Hops was suspended from the team. He wasn't doing any work in a couple of classes, so I pulled the plug on him for five games. In the months leading up to Hops' suspension, I kept warning him that a major price would be paid if he didn't get his act together eventually. Instead of changing his tune, Hops decided to play a game of dare with me, figuring there was no way I'd suspend a starter. He was wrong.
It was a major blow to the team since Hops was our most versatile forward. At the time, he was second on the team in rebounding and our third leading scorer. His first game out we got destroyed inside by the defending regional champions. It was a close game throughout and we almost won, but their size was too much for us to overcome. I was tempted to play Hops knowing he had the size to neutralize one of their bigs, but the lesson would have been lost. I basically cut my nose to spite my face because we ended up losing that game by 8 points.
My players weren't happy with me. In their minds, I had robbed them of an opportunity to beat the defending champions. I wasn't happy with them either. The loss bothered me, but I was even more dismayed by their unwillingness to hold Hops accountable, or offer him help. They all knew Hops was failing classes and was in danger of being ineligible for the following semester, but nobody seemed to care.
During the first few months of every season I continually tell my players that they are their brother's keeper. I share stories with them about friends in high school who helped me apply for college. I talk about the friend who hid my box of cloves when he began to fear that I was developing a bad habit. Every group I coach hears the same stories, but few of them internalize the message. Instead, they adhere to "every man for himself." All the while, they refer to each other as friends and rally around my pregame messages of playing like a family.
After practice one night, I pulled one of my leaders aside to talk about an intervention for Hops without realizing he had already attempted to help his struggling "brother."
Me: What is up with you guys? I don't understand. You all roll like a little army everywhere on campus. Y'all chill off the court. Don't you care that he's failing classes?
Hershey: Of course I care. We need him to win. He's our only inside scorer.
Me: Okay then. Help me reach him. Your grades are good. Ask him to study with you.
Hershey: I do try to help. As a matter fact, he had this paper due for class and didn't know what to write about, so he asked me for help.Me: Did you help him?
Hershey: Yeh. I had just did the same paper and got a "A" so I gave him my paper and told him to just copy it.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Gang Banger
Shady was a suspected gang member. When I asked him about the rumors regarding his gang affiliation, he denied them vehemently. I didn't believe him. There was this dark look in his eyes that compelled me to feel differently. I wanted to give him a chance, but my soul wouldn't let me. At the end of our brief meeting, I made him an offer. I told Shady that I'd consider letting him play on the basketball team if his grades were to my liking after the Fall semester. Essentially, he had three months to prove himself in the classroom. I never saw him again after that meeting.
Ironically, I've met several students at the college who are/were reputed gang members. Those same characters tend to also participate in the local Police Athletic League (P.A.L), which offers a year-round basketball league for young men in the city. One would think that a guy who's thuggin it would avoid a league run by the police, but in the Bubble this sort of behavior makes total sense. In the Bubble it's rational to register for college courses on your own only to never attend class, or do any work. That has been the disturbing (and sad) part about working with this population. Everything they do is totally irrational and defies logic. Shady's story is a perfect example of this.
When Shady left my office that day, I took a look at his student profile and noticed that he chose Emergency Medical Technician as his major. I found that to be interesting since the program has a very intense introduction course that meets for four hours, once a week. (The average course here meets for no more than an hour and a half.) He had also been out of high school for a couple of years and barely graduated. Somebody in his situation would have been best served taking a gradual approach, but Shady was allowed to go full throttle. He also registered for an English and a math course for added measure. By the halfway mark of the Fall semester, Shady was failing everything. He didn't return for the Spring semester.
A couple of weeks ago, as I was waiting for a haircut at the barbershop, I decided to pick up a newspaper that was on the seat adjacent to mine. There was a story about Shady on the inside cover. In addition to being charged with selling crack to an undercover police officer, Shady was also facing time for murdering a twenty-year old during what police suspect was a gang dispute. I felt bad reading the story. It made me wonder what could have been had I given him a chance two years before.
