Authors: Angie Daniels
When It Rains... (40 page)
I was so happy to hear that, I started moving my hips faster, moaning even louder, and urged him on. “Come on, big daddy, you can do it. Come all inside this pussy!”
“Okay,” he said like a good little boy. “Okay.” He pumped faster.
I reached up and stroked his nipples, since he seems to get off on that shit. “Come on, Daddy. I want to feel you nut inside of me. Wet that pussy!”
“Yeaaah! I'm getting ready to come!”
“Me, too!” I lied.
While he was howling like a hound dog during a full moon, I felt that wet, warm feeling as he squirted insideof me. The bed rocked. John was slamming the headboard against the wall so hard, I know the kids heard it, until finally, he collapsed on top of me. Thank you, Jesus! I lay there waiting for him to get off of me. He finally rolled over and within seconds he was snoring.Overcome with relief, I eased out of bed and went into the adjoining bathroom and cleaned myself up. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, the tears began to fall again. What has my life become?
I'm miserable, but nobody seems to believe me. Especiallynot the big muthafucka who happens to share my bed. I feel trapped. Being trapped in a bad marriage is bad enough, but being trapped in a marriage with a good man who you don't love makes you want to stand in the corner and bang your head against a cement wall. Don't get it twisted. If it wasn't that John was an excellent provider and that my kids adored him, I would have left a long time ago.
John and I have been married five years and I've been miserable for three. A one-night stand I met at a club. I was horny and after a night of no other prospects, I went home with him. I was too drunk to remember the specifics of his performance. The only reason why I know we fucked was because I woke up naked and spotted the used condom wrapper on the nightstand besideme. We dated a couple of times after that. Noneâto his disappointmentâended with sex. I found John to be a kind, generous man, but too damn nice and touchy-feelyfor my taste. He was also dull, very lonely, and needy. Not to mention he wasn't much to look atâdark, five-eleven, over three hundred pounds, with a waist I couldn't even wrap my arms around, and a face that resembledShrek. What's even worse, the brotha can't dress! And even when I try, it's no use. Phat Farm on John just looks like the fat farm. But despite his appearance,he had a six-figure salary, which meant he took me to the finest restaurants in town, his company had box seats to all the sporting events, and he drove a Lexus. I know my reasons for dating him were purely selfish, but hey, it isn't every day a girl from the streets gets the opportunity to sample the finer things in life. After a while, though, even those weren't enough to make me want to keep seeing him.
The second time I gave him some was because I couldn't bring myself to say no after he had spent over two hundred dollars on a lobster dinner. As soon as we were in the bed, he was all over me, touching, feeling, sucking, and, of course, tweaking. When I reached down and felt what he was working with, I almost laughed in his face. Good Lord, my thirteen-year-old son had more than he did! Nevertheless, I endured the hour-long session,and when I finally left his place, I had every intentionof ending the relationship. Unfortunately, the next day at work I got fired, and who did I call? John. He let me cry on his shoulder. Back then, I didn't know what I was going to do. I was already behind on my house payment. After a month of hitting the pavement hard, I panickedâthen John offered a solution.
“Let's get married.”
“What?” I looked at him like he had lost his damn mind.
He simply shrugged. “Why not? You need help and I want to help you.”
I tried to think of every reason I could why that wasn't even a possibility and ended up stating the obvious. “We've barely known each other three months.”
He shrugged and smiled. “It wouldn't matter to me if it had been two years. In the short time we've been together,I have fallen in love with you and your children.”
I was at a loss for words because although he was starting to grow on me, love wasn't even a factor, not to mention that the sex had gotten worse instead of better, and I was ready to move on to the next guy.
John noticed my hesitation, because he added, “Listen,I know you don't love me and that's okay. You can learn to love me later. Let's try it out for a year and if it doesn't work out, then we can go our separate ways.”
If I hadn't known it before, I definitely knew it thenâhis ass was desperate. Why else would someone ask a woman he barely knew to marry him? With two kids, and a foreclosure notice from the bank, I did the only thing any desperate single mother would do. I accepted.
His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “You just made me a happy man.”
