"Makeda was queen, beautiful and powerful

Solomon dreamed of her black skin

I sing to revive the memories

To dig up the knowledge

That the spiral of time erases"

Les Nubians – "Makeda"

Celeste spritzed perfume all over her body after drying off from her bath. She slipped into some sexy red satin panties and matching bra and checked to make sure her toenail polish hadn't chipped. The first night of her new enterprise had to go off perfectly. She'd studied enough Reddit posts and Discord chats to know that posting online kink and fetish content depended on keying into details that would entice people to sign up for her private page.

She had pretty feet and wanted to capitalize on it.

Dividing her locs into two giant loose ponytails, she glued a black Mardi Gras mask to her face, using eyelash glue. She didn't plan on filming her face at all, but wanted to protect her identity in case her camera shifted angles by accident.

Placing a long black dildo on the hardwood floor of her living room, Celeste greased it down with lube until it was slick and shiny. The suction on the bottom of the testicles braced it in place. She positioned herself on soft pillows to cushion her back and butt, and rested her feet against the sides of the dildo. Her laptop set up next to her arm allowed her to view her image from the camera while using a wireless camera remote to alter the angle of the lens.

"Okay, take one," she uttered.

Stroking the dildo with her toes, she pretended to moan in pleasure.

"Hey Daddy…your dick is so big. My pretty little feet can barely cover all this…"

From the laptop, her feet look lovely with the scarlet polish accentuating the warm red undertones of her rich brown hue. Up and down, she dragged her feet and displayed her toes by wiggling them. It all seemed rather clinical with the motions until she imagined the dildo being Terry's dick. The coloring was darker than what he was, but her dirty talk kicked into high gear by pretending her feet touched that man's body.

She didn't even have to talk. Her moans came out naturally. Biting her lower lip, she traced her big toe along the top of the fake dick and thought of Terry's pre-cum dripping out from his slit. A big man like him had to have the goods down below. It would've been cruel of God to bless a man with face and body, then deny him big wood.

Sweat trickled down Celeste's forehead and accumulated on her chest, too. Her under-sized push-up bra struggled to hold her breasts up and keep them separated. The camera only recorded her lower half. She pulled the crotch of her panties aside, allowing her hairless vulva to be recorded. She suffered for four days after getting waxed. Her research gathering provided her with data that showed her a lot of male viewers liked smooth coochie. After all the swelling and irritation went down, she had to admit she liked the look, too. Whatever got her paid the most was the plan.

The elastic on the panties pulled one side of her labia open and she gasped at how she glistened on-screen. Lord! To have that man's big juicy lips on her pussy with those green eyes staring at her! She rubbed her feet on the dildo and rubbed her fingers across her clit and came so hard that her legs shot up in the air.

Celeste pressed the handheld to stop the camera from recording. Her panting flooded her ears with desperate arousal. She hadn't been with Freddie for months, and masturbation hadn't occurred for a few weeks.

Sitting up, she fixed her panties and played back her recording. With the ring lights making her skin color pop, the images looked professional. She opted not to add soft background music because her gradual arousal and orgasm gave the only necessary soundtrack.

Shit…her pussy looked good! Plus, she finally had the chance to see her own body go through a release. It actually excited her to watch herself orgasm. Her toes looked like lush red berries, perfect for sucking on. Celeste took a screenshot of her feet and uploaded it to her home page. She didn't need to edit the fifteen minute clip, so she uploaded it for her first content creation. She named herself the Bayou Belle, with an avatar close-up of her carnival mask. Her gold nose ring gave her half-hidden face a glamorous allure.

Taking a deep breath, she published the foot fetish cross-tagged pulsing pussy video. She jumped up and fixed herself a glass of coke with ice in her kitchen. Glancing at her refrigerator, she looked at the four pictures of fancy historic plantation-styled homes she kept there. She wanted to purchase one in the future and retire as a Creole southern belle, giving sweet tea and gumbo parties, reclaiming what her people slaved over. Picturesque weeping willows and plenty of cultivated acres heightened her fantasies of a sedentary, rich life out on a decent plot of land. She jumped in the shower to wash off the sweat and wasted wetness between her legs. Wrapping a fluffy peach bathrobe around herself, she returned to her living room where she heard several chirps of her webpage notifications.

"Oh, hell yeah!"

