Just Too Good to Be True (2 page)

March 11, 1994

Dear Diary:

I met a man today. A wonderful man who I believe is going to change my life. I know it’s not unusual for me to meet men because they have been after me since I was fourteen, but this one is different. I knew it the moment I saw him.

He’s tall, good-looking, and was well-dressed in a suit that looked like it was made just for him. He looked like money. Big money. He came to see my mother Lita (that’s what I call her behind her back), but she and her friend May were at the bar in the middle of the day—what lushes. But Lita’s loss became my gain. I offered to let him wait in the living room, like Lita tells me to do with all her male
friends,
but he wanted to wait in the kitchen with me as I finished up my housekeeping duties.

One of the first things he said to me as he sipped the sweet tea I made for him was, “Do you realize how beautiful you are?” I’m almost eighteen years old, but I don’t think anyone, not even my mother, has ever told me I was beautiful. I wanted to cry. I felt like I was in a movie starring me.

He asked me what I wanted to do with my life, and when I told him I always dreamed of moving to Hollywood to star in movies, he said that he could help. He told me he knew all kinds of famous actors, producers, and directors who could help me when I was ready. I told him that my main concern was to figure out how to make lots of money so that I could take better care of my little brother Wade since my mother Lita was so irresponsible. Wade’s just always been different. He lives in his own little world. He needs care and he needs it badly. Sometimes I think my only mission in life is to be Wade’s angel here on earth.

Growing up with Lita as a “hostess” (even though she’s never carried a tray in her life), I was very familiar with what women had to do for work, so I thought I already knew what the man would say when I asked him what I’d have to do. But he surprised me when he said, “All you have to do is believe in yourself and always remember that your beauty can change your life for good.”

I told him I was ready for anything. (Diary, you know that I’ve already done a few things I’d like to forget, just to survive.) He told me not to sell myself short and that the whole world could be mine if I wanted it badly enough.

Then he took my face in his big, strong hands and looked at me like he cared and said, “I will do everything in my power to make your dreams come true.”

It felt like a dream, but it was real.

He said he’d speak to some people and then come back for me in two weeks. People bullshit me all the time, but I believe him. I know he will come back.

As soon as I put this pen down I’m gonna go pack my bags and get ready to meet my destiny. It’s funny how life can go from shit to sugar in a split second.

Raquel

SPORTS

THE MAGAZINE

Too Good To Be True

(But Maybe Not for the Central Georgia University Star)

August 7, 2006
By Ben Beaumont

For a college football star, Brady Jamal Bledsoe seems too good to be true. On the field, this Central Georgia University (CGU) running back is a true Heisman Trophy front-runner, belittling opposing defenses with the rarest combination of size and speed. Off the field, Bledsoe is an excellent student, a loving son, devoted Christian, and self-described role model.

Physically, you couldn’t design a more perfect tailback. At 6'2", 210 pounds, and with a swift stiff arm and powerful legs that easily churn out 4.3 forty-yard dashes and blaze past linebackers and defensive backs, Bledsoe is the force behind a Jaguar team that’s defied odds to become a contender for the conference title in the mighty Southeastern Conference (SEC).

Heading into a season where Central Georgia is poised to break out after only ten years as a Division I program, the Jaguars have a trump card in Bledsoe. Coming off a junior year where he rushed for more than 1,500 yards and 21 touchdowns, caught 15 passes for three scores, and even threw a pass for a touchdown, Bledsoe’s versatility, which includes a humble, team-first attitude, is the strength of the high-powered Jaguar offense.

“I don’t make individual goals,” says Bledsoe. “It’s all about the team—winning an SEC championship and finally beating up on some of the teams that have licked us the past three years like Georgia, Arkansas, and Florida.”

While his “team-first” words are sincere, it’s obvious that wherever Bledsoe goes, so goes the Jaguar offense. Knowing that fact, Central Georgia offensive coaches are designing new ways to get the football into his hands. Plans include lining him up not only at tailback, but as a wide receiver and even at quarterback in the new “Wildhog” formation they took from the playbook of Arkansas offensive coordinator Gus Malazah after visiting the Razorbacks during spring practice.

