Sometimes, when I don't write posts for a few days, and then I blog once in a while with photos of contestants on America's Next Top Model, it's because I have something I want to write about but I don't know how to say it without sounding like I don't know I'm not doing the right thing.
I'm having an affair with a man from Jamaica.
He is in his mid-20's somewhere, beautiful. Beautiful. His skin is dark, almost irridescent, shiny with the reflection of even the faintest light. Street lamps, a light in the next room, it makes a point on his skin and I just stare at it. He looks like Taye Diggs, in How Stella Got Her Groove Back, but with slightly bigger pecs. My God.
I met him walking down the street. This is what happens when you live one block off Lincoln Road--people wander around, they smile, they meet. I thought nothing of it. He followed me at first, before saying hello. Actually, he said "Hey." With a light lilt, not a cartoonish Bob Marley-impersonation most people would think. It was very light, and nice.
We talked, we didn't say much; I kept walking. And I had to force myself to not look back to see if he watched me as I walked away.
A few days later, there he was again. Different place, a chance meeting; but he was there nonetheless.
"Are you following me?" I said.
"No." He smiled.
"Do you want me to be followin' you?" he said.
"'Cause I will."
"Follow me where?"
"Where do you want to go?"
There was no following me. I left, alone. But I did give him my number, when he asked for it. And then I went home and paced around my apartment for 20 minutes with a very flushed face.
The first time he came over, he told me right away: "I have a girlfriend. I can't stay too late." And then wham, we were on the bed. It lasted for two hours. When he reached The Big Moment, he threw his head back and yelled "DAMN, _ _ _ _ _!" with that expletive being a racially-derogatory slang word that starts with "N." It made me laugh. Luckily he didn't hear me. Then he passed out a few short minutes later, asleep.
I laid there and watched TV, the volume low. Then his eyes popped open and he saw the time, and said he had to leave. He asked to take a shower, so I went and turned on the shower for him. And when he got in, I left. But then I came back in. And I just stood there, and watched. I can't even say I was standing in a sexy way, leaning against the door or something; I just stood there. Gaping, I think gaping is the best word. I was staring, totally gaping at him, just there in my shower like he was real.
"You see somethin' you like?" he asked. And that grin, with those shiny teeth, flashing at me...I smiled and nodded, yes I do. And he kept the shower curtain open.
Then he got out, and we jumped back on the bed again.
That time, he didn't drop any N-bombs, it was all just normal; but he fell asleep again. He passed out diagonally on my bed, so I tried to move him over to make room for me, but he was too heavy. I was literally--LITERALLY--standing on the floor, pulling on his leg, and he didn't move. Nor did he wake up. So I rolled up next to him arm, and just laid there, breathing and looking out at the wall for a while. We slept all night. I slept like a rock, deep sleep, didn't move, curled up in that little ball.
It's the most fulfilling relationship I've had in eons, ironic because it's obviously going absolutely nowhere, and I am 100% aware of that. And it's terrible, listening to him outside my apartment lying to his girlfriend about where he is. But I don't feel anything, I just listen. I don't feel bad about it.
And that's where the hesitation about writing about it comes in. I don't feel bad about him lying, but I know it is bad. There's a difference in there somewhere. Should I feel differently? I don't know. I guess I'm having my fun now while I can, as I know he'll go away someday. If he can lie to her, someday he will lie to me.
But I don't care about that either. Again, I'm not sure if I should. But I don't think so.
I'll write more later. This has been going on for a while. There's more to the story.