I Almost Forgot About You Read Online Free PDF Page B

will never forget the way those big hands gently slid my bra straps down my arms. That’s when I stopped thinking. I remember not having time to turn off the lights. I remember being kissed like I was a baby and then a grown woman, and I remember him picking me up from my love seat and laying me down on the floor, on top of my thick shag carpet, and he kissed me slower than slow, and I started to move like I was in a race, because I was trying to prove to him that I was just as good a lay sober as I was drunk, but he whispered in my ear, “Slow down, baby,” and I didn’t know what speed that was, so I said, “Show me,” and he put those hands on my hips and moved me like I was a slow roller coaster, and then the lights went off and I started losing control over my own body. At first I was embarrassed, and then when I started shaking and shivering and I yelled out, “Oh, God!” and Abraham said, “It’s all right, baby,” and then he got stronger and moved faster and collapsed on me, and started kissing me everywhere like I was something precious.
    I had what felt like aftershocks, and Abraham held me and said, “It’s all right, baby, I got you.” Oh, yes, he did. And finally, finally, I understood what all the hoopla was about and knew without a doubt I wanted to feel like that as often as possible.
    “Did you like that, baby?”
    “Can you bottle it?”
    He laughed like he was fully aware of his sexual power. All I knew was that I wanted to do it again just to see if I’d get the same results. And in the weeks and months that followed, I would discover I could have three and sometimes four of these magical moments back-to-back. It wasn’t like I was trying. Abraham had become my real-life black Ken doll. And I wanted to keep him.
    However. Despite my being smart enough to get a full scholarship, it had started to become increasingly clear that I was not that bright when it came to men. I thought they wanted a girl to be Wonder Woman. And me, like a damn fool, once Abraham started calling out my name during sex, I believed this to be a spiritual connection occurring between us and thus a sign of love. Abraham came over almost every day that first week, before or after his classes. Then one night we were lying on my Murphy bed and he was kissing my earlobe and said, “Look at all these goose bumps on my arm. I think I might be allergic to you, girl.”
    And I said, “That’s impossible. I’m hypoallergenic.”
    “I like you,” he said. “You’re quick. Feisty.”
    “I’ve got better qualities, but I can’t let you see them all at once.”
    “I’ll wait,” he said.
    A week or so later, I finally asked him, “What’s your major, Abraham?”
    “Did I give you the impression I was in college?”
    I just looked at him like he was joking. “I’m serious as a heart attack. What’s your major?”
    “It was horticulture.”
    “Was?”
    I felt like I’d been conned. I sat up and moved away from him. All of a sudden, Abraham felt too big for this room. He was really too big for me, too, because I felt small in his arms. Not safe, just small. He didn’t put his arms around me with tenderness; he pulled me into him like he was an octopus.
    “I was going to San Francisco State, but then my moms got sick and I had to work, so I’ve been on leave for two semesters.”
    “What’s wrong with your mom?”
    “I’d rather not get into it,” he said, as if she had some type of embarrassing illness, which made absolutely no sense. I would learn later that his sick mother was not only healthy but worked in the lingerie department at Macy’s in Union Square, that and at twenty-five and not twenty-two like he told me he was, Abraham still lived at home, had three younger siblings, all of whom, as I would also learn, were in or had graduated from various universities in Northern and Southern California.
    “Well, I hope she’s going to be okay,” I said.
    “I pray every day,” he said.
    “Why do