If it were possible to enjoy a weekend more, I think mentally and emotionally, I’d need to be a different person. I killed the last few days of my twenties with liming, sex, alcohol, rivers and shit talk, and I don’t think there’s another Trinidadian alive who will disagree that that is at least one of the best way to kill the last vestiges of one’s youth and inexperience.
First off, the entire weekend it was just the six of us: the padawan and her man, SD1, C and Young Mr K and me. All the other people who said they were coming, never showed and well, I was fine with that honestly. The crew that was there, made the weekend special for me.
We got up to Blanchiseusse fairly early, before about two or three. The house we had procured, which we got on faith and trust through my building’s superintendent, was equipped enough to be comfortable, and rustic enough not to make you feel you were in civilisation proper.
The house was perched at the corner of two barely paved, slightly treacherous hills, about a hundred yards or so from the sprawling Atlantic-Ocean-cum-Caribbean-Sea of the North Coast. There was a terrace running almost length of the house on one side, and small yet seriously packed-with-chairs living room. There were benches, stools, chairs and such everywhere.
There were two bedrooms, one with a double bed and one with two double-decker beds. The bathroom, of course was a tiny little box and there was a sink.
Once we got there and we set up the TV, someone started a pot and ‘seasoning’ and we settled in. There was a whole lot of talk about going to the Sea, but no one moved.
By about five or six o’clock, there was alcohol passing around, we were watching a pirated copy of “Return of the King” and we were laughing almost non stop. We sat right there all night, until the wee hours of the morning.
The next day, we got up fairly early and the padawan’s man, R, made breakfast for the lime.
I had bought and taken with me, a nice hunk of pumpkin, several kinds of grains and cornmeal, and a large bottle of honey to take to the river with me, it was an offering to my Beautiful Mother, Osun, Orisa of Wealth and Abundance, Sexuality and Sensuality, the owner of the sweet waters of the world, and the waters of the body.
I wanted to do, or make some small gesture of thanks for the many blessings I have received over the last year.
We gathered up all those things and I dressed in my simple white clothes, and down to the river we went. It wasn’t a very far walk away, but the sun was blistering.
We went to the Marianne river, which is a fairly large, but placid river that runs to meet the sea. There is a camp ground there all around Marianne, but the last time I was there, there were next to no people there. This weekend, it was almost stunning the number of people who were there. Trini’s too love they North Coast, oui?
There were children running and playing everywhere, and when we walked through to the mouth of the river, there were dozens of little kids and grown ups in the river. It was a little startling. The last time I was up at Marianne, the place was almost completely empty.
When we got there, I burst all the bags of grain and emptied them into the small cooler that R (the padawan’s man) had carried. I emptied the cornmeal and mixed them all together. Before I fed the river, I dug out three quarters and pressed them into the soft river bank, then poured a calabash full of grain over it, offering it to Esu, thanking him for opening the doors, opening the road before me, and keeping it open. The I took the grains and sat down in the shallow river and throwing the grains and cornmeal in large handfuls, I thanked my Mother for her many blessings and guidance, her love and patience with me.
I could feel the eyes of the mostly East Indian population there watching me, and my friends were on the river bank waiting on me to finish so they could swim, so as much as I wanted to take my time, I knew I had to be brief. I cracked the seal on the bottle of honey and called all of my friends close. I gave them all a taste of the honey, thanking Mama Osun for them and their presence with me that weekend, asked Mama to sweeten them, SD in particular.
Then I tasted that honey myself, and gave Mama the rest, my arm making sweeping arc, the honey falling in ribbons of sweetness, on me, in the river, looping and sweeping, my shirt, hair and skin, blessed with ribbons of sweetness.
Afterwards, my friends who watched this with a slightly unsure of themselves curiosity, all stripped and made the water.
Young Mr K, SD and I started to swim out, further up the river, which is just as well, because the water was warmer further up, less salty and fewer people.
After some talking and laughing, SD left me and Young Mr K alone to go and find the padawan and R.
