IV-Some Flames Burn Slowly “Two months, two weeks, two days, too ****, long.” “Baby, I’m tryna’ get to you.” “Humph, I can’t tell.” “Come on now, baby, don’t be like that.” “ Be like what? Missing your ***? Waking up next to your ***? Laying here, butt naked, thinking about you, rubbing me down, and telling me, this is your ***? How am I being, huh? How am I suppose to be?” And the Academy for Best Female Actress in an Overly Dramatic Performance…..(Drum roll). Kala knew it wasn’t even two days since she had somebody’s boxer shorts at the edge of her bed posts, let alone two months. It was a part she thought she played well. However, none of her Jonathan, Jason, Darryl’s took her seriously. It was what it was, they wasn’t trippin’. They just pretended they were Mr. Possibility instead of a missed opportunity. Truth be told, it wasn’t only one man that actually had a little something, something to leave on her mind. It was because he wasn’t paying her no mind. Not enough anyway. Yeah, he would call. Mostly to say he was in town for a quick minute and wondering if she wanted to hook up for dinner or a club happy hour. Kala would drop everything on her schedule. She knew he could be the man that shut her shack down tight. He just didn’t push up on her like that. Out of the first few months of their sharing drinks and sharing moonlit kisses, it always ended in them sharing a cab ride. He would politely kiss her at her door, before leaving. No matter how long and strong those kisses were, no matter how hot, heated and throbbing she knew she left him, he left her right on the door mat. No matter how obvious her invitations were for him to come on in, Kala most often ended up with a bruised ego, a glass of merlot and a fresh pack of double A Energizers to get the jones off of her. Either that or a booty call to get the Mr. Jones up on her. Fantasy was always her back up plan, for when her dates couldn’t do for her what she needed to be done. Kala tried to get herself together, like it was something he had made her undo. She would take her leisurely scented salt and bubble bath, caress herself with the finest sweetest scents, and her lingerie was strictly Victoria’s Satin secret. She would gaze at herself in the full length mirror on her closet door, looking at her beautiful, flawless, dips and dimples in all the right places. Still she wondered, would there ever be a time she could show off her thong, bra and stilettos posture to the man she intended to give a private exhibit viewing. This was a nut that she couldn’t even reach to pick off the tree, let alone crack and that just made her want him even more. Sometimes, it made no since going out with other men. All she would think about is getting back and checking voicemail for messages that sometimes weren’t even there. It wasn’t until she had completely been truly disgusted when the florist would arrive bearing bouquets with cards reading how she was “thought about more than words could say”. It was that type of motivational technique that kept Kala, not straight, but at least on her toes. She was falling. As much as she tried to hold on to something, the rocks she grabbed on was too unstable and unleveled to hold her interest. Not that she didn’t want to completely let go, it was more or less that she couldn’t convince herself that she was falling and falling fast. She use to think he was married. No, there wasn’t a ring or a ring line, where a ring would be. No, there was not an indication of urgency when they were together. No, there was never a time when the cell phone rang and he excused himself briefly and came back to her perturb or making excuses for the even to end abruptly. Mostly it was the idea of them never being enclosed in the box, Kala was use to being. There was no inappropriate, mid-night calls to swing by. There was no requests for her to come on through the hissy and pick up some videos on the way-way. There was no plots to get in the door, on to the couch and then into the bed. You, see Kala could handle that. She could handle THAT not calling her for a week or two, until it was some other typical sexual scenario to attempt. This was something she, herself, the Mistress of Intrigue, the Queen of Exotica, the woman lingerie and high heels was designed to be lounge where- this was far surpassed her selfish sanctuary, the place where nothing matter, no other thing, than for her to be completely satisfied. This meant even if it was she who had to be pleased with herself. She always knew how to do her and mostly others. But this time she was being done. She was being done like a pot of homemade stew; from the beginning when it ain’t nothing but a little seasoning in the pot, you know whatever gets added in, only gonna make it better when it’s through. No, brotherman wasn’t married. He made that quite clear when after the six months of dining, dancing, giggling, kissing and eye locking, he asked Kala to join him for an intimate evening. Then, there they were, laying in each others arms. As comfortable as if everything leading up to this moment was practice. His soft kisses on the tips on her ears, put sighs in places her chest never knew air could breathe into. He held her hand as manly as needed to show her he was holding on, yet with a caress that interpreted, he was touching something considered precious; His strokes gently and soothing on her arms and back. Kala couldn’t explain why this felt different. Although, she wanted nothing better than to turn this moment into passionate erotica, there was a calmness which did not warrant immediate response. She content to juat lay there, for what seemed like was forever and one day. Everything about this seemed right, as to say everything she thought felt right was all wrong. From the crisp feel of the 320 thread count sheets, on the king size Mahogany wood poster bed, to the strong aroma from two large pillar jade colored, musk scented candles on each nightstand; From the way he tenderly undressed her and placed her inside the covers, to the way he undressed himself, leaving his boxers on, as to respect the virginity of this encounter. They laid there, perfectly in each others arms. He caressing and holding her closely. She trying to remember to breath, it felt so good. That was just the first of many nights laying in his king or her queen size bed. Always, positioned between vanilla stick or pillar musk scented candles. Always, soft kisses and caresses-no more, no less, none needed. There was no advancements made towards exploring the sexual content of each other. As far as Kala was concerned, from the first night until now, eight months later, she still considered her familiarity in his arms, truly was the only definition she had for making love. She had spent many night trying to discredit that conclusion, however, amongst, her strong and faithful down strokes, her self pleasuring formulation, and even her “three times a lady-lover”, who’s triple foreplay always got the game going-Amongst them all, what she knew she had with him, could not be compared to anything other than what love must be made of. Yea, the flame was always there, maybe it was burning slower than Kala was use to, but the slow burning flame was one she wanted to never burn out.