El Amor Causa Muchas Sorpresas

Sexy Black

nycjen — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 07:08:43 +0000

It’s called Kizomba–both the music and the dance from Angola (like an African tango). My first mini-class was last week in Bushwick at my friend’s silly studio party where a beautiful man taught me; tonight I danced with him again and kizomba is my new favorite dance/music. This video is a little dramatic but there were some beautiful dancers at one of the only places in NYC that has kizomba dancers (time for me to visit Europe where they say it’s as popular as salsa). Absolutely sexy, my dance partner, he’s good at all types of dances from Haitian to salsa to bachata, “I’m sorry I don’t mean to be rude but shit are your nipples hard?!” I said “Sorry does it make you uncomfortable? They’re almost always like that but it’s this dancing too.” “No, I didn’t mean to look I just happened to glance down–um, you want to take a break?” “Okay,” I said but we didn’t stop. The music alone sets the pit of my stomach on fire and makes me ache deep inside. Salsa I feel in my chest, my heart–this is different. I’m going to barter with my new kizomba friend he wants to get better at salsa I’m going to have him teach me kizomba and try my hardest not to devour every inch of his chocolate body–try being the key word. I’m up tonight listening over and over to this music as it throws my soul into a frenzy. Tomorrow night, salsa. I love New York…

Free.

nycjen — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 03:21:26 +0000

I want to fuck freely. I want to play freely. I want to dance freely. I may be falling in love with a woman who wants to be my friend. I might have fallen in love with an old lover who can’t leave Chicago. One who, every time I recall him, my thighs part wide to accommodate–goddamn he got so much body.

I want to be out of here soon, to be captured in my own space. I want to live freely. I want to savor every morning I spend at the Freeman stop waiting on the 2 train to get to work. Watching the train come around the corner, sun on my face and the cold air piercing my nostrils, making it hard for me to breathe my eyes welling up from coldness–I want that feeling to last forever. This magic everyday. I want to eat pussy and squeeze a pair of thick thighs. I want my skin to burn underneath the sun, I want hands on my ass and a slick, wet tongue on my vulva. I want lips wrapped around my clitoris suckling and hands on my breasts. I want my feet massaged after a night of dancing. I want to scream out in pleasure. Tomorrow is Sunday, in the morning I’ll want to stroke my pussy and think of you, and you and you.

All the Nasty Things

nycjen — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 02:45:59 +0000

Says Smiling: That was good

I say smiling: Okay? while in the back of my mind I’m thinking of all the nasty things I’d do to you.

nothing sexier than a big man who can dance

Damn, why you gotta be so sexy?

Pauses, in between gets closer than he needs to be in order to make his point. He’s my favorite, too good for me to keep up with, laughs,

Stops. Hands slide lower down my back than they need to be so I get closer; permission now to slide even more but I suppose out of courtesy the finger tips glide only he top of my back pockets.

We part, ‘You’re Sexy,’ I whisper hands wrapped around up high enough up for my fingers to glide across his bald head.

It’s slick with perspiration, glistening beads on caramel skin, ‘I have to go home.’

‘Oh no! Awww, c’mon, you leavin?’ he’s joking but I’m serious…

…I have to leave, he doesn’t understand I have to leave before I get overwhelmed with lust enough to take him into the staircase.

No I’m going to wait. Wait until April when I can, in 5 different rooms, do all the nasty things

the nasty things I’d like your hands to do. He’s nimble, what a surprise…

Yes, si, oui, jes, přisvědčení, 주요 번역

nycjen — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 06:53:49 +0000

Lesbian Action on the Dance Floor

nycjen — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 06:04:26 +0000

It’s not the ideal way to end a date with a man; but then again someone who’s fat on the inside shouldn’t be dating a chef. The thing about NYC is that you never know who you’ll meet. My friend who lived in Colorado who I met in San Fransisco 3 times and across the country at various work functions–a woman who upon first meeting spent two hour in my lap playing with my hair in a hotel lobby filled with beautiful lesbian women of color. For most of that time my head was (by default because they had no where else to go) resting on her large, lactating breasts. Several women walked by to tell us how cute a couple we were. My hands were wrapped around her waist, soft, supple and gliding up and down her thighs sweetly–not sexually although I don’t know what she experienced. I had been sitting there for hours contemplating my home life. It was early summer of ’09 and I took a trip to D.C. for work. As it was a particularly hard time back home I considered for a while what might happen if I took her back up to her hotel room. I decided to go for it. And she hugged me and said goodnight at the door. I walked away a little confused and found out later she had a boyfriend and wanted me to be her first woman.

