Slow Wine

Slow Wine It's been three years since that plane departed Miami. They landed in Madrid, Spain, and spent several days in Seville and Ibiza before taking another flight as Mr. and Mrs. Devereux to Brussels. After spending three days sampling some of the world's finest champagne and chocolates, it was off to Trinidad and Tobago. They landed in Trinidad on a Thursday, armed with the few belongings they were allowed to keep. For her, it was her mother's necklace—not worth much on the open market, but it meant the world to her. "It even smells like Mom," she thought. For him, it was his grandfather's Lord Elgin watch, elegant in design and timeless. If they were forced to sell it, they could probably get $500 USD for it. To him, it was a connection to the family he left behind and, for their sake, a reminder that there wasn’t a minute to waste. In three years, he hadn’t had to sell that watch, and she kept her mom's necklace. They'd actually thrived. They moved on from Trinidad and settled into a life on a lovely little island named Antigua. They’d been together. He made his living as a day trader, while she kept busy taking care of the education of local children. If a child didn’t know how to read, she taught them to read. If a child had no food, she fed them. Most nights, they traveled to a small bar near their villa to watch game shows, drink, and dance with the locals. On weekends, they traveled to other islands they considered safe, sometimes on foot but often by plane. They didn’t stop. They adopted three dogs—one rescued from a shelter and two imported from Europe. They still hadn’t seriously discussed having children, but she hadn’t dismissed the notion. She had him all to herself, and he seemed content, but she feared he was growing restless. She wondered if he needed a change. She held these feelings inside for a while, scared to broach the subject. Still, there were moments when she sensed his restlessness. Once, he snapped at her because she drank the last can of his favorite drink—something he usually wouldn’t mind. Typically, he'd relish the idea of jumping on his bike and heading to the store, but on this day, he became upset. She couldn't help but feel that he was tired of her, tired of the life they'd built together. She questioned whether their decision to run away together had been impulsive. If only she could find the right words to ask: “Am I losing you to thoughts of another?” Maybe, she thought, she could be proactive and recruit a third person for them. She was still attracted to other women, though she enjoyed having him all to herself. Perhaps it was time to share. She had known his nature from the beginning—he had been brutally honest from the start. After all, they had a wonderful time with that one tourist girl after a wild night at the casino. She knew he loved her, but maybe, just maybe, it was time for something new. He stared at the computer screen as if his gaze could change the data. It wouldn’t change, not today. The truth was, he could go to the beach and come back, and the data would largely be the same. They used to spend more time outdoors—on islands, beaches, at museums, or tourist spots. Now, though, everything felt monotonous, stale. He knew his frustration was manifesting in ways he never intended. This wasn’t her fault. He needed something, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The wolf inside him needed to hunt, needed to thrive, to grow. He thought maybe they could buy the local bar or some small business. He wasn’t sure, but he knew he couldn’t keep taking it out on her. Pushing himself from the gray and black computer screen, he began to think. The sun was hot overhead that midday. He found her in the villa's courtyard, laughing and playing with kids and their three dogs, including the half-blind, arthritic rescue dog. It was so like her to love unconditionally what others saw as a burden. Now, she was teaching the neighborhood kids to do the same. He didn’t want to stop their fun, so he whispered in her ear, "Meet me at the Jeep in 30 minutes." She felt the warmth of his breath and smiled, turning toward him, closing her eyes, and nodding softly. When she made her way to the 1971 Ford Bronco, he was seated in the driver’s seat, the radio playing local calypso, and a bag of blankets set on the back seat. She giggled silently. "The beach, yeah?" He said nothing, just smiled a little and moved the truck into gear—they were off. The island was much smaller than the neighborhood he grew up in back in Chicago, yet it was now their entire world. They drove along the coastline, passing homes built into cliffs, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks. The sun was directly overhead. They came upon a farmer's market and decided to stop. They sampled fresh tomatoes for salsa, melon for breakfast, and he bought hops and barley for brewing beer. Everything was packed into the Bronco, and off they went. She felt a bit peckish under the sun but tried to tough it out. Eventually, she reached into the bag he'd packed for water. She would surely feel better soon, so they continued for a bit until they came upon an exhibit of an old British warship. The island, after all, was a British colony years ago before its independence. They were the only two attending the exhibit, so they walked through the small bulkheads, ducking as they made their way from the mess hall to the control room. He held her hand and reminded her to lower her head. They read little signs explaining the ship's seemingly ancient gear. She teased, "Is this the kind of stuff you used to do in the army?" She knew full well he was in the Air Force, not the army, and that this would annoy him. She smiled, and he grabbed her by the waist and kissed her deeply. "Oh, I’ll show you what I used to do in the military," he said. She welcomed his embrace and saluted playfully, saying, "Aye, Captain." They both felt the tension rising, but she couldn’t shake the queasiness from earlier. She grabbed his hand and led him out of the confined space, which had started to make her feel claustrophobic. He was confused—this was usually the kind of moment they wouldn’t pass up. Making love on a warship wasn’t exactly conventional, but it would have made for a nice memory. Still, he let her lead him out without protest. They drove around a bit longer before he asked if she wanted to go to the beach. She said she was feeling tired, so he decided the day was over and they headed for home. Before returning to the villa, he stopped at a store. He wanted a drink—the day hadn’t exactly gone as planned. The last leg of the ride had mostly been spent in silence. He parked the Jeep and went to open her door. She followed him closely but stopped as they approached the entrance. He felt the tug of her grip and turned as she threw herself into his arms. "I’m sorry, honey, I just feel... I don’t know, kind of sick, but I’m not sure." He kissed her forehead. "It’s okay, babe. Let’s just have a drink and watch the sunset. We can climb up to the roof of the villa," he said. She gave a faint smile. As they approached the store, he held the door for an elderly woman. It was mid-summer, about 82°F, and she was wearing a pretty yellow polka-dot dress and a black crochet shawl. She smiled directly at them and said, "Thank you, dear. You’re going to make wonderful parents." The two of them said in unison, "Thank you," and laughed, shaking their heads. Sometimes, no more words were needed. At home, they fed the dogs, checked the mail, and he shut down the laptop. She swept the villa floor, and he announced he was going to walk the dogs and asked if she still wanted to watch the sunset. "Sure," she said. He told her he’d be back in 10 minutes. He called for her again. She answered from the direction of the bathroom. He asked if she was alright. She answered weakly, but he didn’t want to make a fuss. He made the drinks and headed up to the roof via the skylight ladder, their usual access point. He always carried the drinks while she grabbed a blanket. But this time, she wasn’t following. He called for her again, this time a little irritated. She apologized, "Sorry, honey, give me five minutes." His blood pressure lowered, but a million little things ran through his mind. What was he going to do? Would he continue to day trade? Was this the right island? Did he want a new car? Should they buy a business or another house? Finally, she arrived, looking like she’d just seen a ghost but smiling. He had no clue what was on her mind. She sat next to him and said the four words he hated most: "We need to talk." No good conversation ever started with those words. "What the fuck," he thought to himself. Out loud, he calmly asked, "About what?" She didn’t know where to begin. She just knew that holding her feelings in had sucked. "Honey, how do you feel about us having a third person in our family?" He looked confused, surprised, and even a little annoyed before saying, "Babe, I haven’t thought about that in ages. It’s just not on my mind. Besides, who knows how long it would take to find someone compatible, someone we could trust." She stopped him. "It’s going to take about nine months, I guess." He stared at her incredulously. "What?" And then it hit him—the sickness, the time in the bathroom, the restlessness. Change was coming, just not the kind either of them had thought about. He poured the drinks down the gutter and held her in his arms. They kissed through tears of joy, proving that life has a way of throwing even the best-laid plans into flux.

