Savannah Film Festival

The first week in November is my favorite time of the year. It’s the time of the annual Savannah Film Festival and my own personal time for indulgence. I just pack up a bag and head down to Savannah where I’m transported to a different place in time. If I’m lucky, I can catch the fall foliage colors, hit the museums, and listen to some great jazz while I’m there as well. Usually, I go as a spectator, taking in the film and surrounding myself with culture. This year was going to be particularly special for me. I was going to be debuting my first erotic short film. Upon leaving last year, I decided I could do the same thing some of those other people I had done and set out to tell my story on celluloid. I was nervous because there was no “genuine” Black erotic film out there and I was afraid of how it was going to be received. I didn’t want people to think it was porn and I didn’t want intellectuals overanalyzing what I was intending to do. I wanted to present to the world twenty minutes of cerebral dialogue, intense emotions, and exquisite lovemaking between Black people. 

I was disappointed because it was yet another milestone in my life where I didn’t have a partner with whom I could share my accomplishment. I couldn’t dwell on it; I had to expose myself to the world. I knew most people wouldn’t be able to appreciate it, so I just meditated on staying grounded. I spent the morning in Forsyth Park right across the street from my Bed and Breakfast. For me, staying in the Magnolia Inn was a far different experience than the other guests. For me, it was a reminder of the slaves that labored to build its opulence while they lived as less than humans. I thought of the black women that had been the possessions of white genteel masters that had to entertain late nights in the very chambers where tourist now casually laid their heads and long for the days of old. No, for me, Savannah was the vehicle to my history, a dark and painful past that came alive to me in the tortured whispers of my ancestors. 

The Lucas Theater was relatively packed. I held my breath and recited my brief introduction like I had rehearsed 52 times in my bathroom mirror. I was praying that people would not be able to tell that I had never directed a community play before, let alone an erotic film. I closed my eyes and let the entire thing play out in my head, I knew every second of that film by heart. By the time it was over I had finally exhaled. The kudos and the backslapping reigned down supreme. Everyone was congratulating me on a job well done and talking to me about features and a whole bunch of movie industry terms I had never heard of . . . but I played along like I had. 

I saw him lingering in the periphery, waiting to make his approach. He looked nervous almost, or hesitant might have been a better description. The crowd thinned out and he made his way to me. “I loved the fact that you gave him a sense of responsibility. He was selective with whom he slept, I appreciate that commentary. So many sexual representations of Black men make us out to be callous and indiscriminate with our partners. Thank you.” He turned and started to walk away without further introduction. 

“Wait . . . thanks . . . wait . . .” There was something about his demeanor that, while soft spoken, was genuine. “No one else got that. Everyone else thought it was just about the sex.” He turned to face me and I couldn’t tell which one of us was more unsettled. I didn’t want him to walk away but I was scared to appear too eager. He was beautiful, there was no denying it, but more than anything I wanted to ask him what he thought, how the movie made him feel. We stood in silence and stared at each other in awkward pause. “My name is Robert, I really loved your work.” We grinned and exchanged pleasantries through the awkwardness. 

“Do you have plans for dinner,” he asked, “If you like seafood, the Sapphire Grill is the best place in town. I’d love it if you joined me. We can celebrate the debut of Afroerotik.” It looked like it took every ounce of courage in him to ask me but I was the one that was nervous and flattered and speechless. I felt like a schoolgirl being asked out to prom. I accepted and he agreed to pick me up at 8.

Dinner was magical. The conversation was seamless; we laughed and talked well into the evening. We spoke of erotica and what it meant to us as Black people. He listened intently as I went off into my passionate discussion of my work and what I wanted it to accomplish. Wine loosened my inhibitions and I inched closer whenever I could, I made a point to rest my hand on his arm when he made a particularly interesting point. I let my leg linger on his under the table and made sure my eye contact let him know in no uncertain terms that I was attracted. I was feeling rather brazen, at least for me who spends the majority of my time in front of a monitor with little or no human interaction for weeks at a time. 

We stood at the steps of the Magnolia Place and talked some more. “So, I have to ask one more thing. Was your film about your own personal experience?” If anyone else had asked me that I would have been offended. That was personal information that no one had a right to know. The truth of the matter was that I was in everything that I wrote, every erotic story I created. I knew my feelings and motivations better than anyone, so I didn’t have to guess what a character would say, or how she would react. All of my erotica represented a side of me that didn’t have an outlet in real life. 

