Imani Wisdom's brainchild -- Pink Noire Publications -- has been known for her unpredictable style of storytelling. Now its founder is expanding the "pink and black" brand to shine on prolific artists. From the inspirationalist, Danica Worthy to bestselling author, Stacy Deanne, Pink Noire understand these talented individuals know how to express their craft through words, song, dance, and stroke of a brush.

Chapter Two: Introduction of Dr. Anthony Robinson


I was sitting in the hospital boardroom gazing the large picture window facing the Indianapolis skyline. It was 1:24 on Wednesday afternoon and I was already feeling the effects from last night’s heated exchange with my wife, Nikki. I felt immensely tired as if I haven’t had slept in weeks. Even my pen that I kept tapping against the board table felt a like a brick. My eyes burned with an intense desire to lay my head down and forget the last two days at home.

As I fought the temptation, I looked down the long table, and saw what was left of the hospital board. If my mind wasn’t a million miles away, I would guess they’re either gossiping about what nurse screwed whom or what doctor has a hefty malpractice suit thrown against them. I never cared for that shit! I come to work, try my best to save lives, and go home. I would occasionally speak at engagements or sit at the local news station hooked on a satellite to lend my medical opinion to the major 24 hour news channels. Although I’m honored for those part-time jobs that pay more than some yearly salaries, they don’t matter right now. I’m very tired and anxiously ready to leave the hospital! After all, this is my day off.

Then I felt a sudden vibration in my blazer. It was my iPhone. I took a glimpsed and saw Nikki’s text message covering my screen: “We need to talk when you get home”.

“What?” I wondered.

Haven’t we talked enough, or rather argued enough? What else needs to be said? For two days, since Dr. White came to our home, Nikki has been accusing me of cheating. I mean it’s not like she hasn’t accused me before because she has, but each time, it always ended as a happy ending. I buy her flowers, candies, a silk negligee, or sing a serenade to prove it’s her and only her in my life. What more does want from me?

My hands pay for our mortgage, cars, vacations, and her occasional wifey gifts. I swore the day when I proposed to her, that I will take care of her and treat her like the woman she deserves. I still kept that promise. I want the world to know how Mrs. Robinson won’t ever have to struggle for anything! I want her to always be the “Bella of the Ball”, the wife at the dinner parties or hospital fundraising events to be the most envied by other wives. Nikki would call it; “Hating”, but I would call it “appreciate another’s woman’s blessings”.

“Dr. Robinson?” echoed beyond deep in my thoughts.

“Dr. Robinson?.....Did you hear what I asked you?” asked one of doctors.

It was Stephanie Adams-Curry, the head of Cardiology. I won’t say she’s the best in her field. She’s okay, but not the best. There were many who were more qualified for that position. Let’s just say, Stephanie had creative ways to get her name and skills out there, even if has to be on a personal basis. I should know; I was nearly one of her victims two years ago. In brief, I was in the Doctor’s lounge waking from a nap and she was stood above me with a broad and devious smile. She asked if I wanted my hands massage. I hesitated for a bit since she already had a reputation for living the life of “Grey’s Anatomy”, screwing any of the staff, anytime, anywhere. After I raised my hand for her to place her snow white hand against my chocolate dark skin, she made a detour down south. She began to caress my scrub where my penis laid asleep. She massaged it like a Swedish masseuse, rubbing in spots that I didn’t know exist. I was shocked as hell; speechless, rather. This plain-looking woman had a mission and she knew I was her goal. But before she tried lowering my scrubs, I took her hands and stopped her. I remember her bright blue eyes widen with shock. I guess she didn’t expect this Black man to say “No”, but I did and added that I would report her to the Chief of Staff, Dan Curry. And yes, his last name is hers also. That same day she tried given me head, I caught her given him head in the same room. I guess having good lip service does pays off! She married the Chief of Staff and has a cushiony position…..Damn!!

Meanwhile, I remained seated at the table while Stephanie, her husband and Chief of Staff, Dan Curry and the Head of Pediatrics, Dr. Saheli Bhaskar stared at me as if they were offended by my lack of attention.

‘Huh?” I quickly replied as I realized I was still tapping my pen against the wooden the table. “I’m sorry, Stephanie, could you repeat that again?”

