32 bandanas

Backstory: Back in March I did a free write and posted it in my readers group on FB, here's the lead-up: sometimes (read: all the damn time) being my friend is a very weird place to be, LMFAO. i was riffing off of a friend saying she should fuck a clown (like an actual circus one & not a wack dude) earlier when she & i were having a conversation & then this happened.

i.

“Whose kid is obsessed with clowns and the circus at this young of an age? See, I told you that test tube shit wasn’t legit, sis. Do we need to take my baby to get tested and make sure everything is okay?” I laughed.

My bestie Patty didn’t find my jokes too funny as it was her child in question. But I mean, honestly what five-year-old did we know that specifically requests their fifth birthday party have a big top theme, with the main attraction being clowns? None, until this kid! And considering that he was the product of artificial insemination, I thought my questions—although asked in jest—were valid. How much did we really know about the other half of his DNA? Yeah, we had the lil profile that the medical facility had on Donor X, but how did we know exactly how much truth was told when that man was jerking his lil swimmers into a cup so he could put some cheese on his burger? Nothing is fool proof and folks have gotten away with way bigger lies than giving a little info on paperwork that makes you look…a little less left of center.

“Hey! You were the one who took him to see Madagascar 3. That started this all, so basically this is your fault, Rock,” Pat replied, slyly.

“And you couldn’t talk him out of it? Dude, everyone knows clowns are creepy as fuck. You could have done the whole circus theme without clowns, sis! That movie was about the animals…”

“And were you about to bring a damn lion tamer and dancing elephants into my backyard big top, or…?” Pat queried.

“I mean…I suppose you have a point or whatever.”

I had to give it up to Pat though, I didn’t think she had it in her. Not that she wasn’t the very best mom to her namesake because she absolutely was, but she was never really the arts and crafts, hands-on, Pinterest is my Patronus kind of mom. But not only had she drafted me and her sister Lena to help, but she’d done the lion’s share of the decorating and preparation for the party. She’d converted one of those outdoor tents into a looking like a real life big top and rented cotton candy and popcorn machines from a local party company to provide snacks for the kids. The same company had also provided a few carnival style games that she had staged around the perimeter of the tent for kids and their parents to enjoy. It was wild adorable, and I knew PJ was going to enjoy it when the neighbor brought him back home slightly before the party was to begin.

“Okay, what else is left?” I asked, clapping my hands together and staring around the tent which actually looked like it had all finally come together.

“Nothing else left, but to get myself and Peej dressed,” Patricia said, glancing at the watch on her wrist, “Actually…”

“Actually what?” I asked, skeptically.

“Can you get the entertainment settled in while we get dressed at Miss Blakely’s? She custom sewed our outfits and we might have some last-minute alterations that need to get done? I’d ask Cel, but she just cut outta here like a thief in the night, sending me a damn text talkin’ about she’ll be back before the party ends,” Patty grumbled.

“You want me…who is deathly afraid of clowns. To be the point of contact for those creepy motherfu…” I started but was quickly interrupted by the appearance of the finest man I’d seen in a while peeking his head into the entrance of the tent.

“Excuse me,” my future ex-husband said, “is one of you Miss Patricia Payne?”

“I could be for you, baby,” I replied before Patty could even respond.

“Cool down, hot pants,” Patty muttered before informing the man that she was who he was seeking.

Apparently, he was one of those creepy ass clown entertainers that she’d hired but hadn’t gotten into full garb. Any positive feelings I had about him quickly waned just thinking about him with a fully painted face and big red shoes. I sighed, disappointed. Damn, thwarted once again! I thought. I’d been on a mission to get laid for the past six weeks and every time I thought I’d found the one to break my drought an obstacle appeared to quickly take the man out the running. Sometimes in the form of a wedding ring—or the shadow of long worn one clearly indicated by a deep tan line. Other times were like today…a stupid circumstance keeping me from possibly sampling the dick of life. The one that would get your girl back on the horse, so to speak.

ii.

“Are you gonna keep staring at that man like a creep or are you gonna say something,” Celena whisper-laughed in my ear as we stood near the back of the tent.

“I…have no idea what you’re talking about Little Lena,” I whispered back, trying to be quiet as he had the attention of the kids, and most of the adults in attendance as he cycled through his little magic show interlude.

Despite hating clowns, I had a serious thing for magicians. It went back to third grade when my crush, Danny Montana was seriously into magic and would perform mini-shows at recess to show off the skills that he’d learned at the Magicademy, a local haven for amateur magicians and lowkey grifters I found out the older I got. But for a good little while, a man who had a talent for sleight of hand buttered my grits like no other. Watching Skippy the Clown run through his stockpile of tricks currently had me trying to look past the red, white, and black paint on his face that completely erased the deep red-brown beautiful evenness of his face’s skin tone. The stupid outfit he wore was replete with gloves, so had I not seen him before the transition I’d be hard-pressed to believe that there was a fine as fuck, Black man underneath it all.

“Oh please, Patty already told me how you practically threw yourself at him before realizing he was about to transform into your worst nightmare. By the way…how are you holding up with all of this, Rock?” she asked, genuine concern etched into her features.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. And…so is Skippy the Clown, goddamn,” I groaned.

“You gotta shoot the J post party, Rock. Where’s that girl I know who’s not afraid to take anyone down?” Celena teased.

I shook my head, refusing to let myself be goaded into doing too much. I was hard up for new dick, no lie. But I wasn’t so hard up that I needed to be throwing myself at the entertainment at my godson’s birthday party. No matter how fine he was. And lord was he fine. He looked like TuPac, minus the nose ring, and I’d always had a little thing for Justice’s Lucky.

“Not even if I dare you?” Celena said.

Those six words were my kryptonite. Celena knew damn well I couldn’t resist a dare. It was a stupid thing that Pat and I had started as kids that Lena quickly picked up on as she grew up underfoot. She hadn’t said the words in the order that they needed to come however, so I was in the clear…for now.

“Nah, Lena. We’re too old for that dare shit…chill…”

“Ooh, who’s daring who to do what?” Patty said, catching the tail end of our conversation.

“Nobody is daring anyone to do anything because we’re all grown-ups,” I said, pointing at Patty, “And you’re somebody’s mama. We gotta let the dare thing go.”

“Hm, were we not grownups at happy hour two weeks ago when you dared me to get Tim’s number?” Patty asked.

“We were still on the precipice of maturing into our fully grown-up selves,” I shot back easily.

“You are so full of shit, Raquel. So, I triple dog dare you to do whatever you were thinking about doing with Skippy before you realized he was a clown!” Patricia smirked.

Fuck. And there was the phrase that I didn’t wanna hear. As we grew older, the price of not completing a dare had changed from when we were kids to having to do something else equally unpleasant, but in no way beneficial to there actually being financial ramifications if we didn’t follow through. I prided myself on never having to pay off Patty when I didn’t want to do a dare and tonight wouldn’t be the day I folded.

“Okay, bet. Tonight, I guess I’m bagging Skippy the Clown,” I said.

“Wait bagging as in…” Patricia trailed off.

“Juicing. Smanging. Smashing. Banging. Fucking. However, you wanna categorize it. Because that is what I was thinking about doing to that fine ass man before he ruined it with the makeup.”

“Damn and here I thought you were actually after something more…you had a twinkle in your eye…” Patty said.

“Oh girl, that wasn’t a twinkle but a devilish gleam as I imagined myself palming that nigga’s head like a bowling ball and letting that tongue pick up the spare in my pussy1” I cackled.

“Jeez, Rock. This is still a kid’s party!” Patty breathed out.

I giggled, “My bad, but you asked…”

“Actually, we didn’t, but do you sis. Do you,” Celena tittered, “For the record, I do not think you’ll have a problem accomplishing your mission because Skippy been eye fucking you all day long.”

“You’re buggin,” I replied, “That man hasn’t been paying me a lick of attention. He’s focused on his job.”

Shortly after I uttered those words, I’d made a liar of myself because I looked up toward where he was wrapping up his magic show and we made brief eye contact. Skippy grinned and shot me a quick wink before turning his attention back to the task at hand.

‘Buggin my ass! Whew, girl, you gotta let us know what magic tricks that nigga brings out in the bedroom because you know he has some in store…” Celena laughed.

I just shook my head, joining her in laughter, but also wondering what the night and Skippy the Clown had in store for me.

iii.

When I woke up this morning, I did not think that I would be ending the day coming down from my third orgasm in less than thirty minutes with the creator of said orgasms being the entertainment from my godson’s 5th birthday party. Skippy the Clown—whose real name was Eriq, by the way—had rocked my world multiple times and he hadn’t even taken off the black boxer briefs that clung to his body like a second skin, barely containing an erection that had me wondering if tonight would be the night that I raised my “riding ridiculously large dicks like a motorbike” jersey into the rafter because—goodness gracious. Eriq licked my shuddering flesh once more, slowly dallying at my clit with the tip of his tongue that should have been registered as a lethal weapon because sheesh. Kissing his way back up my body to join our mouths, Eriq plied my mouth with slow, lip smacking smooches that were way too intimate for virtual strangers. I was following his lead though because so far it had yet to let me down.

As he pulled back, I could feel him taking me in, despite my eyes barely being open as I swam in bliss, “You aight, shorty?”

The rasp in his voice was natural but sounded like he’d been the one screaming adulations at the top of his lungs for the past half hour instead of me. I nodded once, then cleared my throat to speak.

“I am…more than aight, Eriq,” I damn near purred, feeling myself slowly drifting off into the first stage of sleep as I turned onto my side and snuggled up to one of the pillows on my massive bed.

“Uh uhn…” Eriq said, smacking me firmly on the ass, “I’m not done with you yet.”

