The Meet and Greet:

For the First Time Prelude:
Dapharoah69 copyright @ 2005


I was hurting. Hurting in a lot of ways. I was cheated on by my wife, walked in on her sucking her so-called sister's pussy. Shocked me, but turned out the bitch isn’t her sister, like they first told me three years ago on my 22 birthday (she was 34 with two teenage sons who hated me). I loved her, beyond words, beyond measure. I hurt for the little boy inside of me who called me a goddamn fool! A Niggah, a thug Niggah like me, who still wore his jeans with the right pants leg up and the left one down and some Payless $12 dollar a pair boots, wasn't supposed to be down in the slums. I was a straight up hustler, sold drugs since I was thirteen growing up in the hood. Got in the game cause I was hurt, hurting because Mama wouldn't get me them fresh Nike Airs. She decided to buy me those God-awful K-Mart XJ900's, and I got picked at in the process in school, all my so-called friends sung the taunt song about cheap shoes BO BO'Z COST AH DOLLAH NINETY-NINE, BO'BO'Z MAKE YA FEETS FEEL FINE! I hurt from that goddamn song, that's when I got in the game, and Dre Sharps been Sharp like Dre Day ever since.

Except in my love life. Grew up with my moms and pops married, happily. So I always knew I wanted and needed that, eventually, but my plan was to live life live my twenties and most of my thirties unattached so I could shop around and fuck who I wanted. We lived in the ghetto but the ghetto wasn't our home or in our home, that shit was left outside when we closed and locked our doors. I grew up happy, monetarily poor but wealthy at heart cause I had a daddy and a momma and a family; I was the only sibling. my dad was cool. He never did drugs, never sold drugs, and worked for everythang he got.

I can't work that fucking hard.

And then I got married. Why I got married was beyond me. I fucked so many hoes. I fucked hoes in thirteen states. I been stuck on pussy since I was 13, became a regular pussy bandit. My motto was: if she can walk, talk and bleed once a month then she was worth fucking. I was convinced I'd never marry, never be committed, despite one day wanting to. I was in serious denial. I played hoes left and right, broke their hearts, dogged them, took their money, drove their cars in the ground, blew some engines too and never called the hoes again, left their cars on the side of the road and called another bitch to come pick me up. And Mama and Daddy told me, "One day you gon meet the right one who gon fuck you up, its gon come back to you."

And it did. With Chandra.

And now I'm hurting. Hurting for loot. I needed cash, bad. I no longer sold dope, I got out the game last month and enrolled in college. I wanted a different life, I wanted change. my parents were happy I decided to leave drugs alone before I completely destroyed my record and my life. Dad took me out to eat and we flirted with some bitches at Wet Willy's Bar on South Beach, father and son talk. But sex and the streets and the fast money kept calling my name.

The IRS was talking about taking my house, I owed $5,000 in back taxes. I bought my house with drug money when I was 18 years old, birthday present to myself, and its in my name. I told them to give me two weeks. I said please. And the crackers laughed at me and said five days, business days, and thank God today was Friday cause with the weekend I had seven days. I looked for work, went to Labor Finders, a temp agency and did construction but they paid me $40 dollars for the day and I looked at that funky fucking check and told them fuckers what to do with it. Broke my back and killed myself building somebody's roof and all I got was $40. Please bitches. Please.

my new girlfriend was pregnant, she told me she was on the pill and my dumb ass fell for the oldest trick in the book. Mom's wanted a hundred bucks every two weeks out my check for paying my $500 AT&T Wireless bill (talking to bitches in Virginia when I lived in Florida); and I never asked her to.

This whole shit is fucking crazy. I wasn't getting checks anymore, I got fired form the Home Depot when they found out I sold drugs. my boss found out when he bought weed from me in the hood, I remember that shit, which was a trip. I looked up and seen who I sold cocaine and weed to and I shitted on myself, literally. He smiled, threw the shit in my face and told me not to come back to work.

So now I don't know what to do. Gotta pay all these people, I called a lawyer and filed for divorce. And he wanted a grand up front. Luckily I had two grand stashed in my bedroom mattress, I wired him teh grand. While married to my wife I never cheated, never thought about it. Chandra, from Nebraska, completely reformed me. She made me give a damn, she was sweet, considerate, and kind. She changed my life, showed me what love was.

