Sex with Strangers

I went out Saturday night. It's been awhile since I've wondered the city alone, and it was a good time. First I started with dinner. Catfish and grits and a couple of happy hour drinks. Every once in a while, I would crane my neck and look around, unfortunately, this bar was not situated in a way that allowed for people watching. That aside, the food and drinks were delish. I finished and decided it was on to the next.

I walked a popular street and was stopped by a barber as I glanced in his window. He told me he was drawn by my beauty, I laughed out loud. I thought he was going to offer me a haircut, as most barbers who see my short do do. But he did not, he told me he was just about to clock out and asked that I call him when I decided my destination so that we could get drinks. I took his card and said okay. He wasn't unattractive, but not quite attractive. It may seem deceitful that I said I would call when I had no intention to do so, but I've found that even when I specifically say, "No, I'm not interested," guys still ask me to take their numbers, so instead of going through all of that, I just said sure, and kept walking. After a couple of blocks, I decided to go to one of my old standbys, which meant driving several blocks away.

At Old Standby, there seemed to be no AC, mostly women at the bar, and groups on the patio, so I decided to wander the street for awhile. I hadn't walked this area in maybe a year, and there were many changes. I gazed around as though I was a tourist because so much was different and new (to me). For instance, a spot I used to hang in in my twenties, then stopped as I approached my thirties, was now populated by folks in their fifties. Wow. At the top of the street I took refuge in a bookstore I had been to before, for the books and the AC. I love this book store. The books are used and half off, which means that although the collection is extensive, it's a bit random. Also, I love my Kindle, but nothing beats that old book smell. I haven't bought anything from this bookstore, yet, but I'm going to clean them out one day. After a bit of browsing, including the "sexy vampire" section, and cooling down, I crossed the street and commenced my tourist-like gaze as I walked back down to Old Standby. Just before I walked through the door, I noticed a guy sitting with some friends who was noticing me. He had also noticed me as I drove up. He was extremely attractive, so I gave a little smile after a little eye contact and walked through the door.

It was so hot, so my goal was to drink and sit very still. I had the bartender make my newest version of a mojito, one with Jamison and ginger instead of rum and soda. I wish I could say I created this delicious concoction, but I did not. One of my fav restaurants makes it with Jamison and ginger beer. Mmmm! Anyway, I digress.  So, I had my first drink, a little too quickly, and preceded to have a couple of glasses of water. I people watched through the big picture window that was actually just empty air to make up for what I found out was a very inefficient AC unit. For awhile people came and went and I just daydreamed, I may have been on the verge of heatstroke. I decided to take a restroom break before my next drink when I ran into the guy who noticed me twice. Well, I saw him go towards the restroom a few minutes before I headed up... Anyway, he immediately said that he'd watched me hoping I'd smile at him (my little smile might actually look more like a grimace, oops!), I told him I thought I had smiled, which lead to lots of smiling and him inviting me over to his table.  I agreed, and after my restroom break and ordering my second (fourth of the night) drink, I joined him and his friends. Turns out it was his boy and three women they'd just met. Interesting. The women were Ethiopian, but living in Minnesota for school. They all turned out to be cool people, which was a relief since it's always nice to hook up with cool people when you're out wandering the city alone. But, of course, it wasn't that simple. The guy friend was married, one of the women was engaged (she was gorgeous by the way, so yay she was engaged!), which left two other women, one of which was my rival, of course. She was sitting on the other side of the guy who'd invited me over and, before I sat down, was enjoying his attention. Suffice it to say, they left about 20 minutes after I sat down. It wouldn't have bothered me if they had not left, though, as hot as he was (smokin'!), I would have been happy just hanging out with cool people. But that is not how the night turned out.

Shortly after the women left, the married guy had to get home before curfew, so my guy asked me to go to his house. Of course not. Let me set it up for you. It was 10pm, he lived in the next city over, and neither of us own a car (I had used a car share earlier, one that could not be used outside city limits). Those were the logistics. Was I actually interested in going home with him? Nope, not even a little. He was fine, no doubt. He was from Senegal, very dark skin, nice, even smile, thick lips, a bit of a button nose, beautiful dark eyes, and he had a well groomed short beard with very low hair cut. He was about 5'8" or 5'9", and muscular, but not overbearingly so. I wasn't thrilled that he asked me to come to his house, but I thought of something a pastor actually said once, "Don't get mad when he wants to sleep with you, of course he wants to sleep with you!..." So, told him it was early and he should continue to hang out with me - in public. He agreed, even though that meant he was losing a ride with his friend.

