…we decided to read a little to wind down. the owner of the house had left a few shelves of books, and we picked one and settled in. it was something about a native american woman and a white man. i remember lots of description about trees. i dozed off. finally. blissful sleep. i woke up when he turned the light off and put the book down, and i wasn’t even that fazed when he got under the covers to sleep in the bed next to me. i mean, we had been really comfortable around each other from jump, so…okay. also, haven’t i mentioned that he’s twenty-three? thin as post? from minnesota? what could a little twenty-three-year-old white boy from minnesota want with yours truly? nothing, i say! so i lay there with my back to him and set out to doze off again. one minute. two minutes. three minutes passed. i wasn’t anywhere near asleep when the hand landed on my back.
at first it just rested there, and i thought…well…o…kay. i guess.
but then it started to move. a sweaty-palmed sort of dragging about. in the darkness, my eyes were big as cake plates. i remained in disbelief, utterly dumbfounded, motionless, pretending to be asleep, wondering what was about to happen next and dubya tee eff i was going to do about it. well, what was going to happen next was that his hand was going to slide lower, to the small of my back, then lower still, to my…up i sat! whoa! clearly i couldn’t pretend to be asleep while this boy groped me in my entirety.
*sigh* to backtrack a little, i guess i should have been tipped off by a couple of things:
(1) during the course of the evening, there had been a conversation about the show “true blood” in which he told me that i reminded him of tara (the black girl character), to which i responded that i thought she was funny looking, to which he responded: “i think she’s sexy.” i was surprised at this and had a little inner eyebrow raise, but, in my defense, i honestly didn’t think anything of it. not with respect to myself, i mean. hell, i’m mumble years this boy’s senior! and i didn’t think he would be that forward either. i figured the remark was innocent or accidental or misspoken, and he was probably even embarrassed that i might take it the wrong way.
(2) all the books he had brought with him were either about race topics or written by black authors—black freedom movement this, black skin that, the black poets, black noise, and so on. james baldwin, frantz fanon, ernest gaines, amiri baraka. again, i guess this should have tipped me off, but hey—i’m not arrogant enough to think that just ’cuz he’s into black stuff means he’ll want to be into…you know, my…black…stuff. LOLz.
anyway…up i sat and commenced some real fast talking to thing one. the whole time, i’m thinking, “i just got here! this is my first freakin’ night!”
in order to get out of things gracefully, i wound up having to spill on my age. 😦 i had totally intended to keep that to myself so as to not to be pre-judged, but desperate situations call for desperate measures, so my secret was out. he was surprised but not really dissuaded, so i added that even if i were cool with the age difference, i wasn’t fixin’ to have sex with someone the very same night i met him. it’s new orleans that’s “the big easy”—not me!
so…that was my first night in new orleans. my first freakin’ night! one can’t help but wonder what lies ahead after a beginning like that, no?