by Retha Powers
At that point in my life, the only thing I really had besides my little brother and my nephew was my singing. I loved to sing more than anything in the world. Shit, I was good at it. I could sing my ass off and that’s what I did every chance I had. I belonged to two churches and was a member of both their choirs. I know it sounds fucked up, a stripper going to church, but God knows the deal. I was doing what I had to do.
My life wasn’t great but it wasn’t that terrible either. These things were the best I had. That is, until I ran into him. He wasn’t all that—short, dark skinned, with dreads and a beard. Truth is, I really don’t know why I stopped to talk to him in the first place. Let me stop lying, it was his eyes. From the second he laid his eyes on me that nigga thought he knew me. I remember him asking me for my phone number. I smiled right in his face and gave him some bogus shit. Then I started to walk away but something inside made me go back and get his number.
That’s when he handed me some poetry he was writing and it was real good. So I told him about my singing. He was the first person I’d ever met who was really interested. That’s when he asked me for a kiss. Would you believe I almost gave it to him, too. There was something about that brother. I don’t know what it was but I kept thinking about him when I got home that night. I didn’t even know what kind of car he drove. The nigga could have been a broke ass but it didn’t matter. He’d got to me that quick.
I called him at work the next day and set up a date. I knew he wasn’t gonna be anything more than a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am but that was okay. I figured if I wanted to be truly intimate, I woulda called a girl. Truth is I was horny as hell. When he picked me up, I didn’t invite him inside. I was too embarrassed. My moms was home and she was high as shit. He asked me if I wanted to go to the movies and I just told him to take me to a hotel.
When we got inside the hotel, Homeboy took off his clothes and got into bed. He propped up a pillow behind him as he watched me undress. He was smiling like he was really looking forward to getting some. When I got all my clothes off it was cold and I couldn’t wait to get under the covers. The sex was gonna have to wait till I warmed up a bit. To my surprise the bed was real warm and when he wrapped his arms ’round me so was he. He stared at me with those eyes and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He was making me feel like they do on the stories when they make love.
He began to gently kiss my neck the way I like it. I closed my eyes and it was almost as if I was with a woman. I rolled my neck around so he could kiss the on the side and he did. I couldn’t help myself, I let out a few moans. He took his time switching between my ears and my neck but not once did he touch any other part of my body. I was getting moist and my nipples were begging to be touched. He must have read my mind because his fingers oh so gently began to rub up against them. I was in heaven and when we made eye contact, I tried to let him know how good it felt.
His lips moved down to my breasts and the way he licked them made my womanhood gush. The way he wrapped those sexy lips around my nipple was driving me crazy and I slowly began to grind my hips. He was moving back and forth between my titties like it was the last time he’d ever see them. I’d never been with a man who was so attentive. Hell, I’d only been with a few women who were that attentive. After he’d given both my titties proper attention he surprised me by kissing his way down to my womanhood. He didn’t just shove his tongue inside me or take his hand and open me up like most men. No, he knew exactly what he was doing.
His tongue ran down my pubic hair and found its way right to my clit. When he touched it, I tensed up it felt so good. I looked down at him again, and he smiled before licking me again. My toes curled that shit felt so good. I glanced down at him and he was into it, I mean really into it. I just prayed he wasn’t gonna stop and if he had I would have begged him to continue. I was so close to coming it scared me and the pleasure was beginning to become too much. He wrapped his lips around my clit sucking on it gently as his tongue danced on the tip. I couldn’t take it anymore and tried to get away but he held on and when I moved he went right with me. Tears of pleasure were falling from my eyes and I felt like I was gonna pass the fuck out.
He eased up, smiling. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. I wanted to say something but I couldn’t. I was confused by what he had done to me. He made his way up my body until his face was directly over mine. He didn’t say a word, just kissed me, and I liked the taste of myself on his lips.
