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Of course the women knew this one since they were the ones buying their husbands’ underwear.
LaQuandra: BOTH
Brenda: BOTH
Krista: BOTH
The next question was, “When giving your husband oral, does he prefer you to swallow or spit?”
Krista frowned as she wrote her answer.
“Your answers, ladies.”
LaQuandra: SWALLOW
Brenda: SWALLOW
Krista: NEITHER
LaQuandra and Brenda answered correctly. Krista narrowed her eyes at Kendall’s board, taking in his response in big red letters. SWALLOW
Oh, he must have had one drink too many to even think some shit like that, Krista thought, raising a brow, then erasing her answer.
Brenda hopped up and down and squealed. She felt like doing a happy dance. Unless she got the rest of her answers wrong (she’d be damned if she would, thank you very much!), there was no way Krista and Kendall would catch up to her and Roselle.
The next question was, “Does your husband have a fetish?”
While Dr. Dangerfield waited for the couples to write on their boards, she glanced over at the men, wondering what those fetishes might be. She imagined Roselle secretly enjoying bondage or the feel of women’s panties on under his True Religions; Isaiah was probably a pygophilia—sexually fixated on a woman’s ass; and, Kendall—well, Dr. Dangerfield imagined him either being a voyeur or lusting over women’s feet.
The music faded, pulling Dr. Dangerfield from her naughty thoughts. She licked her lips, then swallowed. “Okay, ladies. Your answers, please.”
The three women revealed their answers.
LaQuandra: NO
Brenda: YES
Krista: NO
When the men revealed their answers, LaQuandra frowned. Krista grimaced—she felt blindsided. Exactly what type of fetish did Kendall have? And why hadn’t she gotten the memo? And Brenda screamed excitedly as she hopped up and down.
LaQuandra blurted out, “What fetish do you have, Isaiah, huh? You just full of goddamn surprises tonight, nigga?”
Dr. Dangerfield cringed inwardly. “Mrs. Lewis, unfortunately, due to your blatant disregard of my request to refrain from using the N-word, that outburst will cost you six points, bringing your score back down to seven.”
“Womp, womp, womp,” came from out of the speakers.
LaQuandra scowled. Bitch, bye. Fuck a score. Fuck this shit.
Isaiah shook his head. She stayed doing the most.
“I don’t know what you over there shaking your head for, Isaaaaaiah. I wanna know who the fuck you out there having fetishes with?”
Dr. Dangerfield tapped on the microphone. “Um, hello. Mrs. Lewis. Do you need a moment?”
“No,” LaQuandra snapped, looking over at her. “I don’t need a moment.” She glared back over at Isaiah. “I need an answer, Isaaaaaaiah.”
“Mrs. Lewis, I’m going to have to ask you to refrain from any further outburst. Your concerns can be discussed further after the game—in private.”
