She had the Body of a model walking the runway during fashion week, petite little frame, but much more curvy than those stick figure dames. She danced real sexy, like a dancehall queen. I held her hips with my eyes and stayed on beat with my mind as she showed me how perfect her body and feet could mingle. At that moment I wanted to be a part of her, and it didn't matter what part, just a part.
Goose bumps on my tongue, I couldn't find the words so I stayed stuck in my shoes, like Mafi victims sleeping deep with the fishes. It wasn't about courage or ego, I just didn't want to ruin her evening or the one chance I had to make her glad; glad that she decided to leave her pad, glad she did her hair the way that it was did and glad she hung out with the friend she did because that friend would be the reason why we connected.
Nerves on level 12, I was sweating, like a fat kid climbing two stairs, and as I dried my sweaty palms on the pockets of my pants I noticed that every other man was hard at work trying to execute their own plan. Raised to be a real man, but I suddenly dipped my chin, raised the white flag and gave up on dreaming of what she could possibly mean to me and I to her. And not because I was giving up, but because she smiled like she enjoyed the attention and because I dreaded the reaper of rejection.
My friends signed the "let's bounce" sign so I headed for the exit, and as I crossed her life I shyly handed her a business card, but I had no business saying goodbye via the cowardly way. Alone in my car, all the way home regretting the regret; Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda bounced around in my head, like a pin ball. With Cupid on one shoulder preaching me an earful for dropping the ball, God appeared on the other shoulder and said, "leave him alone" then blessed me with a number and said, "now call".....
Photo Model: Raeven Western