Authors: Pynk

Tags: #FIC005000

Sexaholics (20 page)

She blinked fast. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know.” He looked at her chest and then down at her belly
button. “I mean your look, your class, your energy, your sexual appetite.
It’s hard to explain.”

“And why isn’t your woman the one?”

“She could be. She’s conservative and square. She thinks everyone
online is gonna get AIDS. Even if they have a MySpace page. God forbid
they’d be on a dating site. She’s very reserved. Almost passive.
I’ve just been trying to get her to loosen up. I think with you,
we’d match better. But, it’s just a thought.”

“So that’s it? You’re a womanizer who’s never
satisfied. Kinda like a pussy packrat, huh? That doesn’t sound too
uncommon to me. Sounds like a whole hell of a lot of other men out
there.”

“Miki, the truth is that I got arrested for assaulting my best
friend’s wife when I was staying with them for a few days in Chicago. He
went to work and she left the door to their bedroom open while she was getting
dressed. I peeked in. She saw me looking and gave me a look back. I guess I
misread that look because I opened the door and came on in and she said I forced
myself on her. I thought she wanted me to. But I did jail time for
that.”

Miki raised her eyebrows and formed her mouth to say slowly,
“Wow.”

“I got arrested another time when I came to a traffic light and made
eye contact with the girl in the car next to me. She smiled. I followed her home
and she called the police. Another time, and this wasn’t that long ago, it
happened after I had too much to drink. I was at my club, and a couple of dudes
I know and I went home with this girl. She wanted us to run a train on her. Her
man came home and pulled out a knife on us. We jumped him and we were all
accused of assault. She claimed we tried to rape her. As part of my probation I
agreed to counseling. They suggested I check into a sexual rehab program, and so
here I am. And it really doesn’t feel like it’s changed much.
I’m still thinking and feeling the same way. I think every woman wants me,
Miki.”

Miki smiled and reached down to find his hand and their fingers interlocked.
He held her hand back and they looked each other square in the eyes. “I
had no idea. Not every smile means ‘fuck me,’ Dwayne. Lord knows I
know about variety, though. I believe I’m wired to cheat. But damn, that
is some serious shit.”

In the next second, they heard a banging at his bedroom door. Miki released
his hand and jumped out of her skin. Her smile vanished.

Someone tried to turn the knob over and over fast but it was locked. A
piercing, high-pitched voice dug into their ears. “Bitch, get the fuck up
outta there and get at me face to face. Fucking with my man again. I’ll
bust the windows out your ugly-ass car if you’re not out of this room in
three seconds. Or make it your Corvette, Dwayne.” She began to bang the
hell out of the bedroom door. The door frame shook with each thud.

His hazel eyes leaped. “What the fuck?” He sprung from the bed,
scrambled for his boxers, and jumped into them. He made a mad dash for the
bedroom door, exited the room and quickly pulled the door closed behind him.

The livid woman continued to rant. “You dog. You need to get a fucking
hotel room with your stupid ass. Why the fuck would you bring a bitch back to
your house anyway? And as far as that skank-ass bitch is concerned, I’m
not done with her.” She bellowed toward the door again as he snatched a
baseball bat from her hands. “He told me you like to fuck. He told me
you’re a damn addict. I will kill you, bitch. Come back over here again,
okay? Try me. I ain’t no punk bitch. Bitch.”

Dwayne yelled at his woman, “Get your ass out of here, now.”

Miki held the black silk sheets to her neck. As much as she’d tried to
look, the door had only been open long enough for Dwayne to exit fast, and she
didn’t get to see the deranged woman’s face.

The woman still berated him with a shrieking mix of panic and rage and hurt.
“Dwayne. You lied to me. You told me that night was the one and only time,
and now you have the nerve to have her back over here. Have you lost your mind?
You told me tonight you were going home and going to bed, but you didn’t
say who the fuck you were going to bed with. I put up with so much shit from
you. I’m sick of this. And you, bitch, in my man’s bedroom.
You’d better get the fuck up outta there, bitch.”

Miki hurriedly hopped up and scrounged around to grab her stuff while the two
argued outside of his bedroom door. She looked around, trying to find a closet
to hide in, when she noticed a window near the television. She yanked on the
wooden shutter’s drawstring and slid the window lock tabs, lifting the
sash as she kicked out the screen.

Miki climbed out with her shoes and purse in hand, and took off as fast as
her bare feet could carry her. She reached her truck, pressed the car alarm,
jumped in, started the engine, and took off down the street doing eighty.

Now, just like in the past, there was one more man in Miki’s sex life
who had a woman she didn’t give a fuck about. Just another silly, jealous
woman who needed to get a grip and learn that all men will shuffle the infamous
fucking-around cards and deal them one by one. It was just that Miki had learned
you have to come up with your own deck of cards and slickly deal them just as
well.

Miki spoke loud while looking through her rearview mirror after making sure
she wasn’t being followed. “That’s what the fuck I get for
staying too long and laying up after the fuck. My bad. Damn, I guess I
didn’t hug a new day very well today.”

Miki then thought to herself,
Damn.
Did he say she was reserved and passive? Not. And wait. Was it her voice
that called my office that day?
Miki tried her best to recollect the tone
and the pitch. Especially of the specific word that was used to refer to Miki
more than a few times…
bitch.

“Single Ladies”

Teela

I
t was a happy hour Friday, and time
for Teela and Brandi, newfound friends, to bond one-on-one. They found the last
two available seats at the bar of the sleek and chic Whiskey Blue, where all of
L.A.’s hipsters hung out. It was a trendy oasis-style restaurant, with
ginger-colored bar stools and liquid-lava bar tops, cinnamon swirl walls, and
laminate floors.

