Love Knows No Color Pt. 29

Shavonda and I rang in the new year with a party at Brian and Tamika's place, which was my old house before we were married. It was great to see the improvements Brian had made to the place. With his job as a demolition carpenter, salvaging usable items from houses slated to be torn down, he had access to all sorts of interesting items from bannister posts to mantlepieces, along with the intricate carved woodwork that was so common in houses built a hundred years ago. As a result, he was slowly redoing the house with those beautiful old components. The results, even at this stage, were spectacular. I barely recognized the place.

It was at this party that we found out Tamika was pregnant. "How far along?" Shavonda asked.

"About six weeks," Tamika replied. Already, you could see her glow.

"Same as me," Shavonda said excitedly. "Guess we'll have to share a birthing suite."

They had been given due dates within a week of each other by their doctors, both in mid August. I wondered how we were going to pull this off. It would be the start of the Ren Fest season, and so much of our business was a result of those festivals. To miss them would be unthinkable. And yet, the two women who usually attended them would be unable this year.

We sat in the kitchen, smoking weed and drinking, as we pondered who among our employees we trusted enough to fill in for us. All, that is, except Shavonda, who sat with us but had opted to stay straight for the baby's sake. I loved her for that.

Kenny was the obvious choice, with Edie helping. It would make a nice getaway for them. For the other person, it was a toss-up between Nykole, who'd been our first employee who wasn't family, and Ebony. Ebony had shown a lot of initiative lately, working under Velma at the original store. She showed great promise, and we felt that if we ever opened a fourth store, she'd be the one we'd promote to manage it. For her, working the booth at the Ren Fests would be a good way to test her skills unsupervised.

I'd taken my last Vicodin earlier in the week. Though my arm still went into spasms in the cast, the weed was enough to manage my pain. The doctor had given me a prescription for oxycodones, but both Shavonda and Althea were adamant that I not touch them. So the prescription went unfilled. I did, however, have a prescription for Flexeril, a powerful muscle relaxer. I rarely used them, because all they did was put me to sleep for a day.

Shavonda, busy as she was, somehow found the time to baby me. I felt bad about being a burden to her, and about not bringing any money in. My worker's comp check hadn't shown up yet, and I know she felt the loss of income.

"Don't you worry about that," she told me. "You aren't a burden to me. You're my pillar. We don't need the money. I've told you that many times but you won't listen. And as for the rest of it, I just want you to get better."

When I told Althea about that conversation, she just laughed. "Don't you realize by now that girl loves you to pieces? She'd spoon feed you and change your Depends every day for the rest of your life if she had to. And she'd be happy to do it, because you need her. Don't worry about the money. Your check will show up one of these days. In the meantime, just sit back and relax. Enjoy your family. We got your back."

About a week into the new year, I got the cast and stitches in my arm removed. I'd taken a Flexeril before the doctor's appointment, so I was kind of in a fog. Althea drove me to the appointment, then dropped me off at the mall. Shavonda had promised to meet me there for lunch.

I waited for her in the food court, people watching in my groggy state. Nobody paid me any attention. I was just another person strung out on something or other, in a place where that was not uncommon. As long as I didn't cause a scene, nobody cared.

I pondered the changes in my life as I watched the people. Even though I was madly in love with my wife, it didn't stop me from admiring the women as they walked by. I could look, but I knew I'd never pursue any of them. I had what I wanted already. Funny thing was, I found myself no longer attracted to the white girls. Shavonda had permanently changed my taste in women, and I admired the ebony cuties now. Miley Cyrus could walk up to me and offer me head, and I'd be uninterested. But Serena Williams, I'd have to fight temptation all the way.

Eventually, my attention focused on one particular female, a shapely dark skinned honey in a leopard print dress. What really made her stand out was her shoulder length blonde hair, which contrasted nicely with her dark skin. I watched her from behind, transfixed in my fog, as she made a purchase at one of the food stands. I was struck by how much her figure resembled my wife's. It made her stunningly beautiful. I had yet to see her face, and I wondered if she looked as good from the front as she did from the back.

Finishing her purchase, she turned, drink in hand, scanning the food court. She WAS beautiful. Her eyes shone, and she cracked a beautiful smile when she caught me looking. Her hips swayed seductively as she walked over to my table. Oh, please don't let her talk to me. I'm not here to pick up chicks. I'm here to have lunch with my wife...

