Anyone who knows me knows that
I’m not a fan of the Real Housewives of Atlanta (or any of the reality shows
with Black women). I think it does
tremendous harm to the Black community and Black women and girls specifically
by promoting the things that are not only unhealthy but detrimental to the
survival of us as a people. It promotes
superficiality over substance; it doesn’t show that Black women can be friends
and support one another but rather it promotes this completely unhealthy
concept that Black women are naturally competitive and bitchy. It doesn’t provide anything close to a
depiction of a healthy relationship or what it takes to build a healthy
relationship. It glamorizes the concept
of women being empty, shallow, pretty trophies and drama queens whose only
objective is to get a man with money.
What I find most problematic with the Real Housewives of Atlanta and all
the other shallow reality shows is that they show African American women in a
negative light for people of other races to view us and continue to perpetuate
racist and destructive stereotypes about us.
Here is my antidote to the plague that is Real Housewives of Atlanta.
The Real Housewives of AfroerotiK
Chapter 1: Nailah Overton
The buzzer from the dryer went
off, signaling to Nailah that her final load of laundry was done. She made her way to the laundry room, picking
up stray toys along the way that had been left by her little ones. Order
and cleanliness were imperative in a household of five so it was a constant
effort to keep things where they belonged.
As she pulled each item from the dryer, she meticulously folded it to be
put away immediately. Laundry was an
almost daily chore in their household and she refused to let it get away from
her so she stayed on top of it. She
would have asked her husband for help, help that he normally would have offered
without her even having to ask, but he was studying for his real estate license
exam. He needed peace and quiet and with
three children, all below the age of seven, that was no easy feat.
If ever there was a couple
supportive of one another, it was Nailah and Roderick Overton. For the last few weeks, they had worked out a
schedule. Nailah would pick up the kids
from day care after work and then head to the park, miniature golf, anywhere
she could to stay out of the house. Normally,
when Roderick got off from his job, he would pick up the kids and at least have
dinner started by the time Nailah got home at 6:00 if not on the table
already. Now, the minute he walked in
the door till the time his eyes closed, he was studying. With the children fed, bathed, teeth brushed,
stories read, and safely tucked away in bed, it was Nailah’s time to pursue her
passion. Peeking in on her hubby, Nailah
kissed him on the cheek, rubbed his shoulders for a few minutes, and made her
way to her studio. Well, studio was
really a stretch. Let’s just call it
what it is. A garage. She had to share it with her car and Rod’s
tools and bikes for the kids. But, Rod
had done a great job of transforming his side of the garage into an artist’s
dream, complete with lighting that mimicked real sunlight. He even parked his car a block away and
walked the rest of the way home, even in the rain, to give her space. Nailah was an artist, an amazing artist in
fact. She worked in several mediums but
painting was her favorite. She wanted
nothing more than to quit her nine to five and paint all day, every day. Roderick wanted nothing more than for her to
quit her job and paint all day as well in a huge loft with real sunlight. He loved his wife and he supported her
dreams. He knew it was not a question of
IF she would become a famous artist one day, it was just a matter of when her
big break would come. If he had his way,
his wife would do nothing but stay at home and raise the kids and paint to her
heart’s content. Life rarely goes the
way we want it to however.
Newly married, Rod and Nailah had
dreams of becoming successful in their chosen careers. The reality of a very racist world came
crashing down on them when Roderick got a job in California and they moved all
the way across the country from their native South Carolina only to be
devastated because the old boy network refused to admit a Black man into the
inner circles. He was fired one day
before his six month probation was up and he suffered a crushing blow to his
self-esteem and mild depression for six months after that.
Nailah suffered from something
different, something she referred to as slave mentality. She was self-aware enough to identify her
blockages but she hadn’t yet been able to slay that particular dragon. Her issue was, as she defined it, this
nagging, ever-present tiny, little voice in her head that told her that she
wasn’t good enough, that she had to be perfect in order to be successful, that
no matter how hard she worked, she would never amount to anything. It was like there was a heavy, weighted chain
around her self-esteem that kept her from soaring like an eagle. African American artists were particularly
susceptible to this particular ailment because all of Black society, and their
second cousins and their neighbors too, make sure to negate the life of an
artist and demean and degrade anyone who doesn’t want to pick corporate cotton
and conform to the capitalist ideal for a living.
