We used to have bunk beds. But not directly underneath each other. Our beds formed a giant "T" and I was on top. In the middle of the night I'd jump down. He was already awake. We had to check.
"Did Santa come yet?"
Operation Catch The Fat Man was in effect. But the thing is, we didn't want to see Santa. We wanted to see a tree nearly toppled over with presents. So we'd crawl out the room commando-style, on our elbows. Then climbed down the stairs, headfirst, on our hands. A year never went by that we didn't make at least two failed search and rescue mission attempts. But when we finally found success, when the present finally spilled out into the living room floor and I swear our heart simultaneously skipped a beat, we'd slide down the stairs in what was now a stealth mission. We'd touch the boxes, shake them, put our ears to them. We'd try to figure out if there was a way that we could open at least one of them without destroying the wrapping paper. Then we'd hear a noise in the kitchen and vanish like ninjas.
Santa's not catching us red-handed. HA!
Then we're back in the bed speculating on the contents of the boxes. And of course we'd have to discuss how long we needed to wait before we woke our parents up. Had to figure out the balance between being present-thirsty children and developing an ulcer from the wait. Sunrise was the deadline.
Once everyone got up there was more waiting. We had to attempt to not look like savages. But once the first piece of paper was torn, there was a roar, more tearing, a hug, a cry, a kiss, more tearing. A blur of too little boys racing around. More tearing. Then all the paper was gone. And we'd be dressed in brand new clothes and in our rooms playing video games and waiting for the first piece of ham to get cut.
Thanks Mom. Oops I mean... Santa... right Santa.
Suddenly it's Day Number 365. Happy Birthday Mom. I'm not into resolutions. Everyday should be the start of a resolution. You should try to make yourself better everyday. Not pick a day to start being the person that you want to be. With a 365-day deadline to accomplish those goals. It's failure waiting to happen. Gotta say that 2008 was interesting to say the very least. Gained friends. Lost friends. Found myself. Lost myself. Then found myself again. So thank you God for allow me another year to get it right.
Randomness....
My 1st Song by Jay-Z. Love that song. ... Treat my first like my last and my last like my first. .... Snow is fun to watch. I'm good on the snowballs fights though. ... How I look being a grown ass man getting blasted in the face with the frozen ball of snow. ... I had like three weeks with no text messaging and as much as I feel like I should be pissed off about that it was pretty liberating. Well, except for the $184 phone bill that arrived because people call you when they see you're not responding to texts. .... Funny how snow, like everything else, is flawless and perfect unless Man fucks it up. .... Apparently I have a room full of issues that I keep to myself and one of my best friends says that it's an asthma attack waiting to happen. ... No, I don't have asthma. But we get the point. ... It'a aight. I got a room that's only for him. .... I think Gym is gonna divorce me. She's filing on ground of spousal neglect. I can't blame her. .... I've been cheating with Ms. Procrastination. I hate that bitch. I really do. But I can't leave her alone and she refuses to leave me alone. ... I cried for the first time in years the other night. ... Same night I laughed my ass off. ... Knicks still suck balls. But their not unbearable to watch anymore and I'm still going to watch every game I can. ... Speaking of which Carmelo got biz in the fourth quarter Sunday and the follow-up Donte Jones caught looked like he gave one dude in the nose-bleed seats a high-five before he dunked it. ... Holidays are fun for kids. The fun part for the adults should be making it fun for the kids. ... I can't stop listening to 808 and Heartbreak. ... Maybe that's why I feel depressed sometimes. ... Two weeks without blogging made some people mad at me. ... Don't worry it made me mad at myself. .... It's funny that I start these blogs having no idea what I'm going to write. ... Then I end up with long ass blogs like this one. .... I actually asked someone to "step outside" the other day. I never thought I'd actually do that. Normally, I'd just smack them in the face. Guess I'm maturing. .... I'm probably the most affectionate person you know. ... It's funny how I wrote a blog about Christmas morning on New Year's Eve. .... Oh well, it's my blog. ... Let me know. Do I still go time to grow. Things ain't always set in stone. Let me know. Let me know. .... The only thing I know for sure about next year is that it will be 2009. I don't like it that way but that's the way life is. .... If my biggest worry is not knowing what's going to happen tomorrow then I'm doing just fine. I'm just happy that tomorrow is a possibility. ..... I love me. You should too.
C
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
From the mouthpiece...
Let me keep it funky and say that I never attempt to speak on behalf of all men. In fact, no man should try to speak on behalf of all men. And while we're there, women shouldn't ask a man to speak on behalf of all men.
With that said, what I'm going to write about is based on my own experiences and those of men that I'm closely associated with. It may extend to men outside my circle but if you're a female and reading this please don't run to you're man talking bout.. AH HA, I read C's blog and he said you're acting this way because.....