The slight bark in his voice, rejuvenated me in an instant as I looked over my shoulder just in time to see him taking off those boxer briefs and rolling a condom onto all of that dick that suddenly appeared. I rolled back over, sitting up, bracing my back against the headboard, lower lip tucked between my teeth waiting for whatever was coming next. I didn’t have to wait long as Eriq reached out and tugged my ankle, dragging me down to the edge of the bed right in front of him and sliding into my warmth without giving me a second to catch my breath. He slid in easily, filling me to the point of overcapacity, but I had zero complaints as he slid backwards slowly, retreating and setting the rhythm for our coupling.

A mind-blowingly slow dick down…one that had me ready to be on my Jill Scott and ask him if he’d like me to whip up any variety of soul food items that were in the pitifully low cooking repertoire that I possessed. Hell, we could GrubHub it on my dime if necessary. That thought caused me to chuckle, which prompted Eriq to ask me what was so funny. Because the truth wasn’t an available option, I played it off, distracting him with contracting my pc muscles around him each time he tried to retreat from my pussy.

“Shit, shorty…your girl got some grip, huh?” he groaned into my neck and he ground into me deeper.

I barely had a chance to respond as he switched up on me, pounding into me with unrelenting strokes that barely allowed me to get my bearings let alone try to keep up with my pussy magic tricks. Before long, I was hooting and hollering like a porn actress, completely consumed by Eriq ruling my body and sending me hurtling headfirst into release once again. I was so high, I barely registered that he was still going, succumbing to his own pleasure shortly after I’d gotten mine. Eriq collapsed onto me, his heavy weight feeling like the best substitute for my weighted blanket as I felt myself drifting off once again. I barely registered him finally pulling out and going to dispose of the condom before rejoining me into bed. The last thing I remembered was him saying was, “Damn, you didn’t even get to see my last trick.”

iv.

“Remind me to just pass you the buck fifty the next time you dare me to do something that involves a nigga who possesses the talent of sleight of hand,” I groaned into the phone.

Patricia was on the other end of the FaceTime call looking hella amused at my plight.

“You were miss hot to trot to…what did you say again? Oh…I know! To bag the clown. Juicing. Smanging. Smashing. Banging. Fucking. Ain’t that what you said?” she smirked.

“I…don’t recall,” I said, “But like I said, magicians…we off that.”

“What…happened? I don’t need the dirty details because you look thoroughly fucked, so this complaint confuses me.”

“It was perfect, PattyCake. Absolutely perfect…until…he said some shit about me not experiencing his last magic trick, right? Which I totally thought was code for some freaky shit with my ass, which, full disclosure I was totally into because the dick was that good, okay?! So, he starts playing with Miss Kitty…”

“I said I didn’t need the dirty details!” Patricia interjected.

“Pertinent to the story though!” I pleaded.

Patty cringed slightly, “Fine, proceed…”

“Proceed…ugh…that’s exactly what happened. Here I thought the nigga was priming the pump to get me ready for another round, but instead he pulled thirty-two bandanas out of my pussy!”

“Come again?”

“No, I didn’t come again, damnit! I was too freaking out by the never-ending swatches of fabric emerging from my pussy! And he was butt ass naked, so I don’t even know how he managed to do that shit without it being hella noticeable! Pat—this ain’t funny damnit, stop laughing so hard!” I screamed.

It was too late, though. She was too far gone; the point of no return had been reached if her screeching chortles were any indication. I let it take its course, eventually succumbing to a few giggles myself at the absurdity of it all. After a few minutes she’d regathered her composure to ask what I did after the parade of polyester left my pussy.

“I kicked his ass out expeditiously!” I said, incredulously, “What do you think happened?”

“Hey, you’re the one who voluntarily took the goddamn clown home for sexy times. Maybe he thought you’d be into the shit!” Patty giggled.

I shook my head grimacing, “There was a line. It was a fine one, but it still existed. Girl why would he think that shit would be something I would be into?”

“Do you not remember eye fucking him the entire time he was pulling things out hats and making objects disappear? He was just continuing the vibe, sis.”

“I cannot stand your ass; I promise you that.”

“Whatever, polyester pussy. You’ll get over it.”

“Oh my god, this is not a name that will continue beyond today so get all your jokes off now!”

“Okay, wait. I have one question…how do you know it was thirty-two bandanas though?”

“Well…after being initially freaked out, I got a little intrigued by the fact that it seemed to be never ending so I started keeping count in my head,” I shrugged.

“Shit like this only happens to you, Rock!”

“Ugh, I know. Just a lucky girl I guess,” I groaned, shaking my head.

idk. tai said something about a reunion and i gave it a go.

How did you get here/ Nobody’s supposed to be here…

Deborah Cox’s powerful vocal sailed from the banquet hall out into the hallway where I called myself getting some respite from the circus that was my twenty-year high school reunion. Coming back to Mayview wasn’t the smartest idea I’d had in recent history, but I let my boy Rod talk me into attending our reunion. I’d left this little piece of shit town as soon as I could twenty years ago and never looked back. Growing up in a town this small had its good and bad portions. The good was the camaraderie that was shown to every citizen our our tight knit community, young and old.

Returning home, it was almost like I’d never left. I’d received a hero’s welcome when I arrived at the tiny airstrip in our town, thanks to the private jet of my employers—the Nashville Trojans, a new NBA franchise that I’d recently become the face of. Before the Trojans, I bounced around the league from team to team, always playing second banana to the starting point guard. With the creation of the Trojans, I’d been able to step out of the shadows into the spotlight. It took me back to my days at Mayview High when I was big man on campus, with everything I could ever want at my fingertips. The pressure to not only be a high performer, but infallible weighed heavily on my shoulders.

Coming to this reunion was a mistake. From the moment I stepped into Mayview, it had been a whirlwind of activity—Rod, a teacher at our alma mater, had me signed up to do activity from the time I stepped off the PJ until I was scheduled to head back to Nash. Ducking off into this damned hallway was the only peace I’d had since I’d been back.

I sat on a tufted bench, head braced against the wall, eyes closed—breathing deeply, when the air shifted. I felt as if I were being watched, so I slowly opened my eyes to see I’d been joined by a vaguely familiar face that looked as overwhelmed as I’d felt.

The woman collapsed onto the bench next to me but didn’t speak a word. It was almost as if she were completely ignorant of my presence.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, this was a bad idea,” she swore lowly under her breath, “Pull it together, Em. You got this. These bitches are your sons.”

I chuckled at the Nicki Minaj reference, when Deborah Cox broke in once again reminding me that nobody but me was supposed to be here. My chuckle startled the lady stranger out of her haze and she peered curiously at my face.

“You’re Vaughn Wilson,” she said, an aura of dread coating her words.

“I am….and you’re…” I started and peered closely at her.

Her name was on the tip of my tongue; I peered deeper into her entrancing hazel eyes, searching for the answer in their depths.

“Nobody. I was nobody in high school and I’m nobody now,” she replied, miserably.

I racked my brain in remembrance, because despite her utterances, she seemed really familiar to me. Almost instantly, it hit me.

“Shantel. Shantel Wilkerson.”

Her eyes widened in shock, cheeks flushed.

“Y-you know who I am?”

“How could I not? We sat next to each other at every graduation from Kindergarten onward. How have you been?” I asked, in what I thought was an affable tone.

“You don’t care. It’s fine. I’ll…I’m gonna just go. I didn’t realize anyone else was out here,” she replied, quickly, rising from the bench and scampering off before I could reply.

“Damn,” I breathed out, disappointment coating my words.

Shantel…I hadn’t thought about her in years, but she was still as beautiful as she was the first day I laid eyes on her. We never ran in the same circles growing up, but I’d always thought she was out of my league when we were growing up. I was the dumb jock, unworthy of wasting her time with my stupidity. Despite being momentarily stunned, I quickly regrouped, rushing in the direction in which Shantel had disappeared. I rounded the corner to nothing, as if her presence were a figment of my imagination. A few people stood in the hall and I approached them one by one asking if anyone had seen her, but all claimed to not have seen anyone pass in the last few minutes.

Splash.

A few notes before you read:

·         I’m workin’ but I ain’t workin’.

·         This is courtesy of a convo in which I ask a pal to tell me what to write next:

o    Me: Tell me what I should write next, pal.

o    BB: a carnival or fair with a dunking booth and [insert lots of other details here]

o    Me: *nods* I’ll see what happens.

·         This isn’t the start of anything. It’s just me having a little fun.

·         Enjoy. Or don’t. Both are fine, but I’d prefer the former. LMAO!

·         Unedited, blah blah blah all that jazz.

*****

Bibi’s Back to School Bash was in full effect and my fool ass was the star attraction at one of the carnival style booths that decorated the forest preserve. My big sister was big on giving back to the community and after she came into a large amount of money via the lotto, her first order of business was to start a nonprofit that focused on community initiatives to help the less fortunate in the community where we grew up. Neither of us had moved far from our old stomping grounds, affectionally known as The Stacks. Growing up in public housing—The Stackhouse Towers—for the better part of our childhood had taught Bijou and I to fight hard for everything we wanted. The tenacity and grit we learned in The Stacks permeated every move we made once Mama had managed to move us out of there. We’d still go back to visit from time to time because that’s where grandmama n’em lived. Every time we went back, Bibi declared that one day she’d come back and make it rain and change the lives of the generations of kids who were growing up in The Stacks today.

And since if Bibi is rockin’, I’m rollin’, this was how I found myself precariously perched upon a bench that was barely wide enough to hold my ass as folks tried to knock me down. I’d been lucky so far that the majority of folks who’d stopped at the dunking booth were young children or super elderly folks, neither of whom possessed the strength or hand-eye coordination necessary hit the target.

“Stop mean mugging everyone who walks by, Amelie, damn!” Bibi said, walking up beside the booth, “Cienna can’t get anyone to even stop because you over here scowling like Shug Knight.”

“Good, I don’t know how in the hell I let you talk me into this anyway, Bijou! I thought JT was supposed to be your dunk booth dummy,” I groaned, exasperated.

“Yeah, well JT is African American history and I thought that my baby sister would be elated to step up and help her only sibling out on what is sure to be a very special day.”