This is what led to first annoyance of the weekend. I grabbed him and pulled him to me, wanting to plant a kiss on him, when he pulled away and asked me if we could just be ‘normal’, because he was afraid that someone who knows his girlfriend might see him and cause trouble.
Thing is, I didn’t appreciate his reserve, but understood it. I also was annoyed in a purely female way, and he knew it. All his fumbling explanations were making matters worse, and in the end, I just decided not to make more of it than necessary, and although I didn’t quite let him off the hook, I certainly put a red pin in it, circled it and made a note to go back to this at a later date.
Young Mr K and I are not in love. Yes, there is lust, but I think our friend vibe is the strongest, it’s also the coolest aspect to this little adventure of ours. There’s also a genuine affection and respect for each other’s intelligence (his of course is far less developed that my own, but it’s mostly because of his underexposure to certain things, rather than ignorance or inflexible mental channels. He’s actually a very pliable fellow, and his affection, kindness and overall sweetness is a nice counter balance to his absolute incorrigibility. I mean, he is a naughty, naughty boy, in more ways than one babies, in more ways than one.
Thing is, he is very sweet. He’s very thoughtful about things, and in a domestic situation, no matter how slight ours happens to be right now, he turned out to be very considerate and in no small measure, his presence this weekend made the weekend better in every way.
However, the reminder of his status, while I know and understand what is what, it still irked me enough to feel weird about him and his own feelings, intellectual, sexual and whatever else he may towards me.
Later that day, he tells me some shit that he doesn’t ‘brush’ in the day.
“Brush? What the fuck is that? What are you talking about?” I drew back, having a damn good idea what it meant, but more than a little incredulous. Mentally it was like, “What you talking about, Mr Drummond?”
“Brush, you know?” He says in this matter-of-fact tone.
“No I don’t.” I replied.
“It’s just that I’ve gotten so accustomed to brushing in the day, I got tired of it. Ah hate now. I’ve been trying to brush only in the night.” He said.
“Brush? What the fuck does that mean?” I asked, confused and incredulous at the same time. Now, why is he reminding me about his roaming lionish ways? So intellectual, I began a series of experiments — experiments in getting what I fucking want out of this brief little interlude with the Young Mr K, and taking a man as he is and under no illusions about what is really go on between us.
I think also I need to divest him of some of his bullshit.
“You know, brush. Sex. Fuck.” He said. “It comes from you know the brushing of pubic hair.”
Trinidad has such colourful slang and colloquialisms. I am consistently amazed at the variety of words they have managed to associate with sex. I must admit that I like some of them, orthers just crawl me to hear, like the Trini penchant for pronouncing ‘character’, CUH-RACK-TER. (I mean what the fuck?)
“That’s bullshit.” I said. “Utter bullshit.” (What de ass, no daytime sex? Is what ya fucking smoking, oui? Eh, ya catch it or what? Ya have it or what? You must be crack in your skin somewhere.)
This set him off on a long, winding set of talk by way of an explanation, and in the end, I just told him to forget it. I mean, in my mind, I was going to get what I wanted, why waste words at this point.
Most of Saturday was spent, cooking and watching movies. I slept and cooked, slept and cooked and cooked a boss pot of pelau while catching little naps in between. It was bliss. To not be alone, to have company and people to cook for, to have someone coming and kissing me, curling up and bringing me water, and just making sure I was happy and cool; that was just great. It’s better to cook for people. I just hate cooking for one. It’s no fun at all.
Saturday night, I just enjoyed the company of my friends.
We played Romey (sp?) and Go To Pack, and some other game, child I just don’t remember, I drank quite a bit of Smirnoff Ice, so some things just faded away and melted in laughter and shit talk.
Saturday night, Young Mr K and I had some good loving there in the dark, but I won’t lie, that ‘not brushing in the day’ thing, really threw me.
The next day, Sunday we spent a long time just moving. The setting we were in, was so relaxing and all that stiff sea breeze off the North coast of Trinidad was just mollifying.
