Kalamu ya Salaam's information blog


photo by Alex Lear

photo by Alex Lear




That’s The Way Love Is


I was looking at Sonia’s vagina with only a casual interest in it as a pussy. I was looking at the way her hair grew on it and the way the soft fatty folds of flesh stood away from her body. I put down the Cleaver book that I had been looking at.

The hair there was browner than the corkscrewing curls of her afroed head that had often been bleached. They were finer and softer and had never known the strict discipline of the hot comb, cast iron black and smoking ready to scorch at the slightest slip. They had never been exposed to the rigorous regimentation of “home” permanents so often aptly mislabed like “lilt,” which did everything but allow the hair to be easy and carefree. The hair on the fleshy mound was browner even than the penciled, plucked brown-painted eyelashes that Sonia wore.

I wondered did she comb it. I never combed the hair around my dick but then too I seldom combed the hair on my head and I have never bleached it or colored it or pressed it.

Do women ever look at their pussies? I was laying there looking at Sonia as she was getting ready to step in bed with me.

God I was tired of fucking her, tired of the way she opened her legs and how she pulled me in. I wanted a shorter sister, someone barely four feet ten maybe. Someone else besides Sonia’s average five feet five or maybe a taller woman. I wanted something more than her hundred twenty pounds to hold on to.

“Willie’s in jail,” she told me as her knee sank into the mattress.

“Turn out the light.”

She reached over our heads and turned the light out. The fluorescent night lamp clicked off infinitely faster than the twenty seconds it took to come on.

“I said Willie’s in jail.” 

“I heard you the first time.”

“Don’t you even care?”

“Sonia, baby.”

“I’ll shut up.”

We lay quiet and could hear the house breathing: the ticking of the clock on the dresser and the refrigerator’s steady hum droning in from the kitchen. Somewhere in the building water was running through the thousands of feet of pipe and below us a giant window fan was mechanically wacking at the humid evening air. The tree outside our window was laden with winged cockroaches who took fiendish delight in rustling the leaves to let us know they were still out there. And cars passed occasionally, straying up and down the asphalt streets searching out with low beam lights, the potholes and dead animals that lay inevitably in the way. Dead animals festered in the street sometimes for days after having been smashed by rubber inflated to thirty-two pounds a square inch and more, rubber supporting upwards of two tons moving with a massive inertia, an inertia that broke bones, popped flesh and flattened skulls against the pavement. I was wondering about all of the pigeons I had been seeing dead in the streets recently. They were usually quick enough to avoid a car’s rushing wheels of death, but lately they too were being entrapped and oppressed by Firestone, Goodyear and Sears.

I could hear Sonia’s tongue moving against my ear and her hand was on my chest squeezing my tight masculine tits. What evils the night let loose, like as if all the psychic thoughts and daydreams of the day crawled out from your nose and began bumping through the air. Evils you could not see, evils you could only hear, feel and imagine. If I were not a man, I think sometimes I would be afraid of the dark. The lamp lights outside only covered such a pitifully small area; if you strayed from the sidewalk even two feet you were into a world of darkness and crime and soft wet things. Sonia’s lips were on mine and her tongue poking to break through into my mouth.

She rolled on top of me and began rubbing her brown-haired crouch across my groin. I did not like it with her on top. I didn’t like her motions and how she did what she did; how she could force me to wait for her and press against my chest and make me wait; how freely she moved. I didn’t like that. I like it better to be on top cocking up her legs with the crook of my arm and ramming it to her like I wanted to. And I like it less when we lay side by side or she sat in my lap on the edge of the bed or in a chair.

I was looking up at her face and I couldn’t see her. It was too dark in the room even though her eyes were right there just six inches above me.

I wanted some wine. I really wanted to get up and turn on the lights but I would have settled for sipping warm wine from the bottle with one of my legs dangling off the bed. I felt my dick grow stiffer under her insistent pressure.

I grabbed her and threw her from over me. No changing up tonight. She struggled noiselessly. She knew she wasn’t stronger than me. She knew I was heavier and could use my weight better even though she was a little faster. Her hands were on my balls and that’s what I really didn’t like and she knew it. I grabbed her wrist carefully less I hurt myself in the process.

“Sonia, leave me go.”

She kissed me but still kept holding on. I was trying to bend her wrist back and break her grip. She wasn’t squeezing me or anything just holding to me but I didn’t want her doing that. My finger nails were biting her wrist and she was still holding my balls.

“Sonia, leave me go.”

She broke suddenly and threw her arms around me. Her left leg swung over my hip and I didn’t understand until she rolled over on the back and pulled me on top of her and placed my dick deeply into her and lay there still and barely breathing, waiting for my thrusts and my seed to break into her womb, waiting for my love with the wetness and softness of her pussy trembling still beneath me. Particles of moonlight caught her eyes and were reflected there and I could tell she was looking directly up at me, waiting, waiting for me to move. I felt like I was in jail.

“What makes you think I want to fuck every night.”

Her legs fell from around my hips.

“We didn’t make love last night.”

I started fucking her but I just wanted to let her know how I felt about it. The moonlight was still in her eyes as my hips moved. And she let her legs slip from around my waist. She wasn’t moving. I jacked her legs up with my arms pushing her knees into her breasts. I didn’t want to fuck but I knew damn well I knew how to fuck and how to make her come and how to make her like it. And that was my key to keeping her. She still wouldn’t move. Didn’t she feel me jamming her? She still didn’t move. It was war now. I moved in slow circles long stroking her. Long stroking, long stroking, long stroking her. And she still didn’t move. I began kissing her and forced my tongue into her mouth. If she didn’t want to fuck why did she start it anyway. Why did she jump all in my face, flashing her pussy, if she didn’t want to do it? Why did she lick my ear and rub all up against me? Why did she suck my lips? She wanted to fuck. She had to. I know she did. Her pussy was wet. Her love was coming down. The moonlight was still in her eyes. My dick was getting harder.


She had to feel it now. I grabbed her ass. She had to feel. She had to feel my heart beating to get out all women who like to fuck like to fuck. I knew I could fuck. I could make her holler. Can’t no bitch resist forever. Her damn love had to come down. A car was somewhere in my consciousness. I could see the wheels going around and around. And around. My eyes were closed and I could see a red stripped wide oval. I was moving fast and round like that wheel. She had to succumb. She had to. Nothing could withstand this pressure. It was too much. I knew she was liking it. I could feel her thighs wanting to move. She would scream when I made her come. I would make her come. Make her scream.


I came. And she still hadn’t moved. Motherfuck Sonia if that’s the way she was going to be. I had to get me a new girl.


—kalamu ya salaam








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