Tar Baby

Grandma used to scrub my skin ferociously. She did so to keep me from getting darker. For the first three years of my life, I had a caramel complexion and very soft hair. My grandma delighted in that. Much to her chagrin, my skin tone became darker as I aged. In order to combat this problem, Grandma bought a little white brush with tough black bristles to keep the "dirt off my skin."

As a darker skinned woman with short, coarse hair, my Haitian grandma wasn't regarded as a symbol of beauty in her native land. That's why even as a 75 year old homebody, she would literally spend hours at the stove running a hot comb through her hair to keep it soft and straight. She even had her own little tool to manage her skin--a finely chiseled rock.

Even though I was just five years old, I vividly recall the day of my rebellion. I had no desire to feel the sting of her brush that day. Knowing that she was about to light my skin on fire with her brush, I locked the bathroom door from the inside, walked out, and shut the door. I won the battle. Nobody in the house could get into the bathroom. I didn't win the war, however. When my Godmother got home from work later, she whipped my behind...

I reflected on that experience years later after an exchange with a player. Hershey was dark skinned and Haitian. After practice I approached him because he seemed off, mentally and physically. Not only was Hershey quieter than usual, he even looked pale--which is very difficult for a very dark skinned person to pull off.

Me: Hey man. You don't look good. You sick?
Hershey: Not at all. I'm good.
Me: You sure? You even look pale. Your skin doesn't look right.
Hershey: Nah. Ain't nothing wrong with my skin.
Me: It doesn't look that way to me.
Hershey: I've been using some soap my mom bought me to make my skin lighter.

Internet Pimp

Diggler liked to meet women online. He claimed that the internet was teeming with sexually deviant coeds. In college, I met a half dozen females through Blackplanet (BP). With the exception of a few lames who posted misleading photos of themselves, I had very conventional encounters with the women I met on BP. Diggler, on the other hand, was on the prowl for any woman who had weird fantasies.

I didn't consider myself to be a square until I met Diggler in college. We were both freshmen living in the same residence hall. He played on my flag football team, and took part in the video game craze on our floor. Like 98 percent of the people in my dorm, Diggler was white and came from money. He also played for the Lacrosse team.

Diggler was really off the wall. I had no clue as to why Diggler was in college since he drank and fucked more often than he went to class. He was ALWAYS around women, and they'd do whatever he asked of them. One girl, for example, did his laundry on a weekly basis. All she wanted in return was some weekend lovin'. Another one came by a couple of times per week just to rub his shoulders. Dude was doing it up like a rock star in college.

Diggler's sanctuary was the weight room. He'd always tell these wild, sexual stories while we lifted. In hindsight, I think it made him feel like a real man to bench press and talk about banging different women. On our way back from the gym one night, Diggler asked me to stop by his room so he could show me an exchange with his soon-to-be internet conquest.

Diggler: Hey man. Check this out. (It was a message in his inbox)
Me: Yo. Is this for real? Naw. I ain't ever heard of anything like that!
Diggler: Dude, she's a fuckin freak, man. I can't wait!
Me: You're gonna do that? That's some weird shit.
Diggler: Fuck yeh. You know how I do it!

I was disgusted. This random girl wanted Diggler to pee directly into her throat while she gave him head. A week later, he fulfilled her fantasy.

Touched

I stopped praying in college. A series of events lead me to that point. Growing up, religion was a big part of my life. For five years (3rd-8th grade), I attended Catholic school. Initially, I was enrolled in the public school system but my parents didn't like that I was fighting every other day. Instead of curbing my diet of professional wrestling (WWF and NWA), they figured the good ole nuns and priests would straighten me out.

Other than wearing a uniform, I didn't have to adjust at all to being in a Catholic school. Jesus Christ and his twelve disciples weren't a new concept to me because I grew up going to mass regularly. Additionally, as a toddler, my Grandma wouldn't let me go to sleep without praying. She made me believe that terrible things would eventually happen if I didn't speak to God prior to sleeping. Looking back, I don't remember a night where my Grandma went to bed without putting in at least an hour of prayer with her rosary beads. When I got older, it through me for a loop when I discovered that she believed in Voodoo.

