If I had it to do all over again, I would have just let Babygirl walk out of my life, saving her a lot of heartache and pain in the end I’m sure. But at the time, I felt as though I needed her. She was everything Lady had not been in my life, and my meager, emotionally deprived soul needed her to tell me things would be okay.
My life started down a path I don’t believe I necessarily agreed with. And despite this fact, for some reason it became harder for me to stop. Babygirl and I bounced back from the final encounter with Lady and began to build a truly wonderful relationship, or so it seemed. You see, I wasn’t exactly sure how I was supposed to keep a young female interested in me. I never had to deal with that issue. Lady had taken care of any and all parts of our relationship and now she was gone, fading into my past like a sunset on the horizon.
Babygirl gave me freedoms I wasn’t accustomed to at all. She was the woman who comforted me at night when I felt the need to express myself emotionally. She embraced the friends I had in my life and supported the decisions I chose to make. When Talent and I wanted to hang out late or head to the club, it was Babygirl who provided the keys to her car and told us to “go have fun”. Of course, this wasn’t truly how she felt which I learned through time so perhaps one could argue she played a part in the creation of the monster I was to become.
I truly did care for Babygirl. We had great conversation and communication with each other and spent our fair share of time together. Talent ensured I showed my appreciation for her. What I mean by that is any time Talent and I were out together and he decided to get his girl a gift, then I did the same. A single, long-stem rose here, a stuffed animal there. Don’t get me wrong; I wasn’t completely mindless in this regard. I still had hints of romanticism. Babygirl and I would go out to the movies, go for a walk in the park, or just lay around at home and enjoy a candlelight dinner together, but it’s important to know not all of the things I did for my then girlfriend arose from my own initiatives.
Even with all I had, a woman who would do anything with me and for me, it didn’t appear to be enough. Nor did it feel as if it would ever be enough. I was cheating. It began slowly at first, maybe a woman or two every two to three months, but increasing in number and frequency over time. I wasn’t purposely seeking out other women, but it seemed as if a part of me felt the need to make up for some of the lost time Lady had created.
I also didn’t trust Babygirl, or any woman for that matter. Not that I had a reason not to trust her. Babygirl was more than willing to give me her all from the moment we first met. Instead, my mindset focused on the fact anyone can and will do anything to anyone at any given moment, a lesson displayed all to well by my beloved first.
What I had now accomplished was the development, fostering and nurturing of a relationship with Babygirl despite having a bleeding heart, which had yet to heal. And it led to me meeting other women, all of whom I lashed out against with all the hurt and pain I continued to harbor deep within. I held every woman responsible for the actions of Lady, Babygirl included. My ignorance justified my motives even though the rationale felt hollow. It became my internal conflict. As wrong as my actions began to be, sleeping with other women yet finding the moral fiber to look a woman who truly cared for me in her eyes and say, “I love you”, it all felt right to me. And I began to believe and understand this is how a relationship was supposed to be.
Cheating for me wasn’t an easy transition. I mean yeah after awhile it became easy. But the first time was actually extremely nerve wrecking. People tend to believe cheaters, or players I suppose you could say, are rarely rattled. I beg to differ. The first few times, I wondered if I acted differently, walked or talked differently, or even smelled any different. I became extremely cautious of what I would say or who was around me. I overcompensated for my indiscretion by becoming more attentive to Babygirl’s wants and needs. I continued to take her to dinner or out shopping, just more so now than before. I cuddled with her. I entertained conversations and discussions with her. And, of course, I made love to her, as frequently as she wanted.
It may all sound odd and probably made less sense, but I ensured her desires were always met so there would be no need to question my actions away from her. Over time, it became easier to live with it. I realize I probably wasn’t as transparent as I believed I was. Yet, I was still cautious in my actions and thinking. That is until I developed the “I don’t give a fuck” attitude. The attitude matured, making me more maniacal and cold. And it was based on the following simple premise: the woman who I was with would eventually cheat on me anyways.
I’m not trying to make excuses here. It was wrong, but in my mind, it seemed right because my relationship, as it were, was working. Babygirl had everything, relationship-wise, any woman could want. She appeared to be happy and so was I. I was balancing my emotional life with her by spending time and giving her the things she needed to remain secure. At the same time I continued to enjoy my party life with the fellas and my extracurricular activities as they arose. And the extracurricular arose quite often, especially after I pledged.
I remember how it would happen. The fellas and I would be at a party, and catching the stares of some onlookers, but not really being outwardly social. I was just dancing and clowning around as usual. Suddenly one of the bolder females would make her way towards us. We would exchange names and looks of flattery. “Boy you have some sexy eyes” would be followed by an “I’m glad you think so.” My modesty would appear as overconfidence but rarely arrogance. We would laugh and dance and what have you. The party would end, but the night rarely would. We would get an invite to a room or a house afterwards. I tell this story as cookie-cutter as possible because many times it was pretty generic.
Some women I would be honest with and some I lied to. Just depended how I felt at the time. But over time, I learned it was best to be honest with them. I believed they deserved that at least and it cut down on complications with wanting to be with me. They understood if I had a girl and I made them aware of it, then our rendezvous would never be anything more than sex.
It became easy to tell women I had a girl and not worry about the consequences. A lot of college-aged, sex craving women didn’t care then and probably don’t care much now either. The organization had placed a label on my chest, which lured in women who were in awe of popularity and almost served as a justification to act the way I did.
