt a dark, brooding look before he stepped inside the van.
Matt wondered if Cochise had caught on to his relationship with Onika. He wouldn’t have been surprised. It wasn’t as if he and Onika had been terribly discreet. Yeah, Cochise knew what was up and was probably miffed that while he worked like a mule, Onika barely lifted a finger, yet she made the same amount of money as he.
Matt had no intention of placating Cochise. One wouldn’t expect such a big ole fellow to be so damn temperamental. It was probably that Apache blood or whatever the hell he was mixed up with that made the man so sullen at times. Matt figured that if Cochise didn’t like the way he did business, he could take his recovering alcoholic, Indian-looking self and go work somewhere else. He wasn’t doing Matt any favors. Unskilled labor came a dime a dozen. Cochise should be grateful.
Headed for Chester, Matt wheeled the van onto I-95 south. Mr. Faison fell asleep the moment the wheels started turning. Theo sipped liquor from a Pepsi bottle. Through the rearview mirror, Matt stole a glance at Cochise. Still wearing headphones, the man appeared to be glaring at the back of Onika’s head as she fiddled with her new phone, trying out different ring tones.
Matt felt uneasy. To be honest, he couldn’t afford to lose Cochise. Not just yet. His business was new and without Cochise’s tireless labor, he’d never finish cleaning the three contracted buildings on time. He didn’t want to lose any of his contracts; he wanted to gain more business. So, he supposed he’d better figure out a way to make Cochise happy. Yeah, he was going to have to stop showing favoritism and put Onika to work. She wasn’t going to like it, but he’d make up for it.
After work, the crew got door-to-door service. The men lived at a group home on Seventh and Lloyd Streets in Chester and Onika lived at the women’s home on Ninth and Lloyd. Matt dropped the men off first.
Alone at last with Onika, Matt took a detour and drove farther down Ninth Street and parked on a desolate spot behind Chester High School.
“I’m gonna get in trouble if I stay out here too late,” Onika said. With a troubled look, she looked around the dark street.
“I can vouch for you, baby,” Matt assured her. “I can say we had car trouble or something.”
“Yeah, but will those nosey men back up your story?”
Matt ignored the question and started lifting her dress.
“Stop it, Matt. That shit ain’t cool—not out here in the open.”
“Just one taste, baby. That’s all I want. Can Daddy get one taste before I make that lonely drive back to Philly?”
Onika smiled and shook her head. She pulled her dress up to her waist.
“Climb in the back and lie down.”
Onika climbed to the backseat; Matt quickly joined her. She lay on her back with her knees up and pulled up her dress. Matt parted her knees and crouched between them, sniffing the crotch of the panties that she was now wearing. “I can smell your pussy, baby,” he said, his voice muffled.
Onika cupped his face and held it firmly to her crotch. “What does it smell like?” she asked in a sultry whisper.
Matt took a deep sniff. “It smells nice and musky, baby—like pussy juice that’s been marinating for hours.” Matt surprised himself with his dirty talk. He never used such graphic language with his wife, but Onika brought out the freak in him.
“Taste it,” Onika offered, pulling her panties to the side.
Stretching his tongue until it ached, Matt tried to stick it as deeply as possible. He slurped greedily. Onika quickly pushed his head away. “One taste, Mr. Wheeler, remember? I have to get home before I get in trouble.”
“Stop calling me that,” Matt said angrily as he reluctantly pulled his hungry lips away from Onika’s tasty love hole.
“I’m sorry, but it’s hard to remember what to call you. On the job, I’m supposed to call you Mr. Wheeler and when we’re alone you want me to call you, Matt. It’s confusing having to keep going back and forth like that.”
“I’m sorry, Onika. It’s not you, baby. It’s our situation. You’re a grown woman and yet you have a curfew like you’re somebody’s child. This group home situation is not going to work.” Matt looked off in thought.
Onika checked out the time on her new cell phone. “Mr. Wheeler, I really have to go. If I break curfew and get kicked out, then what?” she asked, her eyes fixed on his.
Matt shook his head. “You don’t get high anymore, do you?”
Onika grimaced. “No!”
“When’s the last time you got high?”
She gave a throaty groan. “I told you—six months ago.”
“Can you stay clean on your own? Do you really need that program?”
Onika shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stay clean on my own.”
“Well, what exactly are those people doing for you besides putting a roof over your head? And a dilapidated roof at that!”
