by Nikki Rashan
“Ahhh . . . ,” I breathed into her ear, and then stuck my tongue inside. She squirmed and dug her fingers into my skin in delight. I sucked and licked her earlobe, down and across her neck. She accepted my kisses willingly, lifting her neck and pressing it to my face. Her hips circled beneath me, searching for mine. I lowered my body and ground with her. Asia’s hands reached for my ass and found it. She held on with each thrust against her body.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
“I missed you too,” I told her.
She opened her legs farther, and I took advantage of the space, settling my middle against hers. We rubbed. I throbbed.
Asia lifted my shirt over my head and bit the skin at my collarbone. It hurt in the most pleasurable way. She nibbled against the bone, then made her way over to my shoulder and down my arm. She took my hand in hers and placed it inside her pants. My fingers drowned in her wetness. Her juices provided an easy glide into her warmth. She inhaled sharply at my insertion. I rested my fingers deep inside, with a slight stroke of my middle finger against her innermost pleasurable spot. Her muscles tightened, then loosened and tightened again. Finally, I did strokes in and out, exerting pressure against her G-spot, my thumb against her clit. I brought her to a near climax and then stopped to remove her pants completely. I turned her so she was facedown on the bed and brought her hips up in the air. I buried my face in her ass, jasmine oil and sweat dampened my cheeks, and still I dove farther, my tongue as deep as I could go. Asia screamed.
“Shit! Kyla, shit . . . Fuck me, baby.”
My fingers found their home again inside her, and I fucked her with both my hand and my tongue. Asia’s ass slapped hard against my face, coming down on my fingers, and I thrust faster and deeper until I felt her rush. Her back arched, her insides gripped my fingers tightly, and warmth ran down my hand and wrist. And still she wouldn’t let me go.
“Make me cum again.”
And so we kept fucking, our bodies slippery and greasy. The room became hot and smelled of flowers and sweat. I sucked her ass cheeks, then opened them wider, and ate her ass while my hand continued to rock her pussy.
“That’s it, baby. That’s it,” she told me. She came almost immediately.
When her body calmed, I freed myself from her hold. She lay on her back and scooted up.
“I want to taste you,” she said. “Give it to me.”
I went to her, put a knee on each side of her face, grabbed the headboard, and lowered my hot pussy to her face. She devoured it. She licked and swallowed my wetness, her tongue dove inside, and then she opened my clit, its delicacy fully exposed, and flicked her tongue across it. The intensity was overwhelming, so much so that I almost couldn’t handle it. Asia gripped my waist tightly and wouldn’t let me budge as the tip of her tongue continued to stroke. The feeling was hot and unbearable and frighteningly delicious at the same time.
“Asia,” I cried. My eyes began to water. I wanted to scream from the searing sensations building at my clit. The more I squirmed, the tighter she held me, her tongue creating an increasing burning sharpness between my legs. The hotter I became, the more my body trembled involuntarily, and the more I anticipated what was next. My lower back warmed, my stomach twitched, and my insides pulsated. Like lightening, I came, experiencing one of the strongest orgasms of my life. A gush of wetness exited my body like never before. I could barely hold on to the headboard; I was light-headed, dazed, between the heat flashes and the dizzying orgasm.
Asia calmed the burn with a soft suck, my entire clit in her mouth. She held it, her tongue soothing the pounding throbs. I wiped my tears. Eventually, I lifted myself and lay at her side. She stroked my hair.
“You all right?” she asked. Her voice was sultry, like the first time we made love.
“I’m fine,” I answered. My body temperature cooled. “That was amazing. And painful.”
“But was it good?” she asked, though she knew the answer.
“It was . . .” I waited and then looked to her. “The best.”
Thirty-eight
Asia
It had been a month since Kyla had been back home, and each day had been wonderful. We were back in a honeymoon phase, adoring each other with appreciative eyes and fresh, optimistic outlooks. Every Monday we partook in our at-home private dance lessons, witnessed only by the encouraging instructors behind the TV screen. Every other day of the week we did whatever we wanted to. Spontaneity had become the theme of our relationship. We were reenergized and recharged, ready to explore our lives together again.
The only piece of the past that remained a constant in the present was Sam. I grimaced every time I needed to work on the nurses’ schedules. I kept Sam busy, making her lunches short and assigning her patients who were a good distance from the office. I remained grateful that Kyla had not asked about Sam. If she was nervous about Sam and me continuing to work together, she never expressed it. She obeyed our rule not to bring up the past and to let it be.
Since the day Sam revealed her connection to Tiffany, I had seen her only once, at the agency’s monthly meeting I held in the small conference room at the office. Sam had arrived and had taken a seat next to me. I wanted her to take a different seat, but I had no valid reason for asking her to move, and doing so would have provoked questions from the clueless nurses who were already there. So she sat next to me, doodling hearts on her notepad occasionally. Once her knee rested against mine, and I kicked her underneath the table. I didn’t think anyone noticed, and she kept her body parts to herself for the rest of the meeting.
“Sam, can you please stay for a minute?” I requested after I dismissed everyone else. I waited until the other nurses had filed out of the room before speaking. They chattered among themselves in the outside sitting area.
