The moon looked lopsided to Jimmy Sweetfields through the half opened shutters, as he made love to Anna. His passions were inexhaustible. When he finally succumbed to his weakness for her, it felt like the whole sky; the stars, the blackness, and the half-full moon were melting all over them.
All though the moon wasn’t quite full yet, it was still influencing things. He could feel it in the love they made, and the undertow of anger he couldn’t quite shake no matter how sweet she was.
Jimmy got dressed for the night, as always in his signature all white. He took his time precisely tucking his white linen shirt into the trousers of his white linen suit. Next came the jacket, then the white silk handkerchief with his embroidered initials posed perfectly in his vest pocket to reveal his initials: JS. White silk socks, and his favorite pair of two-toned ivory leather wingtips. Getting dressed was his power ritual. His wardrobe validated his status in Palm City.
Standing in front of the mirror, he made the necessary adjustments before completing the ritual with the final touch. He wore his blocked Panama Fedora cocked slightly to the right, but tonight as he stood admiring the completed picture, he caught a glimpse of Anna Lucille’s sadness as she lay in bed listening to Bessie Smith on the Victrola and secretly crying. It tortured him to see her that way, but he knew he only had himself to blame for the way things were. But as hard he tried he couldn't help his love for money. He pained him to admit that he loved his wealth more than he loved her. At least he thought he did. To relieve his guilt, he brought her expensive gifts. She had the only phonogram player on the Colored side of town, special ordered from C. J. Duncan's General Store. But the gifts he gave her weren’t enough to drown out the truth that he was using his own wife to feed his greed.
It was his grand idea that they keep their marriage a secret. Reluctantly she went along with his scheme of play-acting, pretending she was a single woman in public, while back home in their bed she’d be his faithful wife again. He maintained a flawless public facade to mask his private anguish. The truth of the matter is the whole thing was eating him up inside. So much so he barely had an appetite these days, so he drank instead. Lately, he couldn’t sleep without passing out from too much to drink.
Anna Lucille saw the toll the whole thing was taking on her husband; the drinking, the dark circles under his eyes, and that new mean streak he was carrying around in his spirit. But the only thing she could do was pray.
Jimmy Sweetfields watched with contempt as Anna Lucille prepared her alter with love candles. A growling noise came from his stomach, and he belched.
“You need to stop drinking so much Jimmy,” said Anna Lucille softly. “That’s why your stomach is so messed up.”
Jimmy didn’t say a word as he watched her lighting the red candle. His eyes stayed fixed on her near perfect mouth as she blew out the match, closed her eyes and began praying. But he couldn’t control the surge of anger that rose up in his chest.
“What you praying for?” He asked in a contemptible tone.
“For us,” she answered, looking at him innocently. She turned back to her candle and closed her eyes again.
“The last time you lit one of your damn candles, the mayor of Palm City his self, made a drunken fool outta his self over you.” Jimmy could feel his blood beginning to boil. “How you think that made me feel? Huh? A White man actin’ the fool over my wife.”
“You hear me talkin’ to you woman?” Jimmy roared. The tone in his voice made Anna’s eyes pop open. “You screaming loud enough for the whole town to hear you.” She answered angrily.
“I don’t give a damn who hear me.” But even as the words came out of his mouth, she knew he didn’t mean what he was saying, but his anger frightened her, and as he crossed the room and slammed the shutters closed, she kept him in the corner of her eye. He grabbed his gun, stuffed it in his belt, and left.
A tropical wind blew off the ocean, filling the city streets with the smell of the sea mixing with the scent of honeysuckle and magnolia blossoms. The convergence of these ancient elements made up the lethal mixture that was at the very core of the throbbing aches and pains of the black soul , and nearly everything that took place on the Colored side of town in Palm City. It was Saturday night and the air was thick and humid, and things were heating up on Elderberry Avenue.
