Love is not a bitch; it’s more like a four letter curse word. How do I know, experience. Sure I’m young, but I’ve gained a little wisdom from my last encounter with that four letter word-this time I mean the letters l-o-v-e.

I met Paul after a Craig David concert at the Central Park Summer stage. My best friend ditched me to ride in Craig’s bodyguard’s limo to an after party. I wasn’t really interested and told her that I’d meet up with her later that night at my place. I was still so excited from the concert that my body was moving faster than my mind and I bumped right into him.

“Ooh, so sorry,” I said holding my hand against my chest with humility. I was really embarrassed.

“It’s okay. Just an accident right?” he replied as he flashed an impeccable milky white smile. His dimples shown through his face when he smiled and his huge light brown eyes grew even bigger.

The first thing I noticed was his eyes. They looked like two freshly harvested almonds. Combined with his smooth cocoa brown complexion, full lips and perfectly straight teeth they made me think of passion. So I decided to flirt a little.

“Maybe it was an accident, maybe it wasn’t,” I said with a slight smile and a flip of my long brown locks.

“You’re cute,” he replied with a smirk.

“Did you have braces when you were a child?” I asked

“What?” he said.

“Your teeth…they’re really straight. Unnaturally straight like you had braces or something.”

“Yeah, I did. I got them taken off when I was 16.” I touched the end of one of his shoulder length braids.

“You had a piece of lint,” I lied.

“Oh. Thanks. Ummm…you seem really nice. I’m Paul. Can I give you a call sometime?” he said.

“Only if I can take you out,” I responded.

“How about I take you out.”

“Well either way-“

“What are you doing now?” he interrupted.

“Right now?”

“Sure, there’s no time like the present,” he said. I gave a little chuckle.

“So I’m going to ask you again. What are you doing now?” he asked again, the second time showing those adorable dimples. I looked into those eyes of his and couldn’t say anything except, “Going out with you.”


The next three months were like a dream. Paul gave me his cell phone number so that I could get in touch with him anytime. He was so sweet; flowers all the time, love letters, romantic movies. He cooked for me, took me to art exhibits and frequent shopping trips on Madison Avenue. Paul was an actuary for TIAA-CREF and lived in a loft in Soho. I was so impressed by the things he had. I was still in college, just going to be a junior after that summer. I only hoped I could have what he had: he was gorgeous, young, successful, and so happy.

One day Paul called me and told me that he wanted to take me on a picnic in Prospect Park. I was excited to hear from him because I had been thinking about him the entire day. We found a nice little spot under a tree, far away from everyone else. The weather was beautiful and the birds were all out singing songs of love for the two of us. About an hour into our picnic as I lay on his lap, him stroking my hair, Paul looked into my eyes and told me that he loved me. Then we kissed so deeply, passionately, like we’d never kissed before. As we walked to the car hand in hand anticipating making love for the first time at his place I stopped and looked at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Paul, tell me you love me again,” I said.

He looked me in my eyes, took my face into his hands and said, “I love you.” I knew he meant it because his beautiful eyes told me so.

“I love you too,” I told him and pecked him on the lips.

“Something’s wrong. Talk to me. Are you scared baby?” he asked still holding my face in his hands.

I gave an uneasy smirk, “A little,” I responded.

“Don’t be scared. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“I want to. I just never have before.”

“Oh,” he said with relief. “It’s okay. I’m going to treat you right. So you’ve never done the deed before. Well, your first time is going to be with a real man.”

He pointed out his mother’s house in Flatbush to me on the way to his place. We listened to Jill Scott all the way there and talked about our childhoods. It was a day I would never forget.


I didn’t hear from Paul at all after he took me home the next day. I didn’t want to call him and seem desperate either. After three weeks passed I couldn’t take it anymore so I broke down and called him. His phone was out of service. I didn’t know why he was hurting me. We were in love.

I hopped on the train to Brooklyn. I remembered the house he pointed out where he said his mother lived. I took a deep breath as I walked up to the doorway of the little yellow house and past the white picket fence. I rang the bell once and a tall dark haired woman opened the door.

“Hi. I know you don’t know me but I’ve been dating your son Paul for the past three and a half months and I was just wondering if he was here,” I said.

She looked at me with a really puzzled look. “I don’t have a son Paul.”

I pulled out a small picture of us at Coney Island Amusement park from my wallet. I pointed to Paul. “This guy right here,” I said.

She took the picture from me and looked at him closely. “Yeah, that’s my son Eric. But you must be mistaken. Eric is married and lives in Connecticut. He only comes to New York to commute to work.”

“Married? Connecticut?” I stuttered.

“Yes,” she responded sharply. “Married, in Connecticut. And anyway, even if he wasn’t, my Eric ain’t no fag.” She tore up the picture and slammed the door.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

7 − = three