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A Cuffing Christmas

I was that loner kid who read comics when everyone else was playing, listened to the B-sides and watched old movies ... Now I write about it


"Say you, say me ..."

Why does that song keep popping up in my head? Not even my favorite LIONEL RICHIE song. But ... Oh, no ... It's not in my head this time. This time it's playing overhead as I push my shopping cart through Food4Less in search of those lemon sandwich cookies that I am so addicted to. As well as a package of hog-head cheese.

And there she goes ... Just like a SIXPENCE NONE THE RICHER song ...

Fine as wine.

Smooth as cat hair.

Simply put, she is beautiful. But can she pass a brother's litmus test? That is the question. Because I have very high standards for a potential mate or date, in order for us to relate ... Dig that. I'm a poet and I didn't even know it.

She likes Good Times. Check

She likes All In The Family. Check.

She likes The Cosby Show. Check.

She likes The Honeymooners. Check. Check.

She likes The Dick Van Dyke Show. Check. Check. Check.

Ok .... Alright ... I can work with her ...

Baby Girl definitely had it going on. The right tv shows, lovely hazel eyes, juicy lips, legs that went on forever, the booty of life ... And to top it all off, she smelled like lotions and potions (stirring up my emotions) and her feet were just the right length and weren't rusty and crusty while wearing heels when she probably should have been wearing some type of fur lined boots in the midst of December ...

"Why you keep looking at my feet?" she asked softly.


"Do you have a foot fetish?"

I probably looked shamefaced. If I didn't have dark skin, my face would be bright red. "Um, I never really thought about it ... But I suppose that I do."

"Hmmmm ...." She said with a delightful smile and turned her head.

We were in line and it was time for her to move up enough to put her items on the belt. Just a few items. A loaf of bread, a container of milk and a stick of butter. And then I laughed. To which she turned back towards me, looking slightly offended.

"Sorry. Your items ... Sesame Street ...."

"Sesame Street?"

"Yeah. A old cartoon short they showed for a hundred years .... You had to be there."

She scrunched up her eyebrows at me, looked at her items for a couple of beats and then burst into laughter.

"Oh wow ... I didn't even realize ..."

"So you know what I'm talking about then."

"Of course. Of course."


The conversation continued as she took her time bagging her grocery -- singing along to NAT KING COLE as he sung about those doggone chestnuts. Slowly walking so I could catch up ... Cute.

She was that type of chick that you just didn't want to let go of. That you wanted to talk to all night on the phone and just spend hours upon hours with ... yadda, yadda, yadda. In fact, I couldn't remember a woman that I so badly wanted to yadda with. I was sprung.

Her name was Chontierah Riggens. The name made her even more compelling to me. But before she got away from me, I figured that I should ask for her phone number, which answered the musical question posed by JAMES INGRAM and PATTI AUSTIN back in 1983 -- "How Do We Keep The Music Playing"?

"My phone number? Why do you want my phone number?" she asked.

"Why does a young man usually want a phone number from a beautiful young lady? To get to know her better, in hopes of a mutual admiration, which could lead to a relationship and the visions of happily ever after. You dig? You follow?"

Chontierah smiled ... Blushed even. Yep. I left her speechless. I so loved it when I left them speechless; master wordsmith and charming scamp that I am.

"Um, well ...," was all that she could come up with to say. And followed that up by reaching out, gesturing for me to give her my cell phone. Or maybe even a piece of paper and a pen like the old days.

I pulled said phone out of my right jean pocket and used my pass code to make access available to her. Then she in turn went to my contacts page and added her name, phone number and birthday to my new contacts; saved it and then called her phone so that my number would appear.

Next, she pulled out her phone from her purse, cut her eyes coyly at me asked me my name, phone number and birthday.

"Marston ... Marston Williams."

She smiled when I said my name. I think that she liked the sound of it as much as I liked the sound of hers. Because it wasn't an ordinary name. Especially not for a Black man. And that pleased her. I could tell. Just like I could tell that getting to know her would be a treat and a pleasure.


Her: It's three o'clock in the morning.

Me: Yeah, I know ... You tired of me?

Her: Did I say that?

Me: You ready to get off of the phone?

Her: Did I say that?

Me: (Laughing) So what are you saying?

Her: I'm saying ... It's three o'clock in the morning.

Me: Oh, ok.

Her: You tired of me?

Me: Never that.

Her: Are you ready to get off of the phone?

Me: Um, no.

Her: So we're at a stalemate then.

Me: I suppose we are.

Her: So what do we do about that?

Me: I propose that we meet up for a meal of some sort ... spend an obscene amount of time together in person ... fall in love ... and possibly live happily ever after. Or something of that nature.

Her: (Giggles) Um ... Well, that's certainly an option ... And it is cuffing season.

Me: Cuffing season?

Her: You don't know what cuffing season is?

Me: I've heard the term, but ...

Her: It's the concept of meeting someone that will keep you occupied during the Winter months, so that you won't feel so cold.

Me: Ohhhhh ... And ... So what happens after the cold months are over?

Her: Well, that depends on the individuals involved, I suppose. Some chose to move on ...

Me: What would you desire to happen?

Her: Um, well ...

Me: Spit it out. Come on.

Her: Me personally ... I think that I would desire to stay cuffed. If I must be honest.

Me: Hmmm ....

Her: You did mention something about getting to know one another better, which could lead to a relationship and the vision of a happily ever after ... Or something like that.

Me: Yeah, something like that (laughter).


It started with a all night long phone conversation.

Thankfully it was on a Friday night. Which meant that I didn't have to get up for work on the next morning. Which meant that if I could convince her to go out for breakfast with me on Saturday morning ... Well, there was chance that I could spend the day with her. So let it be written, so let it be done.

We did go to breakfast together.

I picked her up in my car and she grinned from her front door, to the moment I opened the passenger side door and then started the engine. And her grinning made me grin. We were just a couple of grinning fools cruising down the road like a MICHAEL NESMITH song.

And how thankful, how blessed I felt to walk with her into the nice breakfast joint that only stayed open until late afternoon. To have the meal and the conversation go so well that she took my hand when it was time to walk back out to the car. Which in turn led to us walking around the nearby mall for a spell as we waited for the start time of a movie at the local theater.

At the movie theater she had grown comfortable enough with me to lay her head on my shoulder -- during the preview show even. To which I shifted so i could wrap my arm around her, encouraging her to snuggle up to me.

It felt so good ... so right ... I can barely tell anyone what the movie was about. Not when I had this lovely honey all up on me; letting me kiss her forehead like a nervous Nelly, then the bridge of her nose, until I finally found her lips. And the kiss was spectacular like TERI HATCHER as Seinfeld's girlfriend.

Afterwards she wanted to see my apartment ...

I gulped like Shaggy Rogers. Not because I was ashamed of where I lived. But because I was all of a sudden nervous. What if she didn't like my place? What if there were still dirty dishes in the sink and nasty underwear on the floor? But surprisingly, I'd left it just tidy enough. And more than that, she was digging my six foot Christmas tree and my collection of Hallmark and Lifetime Christmas DVDs.

Before I knew it, we were "maxing and relaxing", watching flicks ... I made her dinner ...Christmas turned into New Year ... New Year turned into St. Paddy's day ... Articles of her clothing and other nick-nacks began to take root ... And visions of happily ever after began to form.

© 2022 LaZeric Freeman

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