Lucky Rascal First Part

I told Patricia that I learned how to drive from my Jamaican-American mother, since my Arab-American was too busy in his executive suite in Boston’s Financial District to bother with little old me at times. I respect strong women, and I don’t believe in oppression. After all, I’m a young Black man living in America. The ultimate target for all bigots, racists, xenophobes and all sort of intolerant, narrow-minded people. Patricia smiled when I said that. Man, she’s got a really nice smile. Patricia and I were becoming fast friends. We hung out at Boston College, and chilled all over the City together. I’m not sure when exactly I fell in love with her, but it happened. One day, we were having lunch together inside the Au Bon Pain located near Commonwealth Avenue when she planted a kiss on me. And I kissed her back. Passionately. I looked into her eyes and saw there a passion which mirrored my own. That’s when I knew. I loved this woman. And I told her, right then and there. Patricia. I made it to the airport, and as I pulled up to the gate for United, Tadd came walking towards the car. He liked to drive, and did not usually let me drive. He came to the driver's side, and told me, "Scoot over babe, so I can drive." Which was well and fine, except for that damn short dress which seem to be more like an apron, or loin cloth or whatever. I did scoot over, and I even managed to do it without showing very much, just lots of thigh.Tadd was paying more attention to my dress than to me. He had asked, "What is the occasion for you to be so decked out."I said, "I just wanted to be sexy for you, and I had really been missing you."He was driving away from the airport. "We should go to our favorite restaurant." He could see I had taken some time getting ready to meet him at the airport.I said, "I would like to, but could we run by my place first? I need to get something."He laughed, and said, "I cannot see that you need anything whatsoever."I blushed and said, "Maybe a little.
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