by Retha Powers
“There is not going to be another time. My mom will only turn fifty-five once. Plus, I know she’ll wanna meet the woman that saved her only child from catching pneumonia.”
“Only child! Spoiled!”
“Only child, yeah! Spoiled, a little.”
“So you’re used to getting what you want?”
“No! I want you to come to this party with me, but it doesn’t look like that’s happening. Here, get off on this exit,” Guy said as he pointed to the Beaver Ruin sign.
After a few more turns they were pulling into Guy’s mother’s driveway. They sat in the car a few minutes and enjoyed the sound of the rain pounding against the windshield and the wipers slapping back and forth.
“So… will I hear from you soon?”
“Yeah, I’ll call you. You better get out of those wet clothes before you get sick.”
“Do you wanna come in for just a second and meet everyone?”
Terri opened up her arms again to show how inappropriately she was dressed and twisted her lips.
“All right, you can slide this time. Thanks for the ride.”
Funny how one minute you can be total strangers with someone and feel so close to them the next, Guy thought as they made serious eye contact.
Terri shifted in her seat and said, “ ’Bye, G.”
“Okay, Terri. Call me.”
Guy let himself out, jogged to the side door, and disappeared. Terri sat for a few minutes and tried to gather herself. It had been a long time since she had that I-like-that-boy feeling. After a few minutes of sitting there smiling, she shook it off, put her car in reverse, and drove home.
Guy and all his relatives were laughing and talking loud when Terri walked in. The CD blasted something by Carl Thomas. There were a few older people playing cards at the kitchen table, and a few of the younger ones were playing dominoes on the island that separated the dining room from the great room.
Guy didn’t notice her but Terri spotted him right away. He was straddling the arm of a love seat with a handsome little almond-colored boy standing between his legs.
That has to be Jordan, she thought. He looks just like his father.
Terri was standing in the doorway when Uncle Willie pounced on her.
“Come on, gurl. Lemme see whatcha got,” Uncle Willie said as he did his version of the George Jefferson dance. The one where he frowns up and acts as if he is about to fight, arms flailing all around and feet sliding every which way.
“No, thank you,” Terri said, never bothering to move.
The younger kids who were playing dominoes at the island stopped what they were doing and shouted in unison, “She ain’t ready, she ain’t ready, she ain’t ready…”
Guy turned around to see what the commotion was all about. He chuckled at the sight of a confused-looking Terri. He decided he’d try to rescue his new friend. He made his way over to Terri and smiled. Uncle Willie was still dancing. Guy tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he could cut in.
“What?” Uncle Willie turned around as if he was really about to fight. “Boy, don’t get knocked out on my sista’s birthday. I ain’t know who you was grabbin’ all up on me.” Uncle Willie cracked a smile, exposing about five missing teeth.
“I see that you met Uncle Willie,” Guy said to Terri.
“G-man, this you?”
“Yeah, she’s with me, Uncle Willie.”
“Got damn, boy. You got taste like your uncle. Ya auntie use to have an ass—I mean—look like that. I don’t usually like women with all they hair cut off but… give me ya number,” Uncle Willie said as he extended his hand.
“Watch out, man,” Guy said as he playfully pushed his uncle to the side.
“Boy, don’t make me pull it out,” Uncle Willie said as he placed his hand over his pocket for the same elusive knife he had been pulling out for the last ten years.
“Ima take you to the barber shop and cut that mess out of your head,” Guy said, referring to Uncle Willie’s Jheri curl, which wrapped around his bald top.
“Oh no, that’s my love jones,” Uncle Willie said as he walked off, no longer smiling, and patting the side of his greasy hair.
“Well, all right then. Uncle Willie is something else,” Terri said as she followed Guy back toward the sitting area.
“Tell me about it.”
“Are you surprised to see me?”
“Yeah, I didn’t expect to see you. You look nice,” Guy said as he glanced down at Terri’s yellow strapless sundress, which exposed her coffee-brown shoulders.
“You don’t look bad yourself,” Terri said as she reached up and pulled a black thread from Guy’s shirt.
“Thank you. What made you change your mind?”
“I got home and decided not to have another boring Saturday night.”
Since he wasn’t able to tell how tall she was in the car, Guy was surprised at how short Terri was. He was six foot five inches tall, she was maybe five foot even. But her beauty was not to be denied; whoever made up that saying that good things come in small packages must have been thinking about Terri.
“Well, I’m glad you did,” Guy said with a big grin.
“I can tell. Stop cheesing.”
“Whatever. Come on over here and meet my mom and my son.”
Terri followed. She was not nervous like she was every time she met one of her previous boyfriends’ parents. Maybe it was because Guy wasn’t her boyfriend.
“Mom, this is Terri, the young lady who rescued me today.”
“Hi, I’m Thelma. Thank you for picking up my baby. I told him to get rid of that piece of junk.”
“It’s a classic,” Guy stated flatly.
“A classic piece of junk,” Thelma whispered to Terri as they shared a laugh. “Did you eat?”
“Not yet. What do you have?”
“Oh, Boney, I like this girl. Ain’t too cute to eat. Fix her a plate.”
“Boney? I thought you said everyone calls you G.”
