by Teri Woods
“Come on,” he said, pulling her up.
“Where are we going?” she asked, realizing that she had dropped her joint in the sand. Quadir led her closer to the water. “Qua, where are we going? Swimming?”
“Gena, I don’t want to swim.” He looked so serious. And he was.
He took her to a secluded spot off a wooded area near the water.
“I need you, Gena,” he said pulling her closer to him.
Gena pushed back. “Quadir, Sahirah told me all about you. I know you have an entourage of women and everyone is supposed to be trying to see you, or don’t you know?”
His hands were memorizing her body, his eyes piercing through to the real Gena.
“I don’t want them. I’ve wanted you ever since the day you were with Jamal on his motorcycle. You had your leather riding gear on. I saw you get off the bike and take your helmet off your head. You were so beautiful. I never forgot your face. I have searched for you. Everywhere I went I looked, hoping to see you. Every time I saw Jamal, my heart would start racing until I realized you weren’t with him.” He was embracing her now, holding on like she might disappear. “Do you understand? When I finally found you in Harlem, there was no way I wanted to let you go. Only business got in the way. Do you understand?”
Gena had heard every word he had spoken, and she believed him. At that moment Gena melted against him with a passion that flowed through their bodies like the clouds flowed through the skies. He unhooked her dress and guided her down to the soft, white island sand and positioned himself on top of her. He kissed her mouth, her ears, her neck, her nipples, enjoying the shudder she didn’t expect to feel. Opening her legs, he gently slid his tongue along her inner thigh, back and forth, over here and over there. Every moment was sheer ecstasy.
Is that Barry White I hear, she thought. “Quadir.”
He had found the tiny node that makes a woman a woman and proceeded to lick and suck on her like she was a Tootsie Pop. Gena lay there, gasping, squeezing the pristine white island sand through her hands as an unknown feeling went through her body. I thought only I knew about that place. I thought it was a secret. I thought men didn’t know. I thought . . . Suddenly, thinking wasn’t important anymore. Bucking and moaning, she could only steer herself to that place, that feeling, that could release her from all earthly worries and send her straight into the arms of bliss, where the world disappears for one glorious moment and the soul separates from the body.
“Aahh! Oh, Qua!” Her final thrust left her shimmering, every nerve placated, unable to move. For the first time in her eighteen years of existence, a man brought her the rapture she thought she could only give herself. From this moment, sex would no longer be a one-sided pastime, with Gena expecting only affection and gifts. This was more than she had ever felt before.
Qua knew what it was time for. With his large, gentle, firm hands, he moved her under his body until she was face to face with him.
“Qua, put it in me,” she said, feeling possessed by the devil. She had never wanted a dick inside her so bad before in her life. Jamal never made her feel like this. He only worked for his own pleasure. Jamal could only fuck a woman; this was lovemaking. Qua was the man of life.
“Quadir,” she moaned as she felt him fitting inside her, stroking her intensely. His dick was so big, she felt as if she had no space left, she was completely full. Each pull of the slow rhythm introduced her to a new thrill, unexpected, and with it a surprise. She was completely relaxed and so into it. Her only purpose was to give her body to him, all of her. She was completely relaxed, and with every stroke and every movement, she breathed with him, wanting more and more.
Quadir wrapped her legs in front of his arms, spreading Gena’s body completely apart, lifting her from the smooth white sand while his hardness caressed all the little places that made up her being. She reached up and clamped her hand against his shoulder at arm’s length, sliding herself up and down, pulling in breath on the way up, sighing it out on the way down, while he made the gargantuan effort not to discharge a drop while he watched her succumb to his passion.
She commanded him, suddenly, not to move, while her body spasmed. He waited, for a moment, his teeth bared in fierce control, until she breathed again and squeezed him with muscles she didn’t know were that useful.
Qua breathed out and began to move, his movements becoming more urgent. She found her passion mounting again as she watched his need overwhelm him. His arms snaked under her shoulders then under her buttocks, lifting her as his beautiful black body moved in and out of her, faster and faster, the veins in his neck bulging in his effort to go where he’d just taken her. The sounds from his throat became louder, louder still, until she felt his pent-up fluid rumble through his body, working its way through his shaft into her waiting recesses. His body spasmed, and he spoke her name.
“Gena.”
She’d never known so much passion and power. It was the moment in time women never forget.
Quadir rested his body on hers, not moving. His breathing and pounding heartbeat told her he was still among the living.
In another moment, he was kissing her, tiny, loving kisses over her eyes, her chin, her temple and, between each kiss, meeting her eyes with his.
“Baby, don’t speak. Just don’t move,” he said, nestling his head between her arm and her breast. Gena was exactly what he dreamed. He knew she would be. He knew. His daydreaming was over. He had the real thing now. All the time he’d spent with other girls, picturing that girl he’d seen on the motorcycle with Jamal, was nothing compared with this.
And it had been worth the wait. He finally got up and helped Gena put on her clothes before he got dressed.
“Do you think anyone saw us?” Her eyes were darting about, worrying about who’d seen her or worse: Who’d heard her! Her hair was all over the place and she had that happy I got some smile on her face.
