She took in the three men sitting before her.

  “The beautiful thing about sexual fantasies,” she said, “is that we get to imagine things we would never say or do in reality. Fantasies give us license to be as dirty, as sexually carefree, as we want to be.”

  Roselle nodded his head in agreement. “Word. Because I know some of my fantasies be way out there sometimes.” He laughed. “I be on some real-live freak shit.”

  Dr. Dangerfield raised a questioning brow. “Oh? Would you like to elaborate?”

  Roselle cut his eyes over at Isaiah and then Kendall, unsure if he wanted to divulge too much about the way his mind was set up sexually.

  Although most of his fantasies included Brenda, there were those that didn’t. Like being in a room full of midget bit—uh, um, little women. They had all that fat puffy ass and he fantasized about fucking them, spinning them around on his hard dick. He secretly wondered just how deep the pussy really was, if their bodies were built for a good dicking.

  Another fantasy was fucking someone’s granny—sixty-plus years old or better, preferably with removable dentures. And if she wore those adult pampers, he’d remove her pamper and wash her pussy and ass, then dick her down real good, before strapping her up in another one. In his fantasies, he’d fuck her gums and cunt raw.

  And then there was his fantasy of being blindfolded and strapped down, being sucked and fucked by a group of big, beautiful women with thick hips, thick pussy lips, and fat asses. And then there was his darkest desire, one he knew he’d never share out loud—not even to Brenda. He fantasized about fucking a Transsexual. Not one of those big, burly ones either with the fucked-up weaves and razor bumps. Nah. A soft, feminine, passable one, like those he’d seen in Brazil three years ago, was what crept in his fantasies at times.

  Some of them with all that big bouncy ass and full breasts were bad as fuck.

  Facts. The few he’d met in Brazil he’d thought they were straight-up females—born that way. Someone like that—that’s what he’d slide his dick up into, just once—for the experience. He wanted to know how that manmade pussy felt. If it got wet, if it gripped a dick, the way a real pussy did.

  But, nah, Roselle wasn’t about to share that shit. He’d have to take that one to the grave with him. He didn’t care about being judged, per se. He was strong in his spot as a man. But he didn’t want to have to knock a muhfucka in his mouth if he thought to say some slick shit.

  So he settled on sharing his little women fantasy instead.

  Isaiah laughed. “Damn, bruh, you wild as shit.”

  “Man, some of them look like they have some real juicy puss-puss.”

  Kendall shook his head. But he didn’t judge. Hell, he fantasized about having a woman strap on a dildo and slowly fucking him in the ass. Pegging him, that was the term for it. He’d already graduated from a finger to having a slender vibrator stroking his prostate. Persia, his—shit, he didn’t really know what she was to him—sidepiece for a lack of a better term, wanted to give him the experience, but he hadn’t really gotten up the nerve to go all the way. Tongue and fingers and a vibrator were one thing. But having a whole silicone dick inside of him, he really didn’t know if he’d go that far. Not that he thought it would take away his manhood. He simply didn’t like the idea of having his asshole stretched open. What if Krista decided to—he nearly laughed at the ridiculous notion of her ever wanting to go anywhere near his ass. Still, although he fantasized about it—a dildo stroking his P-spot, he’d decided some fantasies weren’t meant to live out.

  But fuck if sex with Persia didn’t make him want to do shit he never imagined he’d do. She made it easy to be free. Made it easy to have those types of desires and still be a man—and feel like one, most importantly. Because that was what he was—a man. All man. He didn’t second-guess his masculinity or his manhood. He embraced who he was as a man. He didn’t think it was wrong to enjoy having a tongue licking his ass or a finger stroking over his prostate.

  Persia indulged his desires without judgment. And he trusted her with his secret—something he was certain he could never do with Krista. He sighed inwardly. It was what it was.

  “If you can understand your sexual fantasies and desires,” Dr. Dangerfield said, as if she were reading Kendall’s thoughts. “You’ll begin to learn a lot about yourself as a sexual being. Mr. Evans, what do you fantasize about?”

  “Nothing much,” Kendall said absently.

  Roselle cocked an eyebrow at him. “Nothing? Man, we grown men. We’re always fantasizing about a piece of ass.” He gave Dr. Dangerfield an apologetic look.