I rolled my eyes as she kept on, heaping praise upon herself for bringing a childhood dream to fruition as well as creating an experience that the kids from The Stacks would likely cherish forever.

“Okay…okaaaaay, I get it, B. I’ll fix my face.”

Bijou shot me her patented double dimpled grin, “Thanks, A! For real. You always come through for me and I appreciate it.”

“Don’t you dare get mushy out here, Bibi! I only signed up for my face getting wet via this damned dunk booth, not with tears. Cut it out. Besides, I think we got some takers now,” I said, gesturing towards a group of men who were rapidly approaching the booth.

“Oh no,” Bibi groaned.

As the men got closer, I fought to keep a neutral expression on my face. Micah Ford had been a pain in my ass for years growing up. For some reason he felt it was his personal duty to make my daily life a living hell from ages six to nine, my reprieve only coming when mama moved us clear across town and into a different school district. However, whenever we were in The Stacks I’d still had to put up with his shit sporadically.

“Well well well, if it isn’t ABC,” Micah crowed, referring to me, my sister and our cousin Cienna. It was a little name we came up with for ourselves when we were kids that Micah loved to mock mercilessly.

“Always good to see you, Mike,” Bijou replied, drolly.

“My presence is a present, Jewel and you know it. Don’t trip,” Micah drawled, biting down on his lower lip and giving my sister the once over.

Same ol raggedy negro, all of the years passed hadn’t changed a thing with him.

“Ay, Cici, lemme get this much worth of balls,” he said, flashing a hundred-dollar bill, “I’m gonna enjoy getting ol’ Amelie wet over and over again.”

Ten dollars got you five balls, so he’d have fifty chances to take me out. Shit!

“I’m certain you’ve never gotten any woman wet, Mike, so I’m safe and sound up here,” I called out.

His homeboys hooted and hollered as I kept talking shit. My bravado was a cool front for the fact that I was shaking like a leaf as I was perched on that bench. Micah had been the star of his high school baseball team, an outfielder who snagged balls with ease, but I had no knowledge of his throwing capabilities currently.

Micah grabbed the bucket of softballs from Cienna and threw his first shot. He missed the target by a mile.

“Yep, just like I thought. Couldn’t get a woman wet while she’s dangling over a damn pool of water. What a waste!” I teased, enjoying the chorus of male laughter that followed every barb I threw Micah’s way.

The more frustrated he got, the more off base his throws were, so I kept up the trash talk. This went on for a good ten minutes before Micah threw the balls down in frustration and walked directly up to the target, hand hovering over it.

“Do it,” I egged him on, “It’s the only way you can get a win out here today, apparently.”

“Nah Mike,” one of his boys called out, “Lemme get your light weight.”

I trailed my gaze back over to the group of men who’d been standing off to the side with Cienna when I noticed that they’d been joined by my other childhood nemesis—Micah’s oldest brother, Terrell. Nemesis wasn’t exactly a proper classification of Terrell, honestly. Unless nemesis could be used to describe someone you craved with a ferocity that was beyond normal. It was more like…he had been the object of my lust since I’d known what the hell lust even was. I had the biggest crush on Rell until I met the first love of my life in the tenth grade.

“Still fighting Baby Bro’s battles, huh, Rell?” I called out, with a smirk growing across my face.

“Only when a bully won’t back down,” Terrell called out, chuckling.

“Moi? A bully? What?” I replied, shock coating my tone, “Mike started it.”

“And I’ma finish it. Watch out, bro,” Terrell said before launching a ball in the direction of the target that was even further off than his brother’s previous attempts had been.

“Damn, Rell, you a bum t—” I started before Micah finally had enough of my trash talk and depressed the target, sending me shooting into the ice-cold pool below me.

“Son of a…” I sputtered, resurfacing to see Micah standing there with a devious grin.

“You looked like you needed to cool off…and shut up,” he snarled, before walking away to join the group of guys he’d walked up with.

The commotion of me trying to get out of the tank and throttle Micah drew the attention of more people in the crowd who wanted their hand at taking me down. I kept up the trash talk, skewing it to a more G-rated choice of words when it came to the strangers lining up. It seemed to spur them on, the more I made fun of their pitiful attempts. Since it was all in favor of raising money for Bijou’s nonprofit, I was a good sport for the remainder of the day, not being dunked no more than ten times after the day was done. Thank goodness I live in a city full of folks with bum arms, I thought as the Back to School Bash wound down and I dragged my body from my final dunking. As I climbed down from the dunking booth I heard Cienna speaking, but her words didn’t register at all. I was out of it, spending all of that time in direct sunlight with a few moments of relief whenever I was dunked.

“What’s that, Ci?” I asked.

“I said we racked up close to two thousand dollars, thanks to your smart-ass mouth,” Cienna replied, slyly. “Looks like we might have an annual position for you after all.”

“You ain’t cute,” I replied, laughing.

“I know…I’m fine. Duh!” Cienna quipped back, laughing.

I rolled my eyes as I rung out the excess water from my shirt and shorts before grabbing my duffle to change.

I walked out of the restroom to a low voice drawling, “You just refuse to curb that smart-ass mouth, huh?”

My mouth curved into a smile before I could control it, “You know you love this smart mouth.”

“Only when you’re granting me the opportunity to put it to better use,” Terrell murmured, pulling me into his arms and dropping his head to connect our mouths in a searing kiss.

He pulled back too quickly for my liking. I protested with a groan before pulling him back down and getting my fill.

“Thank you,” I said, when broke apart the second time.

Terrell dropped a light kiss on my nose before tweaking it, “See, I told you it would work. How much money did you make?”

“Almost two k according to Cienna,” I replied.

“Good shit!”

When I arrived at the park this morning, I’d been informed by Bijou that I would be stepping in as the dunking booth victim and I complained to Terrell about it as we finished prepping for the day’s festivities. He'd come up with the idea of me talking trash to folks as they attempted to knock me off to increase their exasperation and throw them off their game. I’d thought it was a silly idea when he pitched it, especially since it involved his brother who’d been a thorn in my backside since I was knee high to a junebug, but I’d gone along with it. Thankfully, it paid off better than any of us could have imagined.

“I’m beating Mike’s ass when I see him though. I thought we agreed that he would give me some sort of warning before he dunked me.”

“Babe, you also agreed that you wouldn’t take the insults too far...remember?”

I frowned, looking off into the distance refusing to make eye contact with Terrell, “I don’t recall.”

He laughed, “Yeah I bet you don’t. Anyway, you ready to go? Carsyn is gone with my mom, so...date night?”

“Hell yes. Can we swing by the house first? So, I can get properly dolled up for my husband?” I asked, sliding closer to him, bringing my body flush with his.

“Baby girl, you know you ain’t gotta get too fancy to get this dick. I’m easy,” Terrell murmured, lips trailing from my ear to my neck, underscoring his words with a series of fleeting kisses that almost made me say forget date night altogether.

“Humor me,” I giggled.

“As you wish,” he replied, stepping back, but keeping our hands intertwined as we walked out to where we my car was parked.

For Lulu

·         Nina Simone

·         Yellow

·         Charleston, SC

I am deserving of all the good things in life.

I repeated this mantra in my head over and over as I laid in a hammock steps away from the Atlantic Ocean, eyes closed, one hand resting on my abdomen, the other over my heart as I fought to regulate my breathing. I'd awakened an hour ago, abruptly jarred from my slumber as my recurring nightmare plagued my mind once again. I sat in the pitch-black room of my rented vacation house before venturing out to the backyard to take respite in the hammock.

The waves lapping onto the sandy beach always managed to tamp down my anxieties better than any of the exercises that my therapist had recommended. Kellee thought I was insane for spending much of my time in this hammock, but it had become a safe haven for me. The only place that I could quiet my thoughts and release the overwhelming urges to walk directly into the ocean never to return.

Six months ago, I had everything that I thought I ever wanted. A doting partner, a bun in my metaphorical oven, and the beginnings of what I believed would be the perfect life. Then, swiftly and suddenly all these things were taken from me in rapid succession. A late term miscarriage led to the eventual breakdown of my relationship which led to an eventual breakdown of my mental constitution. After spending three months on suicide watch, I was released from the hospital into the care of the only person who'd always been there for me.

Despite all the many ways that I let her down, Kellee remained in my corner through it all. Even at the sacrifice of her relationship with another of our close friends, Emerson. Well..I should say formerly close friend, that is. I suppose sleeping with her fiancé behind her back and getting pregnant by him wasn't quite the way to maintain a close friendship with someone. In my defense, Robert was the one who came to me and despite all my greatest attempts to rebuff his advances, he eventually wore me down.

What was supposed to be a one-time thing wore on into a torrid, illicit affair complicated by pregnancy. Robert's family was very traditional, so I knew that once I found out that I was carrying his child, his and Emerson's wouldn't be strong for much longer. I wish I could say that I was sorry for ruining that relationship, but honestly? In the aftermath, I did Emerson a favor. Last I heard she was dating a great guy who was her perfect match, unlike Robert. They were mismatched from jump, but she was so enamored with his...charms that there was nothing I could say about him that wouldn't seem like I was being a hater.

But, that was neither here nor there at this point. They were both in my past—Emerson rightfully angry, dismissed me a couple years ago and Robert? He was more recent Black history. He couldn't handle my implosion at the loss of our child and made the decision to consciously uncouple with me after the third attempt to take my life. The wounds left behind from that separation were still raw to the touch, which inspired Kellee to reach out to her Aunt Sandra who owned beachfront property in Charleston, South Carolina. She had a week gap between renters and graciously allowed us to stay here in the interim.

I was loath to come, thinking that a vacation was the last thing that I needed, but my therapist encouraged it. She said that the change of pace and scenery would be amenable to my healing. So, I bought the flight, traveled with Kell and tried my damn hardest to enjoy this time away. Unfortunately—for me and for Kellee—the only time I was at peace was when I laid in this damned hammock.

