When Disaster Strikes. . .Based On A True Minneapolis Story.

Names and specific details of this story have been changed to protect the horny and the dumb.

Once upon a time in the great city of Minneapolis . . .

The concert had come to an end. It was a funky-good time to be had by all. The SOS BAND had come to town and served up the stellar performance everyone had anticipated. Their high energy performance stirred up happy feelings and high-spirits. It was all smiles and laughter and not a frown, fuss or fight in sight. Not satisfied with leaving directly after the bands set, a mixture of folks hung out, sipped on cocktails and socialized.

It was the height of summer in Minneapolis. The air was thick with a post-concert ‘musk’ – the kind that can only be generated by a variety of perfume and colognes, a generous amount of hair care products, antiperspirant on its last line of defense and of course, alcohol. Even with the air conditioner on MAX, it was hotter than a tricks dick at the free clinic. But for the most part, people ignored the heat index and kept the after-party in full swing. After enduring long harsh winters and even soggier springs; most Minnesotans welcome the warmth that the month of July brings. More than any other group of people, Minnesota residents rank highest in the appreciation of “Mother Natures” sunshine and all of its benefits.

Nestled in a corner of the dimly lit room, Jacquelyn straddled her soon to be lover. And she didn’t care who was watching. In fact, she rather enjoyed when someone took a moment to notice her sexually suggestive position. The spontaneous voyeurism heightened her pleasure and made her sultry lap-dance that much more exhilarating, much to her lovers delight.

Each persons reaction was a little bit different from the next. There were those who pretended not to see her – only taking “sneaky peeks” when they were sure she wasn’t paying attention. At least that’s what they thought. She knew full well they were caught up in the rapture of her well executed peep show. “Undercover freaks“, she muttered and then rolled her eyes - relishing the sexy scenario.

Then there were the individuals who were genuinely caught off guard. They were the funniest of the bunch of all. The shocked looks that washed over the faces of both grown men and women were priceless. She almost laughed aloud at their neck breaking double-takes and flushed faces. She knew that all Gods children were capable of blushing – but she had never actually seen a brown skinned brother turn crimson, until tonight.

And what would the night be like without the bonafide “Haters” ? - All born of the female gender, of course. They were the women who snickered and whispered to their fake-ass girlfriends, because they were miserable, judgmental heifers who wished they could grind up on a sexy-fione man like hers. Actin’ like they aint never got loose before and had a little bit of fun. If they hadn’t, that’s what the problem was – a boring, dick-less, life. She felt sorry for them. Sorta. Not really.

“Bump that. Tonite, I’m bringing sexy back like Justin Timberlake, bitches. . . .” She pressed up against her “Boo” just a little bit harder.

One guy, a short, buffed, security guard; cupped his crotch, gave her a nervous wink and kept it moving.

She thoroughly enjoyed the attention, but more importantly she adored the man she was sharing this moment with. He was one of the few to ring her “Rang-Dang-Doo”. He made her want to have the morals of an alley cat and purr all . . . night. . .long.

He was a tall brother, about 6′4″. His frame was slim, but well defined. His shoulders were broad and his legs powerful, like that of a college athlete. She didn’t know it, but once in high school, he won an “un-official” contest for having the “sexiest legs” in his Senior class. He was a “hooper” and it showed; even now, as he climbed into his early 30’s. His skin was the color of freshly toasted waffles with whipped butter melting offa the edges. His eyes were a warm hazel. Depending on the color of his clothes and the lighting of the atmosphere, you could see his eyes transition into sublime shades of green at the edges to brown and gold and green again. His sandy brown hair was cut low into a bald-fade with brush waves on top. A row of perfect white teeth complimented his soft, full, lips.

He was “the one” as far as she was concerned. Keeping that in mind, she focused on making her future lover “perk-up” and rise to the occasion of what was soon to come. . . He was going to be “hers” and hers alone. He would never forget tonight as long as he lived. She dipped her pelvis low to meet with the stiffining of his jeans and ever so gingerly bit her lower lip. Her strategic grinding was paying off. He too was in La La land. “Damn, I can’t wait to get her somewhere private and do something drastic to this broad. It’s a wrap. I’mma tear that ass up ! Wait until Percy hears about this.” he thought. If he could’ve beat two hands over his chest like Tarzan, he would’ve. But instead his hands were filled with Jacquelyns curvaceous hips and thighs. He could beat on his chest another day.

