Monday, January 15, 2007


“I gotta tell you about my little boy toy, Wise,” says my girl Kells.

Yadda, yadda, yadda, he had all the vitals…ginormous genitalia, and, uh, ginormous genitalia, that’s pretty much the highlight. Oh yeah, but they also have a lot in common and have a lot of fun together.

“And how old is he?”


Then there’s another home girl, Singles, who is a bit less enthusiastic, yet every bit animated in telling me her tale.

“Young and Tasty,” is what she calls him. He’s every bit of early 20s, albeit a working professional, a co-worker no less. Again there’s talk of this young man’s endless conversational prowess, his energy, and oh, huge surprise…his seismic sexual smackdown.

Have I finally reached the age where my peers are indeed SON’ing it…as in the boy you’re fcuking could be your slightly older homegirl’s actual biological son?

What am I missing? I mean, I can imagine what I’m missing in bed, and frankly, I’m not all that pressed. Weeeeeeell, I wasn’t until the other night at this reggae spot…

This young sweetie pie stepped to me and made me re-eval…

I was sitting and sipping and he rolls up next to me all brazen like he knows me like that. Asks me if I wanna dance. When I decline, he puts his arm around me with this brash possessive air, and I was thoroughly amused. I walked his young azz into the dark Calypso room and had my way with him. I barked commands into his ear, and he obeyed, but not without defying me first. And he didn’t just do what I said, he did it like he had something to prove.

I made sure to divulge my age from jump, cuz looks can be deceiving and I knew he might take me for one of his classmates. I didn’t bother listening when he tried to tell me his age. For those secession of songs that we shared I could suddenly sense the allure. I was enchanted by his boyish charm which was really nothing more than an equation of unsophisticated sexual bravado + drive. I could see how that undivided attention could be attractive to a 30 year old woman like either of my friends, who can basically summarize the past decade with bullet points of boys who were the exact opposite.

I sustained that understanding for less than a full Red S+ripe. That’s about when he should have refreshed it. Instead he tried to kiss me then asked if I would mind if he went for a smoke.


So that just brings me back to the playground. I didn’t much care for dudes in their early 20s when I was that age, so it’s sincerely beyond me what I would do with one now. But that’s not to say that I’m passing judgment on the Son Movement. I say, whatever floats your little man in the boat. I’m just wondering why the explanation (bec yeah, one is necessary) always resembles a cartoon. Women always speak in these animated terms, and color in the descriptions of these young men with these vivid crayola caricatured brush strokes. And there’s no doubt in my mind that younger men have a lot of qualities that older dudes could stand to learn.

Just bec it’s not for me doesn’t mean that it’s not a valid and viable relationship option.

But I am fascinated by the social dynamic, particularly in my girl Kells’ case…

  • Dude was her student at commun college. [problematic on too many levels, but it gets better]
  • The class was Reading. [you’ll remember from undergrad that Reading means that you’re not proficient enough to enroll in English 1o1. In other words, it would prob take him an entire class period to read this entry.
  • He aint all that cute. She says he has a big dizzle and all, but does that really matter if he looks like a gay Lil J0n? [ps…has anyone else noticed today that there’s a fine line in distinguishing if a guy is just young or if he’s gay…in the same way that it’s hard to tell foreign from gay? Sorry young’ens.]
  • He is not just “something to do” [which is the attitude of my other friend who’s Son’ing, and which makes perfect sense to me]... Kells and lil Lil J0n are now exclusive.
But in the end my friends, is it really for me to comprehend? Im not the one with the Son.

But perhaps talk to me late next decade.

Sunday, January 07, 2007


How many languages y'all speak?

I’m fluent in at least 2...

So.....I went Upstate for C-mas. Ended up staying thru New Years. He did, too.

We met up at a party, threw a few back.

“You know Wise, I don’t think you and I have ever been on a real date-date.”

“You might be right.”

“Would you go out on a real date with me while we’re home?”

“I think you should ask me when neither of us is under the influence,” I answered over my shoulder, and returned to the task of shaking azz against his front.

He called the next morning and asked again…I accepted. A few days later we had a near perfect date.

Dinner at a restaurant frequented by wealthy, elderly white people. Wine from the spot in France where he lived for a hot sec. Cranberry mojito. Nonstop quality catching up, missing the last 2 showings that night of whatever movie he had selected for us to see.

Then back to his mom’s house to watch the porn I got him for his b-day. [FYI – Mom was out of town.] We sat side by side on a plush, shallow futon, hovering over the naked bodies slithering sweaty against one another on the oversized screen of his laptop. My hands to myself. His, respectfully draped above my shoulders. The flick was so ghetto and hilarious… a secession of group sex situations staged in Section 8 digs. Stretch marks, bullet wounds, testicular razor bumps, and ash, all in prominent supporting roles.

I was slightly preoccupied by the glare from the screen that rested on the impressive bulge pulsing in his jeans...and the subtle pool flooding mine. When he warmed his hands on my bare skin, under my shirt as if the stitches of my bra were puritanical boundaries…my only movement was to get more comfortable on the couch.

In my mind, however, I was narrowly ruminating in the pleasure. Not giving in…unwilling to surrender the psychological, let alone physical edge too soon. In my mind, I was on fire, and wanting him more and more in more ways than I care to admit.

But what I said was, “Oh shit, Pres. F0rd died!”

The porn had concluded and had been replaced with SportsCen+er.

“I had no idea he played football,” he said.

It was late, and before I left, I replied to his nonverbal request for a kiss, with an offer of my cheek and a, “I had a great time, as always, Mr. Him.”

This cat speaks French, but I don’t think he knew how to interpret ‘what I didn’t say’…bec he asked me a few nights later, after another night out.

I’m not pressed to give in to him just yet. He still lives there and I still live here. But he did kind of up the ante when I reminded him that we had agreed to “just be cool.”

“Do you think we could ever be more than just ‘cool’?”

I was surprised to hear him ask that. I did a quick bedroll [don’t act like you don’t roll around in bed when someone on the other end of the phone excites you!]…and told him honestly that I had no way of knowing yet.

“I want to see you a lot more, Wise.” Thank God I had on my armor, cuz he was laying it on pretty thick. We made plans to visit soon.

After talking, hanging out and texting every day during the holidays, I didn’t hear from him for almost a week after we left. And in that time I knew exactly what he was not saying.

Thank God I didn’t get caught up in his rhetoric…I’d be going crazy trying to figure out what was thinking and wondering if I should call him and shit. And while I know he was being sincere, thank God I also know that he subscribes to an ‘out of sight out of mind’ sort of defense mechanism. I know without his confirmation that he has opted to come to B-More on the later of the two weekends we discussed. I know that he is setting some boundaries of his own, some distance.

I know that he has a non-verbal alibi. He's a man, after all. If ever his words come back to haunt him, or if I were to display any dependency on that particularly intimate convo, he can always rely confidently on his 'silent evidence'.

If I were to all of a sudden jump the gun and say, “Hey let’s be more than cool”…he will recoil under the pressure and present a defense that says a whole different song and dance than his words. I know this because I know him.

My friends and I can look back and laugh at our younger days when we would've undoubtedly fallen into that bullshit ditch.

Today, I smile and understand. I’m straight fluent in the language of omission...just hoping the magic doesn't get lost in translation.

Plus, talk is cheap! :)

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  • So...Wise??

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    Our Nation's (HIV) way of Harlem, NY and Upsteezy NY
    I'm older than I look, and stupider than you think. But I'm quite proud of my sharp eye for The Ridiculous, and by Ridiculous, of course I mean Me.