A bitter chance - Part six

Not a day passed without continual thoughts about my impending fate.  It was like having the symptoms of a cold that was turning into the flu.  The nights were the worse. Self inflicted night sweats. Stress induced paranoid dreams always about death. Short tempered, impatient. I was a total dick to tolerate. At work I was left alone. My boss put up with me because I was willing to work ungodly hours, anything to not sleep. Coffee, sodas and cookies were my stay-awake addictions. Avoidance of Derek was becoming more difficult. He was out of town on business but relentless in trying to reach me.

I watched movies by myself; comedies mostly; temporarily hiding in laughter. It worked sometimes but that little voice in me (Mr. Intuition) never failed to interrupt, reminding me of the time bomb within me waiting to explode. 


An old boyfriend contacted me. I guess he really wasn’t an old boyfriend. I don’t know what Anthony was or is to me now. He was someone who excited me once, and I thought, back then, could he be the one? We met while dancing at local clubs, on-and-off over a year, but never exchanged numbers. One night he changed that, and knowing him began. That excitement came to an abrupt halt when I woke up to the red flags that had been waved before me, because I chose ignorance to allow love in. 


The first and only time we attempted to have sex confirmed my suspicions. I was to learn that his large perky nipples were not sensitive to licks and nips from my restless tongue. I had wasted time trying to activate them, and in addition, his perpetual stream of pre-cum disgusted me. In retrospect, I wondered if that cum could be the cause of what I was going through now. 

We kept in touch for reasons I don’t understand. That disappointing night was not discussed, or the reason given any closure, but instead died swiftly. However, he was a kind and reliable source of information available to me whenever I needed it.  I filed him under Emergency Resource. I knew him to be sympathetic and pondered if to share my grief with him. He had requested to meet and I accepted on a whim.


 I found him waiting at our table at the restaurant, arms outstretched for a warm hug. He gives great hugs, pulling me close letting me feel all of him including the bulge in his groin. We sat down and smiled. He had collected a few more grey hairs since I last saw him. His brown eyes also smiled with welcome and a message he couldn’t wait to tell.

“You have been on my mind lately and judging from your appearance my instincts were right”, He said. Anthony never holds back. He is a Gemini, maybe that was one of the reasons we did not get along, because I did not invite his unsolicited opinions, however this time he was right and I knew he had my best interest at heart.

“I know. I’ve been going through some stuff, but I’ll be okay. I’m on the mend.” I lied choosing to cop-out instead of telling the truth.

“Okay. I hope so.” He paused and then leaned forward and in a semi-whisper said. “Are you telling me the truth?”

Everything stopped for a moment. It was surreal. Like being in a movie when a dream sequence was about to ensue. My problem flashed before my eyes from the moment I walked into Aid Atlanta to an imagined scene with me being given the bad news. Anthony, still leaning forward and looking intently at me, waiting for a secret, his chest slightly heaving, probably due to his cigarette addiction which made him react like an asthmatic—another reason why we did not work out.

A bitter chance - Part five

Debra’s condition had a profound effect on my life. I went into denial about the possibility of being positive. I was scared to get tested afraid it would not be good news. For years I resisted the idea. My personal loss to this disease has been nil, but I’ve heard the stories from my friend Craig about the deaths he endured back in the eighties.

Craig and I met at a peepshow five years ago. He was an older man with a salt and pepper mustache and goatee (that I loved); it made him look very distinguished and sexy. He shaved his head to hide the grey because he felt it was overkill. He had cruised me for what seemed like ages. His aggressive masculinity made me nervous and I found myself acting like a schoolgirl and not being assertive as I normally would.


Finally he made his way over to me and simply said “hello” in and unpretentious manner that completely floored me. I stammered back a weak response. Then he pulled me into a booth where we hammered out rough, noisy lust, our bodies locked in hot sweaty passion oblivious to those that stood outside listening to our moans and whispered dirty talk, grinding and shoving on each other in that little defenseless booth.


I thought that he would be the one despite his age. But he proved himself to be controlling and set in his ways, so I retained him as a friend because he gave amazing advice, and he needed me to be his conduit to younger men that he preferred to prey on.

