IT DON’T MATTER JUST DON’T BITE IT

If you are a long time reader of my blogs or even a newbie to my lil forum, I know at some point you’ve been reading and you’ve said to yourself, “This has got to be some bullshit. There is no way this guy has had this many adventures.” Or, “This can’t be a true story, he’s got to be exaggerating.”

You know what, I’ve thought the same way myself after writing a story and going back to re-read it. I’ve truly experienced some strange, funny, unexpected, horrifying and even sad occurrences in my life, especially as it pertains to women. This next tale is probably one of the funnier ones I can recall.

One Saturday night I got a call from my cousin inquiring what I was doing that night. I told him I really didn’t have any plans, so he asked me if wanted to go to cabaret his girl and her family was throwing in Edmondson Village. Of course my first question was, “Will there be chicks there?” He cosigned that there would definitely be some women there, some of which guaranteed to be single. With that, I got dipped and headed to village.

Living in Detroit, cabarets are like a way of life. Any given weekend there can be anywhere from five to 10 cabarets taking place. People make money off of them and there are actually more of an event than most popular club. But in Baltimore, cabarets were less frequent at that time. You would probably experience an alien abduction before you stumbled onto a cabaret in Baltimore.

So I arrived at the party and found my cousin’s table. His boys were already there so I went and joined the crew. He told me that I didn’t have to bring any drinks, because they had it covered. But see, those niggas could really drink and they were already low on booze, by the time I got there. We decided to walk down the block to the liquor store to re-up on our stash.

When we got back, the DJ was playing some better music, so the dance floor was kinda jumpin’. That’s when I seen her – this cute lil shorty. She was fly, hair and nails done, outfit looking right and nice ass. I asked my cousin did he know her.

Serial Dater: “Who’s shorty on the dance floor?”

That Nig Rick: “That’s one of my girl’s peoples. One of her cousins or sumpthin.”

Serial Dater: “She got a man or here with somebody?”

That Nig Rick: “How the fuck am I supposed to know? Won’t you go over there and ask her.”

Serial Dater: “Naw. Don’t wanna come off pressed right now. Ask your girl to introduce me to her and I’ll handle the rest.”

That Nig Rick: “You want me to hold your hand too, while you talk to her?”

Serial Dater: “Naw, but you can hold the camera when I’m waxin’ her ass. Fuck you.”


My cousin’s girl hmmmed and hawwwed about making the introduction, citing something about not wanting to get in the middle of things or be responsible if shit went wrong. As it turned out, the girl was only her cousin through marriage, so she really couldn’t vouch for her. Despite my cousin’s girlfriend’s reservations, I went to go talk to the girl. I introduced myself, telling her who I was there with and I even danced with her. We exchanged numbers and I promised to get up with her soon.

Now when I saw this chick, I assumed that she was in her twenties (I was about 29 at the time). As it turned out she was in her mid-late thirties. She just looked very, very young. She even had to teenage daughters (one 16 and the other 19). After finding out that she wasn’t a spring chicken, it didn’t scare me off. I figured that it would be a positive. She was more mature and probably had her shit together. So I gave it go.

I went to see her one night. While she looked good on the surface, she sucked on paper. She was a single mom, unemployed, didn’t drive, smoked (which I personally hate) and she lived in the same area as HBO’s The Wire was based on. Talk about strikes one, two and three. But I wasn’t seeing anybody at the time (nobody of significance) and I wanted to see what that ass was like. Prior to her, I’d only been with one older woman.

Nothing happened that first night, but we did make plans to see each other again. Our next date was at the movies. I actually wrote about this woman before and added quite a bit of detail about the movie day, so I’m not going to revisit that date.

FLASH FORWARD

So Ms. Older but Sexy actually made into my regular rotation. At least once a week I was down at her place and at least once a week I was smashin’ her off. Sex between us was always interesting. Not interesting in a “we did some really freaky shit that blew my mind” but interesting in odd but memorable kind of way.

For starters I would always request that she brush her teeth and gargle with mouthwash before I even got close to kissing her (anything to get rid of the smoker’s mouth). Next her room would always be freezing and she had a short ceiling. I don’t know if her room was built for Smurfs, but if you were 6 foot or taller you’d be hitting your head on the ceiling. Also, every time we had sex, she would blast Carl Thomas’ first CD throughout the session and afterwards. By the time I finished dealing with that woman, I both loved and hated that CD.

Now one of the things I love about older women is that they not only know their own bodies very well, but they have a certain amount of experiences, especially as it pertains to sex. This particular woman was the exception. While she was no stranger to sex, she was when it came to giving blowjobs. She had only tried it once and it had mixed results. Now, I don’t mean to be crass but if you are a woman and you’re going to be dealing with me, my dick and your mouth better be like best friends. The two need to be together like ice cream and cake. ;o)

Because she liked me a lot, she was willing to expand her knowledge in this area. One night during a session, she wanted to go for it. Granted she had kissed the head before, but this night she wanted to go full throttle. Of course I was all about her education. I sat nude on the chair she had in her bedroom and she dropped to her knees before. She began rather timidly, like she still had some reservations about performing such an act, but slowly she began to get into it. It wasn’t the best head I’d ever had, but then again it wasn’t the worst. It was, what it was.

Ms. Older but Sexy: “Like this baby? Do you like this baby, am I doing a good job?”

Serial Dater: “Yeah just like that. Take your time.”

Ms. Older but Sexy: “I just want you to feel good baby {slurp, slurp}”

Serial Dater: “Yeah right there.”

Ms. Older but Sexy: “hmmmm.”


I wanted her shut up. There’s absolutely no reason on God’s green earth that you should be conversing while blowing me. It breaks the concentration. But I gave her pass, because she was indeed trying. And it was okay.

Just as I began to get some inkling of enjoyment out of it and I noticed that she was really starting to throw down…things went horribly wrong. While my eyes were closed and I was basking in pleasure, all of sudden I felt a sharp and excruciating pain shoot up from my penis. She had unintentionally bitten my dick. I temporarily blacked out and fell from chair onto the floor. All I remember after that is being curled up in the fetal position on the floor naked and looking up to see this horrified look on her face.

Ms. Older but Sexy: “Serial are you okay! Baby I’m soooooo sorry. I didn’t mean it!”

Serial Dater: “Damn gurl!”

Ms. Older but Sexy: “I’m sorry. It was an accident. Are you gonna be okay.”

Serial Dater: “I know, I know, it was an accident. It just hurts like hell.”

Ms. Older but Sexy: “I’m really, really sorry. Want me to get you some ice?”

Serial Dater: “Naw, I’m just gonna lay here to the throbbing stops. Don’t worry, I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

After I regained my composure, it was needless to say, but the sex session was over. I didn’t have insurance to cover those kinds of injuries. So I got dressed and called it a night.

After that dreadful day, we connecting again (minus the blowjobs) but I started cutting her back and eventually stopped dealing with her all together. She didn’t take that so well, because she was digging me. So she became bitter about the whole thing. She would see my cousin and his girl at get togethers and functions and would just badmouth me all around. She even went as far to say that I couldn’t fuck, had a lil dick and wasn’t about shit. Of course it was complete and utter bullshit. She didn’t have to go that far. Women always go for defamation of the penis.

Oh well, I supposed, it’s like that age ole saying, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!”

Just leave my penis out of it (lol).

IT CAME FROM THE COURT HOUSE!

Okay people, so I’m tryna get back into the swing of things. If you promise to read this stuff, I promise to try and post, at minimum, one story per week. I’m still rather busy in my personal life, but I’ll make time for you folk. ;o)

I’ll keep this new offering short and sweet.

Back in my early days of Internet dating and other related exploits, I was at work and browsing profiles when I happened upon a thick attractive red bone. I viewed the pics, read what dribble she had to say and then I sent a note. Right away I got a response and the Serial Dater was immediately in play. We decided the typing back and forth thing was a drag, so we exchanged work phone numbers.

I found out that she actually worked right in downtown Baltimore at the courthouse, which was a stones throw from my building on the corner of St. Paul and Baltimore Streets. I proposed grabbing a bite for lunch together, so that we can better get acquainted. She initially agreed, but just prior to lunchtime she called to cancel, citing too much work to do. But she did have an alternate plan. Everyday, on her way home, she passed my building in order to make it to the train station. She suggested that I meet her on the corner where my building was, when she got off of work. I didn’t get off until after 5 pm, but I agreed to meet her there.

I sat at my desk watching the clock. It was almost 4:30 pm (Our agreed upon meeting time), so I started getting myself together and hit the elevators. Because I was located on the 24th floor, it took a minute for me to hit the bottom floor lobby. When I reached the bottom floor, I was roughly 10 minutes late. I didn’t see the girl from the pictures in my building lobby, so I went outside to look around. Still no sign of her. So I began to walk in the direction she would’ve taken to make it to the Commuter Rail station. I stopped about a half a block away and began scanning in all directions to see if I spotted her.