“They make sure I get medical care, they got me the job with you so I can fit back into society, they make sure I attend my group meetings, and—”
“I can handle all that. Look, to hell with that group home. I’m gonna get you your own place. How does that sound?”
Onika gave a nervous smile. “It sounds like a dream, but I’m not gonna front, Mr. Wheeler, I’m scared to be on my own.”
Matt turned sincere eyes toward Onika. “I’ll help you. I’ll make sure you have everything you need—physically, emotionally, and financially. There won’t be any reason for you to get high.”
Onika gave Matt a tight and distant smile. “My counselor said I’m going to have to attend meetings for the rest of my life.”
“Your counselor must be crazy. Those people just want to have control over you. Look at all the rules they make you abide by, and the way they keep tabs on your coming and going. Seems like you’re in some type of cult, if you ask me.”
Onika laughed. “I gotta go.” Slender enough to squeeze through the space between the driver’s seat and passenger’s seat, Onika climbed to the front of the van. Matt, however, got out of the van, opened the front door, and returned to the driver’s seat.
He started the engine. “We gotta find some time to look for a place.” He squinted in thought and then flashed her an encouraging smile. “We have to work Saturday…how about Sunday?”
Onika shifted uncomfortably. “Sounds good,” she said flatly.
When Matt pulled up in front of the group home, he reached over to give Onika a kiss. She weaved away from him. “Chill, Mr. Wheeler. That nosey-ass house manager is probably peeking out the window. And until I’m situated in my own place I’m not taking any chances.”
Disappointed, Matt restrained himself, puckered his lips, and gave Onika an air kiss.
“See you tomorrow night, Mr. Wheeler.”
Matt watched her walk up the steps that led to the front door. He kept his eyes locked on her until the door opened and she
was no longer in view. As he pulled off, he steered with one hand and used the other to unzip his pants. Stimulated by the musty smell on his upper lip and the acrid taste on his tongue, Matt stroked his meat throughout the entire drive home.
H
uddled under the bedspread and pretending to be asleep, Regina lay very still when she heard Matt climbing the stairs. She cringed at the thought of him pulling back the covers with the intention of selfishly awakening her for his own sexual gratification.
If he touches me, I’m going to scream
, she thought.
“Are you asleep?”
Lazily, she shifted her position, pretending he had awakened her. “Huh? What time is it?” She squinted at the clock. It was two-thirty in the morning. “You’re home late.”
“When you’re working for yourself, you can’t leave until the job’s finished,” Matt said defensively as he undressed.
Regina sat up. “I wasn’t being accusatory, Matt. I was just making a statement.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I guess I’m a little on edge because one of my people didn’t show up,” he lied. “And making matters worse, my nineteen-hundred-dollar automatic scrubber broke down on me…it just wasn’t my night,” he added to strengthen his case. “It’s not easy being a black man trying to run a business.”
Regina nodded at her husband sympathetically.
“Baby, I’m tired to the bone,” he said, heading for the shower. When he returned to the bedroom, he pulled back the covers and got in the bed.
Luckily for Regina, Matt was sound asleep and snoring within minutes.
Wide awake, Regina stared into space. The combination of Matt’s thunderous snoring and her racing thoughts kept her from going to sleep. How long could she go on like this? How long should she pretend that her sexuality was inconsequential? At her age, a woman was at the peak of her sensuality, yet Regina felt dead inside. Or was she? She thought about the pillow incident earlier that day. She shook her head in shame. She’d relieved her sexual tension with a damn pillow. Now, that was truly pitiful.
Then she thought about her sex life with Matt. The word that described what he did was
masturbation
. She suddenly realized that her husband, unable to maintain an erection and penetrate normally, had been masturbating on her for years.
Feeling violated and angry, Regina yanked the pillow from beneath Matt’s head. In a deep sleep, he didn’t stir. She folded it, placed it between her thighs, and turned over on her stomach. She conjured an image of the hard, big dick she needed and humped the pillow, but it wasn’t working. Frustrated, she flung the pillow over at her sleeping husband. It landed on his face, but didn’t mute his annoying snores.
Determinedly, she marched downstairs. She searched the fridge and found a perfectly sized cucumber. It was a bit chilly for her intended purpose, so Regina stuck it in the microwave for a couple of seconds and then wrapped it in a sandwich bag. She traipsed up the stairs carrying her homemade dick-in-a-bag.
