Secret Betrayals

by Harriet Wilson

Chapter one: Jasmine

As I wake up with J still in my arms, I realize that my life is perfect. I have the man of my dreams right here and nothing else matters. I am still awed that he is in bed with me. I've always dreamed of true love and at this moment, I know I've found it. As he sleeps soundly, I smile. This man completes me in so many ways. Staring at his beautifully sculptured, sexy body, I wiggle myself from under him and begin to suck his dick. My dick. As I slowly lick the shaft, my nipples get erect and my clit swells. After a few seconds, his dick is rock hard and I slide onto it like a stripper on a pole. He awakens, grabs my ass, and grinds slowly, but deeply into me. Right when I'm about to have the orgasm of a lifetime, his baritone voice cuts our passion short.

"What time is it, Jasmine?" he asks, pausing mid stroke.

Those were not quite the words I was looking for. Damn, didn't he just feel what I was doing to him? I look at the clock and reply, "Ten forty-five."

J jumps up as if he's just seen the ghost of Michael Jackson doing the moonwalk. "Why didn't you wake me? Oh shit, my wife is going to kick my ass! You knew I had to go home! Why the fuck did you let me go to sleep?" he yells.

As usual, he's told his wife he was working late at the office and as usual, he came over and spent some time with me. I knew she was probably losing her mind wondering where her husband was, but that was her problem. If she were doing her job right, he wouldn't be here with me.

Startled by his abrupt manner, I shake my head in remorse and say, "I'm sorry, J. I just wanted to sleep in your arms. That's all. I need that sometimes."

This was the first time I've laid with him without the sole purpose of getting a quick orgasm. We hang out at my house, but we never get to be together as a couple since he's always on the run to get home. I guess that's the downside of fucking a married man.

As he quickly begins dressing, he hollers, "Jasmine, you know we can't keep doing this! This has to stop! I am married with children and I'm not leaving my wife for your ass! Do you get that?"

J's words cut me like a knife and I feel like my heart has a thousand daggers slicing it. Blood oozes out slowly, bringing me to a slow and painful death. I always thought that if I just loved him more than she did, he would be with me and we could start our own family. I guess I was wrong. He's told me time and time again that we could never be together and that he would never leave his wife. And time and time again, I believe that I can make him change his mind, but obviously, I can't.

"But J, didn't you say that ya'll were having problems?" I ask, knowing he isn't going to answer. "I just want to show you how a real woman is supposed to treat you," I continue.

"What the hell yo' young ass know about being a real woman? You just graduated from college. Hell, your damn pubic hairs ain't even grown in good yet!" He snaps.

That shit hurt. Bad. He didn't have to go there. I'm not that young – I mean we're both adults. He ain't robbin' the cradle or nothing like that. Besides, as the late great Aaliyah once said, "Age ain't nothin' but a number." Well, young or not, I know what I want and what I want is him. Though I'm somewhat inexperienced in the relationship department, I know I can learn how to be a good woman to him. I'm like moldable clay. Whatever he wants me to be, I can be. That's what makes me better than his wife. She's already set.

Looking down uncomfortably at my neatly shaven hairs, I realize that no matter what I try to do to prove myself to him, he will probably only see me as a girl.

"But J, I love you," I moan as if it hurts. It actually does.

"Look Jasmine, I love you too, but you know we can't do this. Do me a favor. After today, never call me again. If I see your number on my phone, I'm not picking up. I can't keep doing this to my family," he huffs, although his eyes say something different. I know J loves me because he tells me every day, but following it, he also says he can't leave his family. He's a good man like that. I know he's just with her for the kids, but I just don't understand why he stays in a relationship wit h someone he obviously doesn't love. The kids will get over it.

"But J, I thou..." Before I could put the 'ought' in my 'thought', J rushes out of the hotel room. He doesn't even say good-bye. As I sink deeply into our dampened sheets, I feel empty inside knowing I will probably never see the only man I've ever truly loved again.

I look around, gazing at the emptiness of the room that was just burning with passion an hour ago. In its stillness, my love for him curdles like week old milk left on a counter top. I can't believe he did this to me. I confessed my love to him and he swatted me away like a nasty fly. This man means the world to me and just knowing that I can't have him makes me want to kill myself. Or him. Or somebody. Or something. Oh, forget it. Who am I kidding? I'm a lover not a fighter.

