I tried to make our marriage work…I really did. I stayed married to that bastard far longer than I ever should have, mainly for the sake of my fifteen year old son, Bryceson, whom I had from a previous relationship. His sorry excuse for a father doesn’t have very much to do with him, so Bryceson and Chauncey have really gotten close over the years. They have a close bond, and I didn’t want to break it apart and leave him without a positive father figure in his life, once again.
So, I overlooked many things, all so that I could say I was married, and so that my son would have a dad in his life. Mistake number one. Keep reading, you will come to realize- as I have- that I’ve made lot’s of mistakes concerning Chauncey.
Truth be told, I should have never even dated Chauncey’s ass longer than a month after we met…let alone married him. I reached for my wine glass, which was setting on the coffee table, and took a sip, then another one, then…what the hell, I turned the glass up and drank all the red liquid that remained in it.
I wasn’t a big drinker before I met Chauncey. Hell, I’m not one now. I really don’t even care for the taste of liquor. In the past, if I could taste alcohol in a drink, I wouldn’t drink it. I stayed in my lane and stuck to fruity, girly wines and margaritas when I did decide to have a little sip of something. However, I have found myself needing fruity wine and margaritas a lot more frequently since I met him. I don’t get drunk, though…just tipsy enough to be able to cope with him and his bullshit, in an attempt to avoid picking up a lamp or something and throwing it at him when he says or does something stupid…which was often, here lately.
After I set the glass back on the table, I resume staring at the spot on the wall that has held my attention for so long. What was I going to hang there? I’m a bit of a wall décor hoarder, so I know I have something packed away in the storage closet outside that I can put there, I just don’t feel like getting up to go outside and look for it right now.
My cellphone rang to the jingly apple ringtone it does when someone is calling me. I picked it up and glanced at the screen. It’s my friend, Danielle calling…probably to be nosy. I roll my eyes because I really don’t feel like talking and I know she’s about to ask me fifty-eleven gattdamn questions about Chauncey, but I answer the phone anyway.
“Hey, girl.”
“Hey, girl. I was just calling to check up on you…make sure you’re not sitting over there crying and depressed.”
“Crying and depressed for what?”
“Because your marriage just ended, that’s why.”
“And?!”
“Annddd, most people are sad when they get divorced.”
“Well, I ain’t most people; and anyway, my marriage was over long before yesterday morning, hell. For the last six months, we’ve been living like roommates instead of husband and wife. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, has happened between us for a very long time- no kissing, hugging, fucking, nothing.”
“Okay, you’ve been telling me this for a while now, and I still don’t believe that you haven’t screwed your husband since the Fourth of July. It’s almost Thanksgiving, girl. ”
“Let me stop you right there…that’s ex-husband; and I know how long it’s been…and believe it, because it’s the truth.”
“Okay, ex-husband. But, since July 4th though? That’s a long time for a husband and wife to not have sex. You know he’s been out there getting it from someone else.”
“Yes…July 4th, and even then it was a mercy fuck.”
Danielle laughed loudly. “What’s a mercy fuck?”
“It’s when a woman is in a relationship with a man and she really don’t want to have sex with him, but she does it anyway, just so she won’t have to hear his damn mouth and to keep the peace. And as far as that last thing you said, I’m sure he has been out there spreading his lil’ dick around to whoever wants it, and I really don’t give a damn. Hell, I need to find her, whoever she is, and thank her for doing the dreadful task that I hated doing.”
“Wait, why do you say having sex with Chauncey was a dreadful task, though?”
“Because having sex with him was boring as hell, that’s why. I haven’t had an orgasm in eight years…eight! Lying there, moaning and groaning, pretending like I was enjoying it, that was all for his benefit…because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and bruise his ego.”
“Eight years and no orgasm…not even when he licked it?” Danielle exclaimed.
“Did I stutter? Yes, eight years. And no, not even when he licked it. Hell, I hated that more than actually having sex with him. I got so tired of lying there rolling my eyes while he was down there, swearing up and down he was doing really something. I rolled my eyes so much, I’m surprised I didn’t sit up cross-eyed by the time he was done.”
“Hell, at least he was licking it. Most black men claim not to do it.”
“Well, he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, so he might as well had not even bothered. Listen, if I don’t get up from that bed wobbling like a baby calf, he didn’t do it right. I could have definitely done without it.”
“Well, what about his stroke game?”
“Girl, hold on…I’ma need some more wine for this conversation. Give me a minute.”
I got up and ran to the fridge, grabbed the bottle of Barefoot Sweet Red wine, and ran back to the living room. I poured some into my glass and took a long sip before I resumed my conversation with Danielle. “Okay, I’m back now.”
“Okay, so about his stroke game?”
“Yeah, well, that wasn’t too much better. Now, I wasn’t tripping on his size…I’m not one of those women who get all googly-eyed over a big dick; it’s how well you use what you got that impresses me, know what I’m saying? So yeah, Chauncey wasn’t working with the biggest one. God must have gotten tired when He created Chauncey and called it a day at five inches. Like I said, I don’t trip on size. The problem was, he didn’t work too well with what he had. He has absolutely no rhythm, whatsoever. He knows one speed- fast. He don't know a damn thing about making love to a woman... going slow, long-stroking it sometimes. All he knew was that jack rabbit shit…humping all in me like he was trying to race to the finish line and get his before I did. Ugh, I hated it.”
Danielle giggled on the other end of the phone. “You’re a mess, Simone.”
“I’m just telling the truth. I mean, I like a quickie every now and then, but not all the damn time. That three minute lovin’ all the time just didn’t do it for me. At the same time, he was so bad and insensitive, I never wanted it to last more than that. I’d used to tell him to hurry up and finish so I could go on about my damn business.”
“No you didn’t?!”
“Yes, I did. I hated fucking his ass. You should have heard him...groaning all loud, sounding like a damn grizzly bear when he came; that combined with those weird ass faces he’d make when he called himself looking into my eyes during sex seriously irked my soul. I just couldn’t deal. It got to the point where when I did give him some, I’d always turn around and let him hit it from the back…just so I wouldn’t have to look at him, and he wouldn’t see what I was thinking…cause you know my facial expressions always tell my true thoughts, even when I’m trying to pretend to be cool.”
“Wow…it was really that bad?”
Before I could answer Danielle, I hear Chauncey pull up outside. I always heard him before I saw him, because for some reason, he felt the need to turn the volume up on his car stereo up as high as it would go, disturbing the whole damn neighborhood, like the younger guys did. Music be so loud it vibrates the pictures on the wall. I never understood the point of that. That’s one of Chauncey’s problems- he still thinks he’s young. He never grew up, and I’ve wasted eight and a half years of my life, thinking he would sooner or later.
“Danielle, let me call you back, girl; his ass just pulled up.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later; bye!”
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