Whos Loving You (25 page)

Who’s Loving You

I
t was 1975 and my freshmen year in high school.

Beads of sweat settled like raindrops on my nose as I dashed around a new school on a humid day in August, trying to locate my first period physics class. When I finally showed up ten minutes late, my greatest fear as I strolled inside the huge, auditorium-style room filled with mostly juniors and seniors should’ve been whether the instructor would allow me entrance. Instead, my biggest concern was inconspicuously finding someplace to sit. Scanning the room, I spotted a solitary desk in the rear. Once I settled in, I glanced to my left and saw a brother with a shy smile, wire-rimmed glasses, and one of the toughest Afros I’d ever seen. He smiled at me. Fate intervened again, because he was also in my fourth period advanced math class. Over the school year, I learned a great deal about the person I initially considered a nerd.

By all accounts, he could have so easily been lumped in the category our society preserves for black males that are fatherless and raised by single mothers—most likely
not
to succeed. Yet, he defied all the odds.

Every day, I’m grateful to that middle-school teacher who had the unmitigated gall to tell this man-child to his face that black folks, and especially black men, didn’t have the intelligence or the discipline to become engineers. Whether that statement inspired my man to achieve—he delivered the valedictorian address to his senior class in 1975 and subsequently received a full scholarship to one of the top engineering schools in the country, earning a chemical engineering degree with honors—I’ll never know.

What I do know is this: He’s the man I married twenty-four years ago and the father of my four children. He’s the man who sometimes heads out the door sick and works all day to earn an honest day’s pay in order to support his family. He’s the man who loves me in spite of my shortcomings. He’s the man who honors and respects me and demands the same from others on my behalf. He’s the man who’s cried with me and for me. He’s the man who’s celebrated my joys and shared my pain. He’s my lover, my best friend, my soul mate.

Who’s loving me?

Not just any man, but a
damn
good man.

LaConnie Taylor-Jones

When A Man Loves A Woman

Genesis Press

www.laconnietaylorjones.com

Who’s Loving Me

M
y wife is everything I need in a woman and more. I’ve said often, along with God, she makes me the man I am today. She’s exactly what I prayed for. She is my gift from God, but that gift didn’t come without some pain. So that you fully understand what she means to me, allow me to share with you our journey. This journey has entailed a happiness that has overcome me being married when we initially met, reconnecting with each other after a five-year absence, infidelity, a miscarriage, my four children from three other women, former acquaintances that attacked our relationship, a mother-in-law who gambled part of our financial future away, and even Hurricane Dean. There is no way I could have scripted the way my life has been filled with pure happiness from the love of a strong African American sister who somehow fell and stayed in love with me. The one thing I do know is that the Lord was at work here, and he decided it was time for us to be together.

In 1995 I returned to York College in Jamaica, Queens. I needed to get my life in order. I had made the choice to be a full-time student. I had originally started college in 1985 and had spent four years playing ball and chasing skirts at this very college. I was sleeping with every woman I could, and ten years later nothing had changed, except my marital and parental status. I was a married man of four years and was expecting my second child with my wife. I also had a daughter, with another woman, who was living in South Carolina with her grandparents since her mother and I were unable to take care of her. Inside, I was the same dog and predator. I started hanging out with the younger guys on the basketball team because they loved my wisdom on how to get the ladies, and this fed my ego. Prideful discussions about my conquests and sexual prowess were an instant ego fix. I became one of the coaches of the women’s basketball team. That is where I met Tiffany. She was cute, sexy, and thick. Oh, I could go on for days about how good-looking she was. I have always loved the thicker sisters, and she was perfect. One thing I noticed was that her clothes left a little something to be desired. Hell, it looked like she was poor. I was calling her my Section 8 sweetheart. Actually, I told another brother that she was my diamond in the rough. I was so vain that I told her, “You know, if I clean you up, you’d look pretty good.” Of course, I got ignored.

