Bassment Deep

by Curtis Bennett

  Ma’Kentu laid spread across his bed thinking, his hands clasped loosely on his chest. Little Maceo was right. Everyone had a weakness. And he himself was no exception. But unlike his sax player, he had always been good at suppressing it. Drop-dead, gorgeous burlesque-bred types and beautiful women who fancied dressing in lingerie had been a weakness he had worked so hard to abate in the past. Then along came Ms. Charlotte. A walking orgasm waiting to happen, she personified the word nightclub brick-house. She was a bundle of passion few men could totally ignore. And he was no exception.

  There was movement on the bed across from his causing him to set aside his thoughts.

  Stirring, Al sat up and propped his elbow on his pillow and gazed over at him. “What’s up, Bassman? Some’n on your mind that’s keeping you awoke?”

  “Just thinking about Margo and Charlotte.”

  “I see. Torn between two women, huh?”

  “Not at all,” Ma’Kentu quickly clarified. “It’s just that I know Charlotte is up to no good.”

  “Most women from one’s past are, especially when you trying to establish a relationship with another woman. Margo’s the special one, am I right?”

  Ma’Kentu nodded.

  “So why is Charlotte commanding so much of your time and thoughts?”

  “I’ve never told anyone this but the woman knows how to please me in ways no other woman has before or since. I’m talking inside of the bedroom stuff. Even after I left the DC area, I found myself tossing and turning restlessly in bed, unable to rid myself of her alluring eyes and that gyrating body of hers. And for months! The woman oozed sensuality like no other woman I’ve ever met. That is until I met Margo.”

  “I’ve only met Charlotte once and I can see she’s all that and possibly more.” Al chuckled at the memory.

  “Believe me, she’s a drug I’m glad I never became addicted to,” Ma’Kentu added.

  “No disrespect, Bassman, but are you sure she hasn’t become an addiction?”

  “I’m sure that’s not the case, per se.”

  “Well, perhaps you’re suffering from what I often call the sophisticated ‘hoochie momma’ syndrome.”

  “Sophisticated ‘hoochie momma’ syndrome?” Ma’Kentu echoed softly.

  “Yes, men who are attracted to curvaceous women a class or two above the average street walker type. And it’s nothing wrong with that. I had this syndrome in my early twenties. Men in this situation are attracted to successful, intelligent, and independent women who are between the ages of thirty-two and forty-six, women who look ten years younger than they actually are. I’m talking women who are refined, as well as beautiful and aggressive. But women who love to wear sexy outfits and bedroom fashions that highlight their sensuous forms. Their narcissist fashions, however titillating, are always one or two notches above what is considered sleazy.

  “You see, they look good and they know they look good but more importantly, they know the effect they have on men. That’s where they derive their power from in a world ruled by men.”

  “Interesting,” Ma’Kentu murmured.

  “And let me add, they are attracted to professional men. Business types and celebrities. Think about it for a minute. Gloria was definitely a sophisticated hoochie and so were Renee and Michelle. Obviously, there was something about Charlotte that went beyond this. What she used then to latch onto you, she’s trying to use now to taunt you and make life miserable for you.”

  “You just might have a point,” Ma’Kentu replied. “So you think I have this sophisticated ‘hoochie mommas’ syndrome?”

  “May have had, I emphasize, since Margo is obviously not this type of woman, although she has an abundance of class and social grace.”

  “But you’re right on one particular point, Al…Charlotte struck a chord with me. And she’s hoochie momma hot and quite sophisticated.”

  “If you ask me, she satisfied you in a way you haven’t gotten over yet.”

  “I think it runs deeper than that, Al.”

  “Are you saying you fell in love with her?”

  “No, I’m not talking that kind of deep passion.”

  “Let’s talk then,” Al prodded his longtime friend.

