Three #2
People always asked me what my type in a woman was, attempting to pile it into individual boxes by basing it on height, weight, light skin, dark skin and worthless categories.
They were asking the wrong thing, because I didn't have a type. I had a truth. My standard had always been and would always be black women. I wasn't focused on a shade, a size or a silhouette. I’d loved Black women who were 50kg and Black women who were 120kg. I’ve loved them tall enough to kiss without tiptoeing and short enough to tuck under my chin.
I’ve loved them with 4C hair, with wigs, with bald heads, and with tribal marks.
The common thread was never their dress size.
It was them. It was this skin that carried kingdoms, softness and steel all at once.
“Why you staring like that?” she questioned, peeking at me underneath her eyes.
She was maybe 5’2, maybe a size 18, maybe both or maybe neither. I didn’t care because it wasn't the type of math I did.
“Let me,” I stated. “There are some things you don’t look away from.”
She smiled, and in this light, her teeth looked brighter, her skin looked deeper, and I was reminded again that I didn’t have a type. I fucking adored the way her melanin didn’t just sit there. It did things. It was as if the night itself decided to take shape and sit across from me.
I took a step closer to her without second guessing. A masterpiece like her, needed to be seen with wonder and nearness. Stretchmarks mapped her skin, lending texture and history which made her look like she was dusted in something holy.
“Hahaha,” she lifted her head and I saw her eyes roll back. “You don't have to sweet talk me.”
“I’m serious.” I leaned forward. “The world tries to sell us filters. They bleach, contour, and argue about who’s too dark or too fat. Muthafuckas just enjoy debating a masterpiece. I'm not sweet talking you. I'm stating the obvious.”
K moved to the corner, giving us space and letting me control the moment.
“Hi.” My voice was lower than I meant it to be, so I cleared my throat. “I’m Dare. K already briefed me about what you want. I just need you to know that nothing happens without your say-so.”
“Okay,” she nodded and exhaled. “I'm Lani.”
“Lani,” I repeated, because names matter in rooms like this. “Did K go over everything with you? Your limits and your safe word?”
“Yes.” she nodded again. “Red to stop. Yellow to slow down.” A tiny, nervous smile touched her mouth before disappearing. “Green’s… green.”
“Good.” I glanced at K and the fucker gave me the middle finger. It was tempting to throw a shoe at him, but I wasn't about to act up in front of Lani. I made a mental note to drag him to our usual boxing ring. “Do you want the door open or closed?”
Her eyes flicked to it. “Closed is fine.”
“Temperature, okay? Water?” I nudged my head to the bottles on the side table. “Blanket if you get cold?”
She blinked like she wasn't expecting me to ask questions unrelated to why I was in the room. “I’m... I’m okay. Thank you.”
To avoid towering over her, I dragged the armchair into the room and angled it in a way that didn’t make her feel boxed in or apprehensive of being alone with two strangers.
“We won’t start until you’re ready, Lani,” I informed her, taking a seat. “And ready doesn’t mean brave enough to hide it. It means comfortable. If something feels off, you use yellow. Even for small stuff like if the room is too bright or if my voice is too loud. Anything. Deal?”
“Deal.” Her shoulders dropped slightly. “Kiss me.”
Her sudden request surprised me, and I almost scowled at K when he laughed.
I took quick steps to sit on the edge of the bed.
Lani and I made eye contact, and she nodded for me to go ahead.
My eyes stayed on hers and I leaned in, making contact with her lips.
The kiss was slow and gentle. Her hands went around my neck, and she gently pulled me into her.
I closed my eyes, getting lost in the feeling as our tongues massaged each other.
We broke apart and Lani gasped, breathing heavily.
“Can I touch you?” I requested, looking at her.
Her eyes searched mine for what seemed like hours before she nodded. I kissed my way down her face, swiping my tongue in circles around her neck and moving lower until my mouth found her boobs. I pressed my face into her chest, securing my mouth around her right nipple.
“Ooooohhhhhh shhhhhiiiiiiittt,” Lani moaned, using her fingertips to caress my head.
Suckling her nipple harder, I tensed for a few seconds when I felt a gush of warm liquid shoot to the back of my throat.
“What was that?”
She blushed. “Breast milk,” she tucked her braids behind her ears and the light danced on the ring sitting on her finger. “I have children.”
“Are you married?” The words forced their way out of my mouth.
I'd had my fair share of married women, and it wasn't my place to judge them for seeking extramarital pleasures, but I was a tad bit disappointed to see another man's ring on her finger.
“Yeah,” she frowned. “Would that be a problem?”
“No,” I shook my head. “Never.”
Bending over, I opened my mouth and latched on her nipple, swirling my tongue around it and welcoming the thin spray of warm milk shooting into my mouth.
Lani whimpered, pulling my head tighter against her breast and suffocating my nose with the soft globe.
I placed my hand on her other tit, massaging and twirling the nipple between my fingers. I felt droplets slip on my hand.
“Ooooh,” she gasped when I bit down on her nipple.
Giving my attention to her other boob, I sucked the nipple into my mouth and swallowed the milk flowing from it.
“Soooo gooooodd,” Lani gushed, arching into my mouth.