“Cree is Mad”

20 MIN READ

 At first, I wasn’t bothered by the request. It may have even been sexy. See, I am the kind of woman who is visibly identifiable as a free spirit. I could describe myself, my hair or clothes to help you understand, but it wouldn’t matter. I am the kind of woman you feel and know it to be true. The kind that makes people say, “I like your energy.” The kind narcissists clamor to tame. The thing of Virgo nightmares. I am free and wild. A woman who walks into a room and dances before she speaks. A woman who’s loved men who love men and women who love women. I am free and wild. Every dose of love or spite is pure and true. I live an imperfect life, born of intention, free & wild. This is why she always tells me the truth and knew she could ask. 

We sit in bed: her back upright against the wall and long legs stretched, possessing the bed’s width in full. She blows out a puff of smoke over her exposed shoulder and away from me. I watch it roll over the skin left bare from her white tank as she passes me the key to our unwinding. I sit cross-legged and at her feet in the comfort of my flesh and cotton underwear. Elbow resting on my knee, I exchange the spirit of bourbon for that of sativa in two pulls and one billowing cloud. I pass it back and watch her balance paper and fire between her fingers as she raises them to her full lips. I stare as she inhales deeply, releases, and floats a blend of imagery and words into the smokey veil. Licking the ash off of her bottom lip she says,

“I want to watch you fuck someone else.” 

I accept the invitation to indulge in a round of repartee and respond, “No you don’t. You want to watch me react to another masculine woman’s touch the way I respond to yours?”

“Fuck, no.” She says, drawing back with squinted eyes and a furrowed brow.

“You want to watch me with a man?” I tease.

Demonstrating, motioning with her tongue, she replies, “I’d let him watch me eat your pussy.”

“They need to learn. Help them!” I comically retort, sticking out my tongue, patting my thighs and rocking my hips as if to ride her face.

We laugh. 

“So what are we talking about, then? Another feminine woman?” I say with a dash of flirtation and mischief. 

“I mean, maybe.” She responds with a predatory glare.

“I definitely get why you’d want to see that. In the moments I’ve been with them I imagine we look hot as shit. I mean, as soon as we figure out who wants to be on top.”

“It’s you.”

“It’s me. I’m on top.”

We laugh again. 

“I can see you pushing down on the small of a woman’s back while you’re fucking her from behind.” She declares dreamily and adds, “Do you ever miss being with another woman?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you ever miss fucking other women?”

“Where is this coming from?” I say with a disarming smile.

Grinning audaciously, she says “I fantasize about you with other women sometimes.” 

We pause, tending to our independent imaginations. Breaking the silence, I ask “Is that fantasy or something you think you want in real life?”

“I mean, I kinda want to see it,” pausing, “No, I do. I do want to see.”

“When you imagine us, do you see yourself participating?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there someone you have in mind?”

Pausing again to weigh risk and reward, she touches her chin, shifts her eyes from left to right and proceeds. “There’s this bank teller that keeps flirting with me.”

“My nigga, why are you still going to the bank?”

“I like paper checks!” she counters.

We laugh.

I playfully throw up my hands, gesturing for her to continue. 

“At first I wasn’t sure if she was flirting for real. Your people have to be obvious as shit for us to know.”

“My people?”

“Femmes, baby. Femmes!”

“Okay, so she’s feminine. What does she look like?”

“I can only tell you what she looks like from the shoulders up, but she’s brown-skinned with a full face and curly hair.”

“Oh, you bagging 4c cuties?” I quip, using levity to mask bubbling discomfort. “What makes you feel certain she’s flirting?”

“Last time she helped me she complimented my outfit and asked where I was going. I told her, ‘Home to my girlfriend.’ I don’t have a real reason to say for sure that she was flirting, but it definitely felt like it.”

“I trust your instincts.”

“I went back today and she made it real clear. I’m sure she was flirting with me. Walked up to her window and she said, ‘Hey, you look good as always. It’s so good to see you.’”

“She used the word ‘good’ twice? Oh, you’re good, good.” I interject as uneasiness turns to sass. 

