The Boarder
Mary Not Wollstonecraft
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The Boarder
It was TyQuan’s first session with a white married woman.
Mary Not Wollstonecraft
© Copyright 2023 by Mary the Wollstonecraft Woman
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote a lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
The Boarder
Small College Town in the 1990s
My husband understood he was playing with fire when we solicited a boarder from the local college. When a young, black 18-year-old freshman man showed up at our door, asking about the space, my husband invited him to check out the room.
The boy, TyQuan Simpson, was tall, muscular, handsome, shy, and reserved. My husband pumped him for information, asking about the sport he played. “None,” TyQuan answered. What extracurricular activities he participated in, “Don’t do anything. I’m here to learn.”
Getting more personal, “What about girlfriends? Do you date a lot?”
“No, sir, don’t date at all. Like I told you, I’m here to learn.” His eyes darted to me every few seconds, and returned to my husband.
“Does the price include any meals?” TyQuan asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “Breakfast is at 7:00 am, giving you plenty of time to make your first class. Evening meals will be at 7:00 pm. If you’re here around the noon hour, I’ll fix you lunch.”
“TyQuan,” my husband, Blake, said, “When do you want to move in?”
“Well, I’m staying in a motel,” TyQuan said. His eyes shifted around the room, locking on my eyes with momentary glances, returning his gaze to my husband or staring blankly at the floor or walls. “Today, if it’d be okay. I got the money for the first month.” He dug money out of his front pocket.
“Well, son, hang on to your money,” Blake said. “After all, the month doesn’t start until Monday, and classes don’t begin until the 17th. How about this first month is a get-to-know-each-other period? You hang on to your cash and pay us for September. Let’s say the first month and a few days are on us. You just help my wife around the house.”
TyQuan moved in, and the first week proceeded without incident. But the first weekend, well, that’s when my husband hatched his little scheme. Unknown to me, Blake had installed a hidden camera system in every room of the house. He made his excuse on Saturday morning of going to play two rounds of golf.
“Thirty-six holes of Golf?” I said.
“Yes, dear,” he said. Adding, “Entertain TyQuan and have some fun.”
I knew what Blake Goldman wanted, what he meant. He wanted me to have fun and seduce the young black man. The young man tripped two triggers at the same. He was in the magical age between 18 and 23, between hay and grass, not yet a man, no longer a boy. I certainly needed no encouragement. In truth, since he walked into my life, I obsessed over his swarthy skin, tall, muscular frame, large hands, and long thin fingers.