EssentialSista

My Aphrodisiac
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2009-03-16 05:09:01 (UTC)

Paris

I feel slighted. Yep. That's just it. It has taken a
month to come up the word to personify my experience.
Sucks. I've battled with emotions, refused to cry, walked
around numb, gotten pissed off although never really sad and
much more. I mean, who goes all the way to Paris, France to
see someone they haven't seen in 2 1/2 years and believed
that the short time lived was supposed to last a lifetime?
Me. Well, not exactly. I didn't go with any pre-conceived
notions, although I obviously should have. I found out shit
that should have been mentioned WAY prior to my coming.
What? Oh, the negro was engaged. Not currently, but like a
year prior. WTF? Did I miss that memo? Cuz I sure as hell
don't recall ever reading it nor hearing about it. Ok. Let
me back it up a bit, we were never together. We went from
being lovers/friends to absolutely nothing (I broke his
heart), then to becoming friends again slowly but surely. I
dunno, I just find it a bit odd to make an effort to keep in
touch with someone that's across the world from you and
you're in an obviously serious relationship. Excuse me for
answering your calls, letting my guard down and being
absolutely oblivious to the reality that the fool must have
been talking to me for ego purposes. Ok. So now to the trip
portion of it all.

On the flight there it was a bit of a blur. I was a bit uh,
tipsy. Yes, had them cran n' vodkas coming! Shit, I didn't
want to feel any kind of way. I just wanted to be. Go
through LA to Chicago and from there to Paris looking
fabulous and subconsciously looking for my soul mate in the
airport. I dunno why I always do that. Anyhow. So, I get
there. Take my time going through customs, primp in the
bathroom, practice my expression as I just knew he'd be
there waiting when I came out with a solemn expression on
his face and with his arms wide open for me to run into them
and he embrace me then spin me around and VOLA! French Kiss
is a novel that ends happily ever after. NO!

This fool took at least an hour to come and get me. I had
to purchase a calling card to call him on his cell and he's
changing his story three different times. Evidently he went
to class that morning and was late because he was in class.
However, I could have sworn he made no mentioning of this
the night before when I talked to him and he continued to
blurt aloud, "I love you. I can't wait to see you." Long
story short, he comes and my back is turned as I attempt to
call him again on his cell to ask him where the fuck was he
at. He says, "You looking for me?" I turn around and there
he is. Handsome, yes. But nothing like I remember him to
be. Something different from the persona he exuded, no
locs, and a good 50lbs smaller. He gets my bags and we head
to the train. Even at this point I don't feel like I'm there.

The first two days were cool. Vday was spent at the top of
the Eiffel Tower drinking expensive wine and looking like a
million bucks! But that evening, we go to the club or
whatever. Mind you he said it was a lounge. I get dressed.
I'm cute, yes. However, if I had known it were a club then
I'd of gotten FABALOUS! His uncle comes with his French
chick and she's cute. She's dancing and shaking to all the
cultural music. Frantzy has lust written all over his face
as he dances with her and then as she entertains them both
to a belly dance of some sort. I'm cool. Not trippin'.
Had I been in a place where I spoke the language I would
have gotten a bit hood though. I think there is some shit
that is appropriate for the bedroom and others that is for
the public. Her shit was a bit over the line. So, the
American "jams" come on and I start gettin' it. Fuck what
you heard. It was aight. I was tipsy, wish I had hard
liquor opposed to wine, but fuck it. I was aight. Anyhow,
it's about 3-4 when we get back to his place. I tell him to
shower first, then I do the same. I decided that I'd wait
til' my last night there to wear THEE LINGERIE. But I get
sexy for him. Black lace push up and leopard mesh boyshorts
with the sides exposed, 4 inch stilletos and baby oil gelled
the fuck up! Clearly he was excited. I give him kisses and
some oral lovin' that literally put his ass to sleep. In
short, I didn't get no damn dick VDay. I guess I sucked the
life outta him. SMH.

