Not Too Hot. Not Too Cold…

I just want to find a guy in the middle. I was getting to know two men with two totally different dating styles. Both toxic, nonetheless. Let’s start with Tramelle since he’s the first one I met. Six foot tall, butter beer complexion, and plump like a defensive lineman on a local football team. But he’s too dapper to be in some field getting mud on his clothes. If it was possible, Tramelle would definitely be at the casting call for extra plus size Ralph Lauren models. I loved seeing him hop out of his clean tow truck. On weekends, he’d ditch his work shirt for a nice Polo and fresh Jays. If you ask me, Tramelle is what all big dudes with a little hood in them aspire to be. My ex husband was definitely trying his best to perfect Tramelle’s exact look.

We met a year ago, but I was heavily involved with Nathaniel…my inspiration for “Baecation Blunders” and “What’s his Name”… About a week after my break up, Tramelle popped back up. Not that hard to do since we live six minutes away from each other. That diesel truck stayed roaring past my house. Now y’all know I’m a chubby chaser, so I welcomed him with open arms and my actual phone number. My relationship coach Elitia encouraged me to get right back out there, so I was eager to see Tramelle someplace else other than the neighborhood mailbox.

I hope you didn’t get your hopes up because seeing Tramelle more than five feet away from his tow truck never happened. Though every text message either started or ended with “I can’t wait to take you to dinner.” My excitement with him diminished a little every week that slipped by. I had a trip to prepare for so Tramelle was starting to drift further and further from the forefront. But naturally, I was all over his mind. He begged me to stay up so we could go to an early dinner before my early morning flight. I fought sleep trying to stay awake but I just couldn’t hang. I woke up to a “have a safe flight” text message. No apology just in case you were wondering.

Well I was in New Orleans looking for some new friends! But here comes Tramelle AGAIN begging for my attention damn near every hour on the hour. Being super annoying. Then I slipped up on one of those drunken nights and texted his lame ass back. The annoyance turned to cutenesses when the Tito’s Vodka got involved. I was sucked back in after I semi remembered why I gave him my number in the first place. I began taking a few of his morning calls and sending him soft thirst trap pictures. By the end of my five day vacation, Tramelle and I were back talking like in the beginning when we first exchanged numbers. I decided to give him a call while I was waiting to board my flight back home. I wanted to express my resurgence of my feelings. I also wanted to jokingly point out that we needed to officially go out on a first date. My plan was to be serious with my words, but keep my voice light. I never got the chance to fake tell him off. I hung up midway into his voicemail. I had another hour to wait before wheels up and cell phone usage would be limited. I received no return phone call from Tramelle. What I did get was text message over ten hours later asking “did you make it home okay?” Now the over thinker in me had taken over. ‘Why would he choose this hour to text me?’ Is it because he knew my flight landed over two hours ago and I would have no reason to ask him to pick me up from the overly congested ass LAX airport? And since he had the gawl to text me at twenty minutes to midnight, why not be all the way bold and actually return my phone call? I stared blankly at my phone for another ten seconds. Once I came to, I decided it was best to just push the phone away and go to sleep. I texted Tramelle a very dry “Yes” the next day during regular business hours. I don’t even know why I kept his number. I wasn’t looking for a new pen pal, and to my understanding neither was he.

It was no surprise to me that a new man showed up in less than a week. And we didn’t meet on the street corner. I was invited to a warehouse party located Downtown LA. I spotted Chauncey in the parking lot before I even entered the party, but I was unaware he’d seen me as well. I had a blast at the function! I recorded myself and my homegirls all night. I even ran into some old friends and had a great time catching up with them. I was pissed when the party was shut down by the cops. Usually by the time Twelve shows up, I’m dying to get into my bed. But not this time. It had been a minute that I’d been out without my mask, so excuse my thirstiness.

So there I was, back outside in the parking lot thinking of the bright side. ‘Well at least I can get back to my good ass sandwich in the back seat!’ Before I could get to the car, I was stopped by Chauncey. He stood about five foot seven in height, homemade brownie complexion, and slim in every area except his belly. Picture Gucci Mane before he went to jail. I was for sure that he was either in love with codeine or just about ready to give birth. He seemed sweet and funny though. I gave Chauncey my number after about five minutes worth of conversation.

