It’s 9:15 in the morning, and I am sitting bored shitless in a mandatory staff meeting. Shari Flemmings, who works in Human Resources, and Mark Lennon, the executive director of operations, are standing in front of us, talking. Actually, Mark is the one doing all the talking. Shari’s standing there looking like a damn porcelain doll with all that foundation on her face, nodding every so often as he discusses the upcoming strategic planning the organization will be having over the next few months. Today, for some reason, she seems a bit scattered, nervous almost, and I’m trying to figure out why she’s so distracted. I’m sitting in my seat wondering why this chick is even standing up here while he is talking about this process. Although I’ve hardly had much interaction with her, I’ve always thought she was a well-put-together woman, not to mention being a sistah! Girlfriend is always articulate and to the point when she speaks. But today she is different. I can’t put my finger on it as I watch her eyes dance around the room like tennis balls.
Mark, a very handsome, very rich white man, in his late thirties, with sandy brown hair, green eyes, and a lean runner’s body, goes into this long, drawn-out explanation of why the board of directors feels now is the time to do an assessment and evaluation of the organization as a whole.
“Throughout this process,” he says, looking around the room, “we will be taking a look at all of our existing services provided in each department within the company, seeing how we can enhance them and provide more effective ways of meeting our clients’ needs. We will also be taking a look at those departments that are not being utilized to their full potential, seeing how we can strengthen them…”
My God, as good-looking as his ass is, that nasal voice of his is giving me a headache. I look around the huge conference room, watching the faces and actions of everyone assembled there. I spot Miss Hooch over in the corner, staring out the window. Nahdirah is sitting two seats over from me, writing something on her notepad. Definitely not notes. Her ass is probably doodling, I think, shaking my head. On my left is Everett Wells, one of the computer techs who works on the second floor. He sort of reminds me of the actor Sean Blakemore. I keep my face forward and occasionally cut my eye at him, smiling to myself. There’s only one word to describe this six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-something-pound, chiseled, chocolate delight, and that is delicious! Mmmph. Under different circumstances, this man could get it. You best believe if I were the type to fraternize in the workplace, he’d be the first one on my list of people to fuck. Just by the way he walks, the way he sits, the way his slacks hang in the front, tells me he is most likely one of them Mandingo dick mofos, or he has some really extra-large balls. However, since I do not, nor will I ever shit where I eat, I ignore his advances and invitations to dinner, “or whatever.” But that doesn’t mean I haven’t already fucked him in my mind.
The scent of his cologne forces me to inhale deeply. I try to figure out the fragrance. Sean John? Unforgivable? I think, shifting in my seat. I feel his eyes on me, but I ignore the tingling sensation his gaze causes against my flesh. Right at this moment, I wish he wasn’t sitting so close to me. I wish he wasn’t someone who worked in the same building as me. Wish he didn’t take up space in my many fantasies. I know he smells my lust, know he wants to get my attention. I cross my legs, pinch off the desire to have his tongue lost between my thighs, and focus on Mr. Lennon.
“…This is a very exciting time for us as we approach another decade of being one of the most innovative, cutting-edge technological companies in the country. And with your help, I am hoping that we can continue to raise the bar…”
I am watching Mr. Lennon’s mouth move, but I am not hearing words. The only thing I hear are soft moans floating throughout the room. I am not seeing him standing in front of us wearing his signature Brooks Brothers pin-striped suit and crisp, white monogrammed dress shirt, or his Bally wing-tip shoes. He is naked with his soft dick in his thick hand, slowly stroking it. His cock is nowhere near its potential and it is already long and fat. I bite down on my bottom lip, twist in my seat.
Don’t ask me where all this craziness is coming from. But the notion starts to take root and spread like a wild fire. My fleeting fantasy of being fucked by a white man with a big, thick cock starts to come into full view. Uh…hmm…ooh. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing more delicious than a juicy black dick, but…hmmm, a taste of vanilla could also be oh, so sweet.
