One day while riding the A, I met this extremely attractive woman and we decided to exchange numbers. After a couple of weeks of talking on the phone, I realized that I was really beginning to like her. Aside from the fact that for some reason she never seemed to answer her phone after 7pm; I’d say she was pretty much everything I was looking for in a woman. I figured hey, so what if she goes to sleep way earlier than most people I know. Hell, my grandmother goes to bed every single night right after the five o’clock news: and that doesn’t make her a horrible person. Personally, I kind of liked the fact that she really valued her rest. Not to mention, I figured if we ever started dating; I’d save a fortune on matinee movie tickets. The last time a date insisted on going to a movie after 6pm, the tickets were $13 dollars a piece. Plus she had the nerve to ask me for popcorn and snacks on top of that. I was actually offended. That’s another $30 bucks. I replied, “Who the hell do I look like…Jay Z?”
Last Wednesday, she and I finally decided to go on our first date. To my surprise, instead of going out to some expensive restaurant and a movie; she actually invited me over to her place for dinner. Talk about ecstatic. Under my calculations, she had already just saved me roughly $80 bucks on our first date alone. Now in my book, that’s what you call a real keeper. To me, nothing on earth is sexier than a woman who’s fiscally responsible. Walking up to her building, I thought “Shoot, if things keep going this good; I could actually see myself marrying this girl. And plus, now that the library near my mom finally has a computer; we might even be able to scratch the whole ceremony and just do the entire wedding via Skype? Wouldn’t that be cost effective?” Ringing the buzzer to her building, I pondered “I wonder if instead of a wedding gown, she’d be willing to go more business casual? I get 30% off everything at The Work Barn; not to mention I’m sure a lot of women would love getting married in nice pant suit.”
When she opened the door, she was even more beautiful than I remembered on the train. However it could’ve had something to do with the fact that she was wearing nothing but a teddy. My first impression was, “Wow, she really does go to bed early.” I had assumed we would sit down for a nice meal, but before I knew it within minutes, we were literally upstairs in her bedroom going at it. This was without a doubt the easiest date I ever had. We had already pretty much made it to 3rd base; and the only money I had to spend money on was pack of Dentine and an across town bus transfer. I thought, “Damn…God is good!” Then just as things were really starting to get hot and heavy, she excused herself to the restroom in order to go “prepare”. And every guy knows what that means. I thought, “OMG, first the $80 bucks and now this. This night just keeps getting better and better!”
The second she left the room, I quickly ripped off all my clothes. I even put on my condom in advance so I wouldn’t have to fuss with it later on in the moment. I learned from experience that no matter how many times you explain that they all come from the same factory; some women get a little put off the second they see a Walmart brand condom. All of a sudden her phone began to ring. After several rings, to my surprise her answering machine picked up. Suddenly, on the other end of the line I heard a man’s voice screaming “Sheila! Answer this damn phone! I know you in there with some other nigga! I’m parked out front and I can see his shadow moving around!” Startled, I thought “Jesus Christ…what the f*ck?” I darted over to the window and looked out; and sure enough, parked directly in front of her building was a white minivan with the lights on. I thought “Oh no!! This sh*t is really happening!” Suddenly, he startled me by screaming through the machine “Nigga I see you looking out the window! I’m gone kill yo’ ass…you hear me? I’m gone kill both of yawl mutha f*ckas!” Frighted, I tripped backwards over the night stand trying to jump out of the window.
Next I began totally freaking out. I’ve seen enough episodes of Snapped to know that this kind of thing never ends pretty. Panicked out of my mind I thought, “Man, I didn’t know she had a boyfriend! No wonder she never answers after seven! And now he’s s about to come up here and blow my head off! This was technically not a good date any more!” Completely frantic by this point, I quickly began throwing on clothes. I accidentally knocked two pictures off the wall, just trying to get my leg back in my stupid underwear. Clothes always seem smaller when your in a rush; and I only had seconds to get the hell out of there, so this was no time to be neat. Hearing all the commotion, suddenly Sheila came running into the room and yelled “What in the world is going on? And why are you stretching out my good panties?” Almost completely out of breath from hyperventilating, I shouted “There’s no time to explain! The jig is up! Your boyfriend knows and he’s parked out front! He said he’s about to come up here and kill us both!” I then yelled “Save yourself!” as I headed for the back fire escape with my pants and shoes still in my hand.