The ladies in waiting stood side by side like queens of spades, leaning languidly over the second floor balcony banister at Jimmy Sweetfields' Elderberry Avenue Hotel & Café. Their bright satin colored dresses looked like a rainbow of reds, oranges, purples, and yellows, as their pouting painted lips promised pleasures most could only dream about. The men passing on the street below, looked up at the women with stares that said more than words could ever say. But the women standing on the balcony of Jimmy Sweetfields’ Hotel & Café never took a look for more than it meant; a need for somebody to love. But everybody knew if you wanted something to happen on Elderberry Avenue on Saturday night, you better have some money in your pocket or you might as well just keep right on walking. It was a sad affair for those who didn't have the price to pay for their desires. Still, in spite of their empty pockets, they'd call out to the ladies in waiting.
"Hey baby, don't you want a man like me?"
It was a question in search of the fulfillment of a wet dream that never came true, 'cause the colored women leaning over the balcony banister atop the Elderberry Avenue Hotel & Cafe had seen the insides of empty pockets enough times to know better than to be fooled by sugarcoated words.
“Ain’t nobody studyin' 'bout yo' broke self. Take yo' funky blues, keen toed shoes, high water pants, Sad'dey night dance, ain’t got a dollar for a drank of soda water, lookin’ for anybody's daughter, on away from heah.”
A chorus of laughter rang out from the balcony, filling the night air like musical notes, as the ladies of the night went on about their business, waving their red handkerchiefs at the sailors walking up from Port Street, looking for somebody to share their money with. That’s the way things were on Elderberry Avenue, when hot summer nights sizzled.
But the steaming story of the summer was Jimmy Sweetfields' and Anna Lucille, and their secret love affair.
It was Saturday night, and the place was packed. Jimmy Sweetfields sat at the bar drinking, and watching his wife laughing, and talking to a group of men on the other side of the café. It drove him crazy, the way she never got enough of his hard chiseled physique, especially when it reeked of hot sweat and passion. And by the same sensuous token, he couldn’t get enough of her. His eyes never tired of looking in hers, especially when they burned with desire, and passion, and nothing else mattered except their hot bodies melting into one. She was everything to him; his lover, and the drawing card for his businesses. Her stunning Creole beauty kept money in his pockets, more money than he ever dreamed of. It amazed him how men would spend their last dollar just to get close enough so they could smell her perfume. And so for the sake of profits, he justified keeping their marriage a secret. It was the perfect deception, and the more they hid their love from the world, the more she wanted him, and the more he wanted her.
He felt guilty for the way he had been treating her lately, and as he drank, he talked to himself.
“Damn fool, you keep on treatin’ her mean, she goin’ to leave you. Look at her, got all of ‘em actin’ like a pack of hungry dogs, sniffin’ ‘round her.”
He called out to the bartender loud enough for Anna Lucille to hear him. “Hey bartender! You done forgot ‘bout the boss man down here.” His eyes stayed on her like a hawk watching a chicken. He drank down the double shot of whiskey in one gulp. A warm feeling rose from his stomach to his head. His liquor was starting to take affect. When he looked back over at his wife, something incredible happened. Like magic, she looked more beautiful than ever before. In that instant he wanted her more than he ever wanted her. The men gawking at her made him desire her even more. He sneered at how they would give their last dollar just see her smile, when all the while she was his.
Anna Lucille could feel her husband’s eyes on her. He shot arrows of passion at her from every angle, and every chance she got she’d steal a glance at his reflection in the long mirror behind the bar. They took turns touching each other with a their eyes, playing their secret love game until they couldn’t keep it going any longer. He finally sent her the signal she’d been waiting for all night.
She met him at their secret place behind the stage, and from the moment she fell into his arms, the spirit of love was upon them. Possessed by passion, their kisses were long, lustful kisses that made her body limp, and his ridig. He kept his tongue in her mouth so no one could hear her sensuous sighs, and the harder she sucked his tongue, the wilder his passions grew. His hands were locked in a grip around her hips, and when he felt the hot moisture of her womanhood around his manhood, every ounce of blood in his body rushed to his loins, and for eight euphoric minutes, he did his lovers dance, until his knees buckled, and they both exploded in bliss.
