[FOUR]

MAYBE BEING A helpless romantic isn’t so bad. After all, we were made to naturally interact with the opposite sex, so somewhere along the line (whether or not we decide to accept the fact) we need to choose someone to spend our sex with, to kiss and hold, to laugh and cry with, and to cohabitate with. Yes, animals might spend their leisure time hunting and fucking and procreating, but in the same fashion, humans spend their time sending e-mails and text messages and fucking. Shopping and fucking. Going out to the movies and fucking. Holding down a nine-to-five and fucking. If you’re lucky enough, and you have the energy, you’re always fucking. If you’re more than lucky, and if you’re planning for a future, you’re doing all that under one roof and making babies. But the bottom line is, and I don’t care if you’re Oprah or Bill Gates, you accept, deny, live for, work around, and entirely support the hard or soft concept of fucking.

So then, to find someone you feel is a convenient, willing, and able-bodied partner would be a bonus, I would think. And not that I was all philosophical about my relationship with Stacy, but you’d have to agree that a decision was in order. In other words, a brother definitely had to weigh his options.

Things slowed down for us after that night of shocking revelations. We didn’t stop seeing each other, but for the next few weeks we just took more time in getting to know each other, as opposed to having sex and everything else coming second. We both agreed that we had rushed into things, that we fell head over heels for each other, and that this could be the big deal— the relationship that we both longed for. But we first had to work our way through things we did not see coming, like the petty bickering we engaged in, and the silent spells that sometimes came with an attitude. We had to build up on the positives and try to do away with as many negatives as we could. Naturally, being the progressive, business-minded thinker that I am (and I’m not saying I’m the greatest), but I’m accustomed to being an optimist, and to seeing the cup half full, instead of half empty. Stacy, however, had been through some challenging, life-altering events that threatened her well-being, her children’s well-being, and more. So, there was a lot more work to do in convincing Stacy that “the light is at the end of the tunnel,” or the “tough times never last, but tough people do,” or “you are what you believe you are.” All of those positive affirmations might look like hot air to her (or, at least, brand new), while they’re ideas that are painted up on my mental wall, inspiring me to work harder and strive and persist toward my goals in life. My new friend, on the other hand, with this ghetto drama down in Atlanta, and her children being so distant, with access to her by voice alone, was a real tragedy in itself. And now that I knew way more about them, Stacy didn’t mind bringing them up in conversation now and again.

The other thing that I had to cope with was the feeling deep down inside that I wasn’t supportive enough. I mean, here we were, supposed to be a couple, and I wasn’t anything more than her shoulder to lean on. I wouldn’t be considered the man that “had her back” with all the drama that was going on in her life. Maybe it was because we were so new and that it was way too much weight to take on all at once. Or, maybe (somewhere deep inside) I didn’t feel that it was any of my business. Either way, it was a burden to even think about. But, drama or no drama, I knew I’d have to get to know the kids one day. Naturally, that came along with the package— the bigger picture.

In the meantime, I was still dealing with Stacy’s occasionally whimpering in her sleep, and there were instances when she’d jump up screaming. Once when she jumped up, she wobbled into my kitchen and grabbed a steak knife. It took me a half hour to calm her down and to convince her that it wasn’t me—I’m not your enemy, Stacy!

And here I was, thinking that there was only the bat to deal with. I have to say that knowing who your enemy is has to be comforting; because here I am lying in bed with a woman I see as my best friend, and she wilds out with a steak knife? That evening in my apartment, it was Stacy’s decision to finally see a psychologist. And we both agreed that the visits would help with those demons in her past, demons that sent her into awful crying spells by day, and (sometimes) turned her into an unpredictable rebel at night.

——

AT TIMES I really did need to talk to Pastor Bishop, otherwise I’d be the one needing the psychologist.

ONE DAY, it got to a point when I was about to throw in the towel (again). It was a stupid argument, really, about her overuse of paper towels. Stacy used paper towels like they were leaves falling off trees— in other words, free for the taking. And it’s not like I’m poor and can’t afford them. It’s just that I don’t want to. My thing is, keep a hand towel nearby. Even the dishcloths tend to be dry on occasion, and she’d pass those up just to get her hands on some more paper towels. Now, maybe if my family owned the company or something, then I’d use paper towels with pride. But, a wasteful person I am not. I like to conserve, especially in my home.

