His Cellie

her phone.jpg

(11:45pm)

The phone rings and as he makes his way out of the bedroom and enters the kitchen for a little more privacy and discreteness.

Him:  Baby you know I can’t wait until I get my car. The phuckin bus broke down and I’m almost home. Just so you know, I hate public transportation.

Her:  Where are you, now?

Him:  I’m at the train station waiting on the train. I’m by Auntie’s house.

Her:  You’re at your aunt’s house? I thought you’re at the train station, nicca? I don’t have time for playing games. What time are you coming home?

Him:  Oh lord, you need help. I said, I’m at the train station. The train is coming in 5 minutes. I should be there about 12:30am. No, I should be there sooner than that; around 12:15am. I only have 5 percent left on my phone. I’ll call you when I get close. I love you, bye.

on the phone.jpg

He hangs up the phone and re-enters the bedroom (Of a man he just met online), closes the door and takes turns sucking a stranger’s dyck, raw cause he don’t like the taste nor the feel of plastic in his mouth. The guy who lives next door and never has female visitors.

So your man is cheating on you with another man. Well, I guess it’s not classified as cheating, right? I mean what’s a little dyck sucking between men? It’s not like he sleeping with another woman, right?

Food for thought. Grab a plate, then relate.

Harlem,

Heaven is at the foot of Mother…

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