“I don’t know but if they did see us, I know they wanted to join in,” Qua said as he grabbed her tiny waist and gave her a hug. “That was the best pussy I have ever had in my life,” he said, combing her hair down. The brothers definitely did agree that all pussy was not the same.
They reached the lobby and Qua wanted to check for messages. For the first time since they had been there, the hotel lobby was empty. So the Bahamian musicians did sleep, thought Gena. That was how late it was. There were no musicians, no tourists, no children running about, just silence, as the hotel staff was getting ready for another day. “What time is it?” Gena asked.
“Five twenty-three, baby,” said Qua looking at his diamond bezel Rolex.
“I like your watch,” said Gena, looking at all the diamonds sparkling from the lobby’s track lights.
“You do? I’ll get you one,” he said, shuffling through the messages. “Rasun has called four times and Reds has called once.”
“Call them back when we get in the room.”
“I will, I will,” he said, rubbing on her ass, lifting up her dress, and playing with her all over again.
Suddenly, she thrust her entire body against him, pierced him to the wall and whispered in his ear, “I want to make you happy.” He wanted her to suck his dick.
As the elevator stopped at their floor. Gena couldn’t wait to get inside her room. Quadir couldn’t wait to get off the elevator either; he had to get to a phone.
HOME
Once they were inside the suite, Qua tried to call Rasun. He had no success; the phone rang and rang.
“He’s probably sleeping,” Gena said. Quadir sat there with the receiver to his ear, waiting ever so patiently for someone to answer the phone. “Baby, hang up the phone and call him in the morning.”
He finally took her advice, but couldn’t get it off his mind. “Don’t you think he must have really wanted something, if he called four times?”
“Yes, and I’m sure he will call you in the morning if it’s really that important.” She sounded convincing, but Quadir had a feeling that something
wasn’t right. He ended up trying again, but there was still no answer.
Gena, back in her room, was undressing for a shower, making sure Quadir was aware of it as she moved around him naked.
“Can I take a shower with you?”
Smirking at her success in getting his mind off the phone call, she told him, “You can do what ever you want.”
They had less than five hours of sleep; it was 10:30 AM and the sound of the phone awoke Gena.
“Hello?”
“What’s up, Gena? It’s Ra, where’s Quadir?” the voice said.
Half sleep she called out for Quadir, passing him the phone. “It’s Rasun.”
The minute Quadir heard the name Rasun, he woke right up when she handed him the receiver.
Finding an upright position, he mumbled to Rasun as he awoke from his sleep. “What happened?” Gena listened to Quadir’s end of the conversation feeling something was wrong by the tone in his voice.
“Kenny did what?” Quadir asked. Pausing, he replied, “With my nine. Why mines? Why you give him mine?” Gena steadily nudged Qua, wanting to know what he was talking about. He was gathering all the facts as quickly as he could.
“Rock’s dead?” questioned Qua. Gena heard the name and knew exactly who Quadir was talking about. It was such a small world. The same people Gena knew were the same people Quadir knew.
“He got shot in the head? What about the money?” asked Quadir, waiting to hear that it was fucked up too.
“We got the money and the yayo,” said Rasun.
“Yo, what are you two, Tony and Manny up in this motherfucker? Find out what Kenny’s bail is and stay by the phone. I’m coming home.” He replaced the receiver and turned to Gena. “Baby, come on, we got to get home. Someone killed a friend of mine.”
“Who?” asked Gena, knowing the vacation was over.
“I don’t know who,” he said, shaking his head as if he really didn’t know. “Guess what? My young boy killed his pops last night.”
“Who?” said Gena.
“Remember Kenny? He was in the backseat of the BMW the night we met.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, him. His pops was always beating on him and his mom. I guess he just snapped.”
Gena got dressed and called the airport, switching reservations for an earlier flight. She was unable to get first class and prayed they wouldn’t be seated in the rear of the plane next to the engine.
The bellboy collected all of their luggage and took it downstairs. The same cabbie who given them a tour of the island, as he found his way, was there to pick them up. He placed the luggage in the trunk of his cab and opened the door so that Quadir and Gena could get in the backseat.
“You know where you’re going, boss?” Quadir asked him as he shook his hand.
“Where you go?” Rasta Man asked.
“The airport.”
“Oh, the airport, me can find it.”
Quadir pulled Gena over to him and whispered, “We’re gonna miss the flight.” He asked the cabbie, “Do you know where the airport is?”
“Of course, me know. Me can fine it, mon. Me just look right here for a minute.”
Gena couldn’t believe the same driver who found his way from the airport was trying to find his way back there. “He is looking at a map. We’ll never get there. I might as well drive.”
“Might as well.”
“What if we don’t make the flight?” she said.
“We have to make the flight.”
Finally, they reached the airport. Quadir paid the cabbie and gave him another nice tip. The cabbie got their bags out of the car and sat them on the sidewalk so they could be checked in.