Eventually we came up with a loose plan to go to Three Pools. It took us another two hours to get moving, but by about lunch time we were on our way. It was a pretty easy walk. Three Pools is a part of the Marianne River, that cascades down into well, three pools, (How obvious is that?) one after the other in succession.
The hike itself was smooth and easy, taking about forty or forty five minutes to get there.
We followed the course of the river for about ten minutes, and had to crawl across an almost sheer wall face, slippers off and toes grasping for the footholds and, in my case at least, with the help of the guys there.
We passed the first and second pools, and went to the third one, with a build up of sand and rock forming a little ledge, with a huge drop off that I swam down to touch the bottom only with feeling the pressure of the water around me stinging my air, skin and the blood.
We horsed around in the pool, smoked a joint and talked some more shit, while local guys or visiting guys, who knows, jumped off various ledges into the pool below. It was pretty awesome to watch, because the weren’t just jumping from the obvious rock ledge about twenty, twenty-five feet up; no, no, these hard seeds were jumping from five, ten, fifteen feet above from the highest point above the little cove, and from a fallen tree that ran forty feet up and laid across the river’s path.
I kept saying, “I want to do that.” However, I was talking about the obvious twenty foot jump, I ain’t no hard seed if you take my meaning. When my girl SD1 decided, she was bad john too, and she was going to jump, I said okay, when she jumps, I’ll go.
Except, she got up there and freaked out and wouldn’t jump.
After about ten or fifteen minutes of us cussing her fucking fraudy ass, I decided that I was going myself. So, I scrambled my way over a rushing little rapid, then up and over some permanently lodged dead wood. I then had to propel myself past a build up twigs and leaves, into a fourth deeper pool. I swam about fifteen feet or so, then had to put my foot in a space that forced my toes together a little painfully, then haul my body up. Nah could do. Not without some kind of solid footing for the leg dangling in the water, or a helping had from above. Fortunately, so said, so done. One of the boys diving earlier, reached down and gave me a little ‘haul up’.
I scrambled across the pillars of rocks and crags, with deep and narrow crevasses, some with water and some with rocks, until I got to the edge, where a slightly jumpy SD1, sat looking down and shaking her head.
I sat down next to her and asked, “What the fuck is up?”
“I just can’t.” She said, shrugging.
“So go back down the way you came.” I said.
“So ya sleeping up here then.” I said, steupsing hard.
“Yes, gyul,” she said. “I jess ain’t doing it.”
I laughed out loud.
“Oi! Allyuh, SD1 say she sleeping up here tonight, oui!” I called down to the others.
“Oi! SD1, What the fuck wrong wit ya gyul?” Called the padawan.
After about another ten minutes of cajoling, she still refused to jump, and refused to go back the other way. So I jumped off and left her there.
About five minutes later, she jumped.
After a little more shit talk and horsing around, I said I was going to jump off again. She followed me back up onto the ledge. Believe it or not, the girl stick again!
I tried to talk to her reasonable, and waited and waited. I ordered her, I threatened to push her, but she wouldn’t jump again. So once more, I jumped and left her up there.
She eventually did jump down, but she agonised up there on the ledge, shivering and cold, and freaked out.
I kept asking her what was up, and she kept saying “I don’t know, I don’t know!”
We played around and talked and quite a few people came and sat by the pool and quite a few still jumping into the pool.
Young Mr K spent most of his time with the group, teasing SD1. It was terrible. He also kept teasing me. I’m being honest, he’s a sweet guy, but a naughty guy as well. He has decidedly impish qualities and he is rampantly unapologetic; he is a typical Leo in so many ways. What is worse, he and I are trine, so despite the difference between us, we have an affinity for one another, and you know I feel it. I understand him, and I think he is fascinated by me.
So here it is:
After one of those impish, naughty comments. SD1 shot back in her typical uber-aggressive way, “Eh boy, watch ya fucking self! Ah go pants ya ass.”
It was like from a movie. SD1 and I looked at each other over his gleaming, dark, beautiful bald head and she cocked her eyebrow, and I put my pinky in the corner of my mouth like Dr Evil in Austin Powers, and SD1 said, “Actually…..”
