Best Black Women's Erotica Read online

  “They said I was brave; that I was cool, calm, and collected. What I was was happy in the contentment of being totally needed. I used to go to that front window, which we never repaired until the troubles were over, pull back the curtain, and holler: Bring On the Bombs, Crackers! Bring On the Bombs.”

  Talkin’ Smack

  Blanche Richardson

  Oh, hi! What are you doing here? I thought it was Jamal. Were you supposed to meet him here? No? Well, come on in; you can keep me company until he gets here. Let me take your coat. Mmm. I love the way leather smells, don’t you? Nice slacks. You been working out? That silk shirt kinda clings to your body. I like it. Very smooth. Chocolate is definitely your color, my brotha! Why don’t you have a seat—on the sofa. I sprayed the chairs with fabric freshener, so they might still be a little damp.

  Why, thank you! I can’t believe you remembered my birthday. How sweet. Listen, we’re all going to the club tonight. I was gonna call and see if you and your lady wanted to come, but…well…I didn’t know if…you know. Anyway, Lynn and Kathy are gonna be there. Even LaRhonda. And you know LaRhonda don’t hardly ever get out! Gina and Alicia are up from LA and Raymond is coming, too. David’s got that kick-ass commute all week, but I think Lena can get him to show. Roxanne? Now, you know it ain’t a party without Roxanne and her cans of “act right!”

  Anyway, we’re gon’ get our groove on, you hear me! So, why don’t you come with us? After we’ve danced our butts off, everyone’s coming back here for breakfast. I made fried chicken, homemade mashed potatoes and my special gravy, butter beans…You can smell it? That’s the cornbread; it’s still in the oven. I was gonna wait and make it later when we got back, but Jamal was taking so long, I needed something to do. You didn’t know I could cook? Shoot. Not only can I cook, but dessert is my specialty! Tonight? Well, tonight, Monsieur, I am serving my world-famous gel rouge avec zee peachéz du cannes à la mode. Oui, oui. All us great chefs parlez vous français. You had four years of French in college? You never told me that. It must have been that white French. See, I’m talkin’ Black French. You want the translation? Red Jell-O. With canned peaches. And Cool Whip on top. Don’t laugh; I’ll have you know this is considered a delicacy where I come from. Oh, so whatchu tryin’ to say? I’m ghetto? Damn skippy! In fact, I’m gonna put my birthday candles in the Jell-O. I’ve been waiting for this night. My birthday hardly ever falls on a weekend, so I figured I’d throw myself a party. C’mon and go with us. Please? Well, will you at least think about it? Good enough.

  Listen, can I get you something to drink? I’m having a Rémy. Double Rémy Martin straight up with a water back. I love saying that! I heard one of my mother’s friends say it at my cousin Avé’s wedding reception. I thought it sounded so sophisticated. I practiced saying it in the bathroom mirror over and over until I got the look down. Then on my twenty-first birthday, a bunch of us drove to Reno. I walked up to the bar at the first casino we went in, leaned in, inhaled on a cigarette, and said—in a low, kinda sexy voice—“I’ll have a Rémy. Straight up. With a water back.” Then I let the smoke drift up out of my mouth. I thought I was too grown. Of course, I choked on the cigarette and threw up that first Rémy. You go ahead and laugh, but I know I was cool.

  I usually don’t drink anything stronger than wine, but I need a little something to mellow me out. I don’t want to be in a bad mood when Jamal finally gets his ass here. And I definitely don’t want to have an attitude on my birthday. I mean he’s your homie; you introduced us. You and me? We’ve been friends since what? Junior high? How come you didn’t tell me your boy was so irresponsible? Lately I don’t know if he’s gonna be fifteen minutes late or a day and fifteen minutes late. And tonight, he hasn’t even bothered to make his getting-tobe-like-clockwork hey-baby-something-came-up call.