She'd racked up thirty paid views already. At five dollars a pop, she already made one hundred and seventy-five dollars. She wondered if she charged too much with her current price point. It wouldn't hurt to wait a week to see how much she could make by then.

Her stomach grumbled, not satisfied with the ramen noodles she micro waved earlier. Sighing, she dragged herself back into the kitchen to look inside her near-empty fridge again. Her smartphone alerted her to a call, and she slammed the fridge door shut and ambled over to her coffee table.

Terry's number vibrated in her hand with a jangly bell ringtone. She gulped down air and answered after the eighth ring.

"Terry?"

"Hey, Celeste. Is this a bad time to call?"

"No."

"I know it's short notice, but I was going to get some food…I wondered if you'd like to join me? I know I said Monday night, but I'd really like to see you again much sooner."

"Where are you going to eat?"

"Durand's."

"Durand's? That's pretty fancy."

She glanced at the wall clock hanging near her front door. Durand's stayed open until nine-thirty at night and it was already seven. The place would have a packed crowd. It was one of the newest popular restaurants to open up in the Quarter.

"I can pick you up or we can meet there if that's more comfortable for you."

Parking would be a nightmare if she drove. And she wasn't ready for him to know where she lived.

"I can meet you there," she said.

"Great. I have reservations for seven-thirty. Just ask for my last name, Richmond."

"Cool, see you soon."

She hung up and squealed. Then darted into her bedroom, looking for a dress to knock his eyes out. She flung a few choices onto her bed. Durand's dress code was upwardly mobile, business casual. She'd eaten in one of the large open dining rooms for a birthday party earlier that year and the patrons gussied up more than that. Going for a short black cocktail dress with a belted A-line became the outfit of choice for the evening. It suggested casual dining, but sultry enough to signal something more if needed. She shimmied out of her robe and threw on a black lace thong and matching bralette. Rubbing a light unscented skin lotion all over, she pulled on the dress and slipped into some short black heels. After summoning her Lyft, she took a moment to coat her fleshy, Cupid-bow lips with a berry-colored gloss in the bathroom mirror and traced her pinky finger under her lip-line to wipe away the excess.

She lined her eyes next with the blackest charcoal eyeliner shade she had creating winged lines giving herself cat eyes. With a little gold eye shadow and light powdering, her skin looked fabulous. Her Lyft would arrive in seven more minutes. Puckering her lips, she checked the entire presentation. Divine. The final touch was fluffing her locs out and spraying them with a lemon hair tea. She adorned the top of her hair with little gold loc cuffs and stuck four gold-hoop accessories on each front loc for a little razzle dazzle.

She grabbed her purse and locked her front door just as a dark green Acura pulled up with her driver. From the backseat, she texted Terry that she was on her way, and he responded quickly that he was waiting for her. The thrill of seeing him again bubbled out of her while she played with her hair.

Durand's had a line out the door when she hopped out of her Lyft. She waltzed up to the reservation podium and gave Terry's name to the hostess. A flirty server complimented her hair and dress and led her past the main dining room and up a flight of stairs. They walked past several packed tables to a private dining area separated by a mauve curtain. The server lifted the curtain back and Celeste stepped inside. Terry stood to greet her.

She was wise to wear the dress that she did because Terry looked scrumptious. His muscle-fit onyx dress-shirt had rolled sleeves, revealing a deep burgundy inner-lining. He sported stylish black dress slacks with pressed creases. The dress shoes that rounded out his ensemble were expensive, and so was the gold watch on his right wrist.

"You look amazing," he said.

He kissed her cheek, surprising her with how natural it felt for him to do that. His lips were warm on her skin and their fullness made her giddy. Their table set-up was booth seating, and he stepped aside to let her scoot in at a candle-lit table set for two.

"Would you like this closed?" the server asked.

"What would you prefer, Celeste?" he asked.

From their view, she could see parts of the downstairs and a little of the outside street action. She knew New Orleans backward and forward. She was there to be with him. Fuck the view.

"Closed," she said.

The server closed them into their private dining room and Celeste couldn't take her eyes off of Terry. Their booth had curved seating, so she sat right next to him with shoulders brushing against each other. Being side by side prevented any type of barrier.

"I hope I didn't throw you off asking to be with you so soon," he said.

"Actually, I'm really glad you called me. I was tempted to ask you to go out tonight myself. But you left Miss Irma's room before I had a chance to catch you."

