Serving Betty...Crocker

Today's entry is all about serving food...and sex.

Since his return from Berlin, DEE has been working hard studying for the GRE so he can go to graduate school in education. I called him up to shoot the shit and too see how his sex and love life were going ever since he told me about ALBERTO and The Story of the Christmas Goose. Fortunately he apologized. But still expressed some lack of satisfaction. The goose must still be loose (read the story).

He sent me his admission essays and promised that if I proofread them, he would get me two steak sandwiches from our favorite "hole-in-the-wall ghetto fabulous" spot--the Home of the Hoagie (1312 West 111th Street) on Chicago's southside. Bear with me for a minute. If you are black and in Chicago, you are likely familiar with the Chicago Steak Sandwich (some call it a Chicago Steak Hoagie). It is NOTHING like a Philly Steak. Philly steaks are shredded beef and peppers and cheese and onion on a bun. The Chicago steak is ground beef in a barbecue/steak onion sauce sitting in a bed of american cheese with hot OR sweet (I prefer sweet) peppers (more like relish) and thinly sliced tomatoes on top--all in a hoagie bun. You go in and say "I want a steak sweet and some fries with sauce." And that shit is ON!

If you can't tell. Me and DEE love food as much as we love each other (no hyperbole here). And I love to cook good food as well. I make blueberry dumpling cobbler, sour cream cakes, yummy meringues, Cornish hens and cream gravy--I am a black Betty fucking Crocker. And I love to serve up my food and watch people eat and enjoy it.

I am not alone in serving up the food. I see black gay men offering and serving up food all the time. I hear guys looking for ass asking for a brother with "them nice cakes." Duncan Hines no doubt. Other guys wanting to get fucked good want a brother with a dick like a polish "to get up in them and hit these cookies."

Serving up food doesn't stop there. What about skin color? Butter pecan complected, caramel skin, peanut butter complexion, skin the color of fried chicken, chocolate (milk or dark) complexion, and don't forget coffee (plain, mocha, with cream, au lait-if sophisticated, or con leche-if mixed with Puerto Rican). Even black gay authors like E. Lynn Harris serve this shit up in books like Invisible Life (paperback), talking about a Sela's "vanilla wafer brown complexion" and "almond-shaped hazel eyes" (p. 4) and Basil, the DL bisexual professional football player's "honey-colored skin" (p. 166). With all of these servings, I think I am about full.

But some things you don't ever want to be served. Take last Friday night for example. I got a call from TYRELL, a 24 yo dark skinned black guy--5'9", 165-170lbs,34w. Not a cute guy, but a nice thick, but toned body. At that age where his extra weight looks good on him. However, if he doesn't watch out, in two years he'll be fat.

TYRELL has been blowing my cellie up ever since he stood me and FRIEND up for a threesome that we arranged with him on the phone line a few weeks ago. TYRELL has been apologizing and leaving messages, "Yeah I am sorry I didn't get with you and your boy that night. But I was hoping that we could still hook up and get that three-way thang goin'."

I finally decided to talk him when he called Friday night and agreed to set up the three-way with FRIEND. When TYRELL showed up, he was cool and laid back. Very masculine. That is, until me and FRIEND got to work on him. I stuck my dick up in him and that boy caught vapors. And as usual I talked shit, "You been wantin' these dicks inside of you haven't you? Blowin' up my cell phone like you then lost your mind! Take that shit." And I would slam my dick into him all crazy. It's funny looking back on it--but he got into. FRIEND and I were serving up some serious polish.

And then I pulled my dick out of him and realized that TYRELL was serving his own dish--a Betty, and I don't mean Crocker--a BROWN BETTY. There was shit all over the condom, and a smell that matched the disgusting sight. I was immobilized for the moment.

He didn't seem embarrassed at all. And went and cleaned up immediately. Then FRIEND had a a go and then TYRELL gave him a BROWN BETTY. Meanwhile, my apartment living room was starting to get a bit ripe. And I was thinking to myself--didn't this guy know he was about to get fucked? Why didn't he have a bowel movement or take an enema?

A little bit of shit is one thing. I am a compassionate human being. I understand mistakes can happen. Of course I don't want to encounter those mistakes, but I can understand that they occur. I live by the old adage: when you play with a puppy, he'll lick your face--or in this case,, when you play with ass, expect a little shit. But TYRELL didn't have a little problem. He was serving BROWN BETTIES like they were on sale. It was dookie booty EVERYWHERE.

We had to stop.

TYRELL left and FRIEND and I took a very hot shower. Usually after a hook-up we have a little late night post-coital helping of some fresh fruit, cake, or a sip of Martinelli's. But that night, our appetite was lost.