The End Of Head

OK, so I wasn't going to talk about this on the blog. I didn't mention this, but on Monday I ate the coochie. Carmel's that is. I went over to her crib to help fix a computer problem. One thing led to another and I talked her into letting me taste it. I didn't ask for any reciprocity, I didn't need it. I just ate it. Of course, me being kinda slow witted, I thought that was it.

We saw each other on Tuesday. She came over to my house. We talked about some shit, we didn't do anything because she came on her period.

She wanted to see me on Wednesday. We had some miscommunication issues, so it didn't happen.

Thursday she called me around 10:00 am and asked me what I was doing that evening. "I got a date." "With who, that young chick?" "Yep." "Oh....OK." She called me back a few minutes later. "Can I see you before you go see her?" "I don't know. We're hooking up right after work." "What about your lunch hour?" "I have a lunch meeting. I don't have a big enough gap in my day to come see you. Why don't you come to my office around 2:00?" "Alright."

She came through around 2:30 (C.P.T., man). My secretary is funny. She comes to my office looking at me like "You muthafucka." She says "There's a 'Carmel' out front for you." I got a poker face on. "Send her back, please."

Carmel comes in all color combinated and shit. It's 70 outside, so I shoulda expected it. Toes out, painted pink. Tight lime green shirt, pink shades, tight blue jeans. She comes in my office, closes the door and locks it.

"What's up, Carm?" "I want you to think about me when you're on your little date tonight." I'm looking at her as she takes the gum from her mouth and tosses it in the trash can. "Pull your pants down." "What?" "You scared?" I look at the door. I go test the lock, then I return to my chair and pull down my pants.

You'll think I was just given to exaggeration or overcome by adrenaline when I say this, but yesterday I received THE VERY BEST BLOWJOB I'VE EVER RECEIVED IN MY ENTIRE 35 YEARS. PERIOD. BAR FUCKING NONE.

It was the wettest, sloppiest, most technically proficient sexual act I've ever been a party to. And I've been a party to a few in my day. Fuck Charlize Theron, fuck everybody else. Carmel is all skill. I came so hard I was ashamed afterwards. Mag-fucking-nificient.

When she was finished, I walked her to the restroom. When she came out she just said one sentence, "Enjoy your date."

On the date I was flashing back the whole time.

KZ

I Need Answers, Dammit! Part II

O.K., the first part was a setup. I was working on an analogy that would help me to defend my position on something to a fellow blogger.

You see, the blogger in mind believes that I'm being hoodwinked by the young chick, Endo. This blogger is getting a kick out of my dealings with her. "She's playing you, son! She's not that innocent. She's playing a role with you. "

I asked her to stand in my shoes and she wasn't feeling me. The way y'all answered the question didn't help my argument at all. My argument was "How the fuck is she getting over on me when all I care about is the ass?" Endo's exhausting valuable energy if she's trying to play a role.

If she's giving me the ass, I win. Period. She could be feeling like she's getting over by acting inexperienced or even giving me the okey doke at the movies. But I'm fucking, and that's all I want.

My thing is if I want the pussy and she's giving me the pussy, why get upset about particulars? My fellow blogger didn't get it, y'all probably won't either. But I gave it a shot.

Thanks,
KZ

I Need Answers, Dammit! Part I

Hypothetically speaking:

I’m posing this question blindly. Whoever wants to answer it should feel free to do so.

Say you were dating a big time dope dealer, or any person with deep pockets from doing illegal things. Let’s say you’re not morally opposed to those illegal activities. Would it matter to you if they lied to you about how that money was earned (i.e. claiming they worked a legal job)? Or would it just matter that they were giving you money whenever you asked for it?

KZ

Weekend In Review

Friday night was cool. I was at Carmel's crib talking to her waiting for her sister or Punkin or somebody else to come through. Her homegirl (the one with the six stragglers) was there. I ain't touchin' that with a hundred foot pole. I was there from about 10 to 3 am, drinking and talking shit. When I left, she wanted me to stay. There is no way I would've done that. I invite enough disaster into my life.

