he does all the right things to me, says things very plain, very blatant. What am I going to do? Make love to him every chance I get? No. But I hope so. his c*ck is so hard all the time it makes me feel like a whore that I want him so bad. I want to examine his face, his features while he rocks my world, fingers me, exhilarates me. All day he was staring at me,
literally making me come it was exhausting. I tried to look away from him because his broken heart made me cry inside. We had a dinner date instead, we ate in silence, kind of. We touched each other in the restaurant and had sex upstairs in the hotel room. There was a wedding reception happening in the grand ball room down stairs and we could both feel the vibration of the music through the ceiling; he kept f*cking me.
It was the best-most, worst thing. Mainly because no one knows about it: not the heartbroken women or the side hoes, not even me. I cannot remember every detail off the top of my head, but it was very magical. Very mystical. We did magic-mushrooms in my Honda Civic while he made me moan. Touching me through my panties, and feeling the imprint of my vulva on his thumb. he took me shopping all day and bought me a pear necklace. I could already imagine myself handing it down generation after generation to happy princesses, while the King still pounds me out after supper. I smiled for what seemed like twenty four hours in the abrasive sun. I wanted to keep shopping with him, just so he could touch in line, or brush his lips against my neck while I pretend: pretend I am not in love with him, pretend I am squeezing my life into this thighs & he never let me go. We meant to sleep in the car, but did not.
We ride down the empty street and rain begins to patter on the hood. Silence fills the space of the car, and you run your hand up and down my thigh. Something in me tingles to the sensation of your touch.
“You hungry?” I ask.
“Starving.”
“What do you want? I don’t know whats open, but…”
“A burger. Oh my god, a burger,” you moan and rest your head back against the seat. You grip my thigh firmly as I make a U-turn toward the only spot I know that has the best burgers and fries at this time of night.
We pull into the diner and you link your arm into mine as we walk in. All at once I notice your drunken sway and I smell alcohol on your body that I didn’t notice before. I am baffled and shaken inside, but determined to help you.
We sit down and both order double cheeseburgers and steak fries. You eat your burger with mayonnaise and I eat mine with mustard, ketchup, and pickles. I order a beer, but dare not to actually drink it. You order ice water and we hold each other’s hand across the sticky table under the dim lighting. We talk about music and romance; how we want to make love on the beach and have breakfast underneath a sunset. I stare into your eyes as you smile and tell me about one of your political science classes. You shake your head as you explain that your professor unrightfully gave you a C- on an essay you spent two weeks writing. I kiss your fingers and offer to edit your next essay. You agree and yawn. I pay our tab and we ride the rest of the way to your place inside the saxophone of a new jazz artist I’m into.
When we pull up to your place, I cut the music off and park the car.
“You gonna be okay?”
“I think so. Thank you, Dauhd. For being you. For accepting me.”
“Aint no thing, woman,” I smile and look over at you, “Just assure me that you aren’t fucking that guy up there.”
You pull your keys out of your purse and lean over to grace me with a sloppy kiss on my cheek.
“I don’t let him touch me. And as soon as the semester is over, I’m moving out. I’m calling off this stupid wedding as soon as possible.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Try not to have too much fun without me, okay?”
“Hey. Be careful. Call me.”
“I will. Bye.”
“Bye.”
You stumble out of the car and I watch you until you ascend up the flight of steps leading to the three bedroom apartment that you share with a man whom I have never met. A man who has placed a diamond rock on your finger which I could never afford.
Once you disappear, I pull out my phone, flip it up and dial the only number that makes sense to me right now.
“Hey, Monica.”
“Hey, D. You good?”
“No. Not really. You tryna fuck me?”
“Weird timing, but hell yeah. Where you at?”
“I’m twenty minutes from you, downtown.”
“Well let me go shower then. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
“Then tell me the truth,” I sit up in the bed and cross my legs, “How many men are you fucking, huh?”
“Why? It’s not important.”
