Jemistry had gone on a web site and found all these animated sex positions with the female on top. She had sent me a text with the link and instructed me to “study up on them.” I did and was ready to rock her world . . . gently.
I was not about to go for broke like most men claimed that they did on their wedding nights. It always tripped me out when my friends would brag about how they “tore the pussy up” instead of simply making love. They would share the intimate details and try to outdo each other. It was quite outlandish but not unexpected. Men loved to brag on their dicks, especially to other men.
Once women reached a certain age, or status, it was a great turn-off for a man to brag on his sexual skills. Now if women were feeble-minded and going through a dick drought, it was a different story. Those were the kind of chicks Floyd preyed on.
I was so glad that Jemistry hadn’t told Courtney about Floyd’s wandering eyes, and dick. I had not brought it up to her again—I didn’t want to press my luck—and things were getting back to normal between Floyd and me. I’d forgiven him for not telling me about Jemistry’s pregnancy in the beginning. The main reason being that I was not quite sure what I would have done if the roles had been reversed. As much as I would have liked to think that I would’ve told him, I wasn’t a hundred percent convinced of that.
* * *
Jemistry emerged from the master bathroom of the suite in a lavender satin gown, freshly bathed and smelling like the ocean. I loved the way she played around with using different scents for bathing. She had told me once that she tried to use scents that matched the mood and location, kind of like a florist who makes bouquets based on the occasion. Since we had a suite overlooking the Potomac, and had sailed the Potomac for the reception, I was feeling her flow.
“You look so beautiful,” I told her. I had taken a shower in another bathroom and was only wearing a pair of black pajama pants tied with a string.
She giggled and ran her fingers through her hair in a seductive way. “That makes about the hundredth time you’ve told me that today.”
“It’s the truth.”
I poured us two glasses of sparkling apple cider. Because of the pregnancy, we skipped the champagne.
She walked over to me and I handed her a glass. “For you, Mrs. Harris.”
“I love the sound of that.”
I leaned in for a quick kiss. “Get used to it. It’s your name now.”
“Forever.”
“And a day.”
We clinked our glasses together.
“To us,” we said in unison, entwined our arms, and took long gulps.
Jemistry spilt a little on my chest when we were untangling our arms. “Let me get that,” she said, and then licked the few drops off my chest.
Then she went lower, sitting down on the sofa, and unfastening my pants with her teeth.
She set her glass down on the coffee table, pulled my pants down, grabbed my dick, and said, “Let me get this, too.”
Jemistry had given me some off the chain head since we’d been together. She had never been able to take in all of my mass but she was definitely more into it and more comfortable with it. But I still wasn’t prepared for what came next.
She started humming on the head of my penis, and whispering, “I want to recite something that I wrote for this special occasion.” She held on tight to my dick and looked up at me. “I penned a poem for my dick.”
“A poem?” I chuckled. “Let’s hear it.”
She stared at the head of my dick, at the eye, and started reciting an actual poem. I was blown away—no pun intended.
“I call this ‘Glaze on my Doughnut.’ You are the glaze on my doughnut. The milk to my shake. The shake to my bake. The twinkle in my eye. The blue in my sky. You are the peanut to my butter. The sweet in my dreams. The sprinkle on my sundae. The spring in my step and the jewel on my crown. You are the beat of my heart. The flip to my flop. The—”
I couldn’t hold it in another second. I fell out laughing and took my dick out of her hand. “Baby?”
“Yeah?”
“Um, that shit doesn’t rhyme.”
She laughed and then swatted me on my dick. “Well, you get the point.”
“Yes, you like this dick.”