Saturday I had a date with Endo to go see "The Inside Man". It was set for early in the day because I had to go to the Vice-Mayor's birthday party that night. We were going to meet at the theater. I waited until the movie was about to start at 1:40. No show. I was fuming. Livid. Her celly has been broken for a while and we had been working around it. She doesn't have long distance on her phone at home, and my phone still has a 313 area code. I walked in the movie solo, with the extra ticket I bought in my pocket.

I tried to enjoy the movie but I was heated the whole time. Spike did alright, but I was unsatisfied by the ending. I left the theater and went to the bookstore/coffee shop. I called her cell and left a message. "Hey Endo, this is Zed. You know it's real fucked up of you to stand a nigga up. It's FUCKED UP! That's some immature, irresponsible shit. I guess you just showin' your age. I fuckin' shoulda known better. Later."

I'm sitting drinking coffee. My cell rings. "Old man, you are pissed at me!" "Why wouldn't I be?" "Because I was there. I got there five minutes late. I thought you stood me up. I was at the movie." "Bullshit!" "I was in the front of the theater. " "Really?" "Yes, really!" "Damn." "I'm keeping this message. Everytime you try to be sweet I'ma play it to remind myself what kinda G you can be."

Saturday night I went to the Vice-Mayor's gig. I was the second youngest dude there. The youngest dude brought a white chick. The sisters were sitting around me watching me drink away my bad day, asking me questions. "What do you think about older women?" "They're alright. My ex-wife was older than me." "Really?" "Yeah, by about five years." The more I drink, they drink. And they're asking me more and more provocative questions. The women start milling around the party and one sticks close to me. "When's the last time you went all night?" I think about Batshit. "It's been a few months." "Really? You got stamina?" I'm fucked up right about now. Pissy drunk. "Look, you're trying to ask me about shit you can find out the answer to tonight. You wanna find out? I mean, if you wanna find out, we can tell these people we leavin', and you can find out." She's smiling. I keep asking, "you wanna find out?" She was like "Can you at least take me out somewhere you've never taken anyone else before?" I looked at her with as sober a look I could manage. "I thought you was serious about wanting to find out. You just talkin'." I left the set soon after.

Sunday was better.

Enjoy,
KZ

Ten Things She Must Possess

I hate your ass so much right now Nikki, you just don't know. Then I go over to your page and see your smiling face and your...attributes, and I'm ok again. So I'm about to do what I've been asked to do by the ultra-prolific one and discuss the 10 qualities I need in a PERFECT MATE.

So here goes:
1. She must honor the intimacy of our relationship
This is basically about discretion and privacy. As an extremely private person, I can't have my ol' lady putting our business out in the street. I won't keep any secrets from her, but they become OUR secrets.

2. She must be spontaneous
When we are childless and free, she gotta be ready to be up and out at a moment's notice all the time.

3. She must enjoy porn
I can't stress this enough. She doesn't have to be a connoisseur, but she's gotta be able to watch without critiquing what the chicks are wearing or how their hair is styled.

4. She's gotta be appropriately sexual
No, we can't fuck at my boss's house party. No, we can't fuck at your cousin's baby shower. No, this wake is inappropriate, too. Yes, we can fuck in the back row of a scarcely attended motion picture, but only if you wear a skirt.

5. She's gotta be good with money
I'm fucking horrible with money. She's gotta compliment me in that respect. I'll fuckin' buy guns when we're outta butter.

6. She has to sufficiently have my back
My ex-wife was a backstabbing contrarian. I didn't realize how important it is to have your woman in your corner to support you even if she disagrees with you.

7. I need her to be pretty well read
Traditionally, the woman is the primary caregiver to one's children. Children learn the most from their mothers in their earliest years. I just want my ol' lady to be able to teach the kid a little sumthin' extra. In addition, I read a lot. I'd just like to be able to share ideas with her based on information we've both ingested.

8. She should have a good sense of fashion
Shit, I don't want a fuckin' hobo or a chicken on my arm. Style is important as fuck.

