I like the boys up top from the BK...

When I'm in route, on my way to any given destination, I'm fascinated by the display of bravado and masculinity. It's in the swagger of a pair of baggy light blues, or the suede camel Timb.erlands, fresh out of the shoe box. It's on his lips, whether blunt purple, or lip balm pink. It's in his eyes; disenchantment with the streets, or his lusty admiration of ghetto ass. It's on his mind, in his heart, and dances in his soul.

So, I'll admit it...

Although they're everything I'm against, I'm in complete lust with Thug Cats. I'm not a woman that loves men that abuse themselves or anyone else. I'm not in love with criminals. Let it be said, when I was young, just like all young girls, and some old, I was fascinated with bad boys. Thankfully, my tastes have evolved. It got really serious after while, and I was in way too deep when I knew the general introduction of the letter from lock-up, verbatim:

"By the time this letter reaches your hands, I pray to [insert any religious figure] that you are in a perfectionate state of health. As for myself I'm maintaining in the situation I've been placed in by the devil."

Yeah, I've dated a few convicts...

But, this isn't about ex-cons. This is about Thug Cat. You know who he is. He's that quiet cat you see on the bus/train/plane. He's the cat on the block. You know, the one you're dying to talk to, but all you see is drama, him getting shot, locked up, or just him being an all encompassing asshole. You see him everyday. Whether he's corporate, or maintenance, he's sexy. He exudes manhood. It's just something about a man in layered tee shirts, with baggy blues and a fresh issue of Timb.erlands, that get my juices flowing.

Clarification...

My admiration for the Thug is one that can be categorized as utter animal lust. I look at thugs like cats look at stripper ass. I undress them slowly with my eyes, imagining my lips caressing tattoos strategically placed to represent fallen soldiers, lost loves, and beloved parents. One who has one foot in the streets, trying to get out, but dreams of the quiet suburbs. One who reads Baldwin, and truly understands why Zora watched God with her words. One who speaks with thunder, but his silence moves mountains. I love my black men. I really do, but it's just something about a man who knows survival. One who knows life is nothing to play around with, but, knows life is too short not to have at least one play date or two.

A view from the 8th floor...

Carpenter isn't a thug, though. One of the reasons I like him. He's a hard working man, who's cool with his days of labor. He has dreams of getting out of his hood, and wants more out of life. He has that big city bop, with island ease. His eyes take me to warm places where two bodies can rest between baby powder sand and cool azure water. He is the best of both worlds, where he has ties to the block, but, can live days without being tempted by the streets. His sexual undertones sing to me when he holds onto my hips when we're together. My apple has bottomed him to the depths of his carnal yearnings. His survival is fundamental, and his spirit is essential. His taste is an aphrodisiac for those to indulge and savor. Sexuality at its finest.

Damn, boy...