Tina Mcelroy Ansa

by The Hand I Fan With

  Lena saw him reach for her plate and his, but she stopped him.

  “That’s okay. James Petersen will get those in the morning.”

  Herman got up in time to pull Lena’s chair out for her.

  “You want to wait awhile and take a swim, Herman?” she asked, thinking of ways to entertain him.

  She walked into the pool room and trailed her hand in the water.

  “Water’s still warm,” she said enticingly. Lena sure did want to see him without any clothes on. He had not left his spot by the fire, so, she came back in and sat on the sofa near the fire, too.

  “Maybe later, Lena, but I want to do som’um else right now,” he said, standing in front of her. His hips were right about at Lena’s eye level, and she kept trying to keep him from seeing her inspecting his old-fashioned buttoned fly.

  She held her breath as she waited for him to speak or move.

  16

  LOVE

  Herman stood there before Lena in the middle of her Great Jonah Room a second, turning a bit, his hands hanging comfortably at his side, leaning back in his strong-looking legs, his head tilted to the side like an animal listening.

  Lena thought for a second that he was waiting for a signal from the beyond. But he was waiting for the next selection to begin playing on the CD player.

  “Good,” he said as Duke Ellington and his band began playing “Mood Indigo.” “It’s a slow tune.”

  Then, Herman turned to where she was sitting before the fire.

  “Come on, Lena, baby.” Herman extended his sturdy arm and asked gallantly, sweetly, earnestly, “Dance wid me.’”

  The gesture reminded Lena immediately of every teenaged black boy she had ever seen at a church social, prom, cotillion, sock hop, basement party or sweetshop coolly, serenely sliding across the dance floor headed for her, his next partner. Then, when he got there, not saying a word, not “Wanna dance?” not “Care to?” not “May I have this dance?” not anything. Instead, the young swain would throw his hand palm-up into her lap, look off into the distance as if he didn’t care if she accepted or not, and wait for her to take his hand so he could lead her out onto the dance floor for a slow spin.

  Lena hesitated a moment as she stared at Herman’s hand. It was one thing to dance by herself over the floor of The Place when she thought no one was looking or to dance alone to Salt ’n’ Pepa naked in her bathroom mirror. Getting up and dancing with a new man—even if he was a ghost—was a different matter.

  “Uh-uh, girl,” he said with a serious chuckle. “I done waited a hundred years to dance again! And I get my first dance wid you and you sittin’ up there sayin’, ’No thank you.’ Uh-uh. Get up off your pretty butt and dance wi’ me. Come on in my arms, Lena, and dance wid me.”

  He sounded almost as if he were singing to her, serenading her, cajoling her, just tolling her out on the floor. It was so seductive. Each time he said it—”Come on, Lena, baby. Dance wi’ me”—it sounded more and more enticing.

  Remembering her fiascoes on the dance floor ever since she was thirteen, she still hesitated. She just sat there rubbing her hands together in her lap.

  “Aw, Lena, ain’t no need to be shame or scared in front a’ me,” he said, his hand still suspended in the air in front of her. “Anything you do, any way you do it is fine wi’ me.”

  Lena just wanted to grunt and say, “Ummm.”

  Instead, she rose from the soft leather couch and glided into Herman’s open arms, the fire’s light dancing in her eyes, placed one bare foot between his long strong legs, slipped her right hand into the space at the base of his neck under the bush of his hair, and lay the top of her head softly against the base of his throat where she could hear his heart beat. Boom-boomp, boom-boomp, boom-boomp, boom-boomp, boom-boomp, boom-boomp, boom-boomp.

  Lena and Herman discovered immediately that they loved to slow-dance together. Herman danced an old-fashioned two-step, but he didn’t move to the music like a country boy, studied and rehearsed. Herman slow-danced like a block boy, like a juker: slowly, sensuously, casually, unhurried. He curled her all up in his arms and hunched his back over her frame just a little bit so that it looked and felt as if she were inside his body, protected, loved, held. He wrapped his hand around her hand, then tucked both hands in the cocoon between their dancing bodies. He rolled his hips slowly and gently against the top of her pelvis and guided her around the floor.

