The Next Best Thing (10 page)

Several months ago, I headed up the Houghton Foundation's annual celebrity charity event, which benefits local disadvantaged kids. Nadia doesn't even like kids, but she literally begged me to put her on the guest list so that she could come rub elbows with some of the city's wealthiest bachelors.

I gave in against my better judgment, and Nadia showed up wearing five-inch spiked heels, and a risqué little Mariah Carey–type number that accentuated her ass and cleavage so much, mothers were literally covering the eyes of their children when she walked past.

Nadia's tactic worked, though, because guys swarmed around her that night like flies to sheep shit. She ended up giving her phone number to Terrell, who coincidentally had just signed a seven-year contract with the Chiefs, as well as a lucrative endorsement deal with Reebok.

“It was months ago when you met him,” I said. “Why is he just now calling?”

“That's just how athletes are.” Nadia shrugged dismissively. “They travel all over during the off season, and come back to town right before training camp is about to start.”

“I don't know, Nadia. If he was feeling you all that much, it wouldn't have taken him months to touch base with you.”

“Will you stop knocking my hustle and just be happy for me? Terrell could really turn out to be the one.”

“Poor T. C.” I shook my head, genuinely sympathetic. “That boy has no idea that he's about to be eaten alive, does he?”

“Not a clue!” Nadia said, laughing wickedly.

I shook my head and sighed.

As I listened to Nadia lay out her sinister plans for Terrell, I wondered how it was possible that Oprah has been on the air for over twenty years, yet there are women in the world who are still this damn stupid.

 

The present moment is the only moment available to us, and it is the door to all moments.—Thich Nhat Hanh

SATURDAY

Back in my condo, I slip the ring off my left hand and stare at it for the longest time, before placing it back into my jewelry box under lock and key.

I wish I had the nerve to do something dramatic with it like they do in the movies.

I thought about sending it back to Roland along with a dead rat and a dozen black roses full of thorns. Tossing it out my car window while on the freeway, grinding it up in the garbage disposal, and even flushing it down the toilet.

But hell, five karats is five karats, and I am just not that courageous. Or that crazy.

Okay, I have to confess. I feel like a hypocrite right now, because I did not tell Nadia the whole story of what happened last night over at Nelson's place.

The version I gave her ended with dessert, and then me going home.

But what really happened was this:

Nelson and I polished off the mango tarts, plus that second bottle of wine.

After the Pinot was gone, we mutually decided that it was much too early for the night to end, so I ran my happy ass over to my place, and grabbed a bottle of champagne.

You know, ball till you fall, and all that.

We were in his living room, and I was admiring that nice, big Brunswick pool table of his, when he asked, “Do you play?”

“Not really,” I said like a helpless damsel. “I've tried to learn, but I never could quite get the hang of it.”

I was lying my ass off.

Actually, I'm pretty good at shooting pool. My father started teaching me the game when I was nine years old, and I've been perfecting my skills ever since.

“Are you up for a quick lesson?” Nelson asked.

“Sure…”

So I let him coach me as if I had never picked up a pool stick in my life.

I had mixed feelings about that at first, though, because I constantly tell my goddaughter Alicia that women should never dumb down for any man, but the reality is that there are a certain amount of innocent little games that have to be played in order to sway a man.

And make no mistake about it, I wanted that man.

Who wouldn't? Nelson is a tall, modern-day Adonis with golden brown skin, boyishly handsome looks, and the body of life.

DSWYE rule, be damned!

So there I was, flouncing around the pool table, trying to be as coy and cute as a drunk, horny woman could possibly be.

I chalked up the pool stick Nelson gave me, and positioned my body over the table just the way he showed me.

“That's it,” he said. “Now lean into it a little more.”

I complied, making sure to stick my ass way out where he could get a real good look at it.

“Good!” Nelson said, excited that I was catching on so fast. “Now, when you get the white ball lined up exactly where you want it, hit it as hard as you can.”

