“Deep down you already know the truth.” ~Unknown
“Another late night of rehearsal huh babe?” Langston was sitting at the table feeding our nine month old daughter when I walked in the house at nine thirty a.m after having spent the night and early part of the morning in all sorts of compromising positions with Bishop. I ignored him and his question, kissed our daughter and headed towards the bathroom to shower. Langston and I were preparing to celebrate our fifth year wedding anniversary in a few months, however, we had spent nearly the past ten years together off and on. I didn’t marry Langston because I was madly in love with him, I married him because he was madly in love with me. That and to teach the man I was really in love with a hard lesson.
The truth was I could hardly stand him, he was so weak and easily controlled; nothing like my father or Bishop. Langston was raised in the inner city Bronx, nowhere near my neighborhood in Dyker Heights. There are days when my father still looks at my husband in disgust for his inability to provide the lifestyle he raised me to be accustomed to. How embarrassing the daughter of a well-respected and wealthy former drug kingpin married to a professor of Art History at a gotdamned city college. As if there weren’t other parts of my life that weren’t embarrassing enough; like my dope fiend of a mother who would suck the dick of a mouse if it would help her get her next fix and everybody knew it! I married a working class nothing of a man who was content living a working class life on a working class budget.
Had it never been for Demi Outlaw I wouldn’t even be living this bullshit life, I’d be Mrs. Bishop Santos, not Nia McKaye-Price. Luckily for us my career as the assistant director at the Dance Academy of Manhattan kept us somewhat comfortable but comfortable wasn’t a life; I was bored with comfort.
“Hey babe is everything okay?” I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t even here Langston walk in the room. “U didn’t come home last night and you haven’t said a word. What’s up?” Leave it to my husband to state the obvious, but as always he had to be the peacekeeper, a pleaser; and always willing to do anything to make everything better. “I’m fine Langston, just preparing for the production and it’s wearing me low! You know the late nights come with the territory.” “Well maybe you need to let me help take some of that edge off.” Langston started kissing me and trying to remove my clothes and I instantly felt sick, his kisses were wet and sloppy and I hated them. It was like being kissed by a dog, and just the mere thought of having to have sex with him repulsed me even more. “You know what Langston, I’m not in the mood. I just want to shower and get back to the school, besides you’ve got to get the baby cleaned up and head to work yourself.”
I hadn’t fucked my husband myself in months unless there was another woman involved. That’s what I used Leslie for, whenever he got the urge to be intimate with me I would call her and let her do my dirty work. Sometimes I would get off just by watching the two of them go at it and other times I’d participate focusing mainly on her; sad how she turned me on more than he did. Anytime I was forced to have sex with him it was not a want or a desire but more of an obligation. I knew my husband was a sex addict, but that was his problem not mine. Per our prenuptial agreement if he was ever proven unfaithful he would go back to the Bronx with nothing but his measly city college paycheck, that child he begged me to have and the clothes on his back; everything else was mine.
The harsh reality of it was Langston wasn’t Bishop and I just wasn’t interested. I wasn’t interested in being a wife, well, not his wife anyway. It just was not a priority for me so I treated him more like the help than I did a husband. What was he going to do? Leave? Fuck him!
I fell in love with Bishop when I was thirteen years old, he worked for my father so he was always around and we went to a lot of the same kickbacks. Even at eighteen before he was full into manhood he was fine as hell, he stood about five foot eleven, with baby smooth caramel skin, soft dark hair and these hazel eyes that burned a hole through your entire being. His dad raised him up as a boxer so he had a boxer’s build, strong arms and a washboard stomach and was just all around fine as shit. His thick Dominican accent made my young pussy drip every time he spoke. It was around that time my mother formed her addiction and would do anything for a hit, so instead of getting it from my father’s stash like I normally would for her one day we made a deal. I told her to go ask Bishop, tell him she ain’t have no money but she’d suck his dick for a rock. Of course he told her junkie ass no, that’s when she offered me. I knew he’d seen me around the way and I saw the way he looked at me. Without hesitation he passed her the rock and she passed him her daughter. Ever since that day I’ve been sucking and fucking Bishop like nobody’s business and I just knew it would be us against the world; until that bourgeois bitch Demi moved to Harlem. Little Miss Cornell University thinks she better than everyone else with her bullshit degrees and shit. She ain’t shit but a fake ass Whitley Gilbert, I have never known what Bishop saw in her.
Read a preview of the first chapter of “Sleeping With the Enemy”… Like Father Like Daughter
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