“So there isn’t anything else you would like to
talk about Penelope?”
“No. Nothing I can think of,” I respond
looking bleakly at my therapist.
“You know at some point we will have to talk
about why you really come here, in an altogether
sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“Every week you come in here, we talk
casually about your child hood. You tell me about the
different men you meet and how you just have the
urge to never completely be with any of them. You’re
ruining homes just for fun and for a woman of your
age, well,” she cuts off with a sympathetic shrug like
she doesn’t really want to say. Then in what I assume
to be her best way of saying it without calling me
broken, “Most women are trying to settle down,
become someone’s mother yet you just keep running.
And you want me to believe that this has nothing to
do with your mother’s death or the abortion you had
weeks earlier to her death as well as recently?”
I don’t answer, but I feel the tears sting my
eyes. I don’t look away because I don’t want her to
know just how much she may have disturbed me.
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But what does she mean women my age?-- I'm not
that old.
She doesn’t know anything about me; I mean
nothing outside of what I tell her every Wednesday.
This, as she said, is pretty much everything and what
I didn’t tell her she brought up from information she
had contained from the state. But put simply, my
mother’s death isn’t something I talk about. It isn’t
something that I would like to relive either. Truth is
my appointed therapist from the home said the same
thing. Said I needed to deal with what happened
with my mother. Told me the only way to do that
was to talk about it.
How is reliving that horrible night and many
others going to help me get over them?
They wanted to understand but they really
didn’t. It’s true talking helps and that’s what I do. I
actually found Dr. Clayton on my own this time.
Thought it was time to get it off my chest, maybe help
my life to a happy ending. But I just couldn’t let
someone in like that, someone who will criticize me.
She continues like my silence is an invitation,
in a much calmer voice. “Penelope I am here for you
to get things off your chest without judgment,” she
interjects my thoughts as if reading my mind. “I am
here to help you get through this in your best mental
state. I would never say or do anything that will hurt
us getting to that end point,” she promises with a
smile.
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Babbling, “Dr. Clayton as always it has been
great. I will see you next week.” Before my head
explodes I jump out of my seat and run for the door.
Before my heart and lips spill things that will make
me feel vulnerable and dirty.
I didn’t get far. “Penelope if you’re not going
to talk about the real issue maybe you shouldn’t come
back next week.”
Pausing I turn and look at her like she was
talking from her third head. She can’t be serious.
“Is that allowed?” I mean really is she really
allowed to tell a patient she can no longer see them.
Seems wrong I think though, not moving.
“Yes. You’re not a danger to yourself or others
at least I don’t think. Your lifestyle is questionable,” I don’t like her facial expression or how she put the
emphasis on is, “but you have been coming to me for a year and we haven’t done anything groundbreaking
with you and you don’t want to. There are others
who want and need my help and they could be using
your time slot. You sit, we talk about things you
could be telling your girlfriends, and I know you have
some. We have talked about them. Penelope I will be
here when you’re ready to talk, but you shouldn’t
come back until then.”
For seconds I stand dumbfounded and
rejected. Without words I leave unable to believe my
therapist just broke up with me. Don’t get me wrong,
everything she said is true. For a year I have been
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seeing Dr. Clayton hoping she could shine some light
on me with what I gave her. Obviously she was
going to need a lot more. Maybe I should see
someone else. Only the other true thing she said was
that I talked to her like she was my girlfriend. Dr.
Clayton is a black woman just a few years older than
me; she has style and just a cool girlfriend persona.
Nothing like the young white girl I saw at state. So
yes I talked to her in what I felt like was an open
conversation about things in my life.
The thing she had wrong was thinking that I
could talk to my girlfriends about this. Most of what
the girls know of me and my past is a fabricated lie.
Yes, they know that I get around with plenty of
different men. They don’t know that my mom was
stabbed to death in our kitchen and I spent my last
year of high school as a ward of the state.
My mom died of cancer right before I left for
college and well not everyone had a father. In my
world with my girls I have never been pregnant, a
ward of the state, seen a therapist or any of the things
Dr. Clayton and I talk about. Never will I tell them
either. I don’t want any more judgment from them on
my lifestyle. I don’t want to see pity in their eyes,
that, “Awww, now I get it” look.
