I know my world is on fire right now but debt and revolution don’t stop love. I’m currently preoccupied with love. Trying to get better at love.
I’m a cliché. A dating cliché. Not the good kind. I have made poor dating choices. I don’t marginalize people’s capacity for deplorable behavior but I own my tolerance for it. I must own my low brow cliché dating behavior as well. I have more stories than necessary for my lessons to be learned. I still get hard lessons in love, makes me wonder am I learning them.
Some women proclaim “I just want a good man.” I don’t, because I try my best to avoid being cliché so much so that I become cliché in that effort. Hipsterish but in dating. Said like a true cliché “I just want a thug with hugs and drugs.” I have never seriously wanted a thug, I don’t really do drugs, and I have a hard time hugging my family. It rolls off my tongue and sounds good or corny, how ever you see it, and it entertains my friends. I’m passively aggressively dating. Aggressively wanting to date but passively seeking dates. I have had a slow bad year in love: A guy who slept with a friend and wanted me to continue to be one of his concubines. A guy who wanted to date while living and “breaking up” with his girlfriend. A guy who closed our evenings with “sloppy” requests. I genuinely had affections for all said guys. I entertained their stories. I lied to myself saying I was being realistic and understanding when in truth I was dickmatized and ignoring red flags. I noticed all of their trigger behaviors and bullshit lines but nope, I amused myself. I didn’t want to see the person each of these men proved themselves to be. I wanted to believe in the men they said they wanted to be. In despair I trolled the internets for possibilities, hoping I could screen better potential.
I met a guy on POF. (That site needs a disclaimer for idiots like me.) He was one of few attractive, cultured and over 30 men who reached out to me. Chatting with him was easy and direct. He was the more attractive option but my interest level grew as he passed my filters. I continued engaging him because he DID NOT:
1) Ask for nudes
2) Remind me I had huge boobs
3) Remind that he wants to have sex
4) Message me all day
He wasn’t as thirsty as the other fish. It was a nice 2 week long exchange of: I think you’re attractive. What do you want? Who are you?
Once we had a text exchange and a few phone conversations I reevaluated my interest. He was open enough to let me know he liked me but normal enough not to tell me everyday. There was a balance of interest and effort. He was assertive not aggressive. After flirting and joking for another week, we decided to meet. I preferred to meet somewhere public but he wanted to pick me up. I liked the idea and I trusted being in a car with him with no escape plan.
Date night: He called. I hurried to say I was on my way out, just in case he wanted to come in for the “bathroom”. He didn’t open the car door. It didn’t bother me that night, it does now, not because I live according to the rules of chivalry but because his screen name included the word gentleman and of course he gassed me on the type of dates he likes. Flag #1 I was in the car, we exchanged formal smiles and hellos. He complimented me in the most romantic way. I ate it up of course. Not everyday someone says “you look stunning!” I had on jeans and a sweater, frizzy hair and I felt bloated so I needed all the compliments I could get. We arrived. I got out of the car and I’m walking and waiting. He’s hanging out of the car door, texting while talking to me. Flag #2. He comes to me and from that point on I had all of his attention so I let it go.
We were so obviously on a first date in the almost empty sports bar. The waitresses noticed him and now that we were in good lighting, so did I. This guy was the quintessential… he had on the Carti’s (Buffs/Cartier’s), the Jesus piece, the watch and the true religions… sigh. I still had hope though. He was a day-time professional and also in school, so I let the look go. Flag #3
I saw through the stones and tint on his glasses as we were talking and noticed that he really was fine, really attractive. I then noticed the tattoo on his face. I noticed those on his neck. Flag #4 My doubt grew. I asked him to remove the glasses. He reluctantly obliged. He fine. For real. He was also covered in tattoos. My anxiety of this man grew to that of an ivy league Sarah Beth. I was also intrigued like a Mary Beth trying to piss republican Daddy off. There wasn’t one tattoo, they blended like a modern abstract graffiti mural. It was beautiful. He was the perfect canvas. I needed to know what I was getting into. I asked about his past, what every symbol and letter meant. He told me plainly. His honesty comforted me. All the details and meanings were explained and I think the rest of the bar enjoyed my eyes and hands dancing over him. He enjoyed it. We couldn’t stop making eye contact and giggling. It was over. Modesty didn’t have a chance. We left. He offered to go to his place but I wanted home team advantage.
