nice and creepy

what do a brotha named karembe and contractile tissue have in common? they're both on my fucking NERVES.

date: monday, august 7, 2006
time: 7:45 a.m.
place: my office
people in this scene: one fine brotha who was beginning to act creepy and one tired sista who wasn't giving a fuck about his fineness that early in the fucking morning but was definitely noting the creepiness.

i hadn't even been in my office a good five minutes...

"good morning, nikki" a deep voice, fragranted lightly with a french ac-scent, was wafting through the air, a savory smell for my senses to absorb. my ears gorged themselves on the sound of him and for a minute i just sat there and waited for him to speak again so my ears could take another bite. then i remembered i'd just seen him the friday before that...and the thursday before that...and the wednesday before that. every weekday for at least a month. this cat has been stopping by my office every weekday for at least a month. initially it was cool and i was digging the attention. then he became more invasive with each succeeding visit, stayed in my office for such long periods of time he was pulling out a chair to sit in so he could talk to me.

that's not cool when i'm the t.n. and he's the negro working in facilities. two of us together might raise eyebrows, especially when the conversation lasts longer than five minutes. whenever he stays in my office longer than five minutes i start feeling like an enslaved african back in the day, engaging in clandestine meetings in plain sight of my massa, planning a slave revolt against the oppression. i wonder if the folk around me are thinking "those negros are planning to kill us in our sleep" or some shit like that. i begin making furtive looks towards the entrance to my office, expecting my boss to jump through the entry way with the exclamation "AHA! i KNEW you negros were planning to kill me!!"

so i do my best to discourage him staying in my office that long. and it ain't just that. i mean, i AM at work, damnit. it's not as if i have a shitload of free time as it is. i gotta look like i'm busy, otherwise folk think they can unload work on me and i simply can't have that. i'm not saying that karembe doesn't have a demanding gig. i'm saying that i have my own shit to get done in a day and i can't afford to set aside thirty minutes to chat (uh, unless it's an online chat that is...)

so on this morning he's in my office mad early and i have to wonder why. is it because when he comes later in the day i put on the "i'm fucking busy doing work" facade in hopes of dissuading him from staying long? i mean, i've gotten to the point where if i see him standing in my doorway i immediately grab some papers and start staring at them intently, as if i'm trying to decode russian spy correspondence or something. then i mumble a "hello", slightly laced with irritation at being interrupted. he must have noted that and made an adjustment to see me when i first get in.

"i saw you pulling into the parking lot this morning," he states to me matter-of-factly, "you looked like you were in a rush."

i digest that bit of information and responded, "i was running late."

"you get in at about 7:45 every morning, i see."

what? he notes what time i get in everyday? oh HELL nah.

"uh, yeah. i usually get in right before i'm considered late," i say as i swiveled towards my computer pulled up my email. he stares at me intently with a half-smile on his face.

"it seems like everyday i see you rushing through the door."

i note his tremendous skill in the art of stating the obvious as i turn my attention to the task of deleting the spammed and forwarded emails in my inbox.

"that's cuz everyday i'm rushing through the door." i had to pull 'miss sarcastic' into action early this day. karembe's smile grows in response. damn, he's a pretty attractive dude...who's starting to remind me of the guy who stalked me back in the day. my stomach muscles tighten as i remember that time with no fondness whatsoever and realize i've gotta get this cat out of my office. i look around, exasperation shaping my face because for once, i have no mountain of work on any of the work surfaces, which means i can't tell him i have a shitload of work to get to.

"so what are your plans for today?" he asks me as he leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. oh snap...he's getting comfortable. i need to nip this quick before he decides to pull up a seat and then i'll never get started with my day.

"well, i figure i'd work a little," i start slowly, my eyes on the monitor as i began forming a strategy in my mind for how to get rid of this guy, "then i'll work a little more."

"i plan on doing the same thing," he responds, and i had to stifle the 'duh' fighting to escape my lips.

"uh, that's good," i said instead, cuz even though i am feeling uncomfortable with his attention, he's not a bad dude. i don't want him to feel bad. then hatin' heffa walks past my door, glancing at karembe and then me as she does so. i know now i have to get rid of him immediately, cuz that chick has a way of making the gathering of two negros seem like terr.ori.sts pl.ott.ing when she relays it to my boss (which i know she will).

"so you are doing okay?" he inquires, curiosity lining his voice like silk in a warm wool blazer. at that same time my stomach starts cramping. i frown. what's that about?

"i was up until just now," i reply, now feeling a slight pain in my lower back.

he pulls his form from the doorframe and steps towards me, concern in his eyes as his brow puckers.

"are you alright? do you need me to get you anything?"

my stomach begins rumbling at this point and i fight against the urge to double over. i start to panic a little. i look at him and close my eyes against the pain.

"i need to get to the restroom," i say to him, the words leaving my mouth in limpid bursts of sound.

"let me help you." he leans over and gently places his arm around my waist. the cramping gets worse and my body is starting to feel as though it is going to implode into itself. i let him help me up and we slowly begin making our way to the restroom. luckily, it isn't that far away and we make it there in no time. by the time i get to the bathroom stall, i can feel something making its way to my ass and i know i have to get to that toilet as soon as possible cuz whatever it is isn't gonna wait. i quickly pull down my pants and panties and unload. it is not cute. fecal matter explodes from my ass like a cannon blast and it is loud and repetitive. i keep flushing and flushing and every time i think i'm done another wave hits my ass and i'm at it again. it seems like this shit is never gonna end. i'm in there at least twenty minutes. i'm feeling rather weak and a little more than a little embarrassed by the time i wash and dry my hands and make my way to the door, but i'm sure i've been in there long enough for karembe to realize i needed some time to handle mine. he had to be gone by now.

i opened the door.

and bump right into him.

awww DAMN!

"are you alright?"

i wasn't sure what i should say. i mean, this cat has just heard me engage in the shit battle to end all shit battles. he's heard the farts and the plops and the flushes and he's still right here. coupled with the farting episode he witnessed (i think) this cat is now more intimate with the workings of my ass than guys i've dated for months. for some reason, that knowledge makes me feel closer to him. plus, the look on his face was one of concern, not disgust.

"i'm better now," i replied weakly, "i think it was something i ate."

he said nothing. he just places his hand around my waist and helps me back to the office. i don't really need his help at this point as i am getting stronger by the minute, but he is being chivarous and who am i to discourage the dude?

back in the office, i sit down and smile up at him. he smiles back.

"thanks, karembe."

"you are welcome."

and then he leaves.

and i wonder if perhaps i'm being too hard on the brotha...