Page 22 of A Taste of Grace

Roxanne tilted her fit body forward, offering me a scandalous peek at the bountiful blessings underneath her dress that used to overflow in my mouth during our raunchy sex sessions. Her floral perfume wafted to my nostrils, making me want to sneeze. I sucked in a big breath and quickly swiped my finger under my nose to filter out the overpowering smell. Nothing about Roxanne tempted me anymore.

“Do you do house calls, Pastor?” She batted her long eyelashes like she had debris in them.

This messy hoe was dense and unrelenting. Despite that, I wasn’t in the business of breaking people’s spirits, no matter how annoying they were. I reached for Roxanne’s wrist and removed it from my person as gently as I could without making a scene.

“I’ll direct you to our prayer team for that. It’s led by my Aunt Nita. Remember her? I’d hate for her to have to rebuke you in Jesus’ Name.”

Roxanne frowned, her face reddening. She poked her long red fingernail into my shirt.

“That hag better stay away from me. You’re a damn wolf hiding behind a pulpit. Nothing about your rotten ass is holy. You could learn a lot from your daddy. He never turned away a woman in need.” Roxanne’s shoulders drooped when she mentioned my father.

I know. That was the problem.

My father and I both had Roxanne. I wasn’t proud of that, but I didn’t know he was cheating on my mother at the time.

Madeline had just left me, and I was lonely. Roxanne filled the bill by cooking hot meals for the girls and me. One night, she popped up with a tuna casserole after Hannah and Esther were asleep. It started with an innocent kiss but ended with her sucking me off so good my toes curled. I became addicted to her and didn’t care how reckless I was.

We fooled around about six months, but one day, the Holy Spirit tugged at my heart. I woke up realizing that if Roxanne ever got pregnant by my father or me, it would take the entire ministry down. That was when my sorry behind got right with God. Everyone involved in that fiasco deserved better, most definitely my mother. I still hadn’t shared with her how much of a dog I was during that dark season of my life.

“I may not be like my father, but I promise I strive every day to be like my heavenly Father.” I lifted my hand toward the ceiling and raised my eyes, indicating that I now answered to a power much higher than anyone else. “The only clit I’ll suck from now on will be my wife’s.”

“Yeah, right.” Roxanne had the nerve to shoot me a bird and scurry off.

As much as I criticized my father’s adulterous ways, the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. My whoring started at Morehouse College. I was so bad that the ladies called me Sir DickALot. I threw my penis into any vagina that opened for me. I temporarily got on the straight and narrow when a pregnancy scare almost made me a daddy at twenty. I considered that my warning to take my relationship with God seriously until I messed around with Roxanne.

How was I going to make it through this senior pastor life when mess like this kept happening?

I needed a wife.

My mind went back to Grace. Maybe God saw what was before me and brought her to me so I wouldn’t fall again.

Who was she, and what did she need from me?

Fun Time

“I like this color, Ms. Grace!”

Hannah giggled and wiggled her hands near her face after I painted each of her little fingers cotton candy pink. She squirmed in the small chair near the desk in her bedroom.

“Remember what I said, sweetheart. Put your hands in this dryer and don’t touch anything until I tell you, okay?” I placed my fingers around her wrist as she spread her fingers on the desk and inserted them into the small nail dryer that matched the color of her fingernails.

“Sorry.” Hannah lowered her eyes and frowned.

I lifted her chin and smiled.

“It’s okay. You don’t do this all the time. Never feel bad when you’re learning something for the first time. That’s called growth.”

Hannah’s smile matched mine as she steadied her body and held it still as her nails dried. Before I gave the girls manicures, I had styled Hannah’s wavy hair into several loose plaits that hung low over her head. Each plait was held by small rubber bands that matched her dark brown hair. I turned to Esther, who sat on the bed.

“As for you, Little Miss Esther, I’m going to finish your hair so it will be exquisite for Sunday service too. How did you say you wanted it again?”

“Two long plaits here and here.” She pointed to the places on her head where she wanted me to put the plaits.

I picked up my comb and gestured for her to sit between my legs on her bed.

“Tilt your head back and be really still so I can get this part straight.”

Esther did as I asked. I parted her thick black hair down the middle and brushed it with care, giving her the style she requested. Fifteen minutes later, I guided her to the mirror where she examined the finished product, twirled in a circle, and clapped her hands.

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