I finally figured it out. Yep! Waiting for them to call your number at the DMV was like being in jail. Great! I was only 23 people away from freedom. Fortunately, a stop at the cleaners was the only thing left on my list. If I hurried, I might make it home in time to pull something together for dinner. As it was, I would probably have to finish part of my work project at home tonight. Yea, Rashad would be thrilled as shit to know I was working late again. When did life get so complicatedly busy? My grandmother didn’t own a cell phone or have a Twitter account, yet she always managed to get things done – including dinner, with five kids in the house. I swear there are some days I want to pull the bell and get off the fast track at the corner of Peace and Quiet – experience just one day where I didn’t have to do anything. Just then the toddler three rows back laid prostrate across his mother’s lap – kicking and screaming as loud as he could. Yep! My sentiments exactly.
I slowly scanned the crowded space marveling at all walks of humanity brought together by their cars. That’s when I first noticed the pretty young woman seated closest to me. She wasn’t one of those drop dead gorgeous women with artificial everything but was pretty in a normal sort of way. Beautiful smooth skin that looked like milk chocolate would taste. I returned her quiet smile and we struck up a casual conversation. Her name was Camille and she had the most beautiful brown eyes and lush looking mouth. We both ended up snickering at the poor mom still trying to appease her toddler and we literally laughed out loud at the 85-year old man in the driver’s license renewal line. Dear God, please don’t let this old man be getting on the road the same time I was. Time seemed to be passing quickly; they just called number G488when Camille turned and asked me a question.
Expecting to hear, “What do you do?” Camille surprised me with, “have you ever gotten one of those text messages? You know when he hits you up on his way home? ‘On my way…day from hell’!”
I nodded slowly, “...yea, I guess,” I stuttered. Except usually I was the one texting Rashad with a work generated crises and confessing I’d be late, again.
“Yeah me too,” Camille said. “It doesn’t happen that often, but when it does I treat him to a ‘Special Needs Night’!”
“A whuud?” I asked, not certain I heard her correctly.
“You know, a ‘Special Needs Night’!”
I must have looked like a special needs kid. Curious, though, nonetheless. Camille smiled big and began speaking slowly as if she were explaining new math to a small child.
“A Special Needs Night is when the world has whipped his ass all day and served up a heavy dose of ‘you ain’t shit’ and he needs a little special attention.
Special Needs Night? I had never heard of anything like that. What the hell was she talking about? I scan the room again, hoping I didn’t have to change seats. Lord, I hope she wasn’t talking about sex. Who the hell had the energy to try be sexy after working all day, taking care of two kids, a dog,and a home – ‘do you have a job or kids, Ms. Special-Needs-Night-Camille’ I silently asked?
Camille immediately scooted over to the seat next to mine, then turned to face me.
“Well, you have to plan it out. And like I said, it doesn’t happen that often, but here’s what I do.” Camille leans in even closer and in a hushed tone, “On those nights after I get one of those text messages, I quickly shower, and I pick out something that will occupy his mind while I do my special work.”
Before I could catch myself, I said, “Don’t tell me you put on Victoria Secret lingerie?” I asked incredulously. Camille looked back at me as if I had grown horns.
“Nooo! Victoria Secret lingerie is good, but on a Special Needs Night, a flimsy sheer nightie won’t cut it!”“No. No.” Camille shook her head. “I put on a little pair of cut-off booty shorts that ride up so high, he’ll be able to see…” she paused…”well, you know. Let’s just say all my assets are showing.”
My mind was racing. I couldn’t remember if I still owned any flimsy lingerie let alone a pair of booty shorts. I almost giggled as I tried to imagine Rashad’s reaction if I wore a pair of anything that exposed my ass.
Camille continued, “Then I slip on a skimpy top, like a wife beater or something, and a pair of stilettos. The color don’t matter as long as the heel is high.” I glanced down at my sensible Easy Spirit, low-heel pumps and quietly tucked my feet under me. Why was I started to feel uncomfortable?
“Finally, I make sure I smell delicious and my skin is smooth as silk. Go on, touch it! Smooth, huh?” as she extended her arm for my appraisal. Yea, her skin felt like silk alright.
“And what’s this called again?” I asked.
“Special Needs Night” Camille answered with just a hint of annoyance in her voice. “Soooo, I realize that I don’t have a lot of time so I quickly light a few incenses and candles – usually about that time I hear his car in the driveway. Perfect timing, cuz by now I’m standing at the front door waiting for him with two fingers of Hennessy.”
