The Second DatebySomeGuyNamedKevin©
Aisha would have slept with Dante after their first date. In fact, she almost did.
Their trip to the Bata Shoe Museum in downtown Toronto and subsequent stop for warm chocolate brownies at the bakery was the best time she had in years.
When the first date was at it's proverbial end, she wished she had the courage to be like other women.
She imagined inviting Dante in for coffee, finishing off their earlier debate on the best pair of Jordan's ever released, and then having wonderful first date sex to finish off the night with a bang.
Aisha wasn't afraid of giving it up on the first date. It wouldn't have been the first time. She wasn't ashamed of the way Dante made her feel as his tongue entered her mouth. The hard nipples, the wet pussy, the goosebumps.
She could sense from their conversation that Dante respected her, so she wasn't even worried about him becoming uninterested in a woman that ended the chase in just one night.
As she kissed him goodnight, the fear that crept through her was more than skin deep. Her skin—unique to less than 1% of the world—was at the root of her insecurities, and the largest reason she hadn't had sex in 3 years.
The rest of her body worked the way the body of a 25-year-old woman's should. Her skin, though abnormal in comparison, still worked in conjunction with the rest of her body. It reacted sexually to the warm breath of Dante. His touch was sending shivers through her, not the bone chilling winter climate of Canada.
She longed to be touched. Felt. Kissed. Loved. She wanted Dante. She knew he wanted her. But fear of him seeing her naked stopped her from inviting him in. Their first date ended with a lovely tongue kiss at her front door, and plans for a second date. "We'll have to do this again soon," Dante told her.
"Very soon," she agreed. She closed her front door and the cold, lonely silence of her apartment made her angry. She threw her purse across the floor and kicked off her boots before marching through her apartment like a toddler in the middle of a temper tantrum.
If she was like other women, she would have had a warm, strong, masculine body to cuddle up to that night. She could have enjoyed his presence. She could have, and would have fucked him all night, or until her body exhausted itself into a deep sleep. She wanted that sleep that could only come after intense orgasms. She wanted to feel naked skin pressed against hers. She wanted Dante, even if she had known him for less than a week.
Before taking a warm bath and trying to calm her anger, Aisha looked at her naked body in her bathroom mirror. Her breast were her favorite feature. Though she would have liked for them to be a tad bigger, she remembered the comment a past boyfriend made about them being "so suckable." She didn't even know what the comment meant, she could only guess. But there was no mistaking the passion that she felt as he sucked on them.
She also liked her legs and thighs. They were strong, built from years of practicing martial arts as a child. Even though she lacked the kind of ass she desired, the heart shapped booty her mom had, her shapely legs, thighs, and hips made her figure look great in dresses, skirts, and jeans. She turned in the mirror to focus on her ass. She rubbed her cheek, and stared at the hands of her reflection.
She had seen herself naked more times than she figured most women had seen themselves. She checked her naked body every single day. As a teenager, she checked several times a day. She could see her naked body for what it was. She could see her breast, and ass, and vagina. But she feared what Dante would have seen. She knew all he would have been able to focus on were the blotches of white skin that covered 35% of her body.
Aisha had Vitiligo, an incurable skin disease that causes the skin to lose it's color. Her skin had once been a rich reddish-brown. As an Afro Native American, Aisha carried ethnic qualities that gave her teenage dreams of being a fashion model.
Those dreams shattered on her 14th birthday. She was having a pool party, full of cake, ice cream, family, and friends from school. Her mom had taken her shopping for the perfect bathing suit, a green two piece that looked great on her skin, and gave emphasis to her newly developed curves. She had invited two prospective boyfriends. Both of them members of the football team. Both of them with bodies that the girls wanted to touch and the boys wanted to have.
She felt confident in her bathing suit, and spent the first half an hour making sure the two boys saw and appreciated her sexy. She splashed her friends in the pool. She swam. She had fun. Until one of the girls frowned up her face and pointed, "Eww, what's wrong with the back of your neck?"
Suddenly, everyone in the pool had a similar look of confusion and disgust, even her two crushes. "It's just a birthmark" one of the other girls said, trying to diffuse the situation. Aisha knew she didn't have a birthmark on her neck. She needed to know what the other kids were seeing on her body. She waited a few minutes, not wanting to make her exit obvious, but soon went to check in her bedroom mirror. She was shocked.