Many times we sat on his sofa drinking wine as he reminisced about’ back in the day’, when the simplicity in meeting men was effortless and sex even more so. Using protection was unheard of and frowned upon until AIDS showed up. He told terrible stories of friends and acquaintances he’d lost, healthy one day, ill then dead the next from fatal illnesses not common in urban cities. 


This kind of stuff was supposed to happen in third world not here. He described one ex- lover, a former body builder and a beautiful man, who’d  lost 103lbs, almost half his weight. The medication he was on made him hallucinate till he took his own life jumping off the 15^th floor of his building because something told him he could fly.

I listened to these stories fascinated and thankful that I was still a sperm in my dad’s scrotum waiting my turn-after my brother, to show up in the world. I thought I had missed the plague but now I was confronted with it being in my life forever.

I avoided Derek’s calls and slept at my best friend’s apartment in order to avoid him. I returned to the hospital to secretly check on Debra. Her room door was open when I arrived, a nurse stood in the doorway typing on a computer on wheels. Looking beyond her I saw a middle aged woman seated beside the bed with Debra’s hand in hers, her eyes closed, praying. She looked just like Debra but heavier. I knew it was her mother. I stepped back and left the floor knowing at least that she was in the good hands of this god fearing woman.

A bitter chance - Part four

I buried myself into work. Consumed a lot of coffee and junk foods to fuel my body by day and sleeping pills to knock me out at night. It soon took its toll on me. One night after forcing myself through another night of overtime: a persistent headache, scratchy throat and body aches. My boss insisted I go home to bed.

At the foot of the stairs to my apartment, I braced myself for the treacherous climb. Nearing the top, I looked up to see the shadow of a man sitting at the top of the steps. This was unusual for this property to have people hanging out. I rummaged quickly in my bag for something I could use as a weapon if I had to. I gingerly continued my ascent with one hand tucked in my shoulder bag, clutching a warm can of soda. A few feet away, his cologne smelled familiar. An uneasy feeling invaded my gut as if it had ruptured. I looked on the face I despised and the smirk that reminded me of a scar.


“Don’t be alarmed. It’s only me.”
“I thought that big head looked familiar.”
“Now, which one are we talking about?” He laughed. I was in no mood for his nasty humor tonight. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” He laughed again.
“Look, Derek, I’m very tired and I don’t feel well. I am in no mood for company, so you will have to excuse me if I don’t invite you in.” He was quiet for a moment. He looked at me with concern.

“Okay, I understand. I can see that you’re not really yourself. Is there anything you would like me to do or get for you?”
That comment took me by surprise. I was expecting an argument; however, I was relieved we did not go there. “No, I will be fine, but thank you for asking.” I put the key in the door as he watched me. “Oh, by the way, how is Debra?” And without missing a beat, he said.
“She’s fine, she’s just fine.”


I watched him closely, when he said this. There was no emotion, no hint of guilt or betrayal, just that stupid smile. I closed the door on the bastard. I had wanted to say more, but couldn’t; I had no energy to. That night I couldn’t sleep; anxiety, I guess. He had entered my life again without permission. I assume to continue where we left off as if nothing had happened, while lying about his wife. The next day at work we were so busy it consumed me. My tired body struggled through the project I was working on. Even when Debra called, I was unable to accept the call.

That night I got home earlier than usual with the intention to take a long bath, light some candles, and then pass out. Derek showed up unannounced again.


“I really was in the mood to do me tonight.” I told him firmly.
“And so you shall. It’s just that I will be there to pamper your every need.” He said, producing two bottles of wine.
“I figure you’re gonna need this to relax after a hard day at work. As for me, I will be there to give you a massage, rub your feet, pour your drinks, and be an ear to anything you may want to say. I will be a silent presence, and I will only speak if you want me to. I just want to be with you tonight.”


The words from his lips fell on me with such quiet reassurance that it massaged me into submission. His eyes held the gentleness of a puppy that had just peed on the floor waiting for its punishment. Why was I unable to resist this man?

