Lazy bi**h don't do nothing around here. Smoking up all my sh*t. Eating up all my food. I know one thing:
That hoe better start working overtime if she gonna pay what she owe.
See this is why I don't even wanna fool with these overly emotional bi**hes like J'Lynn. Yeah, she front like she all had and sh*t. Wearing her clothes like these lil thug @ss ni**@s on the corner, but it's cool. I like 'em a little butch. The more masculine they tend to feel, the better they are at eating pu$y. Yes, that bi**h J'Lynn can eat the hell out of some pu$y. Lazy a$ got be good for something.
Gotta hurry up and get this package ready. D-Block will be by here in a minute and I don't feel like putting up with his sh*t. And I still gotta go by my mama's house to pick up my baby. Mama been bi**hin' about him being over there all the time and not doing what mamas are supposed to do. As much as she complain, she still take him. Mama better shut her a$ up. She don't say nothing when I peel her off 5 big face hundreds every month. Better shut the f**k up and play granny.
Wait til this hoe gets here...I got something for her a$$. She wanna be a ni**@, I'm gonna treat her like one.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
A Dog and his Wife (Christine)
The nasty looks I get when I stop by the bank from those bi***es, especially the black ones, are all the attention I need.
They're just looking away as I walk my sweet ass into the lobby, to the elevator, and right into the office of one fine Mr. Roman Bishop.
I may not be what many of them expected. Truth be told, he may not have even told any of them that he was spoken for. No, not spoken for...
I AM MRS. CHRISTINE BISHOP.
Please do not let my small frame fool you. My blond hair does not mean I just lay on my back and let my husband just ejaculate inside me. I do not refer to him as my "king" or bow to him. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband to no end, in spite of his philandering ways.
That's right--I'm not stupid and he isn't fooling anyone.
As much as we used to have sex in college, only for it to drastically cut to few times a month, you think I wouldn't know that he's getting it elsewhere? Mama didn't raise me to be a fool so I suggest not to be taken as one--even by him.
Things can be good some days. Others, not so much. Good thing, I signed that pre-nup before he went off to play ball. So if he wants to dip his stick into some other tramp, he can go right ahead.
That's going to be one very costly condom.
They're just looking away as I walk my sweet ass into the lobby, to the elevator, and right into the office of one fine Mr. Roman Bishop.
I may not be what many of them expected. Truth be told, he may not have even told any of them that he was spoken for. No, not spoken for...
I AM MRS. CHRISTINE BISHOP.
Please do not let my small frame fool you. My blond hair does not mean I just lay on my back and let my husband just ejaculate inside me. I do not refer to him as my "king" or bow to him. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband to no end, in spite of his philandering ways.
That's right--I'm not stupid and he isn't fooling anyone.
As much as we used to have sex in college, only for it to drastically cut to few times a month, you think I wouldn't know that he's getting it elsewhere? Mama didn't raise me to be a fool so I suggest not to be taken as one--even by him.
Things can be good some days. Others, not so much. Good thing, I signed that pre-nup before he went off to play ball. So if he wants to dip his stick into some other tramp, he can go right ahead.
That's going to be one very costly condom.
School Girl Crush (Raven)
I'm a good looking girl...at least I think so. Well, that is basically the general consensus around here. These little 16 and 17 year old boys running around school talking about how much "swag" they got or playing macho games, worrying who has sex with the most girls or who has the biggest rims on a car they begged their older brother/cousin to drive. Even the boys who just graduated, maybe stayed in Georgia and went somewhere like GA State...don't get me started on that.
Immature boys parading around as men, chasing every skirt they see.
At first, I really wanted to believe Dontae Brown was so different. I was smart enough to know better not to date the QB of the football team. But he looked so good...with his nice, white teeth and chiseled abs. He had this slick Southern drawl that made my insides melt and every time he called me "boo" or "Shawty," it reminded me of T.I. And everybody who knows me knows I love me some T.I.
It was only 2 years ago when everybody in Atlanta was looking for him to lead the school to a state championship. Now he's playing at GA State on scholarship, although I have yet to have been invited to a game. I guess he had been having a good season because I read about him in the paper all the time. His team is awful but he does pretty well. Even still, after all this time, it really doesn't feel like WE are going anywhere.
Why?
Look, I'm not stupid. He had all the little chicks on his tip when he was in high school and I don't expect college to be any different. It maybe a few thousand more people, but women are wired the same regardless. A young, healthy piece of dark meat with athletic ability, a killer smile, and intentions of getting some type of education??? They're going to attack that with any and every chance they get. And knowing Dontae like I know him, he welcomes the attention.
People have seen me cry my eyes out and tell my sad story, but I'm a big girl and I am...
Oooh...there he is.
If what I just said made you think my heart raced for Dontae, you haven't seen anything until you've seen Gavin...uh, Mr. Marshall.
OMGeee!!!
He is so fine. It's not just his degree in education, his smooth, copper-toned skin, or the fact that he is just so damn perfect...but the man can play the hell out of the piano.
First time I stepped foot in his class, he was sitting on the bench. He had a low cut, head almost bald. I remember he was wearing some navy pants and this checkered white button down. He was so well put together that his tie and socks matched the stripes on his shirt.
Back to reality, the sexiest sound came from the piano when his fingers tickled the keys. The vibrations touched my inner woman as I felt like I'd cream myself if he would touch me as gracefully as he touched the piano. A few minutes seemed like a trip into forever as he played some old hits that I would only hear the maid play when she is cleaning on the weekends (when my parents aren't home, of course). And then...
He sang...
And quickly Dontae seemed even more second rate.
Immature boys parading around as men, chasing every skirt they see.
At first, I really wanted to believe Dontae Brown was so different. I was smart enough to know better not to date the QB of the football team. But he looked so good...with his nice, white teeth and chiseled abs. He had this slick Southern drawl that made my insides melt and every time he called me "boo" or "Shawty," it reminded me of T.I. And everybody who knows me knows I love me some T.I.
