Despite all the sex and sex talk, you can't build a loving relationship on screaming, orgasming sex alone. So I cooked for Shayla. Retrieved her single, pitiful suitcase from storage and washed everything in it for her. She slept in our bed, made up daily by her... made up several times, as we screwed on it as often as possible. I took her shopping for replacement clothes. Paid her annual dues to keep her nursing registration alive. Helped her write grant applications for a proposed Woman's Clinic. She folded and put my clothes away. We watched TV, cuddling on the love-seat. She did 'dress-up' in scraps of clothing she found, left over from my ex-wife. Taking trips in the car. Looking at news on TV or on the Internet.
Often, just doing nothing together.
After a few days with me, she volunteered the details about how she acquired her health status.
Apparently, her ex-boyfriend, an educated black man, had been dangling hopes that he'd marry her. So she let him screw her, in increasingly kinky ways. Then, one afternoon, after spraining her ankle and getting off her afternoon/evening shift early at the local metropolitan hospital, she went home, only to find her boyfriend 'in action,' bareback, with another man... one she knew had an advanced case of active disease, from work at the hospital.
The boyfriend was bi-sexual and having man-man sex on the 'down-low'.
She walked out on him but then made a major mistake. Shayla got a full STD blood work panel, but had it done at the hospital where she worked, since it would be paid for under her health policy there.
She trusted the HIPAA rules of non-disclosure, which turned out to be about as secure in her own hospital as carrying hot water in a colander.
Oh, she got the results back, which revealed her as having a case of chlamydia, gonorrhea and virus antibodies in her blood. She just had time to get a prescription of antibiotics and antiretrovirals from the pharmacy before being summarily fired.
Her boyfriend cleaned out her checking, savings and maxed out all her credit cards before disappearing with his new lover.
When I found her, she'd been living hand-to-mouth in a series of cheap, low-end motels and, at the end, women's shelters, picking up odd jobs for a little money and begging.
The clinic was her last resort for more antiretroviral meds, but had to wait out a period of 60 days to 'qualify'.
Then I showed up and rescued her. I shared out my HIV-medication without being asked.
That night, I just held my lovely, dark black woman and cuddled her into a deep sleep, in our bed.
In the morning and into the day that followed, Shayla raped me repeatedly, demanding (as usual) that I use her dark black body for sex, as she was my loving slut, now and forever.
A few days later, Shayla asked me about my background and how I got to have the virus. I warned her that the story would take a lot longer than the one she'd told me about. To which she just settled into the crook of my arm, my hand caressing her right boob and demanded, "Fess up! Gimmie!"
"I met Abbie—short for Abigail, which name she hated—at a party hosted by her own company, to which my company sold adhesives. I specialized in cryo-adhesive engineering (which just means that I devised and proved out sticky stuff for cold environments, ranging from freezing all the way down to liquid oxygen temps).
I liked her, later fell in love and we married in a year. I thought she was a good, faithful wife, during the time we were together."
"Turned out I was really wrong."
"We'd been married for 6 years when everything came crashing down."
"My job was well-paid and I got to have a lot of fun with it, including doing presentations and getting to travel to some pretty exotic locations. The trouble was that I traveled about one week in two. I suppose you can tell what came next."
"However, Abbie became the poster-child for the bored suburban housewife, wanting 'a little danger, a little excitement' and more big cocks in her so-alone time, when I traveled on business. She started getting invited to parties and 'meetings' arranged by her boss. She was promoted from secretary to an executive personal assistant, which meant that she was in her boss' presence 90% of the time. She was encouraged to start dressing slutty-sexy."
"I suspect it didn't take long until she was 'putting-out' for him on a daily basis, as his every-other-week mistress."
"She covered her tracks well, though, and I never suspected, until—while I was away in Alaska—she arranged to 'service' a lot of guys and a few girls at a Christmas party. I had the usual thing happen to me, in that I came home a couple days early and went to the Christmas party, held in a local Holiday Inn, to surprise her."
