“Round two?” I ask.

  “Chucky,” she says, placing a finger to my lips, sealing them. “I want you to fuck the shit out of me, but don’t say a single word. Just do it.”

  Every word I consider saying stops at the back of my throat. I have never had someone tell me to shut up and fuck them. I am too aroused to be taken aback.

  When she eases her soaking wetness down onto me and proceeds to bounce up and down, I am quickly reminded of a person trying to jump up and down on a balloon to pop it. This time, though, I am the balloon.

  I widen my legs, lift my hips, and prop her up on my thighs. She lowers her breasts onto my chest and I scoop my arms under and around her shoulders. With the soles of my feet pressed firmly into the mattress, I start pumping her with the same ferocity she had just given me.

  “Ooh, Chucky!” she says, squeezing my arms and feeling my biceps. “Tear it up!”

  I move faster and faster, as if I have a battery pack strapped to my back, energizing my hips to move as rhythmically as possible.

  “Ooh, this is some good dick!” she says, her words staccato gasps.

  I moan my affirmation, careful not to speak.

  I slide my hands down her back, feeling the light perspiration of her skin beneath my fingertips. I bring my hands to rest on her ass and grip it firmly, rocking her up and down on me. For a moment I almost feel like a porn star, like I actually have some skills.

  As her breasts slide up and down my chest, the hot wetness of sweat and sex makes it feel like our entire bodies are engaged, cell for cell.

  She continues talking shit to me, and I feel as though I am going to explode and turn into a glowing ball of energy. I try desperately to remember the names of every player on the championship starting lineups of the past few NBA seasons, one by one. When I see that’s not working well, I go to the players on the bench. As I search the pine, she rides my own.

  I slow down the movement of my hips in an attempt to calm down, but this only encourages her. She begins to rock against me quickly.

  “Right there! Ooh, right there!” she says, her hips rocking back and forth with rabbit-like speed.

  As I try to dissociate my mind from how good it feels, I find myself unable to focus. My body is failing me. I want to scream out, but I bite my lip.

  “Oh shit!” she says, her body convulsing, as she tries to rise from my chest but staggers and falls against me. Her body contorts and spasms against mine for a few seconds, as she exhales heavily in an effort to catch her breath.

  I open my mouth and start to speak, but I find that I can’t because I am cumming so hard that the nerves on the sides of my face feel like they are pulling the skin to the back of my skull. Marcia senses this and holds me tightly in an embrace, while pushing herself onto me as hard as she can.

  My eyes close and I sigh. My heart is beating rapidly, our sweaty chests continuing to slide against the other. When she finally rolls over to my side, neither of us is able to speak for a moment.

  I feel the air conditioning sweep lightly over my chest, and I take in a deep breath. Admittedly, my limited sexual experiences with Maya did little to prepare me for what Marcia just did to me. Although the poet in me would love to call it lovemaking, deep down, I know that I have just been fucked. And the shit was good! Now I see why people make the distinction. Making love is more about feelings and mood, but fucking is pure carnal desire, unbridled. I imagine that as long as there are people in the world, there will definitely be a need for both.

  “Chucky?”

  “Yes.”

  “Boy, you put it down! Ooh, shit, my legs are still buzzing.”

  I smile. “I’ve never experienced anything that intense.”

  She leans over and quickly kisses my lips before rising from the bed. I try to look at her as she walks toward the bathroom, but I don’t have enough energy to lift my body from its current state. I feel as though I just finished running eight miles uphill, but the tingle is still there, that part of her that only moments ago meshed into my body so effortlessly.

  Lying alone in the bed, I am dumbfounded by the entire situation. When I got out of bed this morning, Marcia was a simple fantasy; now she is my reality. I begin to wonder what will happen next. Do I ask her to be my girl? I don’t know how this thing works. This is what makes having so little experience with relationships so awkward. I quickly make a deal with myself that I will be patient and ride with the flow. When I think about how patient Dizzy was with Lailah (30 years to get to the point that they could be together romantically), I realize that I should treat time as my friend, not my enemy.

  Through the bathroom door I can vaguely hear the sounds of the shower starting. Then the door opens, and I see Marcia leaning in the open doorway, smiling.

  “You coming in or do you need a formal invitation?”

  I smile and rise to my feet.

  She extends her hand to me, and I notice its subtle beauty for the first time, those slender fingers and polish-free nails. Her skin looks softer than soft, as if I could swim in the pool of her and lose myself in the tides of her passion.

  I follow her into the tub, pulling the shower curtain closed behind us. The hot water sprays down between us like a July storm, and she places her soap-filled hands against my chest. They slide smoothly down my body, and I lean forward, kissing her, the warmth of her lips and tongue making me feel as though my entire body is osmotic.

  “This has been nice,” she says.

  “This is only the beginning,” I respond.

