SCREETY

I can’t tell you what exactly attracted Greyson to me in the first place. I’m really the furthest thing from his “type.” He seems to have a preference for amazonish women; you know, the really tall, really curvy type. Your waist must be cinched, and your hips must be round. And if I had to guess, I’d say you need to be at least five feet eight inches tall or taller. Oh, and if you wear really trendy, overly revealing clothes, long glittery nails, a fully made-up face in the daytime, and do your grocery shopping in six-inch heels, even better. You’re totally my husband’s type.

I, on the other hand, am just an ol’ “plain Jane.” I’m short, five-feet one-inch tall, and neither my butt nor boobs protrude with any real significance in either direction. I’m pretty petite, so no big round hips over here either. Since I’m an elementary school teacher, I dress pretty conservatively for the most part. However, on the weekends, a t-shirt and a nice pair of jeans work perfectly fine for me. If asked what I thought was my best physical feature, I’d probably say my hair. It’s really long. I haven’t cut it in over ten years, just light trims when I go to the salon. Greyson loves my hair; maybe that’s what attracted him to me, but he hates that I always keep it pulled up in a bun.

The way I wear my hair isn’t the only thing that Greyson seems to hate. Some days it seems as though he just hates me altogether, and I can’t even begin to understand why. He’s done some things, mean things, that have hurt me to my core. Still, I couldn’t pull the plug on my love for him, even if I wanted to. We have been together for eight years and married for two. I’ve loved Greyson from the very first day we met. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. Maybe I was a little vulnerable or just plain ol’ tired of being single, but when he walked over to me at a friend’s wedding reception and asked me to dance, I was immediately smitten and have been ever since.

Greyson is a music producer. He’s worked with some of everybody. He knows some of everybody; including a shit-load of beautiful, flirty, and amazonish women. He’s always in the studio late at night, until crazy hours in the morning, and often in the presence of a woman or women who fit that bill. I hate it. I absolutely hate it. But I knew his profession from the beginning, and I understand what it entails. I’ve seen him work to get to where he is today, and I’m so proud of him. And although he’s still climbing the industry ranks, he’s come a long way and he takes good care of me, financially at least. He takes good care of us. Lord knows my teacher’s salary couldn’t come close to securing a lavish condo in Buckhead; but here we are.

Of course in life we have to be willing to take the good with the bad, and the happy with the sad. But I feel like I’ve taken more than my share of them both; the bad and sad that is, particularly as it pertains to my husband.

These emotional roller coaster rides with Greyson took off from the very beginning, when he stood me up one week after we met. Greyson and I were supposed to meet downtown at the Westin for dinner and drinks. We had been texting and talking to each other all day, all week long really. I was beyond excited. I got my hair and make-up done and bought a sexy, off-the-shoulder red dress to wear. I was running just a few minutes late, so I text Greyson to let him know. However, by the time I arrived at the restaurant, I realized he never responded, so I gave him a call; no answer.

After sitting at the bar for more than two hours, and blowing up Greyson’s phone to no avail, I accepted the fact that he wasn’t coming. Humiliated, I paid for my tab, tipped the bartender, and went home. I cried the whole way. Part of me wondered if something bad had happened to him, but my gut was telling me that wasn’t the case.

Sure enough, around ten o’clock the following morning, Greyson called. But I was too disgusted with him at that time to even answer. He left a voicemail apologizing, saying he got caught up in a recording session at the studio and that his phone had died so he couldn’t call me. It sounded like a bunch of crap to me, so I didn’t even bother to respond. He called and text me several more times over the course of that weekend, but I had nothing to say to him. As far as I was concerned, I was done. Then at work that Monday, around lunchtime, I was paged to the front office. When I got up there, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Greyson had sent me the biggest and most beautiful floral arrangement that I had ever seen. It held three dozen red roses with a cute brown teddy bear holding a card that read, “I’m so sorry. Please give me another chance. Love, Greyson”. I was completely floored.

Needless to say, I forgave him; the first of numerous times. Things have pretty much been that way ever since. Out of nowhere, Greyson will do or say something that really hurts my feelings or breaks my heart, or I’ll “discover” some unscrupulous thing he’s done. Then he’ll go out of his way to apologize by doing something really big to mend it. I have a closet full of designer handbags and shoes, to diamond earrings and bracelets that are all “I’m sorry” gifts from Greyson. Granted, that’s not entirely a bad thing, but it’s not good either.

