Woman Enough

Ella told me I couldn't keep a man.

Ella was right.

Shaka was the perfect boyfriend and I fucked it all up.

For three years Shaka and I'd been the perfect couple. I was managing director at my office with a corner suite and he was the head trainer at the city's premier upscale gym. We looked great on each other's arm and I thought he was my Prince Charming. My family loves him and his family loved me.

"Those women are all over your man at the club," Gretchen warned me.

"Those old biddies ain't about to turn Shaka's head with they're broken down asses," Fanny argued.

"They in the gym to get their asses unbroken down!" Gretchen countered.

"True," Fanny agreed. "But our girl Dani is holding her man down so she ain't got shit to worry about. Right Dani?"

I don't know how I ended up as the topic of conversation but I desperately wanted out.

"You are keeping that man fed at home?" Fanny begged.

My pause was not out of decency. These ladies had been with me since our freshmen year in college. They knew everything. Modesty hadn't caught my tongue.

"How often are you sucking that man's dick?" Gretchen asked with concern.

"Once a month maybe," I said, being extremely generous.

"A month?" Fanny exclaimed for the entire restaurant to hear. "I was sucking Vance's dick once a week and I didn't even like his ass."

"Oh lord," Gretchen weighed in. "You two in counseling or something?"

"They got love," Ella chimes in to defend me.

But I didn't feel defendable.

"Fuck love. He ain't complaining?" Fanny pushed. "Is he gay? Asexual? What? Because if he ain't in one of those categories and he hasn't been humping your leg for that once a month blowjob then he is clearly and emphatically banging some other broad."

"Period," Gretchen punctuated.

I had worried off and on about whether or not Shaka was cheating. I had asked if what we had was enough and he said he was okay with our sexual activity.

I knew it couldn't have been enough.

But I couldn't get myself to go the extra mile. I was taking him for granted and I knew it. I don't know why I couldn't give more. I just wasn't interested.

For that I almost resented him. Sounds crazy but I knew he wasn't getting the physical love he craved - he'd said it on many occasions - so I felt guilty.

And I blamed him for making me feel guilty.

That kind of dance was going to end in a bad way no matter how hard we tried.

"Would you ever fuck one of your clients?" I asked Shaka one Sunday evening while we watched television.

"Would you fuck one of yours?" he replied with an attitude. To me that was a guilty answer though he argued that he was offended that his job made him some type of male whore.

Gretchen would have agreed.

But I let it go.

He was clearly unhappy with the question on multiple levels. I probably should have just fucked him right there as an apologize. Instead, I simply said, "My bad."

That's where I was lazy.

I never thought of my pussy or my sexuality as a bargaining chip in a relationship. I wanted to have sex when I wanted to have sex. Any other time was a chore.

And Shaka knew it.

So he didn't ask me to do anything I didn't want to do. Even if he really wanted something he would bite his tongue and let things be. I mean, he'd ask once or twice, but he wouldn't badger me.

I resented him for that too.

The more I thought about our lack of intimacy the more I wondered if he was actually fucking somebody else. Gretchen and Fanny couldn't be that far off base, could they.

"Don't let them get you twisted," Ella told me when I asked for her to be straight with me. "Only the two of you know if your man is satisfied."

Fuck.

I knew he wasn't.

So, like a genius, I got carried away with the questions. I accused Shaka of being everything from gay to being a gold digger - not my finest moment considering he was making more money than me. I hounded him when he came home late. I checked his phone on more than one occasion.

I did everything but suck his dick.

So Shaka left me.

I couldn't blame him. I had gotten out of control.

My girls had gotten into my head. For weeks I convinced myself that he must have been gay. He must have been banging one of his clients. He was guilty so he bailed.

I never once thought that I was badgering him over something I was insecure about.

Then I decided I was an idiot. I needed Shaka back. I would fuck him everyday if that's what I had to do. I just needed to want to do it and we could be happy.

So I left my office early on a Thursday afternoon and headed to his gym. I prayed that he kept the same schedule and parked like a crazy person in front of the building.

I was ready to make a statement that was over the top, though I can't say that I'd thought everything through.

When I walked into the gym I spotted all of the spinsters that had eyeing my meat for the last three years. I wasn't going to let any of those old ladies defile my man.

No one was working the front desk so I looked to see if his name was on the appointment book for that day.

He was off.

But there was a big 'E' by his name.

"Hey Dani," the owner said as he approached the front desk. I hadn't seen him since Shaka and i had parted ways. "He's not in today."

I knew that already, but I didn't need that look as though I had hurt one of his best instructors and friends. I already knew that. I didn't need his judgmental friendship when I was staging my comeback.

So I smiled and said, "Okay." Then I walked off like I owned the place.

I clearly didn't.

So I headed to Shaka's apartment. I was still on a mission.