French Toast

Although she’d moved further away from my native Chicago in terms of miles, I felt as if we’d never been closer. Though Arkansas is closer to Illinois, the plane fare was about $200 per trip cheaper to fly from her new home in Tampa, FL. Not to mention that since my release from prison, I was finally emotionally available to her. Things were not perfect; we still didn’t have a plan to live in the same state, yet I still struggled to rebuild my lost empire. We at least learned to give and receive love as best we could, and we were uninhabited.
Before my arrest, I was literally boxed in, and I had no idea where life was taking me. The tenuous routine of my life made seeing past the next day impossible. That meant that giving and receiving love, pleasure, or even hope became an arduous task. A man who once lived like an urban prince was reduced to seeing the world through a keyhole. My natural romantic nature died. My generous heart is paralyzed.
She called me honey, but I was not always deserving of that title. In the past, I had let her down many times. Still, my feelings for her were strong, and I made sure she knew I expected nothing of her; I only wanted to stay in touch and hear of her growth, her progress. I did not care if that meant she took another lover, that she would marry; all that I wanted was for her to be happy. If it meant that, we would never be lovers again, so be it, and it would not change the fact that I loved her. Such a big heart! I called her mahogany; she was my chocolate panda bear, so sweet! I wanted her to remain in my life even though I was incarcerated, yet I didn’t want to own or possess her. I have a dominant personality, but I don’t want to demand submission; I wanted her to do so voluntarily. This desire was born of the knowledge that, given the time, I could truly please her.
Before I left, nothing fit. My life didn’t fit, my clothes didn’t fit, my house didn’t fit, nothing fit! Therefore, when I was released, my first order of business was to search for proper fits, things that made me feel whole once again.
My business was no longer geared to earn profit simply for profit's sake. In fact, my main business was nonprofit. A company that bridges the public and private partnership. I made money in ways that left me feeling good. I also changed my surroundings; I no longer lived downtown. I bought a live/work space in one of the neighborhoods. Instead of a cramped flat in some high-rise, I purchased a duplex with living quarters on the second floor and about 1500 square feet of office space on the first floor. My daily uniform was no longer khakis, but also not a $2000 suits anymore. I settled into wearing jeans and a blazer with casual shoes. Things fit.
My mahogany came to visit sometimes. Things were not always comfortable or easy; we needed to learn, to remember, to accept. Funny thing is, I was always the polyamorous one, the free love, the more love advocate. However, I had no connections at this time. I spent most of my time helping homeless vets find housing or working on social justice initiatives. She was not so unencumbered. I couldn’t expect her to be honest. She was young, gorgeous, and had a great personality. Why wouldn’t others see what I saw? I was not jealous; I was curious, curious to see how the attention and affection would affect her. I was interested to know if it would all change how she saw me, that is. All I knew was that she deserved it all. I didn’t push, pull, or even cajole; I waited. When she longed to feel my arm around her or needed to taste my cooking, she knew I would be there. Having a front-row seat to others' growth without impinging on that person’s space is like watching up close through a two-way mirror.
Mahogany called. She said she wanted to see me. I told her things were a bit hectic and that my schedule had picked up; I couldn’t be available immediately, as I have been since my release. She takes kindly to this. As was her nature, she became frustrated and a bit agitated, though she didn’t show it at first. A week later, her tone with me became pouty, and she whined a bit. I told her “panda bear, you live as you wish 360 days of the year, I never complain, you cant expect total access to me all the time! Cant you just be with your other lover until things settle here?” she was quiet, then she replied, “What I want right now I can only get from you, never mind, I’ll be alright”.Then it accrued to me-duh! She wanted home, something that felt like home. Different lovers can be a great thing, even useful. Yet, there is always a home. That someone is more than just a lover. Someone who, even when words are not spoken, when things are not perfect, you know you belong there. Mahogany was trying to submit to me; I just had to be smart enough to accept it, to trust it.
My steadfastness relented, after all, what was I doing so important that I couldn’t do it with her in my presence? Nothing! So I said to her, “Look, I want to see, I want you here… but I want something in return. I could feel her mood change; I could see her smile widen through the phone, and we were not face-timing. I could feel her spirit brighten. I continued, “Ha ha, I know what you’re thinking. Yes. I want that too, but what I like even more is your complete trust. Please put yourself in my hands. Give me complete control while you’re here.
“ Ha ha complete control. What does that even mean?” Mahogany said this half-curious, half-afraid. “It means exactly what the words imply. I say, you do,” I replied. She replied, “Ok, I’m down. I did not say much more; I tried not to, after all, that was all the consent I needed. More talking could only fuck things up for me; it was good to leave her guessing a bit. Besides, I had no actual plans. I only knew I needed to seize control, to be dominant.
I picked mahogany up from the airport, as usual, on the train. Since we first met, this is the way we have always done it. That first ride to my place was filled with anxiety- sexual tension that could only be cut with a chainsaw! I could almost hear her getting wet from her seat opposite mine, though I couldn’t concentrate on that because I was trying to hide my erection from the rest of the travelers. Before we set her bags down in my apartment, I had her maxi dress raised, and my throbbing dick was buried inside her. I could wait no longer. I nearly blacked out from the relief of feeling her soft, wet warmth wrapped around me.
This trip was a little different; I wanted her no less, but the anticipation wasn’t killing me this time. This time I relished it! She was now a veteran of the Chicago L system, and because we had no bags, I told her not to pack a stitch; we stood the entire ride. Laughing, smiling, holding hands, and pointing to all the neighborhoods my non-profit was involved with. She could see how proud I was of the work I was doing. This was in stark contrast with the sheer disdain she saw on my face as I got up at 5 am and did not return before 6 pm, previously for a company that was just as doomed as I was. No more, though. We rode and talked of new beginnings as our stop approached.
Mahogany stepped into my ready and complete space, she was amazed at how I transformed that once commercial space into a livable loft, enough space to get lost in, not at all tight and stuffy as my previous condos. Though there was no door attendant or pool, this was truly a home. The office space below wasn’t quite finished, but she could see the progress.
As we entered the bedroom, she saw some La Perla lingerie lying across the bed. She playfully asked, “Oh, who’s that for?” I smiled deeply and said, “I don’t know yet. Confused, she didn’t question too deeply; she put down the few things she brought along. I asked if she wanted a drink or anything, and she said she was hungry. I told her she couldn’t have a full meal yet, as I had dinner plans for us later. I fixed us a couple of vodkas with botanicals and passion fruit, rounded out with a sprig of thyme. We had a bit of sliced fruit, and I then pulled her off the couch and told her we had an appointment.
I still didn’t own a car and hadn’t really decided whether I wanted to buy one. I often just rented them by the hour or the day, and had done so this evening.
Our first stop was a friend’s boutique. I knew how particularly mahogany was about buying clothes. She’d always had her own sense of style- off the racks was excellent for her, this trip was about being comfortable, it was about pushing boundaries, about submitting to my will and trusting.
My friend Anistasia closed her near southside boutique early for this private showing. I had previously picked out several dresses that I thought would appeal to Mahogany, but that she would never buy because they were’nt‘practical’. Two were examples of the classic ‘little black dress’; another was a more elegant long black wrap dress; a red silk party number; and, finally, a flower-patterned salsa dancing number. There are four pairs of shoes: one black pair of high-heeled pumps, one pair of sandaled sling back with faux diamond-studded straps, one classic neebuck low heel, and finally a pair of flat spectacles- classicblack and white. There were three handbags: a classic Louis Vuitton, a small black Chanel clutch, and a small multicolored Juicy Couture briefcase. All the accessories were organized by style and material. There were onyx rings, sapphire bracelets, diamond stud earrings, and pieces in silver, rose gold, and titanium. A Tiffany set of a locket, ring, and bracelet caught Mahogany’s eye. She would never admit to liking something so expensive. I said to Mahogany, “ok sweetie, what would you like to try on first?” Mouth open, she replied, “What! What is all this? Honey, I can't.” I caressed her arm and smiled warmly before talking to Anastasia. “She can and she will!” While Mahogany tried on an outfit, Anastasia took measurements, pulled in fabric, and took notes. The silks, cashmeres, and rayons hugged Mahogany’s curves, showed off her gorgeous, long legs, while the earrings made her giggle and smile. I sat in a chair opposite the woman as Mahogany tried her best to find the perfect combination. She matched the shoes to the dress to the accessories to the handbag. Finally, she paired Valentino slingbacks with a black silk Etro dress and the Chanel clutch. She finished off with the diamond studs. She was absolutely glowing by this point. I smiled and asked her if she was sure, she said, “I am if you like it!” I smiled and said, “It will do fine for dinner and drinks tonight. Then I smiled at Anastasia and said, “ I guess you’ll just have to wrap the other stuff up and deliver them to the house.
Mahogany could not believe it. This wasn’t a shopping trip for an outfit; it was a spree! From the boutique, we headed to our next destination, another friend’s place, this time, an art gallery. The Rhisome gallery of African American arts in Bronceeille, to be exact. I told Mahogany she would be choosing a piece from my place, for our place. I wanted her to feel at home in my space. She finally chose a piece by Josea Blanche, a haunting piece of dark greys and blues. The artist depicted a young man walking solemnly towards a pair, and in the distance, a boat, but the viewer couldn't tell whether it was heading towards the pier or away from it. The piece was called ‘Morning Star’. I asked her where she would hang the piece, she said, “in the hall that leads from the door to the front room, so whether you are going or coming, you feel the same sense of peace the young man in the painting feels. I told her that was an excellent choice, then I grabbed her by the waist and kissed her deeply.
On the ride home, Mahogany sat with one leg folded beneath her, her little body turned towards me while I drove. Her unceasing smile of happiness was never-ending, so much so that it creeped me out a bit. Her gaze made me self-conscious, though I knew what was on her mind. We didn't say a word; however, the anticipation was palatable. I sang along to the radio as she continued to stare at me while resting her chin on her hand, which was supported by her elbow. What adream.
I struggled bringing the oversized painting up to the apartment. At the same time, Mahogany did her best with the dresses in the garment bag, the shoes in their own bag, three other bags, her purses, and a myriad of accessories. I finally got the door open, but finding a light switch proved much too complicated. I gave up, set the painting on the floor, and promised to hang it soon. I turned to help my chocolate panda bear set her bags in the bedroom. As the lingerie peered up at us, mahagony smiled, wrapped her arms around my neck, and went to kiss me. They asked, “What's next, lover?” I didn’t smile, not so much as a smirk or a grin, as I removed her arms from my neck and said, “Next, you get into nothing but a towel and meet me in the bathroom.
I had taken painstaking steps to restore this industrial space to my idea of perfection. As for a bathroom, my ideal was a separate shower and bathtub, a dual-sink vanity, and a self-flushing toilet. This required space, so my bathroom alone was over 250 square feet. With the remaining space, I added a comfortable chaise lounge. I found Mahogany seated on the edge of my huge antique claw-foot tub. I was armed with tons of tea light candles, scented candles, a lighter, two flutes, and a bottle of rosé champagne. Music played softly through the speakers that I personally ran throughout the loft, including the bathroom and bedroom. I told my armour to have a seat on the chaise, and after lighting the candles and pouring her champagne, I excused myself and left to get more supplies. Armed with a tub, some scented oils, and a few hand towels, I told Mahagony to relax, lie back, and close her eyes. She did as asked. I placed her feet in warm water in the small tub and rubbed and caressed them. Next, I massaged her calves and ankles. She moaned softly. As the music swayed, I added more warm water and a few drops of essential oil. I touched her thighs and asked, “Do you trust me?” She answered assuringly, “Yes, baby.” That's when she heard the soft murmur of the wet/dry feminine shaver. She involuntarily convulsed in anticipation of the removal of her hair. I touched her legs, reassured her it was ok, and coaxed her to relax. First, with smooth strokes and barely touching her skin, I removed a layer of her hair. Knowing this is a massive step for her, I put on some of her favorite love songs. Before long, I had my hand razor out and was finishing up her legs. Next, I gently removed her above her knee, then her thighs, and finally, I had her step out of the tub so I could dry her feet and legs.
I insisted she keep her eyes closed, and she was not yet permitted to touch her newly shaved legs. I had her lie back on the chaise as I ran a beautiful bubble bath complete with a rubber duckie. With her towel spread open, I then manicured her round with my hand razor and a little foam. Then I draped her towel across her beautiful body and began to remove her fingernail and toenail polish. After her grooming, I helped Mahagony up off the chaise, eyes open, and with candles lining the tub, sink, and counter. She stepped into the bathtub filled with rose petals, bubbles, and, of course, a rubber duck. I reached for an exfoliating sponge and some scented soap, and I began bathing my lady. First, from the shoulders down to her breast, where I paid close attention to her chocolate drop nipples. Then over her shoulder and down her back. As I washed, I kissed all those merely clean spots as if to baptise them back to life. My hands slipped under the water, without the sponge or the soap, and began to rub her legs. The soft, smooth cocoa legs felt so good to me; I lingered there for a while. By the time I caressed her thighs, Mahagony was lying back, neck deep in bubbles, and letting me have my way with her. I could not resist. With her legs spread for me, I inserted a finger inside her and felt my chocolate melt. Then two fingers, and she reached up and pulled my neck until our lips met, my fingers deep inside her, our tongue swirling, and her free hand pushing my finger deeper. After a few minutes, my hand lent my finger some much-needed help and spread to rub her clit while my finger worked its magic. I disembarked just in time to ask Mahagony, “Will you come for me?” and for her to whisper, “I'm already cumming”
After drying her off and replenishing her champagne, Mahagony sat satisfied and deeply relaxed on the chaise. Now she was wearing a silk Kimono robe and again patiently waiting for me, I returned with a small chair and a piece of cardboard under one arm, a manicure set under the other. As the soundtrack from the movie ‘Love Jones ’ played, I painted her fingernails and toenails in a deep burgundy hue, which looked nearly black in the dark but, in light, glittered like the stars in the Orion belt against a cognac-colored backdrop—the perfect colour against her chocolate skin.
With her nails dry, skin oiled and scented by me, clean from her bath, Mahagony was almost too much to take in all at once. I had blown out some of the candles to appreciate how beautiful she is fully. Still, I felt like a fool for not previously making love to this woman every chance I got! A mistake I could not comprehend at the moment, yet one I did not plan to mimic. After taking her in one last time, I cracked the silence with a hoarse voice and was able to eke out, “You asked who the lingerie was for; it’s for the goddess that stands before me, you!”
The brevity of the time between mahogany slipping into the bustier panties and garter until it all came off and we were making love could only be counted in nanoseconds. Love-making that led us to miss our dinner reservations. The reception I’d plan for us with some colleagues for drinks and well into the middle of the night. We ended up in pajamas, t-shirts, and shorts in front of my old restaurant-style 6-burner stove, with me fixing us my version of Asian-inspired street tacos and vodka shots, and talking and laughing on the couch while attempting to watch TV. We fell on the sofa amidst a collage of blankets, throws, and armchair pillows, a sleepover for lovers.
The next couple of days were a blur, between the fucking, food, and alcohol, it was hard to determine what was real and what was us living out a fantasy. We danced in nightclubs, kissed in museums, and made love in clandestine spots all over the city. Considering I’d done almost no work, we decided to attend a function at a sporting event sponsored by a community organization I worked with. It was a night game at Wrigley Field on the north side, so we took the train up. Everyone was charming, and the firm had gotten one of the suits, which worked out well considering the Mahogany had never been to a game. For the first time, I was introducing her as my girlfriend. Nothing we’d talked about or planned, just kinda happened- felt natural. She introduced herself as Sabrina but said everyone called her "babe," a nickname bestowed on her by her maternal grandfather. She said he called his youngest grandchild ‘baby’ until she was about seven, when he shortened it to ‘babe’ after she protested that she was a big girl. Babe was about 5’3” with big brown eyes and skin like coffee with a little too much cream, you know, like a cafe or latte. Her small mouth seemed to hold back fruited breath that's just too damn sweet and juicy to hold in. The fullness of her lips and her stone white teeth seemed to be an impossible fit for such a small, round face, but somehow the most high made it work the only way it could. Babe had the personality that only the beautiful and sexy could get away with. Shit! Right now she’s hitting on the woman, only minutes ago I introduced her as my girlfriend. Who the fuck is this chick?
