All the Things I Should Have Known, page 2
So, Twila was no longer in the singles’ ministry.
“Well,” Golden Bronze said, “it depends on what you like. Do you want clitoral stimulation or penetration?”
Twila swallowed hard and looked around to see who’d heard Golden Bronze. He was talking too loud about what her vagina wanted. Right now, what she wanted was to turn on one heel and run. She should’ve brought Kimberly with her, because she’d know how to answer these questions without falling apart.
“I . . . um . . . guess I don’t have a preference.”
Twila wasn’t a virgin, but for as many options as she had, her body count was pretty low. She could count the men she’d been with on one hand, and the ones who were decent lovers on two fingers. She had no idea what women meant when they said the words mind-blowing sex. But she wanted to know.
“Let me show you some that can give you both sensations.”
“Okay . . .”
Golden Bronze led Twila to a wall of fake penises, some in pastel colors, some in flesh tones. Some had beads, some had little appendages with butterflies on the ends. Twila blinked, and then blinked some more. The flight part of her fight-or-flight reflex was about to kick in. Didn’t they have any female workers at this store? Would Golden Bronze think she wanted him if she picked the jelly penis that was the same color as his skin?
Golden Bronze took one of the penises from the wall. She wondered if this challenged his masculinity at all—handling fake penises. Maybe he was gay and was used to handling them. Oh, my goodness, I’m lusting after a gay man.
“This one,” Golden Bronze explained, “is self-thrusting and has a clitoral stimulator as well. It has eight thrusting speeds and ten vibrating settings. It will give you a mind-blowing orgasm.”
“It will?”
“I’ve used one on my girlfriend. She loved it.”
Twila relaxed. Thank God her gaydar wasn’t broken. She needed that in Atlanta.
“Well, okay. I’ll take that one, in umm . . . dark brown. How much is it?”
“This one is on sale today. It’s one hundred twenty-nine dollars.”
“What? Over a hundred dollars for a fake jelly penis?”
Golden Bronze doubled over from laughing, but Twila was serious.
“I mean, I’m going to Saint Lucia. That’s probably someone’s income for the month. Shoot, I could probably buy some real penis for the whole weekend.”
“You probably could. But Mr. Fake Jelly won’t get you pregnant or give you a disease you can’t give back.”
Twila snatched the package from Golden Bronze. “Just gimme this. Thank you.”
Still laughing, Golden Bronze led Twila to the register, where they also talked her into buying lubricant (did she look like she had sandpaper vag?) and toy cleaner. The employees acted like there was nothing to be embarrassed about, but then they sold jelly penises all day long.
“We put two packs of batteries in there for you,” Golden Bronze said. “I don’t want you to run out while you’re on vacation.”
“Thanks,” Twila said as she grabbed the bag off the counter.
She couldn’t get out of that store fast enough, but since this weekend was all about getting her relax on, she’d trust Golden Bronze that this little (kinda large) battery-operated boyfriend was going to blow her mind.
She wondered if it was waterproof. ’Cause Mr. Fake Jelly was about to get all this ocean action.
Chapter 3
Kimberly glanced at the clock in her bedroom and felt a tiny bit anxious. Three hours until her flight to Saint Lucia with Twila and Hahna, but she wasn’t done packing. They’d picked a late afternoon flight, so traffic wouldn’t be an issue, but she still only had about twenty minutes left to decide.
To swimsuit or not to swimsuit.
She liked the idea of walking out onto the beach and straight into the crystal-blue waters of the Caribbean Sea, with her ample cleavage and juicy buttocks getting all the sunshine they could stand. But she also felt a little self-conscious when she pranced on the beach beside her tiny friends. No. They pranced. She jiggled.
Kimberly sighed and took her Torrid swimsuits from her dresser drawer and stuffed them in her luggage along with her cover-ups. If she didn’t bring swim attire, Twila and Hahna, with their body-positive selves, would just force her to find one on the island that inevitably wouldn’t fit properly. Because for some reason island gift stores thought one-size-fits-all included two hundred fifty pounds of black girl magic.
