Ain't Never Scared pt 1: The Vixen and the Baby Daddy

I think I need to get into my Bible. No, I know that I need to get into my Bible, because when I start thinking nasty, gross, inappropriate things about men that I know, that usually means that I am beginning to backslide back into the state of sticky, grotesque, thick horniness that I had previously been delivered from. 

"What is bringing all this about Holly?" 

Okay, I will tell you. 

One of my homegirls Reese recently texted me a picture of a beautiful woman in a flowing dress with a baby bump. A man was standing behind her, holding her baby bump with his hands around her waist. 

"Bones," I said to myself. I recognized him immediately. 

"Is that Bones?" Reese's texted asked. He had his head down in the pic, but it was definitely him. I was shocked. He has had a kid before, but none of us could ever figure out who the baby's mother was. What a difference a few years makes. For baby number two, he took styled, professional photos that were then blown up to enormous posterboards to be displayed at a chic, trendy baby shower where guests could partake in mommyhitos handpicked from an elaborate wall refreshment display. 

Let me be clear: I am happy for Bones. He's fine. Mrs. Bones is fine. And chances are that baby is going to arrive catalogue model ready. Bones is just representative of someone that I used to like and didn't tell. And let me be clear again: I am in no way Bones's type. He likes cheerleaders and women that look like they were created by Mattel. I didn't say anything in college because I was scared, and I didn't say anything after college because I was mortified. The closest I got was writing him a poem that I only shared with Liz and that I will now share with you. 

Asked the vixen to her master:

"Where do I touch you?"

Said the master to his vixen:

"Touch me where you touch yourself."

I remember that Liz was silent on the other end of the line. After about two minutes of deliberation, she said, "Don't ever send that to him. If you ever want to send it to him, send it to me, and I will respond like I am him." 

Okay, Liz was probably right. Erotic poetry was probably not the way to let my feelings be known. 

"But Holly, why would you tell him you liked him when you know he wasn't going to like you back?"

Good question. And the short answer is so that I can stop being scary. As you know, a closed mouth does not get fed, which is probably why I am love starved as we speak. Bones is just one of many, and as I get older, I have become more and more impatient with my being scared. And this isn't just with men, it's with everything! One day I want to confidently be able to proclaim, "I ain't never scared!" and mean it. Until then, I'm just a vixen without a master. But I'm working on it. I can't be scared of being scary anymore. 

Finding Cameron

I found my kindergarten/ 1st grade crush on Facebook! Well, I didn't really find him. He popped up as a friend suggestion. I don't know what made me pay attention to the suggestion. I usually ignore them because I NEVER know who Facebook says I should but there he was: Cameron. 

I went through his page with my stalker hat on, trying to figure out what he has been up to all these years. He isn't that consistent of a Facebook poster, but from what I could tell, he has had a good life. He graduated from an HBCU. He is a Sigma. I don't know what he does for a living, but he looks like success. The only thing annoying on his page is that he has a girlfriend and it looks like they do workouts together. Gross. 

Seeing that he had not posted anything in months, I decided to send him a friend request, not expecting him to respond. He accepted it a second later, and since then (which was Monday morning), I have been in a state of euphoria. 

Come with me on my mental spaceship to 1990, East Point, Georgia. I was obsessed with edible bracelets and glow in the dark scrunchies. I had a serious addiction to Fruit Rollups, and I was majorly crushing on the boy that sat beside me in class. His name was Cameron, and his voice was high and his laughter was loud and sounded like he was singing. His head and face were always shiny, like his mom put oil on his hair and then rubbed the rest of it over his face. I actually know that is what happened because my grandma did that to me all the time. He was mischievous, but he wasn't bad. He just liked to do little annoying things that got him sent to time out. And he had slits in his eyebrows. Child. I am into men today with eyebrow slits! 

Looking at his page, I realized that I have been into the same type of guy my whole life, which further feeds into my feeling that you are who you are when you are born and do very little evolving as you get older. The cards are dealt from the jump. Okay. I am starting to babble. The point is I recently came across the man named Cameron, smiling and being lighthearted on social media, and I can totally see why I was into him when I was a child. Just thought I would share.