Rainy Days Are for Lovers

Happy Hump Day guys. Blame the wet weather lately for this post. It brought up a lot of old memories.

Rainy Days Are for Lovers

On this cloudy day, I’ve been sipping that strong white rum since just after sunrise. The television is off. The radio is too and the color of the bedroom is gloomy grey, almost the same shade as a black & white photo but today, it happens to be the color of real life at the moment. It’s so quiet that I can hear each raindrop as I watch her breathe, sleeping peacefully right next to me. She stirs and I smile. Maybe, even in her dreams she can feel my eyes as I look at her face and study every feature and every line, as if she was a drawing, or a vividly colored painting. Sometimes, she might as well been a work of art because to have her here with me, in my bed, still feels surreal. It’s sexy knowing that, in this bubble of space and in this small window of time, she chose to be mine.

In the symphony that is the sound of the falling rain outside, I hear her voice, her laugh and everything she’s ever whispered as the droplets beat against my window and taps on the concrete on the wet streets. I lean close to her, press my lips to her cheek and kiss her. The way she sighs when she feels it makes me wonder if she had been awake the whole time. She moves under the blanket, just enough for the bare skin of her thigh to touch against mine. Her skin is so soft that I want to kiss her there too. I feel a sudden rush of adrenaline as I pull away the covers and see her naked legs, her soft thighs and magical places hidden beneath her lace panties. She stretches and almost reveals her brown areolas as her T-shirt lifts up to almost uncover her breasts. Her nipples pressed against the cotton of the shirt. I heard her sigh when she felt my first kiss on her thigh, just above her left knee. I’m sure she’s awake when I grip the waist of her panties because of the way she eases her hips up off of the bed to help me slide them off. I wasn’t surprised when she parted her thighs smoothly and slowly, to show me what she had for me.

I knew she was awake as I placed that first kiss on her softest place. My lips found her lips and I kiss those lips as if they were the plump lips that she bit as I got my first taste. She grabs my head as she sighs, closes her legs just enough for me to feel the softness of her thighs against my cheeks. She lets go of my head so she can take off her T-shirt. I make love to her with my tongue until I know she’s had enough…for now. I firmly grip her hips as I slowly kiss my way up, first at her tummy, then her breasts and finally find her other lips. I feel her stiff nipples with my fingers as she tastes herself on my tongue. I feel her hands as she reaches into my underwear to make sure that I’m ready to give her what comes next. When she feels it, she squeezes it and frees it from my boxer briefs. I can’t wait another minute to feel her so I pull my underwear halfway down in my haste.

The first stroke takes patience and some work. She’s wet and willing but still tight so I ease the tip in. As her body relaxes, I put more and more as she welcomes me into her. There are natural laws that govern the universe and we are no different. We fit together, emotionally, physically, mentally, emotionally and sexually with the type of sensuality that is dangerously addictive. We feed off of each other’s energy and it feels like magic. We’re never better than when we’re locked together. I can read her thoughts and she can read mine. We lose track of time, entwined as lovers, only concerned about each other. The attraction is so strong that it’s impossible to distract us. The world could explode or fall apart and we wouldn’t even notice until we were both gone...right along with it.

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Wanted

Wanted

The difference between being WANTED versus being needed is a divide as wide as the universe.

I recently watched a short clip of an interview where a male celebrity said that he likes to FEEL that his woman needs him. He admitted to actually craving that feeling. It seemed like a fairly reasonable statement, one that I’m sure many people would agree with. I think it’s also safe to assume that most people want to feel as if their significant other, their life partner, their lover…needs them. But, as I gave it some thought, I really started to wonder if being needed is something I want. I’ve been in relationships where I’m certain that my woman needed me, and I’m sure that I’ve needed woman before but as I reflected on the past, I sat back, prepared to smoke a cigar and really asked myself if that’s how I would really prefer for things to be.

I clipped the end of my Cohiba, then lit the tip with a real wooden match as I sat back and relaxed with thoughts of past relationships weighing heavily on my heart…or maybe the weight wasn’t actually on my heart but really on my brain because over the years I had recovered and healed from all of the past pain.

The smoke from the cigar hit my lungs but I didn’t hold it in for long. I let it go and as it danced around in front of my face, it formed a thick white cloud. In that cloud, I saw the shape of past histories that I thought I had buried, metaphorically speaking. I saw the faces of beautiful lovers, amazing women that I’ve loved and lived parts of my life with. I remembered the ones who truly loved me the most clearly…in vivid color. Some of the others I only saw in black & white and shades of grey, like old shows on a television set. I looked deeper and realized that they were all with me for different reasons and for my part, it was the same.