He could still smell her perfume on his lapel as he sat back the bar drinking again, and watching her dreamly. Everything about her seduced him. Her hazel eyes with their long eyelashes beckoning him from across the room; her full lips always ready for his, and his eyes that could never get enough of her delicious derrière.
The spell was broken when a man walked over to Anna Lucille, and started talking to her. Jimmy Sweetfields’ heart began beating so hard he felt like it would bust out of his chest. To fan the fires of his jealous passions, he walked across the room, and sat down at the piano and began playing. He knew how much she loved music, especially when he sang to her, and tonight he would do anything to keep her attention focused on him. The moment she heard him playing his bluesy rendition of a Duke Ellington’s Mood Indigo, Anna Lucille spun around to find a big grin on his face, and his big brown sexy eyes sparkling with love. She knew what that look meant, and in that magic moment, the whole world disappeared, and they were the only two people left on earth. As she watched his long slender fingers moving across the piano keys, she imagined how it would feel the next time he touched her. But before they could finish dreaming awake together, a hand reached out from space, and pulled Anna onto the dance floor. Caught by surprise, all she could do was laugh. Suddenly, Jimmy’s world was upside-down again, and the sensual sound of Anna’s laughter mixing with his music, made his whole body toxic with jealousy. That night when they met back at the bungalow, she paid the price for love.
Anna Lucille barely had her foot in the door, when Jimmy grabbed her, and threw her on the bed.
“Why you let that nigguh touch you?” he screamed. “Huh!”
She tried to defend herself, but before she could even opened her mouth, he was on top of her, pinning her hands to the bed. His breath smelled of stale whiskey, and his eyes were bloodshot with rage.
“You hear me talkin’ to you Anna. Huh.” She was too afraid to speak, and when he saw the fear in her eyes, and the tears rolling down her face, he stopped cold.
“Oh baby don’t cry. Don’t cry baby. You know I love you. Daddy didn’t mean it. You know Daddy wouldn't hurt you baby.” The moon disappeared behind a dark cloud, mimicking their motions under the covers. The night went silent, and all the souls in Palm City finally fell asleep.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
AN EXCERPT FROM MY FORTHCOMING NOVEL TITLED "HEIRLOOM"
AN EXCERPT FROM MY FORTHCOMING BOOK TITLED - "HEIRLOOM"
It was the morning of the day she had been waiting for all her life. Taking a deep breath, she eased her bedroom door open, and quietly tiptoed down the narrow hallway toward the parlor. She slowly eased toward the kitchen door, being careful not to wake anyone. But wake who she thought; her grandmother, her children? It was too early to think clearly. But one thing she was certain of was the bubbly feeling in her stomach at the thought of seeing him again.
As she stepped out onto the back porch, she could finally breathe. She found his note exactly where he said it would be; behind the back porch steps, underneath her grandmother’s old black pot. Nothing in the whole wide world mattered as much as that piece of paper torn from a brown paper bag. She closed her eyes and squeezed it. She'd waited so long for this day. A cool breeze blew across her face as she peeped over the garden fence. She wanted to make sure no one was around. An eerie feeling filled her spirit as she looked down the empty street. Strange she thought. Where was everybody? But folks did tend to stay in out of the heat during the hot summer months. Still she thought it was strange not seeing anybody, on top of the fact that it wasn’t even mid-day yet. But she didn’t have time to think, and if somebody did see her, she didn’t care. All that mattered was being with him again. It seemed like a thousand years passed since the last time they’d been together.
The smell of fragrant honeysuckle met her at the gate, and for that brief moment it all felt like a dream. But it wasn’t a dream, it was real; she was going to see him again. The feel of his note in her hand told her so. And as she squeezed it tight her stomach quivered. In her excitement she never realized she was still holding her grandmother’s old pot. All she could think about were the words in his note.
