And Dr. Dangerfield oftentimes likened the potentially destructive emotion to cancer. If not dealt with, if not cut out, it could slowly spread through other parts of a relationship. It slowly eroded seemingly trusting relationships. Ate away at the core of one’s own psyche and opened the door to self-destructive, self-sabotaging behaviors.

  And, no matter how many times you tried to ignore it, no matter how many times you tried to deny it, no how many times you tried to will it away—over time, guilt had a way of rearing its ugly head and coming back to haunt you.

  So it was no surprise to Dr. Dangerfield that Brenda sat across from her in her office confessing her greatest transgression—fucking her husband’s brother.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Brenda croaked out over a sob.

  How about tell him the truth, bitch?

  “I believe you do,” Dr. Dangerfield said gently.

  Brenda shook her head. “But at what costs?”

  Bitch, you should have thought about that before you spread open your legs and let your husband’s brother fuck you raw.

  “Unfortunately, deception comes with a price,” Dr. Dangerfield said.

  “I know.” Brenda sighed. “I just don’t want this guilt eating away at me. I thought about taking some of Roselle’s hair, or his toothbrush, and sending it in for DNA testing.”

  “It wouldn’t be legally binding, however. But it would be strictly for your peace of mind. Still, it wouldn’t absolve you of your infidelity.”

  Brenda felt a headache coming on. “I didn’t say it would. I’m not looking for a pardon. I know what I did was wrong.”

  “There are other forms of testing that can be done, such as sibling DNA testing,” Dr. Dangerfield offered, “of your son to determine if they were both fathered by the same man. Your son—he is your husband’s?”

  Brenda frowned. “Of course he is,” she said incredulously. “I’m not that damn scandalous.”

  Oh?

  Dr. Dangerfield just stared. Allowed several seconds to tick by, and then said, “The truth will affect many lives.”

  “I know. That’s why I can’t tell him.” Brenda swiped a tear from her eye. “But sometimes I feel like I’m suffocating because I don’t.”

  “Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

  Brenda looked pensively at Dr. Dangerfield, biting the inside of her bottom lip.

  “Only if he’s not the father,” she admitted. “Not about what I did—or with who.”

  Dr. Dangerfield nodded, knowingly. Brenda was a selfish bitch, like Roselle. The two of them were cut from the same cloth. They deserved each other. And there was a special place in hell reserved for scandalous bitches like her.

  “And what of your daughter?” Dr. Dangerfield asked. “If your husband turns out not to be her father, how do you think that will impact her? Him?”

  Brenda cringed inwardly. She didn’t want to envision what it would do to either of them. Roselle would be destroyed for sure. He loved Ariel more than he loved the air he breathed. Probably even more than he loved her. And poor Ariel—God, her precious little world would be turned upside down. Roselle was her everything. She couldn’t snatch that away from her.

  The thought made Brenda sick to her stomach.

  “I know I should have never slept with Renaldo. That night was the worst mistake of my life.”

  “I’m sure,” Dr. Dangerfield stated. “So now what?”

  Brenda pushed out a long breath. “I honestly don’t know. I came here hoping you’d somehow help me feel better.”

  Oh so this ho is looking for penance?

  Bitch, bye.

  Well, she’d come to the wrong place. She had better take her ass to a confessional. Dr. Dangerfield wasn’t in the business of giving out sympathy.

  Brenda used the tissue she’d been gripping tightly in her hand to dab at her eyes. “You know, talk me out of telling Roselle.” She blew her nose. “Or at least tell me that it was okay to take this secret to my grave.”

  Dr. Dangerfield closed Brenda’s file. “Mrs. Woods, I can’t tell you what to do—or not to do. But I can, however, suggest you consider how the choices you make will affect the others around you. I suggest you weigh out the consequences. There’s no getting around the fact that someone will be hurt. The damage has already been done. Now it’s simply a matter of thought and action. So the question comes back to you. What do you think is the right thing to do?”

  Brenda considered Dr. Dangerfield’s words thoughtfully. And for the briefest moment, she saw herself coming clean to Roselle. Sure, he’d be infuriated, at first. But he’d come around, eventually. Hadn’t he already said he wouldn’t hold it against her if she had cheated on him?

