If you haven't already read parts 1 and 2, you should. Part 3 makes so much more sense if you have.
So, in love we continued the pursuit of one another.
Charles accepting me with all of my hangups and quirks was a big part of what made him stand out to me. He was also thoughtful, an excellent communicator, and a drastically better man than any other man I had ever known. In every situation he chose to do what was right. He was practical and logical. He had no sketchy past that we would have to overcome. No children. No crazy exgirlfriends lurking around corners; nothing shady about him.
Still, we were very different people. If being male and female didn't make us different enough, there was also a cultural difference. Charles is a first generation American. He is a child of immigrants from Ghana (West Africa).
Side note: I love Africans. In fact, I specifically prayed for an African husband four months prior to meeting Charles. I saw a handsome, dapper, great smelling african on the bus one day and decided that if I could have the desires of my heart...then God could give me an African husband.
I had dated my share of African men. They all seemed to have the same characteristics. All were articulate, well dressed, logical, intensely sexual, and compassionate. They seemed to be more emotionally intelligent than American men.
According to my own analysis of what I observed over the years, because African men don't have the psychological damage of slavery in their history, they don't feel a need to disrespect women to validate their manhood. They aren't afraid to treat women well.
I get that is a huge generalization, however...
I was completely enamored with Charles. I hung on his every word. He was in love with me too. It was an unfamiliar feeling to have so much to lose.
It didn't take long for the Christian dating plan to fly out the window. Charles and I wanted to live holy and please God, but the attaction between us was undeniable. We also lived two hours away from one another. The distance made the longing that much more intense.
We spoke on the phone every day and every night. We stayed up all night getting to know every aspect of one another: family history, likes and dislikes, mistakes and victories, funny stories, embarrassing moments. Before long we new everything there was to know. Every ex and what went right or wrong. Upbringing. Education. Goals. Credit. Style. Holidays. Traditions. Disfunction. Everything.
Being completely upfront I addressed him about how unsure I felt after our first date. He hadn't kissed me, or held my hand. I had questioned if he was attracted to me in person. If he had felt magnetically drawn to me like I had been drawn to him.
Later in the evening, after our first date ended, my sister and I went to pick up my things from O's house. After all, that was the whole purpose of driving down state in the first place.
But now, it seemed less important. Not something I was looking forward to, just an errand.
I was still swooning from the date.
When my sister and I arrived at O's place, I didn't feel the butterflies that I felt every time I had seen him for the last 8 years. The nervousness was gone. The emotions were gone. The soul tie...didn't seem so tight anymore. That was abnormal.
I hadn't seen him since I had gotten deliverance. During that deliverance Marty (one of the head prayer warriors) prayed against ungodly soul ties and desires. She prayed against the wounded and broken spirits. This was about 4 months prior to this day.
When O asked for a hug, I declined. That was definitely a first. It was just a hug, but it meant something. It meant access to me; my body, my heart, my life. It reminded me of the 8 years we had been hugging, touching, and loving; and how he didn't choose me.
He asked about my trip down there and what we had been up to. I told him about my date with Charles. Not really to make him jealous, just because I was still floating and could relive each detail by retelling the story. It was all I could think about.
O's new wife had not yet arrived in the US.
I looked good. I had dropped some weight and I was still dressed well from the date with Charles. He handed me the items I came for. I knew he wanted me to stay but, my sister was with me...and I was pretty sure I was in love with someone new. So my mind, my mouth and my heart finally said good bye to O; and for the first time, meant it.
That was the last time I saw him or spoke to him for many years.
I took my sister out to dinner and replayed every simple detail of the date I had with Charles that afternoon over and over again. I replayed conversations, the way he looked at me, the way he walked, dressed, his smile, and the way he spoke.
I really wanted to see him again. I know it had only been a few hours, but I wanted to be with him once more. I knew it might seem thirsty, but my confidence was soaring after leaving O standing there staring. I hoped that Charles knew me well enough just 4 days in, to understand that I wasn't trying to be too aggressive or clingy. I just really liked him. I wanted my sister to meet him.
After replaying the date over and over, I started to over think it. Maybe I should have said more. Maybe he was waiting for me to initiate some physical contact. I needed to see him again to see what would happen.
I had to drive back to Chicago after church in the morning. When would I see him again if not now? So, I mustered up some courage to risk looking desperate or fast.
I called Charles to ask if he would like to go out or wanted company. He declined both. I felt rejected
I was beginning to realize that Charles was different than the other men I had dated. He had self control. I couldn't handle him the way I handled the others. I had to fold up my hormones and put them in my back pocket.