“It is important. Why won’t you tell me?”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” You sit up also and climb into my lap, wrapping your arms around my neck, and holding me close to your heart.
I respond with my arms around your waist, “This hurts me, Villana. It already hurts. Tell me, please just tell me. How many is it?”
“I don’t know. A lot.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“So why don’t you want to have sex with me anymore?”
“Because I actually like you!” You jump up and storm across the room to the window and peer through the curtain, “I fucking like you. I want more. I’m discovering myself. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you. You are different. Kind. Sweet. Real. You’re real. Understand?”
“Do you understand? I have fucking feelings.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Villana. Just tell me the truth…how many…is it?”
“Ten.”
“Jesus.”
“See! You’re judging me!”
“I’m not judging you. I don’t care. But…I love you. I cant even think about another making love to you.”
You turn to face me. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and glare at your silhouette.
“I don’t make love to them. I just let them fuck me.”
“Stop.”
“And maybe I suck their dicks sometimes.”
“Stop it!”
“And I like it in the ass.”
“Will you stop it.”
“You said you wanted to know. So there it is. All my dirty laundry, Dauhd.”
I sigh. I walk over to you and stand inches away from your face.
“How can you tell me you love me,” I whisper, “When you share yourself with so many. People who don’t matter. You’re getting married next month. When you gonna call it off?”
“I’ll do it now. I’ll call him and do it now.”
“Then what?”
You stare into my eyes as though I just slapped you in the face.
“I don’t know. We can be together.”
“I don’t want to be with you, Villana, now that I know this.”
“See that’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“You didn’t want to tell me the truth?”
“You tell me the truth. How many women have you been with?”
“In my lifetime?”
“In the past two months, Dauhd!”
“Stop yelling at me.”
“Tell me!”
“Tell you what!”
“How. Many. Women. Have. You. Been. With,” you muffle through clenched teeth.
“Several, Villana, because am I supposed to wait around for ten men to gets their nuts off?”
“Fuck you, Dauhd.”
“Fuck me, Lana, cause that’s the only thing you ever want to do.”
“I’m leaving.”
I watch silently as you spin around the room gathering your belongings and stuffing them in your duffle bag. You start toward the bathroom, but the darkness reveals an item on the floor that causes you to slip and fall. I run over to you as your body hits the floor. You break out into a sob, curling yourself up into a fetal position.
I put my arms around you and hug you tight.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, “I shouldn’t have asked, “Where are you going to go? It’s 2:00 a.m.”
“Away from you,” you say between whimpers.
“Please. Don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Shutup, Dauhd.”
“I’m serious. I’m sorry. Please. Come lay with me. At least let me make love to you before you go.”
I scoop you up and carry you to the bed. I lay you down gently and begin to kiss all the tender spots of your body: your cheeks…your chin…your neck…your chest…your abdomen…
I see your body start to relax and moans escape from your lips. You massage my shaven head as I kiss you.
“You’re right,” you state quietly.
I stop and look up at you, “What?”
“You’re right. It’s disgusting that I’m fucking that many men. You don’t deserve that.”
I crawl up next to you and slide my arms around your body and pull you close to me. Our breathing is in-synch. I can feel your heart beat on my chest. Silence embodies our auras in the dark room. The crickets harmonize outside the window. A couple down the hall argues and a baby wails.
“Villana, should I get tested?”
“Yeah…”
“Are you protecting yourself?”
“I don’t know. I been drinking a lot,” you sniff and wipe your eyes with the palm of your hand, “I been drunk Dauhd, I don’t remember.”
“Lana…”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could stop, but…I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know—I—“
“How long you been drinking again?”
“Maybe six months…” your voice trails.
“Are you drunk now.”
You begin sobbing again. I tighten my hold on you. Your tears run down my skin and your shoulders heave.