I have fond memories about my Catholic School years because of the friends I made, but it would be a stretch to say that I got a great education during those five years. When I transitioned to a public school for high school, it was weird to participate in group discussions. The nuns didn't engage students in exchanges, nor did the students debate each other. Everything was fed to us. There was no encouragement to ever question anything--not even the fact that our Pastor was usually drunk at mass...

I was asleep one evening when my mother's frantic call to wake up startled me. She told me to hurry out of bed. I ran into the living room where she was watching tv. There, on the screen, was my former Pastor--the man who administered my First Communion. He was being charged with several counts of child molestation. My Priest fondled little boys, and a couple of them happened to be my schoolmates.

Asian Honey

Alcohol is my truth serum. On a drunken night I once pissed my ex-girlfriend off when I told her about my desire to be with at least one Southeast Asian woman before getting married. We weren't engaged or anything. It just wasn't the right thing to say. I tried to quell the fire by telling her that finding one locally who's into black guys would be nearly impossible, but that didn't help matters much.

My thing for Southeast Asian women started when I was 9 years old. I was at my friend's place playing video games with him when his much older brother busted in and took over the tv set. He popped in a tape. At the time, I didn't really grasp what was on the screen. All I recall was a really pretty Asian woman caressing some black dude's genitals. I watched what must have been at least an hour of hot Asian women doing stuff that I couldn't understand, but I comprehended that they were all gorgeous and flexible...

Shortly after my relationship ended with the ex, I had my mind set on finding Ms. Asia. At the time, I was a MySpace junkie. I tried to find my Asian honey through that site, but nothing worthwhile came out of it. In the meantime, I kept having these random encounters with older women--but none of them were from Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, or Laos. It was very frustrating.

One night at my favorite bar, I was pleasantly surprised when an Asian beauty took a seat next to me. She seemed to be intoxicated. After a couple of anxious minutes plotting my entry, I went for the gusto.

Me: Can I buy you a drink?
Asia: Sure.
Me: What are you drinking?
Asia: I do shots.
Me: Damn. Really? I'm already kind of tipsy. I can't do a shot.
Asia: We can do weak one if you want.
Me: I don't do weak shots! I'm a man's man. You do Patron?
Asia: Hell yeh!

(Pound the shots)

Me: So, where you from?
Asia: Guess.
Me: Thailand?
Asia: Wow. How you know? That pretty good. I'm half Cambodian too.
Me: You're very pretty.
Asia: Thank you. You cute too.
Me: (smiling...) Thanks. So, you're into black guys?
Asia: I only date black guy.
Me: You're just saying that so you can get another shot.
Asia: No. Really. You cute.
Me: We should take a trip together. Haha.
Asia: Oh yeh. Where?
Me: Thailand! You ever been? I wanna go there.
Asia: Yeh, but it nothing special. Trust me.
Me: Why do you say that?
Asia: Last time I was there a 7 year old girl ask my boyfriend if he want "sucky sucky." Just like that. She don't even know him. You see that stuff all the time.

Kiddy Porn

I love my nephew as if he were my son. Although I didn't produce him, his personality is eerily similar to mine at his age. He just turned 13 this past summer. Like me (at that age), he's goofy, laid back, and loves sports. As a result, we really connect. I get him. Unlike my nephew, however, I was heavily involved in extracurricular activities which enabled me to broaden my network of friends at a young age.

A couple of weeks ago, he came to spend the weekend with me. One of the things I appreciate about our relationship is that he's very honest with me. He tells me a lot more than I was willing to share with my elders at his age. Realizing that we have an open line of communication, I use that as an opportunity to probe about his friendships. The stories he has shared with me the past couple of years have been really disturbing.

One of the things I'm trying to help him understand is that his circle of friends will ultimately define his path in life. Knowing him, I can tell that my message hasn't completely resonated. I think he feels like he could keep being the neutral, or different, one in the crew. I've considered nicknaming him "Teflon" for this reason, just to make a point.

