#LOLOSLOVELIFE: The Ex-Cemetery: Mourning the Love of My Life

#LOLOSLOVELIFE: THE EX-CEMETERY

Lately, I find myself thinking of my exes, what was and what could have been. I scroll their Facebook pages and see pictures of their pretty wives, and happy families. I wonder sometimes why I'm not  in those photographs. Why do I ache for past loves when I know all too well why we didn't make it to forever. I stumbled upon an essay from my book 'Good Girl Chronicles' I'm working on.  It reminds me that there is a reason why some loves are only for a season. When I finally let go of my heart's desire, I bury them in a place only I know the way to called  'The Ex-Cemetery'. It's a place where old flames burn to ash, a place we promise to never visit, but in a lonely moment we some how always do.

 Dead lovers never seem to stay buried. Underneath layers of dirt, heartache, and acceptance, they always come back. They lay waiting in the deep, beneath the years it took you to get over them. The soil is moist from the tears you cried for them. Whenever you stumble or walk past their grave sites it’s enough to take you right back to the grief you felt when you broke up. You step on the grave and gaze at the headstone. It reads "The Love of My Life", Met 2006, Broke Up 2011. You feel a tear running down your cheek, your feet apply pressure on the packed soil. Before long you kneel down and dig up some of the soil over you lover’s coffin. You read an old love letter, send a "I miss you text." That moment of weakness gives your old flame enough space to reach his hand through the earth and tug at your heart. I told myself I’d stop coming back to these graves, bury these men for good, but here I am again longing for what once was.

I’ve moved a lot in my 20’s. In all I’ve lived in about eight different

apartments, luxury, old, cramped, and new. Every time I unpack my belongings in a new place, start a new chapter in my life, I always seems to stumble on past the coffins of my exes. I have carefully preserved our flat lined loves, my two dead relationship in two red boxes. There is a coffin for both of the most passionate, intense, disappointing flames of my adult love life; Mr G.Q. a.k.a "the love of my life" and my first Puerto Rican love "The Gamer".

The coffin I used to bury the remains of my first intense love, Mr. G.Q. is tucked away in a soft, red box that once held perfume. I keep it tucked away mixed in with boxes of shoes and sandals. Whenever I unpack in a new place or get lost in a pile of outfits in my closet, the red box seems to always call out at me. My hands run across the familiar material. I know its where is he, where the old us is. 

Mr. G.Q. was and is the most attractive, sexy, gorgeous man I’ve ever dated. A guy that could have graced the covers of GQ magazines, with his six pack, and biceps that always looked ready to burst through his shirt shelves. Not to mention he had the most round supple behind, and I’m not even a butt woman. We met one day while I was at the mall shopping for a party shirt at Express, back when I could fit those super expensive, overly priced clothes. Mr. G.Q. walked towards me as I entered the store. It seems as if time had slowed down. I had never experienced that whole slow motion thing you see in the movies, except for in this moment.  His freshly shaven bald head was shining a bit, and I got close enough to catch a whiff of his cologne as he showed me the sexy clubbing clothes Express is known for. I could not focus on club shirts, I was intoxicated with this man’s sexy. I never got the shirt that night, but I came back and applied for a holiday job. 

Before long we were working together, and I found myself trying extra hard to impress him with my hairdos and Express coordinated outfits. He would call me cute names like lady, pretty girl, and sweetheart.  I got hot flashes when he spoke to me. Our first date was to a hockey game, I was too nervous to function so I drove myself so I could escape if I made a complete goof of myself.  He was everything. He opened the door for me, let me order nachos and cheap beer first. And, he looked at me like I was the only woman in the room. I was in deep. On our third date, I tossed my rules about waiting until three months to be intimate, and let myself be free. It was the first time in my young twenty something love life that a man made love to me. It wasn’t the mechanical, functional sex I had my first time. It was sensual. There was eye gazing, back stroking, and on the other end a man who cared if I was satisfied. I wondered if this was what being high felt like. Because afterwards I felt so light I could fly, and I wanted desperately to lay in that bed forever. 