I slid down between his legs and looked at his thing. It wasn’t huge but it wasn’t little either. What I did like about it was that it was smooth and didn’t have a lot of bumps like some brothers I’d been with. I wasn’t really into giving head but I know men like it so I licked him, hoping to return the favor. He jumped when the ball from my pierced tongue touched him. I did it again and he moaned. He was a real gentleman about it. He wasn’t like most guys who tried to shove their thing down my throat and hold my head. He let me do what I had to do. I liked that and I could tell he was enjoying himself. After a few minutes he stopped me. Pulling me up, he whispered, “Ride me.”
I looked down at him in amazement. How could he know that was my favorite position? I gently took his thing and slid down on it. Damn, that shit felt good. He was the perfect fit for me. As I rode him, he began to suck on my breasts and I have to admit I was wetter than I can ever remember being. I felt the urge to move faster on him and the faster I went the closer I was. He was doing a masterful job on my titties and when I closed my eyes things started to happen. My upper body went rigid and my lower half exploded, sending me to a place I’d never been before. I collapsed on his chest with a smile and surprised myself by kissing him. Then I looked him in those eyes and said, “I love you.”
He smiled, almost laughed, then rolled me over on my back. I didn’t know what he was thinking but I didn’t care. I was feeling something, maybe it wasn’t love but it was something. When I was with Black and them I had to say, “I love you.” It was just part of that game. But with this brother, I just wanted to say it. I pulled back the covers and looked at his body. It wasn’t anything special but it had done special things to me.
“I love you,” I told him, again.
“Sure you do.” He smiled again, wrapping his arms around me. “Sure you do.”
He kissed me and the only thing I could think was that I wanted to give him the same pleasure he’d given me. I began to massage his muscles as his hips began to move him deeper inside of me. As he moved faster, a wave of pleasure hit me and it was hard to concentrate on his pleasure when mine was so great. He was doing it to me again and this time I was going to be ready. This time I was going to savor the moment. When the time had come, our lips were wrapped around each other and my body let loose again but this time was different because his body did also. When he looked at me with those eyes, I could feel the warmth he was splashing into my womb and at that moment I knew I was in love.
We left the hotel that night a couple. He may not have known we were a couple, but we were. When he pulled in front of my house, I refused to get out. No way was I letting to of what had just happened to me. I needed to know he was mine.
“You got a girl?” I asked.
“No.”
“You got a wife?” I checked his finger for a mark or wedding ring.
“No.”
“What you got?”
“I got you,” he smiled.
Then I smiled. I never smiled like that before in my life. He made me feel so good with just a few words. I got out of his car that night but the next day he picked me up and took me home to his moms’s. She was a churchwoman and took me in right away like I was her own daughter. Me and him, we’re married now and we got three kids counting my nephew. Well, I guess that old cliché about women in the life is wrong in my case. You can make a whore into a housewife; you just have to make love like a woman.
Mojo Lover
_________________
by Donna Hill
Hot, muggy, the k
ind of heat that coats the skin, pushes the wetness through the tiny pores of the flesh, covers the body in a thin sheen of dewy dampness. A Bayou heat. Summer heat in Louisiana.
The hot, demanding hands of it fanned across my bare back, eased me toward the porch door and out into the clingy night seeking what I could not see. But I knew it was out there, just beyond the mist hanging over the lazy, lapping river. Hanging like warm breath puffed into the frigid air—waiting, changing.
Frigid, ha, yeah, that’s what they call me. At least that’s what the men in the dim saloons and sweaty cafés, where I work, call me. Call me Frigid, instead of Chantel when they can’t get their grubby, gumbo-stained fingers around the swell of my breasts, their lips locked on to the hard nipples that poke out to taunt them, or their thick, knobby cocks into that damp darkness between my brown thighs. Brown-sugar thighs, I’ve been told. Frigid. Ha. They know nothing about my heat, my secret, my mojo.
“Cher, what you got so good under them skirts we can’t have?” they’d taunt, between long, dribbling swallows of ice-cold tap beer and hurricanes that would have them speaking in tongues before the night was over. I could never tell them. They wouldn’t understand. Neither did I, didn’t want to make sense of it no how. Just didn’t want it to ever stop being what it was.
