In a 21st century dating context where Black women in America are quantitatively disadvantaged, any supposed family oriented man would seemingly be a God sent lottery pick. But what happens when what gets the dream brotha you’re positively feeling off is telling you he wants to get you pregnant?
A few months ago, I went on date to New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art with a hopeful I was so sure about in the first month I told my Mom about him. We were playfully flirting inside of the Temple of Dendur when soon the squeezing the small of my back and subtle sneak feels on my booty turned into a full on tongue war. His wet and slippery kisses made his way from my neck up to my ear somewhere in between my Swarovski crystal studs and my earlobe. Out of nowhere, he uttered “I wanna get you pregnant.”
It was like a turbo Hoover vacuum sucked all of the oxygen out of my body. I found myself gasping, coughing…it was like some instant allergic reaction to artificial shellfish. I don’t know if he became hypnotic over the Givenchy perfume I was wearing or what. I shot a sharp look at him and said, “Umm wha, what did you just say?” I was hoping he would do one of those just kidding laughs and jokingly play it off, but instead with a serious face he straightened up and went, “Why you tripping?”
Shocked and taken all the way back at how for real he seemed, I clapped back, “Dude, you have to be kidding me! You can’t just whisper things like that in my ear!” Instantly my mind flashed back to the time we almost got busy in his condo in the middle of a syndicated ‘Martin’ episode. He conveniently had no condoms and claimed it was too late for him to run to the Duane Reade around the corner to get some. What’s more, he proceeded to undo my blouse as if it was really about to go down. Now I’m thinking he may have been more than a little thirsty that night, this man is trying to family plan on the sly.
Needless to say, our cultural outing at the MET and the dinner plans that followed at Harlem’s new Red Rooster was canceled. “Umm I forgot I have an early meeting in the morning. Let’s get up later.”
There was no morning meeting. Instead I switched my Kirkwoods to GAP flats on the corner of 83d & 5th, hopped on the train and met my girls at my neighborhood spot, Peaches. The first line after one sip of “Brownstone Punch”…
“What the fuck?! How can a man that fine and that educated be that damn looney?”
“Well, I’m not so sure he’s dumb Geneva, he’s just flirting. Guys find that sexy,” goes the always irritatingly intuitive and diplomatic Toya.
“I guess I’m off trend.” I said. “When did it become attractive to tell a woman at a freaking museum I want to get you pregnant?”
“I mean, why not say, I can see myself marrying you?” offers the sensible Deneatra. “My ex used to say that all the time when we had sex. He claimed he didn’t want me taking birth control anymore because it made me fat, and he never wanted to use a condom. After a while I put two and two together and really began to consider that he was intentionally trying to get me pregnant. Interestingly, he never talked about a ring.”
“Dede, you were just being paranoid about him,” says Toya.
“What was so strange about it all is that it seemed to really turn him on, it was sexy to him,” I recalled.
We unanimously became muted and glared out of the window. Our eyes roamed and ended up at the Marcus Garvey Elementary School across the street. A streak of cold shot through my body. This can’t be my life…
Is there seriously a sub-culture of Black men who intentionally want to get the girls they date pregnant?
We came of age to the series of R. Kelly songs from ‘Half On A Baby’ to one of the artist’s modern version, the collab, ‘Pregnant’ featuring The Dream, Tyrese and Robin Thicke. I began to think in bed that night, is there seriously a sub-culture of Black men who intentionally want to get the girls they date pregnant? And why is there the appetite for little league juniors instead of the call for wedding bells?
Could these brothas with a case of paternal instinct be really after a family or are they in search of some other kind of twisted fulfillment? And what exactly is so sexy and freaky about telling a girl, “I wanna get you pregnant?” Is it some kind of wordplay foreplay–the new head?
During my late night critical thought mass, another part of my cerebellum wondered, maybe I’m selfish or ungrateful? Should I be happy a guy wants to create a life with me? In a sea of non-committing brothas who choose to come and go, this one was talking children in the first month. But I quickly shot back to my senses. And I thanked God for it.
This man’s spontaneity and hasty taste for kids seemed forced and a little scary. Moreover, I thought about how important a meaningful relationship was to me and it’s eventual transition into marriage and family. A guy who somehow takes the idea of this too lightly is simply a guy I can not rock with.
All I could think about was how I would trick myself into forgetting about him by deleting his number from my iPhone and keeping myself busy over the next few days. I was vigilant on ignoring every call and text, and blocking his kisses out of my mind–which were quite good– and removing the vase of lilies he sent to my office from my desk.
Until Thursday while lunching at my fave Thai spot with my BGF (Best Gay Friend), I got a call from the parched-for-babies dude. I wanted to send him to voice mail, but somehow found myself picking up the phone.
Him: “What’s good? Why you been ignoring me?”
Me: “Umm I wasn’t ignoring you, I’ve just been really busy with a lot of deadlines.” My boy Sureme snickers on the other side of the table. I shush him and continue talking.
Me: “Honestly, I was a little turned off with what you said at the MET.”
Him: “Word? What did I say?”
Me: “Quit playing.”
Him: “I mean, that’s just how I felt at the time, it’s just something I like to say.”
While running him a series of questions in search for clarity, I asked myself how many girls has he uttered those words to, and why would he like to play with those words, when any other brotha would dash from the mere thought of kids? Ultimately it was a paradox too overwhelming for me to solve. I ended the call, finished my pad thai and downed a passion fruit bellini.
Shortly after I ended the call, Mr. Babies was on my phone again, but this time he texted.
“You think too much.”