  She smiles and I see her lips begin to move, but then they stop.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Nothing. Let’s just enjoy right here and right now.”

  I start to speak, but she places her finger to my lips again.

  “Right here and right now,” she repeats, a weak smile spreading across her face. She continues to rub her hands across my chest, soaping me up.

  I nod, although I am now starting to feel the strangest of sensations: doubt.

  3

  Flying Upside Down

  On the five-hour drive back to the Atlanta metro area, Marcia and I trail each other in our respective cars, stopping occasionally along the way to eat or walk around at a rest area. The feeling of her body against mine is still fresh, very fresh, and I feel as though I can’t get enough of being around her. I hate that we are in different cars, but we have maintained a constant cell phone conversation the entire time.

  When we reach her house, I help her unload her car, but just as we get to the front door, she stops and faces me, her face suddenly unsure.

  “Chucky, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  The doubt from last night resurfaces so quickly that I can feel my heart throbbing in my stomach. “Okay.”

  “I don’t really know how else to say this, but I have a boyfriend.”

  I shake my head, disoriented by her words. “What does that mean? I mean, we spent all last night and today together. I don’t get it. How do you have a boyfriend?” I’m not sure if any of these questions even make sense, but in my mind they make about as much sense as what she has just told me.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Complicated how?”

  “Have a seat,” she says, pointing to the couch in her den.

  “I don’t feel like sitting down,” I say.

  “Please,” she says resignedly.

  She walks over and sits next to me, so I lower myself onto the couch.

  “I really like you,” I say.

  “I really like you, too.”

  “How can you really like me when you have a boyfriend?”

  “That’s why it’s so complicated.”

  I shake my head. “At least try to explain all of this to me. You have me kind of out there right now. The least you can do is help me get back to shore.”

  She nods and takes a deep breath. “Have you ever heard of a Rumspringa?”

  “Are you talking about when Amish teens go out to experience the real world before coming back to the community?”

  She nods again.

  “Are you Amish?”

  “No.”

  “So what does that have to do with anything?” I ask.

  She sighs. “I have been with my boyfriend for the past fifteen years, ever since high school.” She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, reaching for the best words. “He’s the only man that I have ever been with—up until you.”

  I nod, encouraging her to continue.

  “We’ve been talking about getting married, but we both felt that we needed to sleep with other people before we took that step.”

  “That doesn’t make a lick of sense. Who does that?”

  “Please, Chucky. I need you to keep an open mind. I’m telling you something that I’ve never told anyone, not even Lailah.”

  “Well, tell me everything. Don’t beat around the bush. You owe me at least that much.”

  “You’re right,” she says. She sighs again before opening her mouth. “We both decided that if we were going to pledge the rest of our lives to each other, we had to know that we had gotten everything out of our systems. When you’ve only been with one person in your entire life, there’s a lot that you’re curious about.”

  “So I’m a curiosity?”

  “No. Well, not entirely.”

  I stand to leave, but she takes my hand and gently tugs it. “Please sit.”

  Reluctantly, I take my seat next to her.

  “Okay. Well, I have some questions then.”

  “Fine. Shoot.”

  “How many men have you been with during this Rumspringa?”

  “I already told you. Just you.”

  “And how long does this thing last?”

  “Until the end of this month.”

  “So just two more weeks then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what?” I ask.

  “Then my boyfriend and I will get together to find out the next step with our relationship.”

  This time I’m the one who is sighing. My mind is running so fast it feels as though it’s not moving at all. I want to run from this crazy woman, but I am also wanting to be with her again. Even in the oddness of her confession, the irony that we both have only been with one other person sexually is not lost on me. The difference is that this is not my Rumspringa. It’s hers.

  “Did you enjoy yourself this weekend?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.

  “Yes. Did you?”

  “Of course. But what did you like about it?”

  “You’re fun to talk to. You know how to make my body feel good. You’re sexy as hell. What else do you want me to say?”

  “How did I make you feel—emotionally?”

  At this she blushes. “I like you.”

  “Yeah, you said that earlier. How do you like me?”

  She nibbles on her bottom lip and looks away.

  “See, the difference between what you’re telling me and what I’m feeling for you is this: I want you. And nobody else,” I say.

  “I want you, too, but it’s not really up to me.”

  “How is it not up to you?”

  “I’ve been with him for fifteen years. He knows me better than anyone else in this world.”

  “Well, that’s only because you haven’t given me a chance.”

  She shakes her head, exasperated, and says to no one in particular, “This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

  “What? The sex or the feelings?”

  “I don’t know anymore.”

  “Well, your boyfriend is on Rumspringa, too, right?”

  She nods.

  “So how do you know what he’s experiencing?”

  “I don’t, and I won’t.”

  “How do you know that he isn’t catching feelings for someone else, too?”

