In a novel of friendship, love, sex, and betrayal, the voluptuous members of the Big Girls Book Club come together to discuss their passion for books and men, discovering how hard it is to keep it real when they all have something on the side.

Something on the Side

By CARL WEBER

DAFINA BOOKS

Copyright © 2008 Carl Weber
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-1578-9

Chapter One

Tammy

I love my life.

I love my life. I love my marriage. I love my husband. I love my kids. I love my BMW, and I love my house. Oh, did I say I love my life? Well, if I didn't, I love my life. I really love my life.

I stepped out of my BMW X3, then opened the back driverside door and picked up four trays of food lying on a towel on the backseat. I had only about twenty minutes before the girls would be over for our book club meeting, but I'd already dropped off my two kids, Michael and Lisa, at the sitter, so they weren't going to be a problem. Now all I had to do was to arrange the food and get my husband out of the house. The food was easy, thanks to Poor Freddy's Rib Shack over on Linden Boulevard in South Jamaica. I merely had to remove the tops of the trays from the ribs, collard greens, candied yams, and macaroni and cheese, pull out a couple bottles of wine from the fridge, and voil, dinner is served. My husband was another thing entirely. He was going to need my personal attention before he left the house.

I entered my house and placed the food on the island in the kitchen, then looked around the room with admiration. We'd been living in our Jamaica Estates home for more than a year now, and I still couldn't believe how beautiful it was. My kitchen had black granite countertops, stainless-steel appliances, and handcrafted cherrywood cabinets. It looked like something out of a home-remodeling magazine, and so did the rest of our house. By the way, did I say I love my life? God, do I love my life and the man who provides it for me.

Speaking of the man who provides for me, I headed down the hall to the room we called our den. This room was my husband's sanctuary-mainly because of the fifty-two-inch plasma television hanging on the wall and the nine hundred and some odd channels DIRECTV provided. I walked into the den, and there he was, the love of my life, my husband, Tim. By most women's standards, Tim wasn't all that on the outside. He was short and skinny, only five-eight, one hundred and forty pounds, with a dark brown complexion. Don't get me wrong-my husband wasn't a bad-looking man at all. He just wasn't the type of man who would stop a sister dead in her tracks when he walked by. To truly see Tim's beauty, you have to look within him, because his beauty was his intellect, his courteousness, and his uncanny ability to make people feel good about themselves. Tim was just a very special man, with a magnetic personality, and it only took a few minutes in his presence for everyone who'd ever met him to see it.

Tim smiled as he stood up to greet me. "Hey, sexy," he whispered, staring at me as if I were a celebrity and he were a starstruck fan. "Damn, baby, your hair looks great."

I blushed, swaying my head from side to side to show off my new three-hundred-fifty-dollar weave. I walked farther into the room. When I was close enough, Tim wrapped his thin arms around my full-figured waist. Our lips met, and he squeezed me tightly. A warm feeling flooded my body as his tongue entered my mouth. Just like the first time we'd ever kissed, my body felt like it was melting in his arms. I loved the way Tim kissed me. His kisses always made me feel wanted. When Tim kissed me, I felt like I was the sexiest woman on the planet.

When we broke our kiss, Tim glanced at his watch. "Baby, I could kiss you all night, but if I'm not mistaken, your book club meeting is getting ready to start, isn't it?"

I sighed to show my annoyance, then nodded my head. "Yeah, they'll be here in about ten, fifteen minutes."

"Well, I better get outta here, then. You girls don't need me around here getting in your hair. My virgin ears might overhear something they're not supposed to, and the next thing you know, I'll be traumatized for the rest of my life. You wouldn't want that on your conscience, would you?" He chuckled.

"Hell no, not if you put it that way. 'Cause, honey, I am not going to raise two kids by myself, so you need to make yourself a plate and get the heck outta here." He laughed at me, then kissed me gently on the lips.

"Aw-ight, you don't have to get indignant. I'm going," he teased.

"Where're you headed anyway?" I asked. A smart wife always knew where her man was.

"Well, I was thinking about going down to Benny's Bar to watch the game, but my boy Willie Martin called and said they were looking for a fourth person to play spades over at his house, so I decided to head over there. You know how I love playing Spades," Tim said with a big grin. "Besides, like I said before, I know you girls need your privacy."

Tim was considerate like that. Whenever we'd have our girls' night, he'd always go bowling or go to a bar with his friends until I'd call him to let him know that our little gathering was over. He always took my feelings into account and gave me space. I loved him for that, especially after hearing so many horror stories from my friends about the jealous way other men acted.

Tim was a good man, probably a better man than I deserved, which is why I loved him more than I loved myself. And believe it or not, that was a tall order for a smart and sexy egomaniac like myself. But at the same time, my momma didn't raise no fool. Although I loved and even trusted Tim, I didn't love or trust his whorish friends or those hoochies who hung around the bars and bowling alleys he frequented. So, before I let him leave the house, I always made sure I took care of my business in one way or another. And that was just what I was about to do when I reached for his fly-take care of my business.