So I just stroll by their tables, slinking slow, like the hypnotic drip drip of a faucet, letting their eyes measure every strut, dip, every jiggle, smiling a pussycat smile. If I turned just right at the precise moment, the one hanging lightbulb would cut straight through my thin gauzy dress, give them an eyeful of lush tits, firm high ass, and that dark space between my sugar-brown thighs they couldn’t get up in.
Those boys would holler and squeal like tortured pigs, banging the tables and tossing dollar bills at my feet, just to get me to bend over. Look, look down. I never took no money, though. I’d just toss my head back, smile my pussycat smile, and go about my work—wetting the tables and wiping them down.
Sometimes, when it was getting close, close to the time when I knew it wouldn’t be much longer—like tonight—and my body hummed and vibrated with electricity, my nipples turned a deep purple, and my swollen clit poked out from between my lips I’d let them touch me—just a quick feel—cool the burn, muffle the humming.
I’d walk even slower between the tables, stopping a moment longer to rub the rag across the chipped and scarred wood. Sway my hips back and forth to the tune of the blues, blowing in time to the stroke of fingers that played on the globes of my behind, squeeze out a note before letting go. Take that quick dip down the valley of my damp blouse, pinching the purple nipples, knowing the flow would come—squeeze out over my puffy clit, between my sugar-brown thighs, wet and sticky in the heat. It would be soon—tonight.
And I’d laugh, laugh at my secret, knowing what awaited me beneath the overhanging willows, on the bed of the cool waters, in the wake of wet mist. Tonight.
Fresh from the shower with those urging hands at my back, I crossed the creaking threshold, finding my space on the top step of the porch, enough room on the two below to stretch my legs, loosen my thighs, and catch a little breeze. Catch something.
Elbows found their resting place behind me, neck arched back as a single line of sweat trickled down the deep cleft of my naked breasts—eyes closed, waiting.
Behind my lids I could see. Tall, sleek as polished wood. Dark as ebony. Solid as a shadow. A whisper, no more than a ruffle across the flesh. Hairs stand on end. Tonight is now.
Like silk, beaded with satin, long and wet, the tongue licks away the soft, sweet cream from my cunt in slow up-and-down strokes. Tease the clit. Suck it gently. Mojo hears me. No need to speak.
Yes, tonight. Elbows brace my weight. Hard purple nipples jut toward the stars. Hips rise, rotate around the tongue of silk and satin—draw it in with two, three quick pulls of my well-trained cunt.
Hot breath rushes up the dark, wet hole, spreads out, fills me. Fingers, long and hard, caress my flesh with a tenderness that squeezes tears from my closed eyes. Lips on mine, the taste of me on my tongue. The scent of him is everywhere; in the trees, the moist earth, the planks of wood that brace my elbows, cradle my hips.
Stars rain down on us, sear our flesh, making the steam rise from the river as we undulate on the rhythmic crest of its ripples. Glide over and then under the lazy current, submerged in wanton abandon—limbs light as air, mouth open, gulping down the sweet shots of release.
Tremors, beginning deep in my womb, spread like a mad flock of doves, clenching my toes, curling my fingertips. The power of it lifting us to the bed of grass and moss beneath the willows.
Wrapped in the dark embrace, the willow’s vines encircle my wrists, ankles, securing them wide and willing. The silk and satin-beaded tongue licks my lashes, traces the bridge of my nose, dips deep into my mouth, circling, dancing, quivering.
My pussycat smile opens and closes begging to be filled. It cries its own river of white tears that soak my gaping thighs. The flesh there trembles.
I cannot cry out, plead, or implore. The bulging thickness fills the hollow of my mouth, stretching my cheeks, teasing the back of my throat. Ribbons of hard muscled thighs clamp the sides of my face, fighting for control, losing the battle on the downstroke—suckled and teased with the tip of tempting tongue. One drop, two, I savor the bittersweet nectar.
An almost animal howl, heavy, deep, inflamed, pierces the night sky, tumbling over and over, scattering the birds, rising the tide of the river, stirring our bed of mint-green grass and moss.
