Dapper Carter's 8 Rules of Dating (17 page)

As it turned out, Claire was a bit more aggressive
than I bargained for. No matter how high I was, I wasn't going along with her
trying to stick her finger in my ass. Her tongue would have been another story,
however.

 It may be every guy’s fantasy to be in bed
with two women, but let me tell you to be careful what you ask for. The two nymphomaniacs
would take turns jumping on and off my pogo stick.

Green Eyes liked to suck; Claire liked to fuck. Everyone
played their position right. So while Claire would ride my dick mercilessly and
try to shatter my pelvic bone, Green Eyes would stare, awe-stricken, into Claire’s
somber eyes then suck on her panting mouth.  She vigorously polished
Claire’s clit while I continued to pound away at her tiny little box, not
missing a beat.  Once in a while I could hear her whisper to Claire, “
Don’t
forget
he’s mine
!” 

Then they would switch. Off came the condom so Green
Eyes could engage in her specialty, sucking the chrome off a tailpipe. I’m
talking about sucking a golf ball through a garden hose.  She was
especially proficient at using her hand to wring every drop of semen out of my
exhausted penis.   

There had always been rumors floating around about
how all white girls give good head and were more willing than Black women. That’s
both true and
not true
at the same time. Sistas started taking that shit
personal and stepping up their head game. I guess they finally figured out how
to keep their man at home.

After a while, I finally got tired of the fuck/suck
fest and flipped Green Eyes over onto all fours exposing her pink tunnel for my
heat seeking missile which I was about to destroy her don’t- hurt- me- spot-
with.  I gave her a firm slap on the ass for good measure then plunged my
throbbing cock into her warm, fertile gulf.

“Yessss.”  I said as I savored momentarily her
tightness.  But then I came back to my senses and quickly switched gears
and pounded her maliciously her for all the mind games she played and the times
 she stood me up. She relished it, of course.   Her vulgar screams
of passion were muzzled by Claire’s vice-like thighs.

 “Fuck me harder Dap,” she begged.  Now
that’s what I’m talking about.  No more Mr. Nice Guy.  I shifted
gears and went into jackhammer mode trying to murder that pussy, however, it
was around this time that Claire grew jaded after allowing me to abuse
her
sex slave repeatedly.

That’s when the bacchanal became more about them and
less about me. Claire and Green Eyes flip flopped like a sexual see-saw. Who’s
on top? Who’s on the bottom? Then out came the eight inch strap-on. That’s when
I figured out that my services were no longer required. I mean, you’ve got a
real penis within arm’s reach, literally, and you pull out a fake one? Exit
stage right.  

Composing myself, I leaped up. "I'm going to
the frig to get something to drink. Anybody want something? OJ? Espresso? Penicillin?"

The moans got louder… deeper. I had enough. I started
getting dressed as they continued seemingly unaffected.

"So, I'm a little tired and have to get up
early tomorrow. So I guess I'm going to split." No response. "Okay?"
No response still. "The house is on fire..."

"We don't need no water, let the motherfucker burn!" 
Claire gasped.

I was still putting my clothes on as I walked sullen
down the long hallway, hard dick and all, that I had eagerly sprinted down just
an hour earlier.   I felt unsatisfied, unfulfilled, and
unimportant.  I knew that it was a bad idea to have a threesome with
someone that you care about.  Save that for the jump-off. 

I really did like Green Eyes. Or was the only reason
I liked her was because I couldn’t have her? That seemed to be a trend for me
and a juvenile one at that. Sooner or later you have to grow up and stop
playing games, silly rabbit. Dapper Carter’s rule number five:
Only have
threesomes with girls you don't care about...

Because if you do, you’re probably going to get your feelings hurt.

The Cutest Girl in Brooklyn

After the mind fuck with Green Eyes and Claire, I
was looking for a quick rebound. My ego was bruised so I rang up Charisma, Dominique's
chunky friend from the other night.
Given that she was checking for me,
and since now I only fuck with people who are fucking with me, I figured I’d give
her the energy she deserved.

I already thought she was cute, but when I got to
the restaurant she was there on time waiting for me, which I took notice of, and
looking decidedly more erogenous than the first time we met. She had on skin-tight
Joe’s jeans and a flattering top from Forever 21 that revealed more of her
tantalizing bust line than the previous encounter. In fact, I was happy to see
her. Charisma was nice and I don't mean in that way people usually refer to the
opposite sex when they are lacking in the physical attributes department. She
genuinely was congenial and pleasant to be around, unlike her bitchy friend. I know,
I usually like those kinds of women, but as I get older I really don’t have the
energy I used to have to pursue them. 

I used to be a hunter and I preferred to kill my food.
However, I was becoming more of a gatherer with age. I was picking and choosing
the foods that I liked. A little Swiss chocolate here, some French pastry there,
a taste of  Belgian waffle now, a nip of Jamaican rum later, a nibble of
Chinese on Monday, and a bite of English muffin on Tuesday.    

It was metaphorical as well as I was literally transitioning
from a meat eater to a vegetarian in my diet, too. As usual, I offered that she
could order anything she wanted.

"I'm not high maintenance at all, Dapper. We
can take this to go, pick up some Hennessey and go back to your place."

“CHECK PLEASE!” I waved my hand feverishly at the
waiter, not being able to get outta that place fast enough. So Caesar's number
one rule had become Dapper Carter’s sixth rule...
Treat the hos like
queens and treat the queens like hos!

Charisma and I hastily beat feet out of the
restaurant.
When the customer agrees to the sale shut your ass up, don’t say
another word and walk them straight to the register.
 