Don't blame me.
Commitment issues. Lots of guys have them. Lots of women do too, contrary to popular belief (which comes from the propaganda spread by evil men-hating women). Men aren't sluts by nature. People are. Men don't pipe everything that is presented in front of them. Good men don't have that amount of trouble finding ways to have sex. With that said, there are more reasons that men start smashing the breaks when it's time to cross over into Wifeyville. Understand that as much as women have been hurt by men, men have also been hurt by women. And not wanting to put a title on a relationship can just as often have to do with submitting emotions and feelings to a female as is it can be about still wanting to plow shorty around the corner.
There are dudes that are perpetual wifers. I'm not referring to those gentlemen.
Actually being in a relationship is to give to someone something that you had full control over before. They can control your feelings, affect your day, have an effect on your life. It's not just about monogamy. Or at least it shouldn't be.
It's about someone expecting things of you and you agreeing to adhere to those expectations.
Why is it that when women have their guards up it's because men are slime buckets but when men have their guards up it's because they are whores who want to hold on to their whoredom??
Let me make one thing clear: It's not socially acceptable for men to be whores. Women don't accept that and men don't care about what other men do. Men aren't patting each other on the back for having a truckload of sexual conquests. Whether a guy slept with 3 girls or 300 girls, other guys couldn't care less. Women care. And women don't find that particularly attractive either. Plus, if you really think about it, girls that are jumpoffs get wifed up too. So who's really judging them?? Think about it. Women.
Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.
I digress. I guess I'm starting the All Men Aren't Scumbags Campaign. What we sometimes can be is simply scared. Yeah, I said it. Men can also be afraid to be hurt, afraid to be played, afraid to mess shit up, afraid that things are going to change because sometimes once you enter Wifeyhood, things do change. Sometimes they don't. So if your dude asks you to be patient with him and he's there for you all the time anyway, don't jump to decide that he's clearly ramming ever chick in a 20-block radius, try to understand what is inhibitions are. Find out why he is the way he is and feels the way he feels. The same as you would expect from him.
Randomness.....
There was an old guy in the train station with probably six teeth in his mouth and a boombox at his side and could sing 50 times better than most artists with a deal right now. .... I need someone to go to Rockefeller Center and sign this dude. He was beasting Sam Cooke songs. ... If the Giants lose one more game I'm going to go out to Jersey and start throwing rocks at passing limos and Escalades. .... Why the hell have I felt tired every single day for nearly the passed two weeks? ... The best way to say I'm sorry is with good head. ... The best way to say hello is with good head. ... Best way to say goodbye is with good head. .... Ahh head is great. ... For some reason I've been looking at people in the street lately and thinking about how'd I'd dress them. .... I been disappointed in myself a lot lately. ... I've been proud of the Knicks even when they lose. ... Didn't think I'd ever say that. .... People in general are full of shit. ... You spit like a llama and you look like a llama. .... You know who you are. ... I went to the mall the other day and all I have to see if I see Santa I swear we gonna have to shot the fair one. .... I miss a good game of Hustle. ... Just cause you like sex that doesn't make you a freak. .... Just cause you "never got any complaints" doesn't mean you're good at it. ... Heroes is one of the best TV dramas in the history of TV. ... Shoutout to them having a black actor play the president. Now that's Obama fo yo mama. ... I need a new pair of jeans like nobody's business. ... T.I.'s album is crack. So is Kayne's. Luda's cd is aight. ... I haven't cut my facial hair in like two months and I still don't have a goatee. This is bullshit. ... I'd keep writing but my laptop is gonna die. ... In my mind, I'm listening to the Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.
Ya'll already know what it is.
C
With that said, what I'm going to write about is based on my own experiences and those of men that I'm closely associated with. It may extend to men outside my circle but if you're a female and reading this please don't run to you're man talking bout.. AH HA, I read C's blog and he said you're acting this way because.....
Don't blame me.
Commitment issues. Lots of guys have them. Lots of women do too, contrary to popular belief (which comes from the propaganda spread by evil men-hating women). Men aren't sluts by nature. People are. Men don't pipe everything that is presented in front of them. Good men don't have that amount of trouble finding ways to have sex. With that said, there are more reasons that men start smashing the breaks when it's time to cross over into Wifeyville. Understand that as much as women have been hurt by men, men have also been hurt by women. And not wanting to put a title on a relationship can just as often have to do with submitting emotions and feelings to a female as is it can be about still wanting to plow shorty around the corner.
There are dudes that are perpetual wifers. I'm not referring to those gentlemen.
Actually being in a relationship is to give to someone something that you had full control over before. They can control your feelings, affect your day, have an effect on your life. It's not just about monogamy. Or at least it shouldn't be.
