Sensuality (21 page)

“Lorna!”

Before she becomes tense, before she can open her eyes and spy the tiny red spider crawling on the rusty shelf just beside her bare thigh, before another drop of sweat can drip from her bangs, before she spits another explicit curse…brawny, bronze hands lift her modest ass up off the shelf. He holds her up above the height of the highest bottles, his mighty erection pointed skyward, only a breath away from her raw lips, and slams her down hard back onto him. And holds her there for an extended stay.

Lorna has no words. Her mouth and eyes are as wide as her legs. Her inside walls leap uncontrollably around his exquisite dick and an involuntary tremor sends her foot flying, kicking a robust jug of Carlo Rossi Chablis to the cement floor.

“Lorna, are you in here?” calls Tom, limping into the last aisle of the liquor store. He is bruised, his clothes torn. He walks down the empty last aisle past aging bottles of Northern California cabernet sauvignon, in search of his wife, broken glass and a pool of white wine beneath his sensible loafers. Tom inhales a vaguely familiar scent, and follows it to the open door at the end of the back aisle.

It is clear that Lorna Landry can no longer focus on the job at hand. She can’t seem to remember to press record on the MiniDV camera. She can barely drag herself out of bed for the eight
A.M.
vigilante call times. She hasn’t eaten a full meal in weeks. Not since the Bronze Bomber filled her to capacity. The withdrawal is unbearable, and her husband, Tom, takes notice.

He knows Lorna better than anyone. He believes he knows her better than she knows herself. An arrogant and haughty asshole, yes, but Tom has reason. He plucked Lorna from relative graduate school obscurity and molded her into a scholar after his own heart. He intuitively pegged her for an insecure and self-conscious young woman in need of direction. He promptly assumed the role, under the guise of academic advisor and mentor, crafting a secret map for her future, then carefully pulling the strings as she traveled along.

It never occurred to Lorna that her success was prefabricated. It never occurred to her that Tom isn’t the man of her dreams, despite being twice her age and physically unappealing. They both know their limits. The roles in their marriage are clearly defined. It was never about passion and attraction. Tom would never be able to satisfy her sexually, that much he always knew. Their arrangement is about success and accolades. And together they amassed many.

They are on the brink of national, perhaps international recognition. Their vigilante efforts and staunch stance on illegal immigration are catching on. Small news clippings are now turning into features and radio interviews. Any activity on Capitol Hill involving immigration translates into atten
tion on their cause from local media. They know it is only a matter of time before the coveted elite media like CNN and the
New York Times
take notice.

So when Tom notices for the first time that his young wife is not responding to his prompts, that she is exhibiting signs of weakness, he takes action. He immediately removes her from photography duty and assigns her busywork. On this day, while Tom is out chasing down illegals, he sends her on an elaborate errand, which takes her to the outskirts of town, where a white woman driving solo in a luxury car is as conspicuous as a carcass to a vulture.

And there he is. Lorna sees his back first. Wide and sculpted. Then his ass. Rounded with muscles and draped in faded tan. He stands among a small group of white men this time. Employers, Lorna reasons. She sits in her car across the street, watching him, the task that sent her there suddenly a distant memory. Fear of her surroundings, gone. She has no way of knowing that Tom is her ubiquitous benefactor, even now. Her two fingers sinking deep inside her, bathed in her own sweet water before taking wide, lingering laps around her pulsing pleasure point, is her only urgent concern.

He is soon her full-time endeavor.

They fuck in her car, in dark theaters and well-lit parking lots, in Balboa Park, on the same countertop where Tom neatly cuts his morning bananas, in her two-car garage, in the shower of her guest bathroom, on the toilet seat of the master bath. But her favorite place is, by far, the bed she shares unceremoniously with her husband. That makes her feel like a woman, bound by strong hands and begging for mercy, her face buried in her own pillows. At night, when
it’s just her and Tom, she lies on her stomach and defiantly circles her own throbbing clit with her power hand draped in a tiny Mexican flag.

At first, Lorna’s instinct is to inspect his brown back intently for bruises and bug bites. Migratory scars, outward signs of a hard, indigent life. But beyond the work gear, he is groomed meticulously. A cultural anomaly, she thinks. He is more frat boy than farm boy. And what is that fragrance? Her nose had been trained to expect a nauseous mingling of sweat, soil, and
sofrito.
But he smells oddly cosmopolitan. Manly.

