Black Silk (17 page)

It was August 1999 and his name was Terry. Beautiful. Talented. Single. Smart. “My reflection” was what he’d crowned himself.
Terry had a sexiness that vibrated well past his oblique brown eyes and charming smile. It seeped through the way he smoked
a cigarette while stroking himself in the middle of a good football game. His sexiness was in his lazy walk. It whispered
to me when he danced, and it smiled at me when he called me by my last name. When he sang his favorite tune, it toyed with
me and I let it. Me being five months’ deep in excessive masturbation, Terry became my new fantasy. He was the air spirit
that roamed over my hardened nipples, at night, as I lay in bed fondling my clit, believing that once we finally crossed that
threshold there would be no reason for either of us to have alternates on the side. I had let him know up front that I wanted
to put him where no man had been before. “Where is that?” he asked like a curious child. “Not to fuck you before I get to
know you,” I replied. I had become the new breed of female-nigga. Aggressive. Sly. Up front. Personable. Unattached. I made
time to make a man feel special without intentions. Terry became special. I told him secrets, gave him gifts, cooked for him,
loaned him money, and even told him how unique he was without batting an eyelash or stuttering. I did it all. Sure I cared,
but not enough to entertain any premature thoughts or questions. My heart stayed at home. My feelings came first.

Dealing with Reginald had taught me that. Terry and I kicked it hard. We shared intimate nights at posh restaurants, feeding
each other and having warm filling talks. Everything we had, we had in common. From sitting up sharing a joint as Chris Rock
politically joked his way through thirty minutes on HBO down to the way we slept together, without touching or letting our
libidos take over. He found me sensual and told me that he never doubted for a moment, if given the chance, he’d enjoy a roll
in the hay with me. He’d even caught me staring at the modest bulge in his pants on several occasions. I was trying to check
the merchandise on the sly and had gotten caught. It was unpretentious even though I was oddly embarrassed, but there were
days that my mouth watered thinking about wrapping my warm, wet mouth around his hardened cock while watching him enjoy being
enjoyed. He laughed about the whole thing. Joked. Nervous laughter sometimes. In the space of five months Terry and I had
become close. I respected him. But it wasn’t long before shit began to fall apart. I found out that Terry had been involved
in a relationship that lasted longer than the Civil War. He’d been involved with the love of his life for seven years and
abruptly she ended it. Left him hanging like the nuts he owned. She’d hurt him. He missed her. She moved away, putting states
between them. He kept her picture openly posted in his bachelor’s pad. I let it affect me. My lusting disappeared. Fantasies
became fragmented. The wetness that consumed my panties when I first met him no longer existed. I’d attracted a man with issues,
which meant he no longer had the potential to be a personal, liberated, free fuck friend. Unfortunately, I wasn’t willing
to spend another five months on a brother only to have my hard work crippled. Terry would have to do. We discussed his feelings,
and he voiced that he was okay. Told himself that it was over. Convinced himself that life goes on. Preoccupied himself with
preoccupied people to keep from dealing with the detachment. Point-blank, I was embarking upon fucking a passionate but hurt
brother. I was considering sharing nakedness with covered nakedness. Having fun while losing in the game of sex.

It was November 1999. I’d turned twenty-eight and had put Terry on the back burner. As much as I wanted to have sex with him,
I didn’t have the strength or the tolerance to look in his eyes and see his fears, reluctance, and want all at once. As I
pondered actually crossing the line between the surreal and the substantial, where my sex life was concerned, I ventured to
deeper pastures. Not greener. Found sex without the touching. I went cyber. I logged into a chat room as April_22. A shy,
rare, and curious cybergirl typing her way around a room full of bisexual females. It was new. It was exciting. My Scorpion
passions took me there. Sure that if the right opportunity presented itself, I would taste whatever nectar dripped from the
branches of the chat tree. It was after all safe, noncommittal, and a great way to openly explore taboo fantasies at my own
discretion.

As soon as I logged on, sisters acknowledged my presence. I followed along, letting them know I’d never slept with a woman
but was curious, which validated my attendance. I opened up and found myself engaged in a conversation with a married woman
who too was curious, but afraid. She said that her husband knew about her wanting to lie with a woman and had tried to hook
her up with a local beautician, but she wanted to do the search and find on her own. She read hopeless. Her words were without
the will to really try and get out there to find that person. She wasn’t my type (no pun intended). I relayed my own feelings
of wanting to have a woman between my legs but to ultimately remain heterosexual. This was purely fantasy for me. A risk.
We talked as women do. Supporting. Comforting. Questioning. Reassuring each other that we’d eventually complete our journeys,
but it would not be with each other. Then a private message came to me. It butted in. It interrupted. It asked me what I looked
like. The handle (name) attached to the message was Brklyn Brotha. His invasion was as deliberate as it was familiar. I responded
giving him my age, height, weight, eye color, and skin tone. He said deep brown-skinned women turned him on and that his dick
was hard as he sat thinking about what I felt like. Instantly I was aroused.