The next morning, I invited Charles to church. He again declined. He already had plans to attend church with another woman.
Instead of jumping to conclusions like normal, I decided not to unleash the crazy. This time.
I drove home unsure.
Charles affirmed me by reminding me that we would see eachother soon. The upcoming weekend he would come to Chicago.
He couldn't wait to introduce me to his mother. I hadn't had a lot of experience with that. Most guys I dated either didn't have a mother, was astranged from their mother, or had no interest in introducing me to their mother.
This was a big deal to me. That Wednesday (five days after our date) he called her on threeway to make the introduction. He literally couldn't wait to introduce us in person. I thought that was strange.
I came to realize Charles can be very intense. He wants what he wants when he wants it.
Over the next couple months we saw each other every weekend. Smitten with one another we agreed it would be better have him stay with friends/family when he came to Chicago, instead of with me.
Two weeks after our first date, I had a gathering at my place for Sweetest Day. I was excited to introduce him to my new friends from the love and relationship group on facebook. The ladies in the group agreed to come by and cook for the men in the group. They were protective of me, and wanted to check him out.
I lived pretty deep in the hood. So, when the gathering was ending, and one of my guest left that night, he was robbed. Chicago south side for you. **insert eye roll here**
On the corner of my block, on his way to the bus stop, one of my most street savvy friends was robbed at gun point. They took his phone and his wallet. He had to come back to the Sweetest Day gathering. Another one of my guest gave him a ride home. I couldn't risk Charles going out there that late. So two weeks after our first date, he spent the night at my place.
He slept on the couch in my studio apartment. I slept in my bed. This was just the beginning of breaking the Christian dating rules we had committed to.
When I woke up I coudn't believe that he had stayed on the couch the entire night.
Men with this level of self control just don't exist. I was in uncharted territory. We were really doing this Christian dating thing...minus breaking of the obvious "no spending the night rule."
I mean, honestly, this was an extreme circumstance that warrented a temporary slight bend of the rules.
I wasn't going to make the first move. I wanted him to know the new me. Not the old me that I had shed in therapy and during the deliverance. I was a new creature. No longer driven by the flesh. Disciplined. Discipline is sexy.
Then, to my surprise, when we were about to leave to take Charles to the Greyhound bus station; I locked my door, I turned around to leave and he was facing me. He kissed me.
All the sexual tension, the awkwardness, the magnetic attraction that we were so despirately fighting to subdue arose with a fury. It was the driving force behind that kiss. It caught me completely off gaurd.
It was like television. It was easliy the most intensely passionate kiss I had ever experienced. That kiss. Warm, intense, and intentional. Sparks flew and so did the idea of Christian dating...right out of the window.
We couldn't just be friends. Not anymore. But we didn't know how to proceed. We hadn't known each other long enough to make any forever decisions to really be in love. Or had we?
Another week passed and he returned like clockwork.
This time to help me move. I was exhaused and still had tons left to pack. He had contacted three of his friends to help me move the next morning. I was shocked. I couldn't even get my own brothers and friends to help me move. What relationship did he have with his friends to get them to commit to helping a perfect stranger to move? This was not only insight to his quality of friends, but also to how much respect for him and loyalty to him he must have earned.
That Friday night, (3 weeks from our first date) we met up. He came back to my place. We planned for him to sleep on the couch again because we needed to work on the move first thing in the morning. I mean, it worked last time. But that was before the kiss. This time when I layed down, I was facing the window; my back was to him on the couch.
I felt him get in the bed behind me. I wondered if this would be the moment.
We had tried to keep our conversations clean. Steering clear of conversations regarding sex. They were off limits in Christian dating. When we stumbled upon the topic we handled it gently and then changed the subject.
I once had a relationship with a man I cared for, but the intimacy wasn't there. There was no spark. No sexual chemistry. He was a great guy. However, because of that missing piece, I couldn't move forward with him. No matter how much we loved each other.
Not knowing about how Charles would be in the sack left some uncertainty. There were clues. I mean, he was African, and very confident, but also he was really kind.
My college friends always teased me that everyone I date is one of these three: African, Alphas, or assholes. I had my share of assholes. Enough to know that a key characteristic of guys who were kind and/or humble was that they were typically wack in bed.
Guys with nice "man parts" aren't typically the most humble understanding people.
With all this baggage and statistical men and sex data, I played with the idea of what would happen if he was bad in bed. In Christian dating, I wouldn't find out until after we were married.
How could I deal with that? Could I have a happy marriage without ever having hot sweaty, explosive sex again? I knew the kind of lover I was; and how important that had been to me in the past. Was it equally important to the new me?
To be continued....