Women would come and go so easily. I learned some important lessons although I’m really not sure how true the lesson were or are today. Its definitely not a lesson I want to live by now. But nonetheless, I was willing to live by a simple principle: if your truthful with the women you regard as just random “prey” but lie to the one you care about, then it’s really easy to live a promiscuous lifestyle. As off the wall as it sounds, the lesson continued to show itself to be true. It’s ironic how it works, but many women supposedly respected my honesty more than they respected the fact I was in a relationship.
A second lesson I learned was taught to me by another brother-in-arms and he stated it this way: "The worst thing a woman can tell you is no, and you've been told no before so what do you have to lose." These are the first words I can remember actually hearing from the brotha known as Truth, and they continue to affect how I treat, act and react to females to this day.
Truth was a philosophy major with a distinct, thundering deep, harsh voice, which he used to his advantage. He had the uncanny ability to be brutally honest with anyone he came across. It was this bold honesty that would become apart of my inner self, and thus take me into what most people would label as my most scandalous years.
Truth was a dark-skinned brotha. I mean blue-black. For those of you who are ignorant to the term “blue” in the African-American culture, imagine a brother who is so dark, his skin color gives off a tone you couldn't quite label as black. No, the skin actually takes the complexion of another shade of black. So dark that in the right lighting, or absence thereof, the skin appears as another shade of color, which we simply call blue. Ironically, Truth wasn't THAT black, but he was the darkest toned gentleman I associated with. Anyways...
Truth transferred the spring semester following my reunion, as it were, with Talent. He had attempted to join the same organization at his former college, so he was quickly added to our pledge process. The six current pledges, myself included, got the honor of getting to know Truth at an accelerated pace. Honestly, as we became acquainted, I really didn't get to know him as a man but rather just well enough to keep any of the pledges from getting punished for not knowing him. It wasn't until after we were actual members of the organization I really begin to get to know the man.
Truth kept shit real. He wasn't about holding things back to spare the feelings of anyone. He felt it was a lot better to allow people to hear the realities of a situation rather than pipe dreams, and his thought process carried over to women.
I have heard Truth say the weirdest shit to women. Things like, “I’m trying to have you” or “would you mind if I just eat your ass then.” If he were rejected, which surprisingly was only on rare occasions, he would usually respond with, "Well if I'm not your flava, then perhaps my man is."
Together, Talent, Truth and I were a force to be reckoned with. We offered women choice covering the spectrum of wants and desires, from dark skinned to light skinned. From bold, confident and borderline arrogance to soft, quiet, subdued shyness. We gave women an option as to how they wished to be pleased. Our reputations began to precede our presence not only on our own college campus, but also on campuses throughout the states we visited.
We were three of the freakiest gentlemen a woman could meet who shared the same mindset, drive and affection for the opposite sex. Though we had the same passions about women, each of us harbored our own beliefs and thought processes. Our brotherhood and commonalities brought us together and we became the men women both secretly and openly desired to be with. It was a swagger we portrayed. The way we made them laugh or dance or tell their girlfriends about the things they had never experienced but had always wished a man would do. We had no inhibitions and because of that, our bonds grew stronger.
When you begin to feel like you can be yourself around a guy, a brother, then all restrictions go out the window. We shared our stories of sexual dominance with one another, yet surprisingly, our paths never crossed when it came to having sex with women around campus. We each had our own flavor, our own likes and dislikes, so we rarely clashed when it came to pursuing women we were interested in.
It was the talk, the appearance, the lure of sexual fulfillment that I believe ultimately attracted women to us and created the predicaments we found ourselves in. I mean honestly, if I weren’t there to witness some of the situations we found ourselves in, to partake in it, I wouldn’t believe it would or even could happen myself. But that’s just the point of this whole thing isn’t it? I found myself in situations that just don’t happen to people everyday. Or maybe they do and I’m just naïve. They hadn’t happened to me until they happened the first time. And most of these events didn’t occur just once.
For three years, my life revolved and evolved around three separate personalities: Babygirl and the man she desired me to be, the man she thought I was, and my alter ego living in a facade of women, partying and drinking. I managed all of this while working full-time and going to school full-time. The later didn’t work out to well for me. When you spend the majority of your time in college focused on the opposite sex and trying to establish, build and maintain what I deemed to be a healthy relationship, well something has got to give. For me, I decided the grades weren’t the most important thing so they were the first to go. I stopped going to class because having sex was far more important. I visited classes on occasion when I met a female at a party while I was drinking that I wanted to have sex with only to find out she was in a class I was registered for. It gave me a reason to attend if only for a day because I honestly didn’t need more time than that.
It got a bit more complicated once Babygirl and I moved in together. Looking back, knowing what I know now, I would say that moving in with someone your involved with is the worse thing anyone can do if you’re not married. Growing up, I was taught living with a woman, or “shacking up” as the older folks used to call it and undoubtedly still do, was just wrong. It was irresponsible and misleading but to us, it made financial sense.
It didn’t stop my transgressions. Sure, I never allowed things to happen in the bed we shared, but unfortunately we lived in a two-bedroom townhouse. The truth is I allowed the deceit to come inside the home we shared, but it was only on one occasion and I did feel bad about it afterwards. That was just way to far. Plus the woman was extremely vocal, and it was just way out of bonds. I know, now you just flat out hate me. Don’t worry, I hate myself for it but at the time, it was about space and opportunity. There was no fear of hurting my beloved roommate because there was never a fear of being caught, even in this particular circumstance.
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