Just when I was beginning to think that she stood me up, I saw this woman about a block or so down the street, standing on a corner diagonally from where I stood and she was staring in my direction. Now I didn’t recognize the woman looking at me and she didn’t resemble the red bone cutie from the pics. That’s when it hit me…maybe I’d been hoodwinked…bamboozled…led astray….I didn’t land on Plymouth Rock…(you get the picture). The woman I saw on the corner wasn’t cute, so I decided to book it in the other direction.

She looked as though she was heading in my direction, so I dipped into a coffee shop to hide. I stayed in the coffee shop for about five to ten minutes in hopes that she kept it moving and didn’t see me duck out. I thought I waited her out, so I made me way to the front door of the coffee shop to leave. I opened the door to roll out and then Bam! There she was. Despite my efforts, I was forced to have an encounter with this Moo Cow.

Ms. Totally Through: “Serial? Serial Dater is that you?”

Serial Dater: {expressed nervously} “Hey you. Whazzup…you”


*I know what you’re thinking and/or saying right now. Why didn’t you pretend that it wasn’t you or that she had the wrong person? There are a couple of reasons why I didn’t pursue this coarse of action. One – I unfortunately look exactly like my Internet pictures. So anyone who seems the pics can usually pick me out of a room of strangers. Two – despite my stories, I really am a nice guy, so it’s hard sometimes to totally diss girls. But I’m learning people, I’m learning.

Ms. Totally Through: “Sorry I wasn’t at our agreed upon spot, but when I didn’t see you there, I started toward the train station.

Serial Dater: “Don’t let me keep you from missing your train.”

Ms. Totally Through: “It’s okay, I got a minute or two to spare. So how are you?”


It was talking, but all I could hear was blah, blah, blah, Moo, Moo, blah, blah, blah, Moo. I have to describe this chick to you because she didn’t look anything like the chick from the photos. Granted the pics I saw were Glamour Shots, she wasn’t even the before version of the woman in those photos. So that meant she pulled a serious okie doke. The woman in the photos I saw was curvaceous, light skinned, sexy-thick and cute. This chick didn’t even know what any of these descriptives meant. She was pushin’ about 5’8” – 5’9”, she was a pale yellow complexion with a face full of freckles and she was Barrel-shaped. No curves what so ever, just completely round around her middle.

She was wearing shortalls (overalls but the shorts version) with one of the straps hanging off (like dudes – with the exception of myself because I hate overalls – used to do in the 80’s when they thought that shit fashionable…country bastards) and a white tee beneath. I scanned down to her feet and they were jacked to high hell. She had decrepit toes and was wearing Jesus sandals to boot. We all know my take on chicks, who wear Jesus sandals. I don’t fuck ‘em (just a preference). That bitch, so wasn’t Jellin’ and I get turned off when it’s hammer time in your feet region.

I scanned back up and it only got worstlier (lol). I’m no fan of freckles either, but they are tolerable if you are cute. And she wasn’t. To match her pale yellow skin and her freckles, she had a lazy eye (ala Biggie Smalls) and it scared the shit outta me. Her hair was the frosting on this monstrosity of a cake. She wore her brownish, reddish-colored hair in those dookie prison cornrows. We not talking freshly down either like Iverson or R. Kelly, her shit look like they had been in there for nearly a year. They were all frizzy and shit. Then it hit me again, she said she worked in the courthouse, but maybe she didn’t work there but was rather recently released from Cell Block H (with Bee and ‘nem). ;o)

Whatever the case was, I didn’t care. I just wanted those minutes of my life back. I wanted this horrific meeting to be over and I wanted her to return back to the other wilder beast in her herd. I’m sure there was injured calfling that needing nursing or something. (Okay, I kid, I kid). But it really was bad.

I finally stepped in to cut the convo short. I told her that I had to return to work to finish an assignment. She had to keep it moving too, so as not to miss her train. Before going she asked about my weekend and I said some bullshit. Then she told me that she was going to Chicago over the weekend to attend a friend’s wedding. She subliminally put an offer on the table for me to join her and attend the wedding. I almost threw up at the thought and ignored her. Finally we said good-bye and I was looking to quickly get out of her presence and back to my cubical. The whole time we stood in front of the coffee shop, I feared that someone I respected would see me with this thing from the courthouse.

I tried to walk away and you know what this nasty moo cow did…she leaned over and hugged me. I was so turned off that I wanted to bathe and repent. I walked off horrified and never looked back. That whole weekend I couldn’t shake the experience of my encounter with that woman. While I was thankful, I didn’t give her my home number, I began to worry about her still having my office number. That Monday morning, a bit of anxiety began to develop. I knew she would be calling and I didn’t know how to handle it nicely. I should’ve cussed that bitch out on site for lying and pulling a fake out move with her photos. But I decided to chill.

Just as I feared, my phone rang at 8:01 am. She must’ve couldn’t wait to call me. I was still traumatized, but I think quickly on my feet. I answered the phone.

Ms. Totally Through: “Hey handsome how was your weekend?”

Serial Dater: “It was, what it was, nothing to report.”

Ms. Totally Through: “It was good meeting you Friday. I really enjoyed our brief convo.”

Serial Dater: “I see.”

Ms. Totally Through: “Soooooo. What do you think?”

Serial Dater: “Think about what?”

Ms. Totally Through: “Think about me. And be honest, I can take it. But I really want to know.”

* Now What I really wanted to say was that I thought she was an utter and fucking mess. And that she should really consider killing herself and do the world a favor. But I took the high road.

Serial Dater: “To be honest…you’re not my type. I don’t like….tall women and with you being taller than me, it really ain’t gonna work out. I don’t even like having tall friends.”

Ms. Totally Through: “I understand and I appreciate your honesty. Maybe we can still be friends online.”

Serial Dater: “Maybe. Hey I gotta go. Layta.”


I was pissed that she even put me in a position where I felt the need to lie. But I didn’t want to totally crush her, so I did something nice. I lied.

I wonder what ever happened to that brawd. I wonder if she pulled the wool over someone else’s eyes or she has been put out to pasture or turned into glue. Hmmmmm.

SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY

Okay, so I’m not dead (lol). Just laying in the cut tryna reestablish my passion. I need a new muse. ;o)

Also, I’m looking to transplant myself to new fertile ground. So I may be coming to a city near you {be on the look out Atlanta, Houston, Washington, DC, NoVA and Charlotte}.

Speaking of Charlotte, it reminds me a story; a story from my early Internet days. Allow me to share with you kind strangers.

Because I had such success with my first out of town jaunt, I decided to give it another go. I had started communicating with a young lady I discovered online, who just so happened to live in Charlotte, NC. This interested me because back in 2001, I was seriously considering Charlotte as a new locale to live. So meeting her online had an additional benefit. She would be my ticket into that up-and-coming southern city.

Now granted my deciding to meet her wasn’t just about coming up with an excuse to visit Charlotte, she seemed to be a very cool person. After happening upon each other, we quickly exchanged phone numbers and began chatting with each over the next couple of months. We laughed a lot and delved into each other’s being. She learned about me and I about her.

Her screen name was Sweeta-thejuice, which I believe had a lot to do with her dark chocolate complexion. Being a choco-holic myself, that was a plus. She had moved to Charlotte from her hometown of Seattle, as a part of her employer’s relocation of its headquarters. It was just her and her two children. She looked good on paper – an educated, single mom with a leadership position in her career and making it happen (I always seem to fall into a trap of giving brawds a chance when they look good on paper – but that’s the subject of a future story).

As far as her looks go, in addition to being chocolaty, she seemed pretty fashionable and judging by the pics I perused, she had a nice body (clothed). So I didn’t think anything of going to see her. I normally trust my judgment and my judgment was tellin’ me that this woman (same age as myself at the time – 30) was good to go.

We made arrangements for me to come down on a weekend to spend some time with her. Given the fact that she was about 8 hours away down I-95, I decided to take off one Friday and drive down to see her. The plan was for her to ditch the kids for a weekend and kick it with yours truly. I packed up the pathfinder and set out for a weekend of fun and discovery.

Throughout my journey that day, we remained in contact via the phone. She actually went into work, but had planned to leave early to meet me at her home. When I got into North Carolina, we spoke again and that’s when she told me that there were some slight changes to the plan, but not to worry it was still going to be all-good. The kids were still there, but they would be going away for the weekend when she got off. I was like okay, there was nothing to worry about. I called her again when I got very close to her home. She told me that she wouldn’t be there to greet me when I arrived, but that her kids would be home and they would let me in. WTF!!!

This woman never met me before and doesn’t know my pedigree, but she trusts me to enter her house without her being there and to mingle with her kids. It sounded very reckless to me. Especially given the circumstances that this was an Internet arrangement. Luckily for her, I am safe. While I didn’t like the “new arrangement” I arrived at her home in the gated community and made my way to the door. Her preteen son answered the door and relayed the message that I’m to come in and wait and that his mom would be arriving shortly thereafter. I felt funny as I walked in and there was no adult to greet me. It became even more awkward because her other child was a six year old girl. So I was really noided about being there. I definitely didn’t want to catch some miscellaneous charge on a random visit.