A lot has happened between Greyson and me over the years. He has certainly cheated; more than once. But when I tell you I love this man, I need you to understand that there’s no limit to my love for him, and sometimes I hate myself for it.

I have done any and EVERYTHING to try to make Greyson happy and keep him satisfied. One time, I even let him stand in the bathtub and pee all over me! I still can’t believe I did that, but it was something kinky he wanted to try, and I didn’t want to tell him “no,” because I knew some other “freakazoid” woman would very easily say “yes.”

Over time, I’ve found other ways to deal with it all. First, I don’t stress over what Greyson is doing or who he’s doing it with. I mean, the thought of him out cheating with another woman still makes me sick, but it’s not the thought of him having sex with her that bothers me so much. It’s the thought of him spending time, sharing his secrets, and falling in love with her that tears me to pieces. I’m sure you probably won’t agree, but as long as he’s using protection, the physical act of him having sex with another woman isn’t the worst thing in the world to me. Losing him is.

The second thing I do to help myself deal with my life as Mrs. Greyson (oh, my husband’s first name is Kevin, but I’ve always called him by his last name) is write songs. Greyson introduced me to the behind-the-scenes world of music when we first met, and I immediately took an interest in songwriting. Since then, he’s let me work on a few different projects over the years to help me perfect my craft.

Greyson made a home studio out of the third bedroom in our condo a couple of years ago. He kind of trained me on the basics for recording a song. While I’m hardly the best singer in the world, I can hold a few notes, so I get in there from time to time to record songs that I’ve written. Outside of my students, it helps deal with the many peaks and valleys that make up my life.

Listen, I’m not saying I condone infidelity, nor am I giving him a “pass” to cheat. But, a man is going to do what a man is going to do. Kicking, cussing, arguing, and making accusations every day, isn’t going to stop him from cheating, if that’s what he wants to do. At worst or at best (depending on how you look at it), he’ll just leave; or eventually, you will…

Greyson and I just had the most amazing, completely breathtaking, “love” session tonight. He’s over there knocked out right now, and snoring very loudly, as usual, so I don’t even have to wonder if I did my part. But before tonight, it had been almost two weeks since we had sex; well since he and I had had sex together. Lord, why am I even allowing my mind to go there. Tonight was a great night, well for the most part. Let me just relish in that.

So the evening started with dinner at McKendrick’s. I love their steak. We ate well, had a few cocktails, and some really great conversation. I love how our date nights always make me feel like I did when we first started dating eight years ago. Greyson gave me updates on a few big projects he’s working on. That always makes me feel good because he doesn’t always keep me in the loop. All I know is when he’s gone at all times of the night, he’s “working” or in a “session.” And really, I don’t truly “know” that for sure. Sometimes I have my doubts as to his whereabouts, but I try not to question him too much, even though I would be justified in doing so. Plus, he really, really hates it when I question him. He gets so defensive. I mean, loud and crazy defensive. The way he acts, you’d think he has this perfectly polished and immaculate track record. No Greyson, you have cheated on ME more times than I care to acknowledge. So, uh yeah, I may sometimes wonder if you really are where you say you are, actually doing what you tell me you’re doing. Anyway, I digress.

As I was saying, since I can actually see the fruits of Greyson’s labor, and benefit from them as well, I don’t question his whereabouts too often. I just try to go with the flow and be the good wife that he enjoys coming home to at night; well, on the nights he actually comes home.

So back to tonight, after dinner, we popped into this cute, trendy little lounge in Midtown. It had a nice mixed crowd, mostly with folks in their thirties like Greyson and me, but few older and some younger. They had these things called Hookahs, that my husband finally convinced me to try. I don’t smoke, but it was really cool and different. In my opinion, it’s not like smoking a cigarette or cigar. It has tobacco, but it’s more like a vapor, a flavored vapor, that you smoke from a hose that’s attached to this big, curvy vase-like water bowl. That probably doesn’t make it any healthier, but at least it isn’t smoky, and it will give you a slight buzz, or enhance the one you already have; at least it did for me. It was fun.

