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Faces&Voices


AN ANTHOLOGY
OF VERSE, PROSE

AND ART

by
the Composition
for Honours Class,
Howard University,
2001-200
2

  Contents
  Authors & Artists
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E. R. BRAITHWAITE
Professor

Faces & Voices 4
Faces & Voices 5



The Visitor
Latief Sabrè Johnson
Houston, Texas - Radio

        As I sat in my penthouse feeling as lonely as the number one, I thought to myself that I of all people shouldn’t be alone on a Saturday night. I am very approachable because of my modest good looks. I was once told, I had a comfortable look; I was invitingly handsome. I am charming, well rounded and filthy rich, and the only company I had was Buster the doorman. I could have easily called up a skeezer, a floozzie, a harlot, and told her to come take care of me, but tonight I really wanted genuine companionship.
        Evan, my closest female friend, told me that she was on a date and that if at anytime during the evening the outing turned sour, she would give me the word to come and intervene. What was I supposed to be: Captian-Save-A-304? I wondered what she was doing; probably toasting some overly expensive wine with some Herb that could probably back up into a building and suck a brick out with his butt-cheeks. It was 11 o’clock and she still hadn’t called. I was too bored so I decided to mess up someone else’s evening. I also thought to myself, who better to mess with than Evan. I was going to make a move on Evan and see what she would do. I knew she had to be attracted to me. I was the only male in the city that she could identify with. We were both very hard working, wealthy, early twenty-something black people. We got along so well that we just couldn’t even see ourselves as anything other than friends. Like Jerry Seinfeld said, if you have too good of a conversation you can never have an uncomfortable pause. No uncomfortable pause, no time to make a move. No moves no grooves, and well, before you know it you are stuck in the friend-zone. But we were both guilty of committing those “what-if” questions every once and a while. Evan was fine as hell. Her booty was onion; known to make men weep. Her skin was so flawless that I was longing to see her bra-less. Tonight might as well be the night, I thought as I fired up a swisher sweet. I wanted to be a little buzzed while I did this. It’s funny how you become a better performer at just about everything other than algebra when you have a little green in your system.
        As I voice activated my Lexus SC 430 I sprayed my neck and wrists with Bentley cologne, then dialed her number and told her I was coming to get her. She didn’t protest because her date sucked just like my trunk did as it swallowed the roof of my car. As I picked her up from the elegant dining quarters of Beniti’s I proceeded to drive to her city home. She was slowly lulled to sleep as I serenaded her with the Bobby Brown’s greatest hits CD. When we got to her door the wine she drank had her half tipsy, but still coherent. While my southern head knew this was what he needed, my northern head knew that what might happen wasn’t necessarily kosher. I told her it was late and asked if I could sleep in the guest bedroom. She obliged and knocked herself out on top of the zebra skin comforter on her master bed. I was still a little twisted off of the indo, so I raided her refrigerator. As I downed chicken wings, potato chips and drank all of her kool-aid (you know the flavor; red), I almost forgot what the mission was. I had let Evan sleep for almost an hour, just enough for her to be disoriented. I did this so that she would let her needs do the decision making instead of her brain while I came on to her. Then, by the time she realizes that she’s allowing me to make her feel like a natural woman she tells herself that she might as well finish what she started.
        As I walked toward the bed I noticed the slit of Evan’s dress opened, exposing the thickness of her caramel thighs. By this time I was sitting on the bed but my man was standing. I whispered in her ear, “Scoot over.”
        “Huh,” she mumbled.
        “I can’t sleep. Can I sleep with you,” I said.
        “Shut up,” she said, almost making me feel like I might fail.
        I took off my shirt, got down to my boxers and slid under the covers after I tucked Evan in. As I snuggled in close to her and put my arms around her waist, she arched her booty into me. I had to say, she felt a whole lot better than I had imagined. I noticed that she was still a little out of it so I decided to make my move. I kissed her neck and waited for her to say something. Nothing. I moved my hands to more or less massage her belly, and then I kissed her neck again. She turned over to face me. Hell yeah, I thought. Now it was time to take it up a notch. I slowly moved my hand to her hip, and then just happened to slip my pinky along with the rest of my hand to her seat softener.
        “What you doing,” she whined.
        “Nothing, sssshhhhh, chill,” I said really sounding like a jackass, but she was half sleep so she couldn’t just laugh at me. I kissed her on her forehead and waited. Nothing. I kissed her on her nose. Nothing. I kissed her on the tip of her top lip.
        “Boy stop,” she whispered with her eyes clothes. I knew that was just the standard female, “no I don’t want to” bull shit that girls say when they really want you to try a little harder. I confidently kissed her and gently sucked on her bottom lip. She kissed back. At this time my little soldier was at a full salute. I kissed her again and pulled her closer to me so that our legs could intertwine. By now she was kissing me back even more passionately than I had planned. All the while I was thinking to myself; lets do this like we always knew this. As I lifted her dress while kissing her neck, she ran her fingers through my curly mulatto-bred hair. All of a sudden my boxers were at my ankles and her dress was above her waist. I was about to put it down like a soiled diaper, when all of a sudden the doorbell rang. As Evan opened her eyes I continued to harass her body hoping that she wouldn’t cease the heat just because some ass-hole of a visitor was making the doorbell tweet.
        “Oops, there goes my skirt,” she exclaimed almost rhythmically as she rolled over and came to her senses all the while making my soldier go back into the barracks. As she fixed herself to go open the door, she looked back at me with a look insuring the continuation this. Tonight just wouldn’t be the night. As I sat in bed pissed off, I thought to myself that this visitor better have a damn good reason for breaking up the dog and cat fight that was about to take place. Our little visitor spoiled what could have been a momentous occasion; oh well.


© 2002 Howard University
(First Published in limited print edition, An Anthology of Verse, Prose & Art, by the Composition for Honours Class, Howard University, Spring 2002. Professor E.R. Braithwaite)
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