Relationships were funny like that; they never
really lasted because most people can’t fully accept
another person’s flaws. We all want our flaws
forgiven, but put a limit on the ones others could
have. No thanks, I will not be the topic of discussion
when I can’t make the next girls day. They will not be
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shaking their heads and passing judgment on my
decisions. Talking and shaking their heads about
things I didn’t actually have control over. Or at least I
don’t believe I did.
Pulling up at home I find another problem that
is still awaiting a solution. A problem I must address
before the question of my next week appointment or
my lies. Not because it’s more important, but because
positioned comfortably on my porch sits Michael. I
haven’t seen him in a while. I was serious the last
time I said goodbye to him. In that week and a half I
haven’t answered any of his numerous calls, pleading
voicemails or unlimited texts. What I don’t get is if
you have someone you love then why do you care if I
am around or if you talk to me?
However at this moment I don’t care, Michael
is a welcomed distraction, a good way to release some
tension.
Unlocking the door I let us both in with
Michael turning the lock.
“I’ve had a long day so before you say
anything could I have a shower?”
“Sure.”
“Make yourself at home,” I say walking to my
bathroom. The hot shower does what it can in
relaxing my nerves, but I will definitely need
something more.
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Coming out of the shower I find Michael
sitting on my bed hanging up his phone. I want to be
pissed again for him being here yet making phone
calls to his chick. And I know it was her because it
was a quick hang up with him wearing a guilty
expression. All I ask is when you’re here be here, if
that is something you can’t do then don’t come.
“Do you need to be somewhere? Because if you
do you can leave.” Because I didn’t invite you here I
want to add, but press my lips shut. Sex is the only
objective.
“No, I am where I want to be, where I need to
be apparently. Why haven’t you answered any of my
calls?”
“I run a magazine, we have deadlines, a lot of
things didn’t go so smoothly with this month’s issue.
But thank you. I have been great and the issue will be
out with all the articles we strived for. How was your
week?”
“I'm sorry, it was good. I was just missing a
little something,” he answers walking toward me.
When I don’t comment he adds, “I just wanted to see
you. I have to go out of town, but didn’t want to leave
without talking to you.”
Oh so he came by for some quick pussy, that’s
cool, I can do that. Then I will go back to ignoring
him. “What time does your flight leaves?”
“Six.”
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A Friendly Betrayal
“Well, you’re welcome to take out and a
movie, but I will not be up with you till three a.m. I
have to be at work.”
“That’s cool, but I could use something to
build my appetite.”
Before I have the chance to answer I feel my
towel fall from my body to the floor. My energy
immediately changes from irritation to tickled pink. I
had been honest about my work week, it has been full
and we still had two days to go. I am sure the worst
of it is over, but in that storm I hadn’t had a tune up. I
did have the time to return Michaels call I just really
didn’t feel inclined to do so. But now that he is here
physically and hard as a rock all over, I will welcome
this feeling. Welcome the release.
Still fully dressed Michael lays me down on
my bed no words needed. Gladly this will not be like
the last time is my last thought as I feel his tongue dip inside of me. Before I get too comfortable he flips me
over and presses my chest into the mattress,
spreading my knees as far as they would go while
hiking my ass as far into the air as it would sit. I'm
not really sure what he is about to do to me, don’t
really know which part of his body is about to touch
or enter mine and I don’t much care.
Relaxing into the almost yoga pose I feel his
tongue in my ass with him working his fingers in and
out of my wet spot. Still lying flat I roll my hips into
the feel of it all as Michael palms and rubs my ass.
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My moaning seems to encourage both his
tongue and fingers which in turn encourage my
moans. My bedroom is filled with my moaning and a
lapping sound from Michael’s tongue. There is no
feeling better than oral, giving and receiving.
Then unexpectedly he stops to switch
positions; he brings his head between my legs, puts
his tongue in the place of his fingers. This is what I
love, I man who knew how to use all his body parts to
become one with me in whatever way possible.
Michael’s fingers soon take up the space his tongue
left in my ass with his tongue taking over my hot
spot. Again the sensation is intoxicating. My body
rises in response to the things she is feeling, no longer
able to lay flat and relaxed.
