Start with Sun and my First Date.
I drove down to Mattapan, already knowing the route half by heart. Although it was late, folk were still out on their porches and on lawn chairs. A little boy no older than eight years old rode by on his bike.
I parked on her street and got out: a tall, long haired white woman in a tank top and shorts.
Three little children stopped their game to stare at me blankly.
“Hi!” I greeted them politely, and a smile slipped out on the oldest girl’s face. She waved back.
“He has a tattoo!” The littlest one cried incredulously as I passed.
Sun met me at the door in a navy tank and ragged jeans that hugged her luscious curves. A clip on the top of her head secured a mess of straight hair and extensions.
She showed me upstairs and offered me a drink: sex on the beach blended with ice and peppermint schnops.
We talked over her loud music as she expertly rolled up a blunt. Sun had little altars all over her room: one for her family, one for her money, and a third one that she never explained.
I told her how frustrated I was that my dealer wanted more from me than just a business transaction.
“They always want something extra!” She exclaimed, lighting up. “I wish I had a job so I could just be a customer. Mostly I find out who has what and let them think they’re gonna get it…”
As she went on about how frustrating it was for her not to be taken seriously by these dudes, her masculine side came through: if it wasn’t for the sloping brown expanse of her cleavage and the barely contained wildness of her “hair”, I would have sworn I was looking at a slender Malcolm Jamal Warner.
“So,” she said, snapping back to femme mode and eying my slightly tomboyish look. “Are you the boi in this relationship? Is that how this works”
“I don’t know,” I hedged, thinking of the masculine side I had just seen. “I think maybe you are.”
“You might be right.” She smiled, nodding thoughtfully, acknowledging me perception of her masculinity.
The whole time we were together I just felt so drawn to her! I just wanted to touch and kiss her…but she was stand-offish.
At one point she reached out and touched my hair. After a timid stroke, she ran her hands through it again and again, each time with more surety. My face pressed into her chest as she moved into position in front of me, her hands working magic that went right through me. The next thing I knew she was gathering my long straight hair firmly at the top of my head.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m doing your hair.” (duh) She fastened it at the top.
Next she started in on make-up: I felt like a human barbie doll as her sure hands dibbed and dabbed make-up on my eyes, cheeks and lips. No one had ever made me up before. It felt good.
When she was done I looked in the mirror. I looked a horror show: grey around my eyes made me look dead, or at least on my way to decomposing.
“You don’t like it, do you?” She asked bashfully. “I guess that’s why you don’t…”
“You see the problem!” We both laughed.
“It’s getting late,” I said, looking at my phone and cursing my lack of anything even remotely resembling game. “I’d better go home.”
“Okay”, she said.
I went over to her to give her a goodbye hug, and…
To Be Continued…
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