I looked him intently in his eyes and, without answering, took his hand in mine and turned to walk up the ivy-covered steps of the inn. There was no turning back and I didn’t even have time to formulate a plan. I was going off of pure adrenaline, and merlot. Andrew Jackson would probably be rolling in his grave if he knew the things that were going to happen between the two descendents of slaves in the room named after him. I didn’t want to speak; it would have broken the spell. I just wanted this to transpire like a movie in my mind—a sensual, erotic scenario of artistry and magic. 

I kept the lights off as we entered the room and dropped my bag by the door. I didn’t have to worry about what to do next as Robert turned me around and pulled me to him. I loved that masculine instinct that took over, that thing men do when they want to unleash that primal beast. It supercedes the reserved, conservative nature that some men have. It’s so sensual; it makes me feel wanted and desired. He pulled me into his arms and I reveled in the sensation. I could feel his hands caressing the small of my back. I didn’t want to speak because that would have broken the spell. If I started talking, my doubts and fears would have crept in. I didn’t want this to stop. I wanted to live life for once with no safety net. 

The heat was intense between us. I threw my head back and felt his lips on my neck. My fever was rising. I was unbuttoning his buttons as we moved backwards to the bed. His kisses tasted sweet, his tongue was soft and yielding. He gently laid me back on the bed and undid the ties of my wraparound dress. I felt sexy, revealing myself to him like that. My breasts were aching to be touched and caressed. My eyes had adjusted to the dim light that peaked through the heavily curtained windows and I watched as he undressed at the foot of the bed; his golden brown skin a delicious contrast to my slightly darker mocha. My hands caressed my secret places in anticipation. He lifted my hips and removed my wet panties. He held them to his face and inhaled deeply my scent. 

I slid back on the bed and he prepared his complete and relentless seduction. My neck was his first target and he kissed and sucked it, cradling in the gentle slope of my throat, licking his way to from my shoulder to my ear. I threw my head back and moaned; it was my signal to him that I loved every second of his attention. He found my hot spot and began gently sucking on it while his hands found my breast and began massaging them. My nipples were aching from arousal as he slid his mouth lower and began sucking and licking all over my breasts. My arousal was climbing to a fevered pitch as he was arousing me like he had a map to my body and knew exactly how to pleasure me. I watched in amazement as he kissed his way down my stomach and made my belly button into an erogenous zone. He made love to my tummy with his mouth; pampering me in a unique way no one else had ever thought to do. The teasing became more intense. Robert began kissing his way down the fronts of my legs, my hips, my inner thighs, every place except my incredibly aroused pussy. 

He positioned himself between my legs. I was grabbing the sheets and thrusting my hips forward trying to get his to lick me. He was blowing hot breath on my parted and aroused lips; the moistness of my inner flesh evident on my pink folds. His mouth made love to my sweet, sticky center. His tongue softly licked my clit and made me cry out with pleasure. His fingers entered me and drove me to the edge of orgasm. He was playing my body like a fine tuned instrument. Giving me pleasure became his sole objective. I was mumbling incoherently, “Yes . . . oh shit . . . yeah, lick my pussy . . . fuck . . . fuck me.” I was pulling my nipples and his hands were caressing every inch of skin he could reach. I placed my hands on his bald head and rested them there because he didn’t need instruction where to go. He held my long legs up in the air and broke his silence with a pointed question, “Do you want me? ” 

I needed him more than I needed air at that moment. I let my eyes respond, my eyes, my body and my heart. I was relinquishing control, giving myself to passion. I couldn’t stop; there was no turning back. I didn’t want to be reserved and alone. I wanted to feel like a woman and I wanted Robert to take me there. 

My moans were louder than they should have been. He was teasing me and he knew it. I needed to feel him inside me and he was torturing me with his slow seduction. His mouth lowered to my hard nipples and I cradled his face in my hands. I watched him in awe as his left hand touched my body like a paintbrush to a canvas. He stopped only to position himself at my core and drive himself inside me in one thrust. 

“Mmmmm, no, yes, wait, don’t stop.” My hands grabbed his ass and pulled him to me. We fell into a rhythm, a solitary unit of passionate expression. I was riding high and about to cum. I shut my eyes tight and felt it about to hit me. I pulled him to me and wanted to feel every ounce of his weight on me as I reached that place that I can only find in the passionate embrace of a beautiful black man. His body tensed and I could tell his orgasm was only a minute or two behind mine. My wetness coated him and added to the soundtrack of pleasure we were experiencing. 

He held me in his arms and I drifted off into a peaceful slumber. I already knew what my submission to next year’s festival was going to be.