Married on Mondays Read online

  WARNING!

  Adult Fiction

  Sexually Exquisite

  If you are not eighteen or older,

  do not, seriously, do not read this book.

  Mary B. Morrison writing as HoneyB

  Single Husbands

  Sexcapades

  Also by Mary B. Morrison

  Unconditionally Single

  Maneater (with Noire)

  Who’s Loving You

  Sweeter Than Honey

  When Somebody Loves You Back

  Nothing Has Ever Felt Like This

  Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top

  He’s Just a Friend

  Never Again Once More

  Soulmates Dissipate

  Who’s Making Love

  Justice Just Us Just Me

  Coauthored with Carl Weber

  She Ain’t the One

  Presented by Mary B. Morrison

  Diverse Stories: From the Imaginations of Sixth Graders,

  an anthology written by thirty-three sixth graders

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2010 by Mary B. Morrison

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Excerpt from Darius Jones by Mary B. Morrison, copyright © 2010 by Mary B. Morrison. Published by arrangement with Dafina Books, an imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp. All rights reserved.

  Grand Central Publishing

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  www.twitter.com/grandcentralpub

  First eBook Edition: March 2010

  Grand Central Publishing is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The Grand Central Publishing name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-0-446-55862-4

  Contents

  WARNING!

  COPYRIGHT

  WHY I CHERISH OUR LOVE

  G-SPOT GENOCIDE: Is Your Pussy on the Hit List?

  PROLOGUE: Foxy

  CHAPTER 1: Foxy

  CHAPTER 2: Foxy

  CHAPTER 3: Foxy

  CHAPTER 4: Winton

  CHAPTER 5: Winton

  CHAPTER 6: Winton

  CHAPTER 7: Foxy

  CHAPTER 8: Foxy

  CHAPTER 9: DéJà

  CHAPTER 10: DéJà

  CHAPTER 11: DéJà

  CHAPTER 12: Victoria

  CHAPTER 13: Foxy

  CHAPTER 14: Winton

  CHAPTER 15: Victoria

  CHAPTER 16: Victoria

  CHAPTER 17: Victoria

  CHAPTER 18: Victoria

  CHAPTER 19: DéJà

  CHAPTER 20: Winton

  CHAPTER 21: Victoria

  CHAPTER 22: Foxy

  CHAPTER 23: DéJà

  CHAPTER 24: Victoria

  CHAPTER 25: DéJà

  CHAPTER 26: DéJà

  CHAPTER 27: Winton

  CHAPTER 28: Foxy

  CHAPTER 29: Victoria

  CHAPTER 30: DéJà

  CHAPTER 31: Foxy

  CHAPTER 32: Foxy

  CHAPTER 33: Winton

  CHAPTER 34: Victoria

  CHAPTER 35: DéJà

  CHAPTER 36: Victoria

  CHAPTER 37: Victoria

  CHAPTER 38: Foxy

  CHAPTER 39: Victoria

  CHAPTER 40: Winton

  CHAPTER 41: Winton

  CHAPTER 42: Victoria

  CHAPTER 43: Winton

  CHAPTER 44: Foxy

  CHAPTER 45: Victoria

  CHAPTER 46: DéJà

  CHAPTER 47: Foxy

  CHAPTER 48: Victoria

  CHAPTER 49: Winton

  CHAPTER 50: DéJà

  CHAPTER 51: Victoria

  CHAPTER 52: Foxy

  CHAPTER 53: Victoria

  CHAPTER 54: DéJà

  CHAPTER 55: Foxy

  EPILOGUE: Mason

  BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS

  WOULD YOU MARRY FOR LOVE?

  POETRY CORNER

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A PREVIEW OF DARIUS JONES

  Why I Cherish Our Love

  Date:

  Given To:

  Given By:

  Personal Message:

  To Stella Morrison

  Pussy is a terrible thing to waste.

  G-SPOT GENOCIDE

  Is Your Pussy on the Hit List?

  Sexually liberated women are in high demand but there is a low supply.

  I’ve moved the section I originally placed here—“Would You Marry for Love?”—to the end of the book, because since I’ve started hosting HONEYB Adult Slumber Parties, I’m not surprised, I’m shocked at the number of women who are unconsciously sabotaging their G-spot with sheer neglect. It’s like walking by a plant every day and not noticing the plant until it starts to wither. “Oh, you poor thing.” And instead of watering the plant, what do you do? “Let me take you out of your misery.” Some of you actually throw the plant in the trash. Just like you’ve done with your G-spot, you’re letting your pussy slowly deteriorate.

  The G-spot is named after the German gynecologist Ernst Gräfenberg. Ladies, Ernst is our hero and we will not let his research be in vain. Some women don’t know their G-spot exists. They haven’t lost it, but don’t know where to find it, or they’re having sex with men who are clueless about the G-spot and other female erogenous zones.

  The HoneyB wants you to stop. Stop right now, raise your right hand, and tell the truth. Is your pussy on the G-spot genocide hit list? If it is, I want you to take yours off today, especially if you’ve never experienced an orgasm. With pussy, all things are possible. Let me rephrase that. With good pussy, all things are possible. A good pussy is an untamed, well-trained pussy.

