Met her at a mixed club. You know those mixed dance clubs where the straight women look gay and strangely, vice versa.

We noticed each other instantly through the darkness. Like mystical twins or kin from some far away fantasy dimension of tall, strong dark Amazonian women with a heightened sense of awareness of their surroundings and everything in it.

Her deep-toned skin glowed in the darkness. Her profile was distinctly female, feminine. A long elegant nose and lips thick like foreign fruit from some richly dark continent we call Mother. Tall and regal, her hair – cut so close to her head that I could only imagine running the palm of my hand with feathery finger tips all over through her short earthy bush trim; back and forth, front to back, side to side and round and round that beautifully powerful mind.

A tight trendy mesh top allowed me to see she was a nice size until my eyes traveled lower to hips that expanded to a heavenly bounty of womanhood. I, a woman of certain narrow dimensions (no hips – I've been called boy realness in the way Levi 501's layer my long ambiguous legs) I have an affinity for women with real Nubian hips and real Nubian asses. I like more than enough but not too much that I would ever neglect anything. This Sister fit the bill perfectly.

It was something in the way she moved. It was reckless but controlled, more sensual than sexy. She would dive down deep when she felt a beat, jerk with a rhythm, swagger like a thug, then rise up lifting her entire body in the air, toes lifted completely from the dance floor like an angel in a gospel trance, head thrown back, mouth opened wide in an arch that mimicked Billie Holiday belting out some heartfelt blues.

It was difficult to pretend I didn't notice her. I was not looking. For anyone. I've done the relationship thing. I've done the whore thing. I've stretched the lesbian dating limits to the point where I was bored and disinterested. But I sensed this was about to be something of the atypical persuasion altogether.

Our eyes followed each other. Expressionless. No words were spoken.

I touched her. I don't remember where but the one movement sent a current through me while she froze in place.

"What’s up?" The only two words I could find.

"You." Her voice was a nice medium. Deep and womanly.

Introductions were made and she gave me the once over with distant recognition. I felt stiff, rehearsed. We kept telling each other how beautiful the other was.

Her name was Kim. She was in town on business. Her line of business was fashion, urban fashion. She used words like merchandising, concept, design. Enjoyed dancing. Didn’t know too many people in New York and would like to have the opportunity to take me out for a drink. Quick and thorough. Neat.

Engaging, even charming her game (if I may be so bold to call it that) was airtight. As disinterested as I was in meeting anyone she convinced me that my wishes were contrived and that I should be more spontaneous and surrender to fate. So I did.

Three, yes three days later, she called (no, I didn't have the number to where she was staying so I couldn't call her even if I wanted to). When the first day went by, I laughed it off. The second day was a minor threat to my insecurity. On the third day I practiced forgetting her but I was quite breathy and close to guarded submission when I heard her voice on the other end of my cordless, a voice with origins deep in the chest. Raspy like a smokers voice and unbelievably erotic.

All she said was, “Are you free for a drink tonight?” No hello, no how are you, no polite introductions. I was embarrassed by my availability, but she was flying out the next day. If I had any desire to see her again, and I know that I did, I would have to accept her invitation.

“There is a lounge I know, near my office, Noire.” I suggested.

“I’ll meet you there in an hour.” And it was set.

The unpredictability was awesome and the clock just so happened to strike midnight.

It was 1:05. I walked into the bar. She sat there with an over-sized Martini before her, three plump olives floating on the bottom. She sucked on a cigarette like I expected her to. A woman with vices – not afraid to live, not afraid to die. When she saw me, she took a very long drag from her L almost as if she were trying to inhale me. In contrast, I held my breath before I sat. Despite the somewhat cool forecast, she wore a tank top, the top edge of it resting on top of gumdrop sized nipples (have you ever sucked the sugar off a gum drop?) A long sheer wrap skirt draped those hips and thighs of life. Her neck was long and vulnerable.

We hugged. Mine was awkward. She pulled me in closer, pressing herself into me so hard I was compelled to look her in her eyes – she captured my glance and my lips. I resisted. Some might refer to this as a missed opportunity – resisting lips, any lips of an extraordinarily attractive woman. I could only allow myself to linger there but for a moment – warm/not necessarily inviting/but accommodating – promising. To me, she was still a stranger. But those lips sent me to Heaven and Hell.

She smiled at me, almost delighted in my hesitation/resistance. I was anxious at her exploitation of me.

We exchanged verbal greetings-pleasantries. I ordered a cocktail. I could not relax as I had the distinct sensation of being cerebrally undressed. She was fucking me with those eyes and I had no control over it.

