This girl, wearing a pair of Warby Parker, Monroe glasses; she looked nerdy and conserved. I thought she was Ethiopian; in essence she looked like Solange, but not quite. Her hair was pulled back; wearing a bodacious colored blouse. It was a rusty red with white African geometrical shapes, tacked under mustard colored skinny jeans that complemented her hips. Her accouterments and tribal jewelries were evident that she had an Ethiopian heritage, or she was just a big reggae fun. I am always utterly stimulated and emotions blown out of my heart when I think of her. She had eyes that pierced my soul and made every joint in my bones weak.

I first saw her in the train, we were San Francisco bound; she got in at the Oakland 19th street station.  And there she was, standing in arms’ length and as irreproachable as her smile my way, the devil knew I was ready for heaven at that moment. I could never work up the strength that was buried in the debts of my soul to start conversation, even if I wanted to say “hi”, I would have probably chocked. I am such an introvert. So I stood there and pretended to be really super busy with those posters in the train. We both got off at the Embarcadero station. My last glimpse of her was when she was on the escalator, when I got up on the street level she had disappeared. I was so disappointed; I could have cursed my motherland, my maker and my luck of game. Lord knows I wanted to know her.

She was amorous and electrifying. She wasn’t someone that I’ll be able to truly stop thinking about. Imagining her clothed temperament, my brain striped her to her natural one. She was just so full of what I stipulated from a woman, from a soul I'm willing to intertwine with my own. I witnessed the creation that came out of my rib.

Earlier, I had spent the whole day roaming in art galleries and studios in San Francisco and Oakland.  It was getting dark, and that San Francisco breeze was getting a little bit brutal, so I stopped for a cup of coffee. As I was sipping off the foam, holding the lid in my other hand and trying to make it out the door, someone runs into me, and I spilled the coffee. Whole cup dropped on the ground. A little panic and I heard a woman’s voice with a little Afro drawl said, “I’m really sorry.” “Truly the universe always conspires to help the dreamer” I thought to myself. I lifted my head and behold, it was my assumed to be “Ethiopian” muse from the subway.

I was astounded, everything around seemed to fade, the pedestrians, the traffic and the noise, all faded. Only her voice I could hear. In an Instantaneous moment, I was enthralled into her. In her eyes I was lost forever like Narcissus staring into the lake. Her lips mesmerized me, like a bee to honey. I was falling and my heart was immovable and trapped, I felt like I was in some kind of trouble, like a fly caught in a spider web, but I wasn’t fighting it.

She offered to get me another cup. Being a gentleman I said no, but she insisted and I gave in. There was a line at the Starbucks, so she said “you know what? I know a better place...” it was another coffee joint in a book store, where she was heading. So we went there instead. Here I was, walking with the most adorable woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on and I kept on thinking to myself “can somebody please explain to me what’s going on?” This whole account is simply improbable and my mind wouldn’t assimilate.

We got acquainted on the way, and conversation seemed to be flowing quite easily.  Her name is Liza, short for Kamaliza, she is a first time writer and she had just released her first book titled Reopening Pandora’s Jar. As she was telling me about her book, I could see an unspoken angst and passion burning in her. She is an unquestionable political nerd. She’d be a perfect fit for those roundtable political shows full of young pundits demonizing the other candidate. At the same time I could tell that she was quite intellectual, she seemed to really understand the cause of chaos around the world unlike most people who just fuss about the chaos, the kind of person who will light a candle instead of cursing the darkness.

On the way for that coffee, we talked and we digressed from Greece’s bail out, to China’s economics and its new leadership and Americas’ ever entertaining cutthroat politics and so on…

We soon reached to the book shop, and she was to be doing a book signing for the next hour there with three other writers. It was a very contemporary book signing. No tables, no lines of people, it was a meet and greet and get an autograph if you bought a book. Her hard covered books on display mercilessly grabbed everyone’s attention. She seemed quite popular. People were telling me that her book was the best literary product in political scenes to date. Of course I had no idea, I just met hear few moments ago. As this was going on, I realized that there were so many aspiring writers in that place, and Liza is every young writer’s fantasy. She had a finished product, which was published, and an agent who got her a contract for a second book.

During that book signing, she asked me if I could hang around for a bit, we were all very interested in each other. There was a magnetic force between us and we kind of nurtured it. I wandered off in the book store, but not far from her, picked up her book, I tried to give her space.

I was super quiet the whole time we were in the book store, I felt like child and my feelings towards her made me tense. I was still enthralled into her like a moth to a flame. In normal circumstances, love has to be possible, even if it’s not returned your way; you are still hoping that one day you will be able to win over that someone. But I wondered how it would feel to experience that passion, once more, one night, even if I’ll never see her again, I’ll have to deal with my broken heart in the morning. But for that moment, I wanted to lose my heart to her. I didn’t care if my pride would get wounded as long as my heart gets relieved.

So minutes later, I consulted myself worked up the nerve and upped the Casanova in me and I asked if I could take her somewhere for dinner and drinks after. Jokingly she said “Oui, j’avais faim, I was hoping you’ll offer.” Nailed it, I thought to myself.

At about 7 PM we went to this Italian joint, on Columbus Ave called Café deLucchi. They have a nice intimate sitting area outside on the street with cozy heaters. The place is just full of romantic ambiance. The mood was right, the music was jazzy, and she was in the mood for a celebration. Before dinner we had lots of drinks. We ordered a bottle of Brown Estate Chaos Theory. We had laughs, and we were probably too loud. I remember her toast; she said “To the future best writers, master piece painters, and believers, may good fortune fall on your lap tonight.”  We were drank to that and we were drunk before we ate. We reveled ourselves in moments of THC and champagne, until about 10 PM.

Earlier that night she had mentioned that she owns a boat, and it’s where she hides to write. So when we left the restaurant, she took me to show me her boat down at the marina. To boat was decent but without much room inside. She had made it sort of her second home. She made some tea, we needed to warm up. When tea was ready, she spiked it with vodka and we stepped outside the boat for a cigarette. Out of nowhere in that moment when I thought we were staring at the stars, we started kissing. I was pushed back inside and we started stripping each other naked. Buttons flew of her shirt, my tie was chocking me and her jeans just didn’t want to come off amid that battle.

I remember the picture vividly, stripping in the dark, with soft moonlight through the window, illuminating our passionate task. I took my time on her cocoa butter skin, while her lotus flower perfumes gradually took me to heavens gates.  I wanted to dive into every part of her. I pulled down her panties; she revealed naught underneath, so was I. Our eyes were locked into each other’s as she swayed into the bed, lying on her back, covered herself with nothing but beauty. She innocently poised as the beautiful Isolde waiting to be pleasured.

I walked my fingers slowly from her toes, to her knees and to the thickness of her thighs. I worked this moment, I held my breath and I gave it all had to give. I licked her ears, kissed her neck, left marks on her shoulder blades and buried my love in the depths of her heart. Her eyes were blazing with inferno so wild and yet so sincere. Her body was high tempered, it took my breath away, and I suffocated in this boat that felt like it was burning with sulfur.  She inflamed me with essence of her wild pleasures, willingly with contentment, and racing passion I went in.

The waters of romance kept on flowing, torrentially and we reveled. I gripped her hard with all my might as I ground against her soul. Plowed deeper into her stomach, left memories in her consciousness so would remember this indulgence.


The Tale Continues…