Picking up on the shift, she responds, “Baby, is this too much?” 

I stroke her face with both hands and say reassuringly, “No, baby. It’s uncomfortable, but not too much. What happened next?” 

“I told her that I noticed she wasn’t wearing her ring. She said she hasn’t worn it in three days and then asked me, ‘Does it matter?’ I held my hands up and backed away a little. Like, I wanted her to know I was leaving it alone. She said, ‘Oh, so no comment?’ out loud and then ‘My life is not exciting.’ under her breath. I awkwardly tried to redirect the conversation so I just said, ‘I like your nail polish.’ She waved her hand in front of her body, scanning herself from head to toe and was like, ‘I don’t want to do too much.’ I told her, ‘You shouldn’t tone yourself down for anyone.’ She smiled and went back to work. When she was done, she said, ‘I’m going to see you again, right? In a week or two?’ I said, ‘Yeah.’ So she said, ‘Then I’ll see you later,’ and I left.”

After a single deep breath I responded, “How did you feel while it was happening?”

“I felt my fuckboi energy rise up. Honestly, it gave me a sense of confidence.”

Setting the trap, “How did you feel afterward?”

Hesitant but cocky she drops, “I wanted to fuck her.” 

Externally emotionless, I rest my chin in my hand, place my index finger over my lips, tilt my head and reply, “Is that all?”

‘No, I felt like I wanted to tell you. I mean, I wanted you to be there, too.”

“I appreciate you telling me the truth. It makes me feel like I can trust you. Is this why you’re asking me about fantasies with other women?”

“Maybe. I imagined it but I didn’t want to keep it from you. I wanted you there, too.” 

“You imagined a real woman there… someone you’re attracted to… with me?” In that moment, the weed wore off and the liquor kicked back in. “You don’t want to create a fantasy with me, you want me to help you facilitate yours.”

She’s startled. “But, babe, you’ve done it before. I’m so confused. You told me yourself about being with other men and women at the same time. I thought it would be fun. I thought you wanted me to tell you the truth.”

“I do want you to tell me the truth.” I say, prioritizing logic and sanity. “I didn’t love them. I didn’t love them.” I groan. As passion breaks through, tears flood my eyes. 

“Baby, no. Oh, no. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you wanted to know.”

Though tears, I say, “I do. I want to know the truth.”

She apologetically drops her head into my lap and wraps her arms around my waist. For a moment, we are still and quiet. In that tiny window of silence, my feelings transform into a tug of war between anger and sadness. Quiet tears become wailing cries, easily lubricated and let loose by the drinks we had an hour ago. 

“This always happens. I’m real now. The excitement is gone.”

“No way. Cree, no. I’m so attracted to you. You’re everything I need. I don’t, I don’t even know why I want this. I, I thought it would be sexy. I thought you’d think it was fun.” Sighing, “I shouldn’t have told you.”

Sadness definitively turns to anger and my voice begins to crack. “You can’t keep secrets, babe. We can’t. If you thought it, then it’s your truth. You thought it. You imagined touching another woman and now you’re telling me you wish you kept it a secret?”

Far too casually, a mix of ego and regret, she responds, “Maybe.”

With a firm palm and clawed fingers, I grip her face and pull her eyes to meet the California wildfires in my mine.

“Maybe? Is this what you want? You want me to be angry? I’m not doing that. You are mine, but if you want someone else you don’t want to be mine. Sit with yourself and figure out what you really want. I’m sure I want you but clearly you’re confused.” I strike first and release her face with a slight squeeze and push away. 

As soon as my hands meet the sheets, I push up and initiate an escape. Her hands cover mine and over-power me like a feather persuading a rock not to roll. I don’t really want to go. Her touch sets off landmines beneath the surface. Some explosions spray rejection and others affirmation, a complicated cocktail of fragility. The only way to make it stop is to run away and run cold. My body turns to ice and steel. Each stiffened limb locks in madness. My heart pounds, signaling primal instincts to fight. My vision blurs and head aches like white noise interrupting input. I breathe deeply and slowly, certain the slightest sound could break me. She tries to hold my hand and touch my knee. She begs me to come closer. Each attempt at comfort is denied. 