I followed Nelson's instructions and broke the balls apart with a loud
Thwack!
Balls went flying across the table, dropping in pockets one after the other until only three balls remained on the table.

“Hot damn!” I said, trying to act surprised.

Impressed with my “natural” ability, Nelson pumped his fist like Tiger Woods, then gave me a high five. “Way to go, Tori!”

“I've got a very good teacher,” I said, leaning across the table again with my ass in the air.

I was concentrating on dropping the six ball in the far left corner pocket when I felt a hardness brushing up against my backside, which I knew right away was definitely not his pool stick.

Nelson's obvious arousal gave me the courage to initiate a kiss. It was just a peck on the lips at first, but it quickly turned into a deeply passionate tongue-wrestling match that sent an overwhelming surge of throbbing heat straight down to my clitoris.

His lips were soft, and the kiss was good, but after a couple of minutes, I could sense Nelson's hesitation.

“What's wrong?” I murmured breathlessly.

“I can't do this,” he said, backing away from me, looking flustered. “I'm celibate.”

“What?” I blinked rapidly several times, looking at him as if he'd said he had a third testicle.

He repeated “I'm celibate” with no real conviction, so I didn't buy it for a second.

I don't know where she came from, but this aggressive diva suddenly emerged from inside of me, and she was not taking no for an answer.

I put a finger to Nelson's lips to silence him, and proceeded to plant kisses from his neck all the way down to his lower region where I unzipped his pants and pulled them down around his ankles. He stepped out of his pants while I reached inside his Calvin Klein boxers, pleased to find that what I was looking for was a very nice size and was every bit as hard as the Arabic alphabet.

“You sure you want to do this?” I asked, looking him in the eye as I took a condom from my purse and ripped it open with my teeth.

“Oh yeah…” he said softly. “This is exactly what I want to do.”

Nelson squeezed the tip of the condom while I rolled it down over his magic stick.

Nelson pulled me to my feet, and unzipped the back of my minidress, which immediately fell to the floor in a heap, leaving me standing there in my black lace La Perla bra and matching panties.

Nelson searched my mouth with his tongue, and this time the kiss was longer, and much more intense.

He unhooked my bra and voraciously sucked on my breasts, gently pulling at my erect nipples with his lips, and teasing them with his tongue.

I placed long, feathery licks from Nelson's shoulder blades up to his earlobes as he hoisted me on top of the pool table, slid my panties off, and dived head first between my thighs, devouring me the way a starving man would a five-course meal.

“My God, you smell like heaven!” he said, squeezing my ass and deeply inhaling the scent of my Bond No. 9 perfume, which seemed to be driving him to the brink of insanity.

We were both so caught up in the moment that I didn't even take time out to unbuckle my stilettos.

After what seemed like an eternity of having my honey pot licked, nibbled, and sucked, my body began to tremble almost violently.

Nelson sensed that I was about to climax and whispered, “Tori, look at me.”

What? Why the hell is he talking?

“Look at me Tori,” he insisted again, staring into my eyes. “Keep your eyes on me.”

As I did, he went to work on my pulsating clitoris with even more focus and persistence.

The pleasure was so intense, I must have writhed over every inch of that pool table, and as Nelson requested, we were making direct eye contact when I reached my climax.

But that was only the beginning.

I came. Then again, and again, and again. Four times altogether and even then I had to beg him to stop.

Now I understood. Direct eye contact makes an orgasm so much more intense. I have heard about tantric sex, but never thought I would actually find a black man who knows the fundamentals of it.

I was trying to catch my breath, and thinking what could possibly top that, when Nelson scooped me into his arms and carried me to his bedroom where he took control of my body like an expert.

We went from the bed, to the floor, back to the pool table, and back to the bed again. All the while, he was skillfully positioning my body in poses so erotic that they rivaled the Kama Sutra.

Whew! I have never experienced anything like it.

