Between Lovers (20 page)

A wall-length mirror is over the sink, double mirrors are on the facing wall; we're surrounded by so many naked angles of us.

Ayanna goes to Nicole, top teeth on bottom lip, touching her face, claiming her as I watch.

Nicole says, “Isn't Ayanna beautiful? The perfect body.”

Ayanna blushes.

Nicole says, “Look at her nipples. God, I wish mine were like that.”

Ayanna and I stare at each other. Seeing her nipples makes my stomach growl.

Nicole comes to me, rubs my stomach. “Aren't these the best abs you've ever seen? He's so toned.”

I smile, but I'm not sure if I mean it.

Nicole opens the cabinet and pulls out patchouli-scented massage oil. Then she lays a blanket on the floor, near the foot of the bed. And to the soft music we massage each other, exchange more energy, move toward Kama Sutra.

I suck Nicole's pretty little toes.

“Oh, that drives me wild.”

I kiss her legs up to her inner thighs, moving to her breasts, and her breath thickens.

She tells me to love both breasts, never leave one breast jealous of the other. And while I do that, she does the same to Ayanna, loves her breasts. Kissing flesh, fingers grazing, heat rising. All the while Nicole talks to us, coaches us, tells us how beautiful we are together, how this new world, this shared love is better than she ever imagined, because she can get so much more, that she is rising to a new level.

Ayanna asks, “Toys?”

“Not tonight,” Nicole says. “Let's stay at this level. Have to get used to each other.”

Nicole calls out for me; Ayanna moves away, so hot and restless. Her eyes tighten in envy as Nicole holds my penis and leads me to their bed. She pulls back the rust duvet, the top sheets, tosses extra pillows aside, climbs aboard the firm mattress, her legs open so wide. Underneath a still ceiling fan, I give Nicole my tongue, hands, and when she reaches for it, my penis.

It's awkward with Ayanna watching me; makes this almost a Viagra moment.

Nicole coaxes me, “It's okay baby, you're doing fine. Close your eyes if you have to. Pretend that it's just us. Pretend we're in your Jeep.”

She kisses my neck, tells me there is no pressure, just love, just love.

I adjust, block out Ayanna's eyes, feel firm enough to make the transition into a flow only a man can give a woman. During this performance, and it is a performance, I'm moving with care, easing in, easing out to the tip, teasing her spot, listening to Nicole's body, feeling her nails dig into my flesh as she tells me what she needs. I love easy, but I'm still more intense than Al Pacino and Robert De Niro combined. Ayanna watches her, watches me.

Ayanna asks, “Is ... is ... is he hurting you?”

“No, sweetie, I like this.” She jerks.
“Awwwww, yeah right there sweetie, right there.”

Nicole turns her head away, looks in the candlelight for Ayanna, jerks when I hit a spot, then closes her eyes and reaches in the direction of Ayanna's voice, pleads for Ayanna's hand, and when Ayanna takes it, Nicole puts her hand, her fingers in Ayanna's face. Ayanna sucks Nicole's fingers, savors them. Nicole sings like a sparrow, and moves like I've never felt her move before, like someone I've never met before. I touch Nicole's face, bring her eyes to mine, bring her hands back to me, ask Nicole to say my name and she does, closes her eyes, holds me and sings it in more octaves than Mariah Carey, makes more faces than Jim Carrey, but all are angelic.

I say, “Describe what you feel.”

Her mouth becomes a letter O, then she moans, “In ... de ... scrib ... able.”

Tension sets Ayanna's face on fire, tension that treads in her inebriation. For a moment, she looks like a puppy that wants to curl up and howl its pain away. Ayanna pulls away a little more, stares at Nicole, her thoughts impenetrable. Then she makes a determined face, leans in and kisses Nicole once, twice, three times, and three times my heart pumps an erratic beat.

Nicole's face glows in psychedelic shades of red. She's in a zone, gone to a place far away. Her body goes into nonstop spasms, endless twitches. In her face I witness a lustful struggle, heaven and hell intertwining. She's gone, out of her body and out of this room, chants to God and Jesus in one nonstop moan, one that is both painful and beautiful.

