“I’m the giver. Never the taker,” I told her.
She rolled her doe-like eyes. “Whatever. Anyway, if you need me to, then I’ll meet the dude.” Her response was so lackluster.
“You don’t have to sound so enthused.”
“Trust me,” she said with a chuckle, “I’m not.”
“Hater.”
“Asshole.”
“You mad?”
“Fuck you.”
“When?”
“Never.”
“Your loss.”
“Get out of my office, David.”
I walked behind her desk, forced her chair around so she was facing me, and stood between her legs. “Make me,” I dared her.
The sexual tension between Summer and me had always been thick. Since the day she’d walked into Lenox Square, she’d stood out to me. She had walked in like she owned the place, but she had looked like she bought her clothes at a thrift shop. She hadn’t looked like she belonged with the pseudo-wealthy and hood rich people milling about. It was well known in the A that Lenox was more like a gay club and the place where people who lived in the hood shopped to prove to the world that they had money to blow. I’d been at Brooks Brothers that day, being fitted for a suit for a wedding. I’d seen her pass by the window and had to stop her.
She reminded me of a plus-sized Tracee Ellis Ross, and she had a Chrisette Michele disposition about her. She didn’t care that people stared at her ripped jeans, which hung low on her hips. Didn’t give a damn that they ogled her D-cup breasts through her fashionably ripped shirt. Wasn’t even bothered that her stomach wasn’t necessarily flat enough for her to be showcasing it the way she was. She just didn’t give a damn. Summer wore no makeup, and her freckles made her all the more unique. She had her bushy hair back in a ponytail, which bounced as she walked.
She was looking for a job. Had a degree that would allow her to be a paralegal, but couldn’t find any work in the economy. I let her pass by the store the first time without saying anything, but I couldn’t allow her to pass me by a second time. I stopped her, asked her to go on a date with me. She took my card and told me she would think about it. Took her three weeks to send me a text. When she did, we set up a date to meet at Sambuca. It was a jazz club back then. Later it closed down. We talked over good food, wine, and music. I got to know her. Told her up front that I was a bisexual black man. She friend zoned me before the date was done.
The one thing that made me want to keep her in my life as a friend, though, was the fact that she didn’t judge me. Didn’t flinch when I told her my sexual preferences. She took my hand and thanked me for being honest with her. It was then that I knew she was special. She taught me that not all black women saw me as an abomination and as an affront to what was supposed to be a natural occurrence between men and women. Later on she told me that her father was bisexual and her mother was cool with it. So I guess it had been instilled in her that men like me were still human, albeit a different breed. She and I formed a friendship that night was wrapped in her thoughts of What if? and my hope that she’d give me one chance.
It never happened. I pulled my glasses back down on my face as I looked down at her now in her office. Her chest slowly heaved as she gazed back up at me.
“Not . . . not about to play this game with you, David,” she said softly.
“Why does it have to be a game?” I asked her.
“You just sat there and all but told me you’re lusting after your best male friend to the point of torture.”
“You’re overexaggerating.”
“And you’re in denial.”
I placed my hands on the arms of her chair and caged her in as I leaned over her. She inhaled and exhaled. Licked her lips, then quirked a brow.
“So are you,” I told her. I put my lips close to hers. Gazed into those walnut-colored eyes and dared her to do what she was afraid to do. Wanted her to so badly my dick moved around in my boxer briefs, as if it was the negative end to her positive one. I moved my hand from the arms of the chair, placed them on her thighs. I slid them up to the danger zone and waited for her to tell me to stop. When she didn’t, I slid them up farther as my lips got closer to hers.
“David . . . ,” she called out to me.
I knew she felt the electricity that passed between us, because I felt it to. It trickled down my arms and forced my hands to tighten on her thighs.
“All you have to do is say yes,” I coaxed her.
