My Husband's Girlfriend - Softcover

Rax, Cydney

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0758280246 ISBN 13: 9780758280244

Publisher: Dafina, 2013

Synopsis

"The book we can't put down." --Essence®
 
"My Husband's Girlfriend is an explosive story about the sanctity of marriage, infidelity, and the other woman." --The RAWSISTAZ Reviewers

Anya Meadows can't imagine being without her husband, Neil. But lately she also can't imagine being with him—in bed, that is. Anya's heart wants to say yes, but her body, mainly her hormones, say no way. Anya knows something's gotta give, and she doesn't want it to be her marriage. She loves Neil and their life with their young daughter. And he loves her. Why break up over sex? So Anya swallows her pride--and shocks her frustrated husband--by giving him permission to have a mistress. She even draws up a contract--including the rule that he's forbidden to fall in love. But that's not the restriction Neil finds toughest to follow. . . Soon Neil is on the receiving end of some shocking news, and his wife and his girlfriend will each be forced to make hard choices about who they are, who they want to be, and create a whole new set of rules. . .

Praise for Cydney Rax

"A twisted tale of infidelity." --Today's Black Woman

"Fascinating, witty, and thought-provoking." –Zane on My Daughter's Boyfriend

About this title

About the Author

CYDNEY RAX became obsessed with becoming a writer after reading Terry McMillan’s Disappearing Acts. Her author dreams were realized through her eyebrow-raising debut novel, My Daughter’s Boyfriend.  Her novels include My Husband’s Girlfriend, Scandalous Betrayal, Brothers & Wives, and My Sister’s Ex (cited by Essence® as one of 2009’s best reads). She has also contributed to the anthologies Crush and Reckless.
 
Born and raised in Detroit, Cydney graduated from Cass Technical High School and earned an undergraduate degree from Eastern Michigan University. She resides in Houston. Visit her online via Facebook, at www.cydneyrax.com, or email her at booksbycyd@aol.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

My Husband's Girlfriend

By Cydney Rax

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

Copyright © 2006 Cydney Rax
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-7582-8024-4

Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Anya

A celibate husband and wife are the two most dangerouspeople on earth.

That's what my husband, Neil, told me—one yearago—when our nightmare began. I guess at the time Ididn't believe him. But right now, sitting by the phonewaiting for Neil to call me from the hospital and tellme the gender of the baby he's having with her, well, Ibelieve him.

Lack of affection and regular sex within a marriageis like having a ticking bomb strapped to your body—youonly have so much time before something explosiveshatters your whole world.

How did we get to this point? Approximately twoyears ago, I'd be at home slumped on the couch. Lostin a zone. Neil would swagger into the den looking likea taller, thinner, less insane version of Mike Tyson.Beautiful chestnut complexion, intense eyes, and finein his own kind of way. Neil would stand next to mestarting stuff, swaying his hips back and forth, singinglow. And then he'd sit down, getting close enough topress his lips against my neck. I'd beg off, claiming,"Soul Food is on right now." I'd wave at Neil, invitinghim to chill out and watch the show with me, but he'dyank his lips from my neck and storm away. And, feelingguilty, I'd look at the show a few more minutes,then follow him up to our bedroom. We'd start out givingeach other a dry kiss on the cheek, something you'doffer a casual friend. Then Neil would rub me betweenmy legs, trying to generate a fire that would need awhole lot more to ignite than those little matches hewas using via his idea of foreplay. Next he'd order meto lie on my side. His goal was to take it from the rear.

"I saw two people doing it in this flick," he remarkedthe first time we tried it. "We can handle this."

Talk about awkward; this position didn't even soundlike something an animal could manage, let alone humans.Protesting was useless. So I lay on my side,body stiffening up as if I just heard a strange noise, tooterrified to move.

Neil pushed into me so rough it felt like someonetried to shove something hot, hard, long, and round insidemy one good nostril. I could barely breathe. Iyelled, "Ouch, ouch, ugh." But to Neil it was like Iscreamed "Hallelujah," because he kept jamming hishuge, happy thing inside my tense butt. I'd reach behindmy back and grip him. I bucked. Cursed. Pressedmy half-inch nails into his sweaty thighs. Dumb jerkthought I was having a helluva time, not realizing howmuch I ached to escape back downstairs to try to catchthe end of my show. But I said nothing. I let Neil do hisbusiness. And on a few occasions after that night, I'dcontinue to do my duty. Letting Neil have an amplesupply of sympathy sex. Until the last time we did it;until the day we officially became celibate.