In our vertical lives he was just as considerate and tender. He wrote me love letters, poems, and left cute notes on my car while I was at work. He showed me off, and bragged about me. I had never known love like this. He was the kind of man who would drop everything to help me with my flat tire on the side of the road, he sat with me in the emergency room when a freak allergic reaction that caused my throat to swell shut. He didn’t sleep a wink that night. He just sat there watching me being pumped with antihistamines. He even had the nerve to call me beautiful when another allergic reaction made my lips swell to the size of that crab in the Little Mermaid movie. I never wanted to leave this man. 

As much as I loved him the woman in me can see now I wasn’t ready for the commitment that he was. I was 21 and so unsure of who I wanted to be. He was 28, confident, ambitious, and ready for a wife.  He wanted me to cook for him when he got home. I wanted to hang out with girlfriends. He wanted to make love every night, I wanted to sleep. I was working two jobs chasing my dream to be on the news, and I was desperate for sleep. He felt neglected. I felt caged.  But, I wanted our love to last. Before long we were moving in together, and looking at rings. I wanted this to last.

The bliss of cohabiting didn’t last long. Mr. G.Q. started staying out late, and coming home drunk. It seemed like he was searching for some thrill outside of our home. Then I received an email from a mysterious man who said Mr. G.Q. was sleeping with his wife. Mr. G.Q. assured me it was in the past, and they slept together. I blindly trusted him. I never questioned him when he went got oiled up to go clubbing with his buddies, and didn’t come home until 6 a.m.  I never questioned him when he called me wasted and confused late Saturday nights. It was always the same line, ‘I’m too drunk to drive. I’m going to crash at on my friend’s couch,” he would say.

I never even suspected he was cheating on me. Or maybe I didn’t think I could handle it if he was so I ignored it. I never got upset when he would come home smelling like Long Islands and trying to have mindless sex with me. I never stood up for myself. That sweet, innocent love we had was fading, and I wanted so badly to find it. In the process of trying to save our love I felt like I was it strangling the life out of me. It made me unproductive at work, stressed me out, and drove me to binge eating. It left me gasping for air, and knocked me to my knees when he started spending more time on the couch, and less time loving me.

I fought hard for us. I signed us up for couple’s therapy. I took anxiety meds to calm my restlessness. I read psychology books on broken relationships. I fought until I didn’t have the strength. He came to a few sessions, complained they were stupid and stopped. Later, he bought me a dog for me. But, it wasn’t a big enough distraction from the dying corpse of our love, and I couldn't resuscitate it no matter how hard I tried. It took all of me to let go. But, six months into our lease I told him to move out. 

I got the dog, but Mr. G.Q. held onto my heart for more years than I’d like to admit. I would give him another year and half of my twenties going back and forth.  One time when I was 27 we seemed so close to restoring the better part of our love. We were both heart broken from other relationships. Some young white girl broke his heart, a steamy Puerto Rican broke mine. In comforting one another, it seems we were healing. I had grown a backbone this time. I spoke up for myself, and drew the line. He seemed to finally accept me. Then without notice or provocation he disappeared. I would learn a month later, after repeated calls, he knocked up the young pretty white girl and wasn’t man enough to tell me. I’m a glutton for punishment so I held onto hope we could still be together. We tried to build on our relationship and for a while I could feel the old us again. My consuming television career caused us to drift apart, but I always stayed in touch. 

I finally had it the day before his dad’s funeral. I went to Mr. G.Q's family home to pay my respects. He had lost his mom the previous year and I wanted to be there for me. When Mr. G.Q's mom died we had some of the most intense sex. I felt I was loving him through his grief. 

