In My Prayers with My Legs Wide Open


NOT an urban christian book…an entertaining tale of sex, marriage and trying to do the right thing.

“LORD, HELP ME. You said before I even say my prayers you will answer. HELP ME!”
I’m standing in the mirror wearing my Sunday best for what I feel is going to be my last time. The tears coming down my face are no longer made of saltwater but of blood. The face that I’ve been so proud of and quick to brag about is now bruised. I should’ve taken my ass straight to church and not to Mr. Dress Shop’s crib. This is one time I needed to pass on getting to know a brotha better…….

I’m sitting in this oversized burgundy sofa chair wearing a black lace corset, crotchless panties, lacey thigh highs, and a pair of hooker shoes from a Halloween costume from years ago. The clothes I wore to meet him are thrown around the hotel room as if a hurricane just hit. I was on my way to my church’s weekly bible study meeting when he sent me a text to come see him tonight. Bible study is always held on Thursdays. For the last few weeks, I haven’t missed once; and I wasn’t planning on missing it tonight. I agreed to this last minute plan and told him I’d see him after nine. Usually when I meet up with a man, I’m already prepared. I’m already dressed in my seductive lingerie and leave straight from my house. Tonight, I had to stop off the freeway to change clothes in a gas station restroom. Good thing I left some of my ‘sexies’ in the trunk of my car from another meet and greet session. I never hook up with someone unless it’s a Friday or Saturday night, but he said this was all he had open for weeks. I didn’t want to pass up on the opportunity of getting to know a brotha better.
Hmm…looking around I have to say this is one of the most stylish hotel rooms I’ve been in recently. It has Asian color palettes with 1940’s inspired cherry wood furniture and floor to ceiling windows. The city light shining through the windows makes the room luminous and gives it a romantic feeling. I guess reading all those damn home decorator magazines taught me a little something. His choice of rendezvous location proves to me that he’s got good taste. Really the fact I’m here proves he has excellent taste. That’s not a conceited statement; I just know I’m the shit! I can tell he took time preparing for my arrival. He’s got a tea light and votive candle on each nightstand and the room is filled with the scent of jasmine. There’s a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon with two wines glasses on the table in the sitting area.
I look into the bathroom and admire his naked body. He stands in front of the Spanish marble sink with his dick rock hard, shaving and singing “PYT.” This man can’t hold a note to save his life but it doesn’t matter. I didn’t come here tonight to hold talent auditions. Hell, if I did, I’m not looking for that kinda talent. He notices me in the mirror staring at him and gives me a smile. A man with a nice smile and big lips is a natural aphrodisiac for me. His smile is what caught my attention in the first place…

It was Monday morning around 7:30. We were both waiting for our orders at the local coffee house. I saw him standing by the table of discounted coffee mugs texting on his cell phone. He looked up at me and there it was…a smile sent down from the Greek gods! I remember feeling a twitch between my legs when he did it. I stood straight and fixed my hair. I wondered if he noticed me foaming at the mouth over the pastries. I was talking myself out of buying a piece of lemon pound cake when he walked up behind me and told me to go ahead and have one. “I’ll treat you,” he said. That was how our conversation started.
I explained to him why I was on a diet and all about how my battle with being overweight had begun in my childhood. He explained to me why he’s always loved big women; he considers them to be sexy. He told me his mother raised him by herself and she was a big woman. I never considered myself to be big but I rolled with it. I didn’t want this to be our first and last conversation. When the guy behind the counter called out “J” we both walked up to grab the coffee cup. We laughed and stood in the way of others trying to get their orders as we exchanged phone numbers. He ended up walking me out to my car. We talked and sipped on our coffee. He told me he works for a marketing firm in their IT department. He does side work designing websites for small black businesses. He has plans of going to Africa for six months to teach a school how to do computer programming. Not only was he sexy but he was smart. I found him to be very interesting and became attracted to his personality as much as I was to his body. The conversation was so good before we knew it we had drank up our coffee and he was late to work…

He turns around to look at me “I hope you like the scent of jasmine? I sprayed a little bit on the bed.”
“Yeah, it smells good.”
I’m rubbing my hand up and down my thighs. Besides trying to look sexy, I’m rubbing trying to remember his name. I always forget names. I never let on to men that I don’t remember. It’s better not to know a brotha’s name then to get names mixed up. There’s nothing worse then calling out the wrong name during an orgasm. I always give men nicknames according to how I met them. My name for him is Mr. Coffee. Of course, I don’t tell the men this. Their nicknames are just for me to know. If people were to look at my cell phone address book it would trip them out. I have names like Mr. Gym Parking Lot, Mr. Grocery Store Bread Aisle, and Mr. Gas Pump. These men don’t matter to me so why should I learn names anyway.
