Niya Page 5
I went over to my desk chair, lit up the half of a blunt that we hadn’t finished, and just watched her breathe. I thought about my conversation with my dad, or the lack thereof. I thought about my grandmother and how much I loved her. I thought about my mother, who was sure to show up at any time, only to eat, shower, and head back out to the streets that were eating her alive. I thought about Roxie and Smiley, and how I had them and needed them differently, and finally, I thought about Jamilla. She was my tainted flower, my imperfect black rose, but I loved every petal that clung to her tattered soul. I wanted to get to know her more. I wanted her to be mine. I prayed that she would love me, and that I would take that love and be kind. Knowing that being loved was something so damn special, I knew that I would love her right down to the core.
I moved to the bed, with smoke-stained thoughts, and denied myself the luxury of listening to logic. I left all inhibitions behind as soon as I hit the mattress. There was no denying what I wanted to do. Truth ruled my thoughts and seeped into my actions. I wanted to touch her. I needed to experience what I had been thinking about for so damn long.
She was still sleeping when I got beside her. I put my arm around her waist and just let it sit there. My heart was beating so fast that I thought she would hear it over the radio I had on. Slowly, very slowly, I let my hand slide under her shirt. When I felt her flesh, I took in a deep breath. I let my hand travel past her navel, up her ribs, and I stopped once I felt her move. She shifted a little before going back into a deep slumber. She looked so damn perfect. Her skin, the color of caramel, had me wanting to taste it just so I could see if it was just as sweet. Her hair, draped across my pillow and her shoulders, made me want to pull on it. Pull her close and taste every last drop of her.
When my hand reached her breast, I slipped my fingers inside of her bra and felt her nipple. I ran my fingers across it as low moans crept out of Jamilla’s lips. I moved closer to her as she stretched and seemingly enjoyed my touch. She lay there with her eye closed, moaning, breathing hard. I leaned in and tasted her neck. I moved to her ear, licking and sucking on her earlobe as I rolled her nipple between my fingers. The more she got into it, the bolder I got.
My hand left her chest so I could pull up her shirt and bra. Her breasts turned me on, and I wanted to taste them. I let out a low sound of ecstasy as soon as my mouth hit her nipple. Her hard nipple sent chills down my spine, and I let my hand head south. I wasn’t sure if she was awake or halfway sleeping, but her eyes never opened. With my fingers at the ridge of her shorts, with her body moving to the flow of my tongue, and with her moans increasing, I hurried to unbutton her shorts. I was racing against my mind. I had too many thoughts flying around and too many fantasies about Jamilla that I needed to fulfill.
Her panties were a peach color. Nothing too fancy, but they were cute. My breathing was at a rapid pace as I sucked her nipple hungrily. As my fingers reached the sweetest spot, I damn near came. Her legs started to part wider as her pussy dripped with delight. I was like a wild fucking beast. Her kitty was so damn warm and wet, and her clit swelling under my fingers sent me into a lust-filled rage.
“Damn, Jamilla. Baby, you are so fucking wet.”
If I had known better, I would have kept my mouth shut.
She opened her eyes, looked at me, and asked, “Where am I?”
Chapter 12
Jamilla
When I heard her voice, it scared the shit out of me. Lost somewhere between sleep and consciousness, I had known what was happening, but I had also thought that it was a dream.
After I heard her voice, I jumped up, for two reasons. One, Niya was touching me, and two, I was sleeping in her bed. Did I wet it?
“What’s wrong? Come back here,” she said.
“Why were you touching me?” I asked her as I put on my shoes.
“Was that wrong? I’m sorry. You seemed to like it.”
“But I told you. I told you that I was straight. I didn’t even realize that I was still here, didn’t realize that it was you who was touching me.”
She got off the bed and came closer to me. “I’m sorry, Milla. Please, don’t go.”
I was looking for my notebook when she came up beside me and took my hand. “No, really. I can’t,” I told her.
