Bi-Sensual Page 2

  “All I know right now is that you’re leaving after you promised to stay. I never break my word to you, Elliot. Ever. If I say I’m coming to see you, I’m coming. If I say I’m staying, I’m staying.”

  “You act like I make this a habit.”

  “No, but this is one time too many.”

  She said that and then snatched herself away from me. My dick throbbed, and my annoyance rose.

  “You knew I had someone at home when we started this.”

  I shouldn’t have said that. Samona’s eyes turned into slits. Her chest heaved up and down. It looked as if she was about to explode. She hated to be reminded she was the side woman. Hated to be reminded she would always come second.

  “Fuck you and the person you have at home,” she spat, with such disgust that her words were bitter, like venom, once I tasted them.

  Her eyes were wet and puffy. She turned and stormed into the bathroom, then slammed the door behind her.

  Elliot

  I left Samona in her five-star hotel. I heard her crying in the bathroom. It didn’t feel good, but since she refused to open the door, there was nothing I could do about it. I cared about her a hell of a lot. She was the first woman who had held my interest in years. After my ex, no woman could even sniff my dick. Mona came along and changed my mind.

  She thought I didn’t care, but would a man who didn’t care for her do the things I’d done for her? I’d flown to different cities all over the country to be with her. She liked to travel when she was writing a new book. She was never at home in New York for too long. So I’d ask what city she was in and make my way there. Just to see her, hold her, and spend time with her.

  Those times when she was sick on the road, if she called me, I’d be there. Hell, there had even been times when I caught a red-eye flight to get to her, to take care of her, because her well-being was important to me.

  When she’d gone to visit her mother and her stepfather had shown up, if I didn’t care for her, would I have physically assaulted the man? Would I have risked ruining my career again? Going to jail? I didn’t like for anyone to disrespect her. Her stepfather had made that mistake. I had made him pay severely for it. I hated when she got into her emotions on this level. It seemed to cloud her judgment in ways that made her have tunnel vision.

  So, yes, I cared for her—sometimes, way more than I liked to admit. My feelings for her sometimes got in the way of my home life. I had neglected the love I had at home many times for the sake of Mona. She was important to me. At times I could make her believe that. Could show her better than I could tell her. Tonight just wasn’t one of those nights.

  I looked at the time and saw it was almost seven in the evening. The falling rain made the air humid. Valets and bellboys rushed in and out of the hotel, the bellboys carrying bags, the valets with keys and tickets. I waited for a valet to bring my truck around. The lobby of the hotel was as busy as the bar. People in business attire had flooded the Bourbon Bar for an evening drink. There was a man there who was making custom cigars for some of the guests. The murmur of laughter and talking saturated the air.

  My mind was still on Samona, but my heart was home. I didn’t want to leave Samona, but home was where my heart was. I pulled my hoodie over my head and adjusted my black leather satchel. The rain was beating down on the ground so hard, it sounded almost like hail. Luckily, it was only rain. No thunder or lightning yet. But even the rain was enough to make me reconsider driving home in it. It had been raining in Atlanta for three days now.

  My phone kept ringing. Home lit up the touch screen. I ignored it. For some reason, when I was with Samona, it was easy to ignore home . . . until home started calling. Even still, I didn’t want to deal with home until I made it home. I didn’t want the argument I knew would ensue, especially since I would be getting back later than I had said I would.

  By the time I got on the expressway, my mind was heavy and my head hurt. For the past two years, Samona and I had been having an affair. If I had to be real about it, it had been three years. That first year of getting to know one another could very well be considered emotionally cheating. Mona had been a breath of fresh air for me. My life had been mundane from the time I moved to Atlanta up until that point.

  Don’t get me wrong. Things at home weren’t bad. When I said mundane, I meant my social life. Until Mona, I hadn’t had one. Not after everything that had happened to me in New York. Over the past two years with Mona, there had been ups and downs. More ups than downs. Actually, all had been well until Samona had told me she loved me. She’d messed up. She knew she wasn’t supposed to fall in love, get attached. Those were the rules of our engagement. She knew she shouldn’t have done that shit. It had put us in an awkward space.

