Mistress

Mistress.


I am in love. Not lust. Not infatuation. Not a crush. Love. Just four letters...L..O..V..E.
Love is a noun and in the Webster’s dictionary.. Love means “a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.” I don’t think that it really explains how I feel so I will use some other words. I feel….fondness, devotion, passion, tenderness, worship, rapture and even taste. Yes, I can taste love and it is oh...so sweet.

Full lips.. Lips full at the top and at the bottom.. and smooth..Dark ebony skin. Very very soft for a man, almost as smooth as a baby. No blemishes, no traces of any stress to the skin at all. His smell is a masculine scent almost a little sweet, when he hugs me I smell traces of him all over me when I walk away. Dark black curly hair with the tightest curls, highlighted with dark brown at the tips from the sun. Hair that this is cropped short to his head. Long lean legs, strong back..very tall man almost 6’1 considering I’m only 4’10. His skin is so dark, it is the color of night. His teeth sparkles when he talks, very straight teeth and very good grammar..when you speak to him you can tell he is educated. His eyes are closed, he is asleep. My mind jerked back into present moment to the sound of the bells from the catholic church ringing in the distance, it must be 12:30, my lunch is almost over.. my right ear picking up the slow hum of the air conditioner.. I have to get back to work, as I say to myself sprinting out of the door. Down four floors on the elevator, people coming on and off, saying niceties to them the words just rattling off my tongue, memorized..leaving the hospital and walking deliberately to my car.. just stopping short of it, looking back at the hospital towards HIS room, jumped in and sped away.

Five years ago…I was going through one of the most difficult times of my life. I became a widow
and buried my husband in his family cemetery in Florida. I was wearing a big black wide brimmed hat with a black dress in the florida heat. My husband’s girlfriend showed up at the funeral and I had to stay composed the entire time. Even though it was extremely difficult. I respected my husband and I loved him. I knew about her but he always came home to me no matter what. Until I laid eyes on her, I had always thought that my husband had good taste after all, he was always wanting me to look and talk a certain way.

“Linda, you need to always care about your appearance and take pride in yourself, no matter how big you are”. He would say. He always kept his body neat and clean. You could almost smell the cologne before you actually saw him. Stocky built, coffee with just a touch of cream color to his skin, he presented himself as a stable and dependable father figure. He wore vests that he hid is slightly 40 year oldish stomach that was beginning to grow larger and show his age. His hair was “permed” and cut in a super short cut that tapered in the back. Even though he always corrected me when I said permed with the word “texturized” it was all the same to me. His girlfriend on the other hand was not so groomed. She came in with an old spring dress that hit her on the knees and white scuffed up shoes. She looked as if she was at least 5 years younger than me and broke. When she smiled (not a me of course), I noticed that she had a gap between her teeth has wide as the MISSISSIPPI. I was sitting in the front of the church and I didn’t see her come in.. my eyes were too blurry from the tears that were falling from them. I kept thinking that I will never see him again, never, again. I will never have a child with him that looks like him, never snuggle with him and lie in the bed… never kiss him.. my mind drifted as the soft sounds of his mother’s cries were heard nearby. I saw his father bending his head down as one single tear trickled down his cheek. His brother came to the casket and threw himself over my husband. He started to scream and cry but was quickly led away.

After the service, I sat in the graveyard for a while with my husband. This was an end to the chapter of my life. My marriage had a beginning, a middle and now I am at the end. I was quiet but I had such turmoil inside. Maybe I should had done this, said that, argued less and talked more. What if I could relive and redo everything again, would my outcome be the same? I made him my rock.. and he died in his girlfriend’s arms. I had always told him to take care of himself, but he didn’t and he paid the ultimate price for his neglect. I had enough humiliation for one day. I didn’t want to go to the repass and eat chicken..When that woman was at the church, no one batted their eyes.. so they knew about her and probably knew she was coming. So I got in my car and went home. I didn’t want to deal with his family again.

more coming soon...