It was only 2 years ago when everybody in Atlanta was looking for him to lead the school to a state championship. Now he's playing at GA State on scholarship, although I have yet to have been invited to a game. I guess he had been having a good season because I read about him in the paper all the time. His team is awful but he does pretty well. Even still, after all this time, it really doesn't feel like WE are going anywhere.
Why?
Look, I'm not stupid. He had all the little chicks on his tip when he was in high school and I don't expect college to be any different. It maybe a few thousand more people, but women are wired the same regardless. A young, healthy piece of dark meat with athletic ability, a killer smile, and intentions of getting some type of education??? They're going to attack that with any and every chance they get. And knowing Dontae like I know him, he welcomes the attention.
People have seen me cry my eyes out and tell my sad story, but I'm a big girl and I am...
Oooh...there he is.
If what I just said made you think my heart raced for Dontae, you haven't seen anything until you've seen Gavin...uh, Mr. Marshall.
OMGeee!!!
He is so fine. It's not just his degree in education, his smooth, copper-toned skin, or the fact that he is just so damn perfect...but the man can play the hell out of the piano.
First time I stepped foot in his class, he was sitting on the bench. He had a low cut, head almost bald. I remember he was wearing some navy pants and this checkered white button down. He was so well put together that his tie and socks matched the stripes on his shirt.
Back to reality, the sexiest sound came from the piano when his fingers tickled the keys. The vibrations touched my inner woman as I felt like I'd cream myself if he would touch me as gracefully as he touched the piano. A few minutes seemed like a trip into forever as he played some old hits that I would only hear the maid play when she is cleaning on the weekends (when my parents aren't home, of course). And then...
He sang...
And quickly Dontae seemed even more second rate.
Monday, March 8, 2010
My Favorite Girl (Gavin)
I love Mallory, but sometimes I think she can be just too out there sometimes. When she first told me that she was going to dance at The Cheetah, I initially had my reservations about it. Guess that's because I had never even set foot in the place. Truth be told, the first time I ever heard about The Cheetah was in some rap song I heard on V-103. But one thing I did know, Mal was a beautiful girl; and if she couldn't wow you with her mind and hustle, she could definitely get you with her good looks.
I wouldn't call it love at first sight, but when I met Mallory Logan at a pool party some 9 years ago, I had no idea she was going to be my best friend or that she would know basically everything about me. Basically, all I really wanted to do was f**k her...and her girl. Man, them hoes was looking so good in their bathing suits. Mallory rocked her natural hair then. It wasn't very long, but it was kinda sexy and kinky. Had this lil slim body with these nice D cups. Friends that know me, know I love me some titties.
Her girl, Jasmine, was getting a lot of the attention though. She was the prettier, taller, more inviting of the two. Long legs, long hair, redbone...as one of my boys put it:
"That bi**h look safe enough. I wouldn't think twice about raw boning that pu$$y."
Sh*t, as a 19 year old, I prolly wouldn't have thought twice either. Jasmine was a video-looking type chick. And while most of the nigs at the party were on Jas, my boy Dane had hopped on Mallory. He might've f**ked that same night too. Kinda dampened my spirits a little, but sh*t happens. It wasn't until we all were together again at another party when she ended up spending the night at my apartment. You know I tried my best to get in them panties, but she gave me some bullsh*t about liking Dane when I knew Dane was really in it for the ass. But contrary to popular belief, I never mentioned Dane's name to try and make myself look better.
And that is where our whirlwind friendship began. Mind you, I've seen Mallory naked on several occasions. And she's seen me assed out as anybody else would be. Slept in the bed naked together. Funny how we never f**ked, but I did break her down and aet the pu$$y in the middle of her bathroom floor. Man, I was so young then. I think she may even have a picture of my d**k saved in her phone somewhere. Yet, we never sealed the deal...and I've remained loyal to her (and she is loyal to me) ever sense.
She inadvertently became my dream girl. Even had chicks I dated that met her to say that. Yet, the life Mal leads tends to be a bit much for me. This sh*t with Bishop....I mean, for goodness sakes, he's a MARRIED MAN!!! And all she can talk about is how much she loves him and how he says he is gonna leave his wife. That's why I'm glad I'm a man. I just think pu$$y secretions emit too much emotion. Then again, it could be the crazy stories she would tell me about how Bishop likes to f**k her at work or how he comes to see her on Tuesday. Told her she was stupid. But Mama always told me:
You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.
Still, I wouldn't let her fall flat on her face. I would've lead her to the water and drank it first just to make sure it wasn't bad.
Like I said, she had inadvertently became my dream girl.
I wouldn't call it love at first sight, but when I met Mallory Logan at a pool party some 9 years ago, I had no idea she was going to be my best friend or that she would know basically everything about me. Basically, all I really wanted to do was f**k her...and her girl. Man, them hoes was looking so good in their bathing suits. Mallory rocked her natural hair then. It wasn't very long, but it was kinda sexy and kinky. Had this lil slim body with these nice D cups. Friends that know me, know I love me some titties.
Her girl, Jasmine, was getting a lot of the attention though. She was the prettier, taller, more inviting of the two. Long legs, long hair, redbone...as one of my boys put it:
"That bi**h look safe enough. I wouldn't think twice about raw boning that pu$$y."
Sh*t, as a 19 year old, I prolly wouldn't have thought twice either. Jasmine was a video-looking type chick. And while most of the nigs at the party were on Jas, my boy Dane had hopped on Mallory. He might've f**ked that same night too. Kinda dampened my spirits a little, but sh*t happens. It wasn't until we all were together again at another party when she ended up spending the night at my apartment. You know I tried my best to get in them panties, but she gave me some bullsh*t about liking Dane when I knew Dane was really in it for the ass. But contrary to popular belief, I never mentioned Dane's name to try and make myself look better.
And that is where our whirlwind friendship began. Mind you, I've seen Mallory naked on several occasions. And she's seen me assed out as anybody else would be. Slept in the bed naked together. Funny how we never f**ked, but I did break her down and aet the pu$$y in the middle of her bathroom floor. Man, I was so young then. I think she may even have a picture of my d**k saved in her phone somewhere. Yet, we never sealed the deal...and I've remained loyal to her (and she is loyal to me) ever sense.