Entering her apartment there were several things that immediately jumped out to me. One was that her home was somewhat if a hangout for the preteen set. There were random white and black boys on skateboards with video games in tow, coming and going. It was very suburban like. The second thing I noticed was that her home, while filled with nice things, was a complete and utter mess. Her son’s room was the epicenter of this catastrophe. I’ve seen pictures from Hiroshima that was as much of a devastation. And the rest of the crib wasn’t that far behind.

I sat on the couch, afraid to touch anything, and just took it all in. I had been bamboozled. How in the hell could someone, who seemingly had it so together live like she was living – in that mess of a home. Her daughter took it upon herself to grill me while I watched Rap City on BET. I was relieved to hear the jingle of keys in the door. It was the Chocolate Chic finally joining the party.

Chocolate Chic: I’m sorry about not being her to greet you. I told my son what do and I hope everything was cool.

Serial Dater: I understand, things happen.

Chocolate Chic: I also apologize for state of the apartment – kids. I wanted it to be clean when you arrived (she yells down the hall). Ya’ll go ahead and start cleaning up right now.

Serial Dater: (inaudible..) I understand.

Chocolate Chic: There’s one more thing. I got some bad news. The baby sitter for the kids backed out on me at the last minute and now I’m gonna be stuck with them for the weekend. I hope that’s not a problem.

If I weren’t tired from the eight plus hour drive down or if I would’ve had a back up chic set up in North Carolina, I would’ve bounced quicker than those new NBA basketballs. I was heated about the dirty crib, but toss kids on top of that and we have the makings of a horrendous weekend excursion. I kept my cool about the situation and tried my damnedest to be trooper. But it was hard.

Let’s get back to this crib. It was shit everywhere. Nothing had a home. It was like wherever you left it, was where it belonged. The kitchen was a disaster area. Dirty dishes were piled high and the trash was piled even higher. Both of the kid’s rooms were straight hit. And the laundry room inside of her apartment was piled almost to the ceiling with piles of dirty clothes, some of which smelled of piss (her daughter was a bed wetter). And that wasn’t the only smell lingering in that apartment. In addition to kitchen garbage and the pee saturated dirty clothes, there was also the undeniable scent of animal. On top of her mess, she also was a dog owner. And because the animal was untrained, she kept him inside of a cage located in her walk-in closet. I was becoming more and more disgusted and I had only been there for an hour.

Now the ungodliness of her apartment doesn’t stop there. There was yet another area of the home that should’ve been quarantined – the bathroom. It was one of the more dirty bathrooms I’d ever seen in 30 years. It was so dirty, that I was afraid of it. And after an 8-hour drive I needed to freshen up. There were no clean towels, so she had to throw some in the washing machine. And more importantly there was no soap; not a single bar. And that raised red flags.

While I wait for the towels and wash clothes to become available, I sat and watched more TV. She and her brood attempted to clean up. And excluding the kid’s rooms, the attempt was okay. She also tried an array of remedies to distinguish the agonizing aromas that fluttered about. After disinfecting the place, the scented candles did the trick. The place was now presentable for living but definitely not for company.

The bathtub had a film on it, so I dared not step a single foot in that slime bowl. So instead, I hoe-bathed in the sink (FYI, I did that the entire time I was there and I had to do so using the deodorant soap I bought with me). That night we decided to go to Appleby’s for dinner. I don’t remember if the kids were with us. Had they been, then I probably would’ve been pissed on a level not seen before by mortal man. While at dinner we held civil conversation given the circumstances.

Chocolate Chic: Serial, I am so sorry for how this weekend turned out. I really wanted things to go a whole lot differently. I really hope that you don’t hold this against me.

Serial Dater: Hey shit happens. I wish it would’ve turned out differently too. But I’m here now and let’s just make the best of it.

Chocolate Chic: Agreed. Hey you hear that music that the restaurant is playing overhead. That’s what my company does. That’s our music.

Serial Dater: That music that’s constantly playing? You do that?

Chocolate Chic: Well that’s what the company I work for does. We supply music to business like this restaurant and others. I work for Musak and we have contracts with a lot different businesses.

Serial Dater: That sounds real cool. I bet you got access to a lot of different music and can make your own CDs.

Chocolate Chic: You know that’s right! But it’s much cooler than that. You should see our headquarters. As a matter of fact, I’ll take you there tomorrow to see it. We have an internal team meeting and presentation.

After dinner, we went back to her spot a.k.a the dungeon. I slept in the bed with her, but for some reason, it was awkward. And to top things off, I didn’t hit either. And even weirder, I wasn’t even disappointed that I didn’t. The next morning we got up early (I think she dropped her kids off somewhere, but I can’t recall) and drove across the state line into South Carolina where her job was headquartered. It was like entering NASA or something. There were secret codes and scans and shit. Hell at my job, you got an alarm code and a door key; nothing fancy.

She was right when she said that I would like the place. It was very dot.com-ish and trendy. There was no dress code and people traveled through the warehouse facility on scooters. There was lots of open spaces and rows upon rows of shelves with every kind of music imaginable. Muzak created play lists for clients and then beamed the music to their locations via satellites. I was very cool. For there meeting/presentation the team dressed up like secret agents (ala Mission Impossible) and entered the meeting room. The boss man of the team was dress like an agent too and entered on a motorcycle. The whole thing was straight gangsta and fun. I was hella jealous. We never did anything like that at my corporate job. :o(

After the meeting, we left her job and it was time for business – I need to see Charlotte. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be happening because I had a very poor excuse for a tour guide. Being a transplant, plus a shut-in equaled me knowing about as much about Charlotte as she did. She didn’t know the spots, the hangouts or the scene. So we drove around aimlessly until I decided that we should catch a movie. We went to the theater to see Rush Hour 2, so you know how old this is. After the flick, I asked to go to the mall. Whenever I go to a new city, it is a must that I hit the mall and see what’s really going on.

Usually, I like to go to the hood mall, which she wasn’t prepared to do, so we compromised and went to the one that was between hood and bougsie. At the mall I copped a new pair of Iverson’s I hadn’t seen before. They were silver and white and definitely hittin’ on some shit. So I was happy about that. I also copped a couple of fresh shirts and this really trendy wicker picnic basket (don’t ask & no it wasn’t for her) which I still own till this day. I told her prior to me coming down, that I was the king of Scrabble, so she felt the need to test me on this. She bought a Scrabble board game from the toy store at the mall.

Back at La’Casa Le’ Dirty, she cooked us all dinner. I remember the main dish being fried chicken. After dinner, I played Scrabble against she and her son. Of course, I demolished them both. And I even let them work together. I’m wicked with the words and I gets busy in the Scrabble game. After dinner, we sat up had some drinks and talked. She had let her daughter lay down in the bed we were sleeping in. And yes her daughter peed in it. I was mortified. We had to flip the mattress and put clean (about as clean as it got it that house) linen down. That night, that damn “Trapped In Tha Closet” dog kept me up with its whining. And yes again, there was no sex.

Early the next morning, Sunday, I was planning to make a major exodus. But I wanted to try one last time to smash off Chocolate Chic before I left. I knew she secretly wanted to get crushed but she didn’t want to do anything with the kids around. I got up and took my umpteenth hoe bath of the weekend. I subtly suggested that she wash up too.

{Author’s note: I was there for three days and I don’t recall anyone other than myself actually partaking in any bathing of any kind. And I don’t recall seeing that damn dog getting walked}.

She complied with my washing mandate and then returned to the bedroom after seeing that her kids were still sleep. She closed the bedroom door, presumably locking it, and rejoined me in the bed. We began to make out. “We’re gonna have to be quiet and quick, the kids are still sleeping,” she said. She was completely nude and I still in my boxers and t-shirt. I began to suck on her Nubian breast, which ironically didn’t taste like dirt (lol). She moaned and started to get into it. And just as I thought we were about to consummate the deal…the bedroom door busted open. “Mommy I’m hungry,” the little voice said.

And with that my wood subsided as we scrambled to get ourselves together. She hurriedly threw on a robe and ushered the little girl out of the room to tend to her. I quickly got up and got fully dressed. By the time she returned I told her that I wanted to stay in front of the Sunday track and get on the road. I packed my shit, hugged her good bye and hit the highway for Baltimore.

I was very happy to be out of her spot. When I got home, I took a bath and a shower and just relaxed in the tranquility of my own surroundings. After that trip, I never did call her again. I was just so disappointed in how that weekend went down. And to top it off, I didn’t even get to see Charlotte. :o(

What up Charlotte!

Ya number one Rude Bwoy – Serial Dater is back!

MOLESTING MANAGEMENT

What it do people. ;o)

I decided to try something different with this next entry. I decided to dig in the crates a lil bit and pull out an oldie but goodie. This episode happened prior to me getting married, unlike the other entries on my blog that happened after my divorce. Like I’ve said before, I’ve pretty much always been a serial dater, but at the time of this adventure I was a much younger serial dater (roughly about 25 or 26 years old). I also had a very different mind set back then and this story will reflect that.

I haven’t decided whether or not if this will become a permanent addition to my blog, but for now let’s just call this “Throw Back Thursday.” Enjoy. ;o)

At this particular point in my life I was still trying to break into my current profession of public relations. To make ends meet, I took on a job at a local Baltimore rental car company. I was Assistant Manager at the West Baltimore office.