He proved to be a man of his word. He ran my bath, gently massaging my shoulders as I allowed the warm water to relax the rest of me. He kept my wine glass filled, watching me attentively but silently, catering to my every need. He dried me off, put lotion on my body, and slipped in the bed naked beside me until sleep claimed me.

In the morning, he was accommodating, appreciating that I needed space to ready myself for work. He kissed me softly on my cheek and left. On my way to work I thought about our night together. What the hell was going on? I must say this was the most romantic he had ever been, but I did not trust him. He was up to something. Later on that night he called and asked if he could come over. He said I had been in his thoughts all day.


“Are you okay?” I asked shocked at this revelation.
“I am fine. I enjoyed being with you. I don’t want to have sex with you I just want to hold you and go to sleep.”
Two hours later, he was in my arms. We sat curled up on the sofa, watching an old Law and Order re-run–saying very little but feeling a lot.
“Ease up baby, I got to go to the bathroom,” he said.
“Again?” I said impatiently. ”What did you eat?”
“I don’t remember, but something didn’t agree with me,” he said as he hurried to the bathroom.

It was like that for the rest of the night until we went to sleep. The next morning I heard him throwing up in the bathroom.
“Derek, you may be coming down with a cold. Why don’t you stay home today?” I asked, concerned.
“No. I’ll be fine, it’s just my system purging itself of whatever it was that caused this.”

A bitter chance - Part three

The following days I was consumed with guilt, overwhelmed with betrayal of Debra for having her husband, yet at the same time unable to understand their lack of loyalty towards each other. My gut told me to end this with them both, but another part of me was enjoying the attention. Ridding myself of Derek would be a problem, and the consequences could be fatal. I was trapped.

Debra called me everyday. At first I thought it was a bit much, but then I began to look forward to the calls and was disappointed if she called me later than usual. She became my morning coffee and I was unable to function without my daily sips. My relationship with Debra had grown into companionship. We would meet at a coffee house downtown in between her errands, sometimes on my lunch break. We had to be careful because Derek kept a tight hold on her, showing up when she least expected it.

Sex with Derek became habitual. Late on Thursday nights he would show up bottle in hand and lust in his eyes. He was like a kid in a candy store that couldn’t get enough. Sex became an obligation, but never predictable. We did it on the kitchen table, in the shower, on the living room floor, in front of the fireplace–that was the most memorable. There was no romance–just two hot blooded men going for it.

One particular night after a hot session, I took a shower and came out to dry off. Lying next to my towel was a pile of twenty-dollar bills. I went into the living room to confront him.

“What’s this?”
“Two hundred dollars.”
“I know how much it is, but why is it here?”
“Well you’ve complained about not making enough money at your job, so I thought I would help out a bit.”
“By paying me for sex?” I shouted.
“Just think of this as an arrangement. I got it to give. You need it.”
“Wait a minute. I am no street-fucking-hustler.”
“No you’re not. They make about twenty-dollars a pop, not two hundred.”
“Well, you should know.”

I stood there naked and amazed at the audacity of this man. He looked at me defiantly, daring me to challenge him further.
“You know what? Keep your fuckng money.” I threw it at him. The bills fell all around him to the floor.
“Get out of my fucking apartment!” I shouted and stormed off to the bathroom.

When I came out, he had left. The bills were still on the floor. I was humiliated; my self esteem was in the toilet. I had really sunk low to the point of allowing myself to be treated like a hustler. I thought of calling Debra to tell her everything, but I knew it would destroy her. Getting myself out of this mess was going to be very difficult. No was not in his vocabulary. Then, there was the issue of his gun that he used to intimidate me. Somehow, I didn’t care or feel frightened any longer. I could no longer deal with him. The disrespect he showed me confirmed what he truly thought of me.

I avoided Debra’s calls for the next week. She left many pleading messages wanting to know what she had done wrong. One of them got to me, when she broke down in tears, but I needed to take care of me. I told my best friend, Robert, everything; just in case anything was to happen to me, the police would know who to go after. I put everything in writing and had it notarized and deposited in a safety deposit box. My parents and Robert were the only ones with access to the box.