She inadvertently became my dream girl. Even had chicks I dated that met her to say that. Yet, the life Mal leads tends to be a bit much for me. This sh*t with Bishop....I mean, for goodness sakes, he's a MARRIED MAN!!! And all she can talk about is how much she loves him and how he says he is gonna leave his wife. That's why I'm glad I'm a man. I just think pu$$y secretions emit too much emotion. Then again, it could be the crazy stories she would tell me about how Bishop likes to f**k her at work or how he comes to see her on Tuesday. Told her she was stupid. But Mama always told me:
You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.
Still, I wouldn't let her fall flat on her face. I would've lead her to the water and drank it first just to make sure it wasn't bad.
Like I said, she had inadvertently became my dream girl.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Live or Die (J'Lynn)
I don't even wanna go into the day I had yesterday. Sometimes, I wonder...if I end it all, will this pain ever stop? Will my life finally take some meaning? Will anyone ever give a damn enough to care? Will Nikki ever stop tormenting me?
Exhale...puff puff...breathe...
Sh*t. B**ch will prolly find some way to beat down my soul even if I had died and gone to hell. If I kill myself, that's prolly where I'm going anyways. Might be some cute, young things up there in the sky, but they'll throw my dyking ass out for chasing all the skirts. A hoe would prolly never get her wings.
Exhale...puff puff...breathe
Who knows...
Exhale...puff puff...breathe...
Sh*t. B**ch will prolly find some way to beat down my soul even if I had died and gone to hell. If I kill myself, that's prolly where I'm going anyways. Might be some cute, young things up there in the sky, but they'll throw my dyking ass out for chasing all the skirts. A hoe would prolly never get her wings.
Exhale...puff puff...breathe
Who knows...
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
I know a Lil Freak (Bishop)
Bishop,
Your mission...should you choose to accept it:
Is to f**k that pu$$y....
Tuesday always seems to be my favorite day of the week. I get the chance to get away and play ball with the fellas, but this is "The Day..."
Let me explain to you the concept of "The Day..."
Around 8, I'm normally done playing ball at the YMCA off 285 near Perimeter (Been playing there for about 3 years with some buddies/colleagues from high school). Most of the time I shower before I leave, but by 8:30 at the latest, I'm headed to I-75 to Smyrna...and I live in Alpharetta. Teehee teehee...
When I arrive, not only is a hot meal waiting on me, but some young, hot ass is wet and ready to go when I say go. She knows that when "King Ro" steps in between the walls of her house, her "walls" are coming down.
It don't matter how her day has gone, she is always eager and willing to serve in whatever capacity. And she never fails. Last week, when I got to her place, she had a fresh salad, baked potato, and a juicy, medium-well steak fresh of the grill waiting for me on a silver platter. That's normal for me, but the fact that she intended on serving it to me in a French maid outfit was the real pleasure.
I loved her titties so every time she would lean over my shoulder to ask if I needed anything else, her warm nature would fill up my nose and send a ni**@ in a frenzy. My d**k got so hard but I had to play it cool to see just how much more I could get out of her. She would work her little ass back and forth from the kitchen to the living room of her little studio apartment, serving and teasing and working her feminine wilds. She knew it pleased me. She knew how to keep me well taken care of. She knew I was going to get that pu$$y.
Her lips peeked from underneath her short little dress. Had a ni**@ thinking about hitting it earlier today at lunch but I had some other sh*t to do. But I can wait. Had some of the best ass I ever had and a playa like me been all over hitting ass of every shade. Not just that...the sh*t was just different from the bullsh*t I was dealing with at home. I could barely get Chris to even be at home long enough to cook for me. Been like that for a while. Got me thinking of leaving. Might break Mama's heart, but the bi**h is braking my wallet.
Luckily, I don't have to worry about that sh*t with Mallory. She knows how to take care of her man.
Tuesdays is "The Day"--Our Day.
Your mission...should you choose to accept it:
Is to f**k that pu$$y....
Tuesday always seems to be my favorite day of the week. I get the chance to get away and play ball with the fellas, but this is "The Day..."
Let me explain to you the concept of "The Day..."
Around 8, I'm normally done playing ball at the YMCA off 285 near Perimeter (Been playing there for about 3 years with some buddies/colleagues from high school). Most of the time I shower before I leave, but by 8:30 at the latest, I'm headed to I-75 to Smyrna...and I live in Alpharetta. Teehee teehee...
When I arrive, not only is a hot meal waiting on me, but some young, hot ass is wet and ready to go when I say go. She knows that when "King Ro" steps in between the walls of her house, her "walls" are coming down.
It don't matter how her day has gone, she is always eager and willing to serve in whatever capacity. And she never fails. Last week, when I got to her place, she had a fresh salad, baked potato, and a juicy, medium-well steak fresh of the grill waiting for me on a silver platter. That's normal for me, but the fact that she intended on serving it to me in a French maid outfit was the real pleasure.
I loved her titties so every time she would lean over my shoulder to ask if I needed anything else, her warm nature would fill up my nose and send a ni**@ in a frenzy. My d**k got so hard but I had to play it cool to see just how much more I could get out of her. She would work her little ass back and forth from the kitchen to the living room of her little studio apartment, serving and teasing and working her feminine wilds. She knew it pleased me. She knew how to keep me well taken care of. She knew I was going to get that pu$$y.
Her lips peeked from underneath her short little dress. Had a ni**@ thinking about hitting it earlier today at lunch but I had some other sh*t to do. But I can wait. Had some of the best ass I ever had and a playa like me been all over hitting ass of every shade. Not just that...the sh*t was just different from the bullsh*t I was dealing with at home. I could barely get Chris to even be at home long enough to cook for me. Been like that for a while. Got me thinking of leaving. Might break Mama's heart, but the bi**h is braking my wallet.
Luckily, I don't have to worry about that sh*t with Mallory. She knows how to take care of her man.
