Sex With No Strings

Caroline

I parked my luggage in the middle of the living room and started dialing. Now come on Caroline, you know better than this. But at this point, I didn't. No shame. Dealing with Mr. Smart Ass' attempted coup de tat had done a number on me. I needed to unwind, in the purest sense. Not with a bottle of wine. Not with Sade. With a man's body.

His voice mail picked up. "Hi. You've reached Lance. Leave a message." I wanted to obey that deep, sexy recorded voice on the other end of the phone, but I clicked off, stressed, too stressed to sound enticing.

I was on edge. Needed to do something productive to shake it. I started hanging my suits in the closet, put a load of laundry on and turned to CNN. 

I heard my phone rattling on my night stand and I ran to answer it.

"Hello." Could barely breath.

"You finally home." His bajan cadence seemed more pronounced now that he was in the states. Funny.

"I am. Just got in today-- I was calling to see if you were busy."

"I was wondering the same thing on your end," he shot back.

"What do you mean?"

"Last few times I reached out to you you didn't return my calls."

He wasn't serious.

"Are you being serious?"

"Of course."

Apparently in my not responding to his every call I had broken an unspoken rule. Woops.

"Well then Lance," I swallowed pride, "I'm sorry. I had a rough time in Paris. You know I wasn't there on leisure. It was business."

"No need to explain. How are you now? How was your flight?" Clearly he caught himself, tripping.

"I'm doing well now, happy to be home. Happy to be talking to you," I told him, letting my voice dip one sexy octave. I could play his game.

But he called time-out. "Wait can you hold on a minute?"

Lance wasn't home alone. He was going back and forth with an adolescent boy. I know because the other voice still had the shrill of puberty.

"I'm sorry. Nelson's having trouble with the wireless in here. We've been trying to get it to work all day. Do you mind holding on for one more minute."

I was so un-prepared that I hesistated with my answer. "Ummm... do you need to call me back?" Really, I was the one who needed a moment. Hell, I needed a Snickers bar.

"Yes, that would be best. Hang by your phone, okay sweet heart?"

I agreed. My limp body promptly slid down the wall. All the sexual energy just oozed right on out of me. I crouched down on the living room floor, pulled my knees to my chest, and shit, I blanked out. Had one of those moments where the only thing on your mind is what's right in front of you. In my case, the living room windows. The sunlight was beaming on my skin, feeling good. But it was deceptive sun light. It was chilly outside. Autumn had arrived early in the City.

It was the season of change.

A month ago we lived an ocean away. A month ago we were nothing to each other than a memory, albeit it a pleasurable. And in one fall swoop, in the amount if time it took to have one Parisian adventure, my perfect fling had acquired feelings and a kid.

Better put, this fling was having an erection. Within two weeks time it had become bigger, deeper, far more complex than I was prepared to handle. I could feel my vaginal muscles tightening up at the thought.

The anchor was talking about health care. I'm so tired of this debate. Let's do already. I got up. Changed out of my bra and beige suit pants that I was crazy for sitting on the floor in.

When the phone buzzed a second time, I collapsed on my bed and answered it.

"Hey sorry about that. Where were we?"

"Oh it's okay. I think we were trying to sync our schedules." I still wanted to see him. I still had my own selfish needs.

"You were saying Paris stressed you out, right?" He was putting it on me with his voice. He must have been out of his son's earshot.

"It did." I closed my eyes, focused in on our conversation. Wanted his words to wrap me like a cashmere throw.

"So what can I do to make you feel better?"

"You can start by making your way over here." Note, I suggested my place as I would for now on. God forbid his son walk in on us. That would be a lesson in sex he'd never forget.

"And then what? What do you want me to do to you after I arrive?" Lance was killing me softly. Knowing that every word sent shivers up my spine. Made me cross my legs and cringe. Damn. Every word an invitation to sex. "Hello Caroline." "How are you, Caroline?" "Lay down and spread your legs, Caroline."