  She shrugged it off. Language was the least of her worries. “Mr. Evans, fantasies are a healthy part of our sexuality.”

  Kendall glanced down at her feet. Shit. She had pretty-ass toes peeking out through her peep-toes on top of every-fucking-thing else that was sexy about her.

  Truth be told, he had a thing for pretty feet and toes. But Krista’s feet were—well, uh, flat and wide and not worthy of being anywhere near his mouth or tongue.

  Kendall sucked in a breath and cursed himself for imagining her soft feet massaging his dick, and then him licking over her soles.

  “I have a foot fetish,” he admitted, but that wasn’t the damn question. So he added, “I sometimes fantasize about masturbating and then coming on a strange woman’s feet.”

  Not quite true. But it would need to do.

  That’s it? How damn boring, Dr. Dangerfield thought as she kept her face from frowning. She had hoped to hear something a bit more exciting.

  Roselle gave Kendall a blank stare. “Damn, bruh. You can’t do any better than that?”

  Kendall laughed, and so did Roselle and Isaiah.

  “It’s all I got,” Kendall said, feigning embarrassment.

  How uninspiring. “Oh. Okay,” Dr. Dangerfield said. Moving along. “What about you, Mr. Lewis?” she asked. “Would you care to share one of your sexual fantasies?”

  Isaiah ran a hand over the top of his waves, then slid it over his mouth, before smoothing it over his goatee. “Man . . .” He scratched the top of his head, his nails raking along the deep ripple of a wave. “I’m not gonna hold you. Pleasure. She’s wifey in my head. Word is bond.” And she could get the dick raw.

  “Yo, fam,” Roselle said over a laugh. “I got next. She bad. I had a woody the whole time she was standing there talking.”

  Dr. Dangerfield smiled knowingly.

  “Facts,” Isaiah said. And then he laughed. “I didn’t wanna look thirsty, but when she showed up down at the beach, I was tempted as fuck to ask for a flick with her.”

  “You should have,” Dr. Dangerfield said. “Nairobia’s very down-to-earth.”

  “Man, I’m glad you didn’t,” Roselle said. “Your wife woulda tried to choke you out. She seems like the type to body a muhfucka over you.”

  All three men laughed at that.

  “Yeah, you probably right.” Isaiah shook his head. “She’d fuck up a wet dream in a heartbeat.”

  Dr. Dangerfield studied Isaiah, trying to figure out how in sweet hell he ended up with her. Sure he had a hood edge, but he wasn’t ratchet with it. He might have been from the hood, but he wasn’t ghetto. Or maybe he hid it well.

  She shifted in her seat. Cleared her throat. And then asked, “And what if your fantasy were able to become a reality, Mr. Lewis? Would you still want it?”

  Isaiah’s mouth turned to a lopsided grin.

  Sexy. Real sexy, Dr. Dangerfield thought as she waited for his answer.

  “If I could have one night with Pleasure,” he said, “hell yeah, I’d take it. No questions asked.”

  “And what of your marriage?” Dr. Dangerfield asked. “Would you be willing to risk one night of passion with a fantasy woman?”

  Wait. Was that supposed to be some trick question or some shit? Hell yeah, he’d risk it. Shit, it wasn’t like he was happily married any-damn-way, so he’d might as well go out with some good pussy.

  His son’s mother was a freak. His wife was a freak. But Pleasure . . . Pleasure was the cream of the crop. She was the filling and icing and the cherry on top of the cake.

  “Without a doubt,” Isaiah said, pinning Dr. Dangerfield with a look, one full of certainty and conviction. “One night—all night. That’s all I’d want.”

  Twenty-Two

  Enabling . . .

  Losing one’s sense of self for the sake of maintaining a relationship. Over the years, Dr. Dangerfield had witnessed, more often than not, exactly that. Men and women losing themselves to the behaviors of others—their partners, family members, and even their children—allowing themselves to become absorbed in the life and behaviors of everyone else, fighting who they were against who they believed they should be in order to coexist in a world as they saw it. A world that was oftentimes full of drama and disorder, replete with a slew of lies and distrust.

  And that’s what Dr. Dangerfield saw in LaQuandra. She was an enabler in the worst way, and in being so, she engendered a shitload of resentment and a loss of personal joy.

