(Part 1)
by
bi?princess
"Fuck!" It was the fifth time that I had read this sentence in the last twenty minutes and my brain was not processing it. I just couldn't concentrate.

"Shake that shit off. It's her loss," I said aloud. "You got shit to do, people to see, money to make, deadlines to meet. This is just a temporary set back."

I pressed the intercom button on my phone to reach my assistant. "Any calls, Tina?"

"No, Ms. Jeffrey, however, Lyn stopped by to see if you had completed her article. She was anxious to get started on your corrections."

I half-smiled. My staff knew me and they knew their work rarely left my desk without some type of suggestion.

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her that you would return it in a reasonable amount of time for her to make her corrections."

"Thank you, and please let me know if I receive any personal calls."

"Yes, Ms. Jeffrey. I will."

As editor of the one of the largest, most-affluent, African American magazines in the city, I was known as being quick-witted, short-tempered, but precise in the issues that my magazine reported.

But here I sat today, trying to read this article and I couldn't get past the first sentence. I wanted to slice it apart just because it would feel good to release some anger, but I knew that I couldn't do it to the poor kid.

If nothing else, I was fair. If an article was good, I said it was good, but when it sucked, all hell broke loose. It didn't faze me to knock some arrogant, recent college grad from his/her little know-it-all pedestal by ripping the article to shreds and then handing it back and saying, "Changes. On my desk. 5 p.m."

I demanded nothing less than the best of my team, because I demanded nothing less than the best of myself. My magazine had a reputation to uphold. And so did I.

Now why couldn't she understand that?

Damn, I need to concentrate, my mind screamed for the millionth time in the last half hour. But, I could entertain no other thoughts but last night's breakup with Deyone, my girlfriend, of 3 1/2 years.

It had left me feeling confused and disoriented. Okay, I admit that everything that she had said was absolutely true, but why couldn't she understand my point of view? Why couldn't she be more patient with me? But, I could tell by the look on her face, as she walked out that nothing I said would change her mind unless I took care of business.

Throughout the day yesterday, I had anticipated walking into my apartment and joining Dee in her evening cleaning ritual. When she walked into either my apartment or her apartment from a long day, she would head straight to the shower where she would remove the smell of blood and antiseptics, along with her worries of what she could have done differently in the operation room that day, or how she could have been gentler when telling the parents of a six-year old that their son was dying. I knew it was her way of letting down her guard without compromising her normal, "I got this," attitude.

But yesterday, I had wanted her bad and I knew that I couldn't patiently wait for her to finish showering. I had imagined myself quickly removing my clothes and offering myself as a sacrifice in her bathing ritual. She would turn to embrace me with her strong, brown, muscled arms and begin to caress my lips with her tongue, while moving her hands down my body to settle on my ass. She would rub my ass cheeks and pull me closer into her body.

I would relax into her arms, as we stood nipple-to-nipple, stomach-to-stomach, and pussy-to-pussy. Deyone would murmur against my lips how much she had missed me throughout the day, all while guiding me against the shower wall. Our hands would join and intertwine and she would raise mine above my head to rest against the shower wall. She would disconnect her fingers and move down to cup and massage my breasts and her tongue would trace my lips. It would outline my lip liner and our finally she would slip her tongue into my mouth, claiming what was hers. Dee would then release my tongue and move down my neck, leaving bite marks on my skin, carefully teasing me.

Dee's tongue would move to my breasts, taking one in her mouth, sucking it in and out. As her tongue circled my dark brown nipple, she would tease me by spreading my legs with her free hand, quickly sliding a finger inside of me and just as quickly removing it. I would moan in frustration, but my protests would go ignored. Instead her finger, lathered with my pussy juices, would move back to my breasts, and she would run that same finger around one of my nipples and then suck it clean.

Her mouth would then travel down my stomach and even further until she could nudge my thighs apart with her face. Dee always sucked and licked the mole on my right thigh before her mouth preceded any further. Finally, after what seemed forever, she would begin kissing my pussy and stroking my clit with her tongue.

"Ummmm, baby," I would moan. "Please, fuck me." At this point, Dee would begin to lick my entire pussy. Nothing was left untouched by her tongue or her mouth. She would slip her tongue inside of my hole and begin fucking me. When I was at the point that I was two seconds from cuming, and riding her face, she would remove her tongue from my hole and take my clit into her mouth. In place of her tongue, she would push two fingers deep inside of me and fuck me hard, while still sucking my clit. My pussy would tighten around her fingers, and my back would arch, and I would scream her name over and over again until my back tensed against the wall.

She would move back up my body, finally meeting me eye-to-eye, and continue teasing me by slowly licking my cum from her fingers and then slipping her tongue inside of my mouth. Hmmmm, I would stretch against the wall, wanting more. Afterwards, we would move to our bed and make love throughout the night.

I saw our lovemaking clearly scene by scene, and by the time I walked into my apartment and my panties were soaked. But, as I entered, I knew something was wrong. I didn't hear the shower running, instead I saw Deyone sitting on the couch in her hospital scrubs. Her eyes were slightly swollen and red, as if she had been crying, but I wasn't sure because she never cried. All I knew for certain was that something was definitely up and she needed me.

" Baby. What's wrong," I asked quickly going to her.

"We need to talk."

