Twice this week, I told him that I needed a hug.
The first night, he said, “Well I’m off tonight. Where are you? I’ll come see you.”
And he did.
We hung out and sang bad karaoke. I made fun of his gas guzzling vehicle.
The second night I talked about how hectic my day was and how I needed a hug and would like to see him after class.
He said. “I’ll be done with work by the time you get out of class, but I can’t hang out for too long.”
We chatted over wings. He let me vent about my day and when I’d pause to say, “I’m sorry, one more thing and all ask you about you” he’d say, “No, that’s ok. That’s what we’re here for.”
Now, I don’t think I’m a selfish person who makes everything about me, but when I want things to be about me and I meet someone who will agree to that, I don’t know what to do. I wanted him to hug me all night. And I thanked him for taking the time to spend with me and just listen to me.
I wanted a hug. Maybe two, and the turnaround time was quick.
It didn’t turn into an exchange of, “You want this dick too?” Even though I’m sure he wouldn’t be opposed, but he stuck to the script. He remained a gentleman. I said what I wanted, he didn’t try to divert me from what I wanted to what he may have wanted in return. He simply said that he’d be there and give me what I needed.
When people keep asking me what I want in a man. My gut, visceral reaction has been to feel his unwavering support. For him to be someone I can count on. It stopped being money, or him being some intellectual superstar. Those men ended up being boring with no soul, or moody, uptight or not very good at sex or I wasn’t even attracted physically, but their resume looked “right.”
When we parted ways that most recent night, besides my hugs, I got some good conversation and an extended goodbye kiss that ended up with me being hoisted onto the hood of my car with more passionate kisses, complements and groans of not wanting to leave, but to stay in the moment.
Even when I started thinking in the midst of the kisses and said, “What is this?”
He answered, “Uh, passion. Stay in the moment.”
I had to laugh. And I did and I kissed him back and took the lead and kissed him more. I needed someone in my life to say, “Stay in the moment.”
I wasn’t even drunk, but it felt good and exciting. My glasses began to fog and I didn’t even need to see. I wrapped my legs around his waist and squeezed him tighter.
Down the rabbit hole we go.
Earlier before all of that excitement that seemed to come straight out of Zane’s Addicted, he disclosed to me very honestly, that he was broke and tired of being broke.
Red flag, yes, but honest.
As I contemplate all of the reasons (which are very valid) why I can’t see myself being in a long-term relationship with this person, I was mad.
I was mad that love couldn’t conquer all and that a person who is interested in me, listens to me, makes me laugh, excites me, gets my sense of humor and silliness, who will find a way to spend time with me when I ask, even if it’s inconvenient for him can’t magically be financially successful and without a very complicated past.
Ironically, he touched me in a way that seemed natural and familiar. I knew I was in trouble. Then I realized how the Fantasias of the world got turned out by dudes selling phones at T-Mobile and how super successful lawyer first Atlanta Housewife Phaedra Parks fell for (but now divorcing) an ex-con.
Let’s face it. Less successful, less educated men who may not have a pot to piss in can put it down. They cultivated a certain sexual skill set and the ability to be impressed by but don’t wish to compete with the women in their lives or pretend that they are the primary breadwinners because of ego.
The problem with the men who I thought would be the Will to my Jada is, these men either think we should compete with each other for intellectual and economic supremacy, or they think I’m just out to improve my status or live off of them.
Honestly, as I gain more education and move up careerwise, I have a similar fear of attaching myself to a man who makes far less than I do or doesn’t have the impressive background. But unlike men, I think women are way more flexible if a man can make them feel the way they want to feel. Women will endure more, accept more children and babies mothers, because after a long day of saving the world, putting out fires at your job, giving advice to your girlfriends, the lesser educated brother not having to give the same amount of brainpower or being under the same pressure, may have a little more time and energy and enthusiasm towards pleasing you than your educated, successful male counterpart.
So how do successful men and lesser successful (I’m fighting the urge to just say broke) men stack up?
As educated, successful women, we’re told not to let anyone take advantage of us, but does that prevent us from being able to accept and enjoy the kind of attention and consideration that less successful men can give us?
I’m struggling with this because at this point I’ve dated enough of these men who have no kids, no “baggage” living in monuments to their success, but don’t really desire a partner, but someone they can call in the middle of the night when they are bored. They don’t want to go out on dates and “spend money” they may be comparing you to more beautiful or more successful women they think they deserve.
Dealing with these kinds of thoughts further solidify to me, that lower-income love is much more flexible. Statistics show that more educated people delay marriage and are used to devoting most of their energies to acquiring more education or success, but as they are doing this during prime mating years, I think something else is getting lost in the sauce. We are harder on each other, we’re more judgmental and competitive. We try to align our resumes and accomplishments, meanwhile there’s no spark no fire. No tingle.
My head is elitist all the way. However, my heart can be a little hood and it hates pretense.
How do I reconcile the two? Is it even possible?
Back to the better lover thing… after the epic makeout groping session I had with old boy in the parking lot (who really had me contemplating getting it in outside under the stars despite the less than 50 degree weather) I knew I was in really big trouble.
I had a feeling this man knows how to put it down and would instinctively know how to do all of the things I like best, which would send me down a road I know I wouldn’t want to stay on for very long.
Lifers, what do I do? Your girl is in a jam here.