There were no more open bar stools, and every single dinner table was taken.
The myriad of voices was gleeful and thick. The smell of crab-stuffed mushrooms
and garlic-steamed clams soaked the air.

Teela was extremely upfront and inquisitive from the moment they sat down.
“So, how’d you get all fucked up into all this addiction shit
anyway?”

The bartender lady stood before them. “What’ll you have?
We’re known for our martinis.”

Teela replied, “I’ve heard about those. You know, I’ll have
a redheaded slut.” She wore black leggings, black sandals, and a baggy
black top.

Brandi’s eyes bugged. “Oh my goodness. What is that?” She
still wore her work outfit, a conservative, navy blue knee-length skirt and
matching blazer.

“I think it’s Jägermeister and cranberry juice,
and…” Teela gave a look as though trying to recall.

“Peach schnapps,” the bartender said.

Teela snapped her fingers. “Peach schnapps. That’s it.”

Brandi said, “Wow. That’s a big-girl drink, there.”

“You should try it. It’s strong but good,” Teela told
her.

“Sounds tempting. I’ll just have Patrón, please.”

Teela said, “Cool. We can do shots.”

“So, a shot of Patrón?” the bartender asked Brandi.

Brandi told the bartender, “No. A glass, please.”

“A glass? That’s gonna cost a lot more, you know?” she
asked.

“Okay. That’s cool.”

The bartender placed two napkins along the bar top before the ladies.
“Okay. We always say have it your way. I’ll be right
back.”

Teela said, “Damn, Brandi. Talk about big-girl. Look at you. Ordering a
glass of that hell water.”

“My love of booze was passed down from my parents. I mean it’s
not like you’re drinking Kool-Aid yourself.”

“True.” Teela nodded and crossed one leg over the other.
“So. Go ahead. Tell me. What’s got you so addicted?”

“Well, nosy, if you must know, I’ve always had cravings for
whatever it is that’ll take my mind off of my life. I’ve been that
way for as long as I can remember. To be honest with you, I was on
antidepressants when I was only twelve.” Brandi leaned her elbows onto the
bar.

“Twelve? Why so damn young?”

“Who knows? I think it was around the time when kids my age started
teasing the crap out of me and ripping me down every day. Even in the seventh
grade.”

“I’ll give you that. That damn puberty stage can be the
roughest.”

“I was unremarkable. That’s the only way I can explain it. Teela,
this may sound stupid but when I was young, it took me a minute to grow into my
ears, lips, feet, and nose. My nose was so big they said I had a snot locker. I
was a geek like you’ve never seen before. I wear contacts now, but in
school I wore eyeglasses, and I had braces, too.”

Teela said, “Yeah, but you sure got some pretty-ass teeth now,
girl.”

“Ha, ha. Thanks. In school they called me Miss Urkel. They even joked
and called me B.C., meaning I was like birth control cause I’d never get
pregnant. Nobody wanted me.” Her shoulders started to slump and she gave a
nervous laugh while Teela only semismiled. “I mean it was bad. I even
loathed myself. So much so that I tried to kill myself after this quack doctor
put me on these pills. And my teachers and parents thought I was healed only one
week into the meds, like it was some wonder drug. I was always like an actress.
You know, like the song “Tears of a Clown” when there’s no one
around. That song could have been written for me. I mean I was restless.
Couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t sleep or eat. I was just sad inside.
I mean really sad like gloom and doom, stuck in the mud, quicksand sad.”
The bartender placed their drinks on the napkins as Brandi sat straight up.
“Thanks.”

“Looks good. Thanks,” said Teela, using a black straw to stir her
drink. She said to Brandi, “I mean what were you sad about? I can see you
must have felt bad and kids can be cruel, I know. But other than that, what was
going on? Please don’t tell me it was a hardheaded boy.”

Brandi took a big swallow of tequila. “Yep. Pressured me to have sex at
age eleven and all of his attention just stopped. I worshiped that little skinny
fool. That shit felt good too, and that’s all he wanted. I wanted more. I
wanted him something bad. In the worst way.”

“Damn, that must have been some killer-ass puberty dick. I guess young
or old, they’re all the same.”

“Well, something flipped in my head and I started stalking him and
sitting across from his house at night. One day I peeked in his window and
listened to him talk on the phone to other girls. I even put sugar in his gas
tank and then threw horse shit on his dad’s car. I was off.”

“Damn, Brandi.” Teela sipped again. She shook her head at Brandi.
“What kind of meds did they have you on?”

“Back then it was Citalopram. That and whatever alcohol I could sneak
from my parents’ bar. They drank for breakfast, lunch, and
dinner.”

“Wow. And how’d you try to do it? Kill yourself, I
mean.”

“I slit my wrist.” Brandi held up her left arm and showed the
inside of her wrist. The cut was halfway around and had keloid scarring over her
skin. “My mom came in the room before I even passed out, yelling at me to
wash the dishes, as usual.”

Teela touched Brandi’s back and gave her a soft rub. “Holy shit,
girl. All of that mess over some boy.”

“Him, and all the other mess that life dishes out. Life is a
bitch.”

“Life’s a bitch and then you die. That’s why they say live
like there’s no tomorrow. You need to count your blessings.”

“You’re right. And I do.” Brandi took a double swig. She
looked at her watch.

“You have somewhere to go?”

“No. Just checking the time. That’s all. I don’t stay out
late.”

“Why not? It’s Friday.”

“Oh, you’re right. I forgot.”

“But really though, this sex-sobriety shit is gonna take some real
miracle work.”

“You ain’t never lied.”

“So where’s your man nowadays?” Teela asked

“Don’t have one,” Brandi replied matter-of-factly.