“SO THEN you’re gonna have to stop acting like it’s a vacation cruise,” said Pastor Bishop when I sat down to have a talk with him. “You two need to find some other things to do when you’re together, other than, I’m guessing, the obvious. How about mapping out a strategy, a plan of action as to how you will live your lives, how you will spend your money, and how you will feel fulfilled. And, Danté?”

“Yes, Preach?

“Figure out what your contribution in life will be. You are two healthy human beings. So there must be something you can do that is beneficial to others around you.”

“I think I do enough of that for the both of us, Preach.”

“Well, I’d imagine you’re speaking about your work, right?”

“Exactly,” I said, my mind focused on the workday ahead.

“But, young Danté, my question to you is, would you do that job, fix those windows and caulk those cracks in people’s bathrooms, if it didn’t pay you?” He waited for a response, but I was stumped, as though this were a trick question. “And that’s my point, young man. You don’t have to address this now, because it’s supposed to require deep thought and evaluation. But just consider it from time to time: what would you do in life that was so fulfilling to you that you wouldn’t care to get paid for it?”

“Alright. I gotcha, Preach. Glad I stopped by. You always help me to keep things in proper perspective.”

“It might also serve you well to stop by this Sunday. Maybe you’ll bring a— umm, friend?”

“You’re one funny man, Preach. I can’t promise, but I’ll try.”

“I know you will.”

WHEN I got home that day, I was surprised to find Stacy waiting for me outside on one of the benches that leads to the building entrance. That threw me off for a second because she had the key to my apartment. So, I’m immediately guessing that she lost the key, or—

“What’s wrong? You lock y’self out?

Stacy rose to give me a hug, wagging her head.

Muffled in my embrace, she said, “Just couldn’t wait to see you.”

I exhaled my relief, but I can’t lie, it was good to feel the hug after a long day.

“Did you eat? Why don’t we hit Uno’s to night?” I suggested.

“That’s a plan,” said Stacy.

After a shower and a change of clothes, Stacy and I walked arm in arm through the park, along Wood Avenue, over to the oval and Uno’s restaurant, where it was very likely that I would see a resident, a neighbor or two. By this time— honestly—I didn’t give a shit.

Once we were seated I said, “So I was thinking about what you said last night.”

“Which part? We talked about a lot last night.”

“The part about your children, and getting us a house down in Atlanta. And I say, let’s check into it. I’m kinda tired of the same old grind, and it’s been a little miserable since my dad and gramps passed. So, yeah. Let’s check it out. It might just be the change I need.”

Stacy got up, although we had just been seated. She shot around the table and nearly tackled me on my side of the booth.

“Oh GOD! Are you serious?! Really!?”

“Yup. I’m serious. I can’t stay in one place forever. And besides, you make me very happy. So wherever we need to lay our heads to be together, I’m with it. I also did some numbers, checked my credit, and I even spoke with a couple brokers from down there. And it’s entirely feasible— if I can clear my schedule and my workload— that we can shoot down there by August first.”

Stacy uttered an eerie, crying scream that had to arouse just about everyone in the restaurant. I turned to face those who were closest to us, assuring them that all was okay and that she’s just a little happy.

In timely fashion, our waitress came over and asked, “I hear you need drinks over here?”

In a most joyful voice, Stacy said “YES! Oh, God. He’s gettin’ me, I mean us, a house! Isn’t that great!?” Stacy was teary-eyed, with her arms draped around my shoulders. She pulled herself in and snuggled her face into the crook of my neck and uttered appreciative sobs. I couldn’t stop her. I just had to let the moment be. But my face said it all, how Stacy took my one little mention of a visit all the way to the real estate closing within seconds. What an imagination! Or, better yet, what weight she loved to put on my shoulders!

The waitress seemed to feel a litt le out of place, as if this wasn’t her excitement to experience. To help things along, I ordered drinks for both of us: strawberry daiquiris.

“And please hurry. Before we have our first child,” I told her and at the same time rolled my eyes.