  Now don’t look like that. You don’t have to say anything; it’s all over that handsome face. I can tell you’re not feelin’ me. I know when you introduced me to Jamal that you and me were starting to—you know—become more than friends. And I thought we had potential. I did. But you know how it goes. Fate stepped in and Jamal and I hooked up. But we’re still friends. Right? No hard feelings? I guess you wouldn’t be here otherwise. I like that about you. You just took it in stride, moved on the down the road and hooked up with Miss Thang.

  Well, I’m gonna get a refill. A little one this time. I hear you. I’m gonna chill. But he’s already two hours late and I hate to wait. A beer? Sure. I got plenty of beer. Jamal’s favorite. Go ahead. Make yourself comfortable. Put on some sounds. Be right back. I’ve got to check on the cornbread, too.

  Here’s your beer. Use the coaster please. Thank you. You like this CD? I bought it yesterday. Thought it would make good lovemakin’ music. There’s that look again. Sorry, didn’t mean to get personal on you. So where is Lynette tonight? I thought the two of you were inseparable. Last time I saw you, she was all up on you. You still with her? No? That’s good. I never really liked her vibe. I mean, she’s cute and everything. And the girl can dress. But she acts like she all that. Running her fingers through that fake white-girl hair every ten seconds and shit. Rolling her eyes at all the sistahs. Well, ain’t nobody “all that” in my book. At least not behind no tight body and a weave. Know what I mean?

  You got the time? Wait a minute! Hold up there, brotha. Let me see that watch. Ooo whee! Business must be very, very good! And it’s not too flashy either. I didn’t even notice it at first. You got good taste. I like that. Nice hands, too. I wonder where the hell Jamal is. I’m cool. But, damn! He could at least call. Page me or something. You know?

  So tell me, why’d you dump Lynette? Oh, sorry. She dumped you? That chick is crazy. What happened? If you don’t mind me getting all up in your bizness. You lying! Another guy? That’s cold. You didn’t have any idea? None? I can always tell when I’m about to get kicked to the curb. You have to pay attention to the little things, you know. A look, a tone of voice, a smell even. But you didn’t pick up on any clues, huh? Blindsided your ass, huh? That’s cold. Playing you like that. I mean, if you want to get with someone, tell me! Don’t play me until you got a foot in somebody else’s door. It ain’t that serious, ya know? Plus, that shit is stupid. You hurt someone when you don’t have to. You lose a friend. You get a bad rep. I never want any negative-ass vibes out there about me. I try to be up front and honest, even if it’s hard sometimes. I don’t want nobody feeling like no fool behind something I did. That pisses people off. The truth is what goes around…that’s right…comes right on back around. And that’s real!

  Yeah, that’s cold. I’m sorry that happened to you. You’re a nice guy. Respectful, ya know? A gentleman. You know what? That’s your weakness. Yeah, now that I think about it, that probably is it. You’re too nice. Too much like right. You got yourself a good education, your own business, you love your momma, you’re sensitive and responsible, you read books and you’re intelligent. Damn, my brotha! I don’t know how you ever get women!

  ’Course, on the plus side, you drive a phat car, your condo is screamin’, you got plenty of cash…well, credit cards, but that still counts, and you’re fine. No doubt about that. But there’s no flash and cash about you. Know what I mean? No? I bet you’ve never even been arrested, have you? No. Flashy jewelry? No. Five children by three different women? No. See? That’s what I’m talkin’ about. C’mon, you don’t even wear an earring. Even Michael Jordan wears an earring. Oh! My bad! Didn’t even notice. Come closer. Lemme see. Is that a diamond? Mmm, you smell good. It’s pretty small. But it’s nice. I like it. There may be hope for you after all.

  But clearly, my brotha, you are in this ghetto, but not of this ghetto. I mean where’s the adventure, the thrill? Where’s the danger? The excitement? The risky behavior? I’m too young to hook up permanently with someone who’s already a grown-up. My grandmother would love you. She always gives me a hard time about who I’m dating, says I don’t respect myself. The last guy I took over to her house, she called a bum t
o his face. She will never meet Jamal, know what I mean? I’m still tryin’ to find myself. I don’t really know what I want out of life. Not yet. And there you are—years into your thing, already. It’s scary, like premature aging. Know what I mean?