Ironically, I've met several students at the college who are/were reputed gang members. Those same characters tend to also participate in the local Police Athletic League (P.A.L), which offers a year-round basketball league for young men in the city. One would think that a guy who's thuggin it would avoid a league run by the police, but in the Bubble this sort of behavior makes total sense. In the Bubble it's rational to register for college courses on your own only to never attend class, or do any work. That has been the disturbing (and sad) part about working with this population. Everything they do is totally irrational and defies logic. Shady's story is a perfect example of this.
When Shady left my office that day, I took a look at his student profile and noticed that he chose Emergency Medical Technician as his major. I found that to be interesting since the program has a very intense introduction course that meets for four hours, once a week. (The average course here meets for no more than an hour and a half.) He had also been out of high school for a couple of years and barely graduated. Somebody in his situation would have been best served taking a gradual approach, but Shady was allowed to go full throttle. He also registered for an English and a math course for added measure. By the halfway mark of the Fall semester, Shady was failing everything. He didn't return for the Spring semester.
A couple of weeks ago, as I was waiting for a haircut at the barbershop, I decided to pick up a newspaper that was on the seat adjacent to mine. There was a story about Shady on the inside cover. In addition to being charged with selling crack to an undercover police officer, Shady was also facing time for murdering a twenty-year old during what police suspect was a gang dispute. I felt bad reading the story. It made me wonder what could have been had I given him a chance two years before.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Desperate Measures
Speedy is going to drop out of college. Life has thrown, yet, another obstacle in Speedy's path and he has finally reached his peak. I felt bad as he relayed his latest challenge to me. He looked defeated. Hearing all of this was especially disappointing since I watched Speedy turn the corner academically, raising his GPA (grade point average) from a 1.6 in high school to a 2.5 at the college. He even has an offer on the table to attend a four-year college in the Fall. While dropping out isn't etched in stone, it seems likely that Speedy will have to work a ton of hours in order to support his family.
A couple of days ago I showed up to the athletic center expecting to work Speedy out. A few minutes before the scheduled workout, Speedy texted that something was going on with his mother and that he wouldn't be able to attend. Based on my past experiences with Speedy in our team practices, I thought it was bullshit. Let's just say Speedy hasn't been the hardest working player I've encountered here.
Like a majority of players I've coached, Speedy talks a great game about wanting to BE better but he has shown little desire to BECOME better. I've talked to him frequently about his awful work ethic over the course of two years, but it seems to go in one ear and out the other. As I gave it more thought, I finally concluded that Speedy probably didn't know how to work hard at anything because it had never been modeled for him.
I offered to help Speedy work on his game by personalizing a regimen that would help him elevate his game. Much to my delight (and suprise) Speedy showed up on time for five straight sessions and didn't complain once during the workouts as he did during practices. I was very pleased with his new approach to improving.
Unfortunately, Speedy had to pull the plug on the workouts because of some family drama.
Speedy: Coach, I can't do the workouts no more. As a matter fact, I might not even be able to do the school thing next year.
Me: Why not?
Speedy: Memba when I told you that something was going on wit my mom?
Me: Yeh.
Speedy: Well, she might be going to jail.
Me: For what?
Speedy: Bank fraud. It's a long story. She supposebly did something with her taxes that was shady so she's facing 20 years.
Me: Damn, man! Are you serious? 20 years?? I'm assuming this is a first offense. Can't they let her off with a slap on the wrist?
Speedy: Actually it ain't her first offense. She did two years for something similar when I was younger.
Me: I'm sorry to hear this, man. I don't even know what to say.
Speedy: I always figured something was off. She work at a convenience store yet she's always buyin me new kicks and all these other nice things. My mom's my heart. I don't know what Ima do if she has to do 20.
Me: Why do you have to drop out, though?
Speedy: They took all her money so we ain't got shit now. I gotta pay all the bills.
A couple of days ago I showed up to the athletic center expecting to work Speedy out. A few minutes before the scheduled workout, Speedy texted that something was going on with his mother and that he wouldn't be able to attend. Based on my past experiences with Speedy in our team practices, I thought it was bullshit. Let's just say Speedy hasn't been the hardest working player I've encountered here.
