Dating : Jail Bird

I am not entirely sure what I was thinking the first time I met Amar. I was eighteen, horny, and it was my last night of summer vacation. There’s not much justification I can give to myself for the story I am about to tell, except that I was young.

My cousin and I walked into the smoked filled, hazy room echoing with deep, thundering voices. Fear swept over me when I realized all of the men sitting on the couches were half-naked, and we were the only females in the living room. My heart rate picked up, unable to tell whether we were in danger. A glance to my cousin and she led the way in the living room, calm as could be. There was chanting, there were banners, and there were balloons. Celebration was in the air. In the center of it all was one of the most beautiful men I’d ever laid my eyes on.

Amar was six foot three and matched my make-up, with dark hair and darker eyes. He sat on the couch shirtless and covered in more tattoos than I could count. Looking at him, I’m not sure what was more striking, his beauty, the marijuana leaf tattoo sprawling across his left chest, or the apparent healed-over stab wounds. The recognition that I was sober was clear and painful.

Amar commanded the room to greet us on our arrival and motioned for me to sit right by him on the couch. As every gracious host does, Amar offered drinks, food, and snack nuts. Uncomfortable, I rejected it all, eventually relenting to Coca Cola after the tenth insistence. My naïve eighteen-year-old self thought it was just the alcohol making his eyes look sleepy but then realized it was marijuana, cocaine, and other unidentified substances. Amar seemed immediately enchanted by me, and I was eating up every second of it. He was the definition of tall, dark and handsome. Sure, Amar was rough around the edges, but he was for fun, not for marriage. Not wanting to pass judgment too quickly, I immersed myself in conversation with him. We sat on the couch flirting as he told me he adored my accent. I sat analyzing all his tattoos, pointing to them as he offered detailed explanations for each one.

“What are we celebrating tonight?” I asked him, diverting my glance to the overly drunk men, a half-eaten cake on the table, and floating balloons. Amar looked at me ever so sweetly after snorting a line of cocaine right in front of me.

“We’re celebrating my getting out,” he told me.

“Your getting out from what?” Amar cocked his head to the side, a big smile spread across his face.

“From jail, love.”

Something inside of me shriveled up, my eyebrows shot up. I had a lot of questions, but I just nodded and told him that it was beautiful his friends were so happy for him.

Later as he whisked me away to the bedroom away from the noise, Amar spilled out his heart to me. The reason he was in jail — attempted murder — how his mom left him as a baby, how his dad was a low-life who didn’t care about him, and how Amar has been robbing people since before he was thirteen. He had been in and out of various institutions for crime and misbehaving. Though an attempted murderer lay before me half-naked, I felt a quick pang of genuine guilt for his life story in that moment. I was also shocked at the level of information he was disclosing to me. He looked at me and shook his head, explaining he was never given a fair chance.

Of course, the sex ensued. It all happened so quick that it was painfully evident that this was a man who had been in jail for a few months. However, that was no problem as he was ready as ever for three more continual rounds, with an average bounce-back time of two minutes. He was very proud of that fact, and after being with Amar, I can confidently say that he has indeed a lot to be proud of in general.

Though we did have sex, it isn’t as memorable to me as Amar’s overall personality. As pillow talk was taking place, Amar was joking about marrying me to come over to America, a tried and true classic, someone suddenly cracked open the bedroom door asking for him. In a fury, he threw sheets over my body, telling me to cover myself, and went to the door, screaming at the guy on the other side. Completely naked.

“Have you absolute no respect, you pig? I am making love to a beautiful woman in this bedroom. How dare you fucking open without knocking, you mother fucker? I will fucking kick your head in.”

Amar’s rage at this moment made me uneasy, yet in a fucked up way, I thought it was somehow thoughtful he wanted to protect my modesty. It was at this moment I nodded to myself. I could understand his latest conviction.