  Now don’t get me wrong. Jamal’s smart, too, but he’s using his smarts to get over. Over on women, over on his friends, over on life. Or so he thinks. He’s nothing more than a damn hustler. We both know that, but he’s so charming. And he can be very sweet when he wants to. I’m not gonna lie; if Jamal told me to jump off a bridge, I might not do it, but I’d damn sure think about it if he was smiling when he asked. He’s almost too good-looking and he always manages to say the right thing at the right time. I wind up forgiving him for every wrong thing he does to me. Now, he’s got pleasing a woman down to a science—when he shows up. But I know Jamal’s a “bad boy.” A snake, actually. And he’s unpredictable. I never know what he’s gonna do. Why is that so damn attractive? That little voice in my head is screaming: “Don’t do it! Get away from that man! Run! Run! He’s a snake!” And you know what I do? I say, oh yeah, that’s the man for me. Ain’t about nothing! Exactly what I’m lookin’ for. Total opposite of everything my common sense dictates, l80 degrees from what I know is good for me. I cannot resist. I have to have him!

  I don’t know why. Do you? I mean, was it like that for you with Lynette? She pumped you up, huh? Made you think you were the man. And the sex was wild, huh? I figured as much. So, you know who it was? The guy? I understand if you don’t want to tell me…I mean…What is wrong with me? Sorry. I’m talking too much. I know it. Let me shut up. Let’s change the subject.

  Oh, thank you. Red is my favorite color. I think it accents what you used to call my “Hershey brown” color. You don’t think it’s too tight, do you? I got it especially for Jamal. He likes to see me in stuff like this. Shows off my figure, he says. Makes me look sexy. Hey! Where’d you hear that? That’s what my daddy used to say when I was a little girl. “Girl, you’ve got legs all the way up to here!” Used to crack me up. You been staring at my cleavage since you been here. It’s too low-cut, isn’t it? Too much of my stuff showing, huh? Go on, now. Tell the truth and shame the devil. It’s distracting? What do you mean, “distracting?” I know you’re a man, so what’s your point? Like magnets, huh? So have you heard anything I’ve said all evening? Or have you been too magnetized? You heard everything, huh? Right. Repeat something. Anything. Tell me something you heard me say tonight while you were hypnotized by my breasts. Go ahead. I’m waiting. Get outta here! You know you wrong. I did not call Lynette a tramp-ho-bitch! You’re so funny. And, no. I am not glad that you find an “old girl” like me still attractive.

  What time you got, now? Shit! We should be shakin’ our asses on the dance floor right now. It’s my damn birthday! Everybody’s gon’ be wondering what happened to me. I know one thing, it’s time to get this slow-ass music off of here. I want to hear some party music. You want to dance? Don’t worry about Jamal. He wouldn’t even notice. I guess he’s pretty sure about how I feel about him. Sometimes I wish that he was a little jealous, but he could care less if I flirt, or dance with every man at the club. Besides, he’s usually so busy checkin’ his pager or on his cell phone…shit, it would serve him right to walk in all late and find me having a good time without him. But, frankly? It wouldn’t bother him at all. You like Latin, right? Santana is the man. I have almost everything he ever did, but I’m partial to the old stuff. Gimme your empty; you want another one? You put some Santana on and we’ll dance. We can start the party right here!

  Whoa! Guess I’ve had enough Rémy for a minute. Falling over my own two feet. Got my li’l buzz on. You like these shoes? You do? I had ’em dyed to match my dress. Jamal says he likes me in high heels. Says they show off my legs. Oh, you agree, do you? Well, thank you very much, but I’m gonna kick them off ’til we’re ready to go. Nope. Never wear them. No pantyhose for the kid; they’re too itchy. And besides, I think my legs look good once I lotion them down. You remember this ankle bracelet? I guess so! You gave it to me on our first date. That’s right; I wouldn’t accept it. Told you it was too personal a gift. I think it was right after my grandmother called my ex-boyfriend a bum and I was trying to do better. But you slipped it in my purse when I wasn’t looking. That was the same night you introduced me to your boy. Remember? I found it about a week later, but by then Jamal and I were…well, you know. Be back in a second.

