Besides my hot wannabe love affair with Heidi Martin, some women you should just stay clear of. I’m one of the more hardier kats on the East Coast, but even I can’t deal with a select few. I never tell you all about my personal life and I’ve been misbehaving lately; one of the reasons why I haven’t blogged in a while. Of course, karma is a bitch with big ass teeth.
So I’ve been getting all hot and heavy with this hottie I met on the Internet in AZ. Fits the BK’s profile: Latina, Coke bottle figure and just enough attitude to be interesting.
And so the dance begins. I IM her, she IMs me. We probe each other about very every day things and I gradually stir up her curiosity about my sexual prowess and let it simmer on her brain like gumbo. Each day, I break down her barriers gradually. She diggin’ me, I’m diggin’ her. Then the faux pas……
I told her we would have some very pretty Blatino kids. “Blatino? What’s that?”
ME: “Hehehehe, that’s the ghetto term for Black and Latino biracial children.”
TheCutter: Hmmmm….uh, how about no?
ME: Ok ok. I was just messin’ with you…..kinda.
So things are no longer tantalizing. Merely, interesting. One of the main things that kicked off the possibilities was her making a trip to DC for work. There was still talk of the hot and bothered rendez vous, but something didn’t seem right. I realized that I needed to hit the bag of tricks.
Her long weekend in DC arrives, I met her at the hotel lobby and we are off. I play reluctant tour guide as I grew up in the area so none of the stuff is a big deal to me. We go get some lunch, that’s cool. No more references to blatino offspring. Smart. It starts to get dark and I’m a little gassed behind all the driving and touring. She agrees that we go back to the hotel room so I can rest and she can freshen up. She heads to the bathroom and is what seems like teasing me in reference to my subtle yet aggressive advances. So I do a quick check…..
Smellum (cologne): check
Foot odor: tolerable
Ball cheese: ehhhh….oral was probably out of the question anyway.
She comes out. Hmmm…no hot ass nightie. No naughty school girl outfit, no belly dancer outfit. A pair of sweats and a tee. Uh oh. This ain’t lookin’ good.
In a panic, I go straight for the jugular; literally. She seems receptive, but out of the blue I get the “hey pal” double pat on the chest….pat…pat “YOU’D, better get going. I have some stuff to take care of and I need some privacy.” And while I’m gaping at her speechless (yeah, ME speechless) she’s leading me towards the door with all of the cordialities and pleasantries one would expect of a blonde haired, blue-eyed debutante, which she ain’t. The next thing I know I’m in the hallway facing the door. Not even her door, the one on the opposite side of the hallway. How in the SHIT did THAT happen???
I’m all banged up at this point. “I knew something was wrong, but what the hell was it?” I go home, read thru the emails, listen to any possible unsaved voice mails; I even went back thru the notes that we sent each other on the meeting site (yes, that spot will remain unnamed). Nothing.
Then I remember myself staring at her pics, then glancing at the some of the stuff she had on her page. “I was born and raised in Phoenix, but my folks are from Bolivia and Venezuela…”
“…I like hangin with my girls, dancin’…”
“blah blah blah”
Then it hit me; “Important Stats”
Birthday: April 11, 1974…..
Copyright 2006, Son. All Rights Reserved and shit.