Black Silk (43 page)

I sat in bed, sipped on a white wine, and let my mind wander. The battery in my laptop was quickly running out, and the only
words I could amass were the ones I’d written. They had nothing to do with the story and everything to do with the moment.

My neighbor, Rod, was entertaining as he does almost every night. We’ve only spoken briefly in the hall and know very little
about one another, but there are some things you learn when the walls actually begin to talk.

Almost every night this mystery woman shows up at precisely nine o’clock, knocks at his door, greets him with silence, and
stays till morning. This ritual-like behavior caught my attention three weeks ago when I was leaving on a late-night run to
the convenience store. I was walking toward the elevator on my floor when a woman dressed in a powder-blue business suit and
heels, with her long sandy brown hair cascading around her shoulders, sashayed past me with a swiftness that made every thing
else in the corridor seem irrelevant. She appeared preoccupied only with making it to her destination. Didn’t speak and neither
did I.

When I returned home I heard her voice, though she wasn’t speaking to me. Her dirty pillow talk seeped beyond the beams in
the walls. I heard her call out Rod’s name in ecstasy, beg him for mercy. And secretly wondered exactly what it was she wished
he’d stop doing.

After that week, I began to wait as impatiently as I assumed Rod did. I would dress in one of my satin pieces, grab my laptop,
get settled under my cranberry-and-cream comforter, and lightly press my back against the wall in my bedroom. Plugged myself
into the moment, their moment. And when it ended I usually disconnected my sexually aroused imagination only to find that
my screen was blank.

But tonight was different. I had to work on meeting a deadline. She’d been over there for almost two hours and I’d heard only
a little D’Angelo, Maxwell, and Gerald Levert setting the mood. I got out of bed, wrapped myself up in a matching peach satin
robe, and walked out onto the balcony. The night air was warm with just enough breeze to send my auburn bobbed hairdo blowing
across my caramel skin. I sat down at the small glass table with white wrought-iron chairs and prepared to get back into my
story. There were only thirty-six minutes left on the battery and seven hours before she was scheduled to leave.

What appears to be even more baffling is her inability to make him yell fervently. Or maybe she’s simply leaving him speechless.

My glass was almost empty and my imagination, plentiful. They began several minutes ago. The intoxicating sounds of gratification
drifted outside and took a seat in the empty chair across from me. My concentration had gone from slight to nonexistent. The
wind then ruffled the leaves and drowned out the little I could hear. Shifted my attention toward the sky. The dark blue,
silent sky. I assumed it could relate to me with its seemingly anticlimactic nights. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back
when a noise came from the balcony next to mine— Rod’s balcony. I abruptly looked to the right as he pulled the glass door
aside and walked out wrapped in a hunter-green bath towel. Beads of water trickled down his robust, chestnut-brown back as
he leaned over the railing. Rob rubbed his bald head toward his face and then ran his fingers along his jet-black goatee.
The smell of sex caught a ride over on the wind and shook its shimmy under my nose. Rod continued to focus straight ahead
as I sat quietly waiting for her to join him.

Then without looking in my direction he asked, “You always sit out here like this, Clev?”

I sipped my wine and answered, “I’m working.”

“What do you write about?” he asked, turning only his head.

“Self-help.”

He nodded and then looked back out into the night sky. “Do you believe in an ability to help yourself?”

“You say that as though you don’t.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“So what do you believe in?” I asked.

“Happiness, complete happiness.”

Having said that, he turned and looked back into his apartment. Adjusted the towel around his waist and wiped the excess water
that hadn’t escaped the barely coiled hair on his massive chest.

“Don’t work too late,” he told me.

I glanced down at the slight bulge in the front of his towel, smiled, and whispered, “You either.”

He appears to have trained or hypnotized her in some sort of way. How does he get a woman to show this level of dedication
to a relationship that travels no farther than his walls— and mine?

I had gone from eavesdropping on his nights to wondering about his days. Whether or not they met at some café for lunch and
discussed the evening’s events. Whether nine o’clock on the dot was only minutes after she’d left the office or the earliest
she was allowed to arrive. Whether or not it was the same voice I heard every night maneuvering its way into my psyche. And
then, just as it had become apparent that he had begun to touch her, I wondered if just maybe, one night, that voice could
be mine.

I moved my work space out onto the balcony for the second night in a row. And to tell the truth, I did so with hopes that
Rod would join me when he was done. When he had washed away all evidence of her presence. I decided to leave the robe that
went with the black satin negligee I was wearing at the foot of my bed, walked into the kitchen to fill a glass with white
wine, and took a seat on the balcony.

As if he had expected that I would be waiting, forty-nine minutes into my story Rod stepped outside wearing boxers and rested
himself in a charcoal-gray chair that sat next to the door. I stopped typing and sighed aloud but apparently I had already
grasped his attention.

“So tell me a little more about helping oneself,” he said, folding his hands atop his treasure trail of hair below his navel.

“Well, first you have to want to help yourself. You have any habits you’re trying to break?”

I looked toward his door, attempting to point out one I’d noticed.

He laughed and answered, “That’s what I meant by happiness.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If I’m happy with what I’m doing, there should be no habits to break.”

I sipped my wine and licked around the rim of the glass before setting it down. “Did you know there’s a difference between
happiness and satisfaction?”

Rod lifted his brow and placed his feet upon the railing. “So what is that you’ve got over there?”

“I’ve got a little happiness over here, but you were asking about the wine, right?”

“Not anymore.”

“I’ve got a question.”

“Shoot.”