He loved the way her hair thick black hair draped down her back, beyond her shoulder blades, almost reaching the small of her back. He didn’t care if it was a weave, or not. That shit sexy; especially when locks of hair would fall over part of it her face, covering her almond shaped eyes. That’s when he would have to step in and brush the hair away from her delicious looking face. It really turned him on when strands of hair got stuck to her MAC lipgloss.

Jacquelyn knew he loved ‘‘the hair’. Men.love.long.hair. Period. They don’t care if it’s real or fake, so long as it’s loooong and straight (or so she thought). She knew it was time to tighten up her ‘tracks’ at the salon, but she couldn’t get an appointment until next Friday when she got paid. So she did her best to secure the loose “tracks” and smooth out the edges of her natural hair for this evenings event. As an added precaution, she tossed the bottle of “hair glue” into her purse, right next to her “nail glue” – just in case. “Can’t get caught “out there” she ‘pep-talked’ herself.

And she did a damn good job of “hooking it up” too (or so she thought). So much, she felt confident enough to swing her “European silky” mane, every which way she saw fit. She tossed her head back provocatively and let out a playful laughter; holding her position long enough for her lover to nibble on her neck and coo sweet words in her ear.

His grip on her thighs got tighter and tighter.

At this point Jackie and her “luvah” could’ve cared less about anyone else in the room. It could have been the second coming of Christ for all they gave a damn. So long as they could screw each other in the fiery pits of Hell, it would be fine by them. Drifitng in and out of time, they continued to be mesmerized with ‘teasing’ each other in public.

That is why it is not Jacquelyns’ fault that she didn’t notice her long, silky, weave was smoldering. Smoke wafted from the ends of her hair like a lit stick of incense. The sluggish flames soon caught a burst of energy and quickly worked its way up the back of her head – creating a tiny ball of fire that could be seen by Stevie Wonder if he were present.

Why Jacquelyn and her lover did not notice the unmistakable smell of burnt hair, feel the heat from the fire or see the flames swooping over her weave-piece remains a mystery to all that witnessed this event. Fortunately, a nosey Samaritan was able to alert Jackie of the fire taking place on her head and offer her assistance. It was not too late to have options.

She could:

A. Stop, Drop and Roll
B. Use the remaining cocktails on the table to douse the flames
C. Let the nosey Samaritan beat her all upside the head with an open hand until said flames were dissolved.
D. Burn the hell up like the evil Nazi on “Raiders of the Lost Arc” when he opened up the holy treasure chest.

She chose Option C.

You see, apparently when she threw her head back to catch some soft kisses on her neck; her hair caught the attention of a flickering candle that was placed on table for ambiance. Okay, fair enough. Accidents happen.
But the irony of the story is Jacquelyns “Boo” is a FIRE MAN. How the hell you ‘gon to work for the Minneapolis Fire Department and not see or smell a fire cookin’ right under your own damn nose?

*dead*

Later, when the nosey good samaritan was asked to share details of her heroism , she was quoted as saying:

I mostly took note of homegirl because of her hideous dress (this is a kind understatement). Her and her “Boo” were ever so comfortably perched on a sofa in a in a not-so-secluded corner. She was straddlin’ him face to face gettin’ her mad grind on (ps: I’m not a PDA hater…go head girl..get your swirl on)! I’ve seen it all before. No biggie to me.

Well, my attempt to return my attention back to the matter at hand (my yummy cocktail) was interrupted when I noticed a small to medium warm orange glow on the top of honeychiles head ! I’m thinking to myself “What in the $#$@%$@% kind of hair bobble is this kid sportin’?!” I assume it was a weave (due to the slow nature of the burn pattern ). Chica was so “hot” she was on FIRE!!!! Too bad it wasn’t the dress! Much too bad. Then again, thank goodness for that horrible dress. It saved her scalp from “judgement day”.

My adrenaline kicked in.

All of a sudden I found myself springing to my feet and sprinting across the room with the speed of a gazelle, only to find myself beating the girl on her head like she was humpin’ on my man!! ….I was pattin’ tappin’ and hittin’ and tryin’ to explain…YOUR HAIR IS ON FIRE!!!

Thus, living proof that once a man gets a whiff of a potential sexcapade – the BIG brain shuts down and the little one ‘tween his legs takes over. I don’t have any reasoning for Jacquelyns stupidity. But I know she must’ve felt like a damn fool when the attention she was seeking went WRONG . . . terribly wrong.

Ladies and Gentlemen, don’t this this happen to you.

The End.