Who plays James Brown for love making? A love maker. Why play James Brown? To make love.
He was scrambling to clean his room. Well not room, the basement, the space. The space he forged all of his alchemy in. I’d felt so many sounds, words, rhythms, vibrations come from this space. I had vibrated in this space. I vibrated each time I connected with him but this space birthed our vibrations. Today, I was visiting, unplanned. Midday, all the light to expose us so we went to the darkest place, this space. It was a mess but I hadn’t noticed until his anime like movements to each corner pulled my eyes to something I hadn’t seen before. An empty box of oatmeal cream pies, blunt guts, blunt wrappers, empty bottles, the wrappers to the cookies—each in their space to leave evidence of the moments they fulfilled their purpose—lighters, ashes, dust, a few records, some items that were worn but not enough to be forgotten, all managed to leave my view as soon as they appeared. A magician, I was impressed.
“Why are you cleaning?”
“Cuz… I have a guest.”
I wanted his attention on me. My low standard ass wasn’t worried about no damn ashes and blunt guts on a glass table. I wanted him in mine. I wanted to demand he stop but he was routinely turned off by my impetuousness. I watched with intent so he’d feel the fire of my gaze. Please stop and touch me. Stop and kiss me. Stop fucking cleaning and dig into me.
“I’m already here and it’s not that bad.”
“This is not appropriate for guests. Just let me do this.”
He was done and I finally noticed the TV was on because he turned it off. Those speakers were on, very present necessary vibration resonators. His interminable fingers connected to the keyboard as a master instrument extension . He scrolled the MacBook. His beloved. He always scrolled, obviously undecided on what to play. In the car or my place there was clear intention on the playlist. The sound, the vibrations, mattered to him. I was over it. Come fuck me, I’m sitting on this bed with my nipples waiting on your mouth and the surrounding mass waiting on your face for warmth. My thighs are waiting for your waist, my feet are waiting for your shoulders. My ankles are waiting for your kiss. My hips are waiting on your finger tips to glide so they can remember what feeling is. My eyes are waiting to meet yours. My tongue is waiting to feel your tongue. My breath is waiting to exhale on your neck. I am waiting for you.
My lips were about to part their truth of restlessness when James said “Well lookanhhere, I gotta get up and do my thang. Ok, well lemme kinda move these thangs around here, ya know. Lemme get up and do my thing. Yeah, unnastand? Uhhh CANNI CANNI REALLY GET INTO IT, CANNI CANNI I GET INTO THE THANG, REALLY? MOVIN? DOIN IT? CANNI GET INTO IT?” My eyes opened, my mouth parted but I held. He knew the way to my heart or at least the heart of my hips. I just had to let him move things around, get into it, like a sex machine.
Ding. J. Period begins to teach. He begins to remove his clothes. I follow suit. My shirt was off and a kiss met my lips. My tongue was pulled into his mouth. He was in control. He always dug into me with his tongue pulling passion from of me. It was addicting and I’d, like always, reach deeper into him. I’d grab with both hands and pull him into my mouth. I wanted all the space between us. I pulled deeper until he reminded me who was in control. I was aggressive and he was…tempered. I could swallow him wholly and not care that he was too much to take in. We both removed my pants. We both removed my bra. We both laid down. We both noticed the rain pouring harder against the high small windows but we both tended to each other. We weren’t planning on stopping the rain. We didn’t care if we could. We only wanted each other. Ding. A new lesson: My neck. J. Period was on to something.
Our movements dragged in motion. This is why he was on top, because I couldn’t handle control. I rushed. He was on top to give me experience. I could feel someone intentionally giving me physical energy. I could not control his lips on my jaw line. I’d feel it and get lost in each kiss, so much that when he moved to my décolletage I was still trying to process what had happened on my jaw line. When he reached my shoulder, I longed for the parted lips on my neck. When he reached my breasts I begged for him to return to the last spot. Please stay here. I wanted more of everything, for him to rest in those spaces. He was more intentional, slower, stronger and better than I was at loving physically. He was better than me.
He positioned himself primely to be received. It was so easy, so natural. No awkward moments, not too high or too low, he opened a part of me and slid in quietly and softly, the perfect dive. At the momentum with which he dived I exhaled with the vibration out my throat. I didn’t moan, I didn’t have the capacity to manage tongue positions to orchestrate my jugular vibrations. My open mouth released my breath and he inhaled me in.
He held me tighter. I sank and he caught me. I felt love.