I told myself that I would never date a man again. I knew that I was Queer and I knew that I preferred the company and the bodies of women. But since I’d been recently ravaged by a woman, I bent the rules. Men had always been easy and as I dipped my toe back into the dating pool, easy was my siren song. I signed up for some computer love and ran my ego a bath.
I decided to giving hoeing the old college try. But, I was grown now so there was levels to this shit. No punishment for pleasure, no feelings for fuckboys, no tolerance for bullshit. Less than a month later, I was sexually assaulted. I’d been there before and I already had that particular t-shirt. I added it to the pile and wrote my cares away. I took a breath, folded the pile and tucked it into work and play. I’d fought hard for my joy and a hard-dicked, half wit certainly couldn’t have it.
I plunged back into the pool. My matches were a series of sad sacks who were attempting to fuck and flirt themselves out of heartache, discontent and depression. It was a master class in mammie titties. But, I was grown now so there was levels to this shit. No accolades for basic decency, no certificates for communication, no ego stroke for adequate appreciation. A couple months later, I met a sweet, kinky little queer who needed nothing from me. I relished the deep connection but valued my independence more. I kept the lame lines of communication open so I could put a muzzle on monogamy.
I continued to entertain myself with male idiosy. Now this is the part where I would normally be diplomatic and say some not all men shit…but have y’all talked to y’all? You say dumb shit on the regular #believewomen. Anyway, a couple of these dodos expressed interest in getting to know me. I let them know who I am from get go. Some folks are fooled by my smile and my nurturing nature. Some are confused by my shameless flirting and my predilection for play. But, I’ve seen some shit and its seen me.
I sent Scuttle to a man I’d been talking to for several months. Big John has four first names and works in sales. He has two pre-teen daughters, a Bed-Stuy brownstone and a lot of self pity. Big John is nasty. His dirty talk is Olympic-grade. He thinks he’s a good listener. He’s not. We were flirting on g-chat to waste time at jobs we hated. He’d always expressed interest in my writing and asked if he could read the last thing I wrote. I let him. It had been less than a week since I got my latest t-shirt.
Big John: You know what might be cool?
Cat Batting Yarn: Tell me.
Big John: Write a rebuttal to your piece, as the guy.
Cat with Hackles Raised: You think it would be cool for me to write a piece from his perspective?
Big John: Yes. Cool for us the readers. Probably not cool for you.
Dumbstruck: Absolutely, not cool for me.
Big John: I wasn’t suggesting like “for healing or some shit. I meant strictly as a piece.
Dumbstruck: And as the audience you’d be interested in his thought process?
Big John: Why not. He’s not “raping you?
Big John: In his mind he’s pushing boundaries you want pushed. I’m just throwing it out there. I don’t know. Maybe just write some stuff down. See where it takes you.
*this muthafucka thinks he’s giving me real actual entirely unfuckingsolicited advice.
**y’all think people really care about the dumb shit that runs through your minds
***y’all say dumb shit
Now. I know I should’ve outlined the various ways he could go fuck himself. But, I’ll remind you that he has two pre-teen daughters.
Dumbstruck: I have zero desire to do that.
Big John: Hope you don’t mind me saying. It occurred to me as I was coming up in the elevator. There are so many men like this. Who think they are attentive or whatever and somehow miss the plot.
Black woman on loop: I can tell you with 100% certainty, that this man did not miss the plot. He didn’t misunderstand or misread my cues. He wasn’t interested in reading them. (And for good measure) I’ve had sexual experiences that felt violating, that were a case of missed cues. This was not that.
Big John: Ok. I’ll drop it.
Dumbstruck: I would be ill-equipped to write a rebuttal, not only because the experience is less than a week old, but also because I can’t begin to understand how that would even happen. I am a woman who sleeps with women. I know what it is to be consumed by them. I know what it is to respect them anyway.
Big John: Rebuttal was the wrong word.
Now. This is the part where some of you might feel like he’s trying. He’s not. This is not a difficult concept. It’s easy to not go down this road. This is a one way, a dead end and a drop off. I asked if his daughter had written it, if he’d tell her she should think about writing a rebuttal. Big John is still sad, still single and still trying to text me out of my drawers.
I met another man with a tool’s name so I’d hoped he might prove useful. He’s not. Unlike Big John, he had no desire to hide in my g-chats. We met up in Ft. Greene. He started with his eyes on the prize…happy hour. The price was right at bar number 4, an overheated sports bar with few seats and even less atmosphere. We stand near the server station and order our $6 drinks. He asks if I have cash. I reach for my wallet and hear the sound of a tumbleweed blowing through the desert in my drawers. I sit on a rickety stool and balance on one hip as I swig my cheap Rose. He gives me $8 and touches my elbow.
