Femme Noir by Clara Nipper Page A

that if I succumbed, this Max would be no casual piece of ass. She would be a wild ride. The kind of ride that you know is dangerous but you get on anyway thinking you have the guts and the strength to do it and when you get off, you’re changed. Maybe weaker, maybe stronger, maybe destroyed completely, you’re different than the you that climbed on with such a gaming spirit.
    Before I backed out of the driveway, I had to wait for pedestrians to pass. A group of white women out late. I watched them in the rearview. I shook my head noticing their butts. Oh, how I despised anemic, flat asses. I hated when Michelle would put on clothes and ask, does this make my butt look big? I always wanted Michelle’s butt to look big. To say no to a woman asking that question was an insult. An insult enough to mean that that woman was sexless with no juice, life, or appeal. Women should fatten their asses and parade their succulence proudly. I would personally guarantee that such an action would result in more and better sex. Women should always want the answer to her butt looking big to be a resounding yes! Then, a tumble into bed. I glanced again at the house where that round, ample fruit of an ass still called to me.
    I drove down the one-way street and when I was sure Max couldn’t see, I put the car in park, pulled the emergency brake, and turned off the lights. I gripped the steering wheel like a life preserver, relishing the ice cold air blasting into my face from the air conditioner, and I breathed deeply for several minutes. Ducks quacked on the lake as they floated in the darkness. I considered slipping a hand into my trousers for some relief, but something told me that I needed a sharp edge for this business. So I concentrated on my breathing and banishing Max from my mind. How could Max have gotten to me? It’s not like pussy had just been invented.
    After perhaps twenty minutes, I was ready to leave. Just as I was reaching for the lights, something caught my eye across the lake at Max’s house. With the landscape lights in her yard, I could see her garage door opening. Then headlights. Next, a car pulled from Max’s garage onto the one-way street and started to slowly coast its way around the lake toward me to leave. I ducked out of sight. As the car passed, I caught a glimpse. It was Michelle’s car. I was sick of these mysteries already and decided to follow it.

Chapter Eight
     
    The driver was a lone black female. Following, I kept what I hoped was a safe distance. I had never tailed anyone. We drove and drove through deserted streets. The prettiness of the town evaporated, grew industrial, then abandoned, then ugly.
    At last, the woman parked at Tisdale’s Barbecue, a quaint white bungalow with big windows and hand-painted signs. It was open until three a.m. when things around here must really jump. I pulled into the gravel parking lot of the tiny A-frame bar next to Tisdale’s. Then I walked toward the barbecue place, suddenly feeling queasy and scared. What if there was real danger here? I shrugged. All would unfold in due time.

    *

    “If a nigga could just get a motherfuckin’ breath!” I shouted, leaning on the car for support, filling my chest with soaked air. I pictured my lungs blooming with mold, my armpits growing slidy with moss, tadpoles burping out of my mouth, my skin dripping saltwater. When I felt calmer, I lit a cigarette. The air was drier when I smoked.
    I imagined lying on my back, Max’s ample weight pressing me flat as Max straddled my eager face. I looked into the seed of heaven and strained to reach it. Max teased me, remaining out of reach as I got madder…
    Compelled by my impulsive nature, I entered Tisdale’s and was embraced by warmth and the savory smells of wood smoke, tender, juicy meat, and sweet, spicy sauce. There were several busy, loud groups, laughing and eating, enjoying their glorious mess. The woman I followed sat alone in a corner, eating ribs. I stepped up to the