Between Lovers (33 page)

“Negative energy. Anytime a sister dreams about Elvis Presley, it's nothing but negative energy.”

We laugh.

Ayanna says, “Should've showered before I massaged you.”

Nicole jokes, “Now you've rubbed all of that yucky stuff into my karma.”

Ayanna takes Nicole's hand and they go upstairs, Ayanna leading the way. Seems like the energy switches between them, moves back and forth. Makes everything seem so equal.

I sit on the sofa, in front of the big screen. The water comes on. Then there is the sound of footsteps coming down the carpeted stairway at a very happy pace.

Ayanna sticks her head around the comer and asks, “Coming?”

We stare.

Ayanna says, “We can at least try. One honest try. Is that too much?”

Her bracelets jingle as she reaches her hand out for me.

I take her hand, let her warm flesh hold onto mine, and follow her.

We turn the lights off and bathe by candlelight. The bathtub is huge, but a tight fit for all three of us. We twist and turn and laugh until we all get in. This time it's different. Ayanna and I wash Nicole with soapsuds the size of Mr. Bubble. Nicole shows how flexible she is and she raises her leg, does that so Ayanna can shave Nicole's legs while I scrub Nicole top to bottom.

And we talk, splash water on each other, tell jokes about chicken and white people and San Francisco, and we give Nicole kisses to resurrect her soul.

Nicole says, “I can't wait to get to Italy.”

“I feel ya,” Ayanna says, then smiles at me. “Too bad you can't go with us.”

Nicole is beaming, sucking up the attention, giving us laughs and kisses.

We run through the shower, knock all the suds off our bodies.

By the time we oil our skin with sweet patchouli and dry off, Ayanna has gone downstairs and come back with a plate of fruit: mangos, kiwis, other exotic treats. All cut up and ready to eat.

We sit on the floor, wrapped in towels and bathrobes, and I feed Nicole a grape. Ayanna feeds her a strawberry. Nicole feeds us melon, then she kisses the juices away. Uses her tongue. We touch. Feed. Kiss. Over and over. And one of those kisses between Nicole and me, it goes on and on, gets pretty torrid. I rise. She touches me as I rise. She strokes me and I rise.

And in response I touch Nicole between her thighs, run my fingers over her sliver of hair, move to her hollow, touch the outside, slip inside, do a slow massage until she shudders.

I tell Nicole, “Kiss Ayanna.”

She does. I take Ayanna's hand, put it where mine was. Nicole is touching Ayanna in the same spot, her other hand touching me, moving me up and down. Coos and moans rise like clouds.

I say, “You're wet enough to seal a thousand envelopes.”

“Sweetie, I'm wet enough to seal a million envelopes.”

Ayanna leaves for a sec; comes back with a black-and-green can of Kama Sutra Honey Dust.

Three smiles dance.

We play with each other, use the feather that comes with the dust, a light feather that awakens all the nerves, use that feather to paint and tickle and tease each other head to toe with that sweet dust, then under the influence of jazz and candles, we unpaint each other with our tongues.

It's different tonight. Unplanned. Very erotic.

Ayanna loves Nicole while I kiss her, steal her breath, swallow her every sound. I get high when she spasms; the sound of her orgasm feeds into my mouth.

Nicole sits on me, coos, bites her bottom lip, her eyes roll as if she's about to drown in pleasure as I slide into her den of sin. She finds her breath and moves over me like a ballerina. Rises and sits and rises while Ayanna kisses and touches her and massages her. Then Nicole clamps her mouth down on my neck, and that is my number one spot. Another tongue touches my knees, traces and licks my kneecaps.

Ayanna asks, “What can I do to help?”

Nicole whispers, “His feet, Ayanna. He's so sensitive on his feet.”

Ayanna's tongue moves down my legs, makes love to my toes.

“That's right Ayanna. God, look at his face.”

“You should see your face. You're floating. How does it feel?”

“Shit yeah. This is a ten baby ... this is a ten.”

That much stimulation is new to me; I go crazy. Overwhelmed. Can't breathe. Feel like I'm a sixteen-year-old kid having my first orgasm, excited and terrified at the same time.

