Single Husbands (5 page)

What happened to his wife? Donna used to be happy, self-assured, and ladylike. Now she acted more masculine than he did. She
could have used any of the other five bathrooms in their home, or even her side of their double master bathroom, but she didn’t.
Invading his privacy was his wife’s way of protesting his going out. Complaining out loud to herself, she’d either gotten
accustomed to his leaving most nights or tired of discussing the topic with him, realizing nothing she’d say or do would change
his mind. Donna flushed the toilet and his warm water instantly turned cold.

“Humph, look at cha. Big ole dick ain’t worth shit,” she said, staring at him.

Lexington frowned. Was she referring to him or his dick? His dick shriveled in protest, trying to hide behind his balls from
his wife. Lexington stood still, waiting for his wife to get the fuck out of his space and close the damn door.

Spitting the mouthwash down the drain, Lexington resumed showering when the water returned to warm. He scrubbed his dick and
pubic hairs repeatedly before doing the same between the crack of his ass. He twirled the tip of his finger inside his soapy
asshole, then rinsed again and again.

Stepping his six-foot-six frame outside the shower, layering baby oil with aloe vera and vitamin E over his wet body, Lexington
dried off with a plush white towel, removed the oversized shower cap from his head, shook his locks behind his back, then
made his way into the bedroom. Donna was propped up like a blow-up doll in their bed, pretending she was watching television.

Sarcastically his wife said, “Don’t forget your condoms. You already have more mouths to feed than you tend to. When was the
last time you picked up the girls from school?”

Lexington could have replied, “When was the last time you took your lazy ass to a gym?” or “I take them to school every morning
that I’m not out of town on business,” but that was what Donna wanted. Any reason to keep arguing. Instead, he said, “I love
you too,” putting on his black linen slacks.

She knew he had three kids and three baby mamas before she married him and gave him two more. Did Donna think a marriage and
more kids were going to make him settle down? After ten years of marriage—seven of them unhappy—her staying home most nights
was her problem, not his. Besides, she’d stopped sexing him three years ago. So what was the point of lying in bed next to
a dry, sour pussy he couldn’t fuck?

“Why don’t you just stay gone this time,” Donna said. “You’re more of an emotional liability than an asset to us anyway. Leaving
me here with the kids every night, like somebody else is their father.”

What the hell was she complaining about? The girls were asleep, and they’d still be sleeping when he got back before sunrise.
“Haaa,” Lexington exhaled, buttoning his linen collared black shirt. He tugged his waist-length locks from under his shirt,
dropping them behind his back, and proceeded to twist them in a bundle. He wrapped his locks in black linen, sprayed on his
Sexual Fresh cologne, slipped on his leather sandals, then left his bitter wife where she belonged—home alone.

Donna knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was she. The one thing Lexington wasn’t was a deadbeat dad. Growing up in New
Orleans with both of his parents in the house, Lexington’s father was always a gentleman. He took out the trash, washed the
cars, mowed the lawn, gave Lexington’s mother money for groceries, clothes, jewelry, outings with her girlfriends, and anything
else she wanted. His dad never forgot Mother’s Day, his mom’s birthday, or their anniversary. Outside of doing those things,
his father went off to work and came home to play with his wife and kids. Lexington started out treating Donna the same way
his father had respected his mother, but Lexington was no babysitter. His mother took care of them, and it was Donna’s job
to take care of the girls.

Lexington reenacted his father’s ways of always providing for his children. He didn’t visit his three kids outside their home,
but Lexington generously paid child support for each of them. He provided a separate allowance for each of his five kids,
making certain they didn’t want for anything. He missed his only and oldest son, Lexington the second, but not seeing his
son was easier than seeing his son’s mother. He didn’t love his son’s mother. He was still in love with a woman who’d never
had his baby.

Donna should be happy to suck his dick every day. Lexington earned enough money to retire Donna from slaving over hot stoves
in a crowded Louisiana kitchen. He paid his staff to set up Donna’s online business, selling and shipping body products, from
their South Beach home. Donna’s money was all hers and she could do whatever she wanted, including divorce him and marry someone
else. What was she waiting for? Surely not for him to fall in love with her again. That was a wrap.

