Happy Holiday Season!
I know it’s been a long minute since I have written. I’m creating a new offer for experienced, established but EXHAUSTED BW Entrepreneurs who are ready to hit the million dollar mark in one year or less. Plus the tech gremlins were having their way with my CRM.
So we couldn’t send emails for the past few weeks.
I hope you did.
I missed you.Things are looking up and I’m excited about sharing what my God has empowered me to create!All is well.
With that being said, can I just “honey drip” for a moment?
A friend of mine, (let’s call him Mr. Postman), has given me permission to call him anytime, day or night. We’ve known each other for since 2020. We’ve never met in person. But we connect deeply and he is a safe space for me to me messy and human.
Today, after I was more than 3/4 finished with feedback on my slide decks for my new hotness for BW entrepreneurs (THEY ARE STUNNING!) I face timed him.
I call him when I feel overwhelmed or lonesome to be heard and understood. I talk to him about everything from the Bible to workout goals. He’s attentive, brilliant, playful, and kind.
He’s not trippin’ off of my PTSD and makes me feel normal.
So today, to rest my brain, I call his number.
The phone rings several times and just before I disconnect he picks up.
The camera comes on and I stopped breathing.
THIS BROTHER WAS GETTING
OUT OF THE SHOWER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Chocolate brown skin GLISTENING with water in the shape of rain drops.
My jaw dropped to the floor.
Sheepishly he says, “I said I promised to always pick up when I called.”
I was speechless.
Then I started to giggle uncontrollably!
“Are you naked???”
“No I have a towel on.”
“I don’t see a towel!!!!”
He chuckled softly, “I would have to angle the camera lower and I don’t want to offend you.”
I started to blush.
So we talked while he got dressed.
I did not know how SEXY it is to watch a grown man get dressed.
The lotion.
The beard oil.
The watch.
The bracelets.
The gold chain.
The shirt.
The pants.
The belt.
The shoes.
The colon.
The hair brushing.
The light jacket.
The lip balm.
(Sweet Jesus)
He flirted with me shamelessly with his eyes and words. But I wasn’t offended.
It felt intimate.
Private.
Like he was letting me in his world.
To see him.
To know.
I felt special for some reason.
And a bit terrified but not afraid.
He speaks to me with such gentle reverent class and esteem, I kept losing my train of thought.
We talked about motorcycles and tattoos.
“I told you I had a tattoo.”
I saw it. On his chest. I wanted to trace it with my fingertips to understand how his skin feels.
“I don’t remember you telling me.”
“I know.” Then with a smile in his voice, “I remember everything you tell me.”
I laugh nervously. “So you’re tracking me?”
Mr. Postman became stone cold serious, “Yes, I am. I’m tracking you queen.
Every word you say.
Every facial experience.
Every tone and every tear. I am tracking you.”
I broke eye contact first and scurried off the phone.
I thank GOD “Mr. Postman” lives across the country.
My God!
