Trust

Today's topic is so wide-reaching and has so many angles that it may take my entire writing career to cover it in its entirety. Humans are obsessed with and continue to search feverishly for the unwavering need to love and be loved.

Love is an emotion, a very simple one to feel, but very complex in sustaining. My decision to write on Love was not so much to discuss the feeling but the other elements that are intertwined in this complexity. The phrase, if you cannot be trusted, you cannot be loved, comes to mind every time I ponder on love.

Trust is the foundation of every relationship - parent/child, husband/wife and friends. If you have no trust, you have absolutely nothing. Or so they say. I wonder how so many of us enter into personal committed relationships and give so freely of our fragile figurative hearts and give power and control to another. Trust is letting go and hoping that the other person will treat you they way you want to be treated and respected.

I believe trust, like faith, is like a blind man walking on the edge of a cliff, hoping not to fall. How stupid a move is that! Why should I give all control to another person? I mean, sometimes I don't even trust myself and some of the decisions I make for myself. I have heard that trust is earned, but how do we decide that the other person deserves our trust. And then when we give our trust, how sure are we that they don't take advantage of it. I know, you will say, we just have to trust that they don't. That's way too much trust for me.

I have been in a long term relationship and trust is still a major issue for me. Many experts will argue that we are on treacherous path; however, we have been standing the test of time thus far and working daily at keeping the spark alive. So, you ask how come? I tell you this, I trust him to be a MAN. He is human and so am I , we will falter and disappoint, but with second chances we will do better.

Trust should be earned, but more importantly, a reason to be trusted should be given. Each member of the relationship should not give the other person any reason to doubt their willingness to keep the relationSHIP afloat.

Have a Blessed Day!

He's not my man!

One very lonely Sunday evening, I decided to take a drive in my silver Honda civic to a nearby mall. On journeys like these, I would buy an ice cream or some snack, sit at an accessible spot and observe.

There I was licking on my Guinness and Rum and Raisin cone when the Mother of all men passed by. The epiphany of masculinity all rolled up into a sweet, scrumptious, chocolate frame. My ice cream just lost its flavor. Then my man smiled that ‘good evening, how are you’ type of smile. I blushed (how very coy). And to my deep-seated pleasure, he left a lingering, teasing scent behind that made my pores rise.

I threw my ice cream away and followed the scent straight to the lingerie store on the third floor of the mall. I browsed haplessly and waited with abated breath to gain his attention. I stepped to the same rack of padded bras and matching thongs, and toyed seductively with the thong of the thong. Again heaven opened up and smiled for me. Glory be, praise the Lord! This man was finnnne!

‘That is my favorite color’, he said, with that Barry White voice.

Crimson red, the color of love, passion and burning desire.

‘I think that it will look nice on you, extremely sexy’, he licked his LL Cool J lips.

What I would do to lick those very succulent, smooth, wet lips.

I picked up the set and proceeded to the cashier and ‘Mr. Hersheys’ followed close behind. I paid with my in case of emergency credit card, because this was an emergency.

‘It would be nice to see if I really have good taste’, he said in a very playful tone.

I wonder how you taste, I thought.

‘Would you like me to try it on, here?’ I asked, just as playfully.

‘No that would not be sufficient’ he replied so sure of himself.

What was he suggesting?

I walked out the store and headed for the exit.

‘Where ya headed?’

‘Home, and you?’

‘Wherever you are.’

I stopped, turned around and smiled.

We casually walked to my Civic, with 17” chromed rims, the latest DVD setup and a sound system that won Sound-off for the third time this year. I asked if he would like a ride.

‘Only if you are driving’, he answered coyly.

I was not comfortable with taking a complete stranger to my home and he told me that his wife (of course he had a wife) and his two year old were at home, so we decided on a quaint drive-in motel just outside of town. He said that he was not familiar with this type of thing and so I handled the situation and again paid with my in case of emergency credit card. Room key in one hand and lingerie bag in the other, we went upstairs. I paid for three hours.

I showered and changed into my crimson red thong and matching bra and it fitted as though Victoria knew my size perfectly. I kept my heels on and walked the line, modeling for a man I met forty five minutes ago. He removed his close-fitted t-shirt and exposed a well-sculptured chest (hairless, thank God) and washboard abs that made me sizzle like oil in a hot frying pan. He slowly and seductively wriggled himself out of his Phat Farm jeans that held on to the top of his round ass. And there it stood in a Michael Jordan boxer-brief, crimson red, no doubt.

The most sensual and steamy experience happened to me that lonely Sunday evening. An indescribable sensation caused by the touch of his fingertips on my soft silky skin caused tremors and convulsions in every inch of my body. We spent at least an hour touching and caressing each other. He explored my body like Indiana Jones and touched every nerve ending of my skin. A man with the softest touch and sweetest kiss was next to me, making me wet and bursting with immense desire.

He teased me further with his tongue (oh that magic tongue!). It licked every crack, curve and crevice of my body, lingering in the most appropriate crevice of them all. Thank you Father for that sweet tongue! Mr. Hersheys dedicated at least half an hour down under. I had died and gone to heaven, multiple times. And to think that was only the beginning.

Next, the true nectar of his honey soaked beehive stood straight and at attention for its queen. Nine inches of chocolate glory with a cherry top, all for me to devour, with adept skill and immense pleasure. I sucked that mother dry!

When I was finished, I lay back on the bed pleased with myself. Mr. Hersheys groaned and moaned as if it were the first time he was deep throated and swallowed so completely. He tasted like Oreo cookies soaked in milk. Delicious!

I started to drift off into never-never land, only to be awakened by the sweet pain of penetration between my thighs. It was slow and deliberate, caressing the walls of my vagina, so tenderly. In and out. In and out. In and then out again. Hersheys perched on top of me and stroked my clitoris with the tip of his penis, without the use of his hands. I closed my eyes and savored the sweet sensation between my legs. Then in again. This time more certain of its purpose. Deeper and deeper. I felt him in my throat. Good heavens, I want to scream. Oh shit! And like an earthquake I shook uncontrollably and he stayed in there until I stopped. I was soaking wet. He withdrew.

He turned me over and entered again, this time from behind. I was lying flat on the bed, legs spread, him on top, and deep inside me. We moved in unison until the earthquake tremors started again. It had to be about a nine on the Richter scale. He stayed in me until the tremors stopped, and then he withdrew.

I was tired, drained, exhausted and sore. He read my mind and licked right where it hurt. I cried uncontrollably from the sweet pleasure. Where in heaven’s name was this man all my life, I wondered. Obviously married and unattainable. What a lucky lady…his wife.

I rolled over completely drained and he smiled the wicked grin of an accomplished man. We spoke and only then I realized I did not know his name, D’Andre. He has been married for five years with a two year old son, Taye. He speaks with adoration and love for his wife and family and that amazed me. He spoke of her profession achievements coupled with her family obligations, with admiration. How noble!

We spoke for another hour and a half. I told him about my quest to become an author while working diligently at a popular radio station and my obsession with fast cars and fast men. We laughed and talked like long lost buddies and revered in the aroma of our bodies. How come we didn’t meet before, I thought. It was as though he read my mind and blurted out the same thought.

D’Andre held me close and we started kissing and groping one another until we were as one. We stayed there until he exploded. He cried a painful cry and I held him even closer and tighter. We drifted off for a while. I hope I’m not in love with him. He’s not my man.

I dropped D’Andre off at the taxi stand six hours later and proceeded home.

I’m now happily married, with two children and every Sunday I visit the mall with anticipation of getting a taste of the chocolate fudge man.

Written by:

DARA K. DILLON

09:10:2002