Calla Black. Baby sister to Caleb Black, NBA legend and coach of the reigning champions, the Winston Hills U women’s basketball team. The first time I saw her, I thought my chest had stopped working. She was striking in a way that went beyond beauty, tall, elegant, with eyessharp enough to slice through pretense. She stood beside James as if they’d been carved from the same block of power. The way she moved was deliberate, as though she knew every inch of space was hers to command. Her perfectly tailored navy pant suit clung to her curvy body. Her Louboutins clicked with precision as she eased her Dior Saddle bag off her shoulder and placed her Toujour tote down to remove her laptop. She emanated luxury, power, and poise, but her eyes were familiar; I’d seen them before, but I couldn’t place exactly where.
I clocked it instantly, the energy between them, subtle but undeniable. James, who towered over most men, seemed to tilt toward her ever so slightly, as if her gravity was stronger than his own. And her? She didn’t look at him like a colleague; no, she looked at him as if he were hers. The kind of mine that didn’t need to be said out loud.
It stung, sure, but it also lit something in me I wasn’t expecting. This wasn’t the familiarity of an old friend; no, it was the familiarity of lovers, laced with intimacy, desire, and need.
Because while James pulled me with his dominance, his quiet authority, Calla intrigued me with something else entirely. Beneath all that polish and control, I swore I saw a flicker—something darker, hungrier, locked away where no one else could reach. I wanted to be the one to draw it out.
And it wasn’t just curiosity. I wanted her.
That realization shook me. I’d always appreciated women’s beauty, sure, but Calla? Calla made me wonder what it would feel like to be under her gaze, to be chosen by her. I imagined her voice low and commanding, her hands—steady, unflinching—on my body. I wanted toknow her, yes, but I also wanted to meet the part she never let out, the one tucked away behind all that control. As aware of her as I was, she was equally aware of me, trying to read me, feel me out, pinpoint my position in James’ life, both personally and professionally. Her eyes lingered on me several times throughout the meeting, a mix of uncertainty, possessiveness, and attraction. James' decision to conduct an impromptu site visit worked in my favor because I invited Calla to hop in the car with me to gauge her energy better. During the short ride to the project site, she managed to relax and engage in small talk. I even pulled a genuine laugh from her pretty lips, making my nipples ache as I imagined what she would sound like in the throes of pleasure as her body rocked against mine. As we traversed the site, I was hyper aware of her walking slightly behind me, keeping her eyes glued to my round ass and thick thighs. She’d invited James and me to lunch, but he declined, leaving just the two of us to eat and chat. I hadn’t expected her to tell me she and James shared a lot of mutual friends and family. What shocked me the most was finding out her fine ass brother was poly, and he and his wife had built a world of their own inside their polycule. I hadn’t been in many relationships, and the ones I had left a lot to be desired, with digs at my weight, a lack of romance, and intimacy. I opted to find a toy or two that could bring me pleasure and keep to myself. What I didn’t expect was to be invited to her family cookout, and what shocked me further was how quickly and eagerly I accepted the invitation. My weekend had gone from anime and hot wings to a backyard cookout with the tech millionaire I was crushing on and my boss, who I wanted to crush me.
I remember whispering to myself later that afternoon, almost like a confession: “Damn, Amiyah… you don’t just want him. You want her too.”
And maybe that was the first time I admitted it—out loud, alone in my office—that I wanted them both. But here’s the thing. I’ve never been ashamed of who I am, least of all my body.
People love to talk about the “ideal” BBW shape—the hourglass, the tiny waist, the perfectly round ass. That was never me, and I stopped apologizing for it years ago. I’m full and fluffy, and I love every inch. My breasts are heavy and full, straining against button-ups that were never designed for women like me. My hips are wide enough, my thighs thick, and my midsection? It’s never been flat. Not when I was fifteen, not at twenty-five, not now.
And I don’t care.
Because I walk into rooms every day with this body, I hold the attention of contractors, executives, and engineers. I climb into boardrooms and job sites with confidence that comes from knowing I don’t have to fit into anybody’s standard but my own.