We had a receptionist at our office that continually made passes at me everyday. It was a classic case of trying to get a-head, literally. I called her Nasty Natasha, the naughty nympho. I don’t know how close to the truth it was, but it seemed that Nasty Natasha never got enough of sex – she exuded the shit.

She was never the type that I lusted after. As a matter of fact I’ve always seen Natasha as being one step from a welfare queen, the way she popped out kids for profit. The petite mother of three was well known throughout the company for wearing the most outrageous and revealing clothes to work. It was amazing how she was able to skirt (no pun intended) the office dress code.

I figured she was never written up for inappropriate dress because the predominately male upper management enjoyed it a lot. Once she wore a skirt so short, that when she bent over to pick something up, it exposed the thong panties she wore. On a regular, what I put up with from Nasty Natasha was borderline sexual harassment. Outside of the outlandish outfits, she also grabbed my ass and said lewd things to me whenever I passed her in the office. It’s funny how something like that bothered me then, but now I’d almost welcome it (lol).

That little vixen even got a hold of my pager number from my manager’s desk and would send me sexually oriented messages like “let’s go to bed” or stuff of that nature. I never really paid any attention to her crazy antics because she wasn’t my type. Sexually aggressive nymphos, though I hate to admit it, were never really my cup of tea {editors note: they can get a spot on Team Serial any day now}. Besides, I made it a number one rule of mine to never date anyone on the job, because if things got out of hand it could be costly.

Nasty Natasha’s advances were non-stop and her flirtatiousness was often times very noticeable by others in the office. Something had to be done. Then there was the day I’d never forget. Against my wishes we both were sent out together to make a run for our company. While we were in the car, she came right out with it.

Nasty Natasha: “Serial you know I wanna do you.”

Serial Dater: “Excuse you! You need to be concerned with doing your job, I’m still your supervisor.”

Nasty Natasha: “I might have to make you pull over on the side of the road and just rape you right here.”

SD: “I don’t think so.”

Nasty Natasha: “What if I just unzipped your pants and sucked your dick right now?”

Don’t get me wrong, that last comment didn’t fall on deaf ears, I just chose to ignore it at that time. I did however, keep it in the back of my mind for a rainy day. In the meantime, Nasty Natasha’s actions continued back at the office and she repeated her offer to give me oral gratification at least on one other occasion.

Somebody thought it would be a good idea one-day to leave Nasty Natasha and I alone in the office. With no witnesses available, she walked seductively into my office and sat on my desk. Her long legs crossed directly in front of me in such a manner that her mini skirt flipped up just slightly exposing her panties. At that point I knew I was in trouble. Only the ringing of the phone or a customer walking in would save me. The phone rang. Luckily, it was a customer and I had to take the call.

Turning my attention toward the caller, I momentarily forgot about Nasty Natasha, but she had not forgotten about me. While I sat engaged in conversation, I failed to notice her crawling under my desk. Before I could begin wondering where she went, a hand came up from underneath my desk and unzipped my pants. I almost dropped the phone on her head when that hand started pulling my Johnson from out of my pants.

Right on cue, Natasha starting doing exactly what she had promised that day in the car and I did everything possible to keep the person on the phone from hearing me moan. Natasha was off the hook. Right before I would explode in her mouth, she stopped. “If you want the rest you have to come over to my house and get it,” she said looking up towards me. I had all intentions of getting it.

Nasty Natasha lived in the city right near the downtown area. I went over to her place with the full intention of knocking the lining out. My mission might’ve crossed the line of breaking my own rule concerning co-workers, but her little preview made it all seem worth it. Arriving at her house, I strategically parked my jeep up the street from her building; I didn’t want any baby-daddies catching me off guard.

Located on the fourth floor of an apartment building connected to a restaurant, awaited Natasha’s quaint apartment. It wasn’t run down, but it wasn’t the Sheraton hotel either; it was however perfect for her. The apartment was small and humble to say the least. There was a kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom. Definitely no frills.
When I got there, two of her kids were there and they were wide awake. I would have to wait them out until she put them to bed. I would have preferred her kids not be there at all, but she couldn’t find a sitter and I had already driven all the way over there. It soon became apparent that getting some with her kids around required more ingenuity than I was prepared to give. Nasty Natasha only had one bedroom with only one bed and the kids normally slept with her.

Without having a legitimate living room, the bedroom became the only place to entertain guest. The plot thickened. To resolve the situation, she laid out some blankets and pillows on the floor like it was giant sleeping bag and put the kids down to sleep (for the moment) on the sleeping bag. After being convinced they were asleep, Nasty Natasha pushed me down onto the bed and asked me if I was ready. I was ready, but I was also concerned one of her kids might wake up and see mommy “deep-throating” me.

Worried or not, I continued with the program. Nasty Natasha pulled my pants down to my ankles, got on her knees and picked up where she left off at work. She gave me head for what seemed to be forever, occasionally swallowing my entire penis and balls at a given time. I thought to myself, kissing is definitely out of the question. It was intense watching to see if the kids might catch us. I believed she got more pleasure out of it than I did.

She continued licking around my erect penis before getting the notion to try something even freakier. Nasty Natasha wanted to put her tongue into my asshole. That was a definite no-no in my book. “Tossed Salads” were for perverts. I could work around the slight grazing of the teeth on my dick, but the wet tongue in the butt wasn’t happening. She could tell that I wasn’t down with it by the way I shot straight up on the bed, so she leaned over and pulled out a rubber to close the deal.

We got at it pretty hard. And trying not to wake her kids was difficult with all the grunting she was doing. Natasha was a wild one and by the way that she grabbed my ass and forced me into her, I could tell that it wasn’t going to be over until she said so. I came first and then she followed. We had pulled off our sexual tryst without the kids catching us. Never being one for hanging around afterwards, I went to bathroom cleaned up and left with the breeze.

Office relations were definitely different, since I decided to bone one of my staff members. I kept things strictly on the business tip and she continued with her flirting. In an attempt to change my work environment altogether, I transferred to another company location. It was already difficult working at that place and all I did was add another distraction. Nasty Natasha still called me and paged me, but things slowed down a bit.

There was a gap between the last time we had seen each other and then one day I got a call from her requesting to see me after work. The plan was to pick her up and go back to my place. I was game for a little boot knocking, so I went with the flow. When we got back to my place, a similar scene played out as before. Natasha was just as explicit. Only this time when I won the “I bet I can cum first contest” - it was too early for her liking. Figuring that I could just take her home and be done with it after I got mine, I had no idea what was in store.

Nasty Natasha: “You got another condom?”

SD: “Yeah, why do you ask?”

Nasty Natasha: “Because I’m ready for more, let’s go.”

SD: “Shorty I’m tired and it’s going to be awhile before I get it up again.”

Nasty Natasha: “No it won’t, I can help you with that. Just lay back and relax.”

On cue, she started using her oral skills to revive my lost erection. Natasha placed a condom on me herself and rode me like a cowgirl until she came. That broad was wild. Nympho was too soft of a word to use in her case. I don’t think aerobic all-stars could match her intensity. Since I had started spreading myself around I found it difficult to match everybody’s sexual appetites or requirements for my time, so I had to cut her loose. It was just too draining.

{Epilogue: Nasty Natasha was hated by almost every woman at the company, primarily because of her attire. She was Inner City to the core and was one of those girls that had no concept of professional clothes. To her, if it was good enough for the club, it’s good enough for work. I never thought Nasty Natasha was cute at all. She was barely pushin’ average in my book, but she kept niggas coming into the office to flirt with her. Dudes would always be bringing her lunch or giving her money. Never one to be stingy with my Dunns, I set her up with my boy Eric. They kicked it for a minute too. One day she called me to see how I felt about both of us smashin’ her off at the same time. I squelched that scenario ASAP. I wasn’t up for seeing my boy naked in any capacity. Eventually, Nasty Natasha got fired from the company. She started seeing a customer on a relationship basis. I used to laugh to myself whenever I saw him kiss her in the mouth. I remembered when that same tongue was in my ass (lol). As much as I love to kiss, even I never kissed her. One day she and her new beau get the idea to steal another customer’s credit card number. Then they got the idea to use the credit card to buy ole boy some rims for his truck. The bosses found out and she got fired on the spot.}

ANALOGY OF A KISS (School’s In Session)

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel”

-Maya Angelou


Those incoming students at Wayne State University owe me quite a debt of gratitude for the good service I provided. At least that’s my take on things. ;o)


We met via the Internet, but in what context I fail to remember. There wasn’t a whole lot of build up or that whole “getting to know you” kinda thing. I saw her picture, I thought she was cute and I made contact. Obviously she felt similarly, because we jumped ahead to the exchanging phone numbers part.

We talked maybe once or twice discussing the preliminary convo inevitables: employment, relationship status, offspring, sexuality, etc. I suggested getting together sooner rather than later. She was open to the idea.

One day I was downtown Detroit, about to make my trek back up the Lodge freeway to Southfield. I got the inkling to not go straight back home, so I called ole gurl up. She informed me that she was only a hop, skip and jump away from my location. “First exit off the Lodge, once you leave Jefferson,” she said. I thought about it for a moment. “You mean over by the college?” I inquired. “Yes, I live in the dorm,” she said.