Tuesdays is "The Day"--Our Day.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Picture Me Ballin' (Mallory)
A bi**h definitely don't feel like being at work today. Went out last night with my girl, Jasmine. First of all, why the hell do I even go out on Sunday nights anymore? You would think I know better than to be out til 1 or 2 am knowing that I have to get up at 7 to get to work across town, in traffic, at 8:30...
Sorry, Bank of America...It was too many REAL ballin' ass ni**@s out last night and a chick like me definitely ain't gonna miss the chance to find me a full-time sponsor to take care of my serious needs.
So mind you, we down in Atlantic Station doing our "pseudo-girlfriend" thing. We holding hands and what not, hugging real close and giving each other little kisses. Neither one of us is gay or anything, but when you a dancer (as we both are), you come to understand just how beautiful a woman's body really is. Now she works at another club, and actually turned me on to dancing at the club I'm at now.
I think there is a big difference between a stripper and an exotic dancer, but I will sum it up in one sentence...
Strippers get naked cause they ain't sure of other ways to get paid. An exotic dancer uses stripping as a side hustle to add on to the paper she already making.
Dancing was an opportunity to come up for me. I make good enough at the bank, but a bi**h like me got immaculate tastes and being a bookkeeper don't cut it. So believe me, when I'm on stage, shaking these succulent D-cups in the face of some athlete or real estate developer, I'm trying to get money for the long haul to save on top of what I already got. These broke hoes can keep the Louie bags and the Prada pumps. That's nothing. When Magic City start offering they girls a 401K plan, then holla at me.
So back to the story...
We at Twist eating with a very successful NFL player and 2 of his boys (no names. What kinda name dropping chick I look like) and we all just having a blast eating, drinking, and laughing at the thirsty ducks flocking all around us looking for a handout as we live it up. You know one bi**h had the nerve to stop by our table and ask for an autograph? Had you heard his response, you would've died laughing. But what made it more funny as that his boy quacked at that hoe like a duck!!! This chick looked hella sideways when we all busted out laughing.
So after all this eating and drinking, we all a lil tipsy, but I swear if my mind was just as clear as day, I looked back and Vick was just as clearly looking me directly in my eye. That fine, dark ni**@ was looking something good too. I know I love me some Bishop but Vick can toss all kinda touchdowns on this ass.
I fu**ed him something horrible with my eyes. Had he known what I was really thinking, he would've gotten up from his table, rolled to the bathroom, and met ya girl in the stall. He could've easily dropped the bathroom attendant a 100 to put an out of order sign on the door for a few minutes while I "welcomed" Atlanta's favorite QB back home.
Lucky for him, I'm a good girl. Don't put me in the groupie category because a b**ch wanna make a come up. Unlike these simple hoes, I got a plan that don't always involve fu**ing.
Hadn't heard from my man since Friday. I know he said he was gonna play ball with his boys and do some work around the house.
Ooooo...I can't stand to think of him being at home with HER when he should be with me. Then I wouldn't have to hustle. Take care of his mind, body, and soul. Hadn't seen him today though so he may be out the office. Ain't gonna stress it thought. Tomorrow is Tuesday, and if you know like I know, he'll be ready.
F**k, I need to call Gavin and tell him about last night. He could probably use a good laugh. Now, that's my baby. Love him to death...
Sorry, Bank of America...It was too many REAL ballin' ass ni**@s out last night and a chick like me definitely ain't gonna miss the chance to find me a full-time sponsor to take care of my serious needs.
So mind you, we down in Atlantic Station doing our "pseudo-girlfriend" thing. We holding hands and what not, hugging real close and giving each other little kisses. Neither one of us is gay or anything, but when you a dancer (as we both are), you come to understand just how beautiful a woman's body really is. Now she works at another club, and actually turned me on to dancing at the club I'm at now.
I think there is a big difference between a stripper and an exotic dancer, but I will sum it up in one sentence...
Strippers get naked cause they ain't sure of other ways to get paid. An exotic dancer uses stripping as a side hustle to add on to the paper she already making.
Dancing was an opportunity to come up for me. I make good enough at the bank, but a bi**h like me got immaculate tastes and being a bookkeeper don't cut it. So believe me, when I'm on stage, shaking these succulent D-cups in the face of some athlete or real estate developer, I'm trying to get money for the long haul to save on top of what I already got. These broke hoes can keep the Louie bags and the Prada pumps. That's nothing. When Magic City start offering they girls a 401K plan, then holla at me.
So back to the story...
We at Twist eating with a very successful NFL player and 2 of his boys (no names. What kinda name dropping chick I look like) and we all just having a blast eating, drinking, and laughing at the thirsty ducks flocking all around us looking for a handout as we live it up. You know one bi**h had the nerve to stop by our table and ask for an autograph? Had you heard his response, you would've died laughing. But what made it more funny as that his boy quacked at that hoe like a duck!!! This chick looked hella sideways when we all busted out laughing.
So after all this eating and drinking, we all a lil tipsy, but I swear if my mind was just as clear as day, I looked back and Vick was just as clearly looking me directly in my eye. That fine, dark ni**@ was looking something good too. I know I love me some Bishop but Vick can toss all kinda touchdowns on this ass.
I fu**ed him something horrible with my eyes. Had he known what I was really thinking, he would've gotten up from his table, rolled to the bathroom, and met ya girl in the stall. He could've easily dropped the bathroom attendant a 100 to put an out of order sign on the door for a few minutes while I "welcomed" Atlanta's favorite QB back home.
Lucky for him, I'm a good girl. Don't put me in the groupie category because a b**ch wanna make a come up. Unlike these simple hoes, I got a plan that don't always involve fu**ing.
Hadn't heard from my man since Friday. I know he said he was gonna play ball with his boys and do some work around the house.
Ooooo...I can't stand to think of him being at home with HER when he should be with me. Then I wouldn't have to hustle. Take care of his mind, body, and soul. Hadn't seen him today though so he may be out the office. Ain't gonna stress it thought. Tomorrow is Tuesday, and if you know like I know, he'll be ready.
F**k, I need to call Gavin and tell him about last night. He could probably use a good laugh. Now, that's my baby. Love him to death...