Tool: So, how do you like the app?
Dusty Desert: It’s ok. Why are you on it?
Tool: To meet people. You can expand the people to choose from. You know? There’s many more people to choose from. The pool of people is larger. So, you know. There’s more people you can meet.
Sand Panties: MmHm. I get it.
Tool: Like, you know. You can find more people you might be attracted to. Like, i met one girl. Muslim girl and we went out on four dates and she let me touch her tits and kiss her. But she didn’t want to do anything. Like, sometimes she wanted to make out, sometimes nothing. So I told her to fuck off. I can tell when people aren’t really interested. She wanted to keep going out but acted like she wasn’t interested. I don’t know why women do that. Like, I was dating this white girl. I’m not attracted to white girls naked. So I don’t really date them. **Before you ask, of course he’s white** I date Black girls and Hispanic girls.
Black woman on loop: What do you like about Brown girls?
Tool: I like the look. I like Black girls that are darker. But I like Hispanic girls that are lighter or light brown. Dark Hispanic girls don’t make sense. They don’t make sense to my brain. I don’t really like Asian girls. I dated an Asian girl and we fucked so much, we just couldn’t anymore and I think it was mutual. Now I just don’t want to. It’s like I’ve had enough. I never get tired of Black or Hispanic girls. I like the look. I like curvy and **he whispers because this is a special secret** fat.
Now. At this point, I know I should have found new and exotic languages to cuss him out in. But, I was fascinated. He had no idea that any of this could be perceived as offensive, because I was one of the good ones. One of the preferred; the chosen. He picked me! Also, he was truly enamored. I could see his insecurity, his nervous attempt to try and impress me. His failed attempt to seem casual and above judgement, while begging for my approval. He didn’t get it. Some of y’all might think he’s an anomaly, a buffoon, a caricature. He’s not. This ain’t even the craziest thing a man has said in his quest to pillage. Tool is currently developing an app that allows you to match hundreds of woman strictly by filtering categories such as Black, Fat, Big Tits. You’ll find him stalking me on Instagram and texting “Wyd?” to my silent inbox.
*no, I’m not kidding.
**when I say Y’ALL SAY, you say DUMB SHIT
Because I think fuckery is best served in 3s, I’ll share one more. Little One had an intriguing profile and he looked different in each photo. I like that. We had decent banter and he didn’t lead with his dick. At least not at first. We chatted for a couple of weeks and batted schedules back and forth. Just before we were about to meet, he reveals a particular kink. It’s not one of mine, but it’s not a dealbreaker. I tell him so. He tucks it away and the banter continues. Slowly, as the days press on, he pulls it out here and there to test the water. I tell him the water’s fine but to start in the shallow end. This muthafukka straps on his scuba shit and deep dives. I haven’t even met him yet and he’s already boundary blind. I put him on ice for a week to help him with his vision.
Little One: How was your week?
Island of One: Not bad.
Little One: Nice! What are you up to this weekend?
IoO: Lady date, Dinner Date, Salon series
Little One: What’s a salon series?
loO: It’s a collective of artists and creatives that get together and share their work.
Little One: That’s cool. What are they like?
IoO: They vary. Ceramicists, Visual Art, Poetry, Dance…
Little One: But I mean for you specifically. What will you be doing?
loO: I’m an memoirist. I’ll be reading some pieces.
Little One: Could I please have a sample?
loO: **sends Scuttle** This is what I’ll be reading.
Little One: Thank You! That was intense, was that what just happened?
loO: Nah. That was a couple of months ago.
Little One: Damn, you let him Dominate you, did he have a big dick?
Little One: It’s hard to read.
Black woman on loop: I did not let him fucking do anything
Little One: I could never be that forceful with a woman if she said no. HaHa.
**why do y’all think Haha, Hehe and LOL are lubricating?
IoO: I would hope not, considering it’s sexual assault.
Little One: Oh Jesus it was real? I thought it was romanticized. That’s horrible.
Dumbstruck: I would prefer not to talk to you about his fucking dick. Thanks.
Little One: I’m with you. I don’t want to hear about it either. I’m sorry you went through that pain. That’s horrible.
Now. If you’ve made it this far, you’re probably thinking that I have a lot of time on my hands. Perhaps, you want to light a few candles for my patience. I know you’re not thinking he actually means this shit. He doesn’t. He’s just trying to put the car in the reserve but he’s already down this road. Little One can be found groveling into my silent inbox and trying to convince himself he misunderstood.
Fun fact: When women read a piece like Scuttle it looks like a reflecting pool and feels like a scab. Apparently, one man saw a confused fellow with a rich internal life, the other a Dominant with assertion he wished he possessed. Men may be easy, but they have hard edges.