Live in the dorm? WTF?

As it would turn out, this 25-year-old redbone lived in the dorms as a student. And not just any student either, she was a Residential Assistant (RA) on her floor. I laugh to myself at thought of her being an RA. Back when I was in college and living in the dorms I hated RAs. They were normally the non-social do-good squares, who were the antidote for fun.

Ms. College Co-ed told me where to park the whip so that I wouldn’t get towed. I stopped by the liquor before hittin’ the dorms. I had to cop that good ole “do it fluid” in the form of a couple cold ones. To be located down the street from such a pristine institute of higher learning, that liquor store was hood as fuck.

Ms. College Co-ed came outside to where I was parked to escort me into the building. I almost forgot the security process one had to endure in order to enter a college dorm. Getting into that new Towers dormitory was tighter than airport security. You needed picture ID, a birth certificate, a semen sample and a retina scan to gain entry (lol).

When I saw ole gurl, the first thing I noticed was her glasses. Her pic was absent of the specs, so it caught me a lil off guard. But it was all good. She was still a cutie of sorts. Quite as kept, I actually got a thing for a woman in a hot pair of frames. As far as the rest of her goes, she was a shorty pushin’ about five foot or so and a solid size 12. There wasn’t a whole lotta style to her when I first laid eyes on her. She was adorned in what I call “college bum” fashion. You know – university t-shirt, sweats (or shorts), hair straight down or tied up in a ponytail and slippers or sandals. It’s a look that says I’m very busy with schoolwork.

I’m not sure how she perceived me or what she thought of the 35 year-old dude she met over the net, but one thing was for certain – she was in over her head. Or was she?

When we got in the building, despite my hostess being an RA, the lil girl at the front desk accosted me. She demanded that I give my drivers license in order to gain entry to the upper floors. I was flabbergasted by this request for a number of reasons. One I don’t like any body knowing my official government (outside of ma dukes, the Lord and the lil baby Jesus). Two, I didn’t want this interloper knowing my official born date. I didn’t want people thinking I was a Chester. ;o)

(When the girl took my license she scanned it and put it into a computerized system. It was a system Wayne State put in place to track visitors and cut down on student rapes. Till this day, the Serial Dater is in the computer system at that school. Every time I visited, the girl would ask my name, I’d tell her, she’d punch it in and then a color image of my license would appear on screen. I’m still heated about that).

Walking through the halls of an actual college dorm made me revisit a lot of my own college memories. I was an “under the radar” terror at my alma mater. I thought about the panty raids we used to go on. Girls would be pissed as we snatched and dashed through the halls waiving their dainty unmentionables in the air like we just don’t care.

We ended up at her room at the very end of the hallway. While the rooms were nice in the new dorm (equipped with cable, internet access and private bathroom) I could probably fit the entire room in my kitchen. After some idle chatter and obligatory man-woman sound bites, we sat on the bed and got down to “brass tax.”

She finally fessed up that she found me to be handsome (better looking than she anticipated actually) and went on to tell me how none of the boys on campus was interested in her or if they were, all they wanted to do was ‘smash and dash’. She also went on to tell me how she didn’t feel pretty and lacked in confidence. I sat there listening and taking it all in. Folks, she might as well have been a wounded wilder beast calf lost in front of a Congo lion pride’s den. She was beginning to look like food (lol).

SD: “So lemme get this right. You’re on a popular college campus with all of these other hormonally challenged collegians and you’re not getting any action? That’s what you’re telling me right? So what’s your deal?”

Ms. College Co-ed: “The guys on campus don’t like girls like me. I’m not skinny enough and I don’t dress like a fuckin’ hoe.”

SD: “I find that hard to believe. When I was on campus we holla’d at anything that moved and wore a skirt.”

Ms. College Co-ed: “It’s true. I think that they think I’m weird or mean or something.”

SD: “Why because you’re an RA? Or do you just do weird shit?”

Ms. College Co-ed: “I mean, some people think I’m mean because I’m an RA and I do my job. But I really think the guys don’t like me because they don’t find me attractive.”

SD: “What don’t they find attractive about you?”

Ms. College Co-ed: “I dunno. They just don’t want to get with me. So I stay to myself.”

SD: “I don’t know why dudes not tryna get at you. You’re not a bad lookin’ brawd. Kinda cute actually. And you got a lil junk inna trunk. I noticed when I followed you into the room.”

Ms. College Co-ed: “Thanks, but I know you’re just saying that.”

SD: “Naw, I don’t just say shit to be saying it. On the realla, I think you’re a cutie. And I think you have very kissable looking lips {moves in closer}.”

Ms. College Co-ed: {smiles and blushes} “You don’t have to be nice to me because you feelin’ sorry for me or something.”

SD: “I don’t do pity.” {mercy fucks maybe but never pity} “I actually like your lips. Lemme ask you a question…can I kiss you?”

Ms. College Co-ed: “Yes”


I lean over and gently press my lips against hers. First our lips touch softly and then my tongue penetrated her mouth. We kiss like we’ve always known each other. I hear her let out a sigh. Our tongues embrace in sync.

{Quick editor’s note: If you are a woman and you happen to cross my path, don’t never ever, ever never – for the love of Sam Cooke – tell me about how men don’t want you. Why women get on this whole self-pitying thing and do this is beyond me. That is the quickest way for me to not want you either. What the hell makes you think I want some reject brawd nobody else considers to be wifee material. Serial Dater is a winner baby! And winners role with winners (lol).”

Ms. College Co-ed: “That was very nice. So how long have you wanted to do that?”

SD: “Do what? Kiss you? Since I sat on this bed.”

Ms. College Co-ed: “I’m glad that you did. You have nice lips.”


She was feelin tha kid and more importantly feeling good about herself. We went on to talk some more about some related topics and then she brought the conversation back to a place I was very comfortable with.

Ms. College Co-ed: “Do you know I’ve never had an orgasm before. I started out having sex later in life, and I’ve never had an orgasm. I don’t even know what it’s really like. I think I came close one time when my last ex was giving me oral, but other than that…no.”

DING! DING! DING! – Bob tell the pretty lady what she’s won!

SD: “You don’t say? I find that hard to believe, surely somebody has taken you there.”

Ms. College Co-ed: “I don’t know if I’m doing it wrong or what. But in my experience, sex has just been mostly about the dude.”

SD: “Sounds sad to me. What you need to do is get with a guy that can take his time, do you right and get you off.”

Ms. College Co-ed: “I see. So do you want me? I can tell by the way you were kissing me; I felt it through your clothes when you were hugging me.”

SD: “If you know this already, then why are you askin’?”

{She smiles and then we kiss again}


Things kinda progressed really quickly after that. And to be honest I was never planning on hitting it when I came over. So I was just as surprised as she when shit popped off in that room. We went from playfully kissing to me tryna make her bust a nut.

As she ran to take a quick shower, I got undress and into her bed. When she came back out, she quickly cut off the lights. She was very self-conscious about her body. I’m naturally equipped for night vision, so I watched as she attempted to slide under the covers without me seeing her body. I laughed to myself at her inhibitedness. It reminded me of high school.

Here’s where things kinda took off. While she may have been shy about some things. She was most certainly not shy about giving me head. I mean she sucked my dick like she was trying to get the antidote out that bitch. I was in awe and impressed at the same time. “Shy girl with a hungry mouth,” I thought to myself. She definitely gets a roster spot. ;o)

I ain’t even gonna lie, when we finally started having sex it took me an extremely long time to get her off. But I took my time and really wanted to bring it on home for her. {Quick side note: I am so not the “marathon man.” I think all that sweating and endless pumping is for the birds. If I wanted to really exercise I would go to the athletic club. I think my last ex spoiled me. That woman had a high sexual sensitivity and was multi-orgasmic. All I had to do was just put it in and hump hard and fast a couple times and it was a wrap. She would explode instantly. I thought I was pretty fast, but she was far faster. The problem with her was that she could do that all night – one orgasm after another. I would either have to quit or put her ass to sleep.} But back to the story.

So I get Ms. College Co-ed to the point of her highest arousal and I know it’s about to come – literally. I gave it one last college try and BOOM! Detonation. Now what I wasn’t prepared for was what happened next. Have you ever seen someone have an involuntary seizure?

When that nut hit, ole gurl went into some sort of trance like state and began having these sort of uncontrollable muscle spasms, much like a real seizure. It scared the Bajeezus out of me. The things that concerned me most was one I’d never seen a brawd do that before and two I was still inside of her when it was happening. Her reaction nearly broke my dick in two. I pulled out and attempted to calm/resuscitate her. I was scared and proud of my work at the same time.

She took a minute to rest and get her bearings together. I lay beside her for a minute to catch a catnap. No sooner than I had hit R.E.M. I was awakened to the feel and sight of my dick being orally inhaled and stuffed down her esophagus. Any other time this would be a very good thing, but I was tired, needed my sleep and had to get up for work the next day. She was not having it. “I want some more,” she said. So I put back on my hard hat and preceded to go one mo ‘gin. After about 10 minutes of sucking and 20 more minutes of position changes, I’d had enough. I faked a nut and got dressed.