“Yes, Asia?” She sat back down.
I turned in the swivel chair to face her. “From now on, sit across the table from me, not next to me. And don’t ever pull any shit like this again.”
“It’s just a chair. You don’t own it,” she shot back.
“As a matter of fact, yes, I do.”
She blushed like a schoolgirl. “Okay, no problem. No harm meant. I was only teasing you.”
“Sure. That’s all,” I said, dismissing her.
“What? We can’t talk anymore?”
“What’s there to talk about? I just asked everyone if there were any questions about work. Aside from that, we have nothing to discuss.”
“How’s Kyla?”
“That’s irrelevant to you.”
Sam licked her lips slowly. “Yeah, maybe it is.”
“Trust me, it is.”
“I’m not thinking about you two anymore, anyway, I have a new girlfriend.”
“Good,” I said flatly.
“She’s older. Respectful. Treats me right. Like a lady.”
“I’m happy for you.” I gathered my papers and put them into my folder and stood up.
“Maybe you can meet her at this year’s Christmas party,” Sam continued.
I didn’t give a shit who she brought to the party. “Sure. Whatever. It’s time to go.”
Sam led the way out of the room, and from behind I cursed the heavens for blessing this woman with such beautiful looks and all that craziness. It was an oxymoron.
On a Monday afternoon I had another appointment with Mrs. Johnson. Every week she had asked me about Kyla, and at each meeting I had told her we were getting better with each passing day.
“That’s what it’s all about. I’m proud of you,” she told me on this day. Then she coughed.
“It’s like we’ve started all over again.”
“You have, baby. That’s how it was for Mr. Johnson and me. Second time around can be better than the first.”
“I think you’re right about that. Without everything we just went through, I don’t know if we would have this level of appreciation for each other. I mean, I still wish none of it had happened. But there’s nothing we can do but ma
ke the best of it. We are.”
She placed her old, wrinkly, cold hand on mine. “Life and love are precious. Treasure each moment.” Mrs. Johnson closed her eyes. “I’m tired, baby. Wheel me by the window so I can listen to the birds sing while I nap.”
I positioned Mrs. Johnson in front of the doors to her balcony, opened one of them slightly, and allowed a warm spring breeze inside. I lifted the leg rest on the wheelchair so her frail legs could rest in a relaxed position. She inhaled deeply, and her body shook.
“Smells good out there.”
“The lilac bushes have blossomed. Would you like me to bring some blossoms inside for you?”
“Yes. I would love that,” she answered weakly.
I held her hand a moment before I left to retrieve scissors from the kitchen drawer. In a cabinet I found a small clear vase. I poured a little water into it and set it on the table across from her.
“I’ll be right back.”
Outside I went to the lilac bush and snipped several of the fragrant blossoms. This part of my job I dreaded. To each of my patients, I gave my best. To welcome them into my life brought me joy. To nurture them back to health was rewarding in a way like nothing else. Sometimes we won the battle; sometimes we lost. I was sad that Mrs. Johnson and I would lose, though I was happy to have had the opportunity to inherit some of her keen wisdom. The greatest lesson I learned from Mrs. Johnson about love and relationships was to appreciate the struggle, to have respect even through loss, and in the end to know that, no matter the outcome, I had given my all.
On my walk back inside I called her daughter, Patrice.
“It’s time,” Patrice whimpered. I consoled her.
Inside, I placed the lilacs in the vase and allowed the beautiful scent to fill the air.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Johnson uttered and then closed her eyes again.
I was grateful for the brave life Mrs. Johnson had led, for the confidence she had to love unconditionally, and for the strength she had to understand others completely.
“No. Thank you, Mrs. Johnson,” I whispered.
Thirty-nine
Kyla
Angie called and interrupted a smooth late Monday afternoon at work. I didn’t recognize the number and picked up the call.
“Don’t hang up,” were the first words out of her mouth.
Her voice startled me. I hadn’t expected to hear from her again. She wasn’t supposed to contact me ever.
“Why are you calling me?” I questioned.
“I wanted to see how you’re doing,” she answered innocently.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Everything is good?”
“Angie, what do you want?” I asked, irked by her call and mad that I had answered the phone.
“To check on you, like I said.”
“I’m fine,” I answered.
“Good.” She didn’t say anything else.
“Is that all, then?”
“You and Asia are doing well?”
“We certainly are. What else? I have work to do.”
“Nothing. I guess that’s it. Just wanted to hear your voice. Make sure you were okay with your decision not to be with me.”
“And why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because despite what you saw that day, you know I know how to treat a woman like a lady. I always treated you with love and respect.”
“Punching me is not loving. Nor is it respectful.”
“I didn’t hit you,” she objected.
“You aimed, and you swung. That’s good enough for me.”
“You really won’t let that shit go, will you?”
“Absolutely not. Look, no need to check on me. Don’t make this a habit.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
“Maybe I’ll see you around,” she suggested.
“No, you won’t.”
“You never know. Atlanta isn’t all that big.”
“It’s big enough. And unlike last time, if you run into me again, there’s no need to speak.”
