“The Water”
10 MIN READ
11:37am on Wednesday, the phone rings.
A name appears that would usually be a new message. Incoming FaceTime from Jayana. Last night we talked in the car for about an hour and a half about Nat, her lady that’s not her lady. They’re caught in the impossible, sticky trap of single life. The “in it, but only because you’re caught” life. Jay longs for something real. She loves their conversations, the sex, and the fun they have. She wants to break out of the cycle of uncertainty and know for sure if it’s safe to go deeper. So, this call is either a celebration or breaking news of disaster.
“Hello.”
“Biiiiiiiitch.”
“Tell me.”
She inhales sharply and says, “It’s over. I told her how I feel and she wants no parts. I said, ‘I don’t want to wonder what we could be.’ and she got quiet as fuck. Just dead silence. She didn’t even want to try. Said something about work and time with friends. I know what that means. Like, what? She could’ve just said she wants to see other people. I wasn’t asking her to be my girl. I just wanted to go deeper than the surface. She seemed worth it, but no.”
“Damn. I’m so sorry. Jay.”
“Yeah,” she says, exhaling. It wasn’t the kind of deep breath one takes when a burden has been lifted. Her exasperated breath was an indicator that the road had split, once again, and the journey ahead remained obscure. “I’m stuck on this hazy, bum-lined, trail of broken bitches. We’re all jaded searching for someone to love our sorry asses enough to treat the loneliness but not enough to touch the pain. Sad, lonely, scared, phoney bitches. All of us.”
The corners of her mouth drop just before her face moves out of view. I know this silence well. Inward cries escape in single tears and muffled choking that sounds like a beast, clawing at the inner walls of a locked box. When her face comes back into view, her eyes are red like chilies and rose petals. Jay clears her throat and squeaks, “Can I come over? Like before.”
“Okay. Like before.”
12:53pm the buzzer rings. “It’s me.”
As soon as the door is wide enough, Jay falls into my arms. We are about the same size, but she doubles over into my chest like I am twice as strong and tucks her head beneath my chin. Human contact forces the lid off of a bubbling pot. Her words are choppy like metal against metal as hot steam bursts through. Every word she speaks is a tear.
“It’s her, but it’s not her. I’m just so tired,” she cries.
I pick her shoulders up, rub them up and down and look into her eyes. The water is a misty veil.
I gently direct, “I can’t see you. Let’s sit down,” as I take her hand and lead her to the couch. We sit, holding hands. Her voice the pitch of steam rising from a kettle, she declares “ I want to get out so badly. I’m great. Where is my forever love? I couldn’t see her, not for real. I believed she was who she said she was. I finally let my guard down a little bit and this is what I get. Am I bad at choosing or are people just cruel?”
“Come here,” I say, turning towards her and inviting her into my lap. Her running eyes, nose and the corner of her mouth shed tears that make my yellow pants into a map of past lovers. “You’re such a treasure, Jay.”
I rub lavender and bergamot infused coconut oil into her temples. I trace the line between the center of her forehead and the tip of her nose with my middle finger, over and over again until her heaving chest slows to the pace of my touch.
“Let that go. You are so valuable. You’re so smart and kind. You bring so much to the table and you deserve to be loved. You will make a great partner, Jay. And, if memory serves, your pussy is wet as shit. Your pussy is a fuckin gift.”
Dragging the inside of her shirt over her face, she proclaims, “I do have good ass pussy.”
“The best. Do you want to be spoiled right now, like before? Do you want to be the absolute center of the universe?”
Sniffling as she transitions into the reality of her brightened circumstance, Jay asks, “Like before, Cree?”
“Like before.”
Jay’s breath quickens with anticipation. I place my palm between her breasts. Her racing heart lets me know that she is ready. Her hands lightly pull at the bottom of her shirt and raise it up and over her head, letting me know that she is eager. My hands take their place, lifting the collar over her face and hair. Her arms still entangled in the cotton t-shirt, I kiss her neck beneath her ear and whisper, “Can I take my clothes off too?”