So, Roderick took the first job
he could get because he wanted to have some form of money coming in, he wanted
to provide something for the family even though with the job he took he was tragically
underemployed. And even though she had
just started to sell a few paintings here and there, Nailah took a job because
she lacked the confidence and support system white artists tend to have to just
rely on their art for survival. In the
meantime, every two years, the babies kept coming until they were 8 years into
a wonderful marriage and trapped in dead-end jobs they both hated.
Rod had always been a great people-person
but working retail in a department store with the measly salary plus commission
that they offered was not enough to save up to buy a house, save for college
for three dangerously bright children, or even go on a much needed family vacation. Retail has a way of sucking you in: you
become accustomed to the insane hours, the ridiculous demands from rude
customers, the exploitation from managers who expect miracles, and the look of
disgust other employers give you when you go to apply for another job and they
see your resume and your retail employment background. It was particularly painful for Roderick
because after he lost his dream job, he was too shattered to pursue a career in
his chosen field for quite some time.
Nailah identified it as his own brand of slave mentality. Roderick was, by most standards, a genius but
he was so used to a society devaluing him as a Black man, he accepted the lane
he was forced into and didn’t try to change.
Nailah didn’t judge him for it, she didn’t ridicule or shame him for not
bringing in a six figure salary. She
understood that there were centuries of oppression that went into the creation
of the unfair system that plagued them and the coping mechanisms Black people
came up with to push down the pain.
With an uncanny ability to
communicate with people, put them at ease, and to explain things in a way that
made people not even realize that they were being sold something, there was
little doubt that he was the best at what he did: sell very rich customers
overpriced clothing that they didn’t need.
One day, Roderick was helping a customer and he ended up selling him
three suits, a leather coat, several pairs of shoes, and an Italian silk tie
when all he came in for was a tie. He
was a producer for HGTV and he said, “Man, you could sell ice to an
Eskimo.” It was not a compliment Rod was
unaccustomed to hearing in his line of work, he was always the top salesperson. “With your personality and charm, and your
looks, man, you could be selling million dollar homes,” and that planted the
seed that led him into pursuing a new career path. He told his wife about the exchange and she
was more than supportive. All she wanted
was for her husband to be happy and fulfilled and she thought the hours and the
commissions would be infinitely better than working in retail, even if it was
one of the most expensive retail stores in the city. Besides, Nailah wanted a house of their own
one day and she knew that if Rod was able to apply his skills in a career in
real estate that would not only give them a nice nest egg but also a leg up
over the average buyer.
While lovely, the house they were
living in was not theirs to own and they were quickly outgrowing it with each
child getting older. They were renting from
a lovely, older couple, the Fishers, whom they had loved like adopted parents. Nailah had worked with Mrs. Fisher at her job
with the Social Security, doing little more than creating volumes of red tape
and pushing papers around in a daily, monotonous grind. When Mrs. Fisher announced that she couldn’t
take one more minute and she was going to take early retirement and that she
and her husband were looking to rent out their house to move to Michigan to be
closer to their grandchildren in Lansing, she was overjoyed when Rod and Nailah
indicated that they were interested.
They had been to their home dozens of times for cookouts and gatherings;
their children were the same age as their own grandchildren. The Fishers loved the children like they were
their own grandchildren in fact, going to every birthday party and bringing
food and baby clothes after the birth of each little one. Both Nailah and Roderick’s parents lived 3000
miles away so they gravitated to the Fishers immediately. In fact, when Mr. Fisher was in the hospital
with a heart attack, Rod came by every day, either before work or after work,
just to check on him, even though it was Nailah and Mrs. Fisher who were the
foundation of the friendship. The
Fishers loved Rod and Nailah like they were their own children and they wanted
them to have a big house, a yard for the children to run and play, and pay just
enough rent to pay off the final two years they had on their mortgage and not a
penny more. It was a win/win for both families.
The story of how the couple met,
a truly great love story, a love story for the ages, was crafted by the hand of
fate. The day that Roderick walked into
the Student Center of his university and saw a display of artwork from some of
the students in the Fine Arts program, events and circumstances shifted his
reality and put him on a course that would alter his life forever. He stopped and stared. There was a painting that not only caught his
attention but that made him FEEL its essence.