“I believe Brady’s the best running back in America, and we want to showcase that,” says Jaguar head coach Houston Hale. “We’re going to find any way we can to get him the football, because when we do, good things happen.”

Bledsoe’s game and attitude on the field are rivaled only by his unbelievably gracious and squeaky-clean demeanor off the field. To say Bledsoe, a straight-A student who is already working on a second college degree, is well-rounded would be an understatement.

“I just try and work hard and remember what my mom told me: ‘Stay focused and take things one game at a time,” says Bledsoe, a self-proclaimed “Mama’s Boy.”

Mom is Carmyn Bledsoe, a young single mother who managed to keep Brady on the right path despite the distractions of an urban Atlanta upbringing and the temptations that face young, African American athletes.

“She’s not only my mother, but also my best friend,” says Brady Bledsoe. “Even though I grew up without a father, I didn’t miss out, because she played so many roles in my life and has never missed a game—home or away.”

So squeaky clean is Bledsoe that, as a young teenager, with the encouragement of his mother, he took a vow of celibacy at his home church, opting to wait for marriage, and he’s kept that pledge to this day.

“You can’t miss what you never had,” he says. “I think I should take to my marriage bed what I would want my bride to bring.”

Carmyn Bledsoe, who manages a high-end hair salon in Atlanta’s trendy Buckhead neighborhood, keeps daily contact with her only son, encouraging him in his football pursuits as well as life in general.

“Brady is such a blessing,” Carmyn Bledsoe says. “But I tell him that with success comes great responsibility. He’s got a gift, and I’m proud that he’s doing so well. I really think he’s got a shot at the Heisman.”

And Brady Bledsoe carries his mother’s teachings with him whether he’s at football practice, in the classroom, at church, or interacting with fans.

“I want to be a role model, especially to young black kids,” says Bledsoe. “With so many thugs in the world, kids today need a positive example, and I embrace that role.”

College football is defined by the quest for perfection. In the Bowl Championship Series era, undefeated teams with superb players are rare, and with the perfect tailback, Central Georgia has a head start on what could be a magical season. But Brady Jamal Bledsoe isn’t just a perfect football player—he seems to be an all-around perfect young man.

Brady’s Favorites

Football Players
—Tom Brady and Eddie George

Basketball Players
—Dwayne Wade

Favorite Meal
—Medium-Well Steak and French Fries

Favorite Actor
—Don Cheadle

Favorite Actress
—Beyoncé Knowles

Favorite Comedian
—Dave Chappelle

Favorite Male Singer
—Yung Joc/Jay-Z

Favorite Female Singer
—Ciara

Favorite Movies
—Remember the Titans
and
We Are Marshall

Words To Live By
—“You only get to make one first impression. Make it a good one.”

BOOK ONE

THE SETUP

CHAPTER
1

Brady Drops the Ball

Y
eah, I guess I
am
almost too good to be true, I thought as I read the
SPORTS: The Magazine
cover story for the third time. That is, if you believe the hype. But the truth is I almost ruined my life one night, but I somehow managed to right a wrong and come out basically unscathed.

It was a cool October night and my football team, the Central Georgia University Jaguars, had just recorded our biggest victory in CGU school history over the Louisiana State University (LSU) Tigers. It was a beautiful night for football, with a crowd of over 80,000 fans. I remember the smell of the grass and how great my teammates and I looked in our green and gold uniforms under the lights in a nighttime atmosphere that only college football can provide. It was an incredible feeling when the team raced from the tunnel to the field surrounded by a thunderous roar from the CGU fans.

I was a redshirt freshman, and in this my first start I gained over 150 yards against a tough LSU defense.

After the game, I decided to join my childhood best friend, Delmar, and some of my teammates for some postgame festivities. In the past, for me that would have meant reviewing film of that night’s game. But I was getting tired of all my teammates ribbing me and saying, “Brady can’t hang” and “Brady ain’t down with that,” so I surprised them and myself by going to drink my first beer with them at senior Teddy Miles’s apartment.