“Take care, mon, of yourself and your lovely lady. May de spirit of de Lord be blessed upon you both; mercy shall follow you all de days of your life.” He shook Gena’s hand and then Quadir’s, adding, “Another place and time, sir.” Then he walked back to the cab.
“God, is he spiritual, or what?” said Gena, feeling a little chill. For some reason that Jamaican taxi driver who rode them around in circles when they first arrived in Nassau and rode them around on their way out seemed to touch them both in a way that neither of them understood.
Once they were safely on board the airplane, Qua started chewing his gum and stuffing cotton in his ears just like the last time. “Quadir, you look crazy,” Gena said as she glanced toward him. “Everything is going to be all right. Here, give me your hand.” She placed it between her legs. “See? You’ll be fine.”
It’s good, but it’s not gonna save me, thought Quadir as he closed his eyes and started praying.
Gena sat back and looked out the tiny window. She could no longer see the clouds. It was wonderful to be above the clouds, physically and spiritually. She was on a natural high thinking about Quadir. He gave her such inspiration. He wasn’t like other guys. He had an aura about him that made you want to get close to him. Like the night she met him and wanted to touch his face. There was something regal about him she could not say no to. So far removed from Jamal. It was different, as if she had no resistance to the man at all. And the way he took her last night and put his thing down. Lordy, Gena was just fucked up and happy about the whole situation.
She looked over at Quadir. Do you like me? she wondered as she stared at his eyelids, which complemented his completely relaxed face. After a few minutes of thinking to herself about last night and where the two of them now stood, Gena found herself asking the stewardess for a piece of paper.
“Thank you.”
“Sure thing,” she said, looking at Quadir’s hand stuffed between Gena’s legs.
Gena covered very nicely, telling her, “His hand was cold,” as she picked up his limp wrist. “It’s warm now,” she added, putting Quadir’s hand back on his lap. The stewardess smiled and went on about her merry way as Gena rummaged in her bag for a pen. She wanted to write a poem for him. She sat there for more than an hour thinking about last night. It was over her head. How could she express it? All the times she had thought she was having sex was a waste of time. Nothing was like last night.
When he awoke from his cat nap, she handed him the piece of paper. Quadir took the poem and turned on his overhead light, reading silently:
The Dream
My eyes are closed, but I see you so clear
I stare in your eyes and the world disappears
Leaving us together, so no one can see
Your body moves closer so you’re next to me
Your fingers unbutton and take off my clothes
Your hands moving all over from my head to my toes
Without delay, you start to play
Your brown and warm fingers will find their own way
It’s feeling so good and when I touch you back
You’re long and you’re hard and it makes me wet.
I kiss your chest in a rapture sublime
As your fingers play music in three quarter time
We’re caught in a rapture without a doubt
You push my head lower I open my mouth
Hours pass by, you pick up my face
And the look in your eyes states so simply your case
This pussy is yours and you’re gonna take it
If I had said no, you know you would’ve raped it
You flip it and turn it and throw it around
Until you have me face down on the ground
You’ve found your position, ass up in the air
You get behind me and force it in there
Pushing whatever is stopping your stroke
You fuck me for hours like you’re going for broke
You’ve totally flipped and you’re out of control
You’re love is insane and I am your goal
You’re ready to nut, not a minute too soon
I hear the alarm and I’m back in my room
I open my eyes and I hear the door shut
I thought I was dreaming, but we really did fuck.
Quadir just looked at her; he couldn’t believe her little poem had made his dick hard. “Come here,” he said pulling her face close enough to kiss her. He folded up the paper and put it in his pocket. The stewardess walked by and Quadir asked her how much longer the flight would be. He was so glad. He wanted it to be over. He wanted to be home. Because of so many cancellations, they were able to get a flight straight to Philadelphia. “I had the best time of my life, Quadir,” she said looking into his eyes.
“I did too. I wish we was still there.”
“I know! Remember when you fell off the Jet Ski and almost killed us?” she said, laughing at him.
“Yeah, and remember that wave that snuck up behind you and tumbled your ass to shore?” He was laughing as hard now as she was.
“It was really the best. Especially, you know, last night,” she said.
“Yeah, it was all that.”
“It was so blue.”
“So blue?” he said, looking puzzled.
“Yeah, you know, the opposite of having the blues is so blue.” She paused for a moment thinking about the time she spent with him, then added, “I wish we didn’t have to go home.”
He took her hand and squeezed. “But we have to, G. We have to go home.”
THE DROP OFF
For the rest of the flight, they talked about past relationships. Quadir confessed to seeing Cherelle, but basically explained why the relationship was over. He was twenty-five, no kids, graduated from college with a bachelor’s in psychology, grew up in a fucked up part of North Philly, and was poor until his pops started running street numbers and robbing banks. His dad opened up a little store, and from there he bought a few properties and basically paid his bills on time and established a solid line of credit.
Quadir was a lot like his father. He just wanted to get paid and be legit one day. Quadir grew up without seeing a real Christmas. He had seen plenty of hard times. But his family made sure he got his education. Quadir heard the same speech over and over again. “You gonna go to school, you hear me? You gonna go and you gonna learn. You know why? Just because the white man don’t want you too.”
