When the Lights Go Down

(V) Not Gonna Sleep 2nite

Sunday/August 21, 1988/Copenhagen, Denmark

"What's your name?" Pretty brown skin, light eyes... dangerously curved in all my favorite places. "You from here?"

I noticed her in the crowd while I was performing. High energy and the cutest smile. So I told my guys to bring her backstage for me.

We vibed just right, so from there, I brought her to my hotel suite. This was my third conquest since Lula's confession. And I must say, for the first time since my divorce, I was having that 'it's not the same feeling.' There was nothing special about these ladies' mountaintop views.

Lula and I hadn't spoken, but I was still foolish, letting thoughts of her cloud me. In those 12 London nights, I was the happiest I'd been in a very long time. And deep down, I wanted that fairytale happiness back.

When married, Nahla and I were always working together, or she was elsewhere out of town. So we never really got to play house. I never even thought I'd enjoy domestication until I was showing up at Lula's, all different times of the night, and she would have dinner waiting for me. With her, I was eating more than I did in a regular month. I eat a lot, but not a lot when I eat. She made sure I scarfed down a good portion of my meals, and she made it easy by actually being a decent cook.

Honestly, at first, I thought someone else was making the food and she was taking credit. But I came in one night to see her working the kitchen. It was strange that a house that size didn't have a constant flow of staff. She only told me she liked to be alone, and live-in workers would've been a nuisance. Only security stuck around 24/7 and they had their own gatehouse in the front. Any other service was dealt with on a needed-basis.

Besides eating well, I also slept more than usual. And when it was time for me to go, I didn't want to leave. I actually wished I could just stay in the house with her and abandon work for a day.

Taking that time, and accepting that it was nothing more than a retreat from a hospitable admirer of mine was difficult. It was never to go beyond 12 nights. I was never supposed to see potential in her. My time with Lula Burberry had to be burned as a great memory as that one time I visited London... I had to move on.

Sexuality is spiritual in nature. It's a God-given gift, like women. I couldn't go on being ungrateful with the beauties I had the pleasure in meeting, and the pleasure in pleasuring. Yet, I was with this girl in my hotel suite, still comparing her every touch to Lula's.

Because when Lula and I had sex, I completely lost myself with her. On top of the connection, she was incredibly—skilled. Not just saying in technique. She knew not only how, but when. She could read me so well. She knew when to kiss instead of bite. When to hold instead of free. When to whisper instead of scream. And there was no position off limits. I guess this is why the thought of another man touching her was driving me crazy.

The next morning, I slipped into a hot bath for physical relaxation. I laid there, my body still under a sheet of white foam, my head back on a small golden pillow, and I just mellowed out. I didn't want to think of anything. But that was impossible, even with sleep, because I'd only dream of her.

My wrists stuck to the porcelain ledges, and my hand twitched over the edge as my eyelids became a movie screen, and Lula stood naked before me. Her mystic eyes luring me to her bed, her pink lips sticking my heated skin, her tongue tasting my desire... My twitching hand fell in the water.