  We didn’t see or speak to one another for a month after that. I had to get away from her. Samona was intense. Her passion was contagious. Mona could talk about certain social issues and make you question your moral ground if your stance didn’t coincide with hers.

  Her admitting she loved me had made me uncomfortable. She couldn’t love me. I already had someone at home to love me. I’d told her as much. The fight we’d had afterward led me to believe we would never speak again. Mean things had been said—some of them nasty and vile. She had said things to me that made me want to choke her. I had said some things to her that caused her to lash out at me physically and verbally.

  If it had been left up to Samona, we’d have never spoken again. But I started to miss her, missed what she represented in my life. So I made first contact after the fight. It took me another month to get her to see me again. She was angry with me. Angry that I had thrown her love back in her face, as if it wasn’t good enough. She kept saying she wasn’t coming back, but she did. Things picked up, like we’d never stopped.

  The rain started to fall harder. The skies darkened more. It was indicative of my mood. I’d skipped work today. Lied to the person I had at home. Told them I was going to work. I did have to, but I’d played hooky so I could spend time with Mona. The selfish part of me had needed my dose of her. But the other part of me, the part that also knew I had a good thing at home, knew I had to play it safe.

  I made it to Jonesboro at a quarter to eight. Traffic wouldn’t let me get home as fast as I had intended. Yes, I blamed the traffic. I got off I-75 South and turned right onto Jonesboro Road. Passed the Days Inn on the right. A State Farm Insurance office sat just next to it. To my left a fireworks store was advertising their annual Fourth of July sale, even though the Fourth had come and gone. I passed the turn for Southlake Mall, then crossed the four-way intersection. Now a KFC and an Enterprise car dealership sat to the left of me. A Sherwin-Williams paint factory was to the right of me. The traffic was moderate, like always on my side of town.

  Somewhere between the Nissan dealership that was farther down the road and my turn onto Battlecreek, past the QuikTrip, my thoughts became muddled. The night before, my home had been in turmoil. I knew there was probably still some leftover anger inside those walls. That was part of the reason I had to get home. The person at home always knew when someone else had taken up residence in his or her significant other’s life. He or she might not have known what that gut feeling was when it first hit, but hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

  I pulled into the BattleCreek Village community. It was a small community nestled in a quiet residential area of Jonesboro. Had to swipe my card to gain entry through the gate. There were some children playing out in the rain. A woman was rushing into her home with Kroger grocery bags. The older man who lived across from me was sitting in his garage, drinking a beer.

  Once I parked my truck, I looked for Demi’s bike. Didn’t see it parked in the driveway, so either he wasn’t home or he had parked it inside the garage. I wondered what kind of hell waited for me inside those walls. I was late getting home, arriving well after I’d said I would be home.

  Trees were rocking and swaying. The rain looked as if it was blowing sideways. Horns blared in the
distance. The old man across the street waved at me as he stood and let his garage door down. I waved back. It was the neighborly thing to do. Although most of our neighbors stared at Demi and me like we were an anomaly most times, they all minded their business, as far as I knew.

  I pulled my keys from the loop of my jeans, unlocked the door, and then headed inside. Demi’s wet boots were beside the door, next to the shoe rack. I sighed. No matter how many times I spoke to him about it, Demi’s shoes seemed always to end up on the floor, next to the shoe rack as opposed to on it. A motorcycle helmet had also been placed on the hardwood floor, next to the TV. Demi’s leather jacket had been tossed across the cream-colored leather sofa. A QuikTrip bag with opened chips, a Honey Bun wrapper, and a cake was sitting next to the sofa.