She is standing at the bar with Mahagony, who looks to be an entire foot taller than her, but I'll be damned if this woman isn't trying to see if her perky C-cups aren't at the same height as Mahagony’s. Her small waist and round ass make quite a striking image on her small frame. At this point, I’m not turned on by Babe, but I’m wondering what in the hell the two of them are talking about. Suddenly, I was back in high school. Two hot chicks were in a corner laughing and pointing fingers at me, yet I had no idea what they were talking about. I sat on my stool, twisting and turning uncomfortably while I held an over-iced, watered-down rum and Coke. By the time Mahagony returned to me, I felt like an idiot; the rest of the party had long moved on to another part of the suite, and I didn’t want to leave my girl with this total stranger. The joke was on me - clearly Babe and Mahagony were well acquainted. By the time my chocolate returned, she was beaming, smiling from ear to ear, and talking incoherently about her new friend. “Slow down, love, what are you saying?” I said to my overexcited lover. Before my lover could catch her breath and clear up the confusion, Babe chimed in, “Hey, Honey! We want to go out tonight. Like dancing and stuff, and we want you to take us” Honey! Wait, what?” I replied, still stuck in a stupor. Babe, ever incredulous, did not miss a beat. “Honey, that’s what we call you, right?” she said this as a matter of fact, as if relying on the fact that my shoes were untied. We all laughed, though mine was one of caution and bewilderment, but we did at least laugh together.
Mahagony, unfazed by any of the events at the ball park, immediately began to put together an outfit of skin-tight leggings, black ballerina flats, and a spaghetti strap top. On the other hand, I had so much trouble picking an outfit as I had wrapping my head around what had just happened. Did we, or she, pick up a chick at a ball game? Were we, or was she, just picked up? This was all so confusing. What was certain was that asking too many questions would not be a good thing. So I decided to throw on some jeans, a button-up shirt, and a blazer, and go with the flow.
We picked Babe up at the Omni Hotel; turns out she was in Chicago for business with the non-profit I was working with. This was the fourth time in the city, but she had never really been out here. She’d only been to business events; this was her first foray into the nightlife. With her hair pulled back fiercely into a bun, the features of her beautiful face were even more pronounced. Her soft brown eyes, full lips, long lashes, and smooth skin came together in perfect symmetry. I couldn't help but wonder where her significant other was or if she was single. Why didn't she ask me to bring a friend? There I go again, overthinking! When I was younger, I could not for the life of me understand why anyone would pay good money to be separated from other people in a club. The dance floor was where the action was, all the women, the bar…. VIP just made no sense. As an adult, a real grown-up, there is no way I’m waiting in line and subjecting myself to standing all night in some dark club- it’s called perspective. Besides, I was with two beautiful women, one of whom I needed to protect from vultures. Secondly, my feet would be killing me after an hour. VIP made Perfect sense!
Security guided us from the front door to the velvet ropes, behind the dance floor, and finally up a few steps to the sequestered VIP or bottle service area. Our hostess was a lovely part-time model named Kan-i. I ordered champagne for myself and vodka with mixers for the ladies. The bottles arrived with full fanfare, beautiful women carrying casks over their heads while fireworks shot from the tops of the bottles. No matter how grown I’d become, the sight of this ritual would never get old to me. The DJ was new to a set, blending 90’s hip hop with current top 40 hits and plenty of electronic dance music. The ladies mostly laughed and giggled to themselves, Babe leaning dangerously close to Mahagony, who seemed enthralled. Occasionally, my chocolate goddess would shoot me a glance and a wink, but mostly I was left to nod and bop to the music by myself. Suddenly, Babe jumps up, grabs Mahogany's hand, and declares that they are going to the dance floor. My eyes must have said what I was thinking- what the fuck! As the smiling woman sashayed past me, Babe reached up and touched my face, and with the most mischievous grin I do believe I’ve ever seen, said, “Honey, I want you to watch us. As a leering smile spread across my face, I was left muttering to myself- What the fuck. They entered the dance floor to Nelly’s ‘Hot in Here’. I could barely make out their forms amongst the sea of writhing bodies. Chicago has always been a city that gravitated towards suggestive dancing. It has never been out of the norm to see two young people dancing pelvic to pelvic. Finally, a small clearing appeared, and I could see Babe’s hot little ass grinding into the thighs of the much taller Mahogany. Mahagony, for her part, ran her hands over Babe’s hips. The two giggled and laughed as they touched and felt each other's bodies to the music's rhythm. I stood at the railing enclosing V.I.P., arms crossed, drinks in hand, wearing a smirk. The ladies danced, and really did, Babe, take me out of her sight; she was watching me to make sure I was watching her. Mahogany focused on Babe, lost in the peace of music.
A few songs later, my gaze has not left the ladies, and Babe’s eyes have not left mine. That all changed when the D.J. played dancehall. The dance floor was cleared for the most part, except for my two enchantresses and a few other island folks. As the Caribbean beat deepened, Babe turned to face Mahagony, who was in full slow wine mode. The dancing went from suggestive to outright grinding. Now neither lady paid me nor anyone else in the club any mind. Babe’s legs intertwine with Mahagony’s long, sexy legs on the outside while she holds on to her hips and curves her back until one of Mahagony’s legs is between hers. Then it happened….. Mahagony reached down, without missing a beat, and scooped Babe’s face in her hands and kissed her deeply. Not only did Babe not resist, but she also moved her tongue hungrily inside my woman’s mouth. Time seemed to stand still. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing; it was so sensual, so sexy. Before it really started, it was over. Like a pack of hyenas, motherfuckers from everywhere threatened to overtake the women. I snapped from my gaze and motioned to the security just outside of V.I.P. He was likely in a trance himself, and I had to command him in an irritated voice, “Go get them, please!”
Now safe and sound back in bottle service, I smile as I hid the girls, “ya’ll are crazy, sit ya’ll butts down and have a drink. Babe saurtered right over to meunperterbed, placed her hands on my hips and looked up at me with those big doe eyes andasked “did you like what you saw?” what could i say except “yeah, i like it” then she darted off to pour a drink and look at me smiling before saying “goood”. I thought to myself, I don't know when, or under what circumstances, but one day I will be spanking her on that perfect little ass, and she will enjoy it.
For the rest of the night, the ladies danced on our side of the velvet rope, primarily for my benefit. In a rare quiet moment, Mahagony alide over to me and asked, “How are you, honey? Having a good time?” I smiled at her and said, “hell yeah.” She kissed me, and I could taste her chocolate mixed with Babe’s mango flavours; it was delightful. She squeezed my ass and squeeled, then she was off for another drink. The DJ announced last call, people made their way to the door, and unceremoniously, the lights came on. A guy I knew from a previous life saw me and came to talk. Mahagony and Babe waited patiently at first, then asked if I could get the car for them and told me they didn't want the night to end. “Honey, can we get breakfast?” Mahagony asked, and I nodded in agreement, signaling to security to have the car brought around.
Amazingly, we sat, all three of us, at one of those all-night diners that club goers frequently visit at 4 am. We didn't talk at all about what had transpired at the club. Mahagony sat next to me, and Babe across from us. The conversation was lively, and we found out that Babe grew up in North Carolina, went to school in Boston, and really thought that she didn't like Chicago, until tonight, that is. Our food arrived, and we mostly picked over the offerings. While continuing to talk, Babe took her utensils and cut herself a piece of my French toast and a portion of Mahagony’s egg white omelet. As we both looked at her, she looked at us quizzically and said, “What! You guys don’t mind, do you?” We all burst out laughing.
At around 6 am, we dropped Babe off in front of the Omi Hotel. Before hopping out, she thanked us both for a wonderful time. Mahagony and I both assured her that the pleasure was all ours; neither of us could stop smiling, so the babe offered, or instead demanded, that we see each other again. We agreed to talk after we got a few hours' sleep. Babe sat up in her seat in the SUV I rented for the night and said, “Awesome. Goodnight, guys.” She then pulled Mahagony in for a very worthwhile French kiss before exiting the vehicle. I looked at mahogany as Babe walked around the car, and she shrugged her shoulders and smiled. Before I could determine how I felt about the kiss, babe popped up at my driver's side window saying, “You didn't think I’d forgotten about you, Honey?” and proceeded to kiss me slowly, softly, and super passionately. Then she turned towards the hotel entrance and tossed a goodbye over her shoulder like it was a grenade. Holy shit!
The next morning turned into the afternoon by the time Mahagony and I opened the blinds and let the sunshine in to the loft. Though we were both starving, neither of us dared to try to introduce the idea of food into our awakening, so we decided to take a bath together and relax on the couch. Her in her lace panties and my button- up shirt, me in basketball shorts and a V-neck T-shirt. We configured my ensemble couch until it resembled an oversized bed in front of the 65” television. We watched a lot of nothing, talked about it all, and took in as much water as either of us could stand. What we didn't discuss was the previous night and most of the Spitfire known as Babe. I’m not really sure why, maybe we thought she was an aberration, a once-in-a-lifetime comet, or someone just trying to blow off a little steam. All in all, unspoken, just this hot secret with a sexy ass woman that we’d always share. As we lay underneath way too many covers, legs intertwined, my phone rang. I was a little shocked as I was not expecting a call, nor was I really in the mood to talk, yet I answered.
me: hello Babe: Hey, honey! What are you guys up to? Me: absolutely nothing. Trying to recover Babe: I know, right? Hey, I have a good remedy. Me: Oh yeah. We’re down to try just about anything. Babe, so when are you guys coming to pick me up? Me: Ummmm. Huh? Babe: Get me, Honey. I miss you guys. At this time, I’m pointing at the phone, and Mahagony is staring at me. I had no clue what to say, I’m standing in gym shorts and a t-shirt with my lady encouraging me to answer our new paramour. Me: Ummm. I’ll send a car for you right now. How soon will you be ready? Babe: Silly, I’ve been ready all morning, I was waiting on you guys to call. I’ll see you guys soon. Bye. -Click
“Sweetie, Babe’s on her way! I don't know what just happened, but I think she just invited herself over. A smiling Mahagony answered, “I think you're right. But that's what we want, right?” I certainly wanted to see her again. I guess I thought it would be more formal, like a dinner date, dinner for three, or something, somewhere fancy. I was a nervous wreck. I began cleaning up the house, I put on a tracksuit, and encouraged Mahagony to get dressed- she ignored me. I continued to clean. When the doorbell rang, I was cleaning the bathroom. Mahagony answered the door wearing little more than my shirt, so I hoped like hell that was Babe at the door and not one of my relatives. The alert on my phone let me know it was indeed Babe. I could hear their greeting, which was loud, lots of squealing voices, and then silence. I paid little attention, I continued with cleaning until I heard Babe’s voice, “Honey, can you come out here and say hello to me? fuck that bathroom, clean it later.
I paid no mind to the prodding and admonitions by the ladies; I had to finish sprucing up. By the time I emerged and entered the kitchen, I was met by the sight of Mahagony in my stark white business shirt and legs that went on for days, and Babe in a baby blue t-shirt and white poly-rayon panties that she made, somehow someway, sexy as fuck. They were making mugs of hot chocolate with whipped cream and Malibu rum. Babe emerged from behind the counter, wrapped her arms around my neck, and pulled me into a full embrace. I felt myself harden. I tried to hide it, but she wouldn't let me.
We sat up on the couch, blankets covering us from the waist down, sipping gigantic mugs of spiked hot chocolate. I had to admit the concoction was knocking the hanks off. We watched Comedy Central and told each other goofy jokes. We shared stories from our childhood and spoke about the shortcomings of past relationships. I talked about the differences and similarities between military life and prison. Hours passed, and we finally settled into a group cuddle. I spooned Mahogany, and Babe wrapped her legs around mine. She put her hand under my t-shirt and rubbed my back. It all felt so good, so natural, so much so that we nodded off- all 3 of us. Somewhere between semi-consciousness and sleep wafted for some undetermined amount of time. Not sure if my dreams were thoughts or vice versa, the thoughts came and left just as quickly. Should I open a new office? Who’d be a good candidate to help me build a website? Maybe I should work out more. How delicious would it be to awaken Mahogany by tasting her chocolate…. At that last thought, I felt my groin stir. Then my mind was flooded with types of erotic thoughts. I felt myself thicken and then grow; this warm glow covered my entire body, but I was no longer dreaming because I thought of the weight of my lover on my parted thighs. As the longingness dissipated, I heard Mahogany’s voice, “I told you this is the best way to wake him. I could feel myself growing stronger in Babe’s skillful mouth. She took me all in and used her hand only to guide me in and out. I didn't even bother to open my eyes; I let the sounds of her pleasing me and Mahogany’s cooing take me to a wonderful place. “I want it inside me,” I heard babe say in a low husky voice that didn't really sound like her. It was only a few seconds before she was on top of me. I groped her hips and steadied her. I could feel her hand guide me inside; it was exactly as I thought it would feel, except somehow more glorious. She was tight and wet, warm and soft. She slowly rode me at first. I licked my lip and tried not to smile. I felt so damn good, but somehow Babe seemed to be feeling better than me, as if they had been peened before even starting with me. I’d find out later that she and Mahagony had decided to make me a late entry to the festivities.
Babe placed her small hands on my chest and glided slowly and hard into me. She moved with delight as she closed her eyes and said, “Oh, honey, shit, yes, daddy.” A few moments later, she lay on my chest and let me take her all the way there. First, her body tensed, and I felt her muscles contract, then…. she lay on top of me motionless. Her orgasm had exhausted her. I’m not sure I've ever felt more alive in my life than when I opened my eyes and saw Mahogany lying next to Babe, with her hand between her legs. Clearly, she enjoyed what she saw. I rolled Babe over to her side, and she watched in anticipation, and I stalked Mahogany. I was a wolf in search of the deepest, darkest chocolate.
My initial thought was to climb on top of her and fuck her brains out, at least that how my body wanted to react. I slid between her thighs, kissing them in inches as I made my way up to her haven. I glide my finger over her dripping wet clit and massage it as a light moan escaped her lips, she arched her back, and I pulled my finger away and put my finger in Babe’s mouth. As she sucks Mahogany’s juice from my finger, I take what’s mine. I lick from her inner thighs to her wetness, stroking her slowly with my tongue while sucking her in intervals. She held my head in place as she whined on my tongue. I felt her flow getting heavier, so i suck her harder. Mahogany tends to run when she has reached her climax so i used my hands to hold her in place. as i lick her, payimg close attention to her most sensitive asset i could feel her slipping away, “love, honey, im cuming” she said in a high pitchedyet soothing voice, few moments later she exploded and i cleaned up the evidence. I then slid inside her slowly, mahogany’s eyes widened, and she held her breath until every inch of me was inside her. We made love rhythmically, slow and whining, moving in unison, with perfect timing. Our eyes open, I wanted her to know just how happy she made me.
I could feel her breath becoming more shallow, I could feel her heart beat quicken, her back arched, and her eyes roll back in her head. I heard that familiar panting, those moans that sang to me the sweetest songs. I whispered to her, “Tell me. Tell me, my love.” She screamed, “I’m coming, honey, I’m coming,” and simultaneously gave me complete access to her as she opened her legs wider. Then she felt my body shatter as I released my love deep inside her. She wrapped her gloriously long legs around my waist and pulled me into her. Then we collapsed.
The three of us lay in a heap, dehydrated, hungry, and sex dazed. The girls laughed to themselves about something, and I tried my best to get my earrings. My mind drifted to a shower for three. ‘Is my shower big enough?’ I thought to myself. Babe calls out, “I’m hungry!” Mahogany said, “Me too. I knew that was my cue, “so I guess ya’ll want me to cook?” In unison, I heard, “Yes, please!” I laughed and said, “damn. Ok. So what do ya’ll want?” Babe playfully jumped on top of me and said with a mischievous smile, “French Toast.

