Page 54 of Ms. V's Hot Girl Summer

Damn, Brian and Brandon, I would take this epiphany to my grave…or I would be the imperfectly healed mother who would tell them that even though they were still grounded for the summer, I was grateful for their intervention, however wild it had been. Because the reality was that I needed to live it to see it.

“Go, girly, we gotta head out. If not, traffic is going to get worse; already, it took me twenty minutes to get here with the costume.” Grace shooed me to the room, but before I went up, I launched myself into Orlando’s arms, his warm embrace telling me everything I needed to know.

“Gracias, Orlando,” I whispered for only his ears.

“De nada, mi Ms. Trinidad,” he replied and the puddle between my legs increased exponentially. A relationship with Orlando meant I’d have to increase my underwear budget because of the number of times I’d have to change per day…

A relationship.The utter peace that flowed through me at the thought kept me in a state of high as I got dressed. We left the house and navigated the streets of Ofele until we arrived at the grounds.

Hand in hand, Orlando and I, with Grace and the boys in the rear, ambled around in a sea of colorful feathers and bright sparkling appliqués. The amount of melanin concentrated in one area was a grand thing to see. The soca music blasted from different band trucks. Each band had ample space for their revelers to get information. Tents of different colors stood next to each band truck, with food and drink all part of the inclusive packages from the bands.

The front-line costumes of our band were spectacular. There was one gorgeous Amazon with flawless mahogany skin, an expansive feather backpack behind her. The fit extended to the length of her arms on the sides, and almost half her height above her. Peacock feathers trailed behind her waist, fanning out, lending to the resplendent feel of herdesign. Her body piece was minimal: a top that barely covered her blessings and a string bikini that sparkled brightly in the hot sun.

“The only way we make it is by drinking plenty of water.” Grace handed bottles of water around to all of us while Trevor gave us our band-branded cups, all filled with rum.

Oh-oh. Rum was my companion during my Hot Gyal days, and anytime I took too much my judgment got somewhat impaired.

“What’s up, you don’t wanna drink?” Orlando asked as we swayed to the Allison Hinds song blasting from our truck’s speakers.

“No, it’s not that I just…well, I only drink a lot when I’m with Miranda and…”

“You are with me, though?” The vulnerability in his words…gosh, it was so sweet I wanted to kiss him all over. Instead, I accepted Trevor’s cup and draped my hand over Orlando, our bodies sinking into a sweet whine as Allison Hinds pumped us for “da road.”

“You can trust me; I got you, Trinidad,” Orlando promised, and for once in my life, I accepted the words, allowing them to shelter me.

“We gonna have fun today, aren’t we?” I asked him as our hips synced into the rhythm of our islands.

“We are.” His lush lips pressed against mine, tasting of rum and soca.

I would never forget this day.

TWENTY-THREE

Trinidad

The drinks flowed with laughter and dancing as we waited our turn to go on the road.

For carnival, each band had several sections, and those sections had distinct costumes for men and women; the women’s costumes were full of feathers and sparkles, and the men complemented the women’s wardrobes. Each section had different versions of the costume, some more extravagant than others, depending on the expertise of the revelers to manage such large headpieces and back pieces behind them while dancing to the fast soca songs that were the hallmark of each carnival. Every year, the biggest and brightest soca stars would put out hits that would be played on the road at each carnival in the islands and wherever there were large Caribbean communities. Ofele had started a little carnival years ago, mostly for locals, but once the secret was out, the carnival exploded into what we were experiencing today, a true bacchanal.

The grounds had a path around the stands about three miles long that ended in front of a stage. There the bands would show the best of their costumes, their king and queen, and would compete for the best band of the year. Power by Four was the undefeated champion, and I could see why. The level of care they had for their revelers, the way the drinks and food kept flowing, and the intricacy of their costumes spoke to their commitment to our culture and traditions with a touch of modernity.

By the time we hit the road, starting the journey to the stage, the rum fumes were clouding my head with fuzzy good feelings. The heat of the day no longer bothered me. I was with my man and he had myback, literally. Orlando and I whined down the road, my ass married to his hips as we danced and juked up down the road. Whenever there was a lull, and we stopped to wait for the next band to go up, we found our cadence, the cheers and encouragement of our fellow section members fueling my joy—intoxication by happiness. And rum, too, but happiness came first.

When my favorite song from Barbados played, Grace and I jumped around with our flags in hand, waiving them in the air while the boys surrounded us, their glistening torsos and hips moving to the beat of the music.

This was soca, this was life, this was passion.

Power by Four Posse knew exactly how to party, and by the time it was our turn on the stage, we showed every single reveler there why the band was the winner.

When the queen called us to the stage, the section erupted in screams and laughter, running toward the stage, making the ground shake. The vibrations of speakers carried me forward, Orlando just behind. We found a spot by the front of the stage, and my hips took over, Orlando’s hands nestled on my waist, running up and down as he guided me to bend exactly how he wanted, his hardness now evident after hours of close dancing.

He was allowed. There was no space required between us like Grace and Desmond were maintaining. This was my man, and if I wanted to whine on his dick on stage, then I would whine on his dick on stage. With clothes on, of course.

Sweet heat made our bodies slick with perspiration, the sweating the only reason the rum hadn’t put me on my ass already. The gentle sway of my head told me I needed more water before Orlando had to carry me back to the rental on his shoulder.

“Go ahead, Ms. V, get yours,” Orlando encouraged me, and those were the exact words I needed. My locs fell in front of my face as I bent so far down, I could see between both our legs. Orlando never let me go, holding me tight against me, keeping me safe while I had the time of my life.

We descended the stage, full of an indescribable joy, the type that filled you up and solidified photographic memories in your brain for your viewing pleasure later. I would always remember the feel of Orlando’s slick skin against mine, of the drooping feathers on my shoulders brushing back and forth as I danced, of the sweet savor of rum and coke, of the tangy taste of Orlando’s kisses, and the scent of sea and sand and Ofele.

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