Yes, I’ve crossed over once. It was two years ago while I was down in Atlantic City. Once again I had gone there to gamble, but ended up in a hotel room with my legs wide open. Anyway, when I tell you this white man was beautiful, I mean he was capital B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L! He had an olive complexion, dark curly hair, big brown eyes, thick lashes to die for, and a chiseled, fresh-from-the-gym body. Truth be told, I had never wanted to do a white man until him.
Anyway, I was at the Pier Shops in Caesar’s doing what I do best, shopping, when I spotted him in the Bottega Veneta store. He smiled. I smiled. He said hello. I said hello, then continued about my business. Dude kept staring at me and smiling. So you know me. I asked him if he knew me from somewhere. Of course he didn’t, but I asked anyway. We got to talking, then one thing led to another and he finally asked me if I wanted to go upstairs to one of the restaurants for a drink and grab a bite to eat. I was like, sure.
Well, long story short, after a few drinks, he invited me up to his room. I only agreed after he said he wasn’t married and answered yes to every one of my damn questions. So I got to his room and we started kissing and grinding. Before I knew it, my pussy started dripping, and Mr. Sexy Vanilla Man was doing a strip tease for me. This mofo had a damn eight-pack and a bigass bulge in his white Calvin Klein underwear that made my pussy tremble. A bitch was ready to pounce down on that juicy stick.
Well, the clincher was, he only wanted me to get my panties real wet with my pussy juice, then take them off so he could sniff and suck them while I watched him jerk off. I thought it was a bit bizarre, but hey…I aim to please. So I got my snatch real wet and juicy for him, then took my panties off and wiped my pussy with them. I handed them to him, then sat back on the bed and watched him lick, sniff and suck the juice from my panties while he stroked his thick white dick (eight and a half inches, I might add).
Oh, I wanted him inside me so damn bad, I started shaking. But his only focus was on sucking my pussy-stained panties. So I played in my pussy, talked real nasty to him, then came all over my fingers when he wrapped my panties around his dick, jerked himself off, then nutted all in the crotch of my panties. Well, that little experience did nothing for my cock-hungry pussy. I needed the thrust of a dick inside me. I am so glad I had packed my thick six-inch friend in my bag because it was exactly what I needed to take the edge off. I fucked myself while he watched me, as he continued pulling and tugging at his semi-hard dick. Surprisingly, his dick got hard again, and before I knew it, we were both moaning and cumming at the same time.
I laid back, kept my legs spread apart with my dildo still stuck inside of me and watched him as he wiped his nut in my panties again, sniffed them, then asked me if he could keep them. Hell, why not. It wasn’t like I planned on putting them back on anyway. And, then, for the grand finale, Mr. Panty Eater walked over to me, pulled the dildo out of my sopping wet pussy, and sucked the juices off it. Well, I’ll be damn! I was floored, to say the least. So, there you have it. My first live experience with a white man!
And now, as I sit here, I am entertaining lusty thoughts of fucking another one. Mr. Lennon’s freshly shaven, salon-tanned face is attached to my daydream. In my mind, I’m getting off on the contrast of my beautiful brown flesh against his stark whiteness as he plays with my titties, kissing and sucking and licking all over my nipples as though they’re dipped in the world’s finest chocolate. His lips begin to plant wet kisses down my stomach, dipping his tongue into my navel, then pulling my legs up over his shoulders as he sticks his tongue into my pussy while he continues playing with my nipples, gently pulling and rolling and twirling them, while rapidly flicking his tongue against my clit, teasing my pussy. Mmmm, it starts to feel so good, and I begin to beg him to stop teasing me, beg him to let me feel his throbbing dick inside of me. But he doesn’t. He continues to torture me with his tongue until my pussy walls are quivering for the thrust of his dick.
Finally, when he has my pussy sopping wet, he slides his dick into my hot canal, slowly, inch by inch, then pulls out to the tip. He does this several times, taunting me. My pussy is on fire! I am screaming for the dick! Literally begging for the dick. And he gives me exactly what I want as he slides his dick back in, pushes deep into me, then pulls out again.
Push.
I moan.
Pull.
I grab for him.
Push.
I moan again.
He pulls out again. Tip-drills me. Slow-fucks the inner walls of my pussy until it begins to quiver.
