Homecoming Weekend

by Curtis Bunn

  Last time they saw each other, which was two years earlier at homecoming, Tyrell misplaced Charlene’s phone number and was angry that he did. Seeing her at the party was all the opportunity he needed; he was not going to blow it.

  “Girl, I think I’m going to leave with Tyrell,” Charlene said. “He lives in Portsmouth and said he wanted to take me over there to that other day party or to his house. Seems to me like I should go. But what do you think?”

  “Charlene, you know it doesn’t matter what I think,” Tranise said.

  “No, it does matter,” Charlene insisted.

  “Well, just like Mary, I think you should go with Ty,” Tranise said. “He was a nice guy in college. As long as you feel comfortable and safe, then go have fun.”

  Tranise and Charlene hugged. “You going to the jazz concert or the all-black party or the Best of Friends reception or . . . what?” Tranise asked.

  “If I’m as lucky as I hope, I’ll be seeing you in the morning,” Charlene said. “Besides, Mary has the car.”

  “Damn. That’s right. Okay. I guess I should say, ‘Have fun,’” Tranise said. Then she turned to Kwame, who smiled at her.

  “Well, I guess going down to Waterside won’t be so bad for a while,” Tranise said. “But I’m going to the all-black party later at the Holiday Inn off Newtown Road.”

  “Wow,” Kwame said. “How ironic. Me, too. I guess I can be your ride—if you want—since Mary has the car.”

  “Well, let’s see how this goes first,” she responded. She was all right with Kwame taking her to the event, but only if he understood they were not going together, that she would be free to mingle with her former classmates. She did not know that Kwame had the same ideas.

  In the car, Tranise called Mary, who answered, but only briefly.

  “So what’s the plan for later?” Tranise said. “Or is there a plan?”

  “I think your plan and my plan might be different,” Mary said, and then she laughed. “I’m probably not going to make it to the party.”

  “But a lot of people will be there,” Tranise said.

  “I know. But they’ll all be at the tailgate and at the game,” Mary said. “So I’m going to catch up with folks then.”

  Tranise could hear Rodney in the background. “Well, I’ve got to run,” Mary said. “Have fun and call me in the morning.”

  Mary disconnected the call and immediately contacted Charlene, who was en route to Tyrell’s home. “Well, you go right ahead, girl,” Mary said. “Tell Tyrell hello for me. I’m in the room with Rodney. So, I’ll see you in the morning?”

  “Yes,” Charlene said. “I’ll call before he drops me off.”

  Mary turned off the ringer on her phone and placed it on the dresser. Rodney had stopped at Total Wine and purchased some champagne. “Why champagne?” he said, repeating Mary’s question. “Because we’re celebrating.”

  “Celebrating what?” she asked.

  “Celebrating reconnection, celebrating homecoming,” he answered as he popped the cork.

  The truth was that Mary never got Rodney out of her system. Although they were young when they had met in college, their relationship was something that stuck with her. First loves tend to do that.

  The other truth was that at home, Mary had a boyfriend—Clint, a pharmacist that catered to her every whim. He was the catch of a lifetime—financially sound, handsome, smart, likeable and attentive. But there was no magic there, and Mary needed magic—or even the promise of something magical.

  They were almost three years into the relationship and Mary spent more than half of that time mildly engaged. She found herself envisioning other men making love to her, even as she lay underneath Clint. She was too embarrassed to share that with anyone—or to dare leave a man everyone considered ideal.

  When she saw Rodney at The Broadway, her body reacted. It was the anticipation of something magical that made her feel a combination of chills and trembles. She cared about and, in her own way, loved her boyfriend, Clint. But as soon as Rodney professed his long-time interest for Mary, she knew she would be where she was—in bed with him.

  “I can’t even believe this,” Rodney said between kisses on Mary’s neck. “I mean, I wanted this, but I couldn’t expect it. I feel like this is where we’re supposed to be.”

  Mary’s eyes were closed, but her quick-witted mind was not. “In bed? That’s where we’re supposed to be?” she cracked.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Rodney said.