I was definitely smitten with Tiffany. She was friends with one of the young women on the team, so I used my coaching influence to get a date. Getting together for lunch one day, Tiffany explained her home life. She told me that at nineteen she owned her own home. Here I was, almost ten years older than her, and she was telling me she owned a home. Yeah okay. Of course, I didn’t believe her, but whatever will get me into her pants. I could see she was digging me, but she didn’t act like other women. My school status and smooth romancing talk didn’t move her. She asked me if was I married. I had to say yes. I didn’t think lying was going to work. She said she didn’t date married men. I was tight. I couldn’t see the makings of a fine, stable, and together sister. All I saw was a lost victim I wanted to bed down. Not too soon after that conversation, Tiff dropped out of school.

Fast-forward to 2000. I was still lying with whatever women would let me. The only thing now was I had separated from my wife, and I was living back home with my mother and grandmother. One night, when I was heading to the store, I saw these hips and this soft, sexy walk. I never neglected to check out the stride of a full-figured woman. I wanted to get Ms. Sexy’s attention, so I said, “Why are you looking so mean?” She ignored me. Wow! It was Tiffany. Five years later and she still looked great. I yelled out, “Don’t act like you don’t remember me.” After talking for about two hours, I took her home, and it turned out she lived about three minutes from my parents. Of course, she asked if I was still married. “Keith, you know I don’t date married men, so why are you trying to kick it?” she said. “Listen, Tiff,” I said. “I am not with my wife anymore, and I am working on getting divorced. I even live out here in Queens now. I moved out.” I told her to just take time and think about getting together.

We were married on August 12, 2007. To understand this woman, you have to know that she is not money or attention hungry: she is just committed to being a good person. That is what I love about her. Going into this marriage, we knew so much had changed in our lives. We had given our lives to Christ and had become Christians. When I hear women talk about men and say, “Once a cheater, always a cheater,” I’m delighted that our relationship puts that to rest. You see, as I stood waiting for my bride to come down the aisle at my parents’ home, my thoughts were on why God chose me to bless like this. Here I had spent my whole life trying to destroy all he had given me. I had cheated on Tiffany multiple times and had even got one woman pregnant, but she lost the child. I did the “I am sorry. I’ll never do it again. Don’t leave me, baby” thing just to keep her in my life. The last time was the time that the ice around my heart cracked. I had begun to change my life after I started attending church and trying to get closer to the Lord. Tiffany was doing the same thing. She even got baptized since it was something she’d always wanted to do. Her connection to the Lord saved our lives and our future together. The last time I cheated, she was ready to kick me out and end this union we’d had for six years. Before she could get the words out, I was leaving, because I didn’t want to see her hurting anymore. With the Bible on the bed, Tiff asked me to come and sit next to her. “Keith, listen,” she said. “You know I love you, but I can’t keep doing this. Tonight you’re going to have to decide to change. If you love God and me, then you have to change all the way, or we will never make it.” Here the woman I’d helped bring to Christ was ministering to me. Here a woman nine years my junior was reaching inside my chest and healing what had been an ailment most of my life. Say what you want, but that night God touched my wife, and she touched me. My tears had never been so big. After losing a child of our own, hearing about another woman being pregnant for me around the same time, this angel chose to do what she thought God wanted and attempted to fix this relationship. That was the night I fell so in love with her that only death could stop me from loving her. Standing there on our wedding day, with our friends and family, I was proud to be getting ready to say “I do.” This is the woman God wanted me to have, and it was through the love of Him that we saved each other. My wife is the love of my life, and I’ll fight to the death to make sure she is never hurt by anything I do or anyone. She is my friend, partner, and equal. This is who is loving me!

—K. L.

www.KLthewriter.com

L
ove means many things to people. What does love mean to you? The dictionary defines
love
as a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person; strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties; an unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for the
good
of another.

Any act of kindness that is done with forethoughts of expectations of reciprocity is not love. When you truly love another, you should freely perform acts of kindness simply because you care for the other person. If you have regrets or remorse for having expressed love for someone, then you don’t honestly love them. You bartered your tokens of affection in hopes of gaining their love.

Love is a gamble. There is no guarantee that the one you love will love you. My advice is take a chance and don’t hold back. Love fuels the spirit. Love soothes pain. Love protects the heart. The one thing love does not do is love. People love. Love is a noun; it’s an immeasurable, insurmountable, intangible thing. Things are idle until people utilize them.