  Lena was able to follow him right away. No awkward movements, no bumping into each other, no stepping on toes, no tripping over feet, no missing the beat.

  And he moved unhurried, unhurried.

  They danced all over her house, past still-burning, half-burned and burned-out candles on plates and ashtrays and one-of-a-kind glazed bowls, out onto the deck, by the foot of her bed, past the pool, around the messy dining room table, back in front of the fireplace in the Great Jonah Room, then back outside to dance under the stars.

  “Look, Lena,” he said in her ear, tipping her head back with a gentle touch on her slender chin, “the sky is full a’ stars tonight. There’s the Drankin’ Gourd. There’s the Serpent. OOooo. Is that the Crab? There’s the Virgin. You don’t useshally see her this clear in April.”

  Lena had never enjoyed a dance so much. She felt lost in the stars and lost track of the time. She felt they must have been dancing for hours. They danced to Nat King Cole. They danced to Otis Redding. They danced to Marvin Gaye. They danced to Prince. They danced to Smokey Robinson. They danced to Earth, Wind and Fire. They danced to Jon Lucien. They danced to Boyz II Men. So, it had to have been a good long time. But Herman danced as if he had all the time in the world.

  Humph, I guess he does, Lena thought as she snuggled her cheek into the cave under Herman’s jawbone and sighed as she settled into the slow, natural, easy rhythm of his slow drag. She didn’t think of looking at her watch or her maternal grandmother Lena Marie’s pendulum clock.

  Lena wanted to whisper into Herman’s ear the way she had heard Protestant sisters prompt the preacher straining during an especially moving sermon, “Take your time, now!”

  “I thought you wanted me to ’Quit,’” Herman said with a low sexy laugh in Lena’s ear, and she joined him in sweet happy harmony. The sound of their laughter together raised such emotions in her that before she knew it, she was weeping, too. Try as she did, she could not remember the last time she had embraced a man and laughed at the same time.

  And Herman just continued holding her. Lena could feel his penis growing harder and larger inside his pants and poking against her belly. His erection felt like life to her. And she did not try to avoid its touch when Herman sometimes dipped his pelvis down to catch Lena in the right spot. Then, he’d straighten up and fly right for a while.

  Even dancing to Al Green’s “Love and Happiness,” Herman remained unhurried, rocking Lena back and forth in his arms to the backbeat. They played it over and over. It was becoming his song. He especially liked the lyrics “Make you want to do right. Make you want to do wrong.” Whenever they got to that part of the song, Herman would turn Lena loose, step back and do a little country-boy clogging step in his big black boots in time with the music as he sang along.

  “Make you come home early.

  Make you stay out all night long.”

  Now she could see the outline of Herman’s hard dick straining against the front of his black work pants.

  Lena, smiling and blushing and licking her dry crimson lips with the tip of her tongue, stood in front of the fireplace, barefoot and still dressed in her red business suit, and tapped her foot and bopped her shoulders and head to the beat until he danced back over to her to place his left hand firmly on the small of her back and his right one lightly at the base of her neck. He drew her to him while he played with the small shiny hairs that grew down from the nape of her neck.

  “Look a here at her kitchen. My baby, she still got baby hair,” he said softly in wonder and amusement, twirling her short hairs around his index fing
er and humming along with Al on “For the Good Times.”

  Lena took that opportunity to bury her face deep in his throat and take a deep breath. Herman smelled like topsoil. Not like he had been working in it. Or lying six feet under it. But he smelled to Lena as if he were the dark rich crumbly earth itself outside her door. He smelled like the dirt she ate as a child when her mother wasn’t looking. He smelled like the dirt she and her friend Sarah used to make mud pies. He smelled like the dirt in which Mr. Renfroe had just planted the new crepe myrtle trees.

  She kept taking deep gulps of his scent and smiling as she was reminded of The Place the day before.

  But the air surrounding this smooth, loving apparition was nothing compared to the air that moved in and out of his lungs. It was hypnotic. Each time she felt him breathing on her—her neck, her face, her hair—she fell more deeply and more deeply under his spell.

