Guest Contributor Queer African Boi: ‘Lady in Stripes’

I was standing by the elevator when I noticed her out of the corner of my eye. In an empty room barren of sound and dim with the day’s farewell, there she was, sitting obediently at the corner of the banquet hall, with nothing but the defiant exposure of skin through a sheer skirt to seduce passersby. Her legs glimmered rhythmically under a teasing ray of sun from the glass ceiling above, beckoning anyone with a good ear to pay attention. I stared at her for two whole beats but she would not meet my gaze. So you see I had no choice but to make the first move.

I walked over and stooped down in front of her, submitting to the power of her silent enchantment, pausing a moment before I slid one hand underneath her skirt to feel the depth of the spell she’d already cast on me. She was cool to the touch, yet familiar, stoic, frozen in yearning. A good gentleman always asks permission but there were none present to claim her, and something about the intimacy of our aloneness in the dimly lit banquet room urged us further into the moment — no doubt we both wanted this. Excitement escaped my mouth in a deep sigh as my hands searched for more underneath her skirt, moving higher and higher until the contours along her body maddened my curiosity. I pulled out suddenly, overcome with my desire to see her naked in all her glory. The abrupt retreat of my hand must have struck a chord on the way out because she filled the room with an echoing high pitched cry of ecstasy. A brief moment of panic diverted my attention from my conquest — my eyes darted back and forth from each corner of the room in search of assurance that we would remain undiscovered. But as the sound of her pleasure subsided, I returned my gaze to her, and became fixated on my invisible prize as I slowly rolled up her skirt, to reveal her fully to me.

She was absolutely beautiful. Her body, smooth, perfection. She whispered softly to me and I answered in touch, running my fingers along her bareness with the care and intimacy I would a lover of years as she revealed her longing in the magnificent sound of our harmony. Layers of dust, confessions, loneliness from years of neglect, touched me, filled the room as I pressed and pushed harder towards the climax of our brief moment together; grand mistress of music written off as expensive decor, I would play her hard until we were both satisfied. The sun called off its last ray to give us privacy, and the room went black. Now, I could use both hands to give her pleasure. Now, I could pick up the pace, pound away at her center even harder until we gave each other away. Now, we could collapse into silence, before we started over again, and now, and again, and again…