The first month of the new year is more than halfway over and I haven't posted a thing. I think it would soothe the souls of all that have missed me (smile, smile, smile)to make up my error to you all by posting an excerpt from my new novel, Wait For Love: A Black Girl's Story. Although my last post was titled Promotional Suicide, I believe in this instance that is not the case. A blog is a website-less individuals way of reaching readers so...
Wait For Love: A Black Girl's Story is available at all online book sellers, and by emailing yours truly at email@example.com.
As my mild shock wore off I looked him in his eyes. A different man looked back at me. For the first time, I saw him as my husband and he saw me as his wife. He knew he wouldn’t deny me tonight.
“Are you sure this is what you want, Lynnde?”
“Desmond, let’s not talk anymore. I love you.”
Desmond began undressing me, working his way around my body from top to bottom, and back up once I was unclothed.
“Lynnde, you’re beautiful.”
He continued to kiss me and helped me to lie down on the floor. This was worth the wait. I lie on the floor caressing my body as Desmond undressed himself for my eyes to see. This was going to be perfect. He was going to be perfect for the rest of my life.
I admired Desmond’s naked body, which was quite pleasing, until my eyes saw “it.” What was “it,” you ask? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m not a day care provider. Why did all of a sudden I feel like I was in nursery school? Now I know why he made me wait so long. He knew I wasn’t going to get anything. I’d continue to wait if I’d known this.
Desmond’s penis was the size of a Chap Stick tube. No, no it wasn’t. It was more like the size of a Vicks inhaler that had nothing else left to inhale. Picture a sweet gherkin pickle? Or how about a fat free Vienna sausage? Does that help you to understand what my eyes didn’t see? I can’t believe I waited a year and a half for nothing. Good things come to those who wait my ass.
But, Lynnde, wait. You love him. He’s your soul mate. He’s perfect for you. You want to spend the rest of your life with him. Look at all the roses. Think of the poems. Think of how nice he was to you when you got sick at the club, remember? You’re his queen and he wants to take care of you. He loves you.
“He can’t take care of anything with that midget dick of his.”
“Okay, okay calm down. Sex isn’t everything. You can work this out.”
Oh no, he’s coming towards me and rubbing that little creature up and down my leg. Ugh. He’s having surgery. There has to be something out there that’ll help. A transplant, implant or a pump. Wait, not a pump. A pump will just make it look swollen, like a fat lip or something. I don’t want to do this at all. Right now, all I feel is disgust. He shouldn’t take too long. Damn, he’s kissing me and saying sweet nothings, and I’m really emphasizing the word nothing. I guess he’s really in the mood. My mind is so far away from this moment.
Now he’s trying to enter inside me. Ugh. All I feel is aggravation. Desmond is really enjoying himself. He’s really giving that little thing a workout. He keeps saying, “Oh, Lynnde, you feel so good.” How would he know? I guess I should look like I’m enjoying him, but all I want to do is tell him to get his earthworm out of me. I manage to say, “Desmond, you feel so good,” and “don’t stop.” Keep thinking how much you love him and how much he loves you. Those thoughts aren’t working. I want him to hurry up. Now he’s making a screeching noise. It sounds like car tires on a wet road that have just run over a hissing cat. If this is what his orgasms are going to sound like, I hope I go deaf tonight.
Stop it, Lynnde. Desmond loves you and will give you the world if he could. Good, he’s done. I hope he doesn’t talk. I hoped too late. He says he loves me and can’t wait for me to become his wife. I barely get out the words I love you in return and hear snoring. Oh, hell no. No pleasure for me and he’s asleep? You love him. You love him. You love him. That’s not working right now. Okay then, look at the ring and your roses. That’s not working either. No wonder that fool spent so much on the ring and wants to pay for the wedding. And who does he think is going to water all these flowers, and clean them up when they die?
Lynnde, sex isn’t everything and you know you love Desmond, right? “Yeah, right. But all of a sudden I feel used. He made sure I was in love with him before he let me see his Brown and Serve. Wait until we were committed to each other, my ass. He should be committed and promoted to the newborn baby club president. Ugh.
A tiny wet spot is on my inner thigh and I want to throw up. I sat up to take a closer look at what he thinks is a penis, but it retreated back inside itself. What I saw made me think if a fly had a penis this is what it would look like. Tsk, even his balls are little. They look like burnt, dried, button mushrooms. Lynnde!
Desmond’s boxer underwear are lying on the floor. First thing in the morning, I’m taking them to the store and get his money back. I’ll buy him a pack of toddler under-roos to replace them. Disgust won’t let me talk anymore. I hope I have some hard liquor in the cabinet because the only way I’m sleeping next to him is drunk. Hurry up tomorrow, because tonight has got to go.
© Wanda D. Hudson 2006