Tried to Be Stella & Didn’t Get My Groove Back

(Reader discretion advised y’all)

A few years ago, I worked at a university bookstore during my undergraduate studies. At the bookstore I met a 19-year-old student. Let’s call him The One Who Was Too Young. He always flirted with me and hinted that he was interested in me sexually. I was around 28 at the time and did not take him seriously. He was just a little boy in my mind. Also, I was madly in love with The One Who Didn’t Feel the Same at that time. Anywho…

A few years after departing the bookstore, I would chat with him from time to time. Every so often, he would remind me of his interest but I always brushed him off. Well…up until a few weeks ago. I finally gave in after chatting with him back and forth. How come? I’m not quite sure. I could chalk it up to the hypersexuality, his persistence, or the fact that a 25-year-old thought I was hella sexy. I believe it was a combination of everything. His unwavering interest began to intrigue me. He was not that 19-year-old boy that hinted around anymore. He was bold and downright kinky! He told me about all the naughty things that he wanted to do to me. I wanted to see if he could back it up!

Younger men seemed to be all the rage for women in my age group and older. “Do it,” they said. “Younger men have so much stamina,” they said. “Girl, get your groove back,” they said. I began to imagine his stamina. I imagined being 25 again and how ravenous my sexual appetite was. I imagined being enthralled by him. It’s been a long time since I was plowed into oblivion. The thought of new penis was also alluring. I equated it to the new car smell. The anticipation was killing me!

He came over to my apartment a few days later. The vibe was awkward. The small talk was awkward. The flirting was awkward. It was going downhill. I decided to ward off the awkwardness with fellatio. He went bananas. He went so bananas he exclaimed, “We should record this and put it on YouTube! This is off the chain!” Yeah. He said that…YouTube…off the chain. How sexy…

He used one of my dildos on me and that reeked of awkwardness too.  It seemed like he tried to emulate a porn scene. He had no sense of timing nor rhythm. He was trying way too hard. Hello! There’s an art to stroking buddy! He also kept talking, talking and talking. It wasn’t sexy. It was wordy mess! Nothing felt organic. It felt manufactured and amateur to me. I could not wait for it to be over! I went down again so he could jizz and get the hell out of my apartment! Aren’t I so accommodating?

As he was about to leave (after his vienna sausage jizzed like an uncontrollable faucet), he made a bold move. He stepped back inside and aggressively bent me over to penetrate me. Was he redeeming himself? Was he showing some initiative? Where was the guy several minutes ago? This was going to be awesome! My engine was revving. Well…not for long. He quickly pumped about 3-4 times, pulled out and said, “Yeah. You got good pussy too. I wanted a sample.” He exited my apartment a few moments later. Utter shock rushed over my body. What was this? Was I being punk’d? Where was Ashton? Was Ashton going to fuck me like he hated me after this monstrosity I just endured?

We weren’t in contact for a couple of weeks. He reached out to me and questioned the lack of communication. He also expressed his desire to “see” me again. I declined and told him that we weren’t sexually compatible. It was a hard pill for him to swallow but I think he understood—after several days of pestering me. This experience definitely deserves to be on my list.

Under His Covers Blues (Part II)

I wanted to finish the 2nd part to the Under His Covers Blues post but was too embarrassed to write it. It was also too painful. To make a long story short, Soothed wanted to continue our sexual relationship but did not want to pursue anything romantic with me. When I asked him why he chose his ex instead of me—yeah, bad move—he told me something that twisted the knife further inside my heart.

He told me ever so delicately that he always had a particular image of a mate and that I did not fit into it. In other words, his vision didn’t contain a Black woman. He didn’t say that but I knew that’s what he meant. I was good enough to roll around naked with but not good enough for a relationship. He could put his hands all over my body but would never hold my hand it public. He also told me that he loved me, I was a great person—his efforts to pacify me I suppose—and that some people are just meant to be friends. I then told him that we shouldn’t hang out anymore.

After the times we shared, sexual and non-sexual, it all boiled down to the color of my skin. The feelings of rejection and yes, even inferiority set in. The situation reminded me of the fallout between me and The Lawyer. If you recall, he was a Black man that I was spending time with who told me that he didn’t want to be in a relationship with Black women and that they were only good for sex. Hearing that from a Black man was horrible but to hear them from a White man added different layers of emotions for me. I felt like I’ve been sleeping with the enemy all this time. How could I be so blind to his prejudice?

After that conversation, I avoided Soothed like the plague. I suppose he did the same. He began to date again and brought over the type of women he “had a particular image of” back to his place. Living a few feet away from him grew more awkward and frustrating. Things were so uncomfortable that I wanted to move but couldn’t afford to. When we did see each other, he would initiate small talk but I was usually curt and distant in my responses. Things weren’t the same anymore and I didn’t feel like pretending.

That was 3 months ago.

Lately, he has been texting me more than usual. He even texted me after his overnight guest left. The texts went from seeing how I was doing to he was thinking about me. Something was definitely up. Why contact me now? Isn’t he supposed to be dating the women of his dreams? They sauntered by my window almost every weekend. What was his deal?

As time progressed, he began to say more. He told me that he has been dating other women but they couldn’t fulfill him sexually like I did. He said that they were too sexually repressed, didn’t reciprocate and acted as if his penis was “icky”. I couldn’t help but to laugh. Karma is such a b-word.

I won’t lie. It was definitely an ego boost. This chocolate got him all shook up! Ha! Too bad he won’t be sampling it anymore. What did he expect me to do? Drop my panties and bust my crevices wide open? I don’t think so. The cycle is just going to repeat itself. We’re going to have all this amazing sex until he finds the next non-Black woman of his dreams and kicks me to the curb. In the wise words of Sweet Brown, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!”


I concur Sweet Brown. I concur.