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Mr. Consistency (Good day, Mr. Bishop)
If it wasn't so damn cold outside, today would be a perfect day to grill. Sun was shining. Plenty of light. New day is dawning. Sunny...
Wait, that's a Luther Vandross song. Shows you what kinda mood I'm in today.
Never was one for church. No reason to go when all the preacher man is gonna do is talk about the same scripture he read some 15 minutes before. I can read that at home or pick one of them Joel Osteen books and get all the religion I need.
Christine was gone to do whatever it was that her and her uppity friends did on Sundays. Nails, feet, all that girly stuff that white chicks do. She'll be gone for most of the day so I'll probably just whip up something later by the time she gets home. A ni**@ gotta eat something. All that bi**h do is spend the money I make. The more I stood to make, the worse she got. Gucci, Louis Vuitton, and any other brand you can think of, she wanted her hands on it. F**k, she was worse than some of the black women that I had messed with before. You'd think a white chick who came from a little money would know how to act when she get with somebody who got a lil something. Sh*t was the total opposite.
I remember when we was in Italy about 6 years ago when I was playing ball. A ni**@ prolly had a 300k house inside his apartment. Paintings and furniture and all kinds of useless sh*t that she would call "art." I'll say this. She was good at managing all the money I made, but the way her spending habits were, I swore I woulda been broke after our first year over there. Luckily, the club I played with furnished the apartment and car payments.
5 years now. I can't call it "trapped" because we don't have any kids. Truth be told I could probably leave whenever I wanted and still come out on top. But the girl had this talent...wooohooo!!!
She was this young, perky thing when I first met her. Maybe it was the fact that she was a cheerleader, but something about Christine Lancaster put a spark through my bones when she first spoke my name. I heard it like it was just yesterday:
"F**k me, number 24..."
Hit that sweet, pink snatch on the first go 'round. Slim waist. Killer blonde hair. Body like that chick from the Transformers movies (Megan Fox). Oh, the head?!? She gave head like a Super Vac. I mean, literally, if you put a d**k in her face, she would wrap those cute pink lips around the shaft and suck so hard I felt like my sh*t was caught in an oral twister. And don't get me started on the pu$$y?!?! I used to flood that valley like Hurricane Katrina. She was on one of them birth control joints so I didn't give a sh*t about going raw. It was cool though because she didn't want Daddy to know she was spending her college money getting 360 degrees with of Mandingo slammed into her basket.
But guess who Daddy was?
Graham Lancaster...U.S. Senator Graham Lancaster.
Almost like playing against one of those black schools in an early season game. Scoring easy and often was my thing. UGA was tucked away from the rest of metro Atlanta, so if you were an athlete, you f**ked, studied, and played ball. But with this particular cheerleader, it was too good to pass up. Political connections, old South plantation-like money, and as much good old fashioned "white" privilege that I could stand. They were a little more liberal than their ancestors were, but you could've cut the tension with a knife the first time they found out their baby girl was dating a black superstar--even though I was mixed with some Filipino.
Things been kinda rocky for some time now. Don't remember when it started but I ain't happy. She spends all the money. She don't have no ambition to be more than a house-ho. And she...
Can't have kids....
All the graces and Southern a ni**@ could ask for, and she couldn't do that one simple thing. She couldn't bear me a son to carry on the Bishop name. And as the years went by, and the false alarms grew, she just became complacent. She wouldn't let me smash her in the ass like she used to nor would she wake up in the morning, ready to catch this nut right before I left the house for work. Sure, I'm probably fu**ed up for being in these streets, looking for something younger, hotter, and more willing, but I got needs too.
She probably figured I was getting some pu$$y elsewhere because sex with us came so few and far between these days. Back in college, we used to f**k like rabbits. Now, we sleep like rocks next to each other. Maybe a snuggle here and there. A bit of mediocre head on holidays or my birthday. Hell, I just wasn't happy.
Chris never complained as long I kept her laced, but if she was half as devoted to the preservation of ME, like say...Mallory, the better off the b**ch would be.
She knew the game before she said I do. I like pu$$y. So f**k what you say.
A ni**@ like me keeps it consistent.
Wait, that's a Luther Vandross song. Shows you what kinda mood I'm in today.
Never was one for church. No reason to go when all the preacher man is gonna do is talk about the same scripture he read some 15 minutes before. I can read that at home or pick one of them Joel Osteen books and get all the religion I need.
Christine was gone to do whatever it was that her and her uppity friends did on Sundays. Nails, feet, all that girly stuff that white chicks do. She'll be gone for most of the day so I'll probably just whip up something later by the time she gets home. A ni**@ gotta eat something. All that bi**h do is spend the money I make. The more I stood to make, the worse she got. Gucci, Louis Vuitton, and any other brand you can think of, she wanted her hands on it. F**k, she was worse than some of the black women that I had messed with before. You'd think a white chick who came from a little money would know how to act when she get with somebody who got a lil something. Sh*t was the total opposite.
I remember when we was in Italy about 6 years ago when I was playing ball. A ni**@ prolly had a 300k house inside his apartment. Paintings and furniture and all kinds of useless sh*t that she would call "art." I'll say this. She was good at managing all the money I made, but the way her spending habits were, I swore I woulda been broke after our first year over there. Luckily, the club I played with furnished the apartment and car payments.
5 years now. I can't call it "trapped" because we don't have any kids. Truth be told I could probably leave whenever I wanted and still come out on top. But the girl had this talent...wooohooo!!!
She was this young, perky thing when I first met her. Maybe it was the fact that she was a cheerleader, but something about Christine Lancaster put a spark through my bones when she first spoke my name. I heard it like it was just yesterday:
"F**k me, number 24..."
Hit that sweet, pink snatch on the first go 'round. Slim waist. Killer blonde hair. Body like that chick from the Transformers movies (Megan Fox). Oh, the head?!? She gave head like a Super Vac. I mean, literally, if you put a d**k in her face, she would wrap those cute pink lips around the shaft and suck so hard I felt like my sh*t was caught in an oral twister. And don't get me started on the pu$$y?!?! I used to flood that valley like Hurricane Katrina. She was on one of them birth control joints so I didn't give a sh*t about going raw. It was cool though because she didn't want Daddy to know she was spending her college money getting 360 degrees with of Mandingo slammed into her basket.