After a couple of beers, I decided to call it a night and trek back to campus on foot. When I got to the parking lot of Teddy’s apartment building, I saw a girl getting out of a car in a white dress and white stockings. When the headlights hit her face, I realized I knew her. Naomi Brasswell. A girl from the church I attend in Scarlet Springs.

Naomi was one of several people who said they were interested in being a part of Saving Ourselves when I tried to start the group at the church, but she was the only one who showed up for the first meeting. So I gave up the idea of starting the celibacy club, but still talked with Naomi several times about how tough it was playing football and trying to stay celibate.

Naomi was a local girl, was majoring in nursing at CGU, and lived with her mother and little sister near campus. Sometimes we attended Bible study on Wednesday nights and went to the movies on Sunday after church. A couple of times she invited me to her house for Sunday dinner. I always accepted that invitation, because her mother could throw down with the pots and pans.

I liked Naomi a lot, but I was trying to follow my mother’s advice and stay focused on football and my studies. Still, I thought my mother might like Naomi because she was a virgin and went to church three times a week.

I approached Naomi, and she appeared nervous until she realized it was me. She flashed a beautiful smile and said, “Oh, it’s you, Brady. What are you doing over here?”

“Hanging with some teammates, celebrating the big win,” I said. “What are you doing?”

“Apartment-sitting for one of my friends who went home this weekend,” she said.

“What apartment does she live in?” I asked.

“Up there,” Naomi said as she pointed toward an apartment on the third floor, almost directly over my teammate’s place.

“Why don’t I walk you up? Make sure nobody messes with you,” I said, realizing that several of my teammates were now most likely drunk and ready to hit the prowl.

“That would be nice,” Naomi said as she locked her car door. As we walked toward the apartment, I took notice of her beautiful bright eyes and black hair tumbling over her shoulders. The evening light accentuated her white uniform and outlined her body, making her look like a sexy, naughty nurse and not the church girl I was used to.

When we got to the apartment, I realized I was a little tipsy, so I asked Naomi if I could come in for a while, get some water and rest. She said yes, and minutes later I crashed on the sofa and fell asleep.

A couple hours later, I woke up and Naomi was standing in front of me holding a bottle of water and wearing an oversized white T-shirt with no bra. I could see the shadow of her nipples pushing into the cotton, the soft, heavy curves of her breasts standing out perkily in front of her. An image flashed through my head of me raising up her shirt, getting on my knees, and sucking those breasts. I felt a twinge in my jeans, but I tried to ignore it.

“I thought you might need this,” she said as she handed me the water, leaning toward me as her overpowering but welcoming feminine scent washed over me. I found myself breathing deeply, wondering what her skin would taste like.

I took a sip of water, then put the bottle on the floor, stood up, and just looked at her. She stared back. I was nervous, and the bulge in my jeans grew tighter.

“Would it be all right if I kissed you?” I asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

I leaned in, put my arms around her waist, and pressed my lips softly against hers. They were sweet, like I always thought they would be.

Her body was tense at first, but then I parted her lips, slid my tongue into her mouth. She closed her lips around my tongue, and a shiver ran through my body.

I leaned out of the kiss. “Where’s the bedroom?”

“Back there,” Naomi said, pointing behind her. “What about your celibacy vow?” she asked.

I thought about the question for a moment, then said, “We don’t have to go all the way.”

“Are you sure?”

“We can just…you know…dry grind.”

“Okay. I think that’ll be okay.”

I followed Naomi into the dark room. It took my eyes a minute to adjust before I saw that there wasn’t a bed, just a mattress on the floor, a flower-print bedspread over it.

“What should we do first?” Naomi said.

“Take off your clothes,” I said.

“No. You go first.”

“Let’s do it together.”

We slowly took off our clothes. I pulled off my sweater and she pulled her T-shirt over her head. I pushed down my jeans. I took off my boxer briefs, and she slid off her ivory panties.

Naomi lay across the mattress on her back.

I stood over her, my erection sticking out and slightly curving up.

“It’s so big,” Naomi said.

“It’s not that big,” I said.

“It looks so big and hard,” Naomi said, gently touching the tip.

I moaned, “You got me so brick, girl.”