  “I know it’s kinda late to be asking this since we’re naked here in the bed, but is this all you want from me? Sex?” Mary said.

  Rodney pulled away from her so she could see his face. “Mary, you must not have been listening to me earlier,” he said. “I’m still feeling you. I knew I was, but seeing you at the party just confirmed it big time. I’m not playing with you.”

  With that, he leaned in for a deep, passionate kiss that Mary did not resist. In fact, she creased her lips and let Rodney’s tongue enter her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his stout shoulders and was brought right back to her youth, when she was young and inexperienced, but received the pleasure that would stick with her all this time later.

  She closed her eyes and enjoyed the kisses Rodney planted on her face and neck and shoulders. When he moved down toward her nipples that were as erect as thimbles, she threw her arms above her head, as if to say, take me. Do as you please.

  Rodney got the message. He covered her entire body with caresses and kisses, eliciting moans and sounds of pleasure from Mary that she forgot she could make. As she tried to catch her breath, Rodney presented a condom as if from thin air, like a magician. That was Mary’s cue to spread her legs, which she did, and Rodney, in two swift motions, applied the condom and inserted his pulsating erection inside Mary’s warm, wet crease.

  She braced herself at first, but Rodney was gentle, methodically penetrating her, in small increments. Before long, Mary was thrusting upward and pulling Rodney down deeper into her. He obliged her beckoning, pumping harder and deeper the more she screamed. That’s how Mary liked it—intense and almost reckless.

  Rodney liked it that way, too, so the high-impact loving of their past was just as jarring and pleasing seven years later. The sweat that sat on Rodney’s back like standing water was an indication of the work he was doing. And the disheveled hair was tell-tale of Mary’s actions.

  The first round of passion lasted eight minutes or so, but it was a hot, aggressive, fulfilling eight minutes. Round Two started about forty minutes later, after they lay side-by-side, sipping champagne and reminiscing. It lasted significantly longer, with Rodney flexing his muscles and aggressive nature, flipping Mary to her knees, then on her side, later off the bed and onto the floor. It was the kind of intensity Mary craved in lovemaking.

  “Sometimes, you just liked to get fucked,” she had told her girls. “Forget being nice and polite. Just give it to me.”

  Rodney gave it to her. It was not until long after midnight that their frolicking ceased. Mary lay on her back, exhausted and exhilarated. Her body smiled. It was a feeling she needed, but did not get from her boyfriend, Clint.

  “So, is that enough to leave someone over? Sex,” Charlene said the next morning, as they prepared to go to the homecoming parade.

  “I don’t know, to be honest,” Mary said. “I mean, it would be awesome if Clint gave me what I needed. He’s such a nice guy, a good man. But you know what I think the problem is?”

  “He’s not endowed enough?” Charlene said, laughing.

  “You would think that would be the problem, but that’s not it,” Mary said. “He doesn’t know how to use what he has. He’s basically too nice. Rodney handles me, he—now, this might be too much information—but he smacks my ass. He bends me over. He’s forceful. It’s like he knows what he wants and I, in turn, like what he wants because he’s in control. I need a man to be in control and to be aggressive—don’t be so respectful that he’s treat
ing me like I will shatter.

  “I told Clint, ‘I’m not fragile.’ But that didn’t translate into what I wanted. He just doesn’t get it and it’s hard to tell a man who thinks he’s all together that he’s weak in bed.”

  “Well, what are you gonna do?” Charlene asked. “It looks like you won’t get what you want. I think it’s hard to leave a man just because of sex.”

  “It’s hard to leave a man for most anything,” Mary said. “But after last night, I know that if I stay in it, I’m going to be seeing Rodney whenever I can. I’m not saying that like I’m bragging. I’m saying it as a fact. I felt so good that I can still feel it now. That’s the way it should be, the way I need it to be.”

  “Then why stay, Mary?” Charlene said. “Life is too short to be with someone—no matter what his other credentials are—that doesn’t really fulfill you.”