“I be waitin’ on you baby girl comin’ to meet me in my world. Just follow the dirt path pass the old Oak tree, ‘longside the honeysuckle bushes behind the whitewashed fence. Come through the peach orchard and take the long path through the woods to the meadow where the yellow wildflowers grow. I be waitin’ on you under the old Magnolia tree.”
And so with her dress-tail flapping in the wind, she took off flying. She flew over the Oak tree, pass the whitewashed fence, down the long narrow path; and flying on she flew through the peach orchard into the woods. When she finally landed she was standing at the mouth of the meadow where a million yellow wildflowers danced in the rays of the morning sun and the whole meadow was sparkling in a brilliant golden light. It was so beautiful it took her breath away. She’d never seen a yellow so bright, or a sky so brilliantly blue. The leaves on the trees glistened the most luminous green she’d ever seen. So much so they seemed alive. And the simplest sounds seemed to go right though her. The wind moving through the leafs on the trees, the babble of the little brook running alongside the path, the song birds, even the buzzing of the bees; everything was so beautifully alive. So she just stood there taking it all in.
When her eyes finally found him he was leaning languidly against the Magnolia tree, waiting for her just like he said he’d be, and smiling the most enchanting smile she’d ever seen. The mid-morning sun cast a long full shadow of him all the way from the Magnolia tree across the forest floor to where she was standing, and it was as though they were touching. She stood still, starring at his long shadow and at him. Her heart was pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it. She wanted to say something but she could barely breathe let alone speak. So she just stood there barefoot and beaming, and smiling back at him.
His gaze was magical. A speck of sunlight reflected off a leaf into his eyes that sent a wave of energy straight to the pit of her stomach, making every fiber in her young tender body tingle. She’d never felt a feeling like that before. The look in his eyes penetrated her very soul. And because she couldn't speak she waited for him to say something, but he couldn’t speak either. It was as if he was seeing her for the very first time, and she was the most beautiful barefoot girl he’d ever seen. She was wearing the same yellow dress she wore that Easter Sunday when they first met, the one with the purple daffodils floating on a long white ribbon that curved around her body from the front to the back. Yellow and white buttons opened down the front to her waist, matching perfectly with the yellow band around the white straw hat she was wearing. And even though it was the exact same outfit she wore that Easter Sunday, she was prettier than ever. The only difference was she wasn’t wearing her new Easter shoes. She couldn’t run in new shoes, so she came barefoot. Or maybe she just forgot to put them on. But it didn’t matter to him because everything was perfect just the way she was.
A warm whiff of fragrant flowers drifted in the air and once again she felt like she was dreaming. So she focused all her attention on the mysterious look in his eyes, and his long slender body leaning against the magnolia tree. He finally spoke. “Hey dare pretty gal. What you got me standin’ here in dese woods like a lovesick puppy waitin’ on you for.” But she couldn’t answer. “What the matter? Cat got your tongue,” he asked?
Still unable to speak, she just stood there smiling. But her smile was all he needed to give him the courage to keep things moving again. “What you got dare in dat old black pot?”
She looked down and for the first time since she left home, she felt the weight of the pot in her hand. She was too embarrassed to look at him, so her eyes stayed stuck on the pot. Instinctively his senses registered her mood, and he knew exactly what to say to get her moving.
“You better come over here and git some of this sweet Magnolia shade fo’ you start fryin’ like a little chick ‘a dee,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. She burst out laughing. He was laughing too, and like magic their laughter broke the spell the black pot put her in, and she was alive again. Her breast nodded yes with each step, and as she floated toward him, his eyes registered every syllable of her; the full plump lips, the delicate neck that sat upon strong but tender shoulders, the slender waist that introduced the sensuous curves of her hips, and the way her dress lay upon her thighs reminded him of baby dolphins dancing in water. And the way her long legs glided in a graceful stride made him anxious. It was her first time in the meadow, and he wanted to make sure her move into his world was smooth and easy. He was nineteen, and she’d just turned sixteen, and the three years between them was just the perfect amount of space for something unstoppable to happen. It was the perfect formula for the sacred and the sinful, for the yin and the yang to light the dual flame.