It was around noon the next day when Charisma and I
began waking up. I outdid myself last night, I must admit.  I was starting
to hit my stride and it
was
like riding a bike.  Melted candle wax was
all over the dresser and me.  How it got on me, I don’t remember. That’s
my story and I’m sticking to it. 

The empty Hennessey bottle and the clean-picked bones
from the Chinese chicken wings lay on the floor.

Her exposed breasts peeked from under the covers,
asking me for one more kiss. Turns out her breasts weren’t bigger than her
stomach.  She had itty bitty titties, a wonder bra, and a girdle.

 Nevertheless, she was cool and that didn’t
change how I felt about her as a person.  But for some reason, I wasn't into
her and she knew it.  She scampered off to the bathroom and returned with
a warm washcloth to wipe my crusty morning face clean and the remnants of
nonoxol-9 off of my exhausted penis.  “Thank you” I said weakly then
turned my head in shame.

"What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, of course not."

"Then what's wrong? I know I may not be the
skinniest or the cutest girl in Brooklyn..."

"You're really cute. That's not it. Stop
putting yourself down. You’ve got way more going for yourself than your shallow-ass
friend."

"But I really like you. There's something about
you. Your confidence. Your coolness. Your energy."

"That's funny. You wouldn't have wanted to know
me a couple of years ago. I was a total  asshole!  I've been working
really hard on myself.  Charisma, you're a cool girl, but I can't do this
anymore. This isn't me anymore.  I know what I want and that's to love and
be loved. And this right here isn't love."

"It could be," she responded desperately.

"No, it can't. I'm sorry. I have been with more
than enough women in my life, done more than enough women wrong, and I don't
want to live like that anymore. I'm figuring out what I want in a relationship,
what I'm going to tolerate, and what I'm going to give. When the time comes I'm
going to marry my best friend."

With that, she kissed me on the cheek and got
dressed. "You're going to make some woman very happy, Dapper Carter."
I was beginning to think that myself and I wanted more this time around. She actually
would have been perfect for Khalil. Speaking of which, I was supposed to meet
him at this hot new club in Manhattan.

Philadelphia

It was after 10:30 p.m., so the subway was running
local by this time, stopping at every station. I usually took the train into
the city but would catch a cab back since I knew it would be at least 3:00 a.m.
before I even thought about going home.  I could get home by four and
still get four or five hours of sleep.

When I arrived, Khalil was at the door waiting for
me, rocking nervously from heel to heel. Even going out to a club he was
dressed in vintage Khalil— Banana Republic slacks, oxford shirt with a sweater
on top of it, shirt tail hanging out, of course. He would swap the Malcolm X
frames for his sexier dark-rimmed Dolce & Gabbana’s. He looked like an accountant,
but he’d hit the club and cut a rug, shaking his ass.  He had this Clark
Kent/Superman thing going on. 

When we got inside, the DJ was spinning house music like
we grew up on in the '80s.  Jersey house (club music) had a more gospel
feel to it as opposed to the driving beats coming out of Chicago.  Right
off the bat
French Kiss
was starting to heat the party up until we
Made
Way for the Percolator
.  We hung out with
Black Betty
for a
while then had to
Beat that Bitch with a Bat
.  We had to have
House
Music
all night long.

After being inside the club for about ten minutes
something started to bother me that I couldn't quite put my finger on at first.
The more I looked around, the more I realized.  There were no women in the
club. 

"Hey, man, how come there aren't any women in here?"

I was actually trying to be more sarcastic than
anything until my close friend, whom I had known since the fourth grade, looked
me sincerely in the eye and told me what I had always suspected.

"I like men."

I took a deep breath, taking in as much oxygen as
possible to fill my lungs before letting it out slowly. “So. I don’t have a
problem with that. But how about giving me a heads up before putting me in a
situation like this?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you. How do you tell
someone you’ve known for over twenty years that you suck dick?”
Whoa
.
TMI
…too much information.

None of the guys in the club were your stereotypical
queen, I must admit.

“You see that guy over there?” pointed Khalil. 
“He’s a stockbroker. The guy next to him is the vice president of marketing for
a major record label.  And he…”  Then I spotted the brown skinned
pretty boy sandwiched between two of the biggest queens in the whole club. 
I was shocked to see that it was Hannibal, Dominique's old screw, and he was
engaged, too. I'm sure glad that I didn't sleep with Dominique Dunbar from Cleveland Heights.

We left the sausage factory and headed to an all-night
diner down in the Meat Packing District, no pun intended. Khalil and I sat in a
corner booth drinking coffee and discussing how homosexuality had become so prevalent
in the Black community. Although it’s always existed in every culture across
the board, Blacks had totally crushed the stereotype but at the same time
created new ones.

"So, I don't understand what the infatuation is
with this down-low, bisexual, homo thug thing."

"The homo thug is an animal of a different
color. Any mothafucka that can physically take the ass is scary to me, and I
ain't messing with them."

"So what's the deal? Females aren’t good enough
anymore?"

"It’s not that. I still like women. It's just
that I don't like the bullshit with women anymore."

"Yeah, there is bullshit, but I'd rather deal
with their bullshit than bullshit from another nigga!"

And I put that on my grandfather's grave. I think
that shit started back in the gladiator days. It was common practice for men to
have sex with other men, but if you were on top you were considered dominant,
and if you were on the bottom, you were the fag. It seems like the same rules
apply today in our penitentiary system.”

"That's where you're wrong. Right now, guys are
kicking it with guys because it’s simple. No dialogue about getting married,
biological clocks or nothing. It’s about straight up having fun."

"Fun? Two dicks can't have fun together."