It was a painting of an older Black woman, in her 50s or maybe even
older, scrubbing the floor for a white woman.
The white woman was in the background and she was yelling and screaming
and berating her maid with a pointed, boney finger. The face of the Black woman was pronounced,
front and center in the painting, everything else slightly blurred around
her. Her eyes were piercing and aching,
the expression on her face, the emotion in the lines around her mouth and the
weary expression she conveyed told the story of her pain without words. It was as if he was transported back in time
in the image, that he could hear the white woman, distorted and grotesque,
making unreasonable, racist demands and being oblivious to her help’s pain, not
even seeing her as a human being. The
painting made him hate that white woman, her condescension.
He hated her husband, too, who
would demand sexual favors or withhold her paycheck and he wasn’t even in the
painting. He hated their snotty-nosed,
spoiled children who weren’t depicted either but somehow he just knew that they
had loved and adored this Black woman until such time as they had been told
that Blacks were inferior, then they would taunt, tease, and humiliate her as
only children of privilege could do. He
could read the entire story with just that one image. Rod couldn’t believe anyone could get such
detail, such pure, unadulterated emotion on a 3’ x 4’ canvas. He could barely draw a stick figure himself
and what he knew about art could fit in a paper cup, the tiny kind you use in
the bathroom, but he knew that the person who had created that painting was
talented with a capital T and they were going to be famous. He took a card from the stand where the
artist had left them, slid it into his wallet, and he made a note to himself
that one day, he would own one of their original paintings and he was sure it
was going to be worth a lot of money.
Talent like that was rare and while he couldn’t afford it being a broke grad
school student, he knew that one day, he
would invest in one of the great works of this amazing artist.
When Nailah’s roommate insisted
that she stop working on her latest sculpture and go to the step show that
fateful Friday night, nothing could have been more unappealing to her. “Fraternities are full of crass, egotistical,
overtly sexist male chauvinist pigs,” she responded. “Ughhh!
No thanks!” She wouldn’t lower
herself to even think about going to something so steeped in male bravado and
arrogance. Nailah was an artist and she
didn’t find men who needed to conform attractive, like the guys who joined
fraternities in order to call someone they weren’t even related to, “brother.” She was only attracted to men who would buck
the system, rebels with a cause, men who were content to go against the norm,
not conform to it. Her roommate bugged
her, pestered her, and outright whined to the point of Nailah breaking down and
agreeing to go. “OK, only for an hour,
not a minute longer. I have to get back
to work while I’m feeling the inspiration.”
“Gee, Atomic Dog! How original,” Nailah mumbled under her
breath as they walked in to the huge event space and Cynthia, her roommate,
immediately buzzed around the gymnasium like a social butterfly pollinating friendships,
a minute here, 30 seconds there, greeting everyone like it had been years since
they had seen each other when in actuality it has only been a day or two at the
most, and in some cases only a few hours.
Nailah found a seat and tried to make the best of the rest of the 59
minutes she had committed to being there.
The steppers were precise and there was something artistic about the way
they moved together in unison and it was fun to watch as much as she didn’t
want to admit it. The Kappas were next
and as they took their place on the floor, Nailah caught the gaze of one
particular gentlemen. The two stared at
each other across the room, like in the movies when two lovers meet for the
first time and everyone else sort of disappears in a blurry, hazy special
effect.
Nailah watched him intently, to
see if he made a mistake, to see if he was significantly better or worse than
the others. Nothing about his movements
made him stand out, he was in step with all his brothers, nothing spectacular
about him. That is, other than the fact
that she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.
His crisp, white shirt and red bow tie against his caramel brown skin
looked like a study in shades, hues, and tones.
She wanted to paint him in vivid technicolor and draw out some
individuality in him, both literally and figuratively. When they were finished, they left the floor
and the lighting technicians changed the lights to black and gold, signaling to
everyone who would be performing next.
Nailah looked around to see if she could find the man who held her gaze
so captive but she just assumed he had a girlfriend, or three or four steady
fuck buddies because that was the modus operandi of guys in fraternities on
historically black college campuses.
Disgusted with herself for even being attracted to such a man, she found
Cynthia and told her she was heading back to the room early and she would see her
in the morning if she got in too late.
