Tangled Taboo: Waylen and Holly’s Forbidden Love
Mary Not Wollstonecraft
Tangled Taboo:
Waylen and Holly’s Forbidden Love
Indulge in the forbidden with In Tangled Taboo,
An interracial love triangle that’ll leave you panting.
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.
Bookapy User License
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please go to Bookapy.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Tangled Taboo:
Waylen and Holly’s Forbidden Love
Love is a marvelous, elusive thing. My name is Holly Golightly Sanders. My mother was, at the time of my birth, quite the romantic. She and Father were deeply in love for many years. But as I said, love is elusive.
My Father, Edward Sanders, was a bitter man who failed to give Mother, or me, attention. Working in a high-pressure job, consumed with advancement, we became afterthoughts. I don’t remember when he stopped giving me hugs. And to be truthful, I can’t remember if he ever kissed or hugged me.
Part of my father’s resentment stemmed from old-fashioned views of the world. In 1980, when he lost out on a promotion to a black man, his bitterness turned into bile-filled hate. Not that he was ever a fan of any minority. He considered anyone not white as subhuman.
He resented black people for taking his future away from him. His soured disposition affected his relationship with Mother and me. Mommy’s friendship with some black folks angered him. When I defended her, his hate turned to me.
Mother’s deceptions lasted for months. Sneaking around, having an affair with a black man. When Father discovered their treachery, he left us heartbroken. Nevertheless, he was my father, and despite his cold indifference to me through the years, I loved him. It took more months, and they divorced. Father, feeling she’d humiliated him, moved away, leaving me as devastated as he.
Not that he left. He’d left me much earlier if he’d ever cared for me at all. The devastation came from living in a house so empty of love. My mother’s heart held no love for anyone but Waylen, and I was an outcast in my home.
Father moved from Denver to Miami, Florida. A few months later, Father moved to New York City for some reason known only to him. After that, dear ole Dad tried LA. The problem was there were minorities wherever he went.
As soon as Father was gone, Waylen moved in.
My mother, being with Waylen, took getting used to. Waylen was a handsome man with incredibly dark skin. Younger than mother by some five or six years. I held a grudge against him. He’d driven a wedge between my mother, the only person who’d ever shown me love, and me.
How does one live without some small comfort given them out of love?
At night, the two of them cuddled and cooed on the couch. Whispering secrets they didn’t wish me to hear. Later in the wee hours of the morning, they made love. They weren’t discrete but loud and boisterous. The headboard banged against the wall separating my room from theirs. As they made love, my mother cursed like a sailor, screeching in ecstasy.
Often, Waylen sounded like a rutting pig. Then again, they were rutting. It wasn’t so much making love as fucking. Loud, nasty fucking. If I’m honest, I have no notion what a rutting pig sounds like.
Once my mother’s belly swelled, I realized I, too, would find myself displaced.
After all, I’m nineteen, have a job, and am out of school. If I stayed in their home, I’d be a babysitter and nothing more. One night, while I lay in bed contemplating my fate, Waylen tapped on my door.
“Yes,” I said.
“May I come in?”
“Sure.”
The door opened, and Waylen walked into the room. Pulling my sheets and spread to cover me to my neck, I gazed at him. Fully expecting him to order me out of ‘his’ house as soon as possible. Barring that, he’d lay down the law regarding my duties to my mother and baby half-sibling.
Waylen shifted from one foot to the next. Tension hung in the air, thick, palpable. Eyes dark as coal gazed at me with an intensity I’d never seen. A tingling in my toes and fingers and a prickling on my neck pestered me.
He frightened me. Without speaking a word, he scared the shit out of me.
Sitting on my bed beside me, he turned his intense gaze into my eyes. He placed his hand on my leg and squeezed my thigh slightly. The glower softened, and his face lost all the severe manifestation that terrified me.
“Your mother and I want you to know you can live in this, her house, for as long as you want.” Waylen’s voice was deep and raspy but spoke calmly and gently. “We were married a few weeks ago. You’re my stepdaughter now, and I’ll try to be a good father for you.”
“And I’ll be your excellent babysitter,” I said. My voice was harsh and sarcastic.