On the day I came to pay my respects to his father,  I walked into his house and saw a young white girl holding a brown infant. I thought surely one of his brothers is dating a white girl with a baby. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that the little brown baby was Mr. G.Q's baby. I was that naïve about who this man really was, and our the strength of our love. 

After hugging his siblings, I walked out to the back yard where Mr. G.Q. was standing alone. He was looking at the trees move back and forth in the fall breeze. We had so many memories in that backyard. When we visited his parents, we'd sit on the backyard deck and talk for hours. I once planned him a surprise birthday in that backyard. I bought him a bracelet with a the words “love from your future wife’ inscribed inside. I so wanted us to reach everlasting love.

Mr. G.Q. he turned to face me, I could see his tear worn face found some comfort in seeing me. 

“I miss you,” he said.

“I miss you too. I’m so sorry about your Dad. I loved him so much.”

"I wish things were different," I said. 

Mr. G.Q. nodded his head and said, "Me too, but it's complicated."

We hugged and stood in each other’s arms for what felt like too long. I went to stroke his face, when the young white girl with the brown baby came out. 

"This is what I mean by complicated," he said watching the young white girl approach us. "That's my son Barrett."

Then it all became clear. Mr. G.Q. had indeed knocked up another woman. His wife mama baby smiled, and I did all I could not to show the heartbreak on my face. I put on a fake smile, and headed towards the doors. Our love was dead, when was I going to see that. I wanted to slap him and storm out like those ladies do in the movies.  I wanted to cry and yell. Instead I gave him a bullshit ‘Congratulations’ and walked out the house.

 I promised myself that I would kill this love for good. I would strangle the breath out of the hope I had of him coming back to me, and with shovel in hand bury him for good.I put all of our pictures, letters, momentos in a red box, and shoved them in the back of my closet. 

When I got home I dug a fresh plot to bury my love with Mr. G.Q. The photos of our trip to New York, the jewelry he gave me, it all had to go. I put them all in a red box. 

It’s the same box I always seem to reopen every time I feel lonely or feel I'll be alone forever. Each time I cry reading over those old letters from the man I once wanted to give my life to. The thing about mourning is if you stay in that sad moment too long you never move on.  As much as it hurts to leave "The Ex-Cemetery" I must. If I am ever going to meet another great love, I have to let go of my first. So I slowly turn my back on the grave that was "the love of my life" in hopes of finding a new one....

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#FineFellasFriday: Mr. Optimism & Jeff Byrd Part 2

#FINEFELLASFRIDAY: Hampton Roads Man Gives the Gift of Education

It is a desolate, poor community. Kids are running around with torn clothes, empty stomachs, and broken hearts. A soft song plays in the background, and a narrator prompts you to give as little as 19 cents a day to help a starving child in a third world country. It tugs at your heart. Maybe you feel charitable and give in. For a lot of people the charity would end there. Not for motivational speaker and business coach, Jeff Byrd. His generous spirit lead him to start a school from a small struggling orphanage in Pakistan.

While perusing Facebook one day, Jeff got a message from an old friend about a small orphanage in Pakistan needing funds. Byrd’s friend Nagash had started the orphanage and daycare for the children in Toba Tek Singh Pakistan. The orphans and all children in this area are prime targets for slave labor brick kiln owners. Bricks are made by hand from mud and mold, then fired in brick kilns. The owners use children for cheap labor where they are often subjected to violence, sexual harassment, and abuse. Hearing these stories made Jeff want to help, but he did way more than just cut a check.

Jeff raffled off a photoshoot online to raise money, and others donated, to build a classroom for the orphans in Pakistan. The raffle raised enough money to build a room onto an existing home to host a school called the Byrd Young Leaders School. The school provides a basic education and teach English, an invaluable resource that

provides children a chance to work in the global market later on. Kids are also are able to play sports and participate in creative arts like music and theater. At the end of the year the kids are to sent to a government certified school were they are able to take exams and get diplomas. As a believer in the value God places on each of us, it was also important to Jeff that the children were taught faith and compassion.