It's about someone expecting things of you and you agreeing to adhere to those expectations.
Why is it that when women have their guards up it's because men are slime buckets but when men have their guards up it's because they are whores who want to hold on to their whoredom??
Let me make one thing clear: It's not socially acceptable for men to be whores. Women don't accept that and men don't care about what other men do. Men aren't patting each other on the back for having a truckload of sexual conquests. Whether a guy slept with 3 girls or 300 girls, other guys couldn't care less. Women care. And women don't find that particularly attractive either. Plus, if you really think about it, girls that are jumpoffs get wifed up too. So who's really judging them?? Think about it. Women.
Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.
I digress. I guess I'm starting the All Men Aren't Scumbags Campaign. What we sometimes can be is simply scared. Yeah, I said it. Men can also be afraid to be hurt, afraid to be played, afraid to mess shit up, afraid that things are going to change because sometimes once you enter Wifeyhood, things do change. Sometimes they don't. So if your dude asks you to be patient with him and he's there for you all the time anyway, don't jump to decide that he's clearly ramming ever chick in a 20-block radius, try to understand what is inhibitions are. Find out why he is the way he is and feels the way he feels. The same as you would expect from him.
Randomness.....
There was an old guy in the train station with probably six teeth in his mouth and a boombox at his side and could sing 50 times better than most artists with a deal right now. .... I need someone to go to Rockefeller Center and sign this dude. He was beasting Sam Cooke songs. ... If the Giants lose one more game I'm going to go out to Jersey and start throwing rocks at passing limos and Escalades. .... Why the hell have I felt tired every single day for nearly the passed two weeks? ... The best way to say I'm sorry is with good head. ... The best way to say hello is with good head. ... Best way to say goodbye is with good head. .... Ahh head is great. ... For some reason I've been looking at people in the street lately and thinking about how'd I'd dress them. .... I been disappointed in myself a lot lately. ... I've been proud of the Knicks even when they lose. ... Didn't think I'd ever say that. .... People in general are full of shit. ... You spit like a llama and you look like a llama. .... You know who you are. ... I went to the mall the other day and all I have to see if I see Santa I swear we gonna have to shot the fair one. .... I miss a good game of Hustle. ... Just cause you like sex that doesn't make you a freak. .... Just cause you "never got any complaints" doesn't mean you're good at it. ... Heroes is one of the best TV dramas in the history of TV. ... Shoutout to them having a black actor play the president. Now that's Obama fo yo mama. ... I need a new pair of jeans like nobody's business. ... T.I.'s album is crack. So is Kayne's. Luda's cd is aight. ... I haven't cut my facial hair in like two months and I still don't have a goatee. This is bullshit. ... I'd keep writing but my laptop is gonna die. ... In my mind, I'm listening to the Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.
Ya'll already know what it is.
C
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Wedding Picture...
So I checked out this book on writing. I'm thinking it's going to tell me how to be a great writer or something. Or it would be stories of how writers craft best sellers. What I didn't know is that by opening the book I had just given myself homework. After some moaning and groaning and an argument with my beau, Ms. P, I finally got to it. So basically the exercise was to look at a wedding picture, your own, your parents or a random couple and write a one-page fiction based on the image. So I guess this is my second attempt at fiction.
Honestly, I want people to read and give feedback. If you are a follower of this blog and you think you probably won't read the short story-type blog entries, let me know and I'll banish them from the blog and stick to spontaneous rants, comments on current events, how people suck and life in general and of course, Randomness. So check it out.
Wedding Picture
My mother smiled not because she had to but because the feeling overwhelmed her. It brought a wide smile that she didn’t even expect. It made it hard to even think about yesterday except for that tomorrow offered an opportunity for the beginning of an endless happiness that washed away every argument, every emotion that forced mistrust, every question of the possibility of failure. After this day, he would stand next to her just like this, with a smile as genuine as hers for as long as her imagination would allow her to see ahead.
Her ivory dress only revealed that she was slender but hides the long legs that first garnered his attention and the curves that drew everyone else’s. She was a golden shade of brown with thick jet black hair as soft as a cloud. It fell in giant curls and defied its true length. Her mouth was shaped in such a way that allowed for the kind of smile you’d see on a child with an orange slice in her mouth. A slight overbite was an imperfection that made her more approachable, more attainable.
Her body folded slightly inward. It showed a shyness that said she didn’t think she was as beautiful as everyone else did. Not even as much as he did when first saw her. And even today he’d look at her – years after she made him nervous – and be proud that she would stand by him. He was taller, about 6’3 and lean like a distance runner. His thick beard and mustache covered his tan skin and made him tougher than the pretty boy he looked like with a clean face. He should confidently, leaning toward her. His afro reflected the time. His aura said that he thought he was cool and that everyone else knew he was cool.