Every year for the past five years, Kimberly had promised herself that she’d lose weight for their girls’ trip. Every year they chose some beachfront location. What about Paris? London? Ain’t no beach in London. And it never failed, that she hated the pictures that Twila and Hahna posted on social media. The comments were always sweet.
You go, girl!
You wearing that swimsuit!
But Kimberly just wanted, for once, to have small arms, a flat stomach, and thighs that didn’t rub together until her skin chafed. Was that too much to ask?
And she hated to share anything about her weight-loss journey with anyone. Even the other big girls were split. Some said she should love her body. Others were where she was—on the diet roller coaster and having either a win or a loss. And the ones who’d actually done the work and had the after picture where they looked oh-mazing, she hated them the most. They made her feel guilty about her laziness and lack of discipline.
The thin girls, like Twila and Hahna, were even worse than the pre- and post-big girls. They mostly didn’t know what to say about weight loss, and they didn’t understand the struggle. And when they started to apologize for the insane amount of food they consumed while she ate chicken Caesar salad at every meal—Kimberly didn’t feel body positive at all. It reminded her that she was almost allergic to all of the foods that she loved. She couldn’t eat a plate of lasagna and not gain seventy-eight pounds. She couldn’t have a glass of wine without throwing herself out of ketosis. Because, yeah, ketosis was where you had to be to lose weight on a no-carb diet, else you were depriving yourself of food for no reason.
Kimberly hated that she was an expert on weight loss, but still fat.
The f-word. She was fat, although nobody wanted to say that either. Now she was plus-sized, fluffy, big and beautiful, and one of the ladies at the office had called her robust. Ro-freaking-bust. Kimberly hadn’t even known how to take that. If the woman wasn’t one of the partners at her law firm, she probably would’ve cussed her out for that. Robust.
Outside of the stresses of beach attire, Kimberly was looking forward to this trip. She needed this trip. Her work crush, Jason, had flirted with her incessantly for two years, but never once asked her out on a date. At least she thought he was flirting. But maybe he wasn’t, because a week ago, he’d announced his engagement—to the office intern. They were having a Memorial Day wedding, and everyone was invited. The intern was twenty-three years old, and he was forty-seven. He was taking a child bride. Probably wanted to have a bunch of kids with his exposed-to-the-elements, probably radioactive sperm.
To make matters worse, Jason had whispered to Kimberly on his way out of the office. There’s still enough of me to go around. She’s a pony. I might need a thoroughbred.
Thoroughbred. As in a big, grown-ass horse? That was worse than robust.
Then, on top of everything else, Kimberly was working the hell out of her side hustle. Her natural hair care products had gone viral after she’d got all her naturalista sorority sisters to model their hair regimens on social media. But the side hustle, along with her ridiculous main hustle workload, was too much some days—most days.
Anyway, Kimberly needed some peace. She wanted a full body scrub with something that smelled like coconut, sunshine, and better days ahead. She wanted cocktails that made her forget caloric content, ketosis, and grown-ass horse references. She needed to hear Twila and Hahna’s struggles, so that she knew she wasn’t alone.
That’s what their spa weekends were for—pure, gently intoxicated bliss. And Kimberly was here for it. She just hoped that next year, they would find a good spa location in Denver, Colorado.
No beaches in Denver.
Chapter 4
Hahna inhaled the island air, a mix of ocean and lush green vegetation, as the bellhop drove her, Twila, and Kimberly to their over-the-water bungalows in an oversized golf cart. The check-in process had been easy, just like their flights. Easy, breezy was going to be the theme for this trip. Because that’s what she needed. Drama need not knock on her bungalow door.
“You ladies are here alone?” the bellhop asked.
“We’re here with each other,” Kimberly said.
“Ohhhhhhhh. . . .” the bellhop said. “Well, my name is Peter. Anything you need, and I do mean anything, please make sure that you ask for me.”
