Saved and SAINTified (56 page)

“Every day, thousands of babies are being conceived. Not all of them will survive the first trimester.” Saint exhaled loudly and briefly looked down at the stage. “The world is pitted against them. Their mother’s body is sometimes too acidic, killing off sperm. Only the strongest survive, from the very beginning, guys. All of you in here are winners—right out the gate. Then, the mother’s body thinks there is a foreign object inside of her, and tries to kill it. By perfect human design, she has cells that protect the fetus. Her immune system kills intruders. Sperm is not natural to the human female body and neither is an embryo. You’ve made love to her, impregnated her, and now her body is going to war on the baby you two created. After a while though, her body accepts the changes, and begins to actually nurture the fetus, which steals energy from the mother. Now, the fetus is more important than even she is, according to her body. It steals her iron from her red blood cells, causing lethargy. It keeps shedding impurities, causing sickness and other side effects of pregnancy.”

“And that entire nine to ten months that that baby is developing inside of her, he or she is looking more like you and your Queen, every damn day.” Saint smiled, knowing all too well the overwhelming joy of looking at a sonogram for the first time.

“And then, men, you finally get to meet that little baby and hold them. They look at you, and they are depending on you for
everything
.” He gritted his teeth against the emotion that threatened to spill over. “They literally need you, just to survive. The hierarchy is established! It was there, as soon as you knocked that woman up! You made a life so now, you must protect that life!”

The claps to that last statement were deafening, powerful. Because Saint had hit a nerve, appealed to their naturally protective nature.

“Protect your multiracial children. You are their haven. They are the future—they are the signs of a brighter day, but sometimes, they just don’t know it. Times are different from when I was little, but some things, unfortunately, remain the same. They need you, future daddies ... be there emotionally and physically. Your Queen can’t do it all by herself. You needed her to make that baby, and she needed you as well, so it will take two to raise that child! I’m currently writing a book on this, for those of you having concerns. I think it is long overdue and now that I am a father, and I have a few years under my belt, I can share with you what I’ve learned.”

“Thank you, Saint!” someone called out, their voice quaking. Saint couldn’t find the owner, but he felt that man’s emotion swim toward him.

“You’re welcome,” Saint said solemnly.

No one uttered a word after that. You could’ve heard a pin drop ... Someone out there had a child and he was confused as to how to handle these real life situations. Saint smiled and nodded, blessed just in knowing that he’d helped at least one man that evening—while encouraging these Rainbeaus to not run away from challenge, but to expect and embrace it.

****

An hour later
...

“
For the end of the evening, for the wrap-up, I will answer some questions from you wonderful Rainbeaus. We will have the host read them, so as to not embarrass any of you that wrote them.” Saint took a sip of his water then waited as a large projector screen opened at the back of the stage. A painting of a beautiful, naked black ‘Eve’ holding an apple in the Garden of Eden with her white ‘Adam’ appeared, generating thunderous whistles and applause.

“This p
ainting behind me is called "The Gift of Sin" by artist Ron McDowell. It’s lovely. I have a copy of it hanging up in my house.” He lightly stroked the of side his neck as the Host approached him with a piece of paper, then whispered in his ear.

“Well, I don’t know if Mr.
Lennox here has gotten shy, but,” people murmured among themselves, “He’d much prefer I read the questions as well.”

Laughter erupted
. Saint smirked and shook his head. He slyly looked over his shoulder at the man, who was walking away. “Come on, man!” Lennox turned to him, smiled sheepishly, but remained quiet. Saint quickly glanced over the questions, “These aren’t that bad! Come on, we’re all adults here,” Saint ribbed, enjoying embarrassing the poor man.

“Ahhh, alright
.” He turned back toward the podium. “Okay, let’s get started. I won’t read anyone’s names out, either. We do respect your privacy here,” he said seriously. “Okay.” Saint cleared his throat. “First question is, ‘Dr. Aknaten, how can I tell if my girlfriend really had an orgasm or is just faking it?”

The expected snickering flare
d up. Saint placed the paper down and looked out into the sea of faces. “No way is one hundred percent effective, because all women are different. However, there are some tell-tell signs that are more common than not.” He folded his hands.

“One, her nipples may be
come erect. Two, her breathing will be much heavier. Three, her secretions will increase and change. She will be significantly wetter than when you first began intercourse and that notorious wet stain that everyone tries to dodge?”

The raucous laughter almost drowned him out.

“Yeah, there will be a lot more of that. Many women will actually produce so much, it will not only be all over your cock after they orgasm, but you will feel it running down your damn dick. So sexy!” Saint grinned, closed his eyes and rocked side to side as if he were going into a sensual reverie.

Clapping poured through the room.

“Also gentlemen, if you pay close attention, you will feel her and see her building up. She’ll reach a pinnacle, then slowly climb down. That’s not something she can fake. Lighter skin sistas may show a flush across their chest; it will look reddened. Once you really get to know your woman’s body, things will be a lot more obvious. Just watch her, man.”

“Observation is really important. Try different things and ask her what she likes and doesn’t like then when she has an orgasm, and
when you witness it, that will help for the future. You don’t want to do the same thing all the time, but you do want to do what you know turns her on—so you can mix it up, but make sure you end with the tried and true if that is the mission for that particular sex session.” Saint looked at the list closely and read the second question.

“Dr. Aknaten, I’ve been trying to get a Queen for almost two years now and keep getting turned down. The ones I like don’t like me and the ones that like me, I’m not attracted to. I’m aggressive;
I go after what I want, but I’m still striking out. Any tips?”

Saint
looked out into the audience, smiled and shook his head, eliciting some loud laughter.