I was already quite tipsy when we got to the hookah bar, but Grey got us more drinks anyway. We laughed, we danced, and just really got lost in enjoying ourselves, and each other’s company. Best of all, Grey didn’t pull out his phone the whole entire night! That never ever happens. But he promised me, at the start of the evening, that he wouldn’t. He wanted to make tonight all about me. He kept his word, for the most part.

After leaving the lounge around eleven o’clock, the night got even more interesting. Of course, at this point, we both are feeling no pain. The liquor is flowing freely inside of our bodies, and by this time, we are fired up! Greyson, being who he is, asked if I wanted to stop by Magic City to top off our evening. If you didn’t know, Magic City is a really popular strip club in Atlanta. So, did I want to? No. But was I drunk? Yes. So did I mind? No. I gave Greyson the green light, and we made our way to the world of “tails-n-tits.”

The parking lot was packed when we got there, so we immediately pulled up for valet. On our way there, I touched up my makeup, gave myself a couple spritzes of Tory Burch, and unbuttoned a few more of the top buttons on my fitted shirt. I felt like I needed to show a cleavage, what little I have, since we were about to be surrounded by nothing but beautiful, well-endowed, naked women. I didn’t want to feel too sub-par.

As we made our way inside, I almost forgot that I needed to hide my eyes. Luckily, I had a pair of Michael Kors sunglasses in my bag. They were cute and dark; just what I needed. I have been to the strip club with Greyson at least twenty times over the course of our relationship and marriage. Not once has it ever been my suggestion to go, but I usually have a good time when we do. Plus, I know it’s a turn-on for Grey, so I do it for him more than anything. Don’t get me wrong, over time I’ve actually come to enjoy looking at the girls myself. I’m amazed at their bodies and by the way they can make parts of their body move while the rest of it stands still. I would be lying if I said it doesn’t arouse me sometimes. However, I am so not comfortable with looking a stripper in the eye, and I don’t want anyone looking at me while I’m looking at a stripper in the eye. It makes me feel too “studish”; like I’m a dude or something. Most importantly, I’m always worried that someone from school or church will recognize me. Maybe that shouldn’t concern me because they’d have to be there themselves in order to see me, but it does.

I’m an elementary school teacher, a very dedicated one at that. I’ve won many awards and accolades over the course of my twelve-year career, so a lot of people know and respect me. They expect me to be poised, conservative, and a respectable woman at all times, because that’s all I’ve ever shown them. Therefore, that’s all they know; which isn’t altogether a bad thing. In fact, I suppose it’s a good thing since it says a lot about me and my character. But guess what? I’m human too. I’m not perfect, quite possibly the furthest thing from it. I think I’ve gotten so good at hiding the not-so-pretty sides of my life that most who know me, or at least think they do, believe I have a pretty perfect life and marriage. Boy they are wrong. But for now, I’ll let them continue believing that if they so choose. It’s just funny to me how many people think I don’t drink, party, or even “cuss,” and not because I told them I didn’t, but because I never told them or showed them that I did. As far as I’m concerned, everyone doesn’t need to know everything about me and my life. So yes, the sunglasses in the strip club are a must; the darker, the better. Thank goodness I had them tonight.

When we finally got inside the city of magic, Grey requested a table close to the stage. Then he gave me his bank card and sent me to the ATM inside the club to withdraw five hundred dollars. We swapped out most of the large bills for one dollar bills, so we could make it “rain,” just a little bit, while in the building. Greyson knows I’ll start giving him the side-eye if he starts spending more money than that in a booby bar, at least in my presence. Every now and then, I’ll let him go a little crazy, but only on special occasions like his birthday.

We got our table and hadn’t been seated for more than twenty seconds before we were bombarded by two “amazons,” both with long wavy weaves flowing down to the tops of their big, juicy, possibly surgically enhanced, asses. With their super high heels on, each stood close to 5’10, if not taller. These were some healthy girls, but not fat or anything; just super-duper thick. They were almost a little intimidating as they towered over me.