We wake up the next day, (1:40pm) and he's like I gotta go
work at church. I have to be there at two so you can't
come. I'll be back by 5:30pm. WTF? So, what was I
supposed to do? He leaves his key and tells me that I
should explore around where he lived. I can't venture far,
cuz I have NO IDEA where the FUCK I am at this point. I
chill online for a while, vent to Olita in A'Dam and then
throw in the Ipod and get outta there. I do some writing.
I can only ask for water to drink since a bish don't speak
no French. I'm hungry. BLAH. I get back to the room at
5:30. He gets there at 7. I'm mad, he doesn't get it. I
guess I'm the selfish one? Hmmmm...considering I flew for
14 hours to see his ass, took off from work, used up my PTO
and spent $580 to get there, etc. Yes, I'm selfish.
Anyhow, so now he's on some HELLA religious kick. Talkin'
about certain things have allowed him to get off track.
Hence, fuckin', my being there so he can't workout, etc.
So, I now feel like an EFFING INCONVENIENCE! Blah, mind you
since he was gone I was looking at photos on his computer
and What do you know?! Toya, the girl he mentions that he
was engaged to while on our train ride back from his uncles
house and we're high. She's not that cute for one, she came
to visit in Dec. '07 for two, and there's the picture of the
RING! So, that means this whole engagement thing was all
but a year ago. Hmmmm...

I don't say shit. I'm cool. That's how you're supposed to
act. Right? Tuck shit into your memory bank and store it
for future purposes. The fool is bitter. Its so evident.
He basically caught her up. She was fuckin' her ex still;
possibly even living with him. His bad. Not mine. And I
did some fucked up ish. Yes, I'll admit. But I will NOT,
be the blame for another bitches venom. HELL NO! There was
so much reservation in his actions it wasn't even funny. He
is/was sensitive like open nerve endings. It was like he
wanted to be easy, but couldn't. Which is fucked up to me
because I told myself I had to do so. Let go of the past
hurt and deceit in order to be open to what was possibly in
store. But that's neither here nor there.

Moving right along...I let it all go. I am cool. We watch
movies, chill a bit. Get our fuck on. Good shit. Did I
mention I came twice? WOW! Yeah, so he askin' if I needed
Daddy Dick, as he refers to it as to go to sleep. Then, we
finish fuckin' and he's like, "I wonder if the Lord is
utterly displeased with us as sinners as we just
fornicated." ***You really should have seen my facial
expression*** How one goes from Daddy Dick to Jesus is
beyond me.

We get up the next morning and decide to grab some Chinese.
He has to go to class afterwards. I tell him all I wanted
to do while out there was to go to Left Bank. It's where
Langston and all the artists do their thing. He knew this
long before my arrival. Perfect time to go being I'd be
alone. He doesn't know where it is and says he's taking me
to a museum instead. Oh, AND he's going to a football
meeting shortly after his return from class. So, he asks
was I ready to go and I just got my second plate of food. I
didn't eat anything on the other cuz the food ain't "real
Chinese". I say, yep. And walk the fuck out. He comes out
and is like you fucking got an attitude problem yo!
Woowoowoo...I say, "Man, fuck that. I should have never
brought my ass out here in the first place. I don't owe you
shit."

So, that was that. lol. I'm crying on the train. He's
lookin' like a mean ass. We go to the museum, he buys my
ticket, gets me an english pamphlet and tells me he'll meet
me there at 5:30. I'm like cool. I go to look for a
bathroom and then notice him coming back down the escalator.
He's like make sure you got my cell number. I wanna be
sure nothing happens to you. Etc. Cute gesture. It all
is. But it's not enough. This was my last day in Paris and
that's how it was spent. Alone. Although I did have an
absolute blast! The museum sucked ass. Mona Lisa needs her
ass whooped for being that small and I'm not into that kind
of art. But I venture around for about an hour and then roll
out. I go to cafe's and have tea and write poetry, tell
strangers to take my pic, go grab knick knacks for friends
at home and get to the meeting spot a half hour late
purposely. He takes me to the like shopping district or
whatever. We see the buildings, I get excited and then we
have to leave cuz he has a meeting. So, he doesn't get back
until like 11. I'm neither mad or sad. A cross between.
At that point I'm ready to go. Ready to at least make my
time count for something. And if that means work, then even
that is fine. I just don't want to feel like I'm
inconveniencing anyone.

