Not much talking in here, but this IS how it happened.
As I shoveled another forkful of the best tasting spaghetti salad I had ever tasted into my mouth, I made a quick survey of my surroundings. It was summer outside, and the sun had set on the oppressively hot day, the AC inside was like stepping from a balmy outside into a welcoming refuge. The three women in the room all were engrossed in the movie playing on the big screen, while I could have cared less. A chick flick, all I wanted to do was eat, do my thing, and leave. I knew it was odd for me, a black man, to be sitting in this room with this trio, but the offer of spaghetti salad I had often requested before from one of the women was irresistible.
To my left was Kristi, the real reason I was here, or actually, what she could do for me. She had done it for the past 15 years, ever since the first day I met her really...she was my pot dealer. At 5'5", she wasn't hot but she wasn't bad looking either; a simple, plain-Jane, ordinary run-of-the-mill lesbian pot dealer. Brown haired, slightly over-weight and a hippy, she actually held down a very influential job; the same job as the other women, now that I think of it. But the kicker was that I had often talked to her about her lesbian lifestyle, I knew that she was really bi-sexual. Nothing ever happened though, because I looked to her for my pot and would not jeopardize that relationship. Any user knows that when you find a good score you keep it quiet and my job doesn't "allow" me to smoke so...an impasse there.
Lounging in the loveseat perpendicular to the coffee table which now served as a dinner table, was pure peanut butter. You know that feeling after a good smoke out when you have the munchies and only something sweet will do? Well Noël was it for anybody, man or woman. Judging by her appearance, you wouldn't have known where in the universe they made her. I have always had a soft spot for leggy brunettes with blue eyes and hers were the color of the ocean. Drunk at a party last Halloween, I had told her I wanted to fall into her eyes and just swim around. She blushed, laughed briefly as she gave me a quick hug, then walked away to talk to another friend at the party. I felt stupid afterward but she never said anything about my quick flirt, so I made nothing of it. It was her skin tone that really set her off though. Remember that peanut butter, coat her in it and she would not have changed colors. Absolutely creamy smooth legs led from indecently short grey sleep shorts to dangle over the arm of the loveseat that set a bob to the perfectly shaped breasts under the t-shirt of a local college we both happened to graduate from. I wanted to stare, hell, I did stare, but she was the other half of my pot dealer's lesbian couple...another stalemate. How Kristi ended up with Noël, I have no idea, but thank whatever gods there are for that match.
The blonde woman sitting on my right on the sofa was the reason for me eating, Kristi's mother. Now this was a woman. Forget all of the sexist notions that a woman should be able to cook; Susan was an "old-head." A true hippy from the sixties and seventies, she could throw down in the kitchen; I would stick my elbow into my ear if she told me to, for more of the pot brownies she made me on my last birthday. Breasts that stuck out like torpedoes tented her sleeveless floral print shirt; I often found myself hoping to catch one in the eye if we ever bumped into each other around a corner or something. This magnificent rack that would make any hunter happy to catch a glimpse of, perched opposite a posterior you could see even as she walked toward you. Not as tanned as her daughter's partner, she still turned a head or two when in the grocery store. Ironically she also sported a set of baby-blues, though more of a sky blue than the ocean deep. With perfectly unblemished skin still taught and without wrinkles, she is, was, and will forever stay as the picture of what a MILF really is to me. The last time I had seen Susan was at the local Applebee's. I was there to meet an older woman I had chatted with on X-Hamster who never showed up. She had seemed surprised to see me but we chatted for a while, had a few drinks and parted ways. It was then that I had mentioned that I wanted more of the delicious spaghetti salad I now found myself greedily wolfing down.
It was then that I noticed that Susan was watching me eat with a slight smile on her face. For some reason suddenly embarrassed, I turned back to watching the movie and continued to shovel pasta. When I finished eating I asked to use the restroom before we smoked the blunt laying on the table and was told to use the one in Kristi's bedroom because the toilet in the hall-bath was broken. I remember becoming suspicious when as I passed Noël, she grinned up at me like she had stolen all of Whoville's Christmas presents. But anytime those blue spotlights are on me, it takes all I can think of just to put one foot in front of the other. A distinct "stop it!" was whispered but I had no idea who said it so I continued through the room toward my destination. What awaited me when I came back though was to change my life...like a peanut butter sandwich after a smoke.
On the table was the quarter ounce that was my "order" from Kristi. On the TV was the movie. But on all three faces were the same shit-eating grin I had observed before on only one. I went from suspicious to DEFCON 2 so I checked my fly in case I was flagging, but no problems there.
"What...?" I asked with a forced chuckle that was met with what I could only call even wider grins all around. I checked my nose in case of a flopper I had missed on my way by the mirror but nothing there either.
"What's wrong?" I repeated this time visibly alarmed and not really expecting an answer.
The one I got stopped me cold. It was Susan who asked the last question I expected from this particular group of women. You see, that woman I was to meet in Applebee's was from the area, her profile had said. She said she, like me, wanted to keep her private and professional life separate. It was even her suggestion that I wear the hat I had worn to the bar so that she would recognize me.
"Are you Dr. Pussy?"
To say that I was floored is an understatement. I literally missed putting one foot in front of the other and stumbled forward. The look on my face was one of pure terror. If it is possible for a black man to blush, I did it then. As I peered up at them from one knee, the three immediately burst into uncontrollable laughter. Noël, I found, looked especially delicious as she held her stomach and raged. Kristi's chubby face was hidden behind the shower of hair that had fallen to hang down to her breasts. Her shoulders shook with silent laughter. It was Susan though that I focused on. Her blue eyes locked onto mine.
"I guess ya' are, huh?" she drawled between peals of laughter. Her West Virginia accent announcing to all where she had been raised. "Don't lie. You were at the 'Bee's' to meet someone the other day." I gaped like a goldfish out of water, which only made those monstrous mammaries shake menacingly as if the weapons they resembled had prematurely detonated inside their holsters.
