dark hair covering her pubic area. She was beautiful once, she thought. Not anymore. No man would ever think her beautiful again. Her fiancé had managed to stay for one whole year after the mastectomy, and then he left her for another woman. Jamal said it had nothing to do with the loss of her breast; she never believed him.
She turned away from the mirror and walked naked into her bedroom. Picking her robe off the bed, she tied it around her body and headed to the kitchen. She turned on the teapot and made herself a cup of tea. Strategically placed around the room were pictures of family and friends. There was a picture of her mother and father, both in their early fifties; her mother was tall and light-complexioned, with sandy brown hair and deep brown eyes; her father more chocolate in complexion, with an engaging smile and dimples. There was an old restored black and white photo of her grandmother; her pale white complexion and straight blond hair were unmistakable, but the blue eyes she had passed on to her granddaughter could not be distinguished in the colorless photo. Paige had torn up all the photos of Jamal after he’d left. Feeling betrayed, she’d wanted no reminders of him in her home. But his face was forever etched in her mind. He was a competitive tennis player with a classic tennis player’s body. His mocha-colored skin often glistened in the sun. His body was strong and wiry. She was drawn to him immediately. She loved his smile. How long ago, it seemed.
She collected her newest erotic romance novel from the coffee table and curled up on the couch to read. This was the only kind of romance she trusted now. The kind that didn’t hurt you or leave you, and when you tired of it you just went to the store and got a new one.
SATISFACTION NOT GUARANTEED—Grunting from the exertion, he rolled off her and lay on his back on the bed. He leaned over and kissed her briefly on the lips. “Good night,” he said.
“Good night,” Naomi replied, staring in the darkness at the ceiling above their heads.
In a matter of seconds she could hear his deep, jagged breathing and knew he was already asleep. Three minutes, from start to finish. That’s about how long it took him to climax. He usually spent the first two minutes on foreplay, rubbing her clitoris to get her wet for his entry. Then he would mount her; after penetration, he was good for about five strong strokes, and then he would ejaculate. At first she tried to be sympathetic to his problem. He was apologetic and promised to do better. Then she began to get more and more frustrated as she realized this was his regular routine, and as a grown man he couldn’t seem to hold off his orgasm more than two minutes. Occasionally they would exchange oral sex. It seemed he could do that for a long period of time, but whenever they stopped and shifted to intercourse, it was guaranteed the lovemaking would be over in a flash. She missed the feel of his penis inside her. They’d been married for ten years now, and nothing ever changed. She just learned to live with the depressing fact: she had married her worst lover. There were a few lovers before him. Some were good lovers, and some not. Each man seemed to have a different style. But they all exhibited more stamina and staying power.
She fell in love with Greg during a six-month courtship. He never rushed her into sex, and it was almost three months before they finally made love. She didn’t suspect anything at the time. Naomi loved everything about Greg: he treated her with respect, he was caring and tender, and he helped around the house and cooked meals for her. The only area in which he wasn’t perfect was the bedroom.
In the beginning she often initiated the sex between them. After a year or two of frustration and tears, she stopped trying. They would still have sex now and then. Sometimes a week or two would pass and they would not have sex. Greg never seemed to mind. She could count the times on her hand when he would actually initiate sex. She chalked it up to him having a low sex drive. Because it seemed to be his only shortcoming, she tried to dwell on all his other good qualities. Eventually her desire for sex waned, and she no longer missed it or wanted it as much as she used to. Lately, though, she was experiencing cravings for fulfillment she had thought were long buried.
She rolled over onto her side and pulled the covers around her shoulders. She knew it would be at least another thirty minutes or more before she would be able to go to sleep.
Naomi awoke the next morning to the smell of Jamaican Blue coffee brewing in the kitchen downstairs. It was Sunday morning, and Greg was already out working in the yard. She had lain in the bed until three in the morning, wide awake and unable to sleep. She looked around her bedroom and sleepily wiped her eyes. She could hear the lawnmower going outside. Greg was an early riser, and he preferred to get the yard work done before the blistering heat of the midday afternoon. Wrapping her bathrobe around her, she slipped on her socks and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. She loved this kitchen. The cabinets were made of natural oak, and the granite countertop was a mixture of black and tan flecks. There was a center island with a mini sink. Greg wanted plenty of counter space for food preparation, and she wanted a pantry. This kitchen accommodated both of those needs. There was a built-in computer desk at the far end of the counter. They had placed a flat-screen computer monitor there to save on space. It worked out fine. They spent many hours in the kitchen with a new recipe on the computer screen while they prepared gourmet meals together.
She retrieved a coffee mug from the cabinet and filled her cup from the coffeepot. She added a dash of half-and-half and one pack of sugar-free sweetener. Collecting the newspaper from the center island, she sipped her coffee as she headed into the family room to read.
Moments later, Greg came into the kitchen. “Good morning, baby,” he said as he walked behind the sofa and planted a kiss on her upturned face. “You didn’t sleep too well last night?” he asked.
“No, not really,” she replied, sipping the coffee.
“Why? Is there something on your mind?” he asked with concern.
“No, I just couldn’t sleep,” she replied.
“I’m sorry, you should have awakened me,” he stated.
“Why? So we could both be awake? You need your rest, too,” she said.
“I could have stayed up and watched TV with you or something,” he offered.
“No, baby. It’s okay. Just remind me to take a sleeping pill tonight. I hate taking them after ten at night because it makes me too groggy when I wake up in the morning.”
“Okay. What do you want for breakfast?” he asked.
“That’s okay, I’ll make it. What would you like?” she asked in return.
“Grits, eggs, sausage, and muffins?” he suggested.
“Okay, let me shower first, and I’ll start breakfast.” She smiled as she got up from her seat and headed back upstairs. As she passed him, she kissed him again briefly and wrapped her arms around his waist. He squeezed her back and then turned away to pour himself a cup of coffee. She looked back at him wistfully as she ascended the stairs. I really do love him, she thought.
BUSINESS TO BUSINESS—Agnes Garfield pushed through the revolving door and walked determinedly to the reception desk. “I have a nine o’clock appointment with Stanley Greenberg,” she said to the receptionist. The receptionist looked up and took in the woman standing before her. She was nattily attired in a navy-blue Donna Karan suit with a crisp white silk boatneck blouse and a single-strand pearl necklace and matching pearl-drop earrings. Her hair was coiffed to perfection in a French roll. Freshly manicured red nails at the end of slim brown fingers drummed the counter while she waited for the receptionist to announce her. It was eight forty-five.
“If you’ll have a seat, Ms. Garfield, Mr. Greenberg will be available in just a moment,” the receptionist said, indicating the waiting area off to the side of