That Thursday night, I stayed at Robert’s apartment. He suggested I stay longer because he figured Derek would show up on another night. I did it for a few days but knew eventually I would have to go home. I returned home to more messages from Debra and several hang-ups, which I assumed were Derek. Eventually she caught up with me and I agreed to meet with her. She wanted to meet at a little restaurant a girlfriend had suggested. She told me Derek had just gone out of town, so she wouldn’t have to rush off.

I arrived early at the restaurant agreed upon. The maitre’D found me a little, out- of-the-way table in a corner, where beautifully trimmed shrubbery would shield us from prying eyes. I ordered a glass of white wine and waited for her arrival. Shortly there after I saw a woman in lilac navigating her way sensuously through seated diners towards me. She floated into my arms, the scent of jasmine accompanying her. I held her gently as she buried her face in the nape of my neck. I looked into her eyes for the first time in weeks. They were happy to see me, but I still detected a little sadness.

“It’s so good to see you and be in your arms,” she said.
“I missed you,” I found myself saying.
“I missed you, too. You were seldom out of my thoughts,” she said, looking up at me with those big, luminous eyes.
I stared down at her feline features, knowing that I truly meant what I said. I really did care for her. Our waiter arrived forcing us to pull apart to deal with him. I pulled out a chair for her to be seated as she ordered her drink.
“So what have you been up to?” she asked, avoiding why I hadn’t called.

“I’m consumed with a new project at work, which has meant doing a lot of research and taking work home with me. I am on a deadline, and my boss is on my ass to finish it before then, to impress the client and keep their business.”
“What have you been up too?”
“Oh, much of the same. Just been a little under the weather, fighting a nagging cold that won’t go away. My doctor says it’s just a virus that has to run its course."

The waiter returned with her drinks and to take our order for dinner. We both had questions about the food on the menu, having not been here before. Once we took care of that, I received a work-related call on my cell phone, so I had to excuse myself for a few minutes. When I looked up again at Debra, those large, almond eyes were somewhere, but not in this room. Her thoughts had taken her somewhere else. She seemed oblivious to my attentions. I reached over and gently touched her arm, rousing her from her daydream. She jumped and appeared embarrassed at her moment of lapse.

“Debra,” I said concerned. “Something is bothering you. What is it?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Debra, what is wrong?” I repeated in an indignant tone.
“It is not your concern Michael.”
“Is it Derek’s concern.”
“He doesn’t know?”
“Know what?”
She looked at me with a guilty expression on her face. She had almost let the cat out the bag. She was cornered, and she knew it. Her eyes fell towards twiddling with her embroidered cloth napkin. Her long, manicured nails trembled as she ran her fingers along the delicate needlework. I waited, giving her time to respond.
“Michael I have cervical cancer.”

A bitter chance - Part two

Two days later I couldn’t get the ordeal out of my mind. I looked about nervously whenever in public, expecting him to pop up with that gun. The blinds of my apartment remained drawn. I parked a block away and would only enter and exit through a rear door of my building. I brought lunch to work, something I never do.

My co-workers noticed my anxiety and secretly commented to themselves with false insinuations. I contemplated taking medication but then gave up that excuse and the one I would have to give my Doctor.

I was confident he did not know where I worked or lived, so him finding me through the phone book or otherwise was unlikely. Changing my phone number, was not an option due to recent submissions for jobs. It took about another week before I was finally able to release some of that anxiety. I no longer looked at the personals. I no longer desired sex with anyone. One night I was home at my computer doing some research for work when the phone rang. I picked it up, still focused on the paragraph I was reading.

“Michael. ” It was her. “Is this Michael?” she repeated.
I was speechless.
“Michael, this is Debra.” She paused, waiting for me to respond, and when I didn’t she continued. “I am calling to apologize for Derek’s behavior. I had no idea that he would become jealous of you. I have never seen him act that way before, nor was I aware that he owned a gun.” She waited again for me to respond. “Michael, please talk to me.” She whimpered.
“Why are you calling me?” I finally muttered.