She asked Who I was: An Investment Banker by trade. I invest in small businesses and more poignantly peoples dreams. I love what I do, I don`t eat pork and beef is only around because I can`t give up Fillet Mignon I am a beer connoisseur, I can pair wine with meals (no expert). I don`t fix cars, though I know how. I can fly a plane (Air Force 8 years). My Mom is my best friend and I am extremely tight with my family. I have a pass to get into the most hallowed halls of academia and a Ghetto pass (non-revocable). I can expound on the intricate word play of Jay Z and Eminem or wax poetic about the stylings of Miles Davis and Charlie Bird (I think Thelonious Monk was the understated genius). I love playing basketball and did so in college, I avoid contact in the grocery store. Health is a big deal in my life, but Pizza is the world`s most perfect food! I can`t name one television show, but could watch a smart, irreverent and funny movie Every night of the week. I want to hold, be held, cuddle, wrestle, snuggle, kiss, laugh, drink, eat, taste, be exposed, converse, read to someone, massage, debate, invigorate, fall asleep next to a Goddess! I want happy hour Martinis(dirty), last call beers, wake up next to panties, use a bra as a pillow, shower with the lights off, sip wine by candlelight, give someone my last five spot, spend more than I should at a thrift shop. I wanna talk your ear off, listen to you until you fall asleep, discuss the difference between the debt and deficit. Discover, learn, grow and think. Veg out, wear jeans, Buy a Valentino suit and people watch over brunch. I wanna discuss what it means to be a Black Man In America without insulting anyone else in the room, I wanna hear what it really means to be a woman without all the usual man hating dialog, but real honesty! I wanna play spades with my woman as my partner and cheat for fun, because all we have to do is look at each other. I wanna chew bubble gum and swing my arms and pretend the rest of the world does not exist-at least for one night! I want someone to love my lips.

