Purple Panties

by Zane

  “Yes, Toni, I do, but…”

  A single finger covers my lips. “Shhh,” Toni says to me as she and Paris switch gears.

  “Toni, what are you doing?”

  “Nothing, Laila, just let me love you.”

  My eyes wander and find focus on several key pieces in my massage room, like my candles, and my oils, and, well, something new I had planned to share with Toni when I saw her again, but she beat me to it.

  “Is this for me, baby?”

  “Yes,” I respond, red as a beet, I’m sure.

  A pretty in pink vibrator fills Toni’s hand as she hands it to Paris. Throwing caution to the wind, Paris dives in, gently bites my clitoris, which makes me come instantly and proceeds to long, determined licks against my walls. The sweet smell of hot, sticky, wet vagina consumes me as Toni parts my mouth with her lips, and I smell my pussy on her breath once more. Moving downward, she pushes my breasts together, sucks and kisses my nipples, while Paris inserts the vibrator into me, turns it on and now, I’m psycho.

  “Oh God…too much, please, Toni, I can’t take this,” I yell in ecstasy, while Toni fingers my clit, rubs my juices throughout and Paris wiggles the pleasurable weapon of my satisfaction in and out of me vigorously. Multiple orgasms take control of me and all I can do is give in to the pleasure.

  “Toni, baby, uh, uh, uh, uh…aaaahhh! Shit, this is so good!”

  Erotic explosions go on for what seem like days, and when it’s all said and done, Toni reaches over me, and says, “I’ll be in tomorrow for my massage, baby.”

  Dubbed the “Queen of Hip Hop Romance Erotica” by Disilgold Soul Magazine, Elissa Gabrielle is the author of two poetry books, Stand and Be Counted and Peace in the Storm, the highly acclaimed novel, Good to the Last Drop, and the sequel, Point of No Return, as well as the much anticipated novel, A Whisper to a Scream. Gabrielle’s literary contributions can be found in Erogenous Zone: A Sexual Voyage, Mocha Chocolate: A Taste of Ecstasy, The Triumph of My Soul and multiple poetry anthologies. She is the founder of the greeting card line, Greetings from the Soul: The Elissa Gabrielle Collection. Gabrielle has graced the covers of Conversations magazine, Big Time Publishing magazine, and Disilgold Soul magazine. Visit the author at www.elissagabrielle.com and email the author at BooksByGabrielle@aim.com.

  The Finest Man

  Wanda D. Hudson

  T his all began the night I made a mistake. The target was unnerved by my stupidity and continued as if I hadn’t spoken a word. My job as a night security officer at a women’s homeless shelter was more boring that I expected, and my inaccuracy happened during one of my attempts to catch a spell of much needed shuteye.

  Chairs are not allowed during the twelve-to-eight shift, so my bottom side rested atop a garbage can. A can that I wanted to crawl into once I realized what I did.

  Knowing I’d be relieved of my shift in less than two hours, I tried not to drift any deeper into sleep. My partner, Simpson, defied the powers that be and confiscated a chair from another part of the building. While we tried to sneak sleep in plain sight, we also tried to stay alert to our surroundings. This was an action that wouldn’t be accomplished. My mistaken words came out slow and groggy at first, and then reached their full momentum before I could take them back.

  Deirdra, although I didn’t know her name at the time, came around the corner and did a double take to see me sitting propped up against the wall. I had startled her, as she me, but her mouth remained closed as she made her way to the ladies room. The first time I opened my eyes I caught a glimpse of her face; the second time, her backside. Shouting was my way of alerting the clients of its presence.

  “Man on the floor!” came from me in a weary boasting voice. I pushed these words out of my lungs hard. The ladies bathroom was at the other end of the hall and I wanted no one to get a free peep show due to not doing my job. Feeling I had done my duty, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes to try and recapture the thoughts that danced in my mind in its peaceful state. That’s when I had a slight epiphany.

  “Wait a minute…no men come on the floor at this hour. And what man would wear flip-flops and shorts up here?”