A good friend of his at school is sexually active, and he has been getting busy for awhile. This same friend got away with doing drugs in the cafeteria under a table. I'm not a big fan of this boy, but my nephew claims to not have many other options for friends. As I was trying to drop some knowledge on him about this friend, my nephew taught me an unexpected lesson.

Me: Why don't you get involved in a club or something? You need to do that stuff. I was involved in a lot at your age.
Nephew: There's nothing for me to join.
Me: Nothing at all? Come on.
Nephew: No. Seriously. There's nothing to do in my town. The closest Boys and Girls club is one town over and there aren't any buses that run out there.
Me: So what do y'all do out there for fun?
Nephew: Me? My mom doesn't let me go out, so I really just sit at home all day and play video games or talk on the phone. My friends do all sorts of crazy stuff. Actually, I have a story for your blog.
Me: Tell me!
Nephew: So, do you know what credit carding is?
Me: I think so. I mean, Nelly had a video about that. That's where you swipe a card down a woman's backside, right? Why?
Nephew: (laughing) No. So, you remember my friend, right.. The one I told you about who was doing drugs in the caf. He told me that he took his "stuff" and slid it up and down his girlfriend's butt. That's credit-carding...
Me: How old is the girl?
Nephew: Same age as him. 13.

Sperm Bank

My dating past includes a handful of very random older women. I was never into older women per se. For some odd reason, I kept finding them on the club scene. The first of my very few Cougar episodes occurred at a nightclub when I met a 42 year old married woman whose husband wanted me to have a romp with her. Shortly thereafter, I met another woman (Redbone) during alumni weekend at my alma mater.

Redbone and I met during a networking session on campus. She was a short (about 5'2), light skinned, African American woman who had a pretty face and a really nice body. I had my eye on her the entire session not realizing that she was fourteen years older than me. To be honest, I was thrown off by her attire. The faded light blue jeans she wore fit just right, and the tight white tee-shirt she had on made her breasts look real plump. She didn't look to be a day over 25.

Later on in the evening, we connected at the alumni dance. I stepped to her immediately to introduce myself. Our conversation quickly became a one-two step. I knew things would get interesting once we started dancing because her friend left the area immediately. It was just the two of us.

After a couple of songs, I could tell by the look in her eyes what she was thinking. When the party was over, Redbone gave me her number. She urged me to call her soon, and I did.

(Phone call)

Redbone: I really had a good time the other night. We should get together. You can come to my place.
Me: That's cool with me. Hold up. Are you married or anything?
Redbone: I got divorced recently. I'm a single mother. Is that a problem?
Me: No. Why would it be?
Redbone: Just asking. Some guys are scared off by my kid.
Me: (Thinking, what does your kid have to do with any of this?) Nope. Not an issue for me.


(About an hour into phone call)


Redbone: Can I just say that you're really an amazing person.
Me: Thanks.
Redbone: I mean that. You're funny. Intelligent. Handsome. Why aren't you in a relationship?
Me: I like being single. No need to rush.
Redbone: I see. Do you have kids?
Me: Nope.
Redbone: Do you want any???
Me: Of course.
Redbone: I want to have another one. My clock is ticking.
Me: (awkward pause) Oh... Uh. I see...
Redbone: I'm a really straightforward person. Please don't be offended by this question, but I have to ask you something.
Me: Go ahead.
Redbone: Would you sell me your semen for $7000? 

Monkey Business

I've had some pretty wack experiences with white people. As a toddler, I was jumped by some white classmates at school. That experience lead me to steer clear of white folks for a long time. In the sixth grade, a group of my friends and I were egged by some white kids as we waited to get into a gym on the "wrong side of town." A year later, my black team went into a white town for a basketball game. We had to be escorted out of the gym because a couple of players and their parents didn't like losing to a "bunch of niggers."