“Whatever! And this fellow here is Jordan,” Guy said as he reached down and picked up his son. Jordan didn’t speak, he just laid his head on his father’s shoulder.
“Hi, handsome.”
Jordan lifted his head and waved.
“He’s sleepy. Give him here,” Thelma said as she took her grandson. “Terri, I saw my brother dancing with you. Don’t pay him any mind. He snuck out of the mental hospital about a week ago. Go on and get yourself something to eat. I’m going to put this lil’ rascal to bed.”
“It was nice meeting you,” Terri said.
“Yeah, girl. We’ll talk,” Thelma said as she walked off.
“Okay. ’Bye, Jordan,” Terri said, waving at the sleepy child.
Guy led her into the kitchen, where Terri instinctively took over. She fixed both of them a plate, and they headed for the quietness of the sunroom, which was adjacent to the kitchen.
Before they knew it two hours had passed and all the guests were gone. Guy walked Terri out to her car, and they hugged; he stole a kiss on the cheek. She promised she would call when she arrived home. He headed back into the house, and turned on the television in the sunroom, and soaked up the scent that she left behind. After Terri called to say all was well, he drifted off to sleep.
The rain was coming down hard. Guy heard a knock on the window of the sunroom. He stood up to answer, wearing nothing but his silk boxers. Terri’s yellow sundress was soaked. Her hair dripped little drops of rain into her chocolate face. She was breathing hard as she motioned for him to come out onto the deck. He followed her outside as the thunder exploded and the trees cracked. As the moon illuminated the night, Guy found himself standing on the deck in only his white silk boxers, which the rain had made practically see-through. Terri pulled a lawn chair from beneath the table and motioned for him to sit down. He was a little confused but decided to let her take the lead. Terri’s nipples clearly showed through the sundress, and the rain made the thin fabric cling to her body. She lifted her dress as she s
traddled Guy and stuck her tongue into his mouth. With the rain rolling off their lips and sliding into their mouths, her breathing became heavy. He rubbed his hands down her back, over her ass, and felt her heat as his fingers grazed across her love nest.
It was raining hard but the wetness he felt was different. It was thicker, warmer, juicier. Terri rolled her hips slowly back and forth on his lap as she ran her tongue across the wide of his face. She ripped the top of her dress apart, tearing the buttons off as she pushed his head down toward her firm breasts. As he sucked on her nipples, she moaned and ran her fingers through his hair. Her hands found their way down to his already growing manhood. She stroked her fingers up and down until his moans matched hers. Guy pushed her dress up around her waist and lifted her enough to enter her. She gasped, held on tighter as she felt her emptiness being filled with his rocklike manhood. Guy closed his eyes and moved with her. One arm was still around her waist, the other stroking her ass. Terri’s moans became louder as she buried her head into his shoulder. The rain was coming down harder as Guy stood up with Terri still in his arms and laid her down on the glass table. He stood between her legs, grinding a long, slow grind. She wrapped her legs around his waist and slowly ran her fingernails down his rippled chest. Terri reached up and pulled Guy’s head down so that they were eye to eye and began speaking in French, “Faites-l’amour moi,” then she let out a soft scream and held him tighter. Guy let out a moan and the thunder rocked the night.
“Boney… Boney… Boney…” Thelma called out to her son.
“Yeah, Ma!”
“Wake up. Telephone. It’s Terri.”
Guy grabbed the phone and heard that familiar accent. “Hello, lady. I was just dreaming about you.”
“I dreamed about you last night, too.”
“Was it raining in your dream?”
“Don’t remember, but I did feel some thunder.”
She Cums Every Night…
_________________
by Jacqueline Powell
Monday/10:57 P.M.
She comes every night except Wednesday. I feel her voice vibrating through the wall. Her moans rise like the sun at dawn. Slow and inevitable. I don’t know what he does to her… but I’d like to.
I sat in bed, sipped on a white wine, and let my mind wander. The battery in my laptop was quickly running out, and the only words I could amass were the ones I’d written. They had nothing to do with the story and everything to do with the moment.
My neighbor, Rod, was entertaining as he does almost every night. We’ve only spoken briefly in the hall and know very little about one another, but there are some things you learn when the walls actually begin to talk.
Almost every night this mystery woman shows up at precisely nine o’clock, knocks at his door, greets him with silence, and stays till morning. This ritual-like behavior caught my attention three weeks ago when I was leaving on a late-night run to the convenience store. I was walking toward the elevator on my floor when a woman dressed in a powder-blue business suit and heels, with her long sandy brown hair cascading around her shoulders, sashayed past me with a swiftness that made every thing else in the corridor seem irrelevant. She appeared preoccupied only with making it to her destination. Didn’t speak and neither did I.
When I returned home I heard her voice, though she wasn’t speaking to me. Her dirty pillow talk seeped beyond the beams in the walls. I heard her call out Rod’s name in ecstasy, beg him for mercy. And secretly wondered exactly what it was she wished he’d stop doing.