  “This is just between you and me, but although I loves me some wholesome women, I’ve always been attracted to women whose approach to sex bordered on the erotic and tantalizing world of burlesque. I’m talk’n about women who adorn their fragrant, soft supple bodies in smoke-colored stockings and lacy garter straps, fancy corsets and teddies, tantalizing lipstick and long painted fingernails. Like a good jazz tune heard over the radio, an attractive woman dressed burlesque-like grabs my interest and doesn’t seem to let go.”

  “What red-blooded man doesn’t find himself attracted to hot looking women who dress sexy, walk sexy, talk sexy, and comes on sexy, Bassman? Women perpetrate this role…just to grab our attention and usually our wallets. Believe me, you’re normal, Bassman. Besides, most men want their women to behave and talk and carry on like angels outside of the bedroom and behind closed doors, they want their women to behave like whores.”

  “I think that’s me Al. Or it was, for the longest time,” Ma’Kentu revealed.

  “How long have you been aware of this?”

  “I was eleven years old, at the time. Being from a sheltered world, I was naive about a lot of things. Mother was deeply religious. We attended church on a regular basis. Now dad, he was another story. Very dominant, he was a man of earthy vices. Why mother put up with his cussing and fighting, gambling and drinking, I’ll never know. Though she did her best to shield us from his sinful ways, there were times she was unable to. But we knew, for years, that our father was less than perfect and even less faithful. And mother was quick to remind us after every argument she and my hotheaded father got into.”

  “Religion and children raised in broken homes have messed up a lot of children over the years. And I’m not saying you’re messed up, Bassman. No way. But you may have some minor sexual hang-ups,” Al said, adjusting his pillar. “Please continue.”

  Ma’Kentu cleared his throat. “Well, one evening my father called on me to run an errand for him, just down the block. Having worked late, he was tired and hungry, I imagine. He wanted me to pay our landlady the current month’s rent. What I didn’t know, at the time, was that our landlady, known in the ‘hood’ as Momma Carmen, also moonlighted as Madam Carmen.”

  “Damn, you had a madam for a landlady!”

  “I guess so. Anyway, as I approached her house that afternoon with the rent money in hand, I noticed that there were more than the usual numbers of parked cars outside of her recently painted home. It was one of those three-story Victorian homes. White with pink painted shutters and trimmings. I have to give it to the woman; she knew how to keep a nice looking house. Shrubbery, lawn and trees included.”

  “I imagine she kept it spic and span for her clientele.”

  “I imagine so.”

  “This sounds interesting! Tell me more.”

  “Well, of all the errands I had ever run for my dad, this one was unique. I had never been within more than a foot of Momma Carmen’s black wrought-iron fence, until that evening. Once inside, I remember that a very attractive woman led me upstairs to the second floor and into Momma Carmen’s office. She introduced me to the Madam, who smiled and greeted me, saying something like, ‘So you’re Nathan’s boy!’ She then asked me how my family was doing. I told her what I thought she’d want to hear. Like most big Black women, she had a pleasant personality, along with an attractive warm smile.”

  “Know the type.”

  “Seconds later, without offering a reason, she excused herself, leaving me alone in her office with the door ajar. Now mind you, this was an office one would expect to find at any place of business, but not in a residential place.”

  “In what way?”

  “Al, it’s so vivid. As if it happened yesterday. There was a wide dark grain wooden desk, a file cabinet, off to the side, a
small table with a lamp on it, and a mid-size desk with a typewriter on it. A bookcase was positioned to the left of the room. The bay window was draped on three sides in a dark purplish cloth. The look was almost gothic.

  “A moment later, across the hall, I observed an attractive woman leading a much older man by the hand into a dimly lit room. A real knockout blonde. Well, actually a black woman wearing blonde hair. She had moist ruby red lips and was wrapped in the shortest, tightest fitting dress I had ever seen. Was even wearing fishnet stockings. The man was definitely redneck. Sporting a gruffly gray beard, cowboy hat, worn leather boots, and Dixie flag on his black leather vest, he also wore a look of anticipation. The room the two vanished into was dimly lit. I didn’t think much of it until I heard what sounded like moaning coming from the room.

