Au where Erik Killmonger walks into my Ankh Apparel shop and picks up the “Naptural Royalty” sweatshirt that features traced and stolen artwork of a husband and wife embracing. The woman is naked and oiled up, her large Afro acting as an umbrella and shielding her husband, who is wearing an OJ was innocent tee (also available in the shop) from the rain. Erik brings it to the register and just from the looks of him, my loins are already burning for him.
“Will that be all?” I ask shakily.
“Yeah, how much is this?” He asks sexily.
The tag is hanging right off the front so he must can’t read but it’s okay. “$210.88” I nearly moan.
He doesn’t flinch at the price the way most unevolved cheap black folks do and it makes me want him more. He simply pulls out his Gucci wallet (because he’s complex like that) and pays for it in cash because he doesn’t trust banks unless they’re black owned.
As I take the cash our hands touch and I become weak. Our India Airie colored eyes meet and he grins.
“You smell nice, what are you wearing?”
He can’t see it but I am blushing. “I make my own body butter.” It’s a combination of other body butters that I buy from Walmart.
“That’s hot.”
“You run this place by yourself?”
I nod meekly.
“So you ain’t got no nigga takin care of you?”
I sigh wistfully even as a successful business owner I know my life won’t be complete until I find a good man and bear his seed. “I wish.”
He nods. “Aight, good luck with that.”
There’s a quiet moment and I try to revive the conversation. “I’ve seen you around before.”
“Forreal? I be doing different shit so you probably have.” He won’t meet my eyes anymore, as hard as I try moving my head around he keeps looking at everything but me.
“Yeah. I always thought you was cute but I heard you’re wild.”
He shrugs. “Depends on who you ask.”
“My guess is some girls can’t handle it.”
“Your guess is right.”
I finish sifting through his change. “You gave me 10 cents over.”
He steals a lollipop off the counter that is definitely more than 10 cents. “Keep it ma,” he says backing out the store,”Pay me back next time I see you.”
My guts turn in anticipation of the beating that seems to be on it’s way.
Magician Shokyokusai Tenkatsu and her Flower Heaven Troupe
wearing a strap-on hooked into a 300,000 volt Tesla Coil to shower bolts of artificial lightning on the girls below holding conductor rods, part of the Japanese artistic movement called Eroguronansensu (literally “erotic-grotesque-nonsense”)
alder-knight 