Juanita found herself weak to Brandon. Again. She was doing fine. . . until she had seen him at the restaurant with another woman. That broke her down.
So, she called him—he didn’t answer. She texted him—he didn’t respond. His silence made her desperate. After two days of not hearing from Brandon, she decided she would take drastic measures to get a response from him.
Before she could take that step, though, she had to endure another counseling session with Maurice.
Dr. Fields got right to it. “So, how do you feel about things since we last met?”
“You can go,” Juanita said, looking at her husband.
“It’s actually been better, I think,” Maurice started. “She—”
“You mean, Juanita, your wife?” Dr. Fields interjected. “You should refer to her by her name or ‘my wife’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘baby.’ Do you ever call her affectionate names?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You apparently say them to yourself,” Juanita cracked. “I don’t recall hearing anything affectionate for years.”
“Years? You’re exaggerating. . . honey.”
Dr. Fields smiled.
“I have not heard you call me ‘honey’ in who-knows-when,” Juanita said.
“Well, he did now, so the best move for you is to embrace it. It’s a show of affection. It’s an effort.”
Juanita smirked. She viewed Maurice’s “affection” as condescension.
“What I was going to say,” Maurice continued, “was that my baby threw me a birthday dinner over the weekend that was really nice. There were friends we hadn’t seen in a long time, and it was nice to be around people and have a good time.”
“Very nice,” Dr. Fields said. “What made you throw him a party, Juanita?”
“It was his birthday. That was enough reason.”
“I have had a lot of birthdays when you didn’t do anything.”
“I always did something for you. Are you kidding? Last year, the kids and I baked cupcakes and sang to you on the back porch. You don’t remember? See, this is what I’m talking about. We put a lot of time and effort into that celebration. And yet, it didn’t mean anything to you.”
“I remember; I don’t have dementia, darling.”
“My point is, Maurice, that I have celebrated your birthday every year in different ways. And it bothers me that you seem not to remember that.”
Dr. Fields asked: “Why did you do a party this year, Juanita? What was the message you were trying to send?”
“I was trying to do something different. We came in here last time talking about trying to make things better. I thought we should do something without the kids, be around some adults. And I’m glad I did. It felt good.”
“I enjoyed it. I did. And I thanked her for it. But I was surprised by one thing.”
Juanita held her breath. Could Maurice have known about Brandon?
“I felt like Juanita drank too much, especially as the night went on. She was fine, but then, later, she had two glasses of champagne after two other drinks. That’s not like her. And I wondered why she was drinking like that?”
“Did you ask her?” Dr. Fields said.
“I knew we were coming here so I thought I’d wait to ask now.”
“See, I don’t think that’s right. I’m right there with you; why not ask me? Also, I was not drunk, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I was having a good time—that’s it. But then, you’re not used to seeing me have a good time, so I guess it was a surprise to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I hadn’t seen you drink that much, that’s all.”
“And you couldn’t talk to me about it? You had to wait until we got here to bring it up? That’s a punk move to me.”
Before Maurice responded, he looked at Dr. Fields, who interjected. “Name-calling never helps to bring a couple together. It only causes animosity.”
“But am I right, Dr. Fields? Isn’t it punkish to hold back on something so insignificant to bring it up here, like ‘Ah-ha. I got you’? I don’t appreciate that.”
“Was that your intent, Maurice? Or was it—”
“Wait, Dr. Fields. Don’t help him by putting words in his mouth. Let him answer.”
“I’ll be glad to answer,” Maurice said. “Juanita, I love you. You’re my wife. You’re wonderful. But you’re not perfect. And I think that’s what all this is about—me realizing that she’s not perfect. It’s all right that you have flaws, make mistakes. But you seem to think it’s some fatal strike against you.”
“That’s not it, Maurice. I’m not God, so I know I’m not perfect. I have tried to be a perfect wife to you and a perfect mother to my—our—children. And that’s not easy. It hasn’t been easy to be a good wife because you didn’t put much effort into being a good husband. For me, being a good husband is more than providing and being there. It’s being engaged. It’s understanding me. If you were really in tune with me, you would know. . .”
Juanita caught herself. She wanted to talk about how displeased and disinterested she was in having sex with him, that their love life was less than exciting and that those facts drove her to another man, a man who coveted her body and appreciated her sexual expression. Instead, she held it in.
