Page 42 of Ms. V's Hot Girl Summer

“Jesus Alabao!” She praised or cursed God, and I applied myself fully to my task. My hand rushed up her body, pinching one of her nipples, aiding her in her self-caresses as I continued to taste and discover all the ways she loved to be revered.

“Orlando, dale, por favor…dale, ya!” Trinidad’s desperate pleas were barely coherent as I continued to read her like my precious Miles Morales comics until, with a last cry to the heavens, she dissolved into pure liquid heat, pouring her ecstasy onto me.

And I tasted it all.

It tasted like home.

Shetasted like paradise.

Shetasted like every day after today.

And that is when I realized I was in love with Trinidad Caridad Velasquez Rodriguez.

EIGHTEEN

Trinidad

SOS text messages were frequent back in the day after my divorce. Miranda and I had our drill down whenever I made a stupid move and linked up with someone not good for me or my heart. I’d text her, and she’d come to pick the kids up and take them to her mom, then return with all the supplies we needed for a day of rest sprinkled with some tough love.

Heathen felt like a very hard word, but for a couple of years after my divorce, I searched for myself in different ways, and some of them were more slutty than others. There was nothing wrong with that. I discovered what I truly liked in bed and what I needed in a partner, and I enjoyed the hell out of my Hot Girl days. But then I hung my jersey and searched for the type of family and stability I deserved. Since then, the heathen days and amazing sex declined in quality and consistency. Nothing to do with anything but myself. Because I’d stopped prioritizing my pleasure for the sake of everything else in my life.

Now I’d decided to dip my feet in the heathen pool, and I’d come back with more than I’d bargained.

Hence the SOS text.

The sun had barely come out of the sky, so I prepared myself for the curses accompanying this call. Miranda hated to wake up early. Propping up my laptop in front of me as I sat in bed, I answered the video call, a frazzled Miranda on the other end.

“Girl, SOS text? What the hell happened? Did you sleep with a stranger at that party last night? Why the everlasting fuck are you awake right now? Shouldn’t you be sleeping the good sex away?” Miranda’s bleary face greeted me on the screen.

“No! Girl, what do you mean a stranger? What do you think this is?”

“A trip for you to enjoy and get your freak on, and I’m glad you’re applying yourself to the assignment, but, girl, it’s six thirty on a Saturday; you lucky I love you.”

“I can’t sleep.” I shook my head, remembering how a fantastically naked, strong Orlando carried me up the stairs and tucked me in bed, declining anything to alleviate his hardness but a steamy good night kiss that made my pussy purr in protest. She wanted more, and I did too. “He made me squirt,” I whispered at the camera.

“Oh shit, hold on. Let me turn on the light.” After some shuffling, amber light brightened the screen and a more composed Miranda returned to the frame. “We are talking about Orlando, right?”

“Miranda, yes, I am a reformed heathen, not a careless heathen,” I huffed.

“Gyal, don’t yuh start we me. So, he made you squirt… I knew that boy had it in him. Good for him.” Miranda nodded, impressed, completely missing the point. I waved my hands in the frame, demanding her focus, my heart tripping as I remembered every decadent detail from last night. Usually, with SOS meetings, I’d regale Miranda with all the details of my encounter, but oddly, I didn’t want to do that right now.

“So spill, girl, tell me!”

“I…it felt more. You know? We haven’t even had intercourse yet…well, I guess fingering is intercourse, but never mind that. I just feel like… I feel like…it was more. It felt emotional. It felt like I was betraying Milton.”

“Here you go with Milton, who cares about that square? Girl, has he even called you?”

Miranda’s question soured my already fragile mood, causing my anxiety to increase.

“No, he’s busy with his colleagues. But you know he wants something serious now so maybe I shouldn’t be leading Orlando on, I think this is more serious to him than me.”

“Really? Are you sure about that?” Miranda questioned, her no-nonsense attitude usually a balm. Today, it was making my stomach cramp.

“I don’t know, I mean, I… I was in the moment, but it felt very intimate; I wanted… I want more.”

“So get more. Milton is not the end-all-be-all. He is a good man, but he doesn’t need to beyourgood man. Not every good man on the face of the earth means marriage material. Expand your criteria, girl.”

“I have, I did, and what did I end up with? A broken heart and single parenthood. I fucking knew my ex wasn’t the right fit, but I fell in love with him anyway. And Orlando is a good man, but he isyoung, Miranda; he still has a lot of life to live.”

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