The movement of her body was entrancing and the closer she got the more beautiful she became, and the more nervous he felt. He could hardly wait to touch the long black braid swinging from side to side behind her back. But when she finally reached him, all he could do was stand there smiling, letting only their senses touch; sight, sound, and smell. Talcum power for her, Florida water for him. The sunlight shifted, making a fragile shadow of their bodies, and the mood it made was perfect for everything she was feeling, but too shy to ever say, and everything he'd ever dreamed of. So once again he began making magic with his smile.
“Let me see what you got in dat pot gal.” Her eyes stayed on his as he took the pot from her hand. She wondered how he could talk and smile that magical smile of his all at the same time. “Come on wit me,” he said. “Wanna show you somethin’.”
He took her hand, and she floated beside him through the yellow wildflowers, across the meadow to the edge of the woods where an endless bounty of winding vines weighed down under a hundred thousand wild blackberries that went rushing everywhere. And like the first girl and boy in creation, they went running, filling the air with effervescent laughter, and filling the black pot with wild blackberries. When the pot was full, she followed him back across the meadow where a patchwork quilt lay on the ground beneath an ancient Oak. Funny she thought, she hadn’t noticed it before. It reminded her of her grandmother’s patchwork quilt, and when he held out his hand and pulled her down on the quilt beside him, she felt safe.
With her head cradled in his arm, and her mouth full of sweet blackberry juice, she watched a school of tiny yellow and white butterflies fluttering in the air above them, and it all felt like a wonderful dream. So she sat up and leaned over the pot, closed her eyes and made a wish.
“What you doin’,” he asked curiously?
And in a voice that was almost a whisper, she finally spoke.
“Making a wish,” she said softly.
“What you wishin’ for,” he asked, following her lead and speaking softly too.
“To stay here with you forever,” she answered shyly. “What you wish for.”
“Same thing you wish for.”
“If you whisper your wish in the pot, it’ll come true.”
He looked at her and then the pot, and burst out laughing
“You laughing ‘cause you scared,” she said calmly.
“Scared a what? I ain’t scared a no pot.”
“If you ain’t scared, then make your wish.” She pushed the pot between them. He looked at the pot, and back at her. And as he slowly leaned in toward the pot, he smiled and closed his eyes and whispered his wish.
“What you wish for,” she asked.
“For you,” he whispered softly in her ear.
The words drifted from his mouth onto her earlobe, and an unexpected wisp of his warm breath entered her ear, and her whole body trembled with pleasure. His senses registered her mood, and as he carefully eased closer, a rush of heat raced from her body, and from out of nowhere a current of energy shot through his loins. She sensed his hunger for her and so she teased him with quick little appetizing kisses, like samples, again and again. He delighted in the taste of blackberry juice on her lips, but when he tasted the savory flavor of her tongue, suddenly his appetite was ravenous, and so was hers. And so they feasted.
It was magic the way the yellow and white buttons down the front of her dress came undone. So much so that by the time his fingers reached the last button, her passions had come undone. And when her young tender breasts tumbled softly from their hiding place, his lips were right there to catch them. They tasted like sweet ripe watermelon, just waiting to be plucked; their nipples like the mouths of hungry babes craving to suck. So he plucked them free, and suckled them until she was transfixed with ecstasy. He took the cup containing loves elixir to his lips, and he drank, and drank, and drank until they were both so intoxicated that they drifted into a state of sensual consciousness where their souls became enjoined in natural matrimony.
Neither of them ever knew how it came to be that their brown bodies lay naked to the world. All she recalled was the pressure of his hands under her hips, and the heat of the sun bearing down on his bare behind covered with hot sweat flowing and mixing with the natural juices that oozed from every Black Orphus of her. Their bodies’ fit together perfectly under the sun’s hot rays, and it was glorious. Oh it was glorious, and the bond they made was beautiful. It was a bond fused by a lethal combination of fiery passions mixed with hot sunshine, fragrant magnolia blossoms, and the magic of a million yellow wildflowers for as far as their eyes could see. It was all these things pulsating with the energy and the heat of natural love. And the love they made was exactly the way nature intended it to be; wide open and free.