I told him, in great detail, what I wanted to him to do to me, where, and how. I didn't want to make love. I didn't want to waste time gazing into his eyes. I wanted to fuck. I wanted him to pump me until sweat dripped of his chin and chest. I wanted him to turn me over and take me from the side. I wanted to get on top and go buck wild. I wanted to close my eyes and see the colors of the rainbow. I wanted to fuck the stress of Paris away and fuck until we cleared the air of all this emotion mess. I wanted to fuck the relationship raw. I wanted to fuck until it was just fucking sex.

He came over an hour after our phone call and the first thing on the agenda was a shower. And we laughed hysterically. He was poking me in all the places that he remebered I was ticklish. Do you know how good it feels to laugh out loud, in the shower? And then when he mounted my damp body, he didn't go hard. He went slow and deep. Kissed every part of me, prolonged his own orgasm until he watched me shudder. It was good. So good. Too good. Suicide dick. So good, I didn't want to repeat it. We fell into an easy sleep, interrupted abruptly by the sound of his pockets rattling. It was after 11. He was leaving.

"You heading home?" I asked, looking up at him. I was groggy. My body limp.

"Yeah baby, you know I got to to get back". I was fixated on the sexy region where his groin met his belt buckle. He was fastening his pants. Still hadn't pulled his shirt on. I wanted to mount him all over again. But I couldn't. I had to respect that this man had grown-up responsibilities.

"So Nelson? That's his name."

"Yehp. Uhhh his grandmother named him after Nelson Mandela. He's a handful, " he laughed as he sat on the foot of my bed. He stroked my legs through the covers.

"I bet. But you can handle it, dad!" I smiled.

"That's big daddy to you!" he laughed. Then he got quiet. " You going to keep in touch with me?" Something about the way he looked at me when he said it, like he pleading. I detected something fragile in his tone. Something he'd never forgive me for breaking.

Suddenly we'd gone from a playful tryst, to a tryst that was not to be played with. I felt nauseous.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said. It felt like a lie. I wanted him, but I didn't want his emotions. I didn't want to carry his baggage. Hell, I have my own. I didn't want to worry about hurting this grown man's feelings every time I had to cancel on him because I was working or late, or because I had other plans, or hell, because I just didn't feel like it.

He kissed me, passionately. It felt like a thank you. Like he was saying, thank you for accepting me, all of me, back in to your life. Wait. Let's be real. Thank you for not destroying my ego.

I miss the London days, when it was care-free. When we made love to no end because at the end of it all, I was going back home. I had an ocean and youth on my side then.

I don't get why I have such a hard time staying out of relationships. Seriously. Can a woman have sex with a man she likes, maybe loves, and enjoys spending time with, without the commitment? Men do this all the time. A man can screw a woman for years, and amid all the screwing, she not realize she's being screwed. We live in a sex with no strings attached society. Women take dicks over commitment every day. Too bad for double standards.

I had a hard time going back to sleep. Even a nymphomaniac like me enjoys waking up in a man's arms.

-Caroline

Over It

Caroline

I tell you, this shit is getting old. Old and tired. I mean if I had a nickel for every time some Tom, Dick and Mr Charlie tried to steal my idea, I’d own half this company by now. I could retire before thirty and not have to put up with this shit.

It's been a long day. I'm trying to unwind. I’m on my third glass of wine this evening.

I knew that this time around wouldn't be the city of romance, the city that I, a self-proclaimed Afro-Dite, love to turn out. This time around Paris was work and a crazy hectic mess.

The company’s developing a new celebrity fragrance that we're passing off as being 'created' by a young actress that you all know.

Originally we wanted the scent to be bliss in a bottle, a chypre targeting single twenty somethings with dreams of big weddings and walking their bichon frises through Central Park in Manolos. You know, perfume is very cheap, you're paying for the bottle and the dream.