“In the wife-beater and booty shorts?” I asked slowly.
“Of course, silly” Camille replied in amusement.
I almost laughed out loud. Oh my God, had I ever met Rashad at the front door – with a drink no less? Was there some club that women like Camille belonged to that held classes on how to be a good wife? If so, I never got the official membership invitation. I probably wouldn’t have time to attend if I had. My demanding job didn’t leave a lot of time for me…Rashad and I managed to have sex in any left-over minutes. Ok. Maybe not great sex, but did that matter?
Camille continued her “Good Wife 101” course. “I can literally see the stress in his face, and I say, “Hey big daddy” as I hand him the drink. Then I kiss him passionately and let my lips and tongue welcome him home.”
I exhaled loudly. What a cute way to welcome your husband home. I’d have to try that sometime in my spare time. Assuming that Camille had finished her little mini sex education course, I flashed her a big smile then looked around the crowded DMV space – noticing that the toddler had finally quieted down. But Camille took a deep breath, continued on, as though she was just warming up.
“Now this is when I take him by the hand and lead him into the bathroom where his bath water is waiting.”
“…his bath water,” I choked out.
“Yes!” she all but squealed with pleasure. “Then I help him out of his clothes and into the tub, touching him in all the right places along the way.” “I let the warm water work its magic before I start washing him – slow and purposeful. I start at his neck and wash every inch of his body, especially his feet – you know how erogenous they are!”
“What!?” I hadn’t touched Rashad’s feet since 2003 and sure as hell didn’t know they were erogenous. Guess I missed the erotic class too. Then she said, “I wash his ears, his neck and, of course, his, ahh, power source – which is saluting me in anticipation of what’s about to happen! “Now, when you’re done, you gotta kiss the top of head,” Camille said with a wink.
“Of course!” I said looking Camille straight in the eye, completely puzzled as to which head she meant.
“Ok, so now it’s time to get him out of the tub – and dry him off with those big fluffy bath towels – the ones you usually save for company,” she said as if reading my mind, ‘‘cuz tonight he ain’t gonna need no bathrobe.’
“He doesn’t?” I asked, genuinely surprised. Wait. He was just supposed to be naked, standing there swinging in the wind, my eyes asked?
She shook her head like a teacher scolding a student. “Yesss…you want him naked, standing right next to the bed.”Then Camille whispered real low, “that’s when you slowly drop. to. your. knees.”What the hell?!? I know Camille wasn’t talking about performing oral sex! She was going to teach fellatio 101 right here in the DMV? My eyes widen. At that moment, I would have traded my DMV ticket to the last person in line, in order to hear the rest of Camille’s story. Her eyes sparkled, her lips plush as she went on in a breathy voice. “Now what you do next is the key to the whole, “Special Needs Night.” Of course, I nodded, scooting my chair closer to hers.
She told me, “Look, don’t go grabbing his dick all willy-nilly. You gotta start slow. Let him know you don’t want to be anywhere else but right there between his legs.”
There was never a moment in time that I wasn’t good at multiple-tasking – running down lists of things to do, taking care of a myriad of details, knowing exactly where everyone one of us was supposed to be. I could think of hundred places I would need to be. But now this beautiful woman was telling me how to be a better wife by letting Rashad know I didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world but between his legs? Hell, most times I didn’t want Rashad between my legs. This was a revelation.
“Now, take his dick and gently lay it against your face – just softly rubbing it. Close your eyes, feel the warm and the power against your cheek. Take your time, inhale his male scent,”Camille stated matter-of-factly. “By now he should be rock hard and that’s when you begin to kiss the head while your fingers gently massaged his jewels. I usually start slow, running my tongue from the base to the tip in a swirling motion – over and over and over again. I sometimes run the head along the roof of my mouth, before at last I take all of him into my mouth. That move just about does him in too! You should suck gently at first – let it pop out with one of those ‘slurpy’ sounds – ‘cuz men like those little noises. Now suck again, harder and then harder still – each time drawing more of him into your mouth.”
I willed myself to close my mouth; my face slowly complied. This naturally attractive woman with the silky skin spoke of giving a blow job like she was giving instructions on how to lick an ice cream cone.
“By now he’s usually moaning loudly which lets me know he’s enjoying my special attention. So what do I do? I keep stroking his base with my hand while swirling up and down my tongue around the length of him.”“Finally, I take him so deep in my throat I’m gagging.” Camille scanned my bewildered face before she continued. “Look, if you ain’t gagging and your eyes ain’t watering, you ain’t doing it right.”