It looked as if she had bleach stains on the back of her neck. She tried to rub it off. She used soap and a cloth. She scrubbed until tears were in her eyes from the pain. She called her mom in to take a look. "Mom, what is this?"
Her mom examined the skin blotches. "It's prolly just a birthmark, Aisha."
Aisha put on a shirt and pretended to enjoy the rest of her birthday.
As the months went on more blotches started appearing, various shapes and sizes, but all of them ugly to Aisha. A trip to the doctors office revealed the heartbreaking news that there was no cure for her condition. Not only that, but the blotches would likely continue spreading, maybe one day turning her completely white. It would be devastating news for anyone, let alone a 14 year old girl just beginning to find herself.
Aisha was urgent in exploring all of her options. She tried creams, lotions, UVB lamps, but the skin condition only got worse. Since the disease was considered a cosmetic issue, her parents insurance did not cover any treatment. Aisha was willing to try surgery, but the price was too high, and the dangers too great.
"Aisha, we've tried everything. I know it's hard for you sweety, but we cannot afford to keep trying to fix this," her father said.
"You haven't tried everything," the 16-year old Aisha cried. "Am I not worth it?"
The doctor at the office attempted humor. "Aisha, turning white isn't the worst thing in the world. Look on the bright side. You could be turning green."
Aisha's father gave him a stone cold look of contempt. The doctor coughed, as his insensitive joke fell flat. He turned serious and faced his patient. "Uhm. Aisha, there is always camouflage. Make up can completely hide the blotches. It's what Michael Jackson used in his Thriller video. And the one glove was to hide his Vitiligo."
Aisha had no other choice but to accept reality. She was going to have to live with this for the rest of her life. Her dreams of being a fashion model evaporated, though her dream to be a fashion designer replaced it. Aisha became obsessed with fashion, jewelry, makeup, and the beauty industry. She figured if her skin couldn't be attractive, at least the things she covered her skin with could be.
She found fashionable leggings, long sleeve shirts, gloves, scarves, and other things that could hide the blotches that continued to spread across her body.
Summer months were especially rough. She stopped wearing shorts out in public, and stopped going out altogether if it was too hot for her sleeved clothes. For this reason, Winter became her favorite time of the year. The only time she could feel comfortable outside and in public.
By the time she was 18, her hands, feet, breast, and neck had large white sections. She feared her face, which had managed to remain unblemished, was soon to follow.
She lost her virginity to a guy in college who convinced her that he didn't care about the blotches. She remembers him cutting off the lights, and she remembers it being over very fast. He didn't return any of her calls after that.
Getting men to want to sleep with her wasn't difficult. She chalked it up to men being men. Men could fuck anything if it had a pussy. But she feared that the men she had sex with weren't mentally there in the bedroom. She saw them looking away from her blotches. Attempting to look past them in the most superficial sense. And after they had their nut, they would be gone.
She met a guy off the internet, let him know before hand that she had a skin disease, and fucked him on the first date. He struggled with maintaining an erection. He kept apologizing, saying it wasn't her, it was him. They managed to have a few minutes of unfulfilling sex before they went their separate ways. He sent an email to her days later, though she refused to read it.
For a time, she had a no strings attached relationship with a good male friend of hers. But she grew tired of late night phone calls. She grew sick of hollow sex without feelings behind them. She decided to swear off sex until she was able to find someone that could accept her for her.
Aisha gave up her dreams of being a fashion designer. The industry, so focused on beauty, frightened her. She settled for designing websites for a living, something she could do from home. She also worked part time as a private French tutor at an after school center. She would go in three days a week to help teach French to elementary aged kids. She met Dante there.
He was picking up his niece since her mom had to work late. He was wearing stained jeans and she noticed in his open jacket that he had on an outdated Tortonto Raptors tshirt, with the logo and color scheme from the 90s. He asked Aisha how his niece Megan was doing with her french.
"She catches on very quick. She still has some ways to go with pronunciation, but she's reading and writing it very well. Speaking it usually takes a little longer. She's advanced though."