Like a majority of players I've coached, Speedy talks a great game about wanting to BE better but he has shown little desire to BECOME better. I've talked to him frequently about his awful work ethic over the course of two years, but it seems to go in one ear and out the other. As I gave it more thought, I finally concluded that Speedy probably didn't know how to work hard at anything because it had never been modeled for him.
I offered to help Speedy work on his game by personalizing a regimen that would help him elevate his game. Much to my delight (and suprise) Speedy showed up on time for five straight sessions and didn't complain once during the workouts as he did during practices. I was very pleased with his new approach to improving.
Unfortunately, Speedy had to pull the plug on the workouts because of some family drama.
Speedy: Coach, I can't do the workouts no more. As a matter fact, I might not even be able to do the school thing next year.
Me: Why not?
Speedy: Memba when I told you that something was going on wit my mom?
Me: Yeh.
Speedy: Well, she might be going to jail.
Me: For what?
Speedy: Bank fraud. It's a long story. She supposebly did something with her taxes that was shady so she's facing 20 years.
Me: Damn, man! Are you serious? 20 years?? I'm assuming this is a first offense. Can't they let her off with a slap on the wrist?
Speedy: Actually it ain't her first offense. She did two years for something similar when I was younger.
Me: I'm sorry to hear this, man. I don't even know what to say.
Speedy: I always figured something was off. She work at a convenience store yet she's always buyin me new kicks and all these other nice things. My mom's my heart. I don't know what Ima do if she has to do 20.
Me: Why do you have to drop out, though?
Speedy: They took all her money so we ain't got shit now. I gotta pay all the bills.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Blue Balls, Part 3
I was clueless about the booty call. The whole time I was playing the role of Boy Scout as I sat an entire cushion away from Lala on the sofa during our movie viewing. I expected her to leave right after the flick ended, but that wasn't the case. She wanted to hang out in my room to have some drinks. Even then, I was still in a fog about what was really going on.
As we entered my room, I grabbed the bottle of Pinot Grigio that was under my bed. Meanwhile, Lala turned on my cd player. As I looked around for a cork screw, Lala dropped a bomb on me. She asked me to show her how to dance. At that point, I came to my senses. She didn't need to drop another hint. I just needed to figure out how to open that damn bottle of wine without a cork screw.
During my college days, I was far from naive. I never had a problem sealing the deal either. In this case, however, I was thrown for a loop. Lala's interest came out of left field. She had never given any indication of being interested in me. All along she gave the impression of solely being into one of my friends.
Realizing the opportunity that awaited me, I searched my kitchen frantically for a cork screw. There was none to be found and it was too late to venture out for one. I came upon a pen as I surveyed the kitchen. A short while later, after stabbing at the cork like my life depended on it, I popped the bottle open. We were ready for lift off.
Lala and I polished off the bottle of wine as we danced in my room. We took turns putting back swigs of the chardonnay until there was none left. Gradually, our bodies became intertwined. With each song that passed, we grinded harder on each other until our lips finally connected. As the kissing intensified, we undressed each other. I unhooked her bra as I guided her swift backpedal to my bed. It was like a scene straight from a movie. Her breasts were beautiful. Lala was on fire. Suddenly, Lala pulled away and begged me to stop. She didn't want to cheat on her boyfriend.
As we entered my room, I grabbed the bottle of Pinot Grigio that was under my bed. Meanwhile, Lala turned on my cd player. As I looked around for a cork screw, Lala dropped a bomb on me. She asked me to show her how to dance. At that point, I came to my senses. She didn't need to drop another hint. I just needed to figure out how to open that damn bottle of wine without a cork screw.
During my college days, I was far from naive. I never had a problem sealing the deal either. In this case, however, I was thrown for a loop. Lala's interest came out of left field. She had never given any indication of being interested in me. All along she gave the impression of solely being into one of my friends.
Realizing the opportunity that awaited me, I searched my kitchen frantically for a cork screw. There was none to be found and it was too late to venture out for one. I came upon a pen as I surveyed the kitchen. A short while later, after stabbing at the cork like my life depended on it, I popped the bottle open. We were ready for lift off.