Neil and I were spread out on a huge colorful rug onthe floor next to the bed. I was lying on my back. Mylegs were like a clothes hanger curled around his neck.He was jumping around and slapping my behind, havinga jolly good time—until he noticed that I hadseized the nearby cable guide, perusing it for a worthwhilepay-per-view movie. He scrunched up his face."Screw it; screw this mess." He physically slipped outof me. Left me alone on the floor. I wondered if I'deventually slip out of his heart and his mind, too. I becameterrified. That's when I knew something had togive, that our marriage was in the balance. Thingsmight never be good again if I didn't figure out whatto do.

Intimacy. Closeness. Feeling each other. Little bylittle, all those necessary acts disappeared from our relationship.Yet I loved Neil. Couldn't imagine beingwithout him. When Neil wasn't in the room with me, Iwondered where he was. When I thought of his spellbindingfragrance, his infectious smile, and howproficient he was at taking care of his family, that andmore kept me drawn to him in spite of everything.

Fast-forward to now. These days I have to keep myselffrom stressing about the new addition to the family.If it weren't for Sharvette, my sister-in-law, I don'tknow what I'd do. She's Neil's half-sister, and eversince their sixty-year-old mother pointed at their frontdoor and told the girl to "get the hell out," she's beenliving with us here in Houston. It isn't too bad. Sharvetteis great company; plus, she has my back, which isimperative because that's the only way I would allowher to live with us.

She's sitting here with me right now. We're in thedownstairs den. This room has lots of tall windows,and normally that means sunshine fills it from one wallto the other. But today is cloudy, so the room is dark.But given the circumstances, the darkness kinda complementsthe mood.

I'm rocking back and forth in my seat. My righthand is clutching the portable phone like it might runaway. Sharvette is patting my left hand. She's strokingmy skin, rubbing me gently, and acting like I'm the oneabout to give birth instead of Neil's other woman.

I can't stand the thought of her. Neil's mistress. Iguess because, like a dummy, I've created her. Becauseof me, she is. If I hadn't encouraged my husband tofind a sex partner, he wouldn't have done it. I know hewouldn't. He's a good man, and he loves me. In spite ofthis other baby that's about to enter the world, I knowNeil Braxton Meadows loves me.

Right now Sharvette is grasping my hand and shakingher head, stopping and shaking it again. I can'tstand to look at Vette, which is her nickname. Sometimesher body language speaks as loud as her voice.So I stare at my lap, looking inwardly at my life. I don'tlike what I see.

"Well, I don't care what gender this little bastardturns out to be, Reesy is gonna always be my favoriteniece. And that's all I have to say."

I smile. Sharvette is astounding. She's family. Myhigher ground. A reliable anchor.

"Because the Negro shouldn't have been messingaround on you in the first place. I don't care if y'alldrew up that little sex contract. I don't care that both ofy'all signed it. He should've known better to even considerthat dumb shit. 'Cause if my brother really lovedyou, he—"

She hushed like her conscience kicked in. But I hadn'tdone anything to give her a reason to shut up. I know aman can love his wife and still do foolish things. Likemaking passes at other women while he's standing twofeet away from his wife. Or visiting a woman who livesin the same apartment complex as him and the missus.Or telling his lover he isn't happy at home, but at thesame time telling home he's not happy having a lover.That's what some men do. I know this. And outrageousas it sounds, that's why I pressured Neil into tryingsomething I thought might work.

The deal is this: In addition to balking wheneverNeil wanted to experiment with these painful new positions,I was struggling with a couple other issues thatfurther complicated our sex life. For one, I was prescribedwith having FSAD, an acronym for female sexualarousal disorder, which basically means I have alow sex drive, about as low as a dead person's. If you'relucky, you might be able to generate some sexual desire,but the drawback is you rarely get satisfied becauseyour body won't lubricate. Orgasms are as rareas a San Antonio blizzard. And you can also sufferfrom deep dyspareunia, which means sex is too painfulto enjoy.