What Happens to a Dream Deferred...

-Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

I first read this Langston Hughes poem in the third grade. At the time, I was not able to clearly decipher between the dreams I had at night involuntarily versus the Dreams I had all day of what my life would be like the next 20 minutes, 20 days, 20 months or 20 years from that moment. What I did know, subconsciously probably, was that because I was not hungry or tired or concerned that my clothes were not fashionable enough I had the time and peace of spirit that allowed me too dream.

Dreams are funny things; some people dream because their reality is way too difficult to deal with. Some folks dream because dreaming is what they do. Now some people dream and others hope and wish! So what's the difference between dreaming and hoping. Hoping has no plan attached, no course of action. Dreams on the other hand are replete with detailed thoughts of how and why; when and where and more importantly with sacrifices imbedded. Hopes are mere wishes sent into the ether without plan nor course; without action nor detail and more times than not a last minute, ditched effort to bring about what one values at that moment. Dreams unfold and take place over time, dreams ask questions and define answers. Dreams link the present to the future in a detailed manner than often defines success for a person.

Our past is full of dreamers, dreamers have helped define our world! Our dreams define us!

Hip Hop painted the White House Black

- If I was the president, then I would state facts/You leave it up to me, I paint the white house black- MC Breed ain’t no future in your frontin

In 1991, Eric Breed better known as MC Breed, an up and coming Emcee from Flint, Michigan declared that there was no future in your frontin. He also stated that he would paint the White House Black. At that moment no one ever conceived that the White House could be or would be occupied by a man that looked decidedly more like Eric Breed than House Minority Leader Eric Cantor. If Eric Breed was with us today, he would no doubt share a playlist that sounds strikingly like the man that now sits in the Oval Office.

Barack Hussein Obama was sworn into office January 20, 2008. At the time, Tupac and Biggie had been dead more than a decade. Jay’z was the undisputed King of cash in Hip Hop and Lil Wayne was selling more albums than anyone. Yet, the question remains; how did we get here? How did this world where America could elect an African American and select “street griots” the kings of popular culture come to exist? The answers exist somewhere between “The Message” by Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five and Public Enemy’s” Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos”.

Hip Hop since its inception has always been about an Emcee grabbing a mic from the DJ booth and telling his or her story. The more people feel your story, the better the reception of the Emcee. So Melle Mell told the story of life on the street, cocaine as an instrument of death and what graffiti art means to the urban youth. Chuck D., growled haunting tales of the angst and struggle of the Black male in an inner city environment. So what does all this have to do with Presidential politics? Well, enough Emcees tell their story and enough radio stations tell those stories and suddenly NWA’s “Straight Outta Compton” is no longer shocking. Hell, on some level it becomes downright relatable to even the most discerning critic. The nation quickly began to understand that the way the urban youth were being raised in this country was not like the after school specials we saw on T.V.

So what of those special urban (code word for Black) youths that excelled and beat the odds. Those that struggled early on in life, but somehow defied the odds to educate themselves at the highest levels, that achieved some form of success in their respective career fields. These Black men were shining examples that if you just do the right things, well, than for you the American dream could be achieved! This made America feel good, feel all indignant about the fact that this is America and if you just pull yourself up by your straps…you get the picture. After all a lanky big eared kid from Philly helped turned his gift of a big mouth into a successful, long running television sitcom. Will Smith parlayed a few catchy, pop tunes into a Hollywood A-List career. Not far behind was Oshea Jackson, you remember Oshea, he of the NWA fame. He came out a brash, loud, articulate and boisterous jerhi curl wearing, grandmother frightening thug! Now kids flock to his family friendly movies by the 100’s of thousands and parents just love them some Ice Cube.

Since 1968, we have had a number of African American’s run for Presidential office. From Shirley Chisholm to Al Sharpton, there runs were largely symbolic. A good showing meant some campaign cash in the pockets and politically they could claim any number of moral victories. “We showed little Black kids you can do anything you want”, is what they would cry as they shuffled off with some political favors in the pocket and a brand new national audience. In 2006, a junior Senator from Illinois seemed to be heading down that same desperate path to superstardom via a Presidential Run.

-Why is Bush acting like he trying to get Osama/Why don't we impeach him and elect Obama “Why” –Jadakiss featuring Nas, Styles P, and Anthony Hamilton with verse by Common

By 2007 the nation and world had come to know the brash young man from Hawaii that gave the keynote speech at the Democratic National Conventional. The Chicago community organizer and Constitutional Law Professor that climbed his way to the Illinois Senate and then the US Senate. With Oprah Winfrey as his wing woman and Common mentioning him in rap lyrics, this guy with the funny name and big ears was out polling the political first family-Bill and Hilary Clinton. With an eye on the White House, the brash and often precocious Obama had an iPod that included both Lil Wayne and Jay’Z. He openly admitted both marijuana and cocaine use. No other national political figure had admitted to both drug use and a deep abiding affection for Hip Hop. Had Will Smith made this possible? Was this the work of Oshea Jackson? Maybe. But definitely no less than it was the work of KRS-1 and Public Enemy. You see while Will and Cube were preparing White America for the resurrection of the Black man from dubious circumstances that rises to the height of their careers; KRS-1 and Chuck D were educating the youth on being prepared to support such a leader. We needed both, this country had to have both simultaneously for the unthinkable to happen. If a Black man was ever to be President of these United States both factions had to have their say. Will Smith had to be able to date your daughter and Chuck D. had to give the brothers a plan to work it out!

Michelle Obama grew up on the far south side of Chicago, she lived Hip Hop. Barak Obama grew up in Hawaii, he observed Hip Hop! Yet no one in America embodies what Hip Hop is all about more than Barak Obama. Despite the obstruction, despite the lies and falsehoods and misunderstandings Hip Hop like Obama continues to morph and redefine itself in order to survive. Which in turns is the ultimate success, right? Hip Hop only lives because the streets live, because the struggle and pain and poetry lives. Hip Hop like Obama, has circumnavigated the globe in both reputation and physically because they recognize the opportunity covered in the problems. You see, America would have not handed Obama a country that was fiscally sound and thriving; he would not have inherited a country that was stable and not riddled with some the worst problems America has ever seen. Obama had to inherit Hip Hop! Hip Hop is trying to buy Cristal when you have J. Roget money; Hip Hop is driving a Benz with little too no gas; Hip Hop is telling the world that things are looking up from the most desperate of positions-then making it happen!

So Maybe, just maybe Hip Hop helped paint the White House Black.

The Day Hip Hop Changed Forever

In December of 1995 a good friend of mine told me about this mix tape he received from some guy, that knew some guy that knew who knows some intern at Columbia. Columbia had an imprint called Ruffhouse records. RuffHouse was home to Hip Hop icon Schooly D, also on the label was critically acclaimed underground group the Fugees. So I am listening to this mix tape that was known to be 6 degrees of separation removed from both Kevin Bacon and Chris Schwartz Label Head of Ruffhouse. On this mix tape was the rough cut of a song called Fugee-La. That album went on to sell 18 Million albums worldwide.

The following February, President Bill Clinton signed the Telecommunications Act of 1996. It was the first bill signed in cyberspace and the first bill signed at the Library of Congress. On this Day Hip Hop changed forever. The bill that President Clinton signed obliterated the last line of defense against the legal monopolization of the telecommunications industry. In a nut shell, there would be no more separation of geographical lines or the prohibition of cable companies owning television stations or companies owning both AM frequency and FM frequency radio stations. Clear Channel, Viacom and Disney were free to rein capitalistic terror on the industries they were once a part of, but would now control completely.

Clear Channel is a subsidiary of CC Media Holdings; the company was taken public in 2008 by Mitt Romney’s Bain Capital, Inc. Why is this important and how does this affect Hip Hop? Well, on Clear Channels way to going public and the really big bucks, Clear Channel did two things; First they ruled the outdoor media advertising world and secondly they became the largest owner of full-power AM, FM, and shortwave radio stations and twelve radio channels on XM Satellite Radio, also they are the largest pure-play radio station owner and operator in the country. What that means is that on Feb. 8, 1996 Hip Hop fans all over the world lost choice.

Along with Viacom (owners of MTV and BET) and Disney (Owners of ESPN), Clear Channel hijacked popular culture and along with it Hip Hop. Hip Hop culture was virtually lost and in its place Rap music was lauded as a consumable item fit for commercial sale. McDonalds was now free to inject a brown face happily dancing to the beat of his own drum. Subway could now use imagery once thought too far out of the mainstream and Snoop Dogg was no longer a murder investigation suspect, but everyone’s favorite smoked out O.G. Hip Hop was changing and with it big money was at stake! Clear Channel could record it and market it, Viacom would film and broadcast it, and Disney through ESPN could sell it as part of its sports culture. The perfect marriage! No more pesky East Coast vs. West Coast battles; no more unsavory album and magazine cover art; gone were the days of anti-establishment, revolutionary individuals and groups. Hip Hop through its new purveyors and owners would achieve hominy.

The new millennium would see more of the same. No longer would Hip Hop suffer through geographical boundaries and dialectal entanglements. There would be a new Hip Hop, one in which a kid in Oakland could have as his favorite artist, a Southern rapper who was from a hood the kid never heard of before; downloading the rapper’s album on iTunes. Record sales would be replaced, in importance, with ring tone downloads and ring back buys; concerts have become the only place that artists are available and of course there is a company to handle that for every artist as well-Live Nation. So, the kid from Oakland got the same product as the Kid from Cleveland, Georgia or NYC. Choice was lost on the radio, in physical cd purchases, and now at the venue level were groups of like artist are bundled for consumption and local artist are relegated to opening acts or even worse, pre-opening acts.To many this seemed like the best thing for Hip Hop, if not Rap music; one stop shop and everyone deserved their place in the industry. Everyone would let everyone else “do them” and that meant artists no longer needed to fight for Hip Hop’s hierarchy; it would be pre-determined by Clear Channel and set in motion by Viacom, then blended into night sports highlights by Disney via ESPN.

The only problem with this new world order is that Hip Hop was never meant to be a spectator sport; never meant to be a passionless vehicle rode to the riches. Hip Hop as founded in the parks of NYC, in the Bronx, Queens, and Brooklyn and put on display in the clubs of Manhattan, was a contact sport. Hip Hop was started as a contact sport combining dance, djing and emceeing along with Graffiti art performed by combatants who battled with grit for the glory of becoming legendary in their hood. Wherever that hood might be; it was the local connection and feel that made Hip Hop spread to Japan and Australia; that had Chinese kids break dancing in Tiananmen Square as the tanks rolled past. This feel is what made the King of Popular Culture himself (Michael Jackson) integrate the battle stomps, moves and war cries of Hip Hop into his own performance fabric. Homogenizing Hip Hop was not like white washing Jazz or even Blues; it was akin to bleaching Gospel. You could not change Hip Hop’s DNA without destroying its cultural relevance.

