Charisma
“FAIRY, WHAT THE hell are you doing working in a place like this?”
His words shocked me deeply because I didn’t think he would ask me something like that. And who the fuck was fairy? Was I Fairy?
I didn’t want to ask because this situation was too fresh in my brain and I wasn’t in the mood to stay here any longer than I had to. The second that weird ass man started dragging me toward an exit I’d quit in my brain.
I waved my hand around the room and he followed the direction before putting his eyes back on me. “A place like this? What do you mean? It’s a bar. It’s not like I’m sliding on a pole at the Pank.”
He grinned at my jest but I was still trying to understand what it was he wanted. He’d done his good deed and I needed to find someone to let them know they could keep this damn job.
“Definitely not that but it’s a damn shame you got me thinking on it now.”
I rolled my eyes and wondered why I wasn’t swinging on him with the bottle that I’d kept for my would be kidnapper. “Such a man.”
He dipped his head with his hat brim like I’d given him a compliment. “All man, but still a good one to know that I ain’t on bullshit. I’m just saying, you don’t give off bar girl type.”
“Bar girl type? We fitting people into molds now? Without knowing them?”
“You have an artsy kinda vibe. Using a crystal as a dildo to elevate your orgasms or some shit.”
My jaw was damn near on my chest because he didn’t bat an eye about saying what he did.
“Why…why would you say that? Is it just your roundabout way to say I’m unfuckable so I’d have to use a crystal to get off?”
I don’t think I’d ever been so insulted in my life. Not about the artsy part, ‘cause he wasn’t wrong. It was the last part that irritated something in my soul and made my grip on that bottle tighter.
Can you hit a man over the head for being rude in a bar?
His eyes looked me over again with that gleam that wasn’t predatory like the guy he had thrown out of here. It felt more like a subtle appreciation for what he saw and I liked it.
“Definitely not that. You seem real in tune with the stars and shit. Like a regular silicon dick just wouldn’t cut it for you.
Like you’d need something from nature to get your pussy right if you couldn’t have a man to do it for you.
I bet most of the niggas you’ve fucked around with couldn’t make you cum.
You’re definitely on a higher plane than most.”
He hadn’t been wrong about that but I wasn’t going to let this stranger into my business.
Too often I was left unsatisfied by men who felt as though they were doing me a favor by having that type of access to my body.
The few that I’d tried had terrible consequences but I was thankful my current relationship didn’t bring me those kinds of problems. Instead, I was thrown into a vat with even more issues so I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t.
Such is life.
But then reality hit me and I had to wonder why and how in the hell we’d started talking about my sex life. This man, cause he was all fucking man, was way too comfortable and speaking with too much authority. “That’s not at all anything like me, thank you.”
“Can I get your name?
“Why? So you can make fun of it too?”
His posture changed from the easy, self-assured swagger to something that was more rigid, almost offended. “Hold on. What gave you the idea that I would make fun of you?”
My hand went to my hip and his eyes followed subconsciously. “Your quip about me looking like an artist.”
“If anything, that was a compliment. The world needs more whimsy instead of people drowning in the dregs of capitalism and needing to find solace in an acceptable form of addiction to cope with the bullshit that is life. I’m an athlete.
Most people think my career is some bullshit.
Never mind that I come from a long line of athletes who kept our family afloat and whose athleticism gave us the basis of our financial success, which enabled us to be who we are today. ”
Okay, didn’t expect this type of TED Talk to come from working at a bar but nothing about today had been at all predictable.
When he said athlete I couldn’t help but study him and the amazing form that his genetics had blessed him with.
His skin was the deepest mahogany that had been hewed with the precision of a master.
His skin had a depth and softness to it hallmarking a man who worked hard but took care of himself even harder.
He wasn’t a vaseline and go only type of man.
He probably had stock in shea butter or coconut oil to maintain the damn near glossy effect of his melanin.
And let’s not even get started on how fucking fine he was.
Everything about him screamed that he was that nigga and it was indeed heavy.
Focus, Charisma.
And I was, just on the wrong thing.
“Hmmm, let me guess, football?”
He smiled and I could tell my answer was one he heard all the time. “Nope.”
I studied him again my mind unbothered by the goings on around us. “Well, you’re too short for basketball—”
“Short? I’m 6’3.”