I declined my red-haired vixen’s offer for a lap dance. I needed a few more minutes to get situated and scope out the scenery. But Greyson insisted that they both dance for us. He’s always doing the absolute most. So there I was, seated, no drink in my hand, and this girl’s freshly-waxed cookie staring me right in the face, and gyrating. My buzz from earlier had already started to taper off, so I was feeling a little uncomfortable. I did not want to look at the dancer that up close and personal, not right away. I’m definitely not taking anything away from her, she was really very pretty, with a nice, deep dimpled smile. I just needed a few more minutes and another drink ASAP.

Meanwhile, as I’m still waiting on the waitress to deliver my Miami Vice, Greyson was on dance number four with the same dancer he started with. I was trying to play cool, as I always do, but it was starting to piss me off. He hadn’t said one word to me since we sat down, and he never does that, because he knows how I need to “warm up” when we’re in these kinds of establishments. Normally, we get a table and Greyson orders us drinks. Then we talk and joke around a little bit while checking out the girls and seeing what’s what. If girls walk over right away, Greyson will just tell them to circle back with us in a few. But strangely tonight, he didn’t do that.

The tall, curvy stripper was doing way more than just dancing for my husband. She was practically fucking him; right there, in the chair, across from me. Her breasts were huge, and she was rubbing her hard nipples all over his face. I even saw him hold his tongue out a few times to lick them. Yeah, he was kind of drunk, but that’s no excuse. I should have stopped the show right then and there. At the very least I should have said something or just flipped the whole damn table over. Regretfully, I didn’t. I know, stupid, but let’s not go there right now.

Anyhow, completely naked, with her long legs fully straddled across Grey’s lap, the stripper, whose name I later learned was Blaze, was grinding and bouncing all over my husband’s undoubtedly bulging and throbbing penis. It was like they were lost in their own world over there. I could not believe it. I was ready to walk out. Then my drink came.

The song that the DJ was playing, when the waitress finally brought my drink over, came to an end. In the strip club world, that means patrons pay for another lap dance if they want a stripper to keep on dancing for them. In that instance, I said to myself, “If this negro pays for another dance from this girl, and still doesn’t look over, to at least acknowledge me, I’m gone.” And sure enough, he did. He told her to keep dancing, and he never gave me even half a glance.

Infuriated, but still trying to be a “lady” and not make a scene, I softly, but sternly, pushed my barely-touched drink over to his side of the table. I stood up, grabbed my purse, and headed for the door. I felt nauseous. I was really hoping that Grey would look up and notice my exit, that his wife was leaving, but he didn’t. He was too engulfed in his slut-bucket dancer to even care.

When I got outside, the chilly fall air instantly hit me. I had no sweater or jacket, so I called for an Uber right away and prayed that it wouldn’t take more than a few minutes to arrive. While waiting, one of the guys from security could see that I was upset. He’d actually seen more than I wish he had. So, in an attempt to comfort me, he said, “You’re beautiful, don’t let Blaze ruin your night.” Before asking who the hell Blaze was, I gave him the ugliest look. Thinking, “who the hell is he talking about?” Then he quickly clarified that for me, “Blaze, the dancer, the one that’s been at y’all table since you got here. It’s just entertainment baby. If you come to the strip club with your man, what do you expect him to do?” He chuckled. Just that quick, he had me pissed off even more. Why the hell was he all up in my business?

“Go back in there and have fun baby girl. You’re a beautiful woman and Blaze ain’t got nothing on you”, the security guard continued. He was lying about her not having “nothing” on me, but I appreciated the compliment and it did keep me from snapping at him by telling him to mind his own business. However, I knew I wasn’t going back in there, not for anything. Right then, my phone went off. I thought it was my driver trying to reach me, but it was a text from Greyson, asking “Where are you?”. I simply replied, “I’m gone, enjoy the rest of your night.” A few seconds later, my Uber pulled up and as I got in, I heard a voice shouting, “Noel! Noel!”. It was Grey, but at this point I was tired, I was hurt, and I didn’t care. So I didn’t even look back. I slammed the door and asked the driver to pull off.