But guess who Daddy was?
Graham Lancaster...U.S. Senator Graham Lancaster.
Almost like playing against one of those black schools in an early season game. Scoring easy and often was my thing. UGA was tucked away from the rest of metro Atlanta, so if you were an athlete, you f**ked, studied, and played ball. But with this particular cheerleader, it was too good to pass up. Political connections, old South plantation-like money, and as much good old fashioned "white" privilege that I could stand. They were a little more liberal than their ancestors were, but you could've cut the tension with a knife the first time they found out their baby girl was dating a black superstar--even though I was mixed with some Filipino.
Things been kinda rocky for some time now. Don't remember when it started but I ain't happy. She spends all the money. She don't have no ambition to be more than a house-ho. And she...
Can't have kids....
All the graces and Southern a ni**@ could ask for, and she couldn't do that one simple thing. She couldn't bear me a son to carry on the Bishop name. And as the years went by, and the false alarms grew, she just became complacent. She wouldn't let me smash her in the ass like she used to nor would she wake up in the morning, ready to catch this nut right before I left the house for work. Sure, I'm probably fu**ed up for being in these streets, looking for something younger, hotter, and more willing, but I got needs too.
She probably figured I was getting some pu$$y elsewhere because sex with us came so few and far between these days. Back in college, we used to f**k like rabbits. Now, we sleep like rocks next to each other. Maybe a snuggle here and there. A bit of mediocre head on holidays or my birthday. Hell, I just wasn't happy.
Chris never complained as long I kept her laced, but if she was half as devoted to the preservation of ME, like say...Mallory, the better off the b**ch would be.
She knew the game before she said I do. I like pu$$y. So f**k what you say.
A ni**@ like me keeps it consistent.
Friday, February 26, 2010
J'Lynn's got a Girlfriend...
If I could just sit here and smoke weed everyday...I mean don't have to get up and go to no job, making some 8 dollars an hour, none of Nikki's sh*t talking about me being lazy...
Man...that would be the life.
Not like I can go back in time and make sh*t right. Can't go back and uncurl my spinal cord so I can enlist in the Air Force. Can't go back in time and stop my no-good ass daddy from molesting me. Can't go back in time and erase Nikki's ass berating me all the time for her f**k-ups...
Now you tell me what's wrong with this picture:
This bi**h got 4 kids by 4 different ni**@s. Ain't none of them was ever gonna amount to sh*t anyways, but she got her ass gamed up trying in the club trying to be a boss bi**h. Letting them ni**@s hit off the rip like that. But if I was a "bulldog" who commanded the attention of hoes in strip clubs like that, only to have these simple fools wanna roll in my circle because I have my pick of the baddest ones on stage, then I could put a price on this pu$$y just like she did.
Don't trip. Nikki wasn't no bottom of the barrel kinda broad. My baby was a sho nuff stalker. Them Keri Hilson legs and an ass like Nicki Minaj. Had that hair like Tyra and some pretty white teeth...The first time I ate that pu$$y, I knew I was in love.
I knew the bi**h liked to run the streets, be seen like these other superficial hoes that ran around Atlanta chasing the nut sacks of these nigs with status. But it was something more to her that night when I caught her in the club. Prolly was the Goose that had ya girl on tip. Eyeballing this hoe while she just tossing ones all around. Something told me she was in some heavy sh*t. Guess I just didn't know how heavy until the first time she hit me.
I may look like a ni**@, but I'm all woman. Titties, clits, and all. But nigs be acting like lil groupies when they see a bi**h rolling through Lennox Mall or Phipps with a hairline colder than Steve Harvey's. They be checking for theLouis scarf and hat, fresh J's, and the black bubble vest...all while a piece of hot twat strolls right beside me. Usually, it's one of Nikki's "girls," but she wasn't really fu**ing none of them. They was just eye candy for a quick come up. But, sh*t, I wouldn't be surprised if a few of them hoes had fallen for her janky ass.
That was still my babe though. I know we have our ups and downs. And a lot of it, I believe is my fault. She got them kids, but don't but one of them actually stay with us. Lil' Tron...or Antron Marcus...that's his real name. The other kids are either with her mama or lost in the system. I think it bothers her to even talk about it sometimes, she don't even talk about them anymore and anybody that know too scared to ask. Then you got me laying up in the house, all injured and sh*t. Can't really find no place to give me no job to pay what I want. But I do what I can. Working some lil bullsh*t courier job, but it pays the bills and keeps Nikki's hands off my face--and my tongue between her legs when she ain't getting fu**ed.
Sigh...another puff...exhale...
I'll clean up the house after this nap. I ain't even trying to hear her mouth when she get home.
Man...that would be the life.
Not like I can go back in time and make sh*t right. Can't go back and uncurl my spinal cord so I can enlist in the Air Force. Can't go back in time and stop my no-good ass daddy from molesting me. Can't go back in time and erase Nikki's ass berating me all the time for her f**k-ups...
Now you tell me what's wrong with this picture:
This bi**h got 4 kids by 4 different ni**@s. Ain't none of them was ever gonna amount to sh*t anyways, but she got her ass gamed up trying in the club trying to be a boss bi**h. Letting them ni**@s hit off the rip like that. But if I was a "bulldog" who commanded the attention of hoes in strip clubs like that, only to have these simple fools wanna roll in my circle because I have my pick of the baddest ones on stage, then I could put a price on this pu$$y just like she did.
Don't trip. Nikki wasn't no bottom of the barrel kinda broad. My baby was a sho nuff stalker. Them Keri Hilson legs and an ass like Nicki Minaj. Had that hair like Tyra and some pretty white teeth...The first time I ate that pu$$y, I knew I was in love.