  My eyes opened wide and I sat up when my partner informed me of the slipup I created.

  “Wilson, that’s a woman.”

  Horror engulfed me momentarily as I hopped up off of the can and paced the small area. Simpson sat up also, and looked at me as if I were a hilarious crazy woman about to lose her mind.

  I wasn’t convinced. “A woman? You gotta be kidding me. That was a man…wasn’t it?”

  Once we both realized I was serious and had genuinely made a mistake, we giggled in delight. Our snickers weren’t for the embarrassment of the client, but for my stupidity. My job was to work as a security officer, not to belittle women who were going through God knows what and somehow managed to end up in a less than pleasurable predicament.

  I continued to pace and turn in circles. Raising my hands over my head and bringing them down to cover my face was the action that I repeated over and over again, as if I were trying to wipe my features away. Simpson signaled to me that the client was walking back in our direction. We didn’t want to look like we were laughing at her manly female exterior, so we became silent.

  The client’s steps were quick. When she was close enough to hear my voice I said the only thing that might soothe the situation. The words to change it, or take it back didn’t come to mind, so I mustered up what little dignity I had, and offered up the first words in winning a friend back.

  “Hey, look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.” My words came out sincere with pleading hand movements attached to every consonant and vowel.

  “Naw, that’s cool. Don’t worry about it,” was the callous, hurried, brush-off of a reply I received. My target kept walking, but my heart was still heavy. I wanted to shout, “Wait, we need to talk about this,” but before one syllable could reach my lips, she was out of my sight.

  Simpson came and stood next to me. “Damn, I can’t believe I said that shit.” We burst out into hysterics.

  “Well, believe it,” were the only words she got out as she hunched over and continued laughing.

  “Anybody could have made that mistake, right? Doesn’t she look like a dude to you?” I needed to feel like everyone else was on my side.

  “There are a lot of them that look like men in here. It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

  Simpson eased my mind momentarily, but as we continued to talk and wait for our relief, I couldn’t get my words, or Deirdra’s face, out of my mind.

  The next night really freaked me out. I began to wonder during my silent time if, in fact, I was a lesbian. I rationalized that I wasn’t because, technically, Deirdra wasn’t a woman. She carried herself like a man. Her walk, her talk, her aroma, her baggy style of dress, all of those characteristics belonged to a man. A rather sexy man with a special connection to the female species—a man that was stuck somewhere between panties and boxers.

  I arrived at work at my regular time and pulled up next to a car to easily maneuver parallel parking. A man stood at the back of the car in front of me and turned to see exactly what I was doing, and why was my vehicle so close to his. Looking away from my site of the curb, I noticed his face full on. My thoughts were, “Now that’s a nice-looking brotha. He’s well-groomed, has a nice car, and is smooth and handsome.” When I turned my car off, the man closed his trunk and walked past me. He went under a street-light and I received a much clearer view of him. Deirdra. The man I married in my mind for a few seconds was Deirdra.

  During my lunch break that night I went and sat in my car to try and clear my head. The first person I thought of was Deirdra. What the hell was going on with me? I actually wanted to step to her and say anything. Anything that would let me into her world. Anything that would give me insight into why I was suddenly feeling her. Was it because she looked like the man that I’ve always desired, or because I’ve secretly wanted a woman for my mate
all along?

  “Shit, I have to stop thinking about her dyke ass.” I had to believe those thoughts and be strong in them. Still, I wondered what kind of lover would she be? Would she be hardcore like a thug brotha, or sensitive because she knows how to handle what a woman has?

  I found out Deirdra’s name by pretending to do a bed check and asked the woman that slept next to her what was dykie’s name. It hurt to conceal my emotions, but some things are better left undiscovered.

  The next night as two other guards and I congregated at one post, she walked past. She approached us from behind, so I didn’t get a chance to see her lovely face, just her luscious physique from the rear. It was okay for me to look then, because I could blow it off as seeing something like a space creature, and I had to describe its appearance.