  Roselle wouldn’t want to tear apart their home. Sure, he might beat her ass and then go jump on his brother, but he wouldn’t take what they’d done to him out on Ariel.

  No. Roselle would forgive her, in time.

  And he wouldn’t love his daughter any less.

  Or wouldn’t he?

  “Do you think your husband is your daughter’s father?”

  Brenda nodded. “I do. Most times. But then I see her when she’s with her cousins, and I see the resemblance and then I start to doubt myself all over again. Ariel looks like both of them to me.”

  Dr. Dangerfield uncrossed her legs and then shifted in her seat. “Well, you did sleep with brothers.”

  Wringing her hands, Brenda swallowed back the sting of truth. “I know. I’m reminded of that tidbit every day.” Her voice, though short, was also apologetic. “Every time I look at my daughter, I am reminded of what I did, wondering when someone might come along and—”

  Brenda didn’t want to think about it, or talk about it, anymore. The thought of doing what was right by not hurting those she loved was exhausting.

  “Renaldo and I swore to never tell a soul of that night—ever. I know he wouldn’t go against his word. It’s his bond.”

  “How noble of him,” Dr. Dangerfield said. Her words felt sarcastic, but Brenda chose to ignore them.

  “So then what’s your fear?”

  Brenda shrugged. “I don’t know. I just wanna let go of this guilt. That’s it.”

  “Then you’ll need to get honest. And then forgive yourself.”

  “Do you think Roland—?”

  “Renaldo.”

  “Ah, yes, Renaldo. Do you think he suspects Ariel might be his?”

  Brenda’s heart thundered in her chest. She looked mortified. “God, no. All she is to him is his spoiled little niece. But even if the thought ever crossed his mind, it would be a fleeting one. He loves her deeply. And he loves his brother, so he would never want to hurt either of them. And he definitely wouldn’t want to destroy his marriage behind some nagging suspicion.”

  Dr. Dangerfield nodded. “Then I guess you have your answer.”

  Brenda sighed, then stood as the timer dinged. “Yes. I guess you’re right. I guess I just needed to finally let it out, holding on to it was killing me.”

  “Sometimes talking is all someone needs.”

  Brenda reached for my Kleenex, then wiped her eyes one last time. “You’re right. I will not shed another tear over this. What’s done is done. I can’t change it. Everything in me says Ariel is Roselle’s and that is what I have to go with.”

  Dr. Dangerfield rose from her seat and extended her hand. “All the best to you, Mrs. Woods.”

  Brenda shook her hand, and then pulled her into a warm hug, before kissing her on the cheek. “You’re some kind of special, Doc. Thank you for everything.”

  Shocked by the gesture, Dr. Dangerfield stepped into the embrace, then quickly pulled away from her. “It’s been a pleasure working with you. Let me know how life in an open marriage works out for you and Mr. Woods.”

  Yes. Brenda had agreed to an open marriage—on a trial basis. She knew it was Roselle’s way of being able to fuck other bitches, but she’d laid down a few ground rules: one, she chose who he fucked; two, she got to fuck who she wanted as long as Roselle watched; three, Roselle wasn’t allowed any extracurricular pussy unless he asked for it—and was given her permission.

  Dr. Dangerfield had thought the rules unrealistic, and suspected the arrangement wouldn’t last long. She believed they both had a skewed view of what an open marriage entailed. Open marriages weren’t about open permission to cheat, which was the case of non-monogamous couples like Brenda and Roselle. Having a healthy polyamorous marriage required a true understanding of its meaning. And neither seemed to understand that it required lots of trust, clear agreements, and an abundance of open communication.

  Brenda didn’t trust Roselle. But she saw the idea of an open marriage as a way of taking control of her marriage and monitoring Roselle’s cheating in a way that didn’t consume her.

  Dr. Dangerfield believed Brenda’s new vision for her marriage was more of a concession to her own guilt and in a desperate response to Roselle’s pathological cheating than anything else. She had cautioned them both to tread carefully.