Lala and I polished off the bottle of wine as we danced in my room. We took turns putting back swigs of the chardonnay until there was none left. Gradually, our bodies became intertwined. With each song that passed, we grinded harder on each other until our lips finally connected. As the kissing intensified, we undressed each other. I unhooked her bra as I guided her swift backpedal to my bed. It was like a scene straight from a movie. Her breasts were beautiful. Lala was on fire. Suddenly, Lala pulled away and begged me to stop. She didn't want to cheat on her boyfriend.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Blue Balls, Part 2
(Continuation of "Blue Balls, Part 1")
I didn't expect anything sexual to go down with Lala. After all, a good friend of mine was determined to get in her pants before anybody else on campus. I was happy to leave all of that to him. As sexy and pretty as she was, I had my eyes on something much bigger--graduation. Finishing my degree on time was of great importance since my dad was holding on to life by a thread with the hope that he'd get to see me graduate.
I don't remember the month or exact day of my encounter with Lala, but the sequence of events is still clear as day in my mind. It was likely a Thursday evening because that's the only night I would've entertained a late night guest at my spot during the week. Lala called to ask if we could watch a movie at my place because she was bored in her dorm room. Since I wasn't doing anything, I invited her over.
In college, "let's watch a movie" was code for let's get naked and see where it goes from there. Despite that, I didn't think anything of Lala asking me to watch a movie after 9 p.m. She never gave off the vibe of being interested in me, so I took her at face value. After all, there were more than a couple of instances where I just watched a movie with girls in college, but that was usually in a group setting.
Once Lala came over, we proceeded to the living room and watched the entire movie (sitting on the same sofa) without incident. She never put her head on my shoulder, nor did I attempt to prop a hand on her lap. There was no reason for me to think something was about to go down. After the movie was over, I assumed Lala would call the campus escort service to go home since it was so late. Instead, she asked if I had any brew. My stash was low, but it turned out that I had an unopened bottle of Pinot Grigio, so we proceeded up to my room for some drinks...
(To be continued)
I didn't expect anything sexual to go down with Lala. After all, a good friend of mine was determined to get in her pants before anybody else on campus. I was happy to leave all of that to him. As sexy and pretty as she was, I had my eyes on something much bigger--graduation. Finishing my degree on time was of great importance since my dad was holding on to life by a thread with the hope that he'd get to see me graduate.
I don't remember the month or exact day of my encounter with Lala, but the sequence of events is still clear as day in my mind. It was likely a Thursday evening because that's the only night I would've entertained a late night guest at my spot during the week. Lala called to ask if we could watch a movie at my place because she was bored in her dorm room. Since I wasn't doing anything, I invited her over.
In college, "let's watch a movie" was code for let's get naked and see where it goes from there. Despite that, I didn't think anything of Lala asking me to watch a movie after 9 p.m. She never gave off the vibe of being interested in me, so I took her at face value. After all, there were more than a couple of instances where I just watched a movie with girls in college, but that was usually in a group setting.
Once Lala came over, we proceeded to the living room and watched the entire movie (sitting on the same sofa) without incident. She never put her head on my shoulder, nor did I attempt to prop a hand on her lap. There was no reason for me to think something was about to go down. After the movie was over, I assumed Lala would call the campus escort service to go home since it was so late. Instead, she asked if I had any brew. My stash was low, but it turned out that I had an unopened bottle of Pinot Grigio, so we proceeded up to my room for some drinks...
(To be continued)
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Blue Balls, Part 1
Caramel wasn't the first girl to play the teasing game with me. I actually had a far worse encounter a few years before that. Lala was the star of her freshman class when I was an upperclassmen. Every class has its share of good looking women, but there's always one who takes the prize. There was no debating whether or not Lala was the head of her class. The question became who would be the first to spend some quality time with the lovely redbone.
Lala was very pretty, but that's not what separated her from the others. Homegirl had a diaper booty. She was relatively thin, yet thick--meaning, she was plump in all the right places. Lala also liked to wear these skimpy shorts around campus. While the guys were all scheming on how to finesse her, I took a backseat to the hoopla. I didn't feel like investing any energy into hooking up with a first-year student even though doing so would have been well worth my time. Instead, I delighted myself in scoping her out whenever we crossed paths--which was often on the small, urban campus.
