Part 2: NABCAS Presents True Life: I Did Crack

Shortly after Kingsmomma leaves my hotel room I realize that I reeked of alcoholic and pants rubbing sin. I remember telling Rock that I was drunk and needed a shower. He agreed.

I ended up stripping and did the slow foot stumble into the glass shower almost hitting my face on the wall when I tripped over steam. This is when I realized I was super drunk and that Rose wasn't my friend but a pink enemy seeking vengeance on my body and soul. Not only did I choose to lounge in the shower like I was chillin on a sofa with my legs sprawled out but I also decided it was a perfect time to wash my hair.... with bar soap. That skinny ass leftover hotel soap. Sample soap.  Was there shampoo and conditioner provided by the four- star Hilton hotel? Well, yes but I like for my hair to be matted and tangled with flat bar soap when I'm drunk and fancy... and a drunk mind will have you washing your hair with anything that suds or inviting people back to your hotel room even when you have someone there waiting for you. As drunk as I was, I would've washed my hair with Tide or beer piss if it was available. You know what else a drunk mind will have you doing? Washing your ass and face with the same shampoo you failed to use on your head leaving your skin feeling like you just soaked in Epsom Salt and dawn dish detergent. Listen folks, when you're drunk everything that doesn't make sense makes perfect sense. Don't Drink and Drive, Shower, Fuck, Teach Children, Breathe, Live !

Feeling like I just ran through a car wash with toxic shit now seeping though my pores, I take my time getting out of the shower and stumble to the bed where Rock is laying. Now, these parts are a little foggy.

I remember climbing on top of him and telling him that I was drunk and wanted to vomit. That right there was that disgusting sexy talk that only a wife could say to her husband and still make him hard. So, right now I'm dizzy. Rock now has two heads and is starting to look like a Boondocks character. The room is spinning and I feel like I'm going to meet that 22.00 pasta I inhaled a few hours before. Theres music playing from my iPod "Love" playlist and a scene replaying  in my head:

Me: Yo, the last time I drank Rose I got soooooooo fuuuuuuuuucked up

Kingsmomma: Champagne doesnt really do that to me but I'll try it

Me: I'm serious dude. That shit will get you everytime
Kingsmomma:  Uhhh i doubt it

slow-fast forward both of us grinding on random 21 year olds, stumbling on the streets, hailing a cab and listening to Biggie in said cab with a Punjabi driver nodding his head.

I roll over on my side and Rock brings me a trash can. Even with his teenage voice and Connecticut accent that I always find so funny, he sounds comforting. I remember him telling me that I just needed to throw up and that i shouldn't be embarrassed about throwing up in front of him. I remember telling him that I'm not embarrassed I just cant throw up.After advising me to put my finger down my throat and me declining his offer to put something down my throat to throw up, he pulled my hair back, got back in the bed and we spooned while listening to music.

Somewhere between R. Kelly and 112, Souljah Boy comes on. Now, there are about 200 songs on that playlist. All of them are baby makers and here comes Souljah Boy's She Got A Donk out of the blue. Only during a time that two of the craziest bloggers end up in the same bed together would a random ass song magically appear on my playlist. Do I turn it off? Nope. What did I do? I did what every girl, your mother and grandmother included, does when that song comes on... I backed it up or did some drunk variation of backing it up. Yup, Ms. La'Docker did random booty popping Tip Drillish dance moves in the bed. As I'm writing this, I realize that I always pick the worst and most random times to booty pop which usually ends up in some embarrassing or blogworthy situation. File that one under Blogworthy.

"Donk" is where things got spicy and, unfortunately, I cant remember everything BUT I'll give you the following tidbits that I do remember and/or have text confirmation that it did happen.

Things that Khaki Vaguely Remembers About Doing Crack

• Breaking my Pretty Woman rule and kissing Rock allllllll in the mouth. He liked it.
• Both parties getting Facetime and even as a sloppy drunk I gave a pretty decent performance. No teeth or hands! BOOM!
• Rock Somebody did some questionable and pause-worthy shit that they didn't even pause on before doing it while someone else didn't even fight it. As a part of our marital agreement, I can not disclose the act that was performed.

• Rock has a mean stroke game and the perfect sized "junk". Mean as in pretty damn good and perfect sized as in it wasn't so big that I'd have to ball up and take the D like a champ or too small that I'd want to punch him in the neck and make him sleep in the hallway. If I was sober, I would've went to sleep with a Coke and a smile.
• Nobody came... at least i don't think i did. I know he didn't... I think. Wait, he did... once per her his text but I don't know... FML.
• I must've said "i gotta throw up" about 100 times and never actually threw up or attempted to. In fact, someone  kept stroking while I muttered my threats of puking.
• Rock uses some "regla" ass condoms. Yep, he doesn't use any of those fancy wrapper condoms... unless he saves those for the Cholas and Rosie Perez look-alikes.
• Changing positions often and feeling like Troy from Crooklyn when she had that dream about sniffing glue. I was floating through the air while the room moved around me. No bueno.

That pretty much sums up the non-experienced teenage like sex which ended with me having my head in a trash can after my final threat to puke. I still didn't puke and ended up going to sleep.

The morning after: Butt ass naked, I wake up and run to the bathroom where I kneel over the toilet and grab it like I'm about to make love to it for the last time. Rock walks over and tells me to throw up. Of course... I don't. I get back in the bed and he leaves to find me water and breakfast. After some time, the best husband in the world returns with a big ass waffle and a bottle of water which I'm sure cost him more than he should've paid.

We got dressed and checked out of the hotel before getting a cab. I gave him a hug and a kiss, got in my cab and 5 minutes later opened the cab door and threw up. It was THE best vomit ever. I felt like i had just gotten head by a human rattlesnake while gumdrops and raindrops fell on my head. Shit was superb.

On my bus ride home things started to get clearer and a feeling of failure came over me. I felt bad and not because I just had what felt like 18 gallons of "drank" trapped in my system but I felt like I didn't rep for all of the black girls that get traded for the Peeta Ricans and border jumpers. That night was for the Tamikas and ShaQuans that Kobe skeeted on before marrying Vanessa. This was for all of the black baby mamas of pro athletes with J-Lo lookalike wives. I started questioning the authenticity of my vagina and head game. Were the blogs I write about me being a sex goddess all bullshit? I admit I cant sext and I don't masturbate, but was I capable of bad sex? Would Rock think I was a bad "lay"? Did I care what he thought? Not really because he did questionable shit but it was the principle. I take pride in being able to make a mans eyes roll in the back of his head like he's Rick Ross on a plane. I enjoy popping my collar after a night of heavy breathing and leg spreading and I just didn't feel like I gave him the Khaki Experience. It was like he paid for a Michael Jackson concert and only got "the brothers" or he expected Cirque Du Soleil and got the Universoul Circus with Uncle Tyrone shucking and jiving with a Rottweiler dressed as a lion to Frankie Beverly and Maze's Before I Let Go. This was my "See what you missing fucking with them Ez's?" moment and I failed miserably.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

STOP THE RECORD! What am I talking about? Rock did get the Khaki Experience-- sloppy toppy, drunk doggy style and all. I'm unpredictable... and memorable. Thats is THE Khaki Experience.  

So ladies and gents there you have it, my admission to doing Crack. It was the first and last time I will ever do a fellow blogger unless you're Nightfall, NC17 minus the girlfriend or Simone Dior minus the vagina.  I have no regrets and I would do it again but someone went back to Peetas.

Questions? Comments? Drop em down low.

OH... and YALL better stop rushing me to post  :-)

aaaaaaaaaand I hate blogger for being assholes and not posting all of my pics.