We went to another spot I really like and had another drink. And we talked, a lot. We exchanged pictures (phones) of our smaller relatives (my nephew, his nieces and nephews), and he told me I was beautiful and sexy, and when I modestly blushed (cause that's what you're supposed to do), he asked me how I felt about myself. I told him I'm awesome (we covered that last post), and he agreed. Then, in his African Prince accent (think Eddie Murphy in coming to America, but sexy), he asked me for a kiss. I gave him one and it was pretty fantastic. Shortly after that I made another restroom stop (although some say you shouldn't break the seal, I say the secret to feeling relatively sober is drinking lots of water and going to the restroom as much as needed), I asked him to dance with me and we got down as the DJ spun. So much fun and so sexy, which is why he took me aside and kissed me like he meant it. Damn, the memory is making my eyeballs roll back!  After more dancing he asked if I wanted to leave. I was sweating bullets, so I said sure. Outside, he asked his place or mine. I said neither. He said he was disappointed because he "desired" me.  Of course, I desired him, too, but I'm over the whole one night stand/casual sex thing. I could say I'm too old (for that shit), but that's not really it, because Viagra has proven that nobody is too old for sex. But, my experiences have led me to understand that sex with strangers is usually not a good enough time to take the risk(s).

First, pregnancy and STDs happen even with condoms. Second, when a woman goes home with a stranger, it's not certain that in the event she changes her mind, said stranger will oblige. Third, God said no. All that aside, what I've come to understand through my own experiences and the recounting of others' is that when you have sex with a stranger, its quite likely that things will happen that you don't like. The stranger could be an excellent person with excellent bedroom skills, but because you don't actually know each other, the stranger may like or dislike things you dislike or like. What you find abhorrent, the stranger might find delightful. What you find normal, the stranger may find tedious. Just because I enjoyed kissing this man, which I really, really did, there was no guarantee that I would enjoy inviting him into my body and that I would leave the encounter unscathed.  Had I gone ahead and invited him to my home, he did not rob me, and he was the most amazing guy in bed I'd ever met, chances are I would have never heard from him again, and would have spent the rest of my life pining after that Super Penis that got away. But, it's likely he would have just been okay and I would have spent the entire night uncomfortably awake because I don't sleep well with strangers in my bed.

I told him that I didn't want to have sex even though he was sexy as hell and I enjoyed kissing him. He said a bunch of stuff before he said, "That's your choice." We kissed some more. We walked some more. He tried to come home with me some more .. and more ... and more. I never wavered, he never asked for my number. 

The cool thing would be to say I'm not bothered. I did have a good time drinking and dancing and kissing, all in all, it was quite the excellent night, but I am bothered. Not so much that the guy was a jerk, because of course he wanted to have sex with me, but because it's expected that because I kiss a guy and do a little dirty dancing, I'm supposed to then have sex with him. I'm bothered that it seems weird (at least to some), that sex with a stranger is not automatic because I kissed him. Maybe people didn't have as thorough a high school biology class as I did, but just as the mouth does not lead to the  vagina, kissing does not have to lead to sex. Let me know if you need me to outline some differences between mouths and vaginas, because I can do that for you, or at least find a few informative links.

There are some, especially men, who might suggest that I missed out on an experience that may have blown my mind. While it is true that it may have been some to the moon and back boot knockin', it turns out that chicks are more likely to have a lovely time when they actually know the guy, so at the very least, I'm going to go ahead and wait until that third date. In the meantime, I'm good with kissing strangers.

In This Body

Lately, I've been thinking about my body - well, constantly. Like most women, I'm on a diet that I don't follow, so I think about my body and how maybe if I concentrate hard enough, I'll be able to wish it thin. I know that doesn't work, I've been trying to do that for the last twenty years, and so far, all that works is the proper diet and exercise. And that does work, except now that I'm (a'hem) older, things are a bit more difficult. But! I'm not writing this to talk about my diet and exercise, I want to talk about my actual body.

