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Return of Foxy Brown (Tribe of One Excerpt)

 

Some things to keep in mind when trolling during Halloween:

  1. The costume may play up or play down how sexy the guy truly is.
  2. The cleverer the costume, the more interesting the guy will be.
  3. All useless phone numbers in your cell phone should be cleared out to collect new ones.
  4. It’s a horny, horny night; bring protection just in case.

     All the major streets downtown have been blocked off. So, adult trick-or-treaters can roam freely from one bar to the next. And just to show that the mayor’s thinking, she’s requested that all bars have a designated driver program so that the designated driver doesn’t have to pay cover and gets all his/her nonalcoholic drinks for free. Yet none in my little posse plans to be sober. We’re all cabbing it there and back.

     I’m ambling along the downtown streets with Sonny andCher, i.e. Jenna and Man Meat. We dash into a few “warm-up” bars, but our main destination for the night is Martini Twist. They serve about a hundred different “martinis,” although only a few are true martinis. The rest are cocktails served in an elegant martini glass.

     We order drinks according to our personalities: Jenna gets the chocolaty sweet “brownie martini,” which comes garnished with chocolate chips; Man Meat orders a pretentious classic “French martini”; and I order a bold, tequila-based chocolate martini, “sweet bad mama.”

     I just may have to be Foxy Brown for the whole year since I’m not gonna take no jive while I’m alive! Speaking of “jive,” who’s this jive-turkey mofo with the painted blue face wearing all blue clothes with a bunch of tampons safety-pinned to his shirt? I’m about to find out since he’s heading my way. I guess so. I’ve stared a hole through him.

     “So, you like my costume?” Blue Mofo asks me, turning his profile from one side to the other.

     “I’m intrigued by it more than anything else. I mean, what possessed you to pin tampons on yourself?” I ask while checking him out. Before I get an answer to my question, I take his arm to turn him around on the pretext of seeing if there are more tampons on the back of his shirt. In actuality, I’m checking out his biscuits. Oh yeah, I can see myself buttering those!

     “So, what do you think?” Blue Mofo asks.

     “Not bad. So who or what are you?”

     “You have to make three guesses.”

     “A menstruating smurf?”

      He throws his head back laughing and stumbles into a woman (I think) who looks as if she’s just stepped out of a Rick James video. He finally manages to answer, “I haven’t heard that one tonight! But no.”

      “A menstruating ‘Blue Man’?”

      “Closer,” Blue Mofo says.

      “Blue mofo?”

      “A mofo? I like that.”

      “Yeah, but it’s still wrong. So, what are you?”

     “You give up?”

     “Yep.”

     “I’m Picasso’s Blue Period!”

     I scream laughing. I love this man. No, it’s not just the alcohol talking. In five short minutes, he’s made me happier than all the scheming dates I’ve had with either Troy or James or Jeff’s surprisingly flattering ass-self. This guy’s perfect. Wait, nobody’s perfect. I stop laughing abruptly. “Hey, are you gay?” Now the alcohol’s talking!

     “No, I’m Paul.” Good lord, not that cursed name! He reaches out to shake my hand. I ignore it and give him a big hug.

     “Sorry, I can’t do something formal like shake hands with a man wearing a bunch of tampons,” I inform him. I notice during our hug how solidly built he is.

     “Oh, but you can hug me?” I’m copping a feel, honey!

      “Don’t try logic with me, Paul. Not tonight.”

      Upon hearing his name, Man Meat saunters over. “You called?”

     “No, Sonny. I was talking to this Paul, aka Picasso’s Blue Period.”

     “Hey, that’s a good one,” Man Meat admits. “Honey,” he gets Jenna’s attention, “this guy’s dressed as Picasso’s Blue Period.”

     “That’s super cool! I wondered about the tampons.”

      “Let me guess: Sonny andCher!” The much sexier Paul says, seeing Jenna and Man Meat together.

     “Right, we aren’t as original as you,” Jenna answers.

     “But the best part is his name is Paul, too,” Man Meat says, far too proud of such a trivial coincidence.

     Later on, Sexy Paul and I look as if we’re warming up for some real debauchery, but I’m actually procuring vital information from him. He’s a mechanical engineer and into mountain biking, but I gasp when he tells me his age.

    “Twenty-seven!” I repeat.

    “What, do I look younger?”

    “You look blue.” I’m feeling a bit blue myself. Have I now become the “older” woman forever?

    “How old are you?”

     As if I didn’t see that question coming. “I’m thirty-four…and a half,” I respond with what I hope is a beautiful confident smile.

