Roman Holiday

I rubbed the dildo against my lips using the head to separate them, to get at my wetness. It was bigger than the cucumber, but not as rigid.

"Why black?" I gasped as I tried to insert the head, "You've only had one black friend in your life and he's dead. We don't even associate with any blacks socially."

"I know, but we used to, when we were dating."

"Are you thinking of Jan?" Jan was Roland's friend from college. They were very close. Jan's name was spelled like a girl but pronounced like a boy, John. He was quite a bit older than Roland. He was a Vietnam vet who went back to school after getting out of the Army. He had done three tours in Vietnam. Like he said, he had done and seen some fucked up shit.

He had swagger. He wore sweats, the kind you see athletes wearing, the top zipped up like a jacket. He wore it always three fourths zipped. He always had on a gold necklace. He said it brought him good luck. He drank a lot and he smoke a lot, both tobacco and weed. He was very smart, but you wouldn't think it based on the way he dressed, the big Afro he wore, or the way he talked. He had grown up on some very mean streets then gone over there to an even crueler place, not just once but three times.

Roland asked him why. He said it was for his friends, but we both thought it was because over there he never felt so alive. He was a soldier, not a black man. He loved and loathed the Army. He wasn't a bad influence on Roland, but he did bring out Roland's wild side.

He wasn't handsome. He looked rough. He had at least half a dozen half to one inch scars all over his face. He never did say how he got them, just that he got them before 'Nam. He didn't work out but was muscular and lean. He was 6 foot, maybe a little taller. He was a good dancer.

Jan's death from cancer hit us both hard, but Roland hardest. They were buddies. I remember seeing Jan without a shirt on. He had acne all over his back and chest. He saw me noticing and said, "Chloracne. From that Agent Orange shit." He didn't have it all the time, but he had flare ups. The sun he said helped. On his left shoulder blade he had a small circular scar from a gunshot wound. Like he said, "happened before Nam. Some motherfucker drove by and shot me as I was taking the trash out." He didn't seem too bitter about it, more incensed at how it happened, "taking out the motherfucking trash for my mama." Not during a fight, but taking the trash out.

Agent Orange, Kools, Jack Daniels, or the stress of three combat tours, gave him cancer. He was young so the doctors weren't looking for it and didn't see it until it was too late. Jan's dad was never in the picture and he wasn't particularly close to his mom. She had him when she was young, married later to a man she had two boys with. He kind of fell through the cracks.

We had just moved back home when we heard the news. By then Jan only had a few months to live. Doctors had given up and sent him home to die. He had just turned 30. His stepbrothers were busy. One was in the Army, the other on the road in a band. His mom and stepdad weren't overly interested. Roland would go over after work and take care of Jan, seven days a week. I supported him doing it and tagged along because he was my husband's friend.

"Yes,".

"So your fantasies do go way back. Did you used to fantasize about Jan fucking me?"

"Yes. You're not mad are you?"

"Shhh. No, I'm not mad. I'm not judging you, just trying to get in your head. It's just so damn big. I want it in me, but it's not cooperating."

I know I sounded frustrated.

"Maybe you're not wet enough."

"Roland, trust me. I'm very wet."

"I know you're wet, but maybe you need to be really, really wet. There's some lubricant in the drawer."

I was going to tell him I didn't need any lubricant, but figured what the hell.

I put the phone down, found the bottle, opened it and before I poured it on decided I had better get a towel as it could be messy.

I spread a towel underneath me folded i half and drizzled lubricant the length of the dildo. I then smeared it all over. I had no idea what was in the lubricant but it sure made that dildo super slick. The shaft was hard to hold onto so I grabbed it by the balls.

I picked up the phone and told him, "I'm back. Let's pick up where we left off. i remember. I was about to fuck myself with this huge dildo you bought."

The lubricant certainly made inserting it easier, but it didn't make that dildo smaller.

It was like I was having a baby, only the baby wasn't being delivered, but going back inside.

"He's big. What should we name him?

"It's a dildo. I hadn't thought about naming it."

"It's my lover and he needs a name. How about Jan?'

"Okay. Let's call him Jan."

"Jan is huge." I worked more of him into me going very, very slow. I was so stretched I thought I might tear. Pushed in a quarter inch, then pulled out, pushed in a half inch, then pulled out. It took a lot of pushing before Jan was all the way in me. I was concentrating so hard I couldn't talk so Roland talked for me encouraging me, tellling me how sexy he imagined I looked.

"I am so full," I told him.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. It feels really really good." I didn't get ten strokes in before orgasming. No scream, just a long, long groan and a lot of fuck, fuck, fuck. My skin and hair were damp with sweat.

Jan had given me one hell of an orgasm, the kind where your eyes roll itno the back of your head.

Roland commented, "That sounded intense."

"It was. I need to go. I'm too tired to talk. Now all I want to do is go to sleep."

"Good night. Thanks. I love you."

"I love you too. You're welcome."

I lay there with that big cock in me thinking a little about Jan, but more about his brother, Ricky, who was in the Army. I fucked myself to two more orgasms before calling it a night.

