Keisha
Keisha
“Is it too dark in here for you?”, a slender shadow inquired as he fumbled around in an awkward quick motion synonymous to a jackrabbit trying for an entire liter. Painfully stabbing his dick into every orpheus shy of the correct one he studdard, “Can you feel me?” he panted as he gyrated on top of Keisha to and awkward techno beat he appeared to be holding in his sweaty head. She cringed as his glistening sweat dripped down to her chocolate eye lid just escaping her light brown iris. Clearly Will was the white boy of his crew of fine ass brothers who work at a law firm Uptown off of University Avenue. He was no Terrence, not even close.
She’d initially met Terrence at the 2017 Curlfest in Brooklyn, automatically intrigued that amongst all the beautiful hues of brown women sporting big fros, twist outs, dreads and braids reminiscent of the sacred geometry of Kemetian scholars, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.
“Hi. I’m Terrence. Do you work for Finesteine & Affiliates”? He asked with pearly whites that Keish loved because to her, if men cared about their teeth they were attentive in other ways. He was 6’3” with a high bun and tapered sides that clearly a barber had hooked him up with that same morning. His butterscotch complexion complimented his maroon and mustard yellow dashiki, which was clearly not made in China. Grabbing his beaded black ankh necklace in anticipation of Keisha’s response.
“Yea are you stalking me”, Keisha said with a classic sarcastic undertone as she swayed her hips to Goaples “Closer”. She was always “that friend” who was quick to talk the most shit but was also so witty that her electric aura drew you to her.
This, Keisha was the friend you needed around to kickass in the street then testify at your trial and get you off. Her code meshing was almost as impeccable as Obama’s. It was woven as perfectly as cornrows intermingling both of her lives, one as a Bronx raised Afro Latina who beat up every boy on the block that attempted to discredit her impeccable ball skills because she was a girl and one as the Harvard Law Grad who received a full scholarship ten years prior. Though this double consciousness was done effortlessly, it was still somewhat draining because she knew that her white counterparts never had to mesh or intermingle any parts of their identity that was so readily accepted in Trumps America. This state of being Black and a woman and a product of a first generation immigrant Dominican mother was at times exhausting, yet imperative to her survival. She learned very quickly that in order to leave the projects she’d have to keep one ear to the streets and both eyes in her books. Keisha was always the only Black girl enrolled in her honors and AP classes through the duration of her High school career. Much to the dismay of the trust fund kids in her class she ranked #1 at Brooklyn Tech, beating out Diana Olstein who made it a point to argue that the Holocaust was worse than Slavery during every Social Seminar class. Her Aaliyah esc street but sweet swagger always drew people to her larger than life personality and the Curlfest was no different.
“No I’m not stalking you I’ve just seen you around there aren’t many sistahs who kickass in the courtroom I’m not one but two languages”, Terrence chuckled, bringing down the “Sir fuck off” sign that Keisha kept on her forehead. The two clicked immediately over Whiskey and Ginger beers in the park as the humidity reached 88 for hours they discussed everything from Immigration reform to a mans role in the Metoo movement. Terrence thankfully wasn’t one of those Hotep niggas she’d met at bars & lounges on 6th attempting to convince her on her patriarchal “role” in the Black community or how she should submit to her man, which she giggled at everyone before giving sed Hotepian the verbal bout of their lives. She’d them sashay away, leaving men to pick their mouths up of the ground and re-evaluate their participation in the system of patriarchy. The two had exchanged numbers and for a month were inseparable and instantly she stopped hearing from him. Because she was a woman who was never one to beg anyone for anything, not even an explanation, she moved on, with a lingering affection that she hadn’t felt for any man since Mamadou.
She knew Will had zero rhythm as she observed him at a Grits & Biscuits event she’d been guilt tripped into attending, after many plees from her bestie Alexis she rolled out of bed pulled out her rod set and called an Uber. Drifting in and out of this rather unappealing moment she stared up to her high vaulted ceiling.
“Ummmmm is it in or?” Keisha said in great boredom rolling her large mascara filled eyes. “I knew I should’ve used my makeup wipes she thought as she lay there in great disappointment. She closed her arched single lashes as she tended to do with lame lovers and imagined that Idris or Michael B. Jordan were on top of her plucking every string of her spanish guitar without asking about mood lighting. “Shit, it's not even worth it at this point if he doesn't know what to do at 30 I'm damn sure not going to be his teacher ”, she thought to herself as she got into yet another position that she knew would only bring Will pleasure. “I'm too nice I'm just too damn nice ughhhh”, she growled softly pretending that it was his wack stroke was causing her to sound like a lion in heat. Her theatrics were nothing new. If Keisha were nominated for an award she would have definitely won Oscars for faking orgasms.
Keisha had only truly been intimately in tune with one man and that was Mamadu, an African boy from Mali that she met in her Junior year at the security desk of her campus. Trying to get directions to a bio-chem class across the newly cut grass Mamadu walked up to her as she was waiting for her shuttle. “Hey, do you know where this building is?”,pointing to his crushed up map of the campus. “Ummmmm do I look like your tour guide?”, Keisha said with the biting sarcasm she held which had gotten her many extension cord whoopings from her father who was a bishop of 12th Baptist off of Fordham.