"Oh, there you are," she said, transfixing me with her radiant smile. "How did your appointment go?"

"Shavonda?" I blinked, as the fog cleared. "But your hair..."

She laughed. "Oh that's just a wig. Do you like it?" It was then I realized I'd fallen in love with my wife all over again. In a mall full of women of all shapes and sizes, it was her who'd attracted my attention. And even though in my fog I didn't recognize her at first, she'd attracted me like no other. I decided not to tell her that I hadn't recognized her. It was embarrassing.

Shavonda was the kind of woman for whom sensuality came naturally. It seeped from her pores, saturating everything she did. She couldn't help it. Everything she did turned me on. And that leopard print dress... She KNEW leopard print turned me on. Even the muscle relaxer I was on couldn't tame my raging boner.

"I thought you'd like my new dress," she said. "Won't be able to wear it much longer. I'm going to get big as a house."

"I don't mind," I said. "You'll still be beautiful. And the dress, it's perfect. Wait til I get you home. I'd bend you over this table if we wouldn't be arrested."

Shavonda laughed. "Down boy," she said. "Nice to know I still got it."

Changing the subject she asked, "how did it go? Did it hurt?"

"Not really," I said, showing her my arm, bare for the first time in a month. "It felt weird. He took it out of the cast and snipped the sutures. It felt a little uncomfortable when he pulled them out. There were so many."

Shavonda took my arm, looking it over. "Can you move it at all?" she asked with concern.

"Just a little," I explained. "Doctor said the inactivity weakened my muscles. Can't move my fingers either." I tried to wiggle my fingers to show her, but they just barely twitched. "It's gonna be a long hard road back, if I ever get there. I start therapy next week."

Shavonda grabbed my hand, and curled and straightened my fingers. Rotating my wrist, she asked, "Does that hurt?"

"No. I can barely feel it. I mean, I feel your touch, but the movement of my fingers and wrist i can't feel."

Shavonda looked at me with determination. "Jason, you realize you're probably not going back to work driving a truck. I want you to apply to college to finish your education. Don't you see? This is the perfect opportunity to finish your degree and do what you love for a living. I've seen the way you are when we are in the mountains looking at rocks. I am NOT Rose. We are making enough from the business that we can afford to put you through school."

"How am I going to complete the applications, if I can't write?" During the previous month, with my right arm in a cast, I'd leasrned with great sffort to make a barely legible scrawl with my left hand. Now I was going to have to relearn how to use my right hand. It would take months, and already it was late to be filling out college applications. I think I was afraid of going back to school at this point, and looking for any excuse not to try. But Shavonda refused to let it go.

"I will fill them out for you. Just tell me what to write." I could see the determination on her face. "I want you to apply to 4 or 5 different schools, for both the geology and engineering degrees. If we need to, you'll go to school for each one separately. But you WILL be getting your degrees." And with that, the subject was closed.

We ended up not eating at the food court. Shavonda instead took me out for pizza. She knew I was feeling depressed about the hopefully temporary loss of my right hand, and wanted to get something I could easily eat with my good hand. We took the pizza back to the African marketplace, which was only a couple of miles away. She quickly ushered me into the back room, and set me down at a desk with a rolling chair. But the best was yet to come.

The pizza shop didn't have drinks in cups, so we'd gotten bottles of Dr Pepper. Obviously, I couldn't open mine by myself, so Shavonda took it from me. "This is going to be cold," she said, placing the bottle in her cleavage. Wrapping her left arm under her breasts, she squeezed them against the bottle while twisting the cap off with her right hand. Seeing the stunned look on my face, she laughed.

"Did you like that? I can do amazing things with a bottle." She handed me the drink with a smirk. "Don't ever underestimate your woman."

I spent the rest of the afternoon with her at the store, sleeping in the chair. The Flexerils were taking their toll on me. Once home, Shavonda herded me off to bed as Miracle howled in protest. She wanted her Daddy, but I was in no condition to play.

Having the cast off helped immensely with my rest. With the dead weight of the cast gone, I could once again snuggle against Shavonda as she slept, hooking my arm over her body. It felt good to have her soft skin against mine once more, and I pondered how lucky I was to have found her.

