It all started with Kevin. My first love. Too fine, boo-black, and always broke. A so-called actor whose
starring role was that of a dimple-faced together-brother with a good head on his shoulders. Kevin said he
worked in the lab at Harlem Hospital, when actually—he swept that mothah and took out the trash!
Five years later while stationed in California, I met my ex-husband, Maurice. A fine ass red-bone with sticky
fingers and shit for brains. I must’ve been feeling fine on cloud nine when I took that short trip down the
aisle. I didn’t even know the guy! Not three months passed between us saying our first, “hello’s” and our
final, “I do’s.” It was six months before I figured out my new husband could steal the oink off a pig.
Talk about impulsive!
And in between the liar and the thief, there was Antoine “two-tongue” Thommson.
I will never forget him.
Antoine was a cute dark-chocolate ‘Bama Slammer, my afternoon delight and midnight snack; my ever-
ready-Freddie whenever I was inclined to step out on Maurice. Built like he chopped trees for a living,
Antoine’s body seemed chiseled from stone or maybe even granite.
There’s something about a soldier!
But Antoine was a super-freak. Always talking about how he wanted to, “sop me up wit a biskit.” Those
country boys are a mess! He’d have kept me barefoot, pregnant, and spread-eagle on the kitchen table if I’
d let him, because to Antoine, sex was a national pastime.
And talk about a tongue? I could’ve sworn he had two!
That boy could work his tongue six ways to next Sunday.
Antoine popped poontang like it was a delicacy, which of course I thought mine was. I tell you ole’ boy had
such an outstanding technique he should’ve been granted an honorary doctorate in the Art of Good Head!
But believe it or not you can get too much of a good thing. All of that tonguing can work your last nerve. My
stuff must have been like sweet black Maxwell House Coffee—good to the last drop—because I couldn’t
keep him off me! Every time I turned around he was lapping at me like a half-starved kitten at a bowl of
warm milk! So I got paranoid. Thought he was trying to steal my love juices; like they were super-energy
power crystals or something. I finally had to cuss him out and then call the military police and request a
base transfer.
That boy had my kitty-cat bone-dry!