The eager, skillful mouth that moments ago held captive the cock upon which all time and man began was suddenly empty, gaping, needy like a babe hungry for its mother’s tit.
I felt then hard and sleek, wet with the pleasure of my mouth—felt it slide down my chin, probing, looking. Swallowed now in the warm valley of my breasts, dripping a dewdrop path of eternity in its wake. Across my belly into the circular hole of my navel—hovering there, taunting me.
Round hips arch, ready, as the vines tighten—stretch wider, the loose thighs higher, legs spread east and west.
Clit, like a pink pearl, slick, pulsing and hard—my tiny cock—needing someone, something to fuck. Tonight.
The weight of his rich, shadowy blackness bears down on my spread-eagle form, light as air, heavy as night.
The head, full, round like the polished knob of an African walking staff, probes against the wet walls of my smile. Wide. Wide. Inch by inch. Creamy flow smooths the entry, pulses like my own heartbeat growing.
Hip-length dreadlocks descend around us in a blanket of black velvet, shutting out the world. Only us now—pumping, grinding.
No words, just sounds tear from my throat. White light dances behind my closed lids. Farther, deeper, the mahogany staff plunges, pries—wider, slower. Maddening.
Shuddering waves of lust electrify, send my body jerking toward the heavens, bound to earth only by the tender vines and the pulsing, pumping shaft that remains locked deep in my pussycat smile.
Hips above me move in a hypnotic, rotating rhythm. Teeth nip the purple nipples—snapping my well-trained cunt open and closed. Silk tongue with satin beads is everywhere at once, even as the African staff swells, beats, meets my heart. My skin sings to its song. Bodies tremble, rising from the bed of grass. Wanting it. Wanting more. Tonight.
“Cher. Cher,” croons deep in my ear, hot as a desert wind. Large hands cup the perfect globes of my ass, squeezing the cheeks, kneading. Faster. Pulling me closer.
Vibrations consume me, stiffen my limbs as the cock reaches that hidden place deep within the walls that suck and tease—touches it. The perfectly carved head rubs it, bumps it, strokes it. Delirious now with pleasure, time and space merge as the eruption of eternity splashes within, the promise of forever fills me, and I weep in joyous response.
Tender lips, tinted with honey, kiss away my tears, join my mouth in silent song. Bodies locked into the hereafter begin to beat again, insatiable, eager. Again
and again. Over and over.
“Cher,” he cries now, the only word in my ear. All I ever need to know or hear.
Night moves toward dawn. The scorching orange sun rises above the horizon, hangs above us, darkening our blacker-than-black skin.
More. Again. All through the day we love, fuck, screw, come again and again. On the waves of the rivers, the bed of moss, the planks of porch wood. Even as the world moves around us, without us. And night returns, then dawn, still we are bound—pushing, pumping, crying, coming—over and again.
A cool breeze slowly sneaks through the willows, ruffles the blades of grass, and we know that our time is near.
My eyes drift open in time to see the shadow and hip-length dreads move in a blink beyond the threshold of my bedroom door.
The scent of him lingers in the air, clings to my skin, crawls through my hair, creeps up between my brown-sugar thighs to whisper good-bye to my smile. “Au revoir, Cher.”
And I sleep.
When daylight streaks through my window, slowly I rise from the dream that held me captive for three days and nights. My reflection mirrors my mind. Blades of grass cling to the backs of my thighs. Prints from the vines outline my wrists and ankles. My cunt throbs and beats to the tune I sung with him in my head. Clit, still swollen and hard, peeks out from between wet lips. The taste of honey still clings to my mouth. The deep-throated groan of “Cher” burns my ears.
Yet I am alone in my room in the light of day.
I smile. Mojo lover.
Washing down the tables at the saloon, dress clinging to my damp curves, body humming to my Mojo’s tune, I smile.
“Where you been, Frigid?” one of my regulars asks as I dip out of the way of groping, gumbo-stained fingers. “Lemme see what you got under those skirts.”