“Just tell me. This is our life, right? Are you drunk?” I demand your gaze with my own, “Tell me, baby. I’m not mad. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m drunk, Dauhd. I’m always drunk. I’m so stressed! School is fucking killing me! Work is stringing me by the throat! I’m always drun—“
“Alright…alright. It’s okay. Okay? It’s okay. I love you. It’s okay.
I hold you and time passes as you weep in my arms. I close my eyes and listen to your breath. I rub your back and kiss the top of your head over and over.
Once your emotions start to slow I say, “Let me take you home so you can rest.”
“He’s there.”
“I know, but you need to sleep it off and take care of yourself. Okay…?”
I scoot towards the headboard and close my legs. “Yeah.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know…dysphoria I guess.”
You come sit beside me at the head of the bed. Silence passes us and I put my face in my hands, covering my eyes.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” I reply with a quick shake of my head.
You sigh and put your head on my shoulder.
“You never want to talk about it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable during sex or any other time.”
“I know…it’s just. It’s not you. I love having sex with you and being with you. I just wish I could give you more.” I feel tears welling in my eyes and I blink them away.
“More what?” You turn to look at me.
We turn, our bodies to face eachother and you take my hands in yours.
“More what…?” you ask again.
“I don’t know, I wish I could be inside of you…with a penis…you know?”
“I get it. So is having sex with me too much for you?”
“Kind of. I just feel that I can’t really feel anything sometimes.”
“Anything like what?”
“The emotional stuff. I feel attracted to you I do. And it feels good when we have sex but it’s like I’m not there.”
“Is that why you always shut your eyes?”
“I guess. It’s confusing me, having to settle. Being trans. Being me. It’s confusing.”
“Well I’m not confused about you. You are just like any other man. No less. But I hear you and you have to tell me what you want because if this isn’t working for you…”
“No. It’s not that—“
“What is it?”
“It’s me. Okay? It’s me.”
“Well, I’m with you. It’s us. Just tell me how you feel.”
I look away from you and take a deep breath, contemplating my thoughts. I shake my head and fill my cheeks with air.
“I mean…I wish you were more engaged with me. But I feel a lot when you fuck me. And…I want to be able to pleasure you the way you pleasure me.”
“Don’t you feel like something is missing when I fuck you”, I ask, “don’t you wish you could feel more?”
“I don’t feel like a real man.”
“You are.”
“I know. But I don’t feel that.”
“What do you feel?”
“I don’t know. I just…are you fucking someone else?”
“What?”
“Just tell me the truth.”
“Yes. Sometimes. When you’re gone and…I need someone.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know I needed to.”
We stare into each other eyes. Crickets sing outside of the motel window.
“You don’t think I would want to know if someone is fucking you other than me?”
I close my eyes shut tight because I feel the urge to explode; to squirt all over you, but I hold it back. I try to wait it out.
I’m having fun, I determine, No need to come right now.
“Are you close?”, you whisper between my lips.
Shit.
“Yeah. I’m sorry” I say, embarrassed. My eyes are still shut and my lips still pursed closely upon yours.
“Hey…it’s okay.”
You plant soft kisses on my cheek and trail the kisses down my chin and into my beard. I exhale through my nose and feel the sensation. The spots on my skin warm up as your lips stimulate them.
You plant one on my lips.
I grin slightly before we begin to make out once more.
I feel myself starting to sweat and the urge fills me up again. You roll yourself on top of me with a seamless straddle. Gripping your thigh, I align your pussy onto me. You rock your hips back and forth…tentatively. I breathe into you. Both our mouths are open and our moans exchange.
You sit up and throw your head back as you start to ride me faster.
“Oh my god”, you pant.
I place both my palms on your breasts, swirling them in small, slow circles. I can feel the firmness of your nipples.
I thrust into you harder, causing you to bounce; the bed creaks.
Might I say you look beautiful right now, on your back, legs spread wide for me.
I lower my head down between your legs and kiss your clit a few times. It’s wet. You’re wet. I’m wet. You taste golden. I slide my tongue inside of you and you shiver.