I used to want to feel needed but now I realize that THAT kind of connection, as real as it may seem, isn’t really healthy for me. I used to live, and love, as if I was trying to undo all of my father’s mistakes. I was obsessed with being a better man but, I only attracted people who needed saving whenever I put on that bright, red cape. I found out, through pain and misfortune that you can’t trust that kind of parasitic bond because both of you will always wonder about its sincerity. The question will always be, “Does she love you because she needs you or, is she in your bed because that’s where she wants to be?” That’s the question that will haunt you and eventually cause whatever you share to sour in the end.

There is POWER and MAGIC in wanting someone versus needing them. People always say that they like to feel needed but I disagree with most people. I don’t want to be NEEDED because I’ve learned that it’s much more REAL to be WANTED instead. It’s all about choice…and freedom. I know so many people who are ONLY cuffed together because, financially, they have to lean on each other just to get by, to have any kind of bearable life, even though they’re miserable together on most days. They lie to themselves and pretend to be good. I can’t, and won’t accept that kind of plastic, fake, twisted, painful existence. There is power and magic when she CAN do everything for herself but WANTS to be right next to you because she simply loves YOU. Desire makes her pull you close to her and THAT is the kind of real you can feel.

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Overdose

Overdose

I am greedy whenever SHE is around me. I do everything to let HER know that I don’t want to let HER go even though she’s always FREE to leave. SHE is not my prisoner or my property and I don’t want to own HER, or control HER. SHE stays because SHE wants to…not because SHE needs to. That’s how you can always tell if a woman REALLY FEELS you…when she had a million options but still decided to choose YOU.

As I exhale this cigar smoke, I can see HER face in the cloud I create around my head and in front of my face. If I close my eyes, I can hear HER voice as clear as if SHE was right here, whispering in my ear. With the lights off, I can feel HER touch as SHE traces the lines of my tattoos and reads the story that each line of the inked designs secretly shares. Even in my smoke-filled room, above the aroma of my cigar, I can still smell the sweet fragrance she dabbed right behind HER ear and at the nape of HER neck. SHE’s the only woman that makes me scared of how much I want her. I live in constant danger of overdosing on HER and everything that SHE is because she can snatch my soul with a kiss. Love is HER gift but she won’t give it to just anybody.

Copyright © 2018 Keith Kareem Williams

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Only Between the Sheets

Happy Tuesday folks. It's raining here in Brooklyn. Here's a little something I free-styled last night.

Only Between the Sheets

The closeness that was always there has disappeared and makes me wonder how the fuck we got here. I’m overwhelmed with confusion, questioning how what felt so real can seem like an illusion from where I’m standing now.

When we first met, it was like something out of a movie, the way you looked at me and the way I could make you laugh felt like we were living out the best romantic comedy ever written. I fell in love with your smile and everything I saw in your eyes way before you even let me touch your kitten. You always said that what we had felt like it was written and fated to be. I remember late night conversations over bowls of rum & raisin ice cream in the kitchen. Now we just smoke and drink together but the deep, dope conversations are missing. We both continue to play our roles, maintain the routine but honestly, it has started to feel like acting when we’re kissing.

We don’t feel close when we walk past each other every day like ghosts, translucent shades of what we used to be and I wonder if you miss me, even though I’m standing right here. I know it might surprise you that I still care because you don’t believe that I see you, even though you’re standing right there. We won’t say goodbye because we’re stubborn but also, deep down, somewhere, we both don’t want to be anywhere but right here, even as cold as it has become. We just don’t know how to fix things to make it like it used to be between us.

The only place we don’t feel far apart is between the sheets of the bed we still share. The way I still get up for you, over and over again shows that I still care, even if my heart of full of fear. I don’t want to lose you and no matter what, I’ll always choose you. You’ve got a special kind of voodoo and even though we hardly speak, I’m still in love with everything that you do. Nowadays, when I’m deep inside you is the only time you say my name. The way you moan it makes me believe that you miss the sound of it on your lips. Only when we make love, all the times we fuck, are the times we get back a small part of the things we lost but I worry about the cost. We’re lovers, not friends and I’m not sure if we can get back to being good again.

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