Page 5 of The Virgin Playboy

“Easy now, flabber is gasted. It's not every day someone guesses one of the smaller islands. Close but not quite.” Tapping her fingers on her cheek, she took a final guess.

“Alright, just based on the way you stress the letters a and e, I'm gonna go with New Zealand. If not, I might have to phone a friend,” she teased in a mocking but impressive imitation of my accent, as I pressed my lips together keeping her in suspense.

“Yea, nah. There's no prize to win on a third guess, but as a constellation, I would like to take you to a place I take all my losing contestants. But in order to get started on that, I've got work to do to finish up,” I flirted, an awkward laugh passing her sultry painted lips.

“I gotta say, you are persistent. You know what, why not?” she shrugged. “You seem like a lot of fun.”

“Good. Well, let me take your number, and I'll ring you when I get out of here,” I said, pulling out my prehistoric TCL flip phone, expecting it to garner some confusion, or worse, laughter. Her eyes squinted.

“Wait, not you having a dumb phone? I have not seen a phone that old school since the early 2000s. Are you sure you're twenty-eight? Because it’s giving Gen-X. Hell my folks don’t even have a phone this ancient,” she teased, as I bit back the shame of my reason behind it. I needed a phone. It took incoming and made outgoing calls; that was all I needed a phone for.

“Just save your number in it, and I'll ring you when I'm out to give you the details. But one more thing before tonight, are you more on the artsy side with an open mind? Or do you prefer the traditional pub scene?”

With a flip of her long bob, she coquettishly flirted. “Mr. Librarian, sir. I write books about young Black and brown demon hunters who take their feminine rage out on the systems that wrong them. What makes you think I'm anything but non-traditional?” she argued in a sort of news castor cadence that most would have found cringe, but I had finally found oddly charming. I loved women who weren't afraid to be themselves.

“Artsy it is then. And just so you know what name to save under my number, it's Graham. Graham Walker.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Jaq

What to wear, what to wear. The options had once felt endless. Up until a few weeks ago, I would have totally known what I'd wear on a night out: a nice little body con dress. A perfectly pressed pencil skirt. Any and everything that fit my network’s character cookie cutter image of me.

Now that I had the freedom to just exist the way I wanted, I was embracing the alternative woman I’d suppressed in small stages. Fishnet stockings here, a few new piercings there. All the prim and classy wardrobe I’d owned, I’d ended up donating and replaced my closet with thrift store finds, exceptions with a few high-end alt clothing lines since a girl loved her luxuries.

I kept coming back to this long black sweater dress with a deep high slit on the right thigh. The dress itself was plain, but pairing it with a belt that helped accentuate my waist, and some dark sheer embroidered tights, it had given me that witchy romantic goth look I desperately craved without doing too much. It was just drinks, but I still wanted to look delectable, because he was too fine to be meeting him in a jeans and T-shirt. Besides, was it toxic of me to admit that I wanted him to check me out?

It wasn't like I didn't get my fair share of younger guys hitting on me, I did. But most of the time it was because they always mistook me for younger, and when they found out how old I really was, interest dissipated because they knew they couldn't run game on me.

Plus, most of these younger men were too shy to hold my attention, and a shit ton lacked interpersonal developmental skills people in my era were forced to have. That is where the Polynesian Playboy’s skills had differed. He was bold and charming, not to mention fine as fuck.

Slutty glasses and sexy accents just did something to you when you hadn't gotten laid in a while. Add in the fact that your girl was ovulating, and that man didn't stand a chance.

The room filled with ringing and through a vocal command to Siri, I found my girl Carly on the line.

“Hey, girl, what you up to?” she asked, as I tousled my hair in the mirror, debating on whether I should wear it up or down.

“Ehh…nothing much. Just getting ready for a date. Or maybe it's not a date, but I am meeting a guy for drinks,” I replied, deciding on a simple smoky eye and dark lip that was on the metallic side upon applying. Down hair it was.

“Damn, Jaq. You don't waste any time. I thought you'd give it at least three months before settling in,” she chastised.

“Hoe, it's just drinks. It’s not like I'm gonna marry the guy. Plus, I didn't go out looking for it. This one asked me out in person,” I argued back, failing to mention how young he was. Just when I was about to do a deep dive on how we even met, my phone line clicked with another call, as I glanced over to the phone in the charger to see it was the man in question.

“Hey, Car, I'm gonna put you on hold for a sec. The guy I'm going out with is calling, and I want to make sure he's not calling to cancel.” I mean, why else would he call last minute?

“Yeah, that's fine. I'll just let you go. I didn't want nothing, just calling to check to see if you needed anything.”

“I know, and you're the best, K? Love you, bye,” I said, ending the call with her as Graham’s sultry hello choked me up on the other end.

“Let me guess. You need to reschedule?” I winced, sitting at the edge of my bed, deciding between calf length lace-up boots or chunky loafers.

“Are you always this pessimistic?” he teased. “I was calling to offer you an Uber.” My brows shot up, trying to remember the last time I even got offered that gesture. Though small, we were very much in a 50/50 era of dating, something I didn't mind because I had my own. But then there were the weirdos who let you go half and still demanded pussy at the end of the night, as if they had paid for everything.

“Oh, you don't have to do that, it's not a huge deal,” I challenged, but his persistence set my mind at ease.

“Of course, I have to. My parents raised me to be a gentleman. If I were back home, I'd be lifting you, but being here kind of makes me grateful that I get to wait to see you,” he flirted, coaxing a smile out of me.

“Well, you don't have to wait long because I'm ready right now,” I reassured, and with a quick exchange I agreed to let him send me a ride somewhere close by my place, so that he didn't know my exact address. The thirty-minute drive in traffic from Fort Greene to Hell's Kitchen was a nice change from the subways. When I pulled up to the restaurant, my eyes lit up with stars. It had been forever since I had been to a drag bar. Atlanta had a vibrant drag scene, but New York City by far had the best queens. Like a gentleman, he waited for me to arrive before heading inside, and when he noticed me, his face lit up with a smile.