There’s an erotic sexual energy building up between us, and its intensity is driving me crazy with desire. He feels it too—this mounting, uncontrollable surge of animalistic pleasure. He slams his dick back into me and begins pounding my pussy, burying his dick deep inside of me, hitting the bottom of my well.
I tell him: “Fuck this sweet black pussy…hmmm, give me that big white dick. Oh, yes! Fuck me.”
And he’s saying: “Damn, you got some good pussy. Wet this big white dick with that sweet juice. Yeah, that’s it, grab that big dick! Oh, shit! You like this big cock?”
I am moaning. He’s groaning. I lean on my elbows and watch his dick glide in and out of my slippery love nest, slick and glistening from my wetness. He goes deeper and deeper and deeper, getting lost inside of me, then he pulls out and allows the head of his dick to brush up against my clit, before slapping it with his heavy dick. My dripping pussy opens and closes, waiting with anticipation. But instead of feeding my pussy with his dick, he goes back down on me and laps my clit and pussy, sucking out my sweet, sticky cream. He tongue-fucks me for what seems like forever, then lifts up and rams his dick back into me, alternating between dick-fucking and tongue-fucking me. I am grunting and groaning and moaning and screaming as I climax and nut all over his dick and tongue.
Suddenly, he flips me over and begins to dig me out doggie-style, nice and slow. Mmmm, he leans into my ear and talks real nasty, slapping my soft ass. Oh, how his dick is stretching me, making my sugar walls shake with pleasure. His thrusts become deeper and faster and harder until my pussy squirts a creamy juice all over his cock. When the heat from his balls reaches its boiling point, he pulls out, yanks off the condom, then splashes a bucket of hot cum all over my ass and back. Mmmm.
Without thought, I shift in my seat, uncrossing, then crossing my legs again to ease the tingling sensation between my thighs.
“…Does anyone have any questions?” I hear him asking, snapping me out of my trance. I feel a dampness clinging between my legs. At some point during Mr. Lennon’s speech I have cum in my panties. I am thankful I’m wearing a panty-liner. I glance around the room, taking in the faces of those present. When no one raises their hand or stands, he remains planted in his spot, waiting. But no one is interested in prolonging this meeting. He finally realizes this. “Well, I guess that’s it for now. We’ll keep you posted as things progress. I’ll be meeting with all department heads in the coming weeks. Thanks for your time. This meeting is adjourned.”
Before I can make a mad dash to the ladies’ room to remove my wet liner, which now feels like it is sticking to my pussy lips, Everett’s voice drifts toward me, stopping me in my tracks. Shit!“Bianca,” he says, quickly walking over to me. He smiles. Fuck! I don’t need this right now, I think, forcing a smile of my own.
“Oh hey, Everett,” I say, turning around and willing my eyes to stay on his instead of allowing them to roam his manly body. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” he says. “But I’d be even better if you’d stop running from me and let me take you out.”
I playfully roll my eyes, sucking my teeth. “Running, Me?” I ask coyly, looking around the room. I laugh. “Oh, you’ve got me confused. I’m not running from you. I’m keeping my interaction with you strictly professional. There’s a difference.”
“Is that so? Are you heading back to your office?”
“Yes, Everett,” I say, feeling myself getting lightheaded from his cologne, and from the lack of dick in my life this week. I envision myself on my knees wearing nothing but a red G-string and my six-inch red Christian Louboutin pumps, being fucked doggie-style by him. I imagine that he knows I like it when a man yanks my string to the side and slides his dick in. And he gives it to me precisely how I like it, pumping deep inside of me while pulling the string and letting it pop against my soft ass. I’m throwing my ass up on his dick, taking it all in, allowing him to feed my cum-soaked pussy every inch of his goodness. I swallow hard, blink away the image, and make a mental note to schedule a tune-up.
“Good. I’ll walk with you to the elevators.” He lowers his voice. “So, when you gonna let me take you out?” he asks as we slowly stroll out of the conference room. “You know I’m gonna keep asking you until I get a ‘yes’ from you.”