Their bodies were drenched from the suns heat, so they bathed each other in a rapturous pool of liquid joy. The intense momentum of their copulating bodies created a vortex of energy so active and alive, the Goddesses and Gods of Love arrived just in time to feast their eyes on the seductive dance of their lovemaking. But they were oblivious to world around them. His attention was fixated on the slippery slop of her wet derriere, compliments of his sweat-drenched abdomen, and hers on his audacious dance. His rhythmic motions filled the air with a thick euphoria that left her limp with ecstasy. So he gripped her hips firmly, and in a movement that only love could make, his body shifted beneath hers, thrusting her into the air, and suddenly she took flight. She flew across the meadow, above the wildflowers, over the tops of the tall pines, pass the winding vines of blackberries, and back across the meadow again, back in his arms.
She was smiling when she landed, her face was aglow in a tranquil haze of serenity. She softly drifted into a deep sleep, where she dreamed dreams of him and of the black pot filled with wild blackberries, and of the wishes they made that all came true.a
It was the morning of the day she had been waiting for all her life. Taking a deep breath, she eased her bedroom door open, and quietly tiptoed down the narrow hallway toward the parlor. She slowly eased toward the kitchen door, being careful not to wake anyone. But wake who she thought; her grandmother, her children? It was too early to think clearly. But one thing she was certain of was the bubbly feeling in her stomach at the thought of seeing him again.
As she stepped out onto the back porch, she could finally breathe. She found his note exactly where he said it would be; behind the back porch steps, underneath her grandmother’s old black pot. Nothing in the whole wide world mattered as much as that piece of paper torn from a brown paper bag. She closed her eyes and squeezed it. She'd waited so long for this day. A cool breeze blew across her face as she peeped over the garden fence. She wanted to make sure no one was around. An eerie feeling filled her spirit as she looked down the empty street. Strange she thought. Where was everybody? But folks did tend to stay in out of the heat during the hot summer months. Still she thought it was strange not seeing anybody, on top of the fact that it wasn’t even mid-day yet. But she didn’t have time to think, and if somebody did see her, she didn’t care. All that mattered was being with him again. It seemed like a thousand years passed since the last time they’d been together.
The smell of fragrant honeysuckle met her at the gate, and for that brief moment it all felt like a dream. But it wasn’t a dream, it was real; she was going to see him again. The feel of his note in her hand told her so. And as she squeezed it tight her stomach quivered. In her excitement she never realized she was still holding her grandmother’s old pot. All she could think about were the words in his note.
“I be waitin’ on you baby girl comin’ to meet me in my world. Just follow the dirt path pass the old Oak tree, ‘longside the honeysuckle bushes behind the whitewashed fence. Come through the peach orchard and take the long path through the woods to the meadow where the yellow wildflowers grow. I be waitin’ on you under the old Magnolia tree.”
And so with her dress-tail flapping in the wind, she took off flying. She flew over the Oak tree, pass the whitewashed fence, down the long narrow path; and flying on she flew through the peach orchard into the woods. When she finally landed she was standing at the mouth of the meadow where a million yellow wildflowers danced in the rays of the morning sun and the whole meadow was sparkling in a brilliant golden light. It was so beautiful it took her breath away. She’d never seen a yellow so bright, or a sky so brilliantly blue. The leaves on the trees glistened the most luminous green she’d ever seen. So much so they seemed alive. And the simplest sounds seemed to go right though her. The wind moving through the leafs on the trees, the babble of the little brook running alongside the path, the song birds, even the buzzing of the bees; everything was so beautifully alive. So she just stood there taking it all in.
When her eyes finally found him he was leaning languidly against the Magnolia tree, waiting for her just like he said he’d be, and smiling the most enchanting smile she’d ever seen. The mid-morning sun cast a long full shadow of him all the way from the Magnolia tree across the forest floor to where she was standing, and it was as though they were touching. She stood still, starring at his long shadow and at him. Her heart was pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it. She wanted to say something but she could barely breathe let alone speak. So she just stood there barefoot and beaming, and smiling back at him.