“Because I wanted to apologize. Because I wanted you to know that not only am I sorry about my husband’s behavior, but he is too. He lost control. It does not take much to see that he is a proud man. You made love to me in a way that he never has, and he knew it. You were gentle and sweet and unselfish–something he isn’t. After all these years of marriage I thought I could change him, but I see now that will never happen.” She waited for a response.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.
She hesitated for a moment. “I want to make love to you again–alone this time. I have never felt the way you made me feel. I thought I was incapable of being truly aroused, but you changed that. Michael, I have not been able to stop thinking about you since—let me call you back.” She abruptly hung up the phone. I guess he had come into the room or something. Why would she take a chance calling me when he was around?

I did not hear from her that night or the following. Then, on the third night I had just turned in when the phone rang. I knew it was her. The smoky voice on the other end whispered hello.

“Michael, I can’t talk for long, but I must see you. Can you meet me in Piedmont Park tomorrow, maybe after work? I only want to talk, that’s all.”
“Just to talk, nothing else?” I asked suspiciously.
“Then you will show up?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s say around 6 p.m., at the gazebo on the lake.”
“That will be fine.”
“Thank you, see you then.” She hung up.

She sounded grateful, but everything she said was whispered. Once again she called when he was around. I considered the possibility of this being a set-up, but why meet in such a public place? She did say she wanted to sleep with me again. It took sometime before I fell asleep. It would be nice to see her, but part of me felt I was being drawn into something that was not good for me.

I arrived fifteen minutes late due to traffic. I wiped the sweat from my forehead as I approached the gazebo. I could see a lone, female figure with a large, straw hat on. Some children were feeding the ducks from the bridge. A white, gay couple strolled in front of me hand-in-hand. No black men were in immediate sight.

I crossed the bridge into the gazebo and softly called to her slender back. She turned around, removing her dark sunglasses. She looked like a young, college girl. Her eyes smiled and twinkled with excitement. She wore almost no make-up. A simple, white dress with a thick, blue belt at the waist reminded me of an old girlfriend from high school.

“I’m glad you came.” She smiled revealing dimples I had not noticed before.
“Yep, here I am.” As I looked around nervously.
“He’s not here, Michael.” Her look was direct and challenging. “I know the whole gun thing was frightening. It was to me, but I assure you I would not put you in that position again.”
“Did he hurt you?” She looked away into the distance somewhere above the trees, in the midst of the skyscrapers that surrounded the south part of the park.
“He slapped me.”
“Was that the only time?”
“Yes.”

I didn’t believe her. She continued to find refuge in the spot above the trees.
“Debra.” I waited for her to face me. She avoided my eyes, they rested on the knot in my tie. “Why are you with him?”
“He’s my husband.”
“But he mistreats you.”
“It was only one time, Michael.”
“That is all it takes before there is a second and third…”
“Please stop! You’re not hearing me. He only hit me once.”
“Okay, Debra, have it your way.”
“You don’t believe me?”

“What does it matter what I believe? I was just meant to be the plaything. It was probably his idea to include me.”
“I agreed to it. I wanted it.”
“Oh please! You did it to please him. I could tell your heart wasn’t in it.”
“It was! Even more so the moment you touched me.”
She reached over and loosened the knot in my poorly tied tie. She undid the button of my collar and stood back to look at the adjustment.
“I have never been with another man. You were so gentle I felt safe in your arms.”

She was serious. This woman really liked me. We stared at each other for a moment. Then, as if led by an invisible spirit I took her ‘cool’ hand and led her to a corner of the gazebo.
I held her face in my hands and looked down at her diminutive nose and huge eyes. Gently, I kissed her. Her nipples hardened against my chest. It was a kiss of reassurance, nothing sexual, and I think she understood that. It was meant to soothe whatever pain she was in.

Her melancholy reminded me of one of the heroines in a Jane Austen novel. The long suffering heroine who satisfied everyone’s needs but her own, only to die tragically at the end of a shotgun wound or some deadly disease. Yes, I think she was one of the saddest women I can remember meeting, but I believe she wasn’t always that way.

