the facebook trending column. that’s how i found out about Prince’s transition. like so many others, i don’t think i wanted to believe it at first. but then my news feed became overloaded with posts from facebook friends, and even then i had to turn to google for validation. it finally sank in when i saw reports from cnn, cnbc and time. i was taken back to the day i heard about Michael Jackson’s passing; destroyed all over again. mourning two incredible humans whom i’ve never met.
i was never part of the elite few who got to see him (or Michael) perform live. the closest i’ve come was watching him on television when he performed at the 2007 super bowl. no sexual overtures, no risque stage behavior. just him. in the rain. reminding us all why he is an icon. generous and benevolent, Prince quietly helped those in need. asking nothing in return. he’ll never know this, but he gave me something special: bookish and introverted, i was 15 years old when i had my first sexual experience. even though i had nothing to compare it to, i found the encounter underwhelming. there were no fireworks, like i had seen on tv. there were no stars, no life-changing orgasm (there wasn’t one at all). but there was music. insatiable and scandalous played repeatedly in the background.
those seductive lyrics were the reason why i was able to detach myself and tolerate the safe, but lackluster sex i was having. the music grabbed me, and took me away somewhere my soul could connect with it. and then something happened. the music reached places the guy i was with at the time didn’t. i was comforted, i didn’t feel like a timid ugly duckling anymore. in that moment, music gave me what i needed: to feel desirable. those two songs were the only good thing that came out of my first time. the only thing that meant something special to me that day. so maybe there’s a small part of me that feels that this story is the least i can do for the pleasant stimuli he gave me. i only hope that i did right by him.
thank you, Prince Rogers Nelson. rest well.
as i mentioned, this piece was a work-in-progress for about two years. inspired, in part, by two (very sexy) public figures. [le sigh²]
i hid a few gems throughout the story, see if you can spot them. if you have any Prince stories you’d like to share, please feel free to do so in the comments.
as always, thank you for visiting my humble corner. please enjoy indigo.nights
They met in a record store near Calhoun Square. When he spotted her in the funk and soul section and waved, she raised an eyebrow and waved back. He went over to introduce himself, hand outstretched. Told her his name was Emiliano.
“I’m Egypt,” she said, extending her hand. Ice broken, they talked about the untimely loss of Prince. The impact he’d made, and the barriers he’d crossed in the music industry. Emiliano saw him perform in Chicago and London. Egypt said that Prince was legendary. Gifted. An innovator gone before his time.
Emiliano was a gorgeous Latino man with round, hazel eyes, dark hair, kissable lips and naturally tan skin. Standing at five nine, he was a little shorter than what Egypt preferred, but the unique timbre of his voice more than made up for that. Its quality low and gritty, like super fine sandpaper—she certainly enjoyed the way it scratched her. And fuck if he didn’t smell good. Shower gel, designer cologne, whatever it was, she had found herself wanting to breathe him in all day.
They flipped through a bin of albums, reflecting over the distinctive melody of ‘I Wanna Be Your Lover’ and the seductive ballad of ‘Insatiable.’ Small talk over the edgy ‘Dirty Mind’ album cover led to an exchange of numbers which led to plans of having coffee together sometime in the near future. In their contacts, they gave each other an alias as an inside joke: She was paisley.park, he was A.N.
Emiliano did call her. After a few rounds of phone tag, Egypt accepted an invitation for breakfast on Wednesday, a quick lunch on Friday, and dinner the following week.
They met at Bar La Grassa. Egypt ordered Paccheri with saffron milk braised chicken. For Emiliano, the hand-cut New York strip—cooked medium, served with roasted beech mushrooms. The next hour was spent playfully debating public affairs and political events. They entertained themselves with 80’s movie trivia while sharing a slice of Gjetost cheesecake. Finishing around eleven, the two of them stood outside the restaurant to watch acrobats perform a street show. After the performance, captivated onlookers clapped and cheered for an encore. Emiliano and Egypt talked for a while, exchanging a few laughs and flirting harmlessly before ending the date.
There was a pause while he took a moment to work up the nerve to tell her that he wanted to enjoy her company a little longer. “Come on, my loft is amazing.” Egypt should have said no. Every inch of her mind told her to go home. But her body told her something different. And it didn’t help that he was so damn sexy. Just then, something coiled in her abdomen. Deep. Tight. Tighter. She’d confront her moral sense in the morning.
Emiliano was right: his place was amazing. Built in the late 1800’s, the building was originally a firehouse before it was converted into to two separate loft spaces. A true bachelor pad with brick walls, exposed beams, concrete flooring, and floor to ceiling windows that Egypt immediately fell in love with. At night, the city shimmered with lights. She was taking in the skyline when the music started softly in the background:
Young is the night
It feels so right
Now that U’re mine
Let’s take our time. . .