I've found out I'm not alone. FSAD is a conditionthat affects 47 million American women for a varietyof reasons. And to date there is no approved drug totreat this disorder. So even if my delicious-smellinghubby fondles me and gives me the eye, my interest ingetting it on fades many nights. Sometimes my lack ofdesire rattles me, but the truth is I don't terribly misshaving orgasms. If I have them, fine; if I don't, it reallydoesn't matter. Of course, this isn't fair to Neil, but myhormones don't seem to care.

To make things worse, I've gained a good twenty-fivepounds in the past five years. I'm thirty-sevenyears old and my transformed body seldom lets meforget. But yes, I've signed up for state-of-the-art fitness-centermemberships. I've bought the useless PaulaAbdul workout tapes—useless because two weeks afterbeing gung-ho about exercising and getting my fried-chicken-lovingself back in shape, the only sit-ups I doare when I sit up in bed so I can grab a decadent chocolate-chipcookie that's calling to me from a nearbytable. And although I don't consider myself the mostunattractive woman in the world, I really feel uncomfortablewhen Neil takes long looks at me. I'm afraidhe'll see my imperfections, like I'm not everything heexpects me to be.

So about a year ago, I walked into our home libraryunannounced. Neil looked up, eyes enlarged, and yelled,"Anya, not now, not now." He was sitting on the edgeof the sofa, naked from the waist down, his dick clutchedin his hand, with an unbridled look in his eyes. Hegrabbed his slacks and clumsily spread them across hislap. I backed up until I was no longer in that room witnessingwhat I'd driven my husband to do. I felt bad butnot bad enough to let him make love to me wheneverhe was in the mood, which was often.

When I realized our sexless streak had stretched totwo years, I thought about what I could do to help thesituation. And one day I took a deep breath and blurted,"Neil, why don't you find a partner? Find a woman youcan have sex with up to two times a month, no stringsattached, but if you agree to do this, you've got topromise me something."

"What's that?" Neil asked, stunned.

"Promise me you won't fall in love. That you're in itonly for the sex."

"Are you crazy?"

"No, baby, not crazy. I love you," I told him sincerely.I loved him enough to trust him to do somethingthat didn't seem like a big deal at the time. Sure, encouragingyour hubby to have sex with another womanis something many wives wouldn't do. But I thought ifI controlled that situation, as opposed to letting himtake charge of an affair, maybe the outcome wouldn'tbe as disastrous. Plus, I knew that even if Neil didn'ttotally understand me, I was certain that he loved me.He was a great, reliable husband, thoughtful, and a superbfather. And since mostly everything else in ourmarriage was decent, why break up just because ofsex? So I asked Neil to give this arrangement a try. Ireasoned that as long as he didn't grow attached to thewoman, and we stuck to our promises, the arrangementcould succeed.

The Marital Arrangement of Neil BraxtonMeadows and His Wife, Anya

1. Neil should seek and find a single, unattachedfemale sex partner.

2. They should only have oral sex, no penetration;giving and receiving are permissible.

3. No falling in love with her. If she falls in lovewith Neil, he should end the relationshipquickly and respectfully.

4. Anya will never accuse Neil of committingadultery because this entire plan was her idea.

I made up numbers one, two, and three. And I madeup the first part of number four, but Neil insisted Imention in italics that the idea was mine. I thought itwas unnecessary to add that part, but I didn't argue. Igave in so he could feel better. So we could move on.

Neil and I stuck the unsigned arrangement in adrawer for one week so we could both think about it.And we debated the issue until we agreed that oral sexisn't true sex. Whether middle schoolers, college guys,or senior citizens, plenty of men get blow jobs. The actmeans nothing to them. Besides, are there any stats onhow many men fall in love with blow-job-givingwomen? I thought Neil could share his body withouthanding over his heart. So we retrieved the documentand signed (I signed first) and I locked it inside a filecabinet located downstairs. My biggest concern at thetime was making sure Neil believed I was serious. Iwas, and I still am.