“We also teach character development through examples from the Bible, placing a high emphasis on valuing other people and living a life that makes a positive difference for others," Jeff said.

The mission of educating these children is not without its dangers. There is a lot of opposition in the community. Brick

kiln owners are opposed to the school because children in this area are used for extremely inexpensive labor. Even getting to the school can be challenging. One child was killed in a hit and run accident while crossing the street to get to the school, after somehow managing to get by the crossing guard. There was no investigation and no one came forward. Some wonder if the hit and run was done to intimidate school leaders and students.

Out of pressure from the brick kiln owners, the homeowner hosting the school stopped the classes. For two years Jeff with the help of others raised enough money to buy a small property and structure to convert into a school. The school is operational, but is in constant needing of funding.

“We also need supplies, teacher’s salaries, utilities, and more space to accommodate the education of more children,” said Jeff. He also wants to provide the children clothing, food and become a government certified school.

How a motivational speaker from Virginia was able to reach the hearts and minds of children thousands of miles away is a feat in itself. Jeff has never actually visited the school (although he and his wife, Angie, plan to do so as soon as financially feasible), but has pictures and stories to fill many scrap books. Making this school become a reality has taught Jeff more about the power of unity.

“I could never have done this alone. As Mother Teresa said ‘You can do what I cannot do and I can do what you cannot do, but together we can do great things.’”

His job as a motivational speaker allows him to inspire people to be their best selves. Perhaps Jeff’s greatest gift is caring about kids he’s never seen in a place he’s never been. The change that has been made is not lost on him.  It’s only strengthening his desire to give even more.

“There is nothing to compare to the amazing realization that I can make a difference in lives on the other side of the world. Likely there is nothing they can do to ever repay any of us who contribute, but that is the richest reward of all. Whenever I get discouraged I think on the lives that have been changed because I am here. It gives me motivation to keep going and to keep adding value to as many lives possible. Talk about the meaning to life.”

To learn more about Jeff’s school and ways you can help go to byrdyoungleadersschool.com or their Facebook page . The school is always seeking donations to reach more children.

A man who cares more about others than himself…. that’s one #finefella

Thank you for sharing your story with Good Girl Chronicles

How I know Jeff: I met Jeff Byrd at a networking event last year. I don’t remember what drew us to each other or what we even talked about, but I will never forget his smile. It is radiant, pure, and genuine. It’s the kind of smile that makes you feel at home in his presence. After months of getting to know him and his business I can see it’s this same energy that makes him so magnetic as a public speaker. (Byrd learns from the John Maxwell program, based on the prolific and super famous speaker and author John Maxwell.) He coaches and motivates businesses to reach their potential. Which is not as easy as one might think. Being a motivational speaker takes heart, and grit. There has to be something about you and your energy that makes a person want to be better. Change is hard for any man so a man who inspire others to live differently has a powerful gift. Jeff has that. But if you ask him what his proudest professional accomplishment is it will most likely lead you to a small school in Pakistan.

#LOLOSLOVELIFE: 'The Pretty Young Thing' Part Two

#LOLOSLOVELIFE: 'The Pretty Young Thing' Part Two

This is part two of my last fling with a twenty something man, the 'Pretty Young Thing' that got me caught up.

We found ourselves alone in the bathroom ( again so high school), and I went for it. But he resisted me. More over analyzing. Is he not attracted me? Does he still like Beyonce? Is it cause I’m fat?  As the night waned on, the making out ensued, and we both gave in. Get ready for some PG-13 description of how it all went down. His hands massaged me in hidden places. My lips pressed softly along his neck, my arms ran down his back. I could feel he didn’t want to leave, and that turned me on even more. In my softest, sensual voice I whispered in his ear, occasionally licked his ear. I laid on my back…..and he stopped.

“I can’t do this,” Suave said creating distance between us. I care about you, and I’d hate sex to fuck things up. Plus you’re not a bathroom fuck.” 