I knew the bi**h liked to run the streets, be seen like these other superficial hoes that ran around Atlanta chasing the nut sacks of these nigs with status. But it was something more to her that night when I caught her in the club. Prolly was the Goose that had ya girl on tip. Eyeballing this hoe while she just tossing ones all around. Something told me she was in some heavy sh*t. Guess I just didn't know how heavy until the first time she hit me.
I may look like a ni**@, but I'm all woman. Titties, clits, and all. But nigs be acting like lil groupies when they see a bi**h rolling through Lennox Mall or Phipps with a hairline colder than Steve Harvey's. They be checking for theLouis scarf and hat, fresh J's, and the black bubble vest...all while a piece of hot twat strolls right beside me. Usually, it's one of Nikki's "girls," but she wasn't really fu**ing none of them. They was just eye candy for a quick come up. But, sh*t, I wouldn't be surprised if a few of them hoes had fallen for her janky ass.
That was still my babe though. I know we have our ups and downs. And a lot of it, I believe is my fault. She got them kids, but don't but one of them actually stay with us. Lil' Tron...or Antron Marcus...that's his real name. The other kids are either with her mama or lost in the system. I think it bothers her to even talk about it sometimes, she don't even talk about them anymore and anybody that know too scared to ask. Then you got me laying up in the house, all injured and sh*t. Can't really find no place to give me no job to pay what I want. But I do what I can. Working some lil bullsh*t courier job, but it pays the bills and keeps Nikki's hands off my face--and my tongue between her legs when she ain't getting fu**ed.
Sigh...another puff...exhale...
I'll clean up the house after this nap. I ain't even trying to hear her mouth when she get home.
Some of my Brown Sugar (Gavin E. Marshall)
Mama told me to think twice before I went into teaching high school. Said because I look so young that the hormones of what she called "fast tailed girls" would kick and and try to get some of my stuff. Not that I didn't believe her, but I thought to myself:
"That sh*t ain't too far from the truth.."
Hell, if I was a young, impressionable, high school female (18, at least), I'd prolly look all googly-eyed at me too. But that's just me smelling myself. I don't mean nothing by it.
Really, I hadn't really had a problem with my young looks with the students. Now, the girls definitely pay more attention in my music/choir class than the fellas; but even with me being 29 and most of the dudes in the class being 16 and 17, what young dude wouldn't think that I was comp to him trying to holla at the prom queen...
The younger, female teachers were the ones with issues...and even some of the older ones. I'd walk in the room for, say like a faculty meeting, and I'd feel like my d**k was just hanging out for all them to look at. That's just how naked a ni**@ felt because they would be gawking so hard hence the reason I tried to get there before most of them. But it was all good. As long as they wasn't fu**ing with my money or my music, they could look all they want.
But back to mama's advice, I never really had a problem out of any student in terms of advances. The lil girls might say something like:
"Hey, Mr. Pretty Boy"
Or the would put a little more emphasis on my last name like:
"Oooo, Mr. Marshallllll..."
Made my skin cringe when they would do that. Sounded like Eartha Kitt in "Boomerang." What the f**k I look like getting caught up in some scandal sh*t like that??? Have my ass all over the AJC
(In my best Chad Ochocinco voice) Chile please!!!
I had seen 2 of my speech teachers get banged up like that when I was in high school. Getting caught with they hand in the cookie jar. Stupid asses. I would at least waited till the young hoe graduated.
Word to the wise: Fresh, clear ball field pu$$y like that comes along every 9 weeks. Believe that.
I wasn't gonna jeopardize my career or my chances at being an recording artist over something that easy.
What was I gonna do letting some lil young chick run behind me, feigning for me, having lil tremors in her juice box because she got a thing for her teacher?
But I believe that was just what happened when Raven Fontenot' walked into my class the beginning of school...
And did that sh*t ever creep up on me.
But I gotta get back to work. Class starts in 5 minutes and I haven't finished arranging the music for the annual Spring Concert Classic next month.
Sh*t, I forgot to text Mallory back. F**k it. She can wait. Prolly don't have nothing more than to complain about Bishop anyways.
Later.
--G.
"That sh*t ain't too far from the truth.."
Hell, if I was a young, impressionable, high school female (18, at least), I'd prolly look all googly-eyed at me too. But that's just me smelling myself. I don't mean nothing by it.
Really, I hadn't really had a problem with my young looks with the students. Now, the girls definitely pay more attention in my music/choir class than the fellas; but even with me being 29 and most of the dudes in the class being 16 and 17, what young dude wouldn't think that I was comp to him trying to holla at the prom queen...
The younger, female teachers were the ones with issues...and even some of the older ones. I'd walk in the room for, say like a faculty meeting, and I'd feel like my d**k was just hanging out for all them to look at. That's just how naked a ni**@ felt because they would be gawking so hard hence the reason I tried to get there before most of them. But it was all good. As long as they wasn't fu**ing with my money or my music, they could look all they want.
But back to mama's advice, I never really had a problem out of any student in terms of advances. The lil girls might say something like:
"Hey, Mr. Pretty Boy"
Or the would put a little more emphasis on my last name like:
"Oooo, Mr. Marshallllll..."
Made my skin cringe when they would do that. Sounded like Eartha Kitt in "Boomerang." What the f**k I look like getting caught up in some scandal sh*t like that??? Have my ass all over the AJC
(In my best Chad Ochocinco voice) Chile please!!!
I had seen 2 of my speech teachers get banged up like that when I was in high school. Getting caught with they hand in the cookie jar. Stupid asses. I would at least waited till the young hoe graduated.
Word to the wise: Fresh, clear ball field pu$$y like that comes along every 9 weeks. Believe that.
I wasn't gonna jeopardize my career or my chances at being an recording artist over something that easy.
What was I gonna do letting some lil young chick run behind me, feigning for me, having lil tremors in her juice box because she got a thing for her teacher?
But I believe that was just what happened when Raven Fontenot' walked into my class the beginning of school...
And did that sh*t ever creep up on me.
But I gotta get back to work. Class starts in 5 minutes and I haven't finished arranging the music for the annual Spring Concert Classic next month.
