“I’ve held guys down and lifted them up and quite frankly, I’ve had enough. As a more mature woman, it was now my turn to reap some rewards.”
By Anonymous as told to Ida Harris
Quincy was definitely going home with me on Thursday for Thanksgiving Day to meet my daddy and my two big brothers; all of whom were accomplished and retired military men. Quincy was not, but I thought they would be pretty impressed.
That’s what I told myself the very first day we met because I was also impressed by the way he approached me and held my attention and made our interaction all about me. Plus, it was lust at first sight. He was good-looking, chocolate and certainly my type, and he could’ve got the draws on that first night. But I cooled my heels in favor of getting to know him.
I was pressed, but I wanted to take my time. I’d been out on a few dates since breaking up with my ex, and none of them panned out. One of them was “perpetually busy,” another was between jobs, and my ex was pretty much a leach. And while the sex was great with all of them, I could’ve kept my pussy to myself. With dating becoming more and more casual so was sex. It seemed less meaningful and my body count was growing. I was ready to settle down and date with intent.
Quincy was okay with my decision to take it slow. That, in and of itself, made me like him — and wanna fuck even more.
He presented himself as a hardworking dude, holding down a good job, maintaining his house, and looking for a serious relationship. He made that clear of the rip:
“Look, I’m looking for a wife not a girlfriend,”
As far as I was concerned, I found my husband. I told my friends, my coworkers, my cousins, my dog, the universe. I claimed it.
Our schedules were all over the place. Quincy was a 9-5’er, and I kept late hours at my job, and we hadn’t gotten together since the day we met, but we spent a lot of time talking, texting, and video-calling to make up for loss time. We traded stories on our upbringing. He was a true southerner, having grown up in lower Alabama, and me, I was a military brat. It seemed we could balance one another. He constantly praised me for keeping myself together and working as much as I did,
“My baby ‘bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan.’”
Even his corniness was refreshing at a time where dudes were so pretentious. I was really getting into him. He was sweet and he didn’t want anything from me except companionship — and I couldn’t remember the last time a guy wasn’t out to use me for something. Quincy was just damn refreshing.
Three weeks had gone by without us being physically in contact and it was long overdue. I was ready to see him and he was as eager to see me. I received a text demanding we get together and go to dinner the next Friday. He wanted to take me one of his favorite seafood restaurants. I was stoked because, well, it had been a minute since I was wined and dined. The anticipation leading up to our date was growing. I googled the restaurant, checked out the menu and was excited about two things: 1) The lobster bisque and Rockefeller oysters looked amazing. 2) I wouldn’t have to order a less expensive meal for the sake of a guy’s pocket.
On the afternoon of our date, Quince called to confirm. We agreed to meet straight after work. When we met up, the chemistry and attraction was as strong as ever. We chatted over shrimp scampi, calamari, rock lobster and of course my bisque and oysters. Quincy had a cheeseburger deluxe. I had two tequila shots; he drank water. We talked about everything, catching up on TV shows and work-related situations. Throughout the meal, he mentioned having issues with his payroll. Twice he talked about not being able to access his online banking account. We weren’t ready to go when the check arrived so we stayed longer enjoying each other’s company. I noticed an odd look on Quincy’s face as I ordered a final drink. When the waiter came for payment he handed over his debit card.
“Is everything okay, Babe?”
“Yeah, it’s just that I’m having some issues,” he said while fumbling with the folded check.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I’mma need your help on this one …” he reached for my hand, with a half embarrassed look on his face.
“What do you mean?”
“My check was fucked up, today. I got garnished,” he said. “I got about $15 on me,” he went into his wallet and pulled out a $10 bill and then reached in his pants pocket and placed five, crumpled $1 bills on the table.
“You mean like pay for my own meal on a date you invited me on?” I asked politely. I was triggered as fuck and he sat across from me stuck on stupid. He looked even stupider when the waiter returned with his declined card. And three times as stupid when the couple seated adjacent from us responded with side eyes and “yooooooo” faces:
I felt slightly embarrassed for him, but even more so I felt like I was played as digged in my bag to cover the bill. He knew he didn’t have it before our evening started. All the signs were there. I mean who invites someone to their “favorite” seafood spot and orders a burger and fries? Then all his mentions about “payroll” and “access” to his account. The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I became. I felt like he was testing my pockets, or at least thought I was the type of woman who would just have it.
“Please don’t be upset with me, Beautiful,” he patronized.
“Why didn’t you just cancel or reschedule? Why put me in a position like this when you clearly knew you were in a jam?” I asked.
“I really wanted to see you,” Quincy responded.
“No, you thought I had it like that and wouldn’t be bothered by picking up your slack, but I don’t have it like that and I am disturbed by your actions,” I said. “Why encourage me to eat and drink what I want when you weren’t even paying? Furthermore we could’ve went to a number of places that didn’t require money,”
The couple at the next table were ear-hustling, but trying to pretend they weren’t. I could tell by the their wide-eyed facial expressions and body language.
“I’ll make it up to you, I promise,”
“I’m not so sure you can, Quincy”
“I know I can. I really want to date you,”
“You’re not being honest with yourself. You can’t afford to date me. I’m a grown ass woman, dawg. I don’t do struggle love.”
I had been there and done that enough in my life. It took a lot of work for me to learn what I deserve. I was not about to digress. I gathered my coat and pocketbook, and thanked Quincy for a half good time. I was proud that I kept 100% with myself. Thursday, I’ll be spending another Thanksgiving alone with my daddy and brothers and that meal and their love won’t cost me a damn dime.
I be writing. I’m aiight with standard English, but poetic with Black Vernacular. I’mma dope dealer, too