And I had a fucking key. I was about to get this party started immediately. Blowjobs for everyone.

You know what I mean.

So I pulled up to Shaka's complex ready to fight for my man no matter what cost. I pulled out the key I kept because he never asked for it.

The music in the background was my first clue to turn around and leave. There was clearly fucking going on because there was fucking music in the air.

But I decided I was there to fight for my man. So I marched forward.

I then began to see the trail of clothes from the kitchen toward the living room. This was the second sign I ignored. But I slowed my approach.

As I started to hear the familiar moan of my man, noticed that there were two pairs of panties on the floor.

Shaka clearly had some making up to do, but did he need to double the pace?

Yet, my brain nearly exploded as I peaked around the corner to find the two women giving oral pleasure to Shaka were Fanny and Gretchen. Fanny was on the floor sucking Shaka's balls as if she had spilled chocolate sauce all over him. And Gretchen was on her knees on the couch bobbing up and down on Shaka's shaft.

I had never done either of those acts to Shaka with the vigor and intensity that Gretchen and Fanny were delivering. They were straight out of a porn studio. They weren't just sucking his dick and balls. They were putting on a fucking performance. I looked for a camera but this production was all for Shaka.

I never felt like less of a woman than at that moment.

Then I watched Shaka push Gretchen off of him and onto the couch. He spread her legs and pushed himself gently between her thighs. I missed that moment with Shaka. The slow grind wasn't often, but it was beautiful every time.

Only this time, Shaka wasn't so gentle.

The slow grind quickly turned into a jackhammer as his hips thrusted without compassion for the pussy he had to be breaking. And I assumed Gretchen's pussy was breaking because she was screaming.

But screaming "fuck me harder, Shaka" wasn't exactly a sign for him to stop.

Fanny stroked Shaka's back while he was busy blowing out Gretchen's. The smack of their thighs were deafening.

Gretchen then bucked and shook until her orgasm melted her into a sweaty messy at the end of the couch Shaka and I used to binge watch documentaries on.

That's when Fanny pulled Shaka to the other end of the couch. She turned around and leaned over the side so he could get behind her.

Shaka was behind Fanny and fucking her harder than he had just fucked Gretchen. He pulled her by the hair and thrusted into her pussy like he was trying to break her in half.

"Fuck me harder, Shaka" was clearly not reserved for any one participant at this afternoon's display.

After what was about 100 thrusts Fanny convulsed in orgasm as she nearly knocked over the lamp I bought Shaka for his birthday.

I probably gave him a blowjob, too.

And as the two women laid slain on his couch Shaka stood above them and pulled them together. Fanny and Gretchen summoned their last ounce of energy to kneel below Shaka as he stroked his shaft in their immediate direction. I couldn't see his dick, but I saw that baby birds lean into the feeding they were about to receive.

And just as Shaka's ass cheeks tightened the wry smiles of Gretchen and Fanny were covered in the white ropes of come that I used to avoid at all costs. I let him come on my ass and stomach, but I'd never let him come on my face. Then they had the fucking nerve to lick it off of each other's faces.

If that's what Shaka wanted for those three years, I was clearly underachieving.

I stayed still as the three actors laugh off to the bathroom to defunk themselves.

I quietly let myself out after I left my key by the door.

"They licked the come off of each other's faces?" Ella asked as we sat on her couch watching a documentary on 19th century office supplies.

"Like fucking ice cream," I answered.

"I bet it was hot though," Ella pronounced, attempting to find a bright spot.

"I was dry as a desert," I responded. "I just couldn't imagine ever fucking Shaka the way Gretchen and Fanny were fucking him. They were animals and Shaka was the fucking head lion."

"Head lion?" Ella asked.

"You know what I mean," I quietly offered. "I just don't think I'm going to keep a man like that. There was nothing about the fuckery that I saw that wanted to be a part of. That's not the sex I want to have. That's not what I think of when I want to be touched. I want to be caressed and held and rubbed and..."

At this point I realized that my wet pussy was being explored by Ella's hand.

Our eyes stayed focused on the television as Ella methodically found my clit beneath my sweatpants.

I gulped as I realized that this was the sex that I wanted. A documentary and a soft hand.

I dared not look to my left because I didn't want to disturb the magic that Ella was working. The efficient rub that my clit was getting was far overdue. I was glad that I'd shaved for Shaka but i don't think Ella cared one way or another. I realized that my nipples were poking through my t-shirt because I'd discarded my bra hours before. I could feel my climax coming and I simply enjoyed it.

"Wine?" Ella asked as I sat in my own calm.

"Please," I answered.

When Ella returned with my glass we never made eye contact. She simply handed me my glass.

"But I still like dick," I said.

"Me, too," Ella replied.

Then I leaned into Ella as she put her arm around me while we enjoyed our documentary.