  No human being, Dr. Dangerfield believed, should have that level of control over someone else’s thoughts, feelings, or actions. Accepting behaviors or not, was merely a choice. And LaQuandra Lewis chose to linger in misery, Dr. Dangerfield decided, because she didn’t truly believe she deserved anything more.

  LaQuandra scoffed. Who the hell did this uppity, self-righteous bitch think she was to tell her that she was an enabler, trying to insinuate, once again, that she was the problem?

  No. The problem was Cassandra-goddamn-Simms.

  Not her.

  She was a lot of things, but an enabler was not one of them. And she resented Dr. Dangerfield for making such a ridiculous judgment call.

  LaQuandra crossed her legs, then shifted in her seat. “Do you know me?” she asked Dr. Dangerfield snottily.

  Dr. Dangerfield regarded her for a moment, before finally saying, “I only know what you’ve allowed me to know.”

  LaQuandra twisted her lips. “Exactly.” She straightened her back and placed a hand up on her hip. “And have we met before?”

  Okay. So she wanted confrontation, Dr. Dangerfield resolved, taking in LaQuandra’s posturing. Combative. Nothing new. She was used to men and women becoming defensive when confronted with things they didn’t want to hear. The truth. It hurt like hell, sometimes. Hell, most times. But the truth could also set you free from self-justifying and self-destructing behaviors, if one was willing to listen.

  “Mrs. Lewis,” Dr. Dangerfield said calmly. “I’m not your enemy. I’m here to help you rediscover the passion in your marriage—or within yourself.”

  “Mmph. I can’t tell,” LaQuandra muttered. “Seems like all you’ve done thus far is point fingers at me. You haven’t said shit to Isaiah about his goddamn disregard for me and my feelings or his disrespect toward me as his wife.”

  Krista wanted to roll her eyes up in her head, but instead she kept her face expressionless. She’d only come to today’s group session for the entertainment, because—well, quite frankly—she didn’t have that problem. She wasn’t an enabler. And chasing behind some cheating-ass husband wasn’t her life story. So the front-row view was just fine with her. All she needed was a bag of buttered popcorn and a large Pepsi.

  “Your husband will have his time in the hot seat—if you will, soon enough,” Dr. Dangerfield promised. “But right now. This is about you.”

  LaQuandra huffed. She was frustrated. And this bitch was pissing her off. “And there lies the problem, ma’am . . .”

  Brenda nearly died. Ooh, no she didn’t give her the ma’am. Girl, I’m dead!

  LaQuandra kept her stare locked on Dr. Dangerfield as she continued, “The fact that you think this is about me is a real problem for me. No, sweetie. This is about Isaiah.”

  Dr. Dangerfield smiled. “Yes. It is. And it’s also about you. Because, believe it or not, Mrs. Lewis, you play a very big role in your marriage and in what you allow to happen to you while in it.”

  LaQuandra frowned. “So you’re telling me that it’s my fault that Isaiah runs off and fucks his baby mother? Are you blaming me for his ass allowing that bitch to constantly disrespect me?”

  “The same way you disrespect her?” Dr. Dangerfield inquired. “Because from where I sit, that’s exactly what you’ve been doing from the moment we met. You’ve done nothing but call your husband’s child’s mother out her name. And, quite frankly—”

  LaQuandra cut her off. “I treat that bitch the way she’s treated me. She’s shown me no respect. Ever. So why the hell should I show her any? That whore knew Isaiah was a married man, and yet she kept fucking him, while grinning in my face.”

  “And you blame her for sleeping with your husband?”

  LaQuandra scoffed, her pupils flashing fire at Dr. Dangerfield.

  “No. I blame her for being a whore.”

  Yes. That’s right. When all else failed, blame the other woman. Always. It never failed. Most women would rather place all the responsibility of her relationship discord on the other woman, while there was hardly ever any real culpability for the men who cheated.

  Dr. Dangerfield considered her words thoughtfully.

  “Tell me, Mrs. Lewis. Was it you, or your husband, who sought out Passion Island?”

  LaQuandra shifted in her seat. “I did. Why?”

  “Only asking for clarity,” Dr. Dangerfield said. “So why exactly are you here? Is it for an extended vacation? For the money you’re guaranteed at the end of the six weeks? Or is it because your marriage is in serious trouble and you’re afraid of losing it?”