As luck would have it, Roderick
saw Nailah the very next day in the cafeteria and approached her. “Hey, uhmmmm, hi. I’m Rod.
Didn’t I see you last night at the step show?” He placed his tray down and only had one leg
under the table before she responded.
“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to
know who you saw last night. There were
hundreds of people there. I was at the
step show last night if that’s what you’re trying to ask, one of many in fact.” She was being aloof and distant
intentionally, not ready to let him know that her heart had skipped a beat when
he sat his tray down across from hers.
Rod’s ego was bruised and he
picked up his tray and apologized for intruding. He excused himself and Nailah watched as he
went to another table where his fraternity brothers were surrounded by women who
were more than happy to sing their praises about how well they had done the
previous night. Nailah was mad at
herself in that moment because she had felt that tingle, that sensation you get
when you meet someone and you just KNOW in your heart that there is chemistry
between the two of you. She contemplated
her regrets for a few minutes and then summarily dismissed them, remembering
that guys in fraternities, in her mind, were only slightly more evolved than
knuckle-dragging primates.
Nailah put him out of her mind
completely and went back to working on her final projects. It wouldn’t be until the following semester
that their paths would cross again. She
was taking a required math class and failing miserably. If there is any truth to the theory that
artists are right brained people who don’t do well with numbers and math,
Nailah was X, searching in vain for Y, why, why in the world did she have to
learn this crap anyway? Anything beyond
basic addition and subtraction went over her head. She needed a tutor just to fail the class
with dignity. She was hoping and praying
for a D; the same woman who was adored and praised as an artistic genius by
every professor she had. When she walked
in the library at the appointed time to meet the person who was going to help
her make sense out of basic algebra, her heart dropped.
“Oh, hi,” she stuttered
nervously, “You’re . . . you’re the guy . . . we met . . . well we didn’t really meet at the step show
but . . . Hey, how are you? I’m really sorry about . . . you know.”
Roderick spoke up, cutting her
off. “Listen, if you want another tutor,
I can call the office and tell them you need someone else. That’s fine with me.”
Nailah felt an inch big. She apologized profusely and begged his
forgiveness and asked if they could put it in the past and move on. And they did.
Roderick was a math whiz, he could solve complex theorems in his
sleep. He had taken Algebra in the 9th
grade. This was child’s play for
him. He methodically, patiently helped
Nailah figure out her problems where it even got to the point where she was
thinking that she might actually be able to pass the class. For months, twice a week, they met for an
hour. Rod’s feelings had been hurt so he
didn’t even dare say a word that would indicate that he was attracted to her. He wasn’t anymore. She was attractive, for sure, and he would
have been attracted to her if she hadn’t bruised his fragile ego so completely
last semester. They didn’t talk about
anything other than Algebra. He didn’t
inquire about her personal life, he didn’t want to chat about what happened in
her life since their last meeting, he didn’t even inquire about her major. His only objective was to open up her world
to the joy of math.
In the week before her finals,
Nailah was a wreck. Even though she knew
the material and had raised her grade point average for the class up, all
because of Roderick’s guidance and tutelage, she was terrified she was going to
forget everything on the day of the final exam.
On their last scheduled appointment for the semester, she was beside
herself with fear. She couldn’t
concentrate on anything; she was just afraid she was going to freeze on the
final and have to take the class all over again. He dreaded that thought, she would have
rather eaten her own eyeball than take that class again, but she secretly
wouldn’t have minded having Rod as her tutor again.
All of her hard work paid off
because Nailah got an 85 on her final, higher than she had ever imagined she
would get. She got a C- in the class,
however, because her grade point was a 17 before she sought out the help of a
tutor. She was so proud of herself, of
her accomplishment, that she asked around campus to find out what dorm Roderick
lived in and knocked on his door, unannounced.
“Which one of your star pupils
got an 85 on her final,” she queried. Before
giving him a chance to ask what she was doing at his door or how she found out
where he lived, she did a little dance and said, “That’s right! Me!
What’s my name? Say my
name?” She had never been this playful and
open before and Roderick melted.