  I set my satchel down then kicked my loafers off and placed them on the shoe rack. Walked across from the stairs and hung my blazer in the laundry room to dry. I’d purposely parked outside the garage so I could get rained on. That would be my excuse to head straight for the shower, with no hugs, no kisses. I hadn’t had time to shower at the hotel. Samona’s scent was all over me.

  “Where you been?” I heard behind me.

  I turned and looked at the stairs. Demi stood there with a blank gaze. I said nothing as I removed my shirt and tossed it into the washer.

  I shrugged. “Work.”

  I moved back to the foyer to grab my satchel. Demi stood on the stairs, watching me. I could feel the cold glare as he shot daggers at my back. Demi was six-five, an inch taller than me. His shoulders were broad. Chest showed definition from all the time spent at the gym. He now stood wide legged, muscled arms folded across his sinewy chest.

  He was dressed in a sleeveless T-shirt and jeans. When he was angry, his Grenadian accent was thicker than usual, and his eyes went from a vibrant gray to a sooty color. Demi had been with me through the darkest times of my life. Both of us had moved from New York six years ago, three years before I met Mona. After we’d done things that almost got us killed.

  I loved him. Had grown to love him over time. He’d earned my trust, as I’d earned his. While our relationship had started out rocky, we’d found our rhythm over the years. Sometimes, he knew me better than I knew myself. Demi was attentive like that.

  “You’re lying,” he said casually.

  I stepped out of my socks and jeans. Tossed them into the washer too.

  I said, “I’m not.”

  “Your job called and left a message. Ms. Jordan wants to know if you need an extra day off to take care of that summertime flu you have.”

  I sighed. I’d already had a fight with Mona. I didn’t feel like coming home to argue with him. But I knew it was coming. We’d argued before I left that morning. He knew about Mona. That was the nature of our open relationship.

  I shrugged. “Maybe I was sick at work, and she called to see if I needed tomorrow off.”

  “No. She asked if you needed an extra day off.”

  “Why are you questioning me? I told you I was at work, Demi,” I said. “Take it or leave it.”

  He bristled. We’d been fighting the past few weeks about little things, which had turned into big things. There was tension between our walls. That was more my fault than his. There was something that I wanted that I knew neither he nor Samona would be fond of. So my mood had been up and down as I tried to figure out how to bring the triangle I was in all together. Especially when I knew that Demi didn’t appreciate how long I’d carried on the affair with Mona.

  “So you’re going to go with that lie?” he asked.

  “Demi, why don’t you just come on out and ask me what you really want to know?”

  “If you took the day off, why not just tell me?”

  “Because I just told you I didn’t.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Okay.”

  I moved past him up the stairs.

  “I hate when you do this shit, Elliot.”

  “Yeah? Well, I hate a lot of the shit you do, but you do it, anyway.”

  As usual, when I walked into the bedroom, Demi had stuff all over the place. On most days, I could ignore it. Today it annoyed me. I ran an aggravated hand down my face. The doors to the walk-in closet were open. King-size bed was unmade. The black and red comforter strewn about. Sheets rumpled.

  The mocha-colored carpet needed to be vacuumed. Demi’s work clothes covered the chair in the corner. Blueprints and other architectural designs littered the area of the floor by the windows. The cherrywood dresser and armoire looked rummaged through.

  “Don’t you think you should clean up after yourself?” I asked.

  My phone vibrated in my satchel. It vibrated only when Mona called or texted me. Demi was watching me. His gray eyes were accusatory, so he didn’t have to say it. I grabbed my phone and saw a text had come through. I dropped my satchel on the bed and clicked the text icon.

  I love you. Come back....

  I deleted the message, frowned, then shook my head. She always did that. Demanded I leave, then cry for me to come back.

  I responded to her text as I moved around the room, picking up things from the floor that shouldn’t be there.

  Ditto. Can’t tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

  I erased that message when I was done, then locked my phone. It took me all of twenty minutes to shower and throw on some gym shorts. Demi was gone when I got out of the shower. I didn’t bother to question where he had gone or why. Was too stressed. If I had known he was going to leave, I’d have just stayed with Mona. I thought about driving back across town to where she was, but I didn’t. There was no need to aggravate an already sensitive situation. I finished cleaning my bedroom and then crawled into bed. I was already in bed when Demi came back home. Sleep didn’t come easy, though.