His gaze was magical. A speck of sunlight reflected off a leaf into his eyes that sent a wave of energy straight to the pit of her stomach, making every fiber in her young tender body tingle. She’d never felt a feeling like that before. The look in his eyes penetrated her very soul. And because she couldn't speak she waited for him to say something, but he couldn’t speak either. It was as if he was seeing her for the very first time, and she was the most beautiful barefoot girl he’d ever seen. She was wearing the same yellow dress she wore that Easter Sunday when they first met, the one with the purple daffodils floating on a long white ribbon that curved around her body from the front to the back. Yellow and white buttons opened down the front to her waist, matching perfectly with the yellow band around the white straw hat she was wearing. And even though it was the exact same outfit she wore that Easter Sunday, she was prettier than ever. The only difference was she wasn’t wearing her new Easter shoes. She couldn’t run in new shoes, so she came barefoot. Or maybe she just forgot to put them on. But it didn’t matter to him because everything was perfect just the way she was.
A warm whiff of fragrant flowers drifted in the air and once again she felt like she was dreaming. So she focused all her attention on the mysterious look in his eyes, and his long slender body leaning against the magnolia tree. He finally spoke. “Hey dare pretty gal. What you got me standin’ here in dese woods like a lovesick puppy waitin’ on you for.” But she couldn’t answer. “What the matter? Cat got your tongue,” he asked?
Still unable to speak, she just stood there smiling. But her smile was all he needed to give him the courage to keep things moving again. “What you got dare in dat old black pot?”
She looked down and for the first time since she left home, she felt the weight of the pot in her hand. She was too embarrassed to look at him, so her eyes stayed stuck on the pot. Instinctively his senses registered her mood, and he knew exactly what to say to get her moving.
“You better come over here and git some of this sweet Magnolia shade fo’ you start fryin’ like a little chick ‘a dee,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. She burst out laughing. He was laughing too, and like magic their laughter broke the spell the black pot put her in, and she was alive again. Her breast nodded yes with each step, and as she floated toward him, his eyes registered every syllable of her; the full plump lips, the delicate neck that sat upon strong but tender shoulders, the slender waist that introduced the sensuous curves of her hips, and the way her dress lay upon her thighs reminded him of baby dolphins dancing in water. And the way her long legs glided in a graceful stride made him anxious. It was her first time in the meadow, and he wanted to make sure her move into his world was smooth and easy. He was nineteen, and she’d just turned sixteen, and the three years between them was just the perfect amount of space for something unstoppable to happen. It was the perfect formula for the sacred and the sinful, for the yin and the yang to light the dual flame.
The movement of her body was entrancing and the closer she got the more beautiful she became, and the more nervous he felt. He could hardly wait to touch the long black braid swinging from side to side behind her back. But when she finally reached him, all he could do was stand there smiling, letting only their senses touch; sight, sound, and smell. Talcum power for her, Florida water for him. The sunlight shifted, making a fragile shadow of their bodies, and the mood it made was perfect for everything she was feeling, but too shy to ever say, and everything he'd ever dreamed of. So once again he began making magic with his smile.
“Let me see what you got in dat pot gal.” Her eyes stayed on his as he took the pot from her hand. She wondered how he could talk and smile that magical smile of his all at the same time. “Come on wit me,” he said. “Wanna show you somethin’.”
He took her hand, and she floated beside him through the yellow wildflowers, across the meadow to the edge of the woods where an endless bounty of winding vines weighed down under a hundred thousand wild blackberries that went rushing everywhere. And like the first girl and boy in creation, they went running, filling the air with effervescent laughter, and filling the black pot with wild blackberries. When the pot was full, she followed him back across the meadow where a patchwork quilt lay on the ground beneath an ancient Oak. Funny she thought, she hadn’t noticed it before. It reminded her of her grandmother’s patchwork quilt, and when he held out his hand and pulled her down on the quilt beside him, she felt safe.
