“Finally, at long last,” he began. “I get to introduce the two most important women in my life. Hailey, this is my sister Samantha Tonelle Wilson. Nelly, this is my beautiful wife to be Hailey.”
“Hi,” Hailey stuttered.
“Hello, Hailey. I’ve heard so much about you. My brother just goes on and on about you.”
Hailey was amazed. She was as cool as a cucumber. No indication at all that she knew her. It occurred to Hailey that maybe she hadn’t had all that much of an impact on her life, and maybe she truly didn’t remember her. She should have been happy about the drama her not remembering would avoid, but she wasn’t happy. She was a cross between sad and angry. How dare she not remember her! Hailey’s anger spurred her on to play a game of cat and mouse with Sam, or Nelly, or whatever her name was.
“Nelly, huh? Has anyone ever called you Sam?” Hailey asked, knowing the answer.
“Everyone calls me Sam. That is, except for my brother here. He’s been calling me Nelly since I was two years old.”
Preoccupied with the rehearsal dinner and countless speeches and the like, Hailey had more questions than she could get answered sitting in this restaurant with all eyes and focus on her, the bride-to-be. Melvin insisted that he sit right in the middle of his sister and Hailey. However, Sam kept finding subtle ways to brush the back of Hailey’s hair, her hands, even the side of her leg. The charge of electricity that accompanied each touch was more than Hailey could stand. She feigned a headache and Melvin insisted that he take her home. Instead, however, Sam offered to make sure that Hailey got home so that Melvin could stay and say goodbye to his guests.
The first five minutes alone in the car were silent. Then, finally Hailey spoke.
The only words she could muster were, “I don’t understand. Your name was Hertz; not Wilson. Did you know it was me when Melvin told you we were getting married?”
“Well, the name Hertz was my adopted name. Melvin and I were separated when our mother died. My father only wanted Melvin. He didn’t think he could care for a girl. So, I was put up for adoption. But after I grew up, I decided to change my name back legally, to my real name. And no, at first I didn’t know it was you, but after a few months as he began to describe you, I knew it was you; not only by your physical description but the subtle things about your personality that Melvin mentioned. I know you probably think Melvin is this uptight brother with a stick up his butt, but Melvin takes your lead. He senses that there is some apprehension on your part but he loves you and he is willing to be patient and wait until you open up to him. I, on the other hand, know that will never happen; not because you are incapable but because you are living a lie. That is why I left. For all your liberal views, you are not true to the one person who matters the most; yourself. I’m sure you thought I was a bitch when I left you years ago when we were in college, but my reasons for leaving were not for lack of love. I left because I knew you would always ride the fence. You would never commit to being what you truly are. You, Hailey, are a lesbian, I know it, Sierra probably knows it and, God help him, I think Melvin knows it too. He just doesn’t want to admit it to himself, because that would mean losing you. Unfortunately, the only person that doesn’t seem to know you are a lesbian is you, and I couldn’t live that lie with you, so I left.”
Hailey thought of what they had shared back in college, the passion, the heat; something she hadn’t felt since that time.
“So?” Hailey asked. “You seem to know so much about me. Tell me, what do I do now?”
Sam didn’t answer her. Instead, she asked her about the art studio that Melvin had mentioned to her so many times; where Hailey displayed her work.
“I would love to see some of your work. You were always
such a brilliant artist. Could I see your studio?”
“Yes,” Hailey answered.
They traveled the rest of the way to SoHo in silence.
Her studio was housed in one of those old warehouses with the clanky elevators that you had to manually pull the gate on. As soon as they were ensconced in the elevator and the door was closed, Sam grabbed Hailey from behind, pulling at Hailey’s pert, hardened nipples, struggling to free her from the dress that kept the two of them so far apart.
She had wanted her so badly, while sitting in the restaurant she actually thought she could smell her pussy beckoning to her for a taste. Sam engulfed her entire breast in her mouth, licking and sucking her breasts with such voracity. Hailey could barely stay on her feet. Shifting places with her feet, Sam could hear Hailey’s soft, moist, hungry lips rubbing together; almost begging for her to love her. As soon as her tongue was inside of Sam’s mouth, she remembered exactly what she tasted like, how sweet and hard yet soft the inner recesses of her mouth were; how she could be molasses sweet while being rough and sexually demanding. The two intermittently worshipped and battled with their tongues, licking and exploring every corner, while lashing tongues as if they were fencers in competition. Sam sought that soft place she had missed feeling so much, with her fingers she recalled what the inside of Hailey felt like. Sam sighed with pleasure as Hailey’s walls contracted onto her fingers trapping her in place, while she tried to finger fuck her into the orgasm she so pleasantly remembered. Hailey remembered how much fun she used to have feeling Sam’s inverted nipples grow by leaps and bounds inside of her mouth, telling her that she was satisfying Sam just as much as she herself was being satisfied. She needed to have that feeling again. Feeling her nipples grow inside of her mouth, caused her own nipples to swell to meet her lover’s own desire. The two slumped to the floor, quickly shifting into the sixty-nine position. Neither could muster the patience to wait while the other was satisfied. Tongues plunged deep into each other’s pussies, savoring their sweet juices, lapping up every dribble of nectar that fell, plunging their tongues as deep as physically possible, anxious to extract every bit of remaining sap. Sam remembered how much joy she felt in riding Hailey’s plump, easily engorged clit and removing her mouth from her pussy, mounted Hailey, anxious to bring them both to simultaneous orgasm as they ground each of their clits together until they were red and ready to explode with wanting one another, and that they did.
As if in a trance, Hailey recited over and over again, “Oh, I love you. Oh, I love you,” as Sam ground her pussy deeper and deeper into Hailey’s orgasmic splendor. Numb with pleasure, they screamed out in unison announcing passion at its peak.
