K.B. is standing over the stove finishing dinner and I’m mixing drinks when the doorbell rings. I answer since he’s preoccupied as he tends to get when he cooks. People start streaming in the door, bottles in hand, hugs and kisses showered over faces as the sound system gets turned on and the atmosphere gets loud.
After the perfectionist in him is thoroughly satisfied, we all sit down to eat way too much food and talk waaaaaay too much shit.
And did I mention the drinking?
After we’re all completely stuffed, we move the party to the living room. I end up on the couch next to Dougie Howser discussing exactly what ends of the earth we would each go to in order to acquire the new Camaro Chevy is rereleasing ’09. (I think I was willing to do the most craziness.) K.B. is in the middle of the floor trying to learn how to do the Soulja Boy from Mari’s girlfriend, Mad Max and Scooter are in the kitchen making shots, and Butter is on the balcony trying hard to pretend that her boyfriend isn’t at another bitch’s house.
Everybody is chilling and enjoying life. Before long, someone throws some old school in the changer and Gap Band, Parliament, Stevie, EW&F and the like is flowing through the wall mounted speakers. We move back the furniture and we’re all trying to out wopelectricslidebutterflycabbagepatchtwostep each other. Me and Mari both pull our hair back before long. The guys have untucked their button downs, and 4 sets of stilettos have been abandoned in the corner. We’re all sweaty and dancing and laughing and still only slightly drunk. I take a break to go get some water and K.B. follows me into the kitchen.
“I didn’t know you had it in you youngin’.”
“Shit I’m surprised you could keep up with me out there old timer. You come in here to rub some bengay on your knees and rest your bad hip?”
“Ah you got jokes lil nigga?”
“One or two. Here and there.” At the end of my sentence the opening notes of “As” filter through the speakers above our head.
“Ohmigod I LOVE this song!!!”
“Well come get your two step on with an old man then.” He grabs my hand and leads me out to the living room where try to out dance each other for the entire 7 minute song. He holds his own. We all decide to take more shots at some point. So we do. We dance more. Ella, Mari’s girlfriend starts to sing, so me, being the competitive creature I am, I feel like I need to outdo her. We settle on a duet. More shots. Me, K.B. and Mad Max retire to the balcony momentarily.
“And the smoke got thick/cuz the haze was blownin’/from dudes doin’ shotguns/passin’ the dutch/one steady coughin’/he took too much”
More shots get passed. Mari and Ella indulge Scooter and Mad Max’s sophmoric request to watch them kiss. Butter sends frantic text messages in the corner while Dougie, ever the sweetie, tries his hardest to keep her smiling. K.B. pulls me down on his lap in the big chair by the window. Someone grabs a bottle of wine and we all wind up in the living room, talking too much, the liquor peppering all of our conversation and making it a little spicier.
La: Mad Max where’s one place you’re dying to visit?
Mad Max: Brazil.
La: Ooooh yeah I hear it’s a beautiful country.
M.M: Yeah and Brazillian bitches are the shit.
Mari: La could you have sex with a chick?
La: I’d never say never about anything, but at some point she’s going to need to have a dick that isn’t strapped around her waist. *laughter*
K.B.: Can’t leave the dick alone huh?
La: I like what I like.
On male/female dynamic:
Ella: What attracted you to your man Butter?
Mad Max: His Benz.
Scooter: His stock options.
Dougie: His generosity.
La: His black card.
K.B.: His gaudy ass pinky ring? *laughter*
Butter: That is so fucked up yall.
Ella: So what was it really Butter?
Butter: Oh it was all that shit they said. They just didn’t have to put me out there like that.
On head vs. sex:
La: Which is worse yall? Bad head or bad sex?
Butter: oooh bad sex.
Dougie: Definitely bad head.
K.B.: yeah bad head.
Mari: Well for us bad head IS bad sex.
Mad Max: Does it even matter? Both of them will get you kicked in your fuckin’ head.
On everybody’s favorite position:
Scooter: Ladies let’s take a poll. What’s your favorite sexual position?
Chorus: FROM THE BACK!!!
Scooter: *all bewildered* Seriously? I didn’t think chicks liked that too much.
La: Nigga are you high?!?!
Mari: Seriously, I haven’t had sex with a man in 2 years and that is still one of the first things I’d have him do.
La: It’s quite simple. There is no area in my life I don’t run. That is the one time where it is acceptable and even preferred to let him have all the control to do WHATEVER he wants to do.