There were more visits to the Wayne State Dormitory. At least once per week. I really tried to keep her in the cut for a minute. But what started out as an adventure/good deed really started to turn into a “thang.” And I didn’t need a “thang” right then. Now, much like then, I was kinda doing my free spirit shit.

All the while we were seeing each other she was happy. Her friends were happy. Hell her residents were even happy. The only person not necessarily happy was me. Things were okay between us. I even took her out once and showed her a really good time. But like I said, things began to turn into a “thang.” Her friends were starting to hear about me, I was getting introduced to people, I started to feel like a regular at the dorm and she kept pressing me to see my place. I deaded that “thang” ASAP. And people who know me, know that I will flat line a situation in a New York minute.

[Epilogue: I eventually cut Ms. College Co-ed way back. While her phone number still exists in my cellie to this very day, I ended the thang we had. Yes there were more episodes like our first and hell each time she became more and more open with her sexuality and even started feeling a whole lot better about her body. But I’m moody at times and don’t feel like being bothered. And then there was the incident with her diary. She kept a very riveting diary locked in her desk drawer. One day she leaves me in her room while she did her RA rounds. I noticed the lock wasn’t all the way on, so I opened the draw and retrieved her diary. I looked for the date entry around the time that we first had sex. I was expecting to see a story or thoughts about our encounter – there was none. However there were other entries. One regarded a visitor that came over a few days after me. He was one of the campus “smash and dash” guys. In the entry she talked about how all he ever wanted to do was come over and fuck her in the ass and how every time he did, her shit would be stopped up for days. Another later entry was about a guy she was carrying a torch for down in Nawlin’s. She talked about her love for him and how she couldn’t wait to visit him there. I remember when she went to Nawlin’s she explained it to me like she was visiting some family friend on some ole platonic shit.]


I think back now about that whole episode with Ms. College Co-ed. Shawty had game. ;o)


SD

TO SMASH OR NOT TO SMASH…THAT IS THE QUESTION

“But the reality honestly...you where never good for me and I was never good for you. I just remember what we used to do....”

Jill Scott


As previously mentioned I recently made a pilgrimage back to the place of my birth, a.k.a. the home of the Crab Cake and HBO's The Wire - Baltimore.

It's hard to believe that I left that place for Detroit more than two years ago. And each time I go back it's like I become more and more of an outsider. I already don't necessarily fit in Detroit and when I touch down on the home soil, I'm not quite Baltimorean enough either. But best believe I'm still Baltimore to the core!

Going home always places me in the position of dealing with my past. Some of it good and some not so good. This last trip, I decided to deal with my past head on. Prior to going home, I was contacted out of the blue by my ex-wife. She told me that she got in touch with my ole earth (Ma Dukes) to get my cell number (why I don't know, I've had/have the same cell number since we were married eons ago).

We had a long and open talk (well she did most of the talking - I listened) about the demise of her most recent relationship as well as the ultimate ruin of our marriage (her fault). It was a classic case of karma (what goes around comes around). She went on to apologize for her role in the ending of our marriage and I accepted her apology. She also expressed very earnestly that she wanted to see me at least once while I was home. She suggested that we go out for dinner or catch a movie for old time sakes. WTF!

Bear in mind that this woman set me on the spiral that unleashed the Serial Dater on the world (lol). Actually, I've always been the Serial Dater, I just retired and/or hibernated him at different intervals in my life. Before ending the call, I agreed to hook up with her. I didn't know what was to become of it, but I was down for being cordial to my ex. Since I was on this kick of confronting exes, I also decided to use this trip back east to meet with Bronx Girl (another ex) to set the record straight and apologize to her. Pay it forward.

Every since that movie came out - Pay It Forward - I've believed in this practice. Actually my belief in this is almost cult like. I really think “paying it forward” works. What is Pay It Forward you may ask? Pay It Forward is a movement to renew faith in human nature. The idea is to do something nice for three people. And when they ask how they can pay you back - you tell them to pay it forward and do something nice for three more people. The desired result is that these acts of human kindness and generosity will spread and multiply.

{Interesting side story: One night in Baltimore, I was fiendin' for some KFC original recipe chicken wings. I went to my neighborhood KFC to cop some (which I found out after getting there, that they were out). On the way into the joint I noticed this teenage boy (he was black) standing outside of KFC near the pay phone. Normally, I wouldn't have paid him any mind except that he stood out. It was in the dead of winter, snow was on the ground and it was freezing. The boy, roughly about 13 years old, was wearing shorts, a t-shirt and no coat. He looked cold and like he was in trouble. When I came back out, I asked him if he needed a ride somewhere. As it would turn out, he did. He lived not too far away, so it really wasn't a problem taking him home. I never asked him what was going on, I simply turned the heat up and quietly drove off. When we reached his destination, he thanked me and even offered to give me a lil sumpthin on the gas, but I declined, gave him some advice and kept it movin. I drove to the next closes KFC (I really wanted that damn chicken). I parked and went in (I don't believe in Drive Thrus - people get jacked in Drive Thrus) only to learn they too were out of original recipe chicken wings. WTF! I had a hissy fit and left out cursing to myself. I got on the cellie to holla at this brawd, who was tryna see me that night. I looked out of my rearview mirror and there was no one there, so I began to back out. In a matter of seconds and with no time to react, a car appeared behind me and I plowed into this old school Caddy. I was pissed and got out to assess the damage. The recipient of the impact was an older reserved black couple. Always one to respect my elders, I changed my tone and demeanor and began apologizing for the incident. While his wife looked a lil perturbed, the man was astonishingly calm and began apologizing to me. He informed me that he and his wife were just coming from a weeknight church service up the street and wanted to pick up a lil something to eat before heading home. I noticed their church attire and immediately felt guilty about the damage I'd inflicted on his mint Caddy (which I'm sure was paid for). I offered to pay for the damage and exchange my insurance info. That's when the most amazing thing happened. The man smiled at me and said don't worry about it. He said his car was older, mine was newer (it was the Green Machine) and that contacting the insurance company would only cost me in the long run being that I was a younger man. I practically begged to give him my insurance information and he wasn't having it. He bid me a good evening and said something like God loves me and then he went to go get his chicken. He paid it forward. But I also believe that because of my selflessness with the young boy, I was blessed. I've never forgotten that night.}

Okay, sorry for the digression, now back to the story and the smut. ;o)

Because of my ex-wife's willingness to apologize and admit her fault in the ending of our relationship I wanted to do the same with Bronx Girl. I wanted to Pay It Forward.

When I touched down in Charm City, I didn't immediately contact anyone. I actually didn't call anybody for a couple of days. I just wanted to relax and unwind. After a few days had past, I called up my cousin T to see what was up with him. He told me to slide through to kick it for a spell. On the way over, I decided to make a stop. I called up the ex-wife and told her I was going to drop by. She sounded excited to hear from me.

It was weird seeing my ex. We hadn't seen each other face to face since that day in court during our divorce proceedings. It also was weird entering the apartment she had recently shared with her ex-boyfriend. I gave her an awkward church hug (no kiss) and then took a seat on the couch. She looked at me and smiled. I began looking around her place, noticing all the trinkets and bobbles from our past life.

Ex-Wife Woman: It's good to see you again Serial. You're looking very handsome.

SD: You're looking pretty good yourself.

Ex-Wife Woman: No, not me. I need to lose some weight and get rid of this pouch. I'm a mess.

SD: Looks fine to me.

Ex-Wife Woman: That's because you can't see everything with my clothes on. I can't even wear half shirts any more. Especially with this left over scar from my surgery.

SD: I'm sure you just over reacting.

Ex-Wife Woman: So what was up with that hug you gave me at the door?

SD: What do you mean, what was up with it? Nuffin.

Ex-Wife Woman: You hugged me like we strangers and never been with each other before. Don't let that happen again (lol).

SD: I hear ya.


We went on to chitchat some more and caught up on recent family news. We made tentative plans to reconnect and do dinner at some point. Then I bounced and headed to the east side.

After a couple of hours of hanging out with cuz, I headed back to mom's crib. After not eating most of the day, I felt a bit famished and desperately in need to taste an authentic Maryland Crab Cake, so I decided to grab a bite first before calling it a night. Feeling the need for the company of an attractive woman, I called Ex-Wife Woman and asked her to join me. She seemed a bit geeked and was down to get out of the house, especially for a free meal (lol).

I scooped her up and headed to an old favorite haunt of mine - The Windsor Inn. Second only to Timbuktu's, they served the best Maryland Crab Cakes. We talkin' huge lump crabmeat - delicious. The place was on jam for a weekday night. I was sure that I was gonna see somebody I knew up in the house. Just as we sat down, a local urban radio station arrived to set up shop and do a live broadcast. Folks were gonna get a chance to get they boogie on after eating. We ordered our food and talked some more.