We thought we had it. The lab put together an amazing rose-peach-cedar scent. Something sophisticated yet sweet, with a brush of naughty. Something I'd even wear. I projected that this scent would have a broader appeal, maybe even reach into the older demographic. We had the ad campaign approved until a sample group of ‘average’ Joes and Janes sat around a dry room in New Jersey, sniffed a dozen viles, different variations on the scent, and checked 'no'.

Shit.

Emergency overhaul.

I mean, I find out I’m going to Paris on a Monday, and by Thursday my team (meaning I) need a brand new strategy. I worked my ass off. Grabbed maybe 5 hours of sleep (thanks to cup of jamal) over the course of 48 hours. Took an Ambien on the plane and slept the whole way there.

This time around we directed the perfumers to take out the nuance. No room for coquettry, just girlish. Obnoxiously sweet. Something for the woman with sling backs, lace bras, and tea cup dogs. Bergamot, lavender, cedar... a hint of apple martini. Nothing I'd ever where, but a guaranteed hit.

All this work so Mr. Smart Ass could present my idea before the board this afternoon as if they were his own. The day before the board meeting he tells me he's going to do the first part of the presentation-- the numbers. Then he'd leave the strategy, the magic, up to me. So when I heard my words leaving his lips-- I nearly choked.

Me and the other guy just stood there, like he was Gladys and we were The Pips. Needless to say, the board loved my game plan. He was congratulated personally by the company heiress for saving the day

And what was supposed to do, smile and be grateful they even let a colored girl in the room. No, maybe fly into a rage, confirming suspicions that I’m nothing more than an angry Black woman in Prada.

Hell if I know.

I’m listening to Shirley Bassey sing "Diamonds are Forever", feeling light headed, tipsy, like I might be sleep in the next half hour.

I'm so frustrated I could scream.

But who am I kidding? I want to get laid.

I miss Lance like crazy. It’s times like this I just wish he was here to hold me, You know those really long hugs that last a zillion minutes and leave you feeling like of all the places in the world you've traveled, the cove between those two arms is your favorite.

Besides a few text message and one short conversation, we haven’t talked much. Haven't had time to be sidetracked. But right now I need it. Need it badly . And I want him. Two more days.

Bisous,

Caroline

Catch a Four Leaf Clover

Honestly, I must be on that same stuff as Noni.

Lately I've been acting more like a teenager with a crush than grown woman with a job, an important job. Work? Right. I took the week off and spent 3 days straight in Lance's apartment.

My friends all know that its easier for me to express what I'm feeling with a song lyric so this is my life, as captured by Ms. Badu

Like a wave I am free
Going places, being things I wanna be
Settle down, is oh so hard
But I will grant you that one chance
So pick the right card
And don't miss it, take your time
You've only got one chance

In my last entry , I told you about our reunion. At dinner he told me he wanted to explore other options and I nearly spit out my wine. First of all, not slick. The only thing Lance is trying to explore is me. And I don't mind. The morning after that date he was still sleep when I first woke. I nodded off and woke up again as he was stepping into his pants. I asked him if he was heading home. No. He was going to grab us breakfast. It was crazy de ja vous. He remembered that there's nothing I like better in the morning than a quickie black coffee (no cream) and a croissant. It was a nice gesture.

I think we were both trying to play it cool on the first date but that got old fast. I don't know. It really did feel like we just picked up where we left off all those years ago.

So Sunday night I was prepared for work that evening. Actually, I was about to get in bed when he called me. He'd met up with an old buddy and was in the neighborhood....right. But in spite of my eight hour beauty sleep requirement, I invited him over. He slipped into bed with me and watched a movie on TCM. He's such an old man. He had his arms wrapped around me and any time I shifted kissed me, brushed me shoulder, and looked down as if to make sure I was comfortable. I so was. It's the difference between sex and intimacy. I'll finally admit that I've been indulging in one, neglecting the other. We actually stayed up catching up until about 3 AM. And then, tired to the point that we were slurring our words and forgetting our thought mid-sentence, we stopped beating around the bush. We had sleepy sex, but it was good no less and woke up later than I planned. Lance and I began kissing and his warm body felt so good next to mine, I suddenly felt sick. At least that's what I told my boss.

