My gut told me church today was going to be an event. And if I could be real with myself I’d admit I barely got up out of bed this morning.

I had to force myself to get up. When my alarm clock lsounded I wanted to hammer the bitch quiet.

But I couldn’t find my hammer. I did find my huge dildo and I threw it at the clock. It fell off the dresser and it came unplugged.

I savored the sudden silence. But then my pussy came alive at the thought of the dildo, sitting on the floor.

Feeling all alone and deserted. So I got up, picked it up and worked my pussy until I felt my vaginal walls creaming all over the crummy bastard.

My body felt like it was beat up. My head pounded excruciatingly. I hope it wasn’t because of my medical condition.

A secret I was keeping to myself.

I tried to cook some breakfast but when the eggs and grits were done I felt nauseated. The thought of eating made me want to puke. I had to hold my stomach and settle down on the floor in the corner of the kitchen. My face in my hands I started to sob.

I couldn’t breathe because I never thought of death or thought about dying until my doctor gave me the worse news of my life. I never thought the day would come. I was like most people.

Thinking I was going to live forever, that getting old was for other people and that I was invincible. But God was showing my ass full throttle.

Imposing death was really getting to me. My life had actually subsided to this. My life flashing before my eyes a hundred times a day.

I needed to clean my apartment; I never let it get messy. But I had a busy week. I worked for the Precision Response Corporation (PRC); located down the street from the Cutler Ride Mall.

Gay Central I called it. If the men weren’t gay they were on the DownLo. Secretly tapping booty hole when they had girlfriends or wives.

Men were a trip sometimes.

I got to stop clubbing on Saturday nights and trying to get my ass to church on Sundays!

I had shaken my ass for hours at Club
Metropolis. I sucked some dick in the bathroom. I forget his name. But I knew the name of his dick.

It was “Penis,” and it had two cousins that hung out with him all the time, named “Testi” and “Cles.” Pronounce it testicles.

I charged him three hundred dollars for my services, since he was a so-called big baller and shot caller. He gave it to me with a grin.

Then around 4:40 a.m., on my way home, I met another Niggah. He was short, fine, had a Caesar cut and was slightly bowlegged.

We made small talk. He offered to pay me for some pussy and he ate me out in my Honda Accord right on Ocean Drive.