“She can go lower than I ever really thought she could, face down, ass up!” Now I’m sure Luda was referring to some chick he just got on for the first time in the club. Me, I’m referring to my wife! Damn straight, we gets it in! Just last weekend me and the wife went out for my man’s 26th birthday celebration and tore it up. It’s a beautiful thing when you’re still able to hit the club and get an old-fashioned bump-and-grind session (we call ‘em twerks) in the middle of the dance floor. For those that know me, I don’t mess around when I get in the club. In the past, I’ve been known to take my shirt off, bounce from one end of the club to the other, and occasionally (if I’m feeling freaky), I might just toss a full drink in the air and make it rain in that bitch.
I’m from the filthy, nasty, dirty south (Athens, GA to be exact), and I rep it to the fullest. I swag surf with the best of em’ (given ample time to stretch beforehand), and I love to get it in with my people. The best part about what you’ve just heard is that Rachel’s seen me do it all, and she loves me for it (or loves me in spite of – she usually cusses me out for it). More so than that, she’ll get in the club and get it in WITH me. Me and the wife grind on each other in the club like we just met, while you’re over there with your mouth wide open, wishing your girl would throw it back on you like she used to. What’s crazy about our relationship is that it’s been like this ever since we’ve known each other. She’s never tried to change who I was in the club, (minus the fact that now she’s the only woman I dance with), and that’s alright with me, as long as she keeps droppin’ it like it’s hot. There was, however, this one time when my phenomenal dance moves almost cost me my life…..
About a month ago, my little sister was in town for the weekend, and she and I went out with my brother to the club. Rachel was hanging with some of her home girls at the time, but was going to meet us later that night. We decided to head for the strip in Adams Morgan and hit a bar or two before sliding through one of those “clubs” on the strip later that night. Fast-forward, we hit some spot that was damn near empty when we arrived, except for “her”. Now if you know me, you know I like “thick” women (see Rachel for an exact replica). And if you also know me, you know I’m a pretty slim dude (this will all make sense shortly, I promise). Now I’m in the spot actin’ a damn fool with my fam, dancin’ to white music and joking around, when all of a sudden, “she” comes up. Now even though I’m married, it’s still flattering when you notice a woman noticing you. Not in this case! After a brief exchange about it being her birthday and her wanting me (and me refusing) to stop dancin’ like these white folks, next thing I know, she’s grindin’ up on me out of nowhere! Brief intermission while I break it down. This chick is like my height (6’2’’), and has to weigh a solid 300 (let the liquor tell it), on top of the fact that she’s treating me like I’m the chick, and she’s the overbearing, overaggressive dude in the situation. After a couple harmless “booty bumps” with this mammoth, I slide to the left and try to keep it pushin’.
So me and the fam are kickin’ it for a solid five minutes before the beast returns, and when she does, it’s not pretty. I’m minding my own business, when I feel a death grip around my wrist. Next thing I know, this “thing” twirls me around like a Ballerina Barbie and “forces” me to dance with her. I two-step with this chick for no more than 30 seconds, and break away to reunite with my loving family who left me in the trenches taking grenades. Not two minutes later, man-hands grabs me by the waist (from behind) and starts humpin’ me like I’m some second rate whore (I’m so ashamed). At this point I’ve had about all I can take. My eyes are starting to water, my knees are getting weak, and my bottom lip starts quivering. I’m thinking, “this is it, she’s gonna club me and take me back to her cave and have her way with me, and I’ll never see Rachel ever again”. I’m also thinking, “what kind of fucked up family watches you get raped by King Kong, and doesn’t at least call the police?! – SHOOT THIS BITCH!” Just as I’m about to give up hope, my brother swoops in, karate chops her in the neck, and we make a mad dash for the exit (really, he just dances in between us and we speed walk to the exit, but feel my pain).
By now you’ve all forgotten that this flashback started with me dancing with the one I love, getting nasty on the dance floor. All this to say, if you won’t do it for your man, another woman will….rape the shit out of your husband if you leave him alone in the club! But seriously, don’t lose that passion. Don’t forget that we prefer to gawk and lust over you versus any female, any day. Even before Rachel and I left the crib that night, we made sure we were feeling what the other person had on. Most people probably didn’t notice because it was dark, but Rachel’s shirt was see-through. Sexy, not slutty. She goes shopping for things that she’s comfortable wearing, but that I’ll like as well. After 8 years of being together, some people think it’s okay to wear a cloak, saggy jeans (Rachel knows I like them jeans to hug that sexy frame), and some lame hair do.
When Rachel steps on the scene, she dresses the way I like because I’m the only one she’s trying to impress, and visa versa. We dance like we do because we’re still into each other, and that’s how we roll. She backs that thing up on me like she did the first time we danced. Don’t worry about what we got going on over here; all you need to worry about is how low you can go….