I turn on my cell phone and have six voice mails – all from Brian. Brian is my boyfriend of three years and I hate him. Well, maybe hate is a strong word. But he definitely gets on my last nerve. Don't get me wrong, our relationship was great in the beginning. But when I met J, I found out what a real man is. After being slain by J, everything Brian did started to irritate me and I soon came to the realization that he's just a little boy who can't really handle someone like me. The only reason I' m still with him is because we've been together for so long. And truthfully, he's there for me whenever I need him.

I take my time calling him back, giving myself a moment to think of something to tell him about where I've been. He's gullible, so I don't have to get too creative.

"Hey Brian, what's up?" I ask, taking a deep breath.

"Where have you been, Jasmine? I have called you all night. I called your mama and your sister and no one has heard from you. Where are you?" he rants.

Oh shit, now my mama's gonna be asking me questions all damn day. See, that's why I can't be with him. He's too clingy. He has to know where I am and what I'm doing all the time.

"Brian, I was over at Toya's house last night. She had some issues she needed to talk about and I didn't feel well so I went to sleep. I'm sorry, but my phone died and I didn't have my charger," I explained. At least the story was true. I did go over Toya's house, my phone did die, and I didn't have my charger with me. I just didn't tell him that once I left Toya's, I went home to get my charger and met J at the hotel.

"So when were you going to tell me, Jasmine?" he asks with excitement in his voice.

Confused, I dryly ask him, "Tell you what, Brian?" He is so annoying . . .

"About the baby, Jasmine. I hope it's a girl. We can finally start a family." I can see his silly ass smiling though the phone. Hearing his words, I almost fall out the bed.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask, my heart now assaulting the inside my chest.

"Come on, Jasmine, I know. Your period is over two weeks late and you've been sick every day. I know," he replies. Has he been tracking my period?

I suddenly feel like I'm about to throw up on the hotel floor.

"Brian, I have to call you back," I say abruptly as my mouth waters with vomit.

"Okay boo. Love you!" Brian responds enthusiastically, waiting for a response.

"Yeah," is all I can mutter before I disconnect the call.

I quickly check the calendar on my phone. I haven't really thought about my period until this moment. Things have been so hectic that it simply hasn't been on my mind. But as his voice echoed inside my thoughts, I decide to do some calculations. Let me see, I was supposed to start on the twenty-first and today is . . .

Suddenly I remember the bologna and cream cheese sandwich I had to have on Tuesday and the bag of ranch flavored Doritos that I practically inhaled, which I usually can't stand. Oh shit, how in the hell am I going to explain this?

I immediately rush to my bag and take out the emergency EPT test I keep in the bottom of the sack for purposes such as these. It's been in there awhile, so it's covered with bits of cracked peppermint and some foundation that spilled from my makeup case. I dust it off before removing the wrapper. I then head to the toilet and tinkle on the white stick. The three minutes I wait feel like two years before the plus sign magically appears. My heart drops and I am in awe. I can't believe I got caught out there! I've always used condoms with him!

Ain't no birth control 100%, I could hear my momma preaching to my subconscious. In my heart, I know it's not Brian's because I barely let him touch me. And although I know that it only takes one time, I feel that this connection is beyond Brian so it has to be J's. Wanting company in my misery, I immediately pick up the phone to call him, but as promised, his answering machine picks up.

You have reached Josh Summers. Sorry I can't get to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, I will call you back.

I disconnect the call, but realize that if I'm going to tell J that he's going to be a daddy, then leaving a voice mail is my only option since he wasn't taking my calls anymore. Pissed at myself, at him, and at the world, I call again.

When the greeting ends, I take a deep breath and begin, "Hey Josh. I know this may be at a bad time but . . . I really have something to tell you and I don't know how to say it. Please don't be mad at me. I'm sorry I'm babbling, but I do that when I get nervous. Again, don't be mad but . . . um . . . I'm pregnant . . . yep . . . I'm pregnant. Preggo. Expecting. With child . . . however you wanna say it. I'm sorry this happened. I don't know what I'm gonna do yet. But I just wanted to let you know and please, please, don't tell Chante. She will kill us both. Dead."

