Because it was Friday, time seemed to pass as slowly as molasses in January. At five on the dot, Carrie rushed out onto Georgetown Road to catch the subway back into the District. The Bethesda station was a couple of blocks from her office and was never crowded. She arrived home filled with sweet anticipation of the night ahead of them. Instinctively, she knew that they would make love and prepared herself accordingly.
Filling the tub, she added bath oil scented with vanilla and sandalwood and sipped a glass of white zinfandel. The CD was loaded with the mood-enhancing music of Al Jarreau, Dakota Staton, and Etta James. In excited anticipation, she laid silk
y sheer stockings and undergarments on the bed. Carrie was tall, brown-skinned, and curvy. She had a head full of light-brown, shoulder-length locs, and full lips. Her “big pretty legs” were one of her best features and she intended for him to notice them immediately. A deep-rose knit dress hung outside her mirrored closet door. One day, when she wore a pink sweater, he told her that the color was beautiful against her skin. It reminded her of Janie in Zora Neale Hurston’s book Their Eyes Were Watching God. Janie tells a woman why she is wearing blue. “Tea Cake love me in blue, so Ah wears it.” Carrie was certain Nasir would be aware of why she chose pink for tonight.
While enjoying her luxurious, fragrant bath, a tiny ache began to nag at her right temple. Blaming it on the wine she’d drunk too quickly, she eased her body farther into the warm, oil-silkened water, hoping for relief. When it did not come, she left the tub and took two Excedrin washed down with Coke, hoping for relief from the extra boost of caffeine. Intending to lie down for just a few minutes, she awoke to a knock on the door.
“Oh, shit!” she exclaimed, looking at the clock. “It’s seven fuckin’ o’clock and I was supposed to be dressed and ready to step out of the door!” She grabbed her robe, ran her fingers through her locs, and ran to pull open the door.
“Oh, my God, I’m sorry.” An apology rushed and stumbled from her lips. Nasir stood smiling at the fact that she was obviously flustered, then he stepped inside.
“Don’t be—actually you look and smell beautiful.” The scents of vanilla and sandalwood still filled the apartment and the oil’s fragrance clung to her body, as did the satin robe she wore. Oh, shit again, she thought. I went and grabbed the wrong robe. If this doesn’t look like a come-on, I don’t know what the fuck else does.
Stammering on, she explained, “I developed the beginning of a migraine headache and took some medicine to ward it off. I guess it worked too well. I’m so sorry. I know you have a time constraint, and here I am, nowhere near ready.”
“I’ve got a better idea. You know, Allah is the best of planners. Maybe this is what we were supposed to do—get some food delivered, listen to some very good music, and talk. We’ve never had enough time to really enjoy knowing each other, so let’s make the best of it.”
Since D.C. was undergoing major urban renewal with an influx of different kinds of city dwellers, many businesses had cropped up to cater to busy, single, urban pioneers. One such enterprise was a food delivery service that boasted an extensive menu of American and international foods. Nasir ordered Tex-Mex because he loved salsa, which he referred to as “the red stuff,” and Carrie chose Tom Yum Soup, one of her Thai food favorites, full of spicy noodles, chicken, and lemon-grass in a spicy fish broth. Hope I have some Big Red gum, she thought.
Over food, drink, and wonderful music, they talked about their pasts and their future aspirations. He had become a Muslim many years ago and spoke reverently and earnestly about his faith. Answering her questions about the role of women in Islam, he clarified many popular misconceptions and piqued her interest in a religion that came close to her philosophy of the God of many prophets but no offspring. They spoke of each other’s families and his keen desire to have children.
“At last,” Etta James sung low and sweet. “My love has come along…” Their eyes met at the moment created by the music and their unspoken desire for each other was obvious.
“I want you,” he said simply.
Opening his arms to her and drawing her face to his, he kissed her, deeply and tenderly. Wrapping her arms around him, she caressed him, holding him as if she had finally found the one thing she needed to make her life complete.
He lifted his sweater over his head, revealing a chest softly covered by a curly mat of hair. Her eyes traveled down to the waist of his pants and she breathed in quickly at the sight of his navel and the thicker thatch of hair just below. As they held each other, she said to him, “I know this was supposed to happen. I know it in my heart, instead of just in my body. You’ve been in my heart for a long time. I just had to find you.”
“And now we have found each other. But before we go any further, I need you to know this. Some people automatically think that if a brother is in prison, he must be having sex with a man and lying about it. When the urge hit me, I would masturbate and believe me, I learned to do it good. If a man cares for a woman enough to make love to her, part of that caring is to protect her. So I brought protection for us both, to accommodate any kind of love we want to make; just in case this was in fact the right time.”
Wordlessly, they removed their clothes and stood skin to skin, her nipples brushing his chest. Guiding him over the same trail she took during her explorations in self-pleasure, they began a discovery of their own. The scents of sandalwood and vanilla again filled the room as he poured a thin stream of the fragrant oil onto the middle of her back. His fingers caressed her, and were soon followed by strokes from his erect penis. Sliding up and down her back with the circular motion of his hips, he stroked her, moaning, “Mmm…mmm, baby, baby.”
She reached back and parted herself as he slid into the slick crease of her behind.
“Let me look at you,” he said. She turned onto her back as he gently spread her legs and then the center of her that opened up like a dark wet rose at his touch. “Ahh, right there,” she gasped, as he made sweet hot circles with his finger. He plunged his finger deep inside her, then out again, as she worked her hips furiously in rhythm with him. Remembering the times she could only touch herself, she thought, There could be nothing I could do that is as good as this….
He paused to give her a deep soul kiss. “You’re so sweet to me. I would love to taste us together, but that will come in time.”
“I want that, too, but right now I want you in me up to the hilt, deep and hard.”
Eager to please, he rode her like a beautiful stallion, muscles flexing, in and out, both of them gasping at the sweet hot center of pleasure they had created. “Give it to me, baby! Ohh, that is so good! Do it to me, do it to me, baby! Damn, you’re so sweet and so tight. So sweet…”
Their words gasped in passion, the scent of sex and the sounds the union of their bodies made together fueled their senses until they were lost to everything but each other.
“Wait, please, baby,” she gasped, and drew him up to her face. He kneeled over her and she took him deep into her mouth, the flavor of the condom now mixed with her own juice. “Now give it to me here like you gave it to me there.” She sucked him deep and sweet until he came with a shuddering explosion; a “tongue-lashing” of the finest order.
Full, complete, and content, they lay wrapped in each other’s arms until the reality of his curfew caused them to reluctantly part at the last possible minute.
“Can’t go back smelling like pussy,” he joked as he washed off quickly. “Although some brothers have come back like that, deliberately. They just want to let everybody know they got some. I ain’t on that kind of time—all I need is for you and me to have the memory of how good we were together.”
Because Carrie had no knowledge of the true nature of addiction, she was unaware of the signs of his relapse although she began to see differences in the man she first knew. What began as inconsistencies and erratic behavior came to a head one cool spring night when Nasir appeared at her door, sweating, wild-eyed, and disheveled.
“I know there’s a warrant out against me,” he spoke breathlessly, rapidly stepping from one foot to the other. “I walked away from the halfway house yesterday.” Sticky white foam caked in the corners of his mouth as he spoke and she was deeply shocked at his appearance.
“Oh, no!” she cried, reaching out to hold him. “Can’t you just go back and make the best of it? Won’t it matter if you just turn yourself in?”
“It don’t matter what I do now. They still gonna send me back. But I just wanted to see you one more time, even though I realize I disappointed you badly. I want to tell you, in spite of what you may believe, that I love you.”