In your heart, you have the power to love and uplift everyone around you. Unhappiness is a choice that requires you to relive moments of your past that generally prevent you from appreciating the present. Try smiling when you feel like frowning. Give someone a hug just because you care. Be very clear that the first person you must love is yourself. When you love yourself, you elevate yourself. You do not allow others to bring you down by abusing, mistreating, or disrespecting you.

Don’t confuse having sex with making love.

Too many babies are conceived from straight fucking. To the greatest extent possible, love the person you’re having sex with. Discuss the possibilities and responsibilities of pregnancy. It saddens me to see so many single mothers struggling alone. I know there are a few single male parents, too, but 70 percent of African American women are single moms. This percentage is ludicrous and must decrease drastically.

Ladies, you must take dominion over your hearts, your minds, your bodies, and your lives. I urge you not to forget that your pussy belongs to you and no one else. Not your mama, not your daddy, and definitely not any man. Never feel pressured to have sex. MAKE HIM put on a condom, or put it on for him. Men and women who are sexually active must keep condoms on hand at all times, because you can’t use what you don’t have.

My favorite condoms are Magnums (the regular lubricated ones without all the added stimulants or effects) and Lifestyle Tuxedos. If the Magnum is too big for him, the black Tuxedo should fit nicely. Have at least one Magnum XL, just in case you hit the jackpot. If he’s fairly small, you can try Kimonos. I find the elastic band at the base is too tight for large and average dicks but just right for a man who is smaller. Kimonos may also work better for men who are diabetic, by helping them to prolong an erection. The size of the condom does matter. The size of the dick does not.

I hear all the brainwashed, sexually inexperienced readers disagreeing with me, but what I find is most men, while they may not be able to count the number of sexual encounters they’ve had, are inexperienced when it comes to pleasing a woman. A smaller-size man generally works harder to make a great impression in bed than a man with a big dick. Lambskin condoms only protect against pregnancy, not sexually transmitted diseases. If a man is allergic to latex, he should maximize foreplay and minimize the time he wears the latex condom. He might try adding a drop of water-based lube on the head of his dick before putting on the condom, but by no means should the couple forgo protecting themselves.

Ladies, allowing a man to ejaculate inside of you is personal (and possibly terminal) and should never be done without first getting tested. HIV does not have a look, a taste, or a smell, and it is a disease that does not discriminate. What I’m hearing from college-age students is the ladies are the ones who don’t want the men to wear condoms. In this case, guys you must accept the responsibility of wrapping up your dick, because you’re at risk, too. You could contract sexually transmitted diseases from women. Those who prefer same-sex relationships or are bisexual, you, too, must use condoms and dental dams.

Ladies, before having sex, ask him, “If I get pregnant, what are you going to do?” If he already has children he’s not taking care of, please don’t foolishly think you’re the chosen one and he’ll do right by you. He won’t.

Having a baby should be a choice, not a mistake.

Discuss the ramifications and seriousness of contracting a sexually transmitted disease. Protect yourself. Take birth control pills or use another form of birth control in addition to condoms. Innocent children are abandoned emotionally and sometimes physically because two irresponsible people with raging hormones decided to have unprotected sex. What’s left after the sperm fertilizes the egg? A pregnant female, often a teenager, who will spend the rest of her life caring for her child, alone. And somehow, miraculously, that child is expected to learn how to love parents that don’t know how to love them.

Often the people that you have sex with don’t love you at all. Sometimes they don’t even know who you are or what your middle name is or what your favorite anything is—your favorite color, food, place, or movie. Emotional infidelity is potentially worse than having sexual affairs. A true love bond cannot be broken. A sexual relationship can end at any time. Married or single, if you decide to engage in sex, fuck responsibly.

I imagine the most misused word in every dictionary is
love
. People say, “I love you,” with their mouth, not their heart. So you hear what you want to hear, but you don’t feel the power of love. It’s easier to hate. Oh, people are so easily appeased and displeased nowadays, largely because they don’t know how to genuinely love themselves or anyone else. But they think they do.

No, I take that back.
They don’t think.
They simply believe.