Bawdy Women’s Blues

by Ariana Manov 2014

It’s those full throttle racy women’s blues songs from the 30’s, 40’s, and 50’s that really get me going.

Bessie Smith teasin’ “I Need A Little Sugar In My Bowl”; Lil Johnson’s “Push My Button, Ring My Bell”; Sippie Wallace braggin' “I’m A Mighty Tight Woman”; and Monette Moore’s “Two Old Maids In A Folding Bed”. Alberta Hunter, Ma Rainey, and Big Mama Thornton.

This little white girl didn’t take much note that they were all Negroes—which is what they were called way back. (And, as it turned out, most all of them were lesbians) But to me, they were just big, luscious women who belted out gut-bucket-get-down- and-dirty blues.

Those women, and some of the ones that imitated the greats, belting out those old style songs, and strutting their stuff (and they had lots of it) up and down the dive bars and storefronts on Central Avenue—oh my.

As a child, I hid under the creaking wooden seats with my best friend where we could peek and hear. (And we sure did.)

Their syncopated rhythms, their hip thrusting, and swiveling seemed like the only possible way a body could move. Their voices over-filled whole rooms while their audiences stomped and squirmed at the edges of the music.

From the time I was eleven (too young to understand what a jellyroll was), I listened to “race" records. (Didn't know they were called that.) With my much-too-old-for-me-to-be-hanging-out-with friends, I'd go to their funky homes and suck up the pure joy.

And I'd feel a creaminess—yes –at age 11—a creaminess between my thighs. No words for those feelings.

But with the hospitable smell of hocks and greens seeped into my skin, I'd drag my sorry little ass back to my wonderbread house, hide under the bedcovers and touch myself until I was exhausted.

I have the words now—some of them anyway. The unlawfulness of desire. This music still grabs me and works its mojo. We all own this music -- like our own souls—like owning the deepest, juicy rose-pink insides of my own body.

This white girl all grown up learned to be shameless (relatively anyway) about my lusty appetites.

And my lover learned to vibrate to the beats of my wantonness and smooth them with her tongue.

© 2014 Ariana Manov