Passion of the fruit: The case of the escaped bandits

I’ve documented a few parties that I’ve been to in the past and most people tend to think they are fictional. I’m as real as a silent fart in the lift. I’m not old but hanging around older people has made me lose touch with things I should otherwise be doing.

For instance, I had nothing to do today and I could have put on my white boxers and watched Nat Geo. But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? I had to have an experience that would make me turn to my trusted keyboard. Well, unfortunately, I made the mistake of disrespecting my instinct and now I’m a wanted felon.

So a guy I consider to be my G invited me for a mini party. He’d just moved out and you know how people operate. I needed to know where he lived just in case I was in the vicinity and a random lady saw it fit to share her cookie with me. I work on weekends, and I like going home immediately after work.

I was going to do the same thing on this particular day but you know how the devil works. Well, Devil, or D as we call him in the streets, convinced these two ladies that give my balls a tingling sensation. They plotted and convinced me to make a technical appearance at a party and then head out.

That sounded fine to me. A technical appearance doesn’t last more than one hour, does it? I was the first at the place because I didn’t want to be the new guy at the office that thinks he’s too cool for everyone. In the real sense I am. I chew on mint all day long and have ice tatted right above my heart. It doesn’t get cooler than that.

So yeah, we went to the guy’s place and we chatted for a minute. I was busy sipping on Fanta (Panda things) and he was flirting with vodka. Time was dragging its ass and I was staring at my watch and cussing in my head. Why was I cussing? You see, I am not the largest guy in the room. This particular friend is like twice my size.

I don’t know what alcohol does to him so I wasn’t willing to sit back and find out. Luckily, another guy showed up. A short while later another guy showed up. At this point I was thinking, “Haha! I knew this was going to be one major sausage fest. I’m out!” Then I remembered there were two ladies that were supposed to have been at the party by then.

I was not amused by the whole five guys waiting on two chics thing. I was not about to run a train with ninjas who fart when dancing. The host got a call from another lady and I thought that was my cue to leave. So I followed them out so that I could get a bus home. At this point I called the two missing ladies to inform them of my imminent departure.

I was the one who was supposed to be angry but I was the one who ended up going down (not literally) and offering a solution. So there we were, three ninjas and one very light lady. A few moments later, two more ladies came and we headed back to my boy’s digs.

We get there, there are two more ninjas I didn’t leave there and a lady. The lady I was cool with but the ninjas I was wary of. They served me alcohol without even knowing my name and I think I already mentioned something about looking good before, so I opted out of it. I sipped on my thoughts for a while.

Just when things were starting to get lit and the ladies were getting comfortable with their preferred mates, the main man came. We’ll call him Carlitos for today. Carlitos had with him a fair lady and I can tell you for free, some bile was being swallowed in that room. He peed around her like a real dog would and made sure everyone knew, “This is mine!” I respected that and even threw up a few gang signs to show my approval.

All this time I was picturing myself in boxers watching Spongebob. The ladies I was waiting for finally arrived and yes, they did look edible. I immediately asked for a platter and served myself a bit of each one of them. They were classy enough to bottle their tea. Ok, it was cream liquor but there’s someone who thought it was tea.

At this point, everything was as calm as unaroused nipples. We went to the rooftop and lit one for our ancestors and another one just in case the last one didn’t reach them. I felt so calm after a few hits and the girls and I bonded in the city’s view before we decided to go back although I was shortchanged because boobs were supposed to be flying everywhere.

Now, this is where the party started. Two of the first three girls we picked up were in the zone. The first, Chairlady, was doing things I watch on YouTube under the cover. She was on that grade A Jamaican ratchetry. I’m talking about that one leg in the air, ass on someone’s crotch and still sipping on your drink type of dancing. I had to remove my glasses and clean them just to confirm they weren’t playing tricks on me.

I also forgot to say, I was in shorts, white shoes and black socks; I was a cholo. I sandwiched myself in-between  the two lasses and went on to zone out. It wasn’t fruitful because every time I tried to chill, Chairlady would do something that would make me cringe but still strong enough to give me a minor boner.

Remember the two guys who kept on serving people drinks? Yes, those guys were now scrambling for the few ladies we had at the venue. I’m a chill guy, so I just sat between ladies massaging my ego. Alcohol isn’t breast milk or soup and it certainly doesn’t help when you don’t have limits. So the host was fried at this point and gave lap dances to unwilling patrons (female if I may add).

I knew things would go south when one guy was dry humping one of the ladies. And no, it was not in a secluded area, right in front of our eyes. Another guy was grinding on a girl and I think he must have bust a nut because he did a one leg shake when the track stopped playing. His eyes also turned egg white so there must have been more white elsewhere.

All this while, one of the ladies that convinced me to attend the party was insistent on us leaving Sodom. We dipped and the walk down the staircase was long and hard. The two other ladies came and off from the party we went.

I know you’re wondering why the title has anything to do with bandits and here’s the reason. I went to work on Sunday and the first call I got was from one of the ladies, telling me were being sought after two phones got lost. I agree, I’m thug life till I die but there was no way I needed any of those phones. I can’t even use mine the whole day. The sad bit was that I was not even consulted as to which phone my accomplices and I allegedly took.

Carlitos came through with video evidence from after we had left and it showed who the real bandits were. The host however, was insistent that we went to dry clean his house despite the fact that my pillow if fluffier than his mattress. I have a lot of tissue in my house; bum tissue, facial tissue, hand tissue, body tissue: he only had one. I was absolutely unamused that such allegations were being thrown at three ladies and I. How dare he call me a thief! I have stolen hearts and moments but not a yellow phone. Not me!

I however, did feel for one ninja who brought wine so that he could bed one of the ladies but ended up losing a phone and having blue balls. The lady that lost her phone on the other hand was not going to let that moment dampen her mood. She climbed onto that carpet of a mattress, took off her fishnet stockings and sweat-filled panties.

She spent the night there and woke up to the shocking news that not only was her phone lost but her dignity as well. I did my best to return a bit of her dignity but I think she’ll have to live without the rest and get herself a new one.

The host was a skunk in the afternoon and reeked of dirty jocks dipped in ammonia. I made a vow never to attend any party this guy throws. I also hold a personal grudge against the two lasses that made me miss a few hours of sleep just to be called a thief. Next time you get invited to a house warming and you can still kill one of your dead relatives, do it. Unless that party is organized by someone with a decent portfolio, avoid it.

You can still call me for your parties though.

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