What Clear Channel and the like did was not change Hip Hop; they effectively killed it! Without dancing, djing and graffiti, we no longer have what is intrinsically known as Hip Hop. What we are left with is a hybrid form of Rap music where the entrance fee is only a hot YouTube post or the number of followers you have on Twitter. What do we make of this? Well if fans of Hip Hop would like to see it not go the way of both the Dodo Bird and Disco music, we fight! We fight to keep our arts just that and not consumable items ready to be ditched at the sign of something shiny and new. What we do is not accept mediocrity as staple pillars of the culture. Hip Hop can and should be amebic, it should change and mutate and give us thrills as new hybrids merge into the larger fabric. We should not fight to keep Hip Hop old and stale, but vibrant in its new expressions of itself. Most important for the “hood” we should fight to keep the genre as viable financial instrument for us by us and not simply a tool we hand to someone else to shape our future.

Beautiful Oblivion

You can't take your eyes off the accident ahead, can't turn away. Fixated on the wreckage, fascinated by the carnage. You see the beauty in the destruction, dismantling of form and function, obliterated into chaos.

I beg you not to go, but you must descend into the foxhole. There you go, no matter the consquences you have to know, have to know what is in that dark tunnel.

Pushing me away; you swear that I don't understand. That I only exist to judge your flaws, your imperfections and shortcomings. You think I need to make you aware of your beautiful tragedies, your wondrous destructions, so that I may feel whole, better than.

When the truth is...I simply can't take my eyes off of you. Fixated on the accident up ahead!

Strength of Character

In thinking about who I am as a person, a man. I am often reminded of who I have bee influenced by. Even as a very young man, I can remember having the belief that I could take and emulate the good qualities from just about everyone that I met and leave the less desirable qualities.

I remember being bullied as a kid; my prevailing thoughts were never about the bullying itself, but more about how I could be as strong and confident as the person doing the actual bullying. I actually admired the bully for his strength and confidence. Now where and how they derived this confidence and to some extent physical strength meant little too me. All I knew is that for me too never be bullied again, I had to gain that force of will and strength. Of course the physical strength was not easy to come by and more dependant on genetics than I would have liked; however the confidence I could gain almost immediately and I did.

I taught myself, through the sheer force of will, that intimidation was a call to further gain the confidence needed to be competitive in any environment, regardless of the circumstances. I learned that wit and charm could disarm; humor and humility could bring about collaboration and sincerity can and oft times will endear. These tools helped me to turn difficult situations into pleasant chats and uncomfortable, unpleasant confrontations turn into networking opportunities.

I do understand that there are those individuals who seemed to be bereft of any moral fiber what-so-ever. Those that seem to have not one redeeming quality. I think I have learned more from those individuals than any other. I learned what not to do, who I did not want too be, characteristics that are the antithesis of who I wanted to be.

My character, the strength that I derive from it makes me feel that I am the biggest person in the room. I could walk into the locker room of any NBA team and feel as if I am the tallest person in the room. Find myself in an NFL players lounge and feel like the strongest man inside those walls. Everyday, I grow bigger and stronger!

The Path

I see this guy here, every time I visit this place. He's disheveled and beaten; his eyes glazed over. He looks as if it's all over and he now, just now, has figured this all out. I help him to his knees, then to his feet. He stands exactly my height and though his frame is the same as mine, he's thinner and leaner, yet somehow more frail than I.

We never speak, never a word is uttered. Yet, I get it, Feel like I have been here before. The weight of the world has come down on this poor fellow, but, it's not the trappings of life that always seem to escape him that seems to be the issue. This poor guy suffers from a broken heart. In reality it is my own past broken hearts that bring me to this place, somehow the hopelessness of this wretched place and the quiet humility of this young man gives me the strength to not give up. I leave this hollow, dirty path and thank God for the fight within me to persevere.

As the guy raises to his feet, straightens his back, I seem to recognize the particular brown of his eye. Within those eyes a story unto itself is told. This being has seen much, he's been loved so deeply that the depths of his despair now seem endless. As he stare back blankly into my eyes, the eyes of a man that has felt this type of agony and lived to tell of its defeat.

Standing now upright, and with my hands on both the young mans shoulders, the resemblance is uncanny. He looks at me as if to ask it will really one day could be ok. If you really do ever get over the lost of love from the one person you've ever truly loved. The look in my eye warms as I transmit through my body language and gestures that even if you don't get over unrequited love, life will certainly go on and offer as many victories as defeats. I want so bad to tell him that, one day he'll love himself enough that what "they did" won't matter nearly as much as how he responds.

As is typical, before I can utter a word to my friend, a man much older than us both, approaches. The older gentlemen never speaks, he simply lays his old weathered hands on my shoulder and smiles knowingly at me. The older gent is just slightly shorter than myself, even standing straight up he seems to have a slight bend in his slow trot. His eyes are that same peculiar brown as the young fellows and his frame is exactly the same as mine. There is something comforting about the fact that the young man, myself and the old gentlemen all find such solace in this place. As if there is yet hope for us all.

The old timer looks at me as if I know what comes next, somehow I believe I do. He nods in a motion that says let's go. As I give the young fellow a last pat on the shoulder and turn, the old guy winks at the young man as I am turned from them both. I begin to walk in my steady, confidant elongated stride. The young man stares at me, still silent but I can tell he no longer wants to kneel in shame. The old man walks in his slow, steady knowing manner. Though I am walking faster, I have no idea where I am going next. The old timer is slower, but seems all too sure as to how to get where he is going. I want to ask for directions, maybe too tag along with the old guy...I know that is not an option. Besides, I wouldn't want to cheat myself out of the lesson that is finding my own path.

War of the Hearts

I'm loaded...don't know where to point this thing. It's a sin, how it hits where it hurts...


I exit my car, head lowered, thinking intently of what I will say to you. I must say something to keep the peace. Can't let this end like this; we have to end this masquerade, heal these wounds that we made.

The past few weeks have been nothing short of a test of wills, excruciating. Your complaints framing my frustration; both encapsulated by disappointment and doubt. How did we get here? I'd like the pain to end, but, certainly not us. If only one of us would relent, put away that ammunition and spare a life. The fire has got to cease.

I hear a car door close at the opposite end of the parking garage. Your sedan is parked 200 ft. north of my car. My muscles clinch and I feel that all too familiar gnaw deep in my gut. I swallow hard and prepare for the impending battle. I am hardened and emboldened by the previous battles of this war. Battle tested and familiar with these trenches; experienced in this kind of warfare. I search my mind for a phrase, sentence or word that could possibly dissipate the need for such combat. Search for the right tone or vocal inflection that will soothe or disarm the militant in you help you remember that you love me. Maybe a quick 'Hi babe’ or 'hey you'. Maybe we are beyond that now. Steel sharpens steel and I am ready.

I keep my eyes trained on you, the focus of a committed warrior stalking the enemy. You have your back to me as I try to study your temperament from the remaining 150 ft. separating us. I look for any clue that would help me stand down, anything that helps me understand what our level of engagement will be. My body is a t attention and ready for whatever is in store, my heart wants nothing more than the peace that we can both bring back to our home. Truth is, I don't know whether you will smile and welcome me to you or if you will turn and unleash the fury and venom you seem to have harvested for me and me only lately. Either way, I will be prepared this time and even ready to strike preemptively if I must.

I can see you place your hands into your winter white designer coat. I remember buying that coat for you for Christmas, you were so happy to receive that gift. If I would have known that it would have made you that happy I would I have bought ten more that day. You pranced around the living room as if you had just won some coat lottery, some fashion raffle. Now you’re thrusting, your arms in and out that thing as if it made you sick to even be wearing it. I strain my eyes and imagination to try and figure out if you are loading up for the war that you fully intend to have with me. Lord knows I wish we could just end this before someone gets hurt worst then we have already hurt each other. One of us must make the peace or someone may not survive this war of attrition.

As I continue to move forward toward you, only 75 ft. from where you are standing. I wonder if I am not being stealth enough. Perhaps you can hear my wing tipped shoes colliding with the concrete in direct path toward you. From 60 ft. away I can see the scowl on your face, though you still haven't looked up to acknowledge me. The once soft glow of your face that was all mines is nowhere to be found. Your lips pursed, forehead furrows and brows raised in utter frustration, I can feel the contempt rising from you like steam from a pot of cooking rice. Still you have not heard or seen me; my combat training has paid off.

I can see your lips moving, though I can't make out a word that you're saying. Perhaps it’s because I am steadying my eye on your right hand inside that wool coat, you're way too fidgety for my liking. I know that this means that your loading up, that you'll turn and have me in the cross hairs no sooner than I can blink, I have seen this before. I cannot let you brandish that all too familiar weapon that slays me, makes me feel less than.

Only 25 ft from you, I reach into my London Fog overcoat where I am wielding a mighty weapon of my own. A weapon filled with enough ammo of frustration, quilt, anger, resentment and hostility that you might not survive the ensuing blast. My pace quickens, only 15 ft away, my eye brows nearly touch as my face hardens and creases line my forehead. You turn and notice me, but it’s too late, I am all over you before you can even digest what's happening. The disgust on your face is quickly replaced with surprise and bewilderment, still no words from your lips, this can only mean that you were thinking the same think as I-Attack first and ask questions later. I grip my weapon with murderous intent, how could I mean so little to you, I gave you everything I had! This time vengeance would be mine. In a flash of light I could see your mouth moving, but I can't make out the words as I have left my feet and all consciousness in an effort to kill as not to be killed. I am attacking and dodging what is sure to be a counter attack at the same time. Besides your probably only reminding me that I left the toilet seat up or forgot to remove the trash.

I hear you say my as my weapon discharges inches from your heart...it's over! I did it; I will never forget the look on your face. Complete shock covers your features and beautiful face softens and relents. Your eyes, so full and round, so clear. A single tear races toward your cheek, your lip quivers and not a trace of blood, but I know you’re mortally wounded.

