Love Trips: Pussy
Love Trips: Pussy
She cocked her head back and laughed, showing off a flash of her overbite while painting a picture of being eaten out.
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I’m a jealous person if you give me a reason to be. I may not jump into a yellow cab to stalk your every step as you walk down the block with your boys, but I’ll crawl out of my skin and claw at a woman who threatens my relationship.
Grecia was a threat. And I was the black panther that sensed it the night D and I’s friends and family first comingled. So I pounced when she said “pussy.”
D had invited her to our Sunday Night Football bar outing in Queens. Only he didn’t tell me on the drive over from The Dungeon. We walked into the bar, passing the crowds of patrons as they rooted for their favorite team. We turned the corner and I saw her sitting there from a distance, cozying up to D’s college friends.
“She’s everywhere, she’s always fucking everywhere,” I whispered under my breath.
“What?” asked D.
“Nothing,” I responded. It was of no use to share my disdain for her; D would chuck it up to jealousy. He would never admit to it, but he loved the idea of a jealous girlfriend. One night we stopped at a pizza shop for a delicious NY slice. He parked the car and, while I waited in the passenger seat, I noticed D speaking to a young Asian woman inside. I peered over the hood of the car, my neck stretching to get a closer look from the street.
When D returned to the car, he handed me the pizza box and smirked. “I saw you looking over there, you were jealous,” he teased, his face lit up with glee.
“If I were jealous I would have stormed in there,” I said lightly, laughing it off, “but I don’t have any reason to do that. I trust you.”
I did trust him. D never gave me a reason not to. Until he continued to invite Grecia to every BBQ, every bar hop, every party…every damn thing.
So I saw red when I walked in. With a clenched jaw, I greeted everyone hello, including Grecia. I wanted to sneer at her, growl. But I knew what D would say: you’re just jealous. I didn’t want to look like the crazy girlfriend, the insecure partner that forbids her man from having female friends. Even though I knew better. Even though I knew her intention behind “pussy.”
“Has anyone dated a black man?” one of D’s friends asked. We were engaged in a heated debate regarding interracial dating and why BIPOC women are dating outside their race in record numbers.
“I’ve never dated a black man, but a black man ate my pussy,” Grecia blurted.
She cocked her head back and laughed, showing off a flash of her overbite. And there was D, sitting right beside her, while she painted a picture of being eaten out. I fought the urge to punch her horse teeth back into her mouth.
“You need to stop,” I growled, “that’s so fucking inappropriate.”
“What?” she asked, feigning innocence.
“You’re talking about getting oral sex amongst a group of couples. No one was talking about sex. It’s disrespectful,” I sneered.
“It’s not that serious.” She waved her hand and turned her face away from me.
“I am tired of your shit! I am not the one to fuck with!” I yelled across the table.
“Calm down, Sujeiry,” D said, “why are you getting so angry? It’s not a big deal.”
“It is. She needs to know her place. And you need to stop defending her.”
My face felt hot. I seethed. I lay my hands and pressed my palms on the wooden table in front of me to keep me from leaping across the table and biting her face off.
I didn’t care what it looked like to D’s friends or even to D anymore. They could call me crazy, insecure, and jealous. I knew what she was doing. But it didn’t matter. Because D would always take her side. Because I probably should have been jealous. Because he painted a picture where I was the huntress and she was my prey. Because maybe they were already fucking.