The Suicide Of Her- Raw Writing Part II

Standing against the wall, with my legs slightly bent and slowly inching towards the floor, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel the pain. “Come on Merse, you need to work out these thighs”, beginning to hit the stages of “too thick”, I didn’t want to risk losing my beautiful Black woman shape by slowly creeping into “Oh snap, that girl is too big for those jeans” stage. After about another minute of enduring my usual evening workout pain, I decided to finish up. Time to write.  Since my sex life has become a distant remembrance of both heaven and hell bundled up into the art form of one woman, I knew that I had to write in order to feel that same amount of passion. No person or thought can replace what has become the ultimate part of my existence, a major part of what I have become. I grabbed my notebook and headed towards my patio to clear my mind, to give myself an orgasm. Deciding whether or not to write a poem or to actually add to my novel, I sat back on my canopy and closed my eyes to see what I felt the most. The feeling of want, the need to experience myself or to jump out of my body and write in the form of another person, of other people stories is often the best way to get to know myself. Since I didn’t know where I was exactly, speaking in emotional terms, I decided to write a poem. It brings out a part of me that I may not be able to see.

“Where does one go when they seek to escape the paradise? Surely the brown grass turning into weeds can persuade the luckiest of them all that the dreary color equals the demise of their divine curiosity..”

I examined what that line meant. Like school, I studied each letter and each word. Why it formed into what I wanted to say. I think that is the most interesting part of writing. What one feels when they sit down and write down whatever it is on their mind at the present moment, and the ability to go back and relive exactly what they were feeling. It’s like a time machine. The thought brought me to last night’s activities, from the passionate sex that I had shared with Niomie in her doorway. Thought about how she and I ended up in this whirlwind of a relationship that we were in. It all started from an email that I received last month from a woman, the aspiring writer. I knew from her email that she was safe, looking for something a little darker to write about. I remember being there, it was safe and great knowing that I could step into a world no one would be able to see me tap into. One that I could leave at anytime, or so I thought.

“Let my fingers slide into the dusk of your sun rising, I will help you shine. Let me help you shine. And when your humanity grabs to whisk you away to the safe land, I will hold you like a dark cloud hugs the rain..”

I wonder if she was the one the universe sent to me, the one I was supposed to fly with. My student. My passenger in the seat of my plane, the rider on the back of my broom stick. Even through the email that she sent me at 10 pm, I felt her.

Sent: June 27th, 2011


Subject: Hi Mercedes

Hi Mercedes,

You don’t know me, but my name is Niomie Lacey. I got your information from my friend Claudia who works for Neu Times magazine, I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to introduce myself to you and say that I definitely love the work you have going on your blog. Very sensual. I am a writer as well. Well, I can’t really say I am a writer. But I would like to be. Nothing I have ever written has been shared or publicized but to a few friends here and there. I’m trying to come out of the closet, so to speak. My experiences with love and sex have been pretty blotchy. I’ve had some weird situations happen to me, and I think that it hinders my expression instead of helps it. I was told that you could help me. I read something that you wrote on your blog, and I am already inspired by you.

“Thinking and existing can be one in the same. If we think on things enough, it can transpire into your reality. Letting go of your inhibitions can be difficult when you have a world of traditionalists surrounding you and your thoughts. Think about touching yourself, and then place your hands down in your panties and feel what it does to you. When in that moment, no one else; nothing else matters. Think and exist.

That sentence said a lot to me. I felt you. I felt what you were saying because that is where I hit my barrier. I think about things constantly, but I can’t bring it into existence because I am afraid. Well, I guess I am afraid. Not sure why or of who. But being scared is the best way to describe it. In retrospect, every form of sex has frightened me. That is why I need you.

If you have time, can we meet for lunch? I’d love to pick your brain.



I was afraid for her. In fear because I knew where curiosity could lead someone, and just from reading her email I could tell that she was open to going places that would probably change her forever, especially if she went there with me. I responded to her email in a way that wouldn’t reveal too much information. Being the torturous soul that I am, I wanted her to come to me as her teacher; I beamed at the opportunity to turn someone out of themselves.

Received: June 28th, 2011


Subject: Don’t be afraid to leave the daylight.

Niomie Laced,

I thank you for reaching out to me. I feel honored that you would want me to help you free yourself; it would give me something to write about as well. I believe that in order to write about something passionately, you have to experience every aspect of it. Even what is hidden in darkness…the kind that would be going against society. I can lead you there if you’d like, but first…

Tell me about you….

My reminiscent moment was interrupted with the sound of our door alarm chiming. Jays home. I glanced over at my wall clock to take in the time, 6:17 p.m. My husband, my partner, my current obstacle. For 6 years I have been with someone who did absolutely nothing but nurture my inner child, the child looking for someone to bring even the smallest amount of normality to my life. It worked out great for me the first couple of years, he knew that I was deep down inside a wanderer; I could never sit back and be content with just one form of love, one form of happiness. I don’t think anyone could learn from that type of life or relationship, and he was okay with that because he loved me. Or he wanted to conquer me; it was either one or both. I put my notebook down and walked back into the house to greet him. His clothes already on the bed reminded me of what day it was, Thursday. This is the day he leaves work at noon and spends the rest of it sociosexually experimenting with his other woman, her name escaping me. I had known for months about his affairs, not just with her but with other women, but I wouldn’t dare to cause any type of contention. I had zero anger in my heart for what he did, not only do we not have much sexual activity with one another, but he was human and does what humans tend to do. Not sure if that made me the understanding wife, out of my mind, or completely apathetic. “Hey there, you’re home early.” I say when the shower water cuts off. “Not quite, had to come home and freshen up for a meeting. Might be out overnight, it’s up in Santa Barbara.” He dried off and puts the towel around his waist, Knowing that he wouldn’t get much of a response from me, he then plants a kiss on my cheek and walks out of the bathroom. Not much conversation exchanged from there, as he spent about 15 minutes grooming himself to head back out to wherever his heart wanted him to be, and placing me approximately where my mind wanted to be- back in solidarity. “Alright mama, I am going to head on out. Call you when I get there.” I gave him a one sided smile and watched him walk out of the door. Many would ask why I have not decided to divorce him, one of those many would be Niomie. The only answer that wouldn’t be riddled in complexity would be that it wasn’t the right time. I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted to give up my opportunity at security. Not yet.

Just as I always did when I was alone, I shifted my energy over to Niomie. She thinks she is under my spell, but little does she know that she has my mental held captive as well. She has power, because I catch myself in the middle of self pleasure just from the mere thought of her. I went from internalizing the point of my marriage to external using my lack of mental authority over my body. She had control. Control of my mind. Control of my hand. Control of my wetness. All of a sudden I found myself lying down on my bed, excited at the chance to have her at that moment. I felt her soft breaths awakening my nipples.  I was alone, but I hear her telling me how much I please her, that she needed me touching her, needed me between her legs. I was softly biting her bottom lip, sneaking both of my hands down the back of my favorite black yoga pants that she wears, she welcomes me with no hesitation. Our relationship was reckless, but that made it passionate, it made it intense. Enough that just like that I found myself cursing out my orgasm, fully clothed, I felt like I just had an out of body sexual experience. My eyes remained closed; I can’t wait for the opportunity for our next real experience..


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