I Got You

Martine had had such a shit week at work! No, not just a shit week, but a really shit month in fact. And actually, this was just the latest shit month in a long run of really shit months.

There used to be a time she would at least get a bit of a lift knowing it was Friday, but recently even the Friday feeling was history. These days, incredibly, Friday felt like the worst day of the week. And now, here she was again, the end of another week and she felt battered, frazzled, tired and empty. Just nothing left in the tank. Worn right down. Metal wheels cutting up tarmac about to crunch to a smoking halt.

It was not even lunchtime yet and she was desperately holding back tears. This was a new low. It just wasn’t her. She came out of the weekly team meeting feeling more broken and uncertain and demoralised than ever. She stood alone in front of the mirror in the Ladies, studying herself intently, feeling like letting out the loudest scream her weary body could muster. How much more could she take?

Have no doubt, Martine was one of the best, and she was great in her role. But things had been tough. And, of course, being a Black woman meant not only having to work harder than her White colleagues just to be acknowledged at all, but having to achieve more, to be better than all the rest to be considered good at her job. And really, let’s be real, it means having to be seen to be perfect in every way or getting that tsunami of silent underlying aggression sent your way for being human whilst Black. Indeed, it’s a known fact that even being seen to be perfect is no guarantee the floodwaters won’t drown you anyway. The perpetual meta-awareness required to monitor the impact of your Blackness upon the White corporate world around you, I mean WTAF?!

Yes, Martine was tired of these haunting meditations, but of course they were facts of life she was not allowed to ignore, not if she valued any hope of surviving, having a life, having a future, for her and her children. And so by default these observations ran through her mind in the background as she tentatively assessed her predicament.

She had used up her annual leave already earlier in the year for the kids, for her mother, for essential appointments. She worked daily pretty much without breaks, and worked late every night. And still felt constantly overwhelmed by the sheer volume she was expected to deal with as a norm. Then there were different teams constantly playing ‘fuck you’ politics instead of trying to resolve issues. Members of the team which she managed at each other’s throats all the time, and barely able to function as a team at all. It did not help, of course, that she had made a couple of mistakes, as everyone does. Nothing really terrible, but one that was significant enough to appear on the radar upstairs. Not good.

And on top of all of that she felt like she was letting her family down badly. Always exhausted, distracted, short tempered. With her husband. And her children. And her aging mother, whom, for some reason, her younger sister seemed to think was only Martine’s responsibility. And there seemed to be a constant stream of issues with the kids that she did not think she and her husband Ayan were really getting to grips with. And to be frank, it didn’t help, being the only Black family in the street. A situation which inevitably came with its own peculiar sense of isolation and hazard just because, well, White people. And that was pressure that hung around every minute.

She was beginning to feel like a complete failure in life. And none of it was her fucking fault! This fucking job was destroying her! Could anything else fucking go wrong?!

She was just thinking it might be time to admit defeat and look for another job when she got a text from her man. It looked like a long read. Probably more bad news about something or other. She decided to read it later. She closed her phone, took a deep breath and returned to the melee in the office.

Come lunchtime she was ready to fold. She did something she never did. She took an actual lunch break. In the canteen, Martine sat alone at a table, in the far corner a little way apart from others. She needed some peace and quiet. And that was precisely the vibe she transmitted to anyone looking her way. She tucked into her salad and started reading her messages, beginning with the one from hubby.

Hey hon! How you holding up? I know you’ve had a really crap time at work recently. Just texting to let you know I believe in you, you’re awesome, and you can do anything. And to let you know I got you this weekend. Your sister’s driving over to collect the kids from school this afternoon and take them back to hers for a sleepover with their cousins til Sunday evening. And my brother is going to drop by your mother’s this evening, tomorrow and Sunday. You know how she loves him. I have a bottle wine chilling for you here, your favourite, a nice Chablis. And while you’re sitting back, relaxing, listening to your favourite playlist (yes, I’ve got it here lined up ready to play), and enjoying your wine, I’m going to gently massage your feet for you. Then I’m going to run you a hot, soapy, fragrant, candlelit bath, and prepare your dinner while you’re soaking with that second glass of wine. And after we’ve eaten I’m going to ask you to lay back on the bed so I can pleasure your delectable cunny with my eager mouth like my life depends on it, because it does, you’re my life and your pleasure is everything to me. And of course I’ll serve your pleasure in any manner you wish. If you can still keep awake after a few orgasms, we could watch one of your favourite movies, or if you just want to roll over into a deep, comfortable, pleasure-filled sleep, that’s cool, and we can catch a movie tomorrow. Which reminds me, you’re not allowed to lift a finger around the house this weekend. I’ll be doing the housework tomorrow morning, nude if you’d like me to, while you lay in, enjoying the breakfast in bed I’m going to prepare for you and reading that new book by the bed you’ve been wanting to start for weeks. And it’ll be my privilege to do anything else you wish me to do for you, my queen. Anything at all. Hurry home. See you soon.

When she had finished reading the message, she read it again, holding back tears. She felt a bit silly, a little taken aback at how much of an impact the text had on her. But it made her feel so cared for, so supported, and valued, and appreciated, and cherished. Her heart flooded with joy and confidence, like she had a life outside of work to be envious of, like she was worthy of special loving care and attention, like she could take on anything life could throw at her.

And then she read the text a third time and then a fourth time, savouring the details, imagining her man eating her out. Yup, he sure knew how to eat pussy. Oh that fucking tongue of his! Okay, true, it had been while, but oh it was memorable, and she remembered. He had her in a whimpering, quivering mess every time. Martine’s nipples stiffened and she started feeling moist between her thighs. She glanced nervously around the canteen to check no-one was reading the filthy thoughts flashing across her mind.

She replied to the text with three heart emojis and tried to move on, knowing full well she could not allow herself to dwell any further on what was waiting for her after work, not if she was going to have any chance of being able to function properly for the rest of the day. 

But all afternoon she simply could not banish that joyful, all-conquering smile from her beautifully radiant face.