“Pardon me Miss. I was just wondering if you could help me out I was just asking”. Walking away Keisha began to notice how tall he stood. He had to be about 6’3” with an athletic build, pearly white teeth and a baby face. His melanin was a deep cocoa color and looked so smooth to the touch, she stood stuck staring at him as he walked away. Mouth opened wide enough for a fly to roll in and take residency, Keisha blinked and quickly jogged toward him in her Retro black and red Jordans. “Hey my fault, sometimes I don't know what to say out of my mouth. I was rude for no reason I apologize.” It's cool you American women are mean as hell anyway,” Mamadu chuckled covering his pearly whites with an arrogant smile plastered on his face. Right then she knew he could keep up with her Alpha female personality. After that day they were thick as thieves, you didn't see one without seeing the other. They quickly began seriously dating and shortly after began to sweat out Keisha’s natural fro any chance they got alone in her dorm room. Keisha lived in the basement of hall as most freshmen did at Spelman and would sneak Mamadu through her window every day, it was a covert operation they had down packed by 2nd semester. Keisha and Mamadu were the perfect couple and were more homies than boyfriend and girlfriend. Keisha was that down for whatever kind of girl to him whether it was going to Atl for the weekend or Magic City with him and his boys or protesting against unfair housing laws she was front row in Cambridge her black girl magic was something he was always subdued by no matter how many other girls in the AUC vied for his attention, he only saw her. There was one problem that sheathed Keisha’s skin when she thought of a lifetime with Mamadu. She was an American woman and he came from a strict family that looked down on anyone who wasn’t Nigerian, Swallowing her pride time and time again she struggled to find common ground with Mr. Diallo, Mamadou’s strict Muslim father. In the eyes of any Father she was just a Black girl jaded by feminist thought.
Mr. Diallo was tall dark meditated man who stood about 6’3” and weighed about 230 give or take. He was handsome brother who'd immigrated from Nigeria to the states in the mid 80’s at only 13 years old. His father passed away of malaria when he was only 10, leaving his mother Salimata to raise him and his 4 sisters on her own. Determined to refute the stereotypes of African immigrants, Abdul graduated with high honors from high school and enrolled in St. John's at the age of 17. He worked as a taxi driver, pay his way through college. In only 4 years he graduated suma and got hired at Embry University as a research scientist.
Abdul met Salimata at a family gathering in Buckhead and at first was hesitant to speak. He'd always been the strong silent type which always peeked the interest of women of all ethnicities. Abdul would date here and there but would always hear his mother's voice in the back of his head, “You may date whomever you like but must marry a Nigerian woman. In only 4 years he had graduated summa cum laude and got hired at Emory University as a research scientist.
Abdul met Salimata at a family gathering and at first was hesitant to speak. He’d always been the strong silent type which always peeked the interest of women of all ethnicities. Abdul would date here and there but would always hear his mothers would voice in the back of his head, “Son you may date who you like, but you must marry Nigerian woman.” Obeying his mother, the two began to converse and were quickly on the road to marriage.
As an African Muslim, Salimata donned a purple hijab over her jet black thick locs of hair. Her wedding dress matched her hijab with gold lace trailing her abundant hips passed down from her ancestral mothers. She’d always been a beautiful being . Coming over from Nigeria the same year she met Abdul, she attended Spelman and was entering her Junior year as an education major. By the time Salimata graduated she was 6 months pregnant with Mamadu and delivered him at 8lbs. and 6oz. at Emory. Medical Center. Abdul couldn't have been prouder of his son and groomed him from the womb to be a man of great stature, a Morehouse man. Though he'd attended St. John's and received a great education, he quickly realized that there was a difference in the stride of his friends who attended HBCUs . In black coffee conversations black coffee conversations he'd always hear about the love and care professor's would have for students at Howard l, Fisk and FAMU. It was then when Mr. Diallo decided to send his first born son to either Morehouse or Harvard, Mamadou chose Harvard.
Throughout Mamadous college career his father had always pushed him to be the best. Like his father, he also graduated with high honors at the school of engineering. In September, he would follow in his father's footsteps and work alongside him at Emory. Unlike his younger brother Lamine, he always sought to please his father. Lamine, he always sought to please his father. Lamine and Mamadou were like like night and day. His younger brother had always been the class clown, never maintaining straight A’s throughout school. Though he graduated from GA State with a mathematics degree, he decided not to become an educator and left the states to go find himself in London. There he found Teresa., a trash talking intelligent A & R executive for records. Unlike, Salimata, Teresa was Trinidadian and upon their first meeting Mr. Diallo forbid Lamine to marry her. Refuting his father's traditional ways he moved to London and married Teresa. They had 3 girls, one he named after the grandmother they'd never met. Furious, Mr. Diallo refused to let Salimata contact her son or her grandchildren.
This was Keisha’s second try between the sheets with Will and the experience left much to be desired. The two had been dating for 3 months and Will fit her never ending list of requirements.