Black Silk (29 page)

Mora searched for the location of the drums as wetness glided into the hollow of her panties, thin cotton unable to contain
the dew. The inside of her thighs became a fast motion of skin and stickiness, slippery and sliding as she pressed on.

Drums calling, she answered, feet moving of their own accord. She bypassed Barnes and Noble as if she were not due at work
in seven minutes; a gazelle moving across the African plain.

It was his hands, the magic of those fingers she could not resist. It was her heart forgiving and her soul on fire. It was
the heat that was August, touching what she deemed untouchable those many weeks ago. Was Oshun and Shango, the ancient gods
he had spoken of so reverently.

It was more than makeup, beyond hip-hop and abandonment at the South Street Seaport. It was the Mora who needed, the Mora
who wanted, the Mora who welcomed the transgression. She walked, breeze carried and drum ridden, possessed, he a god riding
her soul.

“I knew you would come.”

But she disallowed his assertiveness, holding fast her ground, legs planted firmly on the hot concrete, the sun a beam of
heat upon her head.

“I knew,” he repeated, rising from his stool, hoisting the drum inside the duffel bag, the crowd moving off knowing the show
was over.

She looked upon the woolly hair, the eyes of burning brown. Settled upon the hands of sweetness. Felt their magic, luscious
music upon her soul. She stood watching the man who had her in his power, unable to resist the capture, unable to break free.

“See, even now, you are feeling me…”

Yes, she was a puppet on a string. Her whole body pulsed, yearned, hungry for freedom. That release only he could give.

“Tell me no Mora,” he teased, the duffel bag hoisted on a strong brown shoulder. “Go ahead and tell me,” he whispered as he
took up his stool.

But Mora could not speak, could only wait for him to join her, and without words they swiftly moved away.

A comet crashing toward earth, leaving a trail of burning rock and insidious gas, she hurried, platform shoes made clumsy
in her quickness, he beside her matching her stride for stride.

They entered her apartment, a hurricane in the making. He closed the door, carefully laying down his conga and stool. She
stood there, hard nipples, round beneath the cotton, thighs wide, steamy, damp.

She closed her eyes, parted her lips, waiting for him to touch her. Swaying, she just wanted an end, but he stood his ground,
curious and calculating, hesitating; he tasted her need.

He drank deeply from her hunger. Feasted greedily on her want. Was determined to witness just how deep her desire burned before
he would take a single step.

Mora swallowed, trembling like an airborne leaf. Whispered “please” soft and low, the simple word painful. He reached out,
took the edge of her top, moving it slow up over her chest. Her arms raised, body tingling at the rough cotton, and brief
kisses against her skin.

She shook, legs weak, longing for the support but not strong enough to find it. Prisoner, she leaned back her head as he moved
woolly hair against her nipples.

The air grew hot, moist, her essence filling the room with its aroma. Back and forward, nappy edges like silk moved.

“So wet,” she muttered, a secret she could no longer contain. “Please
Fernando,
please,” his name heavy off her tongue.

It drew his fingers, curious, testing. They danced along her belly, the contact making her quiver. Her pelvis lurched toward
him, an attempted lasso, but he was a patient lover, rush not a part of his game.

He moved his hand, unhurried in their destination. Mora bit her lip against a moan. She grew dizzy, a new sapling, victim
to the wind. Strong arms surrounded her, took her airborne, and laid her on the bed.

Her spine arched as those fingers danced about the waist of her skirt. Soon it was off and so were her panties. Naked and
open she became a ripe mango, glistening, longing to be devoured.

“Sweet,” he murmured against the hollow of her belly. “So sweet,” he said again, his nose inhaling her scent. “My Mora,” he
whispered against the top of her pubis. “Mora,” he uttered against the jet-black curly hairs.

“You sent me away,” he accused as his tongue lapped her lower lips, “away,” as he drew nectar from soft luscious center. “How
could you?” he wanted answering as his tongue delved deep inside of her.

Mora didn’t know, had no answer as she came hard, slow, and, in that moment, forever.