John then gave me one of those kisses that lacked passion, as well as tongue, then moved into the kitchen. I was about to yell, “Wait! I changed my mind,” When I saw him grab the stack of bills I'd left lying on the kitchen table. When he removed his checkbook from his back pocket and took a seat, I didn't say a damn thing. That night I lay in his arms, trying to imagine a life with him, and all I saw was boredom and lousy sex. Still, I kept my mouth shut. Three days later, John got down on one knee in front of my kids, holding a one-caratsolitaire. I didn't even feel my lips move but I definitely heard myself accept. Within the next two weeks, we were standing in front of the justice of the peace with my sister Lisa and her husband as our witnesses.
After that I tried to make the best of it, even though I knew I didn't love him. John was so good to me, I thought nothing else mattered, and that in time I could surely learn to love him. Making him happy was easy. I fucked him when he wanted to be fucked and told him what he wanted to hear.
A year passed with me trying to convince myself that I had made the right choice. With his six-figure salary, I made myself believe that I loved him and everything that he was able to do for me. I was financiallysecure. I didn't have to work. I was home when the school bus arrived. I attended PTA meetings and made brownies, things that so many mothers wished they could do. I started getting into that Suzie Homemakershit and began planning meals. I even learned how to crochet.
John loved me to death and showered me with so much affection that I tried to tell myself this was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. I even tried to enjoy sex with him. I would fondle and play with him and for hours we would lie in the bed, kissing and hugging between rounds one and two. I convinced myself that I had a lot to be thankful for. Sex was a small price to pay for the lifestyle I was living.
John built a four-bedroom home for me and my kids and I got the joy of decorating it myself. Then, when I had nothing left to do, I started looking for a job. I appliedfor every management position I could find, and after a year, I still hadn't found a job. Every rejection was proof that marrying John had been the right decision.However, at the end of the first year, I thought I was going to lose my damn mind. I had too much time on my hands and all I did was sit around and think.
“Why don't you write?” John suggested after I started complaining about being bored. “You said you always wanted to write a book.”
It had always been a dream of mine to become a famousauthor someday. So, I decided to give it a try. John bought me a computer. Before long, the words began to flow and I got so wrapped up in my writing that I discovered a way to fill the void in my life for the next year. After that, every time I thought about leaving him, a voice in my head would say,
Bitch, look at all you have accomplished with this man. You'd be a fool to let him go.
Then I would glance over at his kind face sitting in a chair like a damn puppy just waiting for me to scratch his head, and I would feel guilty for even thinking about leaving him. But still, even after I had published three erotic romance novels, I realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that no matter how much I tried to hide behind the stories I was writing,my marriage wasn't going to change. I realized that after three years, I still wasn't in love with him. I liked him and loved how good he had been to me and my kids, but I didn't love him.
Bitch, look at all you have accomplished with this man. You'd be a fool to let him go.
Then I would glance over at his kind face sitting in a chair like a damn puppy just waiting for me to scratch his head, and I would feel guilty for even thinking about leaving him. But still, even after I had published three erotic romance novels, I realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that no matter how much I tried to hide behind the stories I was writing,my marriage wasn't going to change. I realized that after three years, I still wasn't in love with him. I liked him and loved how good he had been to me and my kids, but I didn't love him.
I mean, come on. To this day, I'm embarrassed to be seen in public together. With our fifteen-year age differenceand his old-school spirits, it's like having my daddy on my arm. I dread going out alone, just the two of us, because we have nothing to talk about. Vacations are a bust because we never have any fun unless I createit. I didn't realize until we were married that John had no friends, no hobbies. Anything I do, he wants to do. He has become so needy that his entire life revolvesaround me and my kids, and it is driving me crazy. I'm not kidding you. I do almost anything to get away from him. Book-signing tours, vacations with my girlfriends, any excuse to put some distance between him and the boring life he wants me to continue to share with him. The only reason we have lasted this long is because of financial stability, and after my divorceI wanted to offer my children a stable home. Something I never had.