They held up drinks near the waist. They wouldn’t drink them but they wanted to celebrate. The drinks would no doubt come later. Her eyes drifted beyond the crowd out to a family member toasting them good wishes. The crowd watches them. They wait for them to crack. They wait to see if joy forms tears. They wait to see if tears form from shear fright. Her best friend stands behind her. Not paying attention to the moment. She can get the story later. She’s looking off to see what happens next. It’s her job to make sure the night goes without incident. She’s worried because she worries about everything. But everything so far tonight as gone off seamlessly. And this moment is perfect.
This moment they look perfect together. At that moment, that was all that mattered.
Honestly, I want people to read and give feedback. If you are a follower of this blog and you think you probably won't read the short story-type blog entries, let me know and I'll banish them from the blog and stick to spontaneous rants, comments on current events, how people suck and life in general and of course, Randomness. So check it out.
Wedding Picture
My mother smiled not because she had to but because the feeling overwhelmed her. It brought a wide smile that she didn’t even expect. It made it hard to even think about yesterday except for that tomorrow offered an opportunity for the beginning of an endless happiness that washed away every argument, every emotion that forced mistrust, every question of the possibility of failure. After this day, he would stand next to her just like this, with a smile as genuine as hers for as long as her imagination would allow her to see ahead.
Her ivory dress only revealed that she was slender but hides the long legs that first garnered his attention and the curves that drew everyone else’s. She was a golden shade of brown with thick jet black hair as soft as a cloud. It fell in giant curls and defied its true length. Her mouth was shaped in such a way that allowed for the kind of smile you’d see on a child with an orange slice in her mouth. A slight overbite was an imperfection that made her more approachable, more attainable.
Her body folded slightly inward. It showed a shyness that said she didn’t think she was as beautiful as everyone else did. Not even as much as he did when first saw her. And even today he’d look at her – years after she made him nervous – and be proud that she would stand by him. He was taller, about 6’3 and lean like a distance runner. His thick beard and mustache covered his tan skin and made him tougher than the pretty boy he looked like with a clean face. He should confidently, leaning toward her. His afro reflected the time. His aura said that he thought he was cool and that everyone else knew he was cool.
They held up drinks near the waist. They wouldn’t drink them but they wanted to celebrate. The drinks would no doubt come later. Her eyes drifted beyond the crowd out to a family member toasting them good wishes. The crowd watches them. They wait for them to crack. They wait to see if joy forms tears. They wait to see if tears form from shear fright. Her best friend stands behind her. Not paying attention to the moment. She can get the story later. She’s looking off to see what happens next. It’s her job to make sure the night goes without incident. She’s worried because she worries about everything. But everything so far tonight as gone off seamlessly. And this moment is perfect.
This moment they look perfect together. At that moment, that was all that mattered.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
And we're back.....
I feel like I want to apologize. But then I read my first post and I made it clear that this is my blog and I'll write when and how I want to. Eff it. I hope ya'll keep coming back anyway. There's profound subjects today. I'ma just stick to what we all love.
Randomness.....
I went to Portland this week, used a foot and a half to get in the air, saw the devil in a mini mart, saw a bus called the Groovemobile and saw a live folk music band all in one night. ... This is after a watched few hundred kids run around a muddied horse racetrack with hay bails included. .... Mama never said there'd be days like that. ... I have an attachment problem. I never want to get attached to people. And I fail to acknowledge any attachment they may have toward me. .... I can't help it. .... Pinoccino's story.... I just wanna be a real boy. ... .Yeah, me too. ... Some dude tried to sell Obama's Senate seat, called Obama a motherfucker, said fuck him and the GOP tried to criticize Obama for it. .... Let's just line up everyone on in the GOP for a collective backslap. .... If I'm constantly questioning myself does that mean that I just want to be better or does it make me insecure? ... Dear Summer, I miss you already. It feels like yesterday you kept me warm. Now the cold is attacking me and I feel like I don't know when you'll be around again. But I'll remember how you laid your warmth over me and found a breeze to smooth my skin. Somehow your calm kept me calm. .... Now back to the cold. ... It's raining and it makes me want to sleep. Actually being at work makes me want to sleep. And not sleeping makes me want to sleep. ..... Fuck the auto companies. ... Yeah, I said it. ..... You put out a shitty product and expect people to buy it then when they don't you want to get bailed out. Basically you're asking us to give you money so that you can make the product you were supposed to make in the first place and then ask us to spend more money to buy the product. ... I want to take your bailout and wipe my ass with it. ..... Then I think about all the people that would lose their jobs because you rich people suck at life and the bailout for auto companies make much more sense. So I'll call it the save Middle America bail out cause that's the only way it'll make me not want to blow up factories in Detroit and burn the bail out money. I wish there was a way to save people's jobs and let the auto companies lose. ... How bout we just build new auto companies? Wait, government-owned auto companies?? Loss. ... Fuck it, bail 'em out. Sucks either way. .... The more I try to decide where I'm going, the more I feel like I'm just spinning my wheels. .... So the gym and I are "on a break." She's definitely not feeling me right now. ... I think I'm going to have to write her a letter or something. ... Me and Procrastination are still technically broken up but I think our situation is "complicated." She just won't away. ... Lately, I've been waking up in the morning feeling like I never slept. That's the definition of restlessness. ... Suddenly, I have all these things to do and I feel like I'm not doing enough at all. ... Gotta fix that. ... .I hurt someone and I don't even know why. ... I realized that there's no point in trying to explain something that you have no right explaining. Sometimes you just have to say I'm wrong then close your eyes, clench your jaw and hope you don't get knocked out. ... Today this is my confessional. ... Forgive me for I have sinned. ... Heal me Blog.
