S L I C K is an erotica series for A+ members about titillation, torture, fucking and getting off.

I pull a tarot card as I prepare for my bike-camping trip with Ozara. The King of Cups. It says “Healing” and has a figure hovering with illuminated blue hands caressing a floating body. I take a bath with honey, coconut milk, rose petals and salts. The playlist is Alice Coltrane, Megan Thee Stallion, Anita Baker. The falsettos of Marvin Gaye and Prince steam up the room, while my titties break the surface of the hot water and bubbles.

Illustration by Raisa Yavneh

I knew Ozara when we were in our twenties, in the early aughts. Like we oughta had fucked then. But, I didn’t know how to utter, “I want you” to a woman yet. She was a player then: both with the WNBA and amongst the women. We met at a mutual friend’s house party. She came in tall, muscular and cornrowed. We slow-grinded to Floetry, in a tight room with a blue light bulb. I went home and rubbed myself thinking of her. But, now, we’re almost 40 and today we’re biking through the woods to camp for two nights. My pussy gets soft and melts a little every time I think about it.

Ozara was my first crush in awhile. We began flirting after I stepped into her bike shop, Wheels of Steel, a couple weeks ago. I wanted to support a Black queer business in my community and the Outkast reference tickled me. When I walked in, I saw Ozara, an old acquaintance, amidst the wheels and handle bars, tatted up and smiling in her beanie hat.

“Yooooo, Delilah!” she said hugging me tight and lingering a little. She smelled like a mixture of grease, sweet cologne and good weed. My mouth watered.

“Ozara?!” I exclaimed. She showed me around her sweet spot. “We cater to every kind of ass!” she laughed, and my mind traveled. “I had played ball in Amsterdam and rode my bike everywhere. Bikes run that city. And of course the weed,” she says giggling.

“You still read a lot of books? ” she asked, and I was delighted she remembered my nerdiness.

“Sure do,” I say, and then a little flirty, “I write them now, too. Poetry.”

“Niiiiice. Of course you do. I know they have to be brilliant, girl. Imma check that out.”

“What do you do to occupy your time, now that you’re back in the Mini apple?” I ask her, just a tad thirstily.

“Shit, besides hanging with fam, I ride bikes and run my shop,” she says looking at the technicolor stable of bikes. “After years of traveling for ball, I like things to be chill.”

She helped me pick out a periwinkle, Dutch-style bike that was perfect for me. And we exchanged numbers.

We began marathon phone conversations and texting each other non-stop. We talked about everything: compost, meteor showers, shrooming, feminist death rituals, ancestral astrology, traveling while Black and gay. Her voice and mind turned me on.

“You ever been on a bike camping trip?” she texted one night.

“No. But sounds interesting…” I said, as I waited for my face mask to dry. I was watching a problematic, yet highly enjoyable reality show about desperate heterosexuals. I turned it off.

“What do you think about camping with me? Two nights…” she texted.

I sent a poem by June Jordan that said something about reaching for someone in the dark.

“YASSSSSS!!!” I said and started fantasizing.

My ‘fro and dark skin are glistening and all my things are packed in my pannier bag. I’m sitting on my stoop waiting for Ozara, wearing an outfit that is both practical for biking and sexy. Ozara rides up with a trailer and a Bluetooth speaker bumping Minnie Ripperton. She looks good, like a charioteer, maneuvering her bike between muscular thighs. A tank top, showing off the shoulders of an athlete, abstract tattoos adorning her brown, muscular arms. She kisses my cheek, shy and tender.

“Ready, girl?” she asks, and my clit pulses into my bike seat as we ride off.

I watch her legs, flex and cycle, into the winding road of tree canopies with her glorious ass perched firmly on her saddle. We enjoyed avocado and tempeh bacon sandwiches, mangoes and rosé for lunch. We sang nineties R & B for some of the ride, and then settled into the symphony of chirping crickets, birds tweeting, and leaves rustling around us. We got to our campsite, sweaty and buzzing and set up our tent.