We went back to my place with a bottle of cheap pinot noir. Through his second glass and not but two sips of my first we were in a real conversation that had my legs on his lap and his hands on my thighs. He was telling me what I wanted to hear: He lived as a vegan. He’s no longer bout that thug life. He wants love. He wants me. He wants to date regardless of my “colorful” past. After revelations of dating mistakes and personality quirks, trying to assure ourselves we were not doing something stupid with someone stupid, we kiss. He did it right. He was passionate and firm. He held, touched and grabbed me like he wanted me. I could taste the wine on his tongue. I could feel the strength of his hands cradling my head. I didn’t know this guy but I didn’t want to stop. It felt good. I stopped and told him what I felt he needed to know before going any further. I dropped my deal breaker bomb. He did not care. His words: I want you. We said some things but I don’t remember what I said in-between kisses. He came so close that my words were said in his mouth. His hands found the softest parts of me. I stopped. I laid back. He stared and we giggled. I pulled up his shirt to get a full view of his chest. I exposed the lines and cuts that made this graffiti mural canvas. This wasn’t a drill. This was man was a G, for real.
I have ogled over the tatted thirst trap thugs on Instagram but never did I desire my very own. I had the real deal. I was kinda shook. I was also turned on. I trusted he wasn’t apart of that life and I had the revised, matured OG. He had the uniform, the tattoos and the swag. Flag #5. He sensed my apprehension and began spilling to me his goals and interests that meshed with mine. Again he drew closer. I was in the middle of my question when his arms slid under me, picked me up and pulled me onto his lap. At this point I’m too weak to resist a man handling me. I underestimated his strength and size. We laughed the moment we both realized this. He stroked my neck and back. He told me to kiss him. I did everything he said after that point and I woke the next day with no regrets.
This guy cuddled, was attractive, well spoken, comprehended my blended vocabulary, was intelligent, had swag, lived through poverty, knew the struggle, didn’t smoke, drank occasionally, ate very well and knew how to use his tools but, I wasn’t sold. I still didn’t believe I knew all I needed to know. But it was 9 inches AND he knew how to use all of em. (Facepalm)
Days passed… we talked, smiled, kissed and giggled more each time we met. We found ourselves in several familiar positions. We mapped each other. I felt what lifting did for his body. He felt what he did for mine. We were not dating. We were talking about dating and having sex in between conversations. I learned more about him but not much. He said he had a business but never explained the nature of this business. Flag #6 The time spent pre and post coital dwindled along with my effort. Flag#7
I liked him but not enough to have a conversation about what I wasn’t getting. I felt if I had to ask to spend time, he wasn’t that interested. He was. He text and called asking why I hadn’t reached out to him. He asked why I was “actin bougie” with him. He restated that he wanted more. I brushed it off and expected the relationship to fade. I’ve been around that block. I didn’t believe what he said. I believed what he did.
I had shifted my interest back to the cute sloppy guy when Mr. Quintessential drove past me on my way home from work. There were unrecognizable passengers but he called and admitted to being back in town and that he wanted to see me. (Admitted because he was always in transit Flag #8 between his hometown and our town and he was supposed to be gone then.) He asked to come by. I refused profusely. I was a lazy hair day after work mess. (I’m a grown woman who still comes home missing barrettes with untwisted braids.) He insisted and told me to come outside. I realized there were guys in the car with him. I panicked. I said no, dropped the phone in my purse, ran in the house, bagged the trash, changed shoes, wet my hair, wiped my face, checked my pits and hid my unmentionables. I was simultaneously talking cash shit about how I looked a mess and did not want him to see me. I also exclaimed he was full of shit for magically returning home once he saw me. I realized I hung up on him without saying a word. I sought my phone to call and apologize. I had not ended our call.
Me: Hello? Did you hear ALL that?
Him: So that’s how you really feel, huh?
Him: I’m here.
Me: I’m sorry I just…
He walks in and I realized I’d left the door unlocked and open.
I had no words for myself. This cliché was happening. He demanded my attention immediately. I liked him wanting my affection. I liked him telling me what he wanted and I liked obliging his demands. He stepped forward to lead me back to my room. I pushed forward to the living room. We made it to the couch. I genuinely believed we weren’t going to have sex on the couch. Sitting on the couch just meant we avoided sex on the bed. He told me he missed me. My eyes rolled. I scoffed at him.
Me: We are just fucking and talking about dating! You miss pussy!
Him: That’s not what I want. I told you what I want.
Me: You don’t do anything that indicates you want more than sex.
Him: You don’t hit me up.
Me: Why would I call just for someone to fuck me? There’s no shortage of hot guys that want to fuck around.
Him: Ok, I understand that. I do want to give you more. I like you.
Me: We’ll see.
Him: That’s how you feel?
Me: Dude, you’re flashy, always traveling, we don’t do anything but talk and have sex….that’s just what it is.
Him: If you’re looking for reasons not to fuck with me, just don’t fuck with me.
Me: I want more but I’m not going to beg or nag for it. Either you give it or you ain’t. You’re not going to gas me into believing you want something you’re not working for.