“There’ll be no ‘yes.’ I told you before, I don’t mix pleasure with business, so you’re wasting your breath and your time.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard all that before.” He moves in closer. “Listen, I know you’re all private and all. But I can assure you, it’ll be discreet.”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Not interested.”
“Okay, then how ’bout we get together for a business dinner, two colleagues merely unwinding after a long day at the office?”
I laugh, shaking my head. This man doesn’t give up, and I like that about him. His persistence is appealing. Too bad it doesn’t change my mind about workplace dating.
In the six years I’ve been here, I have seen at least ten colleagues get involved with coworkers, and none of those situations have worked out. If anything, it made their working conditions practically unbearable ’cause everybody and their mother knew their business. A chick who was fucking one of the graphic designers ended up losing her job because she couldn’t bring her ass to work like she was supposed to because she was too depressed over their break-up. Give me a damn break! I’m sorry, but there is no damn way I’m going to lose a job over some nigga and his dick. Anyway, workplace romances can get too messy and complicated for me, and I’m not the one.
“We don’t work in the same department, so what would we need to talk about?” I ask. There’s a large crowd of people waiting to get on one of the three elevators on each side of the hallway.
“Here,” he says, gently taking me by the arm and ushering me past the crowd. “Let’s catch the ones on the other end of the building.” I follow along. “Anyway, I’m sure we can figure something out.”
“Yeah, I’m sure we could. But if it’s only you and me out to dinner, then it’s a date. And I’m not up for dating, especially not someone I work with.”
“But we don’t work in the same department; your words, not mine. So what’s the harm? It’s only an innocent dinner between two adults, trying to get to know each other.”
“Nice try, but no cigar,” I say, catching sight of Nahdirah talking to another one of these phony bitches up in here.
He tosses his arms open in mock defeat, flashing a beautiful, ultra-white smile as we step into the elevator. “Can’t knock a brotha for trying,” he says, shaking his head. “You win for now.”
“I didn’t know this was a game.”
“It’s not,” he states, eye-fucking me. He steps into my space. He lowers his voice. “You’re the one tryna make it one.”
“Hardly,” I say, stepping back from him. I can tell he’s not used to women brushing him off so easily. He’s probably used to them falling at his feet, worshipping him. I’m certain the only reason he continues to push the issue of me going out with him is because I’m one of the few women in this building who hasn’t taken him up on his offer. Yes, I’ve played in my pussy while imagining what it would be like riding his dick, but there’ll be no office rendezvous. “I’m sure you have enough women already on your fan club roster you can call up for a dinner date.”
“Yeah, I could,” he says, laughing. “But they ain’t you.”
The elevator door opens. “And they’ll never be,” I say, stepping off. I turn to face him as the door starts to close. “Thanks for the ride.” He opens his mouth to say something, but the doors shut in his face.
I finally make it to the bathroom and rush to an empty stall to remove my liner. I reach into my bag, pull out a small container of wet wipes, then pull up my skirt and pull down my panties. I wipe my pussy. Now, I don’t know about you, but I use wet wipes after every piss and shit. I am a stickler for keeping a baby-fresh snatch and ass, no matter what time of day it is. I place a dry liner in the center of my underwear, then pull ’em up. I wash and dry my hands, then reach into my bag and pull out my designer make-up case, pulling out my supplies: lip liner and lip gloss. I’ve never been one for a bunch of make up because I don’t need it, but I’m telling you, I love the Queen Collection by Cover Girl. It keeps me looking flawless all day, every day.
Nahdirah walks into the bathroom as I am gliding a coat of pearled peach lip gloss over my succulent lips. “Hey, girl,” she says, coming up to the sink next to me to wash her hands. “What’d you think about that meeting downstairs?”
“Well, if they are really going to look at each department like they say they are, then I think some of us are about to be on the unemployment line.” I didn’t want to sound like the prophet of doom or anything, but companies are downsizing all over the country, so I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised. I really hope my ass won’t be one of the ones scrambling for another job.
“Let’s hope not,” she says, drying her hands. “I have almost ten years here, and the last thing I wanna be doing is looking for another job.”
“I know that’s right,” I say.
