Checklist and Martinis

I recently met up with an old friend of mine. It had been years since we got together and it was great to catch up. Of course, in the midst of martinis, work, family and friends conversations, relationships and sex finally came up. I sometimes wonder if men sit and scrutinize relationships with their friends as much as we do. I would like to think that there are a group of men, right now, somewhere in the world, held up in their man cave. Bottles of Budweiser, empty pizza cartons and O Magazines strewn around them, and one question on their mind, “Hey dog. Sometimes, do you feel like, you wanna find someone who really loves you?”

Ok, so maybe it wouldn’t happen like that, but it’s a cool idea. But we began to compare relationships. My friend, who is going through this whole “Positive Energy” kick, told me I should do the same. Well then I thought, my standards are pretty high. So we both came up with the idea of a checklist.  Most of us make a to-do list everyday. It’s a great way to see what needs to be done and to cross off your list items that are completed, not important or can be done at a later date. So why not do the same thing for relationships?

But in making this list, what should you put on it? What would be the most important priority? I immediately thought of a sense of humor. I would like to think that I am a pretty funny person, with a pretty twisted sense of humor. So I would need someone who can make me laugh. But is that really the first thing I should be thinking about? I mean, you can make me laugh, great. But can you pay for dinner? Would you beat me? Would you tell me about your past? Or would my friends and sorority sisters like you?

There are so many things that I can put on that list. It’s picking the important ones, the ones that are deal breakers, that matter. So here is your homework assignment. You are each to make a checklist, the catch, you can only have five items on that list. These are the no compromise items. No matter how attractive, how rich, how famous the person is, if they don’t have the five items, you get your crap and run.

Now I know I am not the best at following my own advice, but I promise I will try. But my list is pretty easy:

  1. Emotional available
  2. Professional
  3. Attractive
  4. Intelligent
  5. Keanu Reeves

Mr Nubian King

I am all about confidence, heck, at times I have it in abundance. And there is nothing wrong with going in and having your own personal theme song playing in your head. You need that added push in some situations just because the task is so daunting. And I guess, the bedroom is some what like a circus. You are the ringleader, prancing around trying to entice the tiger while at the same time, trying to give the audience a good show.

But sometimes that confidence, can turn into arrogance and that arrogance can turn into really, really bad sex. So for your consideration I present, Mr Nubian King. Now I will admit, this post might be slightly skewed based on the fact that Mr Nubian King was the only black man I have ever been with. Yes, the ONLY one. So perhaps, for anthropological reasons, I should consider sleeping with another black man. Either way, he was my first. Mr Nubian King and I went to college years prior to our sleeping together. He was very good friends with a mutual friend of mine. A friend who I happen to be staying with for a few weeks before I moved out of state.

It was one of those nights of hanging out, watching tv, drinking wine and just chilling in. My friends boyfriend ended up coming over, leaving Mr Nubian King and I sitting in the living room, with the lights off…ALONE. Now little did I know, this was kind of planned because apparently, he liked me which was a total shook to me. It was like some horrible 6th grade first date, I sat on one far side of the couch, he on the other end and both of us staring at the tv, but not really watching it. I fully expected the ole yawn and arm move, but it did not happen. This would find out later would have been the lesser of all evils.

Now how it happened that he kissed me, I will never know. Maybe he was a ninja in another life because I did not see it coming. And who am I to deny a cute boy a kiss. Yea, he was cute. Not really my type because I have only ever been attracted to white men, but he was cute and sweet. Well the kiss turned into some serious kissing and then we were off. Now I am not proud to admit this, but I was soooo not into this moment. I would have been happier watching whatever it was we were watching. This taught me a great lesson which was further taught by Mr Best, if you are not in the moment, don’t fake it, it turns out to be more work for you. So true.

So the clothes come off, more kissing continues and then it was like we time traveled to a cheesy 1972 porno. He had this look in his eye like there was a camera in the room. No, seriously. Like he was…acting. And then to make it worse, came….the lines. “Yeaaaaa.”  “You like this?”  “I know you do.”  “You love it don’t you?”  Do I? Actually no. It took everything in my power not to laugh. Was he serious? Who was he trying to convince? Me or him? And the LL Cool J lip licking and then, I swear the man winked at me. What in the world? All I kept thinking is, this can’t be what the whole hub bub about black men. Seriously, who the hell did I just slept with? A cross between Quagmire and Barry White?

Funny as it was, it thankfuly was over in no time. I went to the shower, hiding my giggles and a bit perplexed. I was hoping that this might have been the man that could have converted me to the “Dark Side.” But there is something to be said about leaving your pride at the bedroom door. So Guys, be macho, be cocky, show us your best moves, but remember sometimes, silence is golden.