I’d give anything for her to say yes. For some reason, I felt like I had something to prove to Summer. Needed to show her that a man like me could satisfy her. I needed that woman to look past the insecurities she felt because I was a bisexual male and allow me to love her body like she’d never known a man to do.
But she never said yes. Like before, she didn’t say yes now. A knock on her office door brought us back to reality. I pretended that the folder, which she’d dropped back down on her desk, was of great importance and demanded that she get it back to me in a timely fashion as I exited her office.
Later on that evening, after I had gone to the gym and had showered, I was sitting in my place, lounging around, when my cell rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Michael calling. I thumbed my nose as I picked up the phone after muting the TV and stared at it for a moment. In a few days he and I would be face-to-face. I’d come face-to-face with the one who got away, among other things.
“What’s up?” I greeted.
“Not much. You busy? Got any plans for the night?” he asked off the cuff. His voice got to me. It settled in the pit of my stomach and made the muscles there clench hard.
“Not that I know of. Summer might drop by, but that’s it.”
“You do now. My flight lands at nine thirty.”
“Wait, what?” I asked as I looked at the designer watch on my left wrist. “You aren’t supposed to be here until next week.”
“Change of plans. I’ll be there tonight. Is that going to be a problem?”
I shook my head, as if he could see me. “Nah. See you when you get here.”
There was silence, but neither one of us hung up the phone. That unfinished business between us had settled in the room like the elephant it was.
“Think you can handle me being there? No bullshit like the last time?” he finally asked.
“We were younger then. I’m a grown man now.”
He chuckled, and I found myself opening and closing my fist to stave off the jittery feeling he was giving me.
“Yeah. We’ll see. And I’ll finally get to meet the famous Summer. Does she know about me?”
I sighed. “She knows you’re my best friend, who’s married, with children. She knows about the shit that happened between us.”
“All of it?”
“What I wanted her to know.”
“Same ole David, huh?” he asked and chuckled sarcastically. “Telling half-truths to make whole lies.”
“Fuck off, Michael.” I sighed. “How are Sadi and the kids?” I asked so we wouldn’t fall into the same routine of rehashing old shit.
“They’re good. MJ turned nine last week and is almost half my height already. Gemma is ten going on fifteen. Getting on my damn nerves. Like her mother.”
“But you love them. That’s all that matters.”
“Glad you finally figured that out,” he said. I sighed and mumbled under my breath as he continued. “Fuck off, David. See you when I get there. Make sure you bring Summer. Saw that picture you posted of you two on Facebook. She’s pretty. Juicy backside.”
It was my turn to chuckle sarcastically. “Trouble in your man-made paradise?”
Michael was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Sadi thought that nigga shit gold and pissed rainbows. He could do no wrong in her eyes. Part of that might have been her guilt over the stolen night she and I had shared together. The other part might have been the fact that he’d never cheated on her, and he took care of her and the kids like any husband and father should.
Actually, knowing Michael, I was sure he went above and beyond for his family. So the fact that he was eyeballing Summer let me know something was going on in fairy-tale land.
“Nope. Just wanted to see if she was that thick in person. Want to count those freckles up close and personal too,” he admitted.
I rolled my shoulders and cleared my throat. Was feeling some type of way. The fact that he knew I liked Summer wasn’t lost on me. He was intentionally trying to ruffle my feathers.
“Have a safe flight.”
He laughed. “You mad? Sounds like you’re mad.”
“Fuck you, Michael.”
“Maybe . . . maybe not.”
I felt the sweat beads forming on my head. I was happy when he was the first to hang up the phone. His last statement did something to me. Took me back to almost eleven years ago, when shit started to go downhill for me and my best friend. I’d lied to Summer earlier today . . . in a sense. Michael didn’t consider himself a gay male. So when she’d asked me that, I could honestly answer no. He didn’t like labels, but he would answer yes to being bisexual before he would to being gay. In fact, he hated to be called gay or bisexual. But it was his right to be called whatever he wanted to answer to. I couldn’t be mad at that.
