by Twyla Turner
“I admire your bravery. Moving to a new country and starting a business. Trying to open up the world to people who may have been afraid to see it without a gentle push. It is what I do, but in a different form.”
“Is that your goal? To help people see the world through your eyes?”
“Yes. So many people walk through the world with negativity in their hearts. Not stopping to see the big picture. That we are all connected. That we all want the same things. Security, love, happiness.”
“Is that why you paint so many black women? So that others can see we are the same?”
“Partly. I also paint you for myself. I am inspired by your incredible strength and femininity. Your beauty and grace through everything. You carry the burdens of the world while being cast aside as unimportant. Yet you still walk through life like regal queens. As if you know yourself despite what society tries to tell you. It is breathtaking to see. So, I must capture it and show it to others.”
I blink at him.
“Did I offend you? I did not mean to.” He says with a look of worry at my silence.
“Oh God, no! Not at all. I’m just speechless. You really see all that? Or are you just trying to get bonus points?”
“It is the truth as I see it. And I want you to know it. To know that I see you. It is unfair for anyone to be a part of this world and not seen or valued.”
“You have no idea.”
“Maybe I know a little. I have gotten attention and recognition from the outside world. Yet not from those closest to me. My parents were…busy. They have always led the life of people without children. I was a nuisance to them. I interrupted their fun and adventure. It became better once I was grown and they didn’t need to care for me anymore.” He shrugs and leans back in his chair. “It had its advantages when I was a teen. Parties, girls, getting into things I had no business doing, etc.”
“That had to be hard though.” I can’t imagine ignoring Kari as a child. She was my world.
“Yes, but I had some friends who had similar lives. We got what we needed from each other.”
“Do you think, you try to find love and affection through other people to fill the void?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think that’s why you like older women? Looking for a mother figure?”
“It could be.” He frowns, thinking to himself. “Though I do not date one more than the other. Or seek out older women. I am drawn to whoever speaks to my soul.”
I smile shyly.
“Do you want a serious relationship? Or do you like jumping from woman to woman?”
I cringe inside. It’s definitely not something I intended to ask. Especially on our first date, but I couldn’t help it. I’m dying to know if I should hold myself back or let myself fall.
“I never go into a relationship with a woman with the intention of just having a short fling and casting her aside. I want it all. ‘All’ often does not work out. And for good reason. I believe ‘all’ is limited to one, maybe two people, in our lifetime. It is only a matter of finding that one person.” He pauses. “I also believe that my search has come to an end.”
That last sentence sends my heartbeat from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds.
“How d-do you know?”
“I do not know. But, everything feels right. Trust me, I do not normally chase a woman who has turned me down multiple times.” He grins at me.
“Yet, I have the feeling no one ever does turn you down.”
“Ha! I have been turned down. A few times.” He says triumphantly as if it was a good thing.
“Yeah, right. By who?”
“Women who were afraid to date or not interested in a white man.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a point. I guess I believe you.”
“You were not afraid for that reason. Only my age. Have you been with someone outside of your race before?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not for any particular reason other than the situation never presented itself…until now.”
“Are you afraid that it will be different?”
“To be honest, I hadn’t really thought about it until now.”
“And?”
“And…I don’t care. I just want…” I let the sentence hang. Too afraid to say out loud what I really want.
“What? What do you want, Taryn?” Etienne leans forward.
His eyes are intense. They beg me to tell him. They are also sincere in their curiosity to know me better.
I decide that it is finally time to speak up. To demand what I want this time around.
“I-I want someone to focus on me for a change.” I look down at my hands folded in my lap. I can’t make eye contact as I make my confession. “I’m tired of giving all of myself while getting nothing in return. I want to be a little selfish.”
I glance up at him, and green fire greets me. The waiter comes back just as Etienne is about to speak. Anticipation eats at me as I wait to hear what he is going to say while the waiter takes our order. Etienne never takes his eyes off me even as he gives his order. The server quickly retreats, realizing he’d interrupted a heated discussion.
“Have you reached an orgasm before?” His voice is unreadable.
I would have laughed awkwardly if his face wasn’t so dead serious. I’ve never had a discussion about sex before. It just happened. No talks about likes and dislikes. Daryl was way too serious and conservative for all that. And the one man after him wasn’t much better. I wonder if that’s what attracts me to Etienne. His openness, his enlightened and artistic view of the world and people and sex.
“N-Not with another person.”
My answer makes his eyes spark further, and I realize the green fire wasn’t just arousal like I had thought. It is anger.
“I do not understand this!” His throws up his hands in exasperation.
“Understand what?” I’m not quite sure why he’s so angry and if it’s directed at me.
“How men can be so selfish. This also seems quite common in American men. As if it is their right to be pleasured. That women are made solely to bring them pleasure and do not deserve pleasure of their own. Or that you do not crave pleasure as well. When two people come together, they must do so with mutual care and respect. I cannot find pleasure in sex if I know that my woman has not found hers as well. It is like Christmas. If someone gives you a beautiful and thoughtful gift and you give them nothing in return, would you not feel guilty and be unable to truly enjoy the gift?” He pauses in his impressive tirade awaiting my answer.
