The sweet taste of the amaretto tickled my palate and, as I savored the last bit of my first drink, ready for the second one, a Godly image distracted my attention from the waiting drink. Who is this massive man standing all of six feet, three inches tall with broad shoulders and creamy caramel skin like a steamy venté latte drink from Starbucks? Mr. Mandingo himself, he looked like he was one with the earth and Mother Nature had created this being for herself. Thick dreads like a lion’s mane, eyes black as the sands of the Caribbean, and lashes that reached at least a mile long. “Oh my Lord ...” was all I could say. He made his way around the club looking for a table, I suppose, and all eyes were on him. I lost sight of him for a moment, which was good. I didn’t want to be so obvious, but this man was fine as hell. What was I thinking? I have a man at home and ... well … damn, is that man fine. By now I am in complete awe, but I had to catch myself because I was actually scouring the club with piercing eyes trying to catch another glimpse of his perfection. All at once I heard this baritone voice rolling around in my head from behind.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken? May I join you?”
I was thrown for a moment and the voice didn’t really register. Then I heard it again. “May I join you or is this seat taken?”
I finally snapped out of my trance and replied, “Oh of course, sorry please do sit down.”
He motioned toward me with his hand extended and introduced himself as Kenya. I almost melted because he was all of Africa. He was Kenya, Liberia, the Sudan, the Congo, and every other country known to the continent all rolled up in one. His mother had done him justice.
I nervously replied, “Nice to make your acquaintance. I am Dezzeré.”
I knew at that very moment Kenya sitting at my table would be trouble … trouble … trouble! How could I actually entertain the thought of this man? Commit adultery? When is it classified as adultery really? “I’m just sharing a table,” I convinced myself. It sounds so shallow but I longed for the male attention, affection, instant gratification, and genuine intellectual conversation from a mature, real man. I figured if this man spoke and his conversation was as good as he looked, it was on and crackin’. As he brushed by me to take the empty seat at my table, fragrances of forbidden fruit dangled in my senses. The essence of passion fruit, sugar plums, mangos, and a hint of melon clouded my head. His linen pants seemed to dance an artistic rhythm on his legs as he walked. Kenya’s whole aura brought forth crystallized waterfalls, high-peaked mountaintops, and lush greens in the Everglades, with breaths of fresh exotic air. I tried to gain my composure, but then I noticed his biceps peeking out from under his short-sleeved shirt. This man hadn’t even spoken more than his name and I was completely captivated.
