Big Girls Do Cry

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Book: Read Big Girls Do Cry for Free Online
Authors: Carl Weber
closet, admitting to myself and the world that I was gay. The good person and friend that she was, Loraine took it pretty well when I came out to be with this married professor who picked up on my vibe and finally turned me out.
    Loraine told me a few years later that the reason she didn’t get upset was because deep down she always knew I was gay. I kind of find that hard to believe, because I always considered myself a man’s man. I wasn’t one for acting feminine, and I was not attracted one bit to feminine-looking or -acting men. I had nothing against them, mind you. I just wanted people to look at me for who I was: a masculine man who just happened to sleep with men.
    “Raine, I love you to death. I would do anything for you, and I know you would do anything for me. But fucking me in the ass is not something I want you to do, so get that shit out your mind.” We both laughed so hard behind that.
    “Well, then, I suggest you make a call to one of your many sponsors.”
    “Hmmm, I might just do that.” I smiled at the thought. “Look, I’ma bring you that M. T. Pope book tomorrow. It’s the bomb. I put it up there with E. Lynn Harris.”
    “Really? Then don’t forget it,” she replied. “Look, I gotta go. I took a Tylenol PM and it’s starting to work.”
    “Okay, get you some rest. Night, Raine.”
    “Good night, Jerome.” I hung up the phone thinking about her last statement. Maybe I should just call one of my “sponsors.” I had a real craving for some lovin’ and a taste for some dick.
    Despite what I said to Loraine, I had thought about calling Big Poppa, though I was sure he couldn’t get away from his wife and probably wouldn’t answer his phone. He stuck to our schedule religiously and refused to see me any other time. I guess I was just going to have to wait until our weekly rendezvous on Sunday. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me from enjoying myself. I reached over on my night table and picked up a small piece of paper with a name and number on it. I dialed the number.
    “Hello.” The man who answered sounded groggy.
    “Hello … ah …” I had to look at the paper. I had forgotten his name that quick. “Is this Peter?”
    “Yes, this is Peter. Who is this?”
    “Hey, Peter, this is Jerome. We met at the gas station the other day. You know, the big black guy? You said I looked like a football player?”
    “Hold on a moment,” he whispered, and the phone became muffled, then silent. He was probably trying to get out of bed and as far away from his wife as possible to speak with me.
    Finally, I heard, “Hi, Jerome. How you doing?” in this overly excited white-boy voice.
    Yes, he was a white man. I didn’t discriminate when it came to the bedroom or whose money I took—especially when he was as fine as Peter, with his George Clooney looks. Mmm, mmm, mmm, I could just eat his fine ass up. I know plenty of people, male and female, who would be jealous if I showed up to a function with him on my arm.
    “I’m doing all right. Been thinking a lot about you.”
    “I’ve been thinking about you too.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
    “Really? Penny for your thoughts.”
    “Good thoughts. No, more than good thoughts.”
    “How good?” Damn, I was starting to want this white boy bad. He knew the right things to say.
    “Really good.” He wanted me too. I could tell.
    “Were they good enough to get you out tonight?”
    “I wish I could, but what about my wife?” Always the wife. But I wasn’t giving up that easy. I never did.
    “What I’ve got for you is only going to take fifteen, twenty minutes tops.”
    “I don’t know, Jerome. I don’t think she’s going to go for that.”
    The hell with her! It’s not what she wants. It’s what I want
. He just didn’t understand how good this was going to be. It was time to make him understand what he’d be missing.
    “Bet she wouldn’t go for giving you a blow job tonight either, but I will. Best you ever had,

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