Friday, April 8, 2011

The Dark Knight

        I went black once and I couldn't do it so I hoped the fence again and landed safely on white; and not because I'm not enticed by the delicacy of fine chocolate.  The rumors are apparently true, because his penis was anatomically incapable of fitting into a hula hoop much less anything attached to my body.  Surprisingly though, he was able to cram it into his Mercedes Benz with no problem.  His name was Brent, a fitting white name for such an incredibly black, black man.  I found out about his penis not by physically handling the monster, but during one of the few expensive dates he took me on, this one in-particular was at a sushi joint, when I accidentally saw it.  It would of had to be by accident because I had about as much intention in sleeping with him as I did in attending a bible study weekend getaway.  I was just in it because he was handsome, rich, and fawned over me like a hungry puppy waiting for a treat.  The expensive dinners helped too. While he blabbed about spirituality and his boring family, I chowed down on flavors I had previously deemed unrealistic.
        Brent went to the bathroom before our dinner arrived, leaving his i-Phone sitting on the table.  At that point the closest thing I had seen to an i-Phone was the 400 pound computer monitor I was using as my Mobil device.  I feel it's important to mention that this was in the year 2009.  After hitting it against the table a few times like a neanderthal, a screen popped up with the option, among many others, to view photos.  And that's when I saw it.  There in all it's glory was a nude photo of Brent in a bath tub with a penis so large even John Holmes would have had a run for his money.  I was just trying to check his text messages to see if he was wining and dining someone else on the side but I was so shocked that I didn't notice him sit back down and take a few sips of his bloody marry.  He must have mistaken my look of horror for intense curiosity because he broke me out of my penis trance by saying, "you like what you see don't you."  I was mortified but smiled and said, "sure do, where's our sushi? We ordered it almost thirty minutes ago," I looked around as if that would help bring the food to us faster.  I felt sick and I felt the date spiraling downwards.  I was going to have to end my fake relationship with Brent sooner than expected.         
        Call me crazy, but the idea of fornicating with something relative in size to a small car didn't sit well with me, and I wondered how I got in this situation to begin with.  I met Brent when I was pricing vibrators at the porn store I worked at called Video Mania.  He romantically asked me if I liked the Treasure Island porn over the Bel Ami porn, and I flirtatiously explained the differences in quality and ass play time while using the dildo in my right hand to emphasize important syllables.  He opted to get the Treasure Island porn entitled; Sperm Bank.  It was at that time that I suggested my favorite porn tittle, "I'm Coocoo For Coco Cocks," it just seemed like something that would be right up his ally.  "I'm not really into black men," he told me.  "In fact, I would like to take you to dinner sometime."  I was taken aback for a moment, I had never dated a black man, and the reviews I've heard are on the up and up, why not?  Besides, the co-worker who I was in love with was putting me on the back burner while he slowly realized how much he loved me, so I had time to kill.   I gave him my number and received a text twenty minutes later that read, "Hey, it's the dark knight, hows my little cream puff?"   For that reason, to this day, I cannot watch Batman: The Dark Knight, without getting an erection; because that text made me feel sexy.  That's one thing I love about the black men I have dabbled in since Brent, they make me feel sexy.
        After dinner, he took me to an overlook of this city on top of a hill, it was beautiful and I almost kissed him, as I am a sucker for beautiful sights.  Fortunately, the sight of his member repelled me from danger.  He took me home and I never spoke to him again, and not for lack of him trying to get a hold of me.  He started stopping by for porn on a frighteningly frequent basis. But I was hung up on my co-worker, and at the time, that's who I wanted to be with.   While I passed time waiting for him to come around, I went on a few more dates with random men.  There was Jack, the stuttering Greek God.  Jack was so beautiful it was painful, and he really liked me.  He was kind, had ambition, had a story to tell, and possessed a body so far out of my league it was comical.  He just had a slight stutter, not a bad one, just a slight one.  And for me, any excuse to turn away someone healthy, I took.  "Can I reasonably see myself with someone who repeats the first sound of the word once or twice, every five or ten minutes?"  The answer was no.  I wish I could go back in time and stop myself from being such a shallow ass hole, but in order to do that I would have had to of also been able to rid myself of my severe fear of intimacy.  Something I'm still unable to do.
        There was Greg, a young man I met on Myspace, back when Myspace was still an acceptable means of communication.  We decided to meet at a dive bar for drinks, and within thirty minutes I was naked.  Greg was the best fuck I've ever had without fucking.  Probably one of the more positive spins on my intimacy issues.  Greg flaked out on me a bunch of times, sporadically throwing in a, "hey sorry I've been distant, wanna come over?" The answer was always yes.  There's nothing more attractive to me than an apologetic ass hole so for three weeks Greg had me wrapped around his finger.  I would leave his house, and go to my co-workers house and cuddle.  Justifying that it was not cheating because co-worker refused to commit, even though he wanted to spend every waking moment with me.  But I'm a words kinda guy, I need someone to say, "I want to be with you" before I am comfortable.  People who say things like, "actions speak louder than words," are mistaken and have probably never had a lover release their heart through their lips rather than touch.  I need words.  I need a lot of words. I live for words.  I guess I'm old fashioned. 
         Co-worker and I, (we'll call him Cow from now on) were on again off again for almost two years, the end of which came three weeks ago.  During our off times, I passed time with more men who were about as worthwhile of my time as a Jehovah's witness.   First there was Cheese, I called him cheese because I couldn't for the life of me remember his name, which was a type of cheese.  I went home with Cheese one night because he promised me pan fried eggs and bacon, which I might add were the best eggs I have or will ever have for the rest of my life. When it came time to go to the bedroom I booked.  I don't sleep with people of whome I can't remember a name.  Another regrettable decision because Cheese was undeniably hot.  If I had a dollar for every time I ran away from the opportunity to sleep with an incredibly hot man, I would have enough money to comfortably purchase a living room set from Ikea.
         I also dated this guy named Phil during one of Cow and I's longer break ups.  Phil was an ass, and he had really bad breath.  Aside from his halitosis, the only memorable thing about him was how he left me.  I gave him an atomic blow job after three weeks of him gaining my trust, and left immediately after-wards, never to be heard from again.  He got what he wanted and I was reacquainted with my crippling fear of intimacy.  There were many other men that came and went with the ebb and flow of my relationship with Cow, none of which knew how to treat someone as an equal or as a lover.  In this respect, I damaged myself to an almost unfixable low.  A low that I am just now stepping out of; leaving the bitterness, resentment, and failures behind me.  I went to Cows house last night, to give him a few books and to get my dumbbell back.  It amazes me that after almost two years of dating Cow, all I had to retrieve from his house was a weight I never used and a few crappy memoirs.  I got my things and we sat in silence for the better part of a cigarette.  There was a lot said in that silence.

But like I said, I'm a words kinda guy.  So I didn't read to much into it.
      

No comments:

Post a Comment