9. She must be politically astute
Both major political parties are corrupt and morally bankrupt. I don't mean politics in that sense. I mean politics in the realm of black empowerment and advancement. She's gotta recognize the bullshit and be willing to work to counteract it.

10. She probably needs an ass like this (be careful before clicking!)

KZ

The Life Aquatic with Zed Zednanreh

A.K.A. The Fishbowl

I walked into my bank yesterday, like I do once a week. I approached the teller and smiled. I hand her my I.D. "I don't need that Mr. Zednanreh. I know you!" This is the same routine I followed in Detroit. The same bank downtown. The same tellers. Twelve years. They scrutinized my I.D. every single time I came in. Twelve years.

I walked across the street to this little diner for lunch. I'd been in there twice before. I sat down in a booth. The waitress approached. "Diet Coke, right?" I nod and she goes to get it.

After work I walked to this bar downtown. I've been there four times in nine months. I sit at the bar. "Bacardi and Diet Coke, right?" I nod and he begins making the drink.

I'm on TV twice a week and quoted in the paper at least once a month. I'm 6'3" with shoulder length dreadlocs. I'm the only "director level" black man working for the city government. There is no flying under the radar in this town.

There's this black millionaire in town. This cat is major paid. He used to be a sports agent for several Hall of Fame athletes. He came into my office yesterday and told me he'd heard about me. "I had to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." You had to meet ME? This is not false modesty, I was truly surprised. I'm a fucking nobody.

All my instincts are off. I'm still the same cat who used to get head at Belle Isle Park. The one who was notorious for having 3 date Saturdays (afternoon, evening, and booty call). The cat who elevated road rage into an artform when me and Three chased these dudes with baseball bats in Downtown Detroit for flipping us the bird.

I'm floating through this city not able to trust myself. Because I know it's only a matter of time before I revert to my true nature. There is only so much public face I can put on. The real dude is a lot grimier. And he's got a digital camcorder.

Yours Truly,
KZ

The Last Time I Saw Doom

Hey peoples, what's good? I'm enjoying a relatively light schedule today. In a typical day filled with four 2hr meetings, I only have one 2hr meeting today. It's been quiet at work since the scrap and I've been taking advantage of it. I'm visiting my parents in Tampa next month and I've been planning this detour to see my cousins in Miami. Online trying to plan the spots I'll hit once I get there. In the meantime, this is what's what:

• This chick the Vice-Mayor introduced to me called yesterday to invite me to a party Saturday at her house. My secretary got the call and said "There's a woman on the phone asking for Zed Sanchez. I guess she means you." If you have my business card (that's all I gave her), why not read the muthafucka? It says "Zednanreh" right on the bitch. In any event, I'll be at the gig.
  
• I finally talked to Carmel (I thought I'd sneak this one in). We came to an understanding that I'm not dating her or fucking her. It is what it is. I might, however, try to stab her homegirl "Punkin"
• E.T. is still texting me like we're cool. I haven't spoken to (or texted) her since she pulled that pop-up on me that day.
• Batshit (yes, Batshit) is calling me again after her little adventure in the ATL. She says she's moving soon and I don't blame her. Get the fuck outta here. I think she's counting on this cat she's dating in Atlanta to be "the one". Good luck with that, Loony.
• My Uncle Zed got married over the weekend. His first marriage. At 48 years old to the chick he brought to my parent's house during Thanksgiving. This cat was a fully functioning, actual PIMP. Not one of these cats that act the part once they get a music contract. Good luck to them, especially her.
  

That's all I got. I'll talk to y'all later.

Peace,
KZ

Head Games

We sat on floor in front of the coffee table, watching the Sopranos and eating Chinese food, Endo and I. Making small talk but ultimately just waiting. I could feel it.

After the Sopranos went off, we put in the DVD of "The Village". We're on the floor, trying to make do. I asked if she wanted to sit in THE CHAIR, the only place to sit in the living room. She said she did. It's a big chair and we both tried to fit. Ultimately, we found a way to make it work. She sat in between my legs.