C
Randomness.....
I went to Portland this week, used a foot and a half to get in the air, saw the devil in a mini mart, saw a bus called the Groovemobile and saw a live folk music band all in one night. ... This is after a watched few hundred kids run around a muddied horse racetrack with hay bails included. .... Mama never said there'd be days like that. ... I have an attachment problem. I never want to get attached to people. And I fail to acknowledge any attachment they may have toward me. .... I can't help it. .... Pinoccino's story.... I just wanna be a real boy. ... .Yeah, me too. ... Some dude tried to sell Obama's Senate seat, called Obama a motherfucker, said fuck him and the GOP tried to criticize Obama for it. .... Let's just line up everyone on in the GOP for a collective backslap. .... If I'm constantly questioning myself does that mean that I just want to be better or does it make me insecure? ... Dear Summer, I miss you already. It feels like yesterday you kept me warm. Now the cold is attacking me and I feel like I don't know when you'll be around again. But I'll remember how you laid your warmth over me and found a breeze to smooth my skin. Somehow your calm kept me calm. .... Now back to the cold. ... It's raining and it makes me want to sleep. Actually being at work makes me want to sleep. And not sleeping makes me want to sleep. ..... Fuck the auto companies. ... Yeah, I said it. ..... You put out a shitty product and expect people to buy it then when they don't you want to get bailed out. Basically you're asking us to give you money so that you can make the product you were supposed to make in the first place and then ask us to spend more money to buy the product. ... I want to take your bailout and wipe my ass with it. ..... Then I think about all the people that would lose their jobs because you rich people suck at life and the bailout for auto companies make much more sense. So I'll call it the save Middle America bail out cause that's the only way it'll make me not want to blow up factories in Detroit and burn the bail out money. I wish there was a way to save people's jobs and let the auto companies lose. ... How bout we just build new auto companies? Wait, government-owned auto companies?? Loss. ... Fuck it, bail 'em out. Sucks either way. .... The more I try to decide where I'm going, the more I feel like I'm just spinning my wheels. .... So the gym and I are "on a break." She's definitely not feeling me right now. ... I think I'm going to have to write her a letter or something. ... Me and Procrastination are still technically broken up but I think our situation is "complicated." She just won't away. ... Lately, I've been waking up in the morning feeling like I never slept. That's the definition of restlessness. ... Suddenly, I have all these things to do and I feel like I'm not doing enough at all. ... Gotta fix that. ... .I hurt someone and I don't even know why. ... I realized that there's no point in trying to explain something that you have no right explaining. Sometimes you just have to say I'm wrong then close your eyes, clench your jaw and hope you don't get knocked out. ... Today this is my confessional. ... Forgive me for I have sinned. ... Heal me Blog.
C
Monday, December 1, 2008
First time.....
OK, so this past summer I promised myself to try some fiction writing. This is my first attempt. I wrote this months ago and of course, it's the only thing I've written so far. Damn you Ms. Procrastination, your effects still linger. So here it is, unedited. Some followers of this blog my have read this already, if you did, read it again. If you didn't, hope you enjoy. Either way, comments and feedback are always welcome. Rock out.
C
FIRST TIME
You never know what your first time is going to be like. You know what you “want” it to be like. What you want it to feel like, smell like, look like. You can plan out every detail about how you’re going to be a stud and leave this poor, unexpecting girl quivering in your newly de-virginized wake.
But when you’re 16 years old and you want to touch everything that wears perfume, you can plan all you want, the truth is you couldn’t care less how it happens. You just want it to happen.
I didn’t care. I wanted to pipe everything. Every girl that thought I was cute. But if I was honest with myself I was scared to death. There are so many what if’s. What if I finish in 13 seconds? What if I finish before we even start? What if I’m just bad or fumble with the condom for 3 minutes straight and end up firing it at this poor girl like a slingshot.