I had to admit to myself (though it was tough) my ex wife was looking gorgeous. I mean to this day I still get props for once having her on my arm. And she looked even better now than she did when we were together, but then again so did I (lol). Picture if you would a replica of Buffy The Body, only lighter complexioned and more attractive with a Cindy Crawford beauty mole and that was her. She was one of the few legitimate head turners I've ever been with. But then that was also a huge part of the problem. She was a head turner. :o(

As our meal and conversation began to wind down, I started to notice that the place was getting even more crowded and there were very few servers to handle the rush of orders. I damn near had to send out a search party every time I needed something from my server. It took literally 20 minutes after my meal was done to even get the bill. And then when I was ready to pay the bill, the server was nowhere to be found. So I dipped on her (lol).

SD: You know, if she don't come through in the next 5 minutes, I'm out.

Ex-Wife Woman: What? You talkin' about leaving and not paying? Serial don't do that.

SD: I'm serious. If she don't come soon I'm out this piece.

Ex-Wife Woman: You gonna just leave like that?

{Five minutes passes}

SD: Go start my truck. I'll be out in a minute.

Ex-Wife Woman: You bad. You gonna get us in trouble. At least leave the tip.

SD: I'll leave the tip. Now go start my truck and I'll be coming out right behind you.


Now it wasn't as if I didn't have the money to pay. I always got the money to pay. But it was the excitement of it all. That and the fact that I wanted to teach the establishment a lesson for not catering to me (lol). My ex's scary ass was all nervous and shit. She sitting up there acting like she's never done anything bad in her life. Hell, I got a whole book of bad shit she done did during our time to together. So we skip out without paying Bonnie and Clyde style and head back to her place.

There we were late night back at her place sitting on the couch. She was liquored up off a couple of Long Island's and a Cooler. It was a perfect set up for some “old times sake” boning with Ex-Wife Woman. To smash or not to smash, I thought to myself. I was really on the fence about trying something that night. But then I began to think about the hurt and all the shit I went through when we were together and I lost the urge. We decided to call it a night. Before leaving, she asked if we could hook up again. I told her it was possible and then I rolled out.

The next day or so, I'd finally connected with Bronx Girl and asked if I could come see her and the new place she had in Alexandria, Virginia. She was cool with it, so I made the hour trek to Nova (that's what the locals call it - short for Northern Virginia. Nova peeps are a lil more sophisticated than their country bumpkin brethren in the Richmond region - lol). Since last I'd seen her, ole Bronx Girl had moved up in the world. Not only was she clockin' some figures with her new gig, but also she was now living in a Deeelux apartment in the sky and pushin a real Big Boy truck. Hell, my Green Machine could probably fit inside of that behemoth whip she was rollin'. Who got some ends on the petro? ;o)

It was good seeing Bronx Girl again. I've always thought she was very pretty and had lots of personality (something a few of my exes lacked). We caught up and kicked the shit for a minute, before heading out to get something to eat. She took me to dine at some swank spot in Nova. I was a little apprehensive about the spot. It looked expensive and I know Bronx Girl, she will put the screws to you over a meal. She'll have a nigga washin' dishes to cover the check (lol).

Over lunch, we talked about our break up (a seemingly never ending subject as a result of how bad it was). I used the opportunity to fully explain and apologize for ruining our relationship and “dumping her” as she puts it. I thought the conversation went well and I was being sincere. I thought we were making some strides at healing (don't I sound like Oprah?). Then right when everything was all luv and bunnies, she remembers something stupid I did, when I first tried to apologize after the break up.

Bronx Girl: Nigga you got a lot of nerve.

SD: What are you talkin' about?

Bronx Girl: You remember when you tried this apologizing shit before?

SD: When? At your old place in Maryland?

Bronx Girl: Yes! Do you remember what you said and did?

SD: Nope, refresh my memory.

Bronx Girl: Your ass apologized and then gave me some fuckin' book to read. You gonna sit up there and tell me to read the book because it would explain what you was going through and why you did what you did. What a load of shit!

SD: I did that? I gave you a book to read? {bust out laughing} I seriously don't remember doing such a thing. Are you sure? What was the book about?

Bronx Girl: Yes you sure the hell did. And no I don't know what the book was about. I didn't read that shit. And I couldn't wait to tell my girlfriends. I was like, “Girl do you know this nigga gave me a book to read and was all serious about that shit.” They was like, “No the hell he didn't!”

SD: That's hilarious! I can't believe I gave you a book. I'm too funny. Do you still got the book?

Bronx Girl: I think I still got that shit. It should be on my bookshelf back at the apartment. I'll check when we get back.

(FYI, the name of the book is "The Hidden Lover" by William July)


When we got back to her place, she went to her bookshelf in the living room to retrieve the book. She looked at it and then flung it at me. I burst into laughter again and then picked the book up from the floor. I read the title and didn't remember the book at all. The book was some sort of understanding the male mind type book and it looks like something I would have in my collection. I went through a period of collecting and reading those types of books (regarding males and females).

Bronx Girl: You laughin' but I ain't read that shit and you lucky I didn't throw it in the trash.

SD: Why you ain't read it? It seems like an interesting read.

Bronx Girl: I ain't have no intentions on reading that shit when you gave it to me. I was actually in shock when you gave it me. Then after you give me the damn book, you stalked my ass and kept asking for it back. Calling me twice a week asking for your damn book back.

SD: I did? I don't remember any of that shit. That don't even sound like me. That's too funny.

Bronx Girl: Yup, you sure did. You kept callin all the time asking about the book. And I kept ignoring your phone calls. I wasn't giving you shit back.


While we were in her apartment talking, it began to rain down from the heavens. We talking some straight up biblical type shit, it was raining so hard. And there I was an hour from Baltimore. Bronx Girl had another engagement to go to, so I bounced. We made plans to connect again, but as she normally does to me when I'm back on the east coast - she avoided me. A woman scorned, a woman scorned.

When I got outside into the downpour, the realization hit me that I had left the windows cracked while we were out. The entire inside of my whip was completely soaked. I drove wet to the nearest gas station for shelter. And then I took the towels I'd been stealing and stockpiling from my athletic club, and began to try and dry out the Green Machine. All I could do is laugh at the mess in my truck. But at least I got the book back. ;o)

The following weekend I found myself in my hometown without a damn thing to do on a Friday night. I called everybody I knew including my cousins. Wasn't diddly squat poppin for me. I would've had more to do in Detroit. So as I'm preparing to make my way home to do nothing, the cellie starts ringing. It's Ex-Wife Woman. I was tempted not to answer. I just knew that she would be on the phone trippin because we were supposed to go to the movies a few days ago and I stood her up. I answer and she cool.

Ex-Wife Woman: Hey Serial. What's going on with you tonight, you doing anything?

SD: Naw, I don't have any plans. Why whazzup?

Ex-Wife Woman: I wanted to know if you wanted to meet me up at the club? Me and my girlfriend going to this club called Sister's Place. It used to be called Nick's out in Randallstown. And I want to know if you'd like to meet me there?

SD: Yeah I know the place. I have been there before when it was Nick's. It's a real cool spot. Aiight, I'll be there after I go home and change.

Ex-Wife Woman: Okay I'll be sitting at the bar. See you there.

Who woulda believed that I was back in my old stompin' grounds and the only prospect for fun I had lined up would be with my ex-wife. Life is too funny.

I get dipped and met her up at Sister's Place. As I'm walking in, this short and sexy chocolate honey is entering right before me. I smile to her and she smiles back. We both head in the same direction. I see Ex-Wife Woman sitting at the bar alone with a drink. The chocolate honey and I both head toward her. She takes a seat at the bar on one side of Ex-Wife Woman and I take a seat on the other side. The chocolate honey was my ex-wife's homegirl. :o(

The three of us order some drinks and get to laughing and joking at the bar. I could barely remember what was said, because the whole time I kept thinking to myself, “I really hope this night ends in a threesome.” {side note: I really think I need to participate in a threesome; if not for anything else - at least for argument's sake}. Ex-Wife Woman was looking sexy as hell and continuously stared at me. I kept avoiding eye contact with her by looking around the club and at the other patrons. That's when I noticed that I was on some other women's menus too. ;o)

Ex-Wife Woman: I'm glad you decided to come out Serial. You lookin' really handsome tonight. You're a good lookin' brother.

SD: You think so huh?

Ex-Wife Woman: I know so. I got good taste. And don't think I ain't see all these women lookin' at you up in here. Hmmph, they better back off.

SD: Huh?

Ex-Wife Woman: You know…when you walked into my apartment that day, it reminded me how good you looked. I had to keep my composure for real. After we had dinner together that night I really, really wanted to “do it” to you. But I decided to behave myself and be a good girl.

SD: (thinking to myself “do it to you”) Oh really?


Now for the average homosapien, having this very attractive woman admitting that she wanted to do them, would be a huge turn-on. But I get offers of sex all the time, so my needle wasn't budging. Besides, I was with this woman for a decade and 'game recognizes game'. While I didn't doubt that she found me to be attractive, I did doubt the motives behind her words. Don't ever try to treat me like my name is Joe Donut. Not happening.

For as long as I've known her, Ex-Wife Woman has always been the jealous type; especially when it came to me. “Me and my girl going out to the dance floor, are you going to be here at the bar?” she asked. “Oh yeah, don't let any of the other women try to come talk to you either.”