First, I'm cool with my body - mostly. I am definitely not above the constant brainwashing that insists I will only be physically perfect after I've bought a number of products designed to make me perfect, but, let's just say I have high self-esteem. That being said, I'm going to start with the parts that could use ... improvement. My arms. Hate 'em. They are super fat and make my boobs look even smaller than they are. And my arms are this way no matter my weight. But, I do love that I actually have functioning arms, don't get me wrong. I am very grateful for my mobility. Now that that's out of my way, let's move on to my thighs. I actually love that I have giant juicy thighs, it's so a Black thing, but they're not so firm and there's, there's, don't make me say it - cellulite. Okay, I said it, damn! Moving on! My belly is next. Your average chick doesn't like her belly, even when it's relatively flat. It's just a truth in life when there are so many commercials that tell us all our bellies are automatically too fat and flabby (so try these pills, this surgery, this girdle-type thing that looks like it's made of useless nylon). Back fat. That's all I'm going to say about that.

Now, let me tell you want I love about my body. First and foremost, my booty. Man, I love my booty so much! That might read a little weird, but if you saw my booty, you'd love it too. Like my arms, no matter my weight, my booty is big - but also firm, so firm! I also love my skin color. It's a dark brown with a gold-ish undertone. Love my face. It's a good face. My eyes and lips in particular. 

I'm aware that I skipped over some body parts, but I'm hoping you're starting to get the point. While there are some parts that call for improvement, there are some parts that are just fine - as is the case with every other human being on the planet.  And yet, I've had some interesting encounters while in this body and on this journey that I thought I would share.

First, I've been fat and I've been thin and I've been fat and I've been thin and I've been fat again. Right now, I'm not my ideal and although I'm not plus size, my doctor would like me to drop a few(?) pounds. That being said, I am pretty health conscious, too many fatal conditions run in my family for me to not be, but at the same time, there are times when you get sick of working out and when you want to be able to eat the crap the skinny chick at the next table is stuffing into her pie hole, and there are times when you get sick of feeling guilty about those times.  And yet, I've felt judged on so many occasions. The funny part is that the judgment has come in both directions. I've had people ask me once I've lost weight if I really thought I could keep it off, with the unspoken part being: cause, you know  losing weight was a fluke and you have no discipline. I've had people insist that I not diet because I shouldn't deprive myself, even if diet just means not eating a cookie for dessert. Then there's the whole, "You're unworthy of happiness and love if you're overweight" message we constantly get if we turn on a TV/PC or walk down a street with a few billboards. So, I now find myself in this weird space where I have to remember that so many people expect me to devalue myself while that is the furthest thing from my mind. I am awesome, fat arms or not. It is hard to look at all the skinny (and I mean skinny, sometimes unattractively so, at least to me) chicks on TV knowing that they are a beauty ideal that I don't fit, but it would be so fantastic if people realized that most of us live in real life and what's the average woman's size (in the US) up to now, 14 or 16? Not that we shouldn't be health conscious, but c'mon, let's get real about what that really means.

Most people get the whole fat/thin thing. What I've found really interesting living is this body is that people are afraid of Black chicks. I am so serious! I've had plenty of instances where men have almost gotten whiplash turning their heads away from me to avoid eye contact and possibly a polite hello in passing (one encounter happened last week), and I've also had a man look at me quite terrified when I asked if he was single while we were talking about nightlife in the city. I thought it was a relevant question considering the conversation, clearly not. Now, at this point, you may be thinking that afraid isn't quite the word, especially when considering that these aforementioned men were Black men, but, another encounter that happened last week, involved two White men walking past two of my colleagues and myself. These White men walked past the three of us, did not step on our toes or even lightly brush our arms, as a matter of fact, we wouldn't have even noticed them had they not suddenly fallen into many apologies - for walking by us.  Now, like I said before, I have a pretty face (take my word on this) that is prone to smiling, as do my colleagues, so we were at a loss. My colleague even asked, "Are we that scary that they have to apologize for walking past us?"

Now we have to be real about stereotypes. We have all encountered "scary" black women on television, featured in programs like, "The Jerry Springer Show" and such. It doesn't help that many of them are brought to us these days via "reality" TV.  Then there are traditional characters, like the "sapphire", the Black woman who will cuss you out simply for looking her way. BUT, in the encounters I've mentioned, the men either didn't know me (or my colleagues) well enough to assume I'd fit into any of those categories or after conversation, definitely knew better. Oh, and I'm just over 5 feet tall, so um, not about to randomly attack any men. So, the fear then becomes not that I'm going to cuss them out or perpetrate violence against them, but perhaps its the fear that I might actually want them. So, these men are allowed to have self-esteem high enough to assume that I want them, even from a distance, but its assumed that I will resort to scary behavior in my desperation to have them. And all of this because I live in a brown body that isn't always thin. This seems like Bizarro World to me. Only in Bizarro world would someone value you more if your hair is someone else's hair (White girls get extensions, too!), your boobs, butt, and nails are made of plastic, and you work really hard to make sure your bones poke through your skin (that isn't layered with plastic). But, nope, that's just today's standard for women in countries where starvation is a choice.

