The Other Side of the Pillow

“What else would you like to talk about?”

I shrugged.

“How about we discuss why you’re so bitter toward men?”

“Didn’t you just say ‘enough of the dismal stuff?’?” I got up from the table to throw my plate in the trash bag we had near the grill. “So this makes sense to you? Taking me away from the hustle and bustle of the city to a peaceful, secluded place only to turn around and ask me to conjure up all of the negativity that I’m attempting to leave behind?”

“Now that you put it like that, no. It makes no sense at all.” I felt his presence behind me a second before he put his arms around my waist and whispered in my ear, “But in order for me to avoid the same mistakes the other men made, I need to know what you expect.”

“It’s not really all about expectations. It’s about human decency and not trying to cause the next person to self-destruct.”

He gazed into my eyes. “That definitely is not my intention.” He kissed me on the cheek and let me go. “Instead of going into everything from your past in minute details, how about an overview?”

He sat down on the bench of the picnic table, facing outward toward me. “I can make some assumptions, based on that poem you recited.”

“What kind of assumptions?”

“Well, I can assume that you’ve been cheated on, yelled at before, possibly beaten on.”

I glared at him, trying to decide how to respond.

“Okay, I am going to give you a quick overview. Yes, all of those things have happened to me before, including the domestic violence. I always told myself that no man would ever hit me and get away with it . . . until it actually happened.”

I walked over and sat down beside Tevin. “I was engaged once. It turned out to be a nightmare. His name was Wesley and I thought he was the moon, the sun, and the stars when I first met him. We met in grad school at Georgetown. He was from what they call old money, originally from Boston. I loved everything about him, from the way he walked with such confidence to his authentic Boston accent. He was just . . . cool. He was charming, brilliant, and said all the right things.

“Most of the women on campus wanted to at least sleep with him once, and I was no exception. Crazy, but the truth. Like a lot of younger women, I believed that my pussy was better than anyone else’s and after he got one taste of it, he would be mine forever.

“I actually competed for his attention. I can laugh about it now, but it was ridiculous back then. It’s amazing what people can accept as normalcy when toxic situations are all that they have ever witnessed. Looking back at it now, I’m not sure if I ever had any relatives or friends growing up that did not live in complete dysfunction. So if you only comprehend that type of behavior, something better is damn near impossible to relate to.”

“I understand where you are coming from. I’ve run across quite a few women who felt like I was too good to be true because I wasn’t hitting them, cheating on them, or yelling at them like they expected. It’s true that good men usually finish last.”

“It took me a long time to realize that. When I would meet a seemingly nice man, I always expected something crazy to happen. Most of the time it did, but now that I look back on it, I realize that I kept hooking up with guys similar to Wesley over and over again.

“Men who looked great on paper. Men who women would fall all over each other to get to. Men who could never actually do right by another human being because it wasn’t in their nature. Then I started believing that all men had to have some kind of crazy mentality about them. I was attracting the wrong type of men because I was wearing my pain, low self-esteem, and negative outlook on my face.”

Tevin glanced over at me and took my hand. “I know that extremely well.”

I felt ashamed because he was right. It was the expression written all over my face the night we met, not to mention the “Bitter” poem.

“So why even approach me? Why even ask me out if you saw all of that?”

“Because I wanted to be the one to change your outlook. Color me stupid, but I believe it’s actually working . . . somewhat.”

I blushed. “Yes, it is.”

We shared a long kiss and I was ready to let him take me right there on the deck, but I stopped him.

“I have to warn you about something,” I said.

“Warn me? You’re not really a man, are you?”

I slapped him on the thigh and we both laughed.

“Now that would truly turn this situationship into an adventure,” I replied. “No, I’m not a man.”

“I was just kidding. You’re way too beautiful to be a male.”

“Please, there are some trannies that would put every woman that I know—including me—to shame.”