  Here is my twelve-step program to G-spot vitalization:

  Make sure your fingernails are smooth to avoid painful kitty cuts. And I have to slip this in for good measure, never let a man with jagged or dirty fingernails touch your good pussy.

  Take a shower or a bath to get your pussy ready for you. Never serve what you wouldn’t eat. Taste yourself, girl.

  After cleansing your body, wash your hands (yes, again) and be sure to get all the soap off. Some pussies are more sensitive than others and you don’t want to irritate her before you get started.

  Now insert your middle finger as far as you can into your vagina. (There’s a reason why the middle finger is about two inches long, and when inserted, your middle finger naturally faces the right direction. God didn’t make any mistakes.)

  You’re not searching for orgasmic stimulation at this point. Right now you’re discovering the sensation and location of your G-spot.

  Your finger may veer to the left or right as if running off the road and falling into a ditch, or as I call it, the trenches. While you’re in the trenches, clean them out. Scoop, ladies, scoop. You’ll taste better. Okay, let’s get back on the road to finding your G-spot.

  Feel the fleshy part of your vagina, aka the hump, or as I call it, the speed bump. A speed bump serves a purpose. It signals a man to do what? Yes, slow down. Right there. That’s your spot. Slide your finger along your bumpy hump. That’s how the G-spot feels, bumpy. To give you a comparison, press the tip of your tongue against the inside of your bottom teeth. Now slide your
tongue back and forth in the bottom of your mouth. That’s very similar to the feel of your G-spot. Now let’s get back to the G-spot. Close your eyes, get in the zone, and pay close attention to the sensation. When you awaken your most sensitive spot, hey, girl… you’re on track. Keep on stroking. When you know how to pleasure yourself, you have no problem telling your lover what turns you on.

  If the finger test did not work for you (or even if it did and you want more stimulation), dry yourself off and head to the adult toy store. This is not the time to be shy. Don’t forget the mission. You are taking your pussy off what? That’s right, the hit list. No G-spot genocide for your pretty kitty.

  Tell the assistant you want to see all of their G-spot stimulators (these are different from clit stimulators). Ask all the questions you need to ask, and make an educated decision on which G-spot stimulator is best for you.

  Go home, get naked, get in your bed, sit on a stool or the edge of a seat, or, if you bought a waterproof stimulator, get in the tub. As long as it’s a safe place, the HoneyB doesn’t care where you sit or lay—it’s your house, not mine.

  Don’t turn on the vibration just yet. I want you to find your G-spot first. Repeat step 7 above.

  Once you are in tune with your G-spot you will have more powerful orgasms. Congratulations! You’ve successfully completed HoneyB’s twelve-step program and you have officially taken your pussy off the hit list. Don’t forget to awaken (water) your G-spot regularly.

  I’m no G-spot genius but I do consider myself a sexpert. I can’t speak in more technical terms as a gynecologist would, but I have helped women become sexually liberated. I’m like the orgasmic midwife who helps to deliver orgasms instead of babies, except I don’t make house calls or booty calls. I do consultations. If there is anything I don’t know about sex, I want to learn, therefore I’m more educated on the female anatomy, sex, and sexuality, and have more hands-on experience than the average person.

  The right person or persons, a clean environment (I am a Virgo, okay), and a healthy frame of mind free from judgment of self and others can lead you to the most incredible orgasmic moments you’ll ever experience. Most people worry too much about what others think and not enough about how they feel. When your life transitions, the only person you have to answer for is you. Do not deny yourself sexual healing or pleasure. But first you must learn what pleases you.

  Want to see actual pictures of a woman’s G-spot? Want to learn more about your G-spot, orgasms, and vaginal exercises? Here are a few of my favorite websites:

  1. www.MaryMorrison.com

  2. www.doctorg.com

  3. www.speculum.com

  You cannot overeducate yourself on sex or sexuality. Now that you’re equipped with the tools to stimulate your G-spot, if you desire you can learn how to fill your urethra with ejaculate and learn how to… squirt, baby, squirt! Men love it when women squirt, so the HoneyB has incorporated female ejaculation into the story line of Married on Mondays.

  If you want me to host a HONEYB Adult Slumber Party for your book club or your event, email me at [email protected].

  CRÈME CITY

  THE PULSE OF THE USA

  POPULATION: 6.9 MILLION

  PROLOGUE

  Foxy

  Four years of marriage.

  Three years of adultery.

  Two men.

  One woman.

  Mondays were her hardest days to stay focused. Being one man’s woman and another man’s wife was physically manageable but emotionally draining, especially on Mondays when she had to spend “quality time” with her husband.

  Four years ago she stood at the altar. Vowing to forsake all others, she longed to fold back her veil and kiss her ex-fiancé, who sat center aisle, fifth row. She glanced over her shoulder, blinked him a kiss with her eyes, then faced her husband. The tall, dark, and handsome man who stood in front the pastor wasn’t the only man she was in love with. Her ex-fiancé could have easily been the better man. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop loving him.

  “If anyone has cause why this man and woman should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now,” the pastor said.

