Page 204 of Morally Black Betrothal
It was now or never.
So, I had sprinted across the grounds with a plan quickly forming: I’d wait for Daniel in his bedroom and confess everything I’d been holding inside for ten long years.
But when the door had opened, and I’d heard the distinct sound of kissing along with a woman’s voice, I’d done what any logical person would do.
I’d dropped to my hands and knees, crawled into the closet, and hid.
“Give me that dick, Daddy. I want to taste the rainbow.”
I frowned. Did she just quote a Skittles commercial?
There was more of something that sounded a lot like my brother’s dog slurping from its water bowl. The bedsprings were like the strings in a horror movie. What were they even doing?
“Take it,” Daniel kept saying through what I imagined was a clenched jaw. “Take that dick. That giant fucking dick.”
Giant, huh? How big were we talking? Granted, I didn’t have much (all right,any) first-hand experience of that part of a man’s anatomy, but my younger sister, Joni, occasionally sent me dirty videos to mess with me.
Seriously, nothing will scare a girl off sex faster than ten inches coming at you through your phone screen while you’re standing in line for coffee.
The baristas at New Rochelle roasters haven’t looked at me the same since.
Mostly, though, I found those videos confusing. The men had absurdly large anatomy, and the women were always perfectly smooth, almost prepubescent. They whimpered like kittens or shrieked like sirens while their partners huffed and grunted, pumping into them like machines.
How could that feel good? Even a little bit?
I told myself thatmyDaniel wouldn’t lay waste to a woman’s body that way. He’d make sure she was okay. He’d take care of her.
The woman of the night squawked again like a dying parakeet, and Daniel let out a loud “fuuuuuuuck!” that reminded me of the B60 bus when it heaved to the curb less than a block from my bedroom window in the Bronx. I was pretty sure something in the bed broke permanently.
This was what sex was like? Demeaning talk interspersed with bad TV jingles and bodily fluids? Impressions of wounded animals while testing the limits of the furniture?
I didn’t feel like I’d was missing out.
Maybe that’s just what sex was like withher, I told myself as the thumping and grunting went on. It had to be different with someone you had a real connection with. Someone that maybe you could love. Daniel had a deeper side to him, a side no one else saw but me (albeit, from afar). It wouldn’t be like that between us.
Would it?
“Snap!” squealed—oinked?—the woman. “Crackle! POP, baby!”
I frowned. Daniel’s guest had moved on to cereal slogans.
“Fuck!” Daniel seemed to have forgotten the rest of his vocabulary.
I took it as a good sign. If he felt something for this woman, he’d be capable of saying more. Right?
“Are you gonna come?” the woman asked. “I want that milk, Daddy. It does a bodygoooooood.”
Ewwwwwww.
I clapped my hands over my ears. The woman’s moans were still audible, but at least her words weren’t quite as clear. Or graphic. Or plagiarized, for that matter.
Even through my palms, I could hear when Daniel gave a great shout. The woman’s final squeal genuinely made me wonder if a fire alarm had gone off at the party.
Eventually, their shouts died to murmurs. Murmurs turned to imperceptible conversation. The vibration of a toilet flushing, followed by a sink running, told me they were up and moving around. I decided my ears were safe.
Besides, if Daniel came out of the bathroom and realized he’d made a horrible mistake, I wanted to hear it. Maybe he’d take a look at the impossibly beautiful, probably injected and surgically enhanced blonde in his bed, remember that her best attempt at dirty talk came from nineties TV jingles, and decide he was ready to settle down with a real woman at last.
Preferably one who was five-foot-one, terribly near-sighted, and had never met a cardigan she didn’t love.