While Stacy was sitting on my lap, so elated from the news I’d brought, I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable, the two of us all squeezed into this confined space.

She was all smooches and kisses, and then she suddenly let up and focused her big, beautiful eyes on mine.

“Wait a minute. Did you just say our first child?”

Before she screamed again, I held my hand over her mouth.

“Okay, let’s not go too far. That was something of a joke— an answer to you saying he’s gonna buy me a house. Stacy, you move entirely too fast. But, like Tupac says, I’m not mad atcha. That’s the energy I love about you: that spontaneity. And I want you to change none of that. I’m inspired by you, the craziness— the whole nine. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like some breathing room?”

We chuckled about how silly we looked all squished like we were. But, before Stacy shifted back around to her seat, she asked me, “So, when did you finally decide?”

“I didn’t decide anything, Stacy. I’m just taking a trip down with you and speculating on some real estate, that’s all. And besides, I think seeing your children will be a plus and maybe it will heal what ever you’re going through. So, if the only thing that’s stopping you is having somebody by your side that will have your back, I’ll be there. I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you. And, for the record, you can’t go through life being afraid. You do what you gotta do. For you and for your children. Remember that most people are cowards. Hot air and tough talk. Nobody’s livin’ like a cowboy today.”

Stacy looked at me like I was crazy.

“I mean, like back in the day they used to wear their guns on their waist and they used to challenge each other to a duel out in the middle of town, in the middle of the streets. Ain’t you ever stopped to take a look at some of those old movies on cable?”

“A h h, nooo?” she said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Well, I have. And things ain’t what they use to be. People are held accountable today for their actions. Plus, everywhere you look, Big Brother is watching.”

“Big Brother?”

I nodded and said, “Yup. The cameras in the streets, in the parking lots, on top of buildings, in the sky. You just can’t hide from shit anymore.”

“Sounds like you’re upset about that,” said Stacy.

“Very funny. But, hardly.”

Then she said, “Never mind all that, I got some good news, too.”

“And what would that be?” I asked this in a sarcastic way, but I was genuinely curious as to what good news she had.

In a singsong voice she said, “I got a credit card. I got a credit card!”

“Wow. That’s great. But be careful. That’s the trap. They put a little bit of money out there for you to spend, and then you owe interest for life.”

She shrugged that off and showed me a black-and-platinum card.

“Ain’t no way I gotta worry about that, with this.”

I took hold of the card. “Damn. They’re making these offers look more and more appealing every day. Maybe I need to get me a card. So what are they offerin’ you, a thousand?”

“Um, excuse me, but this is way past offer. This is the actual card. And it’s not a thousand, mister-I-got-it-goin’-on.”

“How much they approve you for?”

“Well, the paper says a hundred thousand.”

“What?! Show me the paper.”

Stacy pulled out an envelope from her purse. The paper was ripped, except for the part about the approval.

“Shit! And I thought I was doin’ something. Girl, you bet t a cou nt yo u r blessings. ‘Cuzinth is economy, they don’t come up off of this much credit for just anybody.”

“Whatchu try’na say? I’m not worthy?”

“No-no-no, I’m not sayin’ that. I don’t really know much about your money situation.” That is, if you don’t count your tellin’ me about banks, losing your house, and foreclosure. “You never shared any of that with me. But I’m just sayin’, watch out. Spend it wisely. Don’t take out what you know you can’t put back. That’s all.”

Stacy made a face of ac cep tance and I knew I was suddenly off the hook. But I couldn’t help thinking she wasn’t all the way worthy of that card, especially the way she carried herself. No job. Living with her auntie (and me), and a whole lot of free time on her hands.

I guess the banks up here are more lenient? That, or she has an angel or something on her side.

I HAD other things to think about if I was gonna take this much-needed vacation by August. I had a short list of things to fix and clients to see. I’d have to get someone dependable to stand in, in case one of my regulars had an emergency. Not that there would be one, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. I also planned on paying my bills forward for two months. That way, when I got back I wouldn’t be stressed to handle that. And it’s not like I’m stressin’, with over $70K in the bank— thanks in part to Pop’s insurance policy. However, I’m something of a workaholic. I just need to keep stackin’ paper like a squirrel or something.