Six more over-sized cocktails between us later, we were outside. It was freezing: New York City, dead of winter. The streets were isolated. Those who knew better sought the warmth of someplace indoors. We didn't know better. Or did we?

Walking quickly with no designated destination, the sounds of our footsteps splattered against the concrete sidewalk, stiff and hard, cold beneath our feet, echoes bouncing against the granite walls of stiff skyscrapers. Saying nothing, she burrowed herself into me, careful not to disturb our pace but validating herself.

Stumbling upon an alley, Kim suddenly turned real aggressive. She bum rushed me, flinging me against the wall. Shocked, I wasn't exactly sure how to react. Partly amused, largely turned on, I decided to comply. My lined leather jacket (a vain choice strictly unsuitable for the weather) did not cushion my back from the hard bricks that pounded against my body. A ribbon of pain stretched like lighting across my back. Acting as her accomplice, the cool November wind whipped my face so hard it stung. Her eyes, an intense locked stare held me tighter than I imagined her muscular arms could, threatening me, warning me not to move. And I didn't.

Breathing hard, she flung her bag to the ground slowly approaching me. In other situations my instincts might have been defensive, but this wasn't that kind of party. Gripping my throat with soft but strong hands, she pressed herself against me as hard as she could, her crotch crushing mine. Her breath quickened against the side of my face and in my ear as she shoved her thigh forcibly between my legs, followed by her tongue between my lips. Both angry and aroused, I couldn't move as she had me pinned almost expertly.

Her hips started to move against me while her hands busied themselves opening my jacket, shoving my turtleneck up exposing my naked breasts to the elements. Grunting her approval she moved downward to anoint them with those juicy lips that I didn't want to stop kissing. Her tongue teased the tips of my nipples before tracing tiny circles that turned into wider circles. The sensation her wet imprints left created chill bumps that made me overheat. Working my nipples I knew I was soaking my jeans (no undies tonight). Madly aroused I squirmed while she ravaged me before she let her perfectly straight teeth clamp down so hard on the meatiest part of my breast. I sucked in air between my own clenched teeth, telling myself not to make anymore incriminating moves or else it was highly likely she would unleash some shit on me.

She started to travel lower placing tiny kisses and nibbles along my stomach, her lips pulling hard on my navel piercing which made me squeal like a bitch before she ripped my 501's open with one quick movement. Now on her knees, she forced my jeans down around my legs. I was no longer aware of the outside temperature, no longer aware that it was three in the morning in some dark empty alley in Manhattan with some sexy stranger. She smiled at my shaved pussy, now dripping from her actions. Slowly she dipped a finger in and out of me. She then stuck that same finger in and out between her big juicy lips, tasting me, approving of my flavor. I didn’t move, although my thighs were now trembling.

“You want more, huh?” She whispered. “Sure you want more of me?” Yes, Ms. Thing was a rough little fem and I wanted nothing more than to put my mojo on her. I wanted to work those hips. Damn did I want to be up in that ass. But nothing on my agenda she had in mind. She was in charge. Dipping her finger back inside of me she worked a rhythm on me so fierce, so hard that I barely noticed the ball of her fist nearly lifting me to the skies; or maybe I did notice because I rode her like a repressed nympho. Oh yes did I want her to reach in and tell my soul something. Every time she thrusted herself inside of me, going deeper and deeper, I thought I would lose myself.

Just when I thought I was about to collapse, her long thin index finger quickly shoved its' way up my ass from behind, followed by her tongue licking my clyt with slow thirsty cat curls of her tongue that sent me over the edge in five tumultuous minutes. And she didn't stop there. Pressing her lips further into me, she sucked me until my entire lower torso trembled violently with orgasm after orgasm after orgasm; still propped up against the wall, my thighs stradling her shoulders, wrapped tightly around her. If anyone walked by, we didn't notice. If it was 30 below outside, we didn't feel it. I just gave myself to her. Whatever she wanted she took. By then I was too exhausted not to come. She had turned me inside out.

Pulling herself away from me, she quickly got herself together as if she suddenly became aware of the time. I thought we were just getting started! Barely pulling my jeans up, Kim was bundled up and nearly out of the alley.

"Thanks for the drink, girl. Got a plane to catch. I'll call you next time I'm in New York." She hollered before vanishing into the night.

No she didn't, I thought to myself. Did she just play me for some pussy?

Going back into the chilly New York wilderness, I knew even if I never saw Kim again, she did something to me in one night most women I knew couldn't do in a lifetime. It was profoundly self-revealing. So if you're reading this Kim, I'm still waiting on that phone call. I've got something for you.


Copyright © 199?. Used by permission of author. All Rights Reserved.

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