Well, that explained it! No wonder Rashad never pressured me about giving him head; not once have my eyes ever watered. Of course, every now and then, he would gently push my head down towards his crotch. But I always managed to skip that part of foreplay – or I would give a few cursory licks before raising my head. I wanted to stop to ask Camille how you do that without barfing in your mouth, but I didn’t want to interrupt her. As it was, I was already jealous of this anonymous woman’s sex life…wishing I had the nerve to take notes!
“At this point, he’s groaning and moaning and holding my head with both hands. But I stay focused. The secret is to mix it up. First, I let my tongue stroke that vein running along the underside, stopping to give the head plenty of attention. And just when I think he’s settled into my rhythm, I shift my concentration to his balls.” “I just keep rotating back and forth – sucking hard, opening my mouth wide to go deep, then back to licking from balls to tip!” “Yeah, pretty soon he’s pumping into my mouth with serious force and calling my name! And just when he’s on the verge of filling my mouth with his hot cum, I stop. That always makes him all but rip my shorts off, push me on my back and enter me hard!” Camille giggled, “We end up on the floor or sometimes cross-ways on the bed – screwing each other’s brains out.” “I don’t know why but giving him real good head is like foreplay. I can’t help but get dripping wet when I think about pleasuring him – it turns me on knowing I’m in control. But once his thick ass dick is inside of me, well, I open my legs wide and follow the rhythm of his body.”
She let out a big sigh; all that was missing was a high-five to each other! I couldn’t help but reflect on the power in pleasuring a man, controlling the sexual act, on my own terms – where the hell had I been?
“Girl, I guaranteed you, after that, all the stress of the day leaves his body and he ain’t good for nothing but some good food, the remote control, and another shot of Hennessy.”
“Good food?” I screamed in Camille’s ear – not realizing how close I was to her.
She leaned away from me, shocked! “Girl, don’t tell me you don’t cook!?!” “You are not the only thing he should be eating on “Special Needs Night.”Camille goes on with a little pride in her voice, “Well, on those special nights I usually make something ‘special’ – you know, like smothered pork chops, rice & gravy and cabbage with corn bread. I’m not a gourmet cook, but I have a couple of soul food dishes I do pretty well.”
I nodded. Yes, of course, she would, Miss ‘I’m-a-perfect-wife-who-gives-head-and-cooks’. But no doubt after the professional blow job she just gave her husband, he wouldn’t care if she made a bowl of Corn Flakes. When was the last time I threw down in the kitchen like that? A month? Three months? No! I made a really tasty, and very healthy I might add, chicken salad just three nights ago! Rashad said he like it! Oh, what the hell! Ok. Ms. Camille, how many other wifely duties are you going to show me where I’m lacking?
Just then a bored looking clerk called Camille’s number in a dry voice. She quickly gathered her coat preparing to leave our little make shift lecture hall. I turned to her, stifling the urge to hug her, wishing we could talk more.
Finally, I said with sincerity, “WOW! Camille, I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed our little, uhm, conversation. Who knew “Special Needs Night” was so…special, I smiled at her.” “I can tell you this, I learned a helluva lot from you today. Damn! Your husband is a very lucky man. ”
With a slightly quizzical smile and tilt of her head Camille replied, “Oh no, sweetie, I’m not married. I’m his other woman,” then strutted off to the counter, without a backward glance.
I couldn’t have been more stunned if she had slapped me. Camille never looked back at me to see my shock or disbelief; not caring if she had my approval or my sympathy. I sat there dumbfounded for several minutes while I replayed our conversation in my head. Did all the side-pieces know something about pleasure that wives didn’t? Only two numbers away and I’d be paroled from here myself. But I decided I would skip the cleaners on the way home. No, I vowed to find a store that sells booty shorts instead, declaring tonight, Rashad’s “Special Needs Night.”
About Ms. Shula Divine
Deborah Porter, aka Shula Divine, is a self-proclaimed erotica connoisseur. With a 20-year love and fascination for all things erotic and a passion for Black women’s sexual freedom, she also holds an impressive private collection of erotic sculptures and artwork. For several years, Ms. Shula wrote scripts for live erotic cabaret shows in Las Vegas. Currently, she is the purveyor of “Pleasure-Points Tours,” a sensuality travel company, and hosts her “Sybarite Sunday,” sex talk show. Ms. Shula is also finishing her book of erotic short stories, "Sweet Potato Pie.” She is a student of Kabbalah and makes her home in Panama City, Panama.
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