Hanging up the phone, I crawl in the hotel bed and cry until my eyes are swollen. How the hell did I get in this situation? I mean, I know how, so maybe the question should be why. Why in the world did I let myself get pregnant by my friend's husband?

Chapter Two: Toya

Damn, I wish he would hurry up and finish.

Usually it doesn't take him this long, but today he's trying to set a record. I got shit to do and with his money. I can't believe he's actually gonna make me work for this today.

"Whose pussy is this? Whose pussy is this?" Michael yells, fucking me doggie style. This is the most boring sex I've ever experienced, but I know the payout will be well worth it. It always is.

"It's your pussy! It's your pussy, Chris!" I assure him, my head banging the headboard. I throw on my best Academy Award winning performance as my pussy dries out like ten-day-old cement. Between my head smacking the wall and the Sahara desert in my coochie, it's actually starting to hurt.

"Chris? Who the fuck is Chris, Toya?" Michael screams suddenly.

Oh shit, did I say Chris? No, I didn't say that. He's trippin'...

"What are you talking about, Michael?" I ask innocently.

Pulling out, he yells again, "Who the fuck is Chris? You called me Chris!"

Aww man, I done fucked up now! I guess a slip up every now and then happens in my line of work. Shit, it's been a busy week. But unwilling to take the L, I immediately get into defense mode.

"Michael, what the fuck are you talking about? Why would I call you Chris? I don't even know a Chris," I lie. I know he won't believe me, but it's worth a try.

Michael is mad because his little ass dick went limp like six-week-old lettuce when he heard me call out the wrong name – not that it had that far to travel. Damn, I knew I should have had him take me shopping before I fucked him. Now I won't be able to get that Chanel purse I've been scheming on.

"Answer me, who the fuck is Chris, Toya? I knew you were fucking somebody else!" He rants. His ego is now the size of his miniature dick. I have to stop myself from laughing. Too often, it's the one with the tiniest package holding the biggest wallet. Go figure.

As he gets up and starts putting his clothes on, he cusses me out and calls me all kinds of bitches and hoes. I mean, I may be wrong and all, but ain't no man gonna disrespect me like that. I know I'm a hoe. But hell, I'll be damn if he calls me one.

You want the truth. Fine, here it is!

"Hell, what did you expect, Michael? Your little dick ass can't do nothing to this fat ass pussy! In fact, you can't even eat the pussy right! At least if your dick is gonna be a cocktail weenie, your tongue needs to be a boa constrictor! But you ain't got it going on in either department!" I lash back. As my words hit his ears, his facial expression goes from mad to hurt. I can't believe he actually thought he was doing something! I mean, I know I'm a good actress when it comes to faking orgasms, but damn, even Ray Charles could see that performance was bullshit!

"I thought you loved me, Toya. I thought you said you wanted to be wit' me," he whines like somebody just stole his bike.

Okay, yeah I said it, but he should've known I wasn't serious. The only time he's ever heard anything remotely nice from me is when he is going in his wallet, giving me his credit card, or signing a blank check. And I don't know what kind of hallucinating he is doing, but I ain't never used the "L," word. Never! That's a word you will never hear the queen of gold diggin' say. That shit is like kryptonite to me.

"Please, you ain't even got that much money. You only own one car lot, you ain't the CEO of Wal-Mart," I spit.

I know I am hitting him a little hard, but he is starting to be more trouble than he is worth anyway. Not saying his car lot is full of Hondas and Toyotas or anything like that. Yeah, he has a lot of Mercedes, Lexus, Audis and Range Rovers pulling in and out daily, but he isn't gonna talk shit to me without me talking shit back.

"So these four months meant nothing to you? What was I to you?" he asks so sadly that I almost feel sorry for his little dick ass. Looking at the tears rolling down his face, I somewhat regret saying what I said, but when I'm on a roll, I just can't stop myself. I know he has feelings for me, but I told him up front not to. That's what I tell them all. Sometimes they listen, sometimes they don't. Michael obviously didn't.

