Not Daddy’s Little Girl

My first time having sex was… Not ideal, at all. It didn’t feel like anything good. I heard it never does but it was way too late by then because it was over. I hated it actually. Hated the person, myself for doing it, and the whole experience was just plain stupid. Regretful? Eh. Maybe.

Nevertheless, it was gone. I decided not to do it again until someone special came along. Since Donald was off living his life being a lady’s man, I figured I’d explore options as well. Walking home the same way every time definitely allowed for guys from Florida Park to notice my whereabouts. Besides, some of them hadn’t seen me in years or hadn’t met me at all so I was technically fresh meat. Yay.

One hot evening I remember walking down 1st Street, just about to pass Q Street, when a guy approached. Fred Hawkins was his name. As he tried to make small talk, his friend rode up on a bike. Great. Now there’s two of them. The bike guys name was Terrence and I’d seen him around but not Fred. He looked at me so strangely as Fred spoke to me, like he wanted something or like he was waiting for me to say something to him.

I laughed Fred away and kept walking, mildly intrigued, all while telling him I’d see him again if “it were meant to be”. I said that a lot to guys, actually. Mainly so they’d leave me alone, sort of because I thought it sounded cool. I remember telling my best friend Samira  about Fred, in hopes that she heard of him before and of course she had. She had heard of the Terrence guy before also. Hmm…

After a few weeks of talking to Fred, having him pick me up a few times to take me home to my Godsisters house on S Street, a few blocks from Q Street, I can actually say I started to like him. He was funny, nice, actually held a conversation, but something was off about him. He invited me to his house one night and me and my naive self didn’t hesitate to accept his invite. I met him around his way and so, we were off.

I knew the area a little but wondered who’s place we were really going to. Does he live alone? No, he’s too young. His parents home? His grandmothers home, who he has mentioned before? Aha. Yes. As we approached the top floor, he told me it was his grandmothers apartment and he stayed with her. As we walked in, I quickly prepared myself to say hello if I saw her but I was stopped dead in my tracks. As I looked ahead at Fred, his fingers were moving a mile a minute. Is this nigga signing? Yes. Yes, he is. He was using sign language to talk to his sweet, grandmother. “How cool is that”, I thought to myself. But knowing me, I always speak too soon.

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