“I love this body,” Lena said to me, walking up behind me as I stood in the mirror, “Every roll, every curve, every bit of softness. This body has gotten you through losses, through school, and through twelve-hour days. This body is beautiful. And if anyone doesn’t see that? That’s their problem, not yours.” She was my best friend and, honestly, the only family I had. After dinner, we were heading to Provacateur, where she moonlit as a midnight ballerina. By day, she was the lead ballet instructor at the Winston Hills School of the Arts; by night, she wound her body up and down the pole as a graceful but arousing vixen by thename of Soleil.
I grinned at her and said, “Damn right, babe. Now let’s go remind the world.”
So when I looked at James, I knew exactly what I wanted from him, and when I looked at Calla? I knew exactly who I wanted to meet beneath that armor. The question was, did they want to meet me?
If I had my way, I wasn’t about to deny myself either one.
Speaking of Lena, we had dinner reservations at Olive and Oak. I had no idea how she managed to pull that off, considering they were booked out for at least a year. I was told the last time I called. No matter how it happened, she made it happen, and I was excited to get a seat at the table of a black-owned Michelin-starred restaurant. Tonight I opted to rock a multi-colored graphic sweater dress that stopped at the top of my thighs, I paired it with black thigh high leather boots, a black leather monogram Louis Vuitton High Rise bumbag, my hair was pulled to the nape of my neck in a low ponytail letting my curls hang down my back beneath a clay colored Gigi Pip wide brim fedora. I settled on yellow gold accessories, from my bottom diamond bar to my bottom grill, to complement my soft glam makeup. I dabbed my favorite scent, Casablanca by Brown Girl Jane, in all the right places. As a plus-sized woman, I loved to put that shit on, and it was always evident I did because I was being stopped left and right to compliment my style.
Olive & Oak was glowing that night. As we stepped into Olive and Oak, I could see, even from the ambiance anddecor, why it was so highly revered. The space was filled with warm amber lights dripping from the ceiling, oak tables polished to a shine, and fresh herbs in little glass jars at every table. The air smelled like garlic butter and rosemary, and the low hum of jazz slid under the chatter of Winston Hills’ beautiful people. Lena and I were tucked into a velvet booth by the window, a bottle of wine sweating between us, plates of braised short ribs and creamy grits already half gone.
She was watching me too closely, her chin propped on her hand, her full, healthy Afro glistening under the soft lighting. “Alright,” she said, dragging the word out. “You’ve been chewing on something all night. Spit it out before I drag it out of you.”
I smirked, swirling my glass. “Why do you always know when I’ve got something on my mind?”
“Because you get that look,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Like you’re two seconds away from combusting. So, who is he?”
I sighed, the wine loosening my tongue. “James Carter, my boss, your brother-in-law’s baby brother.”
Lena snapped her fingers. “Mmmmhmmm, Mr. Broad-Shoulders-and-Baritone-Voice? Yeah, sis, he’s fine as hell, all of em are, from Caleb to Ahmir to Maverick to Knox, and my lucky ass sister be having every hole filled whenever she wants,” she rambled on, dreamy eyed, “But enough about that, what about him?”
“He’s…” I trailed off, heat rushing through me. “He’s magnetic. The way he commands a room? People hang on his words, yet when he looks at me…” I pressed my palm to my chest, trying to slow my heart. “It’s like he already knows what I’m thinking. I can’t explain it, Lee. He makes me feel wanted, and we haven’t even crossed the line.”
“Uh-huh,” she leaned back, smirking. “And in your head?”
I bit my lip, laughing softly. “In my head, I’m bent over his desk with his hands gripping my hips. Or I’m riding him in one of those black leather conference chairs, his tie undone, his voice in my ear telling me I’m his. I can’t focus half the time without imagining what it would feel like to have all that power directed at me.”
Lena fanned herself with her napkin. “Lord, have mercy. That man is about to become your undoing.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “But it’s not just him.”
Her eyes widened. “Not just him? Girl, don’t play with me.”
I lowered my voice, the melodic rhythm of jazz masking my words. “Calla Black.”
“THEE Calla Black? My sister's best friend’s fine ass husband’s baby sister, THAT Calla Black?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “The one who looked like she was carved outta marble? When the fuck did y’all cross paths?” Curious energy radiates from her body.