Although, Deyone's eyes betrayed her sadness, her Texas drawl was thick with coldness. Her rich brown eyes left me feeling helpless because I could see that she was hurting, yet I observed how she was mentally building a wall, so that I couldn't reach her emotionally. Her reaction stunned and hurt because I didn't know what could possibly be wrong.

Then she began talking and I knew.

"Kyla, I love you more than anything and I have for a long ass time. But, I'm tired of this bullshit. We've been together for almost three years. And hell, if you wanna get technical...five years. From the moment you walked into my life, I knew you were gonna be my woman. No matter how much you fought it, I knew." Deyone shook her head, and let out a small laugh, but I knew that she wasn't thinking of anything funny. She continued by saying, "Shit woman, you're my life and you obviously don't understand the depth of my love for you, my commitment."

Please God, I prayed, not this, not now. Let it be something else.

"Kyla, I'm tired. I'm tired of waiting for you to come out. I'm tired of you sayin the same ol' bullshit about your reputation and I'm tired of waiting for you to get your shit together. I've asked you to marry me twice, each time it's been the same shit, 'You ain't ready.' Well, I ain't feelin this discreet shit any more. You're my woman and I want to show you off as my woman. You need to figure out what the hell you want from me. From us. Cuz, I'm tired of acting like we just girls in public and there ain't nothin
else. That shit is old."

I sat there, close to tears, not knowing what to say. I just needed time. Why couldn't she understand that? I knew she was right and that I needed to get my priorities straight, but to be honest, I just hadn't given much thought to coming out. I knew that Deyone loved me and I knew that she would be there for me, no matter how long it took me.

Yet, this was the moment that I had not prepared myself for. It seemed as if everything was blowing up in my face. The only person that I had ever truly fallen in love with and connected with on such a deep level was threatening to leave me if I didn't acknowledge our relationship. But, if I did acknowledge her, my reputation as a respectable journalist would be shot to hell.

As I felt my short temper begin to emerge, I forced myself to sit there and try to stay calm. I was not ready. Why the fuck couldn't she understand that? If she loved me, why couldn't she see what a big step this was for me, and how it could change my life?

I was afraid of losing everything that I had worked so hard for these past years. It hadn't been easy proving myself as a qualified, black, female journalist to the "Good Ol' Boys," and now she wanted me to just dismiss all that I had worked for and become the "little wifey." Fuck that. She knew that I loved her, why the hell did I have to proclaim my sexuality to the world to prove it? It was nobody's business but hers and mine. And if I wasn't ready to tell the world that I was a fucking dyke, why the hell did it matter?

Dee snapped me out of my thoughts by saying, "Okay, so what's on your mind?" I could tell she was pissed by my lack of response.

I let out a long sigh and didn't know where to start. "Honestly? I'm a little pissed that you're giving me an ultimatum," I snapped. Oh yeah, great, Kyla. That's the way to get your girlfriend back and gain some more time. You're fucking Einstein, I thought sarcastically.

"Well, you know what, Kyla, nothin the fuck else has worked, now has it," she snapped.

I stood up and began pacing, trying to stay calm. I could hear the attitude in my voice intensifying as I asked, "Okay, so why all of a sudden have you brought this shit up out of nowhere?"

She sat there on the couch with that same icy glare that I had seen so many times when we had arguments and it pissed me off. True, I was the "high strung" one, as she commonly called me, but she could at least show some type of emotion. I was the one, who screamed, cussed, cried and rolled my neck, while telling her to "Go to fucking hell." She was the one who remained calmed, let me have my tantrum, said what she had to say, and then would leave the room saying, "When you're finished acting like a fucking child, let me know." With that one sentence, she could break me down and piss me off all at the same time.

I looked over at her as she said, "For starters, Kyla, the world does not revolve around you. I told you a week ago that the Coalition for Black Professionals Awards Banquet was a little over a month from now and we needed to discuss a few things. I kinda hoped that this would be the year that we went together as partners, lovers, not simply as best friends. I'm tired of pretending and hearing the same lame bullshit that I hear from you every year."

At that point, she began speaking in that stupid, high-pitched voice that she used when she mocked me, "I have my reputation to maintain. I'm not ready to tell everyone that I'm in love with a woman. I only think of myself and I need more time to fucking procrastinate."

Deyone switched back to her normal voice and said, "Well, Kyla, I'm tired of maintaining your reputation. I'm tired of you putting me off. You tell me you love me, fuckin prove it."

At that moment, I lost every bit of my control because I hated that stupid, condescending voice that she used when we were in the midst of an argument. I could tell that my voice was getting louder, but I didn't care.

"And you know what, Dee? I'm tired of you always telling me to fuckin prove it. You know that I love you and you known damn well that I have always loved you. Why are you trippin? I've told you a million times that when the time was right for me, that I would admit that I was a lesbian. What do you want me to do? Hire a fucking blimp that says Kyla Jeffrey fucks women," I yelled.

She stood up and we looked at one another, neither of us backing down. I had crossed the line, I knew. But at that moment, I didn't care how much I was pissing her off. And now that I look back, I obviously didn't care how much I was hurting her.

She looked me square in the eyes, never raising her voice and her face never showing her pain or anger. She replied, "You know what? When you get your shit together, you call me then," Deyone said and walked out my door.

Part 2

Copyright © 2002. Used by permission of author. All Rights Reserved.