“Wanna get a dip in before dinner?” she asks, taking off layers and jumping wildly into the cool lake. Afterwards, we lay drying in the evening warmth, digesting the gourmet salmon and green beans Ozara made. She pulls out a thermos from her bag.

“Remember how you said you were curious about trying shrooms one day?” she asks. “I made you some shroom tea with ginger, tulsi, rose and honey.”

“Oooh… yummy.”

We start sipping the elixir, and eating honey-coconut-cacao fudge. We watch the fire. I lean onto her and she wraps her arm around me.

Talking, snuggling and smoking a joint, we begin to feel each other from within.

“I remember the first night, I met you and you were reading that book Zami at Danisha’s. I thought that was hot. Just in your own little world,” Ozara say. Smoke leaves her lips and dances into the stars and amethyst night.

“You just got drafted to the Lynx, and all the girls were on your tip. You had all of this Big Dick Energy and a pretty-ass smile. Then you asked me to dance…” I said, feeling everything get vivid and then soften. “Hmmm, I think I’m starting to feel it…”

“Yup, It’s like everything went whoooosh. When I close my eyes, I feel it more.” We lie down and snuggle in our sleeping bags. I’m cuddled up into her torso, smelling her sweat, lavender and lake water. A delicious earth, layered and cavernous beneath us.

“You think Audre Lorde ever ‘shroomed?” I ask the universe. I feel so grateful for my body, for my erotic, for her erotic. For my ass on this ground and my heart facing the sky. I feel Ozara’s and my bodies blending.

“You think you would have kissed me that night, if I would have asked you? I always wondered,” she says her eyes gazing at the sky and into me somehow at the same time.

“I would kiss you now,” I say and we start giggling. “I think I’ve made love to your ass in multiple lifetimes, Ozara. And fucked you good too.”

Closing my eyes, a pink haze and indigo softness and a golden hum to the rhythm of Ozara’s breathing and body heat.

“I can see that,” she says, her hands gliding over my skin.

“I distinctly remember you eating my pussy on the banks of the Nile river, ” I say and we both waterfall into each other’s bodies. I climb on top of her and straddle her hips while she grabs my ass.

“You tasted good too,” she says, the fire glistening on her nose ring as she guides her hands to my hard nipples, pushing out through my turquoise lace bra. She plays with my heavy titties, while I grind my clit into her pelvis.

“Damn, girl, you can move them hips. Can I taste you?” she says kinda high, kinda shy. I bite my lip and nod yes.

She lays me down in the tent, and pulls her shirt off. Everything smooth and rhythmic with our bodies. Her breasts feel nice between my lips and my tongue plays with her nipple as she moans. I feel lifetimes of desire engorge my pussy as I wrap my thighs around her. Ozara grinds her pelvis into me, throbbing with her rhythm. I pull off her boxers and lead her to mound to my mouth. She is so hard and I suck and lick her hotness, holding her by the ass firmly to enjoy every drop of her nectar until she exhales. “Damn, unh, unhhh…” she sighs and shudders, her climax filling our tent. She lies down next to me, soft and wet.

“My turn,” she says as she reaches for my drenched pussy, and I react with a grateful moan. Kissing my chest and shoulders, feathering my nipples with her tongue. Finally holding as much of my big breasts into her mouth as possible, sliding her first finger in my pussy and then two. Her mouth is patient and eager. I lift my hips to give her more access to every morsel of me. She massages my inside with her fingers, and I release with each rub, unfolding around her rhythms as she licks my clit and juices me onto her hands. I clutch her close so she can go deeper as I rock myself into her and then my orgasm radiates all around me.

We shiver into the glow we made. I think of the King Of Cups card I pulled and the healing wetness of Ozara. We snuggle inside, naked, and the sky is blooming in darkness and stars. The night breeze kisses our skin as we hold each other.

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