It wasn't long before I got to know Lala a little bit. Given the size of our campus, it was easy for an outgoing person like myself to connect with people. During Lala's freshman year, among many other leadership positions I held on campus, I was an Executive Board member of the Black Student Union (BSU). One of my tasks was to recruit new members to the group so I invited Lala and her cohort of friends to join the BSU.
By the mid-semester break, we were hanging out regularly on the weekends. In addition to buying her alcohol, I often gave Lala rides to parties and functions off campus. One of my boys was going hard at her, and she seemed to be interested in him, so I never gave any thought to pursuing that situation...until she paid me a visit at my apartment off-campus one night.
(To be continued...)
Lala was very pretty, but that's not what separated her from the others. Homegirl had a diaper booty. She was relatively thin, yet thick--meaning, she was plump in all the right places. Lala also liked to wear these skimpy shorts around campus. While the guys were all scheming on how to finesse her, I took a backseat to the hoopla. I didn't feel like investing any energy into hooking up with a first-year student even though doing so would have been well worth my time. Instead, I delighted myself in scoping her out whenever we crossed paths--which was often on the small, urban campus.
It wasn't long before I got to know Lala a little bit. Given the size of our campus, it was easy for an outgoing person like myself to connect with people. During Lala's freshman year, among many other leadership positions I held on campus, I was an Executive Board member of the Black Student Union (BSU). One of my tasks was to recruit new members to the group so I invited Lala and her cohort of friends to join the BSU.
By the mid-semester break, we were hanging out regularly on the weekends. In addition to buying her alcohol, I often gave Lala rides to parties and functions off campus. One of my boys was going hard at her, and she seemed to be interested in him, so I never gave any thought to pursuing that situation...until she paid me a visit at my apartment off-campus one night.
(To be continued...)
Friday, April 6, 2012
Repeat Offender
(Continuation of "Rape Kit" and "Sensual Seduction")
I was angry. The whole evening was one big game to Caramel, and I didn't appreciate it. I concluded that her goal the entire time was to get me hot and bothered then walk away. Even though I didn't believe Caramel was drunk (since she had driven to my place just fine), I had no intention of pushing any boundaries. Sensing that I was pissed off, Caramel went on her merry way. Meanwhile, her friend and my boy were having a blast in the bedroom adjacent to mine.
I hit the cancel button after that night. She called me a couple of times, but I didn't take her calls. I was upset with myself for giving her the impression that I'd play the chasing game. Actually, that situation deterred me from putting myself out there again in future years. I resolved that I'd only eat a meal if it were placed squarely in front of me.
A few years after that ridiculous encounter, I bumped into Caramel at a barbershop. She was with some guy. Oddly, Caramel seemed really happy to see me. She gave me a really big hug then we exchanged pleasantries. Although I had no problem talking to her, the situation was somewhat awkward because her guy was in the background looking on. He seemed uncomfortable and she didn't introduce him to me.
As Caramel turned to leave, it seemed like the entire shop followed her ass out the door. She looked mighty fine in her tight blue denim jeans. Just as Caramel walked out of the shop, my barber summoned me to his chair.
Barber: So you know that girl?
Me: Yeh. I know her from way back.
Barber: Oh aiight. My boy been seein her. That girl is a fuckin tease, man.
Me: (laughing) How do you know that?
Barber: She climbed into bed wit my boy wearing a thong and told him not to touch her!
Me: Are you for real? That's some shit!
Barber: Yeh bro. I told him he should've raped her!
I was angry. The whole evening was one big game to Caramel, and I didn't appreciate it. I concluded that her goal the entire time was to get me hot and bothered then walk away. Even though I didn't believe Caramel was drunk (since she had driven to my place just fine), I had no intention of pushing any boundaries. Sensing that I was pissed off, Caramel went on her merry way. Meanwhile, her friend and my boy were having a blast in the bedroom adjacent to mine.
I hit the cancel button after that night. She called me a couple of times, but I didn't take her calls. I was upset with myself for giving her the impression that I'd play the chasing game. Actually, that situation deterred me from putting myself out there again in future years. I resolved that I'd only eat a meal if it were placed squarely in front of me.
