#HunkOfTheMonth: Kofi Siriboe
Shiny new PHS columnist, Melissa Blue, talks to us about her #HunkOfTheMonth: Kofi Siriboe...
In order to understand my fixation with this man, you need some background information. You also need to know I’m full of it most of the time.
When I was ten, I couldn’t wait to be thirteen. I’d be a teen. Something magical would happen. What that magical thing was? I had no idea, but everyone kept saying just wait until your teens. Or OMG you’re going to be a teenager soon! The expectation was pretty high.
I hadn’t known that I would get a chip on my shoulder, a bitch-resting face that would rival Grumpy Cat and the kind of emotional (and embarrassing) breakdowns that I try to forget. No one does emo better than teens.
When I was thirteen, I couldn’t wait until I was eighteen. A golden age. Something magical happened. What? I didn’t know but it sounded like freedom. I didn’t have to listen to my parents. I could throw on a backpack and travel the world. I could do anything at eighteen. Hell, I had no compulsion to gamble, but I could buy a lottery ticket. I’m a rebel without a cause. There’s just something about not being able to do something that makes me want to do it.
So of course I looked forward to twenty-one-liquor—baby! I ended up going with my friends from college. We had endless fries at Red Robin. I slapped down my ID like I hit Blackjack and ordered a margarita. Or whatever you do when you know you’ve won a jackpot. (Never did win anything whenever I gambled.)
I didn’t look forward to thirty because what happens? You audition for your midlife crisis?
I turn thirty-two in March and I can say I’m looking forward to forty.
Why?
I can officially be a cougar. In the scheme of things this doesn’t matter. Some people even find this term offensive. I’d say you haven’t seen Kofi Siriboe. He’s twenty-two.
He’s...well…
Give me a second to recover. You can look at this while you wait.
I so want to be a cougar. I want that mythical experience where it wasn’t until * now * that I’ve hit my sex drive and only a young man can keep up with me. I teach him things. He’ll forever bear marks on his back because he’s such a good student.
Stella won’t have shit on my groove.
Okay. I think we’ve solidified the fact he’s eye candy. He’s also a brilliant actor. I hate his character in Queen Sugar. Okay. Not hate. I just have zero patience for Ralph Angel. He makes mistakes. He’s trying to find his way in the world. He’s everything I now hate about my twenties because even though I felt so solid, I was standing on quick sand and had to re-learn how to find my center.
And I totally buy his journey in this role. Gotta a love man who is good at job.
Not just that, he’s sincere and firm in his stance even when he knows he’d going to draw some flack.
He’s black. He’s beautiful. I’m going to look forward to forty so I can earn my cougar status. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a Kofi.
So what do we think of Kofi? Does he make your inner cougar purr? Share your thoughts with us on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook.
Melissa's latest is Bluest of Blue, the third book in her #dirtysexygeeks series:
When her ex shattered her privacy, revealing all of her secrets to the world, Sophie Lake made a few unspoken promises to herself: 1. Never have sex with a client. Again. 2. When a man tells you who he is, believe him. 3. Never give a man the power to break you. For two years she’s managed to live by those rules. She has a career to focus on. Celebrities reputations to fix, and her newest client may be her biggest PR challenge. Promoting an observatory should be a cake walk and would be but for Dr. Wade Addison. The former boy genius is prickly, impatient...handsome...sexy as sin... more interested in how her legs look in heels than in pretending to be a people-person. Asshole, F**ker, Pain In The Ass... Wade Addison considers those fairly accurate alternatives to his name. He's not normal, he's an outsider and he prefers it that way, which is why Sophie is his own personal hell. She wants to take all his knowledge and quirks and turn him into a sound bite for the observatory. She's his nightly wet dream. The sound of her voice can get him off. He hates her—her wit, her smile, her legs, her kissable mouth. Hate turns to lust and lust turns into an affair, but the skeletons in both of their closets start to rattle. And they refuse to be ignored.