I had no intentions of giving up the cookie in the bathroom that night, but I was legit surprised that he didn’t try to take advantage. I mean what P.Y.T does that? It messed up my head and made me fall for him more. But with the engine already running, I had to drive. We didn’t have sex, but we both left satisfied. 

Suave and his friend stayed the night. The next morning I woke up half way stunned and excited things turned Rated R that night. Because, he cared enough to not go for sex, I had a sliver of hope he’d wake up wanting more of my heart. Apparently the sun was shining on him in a totally different way. Later that night he gave me the friend speech, and ghosted me for weeks. It was crushing. I had put myself out there not just physically but emotionally. The rejection cut deep.

The longer he didn’t call or reach out the more insecure I became. What Suave didn’t know was that my life was more dramatic and heartbreaking than a Nicholas Sparks novel. Our brief whatever it was made me feel sexy, and worthy. It was an escape from the many disappointments in my life and it gave me something to hope for. In my thirties I know better than to place my self esteem in the arms of a man…. but this P.Y.T drug was hands down the most addictive I've ever met. It hooked me where it hurts most, your heart.

I wish I could say after rejecting me for my friend Beyonce, and being ignored I had enough. I went in for more. Missing his humor and charm, I laid it all out. I told Suave I had feelings for him, and why his rejection hurt so bad. He seemed to genuinely care. Before long we were back to messaging one another, deep talks, and a new twist long ass phone calls. You know when you first like someone even listening to them play videos is amusing? Yea, neither do I. God I wish I was kidding. I am slapping myself as I type this. I literally listened to his commentary while he played Madden for three hours. Again it was so high school. The night ended with him asking for pictures of my lady bits. I should have been disgusted, yet I was slightly amused.

I’m not quite the glutton for punishment as you may think. I did have some dignity. I hit rock bottom with Suave when he “accidentally fucked his best female friend.” Yup that’s my limit of fuckery. Here’s how one accidentally trip into someone’s vagina as Suave says. One night he and I were talking on the phone and he rushed off.  I later found out he went to  comfort his very clingy best lady friend who had the hots for him. Something he was very aware of. When I met her once if was as if she was pissing on Suave to mark her territory. She was vying for his attention, stroking his hand, and pouting when he paid attention to me. I thought Suave could see she was looking for a way in, but he didn’t. 

“It was an accident. She was crying, and then it just happened,” he said. Why do men use this excuse. “She lost her job and she was crying. What was I supposed to do?” Umm I don’t know maybe not fuck her. Maybe take that chick to Wendy’s for a four for four, listen to her cry for two hours and keep it moving.

But, what did I expect really? Suave was twenty-two and selfish. Everything he did in our on month friendship had nothing to do with my feelings. For some reason because we had shared so much emotional stuff I expected him to think of me. The fact that he didn’t was telling of how little I meant to him.

Then he had the audacity to play the victim. “I just really need a friend right now Lolo. I don’t know what to do. What if I messed things up,” he replied.” Umm how about you go cuddle up to the bestie whose vagina you fell into?  I am so sad I was not this clever in the moment. I felt a sting in my chest. It was as if someone had stabbed me in my heart, then plastered ‘idiot’ on my head.  I’m not sure why I expected anything meaningful or decent from this P.Y.T. He ditched me for my hot Beyonce friend, used me, and then tripped into a girl’s fruit cocktail. I really wish it didn’t hurt me so bad.

I can’t give him all the blame. I’ll take 10%. I am 32, and I’ve lived through some serious relationships, and a whole lot of flings with early twenty-something men. In you early twenties selfishness is hard to kick. You are finally legal, and finding yourself. Few men in their early twenties are willing to give up the pursuit of new pussy. In a nutshell, it’s a season of taking what’s yours, and discarding real feelings. I should not have expected respect, loyalty, or commitment from a twenty-two year old man. But, I did. I take responsibility for that. I also own the fact that I was too vulnerable for Suave’s games. His rejection came at a really hard time in my life.