It takes me a second to respond, I’m so enthralled by his rant. His accent thickens, his hands fly emphasizing each word, and eyes fill with passion. It’s a sight to behold.
“Yes, I would feel very guilty.”
“See! That is exactly my point. I cannot believe that a man is truly sexually satisfied knowing his woman is not similarly so. Or are they so arrogant that they ‘think’ their woman is satisfied?”
“Um…I’m not sure.”
He flies into another rant in French this time. He speaks so fast that I only catch a word or two. Many are curse words. It sounds beautiful. It’s only his tone that conveys he’s angry.
“I am truly sorry for my outburst. I am not mad at you. I will do whatever I can to make up for all you have lost. I have a mind to drag you from this restaurant right now, take you home, and pleasure you until your legs shake and cannot walk.”
“Please,” I whisper.
He quiets down and stares at me hard for a few beats. As if he’s seriously contemplating pulling me from my chair.
“We must eat first. I think I will need the energy.”
My scalp tingles and a shiver runs down my body to my toes. The tiny hairs on my arms stand at attention. The walls of my vagina clench. My eyes look away. I’m just a big ole exposed nerve.
Luckily, our food arrives, and I’m saved from responding to his last statement. The food is phenomenal, yet for the life of me, I cannot focus on the
taste.
Later, if someone asks me how the food was, I wouldn’t be able to give them specifics. But I could tell them how sensual Etienne’s full lips look as they wrap around the tines of his silver fork as he slips a morsel of tongue-meltingly tender steak into his mouth. I could describe the way his eyes dance as the flavors hit his taste buds. Or how his perpetually, paint-stained masculine hand wraps around the delicate glass of wine as he raises it to his lips.
Yeah, all of that I can remember.
“Would you like a taste?” He asks me.
His tone hints that he’s talking about more than his steak. I take the bait.
“Yes.”
He cuts a piece of his filet mignon and spears it with his fork. The same fork that has touched his lips, teeth, and tongue. He stretches it across the table, and I lean forward to meet it. My lips part, and his eyes smolder. He places the tines on my bottom lip, and my mouth closes around them before he slides the fork out, leaving the piece of meat on my tongue.
I chew and swallow, and then take a sip of wine to wash it down. All the while, Etienne watches me.
“That was delicious.”
“Hmm.” He hums in the back of his throat. His body is tense and very still. “Let us speak of mundane things before I lose what little patience and self-control I have left.”
“Let’s not.”
It slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. I can’t pretend anymore that making love to him isn’t my end goal here. It’s been a long time coming. I haven’t had sex in years. And I’ve never had good sex. I no longer care if I look desperate. I am desperate.
Besides, our meal is pretty much done.
His eye flame at my words and his jaw clenches tightly, the muscle flexing there on either side. He nods once. His eyes leave mine as he scans the restaurant. When they find the waiter, he raises his hand to call him over.
“We’ll take the check, please.” He speaks in French when the waiter arrives.
Minutes later, he leads me out of the restaurant with a hand on my lower back, and my stomach has taken flight. My gut couldn’t be more erratic than if I was in the backseat of a fighter jet and the pilot put us into a death spiral. My nerves and anticipation fuse together to turn me into a shaky mess.
Once we’re outside, Etienne slips his fingers through mine. I’m certain he can feel how clammy my palm is and how my fingers tremble. The walk to the car seems long, yet too short. I slide in as he holds the door open for me. As he walks to the driver’s side, I wipe my damp hands over my dress, though it’s really no use. They’re wet again moments later.
He navigates the little stick shift car down the narrow streets leading to his flat. When we get to his place, I inwardly cringe at the thought of climbing the stairs to his walk-up apartment. My legs are already like gelatin and my kneecaps rattle like maracas. How in the world am I going to walk up five flights of stairs when my legs are weak and trembling?
Somehow, I manage it. I have a few near misses, but Etienne’s hand at the small of my back steadies me as much as it inflames me.
He unlocks and swings the door open wide for me to enter. I step inside and wait with my back to him in the middle of the open room as he closes and locks the door. I stare out the large windows to the bright city beyond. The footsteps of his relaxed gait echo in the large flat as he comes towards me. I know he’s only inches from me. His heat radiates off him in waves, warming my back. My body shivers when super soft lips skim the skin of my sensitive neck in the still dark apartment. It’s like he’s keeping us shrouded in darkness on purpose so I can relax. My nerves unseen.
“Would you like something to drink?” I feel the words as much as I hear them since his lips have yet to leave my skin. “Water? Wine?”
I shake my head no.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You. Just you.”
Etienne growls and whips me around. His hands clasp my face desperately and tilts my head back before his lips crash against mine. My mouth is devoured. He sucks and bites on my lips. My heart is racing in my chest, and I gasp for precious air. The opportunity presents itself, and he plunges his tongue within the depths of my mouth, stroking against mine, and my knees buckle. His hands move from my face and wrap around my back as he lifts me into his arms. Of their own accord, my legs wrap around his waist. My arms find their way around his neck, my hands into his silky hair…finally. The strands slip through my fingers like spun silk. His hands slide down my back to my ass for a more intimate and secure hold.
