Thread by @VisionPoet

#TrashterpieceTheater #TPTEpisode8
The Big Butt and a Smile
aka DatAssTho
aka The Crying Bul
aka But Really, Dat Ass Tho

"Never trust a big butt and a smile..."
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The year was Later Registration when I started getting paid to do poetry features. Trying to be business minded, I came up with a rule: Don’t date women you meet at your shows! I gets messy.
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Plus then they think I’m this 24/7 conscious person, not a guy who loves doing hoodrat shit with his friends who happens to write poetry. Big difference.
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Whenever someone tried to throw me the oop at a show, I’d just say I don’t mix business and pleasure. I used to be Captain Curve-A-Jawn at all my shows.
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So this one time I was doing a private event for a non profit org. The event was lit. They paid me three times my normal corporate rate, fed me, and showed me mad love. It was a win all around.
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During my performance, there was this bad ass woman in the front row who hung on every word. Like chin on folded hands never breaking eye contact type. And I stared right back. We basically eye fxcked each other the entire time. Twas glorious.
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It got to the point that it seemed like it was just her and I in this room of a few hundred people. And when I did remember they were there, it began to feel voyeuristic. Total mental sex between me and jawn.
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After my set was over, the cutie in the front row looked like she was expecting me to come talk to her. But NEGATIVE. I was gonna stick with the rule! I got food, networked and hung around outside when the event was over.
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So I’m outside talking to the people who booked me when the woman who plugged me with them walked over to me.
Her: I wanna introduce you to someone

She grabbed me by the hand and walked me over to the cutie from the front row.
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She introduced us and walked off. Me and cutie from the front row shook hands and started talking. She had the sexiest voice, and she was even prettier up close, but damnit, rules are rules!
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As we were talking, someone called her away. She asked me not to go anywhere and she walked about ten feet away to talk to a group of people. And that’s when I saw it…
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#DatAss
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Ass crept up on a nxgga like…
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Diddy couldn’t have convinced me to walk to Brooklyn for cheesecake, but I would’ve walked to Brooklyn for that cake!
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#DatAss was amazing. It was marvelous. A spectacle to be adored, honored, and supported. It. It was the Olivia Pope of bootys. Could get you out of trouble but also bring down a Presidency. And you’d enjoy it either way.
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My basic ass was being tested. I knew this. And there was no way I was gonna fail. I was a man of principles. Of values. What kinda man would I be if I couldn’t stick to rules I set? So naturally, you know what I did…
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She came back and we picked up the conversation. She complimented me and I made no reference to the bakery she had jammed in those poor jeans. We talk. Tells me she owns a salon. Said she doesn’t like poetry, but really enjoyed mine.
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We exchange numbers. And it took everything in me not to call that night. But the Fxckboy Manual, Book of Niggalations, Chapter 2 verse 9 states, “Thou shalt not call a jawn prior to 36 hours passing doth thou shalt be considered thirsty.”
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She called ME that night though. Said she couldn’t stop thinking about our energy. Told me one one has ever been able to arouse her with words before. And I’m on the other end of the like playing it cool but really like…
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Her: I need to see you.
Me: I mean, my schedule is crazy, but I’m sure we can arrange something.
Also me:
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We link the next day. Meet up downtown, have dinner, walk around at Penns Landing*

*For Non Philly folks, Penns Landing is the waterfront where you might see married couples, first date nxggas who dont wanna spend money, and people cheating
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Date was cool. We parted ways. She called me when she got in to let me know she was safe. That next morning she called from the salon and said, “I need to see you again. I can’t stop thinking about you.” Says she’s gonna pick me up after work.
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That night she picks me up in her Tahoe, tosses me the keys and asks me to drive. We go get soul food, Eat. Get back in the car. Go to the Plat* and start making out like teens.

*The Plateau- That park @WillSmith talked about in “Summertime”
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So we’re making out and all I can think about is how her booty was as soft as I imagined. Dreams do come true.
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I drive myself home and don’t invite her in even though I was harder than Superman’s kneecaps. But I was playing it cool. Building the anticipation. She drove off. Called me when she got home.
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Next day, she called me from the shop again. “I need to see you. Can I see you tonight?”
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(shannon sharpe gif)

Picked me up again in her Tahoe. We went to the Chili’s* around the corner from where I was staying at the time. We eat. Feel each other up in the booth, and in the parking lot. Time to seal the deal, “Let’s go back to my place!”
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Her: why wait? We don’t have to go anywhere!
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Get in the back of the Tahoe. She tears off my shirt and unzips my pants. Takes out a condom and puts it on, turns around…..
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We’re in a full parking lot that shares space with a Lord & Taylor. People walking past the car and she was bereft of fxcks. When we finish, the parking lot is empty. She drove me home. I remind her to call me when she gets home.
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A few hours pass and I’m knocked all the way tf out from that cake overload. Phone woke me up. It’s her number. I answer.
Me: Yo you good?
Deep voice: You fxcking my wife?
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Voice: You heard me bxtch! Are YOU fxcking my wife?
Now, I’m not a tough guy by any stretch. But I am a smart ass from North Philly so you ain’t gon talk to me any kinda way:
Me: Maybe… who’s your wife?
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Voice goes BALLISTIC on the phone. Yelling. Screaming. Then the phone hangs up. Calls back 15 mins later. Talking major shit. He’s gonna shoot me. Kill me. I’m a dead man.
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Him: Where you live nxgga?
Me: 2764 Cranston Road. Red door, first floor
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Now he’s big big mad. He’s lucky I didn’t say, “ask your wife!” The argument wakes up the dog I had (125lb Bullmastiff named Max) and my 300lb roommate, Jerry. Voice on the phone says, “I’m on my way nxgga!”
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So now me, Max and Jerry with shotgun in hand, are perched at the front window waiting for a strange car to pull up. Sun rises. No one shows. Jerry’s pissed. He was hell bent on shooting someone that night.
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Phone rings. Her number, again. It’s him. He’s on the other end, crying. I put the phone on speaker. You can hear his sobbing. Jerry tries to take the phone and calls him a bxtch ass nxgga which makes homie do that catch your breath cry.
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Now bul is using me as a therapist.
“I can’t believe she’d do this to me! I spent $50,000 on our wedding. I bought her a salon. I bought her a Tahoe…

“Everything she wants, I make sure she has. Why she want you? Whatchu got that I don’t?” My petty ass was about to say, “Well currently, my DNA in the backseat of that Tahoe” but I chilled.
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I genuinely started to feel bad for homie. I started trying to reason with him, “Fam, it be like that sometimes. You can do everything for a person and it still not be enough” (Especially if she into tall, basic nxggas who write poetry)
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We talk for maybe ten minutes. And by talk I mean he rambled incoherently through loud weeping. “Bro, now that you know she’s married, can you stop talking to her”
Me: No prob fam.
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About 10am, she called from the salon. Said her situation was complicated but I cut her off mid-sentence. Told her she should’ve been honest about her situation so I could’ve decided if I wanted to be in it.
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I shut it all the way down, though the sex was amazing, and we had dope energy. I never saw her, or that heavenly cake again.

EPILOGUE: Few weeks later I had a gig at a black owned art gallery. When I got off stage, my friend Traycee said, “Did you know that guy in the blue shirt? He came in asking if I knew who Vision was. I pointed, he saw how big you were, & left.”
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Thanks for reading #TrashterpieceTheater. I'll be posting one every weekday at noon for the next couple weeks. If you wanna read more today, Eps 1-17 are on my IG Story, archived in the highlights (@ visionpoet)

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