She leaned back into my chest, alternately touching my hair and my arm. Endo rubbed the side of my left bicep. "What is that? A brand?" "Yeah" I responded. "I just kinda did it." "Did it hurt?" "Nah, not really." Macho bullshit. "I got one on my chest, too." "I guess I'll see that one later." "I guess you will."

We sit there for awhile and I start to kiss on her neck. Then I reach down under her shirt and start fondling titties through her bra. Her breathing speeds up. I unsnap the bra. Free titties! I'm feeling it, yo. I pull her shirt completely off and I lick her back. She starts to shudder. And reaches back for the dick. "Let's go upstairs" I say, calmly. She follows. Notorious and R. Kels are singing in my ear. I'm fuckin' her tonight.

One the bed, I'm sucking nipples. I go between the breasts and lick down to the navel. She's writhing. I get to the belt with my teeth, start unbuttoning and unzipping the pants. I'm pulling off skin tight jeans. And then...

"I don't wanna do it." Did she say "do it"? Really? Oh yeah, right. Twenty-four.

"I'm not saying you gotta do it. We'll stop when you wanna stop." "Well I don't really know how to..." "Know how to what?" She started slowly. "Well, if you do me, I won't know how to do you right." "Do what?" I ask. "Suck it" she says. "You don't know how to give head?" "I don't know how to do it right" she replies. "Is it cool if I talk you through it?" "You won't mind?" I'm laughing in my head, because I'm thinking about when I'm recounting this situation some time later how funny it will be. "No, I won't mind."

So no, I didn't fuck. But, yes, I was able to help a young lady with skills to make her future house a happy home. And I'll be around for more practice.

Always Happy To Help,
KZ

King Of The Desert

Hey y'all! The following is an actual phone conversation between me and my good friend, Three.

KZ: What's up, man?
3: I can't call it, playa. What's hood, African?
KZ: Awww, African you know how I do.
(This is faux street talk. We've acknowledged we're old men now, so we're mocking ourselves.)
3: How's the Anus, kid?
KZ: It sucks, man. You been readin' the blog?
3: Nope. Not in awhile. What's goin' on with Batshit?
KZ: Everybody loves Batshit. That's funny. I haven't talked to her in about a week and a half. I think she's fuckin' sick of me.
3: I don't blame her ass. Good for Batshit! Other than that, how is it?
KZ: It's killin' me. I can't get laid for shit. I'm under a damn microscope so I can't even go straight hood a pull a chick.
3: Me and James (another one of our boys) was crashin' on yo' ass the other day.
KZ: Why?
3: We was laughin' at your misery. Yo' ass is makin' a lot more money, you're in a prominent position and you can't even enjoy it. You can only get gully when you come home, where you're nobody. We was callin' yo' ass "The King of the Desert". Yeah, you runnin' shit, but what? You're the king of nothing.
KZ: That's a pretty apt analogy, muthafucka.
3: You got any prospects?
KZ: A couple. I always got a couple. Conversion is a bitch. I've only converted one prospect the whole fuckin' time I've been here.
3: My girl, Batshit!
KZ: Yo' girl, Batshit!

Get Free,
KZ

Wing Man

Today's Theme Song: "Last Nite" by The Strokes

I was determined. Last night was going to be the night. I talked to Carmel in the afternoon. We needed to talk.

"I've only been with you twice since we met where it was just me and you. I don't want to talk to you on the phone. You get distracted by everything. I need to talk to you face to face, just you and me." She understood. "When you said we need to talk I thought it was something bad" she replied. I guess that would depend on your point of view. I had to tell her this wasn't working. I'm not dating her and I'm not fucking her, so I gotta sever the relationship. I was going to tell her last night.

She left church last night and called me. "Let's meet at BW3." It was Tuesday, 30 cent wing night. I was there at 9:15, just like we agreed upon. From 9:15 to 10:20 I got periodic calls from her telling me she was on her way. I'm impatient as fuck, but I stick around because I gotta talk to her. The place is filling up. This is the place to find Satan's Anus' black population, on cheap wing night at B-Dubs. I guess I shoulda known. I even saw Coco there, though I didn't realize it was her until much later.