“I said” she repeated, “Are you really going to leave your position here to become a full-time Analyst for NBC?

“Why?.....Is there a problem with it?” I asked.

“Oh no, Anthony!” answered Dan, “Stephanie and I have been saying that NBC job will be perfect you!"

It was nice to hear that vote of confidence from a man I admired since arriving here twenty years ago. He, himself is a Neurosurgeon and put me under his wing. All of the years of medical school and training; including my experience during Desert Storm couldn’t amount the teaching Dr. Curry gave me. All of my accolades wouldn’t have been possible if it wasn’t for him.

Then I smile at his words and got up from the soft leather chair without saying another remark. I checked my pocket to make sure I didn’t leave my iPhone, grabbed my satchel, and walked towards the door. As I exited, I quickly said to Dan, “It’s not like I’m leaving for good. I’ll back every now and then to beat your ass in golf!”

“With your handicap, I don’t think so!” he chuckled.

Then he went on, “Hey….why don’t you and your lovely wife come by for dinner this Saturday?....Think of it as a going away party”. So, I nodded my tired head to his invitation and finally left the boardroom.

As I was chuckling at his accurate observation on my golfing abilities, my iPhone vibrated again. It was Nikki’s message covering the screen with the same words: “Plz come home soon. We need 2 talk!” I cringed with an aggravated sigh, refusing to text or call her back. Last I check we’re both Professionals that worked hard to get our advance degrees. This is not some high school --- no wait— junior high kid shit that blow up someone’s cell phone with text messages. I am too tired to play her child ass games!

Before the elevator wind down to the seventh floor, I wondered, “What if I did let Stephanie gave me head? After all, that wouldn’t have been considered as cheating, would it? Sometimes I would like to try, for one time, to cheat. To have sex someone who doesn’t enjoy the rough stuff all the time. When Nikki and I have sex, not make love, she always wants it rough. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with a little spice in the bedroom, but she makes a Dominatress envied the hell out of her! She likes the kind of rough sex that requires ropes, chains, and an every once in a while, whips. She likes role play which is cool because I like it too. However though, Nikki’s definition of “role play” went afar out my means a couple of months ago.

woman Pictures, Images and Photos

My wife and I were in a zealous exchange by our numerous caressing and kissing. Then all of the sudden, Nikki stops and said; “I want to try something new”. I thought to myself, what the hell, sure why not. I felt her scooting out the bed in the darkness of the room and fiddled around the spacious walk-in closet. As I heard her mumbling, I was anxious to see what role play she was going to do. So, I lay on my back, staring at the plain white ceiling, wondering which character will come out to play. Then I heard her spoke in a semi-whisper, “Turn over, baby! I want to give you a deep, penetrating massage”.

“That sounds awfully good” I answered. I turned over as I rest my head against my folded arms on my pillow accompanied with a huge grin. The grin was so big I felt like a little boy on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa Claus, anticipating that big moment that took 365 days in the making. Yet only this time, it’s my wife with her own bag of goodies.

When she came out of our closet, she moseyed on the bottom of our bed, kissing my shin upwards to my thighs. Then I felt her soft lips kissing every square inch on my back and then to my neck. Nikki sucked my earlobe that made my “peter” jabbed deeper into the bed. “How you like it, baby!” she asked.

‘Ahhhh, baby, I like it, damn it , I like…..” I couldn’t get the words out because her caressing and kissing in all of the right places felt so incredibly good. My legs were shaking from the electrified sensation she was doing to me. And then after I heard her putting lotion in her hands, Nikki did something that made say, for the first time at her, “Hell motherfucking, naw!!!” (And I don’t use those words in my vocabulary!)

My wife was in such of a kinky mood that she wanted to play a new role call “Proctologist” and I was her patient. She was focus in her role play that she thought my ass was her lunch by tossing my salad. “Baby, wait a minute!” I demanded. I turned around at the silhouette of her nakedness. Her curves were curvaceous with a scent of her favorite citrus perfume meeting my senses. Yet, there something about her curves, something more unordinary than extraordinary. She was wearing a GODDAMN DILDO!