“Come on in,” he invited her, not
sure what else to do. He had tiny, grad
school quarters which were the same, exact size as undergrads but you didn’t
have to share it with a roommate and they had a kitchenette tucked into what
was the second closet. Nailah noticed
that it looked the like living space for a mathematician. There was no color, no art, nothing out of
place. Everything was sterile and
antiseptic. She stood, not wanting to
get too comfortable because she was painfully aware she hadn’t been
invited. As she took in everything, she
noticed something on his cork bulletin board over his desk. Pinned neatly to the board, there, among
multiple magazine pictures of expensive cars was a small business card she
recognized as her own.
“What’s this?” She unpinned the card and handed it to
Roderick, unsure of what it signified.
She knew she hadn’t given it to him.
Did it mean that he had done research on her? She had questions and she was confused.
“Oh, that’s a card from an artist
I saw last year. Man, that painting
really left an impact on me. I can still
see it as clear as day in my mind.” He
went on to describe the painting in detail.
He recalled details that most people wouldn’t have been able to point
out if they had just seen the picture, like how realistic the metallic color of
the bucket looked and the time on the black and white kitty clock on the
wall. He spoke freely about his
interpretations of the husband and the children, and even about the life and
family of the Black woman, all impressions he had gotten when the painting was
seared indelibly in his memory. “This is
my dream board,” he explained, and one day, I’m going to own one of this artist’s
paintings. Be on the lookout and trust
me when I tell you that this N. Evans is going to be super famous one day.”
With tears in her eyes, Nailah
felt so weak she had to sit down.
“What? What’s wrong? I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry,” Roderick gushed, even more
confused than Nailah had been before.
Never really sure what to do when a woman was crying, he sat next to her
on his twin bed and tentatively put his arm around her shoulder in an attempt
to comfort her. He was awkward and
clumsy but he was sincere.
“That’s me,” Nailah blurted
out. “That’s my work; that was my
painting I mean. I’m N. Evans. I use my first initial on my work instead of my
full, first name because so many people have convinced me that my name is too
ethnic, that no one will respect me because my name sounds too Black. I can’t
believe you . . .” Her voice trailed off as she choked back the
tears. “I’ve never met anyone who got
that painting the way you did. That
means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
Roderick had known all along her
last name was Evans but he never made the correlation with the artist. In all truthfulness, he hadn’t remembered the
name of the artist, just that he had the card.
Neither one of them knew, remembered, or could recall the order of events
that would let them know that they both “met” only hours after Roderick
encountered that particular painting.
That was fine because it really wasn’t going to add to or detract from
the love affair they formed from that moment on. They were opposites in the sense that she was
an artist and he was a mathematician but they were the same in that they had
both been born and raised on the East Coast in cities that were large enough to
give them a taste of life outside of tiny, one-horse towns but still very much
steeped in the dysfunction of small-minded, small town mentality. They had the same backgrounds, experiences,
and perspectives on life. They loved the
same music and books and they were both the best in their respective fields. More importantly, they both came to the table
with the same desire to be a true partner in a relationship, supporting,
loving, and nurturing their lover, lifting them up, and bringing their best in
an effort to make things last . . . just like their grandparents had done. Nailah regretted how she had treated him that
first day, regretted the unfortunate assumptions she had made about men in
fraternities, but somehow, she just knew that everything had played out exactly
the way it was supposed to happen.
If Roderick had had his way, he
would have made love to her right then and there, that day in his dorm room. He didn’t make a move, however. He was terrified of getting shot down
again. He wanted to prove that he was a
good guy so he waited, waited until he could prove to Nailah that he was worth
the effort and the energy. He hadn’t
been to church since he was a freshman in college except for when he went home
for Easter and Christmas with his family despite the fact that he grew up in
the church. He started going again with
Nailah, wanting to re-establish his connection with the Lord and be a good man
for the woman he knew he wanted to marry.
He knew from the day they locked eyes across the gym that he wanted to
marry her but he felt too silly to tell anyone, let alone her. He wanted to be a great husband so he set his
sights on transforming himself from a boy to a man. Nailah inspired him to greatness. He wanted to be a better man for her so he
sought out the advice of professors, pastors, and people who had been in long-term,
loving, healthy (to the outside eye) relationships for advice and guidance.