As I waited, there was this Afrocentric woman there. All natural woman. She complimented me on my locs. I thanked her. She stared, smiling. I love Afrocentric, natural women, shit, all women really, if they are not BoogaBears. She was a BoogaBear. I looked at the front door.

Carmel came in. Beautiful. She brought another one of her homegirls with her, "Hazel". Didn't she hear what the fuck I said earlier? I wanted to bail the fuck out. She comes in and hugs me. I'm like "Ay, what's the deal? What's up? You got your girl with you." Carmel responded "She needed to get out, I didn't think you would mind."

The only fucking reason I'm out on a work night without pussy on my mind is so I can talk to this chick. And she brings an excuse not to be able to talk. I'm fuckin' livid.

Turns out the BoogaBear is another one of Carmel's girls. So I end up at a table with Carmel, the BoogaBear and Hazel. I'm beside myself. I keep looking at my phone to check the time. Thelma's calling. Good ol' Thelma.

I sit there for awhile and I get up to leave, that's when I finally recognized Coco. She was wearing big assed shades, a long assed weave and a hat, radically changing her from the way I'm used to seeing her. I igged her, like I figured she'd been doing to me.

I hugged Carmel good-bye. I whispered in her ear "You know this is really fucked up. I wanted to talk to you." And I left, making sure I turned my phone off.

Be Cool,
KZ

I've Been Friggin Tagged, Man

That hot piece of good lovin' from L.A., Supa Sister, tagged the fuck outta me. I don't know how I'm gonna answer some of these questions since they don't really apply but I'll give it a shot.

The A,B,C's of ya man Knockout Zed

Accent - Midwestern, Michigan, Detroit, Eastside, Ghetto
Bra size - Whatever fits in my mitts
Chore I hate - Washing clothes (I usually just buy new underwear. Yes, it's triflin')
Dad's name -Jedediah
Essential make-up - Dick Gloss
Favorite perfume - I used to like to smell Samsara on a broad. I really don't know anymore.
Gold or Silver? - Cowrie shell
Hometown - Detroit, Michigan
Insomnia - Only when I don't beat off.
Job Title - Biggest African in the Anus
Kids - What have you heard?
Living Arrangement - Alone with my porno collection.
Mom's Birthplace - Florida
Number of Sexual Partners - If I told ya, you'd call me a liar.
Overnight Hospital Stays - One week in 1994. It was fucked up.
Phobia(s) - Heights (falling, really, shit)
Quote - He who seizes the right moment is the right man - Goethe
Religion - Football
Siblings - 1 brother, 2 sisters
Two I'm tagging - Who knows if they'll do it but Robyn & BK Babe
Unnatural hair colors I've worn - I am a HETEROSEXUAL MALE.
Vegetable I refuse to eat - Asshrooms
Worst habit - Masterbation and cussing. And masterbation
X-rays I've had - Dental, ankle, knee.
Yummy foods I make - Liquid baby. You should taste it sometime.
Zodiac sign - Sagittarius

I hope someone found this helpful. I tried, y'all.

Love,
KZ

Junk

What up, killa? Ya man is back from a very good weekend. Not excellent, mind you, but very good. Friday night I went up to Beelzebub's Colon to have some drinks with an old co-worker of mine who left Detroit before I did. She was doing well and I was glad to see it. We went to a Tapas bar. I don't know if you've ever been to one, but it's a fucking rip-off. You pay like 8 bucks a pop for these little appetitizers and you're supposed to order several of them. You leave the place and you're not even close to full. After about $60 I was still hungry. That's fucked up!

