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She rolled her eyes. “I asked you if you were sure about not wanting to get fucked in your ass because I’m not signing up for none of that kinky mess.”
I blinked back the image of a warm wet tongue swirling around my asshole, and the heated sensations that followed every time the tip of it dips inside me. “Of course I’m sure. I’m not with that shit.”
She let out a sigh of relief. “Good. After everything that happened with Latrice and Herbie, you never know. I don’t ever want to be in her shoes and find myself blindsided like she was.”
Here we go again. Back to Herbie and Latrice. “C’mon now, Krista,” I said calmly, trying to mask my frustration and annoyance that she’d try to spin the conversation into something more than what it was. Was she fucking serious? Blindside her? The mere fact that she even remotely entertained some shit like that had me pissed off. But I bit my tongue. Arguing wasn’t the plan. Getting some pussy was. “I’m not Herbie. And you’re not Latrice. What he did was fucked up. She didn’t deserve that. But trust me, baby. The last thing you’ll ever have to worry about is finding me with another man. Not gonna happen.”
“I hope not. All I want is for us to always have an honest relationship.”
I gave her another kiss. “And we do.” Yeah, an honestly one-sided sexually stagnant one, if you ask me. “After all these years, you should know by now what kind of man you have.” I shook my head in disbelief. “I can’t even believe I’m standing here having this conversation with you, like I have to defend my honor and my manhood to you.”
“I don’t want you to defend anything.”
“Well, that’s how it feels,” I said tersely.
“Don’t get defensive,” she replied, hand on hip. “All I said was I don’t want to ever be in Latrice’s shoes. My heart breaks for her. That bastard put her through hell.”
“Well, I’m not him. And you’re not Latrice. That’s their struggle, not ours. Now how did me asking you what you thought about a man wanting his woman to lick his ass turn into a conversation about Latrice and Herbie, and you practically questioning my manhood?”
“I wasn’t questioning your manhood, Kendall. I was only stating an opinion. But if your sexuality came into question for me, believe me, I’d be confronting you.”
I frowned. “And so you should. But you don’t have to. You know that.”
“I only know what you tell me. Anything else is left up to fate and speculation.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “You can’t be serious.”
“I know what kind of man you are with me, when we’re alone behind closed doors. But questions like that make me wonder…”
“It was a question about me.”
“I know it wasn’t. Still…”
“And, again…not that I should have to say this, but I will so that we’re very clear. I’m not some DL cat living a double life. And I’m not Herbie or any other man who does.”
Yeah, it wasn’t exactly the God’s honest truth. But it wasn’t a complete lie, either. I mean. The fact that she’d never have to worry about me being attracted to—or wanting to be with—another man was true.
But, creeping every now and again with a freaky babe was a whole other story. So yeah, I lied, sort of—by omission. But. Out of necessity, it had to be told. Still, I hated doing so.
I let go of her, feeling like shit for not being able to be straight up with her about my hidden desires. I felt like such a fraud for not being able to man up and tell her what I enjoyed.
That I loved my ass licked.
That she was married to a man who loved a finger stroking inside his ass.
That I loved having my prostate massaged, milked.
That it was the most intense, pleasurable experience, ever.
No. I couldn’t tell her any of that. Her reaction to what was only a hypothetical question was proof of that. So what other choice did I really have? I could only imagine what her real reaction would be if I confessed my sexual sins. Divorce was (and is) the last thing I want. But does that mean I should deny my sexual urges? Am I supposed to deprive myself of pleasure simply because my wife isn’t down with the program?
Hell no.
Why should I when I can have my cake and eat it, too? After all, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Eat the cake?
“Good,” she finally replied. “Now that that’s settled. I’m going to start dinner.”
“Hey, hey. Not so fast.” I gently grabbed her arm as she went to walk off. My mind still reeling from the conversation, I needed to be sure I’d heard her right. “So you’d really divorce me if I told you I wanted you to lick my ass?”