Black and Gray Sexy Couple Pictures, Images and Photos

As said earlier, I am for the spice up sex. I’m even for the occasional having sex at random places, but I’m not down for that bisexual shit! I am a heterosexual man; not a part-time one. I have a lot of gay friends and I respect them for who they are. But me, I am 100 percent man! What my wife tried to pulled, made my “peter” fall back to sleep. When it got limp, she had the audacity to get mad at me and stormed out of the bedroom to one of the guest rooms. She thought I was going chase her and tell her it was okay for her to screw me in my ass with a plastic penis? Hell no!!!! Instead, I went straight to sleep without a second thought.

Then finally, it arrives. I hopped inside the surprisingly empty elevator and glanced at my cell phone once more to view Nikki’s text as if her face was on my illuminated screen. I nearly pressed the “call back” button, but I wavered at the notion. Whatever whining or complaining she has, it can wait until I get home!

BLACK HOT MERCEDES Pictures, Images and Photos

I was driving home in my black 2010 Mercedes Benz with some Anita Baker blaring through the surround sound speakers, singing “You Bring Me Joy”. That song has brought back some great memories. Actually, it was this very song I serenaded to Nikki the night I proposed to her. We were eating at the finest restaurant in downtown Indy and I had this sudden urge to play the piano that sat near us. At the time, she brought so much to “joy” to my life; I had to tell the world about it; even if it was in a tiny, dimly-lit restaurant. When I sang to her, I forgot there were nearly 40 other patrons. My focus; my heart and my soul were to her and to no one else.

As I continue the ride home, I had my windows down so I feel the wind against my face; even Anita’s smooth voice couldn’t keep eyes from getting heavy. Then, my tired eyes saw a pretty sight. It was a “Pretty Young Thing” sitting at the traffic light alone in an old 1970’s, apple green Cadillac with shiny, silver rims worth at least $1200 dollars. This young chick had to been taken. Usually, those sharp rides are owned by guys, but that’s okay. This tired man’s eyes can look at the voluptuousness of this girl’s body along with her breast big enough to become my soft twenty-something pillows. It’s alright to have a two minute infatuation of a stranger who I won’t see again just as long I won’t touch.

Then the girl started to eye my car. I was expecting it. I knew she wasn’t the type for CNN, MSNBC, or CBS; she doesn’t know who I am. Only a few ladies I’ve encountered recognized me as an Analyst and only a less than a handful read my books, but I get a lot of “Kool-Aid” smiles at my car. “Hey man?.....What kind of paper you making?” she shouted above the obnoxious humming of the muffler.

I conveyed a nervous laugh and quickly replied, “This is my boss’s car. I’m only taking it to the car wash”.

Of course I had to lie. If I told every young thing that I’m a Doctor, forget mentioning I’m a Brain Surgeon or my books been on the New York Times Bestseller list, their pupils would turn into money-green dollar signs. To them, I will be their “Baller” or “Rapper” and they expect my money to be their money, even if it’s no marriage. My hard ass work will be their Powerball prize! Thanks but no thanks. As I said, this two-minute traffic stop is enough to put a temporary zap on my “Peter”. I can look and certainly won’t touch. Then lil Pretty Young Thing rolled her eyes in disappointment and sped off as soon the light had turned green. Oh well….

Seconds later, my wife called through the Bluetooth in my car. At first I wasn’t going to answer it, her cell number was enough for me to relive last night’s argument. So I let it ring; just how she let the doorbell ring when Dr. White came by our house for dinner. My wife can be so mean at times. I don’t understand how she can act like a bitter woman and has everything! Why? I mean, I know her past. When Nikki was seven years old, her mother sold her to a drug dealer for a fix. My wife never went into the details. It wasn’t that she couldn’t remember, she told me she doesn’t want to remember. The only thing she did say was her Grandmother found her walking near the corner of Eugene and Clifton Streets around four o’clock in the morning without her pants and panties. That was the last time she ever saw her mother again.

Then the usual annoying you-have-voicemail chimed through the Bluetooth. I initially didn’t want to check it. I really, really, really didn’t want to hear her complaining, whining, or screaming through my speakers. I was driving and didn’t want to get into an accident because my wife wants to cuss me out through voicemail. Besides, I wasn’t far from home. Whatever she has to tell me, she can tell me there. At least we have a large quantity of square feet that I can hide away, in any room or crevice, from her shit!


After that exhilarating shower, I walked around the empty house with only a towel. I’m usually too lazy to dry off or lotion down. I prefer the air to dry me off. I would go and lay in our bed, wet and soggy, but hearing Nikki cuss at me for that is the last thing I needed to hear.