I held her close, as our attention focused on the ducks playing on the lake. We watched the mother lead her trail of ducklings away from us. We held this position for a long time, my chin buried in her soft hair, her back nestled within my chest and arms. What she needed was more than sex. Her needs were simple and easy to provide: Comfort, tenderness, intimacy and companionship was all she seemed to want. This woman craved love –a love her husband could no longer or never was able to provide.

We sat holding each other until the air began to chill and daylight began to slip away. Reluctantly, we walked hand-in-hand towards her car in the parking lot.

Later on that night, Debra seldom left my thoughts. I could still feel her lithe body in my arms, the light scent of her perfume on my clothing, the softness of her lips when we parted. Our encounter was brief because she had to meet him, but it was romantic, something sadly missing from both our lives.

I fell into a dream that I couldn’t remember except that it was tragic and we were both in it. The details of which remained fuzzy in my head and, in frustration, I gave up trying to remember.

She started sending me little, perfumed notes. Then, that turned into little gifts. I dared not return the favor due to him. This liaison had gotten out of hand. It was moving too fast. I needed to stop it because her feelings would get hurt, but I felt myself helpless to do so.

Late one night my doorbell rang while I was in the shower. I hastily patted myself dry and wrapped the towel around my waist and pulled on a tank top.

“Who is it?”
“Derek.” My body stiffened, how did he find where I lived?

A bitter chance - Part one

The girl at the counter smiled at me as she handed me my coffee and my change. This was my Saturday morning ritual at Starbucks. I found an empty chair towards the back of the room so I could see everyone that came in.

Currently, there was no one that caught my eye. It was the usual bunch of students, corporate professionals, and would-be artists. There was a tall, attractive-looking, near-sighted sister whose nose was too close to her book. She seemed to be having a wonderful time with herself and whatever she was reading judging by the coy yelps of delight that either embarrassed or aroused her.

I lazily began to leaf through a coffee-stained, local, free paper I had picked up near the counter. It was filled with advertisements and a lot of boring community issues that I did not care to read, so I went straight to the personals. I like to read these because they amuse me.

A list of desperate people looking for a mate, a one night stand or some other kind of deviant behavior. This week there seemed to be a lot of unusually perverted situations that ordinary people were seeking to spice up their lives; each one I read was stranger than the last. But one of them caught my eye, and also the eye of the person that had read this paper before me, because it was circled in red.

African American couple in their forties seeks a black male for long slow afternoons of mutually satisfying lovemaking and much more. Please be articulate, handsome, intelligent, in-shape and physically fit with lots of energy. This is not intended as a one night stand. The right candidate could benefit from this encounter long term.

Something about this particular ad appealed to me. It had class, and was not crass –like the others. On a whim, I decided to respond. I have never wanted to do this before. It was always entertainment for me, but maybe I needed to spice up my life with some freaky adventure. My sex life had become boring and predictable. There was never any emotional attachment. This seemed to offer that. It also could provide the fulfillment of an old fantasy of mine. If the couple did not attract me sexually, then it would go no further. They stated what their physical preferences were. Now, I needed to know if they met mine.

I made the necessary arrangements through the paper to have the couple contact me. A week went by and no one called. I had given up hope of ever hearing from them when the phone rang early one evening as I was heading out the door to the gym. A deep commanding voice asked to speak to me.

“This is him,” I responded in a hurried manner as I checked my watch. I had twenty minutes to make that aerobic class.
“Hello, how are you?” said the voice without identifying himself.
“I am fine.”
“I am sorry man, I forgot to introduce myself, my name is Derek. You responded to our ad in the paper. My wife is on the other line. Say hello honey.”
“Hi Michael, I’m Debra,” said a smoky female voice.