I lowered my body onto hers. Her skin was soft, her hips wide; her nipples, pointing up, were thick and hard like ripe cherries. Her body seemed to cradle mine as I lay fully on top of her.

“I’m nervous, Brady.”

“I know. Me, too,” I said.

“I’m so wet, Brady. Do you want to feel me?”

“Yeah.”

She took my penis in her hand, rubbed it softly over her vagina.

I moaned.

“Do you feel it?” She moaned, too.

“Yeah.”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yeah,” I said as I started to push myself into her opening.

“We can’t do anything. We don’t have protection.”

“I know. We aren’t going all the way,” I said sincerely. But it was feeling so good, better than I ever thought it would. The tip of me was throbbing, pulsating. I started to glide in and out in short strokes. Then I went a little deeper with each one, and I felt like I was losing control.

“Brady, maybe we should stop,” Naomi said.

“I’m sorry!” I said, pulling out. “I’m sorry. We can stop.”

Naomi looked up at me, her thighs still open, her eyelids low. She looked so beautiful right then.

“I…I…don’t want you to stop. I like the way it feels,” Naomi stammered.

“Are you sure?”

Naomi didn’t say anything, just nodded and grabbed me between the legs. She started stroking me, making my head spin. Then she put my tip back inside of her and said, “Don’t push too hard and don’t come inside me.”

“Okay,” I said, already starting slowly to grind on top of her. I moaned, and I heard her, too. She wrapped her arms around me, clawing my back.

“Oh, Brady,” she whispered.

And then I started to feel what I never felt before. Like an impending explosion, racing through my body toward my groin. My muscles tightened, my head spinning. “I…I…”

It was too much. I couldn’t handle it. And before I knew it, I was gripped so tightly by a pleasure so overwhelming that I couldn’t move. My back arched, I cried out and pushed farther into Naomi and then started to explode while I tried to pull out. But I couldn’t. I rolled off her onto my side, feeling exhausted. My first time, and I didn’t even last two minutes.

All I could think about was how much better this was than my palms and Palmer’s cocoa butter lotion.

A cloud of guilt
followed both of us during the weeks that followed. I thought how disappointed my mother would be, but I couldn’t forget how off the chain the sex had felt, and I now knew why sex was all my teammates thought or talked about. I called Naomi a couple of times, but our conversations were weird, like we knew that we both wanted to do it again but we couldn’t live with the remorse.

At the end of the season, Naomi called me and said she needed to see me. It sounded like she was crying, and when I asked her what was wrong she asked me to meet her in the reading room at the school’s library.

When I got there, I saw Naomi dressed in a green sweater and blue jeans, looking beautiful but nervous.

We exchanged polite hugs, and Naomi whispered, “I’m pregnant.”

For minutes I maintained a stony silence before finally muttering to myself, “Damn, son.”

In the days that
followed, I spent long hours in my apartment thinking about God and how pissed off at me He must be. Still, that would be nothing compared to my mother’s disappointment and sadness.

I spent a lot of time praying. I spent a lot of time telling myself that I wasn’t ready to be a father. The one thing my mother had warned me about, I’d gone out and done. Even though she didn’t talk a lot about my father, she’d admitted that they were both too young when I was conceived.

I chastised myself for ever thinking I was better than my friends and some of my teammates because I wore a celibacy ring.

I thought about how this was going to affect something that I truly loved—playing football, which had always been a part of my life since the first time I put on my #2 jersey. Even though my mom wasn’t in favor of my playing at first, I convinced her at age six that it was a part of my DNA. Something I had to do to feel whole. I remember putting on a helmet for the first time when I was playing Pee Wee football and how it made me feel important. I remember the first time I touched a football on a kickoff return and how I outraced all of the other guys for a touchdown.

Maybe God answers prayers after He gets your attention. A day before finals started, Naomi came to my apartment and told me she decided to get an abortion and transfer to Savannah State, but that she would need my help.

I didn’t know how I felt about abortion, but I definitely did not want to become another statistic, a young African American man who’d become a father before he escaped his teens. I made a promise that if I could come out of this situation free and clear I would reclaim my vow of celibacy and maybe only God, Naomi, and I would know what I’d done.