In the bedroom, she slathered on lubricant, lay next to her comatose husband, and inched in the cucumber. The cucumber provided the girth her finger didn’t possess, the hardness that a pillow couldn’t give, and the stamina her husband had never had.
The volume of the orgasmic groan that escaped her throat surprised her. The internal earthquake that sent shudders throughout her body seemed to cause the bed to shake. It occurred to her that her orgasmic activity might awaken Matt, but she was too caught up in the throes of ecstasy to seriously give a damn.
Regina emitted one last moan as the violent orgasm subsided. Satiated, a wave of sleepiness began to close her eyes. Too tired to properly dispense of the cucumber, she pulled it out and let it roll beneath the covers.
A sweet and peaceful sleep soon claimed her.
R
egina and Matt ate their evening meal in silence. Regina hadn’t created the tension. Due to her self-administered sexual release, her mood was bubbly and playful. Matt, on the other hand, seemed down in the dumps.
She wondered if he’d rolled out of bed that morning and had found the cucumber twisted up in the sheets. She stifled a giggle. It would be a hell of a wake-up call for a man to discover his wife had to resort to fucking a cucumber and it served him right if he did discover his phallus-like replacement. Maybe Matt would go get some medical help if caught a glimpse of his competition.
“What’s wrong, honey? You’re barely touching your food. Aren’t you hungry?” she inquired.
Matt picked at his food and kept looking out the kitchen window. “I’m worried that it’s going to rain. I’m screwed if it rains,” he complained.
“Did you check the Weather Channel?”
“No, I don’t have to; I can tell,” he said grumpily. “Black folks don’t want to work when it rains. I guarantee you, when I pull up at Ninth and Central, I’ll be lucky if two workers show up. If the program was willing to pay for a couple more men I wouldn’t have to constantly worry about the guys showing up when the weather’s bad.”
“The guys? Don’t you have any women working in the program? It seems discriminatory to employ men only.”
“Sure, I have one female worker, but to be honest, she’s just a token. She can’t really handle the equipment or perform the heavy labor. If I employed more women, I’d never get anything done.”
“That’s odd. At my job, our cleaning crew includes women and they handle the same equipment as the men. Anything too heavy to lift is picked up with a dolly. Anyone can do that. I think you need to reconsider your position on hiring women.”
“If you’re looking for an argument about my hiring practices, you can forget about it,” Matt said harshly. “What you observe at the bank can’t compare to being in the trenches with my employees—ex-addicts and alcoholics. People who have to be coddled like babies. Trying to get a good day’s labor out of those rejects is like trying to supervise a bunch of schoolkids. One of my best and strongest men is always bitchin’ because he thinks that my female worker should be pulling down the same amount of work as he does. Now, that’s downright ridiculous.”
“Well, Matt…you have to look on the bright side. The government’s paying you to train these people and you’re getting free labor. It’s a win-win situation any way you look at it,” Regina pointed out.
Matt was silent. Discontent surrounded him like a dark cloud.
Seeing that her husband didn’t want to have his mood brightened, she left him alone and went into the living room. She clicked on the TV and scrolled down to the Weather Channel. “It’s cloudy with a chance of a few light showers, Matt,” Regina called out to her husband. “No torrential rain, so I imagine you’ll be okay.”
“I don’t go by those forecasters,” Matt said as he entered the living room. “Look, in case I end up having to put in some extra
work, I’d like to get an early start. I’ll see you tonight, baby.” He gave Regina a quick peck on the cheek and was out the door.
Good riddance!
Could life get any better? Another day of mercy had been bestowed upon her. No limp dick creating slimy friction against her thigh. She clicked off the TV and went into Matt’s office and turned on the computer. She put in a Google search for sex toys for women and the first thing on the list was: Masturbation Toys for Women—Vibrators!
Excited, she clicked on the link and found herself scanning a delightful array of vibrators. The one that caught her attention was called The Jack Rabbit and featured a pearl pack designed to rotate inside your vagina while the pointed rabbit extension eagerly nibbled your clit. It sounded like exactly what the doctor ordered. No more pillows or cucumbers for her. She excitedly clicked a button, input her credit card number, and paid extra for one-day FedEx delivery. Dreamily, she imagined the convulsive orgasms she’d be experiencing soon.