Hopping into his SUV, Lexington started the engine, cruised out of his driveway, and bypassed the guard shack of his Biscayne
Bay home for a thirty-minute trip to his favorite swingers club in Fort Lauderdale.

Why won’t she leave and go make some other man miserable? If the poor, unfortunate, unsuspecting man had any sense, he’d run
like hell from Evilena Donna. No man wants a woman, girlfriend, or wife who complains all the fuckin’ time about every damn
thing.

Their life was like a movie script. Donna would say, “Why don’t you stay home with us?”

Then he’d ask, “And do what?”

She’d reply, “I need some help around here.”

“Help doing what?” he’d ask.

What did she want him to do? Put a cushion underneath her ass? Listen to how her day at home went while the kids were at school
and while he was out running his technology company? His girls had more interesting topics to talk about than his wife. That’s
why the girls stayed in their rooms after school. Donna emotionally drained them and him. Maybe if his wife used some of those
sweet, sexy-smelling body products she sold to their neighbors—Nikki, Michelle, and a few of the other women on The Island—he’d
fuck his wife instead of masturbating while thinking about fucking Nikki. Herschel was his boy, but Herschel didn’t deserve
Nikki.

Merging onto the Florida Turnpike northbound, Lexington mumbled, “Donna better make sure she doesn’t fuck up or let me catch
her fucking another man while wearing my wedding ring, or she’ll be a single parent on her own, like my other baby mamas.
Whether I fuck my wife or not, I pay for that pussy.”

His exes learned the hard way that Lexington Lewis didn’t share his private pussy stash with any man. In business and marriage,
he didn’t believe in leftovers or second chances. It was Lexington’s prerogative to fuck as many women as he wanted, especially
since he earned enough money to pay all the household bills—mortgages, cell phones, car notes, water, electric, credit cards—including
all of the bills for his ex-wives. He didn’t need a judge to tell him how to be a man. But once Lexington was done with a
woman, he was done for life. There was no backsliding in his world. And Donna knew that because she saw how he’d dismissed
all of his baby mamas.

Until Donna started making some real contributions to their household—like cooking, cleaning, sucking his dick, riding his
shaft, or paying half the mortgage—her pussy could shrivel up like a raisin in the sun and fester. Lexington did not give
a fuck. Not anymore.

Taking a right turn onto West Commercial Boulevard, Lexington stopped at the liquor store on the corner of Rock Island Road,
in the strip mall near Natural Trend Setters, where he went to let Yanique wash, condition, and twist his locks once a month
with aloe vera gel and natural shea butter straight off the block. Pointing at the large, clear truffle-shaped bottle of tequila
with the lime-colored ribbon, Lexington placed a hundred-dollar bill on the counter. Dude behind the counter kept spitting
his lyrical rap.

“Keep the change and give me one of your CDs,” Lexington said, encouraging him. “You gon’ get your big break one day, man.”
Lexington glanced past the barbershop, down to the salon. The lights were off, so he kept things moving.

Pulling up to his spot on West Commercial Boulevard, he handed the valet attendant his keys. One line of succulent women dressed
in corsets, thongs, garters, thigh-high stockings—some in stilettos, others in high-heeled boots—was standing near the podium,
waiting for their cars.

“Hey, Lexington,” one of his blackberry hotties said. She must’ve coined the phrase “The blacker the berry . . .” because
her pussy tasted like raw sugar.

Lexington nodded toward the door and she handed her car keys back to the valet saying, “My lover man just got here. I’m going
back inside.”

Entering the club, with her right behind him, the swingers club was a revolving door of sex-crazed couples and singles willing
to mingle with complete strangers for gratifying fun—no strings attached.

Why couldn’t Donna fuck him the same way? Who gave a damn if she was pissed? His wife’s duty was to keep him sexually satisfied.
If he ever married again, Lexington was including in his vows: “I promise to suck my husband’s dick and fuck him whenever
he wants.” Then he’d make her sign a contract—if she reneged, he could bring home another woman to fuck him.

Lexington flashed a smile at the club monitor behind the front desk, then said, “What’s new?”

“A few,” he replied, reaching for Lexington’s bottle of top-shelf tequila.