Every day that passed it seemed
evident that they were destined to spend the rest of their lives together, and
one night, three months after that fateful day in his dorm room, they
consummated their relationship. Nailah
was looking particularly stunning that day, or at least that’s what Rod
thought. She was wearing a flowing,
summery dress that showed the outline of her cocoa brown legs as it blew in the
breeze. Her hair was braided neatly and
the hint of lip gloss on her lips shone in the sun. Roderick was weak, intoxicated by her
beauty. He was still hesitant to make
the first move because the imprint of her initial rejection was indelibly
imprinted on his psyche. Seeing her
there, on the quad, taking his breath away, he had no choice but to grab her
and kiss her. Casual observers had no
choice but to stop and stare; the sparks the two were emitting were electrifying.
Nailah took the lead and grabbed
Roderick’s hand. She was an artist, much
more of a free spirit, and she was not as restricted by societal rules that
told women that they couldn’t make the first move. They walked, hand in hand, in silence back to
her room. It was the exact opposite of
Roderick’s room. There was color everywhere. The pillows, curtains, the bed spread, the
walls were awash with teals and greens and splashes of reds and pinks and golds
decorated every surface. Artwork was
everywhere. Neat as a pin, her space was
unlike any other and Roderick loved it.
She took the straps of her dress
and let it fall to the floor. Roderick
was speechless . . . and as hard as a rock.
His hands were trembling and she led him to her small bed. Lifting his shirt, she caressed that caramel
skin that had her mesmerized all those months ago. Their lips touched softly. It was as if they were breathing each other’s
air. He wanted to taste all of her, and
he kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her made love to her earlobes with his
mouth. He kissed his way down her neck,
painting pleasure on her skin. Lowering
the straps of her bra, he kissed her shoulders while she took off his
belt.
The two finished undressing and
made their way to the bed. Rod was
tentative and unsure of himself. He felt
insecure because he didn’t know if he measured up against other men she had
been with; he didn’t feel as confident as some of his fraternity brothers did
when it came to seducing the ladies. It
wasn’t that he didn’t have lots of experience.
When he was with a woman he really cared about, more than just a casual
hook up, a twinge of fear always plagued him before he did the do. For that reason, he always took his time with
women. He wanted to hear her moaning and
screaming in pleasure so he always gently tested the waters. It was his goal to go slow, start off gentle
and then build up the pace. More than
anything he wanted an invitation back between her legs again and again and
again so he didn’t want to come on too strong until he was sure she was totally
open and receptive for what he had to offer.
Nailah wasn’t expecting to be
seduced so completely. She was sort of imagining
him to be crude and aggressive off the bat, like most men she’d
encountered. She was sort of anticipating
he would come with the basics: some
perfunctory kissing, a few minutes of oral sex, and him ramming her cervix over
and over. She was in a state of
disbelief when she watched Rod kiss his way down her body, not just kissing but
tasting her skin like he was savoring it.
He didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask any questions but he was obviously
trying to communicate with his eyes. He
wanted her feedback. For instance, when
he got to her breasts, he didn’t just start sucking her nipples immediately, he
caressed the sides, held them up, and licked her nipples softly. Nailah purred her approval and she was very
vocal, she had no problem voicing her excitement. “Mmmm, yeah, that feels good. Harder, suck them baby, suck my tits.”
Rod had never heard more
beautiful words. He was light-headed and
turned on. He started sucking, gently at
first, and doing it harder, in slow increments.
The more she moaned, the more creative he tried to be. He put her breasts together, sucking both
nipples at the same time. He licked and
sucked the underside of her boobs. He
flicked his tongue rapidly over her nipples and simultaneously caressed the
softness of her tummy. Nailah was beside
herself. She was soaking wet and
thrashing around on that tiny bed, humping herself against his thigh and
desperate for things to proceed much faster.
Rushing was the very last thing
on Rod’s mind. He turned her over, and
kissed his way down her back. He was
hesitant but he kissed lower, planting gently kisses on her butt. Nailah voiced her approval and arched her
back, giving him better access. She was
out of her mind and ready to scream, “Fuck me now!” but she realized that he
had other plans in mind. Roderick massaged
the backs of her thighs, his fingertips coming dangerously close to the
treasure between her legs. He was a
tease. He caressed her flesh, kneaded
it, and spread her legs wider, staring at her outer lips as they were opening,
revealing their inner, pink sweetness.
