A young couple declare their love for each other
And thank you." I set about getting dressed. I heard him move, humming some tune to himself.
"What song is that?"
"Trance. Got interested in it because of my father. I think you'd like him. He's like me only more... Or that's what everyone else tells me. Not a bad thing, really. I mean... I can appreciate beauty were I see it, right?"
"Indeed. Trance... isn't that what those..."
"Raver kids. Yeah it's their groove, but it doesn't necessarily mean I'm some drugged out space monkey trying to drown out reality by staying blitzed out of my gourd and dancing to the wee hours of the morning after the morning after. Give me trance, a cold soda and I'm a happy puppy."
"You are amazing." He shrugged, smiling at me with a face that seemed to be thinking about something other than our conversation. "What are you thinking?"
"Want the truth or ya want me ta lie t'ya." His accent was definitely street, but there was more than a dose of good-ole-boy as well.
"The truth, young man," I said with mock sternness. I planted my hands on my panty-clad hips and waited for his response. He was beneath my computer desk, his legs twitching rhythmically to his mental music.
"I was thinking about how your skin would feel beneath my hands. How your lips would feel if I kissed them. I was thinking about trying to seduce you. I was thinking about how wrong it would be for me to take advantage of a woman who was, if I may say, obviously neglected by her husband."
"I think you're too young to have thoughts that deep."
"Everyone says that. Except my father. He thinks I'm just growing up faster than other eighteen-year-olds. I think he's right."
"Sounds like he's the perfect father."
"Nope. He's the perfect friend. His words. Now I think I understand. A father sometimes has to be blind. Not a friend."
He rose, his eyes locking immediately on my body. "And I'm thinking I like you better naked."
That was it. He'd returned the favor and opened the door for me. It was my turn to make him pay. I walked over to him, watching his every movement. He stood. Just stood. Waiting for what he expected. I stopped in front of him, leaned over and spoke.
"Why don't you join me. We still have lessons to go over," I whispered in his ear. The deep roar/rumble in his chest told me how successful I was. I pulled away; his eyes burned with lust. He wanted me, but was more interested in playing the game. I pulled out the chair. He sat down, offering me a seat.
Rakim taught me much. Several times I actually forgot he was holding me. Then I would feel his breath on my neck. Soft and seductive, it seemed to slither along my flesh. And it always brought my attention back to him.
"Did you have a girlfriend back in Los Angeles?"
"Nope. And I don't date black women."
"Really? Why?" I turned to face him, eventually sitting sidesaddle in his lap. His face looked much older. Wiser. Yet there was that same amused shadow.
"MOST... and remember that word... black women are used to dealing with the stereotypical black guy, which I REFUSE to be. Unless the situation calls for it. Anyhow... they spend most of their time pressing buttons. Black men have developed pre-programmed responses to this, so they are relatively safe doing this. Occasionally some guy has his wires crossed or blows a circuit. Drugs, hard day at work... the reasons... excuses... are many. But I'm not wired like the stereotype. They press buttons and I react all wrong. Even for a White Guy I act wrong. I'm patient. Understanding, and yielding to a point. Ironically I am what most black women consider the perfect man. They just don't know how to treat one. So I don't even bother. And yes... I'm speaking from experience."
The form that slid across his face... Wise. Evil. No... ruthless. Someone had hurt him. Something had tormented his dreams. I knew that look all too well. Wondering if he could have done something else. I stroked his face tenderly. The shadow scampered away as he turned to face me.
I kissed him.