I met Regina while working for Michelle and Ron. An attorney in her second year of practice, she had joined the district attorney's office out of law school. She had made a strong impression; her courtroom work was outstanding and her feel for the politics of the office extraordinary. There was already talk about her as a future candidate for the job. She had a private practice on the side; Ron and Michelle associated her on several matters.
Her name fit her well. In addition to being smart and savvy, she was beautiful. She carried herself with a regal bearing: posture perfect, movements graceful, and body language that signaled it was your place to petition her, not her you. She walked into every room, even in the presence of her boss, like she owned it. Her dark black skin had reddish undertones — there were no slavers in her wood pile - and her symmetrical face featured high cheek bones, deep intelligent brown eyes, and a pretty mouth with lips a bit fuller than average. When needed, she could break into a winning approving smile. Her teeth were perfect; her kinky hair cut short.
During my senior year in college, Michelle asked my opinion of Regina. I responded positively, with the thoughts outlined above, but as I contemplated Michelle's question I was troubled. Why hadn't I more openly befriended this woman? Instead of real friends, I thought, we too often acted like two alpha females struggling over the pecking order.
Michelle saw these unspoken thoughts in my face. "And...," she added
I expressed my concern that I had foolishly failed to build a useful relationship with Regina. Michelle's nod showed I had gotten it. I called Regina and asked her to lunch. Over the following weeks our friendship blossomed. We contrasted some; she was always in control, I still enjoyed a sometimes goofy affability, but still I had found in her a kindred spirit. As I got to know her better I also realized, for all her studied solemnity, she still held onto a girl's romantic view of the world although tempered by an adult's realistic assessment of its flaws and limitations. Finally I approached Esha about adding Regina to our yoga group. Esha, after discussing it with several others, approved.
Which is how Michelle and I came to pick up Regina on the way to yoga class one Friday afternoon. Several hours later we piled our satiated bodies back into Michelle's car. After we dropped Regina off Michelle told me something I already knew; Regina was a special woman. When my phone rang an hour later with an invitation to join Regina at her place for dinner the following evening, I happily accepted.
I was five minutes early, holding a bottle of wine (the vintage was Michelle's suggestion), when I knocked on Regina's door. The business woman I had gotten to know was not what opened the door. She was barefoot and resplendent in a stunning yellow and red Oleku Ankara top and wrap skirt; I felt dowdy in my jacket, jeans, and boots. The home was full of aromas which, at least to my barely educated palette, were exotic. Soft smooth jazz music filled the room.
I joined her in the kitchen where we chatted over glasses of wine as she finished preparing the meal. Dinner was served on a low table; we sat on pillows on the floor. The first course was Nigerian, jollof rice, a spicy one-pot dish of rice, tomatoes, onions and pepper, and egusi soup, made with ground melon seeds and bitter leaf. They were delicious, the main course unworldly. Galinha à Zambeziana, a dish perfected in Mozambique, was a succulent feast of chicken cooked with lime, pepper, garlic, coconut milk, and piri piri sauce. Dessert was relatively simple: lightly spiced guava ice cream, served in one dish with one spoon, our bodies pressed together as we took turns feeding each other.
When we were done I offered to help clean up. She said we could do that in the morning. I took her hand, squeezed her fingers, kissed her palm. Then I dipped my head towards her. We kissed gently at first, letting just our lips play with each other, our hands laying on each other's arms. As we kissed I noticed for the first time - it had been masked by the aroma of the food - her perfume, light gentle feminine delicious. When her tongue ran across my lips I let them part; Regina explored my mouth. I encouraged her, stroking her tongue with my own, leaning into her body. Regina's hands became more aggressive, journeying up my arms and the sides of my body. I leaned back into one of the pillows. Regina followed me, moving forward and keeping our mouths together. I returned her kisses, my lips and tongue exploring hers as she had explored mine.
I broke the kiss. "You know, you're extraordinarily beautiful."
She smiled, her face beatific, "I've been told, but its always nice to hear."
I tickled Regina's ear with my tongue. She sighed and kissed my hand, then sucked my thumb into her mouth, which I gently rocked back and forth. She kissed my mouth before turning to my neck and face. With her body against mine I realized she was not wearing a bra. We kissed each other ever more deeply, our tongues entwining, our sighs and soft moans intensifying. Soon we were caressing any and all the exposed skin we could reach. Our breathing became faster and deeper.
By now I was laying against a pillow, Regina holding herself above me, her legs between mine. We wiggled our hips and rocked our pelvises against each other. Our hands shaking, we greedily explored each other's firm bodies. I caught Regina's nipples between my fingertips, feeling their warmth through the cotton fabric. She gasped, broke the kiss, and stood, saying, "Amber, please come with me." She offered me her hand, helping me to my feet. She was surprisingly strong. We kissed again and, holding hands, I was led to her bedroom.
It, like the rest of her home, was decorated in an African motif. The bed was large; the bedframe dark wood in a geometric pattern. She had paid close attention to the details; the room bounded with animal prints, vibrant splashes of color, and massive rich-colored woods. Filling the open spaces were African artifacts: tribal masks, musical instruments, and images of the African landscape and the animals that call that continent home.
Above the bed, in wood, there was a quotation: "Hold a true friend with both hands." She saw me reading it.
"The lettering is Utshani," she said, "the quote Swahili."
I drifted behind her, wrapping both my arms around her waist. "It's beautiful, I love it."
I undid her wrap, letting it fall to the floor. She raised her arms and I lifted the top over her head. She was, other then her large circular earrings, naked. Her breasts were full and round and her nipples and areolas small and almost jet black. Her hands deftly removed my clothes.
We walked towards the bed; it was covered with a blanket whose hearts and blue lines cut through patterns that twirled around its borders. I admired it, running my hand across it's surface. It was made of wool, thick and heavy.
"It's a Basotho blanket, this one is named Seana Marena. That means the king's blanket. Traditionally, it was made for the Royal Family and worn by kings. There is lore in my family that we're descended from the royal line."
I turned to look at my friend. "Of that, I have no doubt."
She smiled, almost bashfully, "You're kind."
She brought her mouth to mine. We stood in the room kissing, our hands touching and caressing the other's naked body. As I kissed her, I felt familiar needs and desires arise, spreading from my sex into my body. I realized something that had somehow escaped me. Until this moment it was the intimacy of my time with Regina that filled my mind, not my desire for her. Since I'd gone to work with Michelle, in fact for far longer than that, I had used sex as a tool to get what I wanted. I did not know what would happen with Regina, but I did know this might be a real relationship.
Regina sensed, but did not understand, my hesitation. "Are you ready?"
She had inadvertently asked the right question. I answered honestly, "I'm not sure. Are you?
"No, but I don't want to stop."
"Me neither."