In the meantime, using Pastor Bishop’s advice was already feeling good. He had asked why I didn’t take “a leap of faith” if I was really serious about making the relationship work. He had asked why I was treating Stacy like a Happy Meal and not a three-course dinner at a five-star restaurant. I thought the way he said it was funny, but later on it really made sense. The quickies in the car had to stop. The falling asleep after a long day’s work had to stop. As for my falling asleep, I’d just have to make adjustments on my workload— get up earlier or something— so that I could devote quality time (and energy) to my boo. My boo: that was another thing. I had to change my language from what might be looked upon as a teenage crush, and I had to start recognizing that this was my lady, especially if she was that. And I didn’t say anything to her about this, but there were a couple of times that Stacy just impulsively dropped to her knees and straight-up emptied me. That had to stop, too. I couldn’t look at my lover as a freak or a vixen. I had to get that out of my brain— literally. I had to think of her as my love first, and everything else would be coincidental to that.

“IT’S ME,” Stacy proclaimed over my shoulder in that singsong voice (the side of her I liked most). I was brushing my teeth at the time, nude and watching the mirror as she approached. It was at moments like these that I’d reflect, and for all the reasons I could recall, I was proud of my choice. At that moment Stacy was so innocent and predictable. I could see she just wanted love, like I did. I could see she was just a naked human being, like me, and she merely wanted the warmth of a trusted, caring man. I could see there in the mirror how (despite her flaws) she could easily fit in as the other half of me. However, who was I to haggle? Sure, all my faults were not open to the public or explained in rants, but nevertheless I knew I had them. After all, millionaire or miser, who among us is perfect?

Here in the mirror, I could also see through all the bullshit; all that thug shit she tried to throw at me during our squabbles. When she was angry or picking a fight (maybe while she was on or approaching her period), she transformed into more of the male side of herself— if that makes sense. She’d talk tough, her walk changed some, and her facial expression held solid as a rock. It was something of a transformation, the way she moved in and out of bliss, straight into some hostile rage, cursing in every other sentence. Mothafucka this, mothafucka that. Sometimes I’d just sit and listen to her just to see how far she’d go, how much she’d ramble until she ran out of things to say, or people to curse. But then there were these heavenly times when—

—she was so soft and pink, and manageable. She was a child wanting to be molded. She didn’t seem to have a care in the world beside me, her man.

STACY STOOD there behind me, holding me as I got rid of a mouthful of sloppy tooth scrub, and after a couple of rinses I turned to pull her into my embrace and took the opportunity to enter the “silly season” we always remembered from Barack Obama’s comment.

“Girl, you know it’s true… Ooo, ooo, ooo, I love youuuuuu.”

“Now that was gay,” she said in the voice of Riley, our favorite Boondocks character.

The nerve of her to go there while I had her in the most compromising position, able to tickle her until she—

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I take it back! I take it back!” She screamed bloody murder, but playfully so.

My teeth clenched, my face knotted up, and my strong GI Joe grip on her body was not letting up. I held on tight as Stacy tried every which way she could to get loose. With her naked in my arms, I felt like I had claimed the catch of the day and that she was the big fish flappin’ this way and that.

“I take it back! I take it baaaaaaaaaaack!”

“Okay. Jesus. You don’t hafta scream,” I eventually said. But I still had her in my arms. It had been so long since we’d been here— not necessarily naked together, but naked, at peace, and in sync with each other. Even if this feeling was a result of the conversation we had earlier at Uno. Even if a vacation was planned for the near future, and that the relationship between us was expected to move to the next level; still, this was what life was about. This was why I put long hours in and enjoyed short hours of my own. This was why I stacked paper and focused on doing the job right each and every time. This was the reason for all of that, and I didn’t even see it coming. I had just been preparing for it all along. And I’m so glad I did!

And now that I was a nose apart from Stacy, I could appreciate the scent of her exhales, and her freshly bathed body. Damn, how my senses so easily stirred in her presence. The touch of her fingertips (along with the sight of her beautiful face) was a sensation that stimulated my nerves and encouraged my deep breathing. All these signals inevitably inspired my skin to tingle and my dick to get hard. And if that wasn’t the signal to turn off the lights, to carry my baby out of the bathroom and to my bed, then water ain’t wet.

