SAD DAVE & LITTLE DICK

I've been neglecting the only method that's keeping me sane (blogging) due to my increased duties at work, which is a good thing, but I now have decreased time behind my closed office door to fuck off and catch up on your blogs.

So I saw Dave at the punchline. It was a surprise show, so my friends and I stood in line for four hours before we could get the special bracelet which enables us to buy a ticket. It was well worth it though. The show didn't start until 11pm. The audience was compiled of white frat boys who think they're down because they know a rap song, skank asian women, with the mission of getting back stage to meet him (because he's married to a Filipino) and about four Black people (me included). He looked very tired and he lit up a cigarette. The audience laughed. Was that a joke? Why are they laughing? He asked the waiter to get him a cup of coffee. They laughed again. WHAT THE FUCK?

Then the audience started yelling requests: "Do Rick James, Dave!" Do the crack guy, Dave!" He ignored them and continued his conversation of everyday things through his eyes. Then he started talking about his stay in Africa.
"Tell us about the bitches in Africa, Dave!" My table looked at him from the front row with glares of, "You better not respond to that."

"Well, first off there are no bitches in Africa, idiot." Good job, Dave.
CRICKETS.
"What's his damage?" I heard someone from the audience say. Being that I was front row, I'm sure Dave heard it too.

All that to say that eventually, Dave broke out in a shuck & jive tap dance and started talking about things only we (black people) would laugh at which made the audience very nervous. He stayed on the stage until 3:30am. Mos Def joined him as they played, Name that tune:REAL hip-hop style. My table was the only one playing. Right before the show ended, Mos Def invited my friends and I out for breakfast with them. We all declined, being that it was early morning Monday (He did tell me I had a killer smile, tough!).

So that's what happened with Dave. Now on with the post.

Since my rut, I've created a regime I've titled, "pretty me" which includes regular facials, and a visit to a hair salon-The first time since Jr. High. Every other week, she washes my hair, blow dries it and I throw it up in a pony tail, so I can twist it at home. I get many stares from the unisex salon patrons when I lift my head from the sink after the water hits it.

It's called nappy hair you processed, fried, unbeweaveable negroids.
I've managed to ignore their chuckles and stares.

I'm sitting in the chair, as the beautician blow dries my hair and I glimpse at the person in the chair next to me. I do a double take as my brain starts to process:
He looks familiar. I know him from some where. I recognize that voice. He's looking at me funny. He knows me too. Oh, shit. I fucked him before. He wasn't good.

It all came to me in a flash. Four years ago. He lived two houses up from my then fiance. We flirted constantly and I finally decided to try him out. He was the first to make me cum via oral pleasure alone. NEVER have I met anyone who can beat him. He lured me in by keeping the licking good..Then around the sixth visit, he revealed his secret.

I was coming down from orgasmic convulsions. He propped my legs around his neck and stuck it in. Then he didn't move. He was 6ft. 3, very muscular. I couldn't breath. When he decided to begin the pumping, his dick fell out. He pushed it back in, waited a couple of seconds, resting all his weight on me and he made another attempt. Out it popped. Then it went limp. He rolled off me and I glimpsed at it. It was so small, the condom was still partially rolled up. After months of dodging his phone calls and being igcognito, he finally got the message. And yesterday, there he was.-Sitting right next to me, now giving me the most dirtiest look. We never said a word to each other. Our eyes were doing all the talking.

Before he got out of the chair, he stuck his tongue out and did a little snake move. My cootchie contracted. Little dick bastard.