  “That’s true,” Mary said. “I guess, to be totally honest, I look at all the things the Clint does bring to the table. I look at how all my friends think he’s so wonderful and that we’re so great together. I look at how my parents feel about him.”

  “Yeah, well, none of them have to sleep with him,” Charlene said.

  “I don’t want it to sound like Clint is terrible in bed,” Mary explained. “Someone else might think he’s the bomb. I’m just saying that for me, he’s lacking. And his pride and ego would not accept me telling him how to be better. I tried it already and he basically took it like I was crazy and did nothing different.

  “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It takes away from how I’m feeling right now.”

  “Just one more question,” Charlene said. “Do you feel guilty?”

  Mary did not know how to answer. She felt exhilarated. She felt relieved. She felt satisfied.

  “I have not allowed myself to feel guilty,” she finally answered. “I thought about guilt before we went to the room. But once I decided that I was going to do it, I only felt pleasure. Now that it’s over and now that you have asked me about it, I feel sort of sad more than anything. But maybe that’s just semantics. I don’t know how I feel. I know this: I don’t regret it, not the way I feel. I hope that doesn’t sound cold. But it’s true. Was it the right thing to do, considering I’m in a relationship? No. It was a selfish thing, but something I needed.”

  Charlene understood. She and Tyrell had enjoyed a night of passion, too. She had not planned on it. It had unfolded.

  “Talking about needing it . . .,” she said to Mary. “Maybe that’s why I went with Tyrell. It’d been about sixteen months, two weeks and three days since I’d gotten some action.”

  “I don’t know why you put ‘about’ in that sentence,” Mary cracked. “You know how long it’s been down to the minute. And you know it’s been a long time when you keep a running tab on how long you’ve been without.”

  “I know, girl,” she said. “I hadn’t even had a decent date in eight months. So, I was in need of someone to at least hug me, comfort me, make me feel sexy, make me feel desired. Tyrell did a good job of that. I didn’t see stars or rockets taking off. But he made me feel good and made me feel wanted. I needed that.”

  “I totally understand,” Mary said, looking down at her cell phone. It was Tranise. She had texted her to say she was headed to the homecoming parade.

  “I’m texting her back to say we’re on our way,” Mary told Charlene. “We’ll coordinate and meet her somewhere. Then we can go to breakfast.”

  “Breakfast better be soon,” Charlene said in a heavy Southern accent. “I ain’t some little twig like you. I needs to eat.”

  The women laughed and headed to the parade. Along the way they put Tranise on the speaker phone of Charlene’s cell phone.

  “So, how did it go last night? What did you do?” Charlene asked.

  “I had fun,” she said. She sounded ambiguous, like she was holding back. Then she said, “Kwame and I are almost at the parade.”

  That explained it. “Can he hear us?” Mary asked.

  “No,” Tranise said.

  “Good. You little slut,” Mary said, laughing. “I can’t believe you. You just met that guy yesterday.”

  Tranise laughed, too. “Okay, I will see y’all when you get here,” she said. “Bye.”

  “Can you believe this girl?” Mary said.

  “Yeah, I can believe her,” Charlene said. “Look at what we did.”

  “At least we knew the guys we were with,” she said. “And Rodney and I have a serious past.”

  “Well, I’m not gonna judge my girl,” Charlene said.

  “Me, either,” Mary added. “I’m just saying.”

  When they got close to the school, they called Tranise and coordinated with her so they could meet and enjoy the parade together. When they connected at the corner of Virginia Beach Boulevard and Majestic Avenue, Kwame was not there.

  “Where’s your man, girl?” Mary asked.

  “You are a trip,” Tranise answered. “You know that boy is not my man. He just dropped me off.”

  “So you got with him last night? I’m a little surprised, girlfriend,” Mary said.

  “Mary, you know me better than that,” Tranise said. “He picked me up this morning to bring me here. I didn’t get with him. We had a good time last night, though. He was a perfect gentleman.”

  “See,” Charlene said. “Mary was calling you a ho.”

  “I figured she was, with her jumping-to-conclusions ass,” Tranise said. “I, unlike you, remain pure.”