I opened my eyes to see that the sun was currently ascending, its emergence bathing the sky in an explosion of pinks, oranges and yellows. Silently I counted down from ten in my head and by the time I reached one, the familiar strains of Nina Simone's "Feeling Good" reached my ears.

Birds flying high, you know how I feel...Sun in the sky, you know how I feel...

Kellee's sonorous alto blended with Nina's in a symphony of aural delight. She'd taken to awakening my spirit with this song every day of our vacation. Kellee was a strong proponent of the healing and restorative power of music, so we had our "Feeling Good" sunrise selection and our "Let It Flow" evening selection. It was hokey and corny on day one, but by day six I'd come to crave it. Today I decided to join in, breaking out my rusty soprano to join Kellee...

It's a new dawn It's a new day It's a new life For me And I'm feeling good...

For Bonita

·         Outkast

·         Green

·         Greenville, SC

"Ugh, Trace, who told you to move down to where Forrest Gump n'em from when I desperately need you here with me," I whined into the phone.

My best friend Tracey had been missing in action for just over a week as she'd moved down south with her family as he husband obtained his dream job. He'd been recently appointed chief diversity officer of a small liberal arts institution. Tracey's job was portable—she ran her own, very popular, vegan soul food blog—so it was a no brainer for her, Michael and MJ to make that trek to the dirty dirty. Only problem was that our already limited time together had been virtually erased completely since she wouldn't be a short car ride away anymore.

"Firstly, Forrest was from GreenBOW Alabama, secondly...girl, I told Mike that maybe he needed a different dream because this place here...it's something..."

"I told you!" I exclaimed.

Tracey and I were both what Southerners called yankees—I was born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and she was from even further north than me, Minneapolis, Minnesota. We met when we both attended Fisk University, our first taste of an extended time period living in the south...well as southern as Tennessee could seem to two girls from the Midwest.

I'd met Tracey when I was in a transitory period.

In my senior year of high school, I had a big falling out with my closest friend because she let the lies of a third party come between us. I went off to college knowing no one, but my future roommate, Helen, that I'd talked to on the phone a time or two. Through Helen I'd met Tracey and we clicked immediately. I spent so much time in Tracey's room freshman year, me and her roommate did an unauthorized switch—the roommate going to live with Helen and me moving in with Trace. Tracey introduced me to several things during our first year of living together including Outkast's Aquemini album and how to find respite in a form of green herbal essence.

Our subsequent years were spent living together on and off campus and getting into several hijinks. After undergrad, we both moved back to the Midwest, settling in Chicago as elementary school teachers. That was when Tracey met Mike and I met Jacob. Jake and I didn't make it through my first full year of teaching, but Mike and Trace had been going strong for more than ten years at this point.

"Yeah, yeah," Tracey replied, "So... anyway how'd last night go?"

Ah yes, the reason for this call. The blind date that she'd managed to arrange for me long distance between me and one of Mike's frat brothers.

"Sis, I just...I know you mean well, but also maybe never set me up with anyone else again, okay?"

"That bad?"

"Worse than you could imagine, boo. Waaaaay worse. Buddy showed up half an hour late, reeking of Crown Royal and another woman."

"Noooooo," Tracey groaned.

"Yesssssss," I replied, with a giggle, "Let's just say we didn't last far past introductions."

For Brittney

· Lauryn Hill

· Pink

· Vegas

“You know this shit isn’t funny, right?” Brian screamed through the tinny speaker of my phone.

I don’t know, I found it just about as funny as I found the fact that he’d been fucking his coworker Janis for the past six months while I was busy planning our upcoming nuptials. Janis was the latest in a long line of indiscretions, but something about her being someone I knew was the proverbial camel’s straw. I’d had enough and snapped—calling on the inspiration of a few of my favorite fictional ladies—Bernadine and Wilhemina. Brian’s prized collection of rare Jordans had been completely destroyed courtesy of “Ex Factor” by Lauryn Hill on repeat, half a bottle of Woodford Reserve and my little brother Jonathan’s paintball gun. My best work was on a twelve-hundred-dollar pair of white on white retro 11s, now a beauteous shade of hot pink.

I giggled, “It actually is, B. Hilarious, in fact, now that I’ve had some time and space to think about it.”

I’d found out about this latest indiscretion hours before I was expected to hop a flight to Vegas with my homegirls for bachelorette shenanigans. At first, I tried canceling, but my best friend Aja wasn’t hearing that. It was Aja who’d come up with the nefarious plot of revenge, actually. I was drowning too deep in Lake Feelings, but when she and JonJon arrived paint gun & bourbon in tow, it didn’t take much for me to snap into revenge mode. It felt really good in the moment and until Brian called me threatening legal action, I had no regrets. The thought of B actually being able to sue me for damage of personal property clearly hadn’t entered any of our minds while we were committing the act. Aja and Jon were trying to ensure that I had a healthy…in their opinion…means of letting go my anger.

“You destroyed ten thousand dollars’ worth of shoes, Cyn.”

“And you destroyed my entire future, so I’d say you’re still in the hole quite a bit, right?”

For Breana

· Trey Songz

· Blue

· Miami

“Here goes nothing,” I muttered, ripping open the ocean blue envelope that had been clutched in my hands for the past fifteen minutes since I’d come back in the house from my walk.

Dear Miss Tyshema Earvin,

We are pleased to extend the invitation for you to join us in Miami for the 4thannual In Your Own Words writers workshop...

All other words in the lengthy letter after that blurred as my eyes immediately filled with tears.

"I finally made it," I whispered to myself before, yelling the words out again louder this time, "I finally fucking made it!"

"Girl, what are you in here yelling about?" My mother asked, walking into my room.

I'd jumped from my desk chair and had begun doing my happy dance—which was half cabbage patch, half snake, and wholly ridiculous. All of my hard work had finally paid off...or was well on its way to paying off, I hoped. Two years ago, I quit my permanent job in search of finding myself and making moves to live out my dreams. I'd had some money set aside in savings, but not much so I gave up my gorgeous apartment downtown and moved back into my childhood bedroom, much to my mother’s delight. She worried about me incessantly since, in her words, “you aint got no man, no friends, what is even keeping you there?”

She was wrong because I did have friends and…half of a man, sorta. It was a complicated situation that was best left unexplained. But none of that was important as the thing I’d been working toward since I’d finally blown my life up on some Trey Songz-esque “Just Gotta Make It” type shit was finally coming to fruition. If things went how I hoped they would, I’d no longer just have a dollar and a dream…I’d have a ten-thousand-dollar advance and a three-book writing contract. In Your Own Words was a combination of a craft workshop and writers competition, with the most superior writers in the six represented genres attending with the possibility of leaving as a soon-to-be published author.

“I did it, mommy!” I exclaimed, pulling her into a tight embrace, “I’m finally on my way to making you proud…”

For Asia

·         Sade

·         Purple

·         Florida Keys

I sat on the back steps of the brightly painted beach house that we shared ownership with Cait's parents. We'd all come down together for the final time before things took a turn for the worst last fall. Cait insisted that we do Thanksgiving at the place on Islamorada and talked not only my in laws, but her siblings and their families into making the trek down as well. We all crammed into our house, a group of twenty spread amongst three bedrooms, various couches and chaises.

It was simultaneously the most entertaining and exasperating trip I'd ever taken, but I'd forever hold the memories of the gleam of light in Cait's eyes as we all sat around the table for Thanksgiving. It was her favorite holiday, if you asked her way she would have said that it was a time to put proper attention toward the bounty of blessings that God blesses us with daily. From where I sat, however, it was more about the food. She couldn't pack away as much as she used to, but that didn't stop her from sampling a teeny bit from every serving platter that hit the table.

Later that night, after we'd settled in for the night, Cait whispered, "Thank you for making this happen, baby. I love you for always making my dreams come true."

"Always, baby," I replied back instantly.

With that memory sweeping in, I stood from the porch and followed the winding path behind our house past the pool and onto the beach. I walked slowly toward where the surf crashed against the beach, each step filling me with a deeper sense of dread. But a promise was a promise, so I trudged forward, wading into the water until it was about calf high. The small, ornately carved wooden box that I held in my hands increased in weight the moment the first trickle of water glanced against my skin.

When we heard about the diagnosis, Cait refused to do the Pollyanna sunshine thing, she was very pragmatic about her prognosis. She never gave up fighting, but when it completely exhausted her, she was very adamant with how she wanted her arrangements handled. No big funeral service at a church we barely attended. Instead she wanted a small memorial service, immediate family only in the backyard of our home. She wanted no maudlin reminiscence, so she even planned the memorial, down to the songs she wanted played and in what order. The last song of the night was to be "Bring Me Home" by Sade, a hauntingly beautiful composition that mirrored how she wished to leave this earth.

"Absolutely no burial, cremation only," she was insistent, "And scatter my ashes behind the Islamorada house. I want to return to the waters that birthed me." So here I stood, ashes in hand to return her to the ocean like she demanded.

"Well baby, this is it," I said, opening the latch on the box, which was lined in deep purple velvet, Cait's favorite color, "Your final dream, coming true."

For Bailey (the troll LMAO)

· Bokeem Woodbine

· Pink

· Utah City [author’s note: I’m guessing Salt Lake?]

“Ok, so boom,” I started before Renee burst into laughter, “What? I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“But any time you start something with ‘ok so boom’, nothing good follows it,” she replied, still giggling.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, full on hurt, “I resent that.”

“No, you resemble that, but no, do go on. Tell me what hare-brained scheme you’ve got now.”

“It’s not n scheme, just a theory. You know that actor Bokeem Woodbine?”

“Yeah…”

“You think he might be Derek’s daddy?” I asked, looking in the direction of our coworker who was a spitting image of Cleon from Dead Presidents.

Renee’s reply was a peal of screeching laughter that caught not only the attention of Derek, but the two other people who was in the small break room where she and I sat eating lunch currently.