“Please tell me how you feel.” She pleads. Either I can’t or I won’t so I jab, “It doesn’t fucking matter and I’m not even sure I care to explain.” These words an act of arson, fire without remorse. 

Certain all responses are potentially incendiary, she pivots to kisses. Soft, apologetic kisses cover my tears, my forehead, my lips, my collarbone, my shoulder. I push her away but she gently replies, “Do you want me to stop.” “No,” I mumble through tears. Her love has made my armor paper-thin. She kisses my neck, my breasts, my navel, inside my thighs and softly begins to remove my panties. She slides them over my hips and knees before kissing me there.  She looks up from between my legs with fixed and tearful eyes. Our gaze locked, she begins to peel me open with her fingers and lick me slowly with her whole tongue. She makes it wide and soft, slowly stroking up and down. My body yields as she bears down, twisting her tongue into a figure-eight & pulsing each time I uncoil. She pushes one thigh up with her palm and pulls me closer by the hip with the other, proving I am open. 

My pleasure is her comfort, a dripping wet affirmation of her sustained status as king. I melt as she moans. Assured that I am docile, she confidently slips her tongue inside me, vacillating like a spin cycle, washing me clean. My body confirms her authority and releases a flood of cum and tears. They overflow without permission, glossing her face and mine. A downpour of pleasure and comfort break free as I scream her name and dig my nails into the base of her head. As the muscles in my body contract my wrists and knees curl into my heaving chest. Spasming, I tear at her clothes, pulling the straps of her white tank, stretching and popping the seams. 

Tears flow unbounded. Some tears belong to her and this moment, some I cannot name. I lay naked, fragile like newly shed skin, unable to maintain barriers. I wrap my thighs around her head as it rests between my legs. Her cheek lays on my right thigh and her arms wrap around the left. We rest, tangled, emptied, and exposed. Positive I have returned to her in full, she raises up to kiss me. For a moment, it is true. But, in remembering our love, I remember my own pain and fear. Like an untamed beast grasping for power, I push her, hard.

“Get off of me!” I wail, pushing her shoulders and writhing beneath her weight. “Get off me!” 

Surprised by the transition, she responds with care, moves closer and delivers a delayed response. “Baby?”  

Somewhere deep inside, a switch has been flipped. I bite my lip, squint my eyes, grab her face and officially announce the shift, “Fuck you!” 

“Oh, shit!” Her body knows mine and instantly acknowledges the metamorphosis. This is the precise moment anger melts and reanimates as new creation, like molten steel into a sword. I am born into the flesh of another animal that feeds on electricity. Chaos charges the cells in my body like atoms, contained and vibrating before explosion. This savage creature hungers for thunder and lightning, thirsts for pleasure and pain. 

Thunder howls once more, “Fuck you!” 

Lightning claps as my hand draws back and connects with her cheek. “Fuck me right now.”

The force moves her face slightly but when her eyes return to mine they are charged. “I like it when you slap me.” So, I do. My hand meets her face, this time harder. All flames have been lit. With one hand pressing into my collarbone and throat she moans, “Hit me again.” 

Slap. Slap. Slap. Three quick and firm strikes against her caramel skin bring forth a hint of ruby red. Their sting summons a beast. She pushes me over to my side and lays behind me, entangling my limbs with hers and subduing all movement. I feel the warmth of her pussy against my ass and the heat of her panting breath behind my ear. A wave of energy rushes through us both as we reconnect and cry out in unison, “Uhhhhhhhhhh.” I feel her inside me, cycling through as she wraps one arm around my waist and holds me tight. With the back of my head against her chest, she reaches around and pulls me in firmly by the throat. Choking, just slightly, she brings her mouth down to my ear and whispers, “Tell me you’re mine.” I tilt my head up and back, meet her ear with my mouth and nibble before growling, “You ARE mine.” She thrusts into me and chokes harder. Her palm locks around my throat, her fingers beneath one ear and her thumb beneath the other. I can’t fully breathe. Breaths become more rapid and shallow as she rubs her clit against my ass, takes her left hand from my waist, places it around my neck, and shifts her right to my back. As she chokes me with one hand and she traces my spine with the other, flirting with pain, scratching all the way down to my ass. When she arrives, she rolls over my curves with her hand and smacks it hard, without apology. Waves of pleasure reverberate and send me into a frenzy. Just then, her fingers sink into an undulating pool. Walls of waterfalls constrict and release in tempo around them, pulsing more and more with each probing push. 