     “Which half?” he asks with a sexy blue grin. I’ll have to see his unpainted face. Young’un or not, he’s certainly not turned off by my age.

     “That’s for you to find out.” I wink.

     “When?”

     I take out my cell. “Tell you what: why don’t we exchange phone numbers before we get any drunker?”

     Sexy Paul moves tantalizingly closer to me and whispers in my ear, “What’s going to happen if we get any drunker?”

     “Is that an invitation?”

     “Maybe.” Just as he swoops down to kiss me on the lips, I tilt my head out of his line of fire. Undaunted, he plants three small soft kisses along my neck.

     Even though he’s the one with the painted face, I still want to mask how much he’s turned me on. “Did you just put blue lip prints on my neck?” I ask him with a pouty look.

     “A little. I’ll get it off.” Oh, he’s getting off all right. With one firm lick, Paul retraces his kiss trail then smiles at me with an I-want-to-fuck-you-like-an-animal look in his eyes.

     But I still have to play it cool. “So, what’s your number?” I ask.

     “Sixty-nine.”

     I laugh, knowing full well that if I’d heard that response while sober, it wouldn’t have been so amusing. “Very nice. Now, what’s your phone number?”

    “Here, I’ll input it for you.” He takes my phone.

   “Thanks. So, what’s your last name?”

   He returns the cell. “Energizer Bunny,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

   “Is that with or without a hyphen?”

    He leans forward enough to rest a small patch of his forehead on mine and whispers, “It’s any way you want it.” Bingo! 

***

     I fetch Paul back to my apartment after Martini Twist closes. I squirt him a few times with my gun when he tries to undress me in the cab while we’re making out. It’s bad enough we’re carrying on like a couple of horny teenagers, but I’m not getting publicly naked on top of that.

            I’m on an “archaeological dig” to uncover the real Paul underneath all the layers of blue. First thing I discover once we’re back at my place is the beautiful, olive skin of his chest.

            “Nice tan,” I compliment.

            “Thanks, I was born with it.”

            “Oh, like me!” I say as I help him with his pants.

            “Here, I’ll give you a hand with your costume.” Despite his offer, Paul just slips his hands through the side slits to caress my legs and ass. “You’re so hot,” he says between kisses. I finally help him get my pants off.

            Without interrupting our kissing, I lead him to the bathroom with our clothes trailing our route.

            “We’re taking a bubble bath?” he asks, eying my old-fashioned deep bathtub.

            “Perhaps another time. For now, I want to wash off that blue.”

            “You’re going to wash away my blues?”

            “Yep.”

            I turn on the shower and adjust the water temperature while Paul takes off his remaining clothes. I take off my top, stuffed bra, wig, earrings, and false eyelashes.

            “Wow, you look really different,” Paul says.

            I’m too drunk to be offended. “Yep. That’s what you get for picking up a woman on Halloween.” Out of my peripheral vision, I notice that he’s “underhung,” Maybe he’s cold. I hope he’s one of those “plumps when you cook ’em” kind of men.

            This is the part I love: washing each other off. Although I feel as if I have the harder task since I have to practically scrub off all that blue makeup, I’m enjoying every moment of running my hands all over his body. By the way Paul’s kissing and caressing me, he’s certainly enjoying himself.

            Then I feel his erection sliding along the inside of my thigh. Yes! He’s doubled in size. But I think he’s misinterpreted my enthusiasm. “Slow down, buddy. You need to put a condom on first.”

            “Then let’s get the hell outta this shower,” he says, rinsing the suds off himself.

            We towel off quickly and dash into my bedroom as if it’s an Olympic event. And that’s about how long he lasts. “Hey, you’ve come already?” I ask, astonished.

            “No, I can’t come in a rubber.” He starts humping me more vigorously.

            “Wait, wait! I can’t feel you.”

            He stops, whips off the condom and says, “Just suck it a little. It’ll come back.” He maneuvers us in position for me to “just suck it a little.” Boy, does he have the wrong woman!

            “Are you serious? You only lasted for like, thirty seconds and now you want me to suck your dick? All this hitting on me, caressing me, telling me I’m hot just for… You should be the one going down on me!” No, I do not handle sexual disappointment well, especially when drunk.

            “I should’ve known you were a fake when you started taking off all of those body parts!” Paul yells while hopping out of bed.

            “Body parts? That was my costume, you dumbass! As in, it’s Halloween.”

            “I definitely got tricked.”

            I snap back. “You are the trick with that now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t erection of yours.”

            “Screw you!”

            “Not with that disappearing dick of yours, Houdini!”

            For his final act, he vanishes in a huff, magically taking my thrill with him.