One of the many benefits of heading up a company that creates erotica is that I can turn any and every business trip into a pleasure trip with a little bit of creative license. If I'm scouting locations to shoot new videos, I absolutely must stay in the best hotels with a spa because I might be able to use it as the site of my next couple's retreat. If I'm doing a model search for new models, for fresh faces, what better place to do that than some sleepy little resort town in The Seychelles with pristine beaches, seafood that will make you question what the hell you've been eating your entire life, and gorgeous, toned Black bodies that have never even seen the inside of a gym or a mall. And if Snarky Puppy is playing at the Jazz Festival in Amsterdam, well, it was just a coincidence that I had a book signing scheduled there that same weekend. Talk about lucky!
Snarky Puppy was playing at the jazz festival and my agent was able to make arrangements for me to have a book signing there but it lasted a whole of two hours. The additional six days and twenty-two hours that my photographer and I stayed there were purely to sample the many delights that The Netherlands' fair city had to offer. If Uncle Sam asks, I was there looking for venues for the European leg of my live sex show. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Have you ever met a brotha who is fine but doesn't know it? No, you probably haven't. They are an entity so rare they are listed on the extinction list of mammals. Most brothas, no matter how trifuliing they are, no matter how pathetic, think they are God's gift. Jason, my closest friend and photographer, was one of those rare, beautiful creatures found in nature who was part geek, part intellectual, part artist and he didn't fit in with typical brothas so he just carved out a niche where he ended up a loner. Look up fashion sense in the dictionary and there is a 3-D pop-up of him with a midi audio file that plays "I'm Too Sexy." With a smile that lights up any room, he was 6'3" of unadulterated café-au-lait-colored beauty.
We were usually joined at the hip on my "business trips" (wink wink). I'm exponentially more extroverted than he is but we fit together like hand-in-glove. He's the driving force behind the images for In Loving Color, we created the empire together from a dream and pure determination, so nine times out of ten, where I go, he goes. This trip was no different. We listened to amazing live music, ate great food from morning till night, and we smoked weed that had us glued to the sofa, practically comatose and simultaneously giggling, for six hours straight. We met the locals, made friends, we traveled the countryside, him taking breathtaking images and me getting inspiration for my some future project. I wasn't sure what that inspiration was or what project that would be at the time but any time I have the opportunity to bask in such beauty and diversity, I take that sensation and store it away in my memory banks to use when I'm writing.
Amsterdam's Japanese population is relatively small but they get a fuck-ton of tourists from Japan there so they have some pretty exceptional Japanese restaurants. One of my parlor tricks when we go out to have sushi is to let Jason order for us. He lived in Japan for a number of years and picked up the language extraordinarily well. I consider him fluent, he considers himself conversationally adequate. When Japanese people hear him, their jaws drop and they stare in disbelief. It never fails that people sitting near us start whispering to themselves, and within minutes, heads start popping out from the kitchen to see the Black guy who can speak Japanese. Our restaurant of choice for the evening was Yamazoto and I have to give it five stars. The food was amazing, the staff was super friendly, and the ambiance was perfection. And the eye candy . . . it turned out to be the best in town.
Midway through our meal, an actual God from Black Africa walked through the doors. He was about 6'3" and blacker than blue black. He had a bit of gray in his hair which made him look like he could have easily been Idris Elba's blacker, more beautiful, big brother. Swag? He not only invented the word, he copyrighted and trademarked that shit. He was wearing an ensemble by MaXhosa and he looked like he just stepped off the runway from Paris Fashion Week. Every eye in the place turned and watched him as he made his way through the restaurant to sit with his dinner companion, a caramel-skinned brotha who was beautiful in his own right but over-shadowed by the glow of melanin, charm, charisma, and pure magnetism that emanated from his cohort of deep, dark, chocolate heaven.
As luck would have it, the pair sat at the table next to us, I was facing the other brotha and Jason was sitting opposite Shaka Zulu. That was all I could think to call him at the time because words failed me in the presence of his stature and beauty. With the wait staff paying extra attention to both our tables, Jason and his Japanese and brotha man being damn near a rock star, my sake cup was practically overflowing every time I took more than two sips. I was getting tipsy and emboldened so I started striking up a conversation with the masculine perfection to my left. I couldn't tell exactly what sort of relationship he had with his dinner companion; I couldn't tell if they were lovers or friends or business acquaintances or what. What I could tell, unquestionably, was that big sexy had eyes for Jason. He was smiling and flirting and giving Jason the I'm-going-to-stare-you-down-until-you-look-in-my-direction-and-then-I'm-going-to-let-you-know-with-my-eyes-that-I-want-to-devour-you-whole-until-you-are-intimidated-and-you-look-away look. What? That's a thing, isn't it?
If I wasn't the reigning Queen of monogamy, very happily in love with the man of my dreams who was working on a project in Canada and unable to join us, I would have felt like the fat, ugly, wing-woman because brotha man didn't even look in my direction. To his great credit, the brotha sitting next to Jason didn't seem to be intimidated or jealous at all. He seemed to know that he had to pause his conversation when his friend was distracted and making goo-goo eyes at Jason and he waited for a break in the flirting to make his important points.
Totally tipsy and typically outgoing, I struck up a conversation with the pair. The Jews say that the name of God cannot be pronounced or spoken. Dey was wrong, dey was dead ass wrong. He introduced himself as Adeshola Adetola and in that moment, a chorus of little brown cherubs descended from heaven and started playing the pan-flute, a few trumpets, and I'm pretty sure there was a harpsicord in the mix as well. With his lilting French/West African accent, I was convinced that no sweeter sounding name had ever crossed anyone's lips in the history of mankind. His friend, Samuel Owatulu, and he were friends from childhood in Cote D'Ivoire and they had formed a tech business together and had moved to Amsterdam to further their education and take it to the next level. Within minutes our tables were pushed together and I was eating off their plates like we were good friends. Did I mention the food was out of this world?