  Their dancing slowed down a bit, and Lena leaned her head back, looking up into Herman’s face. His lips were barely an inch away from hers. And she could feel his breath stirring the tiny hairs over her top lip. The hairs from his bushy mustache brushed her face, but he didn’t kiss her.

  She had to admire his ghostly restraint. She could still feel his erect penis against her stomach.

  “I wouldn’t push you fo’ nothin’ in the world, Lena,” he said. “This time I’ll wait fo’ you.”

  Herman didn’t have to wait long. Lena was ready for him.

  She reached up, parting her lips slightly and sucking in, pulled Herman’s head down to hers, pressed his mouth to hers, and kissed him. She wanted to watch this beautiful man kissing her back, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

  His mouth was barely moist and tenderly soft on hers. His lips, not quite as full as Lena’s, seemed to fit inside the shape of her mouth perfectly. His bushy mustache tickled her own reddish fuzz. She felt his smile on her lips. The heat from his kiss radiated through her body, leaving her flesh hot and sensitive to his touch. When the tips of their tongues touched, Lena felt them both shiver. Her nipples were growing hard and large against the satin of her bra. She could feel his penis tug at his pants. Her vagina seemed to be tugging at her panties, too.

  As they rubbed their bodies against each other, Lena felt her clitoris quiver. And she let out a little soft “uhh” from the pit of her soul.

  Lena didn’t know where they were standing, but she trusted Herman when they both, concentrating on tracing the other’s lips with tongues, fell to the big leather sofa in front of the fireplace. One of his strong callused hands reached for the gold buttons of her jacket and the other began traveling under her skirt, up her thigh to the top of her dark gartered stockings, snagging the nylon gently.

  Lena was surprised that Herman’s clothes—the green shirt, the black pants, the leather belt—were actually real, firm to her touch. When she unbuttoned Herman’s shirt, she was half expecting it to just melt away like cotton candy in a hot summer shower, leaving him covered with sticky sugar.

  His skin was sweet. She couldn’t help but lick it when they got each other naked.

  And he did look good naked. A life of moving and working and walking, a childhood of growing up in the wilds of North Florida, a life in the last century, had left him with a body taut, toned and strapping. She felt a responsibility to every woman who had ever wanted to make love to such a beautiful black man to run her hands over every millimeter of Herman as she kissed him all over.

  “Good God, Lena, I’m already hard enough to plow packed earth,” Herman said as she caressed his back and shoulders.

  Herman was right. When Lena took Herman’s big purplish penis into her hand she felt that it was hard enough to cut through Middle Georgia farmland. It leapt one quick time when she touched it. His pubic hairs were tight and nappy, rolled up into what looked like BBs all over his crotch. Down there, he smelled like the swamps in South Georgia. Lena played with his hairs awhile before moving on.

  He was sweet all over, especially his throat and his deep broad chest where a few short black hairs grew inches apart from each other. She kissed each one. And when she finished, Herman kissed her all over—from the palms of her hands to the soles of her feet.

  In the midst of their first orgasm together, a core-shaking exquisite orgasm, with Herman inside of her and around her and right beside her coming, too, and watching her at the same time, Lena knew she would remember every detail of this night forever.

  All during their lovemaking—from the great room to her bedroom—she saw what was happening between the two of them. Unencumbered by pictures from the past or conversations from the future, she was filled with an intense awareness.

  God, it’s been years since I had my leg over somebody’s shoulder, she thought.

  Herman talked all through his lovemaking. “Oh, Lena, you so beautiful. Um-huh, look at my baby’s stuff!! OOooo, I like the way yo’ titties stand out like that. Uh, can I kiss there? You taste good, baby. Oh, Lena, I can’t get enough.

  “You can’t tell me that ain’t it!! That gets the butter from the duck!!!”

  And he encouraged her to talk back to him.

  “Tell me, baby. Tell me how that feel,” he exhorted her. “I want to hear ya talk to me, baby. Come on, Lena, baby. Tell it like it is.”

