Jadish lit some candles. She had them strategically placed all over the house. A few in the kitchen. On the stove she warmed up the meal she had cooked for her man.
Fried chicken. Cream corn. Asparagus and vegetable rice. She pulled out her good China.
Smiling exotically, she thought of her husband’s dreamy eyes. Her pussy was wet. She was slowly rubbing her tits and her fingers suddenly gained weight and dropped to her clit and she was massaging her vaginal walls.
Cooing into the air. She grinded on her fingers, the wetness electrifying her thirst for her man.
I should do something different. Yea, I think I will. This is a big night for me and my husband. I am going to give him so much pussy he won’t know what hit him.
Smiling, she used her pussy juices and with her index finger she wrote Jadish on the plate. She clipped a few roses and set them nicely on the edge of the it.
She felt so giddy. But part of her wondered about Tommy. Was he OK? What the hell! He raped you and you’re having empathy flashes for him? Get a grip, Chile.
Who gives a rat’s ass about Tommy! I trusted him. But I love him. But he violated you. But he’s a giving man.
Shut up, Conscious! She turned on some Mary J. Blige’s “We Ride.”
She loved Mary.
Mary spoke for all women of color, all women in the struggle. She sang for the women who have been up and down. That’s what Mary J. Blige
meant to her.
And she would share that with her husband.
YOU ARE READING
P.S. JADISH HOUSTON (BOOK II OF SINCERELY, JADISH HOUSTON)
RomanceIn Book 1, Jadish Houston married a man, Sax, she never really had sex with. Plagued with nightmares, she later finds out the source of those dreams stemmed from her loving God Daddy, Tommy... A man that drugged and violated her on her graduation ni...