“If I were in tune with what, Juanita? Say what you want to say.”
“I’m saying you did not know I was unhappy about some things.”
“You weren’t aware that I was unhappy, either, Juanita. So I guess you weren’t in tune to me.”
“Let’s not make this a tit-for-tat,” Dr. Fields said. “You’re here to understand each other and to build from that knowledge.”
“And that’s why I had the party,” Juanita said. “I wanted us to do something fun and not the same old same old. I don’t know about for you, but it was great for me.”
She sat back and crossed her legs—a show of sass Maurice had never seen.
The rest of the hour-long session was uneventful, with neither Juanita nor Maurice making significant inroads in getting their positions across. And that left Dr. Fields disappointed.
“I have to tell you,” she said, “I came into this session feeling like we would end on a high note, with you all feeling closer to finding common ground on some key issues. My notes said that. And I felt it. But what I felt most of this session was animosity—or at least discord that should not be present in a healthy marriage.
“So, this is what I hope you will accomplish by the time we meet next week: Maurice, I want you to make a concerted effort to compliment Juanita at least twice a day. Whatever compliment it is that you feel, share it. I’m asking you to do this because expressing compliments shows that you appreciate her, that you recognize how wonderful you say she is.
“Juanita, I want you to do the same. Tell Maurice twice a day something you appreciate about him. Not something out of the blue, but something that he does during the course of the day that you might not have acknowledged in the past.
“The goal here is to help you identify the good in each other, and that can only come from each of you making the other feel appreciated and loved. This is the easiest homework you’ll ever receive. I’m looking for two As from this assignment.”
Neither of them felt excited about the challenge, but each agreed that expressing compliments would be a nice start to them showing consistent affection. “This will be interesting,” Juanita said.
“You have time to go to lunch?” Maurice asked.
“I wish I did. I have to get back to the office,” Juanita lied. She hugged her husband and he went to his job on Capitol Hill and she went the other way. After she saw him drive off, Juanita called Brandon. When he did not answer, she sent for an Uber that would take her to Bethesda to Massage Envy, where he worked as a massage therapist.
The ride there was torturous. She was worried because she took the rest of the day off and hoped Maurice would not call her office looking for her. What would she do then? But she was mostly worried about how Brandon would receive her showing up on his job.
She did what she considered the right thing: She made an appointment for a massage. . . under the name Renee Rice—her middle and maiden names. She hoped Brandon got her clue and knew she was coming. But would he be upset that she showed up at his workplace? That was a concern.
Her biggest fear, however, was that Brandon would reject her. She had never faced rejection in her life. At the same time, she had not put herself in a vulnerable position, either. This was a significant step for her, one that crystalized how much she needed change in her life. It was an indictment against her husband and against herself. And she did not care.
When she arrived at the business, she walked in with trepidation, worried that Brandon would be in the lobby and shut her down before she got started. It was fifteen minutes before her appointment. The receptionist greeted her with a smile, confirmed her appointment and offered her something to drink as she filled out paperwork and waited for Brandon.
“He will be with you in a moment.”
Juanita went from concerned to nervous then. What am I doing? I’m a married woman? I shouldn’t be here.
But she could not move. The need for passion in her life was overwhelming. She was scared because she did not believe she could get it from her husband. Before she could torture herself with more unpleasant thoughts, Brandon emerged from the massage rooms to the right of the front counter.
He did not look up. He took the clipboard that had the list of clients to be served. He looked at his watch. Juanita looked on with a mix of excitement and fear. She crossed her legs and straightened her dress.
“Renee Rice,” he said, without looking up.
Juanita did not move. Brandon placed the clipboard back on the counter and turned toward the lounge area.
His eyes met Juanita’s, and they both had a confused look on their faces: Juanita because she was trying to read his look and Brandon because he couldn’t believe she was there.
“Miss Rice,” the receptionist said, “Brandon is ready for you.”
Juanita uncrossed her legs and rose from her chair. Brandon scanned the length of her body and finally said, “Miss Rice?”
“Yes.”
“Miss Rice?”
“Yes, I’m Mrs. Rice.”
Brandon made a small smile, which eased Juanita’s mind.
“How did you get referred to me?”
“My husband.”
“Your husband?”