"I see we're on the same wavelength…wanting to see each other before tomorrow."

Up close, his lashes looked even thicker and his emerald eyes pulled her into the aura of power he exuded.

"You know, coming back to New Orleans made me forget how crazy it can get during this season," he said.

"You've been here before?"

"When I was younger. My family made annual trips here for business. It's why I brought Mémé here. She loved the city as a young girl and I want her to spend her final years in her favorite parish."

"Why don't you live here with her?"

Celeste fingered the stem of her water glass and traced condensation lines on the side. Terry handed her the extensive dinner menu, and she opened it, keeping her gaze on his face.

"New Orleans isn't my favorite place. Unlike Mémé, my experiences here weren't always fun. Trouble had a way of finding me."

"What kind of trouble? Should I be worried about being seen with you?"

She tried to sound jokey, but his demeanor stayed serious.

"That was a long time ago. Being young…buckwild. I used to have some run-ins with a few dudes who didn't like me being around these parts. Last time I was here…I was told if I ever showed my face again, I would regret it. Things are different since I've been away doing other stuff. Joining the marines was a way to keep myself in line and away from the wrong crowd of people. Now that I'm out, I have to figure out my next move. Caring for Mémé comes first, though. I chose your facility because it had a great reputation and she's thriving there. Better than the last place I had to place her in."

"Miss Irma is very special. Everyone at work adores her."

"I'm glad that she has someone like you tending to her. She told me about you, how much she enjoys your company."

"When was this?"

"Right after I transferred her last year. She said you're everything she loves about New Orleans. Your accent. Your southern hospitality."

"That's so sweet. She perked right up today during your visit. I felt bad for a minute because she seemed a bit down after breakfast. She's normally in good spirits."

"She told me you hum and sing while tidying up her room and it makes her happy. I once heard you singing while you were working the last time I visited."

"I don't remember seeing you around."

"I had some time off and drove down to see her for a couple of days and I heard your voice outside in the garden. You sang a gospel song about changing yourself."

Celeste grinned.

"Oh, I was probably singing Tamela Mann's 'Change Me'. The older people like the church songs. It calms them and I like the message of hope it brings me on my bad days."

"I loved the heartfelt way you sang it. Your tone was so soothing. It reminded me of my wife…late wife."

Celeste gawked at him. He closed his eyes, as if he didn't mean to share that. She glanced at his bare ring finger, thinking she'd missed something.

"You're a widow. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. We were young when we got married. She died of cancer before I went into the service. It's the reason I enlisted. To get away from the loss."

"You have any children?"

His gaze drifted toward the candle on the table.

"No children. But we had a good life while it lasted. She passed away peacefully. I was by her side."

Celeste shifted uncomfortably in her seat. He returned his focus back on her.

"How have you been doing since then?" she asked

"I'm good. Made peace with it. That was a lifetime ago and now I'm comfortable in the world again. Traveling more. Please don't look so sad. I promise you, Celeste, it doesn't hurt me to talk about it."

"I'm glad for you."

"The parasol you made for Mémé's birthday at Christmas was a nice gesture," he said, changing the subject. "I got to see it today. You're really skilled. Just like you are at dancing and singing."

"I do okay."

"Don't be modest. You stood out to me at the bar. The moment you walked in, I thought, 'There goes a queen gracing us with her presence'."

Celeste grinned and stared at her hands. His penetrating gaze would make her combust at the table if she kept looking at him directly. With candlelight, his eyes appeared to glow, and she wanted to have some decorum during a meal with him.

"You made my entire night, Celeste. I couldn't stop thinking about you and I'm glad that fate saw fit to have us run into each other two more times. It's been a long time since I've gone out with anyone like this. Never found anyone who piqued my curiosity until you showed up. It took a lot of nerve for me to even pick up my phone and call. Didn't want to come off desperate, y'know? Should we check out the menu and decide what to eat?"

"Sure."

"Would you like to order a drink first?"

"Some wine would be nice."

"Red or white?"

"Red."

He summoned their server and ordered their best Bordeaux and a plate of gougères. Celeste's mouth watered thinking of eating hot, fresh cheese puffs with the wine. Bread would help settle her nerves at being with him. She leaned over slightly, pretending to turn the page on the menu just so she could sniff his cologne. He smelled like cloves and myrrh. Smoky and earthy. A mature scent, nothing like the overbearing fragrances Freddie or her male cousins doused themselves in to impress women.