  Roselle’s request for an open marriage was for selfish reasons, not because he was invested into the art of love, passion, and openness but because it afforded him an open-ended invitation to new pussy.

  And, although there was an allure in openly allowing room for a partner to be sexual with someone other than their partner, knowing this couple, Dr. Dangerfield predicted nothing but disaster for Brenda and Roselle.

  But only time would tell.

  “It should be interesting,” Brenda said, slicing into Dr. Dangerfield’s reverie.

  Dr. Dangerfield offered a smile. “Well, then enjoy the journey.”

  She eyed Brenda. And just as she made her way toward the door, Brenda turned back and asked, “Do you think I’m a messy bitch for not telling him?”

  Dr. Dangerfield gave her a questioning look.

  “About—you know, sleeping with his brother?”

  “Mrs. Woods, I think you are a woman doing what she feels she needs to do. And that is your cross to bear. The question is, do you see yourself as messy?”

  Brenda ran a hand through her hair. “I do. But—oh well.”

  Dr. Dangerfield’s lips pursed ever so lightly. “Then stay true to who you are.”

  Fifty-One

  “I’m not gay.”

  Krista shrugged as she stared blankly at the man she loved. “I don’t know that.”

  Kendall frowned. “Well, I’m telling you. I’m not. And I’m not some DL cat living a double life, either.”

  “Your actions speak otherwise.” Krista fought to keep the bite out of her tone. She was still angry, still hurt, still shocked. But she was no longer homicidal—thanks to prayer. However, she found herself struggling to keep from jumping up and smacking his face, punching him in his mouth, his chest, upside his head. She wanted to fight him for lying to her, for embarrassing her, for deceiving her.

  She stared at him, through him. “If I’m not mistaken, I’d asked you a few years back if you wanted to get fucked in your ass and you’d told me no. Remember that?”

  Kendall’s brows furrowed. He hadn’t remembered that. Well, vaguely, he did.

  Oh so now he wanted to play stupid. Krista sucked her teeth. “You came home and told me some bullshit story about some man down at the barbershop liking his ass fingered—and I specifically asked you if you had anything you wanted to tell me.”

  Kendall swallowed.

  Damn. She remembered that. Just like a woman. Remembering every-damn-thing. He said nothing, and Krista took that to mean he had nothing to say. But the truth was, if he admitted to remembering the conversation, it would more than likely turn into an argument. He hadn’t come here for that.

  “All I ever wanted,” she continued, “was for us to have an honest relationship, to grow closer in spirit; that’s it, Kendall.”

  Kendall gave her a pained look. “I wanted that too, Krista. I did. But . . .” He sighed.

  Krista’s jaw twitched. “But what?”

  Kendall sucked in his breath. “You never made it easy, Kris. You were so judgmental and—”

  Krista’s nose flared. “Bullshit! Do not make this about me. You should have been man enough to tell me you liked it in the ass. You owed me that, Kendall. The goddamn truth.”

  He tensed, his gaze focusing intently on her. “You’re right. I should have told you. I should have been man enough to tell you about my secret desires. That I loved my ass licked—by a woman. That I loved the feeling of having my prostate massaged, milked—by a woman. But I didn’t—I couldn’t. And I apologize for that, Kris. I knew how adamantly opposed you were to the idea. And getting a divorce was the last thing I wanted. So, no, Kris, I wasn’t going to confess my sexual desires with you. Because I didn’t want to lose you.”

  Krista felt tears swimming somewhere in the back of her eyeballs, and so she blinked several times to ward them back. She wasn’t going to shed one goddamn tear in front of this, this . . . freaky-ass bastard!

  Krista shook her head solemnly. “You knew I wasn’t signing up for none of that nasty shit. You knew this!”

  Kendall sighed. He’d come to the villa to apologize and hopefully figure out a way to salvage his marriage, but as he sat here looking at his wife, he realized the naked truth—they were simply too opposite. They were not like-minded. Hell, maybe they’d never been compatible, sexually speaking.

