A few days ago I was watching America's Next Best Dance Crew and caught a routine before Lil Mama's annoying two pennies. A co-ed group of dancers entered the stage in vintage suits, chiffon prom dresses, and tennis shoes. Most of them were white and they added a twist by including a deaf asian [who lost his hearing aid during the previous round]. They play the music and start the routine. Damn, that asian boy is getting it! He's throwing in the "what bitch" face and everything! I was zeroed in on him, hoping he didn't miss a beat, when the routine transitioned and placed him in the back. The group then [boys and girls] turned around, dropped, and gave me.... well at least 20. All I could see were parallel thighs, a pulsating back bone, and the end of 'his' powder blue jacket create a hump that I'd never noticed on the guy before. And it disappeared. And resurfaced. Oh shit! That's his ass! How cute!Now before you start looking all sideways, understand what I mean: I love men in every sense of the word and there's nothing better than a manly man but I find it absolutely sexy when a man can let his guard down and pull something... unexpected from his pocket. Ain't nothin' wrong with serving your girl with a little spin move in the kitchen in your socks to make her laugh. Or a little strip tease in the bedroom with the lights down low. It's not considered being a punk... look at it as giving your girl some act right. You'd be surprised to learn what she'll do for you by making her feel you'd do anything for her.
Boys, boys, boys. I used to be stuck on dark skin when I first started dating. Jason was my first and was a taller, thicker version of Wesley Snipes. Waiting to Exhale, not White Man Can't Jump. No doubt his presence was strong and I always felt safe and sexier than any other woman. Our bodies would be next to each other and I would be mesmerized by the color contrast and think of all the exotic shades of brown we could make. My next love and I were about the same exact color. Which was a little weird to me at first because my preference is any skin tone darker than mine. I'm telling you it's aaaaall about the contrast. Because of it, people used to say we looked like brother and sister [which was so not sexy] but I noticed a constant sheen that I had never seen naturally in skin that made me love it. My current love is about the same color as my Dad. Fair with yellow undertones, clear of blotchiness and childhood scars , and soft as hell. It's weird because subconciously, a young girl grows up adoring her father and set out in life looking for the next best thing. I used to want to marry my Dad [when I was 5] and was definitely deeply in love. But I'm not sure exactly if that means to model a man after looks, or personality.
The trend of my men has shown that I've moved completely across the spectrum. Which makes me wonder who's coming next to dinner? I'm guessing a white boy or asian. That's the only thing that makes sense. I transferred to a 90% white school in Georgia and my only choices were underclassmen, white boys, or people from different schools. Dealing with someone who could potentially be in my younger brothers class was out of the question and I had no car so... yeah. I would still try to show mild interest but they never bit for me. At the time I was a track captain who wrote for the school and county paper and lived 3 houses down from the mayor of our city. I figured they would at least bend because of my resume. I figured wrong.
Throughout my lifetime I've had my share of crushes. When I finally reached the age where that shit didn't matter, I did take a friend up on an offer. We had a great time talking and smoking a private stash of white widow. We fed our munchies desire with a suggestion to Bennihannas and even though I offered to treat since he had never been there, he looked at me insulted when I reached for the check. After that, I convinced him to join me at the Uptown comedy show for a laugh, and he quickly accepted. Yeah, it was different but in a refreshing way. Oh Mike, I think it was all the stories about your prejudice people in bean town that scared me. And with that mafia- like last name, I imagined pulling up at the Soprano house and getting a welcoming I wasn't sure I could handle. But maybe that's the problem: thinking like that. Consuming your life with worries of perception. Sure, the parents might be mad to see Maxwell C. Elliot III with someone who looks like me, but this is the way I now see it: they'll be dead soon, it all looks the same when the lights go out, and they'll be happy to know that at least their grand daughters have natural body to their hair.
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