Hell, I was suffering and I needed Dr. Feel Good to take care of me. He did. We ended up shifting our rendezvous to his place. It was barely furnished, but he has a wonderful sleigh bed and the entertainment system, which of course was the first thing he set up, so we were good. I'm going to need for him to get some plates though. I bought an over night bag with one change of clothes in it. So when one night stay turned into a two, and then a three... I wore his sweat shirts with my stretch pants, when we weren't in the nude.

For now it's off to Paris, the city of romance, but I'm leaving my romance at home. Bittersweet.

-Caroline

The Reunion

Caroline

Saturday was the first Saturday in a while that I didn't get up and head to the office. Instead, I went to the gym. Lord. I've started going to this 24 hours place and I even found the nerve to get me a personal trainer. He's fine too. I'm mad he started the session telling me how good I looked in my fitness gear. I was like, "Thanks. So let's get started". I wasn't even trying to get side tracked. If he can work me out in bed like he did yesterday morning, hmph. Nonetheless, we did some intense rounds of circuit training, cardio, some crazy work with a medicine ball...Lately I've been on a fitness/health kick. We'll see how long that lasts.
After I got home, took a shower and answered some emails. I had to focus on the night ahead. The last time I had seen Lance was maybe four summers ago. I was visiting some of my family in London and he and I connected. I remember he met me at my cousins house when no one was home, and let's just say, we shamelessly made love on the floor of the guest room. Yes... this man has that effect on me.

So I was scared. I had no idea what to expect. I mean, did he think he was just going to move to the states and take control over my life? Hell no. I have too much going on. But to be painfully honest, I know I have a weakness... and that weakness happens to be his strength. Lord give me the strength.

He called around 4 and let me know that he'd made dinner reservations at Smoke, a jazz club, that for me is just a quick subway ride away. I got myself together, eventually. Went into my closet, stood there for a good 5 minutes and eyed a chocolate brown off-the-shoulder number I'd never worn. Now was as good a time as ever. 

I decided I looked to damn good to ride the subway. I wasn't trying to swear at every Tom, Dick and Harry that would take one good look at the West African figure in a skin tight dress and loose all sense that God gave them. I took a town car and as my driver swerved over toward the curb, there he was standing. Ready. I payed the driver, took my time doing so, and then I took a very deep breath. "Come on girl. Get it together. Caroline, this is just a- a date. A meeting of two old friends."

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I opened the door. He rushed over gallantly and held it open. "There you are. I was hoping you wouldn't chicken out on me."

"Oh Lance," I gushed. "I'm not that cold. You'd never recover."

"You're right." I watched his floating gaze and he took me all in. "Well come on, give the old man a hug." He held his arms out and I fell inside. Oooh. He felt so good. Smelled so good. He had a fresh hair cut, a tan blazer, dark of jeans and fine leather shoes. It was a young, very New York ensemble, but he still looked a bit older than I remembered. His cognac eyes were still capable of looking through me. I swear, as I took a step back and looked into them, he could read my thoughts. I looked away. "Smoke," I said, smoothing my dress. "Great choice, I love it here."

"Yes, I uh... " he held the door open for me. "I asked around, places a respectable man could take a smashing lady on a Saturday night. You been here before?"

"Yeah, my friends boyfriend, he plays jazz."

We were near the door of the dark, intimate club, waiting to be seated at one of the small tables. They were almost to capacity, even though the music wouldn't start for another hour or so. "Nice dress," he whispered and then boldly placed his arms around me, and pulled me toward him.

"Thank you," I called over my shoulder, a little flabbergasted.

