"So how'd it go with Lynda last night, Push? Did you meet up with her at the hotel?" Carmen and I usually spent most of the day emailing each other back and forth about the previous night's drama and theatre. I took Lynda home from the Ponchartrain and the minute I hit the freeway headed down to Wayne State, I couldn't wait to call Carmen and give her the low-down on last night. Typically, she sat at her desk and I sat wherever and we mostly spent between the hours of 7am and 4pm talking about people, places, love, sex, and Willie's Place and organizing plans to hook up on the weekend to repeat the process all over again. We both liked the adrenaline of the drama we created, we loved the mysterious nature of each other, and we loved taking risks, and we loved going to Willie's Place and asking the DJ to play Beyonce and Jay Zs 'Crazy in Love' record so we could get wild and crazy on the dance-floor. We both loved it when all eyes would be on us as we lit the dance-floor up with swirls, twirls, spinning and this shaky-leg thing that Carmen would do all the time. We loved the attention and I, for one, could never seem to pass up the opportunity to entertain. All I needed was an audience, cigarette, wine, and good music and it was on. Carmen would act like she didn't but I knew she did. I created such a scandalous and nefarious scene at Willie's Place that the security staff would often let me in for free because they knew that I was going to be the main event of the evening. Carmen calls it, "The Push Nevahda Show." She thinks that I am the most drama-loving, drama-having, drama-queen she has ever known, and that whenever we hang out, especially at Willie's Place, I have to put on a show. Maybe she's right.

"Yep. It's really fo-yo-ears-only, but, Cindy - who I will never ever call again - invites me to a party at Mr. Mikes because she wanted to see me before I left and just couldn't wait 'til next weekend when I returned...which is understandable, so I agreed to meet up with her."

"Well, how'd it go, Push?"

"I didn't really wanna go because I didn't have the time to dip to Detroit, but BJ had been wanting me get him out of the house so I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone - too, my family reunion is going on so I wanted to see some folks before I left for AZ. I got to Detroit late and stopped by the Gap at Lansing Mall to pick up my trademark crisp white cotton shirt, drove on to Detroit, scooped BJ, and dipped to Mr. Mikes to meet up with Cindy - whom I really expected to piss me off. I pull up outside of Mr. Mikes and tried to convince BJ that I really wasn't interested in being bothered with Cindy, and that we really should just go to Willie's, drink, see the usual suspects and then stab out so I could dip to the Ponchartrain and hook up with Lynda.

"Mm hmm."

"Are you listening to me, Carmen?"

"Yeah, but my boss was talking to me. But um lis'nin', go 'head."

"Anyway, we go in and I decided not to approach Cindy. If you been in Mikes you know the bar begins at the point of entry, and that's where we sat so I could have a good view of everyone. Well, immediately, I spot Cindy and she's mingling and chatting. Shortly thereafter, I spot one of Deana's sorority sisters, Yah Digga, and she notices me, seemingly, but I don't budge from my seat. BJ goes to the bathroom and returns with Yah Digga, we hug, and then spend a considerable amount of time talking.

"Wait, how does BJ know Deana's girl?"

"We all went out to Willie's before. Me and Deana was trying to hook them up but it didn't work out."

"Ok, got it."

"So, I'm really trying to get rid of Yah Digga and back her up off me because Cindy is starting to look our way, but Yah Digga is rambling on about how she, too, is on her way to AZ, and has just returned from her fourth job interview in Phoenix. Meanwhile, Cindy walks our way to leave with her small entourage, stops, looks startled, smiles and walks on past Yah Digga and me and BJ and leaves with her crew.

"Mm hmm."

 "Yeah, and then Yah Digga notices and says, for some reason, that she met her at another party somewhere!"

"Uh oh, das not good."

"Right! So, anywayz, she goes back into her rant about Arizona, her plans to move there, and her two jobs, when my phone vibrates and it's Cindy! I thought it was Verizon because I hadn't paid my overdue bill and I thought they were about to cut my service. But it's Cindy's ass. She says, 'Hey baby, was that you I just saw sitting there at the bar? Um like, 'Yeah, you knew that was me.' She says, 'No, I didn't! You look totally different!' I've lost a few pounds, and shaved my grizzly-bear look."

"Yeah, you do look different, Push." I took that as a compliment coming from Carmen because she rarely gives them to me. But I couldn't let her know that I liked it that she had given me an unsolicited compliment so I played it off like it didn't faze me.