The next morning, Shavonda led me by the hand to the shower, smiling as she told me. "I've waited a long time for this." I understood. With the cast now gone, I could take showers again instead of having to sit in the tub holding my arm above the water. And even though my arm was still useless, I was able to soap her up with my left hand, feeling her nipples harden as I ran my soap slick thumb over them.

Since Shavonda had to work, we had to make it fast. Althea had already arrived to watch me and the baby. Shavonda ground her soapy ass into my swollen member, bending over and spreading her cheeks as she did so. "No," I told her. "Not like this."

Instead, I sat on the floor of the tub, water cascading around us as I turned her to face me. She lifted one leg to the tub rail, giving me access to what we both wanted. I wasted no time diving right in, burying my face deep in her crevice as I tried to devour her clit. She moaned in appreciation at the contact, as I lapped at her sensitive bud before wrapping my lips around it and sucking hard.

"Jason," she cried out. "You're gonna make me come!" Though we both wanted this, I had no idea she was this close. I buried my tongue deep inside her clutching walls as she held the back of my head. No, I wasn't going to go easy on her. And even if I was, her hands on my head pushed my face into her crotch as she rode my tongue. Her hips ground against me as she reached her peak. God, she tasted so good. Always had. The tight curls of her pubic hair tickled my nose. I wanted to sneeze. And I was enjoying every second of it.

She came with that deep guttural roar I knew so well. When it felt good, she moved her hips and whimpered, or talked dirty to me. But when it really started getting to her, she moaned uncontrollably. And when it was earth shattering, her tone changed completely, a deep groan of satisfaction that was hard to believe came from her. That's what I strived for. That's what I always wanted to hear. It, along with the uncontrollable movement of her hips, told me I was doing it right.

At this point, I didn't know how she was still standing. Her legs were shaking with the effort not to collapse. Reluctantly, I broke away from her hold and stood. With my good arm, I guided her to the toilet seat, where she collapsed. "Damn you," she sighed breathlessly. "Give me a minute to catch my breath."

"No, baby," I said. 'This one's on me."

"You don't want this pussy?" she asked, incredulous.

"Not right now. I can't," I motioned to my semi hard penis. "I'm still coming down off the Flexes. "

"This ain't over," Shavonda said with determination. "I owe you big time. Just wait till tonight."

We carefully dried each other off, then she helped me dress. I lay on the bed watching her put her clothes on and do her makeup. Shavonda never need a lot of preparation to look good. She had a natural beauty about her that heavy makeup, or a fancy hairstyle, would have hidden. And now that she was pregnant, she worried about how everything would affect the baby. So she wore even less makeup than normal.

Our life at this point was pretty stressful. Shavonda was still dealing with the emotional earthquake that Tony's death years before had caused, and that the death of the disgraced police officer had reopened. She'd stopped taking her anti anxiety medication when she found out she was pregnant. On top of this, because of the pregnancy hormones running wild in her system her emotions were being pulled in every direction at once. I did my best to be there for her, but in the end that's all I could do. Be there.

This morning, as she dressed, she had a meltdown. I sat her on the bed, clad only in bra and panties, and held her close as she cried it out of her system. And just as quickly as it had come over her, she was fine, ready to face another day.

We wandered out to the kitchen, where Althea had made breakfast for us. Shavonda was now in good spirits, like nothing had happened.

"Eat, you two," Althea ordered.

"I'm running late, Mama," Shavonda answered. "And Jason's already had something to eat."

Althea's mouth dropped open. She looked at Shavonda, then me. I wiggled my eyebrows at her as she shook her head. "Coupla freaks," she muttered under her breath.

"Well, Mama." Shavonda laughed. "We married now. Ain't that what married folks supposed to do? Would you rather we grumble at each other? Our way is much more fun." With that, Shavonda was out the door. And yes, we did finish what we started when she got home. The muscle relaxers had worn off, and I was raring to go. Let's just say my queen didn't disappoint. She never does.

The next Monday I started my physical therapy, in Homestead. Neither Shavonda nor Althea would let me drive, due to the drowsiness the Flexerils caused. So they took turns taking me there. After a few days reprieve, the deep freeze had returned, and temperatures would run 20 degrees below normal for most of the rest of the winter.