"Damn, what's taking my brother so long?" Sharvettelets go of my hand. I now feel abandoned butunderstand her anxiety. She stands up, walks across thelength of our den, and comes right back and sits at myfeet. Vette has recently added blond highlights to herbrown hair. Her hair is teased and wild-looking, thelong strands touching her shoulders and making herlook older than twenty.

"These things take time, sweetie," I assure her. "Thelady's only been at the hospital six hours. He'll call."My voice sounds light and airy, me trying to be positiveand mature. Who the heck am I kidding? If itweren't for the fact that in Texas, murder means a tripto death row, I'd have already handled that fool. But Ineed to stay in control. I cannot kill my husband or hismistress just because he broke our contract. Even if hecouldn't keep his word, at least one of us should.

"I don't see how you can take it, Anya," Vette whispers.She looks at me long enough to force me to stareinto her light green eyes. Her skin is glowing, bronze-toned,and blemish-free. I hope this young woman canlook at my marriage and learn from it. Learn what notto do. Learn that marriage ain't nothing nice; that evenif things are shaky within the marriage, a legally boundrelationship isn't easy to terminate. Not as easy assome folks (the naive ones) think.

"If I ever get married, which I don't plan to, first Iwant to live with the Negro for at least five years, justto see where his mind is. Just to see if he's faking itwith me or not."

I laugh and cross my legs at the ankles. I have on acute white blouse, a long blue-jean skirt, and somestrappy sandals that I haven't worn in years. I just feellike trying to look sexier for a change.

"Oh really, Vette? And what if the dude fakes it forfive years, you two hook up, and then he starts tippingout on you soon after he's made it legal?"

"Don't worry. I have a tight game plan in mind, sister-in-law.'Cause see, I ain't as desperate as some of thesesingle women out here, doing anything and everythingto get a man, to catch a husband. They catching morethan husbands these days."

"You right about that. Marriage ain't no joke."

The phone rings and hums against my hand. I juststare. Breathless.

It rings again.

Sharvette's eyes grow wider and she snatches thephone from my grip.

"Yeah?" she says. She puts her hand on her hip."She's right here, what you got to tell her?"

I look at the ceiling.

"Uh-huh, okay, all right, bye."

I look at Vette.

"They just had a seven-pound, five-ounce, nineteen-inchboy. Neil Braxton Meadows, Jr."

I couldn't sleep at all last night. I'd go lie down for afew minutes. Sit up in bed. Turn on the lamp. Cut onthe TV, go to the refrigerator, and pile a bunch ofchilled white grapes in a porcelain bowl. I slid back inbed and tried looking at R. Kelly music videos. When Icouldn't stand looking at that anymore, I turned toTBN and watched a religious program.

"Jesus cares about you," this fifty-something whiteguy said. He stared straight into the camera. His hairwas greasy looking and slicked back, like he was amovie star instead of a soul winner.

"Jesus doesn't know me," I said to the TV, then turnedit off when the man started talking about sending in athousand-dollar donation so God could bless me eventhough God has way more money than me.

If Jesus knew me, He'd see what I was going throughand get me out of this situation. So I don't wanna hearanything Preacher Man got to say.

I knew my thinking wasn't the most divine. Peoplealways blame the Lord for things that go wrong in theirlives. If there's a war, God started it. If people get killedin a senseless tragedy, it's the Lord's fault becauseguess who had the power to stop things but didn't? Ifanybody is going through anything they don't like,well, blame it on the Lord. He's used to being the fallguy, I thought. Pointed fingers shouldn't bother him.And although I freely believed these things, I felt justifiedbut scared at the same time. I didn't believe thatsaying about how God strikes people with lightning. Ifthat were true, a whole lot more people would be burnedto a crisp on a daily basis, and it would probably beraining every single minute of the day, and people wouldbe too afraid to go outside.

But I did have some level of fear, that if I thought inappropriatethings, the Lord knew and He'd punish mesomehow. I wondered if my troubles were His payback.

Vengeance is mine, I will repay. I recalled that Scripture.And I thought that if God was paying me back,then maybe I'd luck out ... and He'd pay Neil back, too.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from My Husband's Girlfriend by Cydney Rax. Copyright © 2006 by Cydney Rax. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Edition details

• Publisher: Dafina
• Publication date: 2013
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0758280246
• ISBN 13: 9780758280244
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• Number of pages: 394