“Well yeah but the shortest are normally like 6’4 or 6’5.”
“Muggsy Bogues was dunking on muthafuckas at like 5’5.”
He made me smile and I didn’t like that.
The way he’d just laid out that man, I should’ve been his biggest fan but I was trying to stay away from drama.
It had followed me for years and I was tired of it.
It apparently wasn’t tired of me because I’d only been here for seventeen days and somehow I was again in some bullshit.
“You’re speaking of an exception to the norm.”
“Sometimes it’s good to color outside the lines. I see it’s not just art that you know, huh?”
Another smile broke over my face matching the one on his and I needed to get somewhere safe because this man was dangerous. “No, not just art.”
“I’m a cowboy.”
“But isn’t that—”
“Not a pretend one on a field, a real one. Roping, bull riding, barrel racing and herding on my family’s ranch out in Black Gold Valley. And a real one during the rodeo season.”
“Oh, like a rodeo cowboy!” I don’t know why but I was damn near on my tiptoes with excitement. I felt like meeting him checked off something else on my Move to Texas bucket list. I’d been rescued by a real life cowboy. And the worst part about it was, I had no one to share it with.
Well damn, high gone.
“You’re not from around here are you?”
I hope he didn’t mistake my smile as pride for being an outsider. It was truly just the thought of back home that brought me joy. “Um, that would be a no.”
“Is it safe to ask how you got here?”
“Quarter life crisis rebellion.”
“Quarter life crisis? Not to age you but you’re over 25 right?”
I sucked my teeth since the rage on his face had flashed quick as hell thinking I was younger than that. Or out here sneaking into bars to work instead of play.
And now I’m insulted.
“Of course I am. I like to think that I have far more life ahead of me than I do behind me.”
He pointed at me like I’d proven his thoughts of me as true. “See, zen as fuck.”
I shrugged because everyone should think that better was coming while still being satisfied with what they had. “There’s power in the tongue. Even the Christian Bible teaches you that.”
“That it does. But that’s not the vibe I get from you.”
“Are you calling me a witch?” Wouldn’t be the first time someone called me that.
It was the first time outside the walls of Greater Methodist United Church though.
Odd to hear it coming from a man who looked like one of the original gods and not a lady in a bad wig with nylons two shades lighter than her skin tone.
“Witches are cool as fuck. They got a whole corner of social media and shit. Teaching people how to cope and manifest in the fuckery that is this life. So if that’s the type of time you’re on, more power to you.
Hell, my brother is married to a girl whose mama is from Trinidad and whose father was Gullah Geechie.
I might need a witch on my side to balance things out.
” The appreciation in his tone was clear so I felt far less defensive.
“Balance? And who said I was by your side?” What was with him and all these assumptions?
“Power of the tongue, remember?” And then he had the unmitigated gall to lick his lips like I wouldn’t knock him down and sit on his face.
My ass was actually blushing at his words and his wordplay was something I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
“If you say so.”
“Anyway, I tell my brother all the time he gotta stay on his wife’s good side.
The last thing he wants is for her to put a root on him.
That man just smiles like the besotted fool he is and says whatever Black wants to do to me he would welcome with a smile.
” He shook his head and shivered slightly.
“Did not need to know that much about my big brother but I guess here we are.”
“Why did your mind immediately go to pegging or something crazy like that?” We both cracked up and I was glad he didn’t take offense to what I said. Some hypermasculine fools would be ready to swing for even joking like that.
“I see yours did too, though! See, baby, we’re already on the same wavelength.”
“This sister-in-law, do you not like her?”
The lack of tension or disgust in his face told me my assumption was wrong.
“Black? She’s cool as hell. I’m ready to have the next generation running around on the land so I can help them out with their kids. Be the cool uncle who teaches them things around the property. Besides my brother is old as fuck, he gotta get it together.”
“How old is old as fuck? How old are you?”
“Younger than that nigga, that’s for sure.”
The laugher flowed between us like we were old friends and I swore this was the best conversation that I’d had with a man in a long time. Which said a whole lot.
“You definitely give off younger brother vibes.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, like class clown vibes. Like your only desire in this world is joy and happiness. That’s all you seek.”