You Da Man

I’m tall and dark. Women tell me I’m handsome.

I grew up in the ghetto, deep in the ghetto. I was smart and articulate. These traits became my passport to a better life.

At an early age, I was shipped out of my poverty-stricken neighborhood to some of the finest schools on the East Coast. I experienced how rich folks lived and I knew I wanted to be one of them. But no matter how many degrees I earned, board meetings I attended or golf tournaments I played in, the bottom line is I will always have one foot in the 'hood and the other on Madison Ave.

I have a serious girlfriend, but women are attracted to me. I am attracted to them too. I love my girlfriend enough, I guess. But I also love being in the arms of other women --- African-American women, Hispanic women and Asian women --- occasionally White women, but they are not my preference.

When it comes to women, age “ain’t nothin’ but a number;” I’m in my 30s, but I’ve been with women who have sons my age. I like tall women, short women and I love a woman with some junk in her trunk.

I’m addicted to women and they are addicted to me.

On a recent overseas business trip, I saw a stunningly beautiful, 50-something African-American woman in a museum in France. She looked at me and smiled. I smiled back. She was well put together: stylish jogging suit, hairdo just right and blinged out. She was alone and so was I --- a dangerous combination.

We never exchanged a word. She did her thing inside the museum and I did mine. I was attracted to her beauty, but could care less if I never saw her again.

Later that night, she was in my hotel lobby having a drink alone. I walked up to her and offered to buy her a drink. The first time she said no, but I was persistent. I had a feeling I could score, even though her wedding ring was blinding.

It was obvious she wasn’t alone. Another woman showed up. They laughed for a while and then I made my move. I sent drinks over to them. Once they waved to thank me, I made my move.

I invited the women to a nearby nightclub to dance. Inbetween dancing with them and talking, I found out they were from the United States and in France for a wedding, but their husbands were back on the West Coast. The stunningly beautiful woman was married to a white man and her friend was married to a brother.

They were ready to leave, but I convinced Ole Girl to stay at the club with me. Her friend made me give her my business card and room number, just in case. After her friend left, we danced to more slow songs than fast. She was open and so was I.

We went back to the hotel and drank coffee. I walked her to her room. I said good night and walked away. She said she’d like another drink, but we had already closed the lobby bar.

I suggested we go out the next night, but she invited me into her room to raid the mini-bar. She was nervous, but I put her at ease. I kept my hands to myself at all times and that turned her on more. She took off her shoes and complained that her feet ached. I rubbed them and then I said I had to leave to prepare for a meeting in the morning.

She walked me to the door. I handed her a $100 bill to cover the cost of the mini-bar, but she wouldn’t accept it. We shook hands and hugged. After the embrace, she kissed me and I kissed her back. One thing led to another and we ended up on her bed. She unzipped my pants and did her thing. I kept my hands to myself. She undressed herself and guided me in. I stopped her; had to check-in with my girlfriend back home to reassure her that I was miserable without her.

Never did prepare for my meeting that night. Instead, I stayed in the arms of the stunningly beautiful woman whose name escapes me. I knew I’d never see her again when I walked out of her room that morning. When I returned home, I handed my girlfriend a designer purse and a few other items I picked up in France for her and her mom. We were both happy!