Chauncey and I talked the very next day. After another fun chat, he invited me to yet another club. An upscale day party in Hollywood. I would have to doll myself up a little more than last night’s event. He smiled so hard after I crossed over the velvet rope. Struggling in my heels in the parking lot had paid off. Since we couldn’t do much talking in the loud ass club, Chauncey invited me to meet him for tapas near Melrose Blvd. He filled me in on his love for books, his nine children, and his lengthy prison record. Damn. Too much to unpack over lemon-pepper wings and truffle fries. Then it came to me. “Oh okay. That’s why you go out so much!” On the contrary. Chauncey wasn’t making up for lost club time at all. He’d been in love with the club scene since he was sixteen years old. Going out four times a week was a part of his M.O. So you know one of those babies had to be conceived in the club bathroom or the parking garage. Nine children with eight baby mothers and never been engaged, not even once. Such a damn turn off. He laughed when I asked “So you’re done now right? You’re not about to be stressin’ me out to pop out baby number ten?” Chauncey professed to being completely settled with nine being the final number.

The very next night, I was being whisked off to the Valley to hit the strip club. I absolutely hate the Valley, but love the strip club. I really wanted to spend my evening at home, but Chauncey left me no choice. He went from “You’re gonna enjoy yourself at this spot,” to “You said you like strip clubs…” then finally “We have fun together! Why wouldn’t you want to come out with me?” Let me get my ass dressed. And I’m glad I did. Chauncey handed me five hundred dollars to tip the girls. I stuffed two hundred and thirty-nine of those dollars into purse and rationed out the rest between four of the dancers. And I know your eyebrow is about to hit the ceiling. Why should I go home broke? My Nordstrom card was due! Regardless on how you feel, I had a good time up until the club got so smokey, that I could hardly breathe. The fresh air from the car window was like heaven to me. All I could think about on our ride home was counting the money I had pocketed for myself.

On evening number three, I had the pleasure of meeting baby number nine. A very well dressed and well mannered six year old. I’ve never had a child in my house so I scrambled to close my Playboy book displayed on the mantle. I also had to hide all those singles that I counted up a few hours before. I didn’t want to give Chauncey any ideas…I was on pins and needles around these two boys. I prayed the child didn’t get a glimpse of any vagina from 1989 and that the dad didn’t peep me fisting that large wad of cash. I was completely in the clear. Chauncey laughed at my interactions with his kid. I guess he wanted me to get more comfortable with his youngest so unbeknownst to me, I was the third wheel with the fellas yet again on day number four. Now I know I said I wanted to be a wife, not a step baby mother. Whatever. We had a little light lunch at the mall and shortly after, I was dropped off. Chauncey made a pit stop to my place on evening number five to make an announcement that had to be said in person. “Aye. I’m spending the night over here tonight.” His prescription Ray-Ban glasses were hitting me like lasers. Little did he know, I was used to the stare down. He really thinks he’s about to punk me out of my own house? “Nah, you won’t. ‘Cause I’m not ready for all that.” Damn. Maybe he did see that money on the mantle. His eyebrow shot up from behind his dark frames. I didn’t even crack a smile. After our ten second staring match, Chauncey broke down. I received a kiss very close to my lips and a promise to call later on. That “later on” call happened at 3am the next morning. I watched the phone ring before rolling back over into dreamland.

I gave myself a break from Chauncey for the next two days. After completing a full on work week of interviews with him, I went into hiding. I needed some female energy around me so I snuck off to one of my homegirls’ apartments. I’d like to think he enjoyed his two days off as well, but I couldn't tell from all the “I miss you” phone calls that were coming in. I refused to lie to him so I avoided the “I miss you too” by responding with “Trust. We will see each other very soon.” Those two days zoomed by just like the weekend always does. The clock struck 7p.m. on a Monday and I was back on the clock. No return visit to 305 Miami Mondays for me. We had reservations to a nice restaurant in West Hollywood. I took a sip of my spicy margarita and asked “So what are you looking for?” Chauncey didn’t even flinch. “I’m looking for us to become great friends and continue enjoying each other’s company.” He placed his hand on my knee. “You know, I’m here to support you. You gone be my girl in no time.” I smiled. Chauncey came prepared. I raised my glass. “Cheers to friendship!” Our glasses clinked.