Despite this, I'm so lucky because, like I said before, I'm awesome, and really, I'm the only person who has to know this. So, I hope no matter the body you live in, you realize your awesomeness and avoid those commercials with the nylon girdle-type thingy.

My First Time

I've been told that I think too much. From a very young age by almost everyone I've encountered, including myself. As a kid, it's cool, because that means your teachers will take a special interest in you and you get to do things like get the old readers to take home, lead classes, get recommended for various opportunities to do extra projects, meet new people, and all that. And when you think too much as a kid, this stuff seems totally cool (we'll debate the meaning of "cool" later.) As an adult, it means you don't even get stuff done because you're thinking too long about how to go about getting it done. As an adult, it means that you have to fall asleep with the television talking because you can't control the thoughts racing through your head when your head should be sleeping. And then comes the 4am pee break that you can't go back to sleep from because now you're arranging tomorrow's wardrobe and to-do list in your head instead of sleeping. As an adult, this means you should start a blog to pour out all those thoughts crowding the left and right hemispheres, but that you have no idea where to start because you start by overthinking what makes a good first blog entry.

That being said, I'm just going to start from the most honest place I can, because I figure that's the wonderful medicinal purpose of a blog: the ability to put down those words you really mean, instead of the ones you're supposed to say.  So, I'll start with men. Raise your hand if you guessed right!

This is not some treatise on relationships, it's just the mood I'm in. I don't know if it's the weather, a face I glimpsed on the street, my lack of a current relationship, or the hormonal balance of the day, but for whichever reason, I got to thinking about men today, specifically the men of my past.  There are many, many, MANY times where I find myself verbally (mentally) abusing myself over my terrible, terrible choices of the past, but at other times, I just think of the good memories I'm left to  rely on. This is not to say that every guy elicits good memories, or good enough memories to fall back on on days like these, but there are enough to make me smile.

Of the men I remember fondly one was just a boy when we met. Oh, and I was just a girl, nasty! First, we met in middle school. He was a friend of my friend, at a time when I was painfully shy (how that came to be is an entirely different story that I'm sure we'll discuss in the future) and she was way too socially adept to be twelve. She would casually talk to this guy and I would be so jealous of the ease at which she addressed someone so cute! Fast forward about four years and this cutie reentered my life as the friend of another set of friends. At this point, I believe he was seventeen, he was well over six feet tall, had the deepest dimples, and a killer smile, I mean killer! He sent me into the most girlish dithers (yeah, I said dithers) you could ever imagine. Think the adventures of Sweet Valley High. Of course, I played it cool - at first. Eventually, we were making out and I couldn't imagine my luck. I dithered away!

It turns out this guy was so cute, sweet, fun to talk to, and his kisses sent me to another dimension! Of course, we never "officially" dated, he wasn't over his ex-girlfriend, which doesn't explain the other girls he was seeing,  but, over many encounters, first in succession, and later with gaps of months at a time, I really, really enjoyed spending time with him. The first time he kissed me felt straight out of a movie. We were over a friend's house and by now we both knew how much we liked each other, but he still had not kissed me. I wasn't interested in being the one to initiate, so I just made sure to let our mutual guy friend know what I wanted. Having done that still did not prepare me for what happened. The teens hung in the basement, and I'd gone upstairs for a bathroom break. Before I could go back down, he came up the stairs. I figured he had to go to the bathroom, too, but instead, he headed up the stairs straight for me, and when his height matched mine (several steps below me), he reached forward and kissed me. When the deed was done, he swaggered away satisfied that he had accomplished his goal. All I could do was grin my happy butt back down the stairs. Man!  As we got to know each other, I found that he loved to laugh, he was down to earth, and without pressuring me for more, he told he couldn't get enough of my kisses. It was very disappointing that we never became more, but this boy had a sweet charm and touch that remain in my good memories file many years later.

There are others, and I was going to write about a couple more, but I think this is enough for my first time - my first blog entry. Any man reading may have already checked out by now, but just as a spoiler, every entry won't be about men or love or relationships, this was just my mood today.