@mizzlovelippz

I’d forgotten all about Cash Money ’til late last night when I noticed a new avi for one of my favourite people on Twitter.  If any of my girls remember Cash Money, you’ll agree with me on the striking resemblance.

I met him at the club.  He was about two inches shorter than me, but the confidence level of King Fucking Kong.  He had swag times ten.  And this turned me on the minute I turned my head and locked eyes with his.  He simply tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to his ring finger with questioning eyes.  I put my left hand up and shook my head.  #NoBeyonce  He signaled for me to go on over and I, the ever shy and reserved newfound single self that I was, lowered my eyes and semi-smiled.  I wouldn’t dare, would I?

He noticed my hesitation and came over and took my hand and led me to the V.I.P. booth.

Lemme tell you about Cash Money.  He was light-skinned with hazel eyes.  His hair was waved perfectly and his face was lined up to the point where I wanted to trace my manicured fingernail along his chin to feel if it was real.  He smiled a lot.  And when he laughed, his eyes lit up like a little boy.  I swear if I were to hear DFJZ‘s laugh, it’d be the same thing.  I was smitten.  And there was only one thing I wanted to do to him.

I wanted to sit on his pretty face.

He wanted to drive me home that first night and I felt no ill ways about letting him do so.  That was sign number one that this was going to be a fun “ride”.  I’m getting butterflies now just remembering the anticipation I was feeling back then.

The drive uptown was easy and carefree.  I felt like I’d known him my whole life.  We were comfortable and smiling and flirting and even though he was driving stick, he made sure to keep touching my hand.  This was the excitement I needed in my life.  I’d never had a one-night stand.  But that night, somewhere between the glass of wine and the way he danced behind me, that shy girl decided she was getting the pipe.

I told him I didn’t want to go home just yet and led him to the park down the street from my house.  Perfect setting right?

He killed the engine and we were in complete darkness.  I could make out his silhouette and the brightness of his eyes.  It was early Spring and just the right temperature for a good romp in the car with a stranger.  How daring was I?

We sat and talked for what seemed like hours, my head filled with erotic thoughts of this exotic-looking man and what I wanted him to do to me.  I kept wishing he’d make a move, lean in for a kiss, smell my hair, nuzzle my neck, anything.  I was ready.

Finally, I built up the courage enough to turn my head seductively and whisper, “I’d really like for you to kiss me” like a 15-year old schoolgirl.  And he did.  His lips were soft and smooth and sweet (his breath was always minty fresh) and he kissed me long enough to have me wanting more.  I  smile now as I remember his face.  I ran my fingers along the definition of his arms, inviting him further.  I entwined my fingers behind his neck and pulled him closer to me, wanting to feel all THAT defining muscle on top of me.

But what he said next was the reason he remained in my life all those months, longer than any man ever stayed in my life since my separation.

In his confident, sexy, Negro way about him, he said:

“Baby girl, I’m feelin’ ya, y’know?  I want you.  I mean, I want you bad.  But I ain’t goin’ any further.  You’re gonna get this dick, I can assure you.  But it ain’t gonna happen for another three months.  I want you to know I’m fo’ real”.  Pussy move right?  I know.  But we not discussing that now.

And with that, I was sprung……

Thank you Mr. Jonez for posting the new profile pic and for bringing me back to that time in my life.  I won’t tell you what I want to do to you every time I see you tweet.

Peace and one love always…..

xo