Anyway, I left there and went over Carmel's house. Her girl "Punkin" was there with this guy that's a cop for Satan's Anus. Big dude. Actually we were about the same height and weight, but when you see it from the outside perspective you think "Damn, that's a big dude!" He spent a lot of time talking about beating down dope dealers. I don't particularly care for cops. I'm a law-abiding cat for the most part. But cops have never looked out for the interests of the poor and needy. So I'm always wary of a person's motive to be with a killa crew. Usually they are either cowards or bullies. We all drank and chilled. Carmel was getting sleepy and she wanted to go to bed. "You can come in here with me" she offered. "No, you get some sleep. I'll check you out later." I'm not wrestling with a sleepy broad for the keys to her underwear. I left at around 3 am. The cop stayed to babysit Punkin's pussy. Nighty-night, 5-0.

Saturday I went out with another girl I met on my little "5 numbers" spree, "Endo". I call her "Endo" short for "Endomorph". She's fucking ridiculously thick. Just packed together in this fun little ball of sex and juice and stuff. Junk everywhere, tits and ass. Fantastic. We went to play pool. I was behind her on every shot. She beat me twice, I got her 3 times. She's young as fuck. I got her by eleven years. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? What do we talk about? I doubt that we talk much anyway. I had to cut the date off because I was going to hook up with Carmel later. Endo and I made plans for Sunday.

Carmel and I didn't end up hooking up on Saturday night due to mixed communication, so I chilled. Sunday afternoon I hooked up with Endo again. We went out for drinks and food. I was trying to find some common ground to talk about, but it proved difficult. I felt like I was at a lecture and shit. She kept trying to get me to expound on stuff I've read or written. I just wanted to let her talk. It was ok. The next date is at my house. So I guess between now and then I gotta buy a couch.

All in all the weekend was good. A good foundation setter.

Peace,
KZ

The Inevitable, Part 2

Hey peoples! If you've been reading this blog awhile you probably guessed that I didn't just shut Carmel down after that debacle on Sunday. We've been talking on the phone a little. She asked me out to lunch yesterday. Visuals are a muthafucka. She's like 5'2", petite, with a set of D cups. I am not a breast man, but DAMN! We talked at lunch and the discussion drifted to dudes and their underlying motives when stepping to a chick. "What's my motive?" I asked. "Well, you know about my recent divorce and my kids. I got a lot of baggage. So you probably just wanna fuck." It was like she was reading a white ping-pong ball with "B-14" on it, cuz in my head I shouted "Bingo!"

"Well, I do wanna fuck" I said matter of factly, "but it's cool if we could hang out. I don't know anybody here. I'm really just meeting as many people as I can. I'm used to having a big social circle. " All of which is true. So I laid my cards on the table, trying to make myself as unattractive a long term prospect as possible. Basically trying to save me from me.

She called me last night and asked if I knew where she could buy a "little toy". I laughed 'cuz I know this drill. My M.O. is to take a chick to the sex shop, tell her to pick out the one she wants, I buy it for her, and suck the clit while I'm inserting it into her. It's just my thing.

"Yeah I know a spot that I can put you up on." I'm still trying to stop the inevitable.

Brushfires

Hey folks! I've been spending my days putting out fire after fire here in the office. When I leave work all I want to do is sleep. They are draining my energy. I'm finally reaping the fruits of my efforts from a couple of weeks ago (i.e. the 5 phone number weekend) and I can't go out because I'm exhausted. I'm here in Satan's Anus putting women on the back burner. Imagine that.

Anyway, in the aftermath of the fight here in the office, I've been on clean up duty. Since there were no witnesses to the scrap, we had to slap their wrists and let them continue to work. Unions are a bitch. Now these broads are doing passive aggressive shit and y'all know how I hate that. They're letting the phones ring 7 to 10 times before they answer. Each of those phone calls represent money to the city and these old crones are just letting the calls drop. I wanna choke these hoes. I can't fire them without the longest trail of paperwork known to man. I have to establish a phone log system so that I can create a paper trail. This shit is more work, more administrative bullshit.

My head hurts, I'm not getting my regularly recommended dosage of vagina, Office Broccoli is looking better and better. I'm all fucked up. My boss asked me what I wanted to do. "Fire 'em. Fire 'em all. Let's start fresh." And all this is just one half of my job duties. I gotta make this fucking city GROW.

