Another Time, Another Place

Sapelo is beautiful to me. The freshness of a morning sky; the mystic Sea Islands bordering South Carolina, Georgia, and the northern part of Florida; tropical breezes over white sand beaches; and live oak trees with Spanish moss—all these things I admired about my paradise home.

Sand dunes, scattered along the edges of saltwater, were the perfect refuge for romance. Naked bodies entangled in love, lust, or whatever felt good inbetween. My boyfriend Adam and I spent most of our free time melting together in the dunes. We met in his hometown of Washington, D.C., on the campus of Howard University. I was a third-year law student. He was in his last year of medical school, courtesy of the United States Army. A few months after we started dating, I took him to Sapelo. He immediately fell in love with the island. Carefree living. Dusty dirt roads without traffic lights, and the friendly nature of my people. Geechee folk, we were called. A name inherited from our African ancestors of Sierre Leone. The beach was our retreat. No worries about school, or the challenges we faced in the future. Offering our hearts to each other was all that mattered.

I lived for lovemaking on the beach. I’d lost my virginity years before I’d met him, but every time I took his sweet temptation inside of me, it felt like the first time. His manhood was smooth mahogany and thick, well matched to his toned torso and muscular thighs. A scrumptious chocolate package that could make my melodic cries pitch past the stars. I loved the way he rocked his pelvis, pumping passion into my core. Each sweltering inch of his penis carved a kinetic notch of ecstasy against my throbbing walls. His girth, incomparable. The pleasure it gave me, insatiable. He savored the sensation of parting the warm layers of my flesh with his density, plunging deeper and deeper as crystal waves of the sea anchored us.

Moans of excitement roared from our mouths as the tide kept pace with our climactic journey. We rode each other fiercely for what seemed like an eternity. Then slowly, our erotic calls to the heavens cascaded down. Lower and lower, until the moans turned into comforting whispers. When all the tension of what our bodies had conquered was released, the whispers transformed into soft sighs.

Under the shelter of a magenta sky, we collapsed on the sand, spent from our exchange of surreal sex. “Jasmine, you know no man is an island,” Adam whispered in my ear.

I smiled at him as my fingertips swept the curve of his muscular arm. “I believe I’ve heard those words somewhere before.”

Adam gently took my hand in his, running my palm over the hair stubble that accentuated his jawbone. He closed his eyes for a moment, then focused on me. “Well, my father used to say that a man whose words are true, will win the hearts of many. But a man whose actions are true, will move mountains. The Army has afforded me the opportunity to see the world, and to pursue my dream of being a doctor. A poor, knucklehead boy from Anacostia, finding success. But Jasmine, achievements mean nothing without you. The solace of being in Sapelo…the peace you bring to my life. My place is with you. If you’ll be my wife, I’ll make sure you never regret it.”

The bass of his voice, each word husky and strong, sent chills down my spine. Overwhelmed by his proposal, my body trembled as tears ran down my cheeks. Adam quickly moved closer, caressing me as I cried on his chest. My body language gave him the answer he wanted to hear, but I managed to collect myself, shouting to the world that I’d be his wife.

LIVIN’ FOR YOU

1966

When Adam and I finished our studies, we returned to Sapelo to live. There were only two hundred residents on the island. There were no doctors or lawyers; we were the first. Sapelo, historically known for its rice and cotton crops, was a breeding ground for greedy developers. Land that was once harvested by the sweat of our slave ancestors’ backs was now looked upon as a gold mine. Investors saw opportunities for hotels, shopping plazas, and even tourist theme parks. Our community saw the need to construct a medical facility and a library, but we wanted no part of a development frenzy. We circulated petitions, and worked with the Sapelo Island Restoration Society to inform Georgia lawmakers about the threat to our land. Thankfully, the Sea Island Foundation, endowed by the Rayman family, heard our pleas and extended funding. The only major employer on the island was the tobacco company, owned by RJ Rayman.

Support from the foundation was a blessing, but I knew in my heart we’d have to keep our guard up. Most people didn’t know Sapelo existed, much less populated by a black majority. During slavery, white folk took our dynasty in Africa away by force. Sapelo was the twinkle in their eyes now, and they flaunted the almighty dollar in our faces, which was just as brutal. Natives wanted to build what was needed, not what some rich mogul had in mind.