They're talking, laughing, and I'm too busy pulling sheets.

Toes curl. I fight to hold it back.

“Listen to him moan.”

“Hush, Ayanna.”

“Talk about an ugly face. Looks like a pit bull with cramps.”

Nicole laughs.

Eyes roll into the back of my head.

The world vanishes, changes into shades of bright red and brilliant yellows.

Water seeps through the dam. Can't hold the floods back any longer. I damn near sit up when I release myself into the start of my orgasm; I let go, give in to my own jerking, but I don't let go too fast. I wrestle with the heat until it burns. Then I stop and let them do all the work. They have me. I'm a slave. So much heat. Let it build, let it torture. I lose that battle, numb with pleasure.

I jerk, pant, wail like a banshee.

We all lie in the bed touching each other. My eyes are closed. I think I passed out because we're all in a new position. I'm fogged in the aftermath of brilliant lovemaking. I crack my eyes and the world is as fuzzy as my grandmother's favorite slippers. I see that Ayanna is on her belly, hand across Nicole's belly, looking so devoted. Nicole is staring at the ceiling, as warm and fogged over as I am. A smirk, a smile, something joyful is on her face. I close my eyes. Try to recuperate while Lady Godiva and Joan of Arc talk in ladylike whispers.

Ayanna says, “How long will he be in the Bay?”

“Not sure. I know he goes to the east coast in a few days.”

“He lives on the road.”

“Pretty much. Just like his father. Always gone, never home.”

Ayanna chuckles.

Nicole asks, “Wanna share?”

“Just remembering how much you used to tell me that his being gone used to bother you.”

“It did. He'd be gone all summer. We'd miss all the jazz festivals. He's on the road on my birthday. Then he'd be flying around all of Black History Month. A lot of weekends in between. And when he was home, he was writing.”

“An absentee boyfriend.”

“Yup. Travels just as much as his dad does, if not more.”

Trapped in an epiphany, I don't move. I have never thought of it that way.

Ayanna says, “Let's have a home-cooked dinner before he leaves the Bay. I can make tuna taki, or defrost the duck. I've been wanting to cook that duck for two weeks.”

Nicole pauses. “Knowing him, I'm sure he wants to get to writing.”

“Is that what he calls it?”

“Don't like it, don't read it.”

“I just don't think he should be making a living off of your misery.”

“Well, I don't mind. Some sisters don't get letters, some don't even get postcards. I get books written about me. I get books dedicated to me. You know how many women would love that?”

Ayanna doesn't answer. Inside, I'm glowing. Love hearing Nicole defend me.

Ayanna says, “Was thinking.”

“ ‘Bout what?”

Ayanna pauses again. “We should complete the circle.”

“What do you mean?”

“We should all experience each other.”

Nicole gets quiet.

Ayanna asks, “You scared? It's okay if you are, because I am too.”

Nicole responds, “I'm not scared ... just surprised you would want that.”

“You looked so warm when he went inside you. I'd think you'd want me to experience the same nirvana.”

“So, then you want to be penetrated by him.”

“Penetrated? Why so clinical all of a sudden?”

“You know what I mean.”

Bracelets jingle.

Ayanna presses on, “That's the next logical step, don't you think?”

“What are you saying, Ayanna?”

“Maybe we should just go for it. Explore and see what we all like together, as a team.”

“No, that creates chaos. We have to have boundaries. So no one gets hurt.”

Ayanna huffs. “No one, or just you?”

Nicole sighs.

I want to say something, but I don't. My curiosity is strong, but I will not kill the cat. Not yet.

Ayanna says, “I've bent for you. I've put up with all kinds of shit. Your mother has assaulted me. He's bent for you. Was ready to beat some fool down in a club for you last night. Catch my drift?”

A long pause. Ayanna hums.

Nicole says, “Both of you have bonded through me. I'm the focal point. There's no connection between the two of you. No real connection.”

“Is that how you feel the most secure? With no connection between us?”

A moment passes. Nicole asks, “Why are you pushing this?”