I'm in a wilderness with no friends and no motivation. This, my good friends, really is Satan's Anus.

That's all I got.

Peace,
KZ

The Devil's Lower G-I

Hey y'all! My account of this weekend should take up at least two blogs, but I'm lazy and I'm in synopsis mode. This oughta be painless.

Friday
Thelma came and so did I.

Saturday
I left Thelma at the house so I could go to the frat meeting. On my way I check my messages. Four messages from Carmel. The third voicemail message is a plea for dick. The last message is a text at 2:45 am: "I miss U". She was obviously drunk and out with her friends on Friday night. I called her. She was disappointed that I wasn't "in town" but she'd see me when I "got back".

Frat meeting was short. I came home and took Thelma to see the Dave Chappelle flick.

Nightfall came and so did I.

Sunday
Thelma left and I texted Carmel "I'm back". She called me a few minutes later. "Come over and meet my sister." I wasn't really with it, but I did it anyway. Boredom is a bitch.

Her sister is a fucking 10+. Beautiful, crass, ass for days, foul mouthed, gorgeous mess. Talking about fuckin' miscellaneous dudes with her three year old daughter on her lap.They were trying to go out to eat. We leave. They wanted to see their girl. Pretty girl, six kids. She came and brought one of her kids. They called their mama. Mama brought their little brother. Eight deep at Red Lobster. That's what this shit turned into. They are all transplants from the Devil's Lower Gastro-Intestinal Tract to Satan's Anus.

I wish to goodness I had the energy to write about all the shit that happened, but I don't. The shit feels surreal as it is. Carmel's sister was at the table talking about getting paid to fuck in front of her mother. It's hard not to be one of those bourgeois, judgemental assed Africans, but gotdamn!

Needless to say, or shit, maybe I do need to say it, the bloom is off the rose. I think I can take this from a distance, but I can't fuck her under full disclosure. If I could feign ignorance, I'd stab. But I can't, I know too much.

Stay vigilant,
KZ

Rust And The Art of New Pussy

Hey y'all, what's good? Today I'd like to talk about springtime. The essence of springtime. Flowers, birds, sunlight, green grass, new pussy. That's what springtime means to me, the opportunity to mack.

So I'm on the phone with Carmel, right? Bullshit little conversation, kids in the background and shit. I was thinking this shit is a little hectic. I don't know if I wanna keep going down this road. Then she asks me a question. "This is a little personal. You won't mind?" "Naw, go ahead." "What do you do for sexual gratification?" I chuckled. Unbeknownst to her, I had just pulled one off before I got on the phone with her. "Nuttin', I mean, shit, nuttin'." She laughed. "Tell the truth." I exhaled. "I jack off, beat off, masterbate. That's what I do." "Really?" "Yeah, really."

This is where it gets good. She asks "Are you sexually attracted to me?" WTF? "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I am." This was a funny question to me. You'd have to see her to know what I was talking about. "You didn't think I was?" I continued. "Well, you were just so blaise when you where over here Saturday night. I didn't think you were attracted to me like that." And that's where I fucked up.

Carmel is bangin' and quite frankly a little more hood than I normally deal with. I like that edge though. My strategy remains simple: Be a gentleman with a 'hood chick, be a dog with a "cultured" chick and the world beats a path to your door. Foolishly, I didn't adjust on the fly. A woman, alone, kids gone for a short period of time, invites you back to the house and is getting lit on wine? I'm a pretty stupid "African".

"What are you doing this weekend?" she asks. Fuck. "I'm going to Detroit. Frat business." It's a lie. I'm importing pussy, vintage 1970 from the fertile pussy-growing regions of Detroit. "The kids will be with their father again this weekend. I'm going to my girl's birthday party. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come with me." Damn. There is no way I was getting out of that weekend without Carmel on my chin. "Are you staying the whole weekend?" she asked. "Uh, yep."

There you have it. Your boy, Knockout Zed fumbling on the one yard line (that's a football analogy for Robyn!).

Be easy,
KZ