He looks back into the mirror and continues shaving. “Jasmine with JJ, together they stimulate my mind and you’re sure to stimulate my body.”
His comment sounds like some shit said in a Harlequin novel. But his effort to be romantic is cute and I make note of it. It actually reminds me of when I first met my husband Darius. He was so cute. Damn…speaking of my husband I said I wasn’t going to do this again. I told myself the last time I cheated…was the last time, but here I am again and I can’t wait for it! I’m feeling inpatient so I get out of the chair, walk into the bathroom, and stand behind him. He knows I’m up to something because his smile got bigger. I start stroking his dick and kissing him on his back. Mr. Coffee’s feeling me because he can’t stop flashing those pearly whites. I stand in front of him so I can kiss those luscious lips. I have to get on my tippy toes because he stands about 6’4 and I’m only 5’5.
His dark, smooth skin makes my mouth water. He reminds me of the fudge topping I put on my ice cream. I bet he tastes just as good. He’s powerfully built and by the story in his eyes he’s nothing to be played with. I better come with it or he might split me in half. I’ll make sure I take my time and not get him too excited. I don’t want him pulling my hair or smacking my ass too hard. Don’t get me wrong, I like a good freak every now and then, but getting my ass whooped while trying to bust one is not on my To Do list. I wonder if I’m even gonna be able to handle this man. He looks like he’s been in the desert for weeks without water. I know he’s strong so I have to make sure I’m in control. I always have to be in control anyway. I can feel his body tensing up. I need to get him relaxed. Hmm…How can I take his mind where I want it to go? I take the razor out of his hand and place it on the sink. I wipe what’s left of the shaving cream off of his face. I put one of the bath towels over the toilet seat.
“Sit down.” I demand.
“Right here?” he asks.
I push him down on the toilet.
“Yeah, right here!”
I grab the condom from on top of the sink, unwrap it and place it on top of a wash cloth so I can have quick access. I’m not trying to be unprepared. That’s what gets folks caught up. Trying to un-wrap these child proof wrappers is enough to make me say fuck it! But I have too much to lose by not protect myself. ‘Wrap it up’ is my motto. I gained this motto from learning some tough ass life lessons. When I was younger all I cared about was feeling a raw dick. Butt-naked was my motto back then. Now, I know better.
I get on my knees and spread his legs apart. I take the tip of my tongue and run it up and down the shaft of his dick. I suck the head into my mouth then take it out just to tease him. I start stroking it with the palms of both hands. I look up at him, watching as he leans his head back and moans. Now, he’s relaxed. Ooh, his moaning is exciting me! I feel the wetness from my pussy form a stream in between my thighs. I can’t wait to feel him inside of me. I start sucking his dick. The harder I suck the more he moans and the more I get excited! I start sucking so damn good he can’t do nothing but grab for shit in the air that don’t even exist and smile big!
Mr. Coffee knocks over the complimentary toiletries and pulls the towels down from the rack behind his head. His smile is different from a few minutes ago. It’s a smile of exhilaration and of pleasure. I take pride in knowing he’s enjoying himself. It makes me want to please him more. I want to keep going until he cums. Suddenly, he grabs me by the shoulders.
“Get up!’ He demands.
I’m confused.“What?”
“Get up and sit on my dick!”
I quickly grab the condom and put it on him.
He laughs.“You makin’ sure I don’t give you nothin’!”
I respond with sassiness, “You don’t know me and I don’t know you.”
“Well, babe. I hate to tell you but you can catch shit in your mouth!”
I make sure the condom is on good.“Don’t fuck up the moment!”
“Nah, I ain’t doing that one. Do what you do, ma.”
He shows off how strong he is by bending over and putting his hands around my waist. He pulls me up on top of him. I’m no small female, so this move turns me on! I’m riding his dick like he’s a black stallion horse and I’m his jockey. I’m digging into his back with my nails and he’s softly biting me on the neck and sucking my titties.
He yells, “Ride it, babe! Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ bout!”
I love when a man talks to me. Letting me know I’m handling my business. I want to take this to the next level of ecstasy. So, I tighten up my pussy muscles and rotate my waist like a belly dancer. That’s too much for him to take.
“Ah shit, I’m cumin’!” He shouts.
He cums so hard. It’s like a pipe busted! We sit in each other’s arms silent. For a moment, I think about how much he reminds me of my husband Darius, but only for a moment. Feeling his dick throb makes me want some more. I’m ready for round two, but he still wants to sit here. I’m frustrated, so I get up and wash myself off. He’s sitting on the toilet with his eyes closed and rubbing his hands through his thick, beautiful, salt-n-pepper dreads.