_________________

by devorah major

“Joceri, you ain’t got no couth,” Brenda playfully snapped at Joceri, who was sitting on the sand leaning on her knees and
undoing her braids, a pile of plastic extensions lying at her ankles and four-inch spurs coming out from the sides of her
head. Joceri wore a red-and-orange-flowered swimsuit with a matching sarong that covered her long, scarred legs. She rarely
showed her legs, still self-conscious after fifteen years of living with scars that were a result of repeated surgeries that
got her legs working again after a car accident that had occurred when she was a teenager. A drunk driver had collided with
her father’s car, right at the point she had been climbing from the backseat into the front, changing places with her older
sister, Krystal, who always got to read the maps and be the navigator. Joceri had been told to wait until they stopped for
gas, but she whined and whined until her father finally acquiesced. Krystal climbed back, purposely hitting Joceri’s head
with her elbow in the transition. Then Joceri was just pulling her second leg through the space between the driver and passenger
seats when
blam,
a car plowed into them, crossing the highway without warning. Two months in traction, six months in physical therapy, and
scars at her ankles, knees, and one hip and thigh were the result. Yeah, the insurance money bought a nice college education,
and a very nice convertible car with a jamming sound system, but Joceri never was comfortable with the burnt umber vines that
had become a part of her once smooth, sand-colored legs.

It was a problem because she loved the beach, loved to swim, thoroughly enjoyed the sun forcing her to lie back and melt into
the ground. But she almost always was mostly covered, letting only part of her unscathed left leg poke out from a slit in
the skirt. Outside the scars, her legs were quite well formed. Long, muscular, thin ankles, with the toes always manicured
and painted, as if to distract from the scrawls and engravings just above.

Joceri just laughed as she pulled loose another strand and shook her head free. “I love the rush of blood back to my scalp.
All the air.”

“Girl, I’m not out here trying to show off my thirty-six double-Ds just to catch some air. I’m trying to get one of these
fine cinnamon-chocolate men to give me a sample, and none of them is coming near your outdoor beauty shop.” Brenda was a big
woman. Not fat, big, generous in all ways, she liked to say. Large hands, large hips, large lips, large heart. She filled
every inch and then some of her bright yellow two-piece suit billowing out with curves and dark toast skin. Brenda talked
loud, laughed loud, wore makeup from the moment she rolled out of bed to the moment she climbed back in. She was the cheerleader
of her set. If you had a problem Brenda could make you forget it, if she couldn’t solve it. Which she could rarely do. But
even so, you would definitely feel better about things, feel like there was a solution somewhere, even though it wasn’t right
at hand.

“Brenda, I told you I had to get these out today. You dragged me out here and now you’re fussing at me. I told you what I
was doing if I came. You said, ‘Hell, I guess the beach is a good a place as any. I mean if you don’t mind looking all whack
in public.’”

“Which I didn’t expect you to really do. I thought you’d wait till tomorrow. It’s not like you and church have any meaningful
relationship, so Sunday would have been just as good.”

“Not when I had decided on today. Anyway, why don’t you just take your dessert-loving self into the surf and find that fudge
brownie, or whatever it is you looking for, and just leave me be since you don’t seem willing to help.”

“Because the point was to get you out of your funk and to stop mourning the one that slithered away back to his rock and find
you something better.”

“Oh, so you into procurement now. You want my profile for your agency?”

“You trying my patience, girl. Why don’t you just have a little fun? Just relax and let something come by that ain’t about
till death do us part,
just about parting some legs and letting some juices flow.”

“When I need help with my sex life I’ll let you know, Brenda. Till then…”

“Girl, I ain’t providing you no help. You really don’t have the physique that gets my blood pressure up. I’m just saying your
skin is looking a little sallow and your shoulders are getting stooped.”

“Oh so now I’m old and tired, huh, two steps away from a walker and Shady Pines…”

“Ain’t nothing like some oiled joints to get you stepping light.” Brenda eyed the auburn pile growing around Joceri’s ankles.
“You could at least put this trash in a bag. Have a little order around you. Show off your legs. You need to get over worrying
about those scars. They’re not that bad, and anyway they add character. You have nice legs, nice color, no cottage cheese.”

“Brenda, are you sure you not trying to move into procurement and sales? I know you own your own business, but I am not a
piece of your merchandise.”