I looked at her like she was crazy and I smiled. The two went out on the dance floor to dance with each other and later with two dudes. If I was still living at home I would've left the bar and been on the hunt. It was “big game” up in that piece. But I chilled and had another Vodka and cranberry. Ex-Wife Woman then came to the bar to get me, so that we could dance together. It's funny but I don't seem to recall the last time that I actually danced with her. And I know we probably looked about as strange dancing together as I felt dancing with my ex. While we were both technically the same height - 5'7”, Ex-Wife Woman stayed in heels, so she seemed to always tower over me.

We went back to the bar to sit out a song or two. I wanted to finish my drink. After Ex-Wife Woman got her second wind, she said she was going to bathroom. That turned out to be some long bathroom break. And then I realized why. After a minute or so of Ex-Wife Woman's absence, I decided to return to the dance floor. As I danced with this one chick I noticed Ex-Wife Woman in hallway near the restrooms chatting with a taller muscular guy. Their interaction really caught my attention, so I continued to observe.

She was really playing dude awfully close in a flirtatious sort of way. I saw him in full Mack mode. And then I saw them exchanging phone numbers. I could only laugh to myself. Nothing had changed with that brawd. Same ole Ex-Wife Woman. Definitely on some shit.

She returned to table we were now occupying like nothing had happened. As opposed to sitting in the available chair, she sat on my lap and continued her flirting with me. I didn't bite on any of it.

Ex-Wife Woman: What's wrong? You ready to go? It's cool if you are, because I'm ready too.

(I bet she was ready to leave. She got what she came for - lol).

SD: Yeah I think I'mma bounce.

All three of us left the bar together and got into our separate vehicles. She looked at me as if she wanted ask if I was coming over or following her home. I hugged her goodnight and then peeled. As I left in my vehicle, I couldn't help laugh thinking about Ex-Wife Woman. At age 35 she still got the same ole bag of tricks - not even updated.

Yup it was good being back home again. The more things had changed, the more they seemed to have stayed the same.


Good night B-More.

SD

WHEN I WAS 17

I Know, I know…this has become a bad habit (lol). My apologies to all for my hiatus, but bare with me it’s summer time and during summer time there’s lots to do, people to see (where else would I get material from) and places to go. Most recently, one such place was my hometown of Baltimore, Maryland.

During my recent sabbatical to B-More, it got me to thinking about growing up and some of the experiences I’ve had. Back when I was 17, I was obsessed with getting girls (not that much different from now at age 35 – but with less emphasis on the obsessing thing). I was completely girl crazy. And it would seem like every other month I would be infatuated with a new object of my desire. At the time of this particular recollection, I was infatuated with a junior hottie at my high school named Ingrid.

Ingrid was not by far the most beautiful or the most popular girl in my high school. However she was the captain of the cheerleader squad, had long dark hair, deep dimples that seemed to suck you in when she smiled and was sorta on the thick side (with a bodacious booty you could literally set a drink on). She was also attractive and had an infectious laugh that made you laugh too when you heard it. I wanted her sexy five-foot ass from the moment I first saw her in the hallways at school. I just wasn’t quite sure how to go about getting her. Back then, I wasn’t quite the calculating aggressor I am today, so I had to come up with a game plan to win her over.

Once upon a time I used to belong to an after school club called FBLA (Future Business Leaders of America). I used to participate in economics competitions and the whole nine. One time, as a project, we formed a company and the product was teddy bears. We had to order and sell these teddy bears like we were running an actual business. While I was involved with this project, I found a way to order some additional bears at no cost, so we had some overstock. I used to sell that overstock to hustle a lil extra money on the side or I’d give the bears away to pretty girls I liked.

One day I cut class and went to one of the later lunch periods that Ingrid was on. While she was my sole reason for being there, I pretended to bump into her as a chance meeting and because she was “so pretty” I gave her a bear. Not the smoothest scenario I could’ve come up with, but it allowed me to get some face time with her and at least let her know I existed. While the free teddy bear didn’t exactly net me some nookie or a phone number we did exchange names and smiles.

One of my boys noticed that I was all up in Ingrid’s grill, so he gave me a lil bit useful information. He let me know where she lived. Ingrid was a neighborhood girl. While she didn’t live in my neighborhood, she did live in a nearby neighborhood that I’d recently started hanging out in. So one day I get the ambitious idea to go knock on her door and just kick the Willie Bo Bo. I hopped on my bike (wasn’t pushin the Green Machine back then) and rode to her hood.

I dropped my bike off at the foot her porch and walks up to ring the doorbell after mustering up the courage. That’s when a female’s voice called out from behind me.

Ms. High School Honey: “S’cuse me. Who you looking for?”

SD: “I’m here to see Ingrid.”

Ms. High School Honey: “Ingrid huh? She’s not there.”

SD: “You know when she coming back?”

Ms. High School Honey: “How come you’re not here to see me?”


I turned around and whadda you know. At first all I saw were ass and thighs, then I panned up and saw her face – Pretty. “Ingrid who?” I thought to myself. I left the porch to go talk to the pretty girl standing across the street in front of Ingrid’s house.

SD: “You know Ingrid?”

Ms. High School Honey: “I should know her, she my sister.”

Whoa!

SD: “I never knew she had a cute younger sister. You go to school up the ‘The Park’?”

Ms. High School Honey: “Yes, this my first year there. So you think I’m cute huh?”

SD: “Definitely.”

Ms. High School Honey: “Well I’ve seen you before and I think you’re cute too.”

SD: “Oh yeah. Well my name is Serial.”

Ms. High School Honey: “Nice to meet you Serial, my name is Crystal.” {smiles}


From the moment of that unexpected meeting with Ms. Crystal (henceforth known as Ms. High School Honey), I never thought about hooking up with Ingrid again. As a matter of fact we started talkin’ and eventually officially became a couple. I never did fess up to liking Ingrid and it was weird being over their house chillin’ with the three of them (Ms. High School Honey was a fraternal twin) knowing that I used to lust after my girl’s big sister.

Ms. High School Honey and I stayed a couple all the way through the end of my first semester of college, which was roughly just short of a year in length. Once I got to college, I didn’t want a whole lot to do with high school girls. They were just too young for me I thought. But I won’t blame college or me living on campus for Ms. High School Honey and I breaking up. Sometimes distance creates separation. And sometimes separation creates opportunities for cheating.

I got a kite from a homey of mine one time, telling me to check my girl back home. He informed me that everything wasn’t sweet. I didn’t blame her for straying, I was in college doing my Serial Dating thing. So I expected some repercussions. Her infidelity gave me just cause to do what I wanted to do anyway – break up with her. So we split in mutual agreement. {Side note: Ingrid wound up attending my college and when she got there, she told everyone that she was my sister. So for about three years I had a little sister on campus – go figure.}

Here’s the kicker about the Ms. High School Honey and I situation…she was a bonafied virgin when I met her. At the time she was only a freshman and I was senior at our high school. And lord knows I wasn’t tryna let her remain a virgin – hell not on my watch! But atlas I couldn’t get the draws. She stonewalled me at every turn. Yeah I sucked some titties and fingered her a few times but it never went beyond that or tongue kissing. And back then black women weren’t giving head, so I took a loss with that one.

Flash Forward (10 plus years later)

So I’m on Black Planet one day, just fucking around online and I get a note from a woman with no pic on her page. “Here we go again with the fatty ugmoes,” I say to myself. Turns out that this particular ugmoe was none other than my college sister – Ingrid. We chat it up a bit in our note exchanges. But before she signs off, she types, “Oh yeah, Chrys got a page on her too.” I ask her for Ms. High School Honey’s BP screen name and look her up. Sho enough there she is on my screen with a picture on her BP page and looking as cute as she did when I first met her.

Of course she’s in her 30’s at this point, three rug rats deep and little on the 12-14 size. I hit her up and we began a dialogue. Turns out she’s up for seeing the Serial one again after all these years. We exchange phone numbers and make plans for me to slide through her spot and visit. As luck would have it, she only lived about 10 minutes away from where I was staying. What were the chances?

On my first visit, which was late night after her brood had hit the hay, we just kicked it talking and watching a movie together. I wanted to make a move, but I didn’t think that opportunity presented itself. So I chilled laying in the cut for another chance. That chance would come on my second visit. Again I came over after the little ones were laid to rest. As opposed to sitting out in the living room watching TV, we sat in her room, on her bed with the door closed. If that wasn’t a set up, I don’t know what is.

We started out watching TV, but one thing led to another, which led to some deep passionate tongue kissing, which led to a Lifestyle packet getting ripped open, which then led to a pretty mom of three with a dick up in her. As I penetrated her, I couldn’t believe that after nearly 15 years we were finally doing the nasty. And once the realization hit home that we were, I made the most of it. I pounded her ass something fierce. We talking more than a decade of waiting for that moment. On top, from the side, from behind, I made it count until she exploded and damn near passed out. I felt really good about the situation. ;o)

Ms. High School Honey: “So tell me Serial, was it worth the wait?” {sounding winded and satisfied}

Serial Dater: “You damn right it was worth it.”

(Ms. High School Honey crossed off the list)


Yeah I’d say it was worth the wait. ;o)