Nailah could barely see straight;
her eyes were crossed and she was not even sure what sort of sounds were coming
out of her mouth. She was breathing hard
like she had just run a 9 second 50 meter dash.
She pulled her legs back to her chest, giving Roderick a non-verbal invitation
to fuck the bejesus out of her. To his
complete credit, he wasn’t going to be swayed from his objective. He placed her foot in his hand and started
licking and sucking her toes. His mouth
was wet and he was almost sure he saw Nailah’s eyes roll back in her head. Until that point, he had been pretty quiet,
concentrating his efforts on pleasing his lady love. Nailah had other plans. She was going to take matters into her own
hands, literally.
“I’m so wet for you. Look,” she said, as she slid her fingers
between her pussy lips. Her juices
coated her fingers. Rod was hypnotized. It was like he was having an out of body
experience, witnessing everything that was happening from somewhere outside
himself. That is, until Nailah took his
dick in her slippery, wet hands and started stroking him. She coaxed precum out the head of his dick
and worked his shaft like she had been given secret instructions to the exact
way he liked his dick stroked.
He groaned and felt his resolve
weaken. “Oh shit, stop,” he said rather
unconvincingly.
“What’s the matter big boy? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?” Enjoying being in the driver’s seat for a minute, Nailah stroked his dick and licked her lips. “I want a taste.” Maneuvering her way from under him, she pulled him to his feet. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked up. Taking a note from him, she started out slowly licking him. Roderick wanted to hold on to something to keep from falling. Her lips felt so soft, so smooth, so hot. She kissed his shaft, up and down, the right side, the left side, licking and gently nibbling it. When she placed her mouth on his dick, taking the head between her lips, he let out another guttural sound that indicated that he loved it. She started really sucking his dick, taking him deeper and deeper with each descent. Spit formed in her mouth and she upped her game. She swallowed his dick, and used her full lips to try to suck the cum out.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Rod cried
out. His slow and gentle approach got
thrown out the window and he was a man possessed. He picked Nailah up, put her on the bed, and
spread the lips of her wet pussy. He
inhaled her fragrance and closed his eyes.
That first taste of a woman’s most sacred space is the most memorable
and he wanted to savor it. He exposed
her clit, pulling the hood back with his finger and his tongue lapped it
softly. Nailah screamed, “Yessssssssss,
oh fuck, yessss.” He licked her
sensitive button and felt her thighs tighten around his head. He slid his fingers inside her wet hole,
making her buck that much harder, moan that much louder. Using his lips on her clit, he made it his
mission to make her explode in his mouth.
Nailah grabbed his head and held to her mound, not letting him
move. She was ready. She needed to be fucked.
She chanted over and over again,
“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck you like you need me. I need you to fuck me.”
Rod was not one to disappoint and
he kissed her again, sharing her juices with her as he aimed him dick at the
place he needed to be. He pushed the
head of his dick in her pussy and they both cried out. He got into a rhythm quickly, steady and
deep. Her pussy gripped him; he was in a
trance. Her nails dug into his flesh’
their tongues danced together. He
flipped her over and continued from behind.
Her neighbors surely heard every grunt and groan as they were anything
but quiet. They were sweating and their
bodies were slipping and sliding together.
He grabbed her full, round hips and held her still. He didn’t want to finish first but that
wasn’t in his control. Nailah decided
she wanted to ride him and she climbed on top of him. The minute he filled his hands with her ass
and she slid down on top of him, he knew he was done. He shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on
the Callan-Symanzik equation, which for the uninformed is really, really
hard. Not in any way, shape, or form
harder than his dick though. Nailah got
into her own rhythm, up and down, grinding on him, making his dick hit all her
spots, pushing herself over the edge.
She grabbed her tits and played with them and, being the gentleman that
he was, Roderick decided he would take over for her and he filled his hand with
her tits and gently pinched her nipples.
That was enough to send Nailah over the top and she placed her hands on
his chest and . . .
But that was 10 years ago. Rod and Nailah had grown as lovers in the
meantime, they knew each other better, and they had shared their secrets and
fantasies with one another, revealed all their truths and turn-ons so they knew
much better how to please one another.
