Vanilla Creme & All Those Things

The delicious aroma of bacon filled my nostrils.  I could feel the morning sun shining through the curtains. 7:15 A.M. was the time that echoed from my phone before I turned it off.  I reached over to the opposite side of the bed and felt dampness where my remotes would normally reside.  I continued to look with my hands and noticed that the same wetness was all over.  As I sat up and regained my senses, I could smell remnants of yet another alcohol induced love affair.  The sheets reminded me that I was not alone as I could now detect sex in the atmosphere.  

 

I could feel the tightening of my stomach as if I did crunches all night.  The cushioned substructure felt uneasy as I rose to my feet.  I looked back and saw that a portion of the headboard was broken off!  After further observation, I could see that the foundation was leaning as if it had a flat!  No doubt my unknown lover and I went several rounds before passing out.  As I labored toward the shower of life, I could hear a sweet alto downstairs singing “Sweet Love”.  I lingered in the doorway as she finished her chorus.  No doubt my mystery guest was the reincarnation of Anita Baker.

 

The water beads began to prick my skin.  As I winced in pain, I now understood why Anita was singing and cooking. The nail marks along my back were long and deep.  I was left to imagine how exceptional last night was since I couldn’t remember anything!  The last thing I remembered was the band playing a song that sent me into an emotional tailspin.  The leader of the crew began pulling on my soul as he started his verse:

 

“I know for sure, that you’ll never change

Why I continue to love you?

The answer remains the same

Why do I, do I cry, when I know nothing will change?

But if I, keeping holding on, just maybe you’ll see that I . . . . ..

I do need you . . . . . . . ”

 

The young soul stirrer must’ve lost his woman too!  He sang the entire song with his eyes closed.  Despite every attempt he made, the crooner couldn’t hold back his tears.  As he continued to pour out his heart in the song, my mind was transported back to that fateful night.  After the serenade, after the proposal . . . . Lauren left me . . . . again!   Although she admitted that she could never replace me, she felt guilty at the same time for putting ol’ boy in the middle of our episode. She felt obligated to make things right with him first. She didn’t want to be the kind of woman she detested; sleeping with me but returning home to him.  She wanted to be righteous, telling him that they would need to start dating other people.  Even though this made absolutely no fucking sense to me, I consented . . . . .seeing that I humiliated homeboy in front of a packed house and all . . . .  

 

Several days after, I began texting her . . . .  declaring how much I wanted her.  I was ashamed for not vocalizing it in the past.  So at every available opportunity, I sent her emails.  I sent her flowers.  I sent morning videos proclaiming my love.  In return, she made empty promises of late night tryst . . . . . . only to end up apologizing the morning after for her absence.  In her chats, she made me believe that tomorrow was my day. Tomorrow was three months ago. . . . . . . .

 

I took a minute to get out of my conscious before I took my exit.  These morning confessions were getting easier but I still couldn’t shake it.  I was missing Lauren and I was doing any and every thing to erase the memories.  Speaking of which, there was still the unknown sista downstairs!  Even in my stupor, I managed to select a good woman who cooked and could sing!  I wondered if she sang last night while we made love?  Maybe I would be treated to an encore after breakfast.

 

As I entered the kitchen, I was surprised by the vision that was opening my refrigerator. The melodious chocolate beauty that I imagined in a thong and heels was replaced by an older, vanilla creme sunrise whose peach of an ass I admired through my Julio Jones jersey.    

 

“Oh it’s you!  You scared me!”

 

She steadied herself and beamed while she continued to fetch the orange juice. I studied her face.  Her smile and her figure reminded me of Rachel Hunter.  Even still, I couldn’t remember her name!

 

“Didn’t mean to scare you love.  I see you found something to wear . . . . .”

 

“I hope you don’t mind Eric.  We . . . . . . kinda made a mess everywhere last night.  I actually put the clothes in the wash so that I could be out of your hair after breakfast.  I still have a deadline to meet you know”

 

“Oh . . . . okay.  No worries.  What’s for breakfast?  Do I smell bacon?”

 

“Yes, with a side of eggs and blueberry coffee cake waffles.  Who says food critics can’t cook?”

 

Oh shit!  Now I remember! It was Morgan Carter, the critic for Food and Wine magazine! She had to be at least fifteen years my senior!  Oh lawd, what have I done this time?