I must admit when I took my first hit of Suave, I was already wounded and battered. I was lonely. I felt ugly, and I had given up on finding anything or anyone meaningful. His attention while false was soothing. I had lost all faith in feeling excited about a man again, or even thinking someone could love me. His false attempts at caring made me hopeful. If I were stronger at the time I would have known I wasn’t strong enough to play this young man’s game. If you follow this blog you know I’ve had my heart broken by twenty something men in the past, both of my biggest heart breaks this year came at the hands of twenty something men; ‘The Love That Almost Broke me’ and City Hall. If I can help it this will be my last time falling into the drug-induced of a early twenty-year old man. Now to heart rehab and recovery. The pain felt so bad I disconnected from social media for an entire month to get myself straight. For the first week, I cried myself to sleep. I felt so foolish. In my heart, I so hoped he’d be different. thought I mattered. 

I am done. I’ve walked on the wild side. I touched the hot stove, and I’m nursing the wounds.  When a man tells me he is anywhere between 20 to 26 I’m going to run for the hills. I’m no spring chicken anymore, and my heart can’t take it. I no longer have the strength for young, selfish men who say one thing and do another. No more can I sustain men who view sex as a means for getting off and not about making love. I want that cuddle in the bed on Sunday kinda love. I want that bare faced, sweat shirts, and beers kinda of romance. A man who sees me opening my heart and is careful not to put more battle wounds there.

I also know I need to get back to loving myself again. I am curvy, but confident. Fat and fabulous. I am an all embracing type of love. In the words of my old flame City Hall, “If I love you, I live for you.” I am your biggest cheerleader, your most trusted confidant, your comedian, your prayer warrior, I am light on dark days. I want to love myself enough to not accept anything less than greatness from a man. I want to love myself enough to not settle for charming douche bags who mesmerize me with their flirtation. I want to care about my heart enough to give it to men who cherish it. I want to get back to that confident woman who bailed at the sight of red flags. And I hope all of this leads me to tender, sensual, considerate man who will hold me on those nights I cry, applaud me on the days I triumph, and keep his feet on solid ground when temptations comes his way. 

I suspect this may take a while. But, if my past shows me there are men who still believe in loving a woman the right way. When I was twenty-one I was so blessed to have found  amazing man who loved me in a way no man has since. He was the “love of my life”, my everything, my best friend, and the keepers of all my secrets. He was my ‘Dwayne Johnson’; bald, strong, Godly, funny, suave, and he loved me in a way I never knew possible. I want to wait for another one of those loves. The love that helped me run a 10k, and lost 50 pounds. The love that believed in me when I didn’t. That love that cooked for me when I came home from work, and gave me “just because presents”. The kind of love who went to church with me on Sunday, and dirty danced to Lil Wayne with me on Saturday. My Rock loved my Down Syndrome sister. He loved me when I was fat, and he loved me when I was skinny. He drove two hours to dig me out of a snow storm, and stayed till it passed. The man who time stopped for when we met. I always cry when I think about you because you taught me real love. Even though life has taken us in different places I am forever grateful for the season in life we had loved each other. You are my standard I measure all men to.  Oh, Mr. G.Q you were one for the books. It’s remembering your love lately that is reminds me I am worthy of real love. In 2017 I’m vowing to stop settling for petty men who play games, and keeping hoping for that Mr. G.Q. kind of love.

Here’s to no more P.Y.T.S unless he is Taylor Latuener from Twilight then all bets are off.

Here’s to loving me more and waiting for the high of real love. 

#LOLOSLOVELIFE: The 'Pretty Young Thing' Prt 1

#LOLOSLOVELIFE: The Pretty Young Thing Drug

‘Pretty Young Things’. When I first heard the famous Michael Jackson song P.Y.T., I was a little girl. I remember thinking that MJ was talking about me. I thought when I was old enough to date I’d be a P.Y.T and I’d nab a jerry curl haired guy who danced with glitter gloves. Hey, it was the eighties. You’re lying to yourself if you didn’t think MJ was sexy in his black days. 