All my friends were older. They already did it. So did my brother, Eric, and he was only a year older than me. But he was sleeping with girls since he was 14. And I’m barreling down on an old-ass 17 and I don’t have any when-I-was-with-this-one-chick stories. But Eric and I were together all the time and that was cool with me because Eric was soaked in swagger. He had a quick mouth and didn’t really seem intimidated by anyone. He was tall and light-skinned, slim and muscular and had light brown eyes which in and of itself made him a pimp. Plus, he was on the track team and one of the best hurdlers in the state. He had his weird thing – well, it was weird to me – he always leaned to the right, looking over his shoulder like he was waiting for his shadow to catch up him walking.
Eric dated this petite, cute, Guyanese girl named Nicole. She was the first girl my brother was infatuated with. Nicole was the Indian-looking West Indian, with red-dyed hair and a pierced nose. But she always had a fresh outfit and crisp pair of Nike’s. Her best friend was Lisa. They were like a package deal. You don’t get Nicole without Lisa. So when Nicole told me that Lisa liked me, I should’ve known. Lisa was what I called sometime-ish. Some days she was a bad chick. Some days she looked like she got dressed with her eyes closed and left her face on the pillow in the morning. I didn’t understand it. Still don’t.
I had just grown into myself anyway. I was about four inches shorter than my brother. I was one of those kids that had all the girls in elementary school, when light-skinned kids when curly hair couldn’t lose. But by my freshman year I couldn’t get a girl to look at me if I painted my teeth purple and shaved a profanity into my hair. Luckily that phase only last a year and by my sophomore year I found comfort in my brother’s shadow. I got skipped in the third grade, so Eric and I were in the same grade in school.
Now it’s junior year and God blessed us with the ability to squeeze into the cool kids group in school. Actually, at Edison High in late 90s, being on the track team allowed almost instance cool status or at least you thought it did. It seemed like every girl in school ran on the track team at one point or another, until they realized that practice might get hard or they might have to sweat out their perm and that was the end of that. Nicole and Lisa both ran on the track team but were now content to be just track team affiliates. Lisa and Nicole had reputation too, which I tried to warn Eric about when he started with Nicole. Word passed that they were easy, that tons of guys at school and already explored their barely-out-of-adolescent sexuality with one or the other of them – Nicole or Lisa. But Eric was sprung so what else could I do. I accepted it. And I accepted Lisa, who turned out to be not terrible to hang out with. Plus those days when she chose to find some lip gloss, high heels and the hair dresser, I didn’t mind her company at all.
It was about a mile walk to the bus station from school. Eric, Nicole and I were headed home after school. Nicole knew about my lack of booty experience. But still she dropped a bomb on me.
Rick, you might want to be prepared tonight, she said with a devilish look. Eric had this knowing look on his face too. Lisa might have something for you.
She told me that Lisa was planning on letting me in tonight. Letting me in. I was as terrified as I was excited because at this point, I for one didn’t care who I had sex with – just that I had sex. And soon. I went out and bought some condoms. Eric and I stayed at our father’s house on the weekends. He always went to bed like a 90-year old man. In the bed by seven. Lights out by nine. That worked great for us because that was as good as having the house to our 16-year old, horny selves. Honestly, I couldn’t tell what happen before or after the main event. But Nicole and Lisa behaved like they had no parents. We were all in the living room of my dad’s house at 1 a.m. with my dad dead to the world and all the lights off in the house and me thinking, ‘Holy shit, I think I’m going to have sex tonight.”
The living room was big enough that we could barely see each other on our respective couches, clear across the room. My brother’s voice came out the darkness like my sex conscience, alerting me to keep quiet on this squeaky ass couch so that my pops doesn’t come downstairs to be the fifth person in the room to witness this monumentous moment in my life We were all talking, about who-knows what when the words faded and the silence gave way to the flapping of teenage lips and muffled groans. Lisa and I were on the couch right underneath a window that looked out into the street so the street lamps filtered in a romantic illumination over us. Not that this was really a romantic moment instead of the first in what would be a barrage of relationships mounted on casual sex.
We kissed for a while. The way only high school kids know how -- and I was waiting. Normally, I would always try to find a way to have sex with a girl instantly, knowing that it wasn’t going to happen, which is probably what gave me the balls to try in the first place. But this time I let her be the aggressor, hoping she would usher me into sexual-royalty.