My high school years were relatively quiet on the racial front. I define that period of my life as "Whitey's Redemption." The healing actually started in fifth grade when I joined an afterschool program that was founded and directed by a couple of white men. From that point through high school, they unknowingly did a lot to restore my faith in white people. They were genuinely good people who never asked me for anything in return for their generosity. I also developed friendships with a few white classmates who helped me broaden my view of the world immensely. The same can be said for my white U.S. History teacher who taught me the true meaning of critical thinking.

By the time I got to college, I learned to deal with people as individuals. Unfortunately, one really bad experience brought up all of the aforementioned memories. It didn't take long for me to see that colleges were teeming with extremely ignorant people. What saddened me about this is that these students, many of whom came from very sheltered backgrounds, were preparing to become the "leaders of tomorrow." One morning as I was having breakfast alone in the college's cafeteria, some white dude (Scruffy) who lived on my floor randomly sat next to me.

Scruffy was from Vermont. Earlier in the year, he had an embarrassing situation occur where he accidentally urinated on a pile of his white rommate's clothes after a long night of partying. Unlike his fellow freshmen, Scruffy didn't roll with a crew. He was either with this Ghanian cat (who wasn't a man of many words), or his girlfriend (she was the hottest girl on our floor). Even though we were cordial, I was kind of surprised that Scruffy took a seat next to me in the caf.

Scruffy: Can I ask you a question?
Me: Sure.
Scruffy: Why do black people like bananas?
Me: What? I don't understand. Do you see a banana in front of me?
Scruffy: No, but I'm just curious.
Me: Bananas? I don't follow why you're asking me this.
Scruffy: Yeh. I mean, do you think it has something to do with your African roots?
Me: I'm lost right now.
Scruffy: I just noticed that black people like bananas, so I thought I'd ask.
Me: What the fuck do bananas have to do with Africa?
Scruffy: You're clearly upset right now. It's just a question.
Me: Yeh. I am upset. You're asking me about bananas and my fuckin African roots! Really?!? 
Scruffy: Dude. Sorry. I'm not a racist. My best friend here is black. You know that. I just wanna know why black people like bananas. That's all.

Shower Scene

There is an intense shower-rape scene in the flim, "American History X." The protagonist, Edward Norton, is the charismatic leader of a white supremist group. After killing a pair of black men who were attempting to steal from his property, Norton is sent to prison. While incarcerated, Norton comes of age as he realizes that his fellow Nazis aren't truly devout in their commitment to the uplift of white people. Ironically, as Norton attempts to cleanse himself in the shower, he is raped by his cohort of hypocrites...

I was once the victim of bullying. At the time I was a pre-schooler in Montreal. Twenty-five years later, I still remember getting stomped on by a group of my five year-old classmates in the schoolyard as they called me "blackie" in French. That experience has lead me to always sympathize with the kid everybody sees as being different. It has also caused me to deal with white people cautiously.

I have a healthy resume of outcasts on my resume of past acquaintances. The most interesting of these individuals was Red. He was a short and stout, red-headed white dude who lived on my floor when I was a freshman in college. He didn't have any friends. We never hung out, but I often tried to engage him in conversation. Unlike the other guys on my floor, however, I never made fun of Red despite the fact that he'd watch all sorts of porn on his computer with his door open. Supposedly, his roommate caught him masturbating more than a couple of times.

Midway through freshman year, Red started responding to my greetings. Once in awhile, he'd even come into my room when the door was open to watch my crew play video games. The guys started joking that Red would develop a crush on me because I was so nice to him. I thought that was ridiculous. He didn't strike me as being into guys. I joked back that if he ever decided to pull a Columbine in the dorm that I would get away unscathed...

As that school year drew to a close, a few classmates I got to know fell by the wayside. A couple of them were raped and another one left due to some serious emotional issues. Going into my freshman year I never considered that a college campus could be a place where people regress--like prison. Aside from dealing with life after my father's stroke, things were going pretty well for me until I stepped into the shower one evening. As I was washing my face in the shower, I was stunned by somebody drawing the shower curtain open.

