love letter to black women

Can’t wait to read the “letters” that this will spawn.

 

The Dance

*the scene…*

There’s a chocolate velour couch where I’m sitting. Lights are dimmed, the aroma of cinnamon permeates the atmosphere, and Usher’s Seduction is playing in the background. To my right is a new style recliner. As the music plays, I get up and take a seat in the recliner. Like clockwork, you enter the room as the breakdown of the song begins.

You’re dressed in a lace teal and black corset with a teal v-string. On your legs are black thigh highs covered in teal fishnets and on your feet are 4.5 inch open toed heels. Everything you’re wearing accentuates your curves flawlessly.

As you enter the room, I begin to stand, but you extend your hand as if to say “stop”…then you wave it at me as if to say sit back down. You slowly make your way toward me, as you do, we make eye contact, and hold that gaze for what seems like forever. I start to lean up, ever so slightly to glance at you, taking in the wondrous sight that I’ve been afforded the opportunity to look upon.

Seduction ends and Joe’s More and More begins. As the initial beat drops, so do you. Each time the bass note thumps, your hips follow along. I’m utterly mesmerized by the way your body undulates, and I simply can’t look away.

As the song ends, you back into the room, our eyes never losing focus. I stand to follow you because the sight of you dancing has overwhelmed my senses. But again, you put your hands up to tell me “stop”. Instead of motioning for me to sit back down, you say “lay on the floor and take your shirt and glasses off; I’ll be right back”. Not one to have to be told twice, I do as requested and earnestly await your return.

The anticipation gnaws at me. Two songs play before you return to the room, sans the v-string. For a second that seems like forever, I sit up and stare in utter amazement. The smoothness of the flower betwixt your thighs is as the surface of a quiet lake. A sly smile creeps across your succulent lips as you watch me watching you. You ask, “you like?” All I can do is nod my approval.

Still clad in the thigh highs, corset, and heels, you walk toward me, and Lou Rawl’s Early Morning Love begins to play. When you get to my feet, you ask me to close my eyes. After 3 seconds of internal debate, they’re shut. I feel you step over me and walk up my body until your standing over waist. Unbeknownst to me, you had managed to grab the stereo remote. After finding a song that fits your plan, you toss the remote on the recliner and tell me, “no matter what, you can’t open your eyes”. I deeply exhale, signaling my agreement.

You then lower yourself onto me and pick up right where you left off before you originally exited the room. I can’t open my eyes, but my hands are doing all the seeing my eyes cannot. They methodically travel along every nook, fold, and curve you have; memorizing every millimeter of your being. It’s -literally- getting harder than I ever thought to maintain control of myself, but I’m a cool customer.

You check to make sure my eyes are still closed (they are), and then you stretch out prostrate on top of me. I envelope you in my arms, rubbing my hands up and down your back and lightly palming that blessed butt of yours. Your head is on my chest, nuzzled under my chin. Softly you whisper, “I could stay like this…but the show isn’t over.” “Oh really?” I ask. You nod your head in the affirmative, wiggle out of my grasp, and raise your body up, but not fully.

You slow wind your body up mine. Your breasts caress my face, and I kiss them as they keep traveling north, until lace from the corset rubs against my face. The next skin I feel is your stomach. I kiss it as well, and you stop moving. My chest feels an uptick in moistness as you say “keep kissing right there.” And I do, for several minutes.

You ask me to stop…but why would I? Through the kisses, you creep up a little bit more…and the rose is directly over my mouth. In a clear, but low voice, “place that bud on my lips!” I demand, but you don’t, at least not initially. “I’ll place it where I want…when I want” is your reply. While this test of wills is taking place, you’ve managed to place your thighs on my shoulders.

With ease, I maneuver you so your thighs are now on the sides of my head, and the bud is where I want it. You lean back, providing me even greater access to your treasure. You begin rubbing my bald head and simply ask, “what are you waiting for?”

And with that, I begin to feast like a famished man who’s not had sustenance for time on end…