Now I'm left hurt. Moms and Pops was right.

My warped mind in a complete whirlwind, I was driving my pearl white 78 Cutlass on I-95, my all gold rims spinning and glistening in the Miami sun. South Beach was on and poppin for Memorial Day weekend, 2005, but I wanted no part of it. It was easy for a niggah to fall back into old habits once a bitch deceived him.

Tuning in to the stereo an announcement caught my attention as wind whipped my silky, tough-looking but super fly dread locks all over the place like Batman jumping off a hundred buildings at the same time.

"The Sizzle 2005 is here, come on out and enjoy the festivities kicking off at the American Airlines Arena tonight, 8 PM, black men from around the country..."

I ain't with that homo shit. I didn't know if it was homo or not, all I heard was black men, not black people. NO women, I wasn't going.

I felt stupid wearing this Enyce outfit, all red. my wife bought this for mew trying to get me not to divorce her. I was like whatever, she used my credit card to get it. So I politely called Visa's customer Service and tenderly, quietly had her fucking name sent into oblivion.

I closed my eyes, weaving through all this goddamn traffic. Fuck! Where were all these people going? What was I gonna do about Frankie being pregnant? She was only 17 years old, bitch told me that after she wound up pregnant. She told me she was 24, looked 24 and showed me a Driver's License that verified she was 24 but it was a fake ID. What am I gonna do? Can't let Chandra find out about this, then she can clean me out in count for alimony cause I committed adultery, even though she did. But I had no proof, and I wasn't ready to get these white mouthafuckers in my business.

I seen a whole bunch of buildings on either side of me. The Sizzle commercial swarmed in my head. I smiled to myself. Why would my wife sleep with another woman? Why did she lie and say Stephanie was her sister? damn why Chandra? A niggah loved you, you were my world. It felt like I got kicked in the stomach.

I mashed down on the gas pedal with a Banana Republic clad foot and exited the Interstate, Biscayne Boulevard, going to the American Airlines Arena. The sun was setting. It was 7:40 P.M. on my dashboard clock.

I had to pay to park. Ten whole dollars. I owed the IRS and here I was shelling out unnecessary loot. Oh, well. Niggahs were out here big time, all over the place. I felt outta place cause some of them were giving me the eye, like they wanted to fuck me or get fucked and I felt uneasy. Why did I come here? Why did I come to a gay event? And looking around these Niggahs didn't look gay, they looked suited, masculine, thugged out, dreaded out like me, tough talking, cussing loud, try'na be seen and heard, talking 'bout bitches...Goddamn, I felt turned on.

I mingled, said sup to a few niggahs. Some niggah named IzAite laughed with some chick on his arm, she wore a black dress and had long, flowing hair, she looked Indian...I knew his name 'cause he said it in his camcorder. He had some sexy fucking lips...goddamn niggah, cut this shit out. Sexy lips, I ain't no fag! What the fuck is wrong with me?

I kept it gangster, kept it moving. I didn't look at any one niggah too long, all this eye candy out here. I continued to say "Sup" to a selected few...They spoke back or shook my hand. I was extremely horny, when I got mad or was hurt my remedy was either getting some pussy or jacking off and right now I couldn't do wither cause I was in public.

A huge poster of Shaq Daddy's House flapped in the breeze. Fuck Shaq, go back to L.A. niggah Kobe needs to get dicked down. I swear them two niggahs were sucking each other off. They had too. They fought like two angry bitches.

I sat down on the bench by the sidewalk, under some palm trees. Damn, shade, finally. Bayside was behind me, a huge tourist attraction with stores, restaurants like Bubba Gump Shrimp and the hard Rock Cafe and Hooters and other novelty shops. Cars were everywhere, nicely fixed up Caddy's on spinners, SUV's of all brands, loud, booming rap music. Niggahs styling and profiling, representing where they came from. Camcorders were out, filming my city.

This tall niggah, all his grill full of platinum teeth, sat next to me and tied his boot, sweating profusely, looking like Whitney in concert. He was looking like LL Cool J in motion, wearing shit LL would wear. Wife beater, Calvin Klein jeanz, boots. Hankercheif dangling from his back pocket and about $2,000 worth of gold on, he looked decent. Before I could do anything he stood up, winked at me with a boyishly handsome smile and walked off. Damn shawty had a big ass booty.

