I am that

Yellow street lights reflected on the silent cars. Our voices echoed off of the old stones of the deserted alley.  Something was odd, and I just couldn’t figure out what it was.
“Can you believe Google maps insisted this was the best place to park?” Samuel asked as he scanned the narrow street for his car. “Look, mine’s there. It has Sahara sand on it, from the rain this afternoon. ”
I stepped into the low sports car and abandoned my riddle. Who cared what was odd, or why. I was with a big black man, and I was determined to soak up and enjoy every minute God granted me.

The big black man. I wasn’t aware I had that fantasy. I knew I liked colored skin, mixed race. Whenever I had a lover he was usually brown, young,  with his height, income and strength matching mine, and most likely his testosterone level too. We were equals. And it took Samuel before I realized that I didn’t want an equal. I, Lauren, wanted to be overruled, dominated. Desired, tasted, consumed. I wanted to be broken and rebuild.
That night, these thoughts remained unconscious.
But I knew I wanted Samuel in every way a woman can want a man and for him to be the last man I ever had. When he left I desired his baby and that was when I knew I was in way over my head. And definitely way over Samuel’s head.

10 days after our one night we broke up
We have not spoken since.

I twisted and turned, counted pros and cons. Did I win because I wasn’t broken? Did I loose because it never got beyond one night? Could I go back to the way I was?  Would I still be able to love, when I wasn’t rescued? Able to give, when I wasn’t taken? Able to commit, when I wasn’t owned?

Five and a half weeks since that one night I still don’t know if the price I paid was worth it.

Samuel’s place has not been taken, nor do I have feelings for another man the way I had for him. But two men who have been in my online life for a while, have come closer. One sometimes calls. One lives nearby. One is married. One has a child. One has a religion that isn’t mine. And both are torn, intrigued, in doubt. Will they see me? Do they even want to? What is the best case scenario and what the worst? And it wasn’t until tonight that I realized why they have set dates and then cancelled. Why they are unable to  make up their minds. But now I know.

Because to them I am the older woman who understands them. Who listens, who flirts. I am where they feel mature but sexy. Strong but free. To one I am the embodiment of love, creativity and intimacy but to both I am lust. To these two mid20 men I am their big black man, a sexual fantasy in the flesh, that once there? – can not be controlled nor manipulated, but will simply have to have its course.

In retrospect I don’t blame myself for not giving them clear cut advice on what to do, because how could I? How far would I have been willing to go, if I had met Samuel when I was involved? Which vows would I have been willing to break? Which lies would I have told? Which Gods would I have forsaken?

In the case of the two taken men, who long for me, it is not my decision to make. It is not I, who has to draw up the list of pros and cons.

Tonight I had a drink with a friend. It was in the same bar where me and Samuel met, where we shared our first kiss, I crawled onto his lap, and the waiter joked about us fondling.
My friend finished her drink and I left. I headed for my bike, passing noisy terraces and avoiding the groups that prowled the main street. I felt men staring. Piercing eyes on my butt, my bag. I smelled booze and pot. I quickened my pace.

I squeezed my eyes and clenched my jaw. On edge, ready to defend myself.

Everything was normal.