When the music began we were half way through our meal, and working on a second round of drinks. I needed that Sauvignon Blanc to chill. I still enjoyed his company and the quartet was slamming. I grew bold.

"So..."

"Yes..."

"What do you want to do?"

"Now... tonight, tomorrow?"

"You know what I mean."

"With you."

"I mean, yes. Lance, we haven't dated in forever and I'm just thinking to myself, does he want to start where we left off or... You know, we're in completely different places in our lives now."

"I feel like with a busy woman like yourself, that's not my decision to make. But honestly, I just want to take it easy. I'm not really looking for anything serious."

I nearly spit out my drink. It was the last thing I expected to hear. Actually, my face was suddenly and unexpectedly- tight.I mean this is the man that practically kissed the ground I walked on when I was fresh, twenty-something older man, than pursued me when I left him. So now that he was in my back yard.. he wasn't looking for anything serious. Let me not trip.

"Yea..." I nodded. What was I supposed to say?

But he continued. "I just got here from London. I'm about to get my son. I'm trying to just enjoy the city... see whats out there. So... you don't have to worry sweet heart. I'm not going to rain on your parade."
I laughed... one of those luke-warm te-he's you let out when you have no clue what to say. Was he serious? The band finished and the crowd erupted into applause. I was happy for the interruption. When they resumed, I changed the subject to something more pleasant. Music. And as we discussed Maxwell and Sade's rumored comeback, I let his remarks slide to the back of my thoughts. 

He asked if I was ready to go around 11. Not knowing what I was doing, I nodded yeah. We stood outside looking at one another. Was he about to get one cab or two. 

He shrugged. "I'd have you over, but my place is barely furnished. Is yours close to here?"
Not slick. "It is." What was I doing? Thinking my damn vagina was what I was doing. "You want to have a night cap?"

He just smiled and stepped forward to hail a cab.

The foreplay began during the ride home. There are some lovers with whom you will always have an instant rapport. You can spend years apart, but the moment you see each other it's like those years collapse into a single day. He held me close, kissed my neck and nibbled on my ear. He told me how nice it was to see me and how he'd prayed for this day. I was the one he couldn't shake. It was so romantic and left me feeling like the 21 year old junior that was sprung for this incredible older man.

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I opened the door, praying he couldn't see my hands shaking as a I turned the key. He closed it and locked it behind me. 

"Nice place." My Harlem apartment was my second move since grad school. It was a one bedroom condo on the periphery of Hamilton Heights. We were standing in the foyer, where I had a modest living space set up, a flat screen, creme leather couch and chair, a glass coffee table. There was a black lacquer Chinese screen painted with peonies and butterflies separating my living space from my work space, an over-sized desk, my MAC, and the collection of books I'd called my library. There's an African mask against the wall, as soon as you walk in. I bought it while I was visiting family in Nigeria a few summers ago. I loved my high ceilings and didn't want anything to ruin the effect. I minimally decorated the walls with two abstract works and a painting of a black woman that I bought on impulse and had expensively framed.

"Can I offer you something to drink."

"No, but you can come here." 

I walked toward him, pressed my body into his. He ran his hands down my arms and looked deeply into my eyes. Finally, after what seemed liked minutes, he kissed me. He took his time, slowly moved his tongue, sucked on my bottom lip, ran his hands along my back and butt. And before I could wrap my mind around what was happening, he lifted me up and carried me into my small kitchen. It was there he hiked up my dress and placed me on the counter. He pulled my dress completely off, in between kisses. He unsnapped my bra and, took my breasts in each hand, and sucked them too. 

"I want to give you a massage," he whispered.

"Now?" I was throbbing.

"Yeah... I want to rediscover all of this." At this moment, he looked so gentle. So sober. So much like the man a put together woman trying to have it all, dreams of. 