On all fours I can roll my hips into a better
rhythm against my sexual savior. Squeezing my
titties and giving them a pinch at the end as I ride his
face harder. As he fully inserts his finger into my ass I
come all over his face. As I shake Michael takes both
his hands to my ass to hold me in place. He holds me
in place long enough to lap up everything coming out
of me.
“Stay like that,” he demands moving from
between my legs and standing to remove his clothes,
leaving me with no desire to disobey. My body is still
relishing in the climax I just had. I do look back
though, watch him as he removes first his tie and
shirt. Next he pulls his wife beater over his head
revealing his hard caramel chest that looks good
under his beautifully bald head. Lastly he pulls off
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A Friendly Betrayal
his pants followed by his boxer briefs. He stands
staring, I assume admiring my ass like I am admiring
his strong stature; thighs, arms and stomach with his
piece in the middle achieving the most admiration.
Michael grabs a hold of himself as if he knows just
what I want. Squeezes and pulls on himself making
my mouth water at the thought of having him.
After a few pumps and squeezes he asks, “Did
you miss him?”
“I did,” I say looking him in his eyes, bending
my ass to him trying to cure that feeling below.
Steadily rubbing and pulling on himself he
walks toward me. Back in place he rubs and sucks
me before climbing in and on top of me, pushes all of
himself into the tilt. With his balls pressed firmly
against my clit he reaches around and pulls on my
breast. Naturally my body wants to move against it
all and I don’t stop her. Michael doesn’t join in, but he
doesn’t deny my movements, steadily he continues to
pull on my breast with kisses to my neck. Rolling my
hips, moans and grunts escape both of us.
Before I can reach a climax Michael begins to
move in me. Feeling him moving in and out of me is
the best feeling I have had all week. Moving
relentlessly Michael fucks me hard yet gentle. For
minutes he drives hard into me while laying gentle
kisses down my back and on my neck. I never move
from the position he has placed me in, but he moves
himself into different positions, serving different
strokes that satisfy both of us.
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Bambi St. James
“Ughn,” he moans as his body tenses. As I feel
him tense and grow stronger inside me I relax into his
relentless pounding and come for the third time
tonight. Any problems from my week draining with
the fluids from my body.
Finished and still inside me he pulls me close,
spoons me and we both drift off to sleep. When I
awake it is two in the morning and the other side of
my bed is empty, but I know I am not alone. The
smell of bacon brings me to my feet, seems we had
forgotten the food and movie. To my surprise I find
Michael in my kitchen with a pretty nice breakfast
spread going.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I go straight from
the airport to my meeting and need something more
on my stomach than airport food. I was wondering
how long it would take for you to wake though.”
“Um yeah I'm pretty tired. Had a long day
yesterday, so long I forgot to eat. So this is fine.”
It all is because not only am I hungry, but he
looks damn good in my kitchen. I'm not sure how he
cooked bacon and home potatoes with no shirt, but I
like it. I also didn’t mind being up since we had
fallen asleep so early.
“Where did you get pancake mix from,” I ask
continuing to check out the spread.
“You had everything I needed to make them
from scratch so I went that way.”
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A Friendly Betrayal
“Awesome. Who taught you how to do that?”
“My grandmother.”
And that is it as he begins to make our plates.
He doesn’t give anything else about his grandmother
or his younger years and I am okay with that. I know
that this is going nowhere so what exactly would be
the point of getting to know so much about him?
We sit and devour everything quietly. I can’t
believe the man sitting beside me had put together
such a beautiful and delicious meal. Yes, it is just
breakfast but it tells a lot about him. Things I would
have never figured out through just sex alone and a
part of me wondered what other great qualities he
possessed.
This thing with Michael had always been a
means to an end. But sometimes I had to wonder if I
didn’t know everything. Maybe he was a better
person than I thought.
My thoughts are interrupted when Michael’s
lips touch mine. Softly I savor them like they are
mine, like I have proper ownership over them. I put
my hand into his boxers and give him a squeeze like I
own that piece of him as well.
“Wait you’re not going to leave me with all
these dishes are you?”
Laughing deeply he answers, “No but the two
of us could get them done a lot faster and we can start
this again.” Then he kisses my lip while squeezing
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Bambi St. James
both my titties and I have never been happier to have
a dishwasher.
