Three
THREE
Trinidad
M y last call with my client took everything out of me. The company had hired me to plan their incentive trip to Mexico, and what started with a million-dollar budget for three hundred top sellers had become a $500K trip for five hundred top sellers. If I’d known they’d slash the budget, I wouldn’t have taken the contract. At this point in my life, multitasking was my middle, last, and married name, but there was no need to be on the struggle bus while doing it.
Frustrated, I left my living room and working area and went to my bedroom. My hormones were my other enemy today. Since I woke up, I could not for the life of me calm my horniness down. I’d done two rounds with my rose, and still, I could go all day.
My phone calendar reminded me it was ovulation week.
Great.
The moment I hit thirty, I thought something was wrong. I still remember feeling slightly feral in the libido department. But I was not ready for what happened at thirty-five. Honestly, I now understood castration belts more than ever.
Not even getting it on the regular with Milton helped. His libido didn’t always match mine, and he joked around that I needed a young guy to date on the days I wasn’t with him. I never laughed at those jokes because I wasn’t trying to date him casually, and I didn’t want to encourage those thoughts. And two, there was this young guy in my life right now that made my hormones react even more unhinged than usual. Probably why I was about to change my underwear for the third time in a day.
Because I was going to see Orlando Wiggins.
In need of distraction, I called Miranda, my voice of…reason.
“Miranda, I’m dying. Girl, I need a medicine that lowers this shit because why am I always in heat now?”
“Well, good afternoon to you too, darlin’. School was lovely today. Only two of my kids cheated on their math test, so I’m gonna take that as a win. Also, I have no tutoring this afternoon, so I’m already leaving this place.”
“Oh damn, I was gonna ask if you could drop off the after their mentor session twins. They are about to be home ’cause you know them and food…but after that they were gonna go to the school’s basketball court to meet with…him. I was hoping you were finishing tutoring around the same time they were done.”
“You can’t even say that man’s name.”
“He’s not a man, he is a boy.”
“Beg to differ, but listen, I have no time for the back and forth; I have a date tonight, so it sucks to be you and your hormones.”
“I truly can’t stand you, girl.”
“You a whole lie.” Miranda laughed as I heard her jingling keys. “Were you really not gonna pick up the twins? This is the highlight of your week, girl. If you don’t go, what material will you use for your shower sessions next week?”
“I should have never told you that. And that is not what I fantasize about, okay? I think of my man only.”
“Girl…that man is your man and every other women’s man. You need an upgrade.”
Not wanting to argue with Miranda, I changed the subject, and by the time the twins walked into the apartment, my belly hurt from so much laughing.
“Ma, what’s so funny?” Brian asked, walking straight to the kitchen and opening my pot of rice.
“Well hola, mi cielo, how are you?” The urge to roll my eyes at how inconsequential I had become lately to these two boys, the flesh of my flesh, was tempting, but I refrained.
After all, I was their example. The only one they had for a while because their father was barely around when they needed him. They needed constant guidance and love, mentorship, and someone to talk to on how to be a Black man and Latino in this country, and I couldn’t give them that.
My parents, may they rest in peace, had been such a good example for them and for me of how a family should be. But now they were gone, and I was doing this all by myself. And with these men out here trying to date and hit it only, I didn’t bring men to the apartment. Milton was the only one I had introduced to the twins, and they had a lukewarm understanding at best. Desperate to give them what they needed, I signed them up for a mentorship program at school for young Black men, and that is how Orlando Wiggins came into our lives.
“I’m alright, Ma, but we gotta eat and hit the road again to meet Orlando on time. He told us not to keep him waiting, and we don’t wanna do that,” Brian said as Brandon approached our sitting area and bent to give me a kiss on the cheek.
“Hola, Ma, tas bien? How was work today?”
“Hola, mi Brandon. And yes, I did cook you arroz con pollo. So no need for all the buttering up.”
“Thanks, Mommy,” Brandon singsonged, and Brian laughed from the kitchen island.
“One, sit down to eat and get a plate! How often do I have to ask you not to eat from the paila?” You would think they were wolf cubs eating straight from the pot. Brandon pulled two plates, and soon they were both sitting atour dining room table, eating with their phones out.
“I’m gonna take a shower; please lock when you leave, alright?”
Grunts were the only answer, so I knew I was again relegated to the back of their minds. My sons loved me and protected me at all costs, but attention to detail wasn’t their strong suit. And that was okay.
