amor noveau 2

she was ready and knew by the look in his brown eyes that he had something special in store for her. her moans turned to sighs as he gently teased her. more nibbles here, another kiss there. her skin craved him and her body needed him. but his impatience was thinly veiled. just as quickly as he showered her with kisses, he grabbed her roughly by the waist and pulled her close. her dress long gone, had left her revealed in only the most intimate of ways. her breath caught in her throat as he whispered in her ear. "ma belle...mon amour." his voice touched her at the very core of her being and her heart swelled with emotion. her head dropped back as she lost herself to the sounds of the saxophone and the piano -- so sharp and so clear yet so perfectly intertwined, who would ever doubt that they were meant to be coupled. "nina...nina...", his voice trembling as he whispered her name over and over. she let herself be carried away on the wave of desire that he so expertly crafted. his hands continued their exploration. her nipples. her navel. and finally, the one spot that had been screaming for his attention. rough and gentle. gentle and rough. he let her know that she was as much his as he was hers. primal instincts took over as she bucked her hips, searching for the one thing that would completely satisfy her. she was ready to have him. she was ready to take him. she was ready for all of him.

by wynsters the tigress (inspired by Felicia's "amor noveau")

Amor Nouveau

His hands were rough and wide as if all his life he's never known the softness of a woman's touch. He caressed her doll-like face almost scratching her smooth ebony skin. He wiped away the sweat off her nose with his fingers and tasted the salty liquid. He held her close to him. His big arms coveing her, she felt safe. He held on tight as if he were afraid to let her go. She looked into his almond-shaped chocolate brown eyes and melted. He stared back into her. She kissed his soft full lips after which, he placed two smaller ones on both of her cheeks.

"Nina," he almost growled her name as he spoke softly into her ears. His soft French accent lilting his words. "Cherie, si belle." She smiled at him as he kissed her, unzipping her dress with his hands. Watching it fall to the floor, he kissed her neck. "So beautiful," he repeated. She let his hands explore her skin, closing her eyes to feel the sensation.

He left a trail of kisses on her shoulder, nibbling on her arms. He kissed her elbows, her hands, her fingers...She moaned gently, not wanting it to end. He held her as John Coltrane played "Naima" in the background. She loved the feel of her skin on his, his skin on hers. She knew where the night was heading. She was ready.

(to be continued, maybe)

remember the time

january 8, 2010

as i got off the train, the air was damp, in that way that it can only be after a day of continuous rainfall. i took a deep breath, several actually, as i walked down the steps onto the street level. it was late and i momentarily wondered where i would find the energy to walk the few blocks home. i paused at the bottom. one, two more deep breaths. i held my head down as i began my walk. shadows grew and changed shape as several street lamps flickered on. i imagined several worlds taking place behind those shadows. worlds where people did extraordinary things. worlds where dreams took flight and no one ever doubted their existence. i wondered about those worlds as i continued my journey through a world that had begun to bore me. i heard others walking behind me: a mother speaking softly to the baby in a stroller; a student blasting music in his earphones, lost and drowning in the sound. others walked more quickly, with more determination, as they scurried past me. my nostrils filled with smells that made me cringe. garbage, dog shit, exhaust, life. instead of washing it all away, the rain allowed it all to linger. i felt heavy, like a plow. pushing my way through. but not with an ease. rather, with a difficulty that bordered on apathy or insouciance. i felt disengaged, carried by the current of the world, to a place that lacked vibrancy; to a place where life has no definition. i should have run. i should have cried out. i should have done anything to force that life, any life, back into me. but instead, i slowed my pace, kept my head down and continued to walk. toward that place that held neither life nor meaning to me.

wynsters the tigress

The L Word

written by Felicia York

She wondered how long she could keep the melancholy at bay before it spread itself all over her face like a billboard on a highway. It was her little secret - the elephant in the room about which they all wondered but never dared to ask. How did she cope with it all? She mired about her daily life pretending not to care, not to notice the growing void which food nor self-administered orgasms could fill. The chasm within her mined itself a tunnel to dark places she'd long buried. There were places in the dark where the Sun would not shine again. She soothed herself, shaking off the day with vodka and coke and let the music play around her while she searched the recesses of her mind, numbed the voices in her head and let the rhythm take her.