Now I’m thinking if they look as good as they sound, this is gonna be a real fun experience.
Derek continued, “We liked your response the best. A lot of the others were, well, just weird.”
“Yours had sincerity to it, which all the others lacked,” Debra said.
“Well I am glad to hear that. But I feel I must share something with you. This is the first time that I have responded to an ad of this kind and I am a little nervous about it. I almost regretted doing it.”
“We understand your concern, man. We have the same concerns, because this is also a first for us,” Derek said.
“May I ask a personal question?” I asked timidly.
“You may,” he said with caution in his voice.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Let me take this one honey,” Debra told her husband.

“Michael, we have been married for a very long time. We were high school sweethearts. We got married after we had completed college. Derek is the only man I have been with, and well…in recent years, sex has become…well, routine. There is no excitement anymore. Nothing to look forward to. I love my husband, and he loves me. It’s just in this area, our relationship is a little weak. We are hoping that you will be that spark we need to invigorate and create some sense of freshness to making love again.”

She waited for me to respond. I had listened intently, but somehow I wasn’t convinced how I could spark excitement in their sex life. My involvement would be temporary. What would happen when I am not around? She seemed to sense my hesitation and continued.

“I understand, of course, you know that there are no guarantees if this will even work. I mean, there has to be chemistry between the three of us.”
“We do know, Mike. May I call you Mike?” Derek asked.
“Yeah, man, you can call me that.”
“We suggest meeting at a hotel, having dinner at their restaurant, on us, and if all goes well, we can continue our date in a room.”
“Sounds like a plan.”

We agreed to exchange e-mail addresses, and they promised to contact me in a few days on the details regarding, at which hotel to meet them at. On my way to the gym I wondered whose idea it was to choose a man as the third party in our little ménage a trois –as opposed to a woman. I knew one thing: Most straight black men would choose a woman any day over a man to complete a threesome. So, it was clear to me that Derek was either gay or bi-sexual.

Two days later I received instructions as promised. We were to meet at the bar of the Marriot Hotel downtown. Derek listed what they would be wearing so I would recognize them. The date was for 3 p.m. the following Saturday afternoon. I emailed them to RSVP.

The following few days I was a nervous wreck. I worried about whether I was attractive enough. I stayed an hour more each day at the gym hoping that the extra time would create bulk and definition in places where I felt it was needed. They were both constantly on my mind, but it all kept coming back to my own insecurities about my body. I knew I had a good body. I was well proportioned, adequately endowed (some have said more than enough). I had a magic tongue, lots of energy and control of when I wanted to nutt. I knew I had to rid myself of these thoughts because usually my concern about my shortcomings were unwarranted.

Saturday afternoon came and I picked out what would be an appropriate outfit to wear to this late brunch: tan slacks with a light-brown, v-neck sweater that was snug, but not too tight. I arrived five minutes late at the hotel. The valet took my car, and I made my way to the bar off the main lobby.

The place was unusually crowded with business types. I wondered if there was a convention in town. My heart was beating fast, but on the outside, total, fake composure. At the bar there were several people, but no black couple. I walked to the end of the bar, looking around for Derek, who would be dressed in matching black shirt and slacks.
No black male that fit his description was in sight. I checked my watch again.

Jump!

A ubiquitous presence exists up here
everything falls down
gravity’s rules are evident
A pigeon idly saunters on a ledge below
at first oblivious of me, but when known, continues
to idle on
No threat am I to it up here

Bare feet; naked, dry between the toes
wiggle free of a peevish ant
I gaze beyond the rooftops to the offing
resting on a ship that fades to oblivion
A sudden breeze stirs, and billows my blue shirt
into a sail
Smiling, my parachute –I think

My mind is free of the snafus that limit it below
Now, serene. Is this what peace is like?
In the moment. No past. No future
Just me, the wind and the bird below

My cellphone startles me. Its incessant ringing frets me
I bristle at this stark interruption
I throw it in the air and watch it descend
and shatter without a sound

Why did he stop? When did he stop?
I refused him out. I replaced him with deep breaths
but this was futile. He returned

A fullness grips my insides
It grows heavy
breathing becomes a chore
my balance, unstable
my angst, enhanced
More ants patrol at my feet
Their stings spiteful
I was not welcomed up here…encouraged to leave
I dissolve to a blur

My blue shirt billows one more time
on its way to join the cellphone