He looked toward his niece, who was getting her jacket from the cubby. He smiled. Aisha noticed his beauty for the first time. His skin—which she enviously admired—was golden brown, though hidden by mounds of rough facial hair. His teeth were white and perfect. She appreciated a pretty smile.
"That's good," he nodded. "She's usually so distracted at home. I think it's good that she can concentrate here at the center."
His voice was softer than she would have expected. His eyes were too. They were blueish grey. She wondered his ethnicity.
"Does she stay with you?" Aisha asked.
"Oh no. I just spend a lot of time over at my sisters. Ever since Megan's dad left, I've been trying to be, I guess something of a father figure for her."
As Megan walked over to where her uncle stood, Dante looked closely upon Aisha. She was wearing long sleeves as usual, along with multicolored wool gloves. She could tell that he liked what he saw, and wasn't surprised when he moved away from talking about his niece.
"Do you teach any adult classes? I've always wanted to learn French."
"No, sorry. I just teach the little ones part time," she said before patting Megan on the shoulder.
"That's too bad. Do you know of any affordable places?"
Aisha giggled. She knew what was up. "The local colleges are always teaching french. Could always try there. And then there's Rosetta Stone."
"I don't do too good with large classes. Guess that's why I got into construction and didn't do the college thing," he said, looking down at his work clothes. "And I've never done the online class thing. I think I do better with private teaching."
"Uncle Dante doesn't wanna learn french. He just likes you," Megan said.
"Megan," Dante said. Megan laughed. "Well it's true."
"Oh I can tell it's true," Aisha commented. She thought he was cute.
"Yeah but you aren't suppose to blow my cover Meg. You're pose to have my back," he said.
"Uncle Dante is real nice, Miss Aisha. And smart too. You'd like him," Megan announced matter of factly.
"Oh would I?"
"I think you would," Dante smiled.
Aisha rolled her eyes and said goodbye to both of them. Two days later he was there to pick Megan up again. He didn't use any pick up lines the next go around. "What's a Museum in the city you've always wanted to go to?"
"I've been to most of them."
"Well that leaves out some. Which of those would you want to go to?"
"It's this one downtown. The history of shoes. Always sorta wanted to go."
"I'd like to take you."
"I don't know you."
"Megan vouches for me."
"She's 10. You're her uncle. That doesn't count."
"She's advanced though. Remember?"
Aisha loved his smile. She enjoyed the banter as well. She was reserved about going out with random people. She knew what it would inevitably turn into. Though it had been three years since she her last fling, the bad taste of it remained. The tears that fell that night still felt as if they were painted on her cheek. She didn't want to deal with another rejection. She didn't feel like answering questions. Explaining her disease. Telling him that it wasn't contagious, and it was okay to shake her hand.
She was close to rejecting him. She felt the rejection would save him from disappointment or even embarrassment. The men she told would sometimes be embarrassed for her. She hated the feeling. She wanted to do him a favor and save him of all of that.
"Seriously though, Miss Aisha. I know you don't know me. I don't know you. But Megan speaks highly of you. The only teacher that she says she likes, actually. Except for her PE teacher but that doesn't count cuz she says he is cute," he smiled. Aisha held down a smirk. "You're beautiful and intelligent. I wanna get to know you."
"Mr. Dante. Asking me out at my place of work isn't very smooth of you."
"I'm not much of a smooth brother. What you see is what you get. I'm pretty straight forward."
"Maybe I should have said I don't date my students parents."
"I'm not her parent."
Aisha sighed. "I'm just not interested. Thanks for the offer though."
Dante took the rejection well, from what Aisha could see. Sure he seemed disappointed, but his posture remained strong and manly. She found it sexy. He shook her gloved hand, put his arm around Megan's shoulders and left.
Aisha was suppose to be working on a clients website that night when she logged onto facebook and searched Megan's mother. She remembered her name was Angela, and she shared the same last name as Megan so she wasn't hard to find. After a few profile clicks, she found Dante. His profile photo —a picture of him setting in a chair, afro picked out, white smile, and golden retriever sitting on his lap—was his only photo. He only had 65 friends, and from what she could tell they were mostly family. His profile read single.
