Free Best Black Women's Erotica 2 by Samiya Bashir

can’t touch that. I can’t do that…. Reagan tried to break in, explain how easy it was, how she could even loan her one and show her how to use it, when Z burst out…. It won’t work! It won’t work on me, nothing will work on me down there.
    Reagan just watched her friend as she burst into tears. She didn’t know what she meant, but knew that it wasn’t a good time to push her. I…I’m not whole like you, Reagan, Z started, slowly. Back home…we have a tradition and…I don’t have the things you’re talking about. I’m not like you. I can’t feel that explosion or see the stars and colors like you see, Reagan. Just…please just leave me alone about this. OK?
    Wait a minute, Z…are you talking about…. Z just nodded her head. All of it? Z nodded again.
    I mean, Z started, searching for the right words. I mean, there is still some little opening. They had to cut it when I started bleeding. But they removed the top and…and sewed it so that there would be no feeling. No pain. No joy. When
I get married, my husband will open me fully and I will hope that I heal enough in time to have babies so there will be no problems. Z started to trail off, daring herself to look her friend in the eye. It’s a badge of honor back home. All the girls do it. They prepare us our whole lives for this, this amazing transition. But they don’t really tell us what it is. None of us really knew what it was until they did it to us. I’m the only one who tried to run away when I saw what they were doing. My friends were so strong.
    Z was wiping the tears from her cheeks as fast as they fell, wanting to get these words out while she had the courage. She needed to tell someone, get the weight of her secret off her chest. They thought they could shame me—my friends, my family—for fighting. For trying to get away, for shouting and saying out loud I wish they had never touched me. I wished they had left me alone. My mother said I brought shame on the family with my words. She said no man would marry me if I didn’t transition into a proper woman. But there was no shame they could give me stronger than what I carried. I felt…ripped apart. Torn to shreds. I couldn’t understand how this is what would make someone want to love me. Whenever I looked at what they’d done, all I could feel was shame. How would anyone ever want to love…that?
    Z turned to pack up her lunch until she was ready to read the horror on her friend’s face. She knew how women in America felt about what happened back home. How they thought her people were barbaric, the women stupid. She was ready to say good-bye to the lunches and the fun stories Reagan shared with her, but when she looked into her friend’s eyes she couldn’t find any pity. Reagan scooted over and gave Z a quick hug, sat back, and shrugged her shoulders.
    All right then, she said matter-of-factly. So that’s done. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel good. It certainly doesn’t mean no one will love you or want to date you. But we can
worry about that later. Right now it’s all about the big O. Reagan smiled so brightly, and Z was so shocked, that she had no choice but to join her. She was just about to argue with her friend when Reagan continued, There are a thousand places on your body that respond to touch, Z. The clit rocks, for sure, don’t get me wrong. But still, I accept no excuses for an orgasm-free existence. You’re beautiful, all you’ve got to do is what women have done forever, honey…use what you’ve got! Come on…I’ll tell you more after work. I’m takin’ you out! Let’s get back before we catch an earful.
    Â 
    Reagan and Z went out after work, sleeplessness and delirium mixed with the freedom Z felt having shared her secret. It was a perfectly clear night. Z counted exactly twenty-three stars, the most