  LaQuandra huffed. “Honestly, both. We, I, needed this getaway. And, yes, my marriage needs help. I thought, maybe, that by coming here, you, this process, would get Isaiah to stop his shit and get him to see that he has a good woman who loves him and wants this marriage.”

  Dr. Dangerfield nodded. “So you want me to change him? Is that what you’re hoping for?”

  Actually, that was exactly what LaQuandra was hoping for. She needed someone else to get Isaiah to see how much he’d hurt her, how much she loved him, because obviously he wasn’t listening to her. She was tired of being second best. Tired of second-guessing herself. Tired of vacillating; one minute wanting to pack his shit and throw him out, the next minute wanting to fight until the death of her to hold on to him. Something had to give.

  “And what exactly has your role been in your hot mess of a marriage—your words, not mine?”

  LaQuandra frowned. “I’ve done nothing, except be a good damn wife to him.”

  “Perhaps,” Dr. Dangerfield said thoughtfully. “However, doing nothing is doing something. And if you’ve done nothing, then your role has been to keep accepting the mess. You’ve played a role of enabling.”

  Enabling. There went that word again.

  Bitch, bye.

  Brenda shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She’d been guilty of that. Enabling. But this wasn’t about her. Not yet.

  Krista sat quietly. As far as she was concerned, she had a good marriage. Wait. So why exactly was she really here? Oh right, right. The show.

  Dr. Dangerfield watched the other two women out of her peripheral vision as she kept her gaze on LaQuandra. She waited in silence. Waited for LaQuandra to continue in her delusional thinking.

  “I love Isaiah. And, yes, I’ve put up with more shit than I probably should. But I don’t see that as enabling him. I see that as being a committed wife.”

  She’d walk through fire for Isaiah. That was the depth of her love for him.

  “And I don’t see a damn thing wrong with that,” she added.

  Dr. Dangerfield agreed. “You’re right. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a committed wife, a devoted partner. Those are great gifts to any relationship. But not for the sake of compromising who you are or for what you believe in. And definitely not when it requires you to lose pieces of yourself and keeps you stuck in misery.”

  LaQuandra swallowed. “Well, this is something that we are just going to have to agree to disagree on. I’m done.” She had nothing more to say on the matter. She was not going to wear the title of an enabler. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

  Brenda shifted in her seat again. She remembered that her mother had loved her father so much, more than she loved herself, until she ended up with nothing, giving him every ounce of her love, every piece of her heart until it ended up broken, shattered.

  And the bastard still left her—for a much younger, much more willing woman.

  Brenda shook the memory. “Now I’ll admit—and Lord knows I’m not one for admitting much,” she said, “but I have definitely been guilty of enabling Roselle. From his past gambling to his womanizing and anything else in between, I have been his clean-up woman. Always somewhere cleaning up his messes.”

  “And how has being your husband’s clean-up woman made you feel?” Dr. Dangerfield asked.

  “Angry,” Brenda admitted. “At times homicidal.” She laughed. “Some nights I stood over him in bed and watched him sleep, thinking about setting him on fire in his sleep or slicing his throat or smothering him with a pillow.” Brenda shook her head. “I came this close”—she showed a small space between her thumb and index finger—“to smothering him. I stood over him, holding that pillow in my hands, ready to suffocate him. But then I thought about my children and what that would do to them. They’d be without a mother and a father. Orphans. No, I couldn’t do that to them, no matter how pissed off Roselle made me.” Brenda crossed her legs and ran a hand over her left hip. “Besides, I’m too fabulous to be behind bars.”

  This time LaQuandra laughed. “Girrrrl, I know that’s right. Because, trust . . . if I could get away with putting a bullet in Isaiah’s baby mother, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I’m too scared of the consequences.”

  “Violence isn’t the answer,” Dr. Dangerfield asserted. “It never is. If a relationship is bringing you more grief than peace, then it is time to reevaluate what your needs are in that relationship, and what your real reasons are for staying. It all comes down to two simple questions,” Dr. Dangerfield continued. “How much of yourselves are you investing in your marriages? And what are the returns on your investment? Meaning, are there more positives than negatives? And if there are more negatives than positives, then the next question to ask yourselves is: how much more of yourselves are you willing to compromise before enough is enough?”