That thing...

So I came across this article from Wale and I have to say i'm impressed, he has a gritty yet fresh and honest perspective on sex and relationships. Never met anyone like him but i'd love to.
Love got your panties in a bunch? Drop trou and @honeymag’s resident sexpert, will answer your juiciest questions. So get @Wale and spill it.

Wale: The irony in the pursuit of success is that once some of us achieve the dream we swore we wanted, the things that were important on the road to it tend to deteriorate — family, “friends” and often love.

When I was in early high school, I would chant nonsense like money over bitches. Looking back, I cringe. After failed relationships, failed “flings,” failed attempts at being a gigolo, player, or anything under that umbrella, I made a self declaration that 2010 will be the year of #thatthing. #thatthing is an absolute anomaly. It’s unexplainable. It soothes, it kills, it holds, it harms. It literally can grant life or death with one touch. And for this reason, many of us wear masks, metaphorically of course. Masks that cover insecurities. Masks that prevent #thatthing from capturing you in its relentless clutch. The fear of being hurt, for some, is far more important then the joy of being in love.

Women, how many men have you met who surround themselves around so many women, they wouldn’t be able to distinguish “the one” if she were right under his nose? I propose the same question to the dudes: Have you ever courted someone and did everything in your power to make her “open her eyes” (Bobby Caldwell x Common)? Yet she still wants to be in the club every other day or she tells you she doesn’t want commitment. That is her trying not to be vulnerable. That is the proverbial wall that can’t be penetrated because even the briefest daydream of #thatthing will send her into shock. #thatthing has the staring role in life’s movie. A nigga may have never experienced #thatthing, but his mother/father/sister/brother/teammate’s experiences may have been enough to instill the fear. A woman may never have experienced that thing, but her homegirl/bestfriend/play-cousin just may have made a fool of herself at a local club, go-go, movie theater or mall because of #thatthing.



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I’ve decided to pursue monogamy this year because #thatthing is beautiful. I literally drove down South Dakota Avenue with a North Face coat (the big joint) some basketball shorts, a wifebeater, and Timberlands. (Nike boots were muddy) on a summer night, because I wanted to show her "how real these tears are."
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I’ve decided to pursue monogamy this year because #thatthing is beautiful. I literally drove down South Dakota Avenue with a North Face coat (the big joint) some basketball shorts, a wifebeater, and Timberlands. (Nike boots were muddy) on a summer night, because I wanted to show her “how real these tears are.” I can laugh at myself now, but at the time #thatthing had me lunchin’.

Ladies, Gents — #thatthing don’t give a fuck what she/he looks like, either. Many of us have fallen victim to the I-can’t-believe-I-used-to-sleep-with-that-monstrosity syndrome. Another result of #thatthing. For fear of hurting someone’s feelings (and encouraging an angry woman to stalk me), let’s just say I once was so caught up in #thatthing, I looked past several character flaws (as well as physical) for an extended period of time.

I have to ask myself why. Is it the thrill of chase? Spending nights under the covers talking about nothing? Your partner is so “perfect” that just to hear their breath is the most tranquil feeling in the world (and completely trumps a quick nut from a jump-off.) Her sex is so good I look past the fact that she has no job, no car, no ambition, and no drive. Or ladies — maybe he f*%cks so good that you forget that he has six children and he’s only 25. The most proud can be publicly foolish. The shy guy can transform into the most outspoken. The moment your heart and hormones start to fight for control of your brain, you’re probably caught up in #thatthing.

My pursuit of #thatthing is a difficult one. I like to consider myself an unrecognizable famous person, meaning I can still do the things most 25-year-old employed black men can do, without too much attention. But at the same time, a lot of these women know who I am, (albeit never heard a song. LOL.) This is where the pessimism starts to creep in. And the paranoia that guides my judgment when exchanging numbers. Why does she want to talk to me? How long till she tells me she’s a model? I met Jay-Z in ‘99 he said he was gonna sign me. Can you ask him if we’re still good? Situations like this make the pursuit of #thatthing just as hard as shaking it off once acquired.

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