H aving unlimited leisure time has been a new experience for me. My daily routine was regimented for so long, I’m surprised that I’ve been able to relax at all. But I have. I’ve spent the past few days lounging around my apartment, watching reality shows, movies, and sitcoms for hours and hours, like a TV addict.
Taking a break from worrying about my appearance has been heavenly. I had been eating, sleeping, and lounging in designer sweats, treating my expensive apparel as if it had the value of something purchased from a secondhand store.
It’s been ingrained in me to always look my very best, in and out of Mr. Lord’s presence, but lately. I’ve found that I get a morbid sense of enjoyment, imagining his reaction if he saw how unkempt and slovenly I’ve become.
The furnished apartment wasn’t equipped with pots and pans, dishes or flat wear, and I used that as an excuse not to cook. The trash bin in my kitchen was filled with fast food containers, paper plates, and plastic utensils.
Having never had the luxury of ordering take-out food, I’ve been overdoing it.
Mr. Lord obsessed over my weight, terrified that I’d lose my youthful physique if I strayed from the strict, low-fat diet that he’d tailored for me.
Today, instead of having food delivered, I decided to get some fi-esh air and sunshine. Clad in wrinkled, Chanel sweats that were splotched with food stains, I drove to the deli that I usually called to deliver my junk-food delights. I had a taste for a big, sloppy cheesesteak— something I hadn’t tasted since I was a young girl.
Habib, the Middle Eastern guy who usually delivered my food, waved at me as I stood at the counter, placing my order. “Why didn’t you call in your order; I would have brought it to you?” he said with friendly smile.
“I’ve been cooped up too long. Needed to get out.”
“I see. Well, it’s good to see you, Fonia,” he said as he loaded packages into a box.
Not long after Habib left, my order was ready. Carrying a brown paper bag filled with an assortment of fatty treats, I drove back to my apartment complex. As I parked, I noticed Habib getting out of a nondescript car.
“Hi, again,” he said with a hand wave. “As you can see, I make deliveries at this complex many times a day.”
I offered a polite smile, and then noticed him looking at me in an odd way. I knew I looked a wreck, but I was completely un-apologetic. “What are you staring at?” I said, feeling a lot like the feisty girl I used to be before Mr. Lord redefined me.
“Nothing. I wasn’t staring.” Habib looked stunned by my harsh tone.
“I don’t care about your opinion of me. So what if I look a mess; it’s my life!” I said in a hostile tone.
“But you don’t look a mess, and if I was staring, it’s because I think you’re very beautiful,” he said, surprising me.
I mumbled an apology and hurried away from the parking lot.
The next day, I woke up yearning for fried egg, sausage and cheese on a garlic bagel. Eventually, I would get myself together and buy groceries as well as cooking utensils, but I was on strike against everything that was deemed correct and socially appropriate.
I called my favorite deli and placed my order.
Twenty-five minutes later, Habib arrived with my food.
“I’m really sorry about the way I yelled at you yesterday.”
“No problem. I’m sorry for staring at you. To make up, I put a large coffee in with your order.”
“That was sweet of you, but I’m not allowed to...” I caught myself before I said I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee. I could do whatever I wanted, but letting go of my old programming was more difficult than I’d realized. I’d never tasted coffee, but I was willing to give it a try. “Thanks for the coffee.” I took a sip and it wasn’t bad.
“Do you work around the clock, Habib? You’re the only person from the deli that delivers my orders.”
“I’m on summer break from school.”
“Oh. Where do you go?”
“I’m a grad student at Drexel University. Working double shifrs helps pay for my education.”
“That’s great.” I felt a pang of regret. I had been a good student. I could be in college or enjoying a career had I not been brainwashed into beHeving that my only purpose in life was to please Mr. Lord.
Habib looked at me closely. “What’s wrong? Your eyes look so sad right now.”
“I had a sad thought for a moment, but I’m okay.” I gazed at him and realized that I hadn’t ever really looked at him before. He was a good-looking guy with intense, wide eyes and thick black hair that he was constantly pushing out of his face. He was slim but muscular, and super hairy. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone, and I could see chest hairs peeking through the opening of his shirt. Surprisingly, his hairy chest, as well as the silken hairs that covered his arms, appealed to me.
