You could help me with some of the handy work.”
“Cool.”
He kissed me, tried to ease on me before I was warm, but that wasn’t about to happen. I made him slow down, put my palms on top of his head, and pushed his mouth down south, held him hostage down there and let him gurgle in my goodness for a few minutes.
Yes, when it comes to oral love, it’s better to receive than to give. ‘Cause you know I wasn’t giving up nothing but hard times and bubble gum, and I was fresh out of bubble gum.
After he left, I wasn’t sleepy anymore. My body was still tingling, aching to cross that threshold one more time, so I
touched myself, massaged slow and easy, and made that explosion come and go over and over. Doing that makes me feel so guilty, maybe because I always feel like I’ll get through squealing and squirming and look up and see somebody gawking down on me.
I showered, cleansed my face, lotioned, let my hair flop, put on one of his CK T-shirts, and sat in the wicker chair in his living room. I played a Nina Simone CD I’d brought along with me, clicked the Magnavox on, and watched the X-
Men
cartoon while I worked on my second bowl of cereal. A commercial came on. Then the phone rang. I debated whether to answer.
It could be Thaiheed.
I picked up on the fourth ring, just as the answering machine clicked on. After the outgoing message finished, I cleared my throat, tried to sound like a man, and said, “Good Morning.”
“
Bee-yatch!
What ‘cha doing answering my eff’n phone?”
I laughed. “Tammy, you know you can’t disguise your voice.”
“Scared you, didn’t I? Tell the truth.”
“I knew it was you.”
Tammy laughed. “Girl, X-
Men
jamming this morning.”
“Sister Storm got it going on. You call Karen?”
“She’s getting dressed. She has to be at Mervyn’s when they open.”
I asked, “You alone?”
“Bobby came over last night, helped me with my French. He’s in the bedroom, in a coma.”
We talked, laughed.
The phone let out an abrupt high-pitched squeal, put terror in my heart, and I screeched. “Stupid answering machine must still be on.”
Tammy said, “Hope we didn’t say nothing juicy.”
I thought about it for a moment, then couldn’t remember what we had talked about. And I didn’t want to take any chances. My conversations were my conversations.
I yelled for her to hold on. The tape was rolling and recording. My machine was different, and I couldn’t figure out which button to push.
I picked up an extension and asked Tammy.
“Push the dot,” Tammy shouted. “The circle.”
I did. The machine stopped. The shrilling did the same.
I asked, “What did we talk about?”
“You know I can’t remember anything that’s not in a script.”
“I say anything about calling Craig?”
She sounded surprised. “When did you call Craig?”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh, God. You’re dating Mr. Disappearing Act again?”
I wanted to kick myself for letting that slip. “I should erase the whole thing.”
“Might erase something important.”
“This is true. What, then?”
“Push the arrows that point to your left, make it rewind, then push the one single arrow pointing forward to make it play.”
The machine clicked, whirred, did the Cabbage Patch, and when it clicked to a halt at the beginning of the tape, it began to play.
Hello, Thaiheed. It is me. Uh-mmmmm. I’m cooking fish. If you’re still hungry, I’m still hungry. For you. I know I do trip, but you do trip, too. Talk to you. Bye.
“Whoa.” I jumped off the bed. “You hear that?”
“Sister wanted to fry a lot more than some fish, too. Move your ass closer to the phone and turn the volume up.”
Click, beep!
Hello, Thaiheed, this is Albert Cohen from work. We’re making up the weekend schedule, and per your request, you don’t have to work any weekends this month. Karl Banks will cover for you.
My eyes fell on his wrinkled sheets. And I thought about the damp sheets I was left to
“Cool.”
He kissed me, tried to ease on me before I was warm, but that wasn’t about to happen. I made him slow down, put my palms on top of his head, and pushed his mouth down south, held him hostage down there and let him gurgle in my goodness for a few minutes.
Yes, when it comes to oral love, it’s better to receive than to give. ‘Cause you know I wasn’t giving up nothing but hard times and bubble gum, and I was fresh out of bubble gum.
After he left, I wasn’t sleepy anymore. My body was still tingling, aching to cross that threshold one more time, so I
touched myself, massaged slow and easy, and made that explosion come and go over and over. Doing that makes me feel so guilty, maybe because I always feel like I’ll get through squealing and squirming and look up and see somebody gawking down on me.
I showered, cleansed my face, lotioned, let my hair flop, put on one of his CK T-shirts, and sat in the wicker chair in his living room. I played a Nina Simone CD I’d brought along with me, clicked the Magnavox on, and watched the X-
Men
cartoon while I worked on my second bowl of cereal. A commercial came on. Then the phone rang. I debated whether to answer.
It could be Thaiheed.
I picked up on the fourth ring, just as the answering machine clicked on. After the outgoing message finished, I cleared my throat, tried to sound like a man, and said, “Good Morning.”
“
Bee-yatch!
What ‘cha doing answering my eff’n phone?”
I laughed. “Tammy, you know you can’t disguise your voice.”
“Scared you, didn’t I? Tell the truth.”
“I knew it was you.”
Tammy laughed. “Girl, X-
Men
jamming this morning.”
“Sister Storm got it going on. You call Karen?”
“She’s getting dressed. She has to be at Mervyn’s when they open.”
I asked, “You alone?”
“Bobby came over last night, helped me with my French. He’s in the bedroom, in a coma.”
We talked, laughed.
The phone let out an abrupt high-pitched squeal, put terror in my heart, and I screeched. “Stupid answering machine must still be on.”
Tammy said, “Hope we didn’t say nothing juicy.”
I thought about it for a moment, then couldn’t remember what we had talked about. And I didn’t want to take any chances. My conversations were my conversations.
I yelled for her to hold on. The tape was rolling and recording. My machine was different, and I couldn’t figure out which button to push.
I picked up an extension and asked Tammy.
“Push the dot,” Tammy shouted. “The circle.”
I did. The machine stopped. The shrilling did the same.
I asked, “What did we talk about?”
“You know I can’t remember anything that’s not in a script.”
“I say anything about calling Craig?”
She sounded surprised. “When did you call Craig?”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh, God. You’re dating Mr. Disappearing Act again?”
I wanted to kick myself for letting that slip. “I should erase the whole thing.”
“Might erase something important.”
“This is true. What, then?”
“Push the arrows that point to your left, make it rewind, then push the one single arrow pointing forward to make it play.”
The machine clicked, whirred, did the Cabbage Patch, and when it clicked to a halt at the beginning of the tape, it began to play.
Hello, Thaiheed. It is me. Uh-mmmmm. I’m cooking fish. If you’re still hungry, I’m still hungry. For you. I know I do trip, but you do trip, too. Talk to you. Bye.
“Whoa.” I jumped off the bed. “You hear that?”
“Sister wanted to fry a lot more than some fish, too. Move your ass closer to the phone and turn the volume up.”
Click, beep!
Hello, Thaiheed, this is Albert Cohen from work. We’re making up the weekend schedule, and per your request, you don’t have to work any weekends this month. Karl Banks will cover for you.
My eyes fell on his wrinkled sheets. And I thought about the damp sheets I was left to
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