Suddenly, I noticed it’s a quarter until three in the afternoon, and usually, my wife is home preparing an after school snack for Taj when she arrives home at 4:30.  Strange, after avoiding my wife phone call, now I’m curious of her whereabouts? I just didn’t want to argue over some stupid shit….again! Especially picking up the same shit from last night, “Who’s the bitch?” over and over again. While she constantly hurled accusations, she stood with her hands on her hips, pointing her finger in my face, and repeated that tired ass line. She never caught a breath. I swear, for every dollar during the argument of her words “Who’s the bitch?” I could retire in comfort from medicine.

The second line she uses all the time is “I’m a strong black woman and you get can’t hurt me!”…..Okay…I love my black women. I love how resilient Black women have been; including going back when our ancestors set foot in this country. My mother have always told me, “There’s nothing wrong with being a strong Black woman, but willing to be just “a” woman to walk by her man’s side and never walk ahead or lag behind. In other words, become each other’s equal”. When she used to tell me that, I didn’t comprehend the magnitude of her words. To me, being a teen then, she sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher, “Wonk, wonk, wonk, wonk”. Now, at 50, I completely understood what she meant. There’s a fine line between being “a strong black woman” and “wanting to control the relationship”. And my wife is the epitome of a Black woman teetering between the two.

She also added some paranoia into last night’s argument. Not only she accused me of cheating but accused me of wanting to leave her for a “white woman”. I refused to acknowledge her claim with a comment. It was more than ridiculous but crossed the line of being insulting. She knows the white women I work with are happily married, happily engaged, and the happily gay. There will not be nor will it ever be a physical or emotional attraction with those ladies. Besides, Nikki’s definition of communication is to throw any bullshit she can think of to get reaction from me! Like this stupid ass paranoia and white women, she tries bringing stuff from the past that I don’t remember. I don’t think any man can sleep peacefully with crazy stuff like I had to tolerate for two days. That’s why I’m tired ass hell!

As I headed back upstairs to our bedroom with a glass of Bourbon and last weekend’s New York Times, I noticed a photograph of Nikki standing with the Mayor sitting along a row of pictures in front of the window in the living room. Inside the silvery frame was my wife shaking hands with Mayor Jackson. The scene looked more staged than real. The two faced the camera with artificial smiles while Jackson held her hand as though it was a burden on him. And yet with his spurious grin, she glowed.

“Damn!” I said as I held the photograph, “If only you knew the real reason why I don’t want you to go back to the Prosecutor’s Office, Nikki. ….This is one thing you have to stay mad at me. A husband has to protect his wife.”

Cocoa/aka posion Pictures, Images and Photos

I couldn’t put the photograph down, she was beautiful. Words cannot describe how I felt as held her photograph. I miss her smile; I miss her glow; I miss her unwavering affection. But most of all, I miss her telling me she loved me. So I perched her photograph underneath my arm to take it upstairs with me to bed. Nikki can be one of most difficult people to get through, to understand, and to compromise. But despite it all, the complexity of personality under weighs her amiable persona. That’s why I fell in love with her and that’s why I married her. She can believe it or not, but no other woman is incomparable to my Nicole Robinson… one!

Still naked and wearing only a towel, I was lying on the bed trying to get relaxed enough to get to sleep. They say when you’re body and mind is in a colossal of weariness, you can’t sleep. I tossed and turned to find a comfortable position, and yet nothing. I tried to gaze at my wife’s photograph, hoping her beauty can relax me, still nothing. Then, I heard Nikki’s car pulled into the driveway. I can feel my blood pressure suddenly rise. I’m not sure if I have the strength to argue with her again. Like how she did me the other night when I came home after three in the morning, I quickly closed my eyes, and pretended I was sleep too.

I could vaguely hear her stilettos knock against the wooden floors as she moved from room to room downstairs. Then soft murmurs ricocheted down the staircase, it was her talking on the phone. That’s not anything unusual. Lately, since the arguments has been our daily routine, she’s been on the phone more instead of trying to work out this tension that’s been brewing between us. Most of all, it’s whom she talk to and share our private business is what I don’t appreciate --- Her girlfriends.