I reach back, running my fingers over her durag, and grip the back of her neck. Biting into the sheets and clawing at her flesh, I grunt and plead, “Harder.”

She commands control, turns me over onto my stomach, and dives in and out of me from behind. Her fingers are consumed. Her wrist slaps my ass, sending vibrations through my body and into the bed. They are rippling waves around her stroke. The headboard thumps in time with each thrust. The sound of banging wood, squeaking screws, jerking groans, and panting breaths fill the room. Her movements go from hard and fast to deep and slow. The bed-knocking baseline sounds more like ominous footsteps. Something is coming. In a voice matching her pace, she whispers, “I only love you, baby. Just you. I don’t want nobody else.” Thump. Thump. Thump. “I love you.” Biting into my shoulder, she moans, “I choose you.” Licking my earlobe, “You’re so sexy. I love you.” Her left hand, now digging into my waist, and her hips positioned behind her hand, she pours her energy into me. Her knees are next to mine as she rocks from the back. My open mouth wets the sheets as I lose control of my voice. Her fingers twist and curve with each stroke. My pussy tightens around them, begging us both to cum. “I choose you. I want you,” She screams, tilting her head back as we climax. I release a howling cry rivaled only by wolves as she collapses onto me. I stutter and scream each syllable, “On-ly me” and die. 

I awaken in her embrace, face to face, bare chest to chest. I run my hands down both of her arms. Her skin is dewy and soaked from the storm. My fingers gently tap at hers, locking and releasing, dragging up and through them, pausing at the fingertips, playing with the vibration between us. I look up and into her eyes. The only words I’m able to speak state the obvious, “I’m in a trance.” She is the only thing I see in a world of fog. Passion makes her clear. Fucking her makes everything else dissolve into a mist. She bends to kiss me reassuringly. Her mouth tastes like me so I kiss her again, gently at first. Pleasure has temporarily tamed me but I awaken with each touch of her soft lips and flit of her wile tongue. My sex refuses to be tamed by climax. An unconquerable birr brews and demands control. 

Without warning I climb onto her face.

Her head is crushed between the mattress and my wet pussy as I paint her face with sweet syrup. Knowingly, she extends her tongue for me to ride. With my hands pushing the wall behind the bed, I straddle her. My thighs are a tightening tourniquet, my pussy a hydraulic press. She slips her tongue into me as I slide up, over her chin and down, over her nose, caring little for her life or breath. If she wants to survive, she must lick according to my dictated pace. In a voice left cracked from screaming I command, “Suck my clit.” I feel it swell between her lips as she presses between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. I pull her head into me and grind as she sucks harder and faster. She knows I need to fuck the anger out of my body and onto her face. She knows her life depends on this pending climax. It’s coming. My pace begins to stiffen and my hands lose placement on the wall. Recognizing my cue, she grips underneath my thighs to stabilize me. My hands let go and find her head. Her durag feels like black rain, saturated and warm. “Baby,” I pant. She knows I’ve released control. How soon can she drink me up? How soon until she swallows me whole? For a moment, I stare down into her eyes. They tell me to cum. With short and uneven breaths, I speak one more time, “ba-by.” My body offers her redemption for those villainous words with one final explosion and a raucous cry. I cave into her. Injuries are cauterized.

The only thing I can feel are her lips grazing my ears as she whispers, “I love you, baby.” 

“I love you, too.”

tip me