Free The Busting Out of an Ordinary Man by Odie Hawkins Page B

of the Junior League … “Now, Cynthia, … you must seriously consider it, for your future social position.”
    She had stood off to one side, her head bristling with thoughts, twenty-three years old, blond, well-to-do, … no, damnit! rich! and be damned, Dad always said
    â€œC’mon, baby … dance with me,” he had told her, rather than asked, and from there, for the last year, life had been Chili, confusion, fifty-minute sessions. “Don’t you see, Miss Moore? don’t you understand this need for self-injury?” sex, drugs “Cocaine, girl, cocaine,” excitement, games run, a rich fusion of feelings she had felt she was getting as a social worker, but didn’t amount to half of what Chili was giving her.
    And he was giving her a lot, she felt.
    â€œThat ol’ smoke done got you fucked up, huh?” he smiled down at her, pulling her sweater up over her head.
    She smiled back, unable to speak, her thoughts sweeping her off to obscene feelings about his blackness, the fear and love she felt for him … like having your own personal ghetto, she thought, and giggled.
    â€œYeahhh, you really fucked up,” Chili said, tossing her sweater into a corner, unpeeling his robe, giving her a show.
    Bitch sho’ has got a beautiful body.
    Chili crawled up into the center of the bed, his eyes pinched into slits from the effect of the herb and watched her unsnap her bra, wade out of her pants and panties.
    Bitch sho’ has got a beautiful body. I might dig her even if she didn’t have no money.
    He forced her to stand at the foot of the bed for a minute with a glance, the look appraising her tilted pink nipples, the lush indentation of the waist, the flared, milky thighs and the blond bush filling out the space between her legs like a golden triangle. “C’mere, white woman!” he called to her in a hard, low voice.
    Cynthia crawled up into bed beside him, shivering with anticipation. The dug their hands into each other’s hair with the first deep kiss, Cynthia moaning, lost already.
    Chili opened his eyes as they kissed, studied that lost expression and felt powerful.
    â€œOohh, Chili Chili, God! you’re so good to me!”
    He looked up at the tip of her chin out of the corner of his eye, his mouth gorged with her pink nipple. You motherfuckin’ right I’m good to you, he thought, freaking her out with his lick in the navel technique.
    He situated himself in the position that would allow her feverish hands to grasp his joint.
    â€œHeyyyy, be gentle, the baby is awful tender,” he whispered up to her as he buried his full lips in her alabaster pussy. The clincher, he thought, swimming his head around between her thighs.
    â€œOohhh, daddy! daddy! Ooooohhh, daddy! daddy daddy!”
    He had touched the money.
    A half-hour later, they nodded in each other’s arms, Cynthia surreptitiously breathing in Chili’s armpit funk, he playing with the long, wispy golden strands of her hair. In the darkened bedroom, far away from his Southside and her Otherside, they traded racial fantasies, turned on by white skin, black skin, pink nipples, black dick, straight hair, nappy hair, expensive perfume, undisguised black funk, different grooves.
    â€œCynthia, you sleep?”
    â€œNo,” she answered in a little girl’s voice.
    â€œDig, … I don’t know if I told you or not, but I been havin’ a lil’ trouble with my ride, I may need a lil’ repair work.”
    â€œHow much will it cost?”
    â€œOohhh, three, four-hundred.”
    Cynthia sighed, recognizing the lie after all, the car had just had major work done less than a month ago.
    â€œCynthia!?” he squirmed against her. “Did you hear me, baby?”
    â€œYesss,” she answered quickly, “I heard you. I won’t have anything ’til Friday fathers can be awfully chickenshit sometimes.”
    He cuddled her closer,