  Whew! There were valid reasons why she couldn’t honor or obey her ex-fiancé, but she cherished him the same as her husband before and after she’d said, “I do.”

  Foxy leaned across her desk, handed her sister DéJà the deposit envelope for the money earned from servicing their customers and clients. She stood, hugged her sister Victoria. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

  “Everything will be all right,” Victoria said, hugging Foxy. “Open up to your husband tonight. Tell him the truth. If you don’t want to tell him, pray. God will show you the way.”

  Foxy pushed Victoria away. Her half smile represented her love for her sisters. The other half that should’ve shown her happiness to see her husband remained suppressed. A wise wife never confessed her affairs.

  “Be on time tomorrow,” DéJà scolded. “We’re not going to keep baking your pastries for you.”

  “Why can’t you empathize with Foxy? You know she’s emotionally distraught,” Victoria said. “Take your time tomorrow. I don’t mind covering for you.”

  “Well, I do,” DéJà retorted.

  Hugging DéJà, Foxy said, “I love you too, sis. Bye Victoria and thanks. Y’all have fun for me this evening.” Carrying assorted pastries to her car, Foxy exhaled, placing the white box on the passenger seat.

  Opening her legs led to opening her heart. Or was it the other way around? Loving two men had emotionally torn her apart. Three years into her affair, she didn’t know how to end her marriage or her relationship with her ex.

  As she exited the driveway of Crème her cell phone buzzed. Seeing his name on her caller ID, she smiled from the inside out, then answered, “Hey, you.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked without saying hello.

  “Same ole, you know. Got that Monday morning blues straight through Monday afternoon.”

  He moaned in her ear, “How’s my pussy?”

  Her pussy contracted with excitement. Her body tingled.

  “Touch her for me,” he whispered.

  This time when he spoke, she came. Her vaginal muscles pulsated repeatedly. She hadn’t touched herself. The sound of his alluring voice made her cum. “Stop it. I’m driving.”

  “Then pull over and take off your thong for me. Stick your finger in your pussy for me. I bet she’s hot just the way I like her.”

  “Good-bye,” Foxy said.

  His voice softened with sincerity. “I love you, Foxy. I will always love you.”

  Why did he have to constantly remind her how much he loved her? Flowers, gifts, massages, dancing, movies, art galleries, museums, comedy shows, Broadway plays—all the things her husband used to do her ex had never stopped doing.

  She reflected on the day he’d taken her to see The Color Purple the night before the Tony Awards. Fifth row. Aisle seats. Oprah and Gayle sat five rows behind them in the middle of that row. When Celie and Nettie cried, she cried too. Her tears played patty-cake with her ex-man’s soul. He was her best friend. Everybody needed somebody to hug, to love. Her ex was always there for her. That was more than she could attest to for her workaholic husband.

  “I love you too,” she said ending the call.

  Foxy made a U-turn to take the long route home. She drove slower than usual. Headed north instead of south on Shoreline Drive to avoid passing her ex-fiancé’s house. Three-thirty traffic was light. Her pussy was moist. When would her husband realize she was no longer a happily married woman? Did he care?

  She pressed the engine button, turned off her car, then watched shoppers load grocery bags in their trunks. Women with kids, unaccompanied by men, got in and out of vehicles. She wondered if the women had husbands that used to grocery shop with them the way her husband used to shop with her.

  Walking into the store, Foxy called her dad.

  He answered, “Hey, how’s my number
one princess?”

  Hearing his voice made her smile. No man had treated her better than her father. When she was a little girl that was a good thing. Now that she was a woman, when her father gave her away, she thought her husband would treat her better. She was wrong. “I’m good, Daddy, how are you?” she asked, inspecting the filet mignon.

  “Doing great. You sound perturbed. What’s… ah, the Monday blues,” he said. “I told you to think like me. If you decide to do something, don’t worry about it. If you’re going to worry about it, don’t do it, princess.”

  “I’m not you, Daddy.”

  “I know, princess. And I know you’re not happy, but whatever you do, don’t have an affair. We men aren’t as forgiving as you women. Hey, I’m trying to downsize without layoffs. I have to go into a meeting. I’ll call you later. Love you,” he said.

  “Love you too, Daddy,” Foxy said, dropping her phone in her purse. She tossed red potatoes, fresh spinach, and a bottle of her husband’s favorite merlot into the shopping cart. Thinking about her husband somberly, she scanned her debit card, waited for the bagger to place her items in the cart.

  Foxy missed her man. She visualized his dick inside her, his hands caressing her breasts. She smiled placing the bags in the trunk. Her body jerked. Another orgasm surprised her. Hadn’t seen him since Saturday night. Yesterday she was at church with her sisters. She refused to go to the altar when Victoria had asked. Her sister was not her savior and going to the altar would’ve only satisfied Victoria. Foxy knew she was no saint but neither were her married sisters.

  On her drive home from the store, Foxy called her man. “Hey, baby. I just called back to say I miss you.”

  “Stop by for a minute so I can hug my sweet baby,” he said.

  “You know I have to have dinner with him. I’ll see you in the morning. I love you.”

  “Love you too,” he said.