It’s so true that we had a great times together. We clown each other and voice our opinions all day. Chauncey has the backbone that I wished Nate would’ve had. What I didn't wish for was for Chauncey to be so hot in the pants. We left dinner walking with our arms interlocked. It wasn’t cold, but being close to him was comforting. We sang R&B hits all the way down La Brea. My night was perfect. Well, up until Chauncey beat me to my front door. He moved so quickly that I was under the impression that he needed to piss out his cocktails. I unlocked my front door to find out just how wrong I actually was. The bathroom is to the left, and the bedroom to the right. He headed to the right. I watched him from my living room. I wanted to keep my eye on his silhouette from a safe distance. If more than three items of clothing came off, I was sleeping at my neighbors house. Okay, crewneck sweater is off. He sat on the bed to take his shoes off. He got himself comfortable on the bed then proceeded to cross his legs at his feet. Good. Safe enough for me to enter my bedroom. I wrapped my hair with the ugliest scarf I owned and placed a pair of baggy sweats on over my sexy dinner bodysuit. My bodysuit would be the protector of my pussy for the rest of the night. I laid down at the edge of my bed. Before I could get as comfortable as Chauncey, he rolled that belly over on me and began to kiss me aggressively. His hands were roaming everywhere. I couldn’t take it. “Okay Chauncey, RELAX. I’m ready to go to bed.” Another direct stare down through the Ray Ban glasses. He slightly raised up from me to question “You serious?” I kept my eyes locked on his. “Uhhh yeah! I told you the other day that I’m not ready for all this.” Chauncey retreated to the other side of my bed. I grabbed my blanket and tucked myself in like a burrito. I was burning up all night. But better hot and safe, than sorry.

Two hours later, I woke up to Chauncey’s heavy weight on top of me. I used all my strength to push him off. I had to add more bass in my voice this time. “Nigga GET YO ASS UP OFF OF ME!” He was back snoring in a matter of minutes. I didn’t have it so easy. It’s been months that I’ve been without male company in my home. How did I wind up with this man as my first invite? He couldn’t possibly feel like I owe him some pussy simply because he’s been showing up for a week. Is this how it is now in this new dating world? A couple laughs and a couple meals is rewarded with some pussy? A nigga that just hours ago said we were working on a friendship? My mind wouldn’t let me rest. I got about an hour’s worth of sleep. At six in the morning, I jumped up and started banging on shit in my living room. Rise and Shine mutha fucka! I needed Chauncey out of my house so I could throw on my sleep mask and get the rest I’d missed out on. He woke up within five minutes of me tossing shit all over my hardwood floors. We talked for a bit about our plans for the day and Chauncey left shortly after. I locked my house, shut the blinds, and went right to sleep in peace.

Chauncey didn’t contact me for another two days. No matter. I didn’t do anything with him that I didn’t want to do. When he did call I was greeted with a “We need to talk.” I was being questioned as to why I didn’t have sex with him when I figured an apology would be the basis of our conversation. Chauncey figured the only reason I wasn’t having sex with him was because I had to be having sex with someone else. I had to come to him as a woman. A real woman, someone he’d yet to deal with. He professed that no woman had ever talked to him like I did. He needed to be put in his place, finally. A friend of mine would never try to sex play me. And neither would that friend question me about who I was sleeping with just because I wasn’t sleeping with them. Chauncey did apologize after I spoke me peace, but I didn’t even want it any longer. I would never be able to move on from that Monday night and the interrogation on Tuesday afternoon. He still calls though. Just to see if I’m finally ready for all that he’s ready to give. He can forget it.

Then guess who shows up two weeks later? Tramelle texts me talking about “Hey Stranger…” I had to let him have it too. Not some long drawn out text message though. He didn’t even deserve all that. “Delete my number. You don’t want shit” was just enough. That pop in and pop out lifestyle is not for me.

I need a good consistent man to turn this unlucky streak around. So if you know any men that you think would be a good In-Between, send me their email at jualeeah@jualeeworld.com or JualeeWorld@yahoo.com