She looked frustrated, but I couldn’t do anything about that.
“Come on, Jamilla. Don’t leave like this. I really am sorry.”
I looked at her and wished that things could be different. I wanted to jump back in that bed with her and just talk. I didn’t want her to touch me. . . . Well, maybe I did, but I couldn’t think about that. I was too busy thanking God that I hadn’t wet her bed. I was too busy beating myself down because I couldn’t change my past and make my present different.
“No. I have to go.” I headed for her bedroom door, but she ran past me and stood in front of it, keeping it closed.
“I fucking told you that I was sorry. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Did she really just ask me what was wrong with me?
“You are what’s wrong with me. I told you that I was straight, yet I wake up to you touching me. That’s what’s fucking wrong.”
Her face scrunched up, as if she wasn’t buying my bullshit. “Get the fuck out of here. You were moaning and carrying on. You liked that shit.”
“That’s the problem with you gay girls. Always tryin’a pull someone to your side. Just because I tell you I’m straight doesn’t mean that I was challenging you.”
“You know what? I’m starting to think that you are fucking crazy.”
She was looking at me as if she was looking into me. Her calling me crazy enraged me. I had to hear that shit from my mother all the fucking time. I wasn’t going to let her get away with it.
“I’m crazy? Fuck you, Niya. How about you try walking in my shoes? How about—”
“That could never happen. You’re too scared to let anyone in. What in the fuck is wrong with you? I am trying just to get close to you. Why do you have to leave? I keep saying I’m sorry, but you’re not even hearing me.”
“’Cause sorry don’t mean shit.” I took a deep breath. “You want to know why I can’t stay?” I asked as I got in her face. I didn’t wait for her to answer. “I can’t stay, because the fear of pissing in your bed cripples me. I can’t stay, because I am fucked up due to what my stepdad did to me.”
“Piss in my bed?”
I wanted to take it back, but it was too late. I looked around the room for her bottle of vodka, found it, picked it up, and took three big gulps.
“That’s right,” I said after wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “If I sleep here, I may wet your bed. Now, isn’t that some embarrassing shit? But what’s more embarrassing than you seeing me on the kitchen floor that day? See, you walk around like being gay is the worst thing that you could be going through. Well, how about every day having to look at the man who touched you when you were only seven years old? How about having to call him Dad and watch him marry your mother? How about being so fucked up over that shit that you are sixteen and are still pissing in the fucking bed? How . . . about . . .”
I started to cry. Looking at her, with so much pity in her eyes, I couldn’t take it. She walked over to me, and I fell into her arms.
“You gotta tell your mother about this.”
“I tried, Niya, but she just called me crazy. She took me to the doctor, and they tried to tell her, but she’s not hearing it. They sent a caseworker to my house, but out of fear, I told them that I had made it up. I got in so much trouble for just telling the doctor in a roundabout way, so I knew I had to hide it once they came knocking on our door. I don’t know what to do. I can’t go on living like this forever.”
“Is that why she makes you sleep in the kitchen?”
Shame consumed me. “Yes. Because I kept wetting the bed, and my stepsister got tired of it.” I cried for the next fifteen minutes. I told her everything, and in her arms, I felt a little better.
“But I have to. My mom would flip. Plus—”
“You’re not going back there to sleep on the damn floor, not tonight at least. I’ll make sure you don’t have any accidents. Don’t worry.”
I was terrified at the thought of going back to sleep in her bed. What if we woke up wet because of me? How would I ever be able to face her? With thoughts of totally embarrassing myself tap-dancing through my mind, I looked in her eyes while thinking about things. I really didn’t want to leave, but . . . what if? Ten minutes flew by, and with reassurance from Niya, the what-ifs flew out the window. I got back in her bed, lay in her arms, and fell asleep to the sound of her breathing. To my surprise, I didn’t wet her bed at all.