“I saw you over there talking to Everett’s fine ass. He still tryna take you out?”
I shrug, fixing a few loose strands of hair. “Girl, I don’t know what he’s trying to do.”
“Oh, please. Even a blind man can see he has it bad for you. He practically salivates and pants every time he sees you.”
That’s because he’s a two-legged dog. I roll my eyes, heading toward the door. “Well, he can keep wagging and salivating all he wants. I’m not interested.”
She follows behind me. “You on your way to your office?”
“Yep,” I state, silently hoping she’s not going to come sit up in my space and beat me in the head with stories about her and her man, or any of the dumb-ass bitches around here—not today. Unfortunately, I can’t be so lucky.
“Good, I’ll walk with you.”
Fucking great!
“Me, Samantha, and Regina are going to the Cheesecake Factory for lunch today; you wanna go?”
I shoot her a look, opening my office door. “No, thanks,” I say, closing the door behind us. “You know I’m not beat for going out to eat with any of these chicks around here.”
She grunts, plopping down into one of the leather chairs. “Humph. I know, I know. I thought I’d ask anyway. I don’t know how you can come to work every day and not have one friend here, other than me. You know, most of the women here aren’t as bad as you think they are.”
I sit in the chair across from her. “Well, that may be true. But I’m not interested in finding out. I’ve never been one for being overly friendly with a bunch of chicks, and I don’t think I need to start now. The little I know about them, and the little they know about me, is perfectly fine with me.”
“Okay, anywaaaaay,” she says, quickly changing the subject, “why won’t you go out with that fine hunk of man upstairs?”
“Who you talking about? Everett?”
“Uh, yeah…you know who I’m talking about.”
“Because I’m not interested.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’m not,” I insist, slowly getting annoyed that this nosey bitch is trying to press the issue.
“Well, there has to be a reason,” she pushes. “So, what is it?”
“For the thousandth time, I don’t believe in dating anyone I work with, or around, or who works for the same company as me. That is a no-no for me.”
“Why?”
I sigh. Oh my God, I think, shifting in my seat, this bitch is going to have me curse her out. I stare at her, trying to figure out what part of the “I’m not interested” she doesn’t get. “I really think it’s bad business to get too personal with someone you work with. When shit doesn’t work, then someone ends up feeling some kind of way, which creates a bunch of drama for you, or makes it unbearable to work in the same place. Most of the time, it just doesn’t work.”
“That’s not true. Look at Sabrina and Nathan. They’ve been together almost eight years.”
I blink, blink again.
Nathan hasn’t worked here in almost three years because of all the drama that came with his workplace romance with Sabrina’s dumb ass, which is exactly my point. So what the fuck is this dumb bitch talking about? Go figure! Anyway, Sabrina is another office tramp who is always trying to keep shit stirred up. I can’t stand her. She’s the same bitch whose man I fucked right under her damn nose. She’s always talking about what her man would never do, how she has him wrapped around her finger, blah, blah, blah. Bitches like her need to wake the fuck up with that dumb shit. You don’t know what the fuck your man wouldn’t do. Trust me. And because I don’t like her bogus ass, I slipped him my cell number last year at our tired-ass holiday party (the one I was forced to attend because the president and his cronies were attending). Nathan, along with a few other chicks’ men, was checking me out on the sly the whole night. All while Sabrina’s all hugged up on him, laughing and smiling like she was the happiest woman in the world, her so-called “perfect man” was ogling me.
Obviously, he didn’t share her sentiments because if he had, he wouldn’t have called me, and he damn sure wouldn’t have been fucking me as if my pussy was his life support, begging me for more. He moaned and groaned louder than me. He whispered and whimpered, and mumbled shit I didn’t understand. And he got on my damn nerves so bad with all his screaming about how good the pussy was and yelling out my name, that I literally shoved my damn panties in his mouth to shut him the hell up so I could concentrate. And, yes, I fucked him again because I could. Definitely not because the dick was all that. It was a nice, sturdy eight inches but his balls were about the size of cashews. He had about as much rhythm as a paraplegic. And this was that bitch’s door prize. Go figure! Now whenever I look at her dumb ass, I chuckle to myself.
