Getting Back Into the Game

We went to the Lounge tonight, like always.  Where are the intellectual, blacks in this city?  Walked all the way to the door, just for Faye to realize she left her I.D. at home.  By this time it was already 10pm.  We returned an hour later, which meant “Standing Only”.  I was pissed, but it happens to everyone.  We walked in and just stood.  No prowling, no repertoire, nothing.  We watched clips of the game as if we cared that the Bears were losing.  I bought Faye a drink to make her feel better for ruining our evening.  Pineapple and Vodka.  It was extremely strong, too strong to get the juices flowing.  Those juices needed to build up enough courage to approach random men, the juices needed to get your girl moist and ready to fuck anyone in sight (with limitations).

We were truly at a standstill.  It took until the house band approached the stage for the GAMES to begin.  It’s so ironic that Sunday night football is always playing at the Lounge, when we all know it’s not the only GAME worth watching.  Men, women- single, married, dating, taken- are trying to get someone’s attention, someone’s number, trying to score and win the GAME that evening.

I walked to the back of the room and stood near the bar.  This older gentleman offered me his seat within two minutes. I wanted to fuck him and thank him other than verbally for offering his seat, when most men nowadays don’t give a fuck about manners.  I passed.  I sat looking at him as though I was hungry.  Shit, I am hungry.  My vagina is starving for penetration, lubrication, and gyration (a thick, wet tongue w/ skill that is). 

 Oh…the thought, I digress. 

CeCe crooned a nasal tune about loving a man.  Ever notice how love songs are so inappropriate when you don’t have love or want to give it.  When all you want is to lust and fuck.  I prayed she would leave the Chaka Khan rendition alone tonight.  I wanted the “regurgitate” poet to be there.  His rhyme made me hot, it made every woman hot that evening.  He had to REWIND his thoughts and repeat about how “the woman was so sweet and tasted so good, just to recapture her taste, her essence, he’d regurgitate and swallow her again”.  He wouldn’t have to regurgitate with me, because I’d never let his taste buds forget my “love”. 

CeCe sang, Faye stood, I sat and watched.  Every man that passed by was a prospect.  Even if he were walking with his lady, hands locked, I did not care.  She meant nothing to me.  This fine ass man with ‘locs strolled by and boy was he fine.  As women always say to their girlfriends with attitude, “Girl, he could get it!”  It is the infamous statement that signifies how serious the man is.  If men only knew (they probably do) that being attractive and well put together will truly get you some unattached pussy.  I know Faye loves ‘locs, so I nudged her thigh.  No response.  I pinched her leg this time and nodded my head in his direction.  It was on.  She noticed him.  She saw his body, his lips, his ’locs and her “he could get it” was evident in her eyes.  She wanted his dick.  But she did nothing to get it.  What the fuck I wanted to scream.  We were in the GAME, on the field, but when the ball was thrown to us we both looked at it and ran away with excuses.  “Girl, he was just too fine,” “What if I’m not his type…I have natural hair”. 

The thing is men don’t have a type, they like PUSSY and that is all that matters.  I realize everyone has preferences, but when it’s time to FUCK, the lights turned off prevent thoughts of grandeur.  Does it matter that he doesn’t have a Bachelor degree?  No, because he has a strong thrust and his tongue has no boundaries, explores every crevice and always desires more.  No reciprocal lust, just ME.

Mr. ‘Locs walked away with both of our orgasms.  It was time to move on to the next play.  There was a guy sitting next to me.  He had a nice built but was too, he had a dick nonetheless.  I purposely sat too close to him.  My thigh grazed his, and I knew it was on.  I touched his knee and asked him was the seat next to him taken, he replied, “No”.  I knew the answer, but needed to get in his path and slow him down.  He needed to see me, my lips, my smile, and desire me.  It worked.  He was hooked.  He eventually came my way and asked me did I come to the Lounge often.  I entertained him.  Got his number.  Planned to fuck him within a few weeks and gain twenty plus points, only to find out he was in Orlando on business and had no definite date of returning.  Why? He asked me where I lived- was it close, and told me his hotel location.

I was in the GAME to win but DAYUM, I was not about to go to a random dick’s hotel room and fuck on the first night.  I wasn’t Charlotte but the Samantha in me was not ready to be unleashed.  I was a slut in training.  Aside from not being ready to take that step, the dangers that arise in leaving with random men are just to real for me.  My pussy was screaming for attention, but she would have to wait. 

I only got one man that evening.  Faye got none.  We both are 0-0.

Despite fumbling once, I enjoyed the evening.  It was a learning experience.  I need to become more aggressive and get myself, my vagina out there.  From here on out, Faye and I have a new rule: Any man worth fucking is going to get approached.  If I see a man and tell Faye to get him, she MUST approach.  This is do or die.  Fantasy football ain’t got shit on us, I’m reaching for MVF this year baby!  Must Valuable Fuck!

--Francesca