His name was B. Just B. Stood for Bobby. He might tell you that if he trusted you. He told me. "Bobby Elliott: three b's, two l's, two t's", he would say.
I first saw him across the street in the Dairy Queen parking lot. He was too far away for me to see his face, but I knew. I knew he was one of them. One of the guys who just appear in my life and alter it forever. Still don't know how that works, really. All I could tell about B. then, was that he was very tall and thin like a runner, moved like a cat: loose, easy, coiled. How is it that one person out of billions finds you like this?
The next time I saw him, I found him watering the freshly seeded lawn in front of my place. Seems he had a job with maintenance. He smiled.
I began to see him around the grounds. My heart beat faster when I ran into him. And he just smiled
I don't know how he got into my house. I must have let him. He was there, all six foot three of him, smiling, shining, and waiting. He never made a move. I did.
He had this long face with high cheekbones, asian eyes, top lip thin like a recurve bow, and a bottom lip soft, wide and deep as a river. He was smooth chested, with the tiniest titties I had ever seen on a grown man. He wore a Van Dyke beard, a mustache and no underwear. He was magnificent. He was the first black man I ever slept with, and ...the last man I ever slept with.
In bed he was tender. He had a real slow hand. And he kissed. He kissed like he wanted to. And he looked me in the eye the whole time we made love. This was new to me. I had been searching for this all my life.
And oh, he was good. He made me scream. No one had ever made me scream.
B. came to see me for a couple of years. I did not care that he did not want to own me. I did not care that he showed up at my place only late at night. I did not care that he had other women. I loved the devil, and he was dazzling. I was as addicted to him as he was addicted to crack cocaine. And I loved him.
He gave me a picture he had painted when he was a child. He brought me gardenias. He brought me joy. I knew I was in trouble.
I left town.
When I came back two years later, I let him in again. Then I shut him out forever. I had made him my last lover. I wanted it that way.
Only news I have had of him is that three guys beat him almost to death with shovels. I hear he is a vegetable and hideous to see. I know I would still see him as beautiful. I love him.
( The above was written by Deb, aka ~~~Light Opera~~~ )
