Aging

Nelly had been out for a moderately intense morning jog when he remembered that he'd promised his grandmother Barbara that she could come over to speak with that morning at around 9 am. Sweat and harsh breath were pouring from his athletic body as he rounded the last corner of his block.

True to black surburban form, a police car drove beside him. The black female cop eyed him with suspicion from behind the wheel as he began to slow himself down to a walk. Then, her police profiling psychology faded and was replaced by her womanhood as she realized she was staring at a well-built, athletic and ---judging from the lack of a wedding ring on his finger---single black men. But then, she told herself, you can't be too careful with some of these men, since some of these married brothers forget to wear their rings when they work out. Her feminine curiosity immediately shifted to a distrust of the male gender. The final look she gave Nelly as she drove off--a gaze born out of broken hearts instead of racist media conditioning--burned Nelly's emotions the most.

A minute later he made it to his driveway. "Eight fifty-five" he said to himself as he checked his sportswatch. "Good, Gramma won't be here until at least a quarter after. I might have time to jump in the shower before she comes." He walked past his Mercedes and had opened the metal gate before he noticed that he already had company sitting on his doorstep.

A beautiful, "phat" (Pretty-Hot-And-Tempting---PHysically ATtractive), moderately dressed young woman was sitting outside of his door, smiling warmly at him. Nelly took notice of her perfect, dark brown body and her thick, bushy, sexy hair that she let hang about her shoulders in a perm. She looked to be about twenty two or twenty three, and even though he felt that a four-five year old man like himself should feel like a father towards her, the feelings that were bubbling up inside of him were anything but paternal.

His admiration made his way up her legs, thighs and chest to her beautiful smile and her deep, brown eyes. There was something about her eyes, though, that seemed a bit too familiar. He realized that he should know this young woman, but for some reason, he could not remember how he knew her.

"Hello, Mr. Nelson," she said in a sweet, melodic southern black tone.

"Yes, hello, Miss--?"

"Barbara," she answered. "My name is Barbara these days."

"What a coincidence," Nelly answered, "my grandmother is coming by in a few minutes. Her name is Barbara also."

"Yes, I know," Young Barbara answered. "I know your grandmother QUITE well." She stood up and offered out her hand.

Nelly shook her hand and forced himself to remain a gentleman, taking great care to maintain eye contact and not stair at her firm, round breasts.

"Aren't you going to ask me in?" Barbara asked coyly.

"Yeah, sure, come on in, I guess," he fumbled. He pulled his keys out of his sweatpants and opened the front door for Barbara. His chivilary was self-reward by a glance at her buttocks as she walked by him, into the house.

"You're gonna be sorry later if you keep staring at my hips, Nelson," she commented as she made her way to the kitchen.

Nelly laughed. "Please, call me Nelly. All my friends do. Only my grandmother calls me Nelson."