The I-N-G

Geneva

“Ummm…. Next”. That’s Caroline's choice of words. According to her, Paul is a clown. According to Noni, he’s ‘so insignificant’. (smile) Actually that just means he’s not making enough money for me to put up with his ish. I wish my romantic situation was as simple as they’ve made it out to be . But it’s not. Paul's weird demonstration of love is my sweetest taboo.

Thank you Sade for putting my life on vinyl.

We weren’t really talking after that night. We were texting. A few days later he sent a message, “How are you?” As if nothing had ever happened. I responded with a customary “fine.” And then a few days later he writes, “I miss you. Let’s get together soon.” I’m like… okay. I don’t respond.

I reasoned that another chic would definitely explain his being distant and neurotic. But then again, so would his very essence. The man is crazy... But that shit turns me on.

Anyways, as the story goes, two weeks passed since the mysterious bathroom phone call. One of my flamboyant best friends has this on-going gig at a supper club. He and I sang in an acapella group at Yale and since graduation he’s been a fabulous, Broadway, I should say Off-Broadway, Baby , as well as a walking billboard for Louis Vuitton, a poster child for GAP, and a bit of a man whore. Anyways, I love him like an adopted brother and he invited me to do a set on Saturday. I told a few people that I was planning on singing some Billie and then a song that I wrote but I didn't make a huge fuss over it. Definitely didn't tell Paul.

I had my hair blown out at a Dominican spot and I arranged it in a bun I wore this crazy 50’-esque Black lace halter cocktail dress that I found at a vintage boutique, with Betsy Johnson peep-toes and dangly gold earrings. And when I got up to do my first song, to my surprise, Paul was seated in the back of the room. I have never sang Billie Holidays “My man” with so much depth. It was actually like I was Diana Ross and he was Billy Dee Williams and we were making Mahogany movie magic. His eyes were glued to every part of me. I could since him planning how he’d make it up to me, one limb at a time… I closed my eyes.. belting soulful notes, opened them to see him biting his lower lip, wincing, and tracing my nipples with his gaze.

Cut to the encore performance. Paul and I didn’t talk much on the way to catch the subway. He held me by my waste, his thumb making small circles in my flesh, and I became engaged with the accords of his cologne. When we opened the door to my place, thank God, my roommate was gone. Good thing. Because if she was there, she would have learned more about me that night than she cared to find out. He picked me up in one fluid motion. Man, his upper body strength is ridiculous. He pulled off every article of my clothing, he even undid my bun allowing my hair to fall softly at my shoulders. He licked and kissed and nibbled me everywhere…. My collarbone, my ear, the spot to the left of the nape of my neck that makes me quiver… He ate me out for a good twenty minutes until my thighs were soaking and I was screaming for him to stop. And it wasn’t until then that he removed his clothes and asked me how badly I wanted him. In which I could only utter in in slurred syllables… “I want you”. 

He put on a condom and took me missionary, entering deeply and slowly and with the skilled rhythm of a conga player on the Havana straights. I moaned sentence fragments in a primordial love language and he added the verb to complete them. We were Grind-ing. Puls-ing. Buck-ing. Explod-ing. Loving. I knew I was far gone and I for that night, I just wanted to stay in that special place.

-Geneva