“Kiss me”, you whisper.
I lift my body up gently to meet you. My lips glisten with your fluids. Our tongues meet and twirl with the other. They dance, and you pull me closer. Our nipples are touching, we are so close. I slide my middle finger in you and massage you from the inside. You moan into my mouth and I can taste your breath and saliva. I taste your 3pm cigarette.
But something tells me there is more under the surface of your discarding of me. I need you, now more than I ever have. Why? Because I am ready to love you actively and fully. Transparently and forreal, woman. Can you hear me? Can you feel me? I feel you. Or maybe I just feel myself, hoping a piece of me can float amongst the universe and reach you somehow. And…I know this happens to people. They do not get the lover or the romance, but I am in love with you.
I never felt this way before.
A feeling of being so close and so far away from you. I am having a hard time expressing this…mainly because I wish I could express this to you. Talk to you. Tell you everything, and nothing. Nothing at all cause you do not care. Seemingly.
After our Ideal Dinner date at this distinct restaurant, I would walk You to Your car to make sure You are safe.
Once we arrive at your car, I would say, “I had a great time, Love.”
You would say, “I had a great time, too. It would be nice to see you again.”
“Of course”, I would say, “I am pretty free most weekends, so just let me know when you want to meet up again.”
We would stand there for a few moments, grinning at each other and not wanting to be the first to officially end the date.
Eventually, You would clear your throat and say, “Is it weird that I want to make out with you right now, even though it is the first date?”
“Nah”, I would reply with a soft chuckle, “I would like to kiss you too, first date or not”
I would gently move in a little closer to you; our bodies only inches apart.
You would smoothly raise an eyebrow and say, “Well, you have permission to kiss me as though it was not our first date. Kiss me like…you have known me for months and you know exactly how I like it.”
Excitement would come over me from those weeks at the bookstore where we worked together, admiring you, and trying to muster up the courage to ask you out.
I lean in for the kiss. Your lips lock with mine, and the space our lips hold fit perfectly into the other’s.
You slip your hands around my neck and slowly massage my nape, which turns me on more than you would ever know.
I would wrap My arms around Your waist and bring you so close that I would be able to feel your heart beat. Our breathing, in concurrence, would equally deepen as We continue to explore the other. Our tongues dancing around as though there were a familiar tune playing in the background of our kiss.
So much time would pass, that I would feel like I am kissing you forever, but that I could never dream about stopping.
Our kiss would intensify.
You would slowly pull my hand from your waist to your left breast, and the intricate softness would catch me by surprise because I would later reveal to you that I never actually touched a woman like that before.
I would not make my surprise apparent to you, but would instead, start to massage your breast slowly, gently, passionately, like I always imagined myself doing when I masturbate.
Your moan passes through Your lips as You would continue to kiss me deeper…and deeper.
I would feel so aroused that I could see myself just making love to you right there in the parking lot…
At some point in this date, you would ask me about the types of women I usually go for. I would tell you that I usually go for smooth women, like You.
You would giggle.
I would giggle.
Our eyes would Lock.
My brain at this point, will be trying to tell my eyes to look away and stare at something else.
Unfortunately, on this particular night, Your eyes would be too mesmerizing to look away and honestly I would not want to. The corners of Your red lips would lift slowly, then Your tongue would take a slow glide along them both.
The enticement would almost be too much for me to handle, and yet I still cannot look away.
“Do you like what you see?” , You would ask.
“I love what I see”, I would reply.
“You two need desert menus?”, the Server interrupts…
That word seems so foriegn and abundant. I must be grateful for the life flowing through my mother, father and grandmother because many cannot say their’s is still around.
Family: a strange word. For I am unfamiliar with the familiarity of the family’s flemsy feels toward the aroma of indifference that crowds me. They refuse to understand until I am laying dead in my coffin smiling at them reminding them of the time I just wanted to talk, show them my new book, or just be myself.
Inside The Mind of a Black Artist 