I've never been one to attend large, predominately African American events, but Bayou Classic is something else. Tradition. Beautiful Brown people from all over the country speed through turkey dinners and rounds of "21 Questions" about why you're not married yet, to escape to New Orleans for a fun-filled weekend. I'd put off attending the Classic for years, but now that I was in-town, sharing a hotel suite with my lil cousin and his best friend, I had to make the best of it.
Originally from the City, I assumed the event planner / tour guide role. I took them on Bourbon (mistake), we ate A LOT and of course, we partook in the Bayou Classic activities. While tailgating before the game, we struck up a conversation with some SU grads, who were out there simply to make bad decisions. Nairobi, freshly divorced and the ringleader of the Bad Decision Makers, invited us to a rooftop party, and promised it would be the best way to end the weekend.
Later that evening, my cousin, his friend and I walked over to the NOPSI Hotel, and rode the elevator to the top floor. Nairobi, a few drinks in, waved us over to the bar, and had the bartender pour-up shots of Casamigos. Shot after shot, we vibed to the DJ, as Nairobi and I sang off-key, and talked about how the City had changed since Katrina. As we inched towards the divide between "drunk" and "wasted," Nairobi kissed me on the cheek, and said she had something to show me. With my hand in hers, we stumbled away from the bar, and headed towards her room.
After entering Room #604, I could only think of two things: (1) There are clothes everywhere. I mean, damn, it's like they got dressed in a tornado. Why did they pack so many outfits? I just....(2) Oh wow!
Nairobi started to [clumsily] peel out of her denim jumpsuit, and as she staggered towards me, I stood in amazement of her figure; my shirt now somewhere on the floor amongst the rest of the clothes. Stepping over the 27 pieces of clothing on the floor, she said to me, "You might've had good pussy before, but this....this is the Motherland."
I lifted Nairobi onto the desk, and slowly began kissing and licking on her neck. She reached back and undid her bra, as I kicked-off my loafers and stepped out of my jeans. With her legs wrapped around me, I picked her up, and laid her on the bed. I licked and bit her breasts, as she sucked her fingers. I kissed down her stomach, and ran my tongue across the tattoo along her waistline; "Curiosity often leads to