Roland's lovemaking technique was limited to predictable in-'n-out, in-'n-out thrusts. But Nelson swirled his hips, and put his back into it with the intention of hitting all the right spots.

And he certainly did just that.

The only negative was that there were so many pictures of Kara all over the place, that it felt like she was a voyeur of our sexual escapade, with her eyes following our every move.

Despite Kara's “presence,” Nelson and I got it on until the wee hours of the morning, and when it seemed like it was finally all over, we just looked at each other and laughed, both of us giddy with satisfaction.

“Damn!” I said. “If I had known you had it like that, I would have been creeping across the hall a long time ago.”

“Oh, yeah?” He smiled, trying to catch his breath, then rolled over on top of me again.

The count on the orgasms was something like Tori 4, Nelson 3. Just as Nelson was about to tie me, he screamed out “Kara!” and then climaxed.

I pushed Nelson off me with so much force, he almost fell backwards off the bed. “What did you just say?” I asked, already knowing what I had heard.

“What do you mean?”

“I'm not deaf! You do realize that you just called me ‘Kara' don't you?”

Nelson leaned his back against the headboard, and looked up at the ceiling.

“Look,” he said. “I apologize if I hurt your feelings, but it just…it just slipped out, alright? Jeez, I told you I was celibate.”

“Oh, stop it with the celibate thing, okay? Let's just do away with that,” I said, fighting the urge to pop him upside his head.

“Well it has a lot to do with what just happened here. I mean, the last person I made love to was Kara, and that was over two years ago. So—”

“So! How much of that was about you sincerely desiring me, and how much of it was about you fantasizing that you were having sex with your dead wife?” I asked.

“It's fucked up, but what do you expect when you sleep with someone you barely even know? What do you want me to say, I love you?” Nelson asked.

“Oh, now you got jokes!” I said. “No, I don't need for you to say you love me, but what I would have appreciated was for you to at least remember who it was that you were screwing.”

Nelson scratched his head the way men do whenever they have been caught in the wrong. “Listen,” he said, with compassion. “I just wanted to have dinner with you, but obviously, you had something else in mind.”

“Whoa, hold up! Don't flatter yourself, homeboy. You rubbed your hard-on across my ass, so obviously you had something in mind, too,” I said. “Come on, now. It's not like I just slipped and fell on your penis. And an
erect
penis at that!”

“It was the heat of the moment, and I went with it,” he said. “But if you had been listening to a word I said tonight, it would be clear to you that I am still very much in love with my wife.”

“Your
deceased
wife,” I reminded him.

“Kara is still in my heart,” Nelson said quietly. “Just as much now, as she was when she was alive.”

Ah, damn!

I winced and rubbed my eyes as shame and humiliation washed over me. I wished there was a way that I could kick my own ass. To this man, I might as well have been a blowup doll.

“Well,” I said, “don't let me be the one to come between you and your
wife
.”

Nelson didn't say a word or even try to stop me as I slid out of his bed and gathered my things, which were scattered all over the place.

At a quarter to four this morning, I cautiously stuck my head out of Nelson's door, and looked both ways to make sure that the coast was clear. When I was certain that none of the neighbors would see me, I scurried my slutty ass back across the hall to my condo.

 

Just trust yourself, then you will know how to live.—Goethe

FRIDAY

I can't believe I played myself like that!

I get a few drinks in me, start carrying on like a co-ed gone wild, and end up violating my own DSWYE rule.

Nelson had been the perfect gentleman all night long, and I had to go and ruin the evening by behaving like the perfect slut.

I mean, I know that there is a sexual revolution going on where women are dating and having sex the way men do, with no emotions or strings attached. But sober and in the light of day, I am horrified that I allowed my body to rule over decency, morals, and good common sense.

Now you can see why I didn't share this information with Nadia. She's a good friend of mine, but shit, she doesn't need to know all my business.

And now, Nelson can add me to that list of trifling women he kept talking about so badly last night.