  Curious as hell, I quietly crept out of the office and over to the room and carefully cracked opened the unlocked door. What my virgin eyes witnessed left me psychologically scarred to this day. I truly believe that. It was certainly an eye-opener, for a young boy.”

  “What in hell did you see, Bassman?”

  “I saw them kissing and touching one another in ways I had never seen a man or a woman touch or kiss one another before. Not even my mom and dad.”

  “No doubt, they were getting their freak on.”

  “You might say that. Then the blonde began to slowly undressed herself, one article at a time, until she was left wearing only stockings, a gold ankle bracelet, garter belt and garter straps, corset and black lacy bra. Oh yeah, and crotchless red panties. Even more of a turn on, her honey brown skin was beaded in moisture.

  “By this time, the redneck had his pants down around his ankles. I watched quietly as he fondled her heaving breasts until her erected nipples were hard. Man, I’m tell’n you. That fine looking redbone had some humongous titties on her for her small size!”

  “Damn!” Al sighed. “What else?”

  “I watched as he lifted her up, pressing her back and firm ass against the wall. By now, her stocking-clad legs were wrapped tightly around his beer-barrel gut, as they kissed one another, and like there was no tomorrow. Her heavy moaning grew louder and intensely, as he ravished her, and spiritedly, might I add, with one of those clockwise humping motion. I’m tell’n you, that cowboy wore that pussy out!”

  “Man, I can imagine,” Al muttered.

  “To my amazement, the more I watched them, the more the two appeared to glow as their wrestling bodies quickened. It was the damnedest thing I had ever witnessed. I was also aware of my own senses, which seemed surprisingly acute and enhanced by what my eyes were witnessing and by what I was hearing. A thick musk-like scent permeated the room, might I add.”

  ”Freshly squeezed pussy, that’s what you were getting a whiff of, man.”

  “You mean freshly stuffed.”

  “That too,” Al chuckled, reaching across to lay a five on Bassman’s large hand. “Please, don’t stop now. You tell this far better than most novels read.”

  “Well, up to this point in my life, the closest thing I had ever seen that resembled this sort of activity was when my dog Duchess took a relentless pounding by Baltimore Butch, the local neighborhood Cocker Spaniel, who had apparently picked up on her scent.”

  “Baltimore Butch?”

  “Yeah. I think his owner was originally from Baltimore. Anyway, I had heard numerous stories about how adults made out in the hay but this impromptu in-your-face crash course was more than I had ever imagined or bargained for. Fortunately, for me, the two were so caught up in the passion of the moment that they were unaware of my intrusion. That’s when things got really interesting.”

  “More interesting than what you’ve already told me?”

  “Man, the two began to use words I was unaccustomed to hearing. On top of that, there the moaning and groaning that was going on intensified. At the same time, Mr. Cowboy was panting heavily and grasping frantically at her pretty cinnamon brown ass with his hands, which kept bouncing as a result of his relentless pounding. Man, it was amusing watching those two go at it, while trying to make a conscious effort to maintain their sense of balance.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Ma’Kentu could see that Al was really into his story so he decided to give him as much detail as he could remember. “Imagine this, Al. The man was down on his knees, giving her a real good tongue lashing, and not on her lips either. I watched, quite mesmerized by the way she kept closing and opening her eyes from the pleasure of it all. The final time she opened them, she caught a glimpse of me and trained her eyes on me. Man was I gripped with fear. Fear that my father would be told about my intrusion. But when she smiled and blew a kiss in my direction, I knew it would remain our little secret. And I wasn’t worry no more. That is, until, I heard Momma Carmen’s ascent up the creaky stairs. Her breathing sounded laborious.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I quietly retreated back into her office. There I nervously awaited her entrance. Man, I squirmed uncomfortably in that chair for the longest time. I was really expecting to get my black ass chewed out for snooping. But she was never the wiser to what I had witnessed, as we picked up with our earlier conversation.”

  “Damn, you were lucky.”

