by Headgar Allan Poe
A New York Memoir
by Headgar Allan Poe
If you ever want to creep low-key with a girl in NYC, don’t go to Flor de Mayo. Someone from your hood will be there on any day at any time, no matter what hood you hail from. But my appetite for thrill in the risk of getting caught and the props of being seen with a top notch honey compelled me to go against my wisdom (the flesh is weak).
So I find myself in Flor de Mayo, the one on Broadway, not even the lurky, low-key one on Amsterdam, but the hotbox one I just mentioned above. I’m with a shorty I met at a spot in Dyckman, won’t say where but let’s just say she was there all summer. I’m explaining to her how Flor de Mayo invented the nutcracker, a popular drink that comes in tropical flavors and features at least 7 different liquors. She went in for the bait, and like most basic chicks, made a suggestive pun off of the name of the potion. This is where I become the smutcracker and flourish off of this verbal alley-oop. I carry her nutcracker joke to next levels of sexual innuendos. The fact that she’s laughing signals that it’s Reynolds for her.
Drowning in nutcrackers, we stumble out of Flor de Mayo into the crisp October air of night, the kind that’s moist and cold and touches your face, lifting your buzz to where it needs to be. We walk up the street towards Central Park, we pass my car and I wonder if I should scoop some rubbers from out of the glove compartment but I pass. I wear my condoms like Joe Torre wears his hats anyways, so it’s pointless.
We crawl into Central Park and as soon as we find a spot dark enough we start making out and I’m finger blasting her full force, stopping right when she was about to come on my hand so that she stays hot for what’s next. I walk her over to one of the big rocks in the park, sit down and let her sit on my rock. She was killin’ it with the riding game but it was time to finish her off so I laid her sideways, folded her up and shrimped her. Game over.
Drove her home, what a poppin’ night. The food and drink bill was chill and the pussy was real, came in it raw thanks to birth control pills. We exchanged IG and Twitter names. When I got home I was cruising through her IG only to find a #TBT of her and my girl. Damn, she knows my girl from back in the day, meaning she knew I had a girl, meaning she was still with it. It’s her trife world and we’re just in it
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