A few years after that ridiculous encounter, I bumped into Caramel at a barbershop. She was with some guy. Oddly, Caramel seemed really happy to see me. She gave me a really big hug then we exchanged pleasantries. Although I had no problem talking to her, the situation was somewhat awkward because her guy was in the background looking on. He seemed uncomfortable and she didn't introduce him to me.
As Caramel turned to leave, it seemed like the entire shop followed her ass out the door. She looked mighty fine in her tight blue denim jeans. Just as Caramel walked out of the shop, my barber summoned me to his chair.
Barber: So you know that girl?
Me: Yeh. I know her from way back.
Barber: Oh aiight. My boy been seein her. That girl is a fuckin tease, man.
Me: (laughing) How do you know that?
Barber: She climbed into bed wit my boy wearing a thong and told him not to touch her!
Me: Are you for real? That's some shit!
Barber: Yeh bro. I told him he should've raped her!
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Sensual Seduction
(Continuation of Previous Story, "Rape Kit")
I couldn't wait to see Caramel naked. The club was a mere five minutes away from my apartment, so I didn't have to worry about a long car ride disturbing the sexual tension between us. We jumped into Caramel's sleek four door, black Mazda sedan as a quartet (my boy and her bff were in the back seat) and sped towards my spot. I was geared up for an unforgetable night.
Just as we approached my street, Caramel's friend decided she wanted to get some Wendy's. I was annoyed. I didn't want to seem too thirsty so I played it cool. When we got to Wendy's, there was a long row of cars crawling through the drive thru. While my friend was copping feels in the back seat, I was stuck in the front with Caramel who decided that she wanted to blast her music and sing for everybody in the lot to hear her. Mindful of the possibilities that lied ahead, I started singing along too--even louder. She thought it was hilarious.
Fifteen minutes later (maybe longer), we finally got her friend's value meal. I did my part to keep the mood light the entire time. As Caramel drove, I continued to sing as she laughed at my antics. Finally, we arrived at my pad. It was game time.
We all sat in my living room as Caramel's BFF inhaled her much needed late night snack. I hit play on my "Joe" cd that was conveniently waiting in my cd player. Shortly thereafter, BFF disappeared into a bedroom with my boy leaving Caramel and I alone. She stood up and started dancing. I got up too. Every time I tried to get close, she backed off and did her own little routine. Finally, I pulled her in close to me so we could get that energy back that was raging in the club.
Eventually, I tried to kiss Caramel but she gave me her cheek. I laughed nervously. She then returned the favor and nibbled on my ear for a bit. I tried again to kiss her only to have her back off completely. All the while she was doing a little seductive dance and giving me the eye. At that point, I cut to the chase.
Me: We should just go in my room.
Caramel: I wanna keep dancing. Don't you wanna dance with me?
Me: Yeh, but we could dance in there. (pointing to my room)
Caramel: I'm more comfortable out here, and plus I'm a little drunk.
Me: (RED FLAG!!) So, what are you trying to say?
Caramel: (giggle) Just that I'm a little drunk. You wouldn't try to take advantage of me, would you??
..To be continued
I couldn't wait to see Caramel naked. The club was a mere five minutes away from my apartment, so I didn't have to worry about a long car ride disturbing the sexual tension between us. We jumped into Caramel's sleek four door, black Mazda sedan as a quartet (my boy and her bff were in the back seat) and sped towards my spot. I was geared up for an unforgetable night.
Just as we approached my street, Caramel's friend decided she wanted to get some Wendy's. I was annoyed. I didn't want to seem too thirsty so I played it cool. When we got to Wendy's, there was a long row of cars crawling through the drive thru. While my friend was copping feels in the back seat, I was stuck in the front with Caramel who decided that she wanted to blast her music and sing for everybody in the lot to hear her. Mindful of the possibilities that lied ahead, I started singing along too--even louder. She thought it was hilarious.
Fifteen minutes later (maybe longer), we finally got her friend's value meal. I did my part to keep the mood light the entire time. As Caramel drove, I continued to sing as she laughed at my antics. Finally, we arrived at my pad. It was game time.