Her gripped her waist, smiling at her smelling like someone else's man. She did not care, renting him for the night, placing her hands around his neck, letting him dance with her, taking the lead. She felt safe with him as he manipulated her body. She was in her own little world as her breath smelled of cheap wine and desperation. How long would she live like this? Clouding her mind with happy thoughts, she would not dare speak the words that danced on the tip of her tongue. She moved with him until the bottoms of her feet burned and the sweat dotted her brow. She kissed his cheek and thanked him as she disappeared in the night out of fear she would turn into a pumpkin.

She rode the train, ignoring the looks from the men who glared at her. What could they really offer besides broken promises and hard thrusts in the dark with half-flaccid penises? Maybe she needed those things to help her remember. She needed to remember she was a woman underneath the armor she'd built around herself. She couldn't remember the last time she felt safe and vulnerable in a man's arms. There were things she needed that she would never utter. She would never speak them to a soul because she knew the difference between want and need. She possessed a needing that was never fulfilled. Devastating.

She shrugged it off. She was tired and she would have to go home to face what she'd been running from all along. For the truth was that no matter how hard she tried, she could never run from herself. She would always have to face the loneliness that burrowed into her bones and rattled within her, radiating with each heartbeat; she had no choice but to face it. It would have to wait for another night. That night, she self-medicated, washing the pain away with borrowed smiles and spirits. Morning would come as it always had. The morrow would bring a new day with her old lover. She still wished for something that she quite possibly could not have: change.

Spoken By The Walls

Written By Kwesi D.

It was a thing that could not be whispered about comfortably even between confidants, not broached in a room off to the back, with the doors closed and the windows lowered, where two or three might have been gathered, drinking heavily and talking openly, with words distorted by the alcohol and a whizzing fan or perhaps a heater, making it difficult for eavesdroppers to decipher. It was too personal. It was just the type of thing that could not be clearly conveyed or willingly articulated. And a man is a creature of pride in numerous measure, and conditioning. It was too personal. It was the type of thing that could not be described freely, without the threat of interpretation. No. This rejection, this insult were for my heart alone to bear; the devastation, for my chest alone to attempt to restrain within its brittle walls.

The dead ancestors themselves would know for certain that one can only speak for oneself in love and other matters. Love was the subject. Love misused was the secret I hid behind my confident stride, with my shoulders pressed out, broad and foreboding, and a head held up against the sun. I felt the women swelter under their dresses when I appeared and regarded them, but I was dying inside. A love discarded flooded my consciousness. It overflowed into all of my happy fantasies and drowned them out. It banished me from the city and into the bed to gaze blankly at the walls, to watch them swell and deform from too much focus. It withdrew me from the company of others like salt water retracting slowly across sand. This insult, this heartache was mine alone to hoard. It was too personal.

It is the notion that love is the highest achievement of the living that holds us captive, setting us out upon unknown paths, making the lonely feel that they have failed somehow and question their purpose; their worth. Thinking that the divine had finally blown its kiss at me from the heavens or the outer galaxies or right here in the invisible dimensions, I flung open my doors to catch it. I watched it soar in and land on me like a little bird and allowed it to remain. Good sense and restraint were pushed aside and the wish that I might walk with you was dominant; it was paramount like the idols that send believers to their knees. I fell on my knees and cried when it was done; I cried and trembled; I cried and cursed my own weakness; I cried out my shame in a place that no one could see. A man is a creature of pride, after all – a creature of pride and conditioning.

The dead ancestors would know for certain the many mysteries of all there is to know, all that the living have yet to comprehend. They must see, from their positions, the end of the long stone path and grasp its maneuvers and meanderings; they must watch as one day unfolds into the next by design and predict the steady course of a healing heart. They have to know, before the unknowing, that he will once more find comfort in the contact of others; feel his way back to the world; acquiesce to a friendly gesture; see his way back from desolation; raise his head once more in the sunlight; stride with true confidence in good time; and genuinely smile at just the right moment, smile and look into just the right face; reconcile with love at last and wait once more for a kiss from the divine.