***

Geechee culture in the Sea Islands originated during the slave trade in 1810. My people managed to outsmart the slave master, buy the land, and cultivate it. We grew our own vegetabl

es and herbs. Some of the natives were basket weavers, missionaries, net casters, storytellers, and tour guides. We entertained visitors long enough for them to get a taste of our culture, but not to stay. You wanted lodging, Hammock Lodge was it. If you wanted a fancy hotel, you were better off vacationing some place else, which suited us just fine. There were no hospitals, schools or big stores. Sapelo was reachable only by boat. Five communities encompassed the area: Belle Marsh, Raccoon Bluff, Lumber Landing, Hog Hammock, and Shell Hammock. Traveling beyond them meant you had to go to the Marsh Landing Dock, and take a state-owned ferry across Doboy Sound to the mainland, known as St. Simons Island.

The people of Sapelo were family, and family took care of one another. I could’ve made more money practicing in a major city, but financial security wasn’t a priority. My husband and I strived harder than ever. Adam had successfully built a medical mission, run by him and the aunt that raised me, Frances. My law practice was growing. I had implemented two land trusts to protect parts of the island, and even defended the Rayman family in a liability case. Building practices in a big city would have been too stressful for us, and our marriage. Modest living kept us humble, and we loved it.

YOU OUGHT TO BE WITH ME

1967

Life on Sapelo was good, but even isolation didn’t provide immunity from the troubles of the world. The country was at war—Vietnam. The phone call I used to will out of my dreams, rang loudly this morning, waking the both of us. Adam literally jumped out of bed. He answered after the first ring.

“Hello. Yes, this is he. Yes, sir.”

His posture straightened as he clenched the phone. The seriousness of his stare sent flutters to my stomach. He acknowledged his commanding officer, exchanging formalities I didn’t want to hear. I slowly closed my eyes and exhaled as I touched my abdomen. The sensation of nerves I experienced was supposed to be from the baby growing inside my womb. Deep in my heart, I knew it was too soon to feel the awakenings of the seed Adam surged in me four months ago, on a warm July evening at the beach. The night I gripped his ass tight, wanting every drop of his warm climax. The night the candles around our sandy abyss highlighted the tears in his eyes—when he asked me to have his son. No, there were no signs of life rousing the pit of my stomach, only nerves. For the first time nausea set in, because I feared losing the life that gave me reason to wake each day…Adam. Flesh of my flesh, connected by a rib, in a story once told. Given to me by God’s grace. Fear of him leaving had me scurrying out of bed, straight to the bathroom.

My chest heaved as I hunched over the commode, releasing tears and contents of an unsettled stomach. Adam’s fingers made soothing circles over the center of my back, as I slowly rose from the plank floor. The morning chill radiated the soles of my feet, and I shuddered under the strong arms of his embrace. I tried to get myself together, but Adam holding me made it difficult. His touch was comforting, and like breathing, it was something I’d taken for granted. I leaned my head further back on his chest and whimpered.

Adam kissed the nape of my neck, resting his chin on the crown of my head. “Shh…Jasmine, honey. Everything’s gonna be fine.” His voice was a little groggy and hoarse, but sexy nonetheless. The warm air from his breath to my scalp sent tingles to a place below, right where my body wanted. My mind battled the urge to face his direction, hike my cotton nightie up, and mount him. Just the thought of his hands squeezing my bottom, with my legs wrapped around him tight, made me moist. Moans coming from my lips. A husky, Good morning, coming from his, as his dick greeted the leverage of my narrow tunnel. A snug fit every time. This morning’s phone call, now jeopardized the groove with my husband. The intimacy we shared each morning, and the bond of friendship that sustained us long after the tools of love were unlinked. Damn this war.

I pulled away from him and turned the faucet on. I brought the cold water briskly to my mouth, rinsing away remnants of morning sickness. Adam was in back of me again, gently massaging the small bulge protruding from the middle of my petite frame. I slowly looked up in the mirror to see his beautiful image, focused on me. The lone vertical crinkle in his brow, the one that I thought was so sexy when he’d cum, was now a concerned scowl.

“You want some lemon tea?” he asked.

I slowly shook my head, no.

“Warm milk with nutmeg?”

My eyelashes were sticky from blinking away more tears. “I want you to stay,” I said, despite the emotional knot burning my throat.

He turned me towards him, caressing my face with his hands. “The triage unit. They need doctors.”

I swallowed hard as I looked up at him. His six-foot-five frame towered over my five-foot body. He got a kick out of teasing me, saying I had a complex about being short. Feisty Geechee girl, trying to be Cleopatra, he’d say. Memories of the good times we had came rushing in. I winced for a moment, holding my head. “When?”