Me: (hurrying to rinse my face) What the fuck?!?!
Red: (staring at me) Have you seen my keys?
Me: Are you fuckin serious? Your keys?! Why the fuck would I have your keys? Close the fuckin curtain!!!
Red: Oh. Sorry.

Killer Instinct

Bounce had a killer instinct. He was recommended to me by his older brother the summer before I became the Head Coach here. All summer long, I kept hearing about the young man's immense talent. Bounce was a 6'2 guard/forward who possessed a strong body, superior hops, and good ball handling skills. Through some research, I learned that he was being pursued by a couple of Division II colleges at the 4-year level around the country. According to Bounce's older brother, who was my junior Assistant, the scouts backed off because of his grades. Given Bounce's talent, it was strange to me that he didn't get picked up by any Prep schools. 

I ended up passing on Bounce since there was no on-campus housing. He ended up signing with a Division II junior college in our league. Much to my dismay, he dominated my team every time we played. Five years later, I still remember him flying through the air for a thunderous dunk during our state tournament game against his team. I often wonder what would have happened had he enrolled here.

After that season, I heard that he transferred to a small Division II college in Texas. A few years later, however, Bounce resurfaced in our league with the same team he played for initially. Since players only have two years of eligibility in our league, that means he never even suited up at his new school. The second time around, which was roughly three years later, Bounce wasn't the same player. As a matter of fact, I didn't even notice him on the floor when our teams played. There was an air of disinterest about him. I don't even think he cracked 20 points combined in the two games we played against his team that season...

A couple of weeks ago, I went out for drinks and wings with a couple of coaches. While we were talking about some of the more talented players in our league over the past several years, Bounce came up in conversation.

Hawk: Hey, you remember that kid Bounce, right?
Me: Of course. That dude was a killer! He fell off last year. Just wasn't the same.
Hawk: Well, he got into some trouble over the summer.
Me: What he do?

Stunned by the news, I googled his name to see what would come up. Low and behold, it was true. He shot a 19 year-old man nine times in the parking lot of a liquor store. Bounce is currently in prison for murder.

Star 69

Some guy was getting a mean lap dance. I thought most women straddled their client frontwards, or bent over doggystyle to do their thing. This dancer, on the other hand, had her face in this guy's crotch while he held the bottom half of her body in his face. I couldn't believe how well she could twerk her body in that position.

At that point, I was on my way out of the joint. Cheeks had just left, and Candy didn't come in to work. The stripper (Raven) who had kept me company earlier in the evening left me for some other dude. Sitting with me wasn't paying the bills so Raven had to make a business decision. I didn't blame her. The most I offered her was a beer. That's cool at a bar, but that doesn't buy a man company at a strip club.

I was curious to rap with Star 69, so I stuck around for a little bit. Much to my delight, it didn't take long for her to purge her client's wallet. I intentionally sat by the lap dancing area so that she'd walk right by me, and she did.

Me: Nice job up there.
Star 69: Thanks. You tryin to dance?
Me: Let's talk for a bit. I wanna get to know you.
Star 69: Get to know me? This is a strip club. Haha.
Me: I just like to know a little bit about who I'm dancing with. That's all.
Star 69: Oh I got you. That's your thing? Getting to know your stripper? You men crack me up. Haha.
Me: Why's that? It has to be real to me. Just getting a dance doesn't do it for me.
Star 69: Okay. I'll play along.
Me: So, for $20 you'll flip upside down for me?
Star: Maybe. It depends on how much you're spending.
Me: What do you mean?
Star: I'm flipped upside down around the 8th song. I figure at that point I have to make it more interesting, you know?
Me: So that guy spent $180 for lap dances?
Star 69: Way more than that. He should've just gone to VIP with me for $300. I get real freaky back there. He didn't really get to touch me here. This is out in the open.
Me: Oh okay. What's the freakiest thing you do back there?
Star 69: Well, I do a lot depending on the guy, but I had a really weird experience back there once.
Me: What happened?
Star 69: This guy paid me $100 just to rub my bare feet for three songs. I didn't touch him or nothing!! Hahahahaha

Bang My Wife

Some guy wanted me to do his wife. I had never been propositioned in that way before, nor had I ever heard of such a thing. It all started with a night of dancing that heated up quickly (re: Hollywood Swingin'). Within a half hour, this stranger was communicating to me through his wife's cell phone that he "wanted to watch me pound her."