I pull him by the arms.“Let’s take this to the bed.”
“That sounds good. I’m ready for a nap.”
A nap! Ah, hell no! I guess I’m gonna have to remind Mr. Coffee that I didn’t get mine and that’s the point of me bringing my ass here. Before I can say anything, he stands up, picks me up and carries me over to the bed. He’s standing over me and his dick is hard again. I look up at him and wet my lips.
“Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ bout!”
Mr. Coffee walks over to his pants and pulls a handful of condoms out of the pocket. “I’m prepared!”
I give out a little laugh. “Damn, I guess so!”
He slowly puts the tip of his dick inside of me. That’s all he puts in at first is the tip. He’s teasing me. “This is pay back for earlier.” He states while showing his beautiful smile.
Before I know it Mr. Coffee starts turning me out. He strokes my pussy in rhythm like he’s on the dance floor. Damn, this man knows what he’s doing! He’s not just the average in and out brotha. He’s making circular motions and moving his waist from side to side. He’s hittin’ the corners of my pussy I forgot I had! Now, I understand how women get caught up stalking men. If they’re putting it down like this all the time, it’s like giving crack heads one hit and then telling ‘em to go away. It’s not gonna happen like that. They’re coming back until they get another hit. Shit, I knew he was going to be good but I didn’t know this damn good! It’s so good I lost count of how many times we came. All I know is there’s a sea of condoms on the floor.
“You gonna pick those up?” I ask him laughing.
He pulls out another condom.
“Right after I hit it again.”
“Ooh, go ahead and make me a crack FEN!”
“What was that babe?”
“Nothing, do what you do!”
I wake up to find Mr. Coffee is gone. The bottle of wine is still sitting there and a cart with breakfast and a white carnation. I find a note is on the table in the middle of the room. I get up and stumble over. My legs are still weak from last night. It’s been a long time since a man has made my legs weak. I’m looking at what’s on the cart trying to see if there’s anything good. It was nice of him to make sure I ate. That must be part of his liking big girls—keep ‘em big! Let me stop. How sweet. The note is sitting on a piece of lemon pound cake. Huh, I might have to remember his name. I pour myself a cup of coffee and read the note written on the hotel stationery.
Hey Jasmine,
I enjoyed last night. If we were not already married, I’d ask you to be my wife. That’s how good it was! Holla atcha later!
Big J
Hmm…now he’s gone to far with shit! Dude reminds me a lot of my husband but not that much to be my husband! Hell, I can’t see myself married to nobody but Darius; but because his dick was so damn good, I’m gonna have a hard time shaking thoughts of this brotha. He made my legs shake! Let me get my mind right. Mr. Coffee was just another piece for me. I can’t be catching feelings for a man just because he laid the pipe right. I throw the note in a wastebasket and grab a piece of toast. I take a bite. It’s hard and dry as hell with no damn butter!
“Must be white folks cookin’ in this hotel!”
I throw the toast down and finish up my coffee. I walk into the bathroom and start running the shower. I stand in the mirror. “Damn, what’s wrong with you? Look at yourself Jasmine James-Brooks!”
I’ve always had this fear of losing who I was once I got married; even though, I wasn’t exactly sure who I was. So when I finally did jump the broom, I thought it was a good idea to hyphenate my last name. The idea of no longer being referred to as ‘JJ’ wasn’t working for me. My dumb ass didn’t know marrying somebody wasn’t going to change what people have been calling me for years. JJ is my nickname from childhood and hearing it helps me keep it real. Just because I’m livin’ the good life doesn’t mean I have to change. Even if I wanted to I couldn’t, regardless of what name I carry around. The scars and beauty marks of my past are what made me. Not a name.
Hell, it’s easy to drop off a brotha’s last name but hard to get rid of them bastards. Right now I’m not trippin’ ‘bout that. My life with Darius is sweet. We have our ups and downs but we’re good for each other. He shows me how folks with money live and I show him how to BYOB at a garden party. Ha ha, for those of you who don’t know, a garden party is what rich white folks call a BBQ! Sometimes I forget I don’t have to be ghetto about everything I do. Yeah, I’m not the best person in the world, but I’m not the worst either. Darius is not perfect. He has his little evil ways. But one thing I do know, he’d never put a hand on me or try to hurt me in any other way. Yeah, I make mistakes but the Lord always forgives me and so does Darius.