He’d captured my attention. We talked and I learned that he was dissatisfied in a premature marriage gone sour. But unlike
the sister I’d been chatting with, Brklyn Brotha was happy, energetic, bright, and knew exactly what he wanted. He was looking
for pleasure. Sexual satisfaction. What his wife didn’t do for him, cyberwomen did. He was open. Uninhibited. Unafraid. Immediately
we clicked. Dirty talk. Deep breathing. Touching myself in places he’d ask me to. Sending me his phone number for one hour
and fifteen minutes of extreme phone sex. I leaned against the hallway wall with a dripping-wet twat as he told me where he
wanted to lick and taste me. His hard New York accent penetrated my ears. Tingled my soul. Took me places. Electrified me.
I met his words with sucking sounds and moans. He asked me to taste myself and I did, hating that this was a chance meeting
that could only survive inside modem lines, secret log-on names, passwords, and keyboard kisses. As I fell to the floor, spread
my legs, and let Brklyn verbally bring me to orgasm, he exploded on the other end of the receiver and then there was silence.
We both were exhausted. I felt at ease. Between deep breaths we ended our relationship as we hung up our phones. I walked
around the house naked the rest of the day.

It was December 1999. New Year’s Eve. The dawn of a new millennium. Things would never be the same after tonight. Not only
for the world, but for me. Terry had called and asked if he could come over. I hadn’t talked to him in weeks. He called at
eight and was at my place by a quarter of nine. He brought a gift, two blunts, a bottle of wine, and his charming smile. He
said that he never made plans to bring in the coming of the millennium and that he hoped to catch me. I’d spent most of the
evening at work and knew I’d be too tired and sullen to want to party. I’d come home, taken a long bath, rented some flicks,
and planned to be asleep before midnight struck. Until he called.

He came in smiling. “Put some music on,” he said as he breezed past me and headed to the kitchen. “Mitchell,” he called my
last name, “tonight is going to be our night.” He placed the gift on the counter and proceeded rambling around.

I watched him pull two wineglasses from my cabinet and place them in the freezer to be chilled. He then lit a joint and held
it between his lips as he walked past me and posted two incense sticks in a nearby plant. Serenity. That was the scent of
the thick lines of smoke dancing from the sticks. Terry walked up to me and offered the joint. I took it and inhaled deep.
Yeah, I needed to be high right about now. The odor from the J was pure and strong. I liked it. I appreciated it. I put five
CDs in the changer. Eric Benet, Sarah Vaughan, Stevie Wonder, Erykah Badu, and Maxwell. If nothing else happened tonight,
at least we’d be high and singing some good music. We both sat on the floor and talked. I decided to let Terry call whatever
shots would be called this evening. The ball was in his court. I was on defense. Third down and long. I remained lithe to
his presence. For the next hour and a half we conversed about everything from our careers to who would put out a Grammy Award–winning
CD next year. We laughed. Sang. Questioned. Shared. Things felt like they had been when we first met. I was enjoying the moment.
Dry panties. No fantasies running concurrently through my brain. No longer caring if we had sex. Terry pulled me to my feet
as I downed the last of the wine. The glasses were still in the freezer and probably cracked from the cold by now. My buzz
was strong but I was still aware of what was going on. He pulled me close as Stevie Wonder began singing about all being fair
in love. It was a mellow tune. Terry shifted me close to his torso and rested his head near mine. He hummed gently near my
ears, causing the fuzz on them to tingle. I felt the bulge in his pants jolt and relax. The dry between my legs no longer
was.

“Mitchell,” he said cozily.

I pulled back and looked into his eyes. They were a hazy shade of cranberry. I said nothing. Looked concerned. Curious.

“I want to make love to you tonight. Before these thousand years are up, I want to make love to you.”

I could hear Stevie’s voice loud and clear. He was singing to me. Not to us, but to me.

Terry leaned in and kissed me. Softly at first. Gentle. His lips tasted like soft, wine-and-cannabis-flavored pillows. I closed
my eyes as he came in for more. Our tongues touched.

The softness of Terry’s mouth washed mine. His hands slid up the side of my Victoria’s Secret mesh camisole. The fleshy palm
of his hands rested against the skin of my back. He rubbed.

Terry pulled back and looked at me one last time. His eyes wanted a lot of things. Some of the things I could no longer just
give. They were things I wasn’t ready to give. Things he wasn’t ready to receive. I placed my hand underneath his stubbled
chin and pulled him back to me. He came willingly. His hands massaged my butt and waist. Cupped my breasts. Raised me and
carried me to the kitchen. Placed me on the counter. He unfurled my legs and removed the pajama bottoms I’d borrowed from
him back in September. Tasted me through my panties. Listened to me moan. Listened to me whisper his name.

He lifted his shirt and let it fall to the floor, where he then took me. The refrigerator hummed in the silence between CD
changes. Terry’s tongue watered my breasts. Rained on them. Gave them renewed life. The warmness of his hands sent chills
through me. We looked at each other under the kitchen lights. Confirmation. I met his tongue with mine as he positioned himself
under me. Eric Benet crooned about using the pain in his heart to set his lover free. Damn. Revelations began to come to me.
Was I as free as I thought I was? Could I do this with no strings attached? I slipped my lips around his penis and tasted
him, putting my conscience in the backseat. He tasted good. Too good. He moved his hips in rhythm with my motions. He ran
his hands through the wildness of my hair. I felt sounds reach his lips but gave them no entrance to the open air around us.
He was still afraid. Taking a chance on taking a chance. I couldn’t help him. I could no longer help… myself. The music faded
as we melded on the kitchen floor. I licked Terry up from his navel to his neck and with that, we entwined.