With her head cradled in his arm, and her mouth full of sweet blackberry juice, she watched a school of tiny yellow and white butterflies fluttering in the air above them, and it all felt like a wonderful dream. So she sat up and leaned over the pot, closed her eyes and made a wish.
“What you doin’,” he asked curiously?
And in a voice that was almost a whisper, she finally spoke.
“Making a wish,” she said softly.
“What you wishin’ for,” he asked, following her lead and speaking softly too.
“To stay here with you forever,” she answered shyly. “What you wish for.”
“Same thing you wish for.”
“If you whisper your wish in the pot, it’ll come true.”
He looked at her and then the pot, and burst out laughing
“You laughing ‘cause you scared,” she said calmly.
“Scared a what? I ain’t scared a no pot.”
“If you ain’t scared, then make your wish.” She pushed the pot between them. He looked at the pot, and back at her. And as he slowly leaned in toward the pot, he smiled and closed his eyes and whispered his wish.
“What you wish for,” she asked.
“For you,” he whispered softly in her ear.
The words drifted from his mouth onto her earlobe, and an unexpected wisp of his warm breath entered her ear, and her whole body trembled with pleasure. His senses registered her mood, and as he carefully eased closer, a rush of heat raced from her body, and from out of nowhere a current of energy shot through his loins. She sensed his hunger for her and so she teased him with quick little appetizing kisses, like samples, again and again. He delighted in the taste of blackberry juice on her lips, but when he tasted the savory flavor of her tongue, suddenly his appetite was ravenous, and so was hers. And so they feasted.
It was magic the way the yellow and white buttons down the front of her dress came undone. So much so that by the time his fingers reached the last button, her passions had come undone. And when her young tender breasts tumbled softly from their hiding place, his lips were right there to catch them. They tasted like sweet ripe watermelon, just waiting to be plucked; their nipples like the mouths of hungry babes craving to suck. So he plucked them free, and suckled them until she was transfixed with ecstasy. He took the cup containing loves elixir to his lips, and he drank, and drank, and drank until they were both so intoxicated that they drifted into a state of sensual consciousness where their souls became enjoined in natural matrimony.
Neither of them ever knew how it came to be that their brown bodies lay naked to the world. All she recalled was the pressure of his hands under her hips, and the heat of the sun bearing down on his bare behind covered with hot sweat flowing and mixing with the natural juices that oozed from every Black Orphus of her. Their bodies’ fit together perfectly under the sun’s hot rays, and it was glorious. Oh it was glorious, and the bond they made was beautiful. It was a bond fused by a lethal combination of fiery passions mixed with hot sunshine, fragrant magnolia blossoms, and the magic of a million yellow wildflowers for as far as their eyes could see. It was all these things pulsating with the energy and the heat of natural love. And the love they made was exactly the way nature intended it to be; wide open and free.
Their bodies were drenched from the suns heat, so they bathed each other in a rapturous pool of liquid joy. The intense momentum of their copulating bodies created a vortex of energy so active and alive, the Goddesses and Gods of Love arrived just in time to feast their eyes on the seductive dance of their lovemaking. But they were oblivious to world around them. His attention was fixated on the slippery slop of her wet derriere, compliments of his sweat-drenched abdomen, and hers on his audacious dance. His rhythmic motions filled the air with a thick euphoria that left her limp with ecstasy. So he gripped her hips firmly, and in a movement that only love could make, his body shifted beneath hers, thrusting her into the air, and suddenly she took flight. She flew across the meadow, above the wildflowers, over the tops of the tall pines, pass the winding vines of blackberries, and back across the meadow again, back in his arms.
She was smiling when she landed, her face was aglow in a tranquil haze of serenity. She softly drifted into a deep sleep, where she dreamed dreams of him and of the black pot filled with wild blackberries, and of the wishes they made that all came true.a
Monday, March 1, 2010
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