I hadn't seen him since the funeral. He was built like Jan, but much more handsome.

Roland wasn't the only with secrets. I had two of my own and after Mr. Married Man three. Mr. Married Man was the first man besides my husband who fucked me. My other two secrets occurred after marriage. One was very special while the other made me feel so guilty.

Roland thought the world of Jan, but my relationship with Jan was more complicated.

Jan was Roland's friend, not mine. When they were together they got wasted. Jan would say some pretty outrageous things to me. What he considered flirting I thought was crude. I knew it was the booze and the weed because when he was sober he was very respectful and he kept his distance.

I would show up at the bar where they hung out after classes ended. Fridays there was a band. I would dance with a lot of people, my friends and Roland's. We hadn't been dating long but everyone knew we were dating. Jan asked me to dance. It was a fast song, soul, not rock. I had been drinking, but not like Jan. We were both good dancers. I was riding up and down his thigh and then we were bumping and grinding crotches. It was erotic and scary. I wasn't attracted to him at all, but I was dancing like I was. I could tell he was hard.

The song ended. I went back to the table and told Roland it was time to go. He asked if I was upset and if Jan had done or said something. I lied and told him no. He told me, "Jan thinks you are a fox. I think he has a crush on you."

It wasn't what I wanted to hear, but the next words were. Roland kissed me and said, "But I have a bigger crush." I kissed him back. In the back seat of my car that night he petted me to orgasm and I jacked him off, rubbing him to climax through his pants.

We started doing things less as a group and more as a couple after that night. I still associated with Jan and Roland still did plenty of drinking with him, but it wasn't the same. Jan had wanted to get in my pants that night and I had certainly encouraged him. I had danced like a whore with him, grinding my pelvis against his, my crotch riding up and down his thigh.

After he was sick I went over to bring him food. He was skinny. I told him we needed to fatten him up. He had an oxygen bottle to help him breathe. He lay there in his recliner. The t.v. was on, but we weren't watching it. I sat by him and fed him his meal.

He told me, "Jeanette, I'm so tired."

"You should be Jan. It's okay. Now eat."

He watched me as I fed him. I noticed he alternated between looking at my face and my boobs.

"Jeanette, you're so kind. Thank you. And pretty too. Roland's so lucky."

"I'm lucky to have Roland."

"He's my best friend, Jeanette. I wish I had what the two of you have. You're in love. I've never been in love. Never had much luck with the women. I think I scare them."

I lied telling him he wasn't scary at all once you got to know him. You've just seen and done so much. My friends and I were just out of high school. You had been to war."

"You know Jeanette. I did three tours there, killed a lot of them, but the only time I was shot was here by some punk motherfucker when I was taking out the trash."

He sounded agitated. I wondered if he needed medicine, something for the pain.

He finished everything I fed him and thanked me. I asked him if he was hurting because he kept talking about the motherfucker who shot him.

He said, "Yeah, but I don't want it."

I insisted, "But, you need it."

I gave him a few pills. He took them for me.

It took them a few minutes to work. He calmed down. He was getting groggy but he needed to pee. He asked me to help him to the bathroom. I got him to the door. He left it open. I stayed worried he might fall. He fished out of his boxers the biggest penis I had ever seen. I don't know if he knew I was watching or he was too damn tired to care about being modest.

He finished and we walked back to the recliner. He sat down. I asked him if he needed anything. He said, "A blanket. I'm cold." I covered him up.

"Anything else," I asked.

"My feet hurt. Would you rub them?"

I had never rubbed Roland's feet, but there I was a minute later massaging Jan's. They were so dry and looked so big because he was so skinny. I got some lotion and massaged them. I was looking at his feet focused on the massage. We chatted about life. Nothing heavy, just the good times.

He fell asleep. I put some socks on his feet and as I got up noticed the blanket had tented. It took me a second before I realized what it was. It was Jan's penis, big when it was soft, super big when it was hard.

I left.

Roland was the one who took care of him day in and day out, but when he couldn't I did. The routine never changed. He liked my foot massages and I enjoyed giving them to him. I thought it was the least I could do for my husband's friend. A few days before he died he asked for a huge favor.

"Jeanette, I know I'm not much to look at, but would you do something for me."

I wondered what he wanted and knew my answer was going to be yes.

"Sure," I said.

"Would you make me feel good? One last time before I die."

There was no missing the tent pole under his blanket. I took the blanket off, Sticking out through the fly of his boxers was his cock. He was so skinny and it was so huge. I grabbed the bottle of lotion and coated the length of his cock. I then used both hands and gave him what I hoped was the best handjob he had ever had.

I wondered if he could climax or was he too sick. The cancer was everywhere, but it hadn't affected his prostate or testicles. It didn't take long before he groaned and his cock jerked a half dozen times. In quick succession he came. I went into the bathroom, put warm water on a washcloth and cleaned his abdomen of the cum and his cock of the lotion. I grabbed another towel and dried him off, then tucked his cock back inside his boxers.

He told me, "Jeanette, thanks. You're the best."

"You're welcome. I'm glad I could do that for you."