"Michael, get real. You are weak and I can't deal with a weak man. You may have money, but that's all you have. And that suits me just fine 'cuz that's all I want . . . MONEY! So don't be expecting nothing else!"

When I say this, his lips start to quiver and his eyes get red with fury. If he wasn't such a punk, I'd almost be scared.

"Get out, now! Get out before I throw you out! Bitch!" he yells in a voice I've never heard before.

I ain't' no fool and although Michael's as soft as they come, the look in his eye says that if I'm not out of there in three point five seconds, I'll be a distant memory. But you know I have to get in the last word.

"Not a problem," I shrug, gathering my stuff. "You'll be calling this good pussy bitch again. They always do. Bye," I shrug with a callous finger wave.

I know I'll probably never see his weak ass again, but I just wanted to throw that out there as if I am not faded. I am mad as hell that I didn't get my money though. That's one thing I don't do. Fuck for free. Every time I lay down, my bank account balance goes up. It doesn't matter that he has given me a brand new car a few weeks ago. That was then. This is now.

I threw on my clothes quickly and exited his place without a care in the world. As I approach my brand new black Lexus HS 250h, I shake my head. Hell, his ass couldn't even get me a more expensive car. He got me a bullshit thirty-five thousand dollar car. I know my pussy is worth more than that.

Oh hell, I almost forgot. Let me introduce myself.

My name is Latoya Venetra Johnson, born and raised right here in Atlanta. Some people call me a gold-digger or a hoe. I just call it using what I got to get what I want. My motto is if the price is right, then the deal is real. You can't pay; then we can't play.

Many women hate me because they know I can have their husbands in two seconds flat. Watching their men stare at me when I walk down the street or into a room makes me wet because I can see pussy in their eyes, which brings dollar signs to mine. There is nothing I can't have in Hotlanta. From new cars and clothes, to the condo I have in the Greystone of Vinings. At the age of twenty-four, I can say that I've got it made. Men get me what I want and I give them what they want . . . and ladies we all know what that is.

I've come a long way from the Bankhead Homes in the SWATS section of Southwest Atlanta, raised by a momma that was too busy living inside a bottle of Jack Daniels to pay attention to what was going on with me. So looking out for myself, I learned at an early age that what I have between my legs is golden and will make men do any and everything to get it. I also learned that ain't nothing in this world free unless you're stupid enough to give it away and Lil' Miss Toya definitely ain't giving nothing away. You gotta pay me if you wanna see me bend over and touch my toes. They say you can't turn a hoe into a housewife. Well fuck being a housewife 'cuz I'm making much more money being a hoe.

Chapter Three: Chante

"Baby, what took you so long to get back? I have a surprise for you," Josh says, as I make my way into our five-bedroom house. I don't know what he has up his sleeve, but rose petals are all over the floor, candles are lit, and Keith Sweat is crying in the background.

Damn, I'm not in the mood for this...well let me rephrase that, I'm not in the mood for this right now because about an hour and a half ago when I was in the mood, I dropped the kids off at his mother's house and went to get my needs taken care of elsewhere. I had just gotten my pussy banged out by Dre and now here I am having to fuck Josh's boring ass. Don't get me wrong. I love my husband. It's just that when it comes to his sex game...well, he's severely lacking. It's like he's never been with a woman before. He only likes having sex in the missionary position and he comes so fast I don't even have time to get wet. The last time we had sex it was so bad that I went to the bathroom and cried. Now what could be worse than that?

After dropping the kids off at Josh's mother's house, Dre called and asked me to meet him at the cheap hotel he likes. At first, I wasn't going to go, but I needed a little TLC and although I've never smoked crack a day in my life, when I'm craving Dre, I can imagine how addicts must feel because that's how bad I need him inside me.

"Hey boo, where you at?" he asked. Just picturing his black thuggish ass made me tingle between my legs. I don't know who taught him how to work it, but that man had some tricks up his sleeve that Superhead probably had never seen or felt before.

"Just dropped my kids off and getting ready to meet my husband. Why? What's up?"

Like I don't already know.