I had volunteered to take the bus so Shavonda didn't have to miss work. "No way!" she said forcefully. "Your dumb ass would fall asleep and miss your stop. Driver would put you off in the middle of nowhere, and you freeze your ass off waiting for the next bus. I like you stiff but not frozen stiff." She had a point.

The initial visit was more for evaluation of my condition than anything else. Terry, my therapist, was an older, soft spoken white man who resembled Lorne Greene but was friendly yet professional. He assessed my range of motion as Shavonda sat nearby. Making small talk, he asked," So what do you like to do in your off time?"

"Well," I said. I used to play bass guitar while my wife sang. But I can't do that anymore."

"Don't count yourself out, kid," Terry replied with a smile. "If you want to play again, you will. As a matter of fact, playing guitar is excellent home therapy for your injury. You'll exercise all the muscles we will here. And you'll have fun doing it. We'll have you holding a guitar pick in no time."

"I don't use one," I said. "I pluck the strings with my fingertips."

"That's even better! You've temporarily lost the use of your fingers due to inactivity. Activity is the way to bring them back. I know it sounds odd since you can barely move them, but if you keep trying you'll get full use of your hand and wrist back." He handed me a soft stress relief ball from the counter against the wall. "I want you to take this home, and try to squeeze it as often as you can."

"Just pretend it's my tit," Shavonda laughed as I turned beet red. Terry looked at her and shook his head, muttering something about young love.

The first few sessions consisted mainly of me lying on the table in the exam room, hooked up to a tens unit. It passed an electric current through my arm that helped it heal. Terry turned the current up as high as I could tolerate, to where I felt needles in my arm, then he'd back it off until the sensation went away. The first time we used it, he'd turned it up too high, and my arm went into spasms. It was weird to watch the muscles in my arm visibly twitching.

I'd often take a short nap while this was going on. If Shavonda was there, she'd gently stroke my hair as I drifted off.

Afterward, we started on some simple exercises. One of them involved a beach ball that Terry would bounce at me. I'd catch it and bounce it back to him. It was difficult at first, but gradually I was able to do it as I regained the use of my wrist and fingers. The full use of my arm was another matter. When we started, my range of motion was less than ten degrees. Essentially, I could barely move my elbow. Through three visits a week, I was able to make slow, painful progress, but Terry said I'd probably never be able to fully bend it normally.

Whoever took me to therapy would indulge me with lunch in a little café on Amity street. The food was decent, but not spectacular. What was spectacular, however, was the view. Amity Street crossed two busy railroad lines that ran parallel to each other, right outside the window. We could watch the trains roll by as we ate. When traffic died down on one railroad, usually the other line would send at least one train our way. Needless to say, it was nice to have a warm place to see the trains, and I will admit to picking at my food in order to prolong the meal.

This café was essentially a diner and served homemade French fries with beef gravy. They had many other good things on the menu. Their burgers were heavenly, and the steak hoagies put anything in Philadelphia to shame. They also served drinks, and I often had a Yuengling with my meal. Why not? I wasn't driving, so I wasn't putting my license in jeopardy.

In mid-January my first comp check arrived. It was for $4000. A day later another check arrived, this one from Aflac. It was for $6500 for my surgery and related hospital stay. Just like that, we had over $10,000 to play with.

"You know we need a new car," Shavonda said. "No way we gonna fit four car seats in the ones we have."

"But my Jeep is fine," I protested. "And your car is only a couple of years old."

"We got another child on the way," Shavonda insisted. "Where we gonna put 4 car seats?"

She had a point. Neither of our vehicles was large enough to accommodate our expanding family. We needed something bigger. So that weekend, with the kids staying with Barbara, and Althea sitting the baby, we went off in search of a suitable vehicle.

After much discussion, and online research, we paid a visit to the local Chevy dealer. Looking over our options, we drove off in a forest green Traverse. Shavonda had used the cash we had for a down payment, and her powers of persuasion to leverage lifetime inspections and oil changes as part of the deal. My beloved blue Jeep was used for a trade in. I hated to see it go. We'd had so many adventures in it. But our growing family needed more room than it afforded. And since Shavonda's car was several years newer than mine, the Jeep had to go. With great sadness I watched it disappear in the mirror as we drove off. Sometimes it's hard to let go of the past, but the Traverse was an investment in our future. We were now a Chevy family.