“For real, though, I’ve been thinking this for a while. They look JUST ALIKE. Don’t tell me you don’t see it.”

“Is this something you’d been thinking about for a while and finally needed to get off your chest or…?” Renee asked, clearly amused, as she lifted her pale pink water bottle to her mouth to take a sip before I could reply.

“Remember when we had ‘Bring Your Parents to Work Day’? His mom came, but not his dad. Probably because he didn’t want us to know that while his father was an international film star, he works part time at an AlphaGraphics.”

Renee laughed again, shaking her head, “International film star? You’re giving brother Bokeem a lot here. But, Trice, why is this a thing that you’ve given this much thought?”

“I had a lot of time to think when I was here eating lunch alone while you were off at Corporate in Salt Lake. Derek and I were here together a lot. And it all sorta just came together…”

Renee continued shaking her head, “You’ve really gotta get out more, LaTrice…”

For Roslyn

· Maya Angelou

· Sienna

· Richmond (Mary Angela’s pizzeria)

Every time I saw my wife, she took my breath away. As I walked up the stairs toward our front door, I could see Rayne through the windows, rays of the sunlight dancing across her burnt sienna colored skin. It was the golden hour, that time of day when the natural light was perfection in our house. I stopped before making my way completely up the stairs just to marvel at her beauty. She was completely unaware, her attention captured by whatever she was looking at on the computer.

I walked into the house to see Rayne doubled over in laughter as she watched her favorite clip of David Alan Grier emulating Maya Angelou for what had to have been the five thousandth time since we’d been living together. She pulled out this video when she was having an unusually stressful day; it had become a salve of sorts—temporarily sending whatever stressors were in her life away from the forefront of thought as she immersed herself in a silly sketch comedy clip. I walked over to the couch where she sat with her MacBook in her lap, as she wiped the tears of hysteria away.

The sketch had been hilarious to me the first few hundred times we watched it together, but something about DAG’s vocal inflection made Rayne lose it anew every time. When he got to the end and began naming different exotic fruits, Rayne’s laughter transformed from a high pitched squeal to a breath robbing, hiccupy sort of sound, which sent me into laughter as well. Once we’d both settled down, I moved the computer and greeted her with a brief kiss, our lips connecting quickly, softly, but just enough for her to sigh and settle into my embrace. We sat on the couch for a few moments in silence before Rayne spoke.

“It’s not looking too good, baby,” she sighed and immediately I’d known what had sent her in search of her David Alan Grier induced laughter.

Rayne’s favorite Aunt Kay, who was like her mother since she’d helped her father raise her after her mother’s death, was currently battling stage four pancreatic cancer. She’d gone through one round of chemo therapy and had gotten the all clear only to have it come back, more aggressively this time, a mere eighteen months later. Rayne and her father Raymond traded off taking Kay to her chemo appointments through this second go-round. On the days that it was Rayne’s turn to accompany her aunt, I made sure to make no detours after work, coming home to directly comfort my wife as she dealt with the harsh reality that sooner than she ever expected she may have to deal with burying the matriarch of her family.

“How Te-te holding up?” I asked.

Rayne sighed before disengaging our embrace, busying her hands with twisting her long locs into a bun settled atop her head. She went to speak and her eyes immediately welled up and before she could utter a sound, the tears breeched her eye line, spilling over like a faucet. I gathered her closely, as the silent tears transformed into body wracking sobs. I rubbed her back in soothing circles, murmuring words of comfort and encouragement for her to take her time and let it all out. As her sobbing tapered off, I spoke.

“Did I ever tell you about that pizza place I delivered for when I went to VCU down in Richmond?”

Rayne pulled back looking at me quizzically, probably wondering where the hell I was going with this since we’d been talking about Aunt Kay before I abruptly changed the subject. I wanted to take her mind off of the devastation that she was feeling, even if it were a temporary diversion. There would be plenty of time for her to give me an update on Kay later, once she was better equipped to. For now, my job was distraction.

“Well, you know MaMa, my grandmother was hard of hearing, right?”

“Mmmhmm,” Rayne sniffled.

“So I get the job and I tell her I’m delivering pizzas for a local joint and she asked the name and I tell her. I say, it’s call Mary Angela’s Pizza, MaMa. And she says nothing for a great while. We both just sitting there holding the phone so I say hello? I thought we’d gotten disconnected. Then MaMa asks, well how is she? I’ve always wanted to meet her, she’s a fascinating woman. And I’m thinking I must’ve missed something about my new employer. So I ask what’s so fascinating, MaMa? And do you know what she said?”

Rayne sniffled and shook her head.

“She asked me why I wasn’t more excited to work with the most well-known poet of the twentieth century as she ventured into a new arena. Babe, she thought I said Maya Angelou’s Pizza.”

The silly story garnered the exact response I’d been hoping for, the emergence of Rayne’s beautiful, tinkling laughter once again. I’d been saving this story in my pocket for a rainy day day and today it paid off.

“She thought I was gonna be sitting alongside caged birds and slinging pies, baby, can you believe that?” I cackled alongside Rayne.

“No, I can’t believe that at all,” Rayne replied, softly, then grabbed my hand and squeezed, “Thank you, Melo. I know what you’re trying to do here and I appreciate it.”

“No doubt, baby. You know I got you, whenever you need me. We’re in this together…” I trailed off.

“Forever, always,” Rayne finished, echoing the vows we’d taken a couple years ago.

We sat in silence for a few moment more before she spoke up again.

“Do you know why I love that silly sketch so much?” she whispered, “It’s the last memory I have of my mommy. I don’t remember much of her, but I remember her loving that sketch so much. She taped every episode of SNL to watch on Sundays after church. Every episode got taped over each week except for this one. She must’ve watched that damn tape a billion times, so much that it was badly warped. I didn’t understand why it was so funny to her as a kid, but I can still hear her laughter in my ear whenever I watch that sketch, Mel. So I watch it when I wanna feel a little closer to her. But you know what, babe? I don’t have anything like that for Kay. I’m not ready to let her go. Not yet…”

She trailed off into another round of tears and I pulled her close again, pressing a quick kiss to her temple, feeling myself overcome with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Rayne always teased me about being good with my hands, since I had an innate sense of handyman in me, completing every project she threw at me on her ever-growing honey do list. I couldn’t help but feel impotent right now, however, because I couldn’t fix this one for her, no matter how hard I tried.

Sketch referenced above: https://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/maya-angelou-for-froot-loops/n10940

For Doris

Since you said you wasn’t rocking with me on my clean romance that’s forthcoming...LMAO

· Sanaa Lathan

· Purple

· Miami

I came down to Miami to support my brother Van’s new venture, yet another juice bar (a name that he was a little too proud of) and he’d decided that we needed to go out to celebrate in style. He claimed to know some low key spot that had a pretty poppin’ reggae night on Mondays, so that’s where we ended up some spot named Purdy Lounge. I was a little suspicious as we pulled up to the joint and I peeped some of the clientele making their way through the doors.

“Nigga, stop being judgmental and brang ya ass!” Van said, before dapping up the bouncer and going through the door way, bobbing his head to the music.

I shook my head and followed, knowing that no matter how the night ended I’d definitely have a good time because some way somehow, my bro always found the party. We’d been in the spot no longer than five minutes before a goddess of a woman, looking like Sanaa Lathan’s badder twin sister in a barely there dress with purple flowers emblazoned all over it grabbed my hand insisting that we had to dance. I let myself be dragged onto the tight space that functioned as a dance floor as she placed my hands exactly where she wanted them on her hips and commenced to dutty wine. I could barely keep up as she circled her hips in an erotic fashion pretty soon making it painfully obvious that I wanted to do more than dance with her. I tried pulling back several times, only to have her drive her ass into me more insistently, as if she was trying to prove a point.

I leaned down to speak directly into her ear, “Sweetheart you keep this up and you’ll get exactly what you’re asking for.”

She turned around, peering up at me with unadulterated lust in her eyes, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be.”

She stared for a few moments more, before grabbing my hand to lead me from the dancefloor and out of the building. She moved with purpose, barely giving me a chance to get my bearings before we were outside of Purdy and inside of a Black town car.

“Whoa,” I said, as we tumbled into the car and she damn near attacked me, straddling my lap and attempting to draw me into a kiss, “You don’t even want to know my name, first? Sheesh.”

“What’s in a name?” she quipped, laughing at herself which had me questioning her state of sobriety…hell and my state of mind for not demanding that this car be stopped so I could get my ass out and back to my brother.

“Quoting Shakespeare, cute. So clearly you know who I am.”

“Wasn’t confident in that until just this moment,” the woman replied, cheekily.

“Cute,” I smirked.

“You said that already,” she replied before lowering her face to mine once again and actually making the connection between our lips this time as I was distracted.

Our lips met in a soft press, all of her previous bravado seemed to be missing in action as she tentatively nibbled around my mouth, then sucked my bottom lip into her mouth and releasing it with a loud pop.

“Okay Juliet, let’s get a few things straight…first off, where in the hell are you taking me?”

“To my place…my hotel…my bed…you made a promise and I intend to take you up on it,” she giggled.

“Did I? Do you? I mean we are in the age of #MeToo out here and the last thing I need is to be caught up in some shit.”

She sobered from her laughter and made direct eye contact with me before speaking, “So if I’m Juliet tonight that makes you Romeo, right? Okay then Romeo…there’s only one thing I need to be straight. Actually, we’d have more fun if it wasn’t.” She giggled to herself a little more. “Trust and believe that I am fully cognizant of what is about to happen when we make it to my hotel…or at least what I hopeis about to happen.”

Before I could respond, we’d reached our destination, and she was urging me out of the car and through the lobby of her hotel, right to the aforementioned room. As she rifled through the small clutch she’d been carrying all evening, I crowded behind her—evidence of the arousal that’d begun at the club and continued through the short car ride here pressing into the small of her back.