  My eyes followed Deirdra’s frame from top to bottom. I wanted to go into the shower room with her to soap and massage her body. Instead, I hid my feelings by saying, “That’s some freaky shit right there. Will you look at that?”

  “I know. A woman eating pussy is nasty. Most of the bitches in here do it.” Mrs. Portland was a bit older and had been married and divorced twice. She was the one person I could never let see me looking at my forbidden lover.

  Foolishly, I replied, “Yeah, I agree,” and we went back to discussing the events of the day. My mind stayed on what was behind the shower door, though.

  One night we made eye contact as soon as I reported to my assigned post. It was as if we were looking for each other on some sort of scavenger hunt. Our brief glance held the contents of what we both were searching for. My heart raced when I saw her, and I walked over to try and fish out her feelings for me.

  I smiled sheepishly and began to sweat. “Hey, uh, hi.” This was the first time I had been in her face without hiding. I took a step closer to her to appear friendlier and she reciprocated.

  “How are you?”

  Not knowing if I should revisit our awkward moment, I asked, “Are you okay?”

  “As fine as I can be in this place.”

  “Yes, you are fine.” My words spilled out the same as a boiling black covered kettle about to blow, and in an instant, she knew.

  “Do you know what dorm I’m in?”

  “Yes.” My words were wet and easy—just like I would be for her.

  “Well, why don’t you come see me when you get time?”

  Another guard calling me on my radio interrupted us. Instead of having a chance to continue behaving like an obsession that needed to be conquered, Deirdra walked away and left me standing, wishing we could exchange wedding vows right then.

  At three-thirty one guard went on her lunch break and the other one was asleep. It was then that I walked into the dorm and found her bed. I stepped lightly toward Deirdra’s cot, found it, and stood over her viewing her as if she were my prized possession. She slept peacefully on her back and I bent down closer to her face, wanting desperately to kiss her full lips with my moist ones.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? Regardless of how she looks or who she is, she’s a woman. You can’t bring pussy to get pussy. I can’t do this shit. But damn she’s fine. How can I explain that the finest man I know is a woman?

  Trying to suppress my urges didn’t happen. We both ended up in the bathroom together, and alone, at four twenty-two in the morning. I didn’t try to stop myself. I wanted her. I wanted to taste her. I wanted her to be the one I left in the morning and came home to every night. I wanted to feel her soft, masculine hands all over my body. In return, I’d caress her with my supple ones and soothe away any confusion that might still be between us.

  Deirdra, feeling the same as me, lifted her hand and summoned me closer. She pulled me near with her finger and we stepped into a cramped bathroom stall. Her smell of sweet brut musk dazed me as we shared a great kiss of lust. Our bodies meshed together as our hands roamed each other’s prohibited territory. I became weak in her touch. I took on the role of the less aggressive one, choosing to let her lead me through a maze that I never wanted to end.

  “What’s your name, security guard?” is what she asked as our tongues licked each other in perfect sensations.

  “Syreeta.”

  “Ah, my Syreeta.”

  Our experience came to a halt when someone stepped into the stall next to us. We promised with our eyes that the next day would be the one. The day she would come to my place and we’d be together as woman and woman, man and wife, or lovers in lust.

  Before I left work that day I slid my phone number in the crack of Deirdra’s driver’s side door. She called me that afternoon at two, and my questions splattered out like a hot fool on speed.

  “What are you?”

  Laughing, she replied, “Whatever I am, you like it, right?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t understand this. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m, I’m…confused.”

  She spoke in a soft, mannish tone. “I have a thing for you as well. When I walked back down the hall and looked into your eyes, I wanted to kiss you. You were so sincere. I felt so bad for you.”

  My heart quickened as I asked, “Are we going to be together? And if we are, what are we? Or, are you just going to fuck me so I can have an experience and never talk to me again?”

  “Look, I’m digging you hard. You made me nervous the first time I saw you. Initially, yes, I just wanted to fuck you, but now, I don’t know.”

  My neck tingled. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

  “What? The fact that another woman wants to fuck you harder than a man does?”