Then we pounced. Once he realised what was happening, he began to struggle. And he fought, he really made us work for it. Together, we began to inch him down into the deep part of the pool and as he struggle to stay close to the sandbar, he pinched me viciously under my knee, and shoved SD1 roughly. However, although we slowed to rest, we relentlessly grabbed him, and wrestled his pants off of him.
When it was done, I held the pants aloft and shouted to all twenty odd people gathered around the pool, “Vict-or-fucking-ry!” The ladies appplauded, the men just shook their heads.
Young Mr K, shouted his indignation through his laughter, declared us to be wicked, wicked harpies and demanded we return his fucking pants.
He kept trying to pounce on me and pull the pants away, but SD1 and I, far superior swimmers, played catch and tossed the pants between us, screaming with laughter.
He could not retrieve the pants. He stayed close to the bank of the pool, almost hiding out between the folds of rock. SD1, myself and the padawan (who actually proved useless during the actual pantsing) took refuge and claimed office space across the pool, to discuss what we were going to do.
While we were discussing strategy, his buddy C handed down his track suit bottom from the pile of our things high above the pool.
“HEY!” We yelled.
“You traitorous fuckhead!”
We plunged across the pool, catching him as he was pulling the pants up over his knees. While SD1 grabbed his arm, learning from experience during the last wrestling match, I wrapped my thigh around his upper thighs, and started pulling the track suit bottom off.
He bucked, he thrashed, all to no avail. So we headed right into the office across the pool and sat there for about five minutes discussing strategy. SD1 suggested that he become our slave for the weekend, I said, “This has to benefit me somehow, and a slave is too complicated.”
I told them both about the ‘I don’t brush in the day comment’, and suggested that in this deal, he should agree to brush in the day. It was a fair exchange as far as I could see. SD1 agreed that the comment was bullshit and thought it was a great idea to torture him into agreeing. As we were ironing out the proposal, the padawan’s boyfriend had quietly slipped SD1’s tight batty rider shorts down to Young Mr K, and when we realised what was happening, we yelled out, dived across the pool, and once again, wrestled the shorts off of him.
It was so funny. He was so helpless. We took all available pants across the pool and had the padawan hold them (at last she found a way to help) and tried to coax him to come into the office to negotiate.
He laughed and laughed, but he said “No! Allyuh wicked. I don’t trust ya’ll! You trying to kill me!!”
“No baby, nobody wasn’t trying to kill you, don’t be like that. We just want to scare the shit out of you.”
In the end, I had to go out and offer him the deal. When I had finished whispering the words into his ear, he looked at me, and with laughing indignation went “What?! This is what this was all fucking about?”
I smiled and said nothing.
“This is what you tried to kill me over?” He laughed and laughed and laughed. “You are crazy! Both of you are crazy as shit!”
“Nobody tried to kill you!” I replied. “Just accept the deal, and get back your pants. Simple.”
“This is war girl!” He shouted. “Don’t fucking go to sleep tonight hear?”
“No baby, don’t be like that.” I swam over and kissed him softly on the cheek. “I don’t want you feel bad. Just give me what I want. You have to brush in the day, and you have to do it with me.”
“No. You’re bad. Wicked.” He pouted, I mean if there was no one around, I would have fucked him right there and then; he was so cute. It took a little more coaxing, but eventually I got him to agree.
The thrill of victory is really sweet. Whether he lived up to it or not, at that moment, I was powerful. I felt like the goddess was inside me. Deny me? Tell me no? What? Excuse me?
So after the pool had exhausted us,and my ears were full of water from all the cuffins I was skinning in the water, we hiked back out to the truck, and one by one the others went and got bake and shark.
It was then that Young Mr K started asking us if we were lesbians.
I know he was playing, and you know, I know he needed to sop his ego a little. SD1 and I ragged his ass a little more, you know telling him he was talking big because he got held down and we had our way with him. I must say, he took it very well. I think he liked it to be honest. I told you he was naughty. The naughtiest kind of man.
