Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Jaq
What to wear, what to wear. The options had once felt endless. Up until a few weeks ago, I would have totally known what I'd wear on a night out: a nice little body con dress. A perfectly pressed pencil skirt. Any and everything that fit my network’s character cookie cutter image of me.
Now that I had the freedom to just exist the way I wanted, I was embracing the alternative woman I’d suppressed in small stages.
Fishnet stockings here, a few new piercings there.
All the prim and classy wardrobe I’d owned, I’d ended up donating and replaced my closet with thrift store finds, exceptions with a few high-end alt clothing lines since a girl loved her luxuries.
I kept coming back to this long black sweater dress with a deep high slit on the right thigh.
The dress itself was plain, but pairing it with a belt that helped accentuate my waist, and some dark sheer embroidered tights, it had given me that witchy romantic goth look I desperately craved without doing too much.
It was just drinks, but I still wanted to look delectable, because he was too fine to be meeting him in a jeans and T-shirt.
Besides, was it toxic of me to admit that I wanted him to check me out?
It wasn't like I didn't get my fair share of younger guys hitting on me, I did. But most of the time it was because they always mistook me for younger, and when they found out how old I really was, interest dissipated because they knew they couldn't run game on me.
Plus, most of these younger men were too shy to hold my attention, and a shit ton lacked interpersonal developmental skills people in my era were forced to have. That is where the Polynesian Playboy’s skills had differed. He was bold and charming, not to mention fine as fuck.
Slutty glasses and sexy accents just did something to you when you hadn't gotten laid in a while. Add in the fact that your girl was ovulating, and that man didn't stand a chance.
The room filled with ringing and through a vocal command to Siri, I found my girl Carly on the line.
“Hey, girl, what you up to?” she asked, as I tousled my hair in the mirror, debating on whether I should wear it up or down.
“Ehh…nothing much. Just getting ready for a date. Or maybe it's not a date, but I am meeting a guy for drinks,” I replied, deciding on a simple smoky eye and dark lip that was on the metallic side upon applying. Down hair it was.
“Damn, Jaq. You don't waste any time. I thought you'd give it at least three months before settling in,” she chastised.
“Hoe, it's just drinks. It’s not like I'm gonna marry the guy.
Plus, I didn't go out looking for it. This one asked me out in person,” I argued back, failing to mention how young he was.
Just when I was about to do a deep dive on how we even met, my phone line clicked with another call, as I glanced over to the phone in the charger to see it was the man in question.
“Hey, Car, I'm gonna put you on hold for a sec. The guy I'm going out with is calling, and I want to make sure he's not calling to cancel.” I mean, why else would he call last minute?
“Yeah, that's fine. I'll just let you go. I didn't want nothing, just calling to check to see if you needed anything.”
“I know, and you're the best, K? Love you, bye,” I said, ending the call with her as Graham’s sultry hello choked me up on the other end.
“Let me guess. You need to reschedule?” I winced, sitting at the edge of my bed, deciding between calf length lace-up boots or chunky loafers.
“Are you always this pessimistic?” he teased.
“I was calling to offer you an Uber.” My brows shot up, trying to remember the last time I even got offered that gesture.
Though small, we were very much in a 50/50 era of dating, something I didn't mind because I had my own.
But then there were the weirdos who let you go half and still demanded pussy at the end of the night, as if they had paid for everything.
“Oh, you don't have to do that, it's not a huge deal,” I challenged, but his persistence set my mind at ease.
“Of course, I have to. My parents raised me to be a gentleman. If I were back home, I'd be lifting you, but being here kind of makes me grateful that I get to wait to see you,” he flirted, coaxing a smile out of me.
“Well, you don't have to wait long because I'm ready right now,” I reassured, and with a quick exchange I agreed to let him send me a ride somewhere close by my place, so that he didn't know my exact address.
The thirty-minute drive in traffic from Fort Greene to Hell's Kitchen was a nice change from the subways.
When I pulled up to the restaurant, my eyes lit up with stars.
It had been forever since I had been to a drag bar.
Atlanta had a vibrant drag scene, but New York City by far had the best queens.
Like a gentleman, he waited for me to arrive before heading inside, and when he noticed me, his face lit up with a smile.
His long, curly hair was down tonight, spilling in a mess of rich, dark curls, as his burgundy multicolored polo hugged his visibly sculpted upper body. Tribal tattoos poked out from the short sleeves of his shirt, and even from a foot away, he smelled heavenly.
“Wow, you look amazing. Here I am, doubting my worthiness as we speak,” he said, with a sexy bite to his lip.
He had such full ones, it was hard not to fantasize what they’d look like on the other end of my clit.
And there I was getting ahead of myself.
I really should have taken a cold shower before this.
“And look at you! Hair all down, biceps all out. If it didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to impress me,” I teased, as he held out his hand for me to grab, and he escorted me inside.
The lighting was dim, but the vibe was anything but.
Bold, and colorful wall art instantly grabbed my attention, passing the host stand since Graham had already secured a space.
I was grateful when he led me to a booth instead of a table, since the typical dining room tables were closer together and more intimate.
That way we could talk more while having a chance to peek in and out of the performances on stage.
“I haven't gone to a drag bar in a while, but I like your choice of entertainment,” I said, as we locked eyes, the vibe surrounding us infectious, as we both succumbed to incessant giggling. I didn't take myself too seriously. I was glad to meet someone who was on the same wave length.
“What can I say? As a person studying music, I tend to have a love for all things dramatic. I love their Disney nights. In New Zealand there are only three drag bars across the island, and here there's one on every block,” he joked, my curiosity peaking at his field of study.
“You study music?” I asked, taking a sip of the complimentary water as a server reached out to take our drink orders. I chose a Black Berry margarita, and he went for a simple gin and tonic.
“I'm in a doctoral program over at Columbia. I only have time to volunteer at the library like once a week or whenever they’ll have me. My course load is pretty chaotic. But I love working with underserved communities, especially when there are books involved.” Did he just say he was in a doctoral program at the Columbia?
Yeah, something's gotta be wrong with him, because no one could be this fine, sincere, and charitable.
He's gotta have an A cup in print, or a wife back home.
“Wowwwww…Columbia? That's got to be exciting.
Here I am thinking you were a real-life librarian.
Turns out you're a mastermind in music. Tell me more about that,” I inquired, his lips breaking into a smile showing off his near perfect teeth.
I only say they were near perfect because his incisors were cute and quirky with a certain point to them. Who knows, maybe he was a vampire.
“I've always been musical. The way my brain works, I see the world around me in notes and melodies.
Like her over there, she's definitely a staccato.
I can tell by how vibrant her body language is.
And her, she's like a tonic. Steady, centered, reasonable.” Taking a sip of my drink, he adjusted his glasses on his face and ran his fingers through his thick hair.
“Considering I know nothing about the technicalities of music. I wonder what I might be.” He playfully squinted, pondering as he took another sip of his drink.
“See, that's what I've been wondering. I've been trying to form an opinion on you all day, but I'm afraid I'll just have to spend more time with you to see.
Besides, I'd rather not talk about myself all night. I want to know more about you. Have you always been a writer, or did you do something else for work?” My lips thinned, knowing what I used to do, led to political affiliations and hard conversations men tended to skate around.
But it did have a habit of hinting at hateful values, as I was love is love, ACAB all day, and burning establishments down to the ground to start something new over here. If a guy thought the opposite, there'd be no hopping on the dick tonight, tomorrow, or anytime in the near future.
“Actually, I used to be a political news anchor for a popular network in Atlanta. I did that for ten years.”