“Nathan is a dog, and you know it. How many times did Sabrina come to work all stressed out, looking like a damn raggedy Ann doll ’cause she had caught him screwing some chick from the job? He fucked at least four chicks, black and white, on at least three floors in this building. She worked herself up so much over his sorry ass that her damn hair started falling out. So, please, let’s not use them as an example to state your case.”
“Okay, then. Look at me and Jake. We dated and worked together. And now, here we are, almost four years later, still going strong.”
“And how many times before you started going strong did you come to work worrying about what he was doing, what someone was saying, or finding out who else he had fucked? Every week you were catching attitudes with chicks you saw all up in his face ’cause you didn’t trust his ass.”
A few times this bitch was about to get her ass beat in the parking lot, but I won’t remind her of that. We work with a bunch of Union and Essex County switchblade bitches, and trust me when I tell you, a few of them are fucking nutty as hell. Nahdirah almost caught it several times, fucking with Jake’s ass.
She waves me off. “Oh, please. That was in the beginning of our relationship. I am so over that now.”
“Oh, really? Is that before or after he left this place? Or before or after baby number two? ’Cause you know like I know, if he was still working here, you’d be going through the same shit.”
“Now, I didn’t say messing with someone you work with doesn’t come with a set of challenges. ’Cause it does, but it can still work. Besides, Jake and I have both grown since then. And my boo is all about me.”
“And how do you know that?”
She places her hand on her hip, raising up in her seat. “Do you know something I don’t? ’Cause if so, then fill me in.”
“No, I’m only asking the question.” I must have hit a nerve, I think, smiling. These women crack me the hell up. This bitch is sitting in front of a certified dick-loving ho. I know for a fact that if I wanted to fuck her man—not that I do or would ’cause he isn’t my flavor—I could ride his dick, or have his tongue shoved in my asshole in the blink of an eye. There’s no question in my mind. It’s all in his eyes. Every time dude is around me—which isn’t that often now that he no longer works here—he looks at me like he’s trying to undress me with his eyes. And then he has this habit of licking his lips, looking me up and down when he speaks to me, drooling—and basically eye fucking me!
“Well, like I said, there’s nothing wrong with dating someone you work with.”
She fails to answer the question, and I won’t press. The bitch obviously doesn’t know how Jake really feels. Women kill me, putting their men up on pedestals, and men kill me, too. No one can predict what another human being will or won’t do. You can only hope they do what’s right, and not only when they believe someone is watching them. But we all know there are so many who don’t, and won’t. “Yeah, okay, if you say so. And how many women here had Jake before you did?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. A few, I guess.”
“A few?” I repeat, laughing. “Nahdirah, get real. Jake was worse than Nathan, and you know it.”
“Okay,” she says, getting defensive, “and?”
“And how long did the two of you date before you got into a relationship with him?”
“A few months; why?”
“And what did you really know about him?”
I can tell her mind’s scrambling to come up with an answer, one that will hold truth. The dumbfounded look on her face tells me she can’t locate one that makes any sense to her, or me. “Well, we were still getting to know each other,” she offers.
I roll my eyes. “And during that time of ‘getting to know each other,’ did you ever ask him how many of his coworkers he screwed?”
She looks at me like I have said something stupid. But girlfriend forgets I know they were only dating three weeks before her ass got knocked up by him, so that says to me the only thing she was getting to know was his dick. The whole time her ass was pregnant, she stressed because bitches were flaunting the fact that they had fucked him first, or were still getting a ride on his chocolate joystick. Not to mention, his other baby’s momma, who works down in the mailroom, was causing havoc in his life because he was fucking “that ugly bitch in promotions.” But, of course, girlfriend had no clue that he had two other children until after it was too late.
“Why? We all have a past, so why do you feel the need to always bring shit up and be so damn negative all the time? Why can’t you leave shit alone?”
I blink, blink again.
Poor thing, she truly doesn’t get it. That’s exactly why men and women have problems in their relationships, ’cause they don’t fucking ask questions. I roll my eyes and shake my head. Like I told you before, I use the term friend loosely with this chick. If anything, it’s more of a friendly working relationship than anything else. ’Cause ain’t no fucking way I’d ever be real friends with a ditsy bitch like her.