“I’m expecting a newbie tonight. She’s a goddess, man. Trust me, she stands out. Let her in when she gets here,” Lexington
said, handing him $10 to cover his guest’s fee. “She’ll ask for me by name.”

The guy in the corner who was completing his online membership application leaned over the counter and asked, “Do I have to
enter the name and address exactly as it is on my driver’s license?”

Lexington smiled as the club monitor nodded.

The guy watched other members walking in, handing the monitor their membership cards and bottles of alcohol, then asked, “Was
I supposed to bring my own alcohol?”

Lexington smiled as the club monitor nodded again.

“Maybe I should come back next week. I don’t think I can loosen up without a drink, man,” he said.

“No worries. Let him drink on me tonight, man,” Lexington said to the club monitor.

“He’s got you covered on drinks. Your admission fee is seventy-five dollars.”

“Seventy-what?” the man asked, watching a woman hand the club monitor ten dollars. “Why come she gets to pay ten dollars and
I have to pay seventy-five?”

“Because she has a pussy and you don’t. Look, either you want in or go someplace else. You’re holding up my line.”

Reluctantly the man gave the club monitor $75, the last $5 in singles, as though that was all the money he’d had in his pocket.
The guy was obviously married and it was clearly his first time at the club, and probably not his last. Men would spend their
last dollar in hopes of getting their dicks sucked by beautiful women.

Swaggering toward the swinging double doors, Lexington glanced at the posted sign he’d read each Saturday night:
If nudity or live sexual acts offend you, do not enter.
That sign must’ve been for women like his wife, because none of the men Lexington knew were offended by lude, nude, or rude
sex acts, especially his boys, Brian and Herschel.

Five days a week, after he sat on his nuts for ten, sometimes twelve, hours a day, his dick warranted unadulterated orgasmic
pleasure, especially on weekends. Lexington wasn’t a sex addict; he was an alpha-male sex fanatic on the prowl for all the
pussy he could suck and fuck before the club closed at four in the morning. That would give him less than five hours, and,
hopefully, there would be at least a half-dozen sets of puckering lips swallowing and riding his dick. But there was one special
woman he’d invited. He doubted she’d keep her promise to come check out his favorite spot.

Smiling at the hotties at the bar, squirming their naked, bodacious booties on high stools, Lexington looked at the bartender,
circled his finger in the air, then pointed at the new guy. R. Kelly’s “Bump ’N Grind” resounded in the background while XXX
videos played on flat screens throughout the club.

“Man, I know you. I got you. Him too?” the bartender asked for confirmation as he lined up ten plastic cups.

Lexington nodded, watching the bartender splash shots of tequila without a measuring cup. “Ladies and gent, this round is
on Lexington,” the bartender announced, serving them to all the women seated at the bar, plus the guy Lexington had pointed
to.

Generously sharing his alcohol with women gave Lexington premier pick of any honey at the bar, but he didn’t hang around waiting
to see which ones were most interested in him. The boldest ones would find him at some point before the night was over.

Lexington recalled his father telling him, “Son, you never want to find out what kind of pussy broke-ass men have to dip their
dicks in. Make as much money as you can, as fast as you can, and as honest as you can.”

Lexington handed the bartender a $50 tip and picked up his usual double tequila mixed with watermelon pucker. His boy Brian,
the most prejudiced white-looking black man he knew, had turned him on to palatable watermelon flavors.

Swaggering away from the bar, Lexington sat at one of the tables in front of the dance floor and watched two women seduce
the strip pole while caressing one another’s titties. There were two other women dancing like they were at a nightclub, instead
of a sex club, never touching one another. They must’ve been first-timers. Then there was a man squatting pussy-level, with
two women gyrating in his face, and another grinding her pussy hairs against the back of his head. Was she coming, rolling
her pussy on his head? Yep, his hair was definitely wet, and not from sweat. Damn. Lexington smiled. He’d better enjoy the
moment, because soon, around two, the pendulum would swing in favor of the women once the multitude of horny men filed in
from the casino and nightclubs.

Unbuttoning his linen shirt, Lexington exposed the silkiness of his chest. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick,
laying it atop his lap, thinking,
She’s not coming.
I might as well get my stroke on.
Loosening his head wrap, Lexington leaned his head back, then closed his eyes, fingering his long, luscious locks.