He stood about 5’11” tall. He was thin, but fit. At first glance, I thought he was of mixed race or maybe Greek or Italian. It was hard for me to tell. But it was easy to see how handsome he was. His chocolate brown eyes were piercing. He wore his shoulder-length jet-black, silky hair loose. I remember staring at him and wondering just who this handsome man was.
In a time when guys were wearing brightly-colored, oversized Cross Colours and FUBU outfits, he wore tight jeans, t-shirts, and blazers. His customary footwear was high-top Converse sneakers. He was far ahead of nineties fashion.
He looked different. He was very different, and that’s what I liked about him. From the second I laid eyes on David Moy, I was totally and completely captivated by him. I knew he had to be mine, no matter what it took.
A few minutes later we were sitting in the back of a taxi and my head was filled with questions I was afraid to ask. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was in a zone. There was something he wanted to do, and if I stood in his way, he wouldn’t hesitate to plow over me.
The cab pulled to a stop at the entrance of a night club and though my curiosity was piqued, I kept my mouth shut and followed David into the dark club. I could feel the pounding of the loud club music in my chest, as if my heart had taken on its rhythm. David led me to a table near the rear of the club and quickly shooed the waitress away. We sat in silence and I could see David surveying the crowd as if he was looking for something or someone. A feeling of dread washed over me as my heart continued to thud in my chest.