He fell asleep. I kissed his forehead. I got in the car and cried not because I was ashamed of what I had done because I wasn't. I cried because it was terribly sad to see Jan, my husband's friend, dying.

He went peacefully, Roland by his side, three days later.

Very few people showed up for Jan's funeral. Ricky explained to me, "Jan was a bad ass. All his friends from the 'hood are dead or in jail. He's the only one who got away and look what killed him, Agent Orange."

After the funeral we headed to the cemetery than back to Jan's grandmother's house. We were the only whites in attendance. Grandmother was a big woman and an excellent cook. She lived in a tiny house, no air, just a fan. The house was in bad need of repairs. Its foundation was cinder blocks. The smell of fried chicken, gumbo, black eyed peas flavored with big chunks of pork fat and ham, turnip greens, and collards was heavenly. We tried it all.

While we ate she regaled us with stories of Jan. She had pretty much raised him. He was a very considerate kid, mild mannered, soft. As she put it, "The streets took my baby. The Army saved him and then it killed him. We should have never been over there."

Roland went outside with the men while I helped grandma clean up. They passed around a bottle, then a couple of joints, then a few 32 ounce malt liquors. Roland was very broken up about Jan's passing and getting very fucked up was how he was dealing with it.

Ricky is back in the house, not really helping, but watching his grandma and I work. I can feel his eyes looking me up and down. He's a very good looking man. We have this instant connection that both worries and excites me. He's obviously attracted to me and I feel very drawn to him. We make a lot of eye talk while I'm helping his grandma.

After we're done, I go to the bathroom and when I open the door who is there but Ricky.

He blocks me from leaving. "Hey pretty lady. Why don't you lay some sugar on me? I've got something sweet for you. I know you like chocolate."

I look him in the eye and say, "Have you no shame? Your brother hasn't been in the ground six hours and you're hitting on his best friend's wife."

He corrected me, "Stepbrother. Jan and I were never that close. He did tell me about you how and how fine you were. He said he used to dream about tapping that ass of yours."

My face felt flush, "He did?"

"Swear to God. I only thought in his memory I should try to get what he failed to."

He was the best looking man who had ever hit on me. Roland was nice looking, but Ricky was an eleven. Very dark complected, but with no flaws. Fine features. His lips were full. Killer smile. The whitest, straightest teeth I had ever seen. Short hair. He obviously worked out as he was in the Army.

"Not a chance," I told him, then kicked myself in the ass for adding, "At least not here."

I meant to say and certainly not here in your grandmother's house, but I guess my clitoris and my heart weren't in sync.

He said, "Then give me your number. I'm only in town a few more days but I want to hook up with you."

I gave him my number.

He helped me get Roland into the car. He then followed me around to the driver's side. I felt like the whole neighborhood was watching.

Roland is passed out and Ricky has me pressed against the door.

"Come on fine mama. Give me one kiss."

"No," I answered.

He insisted, "I'm not letting you get in your car until you do."

I gave up pursing my lips for a quick kiss.

It was anything but quick. He pressed his to mine, cupped my chin with one hand, and I opened my mouth. Five or maybe even ten minutes later we came up for air. I was so turned on I was literally gasping from that kiss.

True to his word he let me get in the car. He wasn't smiling as much as he was smirking. It was as though he was telling me he owned me.

I rolled down the window. He bent down. I gave him another kiss, started the car and drove off.

I got home, put Roland to bed, after helping him in the bathroom when he got sick. I changed into my nightgown, got in bed, and while my husband snored, masturbated thinking about Ricky and that kiss.

In the morning I felt guilty for even contemplating cheating on my husband, but I waited for that phone to ring.

It did. He said he wanted to meet me. He would get us a room. He said Roland would never know. It would be just for a few hours. He never called my by name, just sugar or fine mama. Instead of turning him down I said yes.

Fate intervened that day as my normally dependable car wouldn't start. I had a neighbor look at it. He commented on how dressed up I was. I told him I was going shopping. He said it wasn't the battery, but a starter.

He told me, "You'll need more than a jump."

Ricky called. I explained to him about the car. He said he would come get me. I told him it was too risky. I worried about Roland getting home before me or the neighbors seeing me get into a strange man's car, even more memorable because a black man was driving it and we had no blacks in our neighborhood. I refused to give him my address, telling him it had to be a sign.

He answered, "Sugar, there ain't no such thing as signs.Your starter is out. God didn't do it. I can have you back before your husband gets home."

My resolve was melting when Roland walked into the house.

He saw me on the phone. I mouthed that I was talking to a salesman. He mouthed back to hand him the phone. I answered I can handle it.

"Sir, I'm sure the product you have is nice, but we don't need it. I already own a vacuum cleaner. It's a Kenmore and a lot cheaper than the one you're selling."

It took Ricky a minute to catch on. I was certain my husband could hear him because he was so loud. Roland spoke up asking for the phone. Ricky must have heard him because he hung up.

I hadn't been tempted since. I figured it had to do with being vulnerable about Jan's death. Ricky saw me as an easy target and I was. I still remembered that first kiss and how we made out in front of the whole neighborhood while my husband was passed out in the car.