Date #2 – The White Guy
Right. So the last time we spoke I told you all about Evan. Well the update is… I haven’t heard from him, so technically there is no update! Perhaps he did see me as a tiger ready to pounce on anything that took my fancy. Oh well.
7:30am: I’m on the train flicking through the newspaper, that to be honest should be called Bad News, because that’s all it contains after all. Anyway, since you are getting to know me, I should also tell you that I love black men (as I am on a dating mission this is important information). I love black men like I love, apple crumble and custard, bun and cheese, cold nights and body heat with a man as my blanket… you get the gist. All the above go perfectly together – can I get an Amen? I can appreciate other races, but as I said, I like what I like. I also said that I will be doing things that are out of my comfort zones, so interracial dating will be on the cards at some point.
I am being open. Let’s face it, I have to be. Black men appear to have no problem dating other races, yet I find many of my black female friends reluctant to do this, due to preference and ideals. I guess the ideal has to be re-evaluated, and in the same breath I am asking myself “Why?” Either way, there appears to be a problem and I’m not talking about the Houston kind, but instead the left-on-the-shelf kind. Women already outnumber men, so whilst they have plenty of fruit to pick, there are slim pickings for us if you’re working with strict preferences and ideals, which so far for me has equated to singledom. “Why are you single?” (in a “poor you” voice) and “Oh I bet you are picky” (in a “I know I am right” voice) are questions and statements that I hear often. I would like to state that there is nothing wrong with me. I am an attractive female, who knows what she wants, knows her worth and doesn’t believe in settling for settling or any other kind of sake. As a result you could say I have chosen to be single. So get rid of that violin that was beginning to play as you read my words, this is not the ‘woe is me’ story but the… (as I try to think of a song, ‘Let’s Get Married’ by Jagged Edge pops into my head, followed by ‘I Like The Way’ by Hi-Five, and before the chorus finishes R Kelly “Bump and Grind” comes in to take the piss…). All I’m saying is that finding a fine brother that makes me stare in full appreciation, whilst in my mind mouthing “Damn!” is like trying to find Iman ‘Second to None’ Powder Foundation in Earth in shops, and that alone is like trying to find gold in the Thames – IT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. “Buy online!” I can only assume I have become telepathic, because this is NOT my internal voice, as I said I like what I like, which also involves seeing or trying before I buy. I’m old skool which is why internet dating is going to be a problem, but I will address this at some point.
08:06am: My train pulled in as it usually does. I got off and as I approached the barriers I dropped my Oyster. As I bent down to pick it up, I was greeted by a man’s crotch. Trying not to stare at the obvious package, I quickly stood up to see a man with his hand outstretched, holding on to my Oyster holder that says ‘Keep Calm and go for Gold’. In that moment, I could see that this could be misinterpreted as me being a gold digger. The truth is I got it for free, everyone likes freeness and it’s gold. Anyway, I said “Thank you,” smiled and kept it moving, though not before scanning him. Tall, brown, sharp grey suit, neat looking shoes, no jewellery, approx. 40 years old, nice warm face. I walked out of the station, then turned around as a reaction to someone saying “Hey” then feeling my shoulder being touched. I expected to see the guy who just gave me my Oyster card but was instead greeted by a Caucasian guy, looking like he’d just left a French Connection photoshoot.
“Hey, I just saw you and decided to say hey.” I replied, “Hey” right back, in a cheery though inquisitive voice. Sounding nervous he said, “Well that’s all I wanted to say.” You don’t know how much I wanted to just shout “MAN UP! WHAT DO YOU WANT? YOU DID THE HARDEST BIT ALREADY!” But I didn’t for four reasons…
1. I know how hard it is to talk to someone.
2. I am meant to be open.
3. I don’t want to appear in The Metro’s Rush Hour Crush the next day.
4. I stated my preference in black men. Love sees no colour and this is the lesson God wants me to learn .
So the next part went like this…
Me: “Really? That is all you wanted to say?”
Him: “No but….”
Me: “Are you in a rush?”
Me: “I’m going to grab a coffee, do you want to join me?”
Him: “Yeah ok”
Don’t ask me where my brightness came from, perhaps this experience IS turning me into a tiger. Already I can see I am acting and responding differently, which is good, but I am not trying to be an Alpha female. I suggested grabbing a coffee, because I was intrigued as to what he actually wanted to say.
We lined up in the queue, both checking each other out. Asking for my order broke the silence. I wanted to sit in, but he said he was already running late for work. We walked out together, he asked me what direction I was heading in, to which he exclaimed with delight, “Same as me!” Although he sounded genuine, my internal voices for once were in sync. With attitude and doubt I heard “Yeah right”, followed by the visualisation of a Blackberry side eye emoticon.