In my twenties P.Y.T was my cute nickname for non-committal twenty something men. I even dated one a few years back who looked like Jon B. That is another story.

 I loved P.Y.T.s in my twenties. They were so exciting and free of responsibilities. In my thirties, not so much. At 32, all the P.Y.T.S I’ve encountered are sexy, immature boys whose minds run off sex, jerking off, and chasing tail. Call me ‘Bitter Betty’ if you want. But, I was taken on quite a ride by a few P.Y.T.S . I know better. Early twenty something P.Y.T.S typically want no commitment.


P.Y.T’S have evolved, and if you aren’t careful it is easy to get addicted. The new P.Y.T. drug is laced with a lot of slick talk and a lot of failed promises of love. It tastes so sweet, and for a second it feels so sincere. The new drug P.Y.T.S use to takes advantage of your heart, tricks your mind into believing they aren’t completely full of shit. I went cold turkey and faithfully kicked the habit of pursing P.Y.TS that was until I met one called Suave. A twenty-two year old whose favorite topics were eating pussy and himself. He was a real peach. His drug was a swirl of hidden kisses, swapped secrets, and all the magical words a woman wants to her like, “I miss being in a relationship. Your kisses are everything.” And the one that did me in, “I’m here for you.” I have to tip my hat to him. He got me good.

We met through a mutual friend and he had all the tall tales of not being on my level. Every ass that passed by him had to be stared at, collecting numbers was a sport, and he salivated when he talked about pussy. Apparently it’s his favorite cuisine. And, in most of his stories women were dispensable. On the outside, he was everything my eyes loved about P.Y.T.S He had light brown skin, a well groomed beard, and full moist lips. Don’t get me started on the sultry Snapchat pics I saw of him with a towel covering just enough to make me curious. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one of his followers fantasizing about what Suave was packing. I think he got off on tempting women he had no real desire to be good to. But his charm got me. Something about the way he looked at me made feel seen again. After months of being rejected and feeling ugly, the attention was intoxicating. Ladies this is why is so important not to date when you’re insecure. Even a little attention from man whores will flatter you.  Before long I was dressing super cute around him, and laughing like a teeny bopper when he said something funny. What the fuck was I thinking?  In hindsight I wish someone would have slapped the shit out of me to snap me out of it.

My curiosity started to get the best of me. Every time we talked, my eyes were drawn to his lips. I had to know if they felt as good as they looked. Like any attention deprived woman would do I made up a ridiculous reason to make out. For some reason he went for it, and for a good two minutes I was in lip locking heaven. I have to give it to the kid's his lips made me slightly moist. Sorry for the TMI, but you must understand how intense it was for me. I hadn’t feel a spark like that with a man since my ex.  I was hella surprised it turned me on so much. Afterwards we both vowed to never cross the line again. But, like any drug the first hit wasn’t enough. 

If our situation were purely physical I think I could have kicked Suave to the curb fast. This P.Y.T’s sweet poison was laced with some I didn’t expect, feelings. It was the emotional intimacy that really broke me down. I was intoxicated the minute he opened up to me about his trust issues, his desire to be in a healthy relationship, and his struggles. Most P.Y.T.S I’ve encountered want sex, and sex only. Once they hit it they don’t want to hear about your feelings, they don’t comfort you, and they certainly don’t share theirs. The phones calls stop, the cute messages, thus the chase is over. I’ve played with so many P.Y.T.S. I know once sex happens it’s over. So when Suave started sharing real intimate shit, I let my guard down. 