"Yeah, whateva. So, Cindy goes, 'No, seriously, you look so different, baby.' Then she asks me to call her when I leave the bar. I reassure her that I would call her later and I go back to Yah Digga and continue to listen to her spiel. 15 minutes later, this Melina, the bitch from that I introduced to you to a few weeks ago at Willie's Place, remember?"

"Yeah, the light skinned chick that thought she was better than us?"

"Yeah, her. She walks in with a dude! I'm like trippin' now. So, now we're playing the letsseewhocanmakewhojealousfirst game. And it was on: now, at this point, I start getting touchy-feely with Yah Digga and I slow-dance her up the isle where Melina is sitting, then I twirl Yah Digga around, and look Melina dead in the eye and stick out my tongue."

" Come, come, now, Push."

"Yeah, I know it was childish, but, anyway, I dip back up the isle. She gives me the 'you mutha fucka' look and rolls her eyes. Yah Digga is having a ball! I get back to the other end of the bar with her - still holding her around the waist, of course - and tell her. 'thanks for dancing with me; I just wanted to make someone jealous!' 'Who? Why?' she asked to which I replied, 'never mind that.' We hugged and Yah Digga asked about Deana and I promised to tell Deana to call her, then BJ and I leave."

"Now, Yah Digga is Deana's girl and you in Mr. Mikes trippin' 'bout some otha broad?"

"Yeah, but she don't know what's going on, even when I said that I was trying to make some broad jealous, she was too drunk to catch on to what I was saying. Besides, to tell you the truth, Carmen, I just don't really give uh fuck."

"You are so bad, Push."

"Anywayz, Cindy calls me again to make sure that I'm coming. I tell her that I thought that she had company for the evening, and she assures me that he was
nobody, and that, besides, I seemed to be being entertaining myself. I blow her off and tell her that we'll talk when I get to her pad. She says ok and that she'll be waiting up for me. BJ and I dip over to Willie's and hooked up with you, Cindy calls me again for confirmation when I left Willie's, sayin' 'you're less than a mile away from me; get over here, now!' I get rid of BJ and head to Cindy's and call her when I got in her driveway...her phone is cut off. At that point, I knew I was done wit the bitch so I head back to Willie's and, after dropping BJ off at his house, I hit the freeway and headed down to the Ponchartrain."

"So, tell me about Lynda. Where did she come from? Wow....you got to give me the story."

 

*******

 

I met Lynda on Black Planet and became instantly attracted to her wit, charm, down-to-earth attitude, and her practicality and intellectuality on a wide and broad range of social cultural issues. We spent plenty of time debating everything from cultural anthropology to religion, and, of course, sex, lies, love, and relationships of which I believe were topics that interested Lynda the most. Yet, she was quite knowledgeable about her topics and always kept me - and her other blog-readers - hanging on the edge of the seat with juicy topics that spun long and complicated dialogues. But, sometimes I was hesitant to participate in the discussions because I felt as though people were not being as engaging with the subject matter as the subject demand of them. For example, one of her blogs presented this dilemma:

"Out of ...say ... 99 pages, only maybe 5 will admit to not being 'all together'... Now mind you ...this is normally a search amongst the age ranges of 40-50..that is a HORRIBLE percentage of folks that are fooling themselves and trying to fool others....LOL. In our quest to find a mate...(let's be real here...most are on BP to find someone).... we are really willing to lie and misrepresent... OR.... (here comes the Question of the Week)... 'Are we so delusional about ourselves that we really believe what we type?'

 

I replied, with great trepidation:

 

People, MI_MISSUS, are too complex to be one dimensional, which is why it is possible for folks to be all of that - i.e. deceitful, delusional, retarded, honest, down to earth, etc. (I certainly, am all of them!) And those of us who give in to those natural qualities and traits are the real human beings rather than someone who has allowed society to dictate to us how we are to behave in any given context. The issue of what it means to be human in a society that is constantly becoming plastic, unreal, and anti-everything is ultimately at question here, as well as the strains and efforts to which we blindly play into the scheme of someone else's definition of who we are (and this psycho-social dilemma is magnified with black folks).

The issue of what it means to be "all together" is perhaps the real question because the meaning of such - I guarantee - will change across geo/social/socio-economic/cultural and racial lines, and then there is the god awful religious factor (in which sanctified folks think that they are the salt of the Earth, no matter how often their 'delusions' have been historically deconstructed, demystified and debunked). People are delusional because we - as people - are unwilling to accept the truth about them, us, and ourselves. And the truth is that we are all delusional no matter how clever our cunning (human) ability to deceive the rest of 'them' to the contrary may be. Snoop says it best, "He is I and I am him..."