Immediately, Greyson started blowing up my phone. I wasn’t about to put my business out there for the driver to hear, so after Grey called about ten times back to back, I just turned my phone off altogether. On the way home, we ran into a little bit of traffic due to construction, the ride took a lot longer than it should have. This gave me a lot of time to think. I had to ask myself, “Why am I so in love and loyal to this man?” “Why do I let him get away with some of the bullshit he does?” I didn’t have an answer for either question, other than “Because I love him.” However, I was glad I walked out tonight. I have never done that. I still didn’t feel like I had won though. I knew what I had just done probably pissed Grey off tremendously, and that he would somehow turn the whole thing around on me and make it seem like I was the one who was wrong; like he always does. He’d probably use my “storming out” tonight as an excuse to go back inside the club, grab Blaze, take her to V.I.P and pay her to suck his dick.

What should have been no more than a twenty-minute ride, took about an hour. There’s always some crazy road construction project going on in Atlanta that will have you tied up in traffic at the most unexpected times of day and night. It drives me crazy. Despite it, I was glad to be home. I just wanted to get inside my condo, take a shower, and go to bed.

It was a little after two o’clock in the morning when we pulled up in front of my building. I made my way through the lobby and realized I wasn’t familiar with the Concierge who manages the front desk overnight, since I normally come in through the parking garage and bypass the lobby, so I stopped and introduced myself. Her name was Faith. Apparently, she’s been working at our property location for about six months now and has already met Greyson. She seems really sweet, nice authentic personality; at least from what I gathered three minutes.

As I got on the elevator to make my way up to the eleventh floor, my stomach was in knots. I couldn’t help but think about what Greyson was possibly doing at that very moment and whether or not he would even come home tonight. It made me mad, sad, and sick all at the same time. I couldn’t help but wonder why I always had to deal with so much bullshit when it came to my husband. It’s always something; always.

I fondled to get my house keys out of my purse as I got off of the elevator. I was relieved that I had even thrown them in my bag considering the night’s turn of events. When I got inside, I immediately kicked off my heels. My feet were burning. I turned my phone back on and immediately a series of voicemails and texts from Grey chimed through. I wasn’t in the mood to read or listen to them. I just wanted to take a hot shower and go to bed.

Before I hopped in the shower, I made sure it was good and hot. I opened Pandora on my phone and placed it on the counter, in hopes that a little music would help me relax. Once inside, the water from the oversized rainfall shower head felt amazing. We remolded our master bath a couple of months ago, and this was one thing I absolutely had to have. With my eyes closed, I felt like it was washing all of my worries away. The only thing that was missing was my husband.

No sooner than having that thought, did I feel a hand suddenly and aggressively grab me from behind. I was terrified! Then a voice whispered in my ear, “Do you want me to fuck you up?”. I exhaled a sigh of relief. It was Greyson. He had actually brought his ass home.

His body felt so good pressed against mine. His big, oversized arms cradled me as he pulled me in closer, the water now drenching us both from head to toe. I could still smell his Bleu De Chanel cologne. It was hypnotizing. I wasn’t exactly sure what was about to happen next, but I hoped Grey wasn’t still too made at me for leaving the club the way I did, and then not answering his calls. Believe it or not, he’s been known to throw a fit when he feels like he’s been disrespected, especially by me. Things like hanging up the phone in his face or blatantly ignoring his calls, even when he’s in the wrong, drive him all-out crazy.

Well, my concern dissolved when Greyson pulled my wet hair to the side and softly began planting kisses all over my neck. Then he apologized for being an asshole earlier this evening. How could I not forgive him? I’m in love with this man, and after all, he came home; immediately. All I could do was turn around and reach up to wrap my arms around my husband’s neck and kiss him with burning passion. I could taste the remanence of cognac on his lips and tongue as he picked me up to straddle him and take all ten inches of his heavenly girth.

We made love for a good hour and twenty-seven minutes, yes I glanced over at the clock when we made our way to the bed from the shower. That was more than enough time for me because every minute of it was really, really good. Greyson must have felt a little guilty because he licked and sucked every nook and cranny on my body tonight. He normally doesn’t do all that. I mean he always eats the cookies, but not necessarily the whole cookie jar. He even sucked on my fingers and toes. I had to return the favor. I sucked, and even swallowed, which I only do maybe a few times a year (swallowing that is). I still haven’t completely gotten use to the salty taste and thick consistency of Grey’s sperm. Maybe I never will, or maybe he just needs to drink more water. I don’t know, but I know it’s what he likes; correction “oral service” is something he LOVES; but what man doesn’t? In order to keep the side chicks away, it’s a must for me. I have to be his “lady in the streets, and HIS freak in the sheets,” so I pretend like I absolutely love doing it for him when I do it. What can I say, deserving or not, I’m trying to keep my husband.