"What're you doing?" He glanced at my hand but showed no sign of protest. "Your friends are gonna be here any minute, you know."

"Well, my friends are gonna have to wait. I got something to do," I said matter-of-factly. "Besides, this ain't gonna take but a minute. Momma got skills ... or have you forgotten since last night?"

He shrugged his shoulders and said with a smirk, "Hey, I'm from Missouri, the Show Me State, so I don't remember shit. You got to show me, baby."

I cocked my head to the right, looking up at him. "Is that right? You don't remember shit, huh? Well, don't worry, 'cause I'm about to show you, and trust me, this time you're not going to forget a damn thing." I pulled down his pants and then his boxers. Out sprang Momma's love handle. Mmm, mmm, mmm, I've got to say, for a short, skinny man, my husband sure was packing. I looked down at it, then smiled. "Mmm, chocolate. I love chocolate." And on that note, I fell to my knees, let my bag slide off my shoulder, and got to work trying to find out how many licks it took to get to the center of my husband's Tootsie Pop.

About five minutes later, my mission was accomplished. I'd revived my husband's memory of exactly who I was and what I could do. Tim was grinning from ear to ear as he pulled up his pants-and not a minute too soon, because just as I reached for my bag to reapply my lipstick, the doorbell rang. The first thought that came to my mind was that it was probably my mother. She was always on time, while the other members of my book club were usually fashionably late. I don't know who came up with the phrase "CP time," but whoever it was sure knew what the hell they were talking about. You couldn't get six black people to all show up on time if you were handing out hundred-dollar bills.

Tim finished buckling his pants, then went up front to answer the door. I finished reapplying my makeup, then followed him. Just as I suspected, it was my mother ringing the bell. My mother wasn't an official member of our book club, but she never missed a meeting or a chance to take home a week's worth of leftovers for my brother and stepdad after the meeting was over. Truth is, the only reason she wasn't an official member of our book club was because she was too cheap to pay the twenty-dollar-a-month dues for the food and wine we served at each meeting. I loved my mom, but she was one cheap-ass woman.

My mother hadn't even gotten comfortable on the sofa when, surprisingly, the doorbell rang again. Once again, Tim answered the door while I fixed four plates of food for him and his card-playing friends. Walking through the door were the Conner sisters-my best friend Egypt and her older sister Isis. Egypt and I had been best friends since the third grade. She was probably the only woman I trusted in the world. That's why sometime before she left, I needed to ask her a very personal favor, probably the biggest favor I'd ever asked anyone.

Egypt and Isis were followed five minutes later by the two ladies I considered to be the life of any book club meeting, my very spirited and passionate Delta Sigma Theta line sister Nikki and her crazy-ass roommate, Tiny. My husband let them in on his way out to his spades game. As soon as the door was closed and Tim was out of sight, Tiny started yelling, "BGBC in the house," then cupped her ear, waiting for our reply.

We didn't disappoint her, as a chorus of "BGBC in the house!" was shouted back at her. BGBC were the initials of our book club and stood for Big Girls Book Club. We had one rule and one rule only: If you're not at least a size 14, you can't be a member. You could be an honorary member, but not a member. It wasn't personal; it was just something we big girls needed to do for us. Anyway, we'd never really had to exclude anyone from our club. I didn't know too many sisters over thirty-five who were under a size 14. And the ones who I did know were usually so stuck-up I wouldn't have wanted them in my house anyway.

About fifteen minutes later, my cousin and our final member, hot-to-trot Coco Brown, showed up wearing an all-white, form-fitting outfit I wouldn't have been caught dead in. I know I sound like I'm hatin', but that's only because I am. I couldn't stand the tight shit Coco wore. And the thing I hated the most about her outfits was that she actually looked cute in them. Coco was a big girl just like the rest of us, but her overly attractive face and curvy figure made her look like Toccara, the plus-size model from that show America's Next Top Model. Not that I looked bad. Hell, you couldn't tell me I wasn't cute. And I could dress my ass off too. It's just that the way I carried my weight made me look more like my girl MNique from The Parkers. I was a more sophisticated big girl.

Taking all that into account, some of my dislike for Coco had nothing to do with her clothes or her looks. It had to do with the fact that she was a whore. That's right, I said it. She was a whore-an admitted ho, at that. Coco had been screwing brothers for money and gifts since we were teenagers. And to make matters worse, she especially liked to mess around with married men. Oh, and trust me, she didn't really care whose husband she messed with as long as she got what she wanted. Now, if it was up to me, she wouldn't even be in the book club, but the girls all seemed to like her phony behind, and she met our size requirement, so I was SOL on that. I will say this, though: If I ever catch that woman trying to put the moves on my husband, cousin or not, she is gonna have some problems. And the first problem she was gonna have was getting my size 14 shoe out of the crack of her fat ass.

