Sister Souljah - Life After Death

I got startled when I had almost reached the next door, which I was sure had to lead to some bedrooms that had to have walls and privacy, bathrooms and showers—and yes!—mirrors. A beautiful all-black green-eyed cat stepped out of one of the indentations in the walls. It looked at me like it was a person seeing another person.

I’m not a pet lover though. I never had any intention of picking up anything’s poop or of living with animals like we family. I’m from the projects. We see roaches we smash ’em. We hang sticky paper so all flies get stuck to it, their legs pulled off until they die. If we even think for one second there’s a mouse in the house we trap it, snap off its tail, and trash it when it’s finally dead. Let my project building maintenance man think there’s some rats. He gets the whole cleanup crew to spread out the pink poison in the dirt. Then they rope it off, put up the tape so kids don’t play in it, like a murder scene.

So I didn’t stoop to pet the pretty creature. But I did see its diamond collar and that made me pause and take a closer look. When I still didn’t pet it and instead walked off, it followed me. I wanted it to go away. Cat looked sneaky, like it knew stuff a cat shouldn’t know. Or like a detective that would watch me too closely and then report back to some higher-up cat authority that would come tryna do me something, a ferocious den of lions, where the Lion King held his throne.

When I finally reached the door, I forgot the cat, that was still there paused at my feet. The door was made of pure pearls. My eyes widened and my lips parted. I’m not the type that would ever buy a string of pearls, or get all excited if a nigga bought it for me either. But I felt enticed by the designer’s mind that thought to make a door made of pearls. I reached up to feel the surface, wanted to press my body up against it. But instead I passed through it, same as I had passed through the other incredibly precious doors. Soon as I did I was whisked away, fast-forwarding for what felt like only five seconds but moving at a speed that prevented me from seeing what was on the way. When I stopped whizzing, I no longer had any vision. I was angry about it. Felt cheated. I knew I was just about to find a mirror, a big one. People who cared about their look more than mostly they cared about anything had to have mirrors. People of wealth all worked hard at at least one thing, image . So, they have to check and recheck and be certain before they allow anybody to see even one small detail out of sync. This was the kind of sensational property that I’d rather lose my hearing in, if I had to choose and lose something, but definitely not my eyesight.

“Kush, what are you doing in here?” I heard a woman’s voice say. Who was she talking to? Then I heard the cat purr. She must have been stroking it. How did the cat arrive the same time as me? Was it whizzing through space like I was?

“Chee, there’s only one wildcat allowed in this bedroom and it’s not Kush,” I heard a man’s hypnotic voice say. He sounded real familiar.

“Kush knows she’s not allowed up here. This is the first time this has happened. One of our daughters may have left the door open by mistake,” the female’s voice said. She must be Chee. “I’ll let her out. But I think she has a crush on you. Look at how she stares into your eyes,” Chee said.

“Oh, now even the cat has a crush on me,” the male said smoothly without laughter.

“You know I know e very time a woman is attracted to you. I’ve always been right. Have I ever been wrong?” she asked playfully. The cat purred, the sound much higher and closer to my ear, so I knew she must be holding the cat in her arms. I heard her walk away. I wanted the male voice to say something so I could be sure. But with Chee, whoever that is, gone from the room, he wasn’t talking no more. I could only hear the rustle of his clothes, an expensive business dress shirt, I figured. Then I heard a slight clink. Cuff links, I imagined he removed his and laid them on his glass-top dresser drawer or night table. Next I heard one jingle, his belt buckle, I believed. Then I heard his zipper. Oh hell, yeah! Soon, I heard the sound of him removing his pants and then his boxers. He must’ve felt good being undressed. I could hear the rhythm of his breathing change and his breath escaping like being naked was more comfortable. I stood still listening to the sound of his breathing. Then I heard the sound of his feet on what sounded like a marble, uncarpeted floor. A shower switched on.

Yes! Let’s shower together, I thought to myself and felt even more excited. I heard the sound of a door closing. It was a glass shower! Of course it was. There would never be a cheap pole and shower curtain in a palace bathroom. And I could tell it was not the sound of the bathroom door shutting because the volume of the sound of the downpour of the water didn’t decrease much at all. I threw off my Jimmy Choo’s crystal heels like they were Payless. I wiggled out of my Chanel mini inch by inch. It was tapered so lovely, that is was like a second skin. There was no room to remove it, as though CoCo wanted a bitch rich enough to afford it and bad enough to afford it and bad enough to wear it right, to die with it on. When I was finally able to shed it, I tossed it who knows where. I’m not wearing a bra, panties, or a G-string. I like my titties free and my pussy raw.

Now I am naked and tip toeing into the bathroom guided by the sound of the water and the warmth of the stream of the steam. I figured hey, since I was able to pick up the heels and properly use my fingers, it meant that now I can even hold his balls in my hand, feel the ridges of his dick; the depth, the width, the texture. I started feeling around like Helen Keller, blind but determined to get to the shower glass door and inside, body to body. Ooh, I’m in. I can’t feel the warm water though. Am I really in? Did I open a linen closet and walk in there by mistake instead?

I’m getting pissed at my misses, and at my circumstances. I move around. Still can’t tell if I’m in the shower or not. Then I smell a new scent, like flowers or some gourmet fresh-baked dessert or an expensive perfume. Something extremely alluring. Then I hear the shower door close. Did he get out? No, that would be too quick, I thought. But maybe I had again lost track of time and how to count it. I was sure of one thing though. I could now hear two people breathing One of them was not me. I could hear lips locking and tongues sliding. I could hear wet sudsy skin rubbing against skin.

“Oh huh, oh huh, oh huh, oh huh.” Her breathing was accelerating. Soon she was moaning softly. Then suddenly she screamed pure pleasure like a celebration. He started talking some sexy shit to her. I could tell by his tone. But, he was speaking in some other language that I have either never heard or never noticed. She replied in the same other language. It was all soft sexy talk while the intensity of the downpour of the water was the soundtrack to it. I’m trying to control my anger. Wished I could find and snatch the shower head and turn the temperature of the water to freeze, spray that bitch and cause her to flee. “Speak English like you two motherfuckers were speaking it five minutes ago,” I screamed. My scream was not like her moan or her scream though. Hers was on some ecstasy level. You know what mine was.

Eventually the shower water went from heavy downpour to a trickle. The door-closing sound happened. They were out of the shower now. I could just feel it. But they were still in the bathroom area. I could feel that too. It was obviously a large space. Duh, what else would it be? I should have been calling it a spa. To name it a bathroom sounded like a cheap insult. I heard the rustle of a towel. Then, a top was being opened and a tube being squeezed. Or something like that.