“Are you sure?” I asked, “Last chance to back out before that little sensor turns green…”

As if my words triggered its release, the sensor on the door turned and we were tumbling through the door. For such a slight woman, she had the strength of a brute, pulling me through the door and slamming me against it barely after it closed, attacking my mouth with a ferocity that I wasn’t quite prepared for. My hands immediately traveled down to her ass, gripping and squeezing as I poured myself into the kiss, giving just as good as I got. “Juliet” pulled back, chest heaving, lower lip pulled between her bottom teeth as my moved my kisses from her mouth to trail down to her neck, dallying in a particularly sensitive area behind her left ear.

“Fuuuuuck,” she groaned, before completely pulling away and whipping that scant amount of dress from her body, leaving her clad in only a pair of black lace panties and the sky high purple heels she had been wearing.

As I drank in her exquisite form, she turned on a heel, and walked toward the direction in which I assumed the bedroom was. I was stuck, staring at her ass as she sauntered away. She must have felt that I wasn’t following because she suddenly turned, peering over one shoulder and beckoned me to come and get it. Those words were enough to snap me out of my trance as I growled and stalked toward her with no finesse. She giggled and increased her speed, playing a game of cat and mouse, luring me first into the shower for a quick cleanse that quickly escalated when all thoughts of getting clean were out of the window. Washcloths were quickly replaced with roaming hands traversing through the rivulets of suds that streamed down our bodies. We were eager, both on a mission to bring the other as much pleasure as was doled out to us, in a race to see who would drive the other more insane.

My hands charted a course down her body starting at her neck, lingering briefly at her breasts to tease her nipples until they were hard enough to cut glass, then continuing over her hips, around to squeeze her ass. Her thighs gaped in anticipation of my hands finding their eventual landing place at the hot spot between her legs. I leaned into nibble at her neck, as he hands wrapped around my dick, stroking and twisting, bringing my erection to life. My hands still hadn’t landed where “Juliet” was whimpering for me to put them, so she took matters into her own hands, pulling me toward her by my dick and sliding the head over her clit in slow motion. That brief contact turned this from a fun game of teasing to an urgent matter of business. I rinsed the residual suds off of both of us, not even bothering with drying off as we tumbled onto the bed and I asked, “Condom?”

Because I had no idea where the hell my wallet with mine was and I’d hoped…since she initiated this thing that she was prepared. She grinned and reached beneath the pillow producing a gold packet. I wasted no time ripping it open, sheathing myself and burying myself deep inside of her. We both let out groans of contentment when I was full nestled in her warmth. I took a second, the calm before the storm, then withdrew slowly before plunging back into her depth. I doled out slow strokes until her nails pressing into my ass and her voice in my ear demanded more, faster, harder, deeper…her every wish was my command as I contorted our bodies, taking advantage of the extreme flexibility that “Juliet” possessed.

“Damn, Romeo,” she moaned, moving her hands from my ass to fisting the sheets. Her face was pulled into a grimace, but the sounds that flowed from her mouth and the ones that accompanied each of my downstrokes, I knew that was she experiencing nothing but pleasure. Her thighs quickened and her legs, spread wide as I drilled into her, constricted and collapsed into my body as if she was trying to make sure I stayed embedded between her thighs until she was ready for me to leave. She came on a loud, keening cry, milking me into orgasm at the same damn time.

I collapsed on top of her, briefly, before getting up and disposing of the condom. I came back into the room to find her in the same position I’d left her, hands still clutching the sheets, legs askew looking like the number four, eyes closed, with the ghost of a grin gracing her mouth. I slid back into the bed behind her, pulling her into my body and speaking into her ear, “So did I keep my promise?”

For Meera

· LeBron

· Purple

· Portland, Maine

When I told Jon I wanted to go to Portland, I didn’t think to specify that I wanted to go to the Pacific Northwest and I was paying for it. We were in the heart of neo-liberal New England surrounded by weird people of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Jon had a strange obsession with lighthouses, stemming from when he was a kid, so he heard Portland, his excitement and apparently his attention as well, completely went off the rails as he likely envisioned being able to be up close and personal with one of his obsessions.

“Paisley, hurry up!” Jon yelled.

He was about one hundred feet in front of me, waving animatedly for me to catch up. He’d dragged me all over the darn Portland and Cape Elizabeth area all day and his excitement had yet to wane. I had no idea what he found so captivating about apparatuses that were likely erected to help the ships that brought many of our ancestors over against their will successfully find ports. This lighthouse toward which we were currently walking was the last one, though, thankfully. We were in Bug Light Park, walking toward the South Portland Breakwater Light. It looked a little shoddy to me, but Jon said I was being judgmental and unappreciative of history.

In all honesty, this trip was a general representation of our relationship. I said things, Jon claimed to listen, but then provided nothing that was anything near what I’d asked for. It was an ongoing cycle of sameness for the past three years that neither of us had sought to break. Despite the hiccup in communication, I had to admit I was having a good time. I would never tell Jon, but learning the history behind some of the sites we’d visited had been interesting. I tightened the purple zip-up hoodie I’d purchased from one of the chintzy souvenir shops and hurried my steps to catch up with Jon.

“This is the last one, right?” I sighed, perfectly playing the role of exasperated girlfriend.

“Yes, babe. I promise. We have that dinner res in a couple hours, so the torture is over,” Jon laughed.

“And you’re buying me the biggest lobster I can eat?” I asked, perking up knowing the end of this journey was near.

“That was the agreement,” Jon said, wrapping his arm around my waist, “But first…onward we go!”

There was only a jagged, rocky path between me and a delicious lobster dinner, so I sucked it up and followed along as Jon carefully traversed the rocks so we could walked right up on Bug Light and take in the views of the Atlantic from the small paved area that surrounded it. Nothing ever made me feel as small as the ocean and as Jon and I stood there in silence, I closed my eyes, inhaling the salty air, feeling the mist of the water spritzing my face. Jon exhaled loudly, before adjusting his stance and blockading me between the exit and the fence that separated us from the ocean.

“Thanks babe,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to my ear, “I know I messed this up, but you’re being a trooper about it.”

I said nothing in return, simply melted deeper into his embrace.

Our peace was soon interrupted by a large family who were making their way up the rocks toward Bug Light. Since space around the lighthouse was scant, Jon and I turned to leave.

“So we have two choices, we can either walk back to our BNB or take a Lyft,” Jon said.

“How far is the walk?”

“About a mile and a half.”

I double tapped my Apple Watch to see how many steps I’d taken for the day. I didn’t feel fatigued, but sometimes it came up on me out of the blue and it was better to figure out where I was for the day and make the judgment now, rather than get halfway through the walk and have my legs give out. I was at just over seventeen thousand steps for the day.

“Let’s Lyft, honey.”

“Already called one, it should be here in about a minute,” Jon replied, grinning.

We got into the Lyft and I knew immediately that I would be annoyed by the driver because he immediately changed the music that was playing from a nice soft rock station to the local hip-hop station. I hated when these rideshare drivers profiled me based on appearance. How did he know I wanted to hear whatever nonsense this was playing on the radio over the nice Christopher Cross jam he’d changed from? I rolled my eyes on a sigh and Jon patted my thigh, a silent signal for me to be easy. When the way too chatty driver found out we were from Chicago, he asked the question I hated to be asked most.

“So, my man, who do you think is the greatest—Jordan or LeBron?”

“I’m not really into basketball, man,” Jon laughed, with a wicked gleam, “I can’t answer that question. Babe, what do you think?”

“I think the question is stupid. They are two different types of players, playing in two different times of leagues, with two different skill sets. You can’t simply put numbers up next to each other and think that you can actually define who is the best based on that. There are a number of different factors that come into play and I’m so tired of people acting like two men who are the best at what they do can’t both be the best in their own eras. It’s simplistic and dismissive of all of the hard work they’ve put into actually becoming the best.”

The Lyft driver sputtered a bit before replying, “Ah yes, I see.”

That shut him up for the rest of the ride, which was exactly why Jon had sicced me on him. We both hated overly familiar drivers and usually traded off on trying to get them to shut up and drive. Jon and I created a game that we called Shut Down that had an elaborate scoring system. Some called it rude, but we called it being direct. We never disrespected the drivers, but the competition to see who could get them to quiet the quickest appealed to the competitive streak in both of us.

They really needed to build in an option on these apps where you could check off whether or not you wanted to engage in stupid small talk. I guarantee that there would be way high tips and rating if one had that option and the driver actually paid attention to your preferences. Soon we were pulling up to our home for the weekend, a quaint little home in South Portland with a red door. We exited the car on a rushed, “have a good night” before breaking down in laughter while trying to open the persnickety front door of our place.

“Babe, did you have to go in on him like that?”

“You know how I feel about that stupid GOAT conversation.”

“That I do. Congrats, you’re officially on the board tonight. Three points.”

I grinned; he’d given me the highest number of points.

For Shavozz

· Janet Jackson

· Red

· Des Moines Iowa

“Bacon on a stick? Oh hell yes!” Ebony exclaimed as we walked into the fairgrounds.

I didn’t know who was more excited at this moment, to be honest? Me or her, but it was a close race. This summer my best friend and I were embarking on what we called “The Summer of No Mo FOMO” because we constantly found ourselves wishing we had gone to this event or the other, said this thing or the other, did this dude or the other, but both of us were punks, so undoubtedly we lived in a fog of regrets. This year would be different, however, we’d decided after reading Shonda Rhimes’ The Year of Yes. So that’s how we ended up, in matching red tees with a cartoon drawing of Ororo Munroe decked out like the cover of Janet Jackson’s Control album, strolling through the Iowa State Fairgrounds. My favorite pop diva, Janet Jackson was on a tour that somehow had her missing our entire state, but made its way to Des Moines. Neither Eb nor I had been to Iowa before in our lives, but figured it would be worth the adventure.

“Eb, focus! We have to meet Luke to get our tickets, then you can live out your fat girl dreams and eat our weight in fried foods.”