  He glanced around the living room. Over on the end table sat her Bible. And he realized in this very moment that it no longer mattered to him what she thought. He was no longer that invested in her thoughts of him. He knew he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life depriving himself of pleasure simply because Krista wouldn’t accept it.

  And he didn’t expect her to. She was who she was. And he was who he was. He understood that his sexual tastes and appetite had evolved, whereas his wife’s hadn’t. Sad as it was, Kendall was finally able to accept it.

  “You’re right, Kris. I did know. And I know now that withholding that part of who I am from you wasn’t fair to either of us. Truth is, I want more sexually than you are willing, able, to give. Being here has helped me accept who I am as a sexual being, as a heterosexual man. There is nothing wrong with my desires. And I’m no longer going to be embarrassed or be made to feel ashamed about them. I’d done both for long enough. I enjoyed making love to you, Krista, because you were my wife and I loved you. But I always felt lonely in my desires for something more.”

  “You selfish-bastard,” Krista hissed over gritted teeth.

  Kendall cringed. He had been selfish, for good cause, he believed. But he knew that he’d been wrong for doing so.

  “Maybe if you went to church and gave your life over to Christ, we could work through this,” Krista offered. “You know, you could repent your sins and let Reverend Lynch pray those sexual demons out of you.”

  Kendall gave her an incredulous look. “I don’t need an exorcism. And I have no interest in participating in any organized religion. What I desire sexually is not a sin, maybe to you. But I’m good.”

  Then he paused, still staring at her, his eyes oddly sympathetic. “I want you to be happy, Krista. You’re a good woman. If you want a divorce, I won’t fight you on it. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I’m not looking to beef with you, or make your life difficult. But, trust me, baby. My sexual wants and desires have nothing to do with this.”

  Tears pricked Krista’s eyelids. “You have some other bitch, is that it, Kendall?” She shot up from her seat, slamming a hand up on her hip. “Which one of those filthy whores been licking your ass, since we’ve been here, huh? That slutty therapist-bitch, or that nasty Nairobia-bitch. I saw you with her. Did you fuck her? Did you let that scuzzy whore stick you in your ass?”

  Kendall sighed, shaking his head. “All I ever wanted, Krista, is for you to open your mind, be more adventurous—with me, for me,” he said, ignoring her questions. No. They hadn’t fucked. But—for fuck’s sake—he had wanted to. Badly. But Nairobia had had him so turned on by all of her promises of licking his balls and bathing his hole with her tongue and sucking his dick deep into her pussy that he’d shot his load the moment she stroked his dick in her hand.

  “All I ever wanted was for you and I to explore our freaky sides together,” Kendall continued. “Sex between us was supposed to get better over time, be more fun, more exciting. But it wasn’t. It was the same ole thing. Yes, we had lots of sex, but that’s all it was. Sex. Nothing exciting. All I ever wanted was to help you find your inner slut, baby. But I know that isn’t possible. So whatever it is that is stopping you from doing that is what has come between us. Not my desires. But your rigid mindset when it comes to pleasing your man and allowing your man to please you.”

  “Fuck you, Kendall,” she yelled. “You are not going to blame me for your freaky homosexual acts. No, motherfucker! So just get the fuck out!” She stomped over toward the door and swung it open.

  Kendall inhaled, then pushed out a frustrated breath. He stared at Krista for a moment and then moved toward the door. A part of him wanted to wrap his arms around her, but his pride and ego wouldn’t allow it.

  So he walked out.

  “If you want a finger in your ass or some slutty bitch to fuck you in it, then go be with her,” she shouted in back of him. “I’ll have all of your shit packed by the—”

  Mortified, Krista stopped herself midsentence. There stood LaQuandra and Brenda down below, their mouths ajar, their eyes wide with surprise and speculation. The last thing Krista wanted was for those two scandalous bitches to be witness to any of her personal business.

  Brenda managed to close her mouth long enough to lick over her lips, before taking Kendall in with a new-found appreciation in spite of the embarrassed look on his face as he descended the stairs.

  LaQuandra, however, tilted her head and give Krista a look that said, “Bitch. I knew it,” just as Krista slammed the door in their faces.