As soon as Coco entered the room, she seemed to be trying to take over the meeting before it even got started. She was stirring everybody up, talking about the book and asking a whole bunch of questions before I could even start the meeting. And when she and Isis started talking about the sex scenes in the book, I put an abrupt end to their conversation.

"Hold up. Y'all know we don't start no meeting this way." I wasn't yelling, but I had definitely raised my voice. "Coco, you need to sit your tail down so we can start this meeting properly."

Coco rolled her eyes at me and frowned, waving her hand at Nikki, who had already made herself a plate, asking her to slide over. Once Nikki moved, Coco sat down. Now all eyes were on me like they should be. I was the book club president, and this was my show, not Coco's-or anybody else's, for that matter. But she still had something to say.

"Please, Tammy, you should've got this meeting started the minute I walked in the door, because this book was off the damn chain." Coco high-fived Nikki.

"I know the book was good, Coco. I chose it, didn't I?" I know I probably sounded a little arrogant, but I couldn't help it. Ever since we were kids, Coco was always trying to take over shit and get all the attention. "Well, once again, here we are. Before I ask my momma to open the meeting with a prayer, I just hope everyone enjoyed this month's selection as much as my husband and I did."

Egypt raised her eyebrows, then said, "Wait a minute. Tim read this book?"

"No, but he got a lot of pleasure out of the fact that I did. Can you say chapter twenty-three?" I had to turn away from them I was blushing so bad.

"You go, girl," Isis said with a laugh. "I ain't mad at you."

"Let me find out you an undercover freak," Coco added.

"What can I tell you? The story did things to me. It was an extremely erotic read." Everybody was smiling and nodding their heads.

"It's about to be a helluva lot more erotic in here if you get to the point and start the meeting," Coco interjected, then turned to my mom. "I don't mean no disrespect, Mrs. Turner, but we're about to get our sex talk on."

"Well, then let's bow our heads, 'cause this prayer is about the only Christian thing we're going to talk about tonight. Forget chapter twenty-three. Can you say chapters four and seven?" my mother said devilishly, right before she bowed her head to begin our prayer. From that point on, I knew it was gonna be one hell of a meeting, and Tim would appreciate it later when he came home and found me more than ready for round number two.

Chapter Two

Coco

The alarm on my cell phone rang, and I reached down as fast as I could, trying to silence it. By the time I stopped Chamillionaire's "Ridin' Dirty" ring tone from waking him up, I realized I had to pee. I tried to lie still and hold it, hoping I could get five more minutes of sleep, but the pressure on my bladder wouldn't let me. Besides, I knew I had to get up and outta there before he woke up. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to him now that the fun part of the night was over. Talking led to lies, and lies only led to me getting pissed off. Nobody wants to get pissed off after getting laid. So, the pressure from my bladder just made getting out of bed a little more urgent. I sat up and yawned, then stumbled through the dark hotel room to the bathroom-a reminder of the six apple martinis I drank the night before. Also reminding me of the martinis was the blaring hangover that was starting to take over my head.

Making my way into the bathroom, I sat down on the toilet without closing the door and quickly relieved myself. It felt like I peed forever. I sighed in relief. It's unbelievable how a simple bodily function like urinating can feel so good. When I finally finished, I looked in the mirror, but I couldn't see a thing, so I closed the bathroom door and flipped on the light switch. The light was like a thousand needles in my eyes, and I quickly covered my face with my arms. When my eyes adjusted to the light, I had to admit, I was embarrassed at what was staring back at me in the mirror. My weave was matted and looked like something the cat dragged home. My makeup and lipstick were completely gone. Good thing I was blessed with a pretty face, or I'd probably be looking like something out of that movie Night of the Living Dead.

I stared at my DDD-cup breasts, cupping them with both hands as I questioned myself, Have they sagged? I took a deep breath, making them appear even larger, and shook my head, dismissing the idea as fast as it had come. No, they weren't sagging; they were perfect. No saline, no silicone, no implants of any kind whatsoever-just me, one hundred percent me. I released my breasts, turning to the side as I placed one hand on my stomach so I could get a glimpse of my other great asset-my perfectly round booty. Whenever I walked down the street, all eyes were on me. I have what most guys would call a ba-dunk-a-dunk, and I used it and my titties to my advantage every chance I got. Every shirt, sweater, dress, skirt, and pair of pants I wore had been purchased just to show off my breasts and booty. There are women out there who would pay good money to have a figure like mine. Yes, there was no denying I was a thick sister with some weight on my bones, but ask any man with a pair of eyes and a dick swinging between his legs if my weight was a problem, and I could guarantee you he'd say, "Hell no!"

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Something on the Sideby CARL WEBER Copyright © 2008 by Carl Weber. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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