Everything with Langston was about image and perception. But as important as his public image was, his private image could not have been more drastically different. Like most men, Langston liked a woman to look like a lady in public, and be able to transform into a Penthouse Playmate in private. He held no fewer standards for himself.

Langston wasn’t as freaky as he was kinky. He liked to be tied up and spanked. He had a pair of steel handcuffs he kept locked up under his bed for special occasions. It was new to me, but if he liked it, I loved it.

What was also new to me was that Langston really didn’t like intercourse. Langston liked giving oral sex, and boy could he go. After our first couple of sexual encounters I nicknamed him Pac Man. You could stick a quarter in Langston’s neck and he could go all night long. Sometimes, when he was on a roll, he’d score an extra man, which made him go into bonus minutes. Chomping, chomping, chomping. Head bobbing up and down like a plastic bobble-head doll. Chomping, chomping, chomping. Bouncing, bouncing, bouncing. That little head would be out of control.

One time he got dizzy and passed out. I splashed some cold water on his face. He came to and like a trouper hit it again. Pleasing me pleased him. He always said when I was happy, he was happy. And trust me, I was happy. Very happy.

After a couple of months, he became very busy with his position on the city council and we just faded apart. He always said that when and if the time ever became right, I would be his choice for a wife. Maybe this was the right time.

“Welcome to Logan International Airport. Flight attendants, prepare for descent.”

The plane landed, passengers exited, the cabin was cleaned, and passengers traveling from Richmond to D.C. entered the plane. And there, first on the plane as usual, was Langston, refusing to be second to anyone in anything.

He was still looking good, refined. High yellow, tall, and handsome. A black Ken doll. Not a black wavy hair out of place. The perfect smile. Not by birth, but by caps. He arrived at his first class bulkhead seat, removed his dark gray wool coat and flipped it inside out, folding it once vertically, sleeves folded once horizontally. It was his ritual. Everything was perfect and in order.

I stayed out of sight, waiting for the perfect opportunity to reacquaint.

“The captain has turned off the seatbelt sign, you are now free to move about the cabin.”

Langston rose from his seat and appeared to be headed toward the lavatory, but the first class lavatory was already occupied. Excellent. Langston would have to use the lavatory in coach. Slowly he made his way up the aisle.

“Excuse me.” As he passed passengers one by one.