She forbids him from speaking Spanish in her presence. It is like fingernails on a chalkboard to her ears. So she does all of the postcoital talking while he listens intently. She sits for hours, telling him secrets of an unfulfilling marriage, of waning interest in her academic career, of longing to retire early to the expanse of the Rocky Mountains, of the complex and corrupt underbelly of American immigration politics. He sits perched, staring a hole through her, and she can’t help singing like a mariachi. It’s all a joke to Lorna, and she laughs long and hard after every long and hard prompt from the mighty illegal pipe.

Lorna is content with these untranslated confessions. The release is what she has been craving. Before now she was sure that presenting research to a group of receptive scholars was her calling. Now she’s certain she is at her absolute best perched on all fours with a tongue wagging, lathering her from top to bottom. She now straddles a big dick with pride and confidence, having never even seen one up close before then. She devours it at random intervals while riding, videotapes it from every sordid angle.

Instead of restoring focus and order to Tom’s self-interests, the sex sends Lorna spiraling with disinterest. Again at his wit’s end, Tom takes action.

“Good afternoon. United States Customs and Border Protection. Pedro Hernández González speaking. How may I help you?”

“Pete, how the heck are you? It’s Tom Landry calling.”

“Tom Landry, as in the legendary football coach? Or Tom Landry, as in my old buddy, the prick who still owes me a beer?”

“Well, Petey, my friend, I do believe that several beers may be in order after you pull a few strings for me,” Tom responds with a chuckle.

“And I was hoping to get my kid a signed Cowboys jersey or something.” Pedro laughs. “Long time, Tom, my friend. Good to hear from you. How are things on your end? I hear you and the troops have been busy.”

“You know better than anyone that keeping our borders safe is a twenty-four-hour job, and one that all Americans ought to take seriously. That’s actually why I’m calling. I have a tip for you. Can I stop by?”

Tom noticed the Bronze Bomber around the same time Lorna did. He stood out, so tall and handsome. He had the physical qualities of a leader, despite his observant, passive presence. Tom sensed he might be a distraction. The mild, distant stirring in his own loins were all the proof he needed.

Tom slips a glossy 8-inch by 10-inch photo of him into a large manila envelope and makes the half-hour drive over to Pedro’s office in fifteen minutes.

“What, were you calling me from downstairs, Tom?” Pedro says, welcoming his old buddy into his wood-paneled workspace. “That was quick, brother.”

“Well, it’s kind of important, Pete. And I have to be over at the university within the hour.”

“Busy, busy, busy. Well, you have good timing, and I have good news. You just missed a guy from the
Times.
”

“
New York Times
? Who? Why was he here?” Tom asks incredulously, standing up from his chair almost as soon as he sits.

“Doing a story or something. Heard all about you. I told him you’d be here, but he said he’d give you a call and set something up.” Pedro slides a business card across the table to Tom. The raised black script is like a hypnotic swinging pendulum before him. This is it. The moment Tom Landry has been waiting for. The national spotlight. Attention that will catapult him to the steps of Capitol Hill along with the nation’s elite advisors and scholars.

“David Rodríguez,” Tom reads out loud. “General Assignment Reporter.”

“I mean, he just left. I’m surprised you didn’t run into him on your way up here.”

“Jesus. No, I didn’t see anyone,” Tom says, folding down the window blind to look out into the parking lot.

“Well, he said he was gonna get in touch with you. I’d guess either today or tomorrow. He seemed urgent to wrap up his work here. Speaking of which, there’s some work you need me to handle for you, Tommy?”

Still slightly preoccupied, Tom hands Pedro the photo. “Illegal. Pretty dangerous guy from what I can gather. An organizer. Possibly violent. Drugs, I’m guessing.”

Pedro pauses to raise an eyebrow. Opens the envelope. “This isn’t your guy.”

“That’s him, Pete. Looks like a goddamn movie star, doesn’t he? Good news is, he hasn’t been here long. A month maybe.”

“Where did you get your info, Tom?”

“Very reliable source.”

“Drop your source. They’re not as reliable as you think.”

“Okay, Pete. I admit, I hired the guy myself for a little landscaping in my front yard. Curb appeal, you know.”

