Dear God, Wesley is delicious. I mean visually, I mean in terms of touch and smell and in terms of manners. I would describe him as an animal with style. He’s not ashamed of using his body to tease a woman, his words and charm to seduce a woman. With Wesley black skin is a implement used to remind women that deep down we are animals too. We need to fuck, to hurt, to compete, to disparage, all the not so nice things within the instinct lexicon.
What was most thrilling of all, was that Wesley had targeted me. I knew the stories of course. Jenny and her husband had moved away after Wesley got her pregnant. Mixed race babies were not so readily received in the neighbourhood. I knew that Phillip had been reduced to drink after Wesley started fucking Caroline. Phillip never quite recovered and Caroline divorced him, finally marrying one of Wesley’s associates. Wesley is dangerous. Wesley unhinges marriages unless a new and unusual living arrangement is found. Wesley wondered, about me, about Steven, I sensed it.
Wanting Wesley wasn’t the surprise. Every woman that ever met Wesley wanted him! No, the surprise was in wanting to discover just what sort of bitch he could make me. A woman’s fantasy, about submitting to a powerful man is a very compelling thing. Submitting to Wesley was everything. If Steven was collateral damage, then so be it.
The night that Wesley and I covertly snogged at the party electrified me. I came home with Steve afterwards and demanded that he lick my sex. He called me a vixen, saying that I seemed possessed! Well….I was! I was possessed by a fantasy. I pushed Steve back on the bed, pounced on him like a big cat, pinioning his arms to the sheets. Then I gyrated my sex just above his face, demanding that he smell me. I was ‘on heat’. He started to lick me and my sex lips tensed. I could actually feel them stiffen with blood and then my pulse start to throb inside my sex. The more that Steve licked me, the more I imagined Wesley fucking me. When I climaxed on Steve’s face, squirting everywhere, it was because in my sweet little head Wesley had just got me pregnant!
I know that a lot of couples talk dirty sex, but I didn’t allow Steve that. I didn’t want him invading me private fantasy world with Wesley. I didn’t want his questions, his emotions, his insecurities, I just wanted to use him. His tongue was a wet wipe cleaning up my cunt after Wesley had filled it. His lips were sucklers designed to remind me just how much Wes stretched me open. His fingers on my nipples were there simply to help me anticipate my black baby nuzzling for milk. I know what Wesley did to husbands of the women that he wanted, he emasculated them. If I was going to be Wesley’s bitch, then I decided that I would have to be every bit as cruel.
The next morning Steve was in shock. It was like his wife had been transformed over night. I’d woken him again you see and insisted on cunnilingus. A group of us were going down to Brighton, Wesley, two or three others and I. Steve was playing golf….again. I wore a pair of tight dark brown leather jeans and some racy kitten heeled boots. I wore a caramel silk blouse and a wide slouch belt with a brass buckle that sat on my crotch. I wanted to please Wesley. Steve stared at me. The look was pure raunchy.
‘Your mother’s Cartier Santos, fetch it’ I said to him.
The watch was like a Russian icon to the man, a little gold effigy or something. It was sacred, in her memory. Steve worshipped his fucking mother. But I wanted the watch to add to my look. I wanted to tease Wesley.
He brought it and watched as I slipped it onto my wrist. It slid down chic against my hand. Gold, expensive, with a dainty ruby cabochon winder.
‘I’m wearing this from now on’ I said calmly.
He winced. it had seemed a moment of sacrilege. No one wore that watch bar mama, expensive, rare, perfect, given to her by the perfect devoted husband. It was like trampling across a Christmas morning meadow of his perfectly settled snow. He started to protest….
‘No!’ I said firmly, ‘I’m taking it.’
Steve cleared up the breakfast things whilst I applied my make up. He said that I seemed like an exploding firework. He was pretty unsettled! I didn’t confirm or deny his assessment. I didn’t want him aroused. I wanted him hurt. I imagined how that might arouse Wesley. The more I humiliated my husband the better, that was how a very masculine black men thought. So now, silence. Steve was not allowed to understand. Steve was not allowed to interfere with my fate….his fate.