A friend of a friend had hooked me up. My friend Tavi’s friend Luke was a local radio DJ in Des Moines and she called in a huge favor. Not only did he hook us up with tickets, they were actually front row center. I’d waited my entire life to see Janet in concert and though I never thought it would end up being at a random state fair, I was beyond grateful to Tavi and pretty much owed her my firstborn, should I ever have kids. We were supposed to meet Luke by some butter cow sculpture to grab the tickets before the show. The plan was to get the tickets from him, peruse the fair a bit, then get our follicles snatched by the Nasty One.

“Did you even text him to make sure he was here?” Ebony asked.

“Yes, this is how I knew to meet him by the damn cow. Now come on,” I said, grabbing her by the arm and forcing her to follow me.

“Brenda, you’re buggin’! Dude and those tickets aren’t going anywhere.”

“And neither is all this damn food, Eb, so relax!”

“So nasty and sooooo rude,” Ebony trilled, sounding like Nene Leakes.

Soon we were near the butter cow, but I didn’t see anyone who looked like he could be friends with Tavi. Soon we were approached by a strawberry blonde with a tee shirt advertising, Star 102.5, which I assumed to be a local radio station.

“Brenda?” he asked, gesturing toward Ebony.

“I’m actually Brenda, this is Ebony. Luke, I presume?” I replied.

I don’t know what I expected him to look like, but he didn’t look anything like what was in my head. I guess I automatically assumed he’d be a brotha because he was one of Tavi’s friends, but I was clearly mistaken.

“It’s Jeremy, actually. Tavi just calls me by my radio name at all times to give me shit,” he laughed, “So I have you guys’ tickets and I was actually able to finagle a lil somethin’ extra since Tav mentioned how big of a fan of Janet you were. I could only get one, but I put a pre-show meet and greet pass in there for you, too.”

“Oh my god,” I screeched, before launching myself at this complete stranger, giving him a hug, “Thank you so much!”

If he was caught off guard, he didn’t show it at all, returning the hug in good stride.

“No problem, glad I was able to hook you guys up. Tavi mentioned that this was a part of some grand summer of adventures you guys have planned?”

Ebony replied, since I was still pretty much in shock that I was hours away from meeting my idol.

“Yeah, came to Des Moines because we heard that’s where all the action is,” she cracked, which made Luke double over with laughter.

“Well, I hope you ladies enjoy your time spent in my town. Give Tavi my best,” Luke said, “I’ve gotta get back to my booth before someone notices I’ve been gone.”

As he walked away, Ebony turned to me with a crazy eyed expression, “Bitch, you’re about to meet Janet Jackson!”

*Fun fact: I actually have a friend named who is a radio show host in Des Moines Iowa and his radio name is Luke Matthews LOL. So this was fun to insert my real life bud into this tale.

For Shaun

· Kofi Siriboe

· Black

· NOLA

I walked out of the bathroom into our hotel room to see my husband dressed in all black from head to toe, looking better than he had any right to. It felt strange, those two words in succession coming out of my mouth. However, a quick glance at the wedding ring that glistened on the third finger of my left hand quickly quelled any unease I had. Just under a year into forever with a man I certainly never saw coming, that’s for damn sure.

It was his idea, for us to take a pre-anniversary trip down to New Orleans. Despite my fascination with the city, this was my first visit. Much to Karim’s chagrin, I wanted to do all of the touristy things—have a drink at that carousel bar, beignets at Café du Monde, take one of those Groupon gator boat rides that Tiffany had taken Will and Jada on…all of it. Karim put his foot down at doing any of the ghost tours, though. The most I’d gotten out of him was visiting the house where they’d filmed the American Horror Story: Coven season. Since we’d touched down, I’d had him running and though he went along with my every whim, I could tell it was wearing on him. He was being a good sport though, so I gave over the reins to him for the rest of our trip

Tonight was all about him and his plans. Karim and his boys had come down to NOLA to get into antics plenty of times and he had grown rather fond of the city. Whenever he came down here, he sought out new restaurants and tried to stay as far away from Bourbon Street as possible. The plan was to do dinner and then catch some live music and burn off some of what we consumed at dinner. When I asked him how to dress he simply replied, “Like you’re tryna get fucked tonight.”

So here I was in a newly purchased black lace body con dress that stopped mid-thigh, showing off a perfectly toned pair of thighs that were evidence of my recent online training sessions with my trainer Donte and his Hybrid Lifestyle program. On my feet was a pair of shoes that definitely indicated that I expected to be seeing them held aloft by the end of the night—black with a four-inch gold heel and gold cuffs that clasped around my ankle. I straightened my hair, a rare occurrence, and it brushed my shoulders in loose waves. My jewelry was minimal—my wedding ring and my favorite one-carat black diamond studs.

Karim finally noticed my presence in the room and immediately made his way over to me to wrap his arms around my waist, nuzzling my neck with soft nibbles.

“Shit, I didn’t think you’d really take my instructions to heart. Fuck them reservations,” he growled, hands moving from where they were grasping my waist down to grip my ass.

“Ah-ah!” I teased, “You promised me dinner. And dancing.”

“And, I definitely plan to make you my dinner which will have you dancing so I’m not quite sure of the problem here?” Karim replied smoothly.

“Nope,” I smirked, “Not good enough.”

“Tease!”

“Brute!”

“I’ll be that whenever you’re concerned, wife. But fine…have it your way,” Karim said, flicking his wrist up to view the black on black Movado watch I’d gifted him with before we left town.

&&&

I was barely keeping my cool and Celena knew it, the little tease. We’d eaten dinner at Commanders Palace and were currently finishing up dessert. Well, more like Celena was trying to get me to bend her over at this table as she turned eating bread pudding into a more sensual act than was sensible. With each bite, she pushed me closer and closer to the edge, letting her tongue linger on her spoon a little too long under the guise of savoring every bite.

“Sure you don’t want some, baby? It’s really good,” Celena moaned.

I signaled to the waiter for our check to put an end to this torture. We needed to get out of here and over to Frenchmen street. My guy Felipe’s jazz trio was in town and had a gig at Snug Harbor, so I wanted to head over there and show him a little love before we ended the night at Café Negril, a spot I knew Celena would love because of her infatuation with all things Marley.

The Lyft ride over to Snug Harbor was an exercise in restraint as Cel plastered herself against me, damn near in my lap. I indulged her in a few kisses, but nothing too intimate since we did have a strange as witness. Twenty minutes later we were pulling up to Snug Harbor at the same time that Felipe and his guys were arriving.

“Flip!” I called out.

“Reem, what’s good joe?”

“Shit, I can’t call it,” I replied.

Felipe’s eyes skittered over Celena before he replied, “Shiiiiid, I know you lyin. Look like you know all that’s good.” He extended a hand in her direction,” My name’s Felipe and yours sweetheart?”

“Cool all that mack shit out with my wife, Flip!”

Celena giggled at our back and forth, then introduced herself to Felipe, “Since my husband is being rude, Celena. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“No need for formalities if you’re Reem’s wife, you’re family,” Felipe replied, decidedly less in mack mode.

He and I hadn’t seen each other in a few years, so he was unaware of recent developments in my life like settling into owning an auto body shop and managing to get married within an eighteen month time period.

“Brother, let me set y’all up at my table, everything is on me tonight. Since I missed the nuptials and all,” Felipe said suddenly, urging us to follow him into the club.

He talked to a couple folks before we were led to a table tucked off to the left of the stage. Soon a bottle of Dom Perignon appeared unbidden. I poured Celena and I a serving and we toasted to a great vacation so far and an even better tonight. Flip’s trio put on a great show, but pretty soon we were inching to get up and get our groove on and the mood in Snug Harbor was decidedly mellower than what we needed, so I suggested we take off and head down to Café Negril.

We could hear the sound of the reggae band that was going in at Negril the closer we got to it and Cel was definitely feeling her drinks if the way she was wining back on me as the bouncer checked our IDs was any indication. I led her to the dancefloor immediately, keeping her back pressed against my front as we moved in syncopation to the rhythmic tunes the band played. We danced nonstop, to songs fast and slow, familiar and un, never once separating the lower parts of our bodies as our hips wound in unison.

For the first time all evening, when the band announced a five minute break, Celena turned toward me with a lusty look in her eye, biting her lower lip.

“You ready to get outta here?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Been,” she replied hurriedly.

“After you,” I said, following the sway of her hips as she led me from the club.

Just as we were getting ready to step out, a hand on my bicep halted our forward progress.

“Excuse me, I know you’re out with your girl, but would you mind taking a picture with my girl, bruh?”

I turned around to see some poindexter looking dude and his equally nerdy looking chick looking at me expectantly.

“Uhhh…?” I replied, “I’m not sure who you think I am but…”

“Baby,” Celena said, interrupting me, “Don’t do these nice people like this. They asked so politely. If we take it quickly and they are discreet, I’m sure no one else will bother us.”

I looked over at her like she’d lost her mind as she continued.

“I can take it for you guys, if you both want to get in the picture,” she gushed.

“That would be great!” the guy in the couple responded, “Wow! Thank you for being so gracious. It’s not every day that we see celebrities, you know. And Coletha, she just loves her some RA, so I had to make my lady’s night and approach you, Kofi.”

The couple gathered on either side of me, the woman’s hand resting dangerously low on my stomach, damn near at my dick, as Celena snapped a couple shots. They thanked us again before letting us continue on our way.

“What the hell was that, babe?”

“I told you!” Celena crowed.

“You told me what?”

“I told you that you looked like Kofi Siriba…Siriboe. I told you! You watched the show and everything, but still didn’t see the resemblance.”

“Because I don’t look like that lil nigga.”

“You say it like it’s an insult.”

“I’m a grown ass man. How old is he like twelve?”

“Wooooow, you’re buggin baby! But, that doesn’t matter because I have proof now! Wait til I tell the girls! We’re gonna have a good ki over this one.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” I said, advancing on her, pulling her ass back toward me once again, proof of where we were headed before being interrupted pressing into her urgently, “Is you done or is you finished?”

