Black Poetry : Indigo Jones (Part 1)

GQ

Well-Known Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Mar 17, 2001
2,220
3
South Jersey
Occupation
United States Air Force


Indigo Jones was a fine “high yella” sista
She was ripe at the of 26 but didn’t look a day
over 22. She had an uncanny way of making
men aware if what she brought to the table
as far as sexual liberation was concerned.
In other words, “sistagirl was on like that!"

She owned a corner office in the Towers
Office complex working as a Vice President
of a prestigious advertising agency in
downtown Los Angeles in the same building,
but on a different floor.

I on the other hand, was a partner with one
of the most powerful consulting firms on the
West coast. Yeah, I was bringing in major
dollars and all the women in the office knew it.

Anyway, I remember one morning I came
in the office where she worked. I knew some
of the executives there since my firm did business
once or twice with Indigo’s booming agency.

I had been running late because of an all-nighter
with some of the fellas, this one of which had
me feeling a little tired and a lot more hung over.

I spotted Indigo out of the corner of my eye as I
proceeded to the office of one of the manager’s
that I knew. She was up to her usual temptress
antics-slowly, but surely seducing all the men;
brothas and gray boys alike, but she did so with
just her eyes and her very feminine mannerisms.

Now remember I said that I was bringing home
major figures and all the women knew it?
Well, I stand corrected because all the women
with the exception of Indigo, knew it but I
felt she had an idea—call it a man’s intuition.
I drew that conclusion due to several “brushes
with fire” that I encountered with Miss Indigo.

The first time I ran into her was at a typical
“watercooler” setting in the building. If she
noticed me then, she played it off hella cool
because the sista didn’t even bat an eye when
I walked by and lightly, but accidentally, brushed
up against her nice little petite ***.

What gave her away was a note I had gotten a
couple of days later. It was placed under my door
in a little pink envelope. It read: “Do you always
go around feeling sista’s ***** in public?” It was
simply signed “IJ” so I knew right away who it was.

Needless to say, I was a little hesitant about
watercooler walk-bys because of the previous
episode, so I steered clear of little Miss Indigo
for a quick minute due to slight apprehension.

My next two encounters happened within a span of
a week’s time. At the firm, we have that co-ed
washroom thing going on just like on television.

The second time I bumped into her, she was coming
in the washroom as I was going out. The clumsy
little motions that we both made were kind of funny
in an odd sort of way.

She was reaching to push the door while I was pulling
to leave out. She stumbled a bit but quickly regained
her composure, or so I thought.

“****, you could say excuse me?” she snapped and
gave me a look that could kill.

I dismissed it by accentuating the positive, “at least
she looked at me”. That set the tone for good things
to come with Miss Jones and I.
 

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