Five o’clock on a Friday afternoon. Weekend here I come!
I slip the keys in the ignition and push the button to let the top down on my convertible before I inhale the air deeply. Ahhhh. Nothing like the smell of wet sand after a fresh rain. I smile at the sun before pealing out of the parking lot, tire squeal covering up my laughter.
I tell you, Monday through Thursday I’m as low-brow and conservative as they come. But Friday after lunch, I strongly resemble a kid going to Disney World. I can’t wait to leave. Can’t wait to forget about work for two whole days.
I pump up the radio’s volume as "Got to be Real" blares out the speakers. Uh uhm! I love me some old school R & B. Whenever I hear this particular song, my body just starts bopping to the beat on its own. I don’t care where I am, my hips start swaying and my head dipping.
I wink at two young guys in an Escalade smiling at me. They station search until they find the one I’m listening to and we bop heads in unison. One thing about our people, we love us some music.
Dog! I should have known they weren’t going to act right. The driver is now mouthing the words, his facial expressions exaggerated. The passenger is—oh, my goodness!—sticking his finger in his mouth then running it down his chest. Uhmp. Wonder what that means?
I just shake my head before twirling my hand—index finger extended—in the air on the long "Reeal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal!" Then I shoo-doop my butt off with Cheryl Lynn. Ain’t no young busters gonna steal my joy. The Escalade’s horn is now beeping at me. I ignore them while I twitch hips to the final "Da-dump!" We both stop at another light, them beeping, me ignoring.
Wait a minute! Ah snap! This is my jam! I writhe like a snake as "Let’s Do It Again" oozes out the speakers. Ain’t no other song in the world can get me in the mood like this one can.
"Sweet love in the midnight. Good sleep come morning light." Sang, Mavis!
My husband’s face swims before me. I feel the meltdown in my body, hoping fiercely that he is home ’cause I’m sure ready to do "it" again. The Escalade gives me one last beep before speeding past. I’m glad. I was tired of chaps invading grown folk’s space.
"I like the ladies. So fine with their pretty hair." Pop Staples is doing his gig now and I help him along, cruising and smooving to the groove. I reach home but sit out in the driveway waiting for the last "Woo-hoo-a-hooooo." I’m fired up by this time. Davante’s car is here so y’all know it’s on now!
I spring through the door like a bunny on crack. "Baby!" I yell as I drop my keys and walk through the foyer looking for my hunk of burning love.
I hear, "Don’t take another step," coming from the direction of the den.
"What?" I ask, confused. Did something happen? Is something wrong?
The next sound I hear is the opening bars of that set-the-church-on-fire song from The Color Purple, "God Is Trying to Tell you Something." Now, whereas old school R & B gets me hot, gospel music turns my husband on! Yeah, he’s a deacon, teaches Sunday School and the whole nine yards, but I tell you, after church, we don’t go out to eat. Uh uh. We got bizness to tend to at the house, if you know what I mean.
Davante’s shoulder dips around the corner before pulling back. I hear him moaning with the song and my lower body starts leaking.
The shoulder dips back into view then the other one. I now realize that he is "choir-rocking" his way to me. And, as I look further, he is wearing only a hip towel. Yeah, baby!
"Speak, La-aw-awd. Speak to me."
"I want you to speak to me." His husky tenor ad libbed. "Open your shi-ir-irrt. And let me see."
I rip my blouse open, my see-through bra visible.
"Speak, Lawd." Step. Dip this time. Sway.
I became the background singer for his lead vocals. "Speak to me." I step, sway with him.
"I was so bli-i-ind. Now I just wanna see."
I unhook my bra. "Speak to me."
We are only five feet apart when he drops his towel.
"Ah yes, speak to me, baby. Speak!" I yell as I looked at all that nakedness that was soon to be mine.
"Then you spoke to me." He swivels his hips.
My blood pressure spikes my brain cells. "Speak to me! Speak to me! Yes!" I was all off beat but didn’t care ’cause I felt a touch of the Holy Ghost as I watch him swivel again.
"Ah, La-aw-wd! You spoke to me." His fingers trace between my breast.
I didn’t know what he told him, but something told me to grab ahold and work him for all I was worth. I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. He backs me into the wall, lips fused with mine. The song speeds up and he starts grooving me to the beat. By the time we get the fast part where they sing, "He is trying to tell you something!" Davante is pistoning like a champion. My mind floats away as I "speak" and tell him plenty of things with my hips and lips.
I knew he was nearing the end of this short journey when he shouts in my ear, "I’m telling you something, baby! Do you hear me? Do! You! Hear! Me?!" His hips punctuate the words.
"Yes! Baby, I hear you! I hear you!" I scream as the shivers run down my spine and my pelvis staccatos him to the beat.
Finally, my legs are let down to the floor and we stand hugging, sweat coating both of us. We rock and hum to "Just a Closer Walk with Thee," cooling down. My body is still throbbing, still tingling as he rubs my back.
Then…the beginning strains of his latest favorite gospel song, "The Devil Don’t Like It Cause I’m Blessed Like That." His hips began swaying and the "heavenly stick" begins rising.
Ah sukey, now!
A smile creeps onto my face as he rubs his chin across my cheek, kisses my neck. He whispers, "Baby, want to go for a two-fer?"
I can’t help myself. "Speak, Lawd!"