“Feels like the night is just getting started,” she replied, leaning back into my embrace.

For Trina

· Whitney Houston

· Blue

· Memphis

I sat watching my good friend Tika strut around in a short, blue, sequined and shimmery number before she was set to get on stage. She was the lead singer in a cover band, set to perform at the bar that was below where I lived. My house often became the staging area for her transformation from mild mannered LaTika the bank teller to Tika Shae the chanteuse who kept men ensnared in her trance with her sultry singing voice. Her band sung all of the r&b hits from divas of the 80s and 90s including Patti LaBelle, Anita Baker, Gladys Knight, Phyllis Hyman, Angela Bofill, and Whitney Houston. If Tika had it her way, they would have thrown in girl groups, too. Her favorite line was “Lalah Hathaway ain’t the only singer out here who can harmonize with herself!”

I met Tiks when I was at a low point in my life. Living above a bar was a blessing and a curse, especially when I was in one of those emotional low periods. I sat at the at the bar as Tika’s band played, yelling out request after request that they ignored. They typically had a themed set list already worked out, but that night I was so shitfaced that I wasn’t trying to hear any reason. Deon, the bartender that night, tried reeling me in several times, but I couldn’t be contained. The keyboardist in the band looked like he was ready to come down and put me out of the bar himself, but Tika wasn’t having it. She beckoned me to the stage, and I stumbled, drunkenly, barely making it up the three mini steps to stand beside her on stage.

After a brief interrogation, with her collecting all of the minor vital information about me and diffusing all of the rowdy energy I’d had while sitting, Tika asked why I refused to settle down. For my answer, I channeled Larry Fishburne channeling Ike Turner, “Well if you’d just sing the songs like I told you to sing ‘em…” And that set Tika off into a round of giggles before she decided to at least take one of my requests seriously. I remained on the stage while she and the band launched into a crazy remixed version of Teena Marie’s “Portuguese Love”. I sang along word for word and adlib for adlib, and at some point, someone produced a mic for me, which led to me harmonizing and riffing along with Tika near the end of the song. She’d been trying to convince me to do it again, but I didn’t sing in public much or at all anymore. That night was the side effect of one too many Threesomes aka Jameson and Ginger. I barely remembered getting home and was suitably embarrassed when Tika showed up at my door the next day, gushing about the amazing vibe we’d had while singing.

“I brought an extra dress, Ayda,” Tika said, interrupting my thoughts, “We can work in a couple of duets with women fighting over a man tonight if you say the word.”

I laughed and shook my head, “Nah, not tonight, Tiks.”

Or any other night for that matter.

I left singing behind in Memphis, where I’d also left an almost ex-husband, his two kids and three baby mamas. I’d had dreams of making it big, singing in front of crowds of screaming thousands and Andrew Townsend was the one who was supposed to facilitate all of those dreams. I met Drew when I was singing in a tiny blues club, one night a week on Beale Street. He came in talking slick and quick about how he was in town briefly for a label recruiting talent. That lie was soon uncovered, but Drew managed to have charisma that made the lies he told endearing. And because I was an easily led child with daddy issues, I was a prime target for his foolishment. I stayed entangled in the mess with Drew for far too long before finally packing my bags (and my dreams away) in order to start over fresh in a new town.

Alternate Universe Celena

Is Throwback Tuesday a thing?

Sooooo before Celena was Devorah’s friend and Pat’s sister and PJ’s Tete and Karim’s boo, she was a random woman in a word doc on my computer. Sadly I was unable to work much from her original story into Smitten, but here’s a peek at one of my lost files. Snip is a flashback; from the POV of the man in this story. He and Cel were coworkers, she had one too many at the company Christmas party.

                                        ***

“C’mon Little Cel, it’s just a little further. You walk into the elevator and I’ll carry you to your bed…er, room.”

“You tryna put me ta bed, J Holiday?”

“Mmmmhmm, and the sooner you move, the sooner you can get to bed.”

“Kay!” Celena did some sort of shuffle motion, attempting to board the elevator that ended up knocking us both through the double doors. Moving quickly, I maneuvered so that I took the brunt of the fall, with her landing squarely on top of me.

“Oof. That’s not exactly what I…” my words trailed off because Celena was stroking my beard and staring at me with a look in her eye that I recognized as one that would only lead to trouble. I managed to get us both upright, press the button for our floor and keep Celena from falling over once again. As the elevator dinged, signaling that we had arrived to our floor, I made a move to help Celena leave the elevator. She remained immobile.

“This is our floor, LC. C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

“You said you was gonna carry me.”

I did say that, didn’t I? Shit. That’s what I get for thinking that her alcohol addled brain wouldn’t have that long of a memory. Celena proved me wrong.

“All right, let’s go.” I held out my arms for her to grab onto.

“Nope. My call and I says piggyback.”

“Piggyback? Really Celena?”

The elevator began to loudly buzz due to the doors being held upon beyond their allotted time period. Annoyed at the sound, I had no choice but to give in. I leaned down so that she could safely climb up on my back. A couple false starts before she finally settled in and I was able to stand.

“Giddyap!”

I let out a brief chuckle.

Carrying her from the elevator shaft to the end of the hall where our rooms were situated beside each other was hell. Whatever perfume she had applied before leaving for the evening, wafted toward my nose, wreaking havoc on my senses. It was an airy, floral scent that I associated with no one but Celena. She felt so right pressed against my back, all lush curves and soft skin, that my mind couldn’t help but wonder how she’d feel on the front, with less clothes. It didn’t help that, since she insisted on piggyback, my hands were in constant contact with her creamy thighs, which were firmly wrapped around my waist. She had snuggled up close; the soft caress of her exhales grazing my neck.

“Where’s your key?”

“Pursh.”

At that point I realized the ever-present clutch I’d seen all evening was not in the hands looped around my neck.

“Where’s your purse?”

“Dunno.”

That would be a problem we could deal with tomorrow. For now I had to get this woman off of my back and into a bed as quickly as possible. I’d just put her up in my room. The suite had a pull out sofa I could use while she slept in the bed.

“Ok Little Cel, I’ve gotta put you down to get to my key.”

“I can get it,” Celena said, reaching into the front pocket of my slacks, hand moving dangerously closer to my quickly growing erection.

“Hey!”

“Whoops, that’s not the key or is it?” she giggled, not moving her hand and softly kissing me on the side of my neck.

I paused for half a beat and closed my eyes. I’d been trying to fight off my growing attraction to her for months and in that moment I wanted nothing more than to explore it. I knew that now, however, was not the time. Celena’s displeasure at my manwhore activities was clearly evident when she was in the right frame of mind. All of this was alcohol induced and I wanted no parts of a morning of regret.

Moving her hand slowly up and down my shaft, Celina asked again, “Is that the key?”

Removing her hand to reach into my pocket, I said, “You damn well know that isn’t the key, little girl.”

“Are you sure? I think it might unlock my p…”

“HEY!” Shrugging Celena off my back and making sure she stayed upright, I retrieved the key from my pocket.

“Okay, let’s get you into bed!”

Celena half sauntered/ half slunk past me as soon as I opened the door and made a beeline to the bed. I looked over at her sprawled form and chuckled. She was quite the sight, laying there with the formerly knee length dress she wore riding the curve of her thighs, inching dangerously close to showing me places I know she wouldn’t have dared were she sober. Upon hearing her soft snores, I decided against finding her something to sleep in. I removed her shoes, pulled back the duvet, and tucked her in.

put a lil mumbo sauce on it [this title has nothing to do with the words below LMFAO]

“Mo, isn’t this a bit...inappropriate?”

“Alecia, beloved, the minute you started fucking my brother decorum went out the window,” Monica replied as she rifled through the racks of Scantilily.

“Yeah, but choosing lingerie for me to wear for him is...”

“Oh sweetheart, you thought this trip in here was for your benefit? Child, please! Ty is coming back here with Reese from DC, so I’ll finally get to see him for an extended bit of time.”

Ty was Mo’s on again off again friend with benefits. How she got away with that no-lationship? I’ll never know. Especially since Maurice didn’t play when it came to Monica. He stayed blocking both of us in high school, actually. It was only until very recently that I realized that his reasons for blocking me were self-serving, but when it came to his baby sis all bets were off.

“I don’t even know how y’all haven’t managed to get caught by Reese yet,” I laughed.

“Because Maurice isn’t my daddy and I don’t have to answer to him. Besides, I’m discreet, unlike some hussies I know.”

“Shut up, Mo...you and Stace orchestrated that whole thing.”

“I know nothing of that malarkey you speak.”

Reese and I being a couple was a fairly new thing. It had only been about three months since we’d gotten roped into starring in this first kiss viral video that I just knew my sister and best friend had a hand in configuring. I still haven’t worked out the specifics, but they both swear it was just the universe working in concert with fate. I think it was two sneaky heffas plotting on forcing my hand on an issue that I’d admittedly danced around for far too many years. Things were still early, but it felt good and right and...like everything. Which was why I didn’t protest too loudly when Mo dragged me in here to browse. Since things were so new with us, Reese and I were taking it slow, but to be perfectly honest? I was tired of slow rolling it. I was backed up like a bitch in heat needing my thirst to be quenched by the only man who had me parched at the moment. But between his job as a road manager for his best friend/ up and coming rapper Ill Noise aka Ty who was fucking his sister and my ridiculous on-call schedule we just couldn’t seem to get things right. But tonight? When that plane touched the tarmac and I picked that man up from the airport. Oh it was on!

This was a carefully curated plan of seduction, replete with a playlist I titled “Face Down” as an homage to Uncle Luke. The playlist was filled with nothing but sexy music--starting with Janet’s “Would You Mind” and by the time that five minutes and thirty-two seconds ended Reese and I both would be too preoccupied with anything more than ensuring each other were left fully satisfied.