 

She smiled as she motioned me to have a seat.  While I sipped on my coffee, I continued to wonder how did I end up with Ms. Carter?  From the length of the scratches, she wasn’t your average cougar!  One thing was certain,  I needed to dismiss my company.  It wouldn’t be long before the neighbors across the way began inquiring about the noise from last night.

 

“Wow, everything looks so beautiful.  Thank you Morgan”

 

“I’m glad you remembered my name”

 

“And why wouldn’t I?”

 

“Well, I know that I’m not exactly the type of woman that you would take to bed.  I know that you like those athletic, gymnastic build women.  I know that you like women that are a little closer to your age.  And did I mention that I was White?”

 

“Are you?  I didn’t notice . . . . ”

 

“Very funny.  But honestly, thank you for your company last night.  You definitely helped me scratch my itch! And don’t worry, I know what last night was.  You don’t have to worry about me stalking you or anything”

 

“ . . . . .Or rummaging through my closet eh?”

 

Morgan looked at her newly acquired attire and took sip of her juice.  

 

“Well . . . . .I needed something to wear!  I couldn’t go into work with protein stains on my blouse!”

 

“Yes . . . . .last night was something else.   I’m still trying to remember how we broke down the bed!”

 

Morgan breathed deeply as the numbers rose ever so slightly in my direction.

 

Eric, I really needed that tune up.  The men my age spend half the night trying to get it up and the younger guys spend their time trying to break my uterus!  But you . . . . . damn!  It’s like you were reading my mind.  How do you stay hard the entire time?  Man . . . . .”

 

“I couldn’t tell you beautiful.  My head is still swimming!”

 

“Well, I would think so.  You were trying to drink a whole bottle of Ciroc by yourself when I met you at the bar!”

 

“Yeah . . . . . . . .  was a busy night”

 

“Well I know you’re a busy man.  Being engaged and all . . . .”

 

I filled my mouth with pancakes trying to find the right words to say.  

 

“Don’t worry Eric.  This will be our little secret.  I’m sure that everyone in the bible belt has seen your proposal video.  It’s all over YouTube and Facebook!  Personally, I thought it was rather sweet.  A little thuggish, but sweet”

 

After a long pause, I felt compelled to tell my company the truth.

 

“Morgan, I need to confess something.  The lady in the video that I proposed to . . . . she went after the guy that left.  In fact, she’s still with him”

 

“Oh wow . . . . .”

 

“Yeah . . . . . .  I haven’t said anything about it because . . . . . well, it would make me look foolish.  I never wanted to be one of those guys that proposed in a large setting only to be rejected. . . .”

 

“I’m so sorry Eric.  Well if it makes you feel any better, there will be a raving review of your restaurant in next month’s magazine.  That should double your business if not triple”

 

“Thank you Morgan”

 

“No thank you Eric.   Even though I enjoyed your intimate after party, the food, service, and entertainment at your restaurant is the best I’ve had since I moved to Atlanta”

 

“Well thank you Morgan.  I’m appreciative for the review . . . and breakfast.  Damn you can cook woman!  If I need another cook, can I call you?”

 

“You can call me anytime sugar.  The question is, can I call you?”

 

The way that she said it made me nervous . . . and somewhat curious. . .

 

“Call me for . . . . . . ”

 

“Well, since you’ve confessed to me, I have a confession of my own.”

 

“And what is that?”

 

“I really enjoyed the sex last night.  I hate to say it but it was the best sex I ever had!  I know at least ten women who would love to have the same experience that I had”

 

“Wait a minute?  You want to share me with your friends?  Seriously?”

 

“Well . . . not exactly share.  I don’t do anything for free darling.  I was thinking that you could work for me at my other company”

 

“Other company?”

 

“Yes.  I guess you could say I’m a “talent scout” of sorts.  Would you be interested in being my new bull?”

 

Written by Michael Dock, Founder of the Wednesday Gentleman.

Like the fan page on Facebook @thewednesdaygent.  

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4 thoughts on “Vanilla Creme & All Those Things

  1. I agree with you Toni. Eric is dealing with his pain the wrong way. He actually lucked up because those drunk nights don’t normally end that well . . . . .

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