  “Yeah, I was. That night, with the memory of those two going at it fresh on my mind, I found it difficult to fall asleep. The fact that I had my first major boner didn’t help my cause either.”

  “Hell, I’m getting one just listening to this shit.”

  The two laughed hard and loud as they gave one another high fives.

  Wiping a runaway tear from the corner of his eye, Ma’Kentu faced Al. “Well, what you think?”

  It was Al’s turn to put the final touch on this story. “I think I fully understand your situation much better now. It’s simple. Since that eventful day, you’ve been grappling with deep overpowering sexual urges, which seem to percolate whenever you encounter attractive women wearing anything from tight form fitting skirts, to Daisy duke shorts and revealing low cut tops. These are the women whom seem to set you off the most.”

  “Hey, that’s damned good psycho-analysis for a music-major.”

  Al smiled. “Music was my major, but I also minored in psychology.”

  “I didn’t know that. But what you said explains why, as a young adult, I found myself visiting burlesque joints to watch women strut their stuff. No, they were never the type of women I wanted to take home to meet mother, but they were definitely the type of women I loved bedding down.”

  “Yet, you still held out hope of meeting that one special gal. Am I right?”

  “Sure. I always longed to meet that special woman. I always wanted someone who could convey upper class poise and social grace. Yet, someone who, behind closed doors, was as hot and bothered and as freaky as they come, just like you said.”

  “Yeah, someone who carries herself like royalty by day, whom by night comes on like an incurable Society Hill nymph.” Al added. “Ah, but such a woman is rare.”

  “True. And after years of searching, I still wonder if such a woman, such a duality even exists.”

  “Do you think Margo could be that woman, that special breed?”

  “I’m not sure, Al. But I’m hoping.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get the opportunity to find out. Until then, just stay out of those burlesque houses,” Al chuckled.

  “It’s been over twelve years since I’ve been in one of those lousy strip joints. But hell, I really thought I was over that type of woman -”

  “- Until you met Charlotte. She kind of brought all those primal feeling back to the surface, I believe. It is apparent that you have not quite conquered your weakness for her.” Al summed it up. “But you’ll be all right, Bassman. And I thank you for sharing this with me. Man that took a lot of courage to share.”

  “Thank you Al. And thanks for listening.”

  “You’re more than welcomed.”

  “I’m just glad I got it off my chest. Ho
w much I owe you for the session?”

  Al laughed. “Look, just stop worrying about Charlotte. I think you’ve got her under control.”

  Control and Charlotte were two words that did not exist in the same room. Another minute and there’s no telling what would have transpired between them backstage, Ma’Kentu fretted silently. For all the trouble she had poised, the woman knew how to dress-to-arouse. And she had more than aroused him, that night. If it hadn’t been for that sudden distraction backstage, he probably would have succumbed to her seduction. Still, he wondered about the origin of that distraction. He had ruled out Margo. Surely she would have brought the subject up when he spoke with her that night in her room.

  Margo woke up the following morning, and found herself unable to pay more than scant attention to the morning news show, even though the show featured her favorite topic - freelance journalism. Journalism had been her livelihood for the past ten years and it had also dominated her life during that period. Lately, she’s found her thoughts occupied by a new and more vibrant interest - Ma’Kentu. Oh, if only that damn phone hadn’t rung the night before, she agonized. As much as she adored him, she could have strangled Little Maceo.

  Pouring hot coffee into her cup, she sat down at the table and, without further thought, sipped at it. Setting the cup down, she reached over and retrieved a package of liquid cream and opened it and poured it into the hot liquid. She took a second to stir it, then she sipped at it a second time. Much, much better, she thought.

  Though she was in a good mood, she felt a little sadness also. In a few hours she would be riding off with the band to Norfolk, Virginia. It would be her last show with them before flying back to Florida. Such irony, she thought…to find true love only to have to part with it unwillingly and so soon.

  She checked out of the suite after lunch and caught a cab. It was a sunny day for such a ride. A quiet ride for solemn thoughts.