Can a Haux Get Some Pho?
A story of hunger by Jennifer Eden
Travel back with me if you will to 2012 and my first consensually non-monogamous relationship. It was great! My girlfriend at the time would let me use her car to go carry out my hauxing while she was at work. I was a real-life Jody from Baby Boy, except my Yvette knew about it and was absolutely down. Trust me, she had her fair share of excursions and exploits as well.
Now, at that time I began a fuckship with, oh let's call her O. O and I had amazing sex! We're both intense, passionate Scorpios - and yes, the rumors are true. Our fuckship only lasted a few months. We eventually fizzled but stayed in touch over the years through the blessing and curse that is social media.
Present day, thanks to Instagram stories, this person has remained very up-to-date on my current life and my current relationship. (My fiancée and I are in an open relationship and I couldn't be happier!) Somehow, a few seemingly innocuous comments from O on my pictures and videos led to a full-blown conversation about "how good it used to be" and how she wanted "that old thing back." We reminisced about all-nighters, multiple orgasms, and happy messes. (One of us is a squirter, but I won't say who.)
We caught up a little, never going too far beyond the surface, but exchanging just enough info to get each other comfortable. We talked about work, family, and dating. She wanted to know about my current sexual personality. She inquired about the parameters of my primary relationship. She asked if I like pho. (I do!)
In fact, I just like to eat. I do consider myself a picky eater - no beef, no pork, very little dairy - but that doesn't change how much I enjoy doing it. O's salmon cakes are one of the things I remember most vividly about that time in my life. For a haux like me, there a very few things a good meal can't convince you to do.
O no longer lives in the area, so she teased me with her desire to see me next time she came in town. We talked for weeks about how good it was going to be when we finally saw each other - I mean IN DETAIL!
So the day comes...
It was a Wednesday. We planned that I would come to her straight from work that evening, so I woke up early to do all my haux prep work. Blasting Prince's "Do Me, Baby" while I was in the shower, I made sure I shaved and trimmed all the necessities. I was going for the best possible presentation since it'd been over 5 years since the last time she'd seen it.
My work day went by surprisingly quickly, as the day tends to drag when you know there's there's a good fuck waiting for you at the end of it. I drove out to the middle of nowhere where she was staying. When I pulled up, I called to say I was outside, assuming she was going to hop in the car and we were going to go get this pho. She instead invited me in.
She greeted me at the door with an embrace containing much less "I miss you" than I had anticipated. But I quickly remembered that I wasn't there to be missed, I was there to get fucked. She wasn't dressed to go out, but maybe she just wanted to relax for a little while before going to dinner. Cool. She offered me a drink and we sat on the couch.
We talked, cuddled, and eventually ended up kissing. It was sweet. Kissing wasn't on our previous menu since that wasn't something my 2012 girlfriend and I agreed to indulge in with other partners. Our hands roamed. She'd clearly been in the gym. And I'd clearly put on some grown woman weight. It was obvious that we were enjoying the simultaneous newness and familiarity of each other's bodies.
This is when shit gets weird...
Next thing I knew, I was on the floor and she was sitting on my face. Now, this was not what I had signed up for, at least not yet. I wanted dinner, dammit! But I went with it. She tasted like Fiji water and rode my face like a fuckin' Harley!
So there we were rolling around on the floor. Her moans masked the sounds of my stomach growling. She dismounted and returned the favor. It was good, but I was distracted. But when she slid her fingers inside me, it felt like a memory. It wasn't long before I had to warn her of the impending mess. (Surprise! The squirter is me!)
At this point, it was evident that there was no pho in my future. So I went back to the only thing there was to eat in the room - her pussy. I ate that shit like the bomb ass catfish and grits at Crisp (the location of the next Black Femme Brunch).
When she decided she'd had enough, she got up, put on the same basketball shorts and hoodie she had on when I got there, and handed me my panties. I was confused, to say the least, and felt inclined to leave. I chose to linger for a minute, waiting for a mention of our dinner plans. But it never came! So I rolled out.
Lucky for me, I remembered passing Roy Rogers on my way there. So I found my way to the greasy fast food spot and resentfully ordered some tenders and fries to eat on my drive back to Baltimore. I got home much earlier than my partner expected, with a Roy Rogers cup in my hand, and spent the rest of my evening telling my partner this very story.
Jennifer Eden is a performing poet and experienced journalist, with writings featured in Iconography the Magazine, Tagg Magazine, and Women's Elevation Magazine, to name a few, on topics ranging from fashion and pop culture to sexuality and spirituality. She uses online and real-world platforms to create intentional spaces for queer femmes to explore their sexuality and sensuality.