She had clicked add as friend before she even thought about it. She stayed logged in for hours waiting for him to send her a message, but it never came. She was comfortable letting him see her facebook profile because all of her photos that showed her skin disease were hidden.
When she woke up the next morning she had a message from him.
"Surprised you added me as a friend. Pleasantly.
P.S. Vous avez fait ma journée."
Aisha laughed at his message, including the French in his P.S. (You have made my day).
They exchanged messages throughout the day, including phone numbers. This was her off day, and she received his call that evening. "You still up for going to that Museum?" she asked after the small talk.
"Only if you'd be willing to accompany me."
"What time should I pick you up?"
"Tonight sounds great."
Aisha laughed. "I was thinking maybe this weekend or something. But I mean, if you wanted to go tonight," she paused and looked out her window. It was snowing. "I guess we could go."
"If the weekend is better for you then let's make it a weekend thing. Guess I'm just kinda excited to see you. Hoping you don't change your mind."
"Why would I do that?"
"Maybe the same reason you changed your mind about being interested in the date."
"Let me get dressed. I'll be ready in an hour, okay Mr. Dante?"
Aisha was excited about the date. Years by herself was starting to take it's toll. She was getting older, still young, but she felt that she was wasting her life away in her apartment. And surfing the net for the night didn't sound as fun as hanging out with the cute construction worker than her 10-year-old student vouched for.
She was going to tell him; she was sure of it. She didn't believe in wasting a guys time. But she wanted to wait until the right time. The right time would never come on that first date.
"You're crazy, Aisha. There isn't any other design that comes close to the simplicity and sexiness of Jordan 1. That shoe was perfect."
"I'm not putting down the first Jordans, I love em. But Jordan 3 was easily the best pair. Those kicks were a work of art. The white and red ones put any pair of Jordans to shame."
Dante laughed out loud. The other visitors looked at the two of them debating urban footwear in a museum. "You're crazy, girl. Jordan 2 was even better than 3. I remember people rushing to the mall to get 1 and 2. 3 was great, I'll give you that. But the actual design just can't touch the first two. It's prolly not even top 10."
Aisha shook her head. "Now you're the crazy one. Not top 10? Dante, you must have bumped your head. Hard."
Even as the two of them looked at the hundreds of shoes on display at the museum, they kept going back to their debate on Jordans. "You think those look better than 3, too?" Aisha asked.
"The Native American footwear?"
Aisha smirked. "Yup."
"They look more comfortable than the damn Jordan 3."
They laughed together. "I'm part Native. Random fact," Aisha said.
"Really? Lemme guess, Cherokee?"
"By part, do you mean your parent is a Native American?"
"Yes. My dad."
"That's wassup. I was hoping that was the case."
"Some people treat their ancestry like an accessory or something," he said while looking at the Native American shoes on display. "Like it's on display like an exhibit. Something to talk about cuz it's cool. Not cuz it's really apart of their life."
"I hear you. I know a lot of people that do stuff like that. 'Hey, I'm 1/16 African American. I'm a minority! Or when people think a certain ethnicity is more exotic and attractive so they attribute their eyes or hair to them.'"
"Exaaactly. I hate that."
"You got this funky blueish greish eye color thing going on. I don't wanna be cliche and ask 'hey, why are your eyes that color?'
"But you're gonna do it anyway," Dante smiled.
She grinned. "Dante, why are your eyes that color? What's your ethnicity?"
"Good ole fashion biracial trait. My mom is black. Dad is white."
"Is your sister biracial too?"
"Nah, she's black. We have different dads."
Aisha found out that Dante was 29 and originally from Seattle, Washington. He and his sister had moved to Toronto 7 years ago. Aisha explained that her family was originally from Oklahoma, but moved to Canada when she was a few years old. They left the museum talking about their teenage years. Dante talked about playing hockey growing up, and one day hoping to play in the NHL. He tried out for the semi-pro leagues for a few years before giving up on the dream.
She talked about being a black belt in Karate. She joked that if he got out of line, she knew several moves that could put him on his ass. They went for dessert, and during the middle of his left winged exposition on healthcare, a side she agreed with, she caught herself smiling. She realized she had been smiling for virtually the entire date.