He found the lotion, and I layed across my bed. He took of his blazer, shirt and shoes, and started to rub my body, section by section. He had me lay on my back. He said nothing while his fingers moved expertly between my legs and inside me. The next thing I know, I'm calling out his name, begging for us to have sex, as mercilessly sucked my clit. We finally did, all night. It was slow... and magical.

The next morning, I awoke before he. I turned over and watched that familiar back laying next to me. I wanted so hard to stay in control but in a matter of hours, somehow, I found myself-- sprung.

Guess Who's Back?

Caroline

Lance re-entered my life with hurricane force and arrived precisely during a dry spell that could only be quenched by a the sweat of a tawny West Indian. Me and artist friend for all intents and purposes called it quits and work kicked it up a notch. I was pulling over time at the office every night and even coming in on Saturday mornings. Sometimes that's what it takes to get the job done. Anyways, as always, Lance has impeccable timing and charm that can sooth the most stubborn demeanor.

The week began with a shy text message. "Hey there... flying in tomorrow". I mean, what was I supposed to do with that? Except maybe, ignore it. Which I did and I pressed on with work. Went out, met up with Noni for martini's and couldn't hold it in.

"Heffa are you crazy?" she teased, when she found out I was playing hard to get. "Girl, that fine ass man is actually about to get attacked by thirsty women when he gets here. Claim him!"

"I just don't know if I'm prepared for his drama, for the commitment. Girl, everything makes sense right now. Finally."

"What? Are you scared he's going to get on his knee and force a ring on your finger the moment he sees you?" she laughed. " God forbid. Just do it Caroline... And I do mean that in both ways." 

There's no quieting Noni. She's thought Lance was the one since we were in undergrad. But now that I'm a grown woman, I rightfully have my reservations.

Lance settled, and then a few days later, took a second chance.

He called.

You see a call is different than a text, especially when it arrives at 11:12 PM, while I'm laying in the bed, listening to the Quiet Storm on WBLS. 

His voice... oooh... sent chills down my spine.

"Hi there."

"Hi."

"I'm here."

"I know." Clearly, we were both grinning on the other end. I was aroused by the low timber of his voice (and the Luther Vandross in the background) and the thought of him sitting in a scantily furnished apartmen... in his briefs. 

"So when do I get to see you? You playing hide and seek."

"No, just busy."

"Ouch. I feel like I'm getting played."

"Oh please, Lance."

"You busy this Saturday?"

"I'll have to--"

"Let me repeat the question. Are you busy this Saturday?" 

I took a deep breath. Held back, the smile that wanted to burst all over my silly face.

"Saturday when, Lance?"

"Saturday, night. Maybe we can hit up a jazz club, grab dinner. I want to take you out and catch up."
"Yea, that sounds nice. Just let me know what time."

"So where do you live?"

"Harlem."

"I know that."

"Hamilton Heights."

"Oh okay." He was breathing so close to the receiver. If I didn't know any better I'd sware I felt his warm breath on my neck.

"And what are you wearing?"

"Lance!" 

"It's a simple question. Answer it."

"My night clothes."

"Silk, cotton, flannel, panties? I remember you used to sleep in lotion."

"Actually, I'm hanging up." Again, clearly, I was playing. I wasn't hanging up anytime soon. This is the kind of banter I missed. "I am wearing a black silk gown and a matching robe." 

"Are your toe-nails painted."

He remembered. I keep a serious pedicure. "Yes."

"What color?" He was making his voice as Billy Dee-like as he could and it was killing me. Softly. 

"Pink."

"Oh." He said nothing for a few seconds. I sighed deeply into the phone and waited for what I knew was coming next.

"So is the sound of my voice making your nipples hard."

"How dare..."

But let me not kid you. I wasn't bashful. We had phone sex, just like we used to do when we lived an ocean away and his words worked me up into such a fit, I was ready to have him come over, that night. Forget Saturday. He wanted to, but something inside me didn't want to spoil the reunion. So I held off, and after 20 minutes of his vocal erotica, bid him good night. As you might imagine, it was quite difficult to fall asleep.