When we are done I go for what my mouth
had been watering for earlier tonight. Feast on the
best piece of meat in the house leaking the most
delicious milk.
* * *
“Penelope you have a call on line two, a Mr.
Walker,” my office assistant buzzes in.
“Thanks Gwen, you can go home when you
are done out there.”
“Thanks Penelope, see you tomorrow.”
“Have a good night,” I answer before picking
up the other line.
“Well, hello there Ms. Campbell.”
“Hello Charles, how have you been?”
“Good, good. Was wondering if you would
meet me for dinner tonight?”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
Because I don’t. We haven’t talked since that night
and I really don’t feel like I'm in a better position to
have that one word conversation.
“It’s okay, Penelope. I understand, you don’t
want marriage.”
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“I don’t want a lot of things, Charles,” I
comment fingering the roses Michael had sent to me
this morning. How he had the time I don’t know, but
I love the view.
“That’s fine. Honestly I have missed you.” I
don’t know if I have really missed Charles. Yes from
time to time I may have thought about him a bit.
What it would have been like to be someone’s wife.
To be someone’s mother. Then I remember who I am.
I remember who and what my mother was. I don’t
want to be that to someone else, give that burden to
another human. Then I wonder if that’s why I don’t
talk to anyone about my life. Burdens.
Thoughts of Dr. Clayton enter my mind before
his voice comes again, “So could we?”
“Just dinner,” comes from me in a final tone. I
wish I could tell him not to bring up our last
conversation, to not talk about the future or marriage.
Because Charles wants more I had to cut him off from
paradise. Shame too, he is quite good at it.
I meet him at Truffles in Clayton, a place that
doesn’t turn into a nightclub in a couple of hours. My
only concern when I walked in was the slightly
romantic feel of the restaurant. As much as I may be
open to letting Charles back into paradise, I didn’t
want anything to prompt that conversation.
When he sees me he greets me with a kiss to
the forehead before pulling out a chair for me. Sitting
in the middle of the restaurant we have a nice
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Bambi St. James
conversation over an excellent dinner. Nothing
comes about marriage or long term. We speak easily
about the things we have been doing. He tells me he
has been reading Raven and how good he thought
last month’s issue was. He listens intently as I tell him
a few details of this latest issue. Giving me
conversation that makes me realize how different he
is from Michael, making me admit to myself how
much I have missed him.
Although Michael and I talk a lot about my
work he never really asks. It just always seems to
maybe come up, then if it doesn’t I don’t concern
myself with that detail.
“Can I be honest?” He asks finishing up the
last of his filet mignon.
I swallow the last of the restaurant’s famous
Missouri chicken breast along with the lump in my
throat to be able to say, “Yes.” With my mind
screaming NO! Don’t do it!
“I have really missed you and I don’t care if we
get married. I don’t care that you don’t want to live
with me. I’m not through with you.”
His eyes show a lust that lets me know he is
talking about nothing but sex.
“I don’t know how this will end, but I'm not
ready to let you go.”
Squeezing my thighs together I ask, “Are you
sure about that.”
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“Absolutely.”
As much as I would love to go home with him
and let him fuck the shit out of me I just couldn’t.
Michael hadn’t been out of me a full twenty four
hours so I just can’t.
“I'm happy to hear that. But for my piece of
mind I am requesting that we take this a little slow.”
“Does a little slow mean I can’t eat your pussy
tonight?” He asks, the lust now heating his skin.
I smile at him not happy at all, “Yes.”
“Okay as long as I will soon,” he declares
pulling back from the table.
Confidence restored Charles pays the bill and
then walks me to my car. When we get there he
kisses me deeply, holds me tightly like he doesn’t
want to let go. It’s a good feeling.
As he is letting me go, “I look forward to
taking this slow.” Then he leaves without waiting on
my response, which is a good thing. Just like in Dr.
Clayton’s office things were about to spill out. Yet
again I know I am not ready.
The drive home finds my mind in many
directions. Should I open up more to Dr. Clayton and
hope for the best? Should open up my heart to
Charles for a normal life? Under those circumstances
would I be able to let Michael go?
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