What I could be mad and annoyed about was the fact that out of the blue he had decided to visit, and now he was going to show up way before his original date. That annoyed me. That told me that something else was going on with him. I knew my best friend. I knew he wasn’t showing up just because, so I was already on pins and needles. But it had been ten years since I’d seen the one who had got away. I needed to see him face-to-face. Needed to clear the air on a lot of shit. I hoped this time it didn’t end with one of us in jail.
Love did that to people. Made them act out in ways they wouldn’t normally, especially when that love was thrown back in their face. I knew what made women and men snap. I’d been there. I’d been on the receiving end of loving someone, and in the end I had found out that I was the only one that deeply in love. Shit was never the same after that, and it always ended badly. At least for me . . . shit always ended badly.
I stood with my phone still in my hand and walked to the bar in my kitchen. Grabbed the Jim Beam Devil’s Cut whiskey and downed a few shots. Needed the burn to get my head together. Found myself taking about four more shots before I dialed Summer.
I heard Beyoncé in the background before she spoke up. Summer was breathing hard. “Talk fast. In the middle of cardio,” she breathed out.
“You busy after?” I asked her.
“Why? You cooking? You owe me steak and potatoes with steamed vegetables.”
She was huffing and puffing. I could almost taste the sweat coming off her skin. I loved to see her sweat. Anytime we worked out together, I was always amazed by her stamina, just as I’d been the first time I saw her jogging. It had changed my mind about the stereotype of plus-sized women not being able to exercise.
“Nah, but Michael decided he was going to fly in tonight, so I wanted to know if you were up for meeting him.”
She grunted a bit as Beyoncé asked her driver to roll up the partition. “Is he fine?”
“He is.”
“He gay?”
“Told you no.”
“Can I fuck him? It’s been a while, David. Like about two years.”
“Didn’t and doesn’t have to be.”
“I’m not fucking you. You like the same thing I do.”
I almost told her that Michael did too, but I caught myself. That wasn’t my truth to expose.
“So you won’t have sex with a single bisexual male, but you’ll be a married man’s mistress?”
“Yeah. And?” she asked, as if I’d offended her.
“What part of the game is that?”
“The part I don’t mind playing.”
“Black women got the game backward. You’ll go out there and fall in love with a man with a family, but you’ll turn your nose up at a man like me. I’m perfectly single.”
“You like your men how I like mine,” she said.
For some reason, she was starting to annoy me. I heard Michael’s voice in my head, talking about wanting to count her freckles up close. My teeth ground as images in my mind of their bodies grinding together unnerved me.
“Kiss my ass, Summer. You’re so full of shit,” I said, with a laugh laced with irritation. “Keep ignoring the fact that I like my women a certain way too.”
“Not doing this with you, David,” she said.
“Obviously.”
“What time?”
“What?”
She sighed. “What time is he flying in?”
“Said his flight lands at nine thirty.”
“And where are we meeting him?”
I put the whiskey away and walked over to lean against the island in the middle of my gourmet kitchen. The polished wooden floor was cold under my feet. Made me kick myself for not turning on the flooring’s heating system.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll tell him to meet us at Strip in Atlantic Station,” I answered.
There was silence on the other end of the phone. “You mad at me?” Summer asked me.
I lied with ease. “No.”
“You lie, David.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“Forgive me?”
“Whatever.”
That was the way our friendship worked. She would say something slick about my sexual preferences, almost as if she was mad about it. We’d get snippy with one another. She’d apologize. I’d accept. Things would go back to normal with us.
Summer
I hated when David was upset, annoyed, or anything with me. I knew sometimes my mouth would say shit before my mind could catch up with me. But he was still my friend. Sometimes I hated that all I saw David as was a greedy man who had to have his cake and eat it too. I didn’t want him to be attracted to men and women. I wanted him to want only me, a woman. Shut up. I knew how stupid I sounded. Especially since we’d never even explored the option of a relationship. Yes, the sexual tension was so thick, we could practically eye fuck one another into orgasms, but I wanted it to be more than that.