Jesus! Stop this shit! You are not to look at dudes this way! You are not gay! Men don't turn you on! Pussy do, women do!

Before I could sigh another niggah sat down, he sexier than the first. Goddamn yo, I felt myself falling from grace...

I slid over away from him and leaned back on the bench, looking the other way.

"Goddamn its fucking hot out here," he said, sitting up. He was clad in Allen Iverson everything. Head band on his cornrows, wrist band on his upper arm, close to the shoulders. Fly looking niggah.

"Yea it is," I said, hoping he'd shut up. I thought about Chandra. Walking in my room. Her tonguing Stephanie's nipples, her tits, her pussy. Moaning and cooing and bumping pussy like it was a video shoot.

I looked at him. We locked eyes and I couldn't break away, he held me captive. We didn't look away. He smiled; I frowned. He extended his hand, the chemistry building in us, and I was angry, mad, and upset. I ain't gay, never been with a man, never desired one, never found them attractive and this niggah by me had me hot, horny, I wanted him, I wanted to fuck dis niggah in his ass and I wanted him to suck my dick, I ain't gon lie.

I snatched my hand back and he tucked his chin back. He was confused, I was confused. I stood up. "I ain't gay partnah. I aint shaking yo hand, fuck this I'm out this bitch my niggah!"

And I left, I never walked so fast in my life. I weaved through niggahs, they were packed out here. Looking ugly as fuck, some sexy, some fine, some niggahs were aiight looking. Some were fat, skinny, old, young, fly and flashy.

I got to my car ten minutes later.

Homeboy was leaning against it, frowning. "I know you want me niggah, and we gonna talk, my name's West Philly, what's yours?"

This Niggah leaning on my shit?

"Niggah I know you aren’t on my ride," I said low voiced, shaking my head, sneering at this niggah. "Wes Philly, what kinda name is dat?" Dis niggah was fucking hot goddamn, but I hid it from my face.

"Goddamn yo, we both niggahs, why you actin like a hoe ass niggah?"

I was stunned to silence. A niggah never talked down to me like dis before. I blinked four times and stepped to this niggah and he put up an awesomely-executed set, ready to throw them bows and swang those thangs (fists); I liked that I must say, shawty down for whateva. His masculinity was there, very evident and he wasn't feminine at all. Why was that turning me on? Was i normal? Was I trying to get back at Chandra?

I will never fuck a man, I will never kiss a man, I will never do anything with a man, fuck that I ain't gay, I'll kill myself first.

"We can box then niggah," I said, and I put up my set.

"Nice," he said, throwing a punch and I gave him a jab and he countered with an upper cut to my chin, not too hard, just to shake me up and I kicked this niggah int he nuts and he squeezed his thighs tight and caught my foot.

He smiled. "You look good fuck niggah."

I snatched my foot back and bitch slapped this hoe ass niggah and he slapped me back, grabbing me by the jacket and snatching me to his face. We were both 6 feet 4 and we both weighed about 215 pounds. He smiled again.

"I think you kinda fly, shit niggah."

I pushed him off me and punched him in the chest, he slammed against my car.

"Nice punch dawg, I think I can tap that asshole harder."

I punched at this niggah, stunned by his response and we wound up hugging and I hugged this niggah for dear life and I just burst out sobbing and shit cause I was hurting inside and I refused to mourn or cry for losing my wife and I never cried when she cheated on me I held it in, showered, held it in, I wouldn't cry and now I was dying inside and this stranger held me and said "Damn yo I knew I seen hurt in yo eyes goddamn yo come up to my hotel room and let's talk dawg goddamn yo who da fuck hurt yo sexy ass my niggah goddamn yo...let's go, the holiday Inn is right in front of you...Let a niggah from Yonkers, New York show you how we take care of our own kind dawg...I'm gon cater to you whether you like it or not..."

I kept quiet and followed this niggah to his room, silent, knowing I was about to give up my booty for the first time in my life to a niggah named West Philly, what did you think about that, to see if I can understand why my wife gave up the pussy to another bitch...I knew this much, all dat dick he got that was pressed against me when he hugged me had my mouth watering, was that normal?