Like most women emotional intimacy is what I crave most in a partner. My greatest lovers have been men who were emotionally free. They told me when they were sad and asked me to help. They told me gently when I hurt them and we worked on it. And, the best part they sincerely wanted to comfort me when I was in pain. One of the most tender moments I had with my first love was shortly after my mom’s breast cancer diagnosis. Facing death she looked at Mr. G.Q. (the love of my life) and said, “Take care of my daughter.” I ran out the house crying. He ran after me and under a sky of stars, he promised we’d beat it together. I still get teary eyed thinking about that. God I adored that man. It was moments like that when I knew for sure we shared real love. Ok back to the drug pusher Suave.

Over the process of a few weeks, I found myself texting super deep shit with Suave till 2 a.m. He was emotionally open. He wanted to understand ‘Love Languages’ and hear all the times my heart had been broke. The sexual tension intensified because I thought I had found a real confidant. It didn’t last long. He fell for my hot friend Beyonce.

Now, I don’t know the real Beyonce Knowles, but I like giving my friend this nickname cause she’s like Beyonce. My friend can be painfully shy, and is smoking hot. Like roll of the bed, don't do your hair hot. A gift I do not posses. And to top it off she’s white, blonde, skinny and has a fat ass. Most men’s fantasy. There was no competition. 

It was high school all over again. I was friend zoned and relegated to being the D.U.F.F. also known as the “ Designated Ugly Fat Friend“ role that I knew all to well. My interest in Suave should have died there. I mean the minute my friend Beyonce flashed a smile at him, I was chop liver. And worse all he did was ask me advice about on how to ask her out. I was in puberty again, and playing Oprah to all my hot guy friends. I hated that role.  The fact I didn’t drop Suave after this is telling of my low self esteem. More on that later. Like any good side kick would do I sold my hot Beyonce friend a good pitch about Suave. I encouraged her to write him back and consider his offer for a date. She didn’t see what I saw, she rejected him, and I could see he was crushed.

After Suave friend zoned me for Beyonce I figured I should cut my losses. I deserved a guy who saw how fabulous I am. So I went into my ritual of getting over someone, a complete communication cut off. Out of sight, out of mind. No more seeing him in person, pushing myself to see other people, and trying to refrain from messaging him. I was doing good until our a mutual friend of ours, who I will call “Tall Drink of Water” (because she towers of me), invited us both to lunch. I tried as hard as I could to tuck my feelings away. I even wore an ugly outfit to show I didn’t put into effort into the “friend date”.

“Hey Lolo, you should sit by Suave,” Talk Drink of Water said. I begrudgingly complied. Suave brought his best friend, and before long it felt like a double date. Suave’s friend talked  about relationships, and over coming heartbreak. Suave had sex on the brain, bad! It should have disgusted me, but it excited me. Yes I admit I am cliche. There is something thrilling about pursuing someone you know should be off limits for you.

Most of the lunch date I was trying not to look at Suave’s lips. I succeeded, but the tension reached a fever pitch when I felt his hand on my knee. He placed it right on the spot where I feel giggly and turned on. It took my breathe away and my mind went right back to that super tense first kiss. Somehow, I managed through lunch being more sisterly than sexual. But, that night we’d would break boundaries that left lasting cracks on my heart.

On a whim, Tall Drink of Water rented a room at a swanky hotel for a girls night. I needed the distraction from Suave. It would be me, Tall Drink of Water, and another girlfriend who got plastered way too early in the evening. It was so Sex & The City of us. We had drinks at a swanky bar and planned to stay up all night gabbing. Then Suave and his friend showed up. I can’t say I wasn’t a little excited. He slapped my ass a few times, and dropped some hidden kisses. My mind couldn’t make sense of it. In true girl fashion I started over analyzing.  Does this mean he likes me? Is he just trying to hit it tonight? Should I push him away? Are we friends with benefits? WHAT IS THIS? When we got back to the room, we all started talking about sex. The tension was so thick I felt myself getting flushed. So even though I knew better I said, “Fuck it.”

to be continued.......