Flat On My Ass

Geneva

My director looked the queen mother of an African village, sprawled behind her desk in a loose dress, her arms waving like mad as she attempted to whisk the sweat bullets from her brow with a palm fan. Her locks were arranged on top of her head, like a crown, and beads of sweat dampened the ebony skin on her neck, brow, lip. She was hot. I was hot. More hot from looking at her suffer in the stagnant air. The cotton of her dress gasped for hair. The AC was broke. Again.

I looked at the clock as the second hand seemed to be going counter-clockwise. The play wright can't make up his mind as to who to choose for the lead and I say at this point flip a coin. I wanted to be anywhere, an-y-where, but there at that moment, talking in circles in a small office where the temperature had to have reached 90 degrees. The window with it 's mouth open, breathing hot air on me.

In the days that followed my break down, Paul was being so nice and so attentive, I was suspicious. This was not my man. Showing up unannounced it. Grinning in my face. That shit was actually making me uncomfortable.  Distance is a part of his essence. Distance is what I loved about him and the fact that at moments, he straight dripped truth-- which in turn, makes me drip.

Like a moth to a flame-- burned by the fire. Thanks Janet.

I had nothing to confirm my suspicions, so I shrugged his niceness off and avoided it. Casting for the next play and I just started spending more time at work and more time crashing at my friends places-- playing hide and seek. Maybe giving him a taste of his own Robitussin. I wondered how long we could keep this up. Something was different in the air.

And then the shit hit the fan.

The doorbell chimed at the theater and I jumped to receive the visitor. But little did I know, I was entering Dante's inferno. She was bony, old and when she found me she looked as if she'd been walking all day. Her tiny jeans clung to her gaunt frame, her pixie cut had out grown it's straightening and pieces of crudely bleached hair clung to her forehead. She was wearing a wrinkled, t-shirt, and Reeboks.

"Are you Geneva?"

"yes"

"Bitch!"

She lunged across the doorway and shoved me to the ground with all of her might. My fall broken by the cold mosaic floors. I looked up at this woman who seemed at the moment to be possessed. Her eyes twitched, like they were performing silent incantations--perhaps she was willing my destruction. The blow sent a powerful pain from my tailbone through out my entire body. My legs were trembling. It hurt to much to sit up. I was helpless.

I though her head my spin. Her eyes might roll back. I thought she'd proceed to beat me with her bony balled up fists.She looked tired. Like she'd never had a comfortable place to rest her head. Like she had witnessed a lot of grief in life. Like she had nothing to lose.

I wanted to scream, but I the shock alone had taken the wind from me. My mouth hung open, just like the window, letting out body heat. My heart pumped. My skin burnt. We were warring on the stoop of hell and I was unsure of the spoils. Then it was clear.

"I told you to stay away from him. I told you, you bitch. You whore! Try me, try to come near me again."

I heard foot steps, four of them, in a lop sided syncopation. Alternating thuds with the quick taps of the playwrights loafers against the tile. When Mother Africa discovered me staring at the ceiling, writhing in pain she began to cuss. She used the same bamboo fan she'd been fanning herself with to swat the unwelcome visitor away. "Get out! Get the fuck out!" Her voice ascended to a shrill. She looked like she was willing to go to bat for me. I still couldn't move.

The next thing I could make was the playwright speaking to the police. He was on the phone giving the 911 operator our address.

"Be glad I don't slice that bitch whore right here. You think I'm scared of you? You think I'm fucking scared of you. Don't try me!"

"I'm not scared of you," Mother Africa towered over her. She looked as if she touched her, she'd collapse. "Get off of my damn property. We're calling the cops. I'll have you arrested. You will rot in jail!"

It was actually pretty funny.

The woman began back up but she was still yelling obscenities. Calling me a cunt, a whore, a tramp, a witch and a bitch. Spelling out my death. Announcing all the people who would participate in my demise. My back hurt so much, it took over my entire body. I was burning, my lids snapped shut.

I woke up in the ER.

The doctor trying to talk to me looked like a soap actor. He could have been Shemar Moore's brother. "Geneva? Geneva?" I thought I was answering but it turns out my lips weren't moving. I turned my head. Mother Africa was by the door shaking her head and muttering something. I turned back, and it was Dr. Feel Good. It felt like I was under water and someone was pulling me up to the surface. His voice grew louder and clearer and louder and clearer. " Geneva, can you hear me? Can you hear me talking to you? Can you respond." He put his hand on my forehead and I wanted him to keep it there.