With thoughts of Orlando Wiggins, I went to take my shower. This was the place where magic happened. I had planned PTA meetings, major concerts, and a couple of executive meetings for CEOs you usually see on TV in this shower. This is where I did my best thinking. And my filthiest too.
Demarquis III waited for me, looking all innocent with its dark brown veins attached to my shower wall. The shower’s steam rose quickly as I removed my T-shirt and sweatpants and hopped inside the tiled area. The fact that Demarquis was a very similar color to Orlando’s smooth, dark skin was a coincidence that would not be further explored.
My lavender steam bag scented the air with calming vibes, but nothing calmed the throbbing between my legs, not the water or anything else, as I remembered last Friday when I saw Orlando.
He’d come out smiling while talking to Brian and Brandon. His clear interest in what they had to say was alluring. He wore that fitted that went with him everywhere and a baggy T-shirt and jeans.
Honestly, the kid was a bit scrawny, not enough meat on the bones as I liked my men, but there was something about how he carried himself… His head held high, knowing that many people wished people like him, like us, didn’t carry themselves with so much pride. His shoulders were wide, and he seemed capable of carrying…heavy things. The veins on his arms were exposed under his sleeves, suggesting there was some definition hidden under the shirt. And his stride .
Whatever meat did not go on the bones went elsewhere, which was noticeable by his walk. I was ashamed to even think of the dreams I’d had, figuring out if I was right about my theory or not. Honestly, the fact that I was lusting after a man ten years my junior was something that caused me shame every Friday.
But every Friday, I took a shower, made sure I smelled real good, put on a cute dress or top, and made my way to the school to pick up Brian and Brandon. I thought I had left my harlot behavior behind, but Orlando had a way of reminding me of my old days.
There was no need for lubrication, but I still squirted some on because of comfort. I pushed my ass back, and Demarquis, the third, stepped up to bat. The slide-in was smooth, and I threw my behind back over and over, enjoying the fullness and rightness of the size.
“Oh yes… .” The urge to say a name—and it wasn’t Milton— tried to escape, but I refrained from it. This wouldn’t take long. The water cascaded over my chest and breasts, making my nipples stand in attention. Demarquis and I clearly had a good thing going on, and soon, my bottom lip was bruised by all the biting.
So close to my fourth orgasm of the day, Orlando materialized behind me, the right-but-latex feel to Demarquis transforming into warm, hard flesh.
“Right there, right, there…” My fingers did the dance of their ancestors, exactly enough to make my legs shake.
“So close…”
“Ma!” I jumped off Demarquis the III so hard the suction gave up, and the dildo splashed on the shower floor. My heart was right next to it, still beating a million beats per hour.
“Yes, Brian, what is it?”
I must not want to murder my children. I must not want to murder my children.
“Oh, nothin’, just letting you know we leaving. See you in an hour and a half!”
“See you, boys.”
And see you soon, Orlando Wiggins.
* * *
You think you’re used to something, that you know a routine down pat, that you plan events and execute them with your eyes closed, that you got this .
But today I didn’t have it. All poise deserted me while I waited in my car and pulled up to the sidewalk by the basketball court entrance. Orlando walked out with the twins, and the three of them were shirtless. It was getting much warmer, so it made sense. They’d been playing for a good hour and some. But I wasn’t ready for Orlando.
First, tattoos. Tattoos everywhere. They were well hidden. But they were there. One on his chest, another on his upper left arm, and one on his inner upper right arm. Another one on his right side. It was still too far to admire their intricacies, but they were sexy, and I didn’t want to know that.
The other thing I wasn’t used to was the definition. Yes, Orlando was lean. Yes, Orlando was cut. Yes, Orlando was strong. Yes, Orlando. And then he clapped Brian’s shoulder and from where I sat in the car, I could see his plump lips moving. “ I’m proud of you .”
Oops. Fifth orgasm…here we come.
Scrambling out of my car took me seconds. Maybe standing, I wouldn’t feel all the sensations between my legs and in my chest. And why my chest? What was happening? This was a kid; he just graduated from college. He was twenty-five years old and carefree. He had no responsibilities in life. He had a cute little animation job or whatever and was probably successful, but still, a kid.
Good, this was working. Things calmed down south, and when Orlando flashed that cute smile of his, I was ready for it.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Velasquez; you doing fine?”
Not as fine as you.
He is twenty-five!!
“I’m alright, how’re you, son? Good to see you today.”
Orlando grimaced, the expression disappearing like a single drop in a pool of water. Trying to hide it, he played with the diamond stud with his index and thumb, rolling the jewelry over and over, and a twinge of regret hit me in my stomach.