  Surprised, I asked, “You want me that bad?”

  “Yes. And yes, it’s a compliment.”

  I was still confused. “You talk like a man. You look like a man. I don’t get it.”

  “I know you don’t. If this helps any, I’m a woman. I was born a woman and I have all the physical attributes a woman has. I just love women. I love the way they smell, walk and talk. I love to make love to them. It gives me ecstasy to pleasure them. The way I look is the way I was born to look. I didn’t wake up one day and decide to be a man. This is the way I was made.”

  The line was silent for a moment as I took in what Deirdra said.

  Curiously, I asked, “How did you know I was digging on you?”

  “Ha, ha…it’s the same way a man and a woman dig each other. You just know.”

  “Do you wish you had a dick?” After I asked that question I felt it was a mistake, but she answered with ease.

  “Sometimes.”

  I wanted her in the best way. She was so damn sexy. “Why am I attracted to you?”

  Boldly, she replied, “Because I’m an attractive person.”

  “I think about you constantly.”

  “Ah, that means so much. Syreeta, we were meant to find each other. One day you won’t be ashamed of me or your feelings.”

  “I’m not ashamed of you, Deirdra. This is just so foreign, and I don’t understand my feelings.”

  “I know. Until your ready, we can keep us a secret.”

  Meekly, I answered, “I’m sorry about that, but I need to figure this out.”

  “That’s cool. Many women go through the same thing as you. Women don’t fuck women. Women aren’t supposed to look like men. But it’s a different world than what your mama told you about.”

  “Yes, it is. So, am I a lesbian now?” How would I ever explain this?

  “You have to search yourself and answer that. I know I am. You could be someone who simply loves people. You love what’s attractive to you.”

  “Well, right now I want to love you. Will you come over?”

  “For you, of course. I’m on my way.”

  In the private confines of my home I can release all of my inhibitions and make love to her like she belongs to me. I can look at her outright clothed and in the nude. No more stolen glances at her wide shoulders, her well-buffed statuesque silhouette, or admiring the slight bow in her legs, which gives her the walk that makes me we
t when I see her. Tonight we’d become one and worry about the story for the press tomorrow.

  Deirdra buzzed my intercom approximately forty minutes after we finished our telephone conversation. I lay my sweaty finger on the door entrance button firm and long, afraid that she’d pull the door handle and it wouldn’t open to let her in. Breathing hard and near a fainting spell, I stood in my doorway with a pair of booty shorts on and a sports bra top. When her foot touched the top step I smiled like a second day newlywed. At that moment it didn’t matter if she carried herself like a man or a woman, she belonged to me.

  “Hey, beautiful,” is what my lover said to me. Her words were hauntingly calming and filled with passion. Deirdra wore a pair of knee-length blue jean shorts, a throwback jersey, some Timbs, and a beaming smile that I owned.

  “Hi. Come on in.”

  As she entered with a gift bag in one hand we brushed our arms together.

  “You came bearing gifts, huh? Pray tell, what’s in the bag?” I held my hand out for her and led her to the couch. We sat close, so close that I could smell the mint on her breath as she spoke.

  “A few things for you. A bottle of peach Chardonnay, some candles, bath salts, and a lace thong panty. This will accentuate your booty well…very well.”

  We sat mesmerized in the moment. Then, at the same time, without a director’s cue, we began to kiss and undress each other. She handled me gently and moved about my body seductively.

  As she pulled her top over her head, I said, “I don’t want to sound like an idiot but I need to ask you this. I always took sneak peeks at you. Will you stand up and take your clothes off so I can look at you without interruption?”

  “Ah, anything for my Syreeta.”

  Standing up, she dropped her jersey on the floor. She then undid her belt and let her shorts fall. She wore a pair of white boxers and bent to take them off. When she stood back up, she was naked. She was beautiful. Her skin was smooth and held no blemishes. Her six-pack was drinkable. Her breasts weren’t like mine. They were more like a young man’s who had just begun to work out. Not too big, but firm and tight, just right for gripping.