We walked and talked. His name is Shane, Irish, 30, works for an advertising company, roughly 6ft, dark hair, chiselled model looks and quite charming. The more he spoke, the more I warmed to him. The Irish accent is kinda sexy. He told me he saw me first when I bent down to pick up my Oyster. “So you’re saying you saw my bum before my face?” I asked. He laughed and said “Yes.” “It ain’t no Pippa Middleton, that ain’t a bum,” I replied. Why do I do this? I may be talking the truth but damn it, did I really need to say that and out loud? He laughed. “As I said, I saw you bend down, and well, I’m here”. “So now that you have seen my face, I hope you are not disappointed.” OMG I am flirty, why am I flirting? HELP. “As I said I’m here. I like black girls,” he said firmly. I liked how he said it, but I was confused as to why he said. Was I meant to give him more kudos/ gold stars or did I look confused and this was his way of being explicitly clear? I just didn’t know what to do with the information.
08:20 am: “I work in that building. It was lovely meeting you, and thank you for my coffee,” I said pointing. “No problem at all. Have a good day.” He leaned in and gave me a kiss on my cheek. I smelt his fresh shower smell and it turned me on. This man confused me. He wasn’t shy, but he was shy. I think I liked it. Anyway, he went and that was my random morning.
12:30 pm: I was sitting at my desk, eating my lunch and browsing through Facebook. My phone rang. “Hello Naddine Bentley speaking,” I answered. “Hi, this is Shane, I met you this morning.” No f*ucking way! “Hey how are you?” I asked trying not to sound too high pitched, and giving away my surprise and excitement. He asked me what time I finished work. “Right, I will meet you outside at 6:15pm. I wanna take you out for a drink.” I agreed, put the phone down, calmly walked to the toilet, shut the door and quietly squealed to myself. Mr Shy took charge, wow! I thought smiling. Then grumpy voice of doubt crept in: You never gave him your surname, so how did he manage to call you? He knows where you work now, uh-oh. I shook that voice off and walked back to my desk, internalising the spring in my step that, in cartoon world, would have looked like Tigger.
06:00 pm: I touched up my make-up, put perfume on and adjusted my pencil skirt. My 4-inch heels were killing me and although I had flats in my bag, I wasn’t about to change into them. He needed to see THE STRUT in all its fierceness! I took the lift down to the ground floor and tried to compose myself, but my stomach was flipping over in excitement. I walked out and there he was, on time, waiting, hand in pocket, and leaning on the pillar at an angle, so that he saw me coming. Oh, and he liked what he saw, and so did I. Yep I said it; appreciation is appreciation and I certainly appreciated Mr French Connection.
We greeted each other with a double kiss on the cheek, but this time he placed his hand on the lower part of my back. I liked it. We walked to the bar he suggested, he got the drinks in and we sat at the far end of the bar in the corner. Four drinks and 2 hours later, I asked, “So what is it about black girls that you like?” Please note, I am not here to be anyone’s fetish – HELL to-the NO. Also the drink is now in control of my mouth and not my brain. Before he could answer I continued. “…I mean if I approached a man, I wouldn’t say I like black guys, even if I do, you know…?” I didn’t get to finish my sentence, because he shut me up with a kiss. HE KISSED ME. My brain kicked into action and shouted “HOW DARE HE! WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS??” whilst my body screamed “God damn this feels good!”. His lips were soft, his kisses were gentle yet passionate and he was good. I could feel myself melting and I didn’t care. His hand cupped the nape of my neck and slowly moved down to my breasts. Everything felt so good, I didn’t want it to stop. But then I felt awkward. You are in a bar kissing a white dude you met this morning, what are you doing? questioned grumpy self-doubt, whilst the voice of reason as always just shouted Carpe diem! I heard the internal battle going on in my head, but my body was like F*ck all of ya’ll.
We eventually stopped. He looked at me and I looked right back, speechless. My eyes fell to the table, and I just laughed and shook my head. “You are so hot,” he said. My eyes remained where they were. “Look at me,” he said firmly. I slowly raised my eyes and looked at him, like Bambi with an edge (women you know what I mean and men I know you do too), and knowing full well that my Yves Saint Laurent expensive mascara was working to full effect right now. “I said, you are hot” he repeated. I replied by saying thank you.
Before we left I went to the bathroom, composed myself and re-applied my lip gloss. His eyes said it all. I saw it. I wanted the same, but I am not a dirty stop out. ‘Carpe diem’ needs to take a back seat sometimes and I guess so does my moralistic stance. In that moment I decided I will have sex with Mr French Connection, but his arse would just have to damn well wait for it.
We walked to the station together. My train was after his, but he waited with me. He asked me to follow him and I did. We stood at the exit and he said, “This is the spot where we met 14 hours ago, so erm… hey again.” With that he pulled me into him by grabbing my arse and kissed me until I melted again. “Come home with me,” he whispered. The announcement for my train’s departure echoed over the tannoy. I kissed him just as passionately back, then reached down to his hands on my arse, pulled them off, hugged him and whispered in his ear, “No”, before walking away. As I walked off I could feel he was just stood there with his mouth open. I turned around, shouted and pointed, “Meet me there at 6:30pm tomorrow”. He smiled and so did I. I caught the 10:44 pm train alone, fantasising and fretting about tomorrow…
© Naddine Bentley 2013