I asked Steve to fetch down my Frey pendant on the chocolate brown silk torsade. It would look alluring beneath my blouse, against my pale skin. Steve fixed it about my throat and I checked that it was just so. I looked as though I was dating. I knew it. But Steve could go on wondering.
Whilst Steve was loading his clubs into the car, Wesley rang me. I was still going to Brighton wasn’t I? Of course! How did I feel about peeling off from the group to have a spot of lunch and look through the Lanes (a antique jewellery quarter)? Sure, that would be fantastic! Steve was there, in the doorway, listening to me. I hadn’t said ‘Wesley’ on the phone, but my voice was excited, animated.
‘Fuck off Steve, it’s rude to eaves drop’ I said tersely.
I’ve never sworn at Steve before…never. I watched him slink away, his face flushing red with embarrassment. Wesley was listening. Wesley was listening and there was this deep throaty purr in his voice as though my outburst had given him pleasure.
‘You’re pretty spirited,’ he mused, ‘you get your own way’.
‘Yes’ I said simply. My sex thrilled. It tingled at the prospect of how that might seem to Wesley! I wanted to seem proud, haughty, a spoilt bitch conquest. Wasn’t that what made a long buck male’s juices flow?
‘Friend of mine has a boat down in Brighton…you bitch enough to bring down some over night things babe?’ Wesley asked.
I shuddered with the excitement of that. I trembled at the very idea of Wesley taking me. I could hear Steve in the next room. He was pretending to search for his golf glove, pretending NOT to listen.
‘If you want that…yes…..I will’. How did I sound saying that? I felt like a cub cowering before the alpha male lion.
‘No sheaths, no one night standing, no apologies for getting things on together’ continued Wesley. His voice sounded deeper now, more resonant. It was as if he stretched his arms, extended his claws and growled.
‘Your rules’ I agreed. That must have sounded obvious, direct, it must have sounded SEX. My voice was husky.
‘I’ll pick you up at your place, you going to tell that husband to fuck off some place?’
‘He’s going to golf’ I said, flatly and Wesley chuckled, ‘OK’.
Still on the phone and checking Mama’s icon watch, I said loudly to the hovering Steve next door.
‘You’ll be late for the tee off. Go for Christ’s sake’. It was really terse, even a bit snappy. I watched Steve slink off with his things. He thought about kissing my cheek but concluded that wasn’t allowed.
‘He’s gone’ I said at last. I’d moved to the living room to watch my husband drive away. Listening to Wesley’s resonant voice was so sexy. I sat on the sofa and started to play with my nipples through the material of the blouse.
‘I’m direct….no nonsense about relationships’ said Wesley. It was about as much of an apology as you could ever hope for from a man like that. ‘I like my women arrogant, exclusive, may be cruel.’
His words thrilled me. I pulled on my nipples.
‘You’ve good reason to be demanding, to be arrogant…’ I said, panting a little. It was amazing, Wesley was coming on to me.
‘You hard enough minded to be a bitch?’ he asked.
I gulped down air.
‘Hard enough to humiliate him as part of what we get on together?’
My heart raced. We both knew who ‘him’ referred to.
‘Yes’ I whispered.
‘I’ll pick up in an hour’ Wesley said.
I returned the mobile phone to my shoulder bag. My pulse was bounding. I felt…God….I felt wet and moist and needy, between my legs. I needed Wesley to fuck me hard.
I could have called Steve later, to lie and say that the group had decided to overnight in Brighton. I could have added ‘hope that’s OK?’ I didn’t though. I found a notelet and wrote it, leaving it on the side in the kitchen.
‘Steve, please don’t be nosey when I’m on the phone, that’s rude. I’ll be back tomorrow. You’ll have to get supper from the freezer. Natalie’.