"Yes." My mouth felt like I'd been sucking on cotton balls. I've never been thirstier in my life. I soon learned that I'd spent the past 2 hours unconscious. The shock, the heat, and the pain had ruined me.

I moaned.

“Look, you may have damaged your tail bone. You’re pretty bruised back there.”

“You’ve already seen my behind?”

“We examined you when you came in,” he smiled.

“This is awkward”

“It shouldn’t be. I’ve seen worse.”

His smile revealed a set of dimples. Dr. Feel Good smelled like Christmas. Like chestnuts, and cider and gingerbread cookies. Or maybe I was hungry. And when he leaned over me and wrapped his warm toffee hands around mine, a shock of pleasure flew through my body.

"We’re going to get some x-rays done and take it from there okay.” He stroked the loose hair from my damp brow and left the room.

Long, short, I fractured my tailbone. My back side was black and blue. I was out of the hospital after two days, and I can walk okay, it’s just painful to sit. Hence why I’m writing this in one of those donut seat cushions.

In the week that followed my fall, I cleaned house. Figuratively.

Paul came over the day after I returned from the hospital. Caroline answered the door. My mom, Caroline and Noni are taking turns making food for me. I know. I'm loved. Caroline made him wait outside the apartment and asked me if I wanted to see him. Wait, she was actually scowling. I really did want to see him. I wanted to know if all this madness was really what it seemed. There was a part of me that wanted him to tell me that trollop was just a crazy stalker who lived in his building. Someone who had it twisted. But I followed Carolines judgement. The pain was shooting through my body as a reminder of all the emotional pain he had caused me over the years. I was exhausted so I let Caroline get rid of him. I don’t know what she said. Something stank. The door slammed seconds later.

Then my phone buzzed.

"How you doing queen?"

"My back feels like death."

"Anything I can do to help."

Wait, did he figure that if he just acted normal everything would be normal. Because there ain't shit normal about me catching a beat down.

"You can make sure your girlfriends don't get my phone number and addresses."

"Look, I feel I really need to apologize, but for real though. I had no idea she was tripping like that."

"Who is she?"

My question hung in the air like an ice cycle prepared to cut either of us when it broke free.

"She's someone I used to mess with."

Whomp. I felt another hard blow to my stomach. Tears began to well up in my eyes. My face burned. Why the hell was I crying over this fool? Why?

"How long ago?"

"It's over."

"Really Paul? You're going to play games now even though you know I actually got my ass kicked over some of your shit. Really? "

"I mean, it's over. What else do you want to hear?" Now was not the time to be smug. Now was the time for him to be humble, drop down on his knees, and beg for my forgiveness. Wasn't I worth that?

"You know what, nothing."

I hung up. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't handle the truth, or the sound of his voice, or the thought that all of my suspicions were right. He played me. He played the shit out of me.

When the phone rang a second time, I turned it off. I didn't even want to see his missed calls. I fought the tears and the darkness, but not hard enough. I curled up in my bed until Caroline found me and promptly scolded me for giving that clown my grief. It was tough love that at that moment I needed. Still, I cried on her shoulder until I had no more water and we drank wine until the wee hours of night.

I woke up with crust all over my eyes and lips. I had a hang over. My back was stabbing because I'd fallen asleep without my back cushion. But I was on a mission. I tip-toed to my bedroom, fished my for phone in the darkness and cleared his number. There. It was a start. But getting rid of Paul and his demons wasn't going to be that easy.

This trollop still had my number and for a week she called me from different phones just to hang up. Talk about adding insult to injury. Literally. I thought about doing a little investigation and taking out a restraining order. That was Noni's suggestion. But really, I just wanted to stay at home, nurse my bruised behind, and watch day time television during my week of sick leave.

Right now, it hurts to sit but it feels amazing to be alive. I didn't know how good it could feel to fall out of love with someone. Looking back on it, maybe God arranged my beat down on purpose. Maybe it was the very brutal wake-up call I needed to move on. I feel excited, for what I don't know. I'm proud of myself, for not turning back and letting him smother his way back into my world. And now I feel like it's time to try something new. Travel. Give the stage another shot. I don't know. I'm going to let myself heal, in all senses of the word, and then see where the wind takes me.

