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Alexis Goodpastor ... Modern Day Trollop

I'm just a man ... standing in front of the world ... asking them to love my writing.


Wanna know how bad it was?

Once upon a time, I was actually dating a man named, "Mississippi". True facts.

Yeah ... It was pretty bad.

Not that he was necessarily a bad guy. He was just bad for me. Taking and taking with very little giving ... But that's all I really want to say about that period of my life.

So I entered a sense of awareness. Or maybe became more self aware. Trying to decide what was best for me. Taking a page from STEVE HARVEY's book and thinking like a man. But maybe what I had in mind wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he wrote his bestseller. Maybe I was taking his philosophy and turning it up on 10.

In my case, thinking like a man, meant dating like a man. In fact, dating multiple men as I saw fit ... Don't judge me. I'm just trying to live my life and protect my heart. No more lonely nights like PAUL MCCARTNEY once sung most beautifully.

I am no longer interested in monogamy.

No. No. No. No. No.

Who wants to be like everybody else? Not I, said the blind man.

I'm tired of giving my heart completely over to one man and having it stomped on, torn apart, led astray and utterly crushed ... Whew! Feels so good to get that out. But that's my truth. And you best believe that I'm sticking to it.

Let them fall in love with me and be confused about where this thing is going. No. Not really. I'll be good and I'll let them know that they are not the one, the only, the true macaroni. That's the least I can do. Then if they are still nutty enough to fall deep, deep in love with me ... Well, God bless and Godspeed. That's the way the cookie will have to crumble. Because this was now the "Me Generation"; the season of Alexis. And so it is written. And so it shall be done. Or as my bald friend Picard used to say, "Make it so."

Three to four lovers tops. No more. No less.

Okay, I'm saying that today. Who knows how I'll feel tomorrow.


I live alone ... Which means that I can play all of the ISLEY BROTHERS, AL GREEN and SADE that I want, at high decibels even.

I am no longer interested in monogamy.

Did I say that already? It deserves to be repeated.

Say it again. Say it again.

I refuse to be committed to one man anymore.

I've come to the conclusion that monogamy is a form of slavery. And my new way of life is freedom in its purest form. Freedom to have multiple sexual partners is the tip of that iceberg. In fact, a woman shouldn't want to belong to one man. She should be sexually liberated. Yeah ... That's what I think.

How did I convert to this way of thinking? Movies. Magazines. Lots of meditation. Thinking about what had been, what I wanted to be, what would be if I stayed the course. Nothing to it, but to do it.

The new me was really into candles. The scented kind. Like pumpkin, cherry, sugar cookie and vanilla. Calming scents.

New mindset. Scents that relaxed my mind and spirit. But also a change of diet. Trying my best to retire meat. To eat healthier. Organic. Plant based ... Expensive ... That part wasn't going too well. Besides the fact that healthier food cost more in dollars, I also didn't appreciate the lack of taste in some cases. So green juices and any other kind of drink where I could taste more carrot and less fruity flavors were out. But I should get an "A" for effort. Right?

I also like to walk around my backyard nude. There's nothing better than a brisk wind on your bottom. But of course you have to be cautious about the time of day and what have you. There are decency laws ...

No doubt I come off as some kind of alien; some kind of freak. But I am not a freak. I just desire to be happy on my own terms. And any man that desires to be in my company, must accept the new rules of engagement. As non traditional as that train of thought may be, that's what I needed in my life to function at this juncture.

Sure, I still dreamed about a prince coming through and placing a glass slipper on my foot. But that dream had to be shaken out of my head every time. Because I'd been there, done that and watched the movie adaption of that scenario. And it hurt too much to keep waiting in expectation for that fairy tale ending. So I was going to make my own happy ending. And hopefully, just hopefully, a greater sense of fulfillment would envelope me. Yeah ... That was the plan ...


Glen Curtis. 41 years old. A former child bully who once threw a brick at his neighbor, resulting in several stiches.

Yeah. This is how he introduced himself to me, if you can believe that. But he obviously wasn't that young boy anymore. His charm and charisma won me over immediately and I couldn't help enjoying his company.

Chase Stokes. 32 years old. Son of a former alleged drug dealer.

He has a affinity for tomato sandwiches. And I was like, "What?!". But evidentially that's a thing. Something that he picked up from his dad, he said. A mixture of tomato, bread and mayo. And the sandwich can also be seasoned with salt, pepper, garlic, anchovies or basil. Go figure.

But besides all of that, I was attracted to him for his gentle spirit. I don't know how else to put it. The way random kids seemed to be attracted to him and even people's dogs would come up to him, sniffing on him. It's as if the whole world knew that he was that guy. That kind soul who meant you no harm and would no doubt give you the shirt off his back and the last fry out of his bag.

Chase was Smooth Jazz. Meaning his whole aura was calm and relaxing and just ... just ... "chill" ... You know? Just real cool like the color blue. You know?

He was that guy that I could turn off the television and turn on the stereo, curl up on the couch with and listen to some SINATRA and it was all good in the hood. All was right with the world.

Nelson Jackson. 52 years old. He was classic Jazz. That wild and unpredictable sound. That type where some of the notes don't make sense and make sense at the same time. But that was okay. That was alright.

Nelson was a session drummer. Meaning that different artists could call him up to play on their CD and he would come running; a gun for hire. A celebrated gun for hire who lived in Illinois, but was known across the country and even overseas. He was that drummer. The guy that they made YOUTUBE videos of playing drum solos; marveling over his master musicianship.

He cut his teeth playing in church and then transitioned to playing for a Urban Contemporary Gospel group that disbanded, got back together, broke up and then reunited again as it suited the desires of the group members.

Next he morphed into a producer. All of this to say that he was in and out of my life. A week at home here. Then three months later, a few days home there. His life consisting of planes, trains and automobiles; hotels, motels and the Holiday Inn. The kind of guy that you missed when he was gone and was so glad to see him when he returned. Almost like a military veteran ... Well, more like WHITNEY HOUSTON greeting BOBBY BROWN when he was released from prison.

Keon Hunter. I believe ... 22 years old. He was not Jazz. He was Hip-Hop. In all senses of the description. Mature in some areas, brash in others. But I dug his energy. Though I could only take him in doses, because he had some growing up to do.

For instance, I couldn't pull out my Sinatra albums when he was around. He would call me lame and corny for liking that type of music. Or even a bona fide soul queen like GLADYS KNIGHT did not appeal to him. He was just not in the right mindset to appreciate "grown folks music" and that presented a problem.

He had a way of making this 30 something woman feel like an old lady. And that was not cool. But then he would kiss me ... touch me .... Then and only then were we on a equal footing, where age was nothing but a number ... Ye gads.

I had all four of these men in my life. And together they all formed to make the perfect man. Each piece of the puzzle mattering in a way that I couldn't imagine not having either of them. Just like I couldn't imagine settling down with just one ... And with that type of dichotomy, I had literally painted myself into a corner.


© 2022 LaZeric Freeman

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