  Elliot

  It had been eight years since Demi and I had met at the Christopher Street Pier. Six since I’d decided to give being in relationship with a man a try. All my prior relationships had been with women. Yeah, I had fucked men in between relationships but had never been in an actual relationship with one. Not until Demi strutted into my life.

  I was out with friends, just enjoying the breeze and fellowshipping. The first time he walked past me, my body reacted instantly. My dick throbbed and started to ache. He was dressed in loose-fitting jeans, wheat-colored Tims, a V-necked T-shirt, and a fitted Yankees cap. Typical New York dude vibe.

  He was thick as hell—muscles in all the right places—and had a cropped wavy fade and thick lips. I saw his hair because he took his cap off and rubbed a hand over his waves, but he quickly put it back on, as if he didn’t want the sun on his face. His bottom lip was thicker than the top but still well proportioned to his face. We made eye contact. He smirked. I glanced at my friends to make sure they hadn’t noticed, and then looked back toward him again. He had passed me. Our moment was finished. I stood, pretended I needed to stretch so I could watch him walk away.

  His walk was powerful. Each stride more gallant than the one before it. He walked like the world belonged to him and he knew it. One hand in his pocket, shoulders squared, as he demanded attention. I sat back down and thought nothing else of it as the throbbing in my dick ebbed away.

  An hour or so passed before I saw him again. This time we were headed to one of the many restaurants around the pier. There he was again, posted up with his friends. Just like before, he made eye contact with me, and I with him. The attraction was there, and it was strong. So much so that I inadvertently bumped into one of the women in my group of friends.

  She stumbled and laughed as I caught her arm to keep her from falling. Demi chuckled. Wasn’t close enough to hear him chuckle, but I saw him. I didn’t quite remember what I was thinking. Something between “Damn, that nigga is fine” and “I wonder what he looks like naked.” I couldn’t pretend like anything more or anything less than sex was on my mind.

  His friends and mine ended up at the same eatery. At one point he passed my table on the way to the r
estroom. A few seconds later, I excused myself from the table with the lie of having to relieve my bladder. It was a private restroom, so I stood next to the door, pretending to be waiting, until the coast was clear.

  Any brother who had lived the down-low life or had tried to hide his sexuality knew this game. We knew the eye-contact communication and the body language. He’d left the restroom door unlocked for a reason. I slipped into the restroom as he was washing his hands. He looked up, pretended to be concerned, just in case I hadn’t taken the bait. But he relaxed when he saw it was me. I’d taken the bait. Locked the door behind me.

  “Give me your number,” I said, more like demanded.

  His smell turned me on. Something masculine and spicy. Smelled like African hemp and cocoa butter. He had closed the gap between us, so we were close to each other. Close enough that I could smell the cinnamon on his breath. I handed him my phone. He put his number in. Saved it under the name Demi.

  “Like Demi Moore?” I asked.

  He nodded. “But short for Demitri.”

  His voice caused me to quirk a brow. Demitri had a voice that would make God reconsider his heteronormative stance. Strong. Assertive and all male. A deep baritone that made my dick harder than a diamond. I put my phone back on the clip on my hip. He tried to leave. I stopped him. Pushed his back against the wall. Kissed him like he belonged to me. Our tongues danced like all my friends knew I was bisexual. Like I wasn’t hiding my sexuality. I didn’t stop him when his hand massaged my dick like I was single.

  All of that happened in under ten minutes. Would have been under seven, but the kiss was soul jarring. I was being reckless. That was what happened when a person tried to hide and/or repress his or her true nature.

  I had to get out of that restroom. Once I did, I made it back to the table with my friends. The “friend” I’d bumped into earlier looked at me with a loving smile.