CHAPTER THREE
When in Doubt, Follow Your Heart Jenna . . .
For as long as I can remember, I have always admired and had a thing for older women. Women that I’ve seen on television, in malls, teachers, you name it. I thought I was weird at first, but I then realized boys my age—and boys, period—didn’t interest me. Initially, I told myself I was looking for a mother figure. I had say to myself, I don’t want to hold hands, kiss, or take long walks on the beach with my mother. Or do I? Minus the kissing?
In actuality, I’ve never had a relationship with a woman, or with a man, in all honesty. I have never had a boyfriend, a girlfriend, or been on a real date. I remain a virgin. I have never been able to interact with women on anything more than the level of friendship. I’ve had a few casual “dates,” which consisted of a one-on-one girls’ night out, but nothing serious. Until Brianne. So of course, with Brianne, I was intimidated at first. Without question, she saw right through me. She is an amazing woman. When we met, I had no idea of her relationship status, and with my insecurities, I could never have imagined that she would be interested in someone like me.
During the family counseling sessions I attended with Candice and my dad, Dr. Binet—I mean Brianne . . . I’m gushing just mentioning her name—would always have her hair tied in a ponytail that she’d slicked back and wrapped into a tight bun. Glasses and little to no makeup to accompany her everyday ensemble. Not even lipstick. She was always professionally dressed in dark colors, such as gray, black, and navy, and she wore blazers paired with skirts or pantsuits. Pretty much a plain Jane, so I never really paid her that much attention to her physical appearance. I admired her intelligence, but not in a romantic way, so to speak.
That was until Candice’s graduation day. A few months back, Candice received her associate’s degree in mental health. She swore then that Brianne and I were already an item and in love, because of the way I watched her and stared at her. I disagreed for the simple fact that I wasn’t attracted to Brianne romantically. And for the fact that she was a therapist and knew all my dark secrets. Maybe I was in denial. I had never really looked at a woman of a different race in that manner. Primarily because I had thought all of them looked, smelled, and acted like my evil stepmother. Either way, Candice’s revelation was on point and smacked me dead in the face. Brianne walked into the auditorium for the graduation, she took my breath away. I remember that moment now.
“She’s absolutely stunning,” I mumbled.
“Excuse me? What did you just say?” Alonzo joked.
“N-Nothing.”
“And you’re st-stuttering? Yeah, you’re in love,” he said, ribbing me.
The person who was once plain Jane was no more. Dr. Binet had transformed into sexy Susie, as radical a change as Clark Kent into Superman. Dr. Binet was absolutely breathtaking. For starters, the tight bun that she wore had been freed from the top of head, and now her kohl-black, curly tresses plunged over her shoulders. Her eyeglasses, which usually covered her brown eyes, were gone, and I found her glance hypnotizing. I didn’t think I could stare in her eyes any longer. Dr. Binet wore a black wraparound dress that flowed just right and hugged her curves in all the right places.
In an instant, her beauty matched her brains, and I fell completely in love. The perfect woman. At least that was what my mind told me as she closed in on my personal space.
“Hey, Jenna!”
“H-Hello, Dr. Binet.”
“It’s all right for you to call me Brianne.”
“No problem, Brianne,” I whispered, though I wanted to shout.
“Are you okay? You’re sweating.” She brushed the perspiration from my brow.
“I think you took her by surprise, coming in here looking like America’s next top auntie or model,” said a male voice behind me.
“Alonzo,” I said. My eyes pierced him.
“My bad. No disrespect, Dr. Binet, I mean Brianne. Jenna is a little shy, and I think she’s blown away by your beauty. The same way I am blown away by the graduate’s beauty.” He beamed as the color vanished from his face.
Sheepishly, Brianne suddenly became interested in the stitching of her pointy hazel pumps.
“I love your shoes,” I told her in order to change the topic.
“Thank you. I search for reasons to dress outside of my professional garb.”
“You look like a totally different person,” I noted.
“Everyone says that when they see me outside ‘the office.’”
“They aren’t lying.”
“Well, thank you, Jenna.”
“You’re welcome. I’m not sure if this is out of place or wrong, but would you mind joining me for coffee sometime?” My heart dropped.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I understand if it’s a conflict of interest. I don’t even know if you’re married or—”
“Jenna, she said yes. Save that conversation for Starbucks,” Alonzo remarked. He shook his head. “Rookies,” he added.
Ever since that moment, Brianne and I have been inseparable. I love being around her. Candice feels I’ve become too attached, too soon, and that the relationship could take a turn for the worse. She thinks I should make sure of what I really want, because sometimes I sound like I am confused and unsure of myself. One thing for sure is, I know that I have almost always become very attached to older women whom I admire. This has been happening without fail since I was young. It’s like I meet or have an encounter with an older woman and instantly fall in love.
It began with a few of my teachers while I was in high school. I’d do whatever I could to get their attention. Even if it meant purposely failing a test so that I’d have to stay after school for extra help. No other students would be in attendance at these sessions the majority of the time. The end result was undivided attention, and I devoured it. With Brianne, all I have to do is be myself, because she loves being around me just as much as I crave her presence.