“Um, we might need to.”
“I doubt that.”
“One last thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“Remember that no matter where you see me or who you see me with, you’re still my number one.”
“Do you need anything else?”
“Nah. I’m good now,” she said smugly, satisfied. “See you.”
“No, not if I can help it. Bye, Angie.” I hung up the phone, but not before jotting down the number on a Post-it note, which I placed on my terminal. I needed to know it so I could ignore her, should she call again.
Stalker.
I rapped my fingers against my hardwood desk and considered what to do next. The last month with Asia had been so fulfilling and we’d been so loving with each other that I didn’t want to cause any unnecessary stress by telling her about Angie’s call. I decided against it. We had agreed that the past would stay there, and for me, even if not for Angie, that was what she was: history.
In a moment of hindsight, I wondered why I had been tempted to risk what I had with Asia for a false fairy tale with Angie. I didn’t know if she was the sweet little grandma who had my best interests at heart or the wolf in disguise, coy and sly as she lured me in. I was glad to have seen her true colors before I got comfortable with her and thus made the hugest mistake of my life. I was even more certain now that Asia was the only woman I’d have for the rest of my life.
In response to David’s suggestion that Asia and I get married, I had asked Asia about it one night. She hadn’t dismissed the idea, nor had she said it was something we should consider right now. Was there a need to put on a big show for family and friends when we had already survived as a couple and had made it this far? We didn’t think so, but we told one another we’d revisit the topic at our ten-year anniversary.
I took a break from work and scoured a Web site devoted to Atlanta happenings with the hope of finding an event that would interest me or Asia. I came across a small announcement about an Atlanta-based author’s book release event. The author had written a novel titled Smooth Jazz Ridin’, a true-to-life tale about the lesbian scene in Atlanta and what it had been like dating one of Atlanta’s most well-known lesbians but always being “the other woman.” The author, Styler Park, was quoted as saying: “I secretly worked on this book with a woman who has remained anonymous until now. She is a salon owner and has been the live-in girlfriend of one of Atlanta’s top lesbians. While all the names have been changed for privacy purposes, trust me, you’ll recognize yourself in this story. This is like the Video Vixen meets Atlanta. Everybody is about to be put on blast!”
I read the author’s quote three times. She had to be talking about Deidra. No wonder Deidra had performed disappearing acts over the past year. She must have been planning and timing the breakup all along. If the book recounted the years of her relationship with Angie, that meant I was in it. Why else would she be referred to as the other woman? If I was in the book, that meant Asia was too. And likely every other woman Angie had ever dated, and every story Deidra had ever been told, whether the truth or a fabrication. That wasn’t good. I knew that Asia and I had agreed to leave the past in the past, but if my suspicions were correct, my past was about to bite us in the ass. Again. I picked up the phone and dialed Asia’s number.
“Hey, babe.”
“Hi, honey.” She sounded sad.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mrs. Johnson. I don’t think she’ll make it through the day.”
Asia had told me about Mrs. Johnson and how close they had become. I knew how fond they were of one another.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. Did you need something?”
I didn’t want to dampen her day any further. I’d wait to share the news about Deidra.
“No. We can talk about it another time.”
“Okay. I’ll see you at home tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Wait. Slow waltz tonight?” she asked before hanging up.
“Sounds perfect.”
I closed my eyes when I hung up the phone. I was worried. Our relationship had been reborn, and any exploitation by Deidra could send us spiraling back into a tense state. I sighed. Maybe I needed to keep Angie on my radar, after all. I picked up the Post-it note and entered her number into my cell phone again. Just in case. I worried for Deidra too. If Deidra had blasted Angie and their violent past, I had a feeling Angie would need the assistance of her lady cop friend again.
I added the author’s Web site to my “Favorites” list for follow-up and logged off my computer. Rather than worry about Angie and Deidra and whatever the past might bring to the future, I was going home to put on my Monday night dancing shoes and dance the night away with my Asia. No matter what the people might say, I wouldn’t let her go.
Discussion Questions
1. Kyla experienced boredom in her relationship for over a year. Should she have told Asia about her feelings earlier? Do you think it would have resolved her boredom or created friction in their relationship?
2. Do you believe it is possible to be a platonic friend to an ex? Are any of your exes friends, and if so, what are the boundaries of your friendship?
3. How do you think Kyla should have responded to her feelings about Angie when they first surfaced? Should she have ended her friendship with Angie?
4. When Kyla confessed her feelings for Angie to Asia, Asia suggested that Kyla explore her feelings further. Do you agree with Asia’s response? How would you have responded?
5. Seeking vengeance, Asia had sex with Sam. Do you agree or disagree with Asia’s response?
6. As one of Asia’s close friends, Melanie suggested that Asia talk to Kyla, in hopes that the two would reconcile. If you were Melanie, what would you have suggested to Asia? Attempt to reconcile with Kyla, or end the relationship?
7. In the story, we learned that Melanie almost cheated with Jovanna’s best friend, Ali. Ali told Jovanna about the incident, but Melanie never confessed. If you were Jovanna, would you have confronted Melanie or silently forgiven her, as Jovanna did?