The way Peter wiggled his eyebrows and his pelvis let Hahna know that his “anything” included sexual favors. She rolled her eyes and continued to gaze out at the landscape. Why were men always offering unrequested sex?
“You think we’re down here to get our groove back?” Twila asked.
“Aren’t you?”
“My groove is just fine and in one piece,” Kimberly said.
“Well, speak for yourself,” Twila said. “I might just call you, Peter. Depends on what you’re working with.”
“I am working with a lot. You’ve never seen this much work.”
“I’m sure I have, Peter. All you men think your junk is the greatest, and there’s always better.”
“One man’s junk is a bad girl’s pleasure,” Peter replied, except he said girl like gyal with an island twang.
“Boy, you talk a good game, you better be ready.”
“You talk big, big too, and you’re such a little one. I may want to try your friend. The quiet one in the back. She’s got more for me to hold on to.”
Peter winked at Kimberly in the rearview mirror, and she promptly blushed and looked away. Hahna giggled, and felt a fun mood settle right in her spirit.
“I’m not here for your junk,” Kimberly said. “I’m here to relax.”
Peter was right about Twila, though. She was a little one. She was barely over five feet tall and needed a fine tailor to fill out a size zero waistline. But then she always needed that tailor to let out the hip area, because her waist-to-booty ratio was unreal. Size below zero waist and size eight hips and booty. Most men looked at her like an amusement park ride they had to try out.
“How you just gone be offering it to everybody in this little golf cart?” Twila asked. “You just messed up your chances with me, big fella.”
“Oh, no,” Peter said with fake sorrow that made Hahna burst into laughter. “There’s plenty of Peter to go around.”
“Boy, if you don’t get us to our finely appointed lodgings, there will be hell to pay,” Twila said. “I need a cocktail.”
Up over the next hill, the path finally opened to a road that went down the center of the beach. The over-the-water bungalows were Twila’s idea. She wanted to see fish swimming under her feet. Hahna kept thinking about the open ocean floor beneath her and got a little nervous about sleeping on top of it.
The bungalows were beautiful, though, and not very far from the shore. The narrow road was built right over the water, with the bungalows connected like little branches from a tree trunk. The drive in the golf cart was a bit unnerving since it was dark outside.
“Which one is ours?” Twila asked.
“The big one on the left,” Peter said. “Two bedrooms, one master and one single king size.”
“I call dibs on the single,” Twila said.
Hahna glanced at Kimberly and smiled. Twila never had to call dibs on the single room. No one wanted to share with her. She liked to walk around in her naked glory, randomly clapping her behind, and she snored. Plus, she took all day in the bathroom. Anytime there was a room-sharing situation, Hahna and Kimberly were always together, ever since the three of them had met in college.
Peter pulled the golf cart right onto the little narrow piece of road that led to the cottage. He jumped out and opened the golf cart doors and then went to remove their luggage from the back. Hahna and Kimberly had both packed sensibly—one bag apiece. Twila was extra, and extra came with more baggage.
Inside the cottage, Hahna and Kimberly walked straight into the huge master bedroom while they waited for Peter to bring in the luggage. One of the walls was a giant sliding glass patio door with a view of the water. The floor wasn’t entirely glass, but there were lights built into the window frame, showing Kimberly the fish swimming below.
The large king-sized bed, with what seemed like a dozen or more pillows, was a bed for lovers. For a brief second Hahna wished that she was here with the love of her life instead of her girlfriends. Not that she’d ever had the love of her life. She was waiting to feel that swept-away feeling that women gushed about, where they couldn’t eat, sleep, or breathe without thinking about their man. She’d had relationships and situations that were almost relationships—situationships—but she’d never been swept away.
Hahna had pretty much convinced herself that these women were faking that nonsense. They were ignoring some tragic flaw that their man had. He might be chocolate with abs like a god and a six-figure income, but something was broken. They just weren’t sharing it with everyone else. Perpetuating a fraud all over their social media pages. And then they were quieter than a toddler in ajar of Vaseline when their fraudulent loves went awry.
Hahna had never met a man who didn’t know how to take the wind out of her sails instead of blowing her away.
