The Pick up

I broke my toy. Right? I know what you are thinking, even worst, for those of you who like to read out loud. I broke my toy? Yes, I can get another one but I like this one. It came with the removable heads, great for the three moods I was in. I cracked one of the hrads earlier in the year. I should have seen the lesson and learned from it. I broke my toy! It was small enough to slide into my purse for booty calls, my makeup bag when traveling, and my bra for a quick pick me up in the ladies room at work.

See what happened was…

At the bar I had a few drinks that, as the younger crowd says, peeled my head back. Who knew a mixture of blue and yellow liquor would produce something so green and wonderful. By this time the phone calls stopped and the excuses for leaving me alone was never discussed.

Words like ‘Great time’, ‘Good head’, and ‘Your smell still lingers in my mind’, are not what I wanted to hear.  It is what it was, a good time in California. At least that is what I keep telling myself.

“Hello.”

The voice entered my ears and barely penetrated my brain as it was focused on the green concoction flowing down my throat.

“HHHEEELLLOOO!” I replied out of pure shock of seeing such a handsome man in front of me.

“I notice you sitting here alone and I wondered what that stupid man of yours did to make you leave him for the night.” His accent, deep and heavy, as if he was from Jamaica, sent a longing to a spot on my body that was crying out for another man. He looked like a ripped chocolate man and I wouldn’t mind right now, taking a bite.

“I don’t have a man.” I said with a smile knowing that he wanted to have that information up front because of the quick looks over his shoulder at each man entering. “Now armed with that information what other questions do you want to ask me?”

He tossed back his very long dreads, licked his thick lips and cupped his hands together.

“Can I have all of you?”

I chuckled as I gestured to the bar tender for one more round of the green mind altering confidence builder in the tall glass. That is when my eyes caught a glance of the celebrity news flashing on the television in the fall corner.

“That fucker!”  I heard the softly whisper exit my mouth.  There he was, Mr. Hollywood, on a boat with two young blondes who had more fake breasts than should be allowed.  The reporter continued to express her delight in seeing him enjoying himself. I swallowed the drink in not time, crossed my big legs and placed all my attention on Mr. Chocolate bulging pants with big muscles in front of me.

“Your place or mine?” I asked.

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