Nicole is gone to a wonderful place, and I watch her in joy and envy. She's gone to a place I can never reach. A place no man will ever reach. And I hope I'm the only one capable of taking her there.

Ayanna waits until the rolling movement in Nicole's hips begins to slow before she runs her hand through Nicole's hair, says her name over and over. Nicole moves Ayanna's hand away and laughs a little as she spasms.

In the softest voice, Ayanna whispers, “I need you.”

“I'm ... too sensitive. Give me a minute ...”

“Nic,” Ayanna says, “I need you in the worst way.”

Nicole moves away with urgency.

Rejection appears in Ayanna's eyes. She looks so young, so immature. In this environment her degrees don't exist. Nicole slides and wiggles from beneath me, uses her elbows to drag herself to the far side of the bed, her body still jerking, her eyes closed tight, as blind to this world as I am to understanding what I must do to bring her back to me.

On hands and knees, Ayanna moves beyond me, her eyes scream that she is determined, so very determined to outshine me, and she runs her fingers through Nicole's locks again, untangles the tangled ones, watches over her the way a mother watches a child, making sure she's okay. Then Nicole reaches up, touches Ayanna's locks the same way, moves the red mane away from her heated face.

I go to the sliding glass doors, my giver of new life pointing in the direction of L.A. My thoughts slip away like mercury as I stare at an oceanside city that rests under a dark blanket filled with cold, salty air. In that flash, I think about my old man.

I have a flashback to when I was twelve years old, a junior usher in his church. Think about how people told me that I was going to be a preacher and follow in my old man's footsteps, that I'd be out there righting wrongs, a public servant until I lay six feet under.

Today I don't recognize who I am.

In the window's reflection, I'm but a shadow. A silhouette of man.

Behind my shadow, Ayanna and Nicole are together, their reflection looking surreal, almost as solid as a thought, caressing each other with palms, tips of fingers tracing each other's body, every carnal exchange so tender and gentle. So much familiarity in every touch.

Like me, Ayanna takes her time, tells Nicole she loves the aroma she makes, the smell of her skin, the taste of her flesh, asks her how this feels, is that too much. The same thing, but so very different from what Nicole and I have ever done.

Nicole calls me back, her face so emotional, begs for my kisses, needs both of us, now, right now.

I kiss her with my eyes open, feel her spirits wrestling, suck in her moans, let her bite my tongue, my ears, my neck. Do that and watch Ayanna touch the woman I love, watch how she curves her finger to reach that spot that swells, see how well she knows Nicole's body, knows it as well as she does her own.

When Nicole wants Ayanna, I move away. Inhale raw sex and move away.

Ayanna's bracelets jingle a serious song as her fingers massage Nicole's vagina, as she kisses her, as she fondles her breasts with expertise. While she does that, while that arch rises in Nicole's back, while Nicole cries out and claws at the bed, pulling the spread up to her face, Ayanna's eyes come to my reflection. The sweat on her knitted brows tells me she's better. That her love is the greatest. Tells me that she is here to prove a point. That no matter how much she played at cooperating this evening, she's at her own mile twenty and will go the distance to prove that I'm not needed. Anything Nicole needs, she can give her. Anything I offer, she offers more. She wants me to know that, wants me to see she too would crawl through hell to win Nicole. That her beautiful flower is more powerful than my dick.

Ayanna shows me her tongue, makes it snake, worm in and out of her own mouth, taunts me with the pinkness of that spongy flesh, licks her lips, cuts her eyes at me, kisses Nicole's thighs, the silver hoop in her belly, teases, kisses, teases, licks, teases, moves away, comes back, then when Nicole damn near screams that she can't stand it anymore, Ayanna puts her butterscotch face to Nicole's golden-brown triangle, gets lost in Bermuda with her mouth and hands.

“Good Lord, Ayanna, you have never ... never ... never been this intense. So intense. Oh God.”

Again Nicole orgasms, stronger than what I'd offered her minutes ago. So severe that she flips and almost falls from the bed. Her lioness mane swings like a whip as she growls out hallelujahs and praises to God almighty and His son who died for our sins.