In less than an hour and a half, Grey made me explode three times and I managed to pull two massive eruptions out of him. That’s why he’s sleeping so soundly right now. Too bad I can’t have any kids because he or she would have definitely been conceived tonight if the timing were right.

Damn, the last thing I need to do is go to bed with the “baby thing” in my brain. That’s a very sensitive subject for me. Luckily, Greyson doesn’t want to have any children. So that makes me feel a little better, and not like I’m less of a woman, because I may never be able to give him a junior version of himself or a sweet-pie-face princess. However, he did say if he ever changes his mind, we can always look into adopting a little one. But that’s just another detail of my life that I keep to myself. Whenever a co-worker or acquaintance asks, “So when are you and the hubby going to start a family?”, my well-rehearsed response is always, “Not just yet. Grey and I want to travel a little more before we officially put our lives on lock down”. I usually follow it up with a soft chortle, to make it believable. Then I have to fight back the tears.

The truth is, I’m infertile. I can’t have kids. And the reason I can’t have kids is because a trusted family member introduced me to the life of prostitution or escorting when I was a teenager. She would set me up with all kinds of men, including other family members. They would pay her two hundred dollars to have an hour with me, to do whatever they wanted to do, behind closed doors. Most of the time I received half of the money, sometimes a little more, to keep me quiet. I can’t even begin to tell you all that was done to me. I was fingered, choked, spanked, spit on, and brutally fucked in just about every hole, even my navel. It was terrible. I was also on birth control, so half the time the men wouldn’t wear condoms. They’d just cum inside of me. Mind you, these were married men, business men, but most of all, dirty-trifling-grimy men.

Ultimately, all that gross wear and tear on my body led to my being diagnosed with pelvic inflammatory disease, at seventeen years old. It was due to a sexually transmitted infection, that was left untreated for too long. Sadly, it caused permanent damage to my reproductive organs, specifically my uterus and fallopian tubes. Therefore, it would take some sort of strange miracle, not only for me to conceive a child, but also for me to be able to carry him or her, even remotely close to full term.

Needless to say, I’m not volunteering those details up to anybody. I’m very selective in what I share with people, even my closest friend Nicole, my one true friend really, doesn’t know half of the things going on in my life and marriage right now. Also, I’m sure she has no idea how badly I wish I could be a mommy like her, and that I secretly envy her because she is. That’s why I haven’t called her in a while. Still, she does know quite a bit about me, more than anybody in fact, even Greyson.

I’m just a private person I guess, and I may have some trust issues as well; understandably so. But I just feel like the less people know about you, the less opportunity they have to use certain truths against you. I mean, why invite people in where they don’t belong? I certainly don’t want or need any of my not-so-pretty business exposed. It would only make life harder. I’d always feel like I had to explain myself or my life choices to others. And I don’t have time for that. Life is hard enough by itself.

With that said, despite what most might believe, because of the impression I’ve given them, my life is definitely not perfect, nor am I, nor is my husband. And that’s okay, cause we’re going to be okay regardless. I believe that with my whole heart. So, I don’t need any input or second opinions from anyone who isn’t in this bedroom, right here, right now.

Yes, I probably shouldn’t have been so quick to move past Greyson’s little stunt tonight, but guess what? It’s my marriage. He’s my husband. That makes it my business; and just another thing I’ll have to keep to myself, to keep all the gossipy chatter at bay. When it boils down to it, I’ll always find a way to press through whatever life or Greyson sends my way; good or bad. It’s what I’ve always had to do. Therefore, it’s what I’ve always done. No doubt about it, I’m a loving, outgoing, and very vocal teacher when it comes to my students. But to the contrary, I’m a private, discreet, introvert when it comes to my personal life. It is what it is.

Most of all, I just pray that Greyson gets it together and cuts out all the foolishness. I really want us to stay, and be happily married forever. I don’t ever want to see the day where I have to unlove him. That’s something I can’t even imagine. So for now, I guess I’ll have to be content, being his “number one.”