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I probably stared at her for hours in that coffee shop, slowly picking her apart. A single-shot, extra hot, bone dry, nonfat, caramel macchiato with sugar-free caramel and whip in the hands of the earth-toned brown and sepia-colored woman with the close cropped bob. Sea glass and capri blue Rachel Roy Gemma 4’s attached to her size 6 Medium feet and wrapped around her ankles, and a sleeveless, red Valentino full skirt dress clinging to her skin like the lover I want to be to her. No makeup, no accessories, just a smartphone, a cup of joe and eyes that won’t look up at me.
Women like this are never approached because men like me assume they’re taken, pretentious or touched by the crazies. She gets up and stands in front of me. Did she catch me removing her Valentino with my eyes through her Double C Décor shades she just removed? I should have cursed Medusa, but I spoke like the gentleman my father never raised me to be. “Good afternoon.” I do the LL Cool J with my bottom lip unintentionally. Unbreaking seriousness, she says “it speaks,” and asks “you see what I’m offering. What are you bringing?” We sat at the table from which she stood, barely enough room for us both to bring anything to it, but I put it all there.
“I can offer you all of the things your mother said women like you deserve,” I told her. “My dick is big.” This wasn’t an attempt to hang pieces of myself on her walls, so I go on to explain how the man with the big dick is confident enough to take the risks necessary to succeed. I approach tables in restaurants where CEO’s sit with their wives and I put my dick on the table, telling them I am the man for whatever job it is I feel will get me to where I need to be. In real life my dick isn’t between their goat cheese, garlic and artichoke dip and grilled venison with maitake mushrooms and butternut squash, but my hand is extended with a look on my face that lets him know I am able. Confidence is what I’m talking about. Moxie is what I’m bringing to this table barely big enough for the college students who find themselves in here with cups of Americano studying for classes they pray make sense in the future while sitting in their cubicles. My backbone I will place on our enameled lava countertops when we’re standing in the kitchen we’ll both design.
She spoke. “That CEO will look at me before he looks at you. When he finally looks at you, he will assume you’ve fought your way through millions of men to get to me, and he will know you have a place in his company because there is only room for fighters. You will be invited places by powerful men because they know you will bring me, and they need new fantasies. You will be invited places by powerful women because they feel it’s often better to keep me close than out of sight. I will get you in any door you can dream.”
She speaks Italian and French because she loves shopping on Sundays, and I’m offering her my confidence because that’s my strongest feature next to the nose left to me in my great grandfather’s will. There would have to be more of my stuff on the table.
“And what do you get,” I asked, needing a napkin to wipe the tears of happiness I was expecting at any moment. “I get to be the most powerful one in the room. The rest will follow.”
And this beautiful woman made the airtight partnership I have with my dick seem like nothing more than distant cousins who spent weeks together in the summer, but never spoke during other seasons. She became everything I needed it to be.