Terry went through the three-page dinner menu and sighed.

"I think I'll try their seared scallops with balsamic bacon jam and a smoked tomato salad," he said.

"That sounds good. I'll have that too."

Once their server brought their wine bottle and cheese puffs, Terry ordered their dinner meal and Celeste didn't stay shy about snacking down on the bread. Terry poured their wine and handed her a full glass.

"Here's to us getting to know each other," he said.

She clinked her glass with his and drank heartily. He sipped and eyed her.

"You have to try this. It's only good if you eat it right away," she encouraged, holding up a cheese puff.

She broke it apart, and he wrapped his lips around her fingers and seized the bread with his tongue. Celeste kept her fingers up in front of his mouth, too stunned to pull them back as he chewed and swallowed her offering. He licked his tongue across his lips to catch any crumbs he missed.

"They are delicious. Light and fluffy," he said.

Celeste ate the other half and watched him pick up another puff from its silver platter. He pulled it apart gently and held it out for her. She opened her mouth and placed it over the bread, her lips grazing his fingers.

"I'll get too stuffed eating these," she said with a fluttery voice, looking away quickly in case he noticed how flustered she became.

She gulped down more wine and the alcohol finally warmed up her blood. Her attraction to him came on strong like an addiction and the compulsion to break apart more bread to hold up to his lips forced her to shove her hands in her lap to contain her obvious desire.

"Am I making you nervous?" he asked.

She exhaled and put her hands on the table.

"Yes."

"Why?"

She took another long drink from her glass of wine until it was empty. She thrummed the fingers of her right hand on the table. He placed his palm over it, stopping the motion.

"Tell me why I make you nervous. I don't want you to feel that way around me."

The bass in his voice aroused her, and she didn't see how she would get through a meal if she couldn't listen to him, or even look at him and without feeling dizzy. She wanted to be clearheaded and poised, a true Creole belle. But she couldn't help what she was feeling either.

"It's been a long time since I've been out with someone who treated me to a nice dinner. I work a lot…and I recently broke up with someone and it's been tough."

"Sorry to hear that. Was it a long-term relationship?"

"Not as long as I wanted at first. Then it dragged for a bit. I was ready to go, but he dropped me…and told everybody before I was ready. When I tell you I was ready to kick his ass up and down Rampart…"

Terry laughed, and the sound of his deep voice made all the nervousness dissipate. His eyes became tight with the wide smile he gave her, and his teeth looked extra white, the two canine teeth in the front drawing her attention to how perfect his lips were. She spilled all her tea to him and by the time their main course arrived, they were canoodling like two long-time friends breaking bread.

They ate, talked about her family and the tribe, drank more wine, gossiped about pop culture trends, discussed Miss Irma's travel photography career, and ninety minutes later, they shared a dessert of chocolate bread pudding. She noticed he didn't eat the oysters Rockefeller, or the scallops. His salad remained untouched. Meanwhile, every damn morsel of food on her plates went down her gullet.

"You didn't like the food?" she asked.

He glanced at his untouched meal.

"I'll take it back to the B&B and heat it up later. I've enjoyed talking to you and that filled me up just right."

He lifted the dessert spoon and offered her the bread pudding. She ate from it and held up a hand.

"I can't stuff anything else down."

Their server packed up Terry's meal in a to-go bag.

"Do you need to head back home right away? I thought we could walk down the riverfront together. Enjoy the evening air?" he said.

She wiped her mouth with a black linen napkin and nodded her head.

"Let me go use the restroom and then we can go," she said.

She scooted out of the booth and looked for the public restroom on their floor. There wasn't one, and she had to go back downstairs.

"I'll meet you out front," she said, reaching for her purse as he paid cash for their meal. He had a folded stack of hundred-dollar bills, and Celeste looked away. She didn't want him to think she was counting his pockets.

She relieved herself, washed her hands, and refreshed her make-up. Tossing a breath mint into her mouth, she pulled out her smartphone to leave a text for her girlfriends.

"Guess who I'm out to dinner with at Durand's?" she typed.

Outside the restroom, she spotted Terry waiting for her by the entrance. He stared outside the restaurant window. She turned around and held her phone up high to snap a picture of herself with Terry in the background. She tapped send and the urge to smoke came at her hard, but she didn't want smoker's breath. Taking a long look at him gave her the tingles all over. How was she blessed to snag a man like that so easily? Several exiting diners did double-takes to look at him.

