My gracious readers, this is a "grown people" story about a couple who have been battle tested and scarred by life but still find their way to build a life together. That reconstruction, was based on the understanding that "there always is so much good in the worst of us and so much bad in the best of us that it ill behooves any of us to find fault with the rest of us." My thanks to James Truslow Adams for his observation about us humans.
This is a love story about forgiveness and redemption, and the benefits that come when love triumphs! I have decided to place it in the "Loving Wives," category, because there is none for "Loving husbands," even though there are other themes that pull upon it for inclusion.
The most compelling message is the love and devotion showed by a man who didn't abandon his woman in her darkest moments and helped her to find herself again. Men are not generally known for this, but ladies, some do exist!
The story contains elements of spousal abuse, infidelity and bisexuality, so if these themes are abhorrent to you, please read something else more palatable.
If you plan on voting and or commenting on this story, which I hope that you are, please remember that this is just a story, not a doctoral thesis, so set your professorial red pens and mortar boards aside and give yourself permission to ride an emotional roller coaster and get off saying,
"Yes!!!"
WHERE FANTASY AND REALITY MEET
Cynthia writhed, arms extended, balled-up fists gripping the bed sheets, eyes rolled back, mouth agape, toes splayed, as a long low wail, wrestled its way out her mouth. She felt that she was on the verge of losing her mind and was trying but failing to close her legs in an effort to stem the sensations created by the marauding tongue that attacked her crotch!
"Ohh Goddd!!!!! Jess...Pleeaassee!!!!!" she screamed, "pllleeaaseee!!! I cannttt cum anyyy moreee!!!"
Her lover finally relented, and she collapsed in her husband's arms, gasping and panting as she tried to suck enough air back into her depleted lungs! He smiled as she tossed and turned, body consumed by roaring passion.
Much later, when Cynthia walked the earth again, she realized that she was in her husband's arms. She drew his face to hers and kissed him softly, then turned to her lesbian lover, and submitted herself to her embrace. She clung to her like a drowning rat on a floating log, while she stroked and peppered her with soft kisses, until she fell asleep.
That torrid session was the fruition of many intimate conversations and discussions shared between Richard and Cynthia over the past ten years of their marriage. It wasn't something that they had just dreamed up, but something that they had both worked long and hard for, as he tried to assist her in completing her bucket list. They had been disappointed on many prior attempts, but never gave up, even when the fantasy that they had conjured up didn't live up to the reality.
This time, they had struck gold, and Cynthia was still aloft, not yet having returned to earth in a condition to fully express her joy to Richard; but he knew that this time fantasy and reality had become comingled!
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Richard Carter, a six-foot four African American product of Stone Creek, Georgia, worked at a stockbrokerage firm in New York City. He had earned an MBA degree from the Wharton School of Business in Philadelphia. His record showed that he was not admitted because of affirmative action, like so many of his white fellow students assumed, but because he was a brilliant student. He had worked and scraped, driven taxicabs, hustled in stockrooms in department stores, cleaned toilets in hotels, all to support himself while matriculating.
He was no stranger to scut work nor menial jobs, and took exception to comments from those whose legacy allowed them easy access, while concluding that he had not really earned his admission, as they ignored the fact that they hadn't. People found him somewhat guarded and reserved, but a great conversationalist once you got him started, particularly about the things for which he had a passion. He had a great and somewhat deprecating sense of humor and in spite of his accomplishments, he maintained a humble but not servile demeanor.
By dint of his work ethic and expertise, he had been appointed supervisor in his department, a fact that galled many less qualified white men who tried to make his work experience a living hell. He navigated his career with the patience of Job, never losing his cool, thwarting all efforts to besmirch his character.
As he was entering his office building one day, he met a statuesque and elegant looking, dark-skinned black woman who was arriving at the same time. He held the door open for her and she smiled and remarked,
"You are indeed a true gentleman. I have not had a man open a door for me in ages."
"I always open doors for women," he said, "my mother would come get me if I didn't." Then, rolling his eyes, a la Groucho Marx, he added, "and the more lovely the woman, the more I have to extend the courtesy."
"I see you like flirting too, don't you?" she teased.
"Not really," he replied, "but I couldn't let you go by without at least trying to get to know you. I'm Richard Carter, may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"
"You are smooth too," she chuckled, "I'm Cynthia, Cynthia Jordan."
"I don't know how I could have worked here so long and never seen you." he countered.
"Well, I just started a few weeks ago, maybe that's why." She responded.
"I am happy to know that my eyesight has not failed me." He laughed.
"Well, off to work, I go, being who I am, I cannot afford to be late." She shared. He innately understood the import of her statement.
Later he was to discover that she had been fired from her previous job because she had refused to be a barista for her boss and white fellow workers, even though she was the only one in her department with a college degree.
"I hope to see you again soon." She added.
As she walked ahead of him, his vision recorded the image of an elegant, dark-skinned woman about 5'10", with a very shapely body. She carried herself so regally that he wondered how she could possibly still be single.
Her hair was trimmed short, in the style of many African women. Her eyes were expressive, her lush lips made for kissing, and her bottom... my God!!!!, it was rambunctious. It was the epitome of the classical African woman's ass, conjuring up images of pleasure beyond measure! His brain embedded the vision within it, ensuring a permanent record for him to recall and savor whenever he chose.
Before entering the elevator, she turned to look back at him, knowing where he would be staring. She shook her head as the door closed, thinking,
"Like every man that I meet, all he sees is my ass."
He discovered that her office was two floors above his, but unfortunately, he rarely saw her after that, and when he did, it was mostly when she was going to lunch with one or other of her fellow workers. Not wanting to appear too forward, by breaking into their conversation, he never accosted her beyond a wave of hello. She was surprised by this, because she expected that like most men, he would not have wasted any time before hitting on her, but to her surprise, he never did.
The few times that he observed her in an unguarded moment, she had such a wounded and sad expression on her face that he refrained from bothering her. He often wondered what its genesis was. It seemed as if her cheery exterior with people was a mask to cover a deep psychic pain which she never wanted anyone to see.
She was a product of the New York State University system. Her tenure there was tortuous by virtue of the fact that she was a beautiful woman.
Many of her professors and male fellow students assumed, as they often do with beautiful women, that she was only at university looking for a husband and would be willing to trade favors for passing grades. They discovered quite quickly to their chagrin, that was not her game plan. She kept her nose to the wheel, studied hard and kept her legs closed until she graduated.
Her first job in a community center, located in the Bronx, placed her in an environment with some hard case individuals. One of them was a very handsome light complexioned "pretty boy" who was the epitome of the "bad boy" to which so many women seemed attracted.