Michelle Robinson is the mother of twelve-year-old identical twin boys and resides in New York City. She studied journalism at New York University and is planning to attend film school in 2008. Her erotic short story “Mi Destino” is included in Zane’s New York Times bestseller Caramel Flava. In addition to Caramel Flava, Michelle is also a contributing author to the Zane anthology collections Succulent: Chocolate Flava II with the story “The Quiet Room” and Asian Spice with the story “The Flow of Qi.” She has recently completed work on four novels, Color Me Grey, Pleasure Principle, Serial Typical and You Created a Monster, and is currently working on the screenplay adaptation of “Mi Destino.” Michelle can be reached at [email protected] as well as on www.myspace.com/justef
The Time Tripper
Lucille Gayles
P ussy can make you do some remarkable, crazy, and unthinkable things, but travel across time for it? I don’t know. Time travel just for a quick lay. Love maybe. Once in a lifetime love, definitely. Fucking? Eh, more or less the same in any time. Why stretch the laws of physics for that? I quickly changed my mind after I met Tempest. My name is Seshat, and I am a Black lesbian time-tripper. Nope, not a time traveler. That’s actually a nobler calling. I mean, a sister might actually be able to help some people out and change the world. Or, on the flipside, be diabolical and gain world power. But like most people, I’ve never lived up to my full potential; one way or the other. Thus, I have often sought out brief moments of happiness through inefficient means, like material goods or drugs. Fortunately, happiness found me genetically and spiritually predisposed to the future.
Time-trippin’ is kinda like traveling through time, but on a minor level. You don’t have control over where you’ll end up; in the future or past. Oh, and you don’t get days, months, or even hours. Five minutes is the most I ever heard, and even then, that ain’t in real time. ’Cause in real time it depends on the body. How long the body can remain in the little death. Time-trippin,’ you see, is a high. But not everybody can do it. Not yet anyway. But those of us who can do it, can only do so with others like us, time travelers or time-trippers. That’s where Tempest comes in.
Usually when two people are connected like we were…will be, it’s the past that connects them. But I couldn’t remember her from any childhood memories, and my ancestors had stopped talking to me as soon as I’d begun to ignore them for my interests in the future. Yet, if anyone should understand how much the future is the past and the past the future, my ancestors should. Still, they weren’t talking. Despite my being a sexual astrologist who writes horoscopes for a syndicated magazine column, I wasn’t always the physical displacement of time that I am now. The spatialization of atomic matter is far removed from matters of the spirit that I’d been indoctrinated with. My family is from the south. Good Southern Baptists still clinging to the hidden chicken bones in our Vodun closet. But on a crisp December night, at a party (an overstatement of the evening) in Midtown Atlanta, bored and uninterested in the people that surrounded me, I glanced across the room at someone who seemed…familiar.
Tempest. Dark as midnight and just as beautiful. The white cashmere sweater that clung to her delicate curves illuminated her smooth and nearly flawless skin. Her thin, long dreads were sophisticatedly piled into a bun, with soft curly tendrils spilling from the twisted mane atop her head. As if the smile-induced sharp dimples in an otherwise soft face were not enough to excite, neutral lip gloss went a long way in drawing attention to her full plum-colored mouth. She donned black eyeliner and mascara to play up the shape of her eyes, while chocolate eye shadow brought out the already disarming color of them. I innocently watched as she gave a toothy smile to the Taye Diggs wannabe beside her, and he melted. Who wouldn’t? She was captivating, and at the least, looking at her would be just what I needed to get me through at least another hour.
My attempts to drown out the tediousness of mundane and useless conversation were rewarded with what at first was a curious stare. She looked as if she were trying to place my face, but her inquisitiveness turned into amber waves of playful taunts. I smiled and dared her with my eyes to keep watching me. She did. I got caught up. Her eyes were luminous entries into a soul that seemed to be saying, “You looking at me? Look then, but be ready.” Did she really have amber eyes? Or was it a trick of the light? Was it that her skin was radiant, deep and dark enough to make the brown iris glow? But Tempest wanted me to figure it out for myself. She didn’t seem to care about feigning disinterest in me, or interest in the man still talking to her. I averted my eyes down to the drink in my hand, trying to hide the visceral response that she was eliciting from me.
There I was, a thirty-year-old woman who still looked twenty-something. Grown and sexy, caramel complexion with brown eyes. Confident in my casual short blazer, fitted white-buttoned top and mid-length skirt, but I could feel my face blush and stomach flutter from the way she flirted with me. I looked up again, and she gazed back at me from across the room, as if she had been waiting the entire night for me to see her look at me like…like I was naked, legs spread, and getting myself off just for her. Then, I really saw myself through her eyes: ten pounds lighter, sporting a bushy afro, in some killa ass black leather pumps, with a crazy fine outfit; the vision of me that I was becoming. Ump! I could feel myself slipping into the hiccups of time and space to be seduced by her. She turned her attention back to the dark-skinned brother who continued hanging at her side like a pocketbook.
I had been hoping that she wasn’t straight. To say that Tempest was a fine-ass sister would be an understatement. It was clear that she possessed some unnamable magic that merely enhanced her physical beauty. Tempest was the kind of woman I hated seeing go to waste on account of some man. She was strong, comfortable, and poised. Powerful and graceful at the same time. Whatever she’s got we all want to taste, to imitate, to be blessed with, and sanctified by! Men can’t really appreciate a woman like that ’cause they’ll always want only to own her and change her until she looks the same, but really is an inferior version of her original self. Yeah, when I saw Tempest all I could think about was how some other woman had been cheated out of her helping of the sexuality she exuded, and was walking around all womanless because she done got a second helping in the line.