The one thing that I always heard from girlfriends was how great I kissed. And although I never really paid it much attention, with life moving forward the way it has, that “skill” has become more and more my anchor— something the rest of my body had to catch up with before it was too late. Hey, Mr. Tongue, meet my friends, the fingers. Fingers, you already know Mr. Left and Mr. Right from the Hand family. And, of course, all of you know my friend Foreplay. So everyone make yourselves at home. Get to know one another! I’m sure you all have so much in common! Oh! Look who came through the door! It’s Dick! Hey, Dick, I really need to introduce you to my new friend over here. He’s chillin’ in the corner, but he’s a very important cat. Dick, meet Patience.

STACY

With a certain finesse, Danté laid me down on the bed as he would a suit that he didn’t want to get wrinkled before the big day. He did this delicately, affectionately, and purposefully, as though this was about to be our first time together—and he maybe wanna make a good impression on me. But then that meant this couldn’t be another typical romp in the bed. And not that I was thinking that way, just that the way this was all going down felt so different. I could even feel myself constrained to keep with a certain tempo in a PG-17 kinda manner. I don’t know how to explain my body and my actions and how I was caught up in this total surrender, as though this time— more than any other— was the moment of all moments. The way he looked into my eyes. The way his fingers teased my skin. The kisses he planted. What was happening here was some other kind of agenda or procedure that must’ve been explored by every sexual scientist and every other sex therapist. Except, I never once studied, practiced, or took notes from any of those sources. So then, what was guiding this man to start at my toes? Aargh! I could’ve screamed! He was massaging and kissing and licking them all at once. And what in the world was encouraging him to touch and caress and care for my ankles, calves, the backs of my knees and thighs like he did? What was urging him to bury his face right there between my legs, the one place where he had never gone before? I was right there at the tipping point already! And I felt my abandon and began to feel myself in harmony with whatever absolute intentions he had. He grabbed hold of my breasts like he didn’t wanna let go until they were one with his hands; until they were satisfied by his licking and nibbling. And what was it that eventually caused us to glue ourselves into the twisted knot we became, with our tongues, hands, and muscles realizing what was already so familiar?

Was this his curriculum? My eyes rolled back in my face at the thought.

Foreplay was but his freshman activity. Administration, orientation, and making himself at home with me, as if this was the first time we met. He explored the school, curious, fascinated, and necessary all at once. There were some challenges posed, and some mandatory things he had to adhere to, but nothing he couldn’t take on. He apparently knew he had to make the right choices and not move too fast, too aggressively, or get out of line. (Not yet, anyway.) But that was the easy task, since he had been here so many times, even if only in my dreams. As the hour progressed, Danté became a sophomore, indulging in pleasures with which he was already familiar. More than comfortable now, he revisited those areas that he’d already satisfied, and which seemed to also satisfy him. By the swelling between his legs, his intentions appeared to grow with a greater urgency. And naturally, the urge inside of me was wanton and inspired as well. To be honest here, I (his education) was permissive in every way. Without saying so, I wanted him to learn me, even if the friction belonged to both of us, along with the giving and taking and nervous breathing. Not to be mistaken, “educating” and “being educated” was what this was about, wasn’t it? And he was clearly striving and driven to be educated within the walls and halls of my institution, wasn’t he?

There was trouble near the end of Danté’s sophomore term, when I tested his staying power. Maybe I was going too far, considering the look on his face, as though he was finding it hard to breathe; or, at least his breathing was stifled. Maybe it was how I grabbed him and yanked at him within my own craving for him to fill me. My hunger for him was crazy! And I felt like he was on the verge, trying to hold back everything inside of him; a buildup that was just so great that I could feel it pulsating inside of me; like he was ready to explode with energy unexplained. But that was something of a frustration that, I guess, every student had to go through. Still, Danté didn’t complete his mission there. I could see that mind-over-matter look in his eyes. And then it was clear that he was in control and that he wouldn’t end this so soon. My God this felt so good. So amazing! There was more deep breathing between the two of us and I continued to enjoy the wet and wild and wonderful feelings I was going through. I could’ve cried out louder if not for the fact that I could hardly speak— too entrapped, too engaged, and right at the threshold of that point of no return. So, I merely sighed and cried and held on to him. I noticed he was doing some of the same.