Butter: Oooh girl and the hair pulling. *high five*
La: What? You think I keep all this hair for G.P.?
Butter: So everybody how long is too long to go without sex? For me 6 months is pushing it.
Ella: I’ve gone a year before.
Mari: I’ve gone 3 years before.
Mad Max: I dunno, a couple months? Never had to go that long before, lol.
Dougie: I think 6 months would be about my limit before my vision would start to go bad.
K.B.: Real talk, after about a month I’m not real happy.
La: Well that depends… are we asking how long I’ve gone before or if I was with someone how long would be acceptable to go without?
Butter: If you were with someone.
La: Um… like a week?
Mad Max: WHAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?
La: Maybe 2. But shit if I’m with someone and I have steady access to it, why would I go longer?
*silence and murmurs of agreement*
K.B.: Will you marry me? *laughter*
… and on a nicer note…
Ella: K.B. what would make you wanna settle down with a woman?
K.B.: Something would have to let me know that she would be the person that if we didn’t live in my house, if i didn’t make as much money as I do and we lived in a studio apartment down in 5th ward we could still be just as happy and just as solid. I wanna be like my grandparents and still be 85 years old and still travelling together and enjoying each other and still making each other laugh.
*everyone smiles, pauses to let that sink in*
Mad Max: Ay yall wanna go to the strip club?
We end up at Onyx, where I was a couple weeks ago with the girls, where Ghana girl got a stripper to show her how to make her booty clap and we made friends with all the employees. The guy at the door recognizes me and the manager knows K.B. so they let us in for free and set us up in the Champagne Room.
“I hope,” I say tiptoeing to whisper in K.B.’s ear, lest my crazy be heard by all, “that he knows you from another venue and NOT because you are a regular here.” He laughs at me.
“I’m not a regular La. And why would I come pay for ass when I can make you put on a show for me at home?”
“Who told you that?” He smiles at me smugly and turns around to order a bottle. Damn his cockiness.
Damn this liquor for making it attractive.
One of the dancers that comes back to give Mad Max (who IS a regular) a private dance recognizes me from being there with my friends. She asks me if my friend has gotten any better at making it clap or if she still needs someone to hold her ankles. I have a pretty rough time explaining the whole thing, especially because my tongue feels a lil bit swollen and I’m having a hard time forming anything that sounds like English.
I take a quick trip to the bathroom and come back and survey the scene; Mad Max getting what can only be described as dry sex in the corner because it left a simple lap dance many erections ago, Ella getting a lap dance from a tall Amazon looking sister while Mari watches, Scooter and Dougie smoking Cubans and talking business with the manager…
… and K.B. with his eyes on me.
He beckons me over to him and I make my way slowly, not because I’m trying to be cute but because I’m drunk and in 4 inch heels. He curls me up in his lap like a kitten, stroking my hair until I purr.
“You wanna go home?”
I nod again.
“You staying with me.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
My body temperature shoots up 100 degrees.
We all pile back into the trucks, Mad Max speeding in front of us in the Tahoe, K.B. at a slower pace behind him, Robin Thicke pouring from the speakers. When we make it back to his house, everyone stumbles through their goodbyes. K.B. scoops me up in his arms and carries me through his lobby, into the elevator and through his door. Once in his room, I strip down to my bra and panties without shame, hell bent on being sleep within the next 1.17 minutes.
“I’ll be downstairs if you need me La.” He heads to the stairs.
“Come back.” He takes the few steps back to the door slowly, stopping underneath the frame, unsure of what’s coming next. “Come here,” I say and I throw back the chocolate colored covers. He slides his large frame in next to my tiny one, his skin at least a thousand degrees cooler than mine. I curl up in the curve of his arm and get comfortable. I stop wiggling when I feel is huge hands on my back, pressing me into the length of his side, his other arm falling heavily over me.
“You hate sleeping with people,” he mumbles into my hair.
“Is now a good time to ask you a question?”
“What are you so afraid of?”
“Being let go,” I mumble into his chest.
And then I fell asleep.
In the morning I wake up, my flushed cheek still up against his cool cocoa skin. We’re still in the position we fell asleep in, his head resting on top of mine, his arms around me. Most of me wants to get up and go home, sneak out before he wakes up. But part of me, just a tiny part, wants to still be there when he opens his eyes.
For once I listen to the tiny part. I close my eyes, feel my eyelashes flutter against his chest. Instinctively, his arms tighten around me when he feels me shifting. I go back to sleep.