King Tut, the ladies love his style
Steve Martin/King Tut
“Girl, look at that red hair and that gray stripe. Wow. And those toes. Yeah. I’d like to suck on those. You taken? Cause I’d like to take you?” said the black guy in front of me at 7-11. Hard to believe just 20 minutes prior, I was playing Super Mario Cart with a 7-year-old who just wanted to beat me… and did.
I was 11 years old when I found out I was black man catnip. My mother, brother, and I were in a very, very long line to see the King Tut exhibit at the National Gallery. Waiting was boring, so I asked my mother if I could duck into the wing next to us and look around. She let me go by myself. As I walked around, I noticed the black security guard following me. When I dead ended and turned back around to rejoin my family, he was in front of me. He looked at me up and down. I didn’t understand why since I wasn’t in People’s Drug trying to steal candy. He then told me he liked my “chest.” I was 5’6” and a C-cup at the time, but I was still 11 fucking years old. I got the yucky, this-doesn’t-feel-right feeling and ran out of the wing.
Since that time I have dated several intelligent and handsome black guys. Their game was more evolved than commenting on my hair, boobs, or feet. Today’s guy gave me the creeps, and not because he was buying a 12-pack of Miller High Life at 10 a.m. His tone and delivery made me flashback to an experience I had forgotten about and never told anyone about.
If you want to take me on a Sunday, quote Steve Martin and buy champagne.