Ripped & Ready
D'Andre Washington epitomized masculinity. Every time I saw him I couldn't take my eyes off of him. He stood 6' 2", weighed about 225 lbs, had skin the color of a rich honey, and his chiseled facial features were equivalent to that of the manliest of men on the model circuit. Not the pretty boy type either, no, the type who might live right next door or down the street from where you lived. He was a natural stunner and, what made him so irresistible, was that his persona was void of conceit and vanity.
Naturally, he was athletic and loved all sports; however, his favorite was basketball. His attire consisted, mainly, of basketball jersey's and nylon sweats. His hair was always neatly faded, and he wore two small gold hoop earrings in his ears. If he wanted to, he could have easily been a player -- like most dudes from the neighborhood, but he wasn't into sleeping around because he respected himself and his body too much -- a respect that he equally showed to whomever he decided to chop it up with -- and that list was not long.
D'Andre and I had been friends since kindergarten. He had always been good-looking and his hazel eyes went from cute to dreamy and hypnotic the older he got. Unfortunately, he took a lot of heat for being so handsome -- a lot of the guys from the hood were jealous of him because women adored him. He was the type of guy that spoke sweetly, held hands while walking down the street, and he had that southern charm and gentleman quality -- he held the doors open for his woman (car doors, restaurant doors, front doors etc...).
His current lady was named, Denise Thomas. They were friends first and then, about a year into their friendship, became an item. Denise was also a stunner. Her skin was the color of a fine mahogany (yea, dark skinned sistah's are beautiful too). My pops used to tease her all the time because she had those large eyes with long lashes --similar to Diana Ross. Whenever she was over at the house visiting my sister, pops would always call her "Ms. Ross". She had luscious full lips (that were never loaded up with shiny gloss), high cheek bones, and her once skinny teenage figure had become a curvaceous one -- we're talking hour glass.
It was my friendship with D'Andre and my sister's friendship with Denise that fueled the beginning of their association. Now, he and I used to mess around throughout our teenage years; however, those wonderful romps ended the day he looked into Denise's beautiful eyes. I knew it was bound to happen because, he'd always ask me questions about her and always wanted to know if I thought that she thought he was cute. After a while I started getting irritated and envious of her.
I remember the last time when I was giving him boss, he asked me, as I was doing him, if I thought Denise was into giving head. I stopped, wiped my mouth and, with both of my hands resting on both of his knees I looked at him and asked, "What the fuck are you asking me about her for? If you want her to suck your motherfucking dick, why don't you ask her to do it!" I was furious.
With his sweats and white briefs still down around his ankles, he reached out and cradled my face with his his hands and said, "Marco Thompson, I didn't mean to hurt you, you know that we are always going to be boys," he said in a sweet tone. His baritone voice caused me to melt right there on my knees in front of him. The next year would prove to be one of the most challenging years for our relationship. He never considered himself to be "down-low", he just felt that he was a sexual being.
His commitment to relationships is what would test the feelings he had for me. He did love me, I knew that, but, his attraction to Denise was pulling him further and further apart from me. I hadn't seen him in over a week because he had gone back south with his parents to visit some colleges and, on the night he returned, he called me, told me he missed me so much and asked me not to go anywhere. He wanted to talk....