Your body goes limp and you fall straight away into my arms. You look up at my stunned face. "My God what have I done" I yelp in a guttural manner. It can't be too late, but, the weapon was aimed and I pulled the trigger. Aimed straight for your heart-a direct hit. The weapon unloaded onto you every ounce of angst within me, how could I have done this.

You crumple from my arms and onto the pavement. I lay you down gently as the air barely passes your lips now. I say that "I am sorry", "That I didn't mean it". Intent means little now with the very life seeping from you. "I didn't know what I was doing" I offer, "I thought"... You must have known what I was thinking, why I had acted so heinously toward you. Because without saying a word, you reached into your pocket and pulled out the broken car key within it. I glanced toward your driver side door and saw the other half sticking out of the key hole. The frustration and anger I thought reserved for me was aimed at the key in your hand.

You raise your cupped hands to my face as a sign of forgiveness or at least as one resolution. This is who I had become and this is what we had allowed to become of us. I held you for a half minute or so, rocking back and forth saying to myself "No, no, no". Seconds later, you close your eyes and was lost too me forever. Minutes later, in that very spot in the garage, there was not even a trace of evidence to prove that a crime had been committed, not too mention a war of the hearts!

If I can have the same from you...

I want to love you without clutching, join you without invading, invite you
without demanding, leave you without quilt, criticize you without blaming and help without insulting.

Jenny Owens Young State of Mind

Love grows in me like a tumor,
parasites bent on devouring its host.
I'm developing my sense of humor,
till I can laugh at my heart between your teeth,
till I can laugh at my face beneath your feet.

chorus

Skillet on the stove is such a temptation,
maybe I'll be the lucky one that doesnt get burned.
What the fuck was I thinking?

Love plows through me like a dozer,
I've got more give than a bale of hay,
and there's always a big mess left over.
What did you do?
What did you say?

Skillet on the stove is such a temptation,
maybe I'll be the special one that doesnt get burned.
What the fuck was I thinking?

Love tears me up like a demon.
Opens the wounds and fills them with lead,
and I'm having some trouble just breathing.
If we werent such good friends I think that I'd hate you.
If we weren't such good friends I'd wish you were dead

Oh it's so embarrasing
I'm this awkward and uncomprable thing,
and I'm running out of places to hide

Theatre of Tragedy

Being the absolute, undisputed king of hyperbole it should come as no surprise that I have overly romanticized every event in my life. The slightest show of affection is turned into the world's greatest burgeoning romance. My heart has been melted more times than all the Gelato cups in Italy on 100* summer day. I live to feel the feeling of life.

With every new love comes the inspiration and desperation to begin the next; the mind of an economist belies the heart and soul of a renaissance artist. What is it about me and the fairer sex; they can't seem to stop torturing me and I can't seem to stop loving them. Is it these feelings and a lack of conciliation with them that lead men like Duchovny and Eric Bennet to believe that they are somehow addicted to sex or pornography. Clearly, we should not be condemned as mere addicts or purveyors of sex as it is much more than sex itself that drives us. Anyone in the know understands that we are driven by the passion of our own feelings, we are trying to feed a prodigious passion beast. One that will not take no for an answer, one that drives our very being. Now, does that mean men like us should not be married or incapable of fidelity-YES! This also means that men like us should step from the shadows and claim our right to live as men of passion and stop hiding inth shadows and lying to our partners, friends, family and most importantly to ourselves. We have the obligation of truth to unburden our right to live as we feel and not as others see us.

One can not make a plausible case for why a man lost within his own passion should pursue the physical embodiment of his passion-sex. There is nothing sick or insane or wrong with a man seeking, pursuing and lust after a connection with a woman, any woman that he feels can stoke those passions. men like us hate 5 year car leases, we want to drive a different vehicle every 3 months. We never want too purchase houses, we want a new residence every year. We dream the impossible, we discover the forgotten, lost and invisible. Men with voracious appetites lead other men, we manifest theories of relativity and form laws of gravity and motion. Show me a man devoid of passion and I mean great passions and I will point out his insignificance to the rest of the world. In my 34 years, I have never seen a man that wants to conquer the world stop just short of conquering and pursuing the opposite sex, the law of passion consumes all and can not be so laserly focused as to permit one to be all encompassing in every aspect except love. Men, especially passionate, aggressive men love to live LIFE. They do not live to love fidelity.

Or at least that's the way I feel today :-)

The saga continues...

No Omega

Act 1- The awakening


In the desolate emptiness of deep black nothingness. When there was no separation of Universe; no sectioning of Nebula and no distinction of Galaxies. In the vast black abyss, matter and time and space were all one.

In an event that can only be described as creation; time and space and matter begin to crack and break and have distinguishing characteristics. Time began to move ever forward without hope of looking back. Matter was in its most dense and heavy state. Space could only be quantified by the amount of matter it could hold and the time it took to reach its most outer boundaries, in other words, it was limitless.

Here at this very moment, in this very space; time, matter and space disbanded from one another, yet, remained inextricably tied to one another. This reorganization had a titanic effect. Where time, space and matter merged spawned the creation of two celestial beings, the likes of which the burgeoning universe had never produced. In the new form of their beings; the offspring of time, space and matter spent millennial learning to spur their own awakening. These two beings would later call themselves Ewee (pronounced YOU) and Eeyee (pronounced I).

In this early existence of the young universe there was no oxygen, no hydrogen, no carbon and therefore no air. Consequently, there was no light, no sound and nothing that traveled or moved. There was no order, no chaos and no rules. There was no systematic law of order to follow and no charter too uphold. There was no gravity, no polarity and no positive or negative to attract or repel. There were only two beings with absolute power and they had no clue as to how to use it yet.

The elemental figures known as Ewee and Eeyee spent most of the newly formed time, discovering space and learning to manipulate matter. Many Millennial passed and Ewee and Eeyee learned that anything and everything could be possible if they so desired and investing their beings into it. So Ewee gave Eeyee air! In with his first breathe Eeyee gave praise to Ewee. And this event caused there to be a natural order of things. Natural law had been born. Wishes and desires are internalized and praise goes up to be meet with fruition. Right then Ewee and Eyee learned to believe.

In the millennial to follow Ewee learned to control inert gases and organic matter and many things of beauty. Ewee took oxygen and and hydrogen and created air and subsequently water.

Eeye took the air that Ewee made and used it to form flowers that he would give to Ewee. From the elements of inert gases and water that Ewee made, Eeyee created soil and then light and sound that traveled in wave lengths. Then there was energy that could burn or warm. Lastly Eyee engineered matter that could float in space and be used as a domicile or shelter or simply a place to be.

Over hundreds of thousands of light millennial Ewee and Eeyee decided that all the power to control and create was useless if what was created was inanimate and without life. They wanted to create something that could and would transcend them both and become greater than the sum of them both. Something that could sustain and give life all on its own and flourish for time immemorial.

Without thinking and without the aid of conscious decision Ewee and Eeyee moved ever closer to one another. Dangerously close; so close that the ensuing illumination generated enough heat to warm the outer constellations. So close that their combined mass was so great their heaviness nearly collapsed upon itself. So great was the power and emotion that time itself stood still for the first time since its original dawning.

Unbeknowst to them, their simple act of touching defined and confirmed solidarity, togetherness, unconditional care and affection; they had created what they sought. In that moment Ewee and Eeyee discovered the only power great enough to give and sustain life, to heal and move, to forgive and forget, to change and forever remain constant. In that moment Ewee and Eeyee created LOVE!

Act 2- What hath...

Armed with the most miraculous of gifts, in the first few eons of the young universe, Ewee and Eeyee set about the business of creating life. With love as the sharpened spear-head tool that Ewee and Eyee would carved matter into life, space into habitats and time into a measurement to determine the span of those lives.

In the fevered pitch of their work, Ewee and Eeyee displaced massive amounts of matter, causing smaller bits and particles to move about and collide and become islands in the sea of time and space. Ewee would sometimes dig your fingers into a nearby sphere and from the dirt pull trees and shrubs to the surface. Eyee would complement that fact by taking a piece of matter in hand and squeezing it so tightly that it would super-heat to the point of shining brightly for many billions of years to come.

This time at the beginning edges of space and matter were wondrous; in the wake of their path of discovery, they left life and life supporting essentials. They laughed and worked and loved for many millenial before tiring themselves out. Ewee and Eeyee, finally set aside a moment too reflect and consider what love hath made.

Act 3- Passion Begins

Ewee and Eeyee decided to take a much needed, richly deserved sabbatical. A holiday for for the newly loved, that had just found what love was all about. Love can be taxing when it is challenged and put too work. Love is resilient and can hide fatigue and challenge the weary to go on when physically it seems impossible. Alas, when love pushed them to work beyond thier limits they had to find another spark, something that helps loves flames maintain its glorious ignition.

Ewee and Eeyee, in the midst of all that we had accomplished stopped too take a look around and marvel at their work. Their small space in the vast universe was aglow with their handy work and their greatest tool-love. There, in the shadows was a once shining example of what happens when love is allowed to run rampant and unchecked, when Ewee and Eeyee did not pay attention to how we used the powerful tool of love. A planet, one we neglected as we molded and shaped galaxies; formed and gave life to constellations and nebula, a lone planet lie in the distance frozen over and barren.

Ewee looked at the gigantic sphere and began to mourn its frigid lifeless state. Ewee looked the sphere and said to Eeyee, "Had we just forgot this one". Eeyee, looked at Ewee and sadly replied "I think we might have". Smiling, Eeyee reached his mighty hands inside the plant and found its core still burning and still trying to create enough heat to melt the mountainous layers of ice that had encased the planet. Looking into Ewee's eyes and hoping to solicit a smile from her pretty face, Eeyee rubbed the planet's core between his hands and generated enough warmth to cause the glacial snow caps to release the trapped, life giving water it held in for centuries. As the water began to pour, Ewee climbed on the planet and let the chilly liquid cover her entirely. Seeing this Eeyee joined in and decided to hold Ewee as the cascading aquatic love den continued to warm this once frosty, neglected planet began to show signs of life.

Eeyee had encountered a feeling that he had never felt before. He was warm and cold; excited but scared; he had an acute sense of the now, but felt as if he had been here before. His urges were not just too kiss Ewee, but too consume her, to attach himself to her in ways he had never before. He felt invigorated and simultaneously as weak as a lamb. When he touched his lips to Ewee's, his eyes were closed and lips slightly parted. All he could think to do was lie Ewee on her back, to hover over her gently. If he could, he would have opened his chest and given his very soul to her.