  “I don’t know, but I know it wouldn’t be fair to him if I did.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, though.”

  “Chucky, with all due respect, it doesn’t really have to make sense to you.”

  I nod. “You’re right.”

  I look at her as she sits there, and even though she is wearing a perturbed expression, she is still beautiful. I can still imagine the look on her face when she smiles or laughs at my jokes or climaxes atop me. I don’t want to give up this easily. Although I am new to all of this, I am quickly beginning to understand the kind of man I am in a situation like this.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I say. “You have two more weeks, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Spend those next two weeks with me.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “At least you know that you’ll enjoy the rest of your Rumspringa. Plus, it’s safer to be with just one person during this period. I have only had one other lover in my life, and I’m clean. Plus, I know we get along. You’re an Afro Nerd, too. You know this.”

  She smiles. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “What if I fall deeper for you?”

  “Then you won’t be alone in that feeling.”

  She stares at me for a moment, and I cannot tell if she is going to embrace me or kick me out of her place.

  “Okay,” I say, beginning to feel her slipping away from me. “Let me just ask you one more question.”

  “Fine.”

  “Have you done everything that you wanted to do with me? I’d hate for you to leave something on the table if this was just a weekend thing.”

  “Are you asking me if I’d like to have sex with you again?”

  “Well, that’s one way of looking at it.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

  This answer throws me off. In the past twenty-four hours we have had sex nine times, and all of them have been spectacular—at least from what I was able to observe. I wonder what J or Akil or Cool or even Dizzy would do in a situation like this. Would they cut their losses? Who cares what they would do, though? I am my own person. The real question is what will I do?

  “Marcia, follow me on this.”

  She nods.

  I lean over and kiss her gently upon her lips and feel her tongue flutter softly against mine. I place my hand along the side of her face, cupping her jaw as our kiss deepens. I lower my kiss to her neck, and whisper to her, “I am going to make love to you right now. If you don’t want this, feel free to stop me.”

  I keep waiting for her to stop me, but when I finally enter her, I realize that we are both exactly where we want to be.

  4

  Millie Jackson's Porcelain Throne

  I awake and it’s still dark outside. Marcia’s head is resting on my chest, rising and falling with each of my breaths. I gently rub her back and kiss her forehead.

  She moans and kisses my chest, before lying her head back down and returning to her sleep. For a moment I wonder if she remembers that it’s me and not her boyfriend, but I don’t stir.

  In the darkness of her bedroom, I can hardly make out anything, save the outline of her dresser, a bookshelf, and a desk with a chair parked beneath it. There are picture frames on the dresser, but I can’t see them clearly in this darkness. I imagine that they are of her boyfriend, though.

  I am lying in her bed, so the notion that she is willing to spend the remaining two weeks with me feels more probable, but what will two weeks do for us? Against fifteen years? Probably nothing. But then again, why does any of this matter to me?

  I run the palm of my hand along her bare back, enjoying the smoothness of her skin beneath my touch. This would only matter if I had serious feelings for her. Up until this moment, I have only allowed myself to think of myself as wanting her, but what does that really mean? Wanting her how? To be my girl? To be my sex partner? To love me back?

  Hold up. Back? Do I love her? I know I’m a newbie on a lot of this stuff, but do I love her? J would probably say that I’m just whipped. Maybe that’s it. I’m just a little whipped is all.

  But could I love her eventually? Probably sooner than later.

  I feel her move again. This time, in the stillness of the room, I hear her whisper, “Thank you, Chucky,” her head never moving from its place on my chest.

  I already know the answer to my question, and it is at that moment that I realize I am willing to give my all and gamble these next two weeks against their fifteen years.

  “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to need some guidelines,” Marcia says, as she dresses for work.

  “Why can’t we just go with the flow?”

  “Because I need structure. This is already hard enough as it is.”

  “Okay.” I agree only because I don’t want her to change her mind altogether. “What are you thinking?”

  She turns away from her closet, holding a blouse and a pantsuit. “Well, for one, as much as I love sleeping with you, we can’t do that again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll need to sleep in your own bed, and I will sleep in my own bed.”

  “Oh,” I say, relieved that she meant “sleep” in the literal sense.

  “You feel good and all, but I don’t want to get used to sleeping with you in this bed.”

  “Well, let me offer a compromise. How about if you decide you want to sleep with me, then you come to my apartment and stay over there?”

  She considers this for a moment. “That’s fine, but I probably won’t do that either.”

  “I’m just giving you the option,” I say. I notice the picture frames from earlier and am relieved that they are pictures of her by herself.

  “Duly noted.” She begins buttoning her blouse. “And you have to be monogamous during these two weeks. I have to trust you on this one.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “When I say give me space, you have to step back and give me space. Okay?”

  I nod. “Fair enough.”

  “One last thing. And this one is kind of wacky.”

 

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