-Caroline

One Long Night

Caroline

It began as a long day at work. The team had to meet a deadline, and hell, that meant it all fell on me. Now it’s 10 PM at night and I’m finally leaving. My feet are killing me from walking around in my Jimmy Choos all day. When did I become to good to switch into some comfy flats? I’m hungry enough to eat horse. I am also in need of some TLC. And not the R&B group.

It was after hours so a company driver took me back to Harlem. Try catching a cab from downtown to Harlem after 7. You’d have better luck trying to hitch a cab ride to Jersey. On the way home I called my dirty flip-flop artist friend. Artist Friend picks up on the first ring.

“Hey! Caroline, what’s going on?”

He sounds happy to hear from me. I’ve definitely been trife and haven’t called him in like a month.

“Hey sweety. I’m doing well. What’s with you?”

“Just watching a movie.”

He sounded out of breath. “Cool… you want to come over?

I could be conversational and get into the details of the movie he was watching and his most recent showing, but this wasn’t that type of phone call.

“Ummm... sure. Yeah. When?”

He sounded unsure of himself, but maybe it was just his tone. “Tonight. Now. I’m on my way home from work."

Beat. “Okay. I’ll call when I’m on my way.”

The phone snapped shut. Holding it tight in my hand, I grinned victoriously. I was so ready for a night of unbridled passion. On my back, on my side, against the wall… exploring various positions of the kama sutra all the while enjoying the scratchy sensation of fake locks against my skin. This car ride was taking forever and I felt as if the Indian driver knew what was up. I saw him peer at me from the rear view mirror. I have no shame.

When I got home, first thing I did was kick of my pumps. Damn my dogs hurt. I entered my walk in closet and left my hosiery, suit, and underwear laying there in a pile. I figured it’d take Artist Friend a little while to make it uptown from the East Side on the subway. I took a shower. I hoped he’d take the liberty of doing the same. As the shower filled with steam and hot soapy red currant suds covered my body, I sighed, and let the stress of the day run down the drain. One thing I’ve learned about high pressure jobs, you must leave work at work. Yeah, I say that but I rarely do. I put on some lotion, lip gloss, and brushed my hair. 

Artist Friend didn't expect me to look like a video girl … that’s what I loved about my Caucasian playboys. He appreciated me for the simple things most men that run in my circle take for granted. Like the fact that I have a sweet conversation game. I'm a thinking woman. And I'm built like a brick house. I love that when I'm with my ocassional play boy, I can let my hair down. I'm over playing the role of masseuse to a man's ego. I don't have a Harvard MBA for that. I didn’t have to be any Black man’s fantasy of the perfect Black woman… Halle Berry meets Vivian Banks meets Buffy the Body. I can be Caroline.

11:13. I’m now watching a Sex and the City rerun. It’s the episode where Carrie loses her Manolo Blahnik at get together and her friend decides to be trife. I mean, I feel her pain but really… at 11:13 I’m feeling the throbbing between my legs. I’m sitting on my couch in a burgundy negligee, no panties. Flexing my toes, realizing I need to stop in for a pedicure tomorrow after work. Still no call.

What the fuck?

So I text him. “Whatsup.”

I lean back in my couch, stomach churning with butterflies. I’m staring at my phone, waiting for the buzz from his return text. Ten minutes later, the phone vibrates against the glass coffee table.

“Hey. Something came up.”

Oh hell no. My mouth is agape, literally for like two minutes. I’m staring at the text with my mouth wide open. I get desperate. In a move, I’d never pull with a man for whom my feelings surpassed my vagina, I call him. Not once. But twice. I realize as I listen to his voicemail that it wasn’t something that came up, but someone.

I should call this post stood up and sexually frustrated. Shoot. I poured a glass of Merlot and called it a night. I had a vibrator in my night stand to do what artist former-friend won’t .

-Caroline