Immediately, she tugs at my pants, hastily attempting to remove them. Instead of indulging her passion, I lean into her and softly place my hands on either cheek. Slowly, I kiss her lips and say, “I want to wash you.” Covering her face and forehead with gentle, sweet kisses releases something. This exhaling breath is absolution.
“I have a surprise for you,” I excitedly announce. “Go into the bathroom, get undressed, turn on the shower, let the water get as warm as you like, and get in. My bonnet is under the sink.”
Lights on.
Jay goes into the bathroom.
White tile.
White walls.
Dreamcatcher.
Buddha figurine with rose quartz in his lap.
Handwritten poem:
“SUNDAY”
The light on your face
Is stripes of warmth, sun aglow
Warmth fills my bedroom
Scripture:
“Love is patient. Love is kind.”
Plant.
Sage.
White towels.
Silver tray.
Three white candles.
Lighter.
Candles lit. Water on. Lights off. Clothes off. Braids swept up into a crown.
The candle-lit room is filled with steam. Droplets cling to the glass shower doors and obscure my view. Jay is a shadow behind the fog. Her shoulders are broad and straight as she draws them back to receive the shower with her collarbone. Like falling rain, my eyes slip down her spine and settle in a puddle between her heart-shaped ass. That’s where I want to touch her first. As I watch her bathe in the darkness, I imagine tracing her spine with my fingers and letting them wander into her from behind. I imagine the sound water and flesh makes when her thighs clap against my hand like waves on the shore.
I close the door behind me, leaving the world outside. The only real things are this room and our senses. Water on skin is touch. Fog and silhouettes are sight. Jasmine-scented flames smell. I hit “play” and a soft, steady base, tapping chakras at the root becomes sound. Tap. Tap. Tap. Full, booming, tones radiate root to belly, chest to throat. Jay feels it too and begins to sway. With her eyes closed, she tilts her head back and opens her mouth to receive a cleansing cascade. Purifying water is taste.
With a wooden bowl in hand, I slide into the haze and kiss Jay’s shoulder.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
She knowingly turns to lean into a kiss. Her lips are slippery, wet, and warm. She wraps a hand around the back of my neck and pulls my mouth to hers, gently requesting permission with her rocking tongue. It sways along the tip of mine before diving in, toying with my desire. It’s too soon. My body jerks as the bowl begins to slip. The jolt interrupts her advances.
I gather myself to declare and request, “I’m going to touch you. Is that okay?”
Nodding, she reaches to take the bowl and continue foreplay. Instead, I lay it at her feet, just beyond her reach. As I rise, I drag my hands up her legs and loiter at her waist. Clenching my hands above her hips, I pull her into me, savoring the softness of our touching thighs. I pull her close and swerve my own hips into hers, just to feel the slick moisture and prickles between our skin. Sensing submission, I tease my fingertips up her back, scratch behind her ears and then stop. She unconsciously holds her breath in anticipation. I reach behind her back for a bar of black soap and a washcloth. I lather as Jay closes her eyes, yielding herself to the water, trusting my touch will wash her clean.
Silver suds slide down her brown skin while she coaxes them off with her own hands. They gather at the drain as I bend to dip my fingers into the bowl.
Almond oil
Hawaiian sea salt
Epsom salt
Orange peels
Rosemary
I rise and place my own back beneath the shower. My body is a barrier between hers and the water, a negative space, so she is only grazed by drops that first caress me. She is only touched by the water we share, the pool at her feet, the warm dew in the air, and my hands circling her back. I feel the grit of salt and melting oil against her satin skin. Round and round, I travel along her shoulders, down her arms, at the small of her back, spending extra time with tight places, making them soft. Again, I loiter at her waist and cling to her hips, kneading the small of her back.