Mr Racist

Ahhh, there is something special in the smell of a southern summer. The magnolias that line our shaded streets. The honeysuckle that embraces your every step. The home made Iced Tea that quenches your thirst and your soul. And that final smell. It’s all too familiar aroma is in the air even to this day, racism. Now, like boiled peanuts, you can’t find it everywhere, but it’s there. And like boiled peanuts, you probably know someone who is all about it.

If there were ever a post where I would love to reveal the true identity of the person whom the post was about, it would be this one. Not to be mean, or vindictive, but in the hopes that he could learn from his actions. Oh screw it. I want my cousins Pookie and Ray Ray to beat his ass. But that is not the woman my Nana raised, and so, I will simply call him, Mr Racist.

Mr Racist and I met through mutual friends. I have to admit, he was so my type. Funny, attractive, a cross between Paul Rudd and David Schwimmer, walked into a room and good times were always had, successful, focused and a great kisser. (This is where the compliments stop). Like many before him, things started as a random hook up. And I was kinda fine with that. But then it turns out, he was actually pretty good. (Ok, no more compliments after this.) So we hooked up a few more times. And he totally had me, when the second time we got together he offered to make me dinner, and actually did.

Now for me, I was fine with our arrangement. It was nothing serious, very casual, no weirdness out in public, to be honest, it was kinda fun. It was also great to know that people would have been completely shocked if they knew we slept together, and I enjoyed that fact. This went on for about a month, and again I say, I was fine with this. But then the turn happened. How men can ruin a perfectly good arrangement like this, I will never know. But he ruined it.

Now fellas, we have heard many lines to get us out of your bed and to stop the “relationship”.

  • “Let’s be friends”
  • “I’m not looking for something serious right now”
  • “I have a lot on my plate”
  • “The timing just is not right”
  • And the classic “It’s not you, it’s me”
All of these work in almost any situation, and if that was what Mr Racist was going for to end our little bedroom antics, any of these lines would have worked just fine. However, he did something so unexpected, so off the wall, so totally low, that there really is no words…well, now there’s this blog. 
One night, after a quite enjoyable session, while still wrapped up in my sheet, laying on his bed and the sweat not yet dry, he looks over at me with some hesitation. They say timing is everything, and I was about to witness that his sucks. He proceeds, “Desiree, you’re such a cool girl”, this start is never good and NEVER ends well. So I prepared myself for the “but” and mentally got my clothes ready for the drive back to my apartment. He continues, “We’ve been having fun and all, but I just don’t think my friends would think to highly of me dating a black girl.”
Ok, if you know me well enough, you know that I was conflicted on what to do next. On one side, the ghetto in me, be it small, was thinking “I know this cracker didn’t and I am about to whoop his ass!”. But then there is the sweet, more rational side, and that is what he got. All I could say as a I barely looked at him was “Really?”. He tried to explain and to be honest, I don’t remember much of what he said. I was hurt, insulted, upset, humiliated and just plain ole pissed. I picked up my clothes and got dressed, he was still talking and I was still walking. 
We saw each other a few times around town after that. I was always cordial and polite, just like my Nana would have wanted. But secretly I wished I had done more. I wished I could have made him wear a sign that says “I love fried chicken, but not screwin it”, or maybe something more clever. I wanted people to know what a jerk he was. I am not really sure if he said what he said to get me to leave, or if he truly felt that way, in any event, he was wrong. It’s my wish that he has learned something from this. Maybe he might have even fell in love and married a black woman. That, or I hope he got his car stolen on MLK Blvd. in Atlanta. 
Either way, Kharma is truly a bitch, and her name is Sho’Nequa.

Mr Best

There is nothing more dangerous than the male ego. So I shall put a warning to this post. If you think Mr Best is about you, you are probably wrong, because what made him Mr Best was the fact that he was so humble. Oh, and he was amazing, among other things.

So let’s be honest, there are times that we do things against our better judgement, as well as the better judgement of our friends. I did Mr Best against my better judgement. Not that he was such a bad guy. And not that several of my friends knew him. Simply that, I went into my “relationship” with Mr Best knowing it was only going to be the basic of all great sex, The-On-Again-Off-Again-In-Between-Relationships-Partner. Ok, Ok, I didn’t know that at the time, but that is what it turned out to be. It also turned out strangely, to be one of the most healthy male friendships I have ever had. Because Mr Best gave me what ever woman does NOT want: a completely honest, unabashed, brutally truthful look into the male mind.