  But Lena could not seem to form words with Herman under her and above her and inside her and all up through her. Making noises was the best she could do. She could hear her moans and screams and mewls and sobs echoing in the pine rafters of her house along with the scent of oak woodsmoke and love. Lena never knew how much she liked to holler during sex.

  “OOOoo, I like when you get up on top of me like that and th’ow yo’ body back, Lena, so I can still see yo’ honey pot,” Herman told her in breathy whispers. “What you like fo’ me to do t’ you?”

  Lena was coming, so all she could do was let out a scream. But she thought, You doing just fine.

  And Herman smiled as if he had read her mind.

  All through their lovemaking, when he touched her breasts for the first time, tickling, licking and nipping at her hard erect nipples until she came again, he had whispered, “Oohhh, I can’t get enough of you.”

  Lena did not want to break the mood, so, she stifled the questions that bubbled at her lips: “What do you mean, can’t get enough?” “Enough what?” “Enough touching me?” “Enough fucking?” “Enough times?”

  Herman smiled in her face, slipped his dick inside of her and said, “Enough of you, period.”

  Lena, who had never been able to get to the point of release with her other would-be lovers, came and came and came in Herman’s arms.

  As soon as Lena had unbuttoned the flap on his antique pants and freed his tight hard penis to bang against her chest, she thought briefly of trying to search up a condom somewhere in her house. She had not dealt with any other kind of birth control in years. Umm, now, I know I had some Trojans or something around here last time, she had thought, biting her bottom lip and narrowing her eyes in concentration. Now, just where was that? she asked herself. She tried to picture where she had been the last time she was naked and touching another human being. But Herman had slipped down her body and was just starting to kiss her all over with little puffs of breeze colored lime green and ocean blue, and she forgot everything except the fact that she was now making love to a ghost, a man dead a hundred years. And the idea of sexually transmitted diseases floated like a puff of smoke from her mind.

  She sat naked astride him in the big suede easy chair the color of the Ocawatchee River when it wasn’t Cleer Flo’, her bare legs hanging off the arms of the big chair, her braids hanging down her back. In the light of the candles and the glow from the fireplace, Lena saw the sweat form on his beautiful broad brow. She smelled the chemistry of his come mingling with hers. She threw back her head and laughed when she saw that his thick curly eyelashes were sticking to the tops of his sweaty lids just the way hers did when she was a child playing out in the summer heat. Her m
other sitting at her sewing machine would ask as Lena came inside, “Come here, baby, let Mama see how hot it is outside.” Then, she would check to see if the child’s lashes were sticking to her lids and Nellie would call, “Yep, must be mighty hot outside.”

  It was plenty hot right where Lena and Herman were—on the chair, on the floor, on the sofa, on the bed, on the deck—making love.

  There was no way she could forget for long that she was making love to a spirit. One minute, he was as hard and real as the granite of Stone Mountain. She could feel him inside her hard, the veins in his dick throbbing against the walls of her vagina. The next, he was mist, smoke, vapor barely grazing down her breasts, stroking her between her legs, seesawing between the folds of her vagina, easing up her back. Then, he would become a man again.

  Lena sighed and shivered a bit at the feel of Herman and the leather sofa on her bare back. She could feel the hairs there sending out little signals of excitement to Herman through the bare leg and shoulder he had resting on the back of the sofa.

  As she lay back on the leather cushions, cool against her hot body, he spread her legs, one over the back of the sofa, the other hanging to the floor, then reached down and spread the lips of her vagina. Lena could feel his callused fingers scratch against the sensitive skin of her vulva.

  “OOOooo,” was all she could say as her body arched, then went limp.

  “Oh, ’cuse me, Lena,” Herman said with a smile. But he didn’t mean it because he then brushed his callused fingers across her tender vulva again. Slowly this time, leading to her clitoris. And he moaned when Lena moaned.

  Agile as a boy, he then jumped up on the fat padded arm of the sofa, naked and muscular, and lowered his face into her widespread vagina and traced the folds and flaps and slits of skin and nerve endings with his tongue until she screamed again, squeezing his head between her golden-brown thighs.

  Before she could recover, he slipped from the folds of her vagina and crept into every little fold of her skin as a thick, dark gray, smoky mist.