Him: I’m not.
I didn’t believe him. We sat there silent and staring for a few minutes. Then he kissed me. I tried to pull away. I was weak. I was pant less on my couch, there was no hope for my discipline. I stood up. He stood, turned me around, kissed my neck, cupped my breasts and told me he missed me. In an attempt to control the pace I turned around and grabbed his head for a kiss. He bit my lip, cuffed my ass and told me to lay back. My shirt and bra made their way to the floor in between kisses. He kneeled to me. He met my breasts for a conversation I could only feel and observe. He massaged them. I was picked up, made to stand, faced away from him, bent to brace the couch and shown how much I was missed. 9 inches worth of missing. He talked to me. He asked me if I missed him. He asked me if I wanted him. He asked me if I wanted all of it. He gave me what I wanted.
I was drunk on dick so my mind quickly sought to justify relations with this man. I’m on the couch and he’s standing at the bathroom sink. He called me to him and said he wanted to talk to me. This was the second time he asked for a conversation this week. This was the second time I could tell he wanted to say something important. This was the second time the subject changed. This post coital conversation was a series of fear based questions. I asked all the Are You Crazy? and What Have You Done? questions. He answered. He passed my bullshit detectors. He didn’t answer questions with questions. He replied with yes or no and detailed the meaning of the value behind each answer. His facial expressions matched his words, incredulous, slightly offended I questioned his character. I believed him. I also believed he could run game if he chose.
It took a shower and a kiss in the kitchen that was leading back to the couch to remind me, he came here with people in his car. Flag #9
Me: Yo friends still outside?
Me: They left?
Him: No, I still hear the car.
Me: Wait, what? That’s dickish! You’ve been in here at least an hour!
Him: They’re on my time.
Me: *series of facial expressions*… It’s hot today?
Him: They good.
Me: That’s dickish. You’re not going to be a dick to me. You’re not gonna do shit like that to me!
Him: I won’t, but you not going to control me.
Me: I don’t want to. I’m not gonna put up with that tho! I’m not putting up with your shit.
Him: It’s people who will.
Me: Well do what chu gotta do but I’m not going to let you be an asshole to me.
Him: Well I’ll call you tonight.
He left and I was pissed. I knew I was ignoring bright fire red flags. Subtle but telling red flag behaviors. He text me but I was closed and ignoring him. My replies were dry. My effort had been withdrawn. Later that week he left for his hometown again. He texts once or twice a day, I doubted they were more than just maintenance texts.
A few unresponsive days later, he called. The caller ID image was gorgeous. Yes, I answered it.
Him: What you up to?
Me: Just getting home from work, bout to go run. Wassup?
Him: You haven’t hit me up.
Me: You been in *hometown*
Him: Ok……… ok, yes but I’ll be back soon.
Him: Look… If I step up, will you?
Him: Ok, Call me when you’re back from your run. I wanna talk to you.
What the fuck did I just agree to? I didn’t wanna work through anything. I didn’t want to be an adult and talk about anything. I wanted it to fade and end easy. I didn’t want to date this type of guy. I can’t really date this guy. He’s not my type. I like a lot of types but he’s not it. I sat and thought through the next hour. Why do we need to have a conversation??? Why are we here already? Something ain’t right.
I called back because I couldn’t run in that rain. That lie wouldn’t pass and I’m too grown to peddle petty lies to avoid conversations.
Me: Hey, I didn’t run, it’s raining.
Him: I was like, she ain’t running in that!
Me: I have before. Summer rains are nice for running.
Me: What do you want to talk about?
Him: I just wanna to talk to you.
Me: Well, you’re just holding the phone and I don’t like that. I prefer to talk when we have something to talk about. I hate phone calls for arbitrary reasons. …..
….You driving? Where you going?
Him: *Next Local City*
Me: Da fuc you going to “Next Local City* for?
Me: What do you do?
Me: What is everything?
Him: My battery is dying, lemme call you back.
I called my best friend, I said the truth I knew but didn’t want to believe. I saw the flags and signs. Bingo! I had figured it out. I knew what the business was. I knew why people waited in the car for him. I knew why he traveled so much. I knew why he was always alert. I knew what he had been trying to tell me. I was disappointed. I believed he wanted to be more. I believed he could be more to me. I knew he shouldn’t. He was no longer an option.
He text a week later.
Him: Hey, How are you? I miss you, I’m back in town. What are you doing tonight? I want to see you?
Me: What you tryna do?
Him: Just spend time with you and chill.
Me: Well I’m tired, I’m getting ready to turn in.
Him: Ok, have a good night.
10 minutes later
Me: You enjoy *hometown*?