Why do women do that? I understand we need to talk to someone about our problems from time to time, but when it pertain someone else’s business, like their husbands or boyfriends, it becomes a problem. Her friends, since she known since the fourth grade, hear her side of the story, never mines. I can image them telling her on the phone….. “Yeah girl, he’s no good!”….. “Girl, it sounds like he’s cheating you”…..and “Nikki, you’re too good for him!”…..Out of all of her friends, the one who says this shit the most is Porsche!

gold digger Pictures, Images and Photos

This petite, average looking, golddigger put the “ghetto” in ghetto-fab! She doesn’t’ have to work for anything because her “married” NBA ballers, Pro-Football players, or wanna-be Rap stars pay all of her bills, car and house notes and her rainbow-colored hair weaves. How can give you advice to a married woman, if you’re screwing married MEN? The logic behind this is as asinine as Porsche laying up all day doing absolutely nothing but to screw rich men that only want her for one thing…..SEX! As she eloquently puts it to my wife, “Bitch is playing Boo-Boo the fool!”

“Okay….I’ll see you tomorrow then… you too….Okay…Bye, Nana” as Nikki ended her phone call. I remained a good actor by staying in my faux sleep mode. Like Nikki the other night, I had my back turned away from the door, feeling a touch of draft against my back as she came inside. “Anthony?” she spoke in a soft voice.

“Anthony, are you awake?”

I didn’t respond, just remained silent with my eyes tightly closed. I can sense her essence moving around our bedroom towards the closet. Then I took a chance by slightly cracking my eyelids to see what she was up to. And wow, I opened to a vision of loveliness. She wore a short; grayish-blue dress that snug her hourglass curves with long and perfect legs to finished her look. Damn! She’s beautiful as hell. Every time she bent down in the closet, her perfect ass was making the blood rush to my manhood. Viagra? If she continued stoop up and down like that, I wouldn’t need it anymore!

“Baby?” she called out, “I know you’re not sleep. You can’t use my tricks against me”.

Still, I didn’t respond. I kept my eyes closed, but it was hard. She walked to the side of the bed and the scent of her perfume devoured my inner beast. While still lying in my towel, Nikki sat beside me. “Anthony?” she said again. Again, I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t bear arguing over another broken record of dumb shit. Yet, my unbreakable stance was becoming breakable. My eyes wanted to see her sitting next to me. I think I’m going to lose this battle.

Then she said something that was unexpected and astounding. “Anthony, I know you’re not asleep, so I have to say this to you anyway”.

I exhaled another aggravated sigh. “Not now!” I thought, “I can’t endure another fight”.

“Anthony, I don’t normally do this, but if I’m wrong, I’m wrong!” she said.

Then she continued on while my eyelids were trembling with anxiety, “I’m sorry”.

Its rare those two words come from my wife’s mouth. As a matter of fact, I don’t recall her ever apologizing for anything. Nikki is a natural born debater. She will debate about anything and hate to feel she’s losing the argument. Perhaps that’s why she was persistent for the last couple of days over her accusations. Deep down she knows I wasn’t cheating. Either Porsche or one of her girlfriends put that in her head or she’d developed a quick case of paranoia. Regardless, her relentless actions nearly questioned our marriage.

Meanwhile, I opened my eyes to see her radiance staring back me. How can I stay mad at her? She made that “Pretty Young Thing” I saw at the traffic light look like a jacked up troll. My wife presence personified a Goddess. What’s more? Not only she apologized, she wore her beautiful smile, something I haven’t seen months. I can tell her words were truly sincere.

“Baby, I’ve been out of line with you lately” she said, “I shouldn’t have accused of you cheating on me. I know you’re not doing that…..It just that I lay night after night waiting for you to come home from the hospital and I feel more and more lonesome each time. I feel left out. And worse more than anything, I feel like I’m losing you”.

After two days, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. It felt as though a huge weight have been lifted from my shoulders. A sudden storm of stress had suddenly dispersed. I felt rejuvenated enough to rise from the comforts of my pillow to gaze into her big brown eyes. I noticed a few strands of her weave lie near her left eye. Like a gentlemen, I gently move it to the side. I smiled as I caressed her soft caramel cheek. “Damn!” I thought, “I am so blessed”.

“Nikki, you’re not losing me. You and I are forever, you understand that?....Forever!”