Anyway, we got back to the house, and everybody just kind of knocked out. Young Mr K fell asleep first, and then the padawan and her man went down next. I was the next to go, and I don’t know what happened after.
When I laid down next Young Mr K, although I was sleepy, I definitely wasn’t too sleepy to, errr, ‘brush’. So I cuddled up, and you know, said what I wanted without words.
After about a half an hour of this, he said quietly, “Baby, Ah too tired to brush ya tonight. Ya’ll just wore me out in the pool today.”
For a minute or two, I was pissed off and I tried to talk him into it, asked him if he was mad because we pantsed him in the water, but he said no it wasn’t that, he was just exhausted.
“Besides, didn’t we make a deal in the pool today?”
“Yes, yes we did.” I replied.
“Well it’s not daytime now.” He replied.
“See, I know you’re mad!” I said.
“Well, maybe next time you will listen. My word is law, and I am the boss around here.” He said.
I just laughed and laughed. We talked back and forth, laughing at each other, but I was bone tired too, so I just curled up and went to sleep. We sleep together very comfortably.
Early the next morning, as we drifted up from unconsciousness, he filled his hand with my breast, and played with my nipple, and yes, we ‘brushed’; for hours and hours.
He went out sometime after to go and get some cigarettes, and when he came back, he curled up with me and we brushed again…. so I did get my own way in the end.
Ladies, that’s how you do it. Gang up on they ass. It’s the kind of thing that only seems to work when you have a strong, crazy fucking girlfriend who will help you, and the man is a manageable size, and his buddies stay the fuck out of the way, and with a man who doesn’t take himself or his bullshit too seriously. But that’s the way you do it.
When we got up, it was a slow process to get breakfast and start getting all our things together, to begin to tidy up and put the furniture back in their original places. There was more talk about going to the sea, but again, nobody seriously moved.
The driver came back more than an hour earlier than expected, so we had to work fast and together to empty the fridge and pack the truck and the car. By a little after four we were driving back along the North coast and getting closer and closer to reality, and my disappointment that the weekend was over, and my growing horror that I had to spend my birthday at work, just you know, got more real and shitty.
By the time we hit Maracas, the traffic was unbelievable, we’d been hearing about roadblocks and such, but this was nothing like that. There were cops walking through the throng, but the traffic was almost all caused by people just milling around in the road and gaping. We were stuck in it for nearly an hour. Bah! It did kind of amaze me the amount of human beings there were on the Maracas beach… they looked like little ants as we made our way down the mountain. There were thousands of them, in every shape size, colour and persuasion it seemed. Fucking Trinis love to lime, oui?
After we passed through Maracas, the rest of the journey back to San Juan passed quickly. Young Mr K was pointing out more pretty poui trees, that I had commented I thought we ever so beautiful for their bright yellow colours when we were making the trip up to Blanchisseuse.
Everybody made their way back to my apartment, we disembarked and then sat and talked some more shit. So my birthday weekend lime, although not quite how I had envisioned it back in January, still turned out to be both memorable and fulfilling. I don’t think it would have been possible to have a better time, and still be alive. The whole weekend was relaxing, and it was good to be with friends and people I enjoy. I got some good nookie over the course of the weekend, and felt satisfied that I had choked the remaining life out of my twenties in style.
I got to ruthlessly pants Young Mr K, definitely a high point for me, especially since allyuh don’t have to hear his incessant lip. All the war he threatened ended up being nothing but a storm in a teacup, and the sweetness in our interaction was undiminished. He was very affectionate and engaged the entire weekend, and we talked almost constantly. Some very deep, intellectual and some about his attitude to women, his ideas about the world and mine, about our sexual relationship, about our ‘relationship’ proper, about his girlfriend, my exes, his other women, my work, his car (a sweet little twenty or thirty year old Mini.)
I was impressed by him, but between me and you, spending time in close quarters with the young man, made me realise just how naughty a bunny he really is. As soft and sweet as he is, he is trouble on a stick. He is a bad, bad boy. He is a womaniser with a weakness for pussy. :sigh: I just have a weakness for dark skinned, creamy bald headed men.