 

Under the safe auspices of my alter ego, Push Nevahda, I got to know Lynda and would look forward to seeing her on Black Planet. Over the course of our correspondence I sensed in her a deep and calm reservation uncommon in most black women, and that she did not really have any hang-ups that might work against the two of us having a fruitful and meaningful relationship. We chatted on and off on the Black Planet network and never thought to exchange phone numbers quite possibly for the same-felt reason that our phone conversations wouldn't conceivably be any more fiery, sensitive, arresting or conscious as our highly intellectually stimulating online discussions. From time to time we would bump in to each other on Black Planet and chop away at whatever spicy and controversial topics she could think to post on her webpage which was now becoming more and more popular with the Black Planet community. Some of the visitors to her site would often encourage her to write a book. She was better than Iyanla Vanzant.

After several months of brain-wrestling and tackling hot topics on dating, sex, books, history and just about anything else that typically beset African American culture Lynda and I eventually agreed to meet in person. Since I would be in Detroit for the weekend to party with friends, visit with family, and see Grace for my usual weekend evenings of sex, lies, and coffee - of which I admitted to Lynda on Yahoo Messenger as we arranged the meeting that was to take place that night that I was currently in a purely sexual relationship with a woman much older than I - it was finally agreed that Lynda and I would probably meet at Willie's Place for drinks, dance, talk, and drink. And she was a cigarette smoker so that made her all the more appealing to me since most women I'd met up to that point hated my cigarette smoke. Also, she would get to meet my crew - the Vicious Circle - and they, in turn, would get to size up Lynda and later advise me whether or not she was worth my time and whether or not she would ultimately make a good addition to the 'Circle'.

However, and to my amazement, Lynda did not want to go out to the club, insisting that club life was really not her thing, that she would rather meet me at the hotel and just relax and unwind after a long and laborious work week. That was fine with me, and I was rather impressed with her carefree and laid-back attitude given such an extemporaneous arrangement. For me, that had been the joy of dating older women. They did not have the social-sexual hang-ups that the younger women have in that the older women unlike the younger women did not believe that all men were necessarily out to fuck them. That is not to say that older women did not like to fuck as much as younger women, quite the contrary, but that older women seemed to be rather amused that a man would even want to fuck them. But, I did not suspect that Lynda had such frivolous preoccupations with low self esteem because she was very attractive, had a great figure, and was somewhat accomplished for a woman her age. She had four children but I never got the feeling that she was looking for a baby-daddy. She had mentioned to me that she was separated from the father of her children and that the marriage had gone south when she discovered that he was having an affair with a white women. I think he even had the balls to fuck the white heffa in his and Lynda's bed.

Anyway, as I explained to her, I still had planned to go out with my friends for our ritual night of fun, terror and madness to which she obliged and agreed to still meet me at the hotel. Upon my arrival in Detroit from where I lived in Lansing I took I didn't transfer from I-96 over to I-696 as I typically had done every weekend so as to first stop by BJ's or go on over to Grace's or come up at Jefferson in downtown Detroit to dip on up to the East Grand Boulevard and stop at that corner liquor store before heading on over to Andre's. This time I went straight to the Hotel Ponchartrain to get the room and carefully and meticulously instruct the front desk clerk on two very important notes.

First, "do not charge the bill to my credit card," I told her pointedly, that I would pay cash at check-out time. That way, Deana won't see it on my monthly statement and get suspicious. Second, I left a key for Lynda so she could go straight to the room and unwind rather than wait for me in the lobby. It wasn't that I was worried about having her wait for me, it was that I didn't want my night to be interrupted by my having to go to the hotel and escort her up to my room and then drive all the way back to Willie's Place way over on the west side of Detroit. The clerk and I agreed that I was a cheating and philandering bastard, to which I grinned and reassured her of her 'position' and to play it.

