A couple of weeks ago, I got a call from Jermaine. “I’m in your neighborhood, come down stairs in 5 minutes and let me up.” It was 2:34 in the morning. Normally, I never wake up for anything at that hour, but something told me to get up…
I met Jermaine in 2005 on a dating site. He was very forward, direct, and the first time we met, we had sex. It was never meant to be anything serious, and while the sex was the best we both had ever had, it was never consistent. We’ve had sex once a year over the last decade, each time more amazing than the last. With that, we’ve (meaning him) talked about, and maybe even entertained the idea of us, but I always come back to, “Well, we’ve never been on a date. I don’t know his mother’s name. Is he pro-Black? What’s his stance on [insert any social justice issue]?”
I don’t know, and sadly…and honestly……..I don’t care.
He came over, I showered. He showered. And we had sex. This time it was different. It wasn’t about the positions, or the length, or the amount of rounds we went. I couldn’t put my finger on it until about 8 o’clock when woke up for a final round. Jermaine represents a lot of who I used to be: apathetic, emotionless, and selfish. He came at a time in my life when I was young and thought I knew it all. He was always there as a release for me, a sexual and emotional trash can where I can put things and never have to deal with them, and for whatever reason…he always stayed. I don’t want to be that guy anymore.
When he left, I told him good-bye and I hugged him. He said, “This is for good, isn’t it?”