We all sat in my living room as Caramel's BFF inhaled her much needed late night snack. I hit play on my "Joe" cd that was conveniently waiting in my cd player. Shortly thereafter, BFF disappeared into a bedroom with my boy leaving Caramel and I alone. She stood up and started dancing. I got up too. Every time I tried to get close, she backed off and did her own little routine. Finally, I pulled her in close to me so we could get that energy back that was raging in the club.
Eventually, I tried to kiss Caramel but she gave me her cheek. I laughed nervously. She then returned the favor and nibbled on my ear for a bit. I tried again to kiss her only to have her back off completely. All the while she was doing a little seductive dance and giving me the eye. At that point, I cut to the chase.
Me: We should just go in my room.
Caramel: I wanna keep dancing. Don't you wanna dance with me?
Me: Yeh, but we could dance in there. (pointing to my room)
Caramel: I'm more comfortable out here, and plus I'm a little drunk.
Me: (RED FLAG!!) So, what are you trying to say?
Caramel: (giggle) Just that I'm a little drunk. You wouldn't try to take advantage of me, would you??
..To be continued
Monday, April 2, 2012
Rape Kit
Caramel was a major league tease. Even though I wasn't her type, she often sought my attention in different ways. After Caramel told me that she preferred wounded men who were white (re:Wounded Bird), I pieced myself together and moved on. It was the first time I had been outright rejected, and I had a hard time dealing with it. In the span of a month, I had allowed myself to develop some intense feelings for Caramel even though I barely knew her.
Looking back, my fascination with Caramel was based on how good she looked. She had a nice caramel complexion, slanted eyes, and full lips. Her body was extremely well proportioned. It looked as if somebody had chiseled her frame. By my standards, everything was just right from head to toe--especially her ass. Knowing how plump her assets were, Caramel intentionally wore low cut jeans that revealed the lining of her thong. Her fitted tees conveniently stopped just short of covering the lower part of her stomach, and that all too tempting lining of her thong. My imagination ran wild in her company.
The teasing began when I stopped calling her. She invited me to go out dancing on a random weeknight because she was bored. I accepted the invitation with the mindset that nothing would go down. After all, I wasn't white and I had a stable job. Not only did Caramel wear a one-piece, fitted body suit to the club, she insisted on grinding her backside on my midsection the whole night. It's not like I was a novice with the whole dancing thing. I knew that most of the time a dance was just that--a dance. Caramel, however, was crossing all sorts of lines.
At one point, Caramel faced me so she could slip her hands under my shirt to rub my back. We were face to face and I could feel her heart beating. I tried to kept it cool. Finally, she whispered that I was making her hot. I decided that our night in the spot was over. She had just won a ticket to my apartment. I was ready to go. My boy, who was doing his own thing with her friend on the dancefloor, got the signal from me that we needed to leave ASAP. We all headed to my apartment for a night that I hoped would be unforgetable.
...To be continued
Looking back, my fascination with Caramel was based on how good she looked. She had a nice caramel complexion, slanted eyes, and full lips. Her body was extremely well proportioned. It looked as if somebody had chiseled her frame. By my standards, everything was just right from head to toe--especially her ass. Knowing how plump her assets were, Caramel intentionally wore low cut jeans that revealed the lining of her thong. Her fitted tees conveniently stopped just short of covering the lower part of her stomach, and that all too tempting lining of her thong. My imagination ran wild in her company.
The teasing began when I stopped calling her. She invited me to go out dancing on a random weeknight because she was bored. I accepted the invitation with the mindset that nothing would go down. After all, I wasn't white and I had a stable job. Not only did Caramel wear a one-piece, fitted body suit to the club, she insisted on grinding her backside on my midsection the whole night. It's not like I was a novice with the whole dancing thing. I knew that most of the time a dance was just that--a dance. Caramel, however, was crossing all sorts of lines.
At one point, Caramel faced me so she could slip her hands under my shirt to rub my back. We were face to face and I could feel her heart beating. I tried to kept it cool. Finally, she whispered that I was making her hot. I decided that our night in the spot was over. She had just won a ticket to my apartment. I was ready to go. My boy, who was doing his own thing with her friend on the dancefloor, got the signal from me that we needed to leave ASAP. We all headed to my apartment for a night that I hoped would be unforgetable.
...To be continued
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