When I returned to the hotel in the early hours of the next morning, after a wild night of partying with BJ and Carmen and whatever woman I could always persuade to "join us for drinks," I headed downtown with BJ sitting in the passenger seat unusually drunk and bent on how "fine that bitch Carmen is, man. Ooooo, I wanna eat her pussy." I laughed at him as I glanced over at him to watch him seething and writhing in the seat now mad at himself for yet again refusing to make a move on Carmen. It was funny to me because BJ always froze up with women that I would introduce him to no matter the context, place, time, or whatever. And I never understood his bashfulness because he is a handsome brotha and has a lot to offer any woman, yet, he rarely has the guts to be as outgoing and gregarious as a single guy ought to be. I think that he has always kind of envied me - in a good way - for being gregarious, funny, witty, and flamboyant. (I am so flamboyant that one of BJ's female friends from Willie's Place asked him if I was gay.) It frustrated me too that BJ never got the girl because I'd always worked diligently to put BJ in the position to present Carmen or any other girl with his best presentation, but, with Carmen, he always folded under the pressure of her fairly good looks, somewhat pleasing personality, and her great ass that she'd always treat us to a glimpse of whenever she deliberately excused herself from the bar to go to the ladies room. She always walked away from us in what seemed to be slow motion with a walk that accentuated the thick and ample curvatures of her meticulously supple and sculpted ass. And, like always, BJ would melt and bury his head in his arms and grab his crotch before taking another sip of his cranberry and gin while shaking his head and warning me that "ummo fuck Carmen, man. You wait and see." I loved it!

So, After we got food at the Lafayette Coney Island in downtown Detroit, I hit the Lodge freeway and headed towards the Woodrow Wilson exit to drop BJ off. On the way I text-messaged Lynda to let her know that I was on my way....again. I'd been telling her that since midnight and I had hoped that she would still be there when I got to the hotel. Speeding up Lodge I looked over to notice that BJ was nodding of to sleep, probably thinking about Carmen no doubt. I decided to call Lynda and face the inevitable cussing-out that was customary of any sista who had been stood up or left alone for an entire evening in some strange hotel. But, Lynda was cool about it. She answered her cellphone with a sleepy but sexy angelic tone.

"Hello?"

"Hey Lynda, are you sleep?" What a stupid question to ask her at three in the morning. But I think that she sensed the tension and anxiety and the guilt that I must have been feeling and decided to take mercy on me.

"Yeah, I was sleeping a little. Where are you?"

"I had to drop BJ off, get food for you, and now I'm on my way."

Mentioning that I had food for her was a cheap shot at patronizing the anger that I assumed she had rightfully and logically felt for me at this point. But, still, she kept her composure, which added to the sexy and alluring mystique about her that had already been so attractive and irresistible. Who is this classy, cool, collected and reserved woman who had dared to take a chance and venture out into the unknown with a man who had already earned two strikes against himself? Now, I grew a little confused about the pending meeting. I wanted to meet her, but I was also frightened at how I would face her given my rudeness, tardiness, and inconsideration.

"Ok, baby, I'll see you when you get here."

When I arrived at the hotel and walked towards the elevator I glanced over to the front desk to see if that nosy clerk was still on shift. She was. She immediately noticed me and returned a glance and a grin of both envy and disgust. I pretended to be unfazed by her silent and unsolicited critique and pushed the button for the 17^th floor. The ride seemed to take forever and created in me more feelings of angst and anxiousness. I was as nervous as a prostitute waiting on AIDS test results. Like a true narcissistic Libran I looked in the gold-toned mirrored glass panels inside the elevator and fixed my ruffled and un-sexy turtle neck, fixed my brim, and applied my make-up of Chap Stick. A bell sounded as the door opened and I walked out of the elevator and headed towards room 1726 with a fish sandwich for Lynda and a bottle of wine for us. I was nervous. Although it was 3am I still wanted to make a good first impression. Part of me did not really care about making a good first impression but part of me did. I always seemed to flunk first impressions anyway so I just kept walking towards 1726. I stopped one last time in front of a mirror near another elevator just to make sure that there was nothing in my nose. Yep, I was looking good again.

Over the course of our Black Planet chats where I would respond to her weekly blog discussions on a variety of provocative subjects I'd grown quite fond of MI_MISSUS. She was attractive, smart, and seemingly possessed of a good nature and kind heart. But, in the beginning, I was certain that she was gay. Other than a conspicuously androgynous photo of her on her webpage, I didn't really have any other evidence that might've justified my conclusions, so I simply put the thought in the back compartment of my mind for later explorations, and promptly kept in line with our getting to know each other.

I finally located the room which was situated at the far end of the long hallway around the corner tucked away at a dead-end hall. Again realizing that this was my first time meeting Lynda, I took a deep breath and briefly contemplated whether or not I should pop a stick of gum in my mouth to drown out the foul odor of Hennessey, cranberry and vodka, Miller Genuine Draft, Lemon Drop shots, and all the cigarettes I could smoke. But then logic set in and immediately suggested the precarious and presumptuous appearance of a brotha chewing gum just as he's about to get into bed with a woman that he didn't know. I didn't want her to think that I assumed that I would be kissing her or fucking her. Besides, Lynda had told me that she smoked also which meant that her breath would be stinking too. So, the gum was out.

