Call It Dreamin' Fiction The Word 8 minute read

Being with Jay

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It is as if Beautiful was always there, a bud inside my soil; that blossomed when he first made love to me.  That night, and the next day, and many days and nights afterwards, I was radiant, abloom…indeed, I felt beautiful.  I know that sounds corny—hell it is corny—but damn if it ain’t true.

It was like when I joined the track team in my Sophomore year of high school.  After that first practice I knew I’d always be a runner because of how it made me feel.  I felt my body for the first time.  Of course, I always knew that I had arms, a core, and legs; but it was track that made me truly feel them; that made me feel connected to them.  My walk changed; my attitude changed.  I was aware of my aliveness, my power, my being.

Being with Jay is something like that.

I know you nouveau “don’t get yourself lost in a man, don’t need a man, find your-own-strength” Sistas already have your mouths twisted.

Just don’t even…okay?

I was you.  I was you before you were you.  I was the fly Sista that encouraged you to be who you are—or who it is you think you are.  After being stood up, rejected, used (and if I’m being honest—low-key abused), Netflix and chilled until my heart turned cold; I had a revelation that led to a revolution of “me-dom” (kinda like freedom).  I wrote in journal after journal, chronicled my thoughts, took self-care and self-reflection to Oprah-ess-heights.  I dated myself, spent more time with my friends, got three promotions at work, and started traveling.

Genuinely, I was happy.

Genuinely, I was equally horny.

During my me-dom revolution, I did realize that I didn’t need a man.  Though it wouldn’t be my first choice, I know that I can live whatever years I have on this earth contently if I never get married or have a serious, long-term relationship.  However, none of my meditating, traveling, journaling,  five-figure earning, or masturbating cured me of my love for dick (and touch).

I hope you don’t mind me being real with you, Sis.

I used to feel bad about my cravings—some of my Sista-friends seem so liberated –  causing me to feel as if I have a real adicktion (bad pun, sorry I couldn’t help it); but now I feel as if they aren’t being honest with themselves.  We were created to be sexual beings—right?  Isn’t it normal to want touch, to want to feel the warmth of a soft tongue dancing with yours, to feel the weight of another on top of you, to taste the salt from another’s sweat?  I believe it is.

So, that’s when I became as liberated with my body as I had been with my mind.  If I was attracted to a man, I had sex with him: when I wanted and with the clear mindset that sex was all it was.  And I swear, when I freed myself and my temporary lovers from the weight of expectations; sex became even better.  I no longer cared if I had shaved my legs, or what he (whoever he was) thought when his hand brushed against one or two of my stomach rolls. I didn’t think about if he would determine that I wasn’t marriage material if I did certain things the first night.  If I wanted to be loud, I was.  If I wanted to talk shit, I did.  If I wanted to only lay there and simply receive; I received.

Cum, I did: more than I ever have.  You judging?  You know why you mad?  ‘Cause you horny. I’m just playing, Sis; but get you some if you want you some. Trust me, dick does the body better than milk ever has (especially since most of us are lactose intolerant).

But let me stop clownin’… Since I’m being all real about my ish, I gotta be real about me being caught up now.  I done got myself shook.

I’d been managing my sexually-liberated life well—experiencing only slight issues (you have no idea how some men can’t handle it when you are the one who is in control and only interested in them for sex  – when and how you want it), when I met Jay at my friend Jasmine’s Spade’s party.

Jay is “new-fine.”  It took half his life for his body to match with his big head, for his strong jaw to fill out, and for his time in the gym to take effect).  New-fine Brothas are the best because they ain’t assholes; they aren’t quite sure that they are fine and are surprised by all the women who are suddenly giving them attention.  Some think it’s because they are finally making some money and are wary of women who hit on them because they think they are gold-diggers (when it’s really that their neck and shoulders finally just got wide enough to support that head; and that their bird chest finally took flight).  Jay’s chest had certainly taken flight – like a damn eagle — broad and t-shirt hard (so hard that you can even tell through a t-shirt).  He also has a dimple on his right check and no ring on his left hand; so I quickly agreed to make him my Spades partner.

Sipping Hennessey and gulping Heinekens; dapping each other over each win, intense eye-contact as we tried to read each other’s hands and minds, beating folks book-by book, laughing as we talked mad shit to our opponents had us vibing nicely.

I saw no reason for the good times to end, so I invited him over for an after-party.  Initially, I can tell that he was new-fine surprised; but he quickly accepted and followed me home.  And that’s where I remembered the other thing about new-fine guys: they are sensual, giving gentle attention to every crease, stretch mark, and crevice of your body because there is a unspoiled sweetness, tenderness and appreciation that comes from a man who hasn’t spent the majority of his life playing women like dominoes.  But then their natural man-hood mixes with the strength that comes from hours in the gym every week working that newly developed chest, shoulders and back and they fuck you like they want to take your soul. There is something to be said for the men who started out as underdogs in this world, they just try harder and give more.

And more, and more…. But let me get my mind right and finish telling you my situation.

Jay doesn’t just make me feel good; he makes me feel seen every time we are together.  I swear that man saw and had touched places on my body that I didn’t even know existed.  He leaves me sore and tingly at the same time — just like track practice did.  For the first time in three years, I crave the workout, the feeling,…him.

And therein lies the problem. I felt safe when I simply craved sex.  I managed my sex-life and my men like my job: I took care of business, didn’t become emotionally attached, only revealed the necessary parts of myself, got what I wanted and moved on.  Now I crave one person—Jay.

I have been taught too many painful times that wanting leads to expecting; and from my experience, all of it leads to ultimate disappointment.  I’ve been disappointment-free these past years of being in control; and I’m not trying to go back to feeling rejected and hurt again. I don’t want to keep looking at my phone for the texts or calls that never come; or getting my hair done on Thursday for my big date on Friday – to only get stood up.  There have been too many times that I thought he was the one, only to discover the she, her, and a third woman thought the same.  Me-dom gave me a freedom from anxiety and pain. You feel me?

I’m thinking of just walking away. It’s not like we have a relationship or anything. I could simply stop calling him to connect.  Or should I talk to the Brotha? We do have a nice energy (but he may think I’m crazy, as we haven’t done much talking in our situationship).  Help me out, Sis. What should I do?

  • Readers, the ending will be determined by your comments. You can either vote for her to end things or to talk with him. The ending I write will be determined by you. Ending and results will be posted by next Friday.

My intention is for Black people to love themselves and each other. It sounds somewhat silly, I guess; but oftentimes my people are overwhelmed with negative images, bad news, and stereotyped characters about us. I’d like to flip that script. I’d like to remind us, as often as I can, how incredible we are. Read more

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