In the midst of all of the madness, I realized that for some reason she seemed to still be cool as a cucumber. Baffled, I thought “Oh great! The poor thing is in shock. Now I’m gonna have to try to lift her big ass down the damn fire escape too!” This was not looking good. Again she yelled “Wait…stop! It’s okay; you don’t have to go anywhere.” Still in a frenzy, I snapped “You stupid bitch didn’t you hear me? He’s on his way up here to kill us both!” Still relaxed and now slightly chuckling she replied “Calm down. You’re perfectly safe. He can’t come up here. He’s in a wheel chair.” Now more confused than ever, I replied “What do you mean? He’s down there right now, I saw him!” She finally explained “He’s paralyzed from the waist down. That’s actually a special van he has. He can drive it all across town, but he can’t get out unless I go carry him out!” She then showed me a picture that they took together the year before in Hawaii; and just like she said, he was indeed in a wheel chair. She then added “See relax….he can blow and circle the block all he wants, but he can’t get out that van unless I go get him.”
I sat down on the bed in order to catch my breath. Seconds later she began massaging my shoulders and chest very sensually. She was obviously pretty set on continue what we had started. I was still a little frazzled, but I thought “Hell, there’s no use in wasting a good condom. That’s like throwing $1.23 right down the drain.” With that said, we continued doing the do. Although it was a bit difficult to get into with her boyfriend constantly honking his horn, and yelling through the machine “Bitch…I said come out here and get me!” and “I can see yawl shadows up there! Whose foot was that??”
By the time I finally left her apartment that morning; her poor boyfriend was out there sound asleep in his little special seat inside the van. I felt just awful too. Standing there looking through the window at him sleeping so peacefully, I suddenly realized “Wait….why am I feeling so sorry for this guy? After all, I’m the one that had to back to paying for full fare movie tickets now. Standing beside the van, I whispered softly “I may have won the battle last night. But you sir have won the war. Touché my friend…touché.”
***THIS WAS A B&TC REWIND****
IF YOU LIKE THIS ARTICLE PLEASE SHARE IT!! AND I LOVE COMMENTS SO PLEASE REMEMBER TO LEAVE ONE BELOW!
One night while walking through the lower eastside of Manhattan, I stumbled on this little Latin club on Houston with a sign out front that read: “$3 Tequila Shots”. I didn’t have anything else to do and so naturally I decided to go in. I was the only Black person in the entire place, so I pretty much stayed to myself at the bar all night. I remember from that last time I got arrested in Tijuana that combined with cheap tequila; Mexicans can have a tendency to get a little rowdy. I learned firsthand that night that the combination of three dollar shots, and a room full of 5’2” men with cowboy boots, isn’t always a good thing.
After about six shots, I noticed this Latin woman across the room in a bright red shawl giving me the eye. I could already tell from where I stood that she wasn’t all that cute, and her body was shaped sort of like a disco speaker; but I was drunk and by this time extremely horny, so naturally I said what the hell do I have to lose? I went over and introduced myself, and then brought her back over to the bar for a couple of rounds. The entire time we were talking I was thinking to myself, “Yeah…I’d do her.” Hell, I had certainly fucked worse. After a few more shots she got comfortable and eventually decided to remove her shawl. Suddenly out from under the shawl popped this little miniature baby arm, and it had a stubby little hand on the end with about 3½ fingers on the end of it. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Her left arm was completely normal. However her right arm was only about eleven inches long and just sort of dangled there close to her chest like a dinosaur.