Prince’s lyrics resonated through her body. She could see Emiliano’s reflection in the glass getting closer, filling the space that separated them with his presence. Bold and confident, just like the music. Just like the Artist. Egypt felt fingers on her shoulders that made her shiver. “Like the view?” he asked.
“It’s incredible, you can really see how big the ci—” She felt breath on her neck, followed by lips. Egypt tried to focus on the music, tried to focus on the skyline, but Emiliano whispered something against her skin—in Spanish. There was something so arousing about him speaking in his mother tongue; she was defenseless against it. Her head lolled to the left, he took advantage of the access. Kissing here, there. Nipping gently against the steady pulse in her neck. She wouldn’t last long at this rate.
Egypt turned around. Their faces met somewhere in the middle; their mouths parted in invitation. She cradled the back of his head and leaned closer until his lips were on hers. Emiliano’s hands rested on her waist, then clung to her. His tongue sought a way in, she didn’t deny him access. He tasted her, she tasted him. The delicate dance melted her insides.
The man knew how to kiss.
U can see through race car drivers
Let me show U what I’m made of
Tonight is the night 4 making slow love. . .
By the time the music changed, Emiliano and Egypt had made their way to the middle of the living room where they determinedly undressed each other, fingers touching newly uncovered dips and curves along the way. When they were completely naked, Emiliano fell back onto the sectional sofa. He bent his index finger, beckoning her to come closer.
He was already hard when Egypt took a seat on his lap. She shifted, moving forward, wrapping her arms tight around his neck, the welcoming heat from her pussy warming his shaft. Wasting no time, she gave in to strong urge within her and brought her mouth down, taking Emiliano’s sensuous lips, expressing her desire for him the moment her mouth met his. Every few seconds, she’d pull away, making him reach for her. He’d catch her bottom lip, and sigh into her mouth, letting her devour the soft sound. There was a lot of kissing, touching and caressing that seemed to last for ages all while the falsetto vocals of The Purple One came through the home audio speakers:
(Whisper) Whisper a question
With my body (body) I’ll scream a reply
Just ask me and I’ll try it. . .
Egypt took hold of him then. Dick in hand, she rubbed the wide mushroom head, the pad of her thumb slippery with the precum that pearled at the crown. A hiss pushed past Emiliano’s clenched teeth as her fingertips moved down the side, tracing the contours of him, feeling every vein. His tempting girth twitched and swelled against the contact. She palmed his balls, kneading the heavy sac in her hand. Her eyes were on his as she concentrated on his shaft, twisting and squeezing with both hands. Up. Down. Up. Down. Base to tip. The feel of her long, languid strokes sent ecstasy spiraling up his spine, making his head swim. Emiliano couldn’t help himself. He thrust against her touch for several long seconds; but he wanted more. Needed more. “Fuck me,” he said through hooded eyes.
Egypt pressed her knees against his sides, then rubbed her wetness against his shaft. The heavy sound of approval that came out of Emiliano was music to her ears. Gripping his shoulders, Egypt raised up on her knees. She lowered herself, shuddering and sighing at that first feel of him, watching his handsome face change when she sat down.
Throwing his head back, Emiliano let out a sensual groan when she started to move. He put his hands on her waist, urging her. Egypt took all he offered, rising, falling on his prominent erection. He pushed up into her, the deeper penetration made her gasp when he hit all the right places. She felt so damn good around him. He lifted her breasts, sucking hard at one nipple, giving the same attention to the other one. She continued to ride the length of him: Full strokes. Tight circles. Leaning back slightly to change the pressure. Bouncing slowly, then a little faster. Over and over. Each lift and drop a bit more insistent than the last. They moaned repeatedly, both moving fluidly with the rhythm of the music. Both so very close to a climax that hovered just out of reach.
Anything you ever dreamed of
I’m willing to be
Tonight is gonna be scandalous
‘Cause tonight I’m gonna be your fantasy. . .
It was still dark when Egypt woke up. She didn’t know what time it was, just that she had to go. Emiliano’s arm was draped over her. Carefully, she tried to disengage from him, but he felt her move. “Where are you going?” he asked without opening his eyes. Once again, the sandpaper scratched at her, deeper this time. Rough and raw.
“I wanted to leave before you woke up.” She almost whispered it. Stretching an arm toward Egypt, Emiliano pulled her back under the covers. She made the most beautiful sleepy sound, situating herself closer to him until his chest was against her back. He was warm. So very warm, and she could feel how hard he was. Emiliano’s hand crept between her shapely brown thighs, his fingers caressing then spreading her lips. She reacted to the contact with sexy noises. He whispered a string of Spanish words into her ear and massaged her clit, making it swell. Egypt closed her eyes and panted a little, then a lot. When he rolled the sensitive knot between his fingers, she writhed against him. Her pussy ached for more; and he was only happy to oblige.