“I'm dealing with reality. If we're going to do this, then let's not half-ass do it. Let's do it. I'm giving you everything you want.”

Ayanna gets up and leaves the bedroom. Sounds like she goes downstairs.

Nicole says my name. Shakes me.

She asks, “We going out tonight?”

I toss out a fake yawn. “Sure. Ayanna hanging out with us or what?”

Nicole says, “She has to work. Just us. I want to get out and get some air.”

“Ask Ayanna—”

“Just me and you, sweetie.”

We shower and dress, then walk downstairs.

By then Ayanna has heated up leftovers. She makes salads, fixes plates of vegetarian spaghetti. We sit at the counter, pig out, keep our glasses filled with sparkling Pellegrino. Then she serves us tiramisu.

Ayanna jokes, “We were like that tiramisu. All three of us. Italian cream cheese and Marsala custard and espresso. A perfect blend.”

I say, “Corny, corny, corny.”

We laugh.

I ask, “Who does most of the cooking?”

Ayanna smiles. “I do. I'm the Wolfgang Puck in this domain.”

After that Nicole loads the dishwasher.

Ayanna makes herself a cup of vanilla coffee. Says she has work to do on her case against the school system. She sees that Nicole has packed an overnight bag. Ayanna kisses me, holds me a while and smiles at Nicole. Then she kisses and hugs Nicole a long while.

Ayanna tells Nicole, “Give it some thought. Could be as sweet as tiramisu.”

Nicole nods.

“We running in the morning?” Ayanna asks as we head for the door. “We have to keep our training on track for the marathon.”

Nicole hesitates.

“Meet us at the hotel,” I tell Ayanna. “We'll run a course up into Piedmont.”

At the door, Ayanna raises her left arm, shakes her bracelets at Nicole. Nicole does the same.

Inside the car, Nicole asks me if we can go by my hotel first.

I ask, “For what?”

“You have the engagement ring?”

“You're asking questions when you know the answer.”

“Wasn't a question. I want to wear it tonight. Want to be your fiancée tonight.”

“Are you my fiancée?”

“Wish I were your wife.”

Nicole and I end up across the bridge, on Market and Taylor. With the freaks that come out at night, the home of the 49ers looks as seedy as Times Square before it was Disneyfied.

We make our way through a crowd of people coming out the Warfield Theater, worm our way to the bright lights at the Crazy Horse. From the outside, it doesn't look like much. Nicole pays twenty-five bucks for me, fifteen ducats for her, parts with that poor man's fortune and we walk into a packed theater-style room. At least three hundred men are in a narrow room that has very few empty seats.

I hold Nicole's hand, the one with the ring.

Hard-core music is bumping as a naked woman in clear six-inch stilettos crawls across a T-shaped stage, a lioness trekking a dollar-lined Serengeti. Women in thongs are all over the place, flirting, getting eye-fucked sixty-nine ways, all putting on Hollywood smiles and trying to get men to buy private dances. The woman on stage picks a guy out of the crowd, pulls his face between her legs, smothers him.

I ask, “Think she knows him or is that a random act of kindness?”

“Think he cares?”

The headliner, Siren, comes out next. Decked in dark shades, leather tam, black leather and six-inch stilettos. Music, pantomiming, guns, she has an over-the-top, Hollywood-style act. She's exotic.

Nicole says, “This is the girl I wanted you to see.”

Siren picks a Pee-Wee Herman-looking horny toad from the crowd and starts doing a masturbation-oral sex number. At the right moment, when we think they are in nirvana, the dildo shoots colorful confetti twenty feet in the air, confetti that flies over the applauding crowd like a rocket on New Year's.

I sit there with my mouth wide open.

Nicole applauds. Then she stops all of a sudden. Stops with her hands up, as if someone took the batteries out. She looks around at the people and her smile goes away. She looks nauseated.

I ask her if she's okay.

She asks me if I want to stay for the second half. I shake my head, enough of this thong-in-cheek freak festival.

“Me neither.”

I want to ask if her mother's visit has done a number on her. I think she wants to ask the same. She doesn't ask. Neither do I.