As difficult as it is to accept this fact, accept it I must: these are challenging times to be single and "searching." Searching is in quotes because I have ceased to search, now I attract, magnetize. But that just sounds modern, like the title of a magazine article, don't you think? In any event, I met a fellow--tall, dark, and handsome. The whole nine yards. Progressive, disciplined, well-read, sexy, and a wonderful conversationalist. And did I say tall? Anyway, our relationship started as a business relationship. He paid me well to work with him on a project. Things went swimmingly. Eventually. Actually, there was one little hiccup. We however faced it. Resolved it and got back down to business. After months of working together, our business together was done. I'd been feeling him since day one, from the time I saw him at a personal development workshop. Maybe I'm easily impressed but that impressed me. I like a man who is committed to personal and spiritual growth. I find it sexy for sure. Sure, I wanted to make money. But when I'd first eyed this sexy specimen, I had no idea he needed someone with my skills. So when our project ended, I was hoping to get to know him better. I stepped outside my box, and told him I was interested.
That was by far the briefest, but most intense "relationship" that I've ever had. I liked the guy but I'm no longer desperate. So when he froze and asked that we put some space in our togetherness, I quietly retreated. Maybe not so quietly, if you ask my friend Zee. But I did respect his wishes. Even if I like a guy, if he ain't feeling me, then he can keep it moving. "Desperate DeBora" is no longer my pet name. So, we moved on, down two different streets. Then one day he showed up at my "church." It happened to be the Sunday when I went gushing to the podium to share how Spirit had blessed me to meet someone online, a man I adored. Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Sexy was in the house. Well, something about my no longer being on the market intrigued him. (Red flag #3) Since I was still single, a couple of weeks later we went out for drinks. That kicked off an interesting friendship. From time to time we'd get together for great conversation, dinner and wine. But something was awry. You see, we women have been blessed with a sixth sense, it's called intuition. We're often tempted to ignore it, still it's there to serve our highest and best good.
I intuited that Mr. Sexy had a secret. What red-blooded man spends three to six months with a sexy woman, meaning me, who he claims he found attractive and don't make one teeny weenie pass at her? Actually, he'd told me who he when he told me that he read E. Lynn Harris's books and when he said "I'm curious about those relationships." Well, now. Hairs on the back of my neck sprang up as I filed that statement away into my computer. And what did Maya Angelou tell us, "When someone tells you who they are, believe them...the first time." I never said I wasn't sometimes hard-headed.
One time Mr. Sexy left me a voice mail message asking me to think about going away with him. I didn't have to think about it. No. I wasn't about to sleep with this man until he answered some questions that I had. I haven't told you every reason why I had my suspicion. But here's another, he bragged that he has more than a dozen close male friends. But zero close female friends. Red Flag # 15. I learned this after I'd finally mustered up the nerve to ask him what had he meant when he said he was "curious about" the kinds of relationships that E. Lynn wrote about. (Past tense because, as you may know, E. Lynn passed away today. God bless his soul). Anyway, his explanation was dumb. Just plain stupid. Not even believable, based on what I know about men. He said, "I'm curious about a lot of things." Well, the average man that I know ain't about to say he's curious about sexing it up with another man, unless he is.
Red Flag #21, boyfriend soon disappeared, without a trace, once I broached the question of his sexual orientation. Which is even more proof, to my way of thinking, that I was spot on about him. Now, don't get me wrong. I have no problems with a man choosing to sleep with men. Just don't do it at the expense of women, while you hold yourself out as a straight man. Either a man is gay or he's straight. No in betweens. No exceptions. Forget what J.L. King, Mr. Down Low himself, says. He's in deep denial. Men who sleep with other men are gay. Enough said!
I'm so proud of me, that was one time when I listened to my intuition, loved me enough not to forge ahead foolishly just because Mr. Sexy seemed to be just my flava. Turns out, he wasn't. My flava is all that he was AND straight.
"I love you," was the last thing I said to him. And I do. I love him no matter who he chooses to sleep with. Am I in love with him? No. Not anymore. One reason, so Down Low brothas say, they creep to sleep with other men is because the black community is horribly homophobic. It's true. And still I hold them responsible for the choices that THEY make. Even as I keep working at loving them...as my brothers.
No comments:
Post a Comment