Woebeit the most vexing reality that bedevils me is that God purposely made each and every jot and tittle of his creation--no matter how infinitesimal-- unique unto itself (FYI: Jot: the smallest amount. Tittle: a small mark, point or sign, as the dot over the “i” or “j”.) That divine peculiarity becomes a big problem for the nosy, just wanna know kinda person that I’ve been since I was conscious enough to kick like hell while I was yet in my momma’s womb, in an attempt to see where I was. Or, mayhap, I was just looking for a way out??? Okay…. Okay! I hear The Twilight Zone theme queuing up too, so I’ll be good and try, as best I can, not to drift too far into The Outer Limits of decency.
Then again, I revisited my childhood as I watched Calvin Murphy, whom I’ve always held in the highest esteem, snorting and snotting as he was being destroyed. I certainly felt his pain, as he cried on the witness stand-- like Julius Caesar, on the “Ides of March,” when he was stabbed in the back by people whom he had loved. “Et tu Brutae?” notwithstanding, I wept a little myself, because I knew what Calvin must’ve been going through, as he wiped away tears, as he tried to convince a “jury of his peers” that he didn’t lustfully violate his daughters over a decade ago. Naturally--like most proud, arrogant Black males--I imagined myself in Calvin’s no win situation and concluded that it made no difference whether he was guilty, or not, he had already suffered the ultimate agony that could be inflicted upon a loving father, or just a decent human.
And as happy as Calvin was when the jury returned a “not guilty” verdict (exonerating him on all six counts of sexual assault), he still was in the kind of pain that Bobby “Blue” Bland meant when he lamented in his 1960’s hit, “When you’ve got a heartache, there ain’t nothing you can do.” Hey, there’s nobody any happier for him than I am. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t be telling it like it is if I didn’t say that Calvin would never have been in that situation if he had learn to control his prodigious sex drive as a youth. Hey, 14 children by nine different women makes Calvin damn near a plague, or infectious virus. Yes, I know boys will be boys. I also know all about those galloping hormones that bedevil a pubescent manchild. Even so, I also know that lustful sex isn’t half as good as it’s cracked up to be.
Hark! You’re right, mayhap, I should just speak for myself. On the other hand, I truly believe that if normal men would dare admit it, they would validate that at least half of the sexual encounters that they’ve had during their youth weren’t worth the effort. Hey, I’m speaking as one who has been literally ravished by some of the most amorous “Sex Goddesses” of my era. Hence, I’m just facting, instead of cracking to say that sex is more about ego than libido. Yes, I could be wrong. Mayhap I ain’t wrapped right. Hey, that’s the problem I have with our uniqueness. What I’ saying is, nobody can be absolutely sure how other folks think. In essence, there’s no way to know that my thoughts truly coincide with any other man’s thoughts. Hell, most brothers lie about their sexual exploits anyway.
It’s an ego thing. Then again, promiscuous sex is also an ego thing. For sure, sex becomes the tail that wags the dog for most whorish men. Hey, I decided as a wee lad that I would never allow anything as plentiful as female pulchritude (that you can beg, borrow, steal or buy), to have such a self-destructive hold on me. Square business, woebeit I was sexually “acting” at five, I have never truly lusted behind foxy sisters. Hell, my logic is that if sex is so essential (to a man’s well being), he should make it a budget item along with his other needs. Truth is, I always had cause to pause and ponder why the strongest brothers in the ‘hood were weak for cute, shapely sisters who couldn’t do anything for them that a funny looking sister couldn’t do. Especially if love ain’t got nothing to do with it.
I actually studied the brothers in the ‘hood, trying to determine what messed them up the most. Many brothers of that era got drunk on the weekend and beat their wives, or woman, because it made them feel like a man, after being “punked out” (by the White folks on the job) all week. However, the fact that some brothers didn’t drink, ruled out mean drunks in the equation. Cutting to the chase, the only common denominator I found was women. Moreover, the bigger men’s egos are, the more women can mess with their heads. Conversely, I learned that women also have egos and can be “played too.” Woebeit, space won’t allow me to share my stud secrets with you, but suffice it to say that my insight into ego enthused sex drives is why I knew Calvin was innocent.
Hey, Calvin has one of the biggest egos (this side of a Black Baptist preacher’s pulpit), therefore he had to keep proving himself with women, just as he did in basketball or anything else. Ergo, he’s too full of himself to molest any (young, or old) female. Psychobabble notwithstanding, look for folks with (real or imagined) low self esteem when you’re looking for rapist, pedi-freaks, or any other sexual deviates. Even if they’re an intelligent, beautiful woman who lusts for 14-year-old boys. I wonder if anybody knows where I’m coming from.