Also, he is twenty three, and I personally think I’ve tangled with bigger, badder and more fucked up big dogs than him. Also, after dealing with the men I have, I kind of understand that for them, the world and women are different.
I also understand, just how different I am in his experience. He confesses such awe and respect for my intellect, and amazement over the quality of my pussy and sexual expression, it’s been a real case study in how to enjoy a person without feeling love in a romantic way. I know as women go, men find me to be intimidating, but he refuses to let that stop him from dancing close.
Me, I have no illusions that I am dealing with a lion, a big cat and all that comes with that.
He is like the candy that rots your teeth. It was still nice to spend a weekend being petted and spoiled a little by him.
After everyone left on Monday night, Young Mr K stayed, and we talked some more, but we were both too tired to do more.
I got kind of emotional, because I was going to be alone when midnight rolled around.
“Don’t cry baby,” he said softly. “Come here.” He gathered me up, kissed and wiped away my tears, and promised he’d come over on my birthday night, and hang out with me.
He told me, “You need to sleep baby, you’re tired and I’m tired.”
He kissed me over and over, petting me, and tickled me and blew away the momentary and slight waterworks. When I was better, he gathered himself up and took himself back over the road to his bed and his mother’s house.
I worked on this entry for a while, and then I went to sleep.
When midnight rolled around, I was in my subconscious swimming somewhere, dreaming something soft and without a memorable shape.
The next morning, my grandmother called me at crack of dawn. Okay, it wasn’t that bad, but she was early. It had to be about six. She had laser surgery on her eye last week, and she said she still doesn’t feel a hundred per cent.
We talked about three or four minutes, for my grandmother a fortune to spend to call me, because my birthday or Christmas are the only reasons she would feel motivated to call me.
After Granny, keifel’s mother Elaine called me and sang happy birthday. She also reminded me that she has a hat for me, and asked me enjoy my day.
Then my mother called, and we talked for about fifteen minutes or so. She was not only happy that I had been getting some good sex, she was happy that I enjoyed my weekend so much. She says, “I think all this activity is exactly what you need to make the transition into the life you’re reaching for.”
When I told her how old the Young Mr K was, she said flippantly, “I’ve done worse.”
I guffawed and said that was exactly what my neighbour had said.
“So how does it feel to have a thirty year old daughter, Mummy?” I asked jovially.
“Tell me about it.” I scoffed.
“No, I just keep thinking, ‘where did the thirty years go?'” she said in a far away sounding voice.
“Yeah boy. I just can’t believe I can remember being fifteen and that was fifteen years ago.” I said.
After she made me promise to tell my brother to call her collect before school let back in, we wrapped up the conversation.
I got up, pressed some clothes and made my way to work. As I was walking out the door, my cell phone got a text message:
“Happy Brithday babes. Hope U njoy ur day. They say that only women and wine get better with age, u prove that theory.”
When I got to work, I just couldn’t keep the spring out of my step and I bounced around the place. I told everyone to wish me happy birthday and they mostly did. The former infamous bluey, came by and brought me some nice hand lotion and body spritz. My brother and the children came by, so there were candy kisses and hugs.
The receptionist at work, went out and bought me a sweet card wishing me a great day, she also told me she found I was losing weight.
So I went to work, was disgustingly productive and I got hugs and cupcakes and birthday love!
I also got asked to participate in a TV commercial. My first TV commercial in something like fifteen or sixteen years. Plus I am going to get paid to do it.
I also had a slightly disturbing conversation with a young lady I don’t know very well, but who I know has a child for a friend I know very well.
It was hard to hear her story, because to know your friend is being so rough with someone, even if it’s just her perception of it, is hard. How do you respond to someone’s anguish, the worry and stress of this young woman who is working two jobs to feed her child? All I could do was listen quietly, say little and tell her I was praying for her and her baby.
I know what it’s like to grow up with a father who didn’t give a fuck about me, so I am sorry to know that her baby will have that kind of life; or at the least, have a disinterested unmotivated father. That’s a kind of hole that creates issues only the strong and fearless can deal with, and most people don’t. It’s one of the reasons why there are so many hurting people in the world.