“This room is incredible, right?” Kimberly asked, snatching Hahna out of her negative spiral of thoughts. She was glad to be interrupted too, because the fun spirit that had settled earlier scurried right away when she thought about relationships.
“It is. I can’t wait until the morning so we can go to the beach. You brought swimsuits, right?”
Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Yes, I brought swimsuits. We’re on an island. Duh.”
“Okay. You can say ‘duh’ all you want, but I know you.”
“You think you do, but you don’t. I even packed a two-piece.”
“Shut your mouth, you body-positive heffa! That’s what I’m talking about.”
Kimberly gave Hahna a blank facial expression. Hahna bit her bottom lip. Maybe she was being too over-the-top with her excitement, because Kimberly was never excited about a swimsuit. The fact that she’d brought one without weeks of cajoling was epic.
“Yes. I’d like to go snorkeling out on the coral reef. We’ll have to take a boat out there and jump off.”
Hahna nodded her approval. “Look at you, being a daredevil.”
“I thought it would be fun.”
That’s different for you, but I’m down. I don’t know if Ms. Thousand Dollar Sew In is going to . . .”
“You hoes in here talking about me?” Twila asked as she burst into their room, her sundress billowing behind her like she had a wind machine prepped for her entrance.
“No, we were just saying your weave probably wasn’t going to be submerged in the ocean.”
“First of all, I got this weave for the ocean. It can get wet. And second, I tried to give Peter a tip . . .”
“Peter tried to give you the tip,” Hahna said through a muffled giggle.
“You nasty. Anyway, I tried to tip him, and he wouldn’t take it. He said, no tips allowed here. I did good when I picked this resort. The bar is stocked, the damn ocean is under my feet, and there are on-site spa services. I’m ’bout to get my life.”
“I wanna see your room,” Hahna said.
Hahna, Twila, and Kimberly all left the master bedroom for Twila’s private accommodations. Her room was equally stunning, with the same sliding door and glass floor.
“This is incredible,” Kimberly said.
Hahna narrowed her eyes and looked around the room. “Do y’all hear that humming sound?”
“Is it wildlife?” Twila asked. “I don’t do wildlife. Not crickets, not lizards . . .”
“Not snakes,” Kimberly added.
Twila jumped on the bed. “Definitely not snakes. Where have I brought us? I thought it was safe here. Did one of the sea creatures get inside? I don’t want to be shark food.”
“Be quiet, so I can hear where it’s coming from,” Hahna said.
She concentrated for a moment, and then walked in the direction of Twila’s bags.
“I think it’s coming from your big suitcase. Some bug or lizard probably got on it when we were outside.”
Twila shrieked. “Get it! Whatever it is, kill it!”
“I’m not gonna kill it,” Hahna said. “I’m going to take it outside. It didn’t get on your stuff on purpose. It was probably an accident.”
“Yo’ old Bug’s Life ass better get it out of here,” Twila said. The words were loud, but there was a quiver in her tone.
As Hahna got closer to the bags, the humming noise seemed to be coming from inside the bag and not outside. It was muffled a bit.
“I think it got in your bag somehow.”
“Oh, my God, there’s a lizard in my Chanel? Please don’t let it lay eggs.”
Kimberly was done. Fell out laughing right on the floor next to the bed. Hahna hollered, too, because Twila was dead serious.
Hahna figured out which bag it was coming from and slowly lowered the zipper. She didn’t want anything jumping out at her out of surprise.
“Oh, my goodness,” Hahna said as she grabbed the lizard. It was more like a snake, though. “What the hell is this?”
Before Kimberly could scramble to her feet, Twila lunged from the bed over to Hahna. Hahna, however, waved her findings in the air.
“Give me that!” Twila yelled.
Kimberly’s jaw dropped when she saw the buzzing creature. It was Twila’s gigantic vibrating thingamajig.
“I knew I should’ve left it in the damn package,” Twila said as she hastily pressed the OFF button.
“Ewww. . .” Kimberly said.
