On some days every thing is just clicking right. You wake up with the sun shining on your face, but not in your eyes. You stay in the shower for an extra ten minutes, because the hot water is not doing its usual version of the disappearing acts. When you finally step out of your tub, the bathroom is a like a hazy sauna. You don’t bother drying off because the air is so moist. Water droplets would just reattach themselves to your clean skin. Besides, is there anything better than air- drying in your own apartment with Mary J. Blige blaring from the CD player? And it’s Friday. And you have a dinner date later that evening at your apartment.
Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves just yet. That aforementioned date is still roughly twelve hours away. You still have a full day of work in front of you. Meaning, a day in which you look terribly busy typing and filing documents. Rearranging the piled up items on your desk so as to appear to be earnestly organizing your affairs. This technique is done about every thirty minutes or so to allow you to daydream about the upcoming evening. Tonight would be the night for sure. How could it not be? You set the date up at your apartment as a trap. How could anyone hope to escape from your den when you put on your full-court press.
You know, the works, stir-fry shrimp with a chilled bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Ashanti, Maxwell, Alicia Keys and Billie Holiday CD’s playing in a cleverly arranged mix sequence that should take you from the kitchen into the living room and then right into the bedroo… oops, there you go again, daydreaming.
You have to get dressed and get out of the house. It is a good thing you got up twenty minutes earlier this morning but if you keep falling into the twilight zone you will remove that supposed advantage.
The full-length mirror mounted on your closet door is always so damned honest. Why can’t it be like one of your co-workers, who are always flattering you with compliments about your body? Those ladies only see you after you’ve assembled yourself. What they should see are the death-defying maneuvers of tucking, hitching, stretching and shoving you have to do to look as good as you do. First off, there are your uncooperative breasts that hang down and point outwards as if they are both trying to get away from your body. The solution for this was simple enough; you changed from the satin Calvin Klein 36C bra into your new Aubade french-cut demi bra with the clasp in the front. To the French, a 34C is like an American 32B. The end result is perfect as everything is brought closer together. Your stomach is a little pouched out and that is because you can’t remember to hold it in all of the time. The abdomen exerciser from Target that you paid half-price for makes such a nice looking piece of sculpture art, nestled in the empty corner of the living room. So you make a mental note to buy a base for it the next time that you’re flea market shopping in Park Slope.
Then we see what upsets your psyche as much as it enriches other people’s fantasies. Your big behind. You can remember the first time that anyone had ever noticed that it was a bit wide, a tad high and remarkably rotund? After your mom explained the positive and negative sides of being a ‘real’ woman your confidence returned to you for a period of time.
A few lousy relationships coupled with fifteen extra pounds that found their destination to be below the waistline has brought about a return of self-consciousness. After staring at your rear in the mirror for thirty seconds you look up at your face and realize how lucky you are that you don’t have any acne.
Your braids bounce up and down on your trek up Nostrand Avenue to the Fulton Street subway station. You are reminded that you just had them tightened two nights ago, because the frown that you give to a vocally rude passerby gives you a slight headache. The day has been too good already for you to divert any mind time to some desperate sycophant. Although you do wish that you had the time to give some of these fools a lesson on how to woo a woman with words. You even muse on the silent, staring flirters that have no clue on the subtleties required to attract a woman. You wonder if their plan is to stare so intensively that you will be hypnotized into undressing. Like these boys are equipped with some Jedi mind powers. (Your devilish mind thinks that they would be better off using all that concentration to keep from climaxing after they encountered your warm, wet cameo)
You have put on your armor of attitude just as the Eighth Av. Local rumbles to a halt at the platform. You find a seat in your favorite location, next to the exit door, opposite the conductor’s booth. The conductor is kind of cute, but a bit on the short side. Almost looking nothing like the confident voice that booms over the subway’s public address system, while in complete control of when the doors open and close. Letting people in and then discharging them, and her nails do have the prettiest design on them, palm trees or some tropical scene. That was attractive to you. The rugged requirements of her job on the subway system didn’t prevent her from still being a lady. You were tempted to flirt with her. You know, just for fun. Just to see if she had a nice smile.
No sooner have you sat at your desk then when you begin to start pining for the clock to find it’s way to four forty-five. You just then notice that you have voicemail waiting for you to listen to. The first message is your boss saying that he won’t be in at all today because of an emergency with his babysitter. Something about how she won’t be available to watch your boss’ three-year old son because she is going into labor with her own child. You’d think your boss could offer his sitter maternity leave? Your next message has a soft-spoken voice that just says you should prepare for an exciting evening. Now this is how it is done. Those boys should have listened to this brief message if they really wanted to learn how to make a woman moist. Your body caught a brief shiver in anticipation of what you hoped was going to happen later on that night.
Right about four o’clock a messenger delivered to you a long cardboard box. Inside the box was a dozen of the loveliest long stem roses. Each had a bud that was the size of your fist. The card attached was definitely a keeper. Never mind the card’s overt sexual references, that’s what you wanted anyhow. You were sold by the way that you had been romanced unlike never before. Every thought focused on what was certain to be an intense evening of lovemaking. One of those nights that you were getting fucked, then making love and then fucking, and you would end up awake all night. You knew there was a chance that you would have to pull out all of the tricks. ALL of them.
You were in a relative stupor for the rest of the afternoon until you arrived home and listened to your answering machine. The caller was on a cellular phone but the message was still clear. Your blood pressure turned up a notch, and then you scrambled to get your apartment in shape. Your date would be there at six o’clock which was alright with you even though that was in about fifteen more minutes.
The lobby bell rung, so loudly that you almost went into cardiac arrest. You buzzed in your visitor even as you continued to pick up any stray articles of clothing. The doorbell sounded in its unique plunky tone. After a quick pull and a short tug you were ready to open the door. When you opened the door your face lit up like a halogen stadium lamp.
Standing there in front of you, with almost nothing on under an executive rain coat was this tall, dark, beautiful woman with curls that were as soft as they were long. The Aubade egg shell white lingerie set she was wearing was so delicious against her skin that it seemed to highlight her body. Her darkness swallowed up her fresh shaven pubics so that they seemed to just fade into her pelvis. Her bulbous breasts were poised to spill out of the lace demi-bra bustier. You were still and silent as you devoured this woman with your eyes, just like you were one of those young boys standing out on the corner of Gates Avenue.
After forever, you both embraced.
On some days, when every thing is just clicking right, a kiss can taste ten times sweeter than a chocolate cream soda.
Those are the perfect nights for you to watch the sunrise.