I took another deep breath and slide my card in the door and slowly pushed the door open, expecting for her to have fallen back asleep since we last talked. I smiled at the newness of the room and how cozy and dark it looked, rightly romantic under the circumstances. Lynda was lying on the bed in a fetal position. She looked so angelic, so peaceful that I really didn't want to disturb her. I tiptoed around the edge of the bed, still admiring the elegance and ambiance of the room and the size of the bed of which Lynda had not yet pulled back the covers, only grabbing a pillow to curl her petite frame around and lay in wait for my arrival. I was impressed with her and I really did not want to be presumptuous with her. I did not want to say the wrong thing or make the wrong move - of which I was famous for. I had always managed to run women away with my candid and energetic demeanor, with most women either unwilling to accept me as I was, or unable to categorize me in order to understand what they thought was a complex man. I am a complex individual, but no more than the next person. Yet, I did not want to screw it up with Lynda because I really liked her. She was not like the other women I had met.

Lynda awoke at the sound of my bag hitting the tableside and she looked up at me and squinted her eyes to get a good look at the guy from Black Planet called Push Nevahda. Before I could mention the sandwich and wine that I'd brought for her Lynda got up and gave me a big hug. The first thing I noticed about her small and rather petite frame was the nice wide hips she had managed to slip, nestle and tuck into a pair of tight jeans. I appreciated the warmness of the hug because it let me know that she sincerely held no grudges about my tardiness and having kept her held up at the hotel while I wildly partied and consorted with an entourage of friends, women and anyone else I could persuade to join me for drinks and cheap talk.

Her hair was just as it had been on Black Planet, shoulder length crinkly cut braids that she had taken down to give it the crinkly wavy look. She had pouty, kissable lips, olive complexion, greenish eyes (as I later learned), hand-sized tits, a beautiful ass that I wanted badly to cup with both palms but relented at the sake of seeming presumptuous, and skin as soft as a baby's bottom. I slid my big and long hands around her small waist to pull her closer to me for a firmer kiss. She acquiesced. I am not going to fuck her, I thought to myself. My dick began to grow hard at the thought of me fucking her petite and small frame as though I was raping her or forcing myself on her, the way women like to be fucked. I envisioned myself pushing her little legs far back to the head-board pounding my big dick into her small pussy, she screaming wildly but taking it and liking it and not wanting me to stop. My dick continued to rise and unfurl in my pants, growing harder and harder, pulsating and throbbing, ready to bust a nut in my pants. I had on no underwear. I hurriedly pushed her away from me because I didn't want her to know that I was hard, and I did not want her to feel my hardness.

Lynda did not want the food I had brought for her so I opened the bottle of wine and poured some for both of us. We lay down next to each other silent and unsure of where to go with the rest of the moment. Lynda made the first move and pulled her small frame close to mine and placed her head on my shoulders. I could smell her sweet smelling scent which made me want her even more. She cocked her head backwards in response to me sniffing and kissing her hair. She kissed me with those luscious lips and the tension and stress between the two of us had slowly begun to dissolve. We cuddled and kissed and soon I suggested that Lynda get a little more comfortable by taking off "those hot clothes" and relaxing a little more. I helped her take of her sweater, bra, and those tight jeans to reveal a nice, firm, tight body. My dick was pounding by now. I lay her back and got on top of her and started kissing, licking and sucking her entire body, even licking her silk panties. I wanted all of her in my mouth at once. "Ummm, you taste so sweet," I murmured to her, then slid down to belly button and stuck my tongue in and swirled it around. Lynda seemed to be enjoying the pleasure. I pulled my body upwards to let her feel what she had done to me. My hard dick was tamed inside my pants but she could feel it when I slide it up and down her pussy and her stomach, sliding it back down her small body while gently pushing her thighs apart so I could eat her pussy. "This is heaven," I thought to myself. I closed my eyes to savor the moment, the smell, and the taste. I licked her inner thighs, teasing myself for the sweet experience which was to come. I wanted her in my mouth. Just as I slid my tongue into her wet pussy I could feel the wet marble sliding across my nose. It seemed as though I blacked out and my mind faded into the dream realm with little Jerry and his sister and her marble.