My father never pimped my mom, so I kind of figured all married couples rolled like they did. Actually, my parents weren't very affectionate towards each other. They were very old school. Growing up, I saw them kiss once. They were never hugged up either. Sometimes I considered myself lucky to even be alive given the lack of passion between them. By American standards, their relationship would have been considered unhealthy. Then again, I watched my mom wipe my dad's backside and clean his vomit on a regular basis during the last three years of his life...

JM was a proud Cougar, and I was an eager Cub. Usually when I start dancing with a woman, there's a little one-two step that goes on with some distance. Gradually, I close the gap. On that night, JM and I were like magnets from the jump. Her intensity was evident. I tried not to get too caught up in it because there were over 200 people in the joint who would've had a front row seat to our hump session. With the way people snap photos of strangers (then post them on facebook) doing crazy things, I was very cautious about my actions.

JM showed me her phone. I could see the message from her husband. It was unbelievable. This guy was giving me carte blanche to get busy with his wife, and he didn't even know me. She started whispering softly in my ear. Our bodies were still close at this point. The contours of her body felt so good. I found myself in a quandary.

JM: Come on. It'll be fun.
Me: That's kind of weird to me. How would this work?
JM: Like it would with any situation?
Me: Are we talking camera? Would this be filmed?
JM: No. I'm not crazy.
Me: So, then how would he watch us?
JM: He'd sit there.
Me: What?!? In the room?!? Why am I even talking about this?! No. I don't roll like that. Sorry.
JM: Come on. I'll make it worth your while. You can already tell it would be great! I can feel what you're all about. I bet I can get it all in my mouth.
Me: Wow! haha. Good one. I appreciate the compliment, but really.. I'm all set. Am I a first or something?
JM: My hubby and I are adventurous!
Me: Which means?
JM: We like to explore. That's all. We keep the marriage interesting this way.

While we were talking I noticed a couple of people watching us. They looked perturbed, so I asked if she knew the pair.

Me: Who are those people over there watching us? That guy has been staring this way for a lil bit.
JM: Oh. Those are my friends. We came together. They think I'm just drunk. They don't know why I'm really here tonight.

Material Girl

Cheeks is a stripper on the side. I was surprised to find out that she had a full-time gig. Despite the seemingly excruciating pain Cheeks was feeling in her lower back as a result of wearing those uncomfortable stripper heels for several hours, she had to be at her full-time job early in the morning. In a matter of a few hours, Cheeks had to go from being a seductive, money-driven stripper to caring for patients at a nursing home as a Certified Nurses' Aide (CNA).

At the time Cheeks told me that her long term goal was to become a Licensed Practical Nurse (LPN). She was actually on the waiting list for the LPN program at my school. Cheeks became a CNA with the intention of getting some needed experience in the field, and she loved her work. She even told me a story about a patient whose funeral she had attended a few days before our conversation. In the small amount of time we got to talk, it was very evident that she was born to be in a helping profession.

I was curious to hear about her experiences as a CNA because my mother had been one for the previous twenty five years. Like Cheeks, there was a time when my mom needed to work another job because a forty hour work week just didn't yield enough money. I remember there were days when she would leave her eight hour shift only to take on an additional four to six hours at another nursing home.

At the time, my dad was struggling to find work. Rent was steep. Bills needed to get paid, and there were two growing boys in the apartment (my older brother and I) who ate a lot. Instead of letting my father drive a cab, which he was very willing to do, my mom insisted on working two jobs. I clearly recall her telling my father very frankly that she refused to let him drive a cab because it was a menial job. She didn't want him to lose his dignity just to make ends meet.