Well of course my friend just happened to visit NYC last week. Husband in tow. After only one other date in a six month period (a date which ended with me literally running down Damen avenue in Chicago away from the spot where we met because he revealed himself to be the biggest asshole in history) somehow I ended up in Bushwick with a chef I’ve had my eye on for months. It was an amazing night but somehow it ended up with me, my friend (and her new husband) and another random woman who grabbed me on the dance floor as I was walking out with my confused/aroused date. Sometimes trouble just has a way of finding people. Sometimes the girl-on-girl stuff that transpires on the dance floor is years of pent-up desire–sometimes it’s just a woman who’s gay trying to find a way to come out…even if her husband is nearby reluctantly watching both excited and scared.

It Was Written

nycjen — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 04:20:32 +0000

I’ve heard more than once about asking the universe (or god, or God or Goddess) for what you want. Of just stating or writing down your needs and doing what you can to make that happen, having faith and watching things unfold. Subconsciously I agreed although I would have never said it out loud. Mostly because it’s hard for me to always believe that when so many billions of people suffer because of injustice and oppression around the world. And I still find it hard to create understanding around asking and wishing for what you want and the many who everyday never hear an answer. Still, months before I left Chicago I wrote on a piece of paper what I wanted upon my return to New York City. There were four or five things and somehow, all of them are making their way slowly to me. One was to make at least 40K/year and that isn’t much because this city is the most expensive city in the country with some of the highest rents (not including the borough of the Bronx of course); my other requests were pretty simple. But there was one that I hesistated to put out into the world.

I wanted to find an apartment in Harlem that was under 1000/month. Right now, a 250 square ft. apartment in Harlem is $1095 (yes, there are apartments that small here). And a one bedroom is at least $1200. In order to be able to save enough to travel and help my parents I budgeted out no more than 900/month in living expenses.

But I thought “what the fuck” look at all the blessings I’ve had since I been here, a free, brand new laptop, part-time job just in time, then a full time job with great benefits, all of these amazing projects, salsa. I thought if all of this could happen in just a few months (when everyone told me to give it a year in this economy) why can’t I believe for an affordable apartment in my old hood?

Since I’ve arrived, everyday I spend at least 20 minutes perusing Craigslist for apartment ads. I stopped looking in the Manhattan section much because the prices were too high and I resigned myself to living in the (much more affordable) Bronx (and Brooklyn is being gentrified 3x’s faster than Harlem it seems!). I’ve had my entire apartment furnished online as well as my money budgeted out for the next four months (you need at least 4 months rent just to move in in NYC because of the broker’s fees!) One of my tias, the eldest, went to Atlanta for christmas.While she was there I called my mother and of course talked to her about her trip, asked her how she liked da A. Suddenly, for no reason at all she mentions my uncle D(I never mentioned to her that I planned on moving out February/March and the tia that I’m staying with now doesn’t care if I stay here forever–as long as I remember to wash my dishes).

Every family has an uncle D. We all suppose he’s gay–but nobody has any proof. He’s one of the few family members on my mothers’ side from my abuela who none of us are very close with. But I remember him coming by from time to time as a child and when I was a teenager I remember him always encouraging me to continue writing whenever I saw him. (That’s back when I was a real writer and a poet.) So my tia happened to mention that Uncle D. is retiring and moving to Panama and that he was looking for someone to take over his apartment because he didn’t want to give it up. My tia and I never talk about uncle D. I don’t even know how he came into the conversation or the apartment. I, of course, told her I was looking to move right around the time he was thinking of leaving and asked for his phone number. I left him a message and he finally called me back this past Monday. I was walking out of Eddie Torres dance studio about to dial him when a 917 call comes in and it was him! As I walked down the streets of Times Square excited, feeling scared about what he would say and amused all at the same time–still sweaty and amped from class, uncle D. told me about the 2-bedroom, pre-war with fire escapes, hardwood and french doors apartment in Harlem and how he wanted to rent it to me. Because he’s lived in the building for over 30 years, his rent is unbelieveable low–one of only 4 of those old apartments in the entire complex. Rent is $702.00.

THERE ISN’T ANYWHERE IN NYC for rent for that price unless it’s public housing or the rent-controlled apartment of someone who has been living in the same apartment since the late 70′s–and you had to have been on the lease at least 5 years! There’s not even a studio in the Bronx for that price. Somehow, the words I wrote half-skeptical but mostly curious, those words are manifesting and it’s freaking me the fuck out.

I finally went to the Jimmy Anton social–one of the best and biggest in the city. On the 2 train, back home an old, Black homeless man came on and announced the following:

I came on this train for one reason. (He sat on his amplifier and pulled an old guitar bass out of its torn cover.) I’m here to sing a song to the white woman standing right next to me. She got on some blue jeans and a black coat. That’s the only damn reason I’m here. Don’t say nothin’ to me–I’m here to sing a song to the white lady standing next to me…

He continued and had almost everyone in the car laughing. After he asked for money and collected he sat back on his amplifier and said:

Some people come out to rob, some people come out to steal, some people come out just because they’re bored. I come out now because I’m bored–I done did all the other shit. Man I done did all dat fucked up shit out here. This a step up from where I used to be, believe it. This a step up from where I used to be. Ya’ll have a nice week.