“Come on, Ms. V. I’ve asked you not to call me son, please. You’re not that old.”
Touché, Orlando.
“You’re right. I’m not that old; it’s you that is a little younger and untried. But you’re correct; I should respect your wishes. It’s good to see you, hope you have a wonderful weekend. Alright?”
“Oh, he will, he going to that new club that recently opened closer to Dad’s apartment? Everybody talking about it.”
“People still go to clubs?” I asked. I was sure I’d read an article lately about how clubs were closing left and right because the new generation didn’t like going out to dance anymore. Shame on them—if I was young…well, I did all the things when I was young after I divorced, but still. Sometimes it felt like I was missing some shenanigans, but that was just young Trinidad trying to pop out from where I buried her when I decided to grow the fuck up and fix my romantic life.
“I mean it’s not a club…” Orlando flashed an annoyed glance at Brandon, and for a second, they looked more like older and younger brothers than mentor and mentee.
Oh God, and I tried to come on a dildo thinking of this man-child. Help.
“It’s a bar. A Caribbean bar, they hosting a fete.”
Now fetes I knew, but respectable women like me should not be going out to wuk on no man or woman. So, I didn’t partake in them anymore. But damn, did my waistline and hips try to remind me of how much I loved going out whenever one of my favorite soca songs would come up on my random playlists.
“Oh, I remember my younger days, when I used to—”
“Ma, Orlando ain’t care about you being mad loose when you were younger. Come on now.”
“Who said I was loose? Más respeto!” I gave him The Stare.
Brian must have a death wish right now ’cause he didn’t just expose my business in front of this man-child.
Said man-child’s eyes shined with an interest I had noticed sometimes in the past and had gotten real good at ignoring.
“You’re right, Ma, my apologies—that was out of bounds. We believe in women’s empowerment and the right to be as sexual or not sexual as they like to be, always respecting their boundaries with consent.”
My mouth dropped open, and Orlando’s, Brian’s, and Brandon’s faces transformed into pure panic.
“Awwww, that was lovely, mi cielo. You really have been listening to my advice, haven’t you?” The light in my chest shined so bright it blinded the entire block.
“Well yeah, but this particular thing, not you, but Orlando taught us that. He tells us a lot about how to be a cis, heterosexual, responsible man,” Brian said with that awkward, embarrassed-but-proud posture boys did when secretly pleased with what their parents had to say.
“Yeah, he’s also teaching us how to talk to you and Dad and, y’know, our elders.”
An elder.
I mouthed, “An elder?” And glared at Orlando, who had the decency to cringe and mouth back, “Sorry.”
Whew, this had been a whole journey. I was glad Orlando was instilling the right values in the boys. It filled me with admiration and reluctant acknowledgment that he was a man.
Who was I kidding—I always reacted to him as a man, but I tricked myself over and over into seeing him younger. I didn’t have time to train no young man in how to make love, nor did I have the patience for waiting for him to mature past his twenty-five years, which in woman years were really twenty. I needed to keep myself contained, so anytime I felt desire, I clung to these stereotypes, because what else did I have?
There were boys twice his age who did not understand the very easy concept of women’s agency and their sexuality, but here he was, fully comprehending it in his midtwenties. But still I was certain his maturity levels were severely lacking in other areas to take a ride on my amusement park so he would always remain a cute fantasy only.
Yup, there it was, these were the facts that helped me from pouncing on him every time he proved me wrong.
“Boys, why don’t you go put your shirts on inside the school and wash your faces, at least, before we head out?” For once Brian and Brandon listened without a Jeopard y round of whys, whats, and wheres. They both waltzed away, their lanky limbs longer than the rest of their bodies, giving them that youthful endearing look of their teenage years.
Once my “mom antenna” recorded that the twins were inside the school, my gaze focused on smooth dark brown skin glazed by perspiration. Nothing else was relevant but the torso and limbs that were in perfect grown-man proportion. No lanky arms and legs here. No, this was a grown-ass man.
My focus zeroed on Orlando, the only man that made my body do things I didn’t need it to do.
Tranquilo, Bobby, tranquilo.
Not even our patron saint, Juan Luis Guerra of the bachata hits, could encapsulate the conundrum that erupted whenever Orlando and I were on our own. I made sure it didn’t happen often, but the twins had been struggling with math, and Orlando had promised to help.