I realize that what I've given her in bed all these years isn't as special as I thought. It's like watching seven levels of ecstasy. Maybe there is more to this woman-to-woman thing than I imagined. This isn't like the movies I've seen; no posing for camera angles, zero roughness, no bogus fuck-faces. It's tender and emotional. Some things I can see Ayanna do, and what I can't see I witness the effects of it on Nicole's face, and when I can't see Nicole's expression, I hear coos and wetness mixing with the jazz, hear all the wetness combining with wetness, all the sounds they create is an opus.

Then Nicole works magic with her tongue, something I was curious about, but didn't want to see.

I swallow. Close my eyes. Open them. Face what's real for me now.

I remember seven years back, when Nicole was shy about being naked in front of me, when she fumbled with sex. Back then she would only make love in the dark, under the covers, with me on top. That was all she needed. Back then she was curious about oral sex, but wasn't into it. And when I loved her that way, no matter how much she hooped and hollered, she wouldn't kiss me afterwards. She was still afraid. Everything new was too taboo.

And while I watch her make love to another woman without shame, I remember Paris.

It's all connected. All of our actions are connected, like it or not.

Nicole masters Ayanna's body with one finger, two fingers, three fingers, four, her hand moving, cupping, holding, entering, more passionate than Ayanna was for her. She fucks her without mercy and with tenderness at the same time, watching and listening. I inhale Ayanna's musk. Ayanna is on her back, first her nails are clawing the sheets, then her fists pound the mattress. Her head turns side-to-side, squirming, buttocks pushing up into Nicole's hand, sometimes clenching, eyes rolling and showing the whites. She catches her breath and sees me. Remembers that they are not alone. Sees me with my mouth wide open. My naked body. My eyes learning her nakedness. Witnessing her most personal moment. Her silent scream says that she wants to stop, but she can't stop. She can't turn back because now she is crazy, the carnal insanity creating almost a U-shaped arch in her back. The muscles rise and fall in her legs, making her look so powerful, so strong. Each breath, thick and stuttering. Each breath taking her closer to madness and ecstasy.

She is there.

“Oh God Oh God oh God Nicole.”

“Talk to me sweetheart, Ayanna, baby, tell me if you like this—”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

I blink and see me making love to Nicole. I watch them, and for a moment, that's the illusion I see. Nicole does to Ayanna the same things I've done to her, saying the same things I've said to her hundreds of times. She's taken what I've given her, all I've taught her, and given it to someone else.

“What about this, Ayanna? Like this too?”

“I like that
oooo
damn I like that.”

Nicole smiles down on Ayanna. “How much?”

“That's a ten. Dammit, baby. A ten baby, that's a ten.”

“Come for me come for me.”

Ayanna glows with sweat, makes the ugly coming face, the face that's atrocious and lovely at the same time, yanks the sheets and stuffs them between her teeth. Muffling the sounds of heaven entwining with hell, not as intense as Nicole, but a melody that, under more favorable circumstances, would be pleasure to my ears. She stares at me, a harsh deep glare, closes her eyes, squints like she's fighting off the inevitable, trembles, opens her mouth so wide, shrills out a series of sweet noises, a smoldering sound that makes my heart leap.

Then, except for the jazz music that had been drowned out, there are no words. Soft music eases through the incense and sex smell that permeates the room.

Ayanna's wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling, riding out the last of her twitches. She jerks and jerks and jerks, reminding me of old women in church, women who have caught the spirit. She's at that special place that women can reach, feeling things that only women have been blessed to feel.

Then all is calm.

Ayanna folds her arms, mumbles, “Did it. Actually did it. I actually did it.”

This is the moment of the moment after. It arrives as expected. Reality falls like a feather but lands with the weight of an anvil.

Nicole's bracelets jingle as she reaches for Ayanna, and the second Nicole's hand grazes Ayanna's damp flesh, Ayanna's bracelets jangle as she scurries away.

Nicole's eyes open wide, her head turns toward Ayanna. She asks, “Sweetie, what's up with that?”

Ayanna sits at the foot of the bed on the floor. Nicole reaches for her again. Ayanna moves away. Nicole makes a sound of irritation, maybe disappointment, then stretches out across the bed, snatches part of the duvet over her legs, hands hanging toward the carpet, short fingers tugging at the thick pile.