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- Growing Up Bronx
I had recently moved into my new place in Woodside. My very first, dedicated, solo space! Oh yeah, my own bachelor pad! I remember when she came over to my place. Both of us were sitting alone, having drinks on my couch. In the background, I had some soft reggae music playing. I still remember the one song, “I just don’t want to be lonely” by Freddy McGregor. Lust was in the air.
She sat up on the couch, opened her legs, and she straddled me. She came in and pressed her chest against me, and I pulled her in firmly by her waist. We just held each other close, tightly, cheek to cheek. I was so deeply intoxicated with the scent of her perfume, the way it perfectly blended with her very own natural scent. The warmth of her body was driving me mad. I know she felt me. She backed up a little. I could see the fire in her eyes as our lips softly touched. Then she slowly rose; she held my hand, and silently invited me to rise and dance with her to this song. As we danced, my lips kissed her neck. I could feel her breathing heavy. I knew what was going to happen next, and I couldn’t wait to taste of this woman.
Then she said it, “I want you so badly Angel; you have no idea how bad I want this right now. I know you do too. I can see it in your eyes, your face, and your body is telling me so. We both want this. However, I have to tell you something. Ok? Let me say this first. You will regret this.”
What the hell? I felt the color drain from my cheeks, all the lust and desire I felt began to dissipate. With nine words, she completely killed the entire moment. The pulsing in my chest, stopped. The throbbing in my pants shrunk, and I looked at her.
I already knew that this woman was trouble, my intelligent mind knew this. I knew that she had emotional baggage, but my body wanted her. I hungered for her, and as many a man before me has done in a similar situation, I decided that I was perfectly capable of handling the associated risks. But a dead stop warning like this? Man, I wasn’t ready for that at all. I felt like someone was giving me a chance at life, and I wasn’t about to let that go.
I backed off of her; I looked at her and asked, “Really? Why?” She wouldn’t answer, she simply said, “I’m remorseful about this Angel. I’m sorry that I’m hurting you. However, the alternative is worst.” At this point, I knew that I was done, so I said that perhaps it was not a good idea to proceed. She agreed; we sat down, toasted to friendship, and that was the last time I saw her in person. We communicated a few times after that, but I was done pursuing anything other than just a friendship. Whatever the reason, a warning like that is not to be taken lightly.
We’ve since lost contact. Lust or bust.
Growing Up Bronx