Even while on a dating hiatus, the pleasures of dating a black woman can be compared to a good fight. Two combatants enter the squared circle and end up going through a rigorous exercise in futility. But… what do you do when the fight goes full-blown WWE and someone throws a chair in the ring?
Once again I found myself in the jail cell known as Lotus, and I was accompanied by a young lady whom I met at a Nas event a few months ago. Her deep, dark, cherry-smooth skin complimented her Kerry Washington-esque soup coolers… and I was actually excited because she could dance.
Not much conversation can be had in the club and we decided to play hide-‘n-go-get-it in the club. She dipped out to hide amidst the crowd and I would be on the hunt. I finally stumbled upon her at the bar where she blessed me with two drinks.
“Do you want some ice?” she yelled over the crowd. I shook my head “no” and continued to eye-f*ck my date. She blushed and giggled as my eyes caressed her toned frame. Finally having decided to go upstairs, where there are less people and you could actually get a conversation heard, we chilled out as she downed amaretto sours like water and talked about everything from Obama to hybrid cars.
She was cool… a little too cool… but cool nonetheless. Drunk but not drunken, I noticed a lady eye-f*ckin’ my date, too! Impressed by the universality of it all, I whispered in her ear about the secret admirer. My ebony queen took one look across the way at this femme mean-muggin’ her and a slight frown came over her face.
The other lady began her sultry walk. She had one of those struts that made men stand still for a few minutes looking dumb up on the sidewalk. I thought to myself, “I’m about to be in a College Hill moment,” and prepped my mind for the fireworks to pop off.
Almost equally beautiful, the young lady opens up her mouth, tongue piercing helping to enunciate her words, to calmly say, “So… this is how you gon’ do me?!” Confused, I let the scenario play out. My date retorted, “Don’t be like this! We already said that it’d be like this!” This?! What’s “this“… I wondered?
Feeling like Rockmund Dunbar in The Family That Preys, it didn’t hit me until the tone took a turn for the worst and an insult was hurled in my direction. “You gonna do me wrong with a Redman look-a-like ma’f*cka?!” Ouch. Equally offended, my date yelled out, “Kick rocks, b*tch!” And like that… b*tch be gone.
Immediately homegirl tried to kiss and make up, but wanted to elaborate on what just happened. Seems as if they were dating around the same time she and I were, and came to an agreement about seeing other people, too. Somewhere along the lines, there was a communication gap and the result ended up being fine lesbian woman almost going coo-coo for cocoa choch – and I’d have been the only casualty.
“That’s why I can’t stand dating shy b*tches,” she said. Something we had in common – I thought. “Then why keep putting yourself out there like that?” I asked. She thought about it a little bit, and with an unhappy smile said, “That’s why I’m through dating black girls!”