If the book “He’s Just Not That Into You”, were a person, it were Mr Best. And what was so wonderful, was that he did not act like some macho pig out to educate me. Instead, he became like my sexual Mr Miagi and I ended up doing some crazy crane practice on a dock.( or mattress ) . Either way, what made him Mr Best was that I constantly learned from him. Not just about the things that men enjoyed, but the things that I enjoyed. It’s funny. We think we know what we like, what we enjoy, what really turns us on. But do we?

It’s not until you come across someone who challenges all of your theories and notions about love, sex and relationships that you realize, this is all a continual process. Kinda like when your kids are grown, you still learn something about parenthood. So other than being my Yoda, what made him so wonderful?  Well, he was your average guy. Not some guy you would see and say “Whoa, I bet he is amazing in bed.” He was a guy I knew through friends, that I got to know better through school and work. Simply put, he was just That-Guy-I-Saw-Around-Town. And one night after some drinks, it happened.

Alright kids, this is where you want me to tell you that it was mind blowing and that I could not feel my toes. Well, I would be lying. It was good. I mean, it was just that, good. And it was maybe a few weeks before it happened again. Then the strangest thing occurred . The thing that we women sometimes secretly yearn for, but are too embarrassed to admit. One night after sex, we started to…talk. We talked about all the things that we didn’t understand about the opposite sex, all of our turn-ons and turn-offs, and then an even more amazing thing happened…he listened to me. But then there was a problem. I started dating someone. And because I believe in being fully invested in one person at a time, I had to sadly, let Mr Best go. But guess what? He understood! And he didn’t act weird about it!

In fact, he was the person I went to when I needed advice. He was my sounding board and I in turn, was his. When that relationship ended, we picked up where we left off. Now in the Harry met Sally world, this is where a tricky, complicated relationship would start, but it didn’t. He forced me to break out of my shell, to think outside of the box. To learn more about the whole process and not just the act. I mean, I thought I was ok before, but now I learned that it was more than just thinking how you perform, but it was equally about knowing and understanding your partner. In otherwords, I learned to grow up.

I owe a lot to Mr Best. I am sure I might even owe a Pulitzer to him. But I am grateful that the greatest lesson I learned about being a woman, I ended up learning from a man.

Mr O

They say that somewhere, far away in a magical land; a land of fairies, princess, dragons and unicorns, lies the greatest mythological creature of them all….the female orgasm. It has rarely been seen, often occurred falsely and sonnets have been created to praise it.
When it came to me, this mythological creature was just that, a myth. I had been having sex for years…YEARS! And never had an orgasm. Ok, now this is where it gets tricky. You would assume, gentlemen, that each time we engage in a sexual act, we have that big “O” moment. Well, like there is no Santa, there is no truth in that statement, either. And being a professional singer/actress, some of my best work has been done horizontally.
But then I stumbled upon it. On a sunny afternoon, while sleeping with my current flame, there it was, my first orgasm. We shall call it, Mr O. Mr O and I had been friends for years. We had a lot in common: military, friends, classmates, colleges. He was and still is a really great guy. (And he will tell you that too.)
 But though we had great sex, I still never experienced the allusive orgasm. At this point I seriously thought, there was something wrong with me. And the funny thing is, I found that most of my girlfriends felt the same. If we aren’t having that big moment, it must be our fault. But if a horse doesn’t win the Kentucky Derby, is it his fault, or the person riding it? Well, if you look at it that way, it can be said, that it is the fault of both. But I would like to think it’s the jockey who holds most of the responsibility.
Now, I would like to go on record by saying, that Mr O, has always been amazing. Pre orgasm as well as post. And I am happy that my first “O” was with him. He was older than me, more experienced and very talented. But the quest for the “Big O” was something like a great romance, it happens to sneak up on you, when you aren’t looking for it. On this sunny day, we decided to engage in a little “Afternoon Delight”. The song now holds a special place in my heart.
Nothing was being done out of the ordinary on both of our parts. Yes, it was a bit complicated in my small day bed that I had had since my freshmen year of college, but no new moves, no new technique, but still, quite amazing. And then, it happened. Just as an unexpected surprise, it arrived, my first orgasm.  Ok, I will admit, I became a bit emotional, but I didn’t want Mr O to know that. I also didn’t want to deal with the inevitable conversation of “You don’t have an orgasm every time we have sex?” Ugh, you men are so judgemental sometimes. So I lay there, deep in my bliss and a single tear welling up in my eye. I looked at him and remember grinning the dumbest, biggest grin in the world. And he rolled over.
That’s ok. This was my moment. My joyous occasion. My newest, biggest toy on Christmas morning that I get to bask in the complete and utter joy of it. Until I decide that I want another, only bigger and better. It was years later that I told Mr O that he was my first. “I was your FIRST?” he asked. No, not like that “You were my first orgasm.” And then, much like I did that day, he gave me the dumbest, biggest grin in the world.