* * *
When I crept into my house after my first night at Niya’s house, I thought that I would never be able to look at her again. I had told her some of my deepest, darkest secrets, and I thought that it would change everything. As I got in my makeshift bed on the kitchen floor, I thought about my night with her. I hadn’t slept that well in years. Then I thought about the way she’d made me feel. Sure, I had been half asleep, but my God, from what I remembered, she had made me feel what I had never felt before.
I had been with only one guy, Lance, and he had never made me feel so good. Half of the time, I had just lain there, wishing that he would finish. He’d been nice and all, but there had been no sparks. I wasn’t gay, had never thought of sleeping with a woman before, but she had just made me feel so good.
It was six o’clock in the morning when I got in, but I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I just lay there, thinking of her, watching the time. I wanted to see her again already. I wanted to be around her. I wanted to watch her smile, enjoy her sarcasm, and enjoy the flow of her stride. I loved the way she walked, as if she always had all the time in the world. And when she laughed, it showed her femininity. It was the cutest laugh I had ever heard. It was the kind of laughter that you couldn’t help but join in on when you heard it.
She made me feel so comfortable. I had told her everything about my stepdad. Living in this house was one of the hardest things I had ever had to do. Every damn day, I had to face the man who had taken me away from myself, and it was killing me. I remembered that day so clearly.
My mother was in view. I could have called out to her, but he held my mouth shut. She was on the phone in the other room. I tried to make noise, but when he told me that he would snap my neck if I made another sound, I was too scared even to move. He held me on his lap, with his hands down my panties, and just moaned. My face was wet with tears, but crying was all that I could do.
When my mother came back into the living room, I was in the bathroom, washing my face, as instructed. She called me back into the living room, and when I got there, she was smiling. When I heard her say that Jackson had proposed to her, it was as if someone had clawed their way into my heart and ripped it out. The abuse went on for years. He never penetrated me, and because of that, he said that what he was doing to me didn’t count as sexual abuse. He said that it was his way of showing me how much he loved me, and for a while, until I grew old enough, I believed him.
Telling Niya these things had been hard, but she had made me feel safe enough. I trusted her with my sordid past, and because of that, she would become everything to me.
By noon, I couldn’t take it anymore. I hadn’t heard from her, and the night before played over and over in my head. I had to see her; I couldn’t take the waiting game any longer. I told my mother that I was taking out the trash, and then I headed to the other side of the building. I took the steps two at a time. I rushed to her door, and once there, I didn’t think twice. I knocked on her door and waited. Nothing. I knocked again. Nothing. The last time, I knocked so hard that I thought her grandma would curse me out, but still no one opened the door.
I turned to leave, with slumped shoulders, damn near in tears. Was I crazy? Why was I acting like this? I told myself to get it together. I wasn’t supposed to be feeling this way. She is a lesbian. I am straight, I reminded myself. As I gave myself a mental lashing for acting like a thirteen-year-old girl, I heard the locks on her door turn. I stopped at the top of the stairs and just waited. My heart raced, as if I had just run a mile, as the door crept open. She stood there, rubbing her sleepy eyes. I couldn’t move, not until she looked at me. When she did, I just stood there smiling.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I walked toward her. At first, my stride was slow, but the closer I got to her, the more urgent my need to feel her arms around me became. Once I was in front of her, I pressed my body against hers and hugged her tightly. I hugged her for a long time, and when she squeezed me back, the world seemed to stand still. Afterward, we went back to her bedroom, got in her bed, and slept. I stayed with her for a few hours.
When I got back home, my mom really let me have it, but it was all worth it. In the months that followed, I ate, breathed, and lived for her.
Chapter 13
Niya
With only six weeks left to our summer vacation, I made sure to see Jamilla every day. She had dropped some heavy shit on me that first night she slept over, and at first, I didn’t know what to do with it. I never tried to touch her again. She was too fragile, too damaged, too broken for me to take anything from her, and that included sex. I wanted to kill her stepfather, and her mother and stepsister too. I just wanted to walk in there and shoot all of them dead, although that wouldn’t change anything. I was seeing less and less of Roxie, since most of my time was spent with Jamilla. Roxie was blowing up my phone, leaving crazy messages, and she even showed up at my house a few times. I knew that I would have to see her soon, or she would lose her mind.