Lately, things have become a little uncomfortable for the two of us. It’s so easy to get carried away when you first meet someone you’re attracted to, before you really get to know the person. The endorphins are flowing; the possibilities seem endless. Well, not all possibilities. Although I savor every moment as if it is the last time we’ll occupy one another’s personal space, each time Brianna attempts to take things to another level, I withdraw. The truth of the matter is, I am a young woman who has always been attracted to woman romantically, but the idea of sex or any kind of intimate contact terrifies me.
I finally have someone who simply doesn’t care about image, race, or my imperfections. She accepts me for me. However, when it comes to sexual contact, I choke up and find myself almost on the verge of tears. Don’t get me wrong. I cherish taking long walks with Brianne, holding hands, cuddling in our pajamas on a Saturday night with a good movie, popcorn, and wine. Unfortunately, my fear of and struggle with intimacy appears to be driving a wedge between us. I don’t know if I should feel guilty or upset and disappointed with Brianne. Without question, each time things don’t go her way, she immediately turns into Dr. Binet and dispenses a handful of diagnoses, as opposed to allowing me time to get comfortable, considering all this is new to me.
I hope and pray this evening with Brianne at her place goes smoothly. She’s been in the bathroom for a while, now that I think about it.
“Bri, what are you doing in there? The movie is about to start. The popcorn isn’t good when it’s cold, and it will be at the pace you’re moving,” I shout from the sofa.
“How about we skip the movie tonight?” she says as she creeps up behind me.
“Wow! What’s the occasion? You’re so beautiful, Bri.” I admire her as she stands in front of me on her ladders to heaven, wearing a sexy black fishnet bustier featuring open cups, a matching thong that reveals her womanhood, and fishnet stockings.
“I thought I’d throw something simple on to spice things up for us.”
“If that’s simple, I’m clearly in a league of my own,” I tell her.
As the corners of her mouth slide upward, Bri uses her magic wand of a remote to distract me with the sounds of Goldfrapp’s “Ooh La La.” As the words “Coils up and round me, teasing your poetry. Switch me on. Turn me up” serenade me, she activates her hips and dances and models her body in between running her hand all over it. After gliding closer to me, Bri brings her face down the side of my head until she finds what she’s searching for. My ear. As she tugs and sucks on my ear with her mouth for a few seconds, Bri causes me to laugh. Then I try to suppress my laughter, and it turns against me and I sputter out like an old faucet.
“Jenna, how is any of this amusing to you?” She steps back, using her hands to conceal her exposed flesh.
“I—I apologize. You were tickling my ear. You know I am ticklish.”
“I really don’t get you, Jenna. You profess this undying attraction to me, and then you clam up when you have my undivided attention. All you yearn for are fragments of the perks of being in a relationship. You’re not ready for any of this, or for me, for that matter. Sometimes I wonder if you’re attracted to me.”
“Bri, you know that is not true. I just need time. I am a virgin to all this. That includes sexually and emotionally.”
“I can understand you being hesitant with exploring my secret places. That’s a given. However, you refuse to allow me to explore and make my own intimate memories with you.”
“I’m just not there yet, Bri. Why can’t you understand that? You said we could go as slow as I needed to go as long as we didn’t stop. Yet when I don’t fold, you take it personally.”
“Personally, Jenna? You laughed in my face.”
“You’re not playing fair at all. I never laughed at you. It tickled me. I cannot help that I am ticklish.”
“Immature is more like it.”
“That was a low blow, Bri.” I shake my head.
“I didn’t want to go this route with you. Unfortunately, in order to get this long-standing white elephant out of our relationship, I have to be honest with you.”
“White elephant?”
“Yes, those troublesome things that have been lying dormant inside you—”
“I’m confused,” I say, interrupting her.
“Please allow me to finish.” She grabs her robe off the floor, where she dropped it earlier. Taking a moment to cover up and to pull her hair into a tight ponytail, she continues, “Unfortunately, some hold on to the negative images that we see and have created within ourselves, which causes us to become resistant to being seen any other way. Fear from what you’ve been through is making it difficult for you to grasp or accept the possibility and the reality of being loved. So much so that you’ve built up a wall to resist love. Because of your unresolved issues, you are forced to reject love and intimacy, and instead, you create tension to push away anything close to what you’re in fear of.”
“Well, if you did your job right, those issues that you’ve convinced yourself I suffer from would have come to the light a long time ago, and not as a result of me not being ready or comfortable with being intimate with you, Bri,” I retort. “And how am I resistant to love? When did we start loving each other? Besides, the last time I checked, sex or intimacy isn’t love.”
“I know how I feel about you even if you’re in denial about your feelings toward me. You really need to challenge your negative attitudes toward yourself and not push what you long for away. I can help you overcome your fears of intimacy, so you can enjoy all that being loved and becoming intimate have to offer. Love isn’t hard to find. I am right here. Whether you accept it or not, you found it. It is just difficult for you to take and tolerate right now.”
“How about you show this love that you profess to have, instead of diagnosing me all the time? I’m no therapist, but I do know that would go further than your ‘therapeutic love’ for me. Listening to you right now, I realized you cannot get past what you’ve learned in those textbooks. I am no more than another client to you. I wonder if I am one of your case studies for your book. There’s no way in the world you have real feelings for me. It’s all work for you.”
“You just proved what I just said to you. Your ill feelings about yourself force you to create things that simply are not there. You’ve become defensive to dampen the mood. I can promise you this isn’t in a book,” she asserts, her tone angry. She knocks the wine and the popcorn off the table before she adds, “I need time to myself. Please leave my home now.”