I don’t remember talking. She just saddled me. I kept thinking about what I should do with my hands. Where should I go first? It was like I had forgotten how to make-out, which I felt like I was an expert at by now anyway, since it was all I had really done. I rode my hands up her sides. She had on a wife-beater tank top and jeans. I slipped my hands from her waist to her breasts while she sunk her teeth into my neck. All I’m thinking about is the condom in my back pocket and when the appropriate time to pull it out is going to be. The more we kissed the more bold I become. I cup her ass. I squeeze. She moaned softly in my ear. My shaft throbbed. She started to lift my shirt. I took it off. Shit, accelerate the process. When she tugged at my sweatpants I ditched those too.
Now, I’d been here before -- half-naked with some girl that likes to get naked and not have sex. So although I took Nicole’s word I still reserved some doubt. That was until she let me take her pants off. Every part of me launched into high alert. I had to play it smooth. I slid off the couch and kneeled in between her legs. I kissed her stomach and her hips while I reached into the back pocket of my sweatpants laying in a heap on the floor. Then I balled it in my fist and slowly stood up. She laid flat on the couch, squirming. Every skin flick I’d ever seen, every image from every sex story I’d ever heard stampeded my brain.
Put your back into it. Go slow. Build up speed. You gotta work it like this. Don’t go in there short strokin’.
I mounted her and started grinding up against her. This is as far as I had ever gone with any chick so I was still in known terriority. I had even forgotten that my brother was on the side of the room until I heard her in a screaming whisper, Go on the fucking floor. You’re making too much noise. Stupid couch.
I pulled her panties off. I could smell her moistness. The call of the wild. Then I strapped the condom on. Seamlessly. I have no idea how I pulled that off.
Lisa guided me inside her. I looked at the time. 1:47 a.m. February 21.
Don’t forget the time, I told myself. I waited for the parade to march through. I waited for the fireworks and the Mayor of Sexual Activity to issue my pass into the land of grown men. I waited to be devoured by a feeling uncontainable.
But nothing. I was just having sex. Pumping in a unfamiliar but natural way and watching her face for signs that said, “This motherfucker has no idea what he’s doing.” I lasted a lot longer than I thought I would too. Then when it was over, Lisa said something I could have never expected. But it was the greatest thing she could have ever said to me and I’ve probably never heard a better thing since.
You sure you never did that before?
C
FIRST TIME
You never know what your first time is going to be like. You know what you “want” it to be like. What you want it to feel like, smell like, look like. You can plan out every detail about how you’re going to be a stud and leave this poor, unexpecting girl quivering in your newly de-virginized wake.
But when you’re 16 years old and you want to touch everything that wears perfume, you can plan all you want, the truth is you couldn’t care less how it happens. You just want it to happen.
I didn’t care. I wanted to pipe everything. Every girl that thought I was cute. But if I was honest with myself I was scared to death. There are so many what if’s. What if I finish in 13 seconds? What if I finish before we even start? What if I’m just bad or fumble with the condom for 3 minutes straight and end up firing it at this poor girl like a slingshot.
All my friends were older. They already did it. So did my brother, Eric, and he was only a year older than me. But he was sleeping with girls since he was 14. And I’m barreling down on an old-ass 17 and I don’t have any when-I-was-with-this-one-chick stories. But Eric and I were together all the time and that was cool with me because Eric was soaked in swagger. He had a quick mouth and didn’t really seem intimidated by anyone. He was tall and light-skinned, slim and muscular and had light brown eyes which in and of itself made him a pimp. Plus, he was on the track team and one of the best hurdlers in the state. He had his weird thing – well, it was weird to me – he always leaned to the right, looking over his shoulder like he was waiting for his shadow to catch up him walking.
Eric dated this petite, cute, Guyanese girl named Nicole. She was the first girl my brother was infatuated with. Nicole was the Indian-looking West Indian, with red-dyed hair and a pierced nose. But she always had a fresh outfit and crisp pair of Nike’s. Her best friend was Lisa. They were like a package deal. You don’t get Nicole without Lisa. So when Nicole told me that Lisa liked me, I should’ve known. Lisa was what I called sometime-ish. Some days she was a bad chick. Some days she looked like she got dressed with her eyes closed and left her face on the pillow in the morning. I didn’t understand it. Still don’t.
I had just grown into myself anyway. I was about four inches shorter than my brother. I was one of those kids that had all the girls in elementary school, when light-skinned kids when curly hair couldn’t lose. But by my freshman year I couldn’t get a girl to look at me if I painted my teeth purple and shaved a profanity into my hair. Luckily that phase only last a year and by my sophomore year I found comfort in my brother’s shadow. I got skipped in the third grade, so Eric and I were in the same grade in school.