  They all laughed. “I don’t know why you’re laughing, Charlene,” Mary said. “You fall into the slut category yourself.”

  “What?” Tranise said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Mary said. “We’ll talk about it at breakfast.”

  They put aside the banter for a while and enjoyed the parade. Hundreds of people lined the streets. The band from Booker T. Washington High School came through with energy and rhythm. The floats were elaborate. The Grand Marshall of the parade was Derek T. Dingle, a 1983 graduate who worked as executive editor of Black Enterprise magazine. Miss Alumni, Lauren Brown, came rolling by not long before the homecoming king and queen.

  “Look at how young they look,” Charlene said. “Damn. They look like babies.”

  “You remember being on that float, Tranise,” Mary asked.

  “I do,” she said. “It was so much fun. And you all are crazy. I remember when we got to where you and Charlene were standing. I was waving and smiling and people were waving back at me. And then I saw you two and y’all gave me ‘the finger.’ I couldn’t help but bust out laughing. I was supposed to be poised and stuff and you all made me laugh so hard. And you know I wanted to give you ‘the finger’ back.”

  “Hey, what are friends for?” Charlene joked.

  They ran into more old classmates, exchanged pleasantries and took photos. Finally, they headed to breakfast at D Egg in down-town Norfolk, during which time they briefed Tranise on their overnight adventures. But Mary and Charlene did not ask about Tranise’s night with Kwame until they were comfortable at their table.

  “So . . .,” Mary started, giving Tranise a side-eye look.

  “So what?” Tranise said, smiling.

  “You know what. Don’t be cute,” Charlene said.

  “Do you honestly think I would sleep with a man I just met?” she asked.

  “Ah, yeah,” Mary said, and they all laughed again.

  “No way,” Tranise said. “He’s really a nice young guy, though. After you hookers left to do God knows what, he took me down to Waterside Mall. We sat in the outside area and literally talked and talked. It’s very nice over there with the cruise ships and boats going by. Very nice.”

  “So, that was it? You just talked?” Charlene asked.

  “Look at you, wanting to get some of the nitty-gritty stuff,” Tranise said. “Well, there was no nitty-gritty. We stayed there about an hour and guess where we went next?”

  “To the all-black party,” Mary said.<
br />
  “We did—but that was later,” Tranise said. “We went to the step show.”

  “Oh, my God,” Charlene said. “It’s too much going on. I forgot all about the step show. Damn. How was it?”

  “It was a trip; that’s how it was,” Tranise said. “The gym was packed. Some of these students look like they should be in middle school. I swear. They look like some of my students. It’s crazy. But the step show has changed over the years. It’s almost more about dancing and music than actually stepping, like when we were in school.

  “Everyone comes out to music and tries to put on this big production. The Kappas were good; they didn’t drop the cane, if you can believe that. The Ques were the Ques—loud and nasty. They had these big buff guys standing guard with no shirts on. They give you what you expect. The Alphas turned it out, though. Those boys did their thing. They had this smoke effect and all of a sudden, they appeared through the smoke. They were in sync. They played to the crowd. They made the best impression. They won.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Charlene said. “They used to win every year with J.D., Ronnie Bagley, Chuck Johnson, Gerald Mason, Randy Brown, Sam Myers, Marvin Burch, Kilroy Hall, Pork and Bean, Harry Sykes, Nick Lambert, Ron Simms, Greg Willis, Frank Nelson, Kelvin Lloyd, Akers, Larry Brown, Maurice Hawkins and that whole crew.”

  “And every one of those guys you mentioned was there,” Tranise said. “I have some photos. They had a huge Alpha section. It was their chapter’s fiftieth anniversary, so many of them came back.”

  “How were the sororities?” Mary asked.

  “They were good, too,” Tranise said. “The Zetas represented. I was proud of them. The AKAs were hot—they had a lot of girls out there and they did their thing. They were very classy. But the Deltas were equally classy and on point. It was a tie in my mind.”

  “I can’t believe I missed it,” Mary said. “I want to see your pictures . . . So, you went to the all-black party after that?”