His thick digits found her wet entrance. One, then another. Twisting, exploring, prying with just the right amount of pressure. Sliding effortlessly, moving deeper. Thieves in the temple—her temple.
[ Love, come quick ]
Egypt fought for breath as her hips canted towards a hand that slowed, then moved faster. His wrist forceful, moving her. Playing her like an instrument. Fuck, he was good at that. Emiliano withdrew and pulled her leg over his thigh. He pushed past her inner lips, easing her open slowly, forcing her to feel every inch of him. “So fuckin’ good,” he moaned it softly, but then his breathing changed into something long, ragged and heavy. His teeth found her shoulder. His body found a delicious pace.
The musical icon continued to stimulate the air in the loft with his evocative lyrics:
Candle light – no (no), I don’t think so!
The crackle of the flame will just spoil my flow
Besides, I can be your fire baby, yeah
Drippin’ all over U like a ball of wax, relax and let go!
Emiliano savored the gentle motion of him sliding in and out of her. He liked that she was so wet, liked that she was so tight around him. While he struggled to maintain control, the tension in his body wanted release. Soon. But this wasn’t meant to be frantic. It was meant to be unhurried. Purposeful. Impassioned, like the music that played out around them.
Emiliano made every nerve ending in Egypt’s body come alive all at once. Instinctively, her pussy tensed around him, reluctant to let go. Wanting to feel more, he went deeper. Balls deep, finding an angle that hit her spot exquisitely. Her eyes rolled to a close. Thought and understanding became a blur of remarkable sensations. Gasping her pleasure, she pressed her face into the pillow, loving every push, every pull. Within moments, the gratification that had been building broke through, and those steady movements paid off. He thrust again, and again. And again. One final time and Emiliano felt himself quiver. He let go: shuddering, grunting, holding her hip like a vice.
His release prompted hers. Her inner walls squeezed his hardness as her own orgasm splintered with a vengeance. Egypt grabbed a fistful of the bed sheet and came apart. Intensely. Screaming. Her body shaking against Emiliano’s big platform bed. Swear words and sharp cries merged and died out with the lyrics of ‘Do me Baby.’ When their bodies were sated, Emiliano’s muscular arm went around her. Spooning her from the back, he said good morning, planting kisses in the sweaty hollow of her neck. They lay that way—liberated—in round notes and high melodies—until they drifted off to sleep.
Give it to me till I just can’t take no more
Come on, do me baby, like you never done before
I want you now, I just can’t wait no more. . .
Emiliano and Egypt saw each other a few more times after that night. Eventually, busy work schedules got in the way. Dates were postponed or cancelled, calls and texts became less frequent. Needless to say, they lost touch with each other entirely.
[And all good things, they say, never last]
the everlasting now
rail station platform: four years later
It was Saturday, the day after the summer equinox. Egypt knew when spring was over, she could smell the change in the air. The morning was sunny and warm without being stuffy. There was a thin crowd of commuters on the platform, all waiting to board the train. Some heading to work, some to the farmers’ market. Others were off to the park to stretch out on large blankets; press their feet in the grass; play in the sunshine. Today, she decided to take the Metro to her taiko lesson. She stood off to the side to busy herself with her cell phone until she heard the breaks of the Metro Blue Line screech against the rails. The approaching train came to a slow stop. Its doors slid open, people poured out just as others were pushing their way in.
Waiting patiently to get on, Egypt took her glasses off, cleaning them on the hem of her shirt. A male voice called out. “Paisley Park.” Her heart jumped. The sound registered immediately, its deep, gritty timbre she’d recognize anywhere. Thankfully the universe had been kind: she didn’t look like a total hot mess, and she wasn’t carrying a bag of feminine hygiene products. She put her glasses back on and looked up, staring at a face she hadn’t seen in four years. He looked a little different. The light stubble on his face now filled in with a short boxed beard, other than that he was still as handsome as ever. Devastatingly so.
Emiliano licked his lips, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His eyes moved over her. The sexy black woman standing just inches from him had hardly changed. Thick lips that came to her naturally. Side-swept bangs framed her face, almost covering her doe-like, sensual eyes. There was a small diamond stud in her nose that wasn’t there before. And underneath her clothes was a curvy bronze body that took him back—four years ago—to that night in his loft. The images made him feel hot. All over.
Egypt adjusted the bag on her shoulder. Damn, he’s lovely when he licks his lips. Wicked, but lovely. It all came back to her, sweeping through her mind so vividly: The loft. The music. The way he felt inside her. The Spanish against her skin—that made her smile. Suddenly, the most delightful tremor lurched through her.
She tucked a few strands of hair behind her left ear. “Alexander Nevermind.”
slow love by prince : sign o’ the times
scandalous by prince : batman
shhh by prince : the gold experience