Mr First

I’ll be honest with you, this blog is about sex. So hide your kids. Well, to be completely honest, most of the blogs will be about sex, but this time, we will get it all out in the open.

Here is a confession that you might not believe. I was a virgin until I was 23. I know, right? Seems almost impossible. But when it came to sex, I really wanted to wait until I was married. Yea, who does that these days? There was just something so special and sacred about saving myself for my husband. At least looking back, I don’t regret not waiting. Perhaps some of the partners in my past, but not for having sex before marriage. Who knew sinning would feel so great. (Well, we talk about that later, too.)

My mother did her best to influence me not to have sex before marriage. She and I would have what she called our “Summer Sex Talks”. My mother was always very open about the topic, and I really appreciated her for it. But she and my grandmother, also took a very technical approach. The downfall of being in a family full of teachers, is that they take great joy in making every topic like a final exam. So learning about the Birds and the Bees was like being trapped in a constant PBS/After School Special. Still, the topic was never off limits, and it actually made my mother and I a lot closer.

So when it came to premarital sex, her philosophy was that I should call her before I actually engaged in the act, just so she could talk me out of it. Imagine, a man on top of me with lust in his eyes, and me saying “One moment please. May I put your penis on hold while I call my vagina’s boss AKA my mother and see if she can engage in the following act”? You will be amazed at how that would not go over very well to your average horny young male. But that was almost what I did.

Mr First was a guy I was dating in college. Actually, he dated another friend of mine, but she swore it was cool that he and I were together. So when we got the ok from her, Mr First and I started our relationship. He was a couple of years younger than me, military, sweet, baby faced, and always made me laugh. I was very open and up-front with him about sex, and he said he was ok with it. And surprisingly, he was. But leave it to hormones to take over the best of us. I finally told him, that I was ready. I was ready to make love for the first time.

Now what you have to understand is that there is a clear difference between making love and having sex. One involves dinner. And for my first time, I wanted to make LOVE. I wanted the soft lighting, the gorgeous candles, the rose petals from the door leading to the bed, everything I saw in the stellar Cinemax films of my youth. Instead I got the best hotel $30 could by in Milledgeville, Georgia. Mr First tried his best to make the night special, but at the last minute, I just couldn’t do it. I had my mother’s voice in my head and my conscience telling me, that this was not what I really wanted. So we gave up that night.

However, a month later, good ole Horny McHornster made her way back. And this time, I was sooooo ready. It was about 10pm and I called Mr First to see where he was. Sadly, he was on his way to visit his parents for the weekend, about 30 miles from where I lived. When I got him on the phone and gave him my long rant about being ready, not backing out, wanting to make tonight special and wanting it to be him, he laughed. I asked him “How far away are you?” He simply replied “I turned around 10 minutes ago.”

So here I was, about to lose my virginity. And I was ready. I was ready for the roses, the romantic music, the champagne. Now, if you are like me, you love horror films. And as mentioned in the film Scream, there are certain rules to horror films. So if my first time were to follow, or not follow those rules, I would be the dead heffer killed in the first scene, because Mr First and I had sex, in a tent, on a campsite, next to a lake. Oh yea, and I’m a black woman. As it is, I wasn’t going to last in the film any way, but losing my virginity at a campsite in a tent, didn’t make the matter any better.

I want to say it was magical, that it was everything I had dreamt it would be. But to be honest with you, it kinda wasn’t. I remember doing long division in my head and thinking “I thought this was suppose to hurt. What should I be doing? Am I enjoying myself?” Mr First was wonderful however. He was caring and kind, constantly asking me “Are you ok? Should I stop?” And I was ok, I really was. After sleeping at the site that night, we had breakfast the next day and he took me home.

It might not have been everything that I had hoped for myself, but it was memorable and with a kind, caring man. Which I know most people can’t say for their first time. Mr First and I continued to date for another few months, and engaged in a lot, a lot of sex. Though he was not the man I married, he did hold a special place in Miss Twyla’s heart. (That’s the name of my va jay jay).

So to Mr First, I say thank you. Thank you for opening open the floodgates (pun intended) and for making a lasting impression on us both.