After that week, I began to wait as impatiently as I assumed Rod did. I would dress in one of my satin pieces, grab my laptop, get settled under my cranberry-and-cream comforter, and lightly press my back against the wall in my bedroom. Plugged myself into the moment, their moment. And when it ended I usually disconnected my sexually aroused imagination only to find that my screen was blank.
But tonight was different. I had to work on meeting a deadline. She’d been over there for almost two hours and I’d heard only a little D’Angelo, Maxwell, and Gerald Levert setting the mood. I got out of bed, wrapped myself up in a matching peach satin robe, and walked out onto the balcony. The night air was warm with just enough breeze to send my auburn bobbed hairdo blowing across my caramel skin. I sat down at the small glass table with white wrought-iron chairs and prepared to get back into my story. There were only thirty-six minutes left on the battery and seven hours before she was scheduled to leave.
Monday/11:27 P.M.
What appears to be even more baffling is her inability to make him yell fervently. Or maybe she’s simply leaving him speechless.
My glass was almost empty and my imagination, plentiful. They began several minutes ago. The intoxicating sounds of gratification drifted outside and took a seat in the empty chair across from me. My concentration had gone from slight to nonexistent. The wind then ruffled the leaves and drowned out the little I could hear. Shifted my attention toward the sky. The dark blue, silent sky. I assumed it could relate to me with its seemingly anticlimactic nights. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back when a noise came from the balcony next to mine— Rod’s balcony. I abruptly looked to the right as he pulled the glass door aside and walked out wrapped in a hunter-green bath towel. Beads of water trickled down his robust, chestnut-brown back as he leaned over the railing. Rob rubbed his bald head toward his face and then ran his fingers along his jet-black goatee. The smell of sex caught a ride over on the wind and shook its shimmy under my nose. Rod continued to focus straight ahead as I sat quietly waiting for her to join him.
Then without looking in my direction he asked, “You always sit out here like this, Clev?”
I sipped my wine and answered, “I’m working.”
“What do you write about?” he asked, turning only his head.
“Self-help.”
He nodded and then looked back out into the night sky. “Do you believe in an ability to help yourself?”
“You say that as though you don’t.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“So what do you believe in?” I asked.
“Happiness, complete happiness.”
Having said that, he turned and looked back into his apartment. Adjusted the towel around his waist and wiped the excess water that hadn’t escaped the barely coiled hair on his massive chest.
“Don’t work too late,” he told me.
I glanced down at the slight bulge in the front of his towel, smiled, and whispered, “You either.”
Tuesday/10:03 P.M.
He appears to have trained or hypnotized her in some sort of way. How does he get a woman to show this level of dedication to a relationship that travels no farther than his walls— and mine?
I had gone from eavesdropping on his nights to wondering about his days. Whether or not they met at some café for lunch and discussed the evening’s events. Whether nine o’clock on the dot was only minutes after she’d left the office or the earliest she was allowed to arrive. Whether or not it was the same voice I heard every night maneuvering its way into my psyche. And then, just as it had become apparent that he had begun to touch her, I wondered if just maybe, one night, that voice could be mine.
I moved my work space out onto the balcony for the second night in a row. And to tell the truth, I did so with hopes that Rod would join me when he was done. When he had washed away all evidence of her presence. I decided to leave the robe that went with the black satin negligee I was wearing at the foot of my bed, walked into the kitchen to fill a glass with white wine, and took a seat on the balcony.
As if he had expected that I would be waiting, forty-nine minutes into my story Rod stepped outside wearing boxers and rested himself in a charcoal-gray chair that sat next to the door. I stopped typing and sighed aloud but apparently I had already grasped his attention.
“So tell me a little more about helping oneself,” he said, folding his hands atop his treasure trail of hair below his navel.
“Well,
first you have to want to help yourself. You have any habits you’re trying to break?”
I looked toward his door, attempting to point out one I’d noticed.
He laughed and answered, “That’s what I meant by happiness.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If I’m happy with what I’m doing, there should be no habits to break.”
I sipped my wine and licked around the rim of the glass before setting it down. “Did you know there’s a difference between happiness and satisfaction?”
Rod lifted his brow and placed his feet upon the railing. “So what is that you’ve got over there?”
“I’ve got a little happiness over here, but you were asking about the wine, right?”
“Not anymore.”
“I’ve got a question.”
“Shoot.”
“She comes every night except Wednesday. Why?”
He turned to look back into his apartment and then smiled at me. “I think six nights is enough for satisfaction. I’m saving my Wednesdays for a little happiness.”
I became moist between my legs as my nipples stood on end like pencil erasers. Noticed he had moved his hands from his stomach to his lap. Noticed how stimulating the thought of those large hands gripping my sweaty hips from behind was. Noticed the following night was Wednesday.
“What do you do on Wednesday nights?” he inquired.
“Imagine that I can still hear you.”
“Who says you can’t?” he asked, laying his full erection against his stomach in his boxers.
I didn’t respond. Just let the night air blow by me with hopes of cooling my body. I sat longing for penetration as he went back inside and caused her to climax one more time before the clock struck midnight. Before a day strictly designated for happiness began. I think he made her scream like that because he knew I was listening, he knew I was still dripping wet, and he knew I’d be ready to cum on Wednesday.
Wednesday/8:47 P.M.