“No, Tom. Seriously. You have the wrong guy.” Pedro slides the photo back across the table to Tom. “This guy in the photo is David Rodríguez, from the
Times.
”

“What the hell are you saying, Pete?”

“I’m saying, you’ve got the wrong Mexican thug. This is the guy who was just sitting in the chair you’re sitting in right now. Funniest thing, too, he’s not even Mexican. He’s Puerto Rican. From New York City. The Bronx. Doesn’t speak a word of Spanish. Works with an interpreter, can you believe that?”

Tom and Lorna Landry finally make it into the
New York Times.
And CNN. And a host of other international media. Just as they had dreamed. Lorna’s naked breasts even make their debut on several corners of the Internet. It is all she needs to finally cut the strings on her marriage and wander the expanse of the Rocky Mountains. A woman with her future in her own hands, and at this very moment, Lorna’s own future is situated between her legs.

TAYE

I have never been a brother to freak out over women and be ready to fall down at their feet. On the contrary, women have always fallen down at my feet. From the day I realized that I had a larger dick than most men, I have used that to my advantage. It got me hired at many a job. I would only apply for positions with a female executive in charge. There was not a doubt in my mind that I could get them all in the sack, even the married ones. Hell, I even fucked a couple of devout lesbians. Yes, I brought them back to the dick, if only temporarily.

Then the shit went and happened. I met Alicia Coles when I was twenty-seven, got pussy whipped, and married her. Ten long years went by without me cheating or really even looking at another female in a sexual way. My wife was the shit and I knew it. Tall, with legs for days, smooth, ebony skin, perfect teeth, breasts that fit perfectly in the palms of my hands, and an ass that would make men cry. She was
mine and I was proud as all hell to have her on my arm whenever we went out.

At one point, I got a bit possessive. She stopped being an animal in the bedroom and all kinds of shit started floating through my head. We had this contractor doing work in our basement at the time and I was convinced that Alicia was fucking him. We had met him when we were coming out of Home Depot one day and he handed us a flyer. I am not the type to be fixing shit around the house and was griping that day because we had to go get a new handle and lever for our master bathroom toilet. When he handed Alicia the flyer, I grabbed it, got excited, and immediately asked if he could come by and give us a quote on some drywall work we needed to have done.

I should have known something was up because he handed Alicia the flyer and not me. He was trying to mack and I never saw it coming. I called home one day and Alicia rushed me off the phone, stating that she was in the middle of making that fool a sandwich. I dropped everything that I was doing and sped home like a bat out of hell. When I got there, that maggot was sitting at the kitchen counter—on my favorite fucking barstool—and eating my bread, my ham, and my cheese. Alicia was bent over the counter in a skimpy pair of shorts and a baby-doll tee that had her nipples standing at attention. I busted in there like I was Five-O and confronted them. They both laughed in my face.

He left and it took Alicia all night to convince me that nothing was going on between them. She gave me head until I felt like I was dead. I had no idea my wife could suck a dick so damn well. Like the typical man, instead of being elated that she was going to town on me like that, I was upset
and thinking that she had learned some new tricks from ole boy.

It took hiring a private investigator to follow her for two weeks before I believed that Alicia was faithful. It was around that same time that I started thinking about cheating for the first time during our marriage. My business partner, Michael, had met this chick—a Latina—at a business convention in Denver. They say it is cold in Denver but his hotel room must have been on fire because after a three-day weekend, he was so sprung that he brought her back home with him to Maryland.

Her name was Marissa and she had it going on. There was just something about her that made my dick hard every time I laid eyes on her. She was petite, no more than five feet, with small tits and a round ass. The way she dressed was erotic; the way she spoke was erotic; the way she smiled was erotic. Shit, the way she did everything was erotic.

Now Michael and I had been friends for a long time. We rose through the ranks together at an investment banking firm and then ventured out on our own as partners. We had done extremely well for ourselves during the four years we had been in business. Michael changed women like he changed his drawers—until that weekend in Denver. She must have laid that pussy on him something fierce because he had sworn that hell would freeze over before he ever became serious about a woman. They had been shacking up ever since, but he was still holding out on the marriage thing. He was a child of divorce and he was determined to never do two things, get married or have kids.