I glance at my watch; it’s almost noon. I’m done with her ass. She’s exhausted all the time she’s going to get out of me today. I don’t have the strength or the energy to continue on with her.
I sigh. “You’re absolutely right. We all have a past.” I get up from my seat, walking over to my desk. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I have a ton of reports to get done. So I better get to ’em.”
I busy myself at my desk, shuffling papers, pretending to be reading shit I have no interest in. She gets up from her seat. “Yeah, girl, I’d better get going. I gotta meet Samantha and them downstairs in a few, anyway.”
“Have fun,” I say, not looking up.
“I’ll stop by later.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, raising my eyes from the monthly projection report. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You too,” she says, pausing before leaving. I can tell she wants to say something more, but can’t quite find the words. A few seconds go by.
I tilt my head, turning my hands palms up. “Umm, is there something else?”
She slowly shakes her head, pursing her lips. She has decided not to strain her brain, and I’m thankful. I watch her make her way to the door. When she is gone, I shake my head. “There’s no fucking way I’m ever dating anyone from this place,” I say to myself. “I don’t care how fine he is. Besides, most people don’t know what the hell dating means any damn way.”
Now help me understand something. Is it me, or am I the only one who got the memo on dating? I mean, damn! In my opinion, dating means you can go out with Fred on Thursday, go clubbing with Leon on Friday, have drinks and a movie with Stan on Saturday, and fuck all three of ’em on Sunday if you so choose. Not that you have to, or should be expected to. However, if you feel the urge to ride the dick to see what they have to offer, then you do exactly that. Just be responsible. And don’t expect it to be no more than what it was, a fuck.
Unless I’m missing something, dating does not equal relationship. Dating is a filtering, get-to-know-you process. It helps you weed out the men who are full of shit. Dating is asking questions. It’s one big interview, in my opinion. But, of course, no one dates anymore. It’s straight fucking, then right into moving him in. Talk about stupid!
Then when shit starts coming up missing in the house, or he starts staying out late or not coming home at all, or has trouble keeping a job, or wants to lie around the house in his boxers, scratching his balls and playing Xbox all damn day, you want to bitch and complain about it. Uh, duh, dumb ass, that’s what your ass gets when you don’t take the time out to learn a man before jumping straight into a relationship with him. Oh, don’t think that doesn’t go for men too. They get caught up in a big butt and smile attached to some good pussy, then before you know it, they’re complaining about her ass too.
Whatever! All I know is you get what you get when you don’t take the time to look for what you really want, and don’t ask questions. You know, maybe it’s me. But some of these fucking people today are really pathetic.
Humph. Well, since I’m already disgusted, I might as well go in for the kill and send out this special public service announcement to these dizzy-ass chicks—better known as the birds—swooping around the room. Listen, sweetie. I hate to be the one to tell you, but most dudes ain’t tryna wife you. They only want to fuck your low-budget ass every which way.
Besides giving you a stiff dick, don’t think he’s really going to lace you with much. He already knows that all he has to do is buy you a bottle of Hennessy, some Alizé, and come through with some smoke (trees, collard greens, or whatever else the pot heads call it) and you’re going to let him smash your insides out all night. And if he’s feeling generous, he’ll hit you with a fresh pair of kicks, or slide you a few dollars to get your hair and nails done. You might even be able to get a few more dollars (a hundred at most) out of him. Yeah, he might even splurge on a standard room at the Hilton or Sheraton for you. Hell, he knows it’s a step up from the Motel 6s and the backseats of cars you’re used to. He knows it doesn’t take much to excite you. You love his company and the fact that someone like him is paying you some attention. He already knows you think he’s the best thing that has ever come your way and that you’re not trying to let him go. He might even tell you he’s “feelin” you. But, you best believe you aren’t ever going to be his main girl, even if he is splashing off raw inside of you. At the end of the day, you just a bird to him. And when he bounces from your nest, he’s shaking off the feathers and going home to his main chick. Believe that!