“Yes, he sent me here.”
“Okay, great. Let’s go this way.”
Believing others could hear, he said, “I see you’re having a deep tissue massage today. We’re going to be in this studio right here. You can get undressed, cover yourself with the sheet on the table and I will come in shortly. Would you like something to drink?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said as she walked into the room.
Brandon went back out to the lobby to examine her paperwork. He also looked around to see if her husband was there. He wasn’t.
He gave it a few more minutes before knocking on the door and slowly opening it. He closed the door and let out a sigh of relief. He knew the walls were thin, so he spoke in his regular voice and in a low voice.
She was lying on her back, naked.
“So, Miss Rice, do you have some areas I need to work on in particular.”
She pointed between her legs. “Yes... right here needs the most work.”
Brandon smiled and shook his head. “I can feel the tension.”
He stood on the side of the table, leaned in and he whispered into her. “So what’s going on with you?”
“I need your services,” she said. “You wouldn’t call me back so I came to you.”
“You’re bad.”
“Why didn’t you call me back?”
“Okay, let me know if this is too much pressure,” he said in case anyone could hear.
Then he leaned in and whispered. “Because I saw you with your husband and I felt guilty. It was one thing to do what we did and not know who he was. He was a phantom. But to see him. . . he became a real person. And I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Juanita was moist the moment she undressed and became more amorous as Brandon stood in front of her.
“No one’s going to get hurt. But I need you to take care of me.”
Brandon weighed not sexing her for about ten seconds. Then he said, “Turn onto your stomach. Let me give you a massage—and more.”
Juanita obeyed his commands and Brandon turned on some soothing “music” that sounded like a bubbling brook. He then lathered his hands with lavender-scented oil and removed the sheet to reveal half of her body. He slowly ran his hands over the left side, concentrating on the shoulder and neck at first and then the center of her back and the small of it. He added more oil and massaged it into her ass, which was exposed. He let his hand “slip” between her legs, where he could feel the heat coming from her insides.
Brandon moved along, rubbing oil slowly and firmly down her thigh, to her calf and feet. She moaned at the pleasure of his touch and the anticipation of his passion.
He covered the side he had finished and took the same, deliberate approach that almost made Juanita climax on the table—from his hands on her body and the anticipation. After he finished the right side, he said, “You can turn over now.”
When she did, she noticed Brandon’s bulge stretching out his pants. She reached for it and he backed up.
“Come here,” she said in a whisper. “Please come here.”
Brandon obliged, and Juanita moved to her side and immediately reached for his belt, which she unfastened. She unzipped his pants and they fell to the floor.
“Wait,” he said, before stepping out of his pants and locking the door.
Juanita tossed aside the sheet and got off the table. When Brandon came over to her, she grabbed his erection as they kissed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For denying myself this dick. I miss it. I need it.”
Brandon’s ego was stroked, but he worried about what that meant. Was she going to be a pest? Was she going to stunt his social life? Was she going to become a stalker?
Those thoughts flooded his mind as he looked down on the top of Juanita’s head as she took him into her mouth. She seemed famished, going up and down on it with a passion he had not seen since she used to blow him many years before she was married.
She gazed up into his eyes as she performed and the contorted look of pleasure on his face excited her—and made her suck harder. Before he could explode, she got off her knees and leaned over the massage table. Brandon eased his way over and she reached back to get a handful of his penis.
He leaned over and whispered, “I don’t have a condom with me at work.”
Juanita did not care. “I had my tubes tied.”
Brandon took that to mean she wanted him inside her, and he went for it, entering her from behind and forcing himself deeper and harder while somehow managing not to sound like two bodies colliding in heat.
Juanita fought back tears throughout the session. The pleasure and guilt overwhelmed her. When they were done, Brandon held her in his arms.
“It’s okay, Juanita. It’s okay. Come on. Lay on the table. Let me finish the massage.”
She got herself together and he moistened towels at the sink so they could clean themselves. He pulled out a can of air freshener to dim the aroma of sex that hung in the air.
Juanita lay on her stomach, her face in the opening at the head of the table. Brandon lit another candle, washed his hands and covered them in oil. Then he rubbed Juanita’s shoulders and arms and back and legs—meticulously and lovingly. Her body felt reinvigorated—but not from his hands.