I lose what little shyness I had left and kiss him back just as ferociously. My fingers tighten around the strands of hair on the back of his scalp, trying to pull him closer. With every stroke of my tongue against his, I grind myself against him. He aids my desperate dry-fucking as he clasps my ass tighter and rolls his hips against my warmth that cradles him intimately.
He pulls back and his plump bottom lip slides from between my teeth. “Ah, Taryn! Hold on, ma chérie. If we keep going like this, I will fuck you on the floor.”
My insides clench at the thought. “Yes, please.”
“Next time.” He starts towards the spiral staircase. “Hold on tight.”
He takes the stairs quickly as I hold onto him. He must have thighs of steel because he barely strains or is out of breath as he makes it to the top.
A small smile spreads across my lips as I spy his neatly made bed lit up only by the light of the moon streaming through the windows.
“I made it just for you.” He kisses me and then smiles against my lips. “So, when you wake up in a tangle of crumpled sheets, you will remember why.”
His seductive threat makes me tingle.
He releases me, and I slide down his body. The large bulge hidden behind the fly of his jeans grazes my damp panties. I’m dying to see him. All of him. But he has other plans.
“Wait here,” he whispers.
In the darkness, only illuminated by the silver light of the moon, I watch his shadow walk towards the bed. A second later a small flame bursts in front of his face, casting him in flickering light and shadows. A wooden match between his fingers. He lights a couple of candles sitting on his makeshift nightstand. He moves to the other side of the bed and strikes another match, lighting a few more candles on that side as well. The room is cast in a soft, romantic glow.
My eyes rise to his as he grabs a piece of paper off the nightstand, straightens up and stares at me from across the room. He never takes them off me as he comes forward.
“I have dreamt of you by candlelight. Your skin already glows from within. I was curious to see what it would look like by firelight.” He finally reaches me. “It is just as I imagined. You take my breath away.”
His words seduce me. Just as much as any touch or kiss.
“This is for you,” he hands me the paper.
I look down at it. It’s in French, but from what I’ve learned over the last couple of months, I can make out that it’s a medical document. From my understanding, it’s the results of an STD test. Each test has négatif next to them. Negative. He wants me to know that he’s clean.
My eyes rise to his. A small smile touches his lips.
“You got tested for me?”
“Oui.”
“Uh…I don’t have proof like this, but my last exam six months ago said I was clean and I haven’t had sex in a couple of years.”
“I believe you.”
“And you don’t have to worry about me getting pregnant. That’s taken care of.” I inform him shyly as I think of the partial hysterectomy I had to get several years before.
“Then we are free. Free to feel each other with no barriers. I usually wear protection, but I wanted to truly connect with you. To feel you. Your warmth and wetness around me.”
He walks behind me, and soft lips touch my back.
“I want to see more of you.”
His fingers find the tie above my left shoulder. Slowly, he pulls one string until the bow comes undone
. His fingertips brush away the fabric, and it flutters down to reveal my naked breast. He walks in front of me to my other side. As he moves, his index finger circles around my areola. It immediately draws tightly in response, and my breath hitches. He moves to the other tie and releases it as well. The fabric tumbles down to meet the other. Both of my breasts are free to be worshipped if he so chooses.
He stands behind me again, his hands sliding around my waist and up to cup my awaiting breasts. He tests their weight in each hand. At the same time as he strokes over my sensitive nipples, his mouth latches onto the side of my neck. Teeth nip my flesh. A warm wet tongue soothes the bite. His fingertips circle my nipples with a feather-light touch. My ass presses back into him as he flicks his tongue against the shell of my ear. And he sucks my earlobe into his hot mouth.
I’m on fire, and he’s just getting started.
Etienne’s hands slide down to where my dress hangs around my hips. He pushes the fabric down and over my hips, leaving me in just my panties. One curious hand flirts with the edge of my lacy underwear. Almost as if he’s asking for permission. My hand finds his arm and strokes over his veiny forearm to his hand. My hand resting over his as I guide him down into my panties.
For once, I could care less about the flab on my tummy, my love-handles, or that my thighs are well acquainted with each other as they touch. I feel wrapped up in his desire for me.
His fingers slide down further to cup my sex. A single digit slips through my folds to the wetness that coats my labia. My channel welcomes him and grips him tight.
“Ahh, Taryn!” He hisses against my ear. “You are so tight, ma chérie. My cock aches to be inside you.”
No one has ever talked dirty to me before. His words and accent make me clench around his finger.
“Etienne, please.”
He pulls his soaked finger from my passage. It caresses my clit as his tongue flicks the side of my neck.
“Ah!” I cry.
I’m overwhelmed as he circles my clit over and over, and passionately kisses my neck. My hips buck against his hand. My upper body squirms. His free hand cups the underside of my jaw. He lifts my head up and to the side, holding me captive. The nerve-endings in my neck feel like they have a direct line to my clit, where he is already giving me plenty of attention. I am on overload. My hips start to shudder as that itch no one has ever been able to scratch reaches an intensity I’ve never felt before.