Sh*t, I forgot to text Mallory back. F**k it. She can wait. Prolly don't have nothing more than to complain about Bishop anyways.
Later.
--G.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
This is Mallory Speaking....
"Bank of America...this is Mallory speaking..."
See that sh*t...this is what I have been relegated to on a daily basis. Answering the phone like some kinda secretary. And truth be told, that ain't even my job. One of the chicks who normally runs the phones is out, and since I guess I'm the next in line (or closest to the bottom of the totem pole), I have to take up the slack.
Normally, whoever calls doesn't want anything. Maybe a personal call here and there, but mainly customers looking to gripe about something with the bank. Word to the wise:
If you that unhappy, go to another damn bank!!!
This job is strictly for the birds. I don't know what's worse: The fact that I been working for this bank almost 7 years and I don't have my bachelor's degree yet...or that when I leave here, I go home for a few hours to nap, fed and walk my bad ass dog, then report to Club Cheetah at 9:30???
Don't get me wrong. I hustle. And I hustle hard. A bit*h ain't got hardly any debt. Student loans almost paid off. No car note. Nothing. And I owe that all to these thirsty ass ni**@s who waltz they wannabe ballin' asses into the club every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday nights just to see some young hoes pop they pu$$y all over a shiny stage. They be in there hollering and whistling like they ain't got no h0me training. Then again, they here looking at chicks like me because they woman ain't training they ass at home. But sh*t...I ain't complaining because I got to get mine. I got too many bigger and better plans to be waisting them up in there, or even here for that matter. Told myself I was going to give it about 2 years then I'd be set...
Year 3...and I'm still working on it.
"Bank of America...Mallory speaking..."
He didn't have to say nothing but hello. It was like he was reaching through the phone and grabbing at my titties. He knew I loved that sh*t.
Gotdamn, I loved me some Bishop.
Think on this:
6'5, 210 or 220...
Strong, worn hands...
Fabulously low cut hair and looks...like, like Shemar Moore on "Criminal Minds"...
Former pro b-ball player turned investment banker...
And a di*k like a sledgehammer...
That man made my pu$$y wet every time he would ring my line.
Logan...Logan was what he called me. That was...is my last name. But you know a sista wishes it was his...Mrs. Roman O. Bishop.
F**k what you say. That has a nice ass ring to it.
It was almost lunch time and he wanted to see me...at our usual spot.
Upstairs...around the corner...
You know I had never been fu**ed in a janitor's closet until I met him. He said it would be our secret place, somewhere we can hide from the rest of the world and just be loose. This one time...he just told me that he wanted me to give him the best head that I ever gave anyone before in life. Don't you know I tried to suck the living soul out this ni**@ like I was giving an exorcism. My jaws would feel that sh*t later, but the way that white juice shot out into that empty coffee mug, I knew my "Trojan Horse" was pleased.
Bet his Hooter's girl bit*h of a wife ain't bust a move on his d**k like that. Cause if the hoe had, he wouldn't be coming to me.
Even after he hung up, I was still gushing between my legs. Ain't nothing like some "high noon" fu**ing. Might as well put these panties in my purse. Won't be needing those anytime soon....
...Least for the next hour.
See that sh*t...this is what I have been relegated to on a daily basis. Answering the phone like some kinda secretary. And truth be told, that ain't even my job. One of the chicks who normally runs the phones is out, and since I guess I'm the next in line (or closest to the bottom of the totem pole), I have to take up the slack.
Normally, whoever calls doesn't want anything. Maybe a personal call here and there, but mainly customers looking to gripe about something with the bank. Word to the wise:
If you that unhappy, go to another damn bank!!!
This job is strictly for the birds. I don't know what's worse: The fact that I been working for this bank almost 7 years and I don't have my bachelor's degree yet...or that when I leave here, I go home for a few hours to nap, fed and walk my bad ass dog, then report to Club Cheetah at 9:30???
Don't get me wrong. I hustle. And I hustle hard. A bit*h ain't got hardly any debt. Student loans almost paid off. No car note. Nothing. And I owe that all to these thirsty ass ni**@s who waltz they wannabe ballin' asses into the club every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday nights just to see some young hoes pop they pu$$y all over a shiny stage. They be in there hollering and whistling like they ain't got no h0me training. Then again, they here looking at chicks like me because they woman ain't training they ass at home. But sh*t...I ain't complaining because I got to get mine. I got too many bigger and better plans to be waisting them up in there, or even here for that matter. Told myself I was going to give it about 2 years then I'd be set...
Year 3...and I'm still working on it.
"Bank of America...Mallory speaking..."
He didn't have to say nothing but hello. It was like he was reaching through the phone and grabbing at my titties. He knew I loved that sh*t.
Gotdamn, I loved me some Bishop.
Think on this:
6'5, 210 or 220...
Strong, worn hands...
Fabulously low cut hair and looks...like, like Shemar Moore on "Criminal Minds"...
Former pro b-ball player turned investment banker...
And a di*k like a sledgehammer...
That man made my pu$$y wet every time he would ring my line.
Logan...Logan was what he called me. That was...is my last name. But you know a sista wishes it was his...Mrs. Roman O. Bishop.
F**k what you say. That has a nice ass ring to it.
It was almost lunch time and he wanted to see me...at our usual spot.
Upstairs...around the corner...
You know I had never been fu**ed in a janitor's closet until I met him. He said it would be our secret place, somewhere we can hide from the rest of the world and just be loose. This one time...he just told me that he wanted me to give him the best head that I ever gave anyone before in life. Don't you know I tried to suck the living soul out this ni**@ like I was giving an exorcism. My jaws would feel that sh*t later, but the way that white juice shot out into that empty coffee mug, I knew my "Trojan Horse" was pleased.
Bet his Hooter's girl bit*h of a wife ain't bust a move on his d**k like that. Cause if the hoe had, he wouldn't be coming to me.
Even after he hung up, I was still gushing between my legs. Ain't nothing like some "high noon" fu**ing. Might as well put these panties in my purse. Won't be needing those anytime soon....
...Least for the next hour.
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