He walked off the train and I stopped sulking because I had a bad dance night. Instead I thought of all the pent up desire in my body and all of the energy around me creating the life I’ve always wanted for myself–embracing more love and staying open to the impossible; and I began to breathe deeply and think of strategies for patience. Even though I know exactly how I’m going to decorate the apartment (I visited my uncle on Friday and he talked to me about the building and expectations) I’m finding it hard to wait three more months–but damn it’ll be worth it.

My Love in All Your Beauty

nycjen — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 00:47:42 +0000

Who says that I can’t have you in my heart? My mind or my memories? Just because I’ve decided not to write about you anymore doesn’t mean I don’t think about you. Everyday.

My beautiful love…

once…

I wish you knew how much good I wish for you

Writing I: The Tenderness of Kindness (Sunday Morning)

nycjen — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 17:21:56 +0000

If one gives everything away harshly, without any grace or humility, if a drop of sweat was wiped from the brow of a shaken child–without kindness what does it mean? I watch every day faces go by me blurry aftertaste–on the 2 on the 6 on the 4 and 5. Once in awhile I’ll find someone wanting to exchange something significant–a child usually. And I wonder if the millions of people above forget about the millions below the city traveling borough to borough with headphones on and noses in books. I know I do as my shoes hit the pavement, creating patterns in a dancer’s mind the body can’t yet decipher.

“I’m just trying to get something to eat. I have no ID and I’m hungry and homeless. Please find it in your heart to help, anything makes a difference.”

The thousands of homeless in New York have taken the sting off tragedy–now it’s just an unfortunate occurance–not a downright injustice. When I have, I give; but mostly I close my eyes and imagine a world where certain things were not permissible. Mariachi musicians, skilled and romantic, sing songs between the announcement “This train will be running express to 180th. Running express to 180th street. The train behind me will be making local stops. The train behind me will be making all stops.” Fuck! Shhhh! Scowls. La gente bajando, la gente subiendo, mientras yo sigo enamorado con el olor y la memoria. I’m reminded of the song as sung by Irene Kral, “It’s a wonderful world, I’m just walking on air…”

But briefly, in flashes that don’t last more than 30 seconds I remember the millions walking above me; and when I’m underground I remember the millions below, and then the millions across the seas, and the billions that exist in the world and how we are all seeking similar things. I think about that number–the mind overwhelmed and just as easily as the mind slips into the expansiveness that is humanity I shrink back to New York City and then to myself. But that place is where I struggle to be and where I hope we all can struggle to be a little more. Because if we are, then maybe the tenderness of kindness can be shared more amongst us and our spirits taken care of a little more; mother earth taken care of a little more; peace proliferated a little more and suffering abated a little more.

Movie trailer featuring me and my favorite lil’ cousin

nycjen — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 04:06:25 +0000

Living with family, this is what my life has been reduced to…

A Period of Grace

nycjen — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 04:42:05 +0000

As the weeks fly by and the time I need to self-reflect and heal eludes me–that time, I find, is replaced with a period of thanks and unknowing. While in this new position I find myself finally dedicating a sense of ownership and responsibility over my work in a way I haven’t before. I guess knowing that my salary is paid for by the hard working retail, union workers of New York imbue me with a sense of urgency that funds provided by faceless foundations don’t. Apart from that, my other part-time gig has also put me in a frontline position and I feel responsible to all of the South Bronx for trusting me with certain tasks. How then, do I find a place to express abandon and desire? And where does the satisfaction for my skin hunger fit in?

This is supposedly the age of the Aquarius–as of November 11th. Aquarius traditionally “rules” electricity, computers, flight, democracy, freedom, humanitarianism, idealists, modernization, astrology, nervous disorders, rebels and rebellion. Other keywords and ideas believed associated with Aquarius are nonconformity, philanthropy, veracity, perseverance, humanity and irresolution.I don’t much care for the zodiac but there has been a groundswell of protest simultaneously in virtually every region of the world that calls for a justice as global as capital itself–and that shit makes me excited! Who knows? I have a very busy rest of the year ahead of me; but I have made the decision to be what I said I am. I am a writer. I’ve forgotten that. I will go back to my roots as a writer–no excuses. I am a dancer–and though it’s not a calling as innate as writing–I find with practice I get closer to where I’d like to be. Every single desire physiological, sexual and emotional that I’ve had and have yet to experience I intend to put into dance (somehow, haven’t quite figured out the details.) Besides, I feel that it is desire I experience most strongly when I dance most honestly. The thing about writing–once you stop it’s hard to start up again. So I’ll begin the way I always do–baby steps.

My first entry will be about the train rides in New York City–there are never-ending stories behind the eyes I see every day.