I never knew my real daddy. He died in a car accidentwhen I was barely four. Growing up with my stepfatherwas pure hell. Paul Perry made it no secret he didn't like me. No matter how hard I tried, it was never good enough. To hide my pain, I rebelled and generally gave him a hard time. My mother, Bernice, was and still is a crackhead. Talking to her was a waste of time. A week after my sixteenth birthday, she left and didn't bother to come back. During that time, I had already met my first husband. High-school romances seldom work, and my marriage to Mario was just that. By the time I received my diploma, I was already pregnant with Quinton. Tamara came three years later. After Mario put his hands on me one time too many, I took a bat to his head, and filed for divorce.
Now you're probably wondering, after all that drama, how I could even think about leaving a man like John. Believe me, I hear it a lot, and I've been asking myself the same question for years. Only I can't come up with one good excuse except to say, I am unhappy. I just wished I felt the same way he does. I've tried so hard, but I've got needs and wants that he just can't meet.
The thought of him touching me turns my stomach. His kisses make me want to run to the bathroom and throw up. I can't help the way I feel. I love John for who he is, but I am not in love with him. There is a difference.I didn't believe that at first, but I know it now. I just can't take it anymore. I know now he isn't my soul mate. That I can't spend the next fifty years with him because, in the process, I'll be losing a piece of myself. I need a man who challenges my mind, body, and soul, who I look forward to sharing my evening with, talking about our day. I want a man who holds me in his arms through the night after making me come.
With John, if you give him a hug he wants sex. If you kiss him, he gropes your breasts. Any form of affectionresults in sex, so eventually I've stopped touchinghim altogether. Also, with John I can't initiate sex, because if I do, I kid you not, his dick won't work. He has to be the aggressor and even then he asks for permission.What brotha do you know asks for the coochie? I want a man to flip my ass over and bury all ten inches in before I can take a breath. John is so kind and obedientthat if I ordered him to bark like a dog, he would respondlike that princess in
Coming to America
.
Coming to America
.
After the first two years, I couldn't take it any longer. I started hanging out on the weekend and messingaround with one man after another, trying to find what I was missing at home. John never once complainedabout me being in the streets as long as I gave him some whenever he asked. I didn't mind at first, but now that his dick only works half the time and I have to spend the majority of it whacking him off, I'm fed up and can't take too much more. I am dying inside. I just wish I could get him to understand.
During our marriage, I have suggested splitting up at least four times. And every time he has talked me out of it. I just don't understand it. I remember what he said the last time I tried to tell him I was unhappy.
“What do I need to do to make Renee happy?”
I shrugged. “I don't know anymore.”
“I'll do anything you want, but you've got to give me a hint.”
After a moment of hesitation, I said, “Time away from each other.”
I saw the flash of panic in his eyes before he pulled me in his arms. “I don't want you to leave. We can work this out if you tell me what I've got to do.” His chest began to heave and his tears stained the side of my neck. “I love you so much.”
I was overcome with guilt. This man had given me everything and here I was, trying to bail out on him. I held him in my arms and promised to try harder. But I continued to mess around and the months passed with me stepping out on my husband every chance I got. Then, two years ago, he accepted a position hundreds of miles away. I stayed behind with no intention of joining him until my sister made me promise only minutesbefore she had gone into surgery to pray to God for answers, and to give my marriage one last chance. Then, only days after agreeing to try harder, my sister died from a blood clot to the heart. Overwhelmed with grief, I stayed true to my word, and gave John another year of my life. I've prayed regularly and have given up all the other relationships. I can honestly say that I haven't messed around on my husband, not once, in a year. Okay ... make that nine months. Damn ... all right, in the last six months. And that is a record for me. But my ass is so horny that I don't know how much longer I'm gonna be able to hold out. Why do you think I write all those erotic novels? Because I need some real dick, and not that cracker-box shit I'm gettingat home. That's why it's time for me to start buildinganother life. It's time for me to get a job teaching. I already have a bachelor's degree in Journalism and a master's in English. Teaching would allow me to get back into the workforce again so I can support myself. Writing pays well but not as good as everyone thinks. I have a fat savings account but how long will that last without John's help? I love to shop and have gotten used to living an upper-class lifestyle. Change is not going to be easy. Okay, so all I need is a jobâthen I can save up enough to move and buy my own house. One more year, that's all I have to survive, then I can pack my bags and get the hell up out of here. It sounds easy enough, but somehow I know that leaving him won't be that easy. Freedom will come at a price. I just hope I can afford it.
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