2007: Opposites attract

Catch up: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

While I was out of town, I had gotten a text from HBB saying that she expected to hear from me no later than Wednesday. Cocky little thing she was. I didn’t even respond to the text.

After being blown off by Jersey, Wednesday morning felt like death. Ok, maybe I exaggerate, but I felt really bad. It was more physical than emotional though. I called my doctor and was lucky enough to get an early morning appointment. I called my manager and left her a voicemail telling her why I was going to be late.

I had strep throat. I picked up my meds. Got in the bed. Then I remembered HBB. I sent her a text letting her know I was sick. She wanted to come by and bring me something. I objected. The week that I confined my germs to my house, it was HBB that kept me company. Not in person, but constantly texting like we were sending IM’s. That was when I started to like her. Or maybe I liked who she represented.

HBB had accomplished a lot. She was that girl that looks good on paper. Two degrees, she owned her own home, paid off a late model car. She held a high position in a Fortune 500 company and a six figure salary to show for it.

While her accomplishments impressed me, it was normal for her. She didn’t feel like anything she was doing was abnormal. This is how she had been raised. This was what she was supposed to be doing and she had a lot more to do.

She was born to older parents and was an only child after a series of miscarriages. She was the miracle baby and her parents made sure she got the best of everything. Cars, apartments, private schools. Her parents made sure she had no obstacles to success.

Despite our differences, we continued on. Music was the glue that bonded us. Our first outing after I was better was a Common concert. We were both in such a good mood, we ended the night at my place with her stripped naked with me touching her. I had a point to prove. Women assume that I am going to be a certain way sexually, so I like to prove them wrong. A look of confusion covered her face when she left. I was smiling.

Later that week, we hooked up again. This time I let her touch me, but I didn’t stay the night. I was gone by midnight even though she asked me to stay. I wasn’t sure where she and I were headed, but I felt weird about staying the night with her. Especially since she had told me all of these stories about how she would kick girls out of her place by a certain time in the morning just to make sure they wouldn’t get too comfortable.

We started to interact differently the night of the panty dance. We had been out. Drinking probably. We came back to my place turned on some music and started dancing. Our clothes came off and there we both were in boy shorts and beaters. I was playing music from the eighties, the seventies. I switched to reggae, to old school hip hop and there we were singing along and dancing. She have me a lap dance. I gave laid her on her back, laid on top of her and gave her a dance. She worshipped my “black girl booty” that night (she had previously been dating outside of her race). Of course all of this was just elaborate foreplay, but that wasn’t the important part of the night. I felt like we were kindred spirits.

We started spending every night together. We had our favorite tv shows. Our favorite wine. We’d talk about books, movies, and music. It wasn’t a surprise to me one morning, just as I was making my way down for “breakfast” she blurts out, “you know you’re going to be my girlfriend.” Her statement made me freeze mid-lick. I regained my composure, finished my “meal” and then she clarified her statement. We became girlfriends that morning.

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