Son of a Preacher man: James

Okay, so boom. I never thought I’d be that girl—laid out, slick with oil, getting worked over by a preacher’s kid with hands so blessed they might as well have been dipped in holy water. But life be life-ing, and let me tell you… this? This was top-tier, chef’s kiss, bomb dot com levels of life-ing.

It all started because I was tired. Not physically (okay, maybe a little), but mentally, emotionally, romantically—allathat. I had wasted way too much time in a dry, unseasoned, no-flavor relationship, and by 25, I realized I had a LOT of making up to do.

Now, I wasn’t looking for just anybody. No ma’am. I needed a man who knew how to make me feel something. And that’s how I met James.

Now, when I say regular-looking, I mean REGULAR. But something about the way he carried himself? Intriguing. He wasn’t doing too much. Just chill, laid-back, and unbothered in a way that said, I know exactly who I am, and I don’t have to prove it. That’s what got me.

Then he hit me with the, "Oh yeah, I’m a professional masseuse."

EXCUSE ME???

Men love talking, so I didn’t take him seriously at first. But when I pulled up to his place and saw a real professional massage table sitting in his living room???

Oh, HE WASN’T PLAYIN’.

But then… I smelled it.

Weed.

Now, listen. I don’t smoke. Never have, never will. It’s just not my thing. But James? That man was a full-blown weed head. And when I side-eyed him so fast, he just smirked like he was waiting for me to say something.

“You mind?”

“I do if you hold out on me,” I said, flipping my hair because fair is fair.

I took one tiny hit (peer pressure is real), but that was all for me. Meanwhile, James was hitting that thing like he was trying to communicate with the ancestors.

A few minutes later, I was floating, and next thing I knew, I was stripping down and laying on that table, cheeks out, back arched, ready for my blessings.

And BABYYYY.

The second that warm oil hit my skin? WHEW. This man had technique. Not that “I watched a YouTube tutorial” mess—real, trained, deep tissue, I-got-certifications-for-this technique. He kneaded me like he had beef with my muscles. My toes curled IMMEDIATELY.

Then his hands started drifting.

Now, listen. I am a LADY. A refined WOMAN. But the way I almost let out a full-blown church moan on that table??? I had to grip the sides and pray.

And then I did something bold. I reached back. Just a lil’ touch. Just to see. Just to confirm.

And when I tell you I felt something that made me wanna call my ancestors?

BIG.

BIG BIG.

Physics-defying, situation-changing, “Lord, are You seeing this?” BIG.

Now, let me be clear—James was not ready for me. I could feel him overthinking. His whole system rebooted in real time. Because surprise, baby—I am not your average girl.

But you know what? He adapted QUICK.

And let me tell you something—he liked it. Probably more than I did.

The way he was handling me?? BABY. He was EXPLORING. He was STUDYING. He was LEARNING. Like I was some rare artifact and he had just been blessed with a once-in-a-lifetime discovery.

And by the time we made it to the bed? LISTEN.

SHENANIGANS.

And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

Afterward, we were laid out, catching our breath, and I turned my head to look at him. He was just staring at me, like his whole world had just been rocked, flipped, and reversed.

Because here’s what I knew for sure:

1. This man was NOT expecting me.
2. He was absolutely, 1000% gonna be thinking about me for a LONG time.

And you know what?

That’s his business.