She smiled again as a single tear ran down her meticulous, subtle makeup. Nikki began to rub her hand on my cheek and sweetly kissed me. That kissed opened a Pandora Box of sensual emotions. Her soft, lip gloss glazed over my lips. It was short and precise, but good enough for me to forget the last two days.

“Nikki, where’s Taj?” I asked.

She added a few more kisses and explained, “Since it’s no school tomorrow and Friday, she’s staying with Nana for the weekend”.

Desires Pictures, Images and Photos

Then I heard her kicking off her stilettos’ and began to move her body on the bed. Still wearing her dress, her 5’5 frame sprawled on top of me. Slowly, she caressed my torso, moving her hands through every muscle. She put her lips against my skin and began to passionately kiss my chest, then to my neck, and to my lips again. She shook her weave away from her face to continue to kiss me some more and asked “Baby, will you forgive me?”

“Yes” I replied.

Then a moment that rarely happens, Nikki continued to kiss me back down to my neck, sucking the life out of it; then she move to my chest, abs, and my thigh. That’s right; my damn thighs!. The reason why this is rare is because she claims she don’t give head. And that’s another thing I don’t understand about women. They want men to eat their “kats” until they reach their climax, but won’t do us in return? My wife excuse is, she don’t want to put her mouth where I pee. I hate to break it to her but women have menstrual cycles, what could be worse?

Anyway, I was enjoying this shit too much! My heart began to race hoping she would consider…..just consider doing me. And yes, when I mean “doing me”, I mean giving me some oral. I can’t remember the last time she done that, but it has been too long….way too long!!!

Suddenly, after that final kiss on my thigh, my hopes were answered. For someone who doesn’t do that much foreplay, knew how to lock her jaws when the time was right. All day I fought to stay awake, but not this time. It felt extremely good that I had to close my eyes and wondered who is this woman and where did come from? Every stroke she was taking, she took my breath away. In the past, we had our share of disagreements, or arguments which always ended pretty well. Yet this day, I have to consider this is one of the best makeup-sex ever!

While her jaws were locked onto me, I could feel myself inner soul about to explode from this damp body. Words couldn’t describe how I felt at that moment. How could one paint a vivid picture of me swimming into a “Nectarous Ecstasy” stream? How? I didn’t feel like a 50 year old; rather a teenage boy getting his first lip service. I mean, it was that good!

Nikki never went far enough for me to reach my point nor bother to take off her dress. She raised it enough to get herself comfortable to ride me like a champion Equestrian. Then when was it over, she done something she hasn’t done in awhile, falling asleep in my arms. As I lie there with my towel half off and Nikki sleeping peacefully, I was thinking back to her apology. She didn’t express any regrets of her actions when Dr. White came over for dinner. She didn’t think I noticed her flirtatious ways; the blatantly intrepid stares; the nosey queries; walking superfluous hard to make her ass prominent, and batting her eyelashes to get a reaction. I guess my wife thought I was blind, not noticing her reverting back to her old ways before she met me. I know she liked those young thugs. Yes, Dr. White somewhat fit the description, but I know he’s not stupid to jeopardize his career to have a fling with Nikki. Or, I also know my wife, being an outstanding Attorney she is, should remember our Pre-Nuptial agreement about whoever cheats doesn’t get SHIT!....No comfy house….No fancy cars, and especially my money. She will leave this marriage the same way she came in it, damn near broke and alone. Compared to my wife, I won’t hurl accusations about Dr. White to her. The first test is Saturday at Dr. Curry’s house. He and his wife, Stephanie, not only invited Nikki and I, but also invited him. I love my wife more than anything, but I will be damned to be played like a fool!

Still holding Nikki in bed, I finally glanced at the clock and it was approaching a quarter until six o’clock. “What a day!” I sighed. I kissed my wife on her forehead as I felt my eyes getting heavy. Sleep was on the way! Before I closed them, I wondered one more thing, “How am I going to tell my wife about the Analyst job at NBC, but even a bigger question, how am I going to tell her we’re moving to New York?”


© Tamara “Imani” Wisdom, 2010


Anonymous said...

This book is going to be so good! I can't wait for more!!!!

Niccole Simmons said...

Please give me more!!!

Michelle Pugh said...

Can't wait until the next one