  Here you go. Nice and cold. Wait! Don’t sit down! Let’s dance. C’mon now, I saw you swinging that tight butt with Lynette. Jamal didn’t know I was watching your ass all night, he was so busy watching Lynette’s skinny little no-dancing ass…Go on, Santana, with your bad self. Oye como va! Da daa da! That Lynette. She don’t know a good thing when she got it. Shoot! If she had any sense, she’d woulda stayed just for the way these buns move! I meant when you’re dancing, but I’m glad to hear it translates to the sheets! Ooo! Dip me again! I love a man who can dance, and you’re a good dancer. Hey, did I know that before? I did? I told you so? Well, I was right! I like the way your hand feels, resting on my hip like this. Not nasty, like Jamal. He acts like we don’t have a bed to go home to. You know? Like we had to get our groove on all up on the dance floor in front of everybody. I like to dance when I’m at the club. I like to make love in private. Jamal doesn’t get it. What is that? A guy thing? No? Then what is it? Oh. A Jamal thing! I feel that!

  Wait, wait! Stop twirling me, I’m getting dizzy. Did you hear something? No? I thought I heard a key in the door. Wishful thinking, I guess. Now what time is it? You know what we should do? We should go on down to the club ourselves. You and me. Jamal will know where I am if he gets here and I’m not home. If he gives a fuck. So what if Lynette is there? Screw Lynette! We can show that stiff-ass heifer how to truly get down. She can’t dance worth shit. She too worried about being cute. She’d probably have a heart attack if she started sweatin’ or danced the curl outta that weave, with her off-beat ass. She’s the kind of woman who’s too busy watching to see who’s watching her. You know what I’m talking about; she was your woman. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Sorry.

  You all right? This is a slow song. You want to sit it out? Okay, but no dippin’ and twirlin’. Let me put my head on your shoulder, I feel a little dizzy. Mmm, this is nice. You feel good. I like the way you move. I love this song, don’t you? I wish some man would do to me what Santana does to his guitar. This does feel good, though, all pressed up on your nice hard body. You didn’t have to move your hand back up. I like the way it feels. Put it back. Makes me feel sexy. You better watch out. It is my birthday and I do plan on celebrating—one way or the other. Ooo, I am getting a little hot. Good thing the music stopped. I said…the music stopped. I know. I was feelin’ it, too.

  Listen, why don’t we wait a few more minutes, then we’ll head on out. My friends are waiting for me and you know what? I’m thinking that maybe Jamal and me got our wires crossed. Maybe he thinks I was gonna meet him at the club, not here. It’s probably a big misunderstanding. I’ll bet you anything that that’s what happened. I could kick myself! He’s probably sitting at the club right now wondering where I am. Probably pissed off because I’m late. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that earlier. Duh! See that’s why I don’t drink. Five more minutes? Then, if he’s not here, we’ll head on out. Let me get my heels back on, and get my coat.

  What time is it now? That’s not what I asked you. You don’t know whether Jamal is showin’ up or not. Who asked you that? Not me. I only asked you for the time, not your opinion. If I wanted your damn opinion, I would have said, “What’s your opinion?” But I only asked you for the damn time. I got a watch, you know. I got a clock in the bedroom and the kitchen. So if it’s too much trouble for you to look at your damn wrist and tell me the time, I do have options! You can keep your damn opinions to your own damn self! And nobody asked you to put that depressing-ass Barry White CD on. I told you. I want to party,
dammit!

  I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I apologize. It’s just that, well…it’s my birthday and I spent the whole day cleaning and cooking and now I’m all dressed up and ready to go and Jamal is either late or waiting for me at the club. And you and I both know that Jamal won’t wait too long for anything or anybody. So, can you please get your coat on and let’s get out of here. Naw, I ain’t crying. You the one oughta be crying. I got my man. You the single one around this camp. Oops, must have a hole in my lip! Drippin’ all down my chin. Damn! This shit is way too expensive to be spillin’ and shit. I got to pee. Excuse me, please!