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In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the
Merciful, All Praises are due to Allah!
Dear Diary,
I am writing to you because Ramadan this year will be quite different. My man, soon-to-be “husband,” will be working a different shift at his job for the next six months. You see, he’s a security officer and every six months, his job rotates everybody’s shifts. So, to make a long story short, I won’t be getting any dick on the regular, which is normally during the daytime. As them white girls used to say, “Bummer.” Ha, ha. His name is Taariq Kareem—dark skin, intelligent, thick, and sexxxxxxy in all the right places. Like I said, he’s smart and thoughtful, I might add. He knows I like to film myself while I masturbate in various positions. So, he went and bought me an unusual vibrator. He knows I like movies that are considered swashbucklers. There is just something that opens the floodgates seeing men swinging their swords in the air, all in the hopes of fucking some damsel nowhere near distress.
Men love their “cat fights.” I luv a nigguh shaking a piece of “steel” in his hands. I would say that’s about even on the physical attraction scale. Now, because of this attraction, he went out and bought me a Black Diamond Rabbit Pearl that has a swashbuckling theme to it. Not only that, the color of this vibrator is the same shade as his dick—a rusty-colored black that’s very hard to lubricate. I remember one time I sucked his dick for about twenty minutes straight, trying to spit-shine that mutha-fucka with my saliva and the gallon of cum he shot in my mouth, to no avail. It looked like I hadn’t even started. This nigguh had somehow managed to swell my upper lip and it did not look like I had done a damn thing. This shit made me mad as hell. It made me so mad that I reverse cow-girled his ass so he could see my other lips that needed swelling. There was no way I was gonna half-ass good dick. Especially when I know Ramadan was approaching and there would be no sex of any kind during the daytime.
Adhering to the rules during the month of Ramadan is sometimes difficult. We both work the graveyard shift. I am a support technician for a major cable company. In other words, I help male customers who accidentally download viruses to their computer while stroking their dicks to porn in the wee-hours of the morning. They always call around 3:30 a.m., mad because their dumb, cheap asses let their virus protection plan run out. I mean, if you will spend money on lube to jerk your cock, why not add a few more dollars so while you are doing that there will be no interruptions? Please don’t get me wrong; Ramadan ain’t even here yet and I will be glad when it’s over. A whole thirty days of this shit will pluck a sistah’s nerve in all directions.
Last year, during those nighttime hours of Ramadan, we spent hours redefining that little, but so precious, act called sex. There was one time that we had introduced sex toys into our screw sessions. Funny how he managed to find a dildo his exact size. He’s six inches, by the way. Humph! Six good inches. He told me I could practice deep throating it.
I told him, “Thanks, baby, but ain’t nuthin like the real thing.”
“So what, you giving it back?” he said.
“Nope, just making a comment.”
As the daylight hours approached, we said a very long good-bye. I was so intrigued by that particular night, the next day I sat down and wrote this story. Mainly to remind myself of how far I have come to being both mature and comfortable with my own spirituality and sexuality.
THE EIGHTIES
Well, where should I start? How about introducing myself? Yeah, I think that would be appropriate. My full name at birth was Felicia Cassandra Washington. It’s now Saleema Kataanah Washington—my legal Muslim name; at least, most of it. I wanted to change the entire name but declined, due to the fact I wanted to get married one day. I am five feet, eleven inches, dark-skinned, and a 100 percent plus-sized diva in my own right. As you can probably guess, I wasn’t always Muslim. My roots are in Christianity; particularly Baptist. In my household there was one basic rule for the seven of us concerning religion and God. You simply had to believe in Him. Anything other than that, you couldn’t stay in my momma’s house. Unless you were my father.
Mommy begged him to go to church many Sundays. Yet, he always said no. I never fully understood why until I got older. However, when we were young, she made all of her kids attend every week. Again, as we got older, she didn’t press the issue at all. Now don’t get me wrong, church was religiously enlightening, but getting up early in the morning on a weekend to go to Sunday School, plus church later that same day, was something totally different. I guess it had something to do with Mommy being the teacher for Sunday School?
A funny thing happened one Sunday morning. I remember the day clearly; it was me, my sister Cynthia, my brother William, Taneesha, Robert, “Nay Nay” a.k.a. Gloria Stevens, and of course, Meez. Shawn Cortez. Now that I think about it, Sundays always had their moments. Even though we were still kids back in the late seventies, early eighties, all of us still remain in contact with one another, believe it or not. Anyway, my mom was teaching us about Sodom and Gomorrah. Such subjects concerning the Bible, she was very brief and vague on the matter. Like clockwork, in her conclusions—I always wondered where she even began most of the time—she would say, “This was that and let us go on.”
Nay Nay stopped her that day and asked a question.
“Yes, Gloria. What is it?”
“Well, Mrs. Washington, I wanted to know what is Sodom and Gomorrah?”
Before she had a chance to respond, everybody’s hand went up except mine. Mommy gave me one of her looks to say you better not raise it. She always treated me different than William and Cynthia. You see, she didn’t give birth to them. They were my father’s “chirn,” as she would put it. She didn’t really treat them any less favorably, but let’s just say she really couldn’t keep tabs on them like she did me. In some aspects, I hated her for it.
So, hands were up and the words “Ooh-ooh-ooh, I know.”
“Calm down, one at a time. Okay, Shawn, do you know?”
Shawn stood up and said in her New York Puerto Rican accent, “Yah, Meez Washington; that’s when two people get together and fuck, for real, for real.”
The moment she said that everybody said, “Ooo oohhh.”
My mom said, “Girl, watch your mouth. Don’t you know this is the Lord’s house?”
“I’m sorry, Meez Washington.”
Mom was one of those old-fashioned, churchgoing, deep Southern women; from Georgia, to be exact. Shit, if she only knew what goes on in the South nowadays; especially in Atlanta. Dah durty, durty. Sexually, I miss that place.
Anyway, before I get off track. As Shawn sat down, ghetto-ass Robert stood up. “But look, Mrs. Washington, it’s tru doe. My cuzin be knockin off honeys left and right. Err Saturday night. When I’m over his house, I peep in the room, he got honey in there bent over saying fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
“Young man, you need to sit your hind pots down before you make me come over there!” Mommy just hated Robert. He was just too ghetto for her. True as that was, Robert was a trip. He had that class falling out that day. Yet, Mommy meant what she said. If you didn’t do as she said, you were liable to get slapped across the head. I knew and they knew. Needless to say, Robert sat his ass down quick.
You see, it was things like that that just got to me about Mommy. Now, granted, she was in church all day long on Sundays and was a Bible-toting sister and yes, she knew how to keep a man (my father) home. Still, how many Saturday nights went by and I heard her in there getting her “boots knocked off,” as we used to say. You know I did my lil’ Peepin Tom thing, too. I’m sure we all did. I mean, late at night, when they were supposedly watching Saturday Night Live. All I saw was my father pumping her from behind, moaning and groaning, while Mommy was saying, “Oh, Jesus! Thank you, Jesus! Oh, Jesus!!!!!” It must have been a good thing she was calling on the Lord.
Besides, Daddy never got upset when she called another man’s name. Daddy’s name is Kevin.