The sex, after 8 years of marriage and 3 children, had only gotten
better because they were more open, more honest, and more intimate with each
other. Roderick was still every bit as
attracted to his wife as he was that moment he saw her across the crowded
gymnasium. Staying in love, staying
committed through the hard times as well as the good was not easy. It’s yet another reason they were so
connected to the Fishers. They wanted to
emulate and replicate the relationships that were filled with laughter, kisses,
flirtation, and love even after the test of time.
Cheating was out of the question
for the Overtons. They made a vow and
they chose to honor that sacred bond.
Cheating was not, as so many people like to claim, something that just
happens, like some sort of sexual accident where you are totally innocent and,
“Oops,” you accidentally had sex with someone else. Cheating is a choice. It’s a conscious decision to put your
feelings ahead of your partner’s, to be selfish and immature. People who cheat always find ways to
rationalize it, make it their partner’s fault but the truth is, without
exception, that if you cheat, you are self-centered and juvenile. Cheating is so common, however, that it’s
become entertainment. It’s on every TV
show, every movie, it’s in every aspect of media and no one even blinks an eye
at the hurt and pain it causes, they think it’s sexy or some sort of warped
indication of freedom.
Roderick and Nailah decided
before they got married that if they were ever unhappy in their marriage, that
if there was anything that came between the love that they shared for one
another, that they would walk away before deciding to cheat. They decided to communicate their fears,
disappointments, and concerns without blaming their partner. It took work.
It took effort and time and patience and even more patience to talk the
talk and really walk the walk. There were
some downsides to living a life of integrity.
True friends were few and far between. They didn’t associate with a lot of people
because they didn’t want to have petty, immature people around them lowering
their vibration. Roderick didn’t have
the time, energy, or tolerance level needed to have a bunch of friends who were
cheating on their wives and girlfriends.
And almost all the people he encountered did. It wasn’t until he got married, and they had
their first child that he realized the true impact of what the word family
meant that it dawned on him how many of his friends were cheaters and making
excuses and covering for one another.
Finished studying, or more
accurately, exhausted from studying, Roderick tip-toed into the garage. Nailah had been working on a new series
painting just body parts, aiming to help people become more comfortable with
their sexuality in all different sizes, shapes, and colors. It was a statement of acceptance. That’s why he loved Nailah so much, her
artwork wasn’t just beautiful; it always made a statement. It always made you think or feel something;
it always challenged you to delve deeper than just the superficial. Of course, Roderick was her primary model but
she had other friends and even strangers send her pictures to use as well as
the project grew in importance. Roderick
did experience a tinge of jealousy when she started getting pictures of other
men’s dicks at first but they talked about it and all it took was reassurance
that Nailah loved only him and he was fine with it. He marveled at how she could paint both the
female and male bodies with such awe and visual articulation.
 | |
| Artwork by Ruth Bircham |
“How you aren’t a world-famous
artist is beyond me,” he said, coming up behind his wife, kissing her on the
neck.
“You’re sweet, babe, thanks. Are you ready for the test Saturday? I know you have to be. You’re the smartest person I know.”
“I am prepared but I think I have
a healthy sense of concern. I’ve been
great at math my entire life. Real
estate? I didn’t even pick up a book
about it until six months ago. It’s not
difficult, but, you know me. I always
want to be the best. Sales comes
naturally to me but . . .”
She cut him off with a kiss. “You are going to do just fine. I have every confidence in you.”
Rod got that look in his eye and
a tingle in his extremities. He put his
arms around Nailah and twisted her stool around to face him. She spread her legs and put her arms around
her neck. “Let me clean my brushes and
take a shower. I’m tired; it’s been a
long day. But, I might be motivated to
spend some quality time with the man I love if I can get one of your special
hot oil massages.”
“Hot oil massage coming up,’ he
replied, grinning from ear to ear as her phone rang. “No, don’t answer it, don’t answer it. Nooooooo.
It’s our time.” He mouthed the
words, “Please, baby please, pretty please,” as he but on his best Keith Sweat
begging face, throwing up his hands in frustration knowing she would answer it.
She looked at her phone, “It’s Dana. Let me just take her call and I’ll be ready
for some lovin’ as soon as I get out of the shower. Hey girl, what’s up?”
To be continued . . .
Copyright 2014 AfroerotiK