Unlike my mother, Cheeks didn't have children or a husband. However, with the exception of an aunt who helped her pay rent, she was an 18 year old living on her own. Since rent is usually the most expensive monthly "bill", I didn't get the need for her to strip since she had a full-time job.

Me: Let me ask you a question, and please don't take this the wrong way.
Cheeks: Sure. Go ahead.
Me: Do you think most of the women in here like to strip.
Cheeks: Nope. I don't know anybody who likes doing this. The money's good. That's all. This is demeaning.
Me: So then why do you do this?
Cheeks: I need the money. I gotta save up for school. I have expenses.
Me: Moving back in with your mom isn't an option?
Cheeks: She chose her boyfriend over me. That's why I had to live in the shelter. Do you know what I found out last year?
Me: What?
Cheeks: She was doing coke when she was pregnant with me. I have a memory problem because of it. My short term memory sucks!
Me: Damn. Sorry to hear that.
Cheeks: It's whatever. Now that I'm a big girl, I just gotta do things for myself. No problem... Listen, it was nice talking to you but I gotta go now. I'm off the clock in ten minutes.
Me: You headed to your other gig now? Why don't you take the night off? You look like you're exhausted.
Cheeks: I wish I could, but somebody has to pay the car note on that all-black, pimped out BMW I'm driving. You should see it! It has everything!
Me: Check you out. How much do you pay a month for that?
Cheeks: $400 and change a month and I pay about $600 a month for insurance.

Amateur Night

Cheeks started stripping when she was 16 years old. The legal age to strip is 18, but she got an early start on dancing provocatively by using her older sister's ID. I didn't prod much, but apparently that was enough for her to get on stage. When we met, she had just turned 18. Although Cheeks started dancing at such a young age, she claimed to dislike stripping--referring to it simply as a means to an end. Other than an aunt who helped her pay rent, Cheeks was literally on her own.

After Gucci told me about the stupid bitch who derailed his plans to play college ball because she failed a class he paid her to pass for him, Cheeks came and sat next to me. It was her first night at this particular joint. The night was very slow for her. After five hours of work, Cheeks had only pocketed $20. The other girls I had spoken to that night, like Raven, were doing a lot better.

Cheeks wasn't unattractive by any means. She had blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. Her face was unblemished and she had very thin lips. In her heels, Cheeks looked like she was about 5'10. She also had the requisite assetts to be dancing provocatively. In other words, she didn't need special jeans to prop up her derriere. Baby had back!

Cheeks was annoyed about making so little on her shift, but that didn't keep her from having an open conversation with me. Like Candy, she was very candid about her past and present.

Me: So this is your first night stripping?
Cheeks: Here? Yeh. I've been doing this for a couple of years. Started when I was 16. I'm 18 now.
Me: 16? Were you stripping after school or something?!?!
Cheeks: I dropped out at 16 and got my GED.
Me: School wasn't your thing?
Cheeks: No. It was. I used to live in Florida. Down there, I was in a talented and gifted program so they jumped me ahead two years down there. When I moved up here, I got put back two years. I was bored with school so I dropped out.
Me: Were your parents cool with that?
Cheeks: My mom wasn't at all. She kicked me out because of it. Well, she says it was because of that but it was really because she chose her boyfriend over me.
Me: Where's your dad?
Cheeks: He died when I was 2. Heroin overdose.
Me: So then where did you live when your mom kicked you out?
Cheeks: I lived in a shelter. That's actually where I found out about stripping. This other girl in there was bringing home $1000 regularly, so I was like I need to give this a shot!
Me: That's a lot of money!
Cheeks: I know, right. Well, she was making a lot of money because she was giving blow jobs in the champagne room.
Me: Ohh.. got you.
Cheeks: Ugh.. My back hurts so much. Wearing these friggin heels is the worst!
Me: So why don't you throw on some flip flops and dance barefoot on stage?
Cheeks: The owner won't let us. It's actually considered prostitution to dance barefoot on stage, so I gotta keep these damn heels on.

To be continued...