The Real Housewives of AfroerotiK

  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.

 

 

 

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 home 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 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 for mouthwash, 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 senior project 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 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 project. 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 a few minutes ago, 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.  

 

“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 put 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