We all love a bad boy……..some women more than others but I seem to have managed to hone my talent of turning Tigers into Pussycats into a veritable Art Form. By accident of course, and this faculty does have its down sides but we’ll get to that in a moment.
Let’s start with the Bank Robber; I didn’t know he was a Bank Robber with a speciality of sticking sawn off shotguns down his victim’s throat. When I met him he was standing on a stage in Covent Garden looking iridescent and spouting a love poem that had me and every other woman in the audience weak at the knees. He was a showman, no doubt about it, my favourite shade of coffee coloured skin and a dipping and swaying of his lithe body that oozed sexuality. It was at the beginning of my career as a spoken word artist so after his polished performance I found myself on stage shaking with a piece of moving paper in my hand trying to follow the main act ! The audience didn’t like me, but he did, the poor man saw my vulnerable side and went for it hook line and sinker.
Wind on a few weeks of ‘coaching’ on his part (with a lot of laying on of hands of one sort or another) and I’m headlining at The Fridge in Brixton in front of an all black audience with a 6’ leather clad Sarah Jones from New York opening for me. Standing in the wings with me is my Bank Robber whispering softly into my ear, ‘Go girl, it’s your job, now get out there and show them’……and I did. His charisma rubbed off and all over me, from the stage to the bedroom and back, and in the bedroom we were often to be found in the midst of grandiose illusory schemes which centred around how we were going to put poetry on the map.
Well as you have probably noticed we didn’t succeed, but I did suddenly have a live in Bank Robber who the children thought was ‘wicked’ and was to be found at 8am every morning in front of the TV stoned, and watching Disney cartoons with them. The bad boy had turned into Mr Stay at Home, and so that was the end of that.
How did I do it? A lot of love and inspiration I suppose, added to my Mermaid like ability to morph into exactly what each man’s fantasy of a woman is. Past life Courtesan stuff maybe, which is fine for the men but not so good for me. Ms Chameleon here, then has to dust herself down and decide what she wants to do and who she wants to be this week.
The list of bad boys is long and complicated. There was the gorgeous dreadlocked guy who was so beautiful I thought he was gay. He informed me on the third date that not only was he living with someone else but he was also broken hearted over an affair with a blonde bombshell that he’d just regretfully finished with, and that he had never been faithful to anyone in his life. A week later he was standing on my doorstep with his dog and his suitcase and a week after that he asked me to marry him…….
Oh er help!!
My present boyfriend was definitely a bad boy; he had never been with anyone for more than a week and can’t remember the names of all the women he has slept with. It’s taken nearly two years of tantrums and patience to tame him, but touch wood, I’ve got there. He would now rather be with me than out drinking or carousing and mostly I think he throws away all the telephone numbers that women give to him. I was beginning to get bored until…….. yesterday.
There I was sitting in the Jacuzzi at the gym, (my favourite creative thinking place as you well know by now) when the Motherf****r of bad boys sat down next to me. I feigned disinterest at his impeccable body and very beautiful Caribbean face framed by a white swimming cap under which the bulges of dread locks were visibly coiled. Not only was he pretty but he was dammed clever too and had me worked out in five minutes flat. He’d just come back from Barbados of course where he was going to buy property.
A rich bad boy??
Have I died and gone to heaven, is this synchronicity, or has the sauna just melted all my brain cells into a pool of desire which I am not supposed to be feeling because I have a partner? He asked me out to dinner, I was sitting there with practically no clothes on, totally defenceless, bubbles going up my nose and the swirl of testosterone practically rendering me unconscious. What was I going to do?
I said ……….No thanks!!
For you see I had a rare moment of epiphany when I realised that what I have at home, has raw edges to rub off but is actually nearly as good as it gets. The bad boy trying to seduce me would come with all the usual baggage of bad boys, although he was roaring and snapping at me like a Tiger, time and patience and a few tricks learnt along the way, would quickly bring him into line, and I simply couldn’t be bothered changing love for lust. After all I have spent 16 years of my life breaking in and riding Arabian Stallions, (the horse variety) after that…..
How difficult can a bad boy be?