-Geneva

Sex With No Strings

Caroline

I parked my luggage in the middle of the living room and started dialing. Now come on Caroline, you know better than this. But at this point, I didn't. No shame. Dealing with Mr. Smart Ass' attempted coup de tat had done a number on me. I needed to unwind, in the purest sense. Not with a bottle of wine. Not with Sade. With a man's body.

His voice mail picked up. "Hi. You've reached Lance. Leave a message." I wanted to obey that deep, sexy recorded voice on the other end of the phone, but I clicked off, stressed, too stressed to sound enticing.

I was on edge. Needed to do something productive to shake it. I started hanging my suits in the closet, put a load of laundry on and turned to CNN. 

I heard my phone rattling on my night stand and I ran to answer it.

"Hello." Could barely breath.

"You finally home." His bajan cadence seemed more pronounced now that he was in the states. Funny.

"I am. Just got in today-- I was calling to see if you were busy."

"I was wondering the same thing on your end," he shot back.

"What do you mean?"

"Last few times I reached out to you you didn't return my calls."

He wasn't serious.

"Are you being serious?"

"Of course."

Apparently in my not responding to his every call I had broken an unspoken rule. Woops.

"Well then Lance," I swallowed pride, "I'm sorry. I had a rough time in Paris. You know I wasn't there on leisure. It was business."

"No need to explain. How are you now? How was your flight?" Clearly he caught himself, tripping.

"I'm doing well now, happy to be home. Happy to be talking to you," I told him, letting my voice dip one sexy octave. I could play his game.

But he called time-out. "Wait can you hold on a minute?"

Lance wasn't home alone. He was going back and forth with an adolescent boy. I know because the other voice still had the shrill of puberty.

"I'm sorry. Nelson's having trouble with the wireless in here. We've been trying to get it to work all day. Do you mind holding on for one more minute."

I was so un-prepared that I hesistated with my answer. "Ummm... do you need to call me back?" Really, I was the one who needed a moment. Hell, I needed a Snickers bar.

"Yes, that would be best. Hang by your phone, okay sweet heart?"

I agreed. My limp body promptly slid down the wall. All the sexual energy just oozed right on out of me. I crouched down on the living room floor, pulled my knees to my chest, and shit, I blanked out. Had one of those moments where the only thing on your mind is what's right in front of you. In my case, the living room windows. The sunlight was beaming on my skin, feeling good. But it was deceptive sun light. It was chilly outside. Autumn had arrived early in the City.

It was the season of change.

A month ago we lived an ocean away. A month ago we were nothing to each other than a memory, albeit it a pleasurable. And in one fall swoop, in the amount if time it took to have one Parisian adventure, my perfect fling had acquired feelings and a kid.

Better put, this fling was having an erection. Within two weeks time it had become bigger, deeper, far more complex than I was prepared to handle. I could feel my vaginal muscles tightening up at the thought.

The anchor was talking about health care. I'm so tired of this debate. Let's do already. I got up. Changed out of my bra and beige suit pants that I was crazy for sitting on the floor in.

When the phone buzzed a second time, I collapsed on my bed and answered it.

"Hey sorry about that. Where were we?"

"Oh it's okay. I think we were trying to sync our schedules." I still wanted to see him. I still had my own selfish needs.

"You were saying Paris stressed you out, right?" He was putting it on me with his voice. He must have been out of his son's earshot.

"It did." I closed my eyes, focused in on our conversation. Wanted his words to wrap me like a cashmere throw.

"So what can I do to make you feel better?"

"You can start by making your way over here." Note, I suggested my place as I would for now on. God forbid his son walk in on us. That would be a lesson in sex he'd never forget.

"And then what? What do you want me to do to you after I arrive?" Lance was killing me softly. Knowing that every word sent shivers up my spine. Made me cross my legs and cringe. Damn. Every word an invitation to sex. "Hello Caroline." "How are you, Caroline?" "Lay down and spread your legs, Caroline."

I told him, in great detail, what I wanted to him to do to me, where, and how. I didn't want to make love. I didn't want to waste time gazing into his eyes. I wanted to fuck. I wanted him to pump me until sweat dripped of his chin and chest. I wanted him to turn me over and take me from the side. I wanted to get on top and go buck wild. I wanted to close my eyes and see the colors of the rainbow. I wanted to fuck the stress of Paris away and fuck until we cleared the air of all this emotion mess. I wanted to fuck the relationship raw. I wanted to fuck until it was just fucking sex.