The Lord already knows I’m hardheaded. I try to fix my wrongs by giving more then ten percent in tithes. I show up early to church for Sunday school and help clean up after service. I don’t know what else I should be doing. I’m a good person, but I’m still young. Only old folks close to dying worry about their walk with God. At least I’m working on my walk with Him now and not waiting until I’m on my death bed. I still have time to get it right. I’m only thirty-eight years old.
I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do when I grow up. Darius is very supportive of me. He’s put me in different courses and certificate programs over the years. I’ve never finished any of them because in the middle I found out I didn’t like none of them. My husband doesn’t get upset. He makes real good money, so it’s not as if he’s trying to get me a job. When I’m not in class, I end up having too much time on my hands. I try to keep myself occupied with activities while my husband is gone on business trips; but the PTA isn’t as exciting as forbidden sex in a five star hotel on a Friday night. I try to go to the gym a couple of times a month. All that does is give me more opportunities to meet other men. I get on a couple of machines and work up a sweat, but I have a short attention span. I end up standing by the water fountain collecting phone numbers. I use to be self-conscious about the scar on my neck and my kangaroo pouch stomach. I would go to the gym all covered up in sweats. Once I started reflecting on the things my grandma use to teach me and realized how fine in the face I am and that I have a stop traffic ass and thighs. Huh, nobody could tell me shit! Hell, I’m too damn fine for men to pass me by. They can’t help but want to try and hit this at least once. So I don’t have to explain how the gym is not the best place for me to go.
And I don’t like hanging with a bunch of females, so girl’s night out is not happening. Shit, I’m no longer a girl; I’m a grown ass woman. I don’t have time to play on the playground. Anyway, females are too busy being in your business or trying to be in the bed with your man. I only have one close friend and she knows a lot of dirt on me. I never trip about her telling it, because her dirt is mud. There’s a reason for only having one close friend. The fewer witnesses I have, the better.
I’ve also tried doing volunteer work for different shelters but even that doesn’t keep me from feeling lonely for a man’s touch. My husband doesn’t go on these trips often. He’s not gone for weeks at a time. At the most, he’s away from home four days; but those four days are so long, I can’t stand it. I thank the Lord I’m not married to a military man. They’re away from home too much. I have to get mine on the regular. I’d completely lose my mind if I had to wait for six months or longer. Then again, I wouldn’t wait. I’d be doing the same thing I’m doing right now—taking care of getting me some dick. You see, my sexual desires overtake me on a daily. Having sex for me is just like eating breakfast everyday. I need it to get me going and it’s the most important meal of the day. Look, I’m trying to fight these desires; but, so far, I’m losing the battle.
When I was a teenager, my grandma warned me, “JJ, baby, when you hit your mid-thirties, you gonna get excited by looking at the shape of a lamp post!”
My grandma swore there was some crazy sexual curse put on all the women in our family. Supposedly it hits us when we reach our thirties. I use to laugh it off because she was known for her exaggeration. I’m sure if she was around today, she’d have some new crazy ass story to tell.
I wish grandma was around. I need someone to talk to about what’s been going on with me. I’m having this uninvited battle between doing right and wrong. Between loving the man God has given me and not loving him. I want to be faithful; and, then again, I don’t. I’m sure it has something to do with me going to church and studying the bible. That’s why I waited so many years to start going to church faithfully. Don’t trip, I went to church growing up but nothing ever stuck. That’s because I never wanted to have a conscious. Now that I’m getting one, everything looks and feels different. Being sexually promiscuous or, in layman’s terms, a ho is starting to bother me, but I have this thing about fucking other man that excites me and I can’t control it.
Don’t get it twisted. My husband is a real good man. They’re hard to find these days. He’s also a good lover. Nobody can kiss me the way he does. Matter of fact, nobody can lick the kitty the way he does. When he’s home, he definitely takes care of business. I love the hell outta my husband. I love who he is and what he stands for. The truth is, besides the Lord, my husband is the only other reason I keep it pushing everyday. Darius came into my life and brought stability and a comfortable lifestyle.
I know you’re wondering why I just fucked Mr. Coffee if my life is so sweet with my husband. Hell, I don’t know! Maybe you can tell me what’s going on. Yeah, I’ve heard it all before from my girl about how my husband must not be fulfilling my needs. Yeah, I’ve watched Oprah, Montel, and even sat through ten minutes of Dr. Phil. What is the problem? None of these shows helped me to find out why I cheat on such a good man. I know I should find a way to figure this out, but I’ll be damned if I go talk to some psychiatrist or therapist who don’t know shit about us and tell all my business. I’m gonna have to do what my pastor always says and take it to the Lord.

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