I had been skeptical at first, but soon the twins started focusing on homework and some of their difficulties working on their math. They started advocating for themselves in a way I had not been able to fully get across to them.
Speaking of the boys critically wasn’t something I did in front of them. They might think they were grown, but their egos were as delicate as Fabergé eggs and I couldn’t mess with that. So with great reluctance, I started setting aside time to speak with Orlando one-on-one during pickups.
My teens were worth the risk of getting overheated or letting my mind run wild with sexy scenarios of what I could teach Orlando.
“You wanted to ask me about their math, didn’t you?” Orlando nodded in perfect understanding, the ridges of his cut arms and chest doing a mesmerizing dance that robbed me of my capacity to multitask.
I could only thirst; my age gap defenses slowly melted as his shoulders squared and his lush lips opened. Words flowed from his mouth, coated with the warmest honey that sweetened the smokiness of his voice. Maybe it was the fact that Demarquis III and I had just had a session, but all my synapses were firing the same urge. One single thought was all I could manage.
I want to run my hand down his marble chest and detect all his sensitive spots.
Dios mío, Trinidad, get it together!
“Ms. Velasquez?” Orlando’s stance broadened somehow, the air thickening, the scent of clean, subtle male cologne and sweat rushing through me, lightning up my solar plexus. This was no child. He knew exactly what he was doing. I needed him to stop, stop immediately.
Nah. Keep going.
“Oh yes, yes, I…should I get a tutor? Is it bad—what do you think? Porque, listen I’ll do what I need to do for those kids. Because education is first in my house. It really is, okay? And I hope it is the same for you. People like you and me, you know, we need to uplift each other, and work together because if it’s not us then who? You know?”
Oh my God.
What in the world salad did I just say? This was ridiculous; I did very well under pressure. Shit, anyone would say my job was one of the most stressful out there besides first responders, so why could I not get it together to sound like a normal person.
“Nah, I think Brandon needs to practice more and Brian is sabotaging a bit to spare Brandon’s feelings. I can work with both of them—incorporate an hour before we play ball…” His lips kept moving. All my focus was on multitasking between ogling and keeping up with the conversation.
Everything Orlando said was on point. Too on point. This is what I needed, someone that spoke that Man Code that only men could. I sure couldn’t. Gender existentialism wasn’t something I ascribed to at all, but be it personality or age, Orlando understood my twins in a special way.
A way that stimulated my brain and other parts of me.
He understood them in a way that made him extra dangerous.
There was a respectable distance between us, but every centimeter of my skin could sense him. This type of awareness of everything that is soft and yielding in me and everything that is hard and rugged in him made me lightheaded. It was not a common occurrence.
It was an almost never occurrence.
Especially in my current state of impending couplehood.
Not quite there, always suspended in time.
Milton had a date tonight with one of his other almost girlfriends. Not IG girl—she had gotten the boot real quick after demanding more of his time and space. He replaced IG girl with a slightly younger model.
Which was not an issue.
When the thought skidded through my brain, I felt nothing. No anger, no jealousy, no joy.
Nothing.
I believed in different types of loving. I had read all the polyamorous books when Milton explained to me what he was. To be honest it sounded refreshing. Instead of people playing the field out there and lying about it, everyone was up front. The thing was that I was starting to understand that I was an occasional, maybe even situational, polyamorous person.
I was ready to jump back on the monogamy train.
Something to talk about in my next therapy session, right after confessing how my nether parts vibrated at the mere proximity of a man that was not my almost boyfriend. In fact he would never be my boyfriend because someone like Orlando would mean indulging in all the decadence and joy of living that I used to chase in my youth, regardless of being polyam or not.
Orlando reminded me of that feeling of jumping into the unknown without having to consider any consequences beyond tomorrow, without letting anything but pure desire and instinct guide your actions. Impulsive and full of happiness. All the things that could lead you to marrying a man that never loved you, and maybe even subconsciously used you to stay in the country or even worse until he could find his own feeling of pure joy.
Orlando kept talking and I nodded and said all the right things because I was back oto my full senses.
My ex-husband was the aggressive reminder I needed for not messing with the adrenaline that Orlando ignited in me.
I took a step back, widening the gap between us. He instinctively mimicked my motions, putting his own space in stark opposition to mine. Even in this he was the ultimate gentleman. Noticing my need and giving me more of it.
Space.
That’s all I needed from Orlando.
Any other thought was a dream. Orlando was a sweet fantasy. That was all.
A steamy, cute fantasy that tormented me on a daily basis. So keeping my space was the best thing I could do.