He came over an hour after our phone call and the first thing on the agenda was a shower. And we laughed hysterically. He was poking me in all the places that he remebered I was ticklish. Do you know how good it feels to laugh out loud, in the shower? And then when he mounted my damp body, he didn't go hard. He went slow and deep. Kissed every part of me, prolonged his own orgasm until he watched me shudder. It was good. So good. Too good. Suicide dick. So good, I didn't want to repeat it. We fell into an easy sleep, interrupted abruptly by the sound of his pockets rattling. It was after 11. He was leaving.

"You heading home?" I asked, looking up at him. I was groggy. My body limp.

"Yeah baby, you know I got to to get back". I was fixated on the sexy region where his groin met his belt buckle. He was fastening his pants. Still hadn't pulled his shirt on. I wanted to mount him all over again. But I couldn't. I had to respect that this man had grown-up responsibilities.

"So Nelson? That's his name."

"Yehp. Uhhh his grandmother named him after Nelson Mandela. He's a handful, " he laughed as he sat on the foot of my bed. He stroked my legs through the covers.

"I bet. But you can handle it, dad!" I smiled.

"That's big daddy to you!" he laughed. Then he got quiet. " You going to keep in touch with me?" Something about the way he looked at me when he said it, like he pleading. I detected something fragile in his tone. Something he'd never forgive me for breaking.

Suddenly we'd gone from a playful tryst, to a tryst that was not to be played with. I felt nauseous.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said. It felt like a lie. I wanted him, but I didn't want his emotions. I didn't want to carry his baggage. Hell, I have my own. I didn't want to worry about hurting this grown man's feelings every time I had to cancel on him because I was working or late, or because I had other plans, or hell, because I just didn't feel like it.

He kissed me, passionately. It felt like a thank you. Like he was saying, thank you for accepting me, all of me, back in to your life. Wait. Let's be real. Thank you for not destroying my ego.

I miss the London days, when it was care-free. When we made love to no end because at the end of it all, I was going back home. I had an ocean and youth on my side then.

I don't get why I have such a hard time staying out of relationships. Seriously. Can a woman have sex with a man she likes, maybe loves, and enjoys spending time with, without the commitment? Men do this all the time. A man can screw a woman for years, and amid all the screwing, she not realize she's being screwed. We live in a sex with no strings attached society. Women take dicks over commitment every day. Too bad for double standards.

I had a hard time going back to sleep. Even a nymphomaniac like me enjoys waking up in a man's arms.

-Caroline

Kissing Kismet

Noni

Thursday began in an uptown apartment that also doubles as a hair salon. I needed to get out of the house, and listening to Johnny gossip about his other clients was a welcome distraction from my worries. He worked his magic, and created head full of luscious auburn ringlets. I left shaking my head, looking great-- feeling so so. Carter was getting in that afternoon, and ever since my cab-ride revelation, I was dreading his arrival.

I didn't know how I'd initiate it, but Carter and I had to have it out. I needed clarification on his romantic past and exactly where I fit in his future. As his live-in girlfriend I thought I deserved to know why he divorced his ex-wife and if he ever planned to remarry. Basically, I wanted to know if by following my heart, I was wasting my time. I had too much idle time on my hands and by that point my negative thoughts escalated, deepening my defiance toward him. I was convinced that the man I recognized as my soul mate would leave me. Suddenly. Single. Succesful. Jaded. Well, maybe. My heart needed resolution.

Perhaps he sensed this.

Mr. Jackson arrived on the back of a beautiful overture consisting of an unexpected delivery of four bouquets of white gardenias, my favorite flower. The note attached to each one read, "I love you madly". No signature. I didn't need one. My mood brightened, as I waltzed from vase to vase, inhaling their lush, opulent scent, each bud at the peak of its bloom.

I was watching Love Jones in leggings and a tee shirt, when I had the urge to switch outfits. I still didn't know if I was going to confront him, but just in case, I needed to look the part. I paused the movie right before Darius recites "Blues for Nina". I could watch that scene over and over again. I stepped into a slip dress and spritzed Creed's 'Love in White' on my wrists and neck.

Darius and Nina were kissing in the rain, when Carter opened the door, a single leather bag slung over his shoulder. For some reason he had never looked so good. He was wearing a golf shirt, light wool slacks, and long, pointed leather shoes. His locks were gathered at his neck, and fell to the small of his back. He was smiling as if our three day separation had been three months. I can recall the tom-toms in my chest as I smiled back, a brief, pregnant silence.