I take another handful of salt. Each thigh is its own event and both hands are required. Around and around, a dance of circles, water, and flesh. One hand up, into the round parts and down again. Time slows behind the knees. Jay releases a guttural sigh. Its tones are deeper and similar to the downbeat pulsing in the background. Another dip into the salt belongs to the calves, twisting and stroking up and down. In one fluid motion, I move my hand over the bridge of her foot, over her toes, and press gently under the arch. The water at her feet glistens.
Crouched beneath her, I bring my lips to her oiled, glossy skin and ask,
“Where should I kiss?”
Each question is accompanied by the action.
“Your knee? Inside your thigh? Here?”
A slight pause is immediately followed by the kiss we’ve both been waiting for. I reach up and take hold of her inner thigh, gripping one tightly while kissing my way up the other. Her knees part, just slightly, granting permission. She lowers her body, politely begging me to reach higher. As my mouth ascends upward, her salty skin becomes sweet.
As I bend beneath her, showers cascade from her breasts onto my back. I look up to watch a drop flow from her nipple onto my face. We are drenched in the same water until I dive deeper into a well all my own. I drink the splashing water that rolls over her navel, between her legs, and into my mouth. My hands trace the meeting of her thighs and separate them from behind as my tongue glides up from beneath her clit. I imagine the force of my grip sends an aching sensation through her core while my tongue dives deep into her pussy. Every time the broad center of my tongue presses up and into her, she swells in appreciation.
My own heart races when her body responds with pleasure. She drops more of her weight into my care. She opens her legs a bit more. I hold my tongue steady, pressing firmly into her swelling clit and she rocks her hips into me to taking the pleasure she needs.
Her orgasms taps into my desire. I reach between my own butterflied legs to gauge the water between them. My fingers slide effortlessly into my own wetness. They slip over my own swollen clit, just enough to affirm the electricity between us is real. I take my fingers, dripping with my own syrup, reach back up, and glide them over her clit. I want to feel her like I feel myself, thick, saturated, and blooming. I want to know what our waters feel like together. If we poured ourselves into the same ocean and swam, where we go. Our waters are just deep enough for a dip. Wide and true enough to dive in and come up dripping wet. I liken the feeling of her pussy to the euphoric sensation of emerging from the water, covered in salt and sea, flipping my hair in slow motion, and parting my lips for the first breath of air. Renewed entirely, I open my middle and pointer fingers and place her clit between them. They slide into place like gears made to interlock. Perfect pressure and pace persuade her clit to pulse. Up and down, my fingers move with and against a down-pouring waterfall. The shower and her body plot against friction. Fingers glide unbounded, with nothing to resist them. She throbs against my skin, firing every nerve in my fingertips.
Her energy tears through me, breaking my will to hold back. All patience is lost. Selfishly, I need to taste her cum. It is slippery and sweet like strawberries but more like pussy. She tastes like she sounds, clean and bountiful enough to quench my thirst. Her warm waters wash us both. To kiss her is a gamble and my tongue moves like shuffling cards. I taste her with my whole mouth with broad, pleading strokes. I imagine each flit, lick, and twist is a piece of me pulsing through her, begging to be felt. I am a wave that crashes into her, flooding her body like a tsunami forcing its way over the shore, destroying every man-made thing in its path. My tongue and passion become her only disaster. She, like a bystander to fate, opens wide and submits to her undoing. I lick her completely, root to clit, nose deep. Her body, the envy of waterfalls. I am the rocks beneath, catching and gathering every drop.
She wraps her fingers into my wet curls and tangles them while she grinds into my face. My sopping wet hair slides through her groping hands but she is determined. She wrestles with my hair and face, dominating them both. When my hair slips, she twists harder. When my face slides, she rubs faster. I lick as she fucks my face. Root to clit, nose deep. Clit to my chin. Her waters the envy of rivers and streams. I am the ocean they flow into, waiting to receive her. And she is coming. No longer concerned for my comfort or need for air, she fucks me desperately. She pulls harder at my hair, presses more firmly against my face and I dare not stop.
“Please. You feel so good. Please.”
I disobey her pleading for a moment to urge, “Cum down my throat and let me drown.”