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...
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