Alex was great. He had all the credentials for the perfect boyfriend. He was good looking but not in an intimidating way. He was a successful lawyer with an awesome pad in Midtown. I escorted my girlfriend that afternoon and I ended up staying after she left us. She had tricked me into coming with her because she figured we would hit off. She was right. We talked about Africa and how he was torn between his Ghanaian and Sierra Leonean heritage. I was completely hooked.
The afternoon drifted into the evening and he convinced me to indulge in Shoko — his favorite meal. What was happening? We were rolling like a longtime couple. Nothing weird or awkward had befallen us yet and the rhythm continued into the late hours.
Dizzy from wine, energetic conversation and imagining what it would be like to have him on top of me — I made the first move. It felt good kissing him and having his hands explore my body. My heavy breathing matched his and that was my cue to proceed into the second phase.
He abruptly raised my hand before it got under his shirt. “Lets not go there tonight.” I suddenly felt like an oversexed whore. Of course it was too soon to consummate what was barely a relationship. I quickly got up and, with a smile, told him I needed to leave anyway. We hugged and as he walked me out of the building we made plans to see each other again.