He
raised his hand. “Now look, there is a thin line between aggressiveness, mixed with confidence, and a thirsty mothafucka. Now, I’m not speaking about wanting something to drink.”

Waves of laughter rolled through the auditorium.

“When I say thirsty, I’m talking about a man that is panting around a woman and going overboard. I don’t know for certain if that is what you’re doing, but if it is, don’t, okay? Women like assertive men, who are cool and collected. Be aggressive, show her that you’re interested and not into playing games, but don’t make yourself look weak trying to get her.

“
Do not be her step stool or a damn chump, man. At the end of the day,” he shrugged, “it’s her damn choice if she’s going to fuck with you or not. Step to her, tell her she looks nice, you want to get to know her, and try to exchange numbers, then walk the fuck away. Don’t try to go out on a date right then. Put your best foot forward and let that shit marinate. You want her to think about you for a while. Shit, you may be the first white, Asian, or whatever you are, that ever stepped to her. She might be taken aback or thrown for a loop. That’s another reason why you can’t just go full throttle.” He stopped and cleared his throat.

“Flirt like a mothafucka, seriously
.” He watched the men in the audience turn around looking at eachother, large smiles on their faces. “But if she is pulling away, leave her ass alone. If she is someone you work with or really like, as I’ve said in other conferences, revisit the situation but don’t keep trying to drink from the same pond too long. That’s not what a woman wants. This shit is basic – we make it complicated for no damn reason. Chase within reason. Hunt within reason. Respect yourself. Thirstiness isn’t sexy to women, remember that. Next question... ”

Saint
looked back down at the paper and read. “Why are so many black women hard to approach?” Saint grinned. “Okay, this is kind of like the last question, but I can piggy back off of that. Imagine this, okay?” He put his hands up as if he were waiting for a basketball to be cast his way. “Imagine you’re an attractive twenty-five year old black woman. From the time she is about, say twelve, she has reached certain levels of sexual maturity. She isn’t ready for a sexual relationship, that is far too young, but that isn’t the reason I’m bringing this up. What it means is, from that age, that girl, now woman, has been more than likely sexually harassed by boys and men. By the time she is your peer, she has heard a fucking ’nuff. And this brings me back to the original premise of this conference.

“Black women are being told through the media, other black men and advertising that they are not attractive yet they are the most sexualized women on the planet. This is not to say that other races of women are not sexually harassed
and exploited, of course they are—but in some cultures, what we may deem as sexual harassment, they do not. Aggressiveness takes an entirely new look. I wouldn’t dare pinch a woman’s ass that I didn’t know, for instance, while I was single. I did a lot of unnecessary shit, I won’t lie about that, but there is some shit I simply didn’t do but in some places, there are subcultures that are doing all of that and it’s just wrong, plain and simple. So, this has basically trained a woman like this to ignore men so she can just get through her damn day. I said before, this can sometimes be an uphill battle. My wife was like that. She is beautiful—she knows it too—but she isn’t conceited or arrogant. I am though,” he said with a wink.

He waited for the expected humorous reaction from the crowd to that last statement to subside.

“Even if I
had
been black, she would have given me a hard time, I know this, because some mothafucka was always tryna holla at her and then here I come,” he pointed at himself, “this biracial, Asian, mongoloid Pyramid buildin’ mothafucka tryna spit game to her militant, ‘power to the people’ ass!”

Laughter exploded.

“I’m serious, that made this shit much harder for me—that she was basically treated like a slab of prime rib and the fact that I wasn’t a brotha ensured that I had some work ahead of me. I knew deep down that she liked me though, so I kept at it ... Alright, next question.”

Saint
looked back down at the paper.

“Dr. Aknaten, you speak about sperm having power and the woman’s vagina being powerful. Who has more knowledge and power?”
Saint nodded and smiled. “I’ve never had that question before—that’s a good question.” He looked out into the ranks of the audience.

“Neither person has more power. That is the simple answer.
The purpose and the distribution of that power is just different. The longer answer is, it is a symbiotic relationship. Someone may feel more powerful because they are being begged and chased, but unless both parties come together, each is useless on their own. When you connect, that is where the power comes into play! When that dick is inside of that pussy—that is when power manifests. It needs to be a bartering, an exchange. We are giving each other something. When you make love to your woman, you are giving her dick. She is giving you pussy.  Dick is just as important as pussy but not enough women are respecting their pussy and treating it special, and we as men sure as hell don’t respect our own dicks half the time. We just hand that shit out, but call a woman a slut for doing the same shit we’ve been doing since we bust our first nut. We need each other.

“This is a partnership. We’re
both needed to reproduce and unless the woman is masturbating or a lesbian, she will want that cum from you. Both wish to achieve an orgasm and if it’s a vaginal orgasm, a dick has to be in the equation or an artificial phallus such as a dildo. So, to wrap this up, pussy and dick are equal.” He moved his hands like scales, in a balancing gesture. “They are both powerful alone but together, they make the strongest force. You create spiritual bonds with your mate that way; you can procreate and bring in new life.”

He slicked his tongue over his bottom lip
and as he thought of his daughter right that moment, his heart skipped a beat.

“With that woman
, you bring new life into the relationship every time you’re inside of her. You are breathing within her, creating, and she is creating within you. Don’t believe anything different.”  He cleared his throat. “Now, let’s take one more question. Let’s see here.” He looked down and began to read the question aloud.

“Why do some racist black people expect black women to not date any men that aren’t black but there are not enough black men for every single black woman
? Are they supposed to stay single?”

Saint
smirked and scratched his right eyelid as he rolled the question over in his mind.