As I waited for Roxie on the stoop of her building, I thought about my time with Jamilla. I had learned so much about her in such a short time. I felt as if I had known her my entire life. The crazy part was, as much as I knew that I couldn’t have her in the way I wanted her, it didn’t stop my heart from falling for her. I was in love with her, and I knew that I could never tell her that. Instead, I had to play the best friend game. That shit was killing me. All I wanted to do was taste her lips, lick her all over. I just wanted to fuck her all the time. I wanted to feel her body against mine. I wanted to feel her wetness against my lips. I wanted to bend her over, fuck her, and pleasure her until she came. There were plenty of nights when I would touch myself to the thought of her. She drove me crazy, yet there was nothing that I would do about it.
“Where the fuck you been, Niya? I have been calling you. Didn’t I tell you not to play with me? I heard you were hanging with some new bitch. Don’t make me hurt the bitch.”
Damn. Roxie had just walked up, and she was already starting with her bullshit.
“How you been, baby? I missed you,” I said as I stood up to give her a kiss. She pushed me away and kept up with her bullshit.
“I’m gonna fuck you up. I’m supposed to be your girl, and I don’t hear from you for weeks. What kind of shit is that?”
I pulled her close to me and kissed her lips. I grabbed a handful of her phat ass and instantly remembered why I put up with her shit.
“You know you my favorite bitch. Why you always talk shit? Aren’t you happy to see me?” I asked before kissing her neck. I heard her moan and waited for her to embrace me back, which she did. As much as she pissed me off, I couldn’t help but melt into her kiss.
“Uh, what’s up with the affection in public? I thought you were against that.”
What she didn’t know was that in the past month, I had become more comfortable with who I was. Being around someone who I could let my guard down with had changed me, was still changing me, and I liked it.
“Things change, people change, but some things, they just stay the same . . . yes, Lawd,” I said as I pushed her away from me and turned her to the side to get a look at her ass. She was just as plump as ever.
“So, if th
is is some new shit, does that mean that you will come out with me tonight?” Damn. She had me there.
She went on. “Come on, Papi. Please. It’s time. I want to show you off. You fine as shit, and I want everyone to know that you my nigga.”
She knew me well. Feeding my ego helped.
“How about this? You take me upstairs, show me what I have been missing, and maybe, I’ll go out with you tonight.”
I didn’t have to ask twice. Twenty minutes later, I was in heaven. I loved the days when she would switch things up on me.
“I should do you how you do me. Make you spread your shit wide open,” she remarked.
I laughed. “That’s not gonna happen, but what you can do . . . is eat this pussy right.”
She sat me on her couch and pulled off my jeans. I didn’t let her do this too often, but I was in the mood. I enjoyed watching her. She made a production out of it every time. Sticking out her tongue just so I could watch the point of impact. She was so nasty with it. Slurping, moaning, pulling on my clit. It felt good, but I just couldn’t fully let go with her. I tried that day. Hell, I tried every time she ate me out. I just couldn’t do it. It felt good as hell, but I just couldn’t bust a nut. So after a while, I switched places with her. I hit her off, and after she came, the question still lingered.
“Are you going out with me or not?”
I thought about it and said, “I’ll go, but my friend Jamilla is coming with me.”
I hadn’t even asked Jamilla yet, but I was hoping she would come. I didn’t think that I could make it to the club without her.
“Jamilla? Who the fuck is Jamilla?”
I broke it down to Roxie and told her that Jamilla was my straight friend. I left out the “maybe straight” part that she had thrown at me the first night she slept over at my house. I left Roxie some money to get fly with and headed home. I drove that day, so as soon as I got in the car, I called Jamilla and told her that I was on my way to pick her up.