Pinky Swear

I went out with a white man yesterday. He asked to meet me for coffee so we met up at the new Starbucks in Miami Shores. I ordered an orange juice because I don’t drink coffee. ~shrugs~

I met this guy about 3 weeks ago when I was at the bookstore doing a little research. Just in case you didn’t know, the book store is the new club. Every single time I go, at least 3 men ask me for my number. I’m not exaggerating. EVERY TIME. Damn! This used to be my place of peace and relaxation! Now I am constantly interrupted by ol raggedy ass men trying to hit on me. This annoys me so much!

So there I was at Barnes & Nobles laying on the floor like I usually do. I’m wearing one of my favorites tops, a black and white one, with some jeans and low pumps. I have the latest edition of the Writers Market open and I’m on my stomache peering down at the pages through my plastic black glasses, trying to make some sense out of all of the information.

I hear footsteps so I look up and a white man is smiling at me and walking down the aisle. I smile at him and continue reading. He walks over to me and starts the usual, ‘What are you reading?’ ‘What do you do?’ Blah blah…

I entertain him because I don’t think that he’s trying to holla. After all, he’s a VERY middle aged white man and I’m a young hot mama. Before he leaves he tells me he is an economic writer and an investor. He gives me his business card and tells me to call him.

I stuff it into my bag and leave.

I think about calling him as the weekend unfolds. If he’s a writer he may have valuable information for me. But what if he’s trying to holla? Na, I don’t think he is.

So I give him a call and he emails me a sample of his writing. It’s impeccable. Crisp, intellectual and even humorous. I tell him about my latest project and ask him if he will edit it for me. He agrees and I email it to him. He reads it and gives me valuable feedback and I take his advice because it is sound. He asks me out a couple of times but I’m not really in the mood plus I’m all caught up with Dude and that good pipe he was laying.

But the white man won’t let up. He calls or emails nearly everyday. He’s very interesting to talk with at times and he promises to teach me about stock market investing which is what he does full time. I’m game to learn, as long as he’s not trying to rip.

So finally I agree to meet up with him and I arrive at Starbucks first. We sit and chat easily. He leans over and tells me, “Maybe I shouldn’t say this but…you ooze, OOZE, OOZE sensuality. I can feel it coming out of you.”

I raise my eyebrow.

“Well, I’m not trying.”

“You don’t have to.”

Then after asking the million dollar question that everyone asks, “Are those your real eyes?” ~roll eyes~ this man asks me a question I’ve never heard before, “Are those your natural lips?”

Huh?

He proceeds to tell me how he has not dated a white woman in over 20 years and he doesn’t find them attractive at all. I’m sitting there thinking, Ewwwwwwwww.

So I’m hungry and we go to a Latin cafe for some pan con bistec. While we are talking I guess he starts to feel bold and he makes a joke and casually rubs my back.

I freeze. Oh my gosh, he’s touching me.

Then he makes another joke and rubs my back again.

“Guess what I’m gonna do when we’re done eating?” I tell him and notice his salt & pepper hair sticking out of his shirt. “I’m going home and going right to sleep.”

He makes a face. “Don’t do that. Come on, it’s early. I really want to teach you some things about the stock market. Come hang with me.”

Ohhh…I see. He wants me to come to his house. “At your house right?” I ask him.

“Yeah. Look, I’m very respectful. I won’t hurt you. What turns me on about a woman is a woman that is turned on by me. If you’re not into me, we don’t have to do anything.”

Damn… I thought I made a friend. Dude just wants to rip.

I smile weakly and finish my sandwhich. He gets even more bold at this point. His left hand reaches toward my shoulders and he gives me a few squeezes. “Let me give you a neck massage in public,” he tells me.

“Please don’t. I don’t like to be touched,” I lie.

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t,” I tell him and look him directly into his brown eyes. “In fact, I’m not interested in random sex with men. I already have a friend who takes care of that need and I don’t need another one. If that’s what you are looking for you have to look elsewhere because I’m not the one.”

He removes his hand slowly and smiles down at the counter.

“Well, let me pay and we’ll get out of here,” he says.

“True.”

We walk back to his car in silence. He doesn’t know it, but we’re about 30 feet away from my house. I give him a hug, hop into my car and pull out slowly so he won’t see which direction I’m going in. When I see his silver Mercedes roll down the road, I reverse and pull up to my front porch.

I shake my head and walk into my door frowning.

There’s no way I would ever let that man touch me. Just imagine his old self on top of me. Ughh! Just imagine his little pinky trying to twirk something. Yuck! It won’t work.

I am very much attracted to white men however I don’t think any of them could ever satisfy me with those pink q-tips they call penis’. Plus, I’m not sure if they have the kind of stroke a chick like me needs.

Hmm..Definately not Mandingo material. At least I can’t imagine so.

Later that night I sat down to my computer to write and I make a quick decision. I pulled up my yahoo email and wrote a concise note to him:

Hey, Thanks for lunch today. After some consideration I don’t think you are the type of person I need in my life right now. Please do not contact me again. Thanks.

My friend suggested I keep him around in case I get hungry again. Nah..I have plenty of bologna & cheese in the fridge. Besides, I can’t use a guy like that. I HATE that I’m this way cuz I know a guy will use me in a heartbeat but FUCK- I just can’t do it. If I’m not feeling him, I tell him not to call me anymore. Simple. To the point.

Damn. Seems like I have been cutting a lot of men from my life lately. It feels better to say No instead of trying to be so accomodating.

It’s not about their happiness anymore. It’s all about ME!

So screw you, Pinky boy! You think you were gonna get some of this butter pecan swirl- ha! You better go stand outside the damn hair stoe and pick up some other Black chick!