Him: Yeah, hey I’m getting ready to turn in, talk to you tomorrow
I felt strong. I had said no to all 9 inches. I was standing my ground. He came harder the next day. I had a good morning and well wishes text waiting on me. I was petty and waited till noon to reply. He was was trying to be nice all day. Over the next few days I didn’t hear from him. I guessed he had given up and that this would be easy to walk away from.
I planned on ignoring his calls. The suave man on my caller ID was not going to get me! I was not going to answer but I was ovulating and spent several moments at work day dreaming. After work, I was in bed smothering my screams of horny angst in the pillow. The phone rang. The caller ID, him with his tie, his jacket, his work glasses, his coat…
Him: Hey, where you at?
Me: Home, in the bed until I run.
Him: I’ll be there in 5 minutes.
Me: The door is open.
Him: Be in the bed undressed.
Me: You can make such requests?
I wanted to be happy I was gonna get it. I wanted to be mad I was gonna let him get it. I banged my head on the head board. I got up and threw something on. I ran to the living room to control the situation. I paced back to the bedroom. I wanted to do what he said but I didn’t. He came in and we met in the hall as usual. He pulled me in to a kiss. A hello kiss that reminded me he had been gone. It was deep. I fell into him. He cuffed and lifted me. He pushed towards the bedroom. I pushed towards the living room because we couldn’t do anything on the couch with the blinds open.
Him: I miss you.
Me: No you don’t! You miss my pussy.
Him: Look man….if you don’t wanna fuck with me, don’t fuck wit me.
Me: You’re just… you’re a hot boy. You do hot boy shit. You wear the hot boy uniform. You do dickish shit and the glasses, the watch, the Jesus piece… I don’t with dudes like you. On top of that you say you want more but you don’t do more. (talking with hands)
Him: I do. I will. I am going back for a minute and I have some things I’m handling. Give me till then.
Me: That’s exactly what the fuck I’m talking about. That’s hot nigga shit.
Him: But I’m not hot! Look I am operating a business but I just collect money.
Me: Sir, you have on Cartier’s.
Him: That’s what it means where you from. It’s not the same in *Hometown*,
Me: Stop! You hang out in my city, people see you and associate your look to what it means here!…
Do you mind if I hit my bowl?
Me: *Hit’s bowl….*
Him: Yes, this is what I do but this isn’t my career.
Me: I don’t do niggas like you. At all. If you weren’t cute, you wouldn’t be on my couch right now. I’d have never let you in. I can’t do your lifestyle.
Him: Ok then, don’t fuck with me.
We sat in silence for 5 minutes. He kissed me. I didn’t kiss back. He kept kissing me. I started kissing back. He led me to my bedroom. I pushed him on the bed. I unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants and untied his shoes. He stopped me and efficiently removed what I couldn’t. He was ready for me. I missed it. I forgot how big he was. I forgot how he tasted. He asked me questions. He liked for me to talk when my mouth was full. We laughed. I put my mouth to the base, it was past my ear, MY EAR! He lifted my head to his and kissed me and told me he missed me. I believed him. He told me keep my position. He changed his.
In this position I couldn’t remember why I didn’t want him there. I enjoyed him in this position. He knew what to hold and what to grab. We developed a rhytym and connected on steady pace. I got so excited I bounced on him. He stopped me. He told me I couldn’t have control. He pulled back and teased me. I enjoyed it for a moment. He wouldn’t give it back to me. My submissive pleas grew into bratty demands. It wasn’t fun anymore. I didn’t like waiting. He didn’t say a word. He kept teasing me. He made sure I could feel him everywhere but the place I wanted him. I reached for him. He murmured a no and held my hips stern and still. He paused then gave me what I wanted. I wasn’t moaning for rhythm anymore. I made sounds. I clenched. He felt it, he eased the pace. I could feel my calves tighten. It was happening. I was scared to let go. I clenched tighter. He couldn’t stroke the same so he moved around as to massage me into relaxing my grip. I clenched harder. I knew a muscle pull was imminent if I didn’t let go soon. I opened up. I felt everything. I thanked him several times. He spoke.
Him: Damn…. you’re all over me.
Me: Oh… my bad
Him: Nah, that’s good.
I spent 30 seconds dazed wondering when and how that happened. I was all over him. I felt bad. I followed him to the bathroom and I began washing him like he was a king. I had lost my fucking mind. I was washing a grown man. I was completely submissive. Reality sunk in. I felt horrible for enjoying the reality of being submissive and trusting someone with control who used it wisely. I liked it, all of it. He still lived a life I didn’t want to live. He still said more sincere things than he did.
Me: You’re just gonna let me do this?
Him: You’re doing a good job.
Me: *Sigh* I smiled at his approval.