When Habib looked at me again, he saw a different look in my eyes; he saw the look of lust.
Intuitively, he drew me into his arms. “Is it okay if I kiss you, Fonia?”
I nodded and let out a soft moan. Being that close to him allowed me a whiff of his male scent. He didn’t give off the cologne fragrance that was Mr. Lord’s scent. His
odor was a combination of perspiration and pure masculinity.
Our lips touched and he parted mine with his tongue. This was my first tongue-kiss, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensual way his tongue lashed against mine as his hand groped my breasts. My nipples hardened the way they did whenever Mr. Lord spanked me. Using one hand, Habib stuck his hand beneath my top and masterfully undid my bra.
“Ahh,” I cried out when his hands claimed my breasts. With each gentle squeeze, I felt tension knotting up between my legs. I had to fight the urge to rip his hand away fi'om my breast and stuff it where I needed it most.
His lips traveled to my neck, and he delivered a flurry of soft kisses. His lips made their way to my chest, and my back arched the moment he cupped one of my breasts, covering the rigid nipple with his warm kiss. His other hand meandered down to the crotch of my sweat pants. Through the fabric of the sweats, his middle finger caressed my clit.
Warm moisture quickly pooled between my thighs, and my body writhed with desire. Mr. Lord would have told me that I was acting like a whore, and in his world, I was only given sexual release once a week.
“Oh, Habib,” I murmured, as I became lost in the different sensations that flooded me. “Habib,” I repeated breathlessly. “I want to act like a whore.”
Habib went still. His lips fell away from my body, and
he stopped stroking my clit. “What do you mean?” he asked in a voice filled with alarm. “Do you want me to pay you?”
“No, just give me permission.”
“Okay,” he said, looking perplexed. “You can act like a whore.”
I snatched my sweat pants down, while pulling Habib toward my bedroom. Panting, Habib helped rid me of my sweat pants and panties. I collapsed on the bed and he followed me. I reached for his hand and guided it toward my hot spot. Until now, I hadn’t realized how much I missed my weekly orgasm.
But Habib didn’t slide his finger deep inside me the way I expected. He caressed the outer area of my vagina briefly and then unzipped his pants and removed them.
“What are you doing?” I asked in horror, my eyes glued to his, erect penis.
“We’re going to have sexual intercourse.. .isn’t that what you want?” He stroked his shaft, which was much bigger than a finger. His burgeoning manhood frightened me.
“I don’t know if I’m ready.” I eyed his throbbing member with fascination.
“I have a condom.” He began groping through the pockets of his discarded pants.
“But, I’ve never done it before; I’m scared.”
“You’re a virgin?” He looked at me incredulously.
I nodded my head.
“I’ll be gentle,” he said. “I’ll take my time with you.”
“Okay,” I said in a nervous whisper. I was supposed to lose my virginity to Mr. Lord on his wedding night. I had never imagined giving this precious gift to a stranger, but I felt compelled to do so. If I had one wish, it would be for Mr. Lord to witness how recklessly I was squandering the prize that he had planned to claim for himself.
Habib entered me and it didn’t feel good at all. I yelled in pain as he tried to ease it inside me.
“Relax. It always hurts the first time.”
I squirmed in discomfort as he forced himself inside me. I wanted him to stop, but motivated by my desire to defy Mr. Lord, I withstood the pain. Finally, Habib’s body shuddered and his breath came out in rough gasps.
He lay on top of me panting for several minutes. He gazed down at my face. “Was it good for you?”
I hadn’t reached an orgasm and I felt completely letdown. I’m sure my disappointment was visible on my face. “It wasn’t what I expected,” I admitted.
“You’ll feel pleasure the next time,” he promised as he got dressed. “I have to get back to work, but if you’d like. I’ll come back when I finish making my deliveries.”
“What time is that?”
“Eleven o’clock tonight. Is that past your bedtime?”
“No, I’ll be up.” I didn’t have a lot of faith that Habib could give me that rush of immense pleasure that Mr. Lord gave me, but I was willing to give him one more try.
Habib left and I felt downhearted as I changed the blood-smeared sheets, but a wicked thought put a smile
on my lips. Instead of throwing the sheets in the hamper, it occurred to me that I should neatly fold them and mail them to Mr. Lord’s office. But it was only a thought; I’d never do anything that crude.