Ewee, laying on her back now, reached for the nape of Eeyee's neck and pulled his face down to hers. Her lips slightly parted and back rightfully arched, she could not resist the idea of joining Eeyee in some blissful entanglement of soul mending. Ewee could feel Eeyee's love her for her in ways that she never imagined. She wanted to return that love in equal measures and meet his physicality with pure softness and allowed him to have her as he wished and too have him as she needed.

Little did Ewee and Eeyee now at the time, but as they lay in the formless sphere, their love den was being given shape by their every move and sound. As Eeyee kissed Ewee down her obliques and over her stomach, she would recoil and squirm. Ewee dug in her heels and pushed mightily against the planets surface and created buckles and peaks on the planet that reached for miles into the sky. Eeyee would bend to reach for Ewee's hips and dug his knees deep into the soil and created caverns and craters that stretched for miles. As Eeyee pulled Ewee's hips into his face her outstretched hands reached for tons of earth and displaced flat land and left canyons of space in-between. As Ewee screamed out in ecstasy, the clouds spread and the things that fly mimicked her sounds of love making and rejoiced with a song of their own. Eeye, could contain his love noises no better than Ewee, he let out a mighty yell that the majestic beast of the land would imitate for millions of years to come.

Joined now, the love could not be contained. The movements created the beginnings of a fine planet that produces life over and over again. Their love, connected on a higher plane and the ensuing result was the ultimate living, loving organism known as earth and it was created from a hyper sense of love, called PASSION.

Act 4-Life means choices

After exhausting themselves once again, this time in the name of passion. Ewee and Eeyee slumbered and nestled into the place that they had created; his hands around her waist, her hands cupped his face gently. As the water receded in beds created for it by the tossing and turning of Ewee and Eeyee and life sprung up around them. They laughed as Birds landed on their shoulders and Mastodons tussled and tickled their toes.

As never before, time was measured in increments, space was a finite place and matter could be organized and shaped to suit the needs of the living things on this planet. Still there were no nights and days and the temperature of the fragile young planet was largely held in check Ewee and Eeyee's passion. In what they learned was life, Ewee and Eeyee discovered that passion was a fleeting power and largely unpredictable. There were times when Ewee and Eeyee would scorch the poor planet with the heat from the vigor and strength of their passion. Then, there were times when the passion would grow so cold that living things on the planet would freeze and wilt. Though the love was constant and the passion itense at times, the fate of the world they created depended heavily on their individual will and the power of an entity neither could control-Passion.

Ewee and Eeyee tried, boy did they try. For millenial the two attempted to react the heat, energy and passion that they used to create the planet-to sustain that same planet. Ewee and Eeyee, knew that something had to be done. However, loved would not let them act, love they discovered only cared about love. You see love made you act, would not and could not stand inaction. Love made you move, forced you to go, implored you to be in the moment. Love kept Ewee and Eeyee together, But at the cost of what? Was love telling us to be together even at the expense of the greater good?

Ewee begged Eeyee not to do it...Ewee knew that this time would come, she had simply hoped that it would be many light years and maybe on another plane of existence. A plane where there was no such thing as pain or loss. Eeyee had made up his mind, he knew what must be done and that he was the one that had too do it. In his heart he knew that he would hurt Ewee with his decesion, but, not as much as it would hurt for her to see this world that they had made out of passion and love DIE.

Ewee yelled at Eeyee "what about our love" and Eeyee replied "our love is forever and nothing will ever change that". With that he went about the work of using all of his energy for heating and illimunating the Earth. He figured he could do this for a Million-Million years or so before buring himself out. At this moment he was not worried about how long he could shine, but about the soul he was leaving behind, the only love he had ever known-Ewee! Even as he moved to go about his most noble task, he knew she would wait. No matter how long it took, she would wait.

He affixed himself 93 million miles from the Earth. The exact coordinates was just far enough away to warm without burning; and just close enough to light without blinding. In concert with him and in exact harmony, she awaits him not so far away. In fact, just close enough to play her position and spell him at night. Still being his rock and allowing him rest when he so desperately needs it.

Every now and again, they cross each others path and talk of one day being together again forever. This happens largely in a vaccum and unbenowst to the citizens of the world they built. As they move slowly past one another, the Earth is reminded of what life (or lack there of) would be like if one or other did not exist. In this wrinkle in time, they laugh and enjoy what they had and built and never laminate the choices that they made. As time, space and matter endureth, they are emboldened, because they know that their love and passion can outlast all three!

Looking forward to the past

Last night I was lying in bed, minding my own business and sleeping soundly. I am sure I was dreaming of the Lakers and Kobe Bryant winning a championship without Shaq or pulling off some multi-million dollar deal without a dime of my own money when suddenly and out of the blue... A thunderous crash in my brain and cerebral lightning strikes and I am standing in the office of one my friends over at the NBC tower. This was not surprising or shocking too me, this particular friend and I do see each other maybe twice a year and I go to her office and we have lunch somewhere and catch up. I am wearing my standard uniform; basic brown shoes, tan khaki-colored suit, with white shirt , no tie and brown belt. I believe that I am waiting for my friend of about 18 years to come out of her office restroom so we can head over to Grande Luxe Cafe, a place she loves and I can barely tolerate, except for these glorious little desserts.

While standing, both hands firmly entrenched in the pockets of my slacks; attitude slowly building because of the much anticipated, yet highly unnecessary wait. In this time and space, I began to think about the myriad of things going on in my afternoon that I absolutely must remember to get too. At last the door cracks, but, my old childhood friend does not enter. I turn slightly and alter my stance to help the door open and my heart nearly stops. Standing before me is none other than you. Wearing a navy and white Anne Taylor business ensemble with navy and white lady wing tip shoes, I would almost swear that you were there for a meeting of some sort. An eternity passes by inside of a nanosecond and not a word is said. That is when I realize that the only person shocked by this chance meeting is me; you clearly have come with a purpose and a mission. Standing in complete shock I relent my position and begin to back peddle, you slowly make your way into the room filling up the void between the door and my right arm.

Looking deep into your eyes searching for a clue as to why and how I am standing here fully clothed, yet my soul is stone naked before you. You give no hint nor clue as to your intentions, you simply saunter over to me, look up into my eyes and without a word convince my heart too surrender. My heart complies with your request and my will is soon too follow. You reach for my hand and I melt within your touch. You pull me closer to you and for a second I nearly lose my footing as quickly as I lost my desire to resist. Still, without a word being spoken you engage me with a warm embrace; the sight, the smell and feel are all so familiar. My hands instantly remember every curve and every soft spot. Your breath, so warm and inviting on my neck that I bend at the knees and pull you closer to me. Before I even realize what is happening I am caressing your back and running my hands the length of your back and down over your sweet ass.

Lost in this rhythmic dance my body responds to your touch. Still, in this space and time our bodies become one; writhing, needing organism, growing and feeding lust and love lost in years past. The hunger rises and I can not wait one more second to touch your lips with mine. Inside of the breath it took to cover your mouth with my own, I am transported back to that sacred day that I met you and held you in my arms for the first time, and the kiss that ensued. This time there would be no glaring looks from on-lookers, no horns blowing and no threats from gum shoe beat walkers relegated to guarding the park we nestled in. This time, its just you and I, this passion and desire and the maddeningly delightful inscription of a story yet untold. I was your Odysseus and you my Penelope. Not quite ten years, but long enough for a fable to be written.

With our mouths and tongues busy, our hands join the party. You began wresting my jacket from my torso and I help you. Still not sure if this is right or good or real; I slowly let go of every chivalrous thought I ever held in our previous meetings. I let my guard and do not wonder if this passion in the making is moral or ethical or what the risk later in life will be. My only thought is that this love inside of me is too big and too uncontrollable to hold any longer, I know you must feel the same way by the way you are releasing buttons from my shirt. Not too be out done, with my lips still connected to yours, I begin removing your clothing with vigor. I think I broke a button! I hope that you don't mind. Shit, I guess we're even, you just ripped a belt loop off of my pants trying to release the buckle.

Still, having only shared touches, feels, caressing, holds, massages, grinds and moans, to this point there hasn't been one word uttered between us. Somehow though, I think we understand each other perfectly. As I finally slide your shirt from your shoulders, I notice your brown skin glowing under the fluorescent of the office. You remove my shirt and unbutton my pants but leave them zipped, you slide my T-top t-shirt out of my pants and slip it over my head, I bend down just a little to help you. Now we are smiling at one another, sharing a moment like only we can share, like we have shared so many times before. Our smiles soften and I pull you close as I lean against the edge of the desk, I begin kissing you once again and again your body responds. This time I have visual evidence as I remove your bra with one hand hold you with my free hand. Not too be out done, you finally unzip my pants and hold me in your hands. The love is so thick in the air, anyone attempting to look in upon us would be be blinded as if by the thickest Chicago Fog. I feel your warm skin next mine, I caress and suck your hardened nipples. You return the favor placing your hand deep inside my overly stretched underwear.

Seeing you here, in nothing but some pale blue panties, I wonder too myself how one allows their one and only wife, their best friend and the only woman they have ever thought of mothering their children get away. I don't know the answer and it will not be answered this afternoon. There is something far more pressing on my mind; how in the hell do I act cool, when I am about to explode from the excitement. As I stand to allow you easier access to me and what has ultimately always been yours! You slide my pants down to my shoes and now nearly nothing stands between us, between our love and between this passion penned up for way too long. Starting at your lips and then down to you neck and over your shoulders and down your chest I place kisses. Across each nipple and down your stomach I suckle and nibble every inch of your body. Now down on my knees, as if apologizing and pleading at the same time, I grab your ass with both hands and pull you into my face, kissing your pelvis, I gently tug at the waistline of your panties and slide them over your hips and down to your ankles as you step out of your shoes.

Asking me to rise, simply by touching both my shoulders with your hands. I stand to my feet, look you in your eyes one more time, searching for a hint of remorse, the scent of regret. I find none. Still, Looking at you, I swipe everything from the once cluttered desk with my arm. I invite you to lay down on the desk by extending my hand. You accept and lay on your back, legs curiously spread and the scent of you and a hint of warmth and love glisten from the very essence of you. I join you atop that desk and images of home fill my head, The anticipation of love and love making transports me to another place, some place deep inside your soul. I am consumed with the feeling of going home and being home. You in every way are inviting me home I drift down upon you as a cloud lightly, gently and effortlessly hovers above the earth and you are waiting and anticipating me coming home...