“You okay?” I asked once he came up for air; once we both got a moment to breathe.

Danté said, “Oh-h-h-oh… I’m good. Reeeeal good.” Without regard for his response, I felt somewhat obliged to go down on him some more. Taking my pupil in and out of my classroom, schooling him through every angle and test I could think up. Inevitably, I pro cessed him for the next phase— the ju nior level of my passions.

By this time, subtlety was tossed by the wayside, and along with that his discipline. No longer could he merely be patient and wait for an assembly or a schedule as to when and where. Danté was a ju nior now! He had run the entire length of this blessed facility more times than anyone else— or so it appeared. His grades were strong and his confidence was stronger, and the world he had adopted was more accepting with a greater embrace of the man he was. He was on top of his lessons, pushing his way in, but still gently, until it was understood that he was here to give as well as take. And he seemed to be so sure of himself that all who had come before him came for the purpose of only taking. And obviously I was already familiar with this practice, and maybe that was familiar and satisfying in itself. But the giving apparently satisfied him. It provoked a lot of noise down the hallway, and also in the front office. But he didn’t concern himself. He simply came here to learn and to get the most out of this education pro cess.

There was a dance. And, like many of the other school activities, this was meant to provide a form of release; a chance to become familiar with a bigger picture, and that it’s not all black-and-white, cut-and-dried. This was leisure and harmony between two people who could move together and find a synchronicity unlike in the classroom. This was also a license for Danté to become more active and demanding all at once. He could really dance! He could gyrate and thrust and drive and bounce up and down, and I appreciated him in my cries and my joyful noise. When he pushed, I gladly received, and I embraced him evermore with a want for as much as he could give me. And yet, that would be premature just now, since his agenda would be to become a se nior and to officially graduate.

And that’s what this was all about, reaching the highest level of satisfaction. For Danté was overcome with achievement— the entrepreneur that he is. Only, in this case, it was the achievement of love fulfilled. There was a purpose in his eyes, to give. To receive was coincidental. As for me, I wanted more than an A-student in my classroom. I wanted Danté to be the honors student that shined above and beyond anything in my history. I expected him to show me that education had a whole different meaning after he graduated. And the diploma on the wall would be the ultimate achievement, the reason why we came together in the first place.

And hopefully he had his eyes set on that (even if they were closed). Everything about this time together and our movements spelled out harmony, and that we were meant to be. This felt nothing like any man I had ever laid with. It was even different than when he and I had made love in the past months. My sounds were endorsements of what Danté meant in my life. And the feelings I experienced were convictions that I was right all along. And that feeling further encouraged me to take more of him, and how he pressed on, muscling into my body with thorough and sometimes possessive mea sures. My cries were at times loud and hoarse, a combination of pleas ure and pain as one— pain, for the long, challenging road that I braved to get to this point, and plea sure, in the pure carnal enjoyment Danté delivered.

“Oh, Danté. Oh, Danté! Oh, Danté!!!” And that was all she wrote. You coulda stuck a fork in me, ‘cuz I was done. The warm juices inside of me flowed. The friction between us suddenly got slippery and hot and wetter— if there’s such a thing. That, and my fingernails clawing into his sweaty back. That, and my trembling, and hyperventilating in his ear.

“Don’t you leave me, Danté? Pleease don’t leave meee.” I could feel myself losing it over and over again. One, two, and three orgasms. This was the deepest submission I’d ever felt. And I couldn’t even control the words that were coming out of my mouth.

DANTÉ

Wow. It sort of threw a damper on such a completely incredible encounter together.

“Don’t you leave me, Danté? Pleease don’t leave meee.” The words poured out like some woman’s final dying statement. They were without power, and so desperate.

But I wasn’t gonna let it get to me. I pushed it way back in my mind and held on tight. We held each other, mumbling back and forth our testimonies and commitments. We kissed and caressed and molded into each other’s embrace, until very early in the morning, when I found us stuck together, again with our own brand of glue.