Private Payne

Lisa Payne was my first real girlfriend in life and will likely remain the only.

It was fun while it lasted. We met in the Army in Ansabach, West Germany. She is a sista from Harlem with a globe trotting attitude.

Soldiers in the military called her a dyke. That’s only because she loved me and not them.

Lisa claims to be the father of my child, Christopher, but I don’t believe her. Lisa, like I, can tell a tall tale.

Lisa was sexually irresistible back in the days of our military service and she may very well have slimed down since I saw her last, back in ‘95.

She was so beautiful she could have fallen in love with any man or woman in the unit she wanted, but it was me she invaded.

Fresh out of Appalachia, I had never met a colored person face to face. Lisa showed me the ropes, how to cross color lines and that I too have soul.

My pale ivory behind was easy pickings for a Black girl as free as Private Payne. She said I had the sexiest lips she ever saw on a man. "Your lips are bigger than most niggas," she said to me while blowing kisses dressed in B.D.U.’s, in front of the entire company while in formation.

Her cat and mouse drama was humiliating and I consdiered her to be a racist, not against me for being white, but rather, I felt she was being insensitive towards her Black peers, as she used innapropriate terminology to describe my facial features.

As a certified virgin and a born again Christian who attended Bible study at the Army chapel on Wednesday nights, I wanted nothing more from my enlistment than the Army College Fund and a chance for the discipline to wash away my homosexual sins.

I had a reason as to why I didn’t want sex with anyone, male or female.