Now it’s junior year and God blessed us with the ability to squeeze into the cool kids group in school. Actually, at Edison High in late 90s, being on the track team allowed almost instance cool status or at least you thought it did. It seemed like every girl in school ran on the track team at one point or another, until they realized that practice might get hard or they might have to sweat out their perm and that was the end of that. Nicole and Lisa both ran on the track team but were now content to be just track team affiliates. Lisa and Nicole had reputation too, which I tried to warn Eric about when he started with Nicole. Word passed that they were easy, that tons of guys at school and already explored their barely-out-of-adolescent sexuality with one or the other of them – Nicole or Lisa. But Eric was sprung so what else could I do. I accepted it. And I accepted Lisa, who turned out to be not terrible to hang out with. Plus those days when she chose to find some lip gloss, high heels and the hair dresser, I didn’t mind her company at all.
It was about a mile walk to the bus station from school. Eric, Nicole and I were headed home after school. Nicole knew about my lack of booty experience. But still she dropped a bomb on me.
Rick, you might want to be prepared tonight, she said with a devilish look. Eric had this knowing look on his face too. Lisa might have something for you.
She told me that Lisa was planning on letting me in tonight. Letting me in. I was as terrified as I was excited because at this point, I for one didn’t care who I had sex with – just that I had sex. And soon. I went out and bought some condoms. Eric and I stayed at our father’s house on the weekends. He always went to bed like a 90-year old man. In the bed by seven. Lights out by nine. That worked great for us because that was as good as having the house to our 16-year old, horny selves. Honestly, I couldn’t tell what happen before or after the main event. But Nicole and Lisa behaved like they had no parents. We were all in the living room of my dad’s house at 1 a.m. with my dad dead to the world and all the lights off in the house and me thinking, ‘Holy shit, I think I’m going to have sex tonight.”
The living room was big enough that we could barely see each other on our respective couches, clear across the room. My brother’s voice came out the darkness like my sex conscience, alerting me to keep quiet on this squeaky ass couch so that my pops doesn’t come downstairs to be the fifth person in the room to witness this monumentous moment in my life We were all talking, about who-knows what when the words faded and the silence gave way to the flapping of teenage lips and muffled groans. Lisa and I were on the couch right underneath a window that looked out into the street so the street lamps filtered in a romantic illumination over us. Not that this was really a romantic moment instead of the first in what would be a barrage of relationships mounted on casual sex.
We kissed for a while. The way only high school kids know how -- and I was waiting. Normally, I would always try to find a way to have sex with a girl instantly, knowing that it wasn’t going to happen, which is probably what gave me the balls to try in the first place. But this time I let her be the aggressor, hoping she would usher me into sexual-royalty.
I don’t remember talking. She just saddled me. I kept thinking about what I should do with my hands. Where should I go first? It was like I had forgotten how to make-out, which I felt like I was an expert at by now anyway, since it was all I had really done. I rode my hands up her sides. She had on a wife-beater tank top and jeans. I slipped my hands from her waist to her breasts while she sunk her teeth into my neck. All I’m thinking about is the condom in my back pocket and when the appropriate time to pull it out is going to be. The more we kissed the more bold I become. I cup her ass. I squeeze. She moaned softly in my ear. My shaft throbbed. She started to lift my shirt. I took it off. Shit, accelerate the process. When she tugged at my sweatpants I ditched those too.
Now, I’d been here before -- half-naked with some girl that likes to get naked and not have sex. So although I took Nicole’s word I still reserved some doubt. That was until she let me take her pants off. Every part of me launched into high alert. I had to play it smooth. I slid off the couch and kneeled in between her legs. I kissed her stomach and her hips while I reached into the back pocket of my sweatpants laying in a heap on the floor. Then I balled it in my fist and slowly stood up. She laid flat on the couch, squirming. Every skin flick I’d ever seen, every image from every sex story I’d ever heard stampeded my brain.
Put your back into it. Go slow. Build up speed. You gotta work it like this. Don’t go in there short strokin’.
I mounted her and started grinding up against her. This is as far as I had ever gone with any chick so I was still in known terriority. I had even forgotten that my brother was on the side of the room until I heard her in a screaming whisper, Go on the fucking floor. You’re making too much noise. Stupid couch.
I pulled her panties off. I could smell her moistness. The call of the wild. Then I strapped the condom on. Seamlessly. I have no idea how I pulled that off.
Lisa guided me inside her. I looked at the time. 1:47 a.m. February 21.
Don’t forget the time, I told myself. I waited for the parade to march through. I waited for the fireworks and the Mayor of Sexual Activity to issue my pass into the land of grown men. I waited to be devoured by a feeling uncontainable.
But nothing. I was just having sex. Pumping in a unfamiliar but natural way and watching her face for signs that said, “This motherfucker has no idea what he’s doing.” I lasted a lot longer than I thought I would too. Then when it was over, Lisa said something I could have never expected. But it was the greatest thing she could have ever said to me and I’ve probably never heard a better thing since.
You sure you never did that before?
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