“Joceri, you have not been out on a date, in, what, two years?”

“I go out dancing almost every week.” Brenda rolled her eyes. “Well every month anyway. And I went to the movies last month
with that joker you set me up with. William-what’s-your-family-crest-Milweed.”

“Millman. And I didn’t know he was so stuck up he was talking about pedigrees and brand names as if he was a horse breeder
or something. I can see how that would have made you trip, but you have to admit, he makes a good living and he was easy on
the eyes. Anyway the idea wasn’t marriage. But I wasn’t talking date like
go out and see a movie,
I meant date…” Brenda licked her lips and ran her hands down her thighs, “as in
sweet tropical fruit that you find at an oasis in the middle of a desert and enjoy all night long.
”

“Hey, it wasn’t even good conversation,” Joceri hissed.

“You see there, girl, you sound like one of those crystal wineglasses shattering all on the floor. As I was saying at the
start, I wasn’t suggesting him for conversation. Sometimes, you just got to bend and stretch, girl. It’s just not normal for
a young woman to go without. I mean nature got to be in balance, and you are out of kilter.”

“Not everyone is like you, Brenda. Men are more than a good meal.”

“So you keep telling me. But I’m thinking it’s just one big smorgasbord out there and my job is to keep my plate full and
the cook happy.”

“Not everyone likes all-you-can-eat.”

“Yeah, well, too much fasting will kill you, girl. You ever looked at those pictures of Gandhi? That man did not look healthy.
I mean his shoulders could cut through a piece of cotton. That’s why he never wore any shirts, tore them all up.”

“Brenda, you are crazy. Help me with the ones all the way in the back.”

Just then Rene walked up. He worked in the same firm as Joceri, two floors down. He had tried to talk with her more than once.
Had been able to get her for a few lunches and one after-dinner drink, but every time he thought they were moving toward something
she jumped away like a wild deer running deep into the bush. And every time she pulled away he let her go, never pressing,
never complaining, and never going completely away. For a time it seemed to Joceri that he was dating her supervisor, Debbie.
Or at least trying to move in that direction. But Brenda said he was just flirting with Debbie so that he could see Joceri
and keep himself on her mind. And Joceri had thought about him. She had thought about him a lot.

“Hey, Brenda. You looking bright and vivacious.”

“As always,” Brenda replied.

And then he turned to Joceri. “And since you are here, my day is now great. It’s always a pleasure to see you.” Joceri always
thought his voice was a bit high for a man. But it was so smooth, silken.

Brenda had not stopped laughing. “I think you’re laying it on a bit thick, bro’.”

Rene had not stopped smiling at Joceri, whose cheeks were now flushed with red. “Actually, I meant it.”

Joceri smiled back. “Thank you, then.” She was squinting into the sun and saw Rene as a tall, sculpted, dark shadow. No details
in his face, just round eyes shining out of a dark saucer. Brenda had been right, though: He did look like he worked out.
His arms were buff, and his abdomen, while not fully hard, showed definition and lines. Thankfully his swimsuit was loose
and hung almost to his knees. Joceri’s mind had jumped to wondering and she didn’t really didn’t want to know more than she
needed to about size, dimensions, shape.

Rene kept smiling broadly, his white teeth shining out of his mouth, flashing a little bit of gold from the back. “Jake and
Ted are down the way. You ladies want to come over and share a couple of brews, have some food, maybe toss around the volleyball?
Joceri, didn’t you tell me you were on a team in high school?”

Brenda and Joceri burst out responses at the same time: Brenda with, “Sounds great,” and Joceri with, “I’m fine here, thank
you. As you can see I’ve got most of the back, and a whole other side.”

Brenda squatted next to Joceri, picked up an extension, and pulled it hard. “Girl, what is the matter with you?”

Joceri winced, pulled the braid out of Brenda’s hand, and kept talking. “Thanks, Rene, but I am taking out my braids, as you
can see, enjoying the sun, and in another hour will be taking a short swim, reading my book, and then sleeping the day away
in utter bliss. My afternoon is set.”

“Set in the Dark Ages,” snapped Brenda.