Alicia and I tried to have children but she miscarried twice and we decided that the pain was not worth it. I could
not stand to see the agony she was put through and I never wanted to face that again, so I had a vasectomy. Maybe one day we would adopt, but either way, she was the love of my life. Even though I loved Alicia more than life itself, I still had these intense fantasies about Marissa. I would have done anything to fuck her, just one time, to see if she could live up to my expectations.

ALICIA

Taye was so naïve, or simply believed that he was so fine and so sexy that I would stay faithful. Do not get me wrong; I tried. His arrogance drove me into the arms of another man, not the sex, because that was on point. We met Brian at the same time, at the Home Depot, when he handed me a flyer about his contracting business. Taye thought he was too cute, or too good, to do anything around the house so I convinced him to hire Brian. One day I thought we were busted. Taye came home and found us in the kitchen. We played it off but Brian had been going to town on my pussy when we heard the garage door open and Taye’s car pulling in. That man could eat the lining out of a pussy and my clit had never been so sore.

Taye hired a private investigator to follow me and had no clue that I was on to him. For a couple of weeks I led that detective on a wild goose chase, but made sure that I gave no appearance that something was out of sync. Men still do not realize that women are better cheaters. We are always consciously aware of what we are risking. I loved Taye but there was something missing and after my two miscarriages, we
did not have the same closeness that we’d always had before.

Truth be told, there was another issue. Taye’s business partner, Michael, brought this woman named Marissa back with him from a business trip and they started living together. She was nice enough but she was also gorgeous and Taye could not keep his eyes off her. I knew that he had always had a thing for Latin women. He had dated them exclusively until he met me. Because we spent so much time together as couples, I could tell that the attraction was mutual. I did not like it; I did not like it at all.

However, who was I to talk? Even though Taye had a wandering eye, I definitely had a wandering pussy. Brian was not my only affair; far from it. There was this dude named Kenny whom I met at the grocery store. It is a shame that I could not even go to a store like Home Depot or Safeway without trolling for dick. Ladies, those are some of the best places to find a good dick, while you are shopping for a dozen eggs or some lightbulbs.

Now Kenny was serious about his shit. Since we had met at the grocery store, I related to him that I had always wanted to re-enact that scene from
Sea of Love
where Ellen Barkin showed up at this grocery store to meet Al Pacino with nothing but a trench coat on. Kenny met me at the Safeway and I waited for him in the produce section. While I squeezed some melons, he squeezed mine and then fingered me while I was putting collard greens in a plastic bag. When we got up to the register, I couldn’t resist being bad. I told the male cashier to take a whiff and held Kenny’s fingers up to his nose. He was a young man, probably a college student, and his eyes lit up
when he recognized the scent. If I ever tried to do something like that with Taye, he would have a fucking fit.

Kenny and I left Safeway and went to Watkins Park. It was in November and they had already put up the Festival of Lights for Christmas. We paid our five dollars to drive through the breathtakingly beautiful display. All the cars were driving through there extremely slowly and while Kenny drove at a snail’s pace, I sucked his dick. Up and down my head went, taking him into my throat like a bobblehead doll. I would sit up every now and again to see the displays, like Santa Claus playing basketball or tossing a ball with a reindeer. I love being naughty.

My affair with Kenny lasted a few months, until I tired of him as I had with Brian. I still fucked my husband, or fed him, as I liked to call it. My sex was his medicine. Part of me felt a tinge of guilt, but the other part figured that he was cheating as well, especially when he came up with some off-the-wall shit involving Michael and Marissa.

TAYE

I came up with the idea one day while Michael and I were playing racquetball. I blurted it out while the ball was in the air halfway between us and he missed the next shot.

“How would you like to swap women for one night?” I asked nonchalantly.

Before the ball could even hit the floor, he said, “What did you just say?”

“Haven’t you ever wanted to fuck Alicia?”

He paused. “Alicia’s gorgeous, but she’s also your wife. I would never disrespect you like that, man.”

I looked him straight in the eyes. “What if I didn’t think it was disrespectful? What if I was willing to let you fuck her?”

Michael chuckled. “And you expect me to let you fuck Marissa in exchange?”

“Yeah, something like that. After all, an even swap ain’t no swindle.”

“Listen to the two of us, talking about ‘letting’ someone fuck our women. They do have rights, you know?”

I shrugged. “True. They would definitely have to go along with it.”