"Meet me at the Master's Inn on Presidential Parkway," he ordered. I couldn't stand that hotel. That fool hustles on the block all day and he can't afford shit better than that? I usually come out of my pocket to get a better hotel, but I didn't have that type of money on me and I wasn't about to leave a paper trail by giving them people my credit card.

"Why we gotta go there? You know I can't stand that nasty ass hotel. It got roaches," I told him. I hated that place. The last time we went there, a roach egg got caught in my hair and I didn't even know it until I went to the salon the next day. You talking about embarrassed.

"Trust me, you won't be worried about no roaches when I get up in that," Dre said, trying to talk me into meeting him. Just by that statement alone, my pussy started pulsating. Damn, I needed some of those ten-inches of chocolate goodness.

"I can't. I have a date with my husband tonight. I don't wanna be late," I replied, checking my watch.

I had already stood Josh up three times in the last two weeks for Dre and was so late for our movie date last week that when I got there, the final credits were rolling. Josh was so mad he didn't speak to me for two days.

"A date? Girl, he ain't even gon' know you missing. Just meet me for 30 minutes. Tell him there was an accident and you couldn't get through traffic," Dre suggested. He always tried to use that same lie for me to tell Josh. Ain't no way I've been around that many accidents. If I give my husband that story one more time, he's gonna take my car keys to make sure I'm not the one causing them.

My mind raced and I wanted to say no. I really did, but just the thought of getting that big ass dick all up in me made me change my mind.

"Alright. Just thirty minutes, but then I gotta go," I agreed. "I'll be waitin' on ya."

An hour and a half later, I enter our home trying to think of something to tell my husband. I know the lies are getting ridiculous. Sooner or later, my black ass is gonna get caught.

"Sorry it took me so long, baby. There was an accident and traffic was backed up," I lie, as usual. Yeah, I know I should have come up with something else, but the moment I saw him, my mind went blank.

"Damn, another accident? I'm starting to think you're bad luck for the people on the road. What's that like—the fifth accident in two weeks?" Josh asks, laughing.

"I know . . . it's crazy out there," I stutter.

"Well as long as my baby is safe. And now that you're home, just bring your sexy self over here so I can make you feel good." He smiles.

Just hearing him say that makes me want to throw up. It's the biggest turn off to hear him even mention having sex with me.

"Let me jump in the shower first, baby. You know I gotta freshen up for you," I reply, heading to our master bathroom. I was so busy rushing from that fleabag motel, I didn't even get to wash the sex off me from Dre. I was only supposed to stay thirty minutes, but a quickie with Dre is never really a quickie.

"Chante, you don't need no shower. Now come on. Stop stallin'," Josh says with an attitude.

"Baby, I just want to smell good for you," I plea. "Let me take a quick shower. It will only take a second," I tell him, while rubbing his chest and back trying to calm him down a little a bit.

"Hell no. Bring that tall, skinny ass in here now. I'm ready, willing, and able to shower you with my tongue."

That's what I was afraid of. Josh's wack ass always wants to go down on me like he is some sort of skilled practitioner. I wish I had the nerve to tell him how horrible he is. The thought of him inside me right behind Dre makes my stomach turn. Can you imagine what you would do if you were going down on your man or woman and found out you were going behind someone else? I definitely did not want him to smell the odor of the freakfest that I just left.

When I walk into the bedroom, I hear Silk's, "There's a Meeting in My Bedroom" and dread what's about to happen next. Anxious and eager, Josh starts taking off my clothes so fast, I feel like I am a prostitute he is fucking in a church parking lot.

"Now get your sexy ass in bed so I can make you beg for Daddy's dick," he whispers heavily in my ear.

I know he can't be serious. Beg? I think I begged my mama for an ass whooping more than I've begged him for some dick.

Ignoring my hesitation, he starts to lick on me like a dog that hasn't had a drink of water in days. It's disgusting just looking at him and the sad part is that he really thinks he is doing something. Josh lays me back and with nothing left to do, but get done, I start to fantasize about Dre being between my legs instead. I can't believe it, but it actually works and I get turned on. I should have done this a long time ago. But just as I'm about to have an orgasm with Josh for the first time in ages, he goes and fucks it up. Like an inexperienced teenage boy, he starts chewing on my clit like it's a fucking piece of Bubble Yum. When I squirm uncomfortably, it only turns him on more since he obviously doesn't realize that I'm wiggling out of pain and not pleasure.