In some strange sense, I was jealous of all the men he’d loved and been with sexually. I was jealous of how primal in his sexuality I knew he could be. I knew any man that he’d laid dick to was more than satisfied. I felt inadequate. Felt like I wasn’t enough for him. Felt like even if I gave in to my sexual curiosity, he would still need something that I couldn’t give him. Therefore, I stayed safely in our friend zone. Content on at least having him in a way that I knew I would be adequate enough to satisfy him.
I pulled the denim shorts over my ripped tights and then pulled the oversize gray sweater over my head. I loved the way the sweater fell over my left shoulder. I quickly stepped into my calf-high army boots but did not bother to tie them. I dressed in a way that reflected my personality outside of work. I was somewhere between a hippie and female Black Panther in heart. I didn’t bother to put my hair in a ponytail. Just let it fall where it may. I grabbed my keys, phone, and purse and headed out the door. David was punctual. If I was late, it would ruin our whole night, because he would be pissed about it.
It didn’t take me long to get to Strip. As usual, the house was packed, but David had gotten us a booth that was tucked away on the first level. In the black chairs around the shiny square red tabletops sat black, brown, and white people, and they were either gay, straight, bisexual, or other. The ambiance of the place said it was hip. The dim lighting was punctuated by the faux candles that stood glowing in the middle of the tables. Live music was blasting from the DJ booth upstairs. Most of the chicks in the place had three-hundred-dollar weaves and brand-name purses and shoes, and they wore enough makeup to keep MAC in business forever. I’d never been into the hype of having name-brand everything. I was perfectly okay with shopping at Wal-Mart, Target, Conway, and occa
sionally Macy’s. Didn’t need to spend all my money to fit in with society.
Eyes turned to look at me as I walked through the place to get to my best friend. Probably because it was nice and cold outside, yet I had decided that short shorts and tights would be my attire for the evening. I had on a leather coat, with a scarf around my neck, but I hated the heat. So the night wind and the air was my kind of hype. I saw David as he looked up and spotted me. He’d been texting on his phone. My heart almost stopped at the sight of him. He would always stand out among men.
His chocolate skin glowed in the vague lighting. Eyes sparkled behind his designer eyeglasses. He had on a black turtleneck that strained against the muscles in his chest and arms. The dress slacks he had on sat right on his hips. I already knew his shoe game was on point. He wouldn’t ever dress in anything less than the best. It was who he was. His locks sat back in a thin headband. But it was his smile . . . His smile was what made my heart beat. Dimples placed evenly on either side of his cheeks lured me in.
He stood as I got closer to the booth. Both men and women took in his good looks. My smile faltered. Fuck Atlanta for being the gay mecca, the down-low capital. Fuck the whole damn city, I thought. The women who ogled him never bothered me, but the males . . . Fuck every openly gay and undercover gay male who is staring at him like they want him to screw them straight. Fuck ’em. Still, I smiled back at my best friend. Grinned when he left the booth and held his arms open for me as a greeting. David didn’t hug me like I was his friend. He hugged me like I was his woman. His spicy, earthy, masculine scent made me melt into him.
“Damn, you smell good,” his deep voice rumbled against my ear.
“That’s funny. I was about to say the same to you,” I said with a giggle.
We were good. The things I’d said to him earlier had faded away. He hugged me for a long time. His hands traveled down my back . . . stopped. I knew he wanted desperately to give me an ass grab, but he didn’t allow himself. My ass had been a blessing and a curse, depending on how you looked at it. I kept squats in my exercise routine because I loved my ass. Finally, he pulled away. I looked at the table of feminine gay males sitting in front of us and sneered a sneer of triumph, knowing in reality that I felt it was they who were winning. One looked at me and flippantly rolled his eyes. I didn’t care.
Bi-Satisfied Page 2
