TLWM: The Hate Experience

\XLIV/ Sedation

     "Oooooh." Airrish found it funny, both Prince's filth and my flabbergasted reaction.

If I could click my heels and poof out of that club, I damn sure would've. That wasn't Prince giving it raw. That was like a cumshot to the eye.

Yes, it's "Prince". I knew who I was marrying but you're telling me in front of all these people, including my cousin, that you're going to slide your what into my what? Baby, those are telephone words you say to me when its 3 a.m. and we're hundreds of miles apart. I couldn't even muster up the courage to kiss him in public. What made him think I could handle all of this?

"One the one!" He saw it all in my face, restraining his smile. "Okay, goodnight." Prince dropped the mic, ouch for our ears, and walked off stage.

The party people weren't happy. But whether he finished his set or not, no one was ever happy to see Prince end a show. This ain't my fault.

Backstage, some of the band tugged a little at Prince to stay and hang. The place looked like Times Square on acid, literally with the billboards and everything accept the ads were not public-friendly. The club had a huge slide that started at V.I.P., a dancefloor flickering neon colors, and very decorated Club Kids walking around. A fever dream.

"Naah, I'm good," my fiancé said. He and I were wrapped up in each other's arms, eye to eye. I kept my word: one fat kiss for every performance.

"Mmmwauh!" But for my dramatic one, Prince stole a sensual three. The aftershock hit me in the knees.

His hand caressed the back of my neck, drawing my eyes heavy. "Letty's tired," he said to the few with us.

I was, but I knew it wasn't sleep that hotel bed would offer first. Prince slipped a "sorry" in my mouth and took my breath again with a fourth.

Yes, like I said—it wasn't sleep. Four a.m. was Prince's late afternoon. The only thing different about tonight was the fans outside shouting his name. They followed us back to the hotel and camped out. Prince kept the music low because he wanted to hear them. Or he wanted me to hear them because yes, their cries did eventually heighten the ecstasy. What kind of kinky is he putting on me?

While Prince dined between my legs, I closed my eyes and imagined the fan's perspective from the ground. Did they notice our light burning red through the drapes? Did they figure out what was causing the curtains to ripple a couple of minutes ago? Were they searching for the silhouette of our naked bodies through the fabric? I don't know, but they were patient.

From our pillows, Prince and I talked more than we sexed. By time the sun clocked in, I was half asleep, responding to him in moans. The last thing I remember is seeing Prince go to the window and stick his hand behind the curtain. He was acknowledging his fans and they screamed in gratitude.

Saturday/03.27.93

Prince and I slept from sunrise to noon. In those handful of hours, I dreamt of him. Is it obsession at this point?

Awake, I wanted lunch. Food was my second thought. Being the type of person who liked to prepare their own meals, I was leery about eating out again. I like to know what's in it and how much, especially now pregnant. But I woke up craving a steamy, saucy meatball sub. Picturing it, I told it to Prince in detail.

Prince fed me a bowl of fruit to hold me over. He said Dylan would pick up the sub for me because he knew the best spots in town.

For over an hour, I was snuggled in bed under the heavy duvet watching a movie, hoping the sandwich was worth the wait. Prince was in the living room meeting with some of the band.