MANY TIMES I’VE BEEN asked by white friends how and why I began to date black women. The truth is that after 23 years of marriage to my first wife Katrina I wanted to make up for what I considered lost time, and I wasn’t going to abide by anyone’s rules other than my own. Everything and anyone was on the table, and my undergraduate years of shyness and hiding behind a façade of one sort or another were over. This was the new Tom.
Another little truth is that black women seemed to find me more attractive and interesting than comparable white women. I always felt that too many white women nurtured fantasies of the “perfect man,” the knight in shining armor on his white steed (always with the horses, these white women) who would rescue them from the drudgery of traditional marriage. Of course men nurture their share of fantasies too, clicking their nights away gaping at sex goddesses on the infinite highway of internet porn.
In my senior year of college I had foolishly pursued a coquettish fellow Journalism major who seemed to enjoy nothing more than basking in the attention of a male entourage, of which I merrily belonged. There was endless partying, drinking, dancing, and the occasional illicit substance to take the edge off things. But no intimacies. I kept thinking my ardor would be rewarded at any time, if only I were patient enough, and so I kept tagging along. We went to a concert together and halfway into the performance my “date” deserted me with no explanation. My feelings were quite bruised over this and when I complained later about how I was treated I was met with a shocking outburst of insult and temper that ended that platonic relationship then and there. This girl had a roommate named Katrina Angeletti with whom I had become friendly, a young woman who had impressed me with her Mediterranean beauty, calm demeanor, and sensible outlook, someone the complete opposite of her mercurial and attention-seeking roomie. On a whim I called and asked if she would like to see a film with me. She did and this led to 23 years of weekly cinema trips, if not more. We both loved films and never tired of watching and debating them. Even today when we talk every few months or so we ask what good films the other has seen.
After we began to date I would occasionally stay overnight in her apartment (she was now living on her own). I was still living at home at this time and my very blue-nosed Southern Baptist parents were well aware of where I was going and what I was doing. They did not approve. They liked Katrina just fine and grew to love her very much, but they were afraid that I was falling in love, not with the love of my life, but with the first steady sex partner I had ever had. And, unfortunately, they were right.
My friend Kim Lemser, the Vietnam veteran, had told me several years earlier about farm boys shipped off to ’Nam who had never been with a girl. When they finally got their first taste of female flesh, they immediately fell head over heels in love with their Vietnamese prostitutes and proposed marriage, which many of the girls were only too happy to accept. Of course I couldn’t see myself in a parallel situation at all and was shocked when my brother told me of my parents’ worries.
There was no question Katrina and I were in love. We were inseparable. But it was equally true that although neither of us, technically, were virgins, we might as well have been so little and tentative had been our previous experiences. In the lovemaking department there were many things we just simply didn’t know or how to do them if we did. After the new wore off after we had married we weren’t exactly burning it up under the covers.
I am a passionate person. Passionate about virtually everything I do and in my youthful years my libido was locked into permanent overdrive. To quote Richard Pryor, if I wasn’t horny I had to check to see if my heart was beating. Not every couple is a perfect match in the boudoir. We weren’t. Katrina showed more passion when she wanted to get pregnant than at any other time in our marriage. I was only too happy to oblige.
When our daughter Marie was born, as happens with everyone, the family dynamic changed. The center of our attention was Marie; our family threesome bonded and we found a love supreme that to Katrina and me trumped our difficulties between the sheets. As disappointing as intimacy had become, I confess that I was happy, happy and contented in a way I haven’t been since. Today I occasionally have dreams where our family is back together again, doing family things, finding simple joy in the company of one another. I miss those days.