Let’s take a trip down memory lane. Remember my tiny studio apartment? Cobalt blue walls with hand painted vines reaching toward the ceiling. You laid me flat out on the firmness of my cheaply made Walmart futon and covered my eyes with the Blackness of my silk scarf. Remember running ice over my bare skin? Then syrup? Then your warm pink tongue? How did it feel to taste the very best of heaven on your virgin taste buds?

Now let’s make a left on Nostalgia Avenue. All my love. My peace and happiness. I want to give it to….. You. You sang in the shower and I hummed along. Waiting for you to step out and reveal the greatness that dwelled within you. Body glistening. Branded chocolate skin. You were glowing even though the room was nearly dark. You made love to me on that cold bathroom floor. I dug my fingers deep into that sun-kissed skin. Licked those Greek Letters on your chiseled chest. Tasted the stories that you would forever keep from me. Stories that turned into dark secrets. Secrets that ripped us apart. But I can still taste the majesty of that burn. Still hearing you pledging that allegiance in my small shower.

Make a right on Reminiscent Road. A long hallway. Blue stars and men playing football. Plush couches and countless pictures of children that weren’t yours. I danced for you as you sat in that brown chair. In my purple dress. And my orange heels that you loved. We didn’t make love. You pleasured my body so well no words I put on this page could do you justice. I ain’t never felt nothing like that before. And I still haven’t to this very day.

Memories. Take me back to the places I want to visit repeatedly but can no longer go. Carry me through the recesses of the deepest parts of my mind and let me live there. Let me travel through those alleyways and side streets to the destinations that are forbidden to me outside of my psyche.  

I’m running out of gas.

Recollection Boulevard. And I’ve hit a dead end. Nowhere to go from here. No longer able to remember the small details and the little touches that once tied me to the things I desperately want to remember. Forced to turn around and make my way back through the mish mosh of happenings and occurrences. For some reason I cannot find my way through. I’m stuck on Memory Lane. And left with all the things that live there. Pain. Anger. Regret. Hurt. Love. Hope. Fear. Love. You. It’s all so foreign. But so pleasantly familiar. I can make a home on Memory Lane. Live here forever.

But I won’t. This place, filled with all of the stickiness and filth of emotions, is a place you visit. Not a place of permanence. It’s a place I must come to when I need a vacation. But right now. In this perfect piece of space and time, with this combination of this new you and this old I, I think I have to leave Memory Lane and find a new place to call home.

Just close your eyes. There is nothing to see here. Only feel. Your jagged nails against my bare scalp as I bury my head between your velvet thighs. You’re so soft against my callused hands. So smooth against my roughness. Your hips rise and fall as my tongue flickers against the tiny piece of skin that holds the key to every single ounce of pleasure in your body.

You pull my hair.

You grab my shoulders.

You let me know that you’re feeling it. All with your eyes closed.

And when I finish, and your wetness threatens to drown me, I’ll rise and kiss your pink lips, covered with Sephora lip stain. You’ll pull me into you and I’ll let you. Pull me in baby. Tell me your dirtiest fantasies. Your most secret desires.

As you slip your tongue into my mouth, I’ll run my hands over your erect nipples, down your stomach, and back into your ocean. I’ll find my way over the waves and into the deep. Two fingers in and out of the rising tide. You moan your satisfaction to me. Telling me you’re feeling it. All with your eyes closed.

It’s a rhythm. Up and down. Your kisses. My sighs. Your moans. My grunts. Your hips. My hands. It’s me and you gorgeous. Me doing my very best to pleasure you. And by the way your body clenches and releases me every time I enter and exit your sacred places, I know I am doing one hell of a job.

You never told me with your soft lips that you loved it, but the way you gripped the sheets told me everything I needed to know. So many describe themselves as flawless, but you, here underneath me, with your back arched and your mouth open, you were the epitome of the word. Your rapid breathing and the way you parted your legs, allowing me to really explore your wetlands, let me know that you were feeling it.

So keep your eyes closed. Feel my lips all over your bare skin. Feel the affection in my hands. Feel the passion in my heart. Envision heaven in the darkness of your imagination. There was nothing to see in the blackness of our bedroom. So lover, keep those beautiful eyes closed.

We, as females, constantly ridicule the loose woman. We judge the street walker. We look down on the exotic dancers and escorts. The shameless women of the night. But we are the foolish ones. Doing for free what they get paid for. We take pride in our expensive vehicles and flashy diamond rings on fingers that continue to plump with age. She enjoys freedom, liberty, and the high of life flowing through her veins. The addiction to fast money, fast cars, handsome men, and jealous stares.

We hate her for sleeping with our men. But yet it is her that we emulate when we want to bring our man’s attention back home. It is her we think about when we envision our partner’s escape from us. We fault her for wearing heels that are too high and tops that are too low. But we seek to be like her when we want to be sexy. We wear her uniform of stilettos, tight dresses, and teased hair. We look for her independence. We look for her carelessness. We envy her candor.

We whisper to our friends that she squanders her money while we work hard every day for our 401K. We mumble that she’s had too many pleasures with too many men. So many ships have sailed through her wetness. Her ocean must surely be polluted. But we want to be like her. We dance naked in front of the mirror, sucking in our stomachs to be perfect. Just like her. All the time.

But the truth is, we are her. The woman who wears the heels and disappears with strange men into the darkness of the night. Why are we so different from her? Because our privates are not public fodder? Because less hands have rubbed against our bare skin? No. You hold the same power as her. It is infinite. You burn with the same fury. You feel the same passions. Do not fault her for doing what you are simply too conservative, too ashamed, or too afraid to do. How we use the roar within us is what eventually separates the lioness from the house cat. Which one are you?

Don’t make it too easy for me baby. I like a challenge. I enjoy working up a sweat. I have no problem working for my rewards.

Don’t make it too easy for me to melt when you touch me. I practically fall into your arms. No assistance needed. No resistance given.

 Don’t slip my shirt off my shoulder with your middle finger and nibble on my bottom lip.

Your kisses make me stupid. It’s not fair that you use them against me. Making my heart pound faster now. 

Making my desire stronger now.

You’re making this shit too easy.

You knock down my defenses when you lift me up and push my back against our auburn wall. Gripping my behind. Cracking me wide open. Warming up all the engines.

Don’t put your lips here. 

Don’t put your tongue there.

Don’t.

Don’t do that.

You’re making it too easy to say yes.

My chest rises and falls in sync with your own.

How I love you. How you make me drown in you doing the things you do.

You make it too easy with your soft skin. Black ink in all the right places.

No fight from me because of your bedroom eyes and your working hands.

And tonight you’re working on me.

On this wall. On that chair.

On my table. In our bed. In your shower.

Your earned your payment today Papa. You make it too damn easy to be in love with you.

Every day.

No challenges over here. No tests. None of the complications.

You’re just so damn easy.

To Love.