The fact that the child’s father is a friend, makes it more than a little weird for me. I want to reach out to her, but not to judge my friend, because we’ve never talked about her or the situation with them or anything. The only reason I know about it, is because well other people around us know and people matter-of-fact tell you shit that they just assume you are already informed about.
I know the only reason she talked to me and told me what she did, is because she knows he and I are friends. I know that you feel sometimes when you tell someone who knows the person, in your spirit you get to tell the person who is hurting you how you really feel.
I don’t understand, it’s not my business, but you know, when people reach out, all you can do is be receptive and try not to judge anyone or inflame the situation. I know there are two sides to the story, but you know, I just keep thinking about the poor little baby, who didn’t ask to be born but came anyway; who is here. He doesn’t understand about grown ups and the shit they do to each other.
You see why I need to go somewhere where I know fewer people. When you live on an island in the Caribbean, the degrees of separation loop and intertwine in ways that leave you almost unable to extricate yourself. In my case, I end up hearing everyone’s business it seems, and trying to spread as much light as possible.
Anyway, the bottom line for me is I came up hard against that girl’s frustration yesterday. You know, it was hard not feel sympathy for her. She seems to be very worried about her kid and the effect all this has on him. It struck a chord in me, because I know how many women go through this shit. I don’t think she is lying about her worry either.
I can’t call up my friend and say, “What’s the scene, yardie?”
So all I am left with is sympathy for the young woman.
I left work a little early, I mean, no one could fault me. I did my work, and it was my birthday. I went home and took a shower, settled myself and called the Young Mr K on the phone to tell him I was at home.
It took him a while, but he showed up and brought C with him. We watched the end of Holes together, and after C left, the Young Mr K and I talked almost non stop for two hours.
We got closer and closer to the kind of combustibility that he and I are capable of, and when it blazed it up, it was a slow burn. He took his time, and we dug into each other. I have never enjoyed being on top of a man. I find it exhausting and sometimes frustrating. However, with him, or at least since the last time with that damn ass from last year, I truly, truly, have begun to enjoy it.
Maybe it’s because I pantsed him. Maybe it’s because I’m older and because I’m beginning to understand the way my body works better. Anyway, whatever it was, I rode him last night. I got on top and began to understand why it’s so good. When I felt this flat, sharp cascade bubble up my spine and neatly lick off the top of my head, I understood why it’s good to control how deep and in which spots to make sure he gets to.
He moaned and gasped beneath me, and that was half the thrill… knowing I could make him make those noises; bring that kind of reaction out of him.
When I collapsed above him, he manoeuvred us back into a missionary position and when my ankles rested on his shoulders, he took my sweet smelling toes into his mouth and sucked them one by one. Licking and tickling until my pussy clenched like a vice and kicked the whole escapade into high gear. Delicious, breath robbing, scream inducing pleasure; oh yes, Big Mami like too bad like cooked food.
I have to admit it, I like the way he fucks me. It’s just what I wanted and needed right now in my life. Except, his appetite is not like mine. However, few men are. I keep thinking there must be a man out there willing to learn how to satisfy me.
For me, considering that two years ago when I was with RBB, we fought bitterly on my birthday because he couldn’t maintain his erection and last year, when that mupse forgot my birthday and behaved so deplorably, I don’t think I could have asked for a better way to enter this period of my life.
I am so thankful. Mama Osun sends these fellas to me for a reason, I know. Sometimes I feel like the priestess in the temple, the divine prostitute, the Mother/Whore they seem to need, no matter how much I struggle against that way of labelling and pigeon holing me. It’s also the reason why I can never get a man to stay.
At any rate, I’m not investing too much emotionally in this relationship. It’s a physical thing and I am enjoying it for what it is, a blessing. I also remember what my Iya said to me a few months ago, “Go out and have fun, but don’t fall in love with anyone.”
So that’s what I’ve been doing.
Happy 30th Birthday to Me!