“Have you spoken to Alicia about this?” Michael asked, meaning that he was beginning to feel me on the prospect.

“Not yet. I wanted to discuss it with you first,” I replied. “If you’re not interested, there’s no point in talking to Alicia.”

“You do realize that Alicia might divorce you behind some shit like that?” Michael shook his head. “I’m not sure Marissa would do it. She’s pretty caught up.”

“She looks at me,” I said. “I can tell that she’s attracted to me.”

Michael looked angry and then laughed. “We are two arrogant motherfuckers, you know that? We both think we’re God’s gift to women.”

“Hey, whoever said God couldn’t hand out two gifts?”

Michael and I both laughed and exchanged high fives. We decided to think about it for a few days and see where that left us. However, I knew what I wanted and thought that I might be able to convince Alicia to do it.

That night I brought Alicia dinner in bed—her favorite. From our first date, I had determined that she loved Spanish food. Her grandmother was from Spain, so that explained it. Even though she grew up in a household that served both
soul food and Spanish food—her mother being African-American and her father being Hispanic—she leaned toward tapas and paella. That night I had stopped by her favorite restaurant and brought home some gazpacho
andaluz,
spinach with pine nuts, fish in salsa
verde,
and
churros con chocolate.

She had been through a long day at the office so I gave her a foot massage while she ate. Then I sucked her toes one by one. I love Alicia’s toes; they’re beautiful and succulent. I enjoy doing anything that gives her pleasure. After she finished eating, she stared at me and asked, “You going to give me some of that Daddy Dick tonight?”

Damn, nothing could get my dick harder faster than Alicia talking dirty to me. In the beginning of our marriage, that was an obstacle for her to overcome. Over time, she had learned to talk nasty, but it was a rare occasion when she actually did it.

She sat up on the bed and pulled her cashmere sweater over her head, exposing the lovely white lace bra underneath. The way white looked on her chocolate skin was such a turn-on.

“My breasts have been sore all day,” she said. “They need to be sucked. You going to suck them for me, Daddy?”

“I’ll suck whatever you need sucked,” I said. “I already did the toes.”

She giggled. “And you did a great job. That’s what made me so damn horny.”

That’s when I attacked her, on our bed. I pulled her pants off, along with her tights, and was sucking on her pussy in less than thirty seconds. She pulled my hands up to her breasts, where she had popped them out of the bra, and I
caressed them. Alicia’s moans are an art form in themselves. Her moans are the most erotic thing I have ever heard. While I was eating her, I thought about her moaning like that for Michael and it almost made me sick. Was I really prepared to share her just so I could get a shot at Marissa?

The entire time that Alicia was sucking my dick, then riding my dick that night, I kept imagining her doing those things to Michael and him licking and sucking all over my wife. It was not a visual that I wanted, but I realized that you only live once, and it had been years since I had touched another woman. I did not want to cheat behind her back, and besides, Marissa was the only woman I was attracted to, outside of Alicia. In order to get to her, it would have to be a trade. Michael was supposed to be discussing it with Marissa that same night, so I knew that I had to keep my word.

“Alicia,” I whispered, right before she dozed off after getting her fulfillment from “Daddy Dick.”

“Yes, baby,” she replied.

“I need to ask you something.”

“What, Taye?”

“Michael and I have been talking and…”

“And what?” Alicia lifted her head off my chest so she could look me in the eyes. “And what? What’s wrong?”

“Promise me that you won’t get upset.”

“I promise,” she said way too quickly, without having a clue about what I was about to say.

“We’ve been together for a long time, and you know I love you, right?”

“Yes, right down to my stanky drawers.” She laughed. “You and Michael have been talking about how much you love me?”

“That, and some other things.”

“Like what?”

“Like the possibility of us switching partners for one night.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Alicia lashed out at me. “No, you did not just ask me to fuck your friend. Aw, I get it. You want to fuck that bitch so you’re willing to trade me off for her ass!”

“It’s not like that, Alicia.”

“Then what is it like, Taye? Explain this shit to me because from where I’m sitting, that’s exactly what the deal is.”

I sighed and tried to think of a way to keep my marriage together. I had a feeling that it might be over. Alicia confirmed that when she said, “If you want to fuck Marissa, why don’t you just marry her ass? Michael’s only shacking up with her, so she’s available. Go trade up, motherfucker! You conceited bastard!”