She sauntered over and bumped her shoulder into Terry's, getting his attention. He held out his hand and Celeste threaded her fingers with his.

They headed toward the Riverfront Walk and looked at the Crescent City lights on the Connection Bridge that dazzled like Christmas across the Mississippi River. Celeste clung to his hand and listened to him talk about his career as a marine, and his new existence as a civilian. He'd invested money in a restaurant and spent more time working on himself spiritually. All he seemed to want was peace in his life. Unfortunately, his cousin's death created new strife. The cremated remains were kept in an urn back in his B&B because he wasn't ready to let Mike go until Miss Irma could say goodbye properly at a burial with him.

Terry's life sounded as lonely as hers at the moment. Sure, she had plenty of friends and family around, but the yearning for companionship gnawed at her. They talked and walked, walked and talked, meandering away from the river and into the heart of the city. Eventually, her eyes grew wide with surprise. They had ambled their way to her cottage.

Startled, she stopped in front of her home and placed both hands on her hips.

"What is it?" he asked.

Before she could catch herself, she blurted out, "This is my house."

He chuckled and pulled out his cell phone. Tapping his screen, he held it up in front of her.

"My B&B is only three blocks from here," he said.

"That's crazy," she said, recognizing the name of the bed-and-breakfast he described at dinner.

He smiled and separated himself away from her.

"It appears I have chaperoned you back to your humble abode. I bid you adieu, my lady," he said, bowing low.

"Stop it," she said, poking at his arm.

His gaze met hers before he completely raised up, and something about his eyes looked older than his thirty years. Ancient. The youthful structure of his facial features didn't match his eyes in the night. That bothered her. He drew up to his full height, and she climbed the first two steps of her porch. She was five foot eight in height, but wanted to be close to his eye level.

"I had a great time with you, Celeste. Thank you for going out with me."

The timbre of his voice in the dark with just a touch of moonlight above them made her insides swoon.

She didn't want the night to end.

"I don't think I've talked or laughed so much over a meal with anyone in my life," she said. "It felt good to share things walking with you…and learning about you, too"

"Your life is more exciting than mine."

"On Tuesday, I will bring you all the excitement you can handle for the rest of your life," she teased.

His eyes narrowed, and she watched his eyelashes nearly touch like dark butterfly wings. He parted his lips to speak, and she took that moment to kiss him firmly on the mouth, snatching the bit of courage she mustered up to know what his lips felt like sliding against hers. She sank into the delightful softness, relishing how pliant his lips became. He snaked a hand around her waist and pulled her against him. The heat from his body seeped through her dress. He hesitated to move his tongue until she opened her lips and sucked on it. Permission granted, he delved inside her mouth and left no corner unexplored. She moved her neck to mirror his angling as they each sought the best way to kiss even more passionately.

Shooting stars and exploding nebulas went off in her brain while tasting his mouth and lips. He let her lead the unhurried, yet feverish exchange of lip-smacking kisses, but she sensed a dominating forcefulness waiting in the wings to take over.

Decorum.

Celeste pulled her wanton mouth away from his and listened to the pants that circled between their lips. She rested her forehead against his.

"I should let you go," she huffed.

"If you must."

"I could…I could make us some tea…we could have a little tea party nightcap. I also have some chicory coffee."

Terry touched one of her hooped hair accessories and smooched her forehead. He sniffed the lemon hair tea she spritzed on her locs, and nudged his nose against the side of her neck, inhaling her unscented skin. He gently kissed her clavicle, and she clasped his hand.

They stared at one another, her eyes drinking in his visceral beauty. Her breath shuddered, looking deep into the unnatural reflective shine in his eyes. Like a cat being caught in car headlights, they glowed. He never blinked.

"Are you inviting me inside your home?" he said.

She nodded and he cradled her face, the warmth in his hand burrowing deep to the bone, weakening her. He kept his sonorous voice measured, the vibrations of his words cloyingly faraway and near at the same time.

"I need explicit consent to come inside your home…you…"

"You can come inside," she said.

His lips smothered her mouth. She caressed the back of his neck, dragging her nails gently across the nape. Terry lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist. His large hands went under her dress and palmed her ass cheeks, holding her up easily. She didn't remember putting a key into her door lock, but they kept kissing and tilting their heads left and right as he pushed it open.