"Hummmmm," he says, pausing mid-stream. "You taste different," he says, smacking his lips like he's tasted something tart. "Did you use a new body wash or something down here?"

It's a new body wash alright - exclusively from Dre; a new scent called 'Dicklicious'.

"Oh no, baby. I told you I needed a shower. I've been sweating all day," I reply.

Josh has never tasted me after I sweat so I figure this excuse will be good enough for him. Wrong.

"But it doesn't taste like sweat and it smells familiar. I just can't put my finger on it."

That's because he's too busy putting his fingers in it. I know if he puts his mind to it and takes a second to think about it, he'll be able to recognize another man's scent all over me. Oh shit, now it's time to panic.

"Baby, just come up here and give me some of that good dick. That's what I really want," I lie once again and grab him by the ears before trying to pull him up to kiss me. I know, as bad as it sounds, it actually turns me on to kiss Josh's lips with Dre's dick on them. Damn, I think I'm getting wet again.

"Not til' you cum for me, baby. I will give you some of this good lovin' when you cum," he moans. Well, he fucked that up for me too, as usual.

As I try to fake yet another orgasm hoping the torture will stop, Josh suddenly halts, gives me a weird look and pulls a long string of something out of his mouth. As he stares at it, I wonder why he's looking at me like I'm crazy.

"Baby . . . uh, whose hair is this that I've got in my mouth because it sure as hell ain't yours," he questions.

Okay, now it's time to flip the script. I have to switch it around on him. I push him off me and say in a very nasty tone,

"You tell me. What have you been doing? That's not my hair. I just shaved earlier today." Dre's pubic hairs are long so I know they belong to him. But I guess reverse psychology only works sometimes because Josh is livid.

"Don't try to turn this shit on me, Chante! You know I ain't been doing shit and you know fucking well your pussy hair has never been this long! Now whose fucking hair is it, Chante? And don't be trying that dumb shit about it being mine!" he barks.

Well, that is my next excuse so I guess I can't use it. Josh doesn't have long pubic hair anyway so I figure he won't fall for that story. Without a real explanation, I just lay there and stick with my story about it not being mine. I was always taught never to admit to anything even if I know I'm guilty and that is what I intend to do right then. Deny 'til you die – that's my motto.

I give my husband a look and say, "Josh, give me a fucking break. You are not gonna put this shit on me!"

I turn my back, not to reveal my guilty eyes. Before I know it, he looks at me with death in his, brushes his teeth, puts on his clothes, and leaves the room. He doesn't say a word to me. I at least expect a slap in the face, screaming, or something. I don't know what to say so I lay there in silence, mad, scared, and suddenly horny. Images of Dre swim throughout my head and my body is telling me that I have some unfinished business to take care of.

Instead of trying to make amends with Josh by chasing him out the door and explaining myself, I reach for my phone and hit number seven on speed dial. As the phone rings, I wonder what is going to happen in the days to come. How am I going to fix this with Josh and get my marriage back on track? Before I get all my thoughts together, he answers.


"Hey Dre, what are you doing?" I ask.

"Whatchu' callin' fo'? You want some more of this good dick, don't chu?"

"Where are you?" I ask in a scared, but sexy voice.

I know I'm wrong for calling him, but Josh left me in a very vulnerable state. I don't want to stay in the house because it will only remind me of the betrayal. I also need a fix and the only person who can give it to me is Dre.

"Same place I'm always at. My momma's house," he says.

It's so sad that a grown ass man still lives with his mama, but that's beside the point.

"Is she home? I need to see you for a second," I ask.

"Naw, she ain't here. She's at BINGO. I'll leave the door unlocked. You know where my room is. But make sure you bring me somethin' to eat cuz a brotha starving."

Damn, that fool always needs something!

As I throw on my clothes, I wonder what's going to happen to my marriage. But I do know that I need some dick and not Josh's. Pressure bursts pipes and Dre has the right pipe to relieve this pressure. I just gotta slip out of the house without my husband noticing.

Secret Betrayals by Harriet Wilson

© Copyright 2009. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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