“She comes every night except Wednesday. Why?”

He turned to look back into his apartment and then smiled at me. “I think six nights is enough for satisfaction. I’m saving
my Wednesdays for a little happiness.”

I became moist between my legs as my nipples stood on end like pencil erasers. Noticed he had moved his hands from his stomach
to his lap. Noticed how stimulating the thought of those large hands gripping my sweaty hips from behind was. Noticed the
following night was Wednesday.

“What do you do on Wednesday nights?” he inquired.

“Imagine that I can still hear you.”

“Who says you can’t?” he asked, laying his full erection against his stomach in his boxers.

I didn’t respond. Just let the night air blow by me with hopes of cooling my body. I sat longing for penetration as he went
back inside and caused her to climax one more time before the clock struck midnight. Before a day strictly designated for
happiness began. I think he made her scream like that because he knew I was listening, he knew I was still dripping wet, and
he knew I’d be ready to cum on Wednesday.

I was just about to undress and slide into a lavender bath when I heard a knock at the front door. I stepped back into my
slippers and turned down Donnel Jones’s sultry CD as I passed through the living room.

“Who is it?”

There was silence. I put the chain on the door and opened it as far as I needed to see. Rod stood there holding a medium-sized
black box with a gold-and-white ribbon tied around it. He didn’t speak. Simply handed me the box and walked back over to his
apartment. I slowly closed the door and sat down on the edge of my couch. I pulled out a black silk robe with a belt and a
white rose. Under the tissue paper were a pair of red edible panties and a note that read: “Clev, try them on for size and
I’ll eat them off for dinner.”

By the time I’d dried off from my bath, I was all wet again. I oiled my caramel skin and secured my hair behind my ears with
diamond-studded hair clips. Applied a little perfume behind each ear and a dab on the small of my back. Slid into the playful
panties that Rod brought me and wrapped myself up in the black silk robe. Grabbed two wineglasses, a bottle of wine, and a
bag of scented candles that I’d picked up earlier. Then headed out the door with all of the nerves I could gather to stand
in the hall dressed that way.

I tapped on Rod’s door three times but it was right before the fourth that he appeared with a bare chest, wearing nothing
but a pair of black silk boxers. He took my bags and kissed me lightly on the forehead. Made way for me to enter his domain,
the very one I’d stayed up late imagining losing control in. All of the lights were out but I could hear D’Angelo’s soulful
sounds pouring out of a distant speaker. Rod shut the door behind me and disappeared into another room for a minute. He returned
smiling devilishly and took my hand. Led me out onto his balcony, where he had lined the two black metal chairs on each side
and left the table centered. He stopped in the threshold and held me from behind. We swayed to the music as his hands traveled
to sacred places. I did figure eights with my hips until he groaned with anticipation. Making him hold me tighter, press my
body into his.

I turned to face him and said, “Just do what you would normally do at this time.”

He smiled and pulled a chair over to me.

“Is this what you would be doing, sitting out on your balcony?” I asked.

“Not when I’m looking for satisfaction. That doesn’t go any farther than my bedroom—but you would know that already, wouldn’t
you?”

“How could I not?”

“Does it bother you?”

I quickly changed the subject with, “Could you fill one of those glasses for me?”

Rod stared at me with a blank expression and then raised his finger to beckon for me.

“C’mere,” he told me, “I want to show you something.”

I stood to my feet and walked up close enough to feel his breath on my cheeks. He untied my belt and let my robe fall to the
ground. I covered my 36Cs as he kissed me from the top of my head to where my hands were planted. Slowly removed them and
then kissed the inside of my palms as if to bring validity to my touch.

At that moment it became clear to me that he had an agenda. Rod was aware of how the sensory deprivation had affected me.
I wanted to see and touch, not just hear and smell. He placed my hands upon his chiseled stomach. I stepped closer. Let them
travel along his arms and up to the back of his neck. Found those hairs that stand on end when the sweet scent of warm lubrication
is in the air.

He whispered, “I want you to touch me every way you’ve thought about when you were on the other side of that wall.”

“And I want you to touch me every way I’ve ever thought about when I was on the other side of that wall.”

Just as I turned my back to him and buried myself in his chest, Rod took his right hand, grabbed the inside of my thigh, and
maneuvered his fingers inside my honey hole. When he felt the abundant moisture, he moaned in disbelief. I massaged his fingers
with my wet walls and did pelvic thrusts that made him gasp for breath. He kissed along my neckline. Took his free hand and
swept me away to his bedroom where he had lit the candles I brought and placed them around his bed.

I pressed my hand against his chest and pushed away. “Not in here, Rod.”

“Why?”

“She’s been in here. This is my night. It’s not about satisfaction anymore.”

“Where do you want to be?” he asked.

“Where we always meet.”

He looked puzzled.

“The balcony,” I answered, reaching into his boxers and massaging his head.

He gave a grin that could be considered almost criminal. “You’re freaky like that, huh? You want to be seen.”

I laughed and shoved his boxers to the floor. “And you’re freaky enough to want to be heard.”

“I guess that makes us good together.”

I kissed his full, soft lips and invited his tongue inside.

He took that short stroll back outside and stationed the table in a corner that was blocked by a few trees but not enough
to cause voyeurs to mistake my curvaceous ass, which I’d gotten on all fours and audaciously pointed toward the east, for
anything else. Rod’s tongue moved with the precision of a surgeon, bringing me to almost fatal climaxes and then easing back
in time for me to regain composure. Caressed my breasts from behind as he challenged himself to lose his tongue inside of
me.