I'm packing my things, listening to my Ipod, paying him no
attention, etc. I finish with my packing and sit at the
opposite of the bed and write as I continue listening to
music. He stares at me. He observes how I do when I do
what I do. I act as if he's not there. I wish that I were
invisible at this point.

He gets up, puts in Love Jones (I mailed this to him for
Christmas randomly, we refer to it as our love story), turns
off the lights and gets under the cover. So, I put my
notepad down and watch the movie. I'm in the corner of the
bed, opposite of him and under my own blanket. He asks me
to lay with him, I decline. At the end of the movie I'm in
tears...as usual. He asks my opinion of what a Love Jones
is, I tell him that I don't believe they exist. And could
really care less about a love anything. We get into a
lengthy discussion. My mood of melancholy shifts. I
recognize that this will be the last moments that we'll
spend together. We laugh, we joke, we forget only for a
moment. It's nearly 3. I join him under the covers. Won't
let him hold me like he did every night. He held me so
close, so tight, I felt so secure. Didn't want to get used
to his embrace because it would be unfair.

I fall asleep and awake to him saying something about me
waking him up. I'm a bit delirious being I'm in like that
first stage of sleep, REM or some shit like that. I feel
his hands inching across my buttocks. His fingers stroking
between my thighs...I ignore it at first. Then my back
begins to arch to better the accessibility for him to do so
more easily. It feels good. No sex for 10 months will make
you vulnerable to touch. And I was. He tasted my wetness
and I became entangled in his web. He watched me intently.
Wanted to know that he gave me pleasure. My response of
satisfaction reeked in my heartfelt moans. And I allowed
him to enter me one last time. Let him feel the tunnel of
my babymaker. Feel its warmth, its goodness. And that
night, let him hold me one last time. We chatted briefly.
He told me he just wanted to hold me for tonite. I let him.
I wanted him to. Liked the feeling of protection and warmth.

We awoke and got ready to head to the airport. He watched
me as I dressed and double checked for lingering items. We
were off to the train. Him dragging one bag and I the
other. Arms interlocked as they were the entire time minus
that one blow up. It was mostly silence between us. He
would occasionally drop hints of him wishing I'd of been
able to stay longer. I don't hang on to his words. As
words mean absolutely nothing to me at this point. It's all
in actions.

We crack jokes about folks on the train. A little boy
stares at us with curiosity. Wondering wtf we were saying.
Frantzy says something to the boy in French. He looks at
me and smiles; cheeks blushing.

We have breakfast at the airport. Do a bit of jogging down
memory lane of our college years. He stretches time until
the elastic is worn out and I remind him that I still have
to go through customs. We kiss before I go up. I turn to
go and he pulls me back for one more. And then off I go...I
never turn back. Not once. No tears. No nothin'. I turn my
emotions on OFF and get fucking wasted on the plane ride
back. I sleep for 8 hours the first flight.

I call him when I get home. I dunno where we are. Like,
what is to become. He says we should let time do its thing.
Oh, also said I didn't show him any romance. Ha! The
audacity! I been romancing him for 2 1/2 years. Love poems,
love letters and Love Jones. He didn't even make me believe
again. I say to myself, this is it. You know now. Don't
make something of nothing. I write him a long email when we
get off the phone. Let him know that there is no such thing
as, "I love you...BUT." I wish not for love with
reservation nor inhibition. So, instead of time or
unsurity, I'll fill in the gaps. And that's that...I've
talked to him twice on the phone. He calls at 5am. Tells
me that he still smells my scent and tastes me on his
tongue. Says that he was trippin' cuz he came home excited
thinking that I was there waiting on him. I smile. I needed
to hear that. Needed a moment of contentment. But I can't
hang on to his words. Hurts too bad to do so. Talked to
him again but that was that. I mailed him his athletic tape
on Friday. My way of saying I keep my word. No note. No
letter. Just the tape.

So, yeah. That's that. I just don't feel anymore. I'm
diving headfirst into self-love. I think that love should
come easy. He stole my muse. And this is the first time
I've been able to write anything. But it's cool. It's back
now. And it's not co-dependent on anyone or anything.

It hurts to not be able to tell anyone the reality of
everything. I think its a big mouthful honestly. My pics
came out cute, and perception is not always reality. We
made a cute ass couple. But fuck it. It is what it is, right?


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