He was home and when he wrapped his arms around me tight and found the sweet spot in my neck to kiss, I couldn't barely recall ever having doubts. I just knew how wonderful it felt press my body against his, and to know this man was mine.

"Thanks for the flowers sweeie."

"Did you like them?"

"I love them! It smells so wonderful in here." I followed him into our bedroom.

"Yeah, it does smell good. And you look incredible. I like your hair like that." It's something about when a man acknowledges your efforts in looking good for him that just-- hits the spot.

I sat down on the foot of our bed as I he dropped his bag in the closet."I bought you something I thought you'd appreciate."

"Really? What did I do to deserve this treatment." The last time we spoke at length, I was having a tandrum.

He re-emerged. "Sometimes you have to remind those you love, just how much you love them." He let my silence punctuate his sentence, and I'm sure he could tell by the way I looked up at him, that I was falling in love all over again. "This is yours. It's actually two things."

He lifted his pants and took a seat beside me. He rubbed my back as I lifted a Creed box out of the Saks bag. "Perfume!" I looked closely at the box and saw that it was the perfumers limited edition Fleurs de Gardenia. I'd never smelled it but I remembered that when it came out Saks had waiting list. "Fabulous!" I said, unwrapping the box and catching sight of the winter-white leather atomizer. "I can't wait to wear it!" I kissed his cheek.

"There's more in there."

I retrieved a velvet box. I knew that he had a jeweler in LA but wasn't expecting such a gift. I sighed before opening it. It was rectangular, a bracelet. "Carter..."

"I hope you like it. Open it up." He rubbed his hands together and leaned forward, as if he wanted to catch my initial reaction.

It was sheer joy when I layed eyes on the emerald and diamond tennis bracelet inside. It was absolutely regal. He clasped it around my wrist.

He stood up and offered me his hand. I placed mine in his and we embraced all over again, the sunlight pouring into our master bedroom, hitting the gem stones on my wrist and splashing rainbows along the walls. It was a moment that would have ordinarily lead to intense love making, but not that time. We channeled our lust into our hands, which were busy grazing each others bodies, our lips, our eyes. We held on to each other for a good ten minutes. It was as if he wanted to our souls to reconnect. It was as if he felt he was loosing 

me.

He was not.

Carter walked to the grocer to get ingredients for dinner, and I picked up desert, red velvet cupcakes from the Savoy bakery. Carter intent was to cater to me that evening. He made his best dish, Moroccan lamb chops,  and he wouldn't let me lift a finger in the kitchen to help him (probably a good idea). I set the dining room table, lit candles, and pumped the Quiet Storms playlist from the stereo system. Sade's 'Your love is king" was playing when we sat down to eat. The air felt cleared, or maybe just light. We caught up. I asked him about the album he was in LA producing and he told me his was composing a new song, and he couldn't wait to play it for me. I told him that I took a week long break from my fiction in progress to work on some poetry.

Dinner was done, and we were working on champagne and cupcakes for dessert."You've never had these cupcakes before? You've been in this neighborhood longer than me."

"Yeah, you know I'm not big on dessert." 

"You're not into sweets?" I sad, pouting. That was my weakness.

"Except you cutie." he shot back, pinching my butt.

I dipped my finger in the icing and let him suck it off. It was unexpectedly erotic. He kissed the palm of my hand the parade of kisses didn't stop.We post-poned desert until the morning...well depending on how you define dessert.

That night as he made old fashioned, missionary style love to me atop our bed and I pushed every single reservation to the back of my mind. I know the situation wasn't perfect with his unknown ex-wife and his obscure romantic history, but I was content to let the mystery unravel. I feel like most women are walking around with untied laces, trying to trip-- and fall in love. And by fall in love I mean find and snag the man they think will make them complete. I had done that before. I swore Ahmad, the surgical resident I dated in undergrad was the be all, end all, one. I was depressed for months when his actions revealed that he was far from it. Unlike with other men I dated, I didn't fall in love with Carter. Love fell on me.

I think it's the universe, not people, who create relationships. It's the universe that controls the horizontal gravity we so lovingly refer to as kismet. And when we go, fussing with fate, we ruin magnificent, romantic possibility. 

I fell asleep on his chest, fascinated by how his heart beat seemed to mirror mine. It was the first peaceful nights sleep I had in several days. My beautiful curls were a mess, but life as far as I knew it at that very moment, was glorious.

- Noni