NABCAS Presents True Life: I Did Crack

Due to random and not-so-random people visiting my blog,  some details of this post was changed to protect the reputation of individuals mentioned.

It was a long (maybe) time ago and doing Crack was not planned. Everybody told me I should try it...and you know how peer pressure is. Never one to back down from pressure, i did it. I did CrackRock.

Right next to my love for Converses and those fat ass burritos from Chipotle there’s a really, really small almost doesn’t exist space that holds my love for blog hubby, Sir Rock-A-Lot. He’s the oodle to my noodle, the Section to my 8 and the apple to my bottom. He’s Rick James and Im Teena Marie. We’re like this :crosses fingers: Definition of Black Love.

So what happens when you put all of that Fire and Desire in a hotel room after a night of drinking and pants rubbing???  I can barely remember it so I’ll try my best to recapture the night I did Crack or as yall know him- Rock. Like every story that involves trollopfication and blog fornication, there will be 3 parts. My story (which is probably the most truthful that someone who was drunk and cant remember how i got home from the bus station can get), his story (the most accurate without the details that admits he did the unthinkable) and the story we don't want our family or children reading.

It was some months ago and I was visiting friends in… uhhhhh York, New so I figured it would be the perfect opportunity to meet up with my nappyheaded love for some marital bonding. I know you guys don’t care about what I did before Rock showed up to my room so I’ll skip the boring details of shopping and eating overpriced Olive Garden food.

Approximately 4 hours had went by when I got the phone call from the front desk telling me that there was a suspicious young black man with an incorrectly spelled white name attempting to pick up a key to my room. After confirming that Rock wasn’t a drug dealer or DVD bootlegger hustling the Kevin Hart movie, the concierge (that’s fancy talk for front desk. They don’t have those at the RedRoof Inn hoodrats. Step yo hotel game up!) gave him the key but not before collecting his information and alerting the security staff.

So Rock, the confident almost arrogant little troll that he is, opens the door and he walks in like he owns the place or helped pay for the room. My first thought when I saw him: Damn, I should’ve smashed when I saw him in Miami. Smelling like a newborn puppy, was the love of my bloglife with his fresh sharp cornered shape up, health insured smile ,shoulder length dreads, cargo shorts and a pair of 200.00 foamposites or “dopes” as well call them in B-more.

I think we hugged before he pulled out his gift to me. That’s right ladies! My husband knows how to treat a lady. From his hoebag, he pulls out a bottle of wine. Now, before you start Awwww’ing and patting him on his back let me point out that the bottle of wine was the size of a 20 ounce bottle of Pepsi. If I didn’t know any better I would’ve assumed that he got it out of the soda machine but, nonetheless, he bought me wine. Sample sized wine… but wine.

I clown his baby bottle of wine and we end up on the plush king sized bed. I'm wearing my hooker dress that barely passed the bend over test and he couldn’t keep his hands off my khakis. Let me say that the hubby has soft hands… like he either beats off a whole lot or has a thing for lotion… which could mean that he beats off a lot. Regardless, he’s got nice hands and lips (as KingsMomma pointed out later). Anyway, I remind him that I'm about to hit the club with KingsMomma and I’d see him later. I could tell he wanted me... even though Im black. You see- Rock only dates Ez-girls. Hernandez. Fernandez. Sanchez. You get the point. If they dont wear jeans with no back pockets and high heeled jordans, he aint checking for them. My man has got a thing for the Goya. I'm not proud of that but I accept him for who he is. Sellout... and all.

KingsMomma gets to my hotel, they both tell me my dress is short, I take a few pics and we roll out to the club. Two bottles of Rose, about 4 mixed drinks later and a dizzy cab ride later, KingsMomma and I stumble back to the 23^rd floor of my hotel. It's probably about 2 or 3 Am and I walk in to the room and fall onto Rock – who is on the bed listening to my iPod. He’s washed that outdoor puppy smell off of him and is wearing a pair of pajama pants. Let me remind you all again that I’m SLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIZZZZZZZZZZARD. Im Charlie Sheen. Im Amy WINEhoused (RIP). Im Ned the Wino drunk. KingsMomma is sitting on the leather ottoman just as drunk.

I tell Rock I missed him and stumble to the bathroom. Peeing with the door open and thongs around my ankles, I hear Rock get out of the bed and walk over to the bathroom and KingsMomma says “let me see yo dick” or "pull out yo dick" or something like that.

Rock says something like “ya’ll are wasted/drunk/plastered/fucked up etc” and tells me that KingsMomma asked to see his dick. Too drunk but not drunk enough for a threesome with two nappyheaded bloggers, I think I told her she had to go. A part of me wanted  him to pull it out so I could see if he had reason to be COCKy but I also couldn’t let Kingsmomma see if I was about to get played or not. Know how embarassing that would be to brag to your friend that you were getting D'd down just to have them see that the dude was working with a Slim Jim?!!?  

Kingsmomma realizes she’s cock blocking and gets up from the ottoman and then before she can stand up straight, she falls. Hard. Rock helps her back up and she leaves to “go home”. Please note: She didn’t actually go home. She told me she was going home but I knew she wasn’t going home… She had the look in her eye. The look that makes babies and gets people herpes.

I think this post is long enough……….. Part 2 coming soon :)