At first I thought maybe it was me. After all, I was pretty smashed. I tried to shake it off, but when I opened my eyes, the little funny arm was still dangling there. I thought to myself “What the f*ck?” I was devastated. I mean seriously, are you allowed to just spring a little baby arm on someone like that without first giving them some kind of a warning? Shots or no shots, this hardly seemed fair. That’s when it hit me. I, Brett Sanders had just been hoodwinked. She purposely used the old “bait & switch” by covering up her little baby arm. She knew damn well that any descent guy would have to be a pretty fucked up individual to just run off when they saw it. It’s called “Handicapped Guilt”. So as a result, the poor fella would be trapped into staying there. Dare I say, it was genius. I was definitely trapped. Like a sick game of poker old “One Armed Sally” was calling my bluff; and I wasn’t about to fold. I figured two can play this game. So, I just continued on with our conversation as if everything was just normal. Score one for the kid. I tried to pretend like I didn’t even see the little baby arm; which was pretty difficult seeing how she was one of those people who constantly uses their hands to emphasize their point. I realized that she must have been on to me; because she suddenly began gesturing and pointed with her dead hand now even more than ever. At one point she even used it to toss her hair out of her face, which really f*cked me up. That’s when I thought, “Touché. This bitch is obviously a professional.” Nevertheless, I was determined to stand my ground.
After three more tequila shots she eventually wanted to dance. So, she grabbed me by my arm and pulled me out onto the dance floor. Now here I am the only brother in the place, drunk out my mind, and Salsa dancing with a girl with a little T- Rex arm. Somehow, this was not what I envisioned for my Saturday night. Although the entire room was doing Salsa, I knew that there was no way in hell that I was touching this woman’s little dead hand. So thinking fast on my feet, in the middle of a room full of Salsa dancers, I immediately broke into the Electric Slide; anything to keep from touching that hand. I tried to get her to join in with me, but it didn’t work. She was still insistent on trying to do Salsa, even though I was obviously noncompliant. Every time she grabbed for me with her T Rex hand, I’d quickly snatch my hand back; pretending it was some hip new urban dance I was doing. At one point she even twirled herself back into a dip. Not realizing that I wasn’t there to catch her, she ended up sailing backwards into a row of tables and chairs. It was pretty clear at this point that this chic obviously wasn’t too bright. Being a gentleman, I did at least try to reach out and stop her from falling; but unfortunately she reached out to me with the wrong hand. Thank God those bouncers were there to help her up off the floor. By the time she dusted herself off and got herself back together, I was already back at the bar for last call. With blood now on her knee from the fall, she hobbled back over and bought us both one last final round. Talk about a real trooper.
Now from here on out, this is where the story gets a little hazy. At some point during the night I must’ve blacked out; because when I finally awoke, we were now both back at her apartment way up in the Bronx. I’m pretty sure she must have slipped me a ruffie or put something in my drink; because when I came to; I was literally laying flat on my back in her bed, with her straddled on top of me riding me. I thought, “How the hell did this just happen? One second I’m sitting at the bar, and the next I’m f*cking a quadriplegic.” It was like that TV show Quantum Leap gone completely wrong. Now I’m not sure if it was the ruffie, or the eleven tequila shots; but suddenly whatever she was doing, actually started feeling kind of good. I mean… for a one armed girl, this chic apparently had a few tricks up her sleeve. The only thing that kept throwing me off, was that her little baby arm just sort of dangled there the entire time she was riding me. Because I was drunk, for some reason I kept thinking she was trying to wave hello to me; so I kept saying “Hi” back. The whole thing with the hand really starting to freak me out and so still a little drunk, I tried to cover it up by hanging my baseball cap over it. But unfortunately the hat kept on slipping off her nub.
I realized that this position wasn’t exactly working for me, so I flipped her around on her back and then I got on top missionary style. Just as I was beginning to get back into my groove, I looked up and realized that now the little claw was even closer to my face. And for some strange reason her little chubby fingers smelled just like salami. I thought, “Damn, did we stop for cold cuts on the way here?” I just couldn’t win. I tried to block the claw out of my head and keep going, but then the next thing you know, she began slapping me in the face with it and yelling, “You like that..huh? You like that?” When I felt her little clammy hand touch my the side of my face, I literally almost died. Trying to keep my cool, I replied “Uhm… can you maybe find something else to do with that?” She asked what and I replied, “I don’t know. Anything, be creative.” Seconds later, just as I was about to climax, I could not believe it. She actually stuck one of her little salami smelling fingers inside of my mouth. Talk about a mood killer.
