Stories: “Welp, That’s It.”

A few years back, I met this guy from Memphis who I later became somewhat attracted to. We met at a club and he had zero chance with me if for no other reason than he was wearing shades in the dark ass club, and he had a grill in. We danced a little, he failed at his attempt to get my number, and then I went on about my business. The next night, I saw him again at a different club, but didn’t recognize him as the guy with the shades from the night before.I spoke to him, and said something stupid along the lines of, “Hey, I know you!” Well I couldn’t blow the guy off at this point, because I was the idiot who initiated the conversation. We talked for a little while and eventually exchanged numbers. I told him that I wasn’t interested in dating (sleeping with) him, but he insisted that we remain “friends.” Normally in this situation, I’d politely inform the guy that I don’t want to be his friend and/or don’t need those kind of “friends.” This time, I decided that I was going to prove that I meant what I said and this was not going to turn into one of those situations where my mind could be changed. So we became friends.

We hung out, we went on a date, I slept over his house pretty often, and he had a great time. We laughed, talked shit, watched basketball, and shared a few kisses. He’s the one hat introduced me to “Blue Top” long before Jamie Foxx was singing about it in auto tune. Needless to say, this fella tried to get in my pants time and time again. I mean how could I have the audacity to come over, watch a movie, get drunk, sleep in his bed, and then leave the next morning untouched?! This went on for about 7 months before he finally gave up. As I said, I actually grew to like him. Nothing heavy, but I was attracted to his southern charm and humor.

At the time that I met the Southern gent, I was seeing someone else. By no means was this anything serious, more of a situation of “convenience.” However, I was intimate with the guy, and didn’t want to be the big slutbag sleeping with more than one guy at a time. This friend that I was already dealing with and intimate with ended up passing away in a motorcycle accident. Again, he and I weren’t serious, but we had been friends for about 9 months at that point, so I was naturally upset and didn’t want to jump right into the next situation. After I had time to mourn and made peace with the death of my friend, I decided that I was ready to be open to welcoming someone else into my life in the capacity that he fulfilled.

Who else to make the next step with but my Memphis beaux? So, after about 9 months of sex-less visits, I told him I was coming over, but didn’t share that I had the intent to initiate a physical encounter. I went over and we did our normal routine. We drank Blue Top, watched basketball, watched the basketball highlights, watched a movie, kissed and then got ready to turn in for the night. Only this time, the kissing didn’t stop. This was it. “It” was going to happen. When he got up to do what guys do when they get  up right before, I grabbed my phone to put it on vibrate, and grabbed the remote to turn up the volume on the TV (I can get a little out of hand sometimes 😉 ). When he came back, I welcomed him into my embrace, and it happened.

After about 45 seconds, he paused, probably to readjust, and then said to me, “Welp, that’s it.”

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Wait,……….. what? “It like, that’s it, it?” He said a simple, “Yup”, and went to the bathroom. I let out a thunderous chuckle to myself, then went to grab my phone. Somebody HAD to know about this RIGHT DAMN NOW! Then I thought that I’m not going to be that one, and sometimes this stuff just happens. Understandable. He probably just needed to get that first one out of the way and then will come with it the second time around. Fine by me. He got back into bed, and after about 15 minutes, we started to kiss again. I was certain that this next one would give me something to talk about. Did it ever. Or did the lack of it ever. There was no second time. He was soon sleeping like a newborn fresh on the other side.

I watched the rest of Good Times.

I debated with myself over and over again whether or not I should wake him up and tell him what was really on my mind. I had so many questions, but most importantly, I wanted him to give me some gas money for driving 30 minutes for 30 seconds of disappointing nothingness. After all, I was still in school and gas ain’t cheap! I just felt like I was entitled to some kind of compensation for wasting my time and allowing him to add an undeserved notch to my belt, a belt that I didn’t want to have all notched up. But again, Im not that one. So I went home. As soon as I was out of sight, I called home to my boy Diondre. “Dre, what do I do about this?!” I honestly thought that this only happened in the movies. I never could’ve imagined that in the world of short and bad sex, that this would even exist. Dre told me that I could NEVER bring this up again. EVER. Not if I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and wanted to remain friends with him. And it was true, I knew this was humiliating enough without me forcing him to relive his moment of shame. So, I never brought it up. To him. I never mentioned it until he said something a few days later about being tired and I shouldn’t have waited so long to give it up in the first place, and blah blah blah bullshit. Needless to say, our sexual relationship didn’t last.

Although I granted him anonymity, I had to tell at least a couple of people. The situation was just too outlandish for me to laugh alone. The next person I told was my boy Ray-Ray who appropriately named my Minute-Man, Uno. He advised me to next time tell Uno to draw 4 and keep the game going.

Uno and I are still really good friends.

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  1. July 13th, 2010
    Trackback from : Your Garden

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