I couldn’t get out of that bedroom fast enough. Fighting the urge to pass out, I grabbed my clothes from off the floor and ran outside to the curb; where I proceeded to throw up just about everything I had to eat that whole year. As soon as I got back to my apartment, I jumped straight into shower with all of my clothes on, and sat there in the fetal position, doing the “ugly cry” for the next three hours. To this very day, I have yet to have another single drink.
*This was a B&TC REWIND….
IF YOU LIKE THIS ARTICLE PLEASE SHARE IT!! AND I LOVE COMMENTS SO PLEASE REMEMBER TO LEAVE ONE BELOW!
Friday was my buddy Dave’
s birthday, and so to celebrate we met during lunch hour at Benny’s Burritos in The Village. Benny’s is known for one thing; there cheap margarita specials. Although I normally never drink during lunch, at just $3 dollars a margarita I figured this one time couldn’t really hurt. Boy was I ever wrong.
Before I knew it, Dave and I had knocked back $33 dollars worth of mango margaritas in forty five minutes flat, which left me just enough time to make it back to the office. Saying goodbye, it just dawned on me that I hadn’t gone to the restroom the entire time, which was strange seeing how Benny’s normally runs straight through me like water. So to be better safe than sorry, I went to take a quick leak before heading back to work. Since one of the restrooms was broken and there were people waiting to use the other one; being that the office was only ten minutes away, I figured I’d just go when I got back. With that said–I grabbed my briefcase and shot out the door.
The very instant I walked down into the train station I all of a sudden had to go like crazy. I thought “Dammit! Of course this couldn’t have happened just a few minutes earlier when I was sitting practically two feet away from the toilet.” Since Benny’s was still just right above me I thought about running back up. But seeing how I had already just swiped my Metro card, I thought “It makes no sense to have to pay another $2.25. And besides, its rush hour so how long could the next train take?” So, I just clenched my bladder and waited for the next train to arrive. After what seemed like the longest two minutes in history, I felt that all too familiar breeze that lets you know the train is approaching. And true to form, just seconds later the A inched to a stop right in front of me. “Thank God” I thought. In eight minutes I’d be back at the office.
Riding the train those five margaritas had really begun to take their toll. I could barely even concentrate I had to pee so bad. Lady Gaga and Barbara Walters could’ve been straight up lezzing it up in the seat across from me and I swear I wouldn’t have noticed a thing. My mind was that fixed on getting off the train. My bladder was pulsating so that I didn’t even notice the old homeless man giving himself a pedicure in the seat right beside me. However I did kind of wonder why during rush hour, our side of the car was completely empty, meanwhile it was standing room only on the other side of the train. If you’ve ever been on a NY subway you know all too well that homeless people have an uncanny way of clearing out an entire section.
Suddenly the train came to a stop, followed by a muddled announcement. Apparently the train ahead was having problems with their door, and as a result we were stuck until they fixed it. It was just my damn luck. Out of all the days in the freaking world, the train picked now to break. I thought “That goddamn Obama! Maybe if he’d stop focusing all his attention on that damn unemployment and healthcare, he could start focusing on some real issues like fixing these damn subway doors! I knew I should’ve voted for McCaine!” Sure looking back now I guess that did seem a little harsh; especially seeing how I volunteered for the Obama campaign and all. But dammit I had to pee; and somebody had to take the blame. After several minutes the train eventually started moving again. I was saved. With just two stops to go, I crossed my legs tight and envisioned myself walking into my favorite stall upstairs and letting it rip.
By the time I finally made it to 34th Street, for crazy some reason I didn’t have to go anymore. It was the weirdest thing: as if the sensation had completely subsided. I thought, “Wow, my mind must be more powerful than I thought.” I guess I envisioned going so powerfully, my mind must’ve somehow tricked my bladder into thinking it went. “That new creative visualization book must really be working.” But then thinking back I realized that I had always felt connected to a sort of psychic power within. Excited by my new found abilities, and since I was already on a roll, I decided to head over to my favorite lotto store to play the Mega Millions. As I handed over my five bucks, I clearly envisioned me and Jay Z on our yacht in Brazil, while Beyonce and Oprah made sandwiches for us downstairs in the galley. That Oprah sure knows her way around a can of tuna-fish.
As soon I walked out of the store, all of a sudden the sensation came back and hit me like a freight train; only this time far more intense. I thought “WTF?” It was like my bladder had secretly played a trick on me. And honestly, I don’t know if I was more upset about the little baby squirts of pee shooting out my Johnson, or that I didn’t have my psychic powers anymore. With seconds to spare I started speed walking back to the office; and with eight blocks to go the odds weren’t looking to great. I ran into the first Starbucks I passed but unfortunately there was a long line for the restroom, and not to mention an old lady with a walker had just gone in. With no other choice, I walked on. I had my bladder clinched so hard I could start to feel rumbling pains shooting down my stomach and through my ass cheeks. It was not looking good.
By the grace of God I finally made it to the lobby of my building. Almost in the clear; I pushed the elevator button, crossed my legs tight, and did the pee dance as I waited. When it finally arrived, the ding of that elevator sounded like sweet music to my ears. By now completely unable to lift my legs anymore, I scooted on and hit the 26th button. But then just as the door was closing, a group of women coming stepped on laughing with Burger King bags in their hand; and of course each one hit a different button. Inside my head I screamed “Dammit! Haven’t you fat bitches ever heard of bringing a salad from home? Now I’m surely going to piss myself again, all because these heffas wanted a BK Broiler!” I crossed my legs as tight as I could, and tried my best to use my mind control. But by the time we made it to the 11th floor my poor bladder could take no more. I muttered quickly, “Jesus please be with me”, and then with no other choice I just “let go and let God”.
Once that levy broke, it was like Hurricane Katrina all over again, only this time in my pants. I couldn’t cut off the flow no matter how much I tried. It’s amazing the sense of peace and serenity that comes over you after you finally just let go. I’m not sure if it was my prayer or not; but just like Waiting to Exhale I could finally breathe again. I wasn’t even phased by all of the women screaming “OMG, your disgusting!” as they ran off the elevator in disbelief. By the time I made it to my floor, my favorite little grey suit I got from the Justin Beiber collection at Khol’s was completely soaked from the front to the back. And to make matters worse, I had just gotten the damn thing back from the last time I pissed myself a few weeks back when those chickens attacked me. I had somehow even managed to get pee all the way in the bottom of both my shoes. This was technically not my day. With my pants and shoes now full of piss, I held my head high as I walked through the crowded office; but to my surprise, no one even seemed to make a big deal about it. The truth of the matter is, I guess they’d already come to expect stuff like this from me.
I stopped by my supervisor’s desk and exclaimed, “Hey Artemus. If it’s okay, I think I’m going to head home a little early today. I just pissed myself again.” Realistically, there’s only so many times a guy can leave early with that excuse before you just start looking unprofessional. As I rode the train home on the empty side of the car, with everyone else crowded together on the other side again, only this time pointing and laughing at me. I instantly knew firsthand the pain and humiliation the homeless people must go through on a regular, constantly being ostracized on the trains for reasons that are out of their control. I thought, “Who are we to judge them?” Next, I took one look at the one homeless guy sitting beside me, and for the first time in life, with a smile I responded “Hi man…my name is Brett. How are you doing today?” Just then, the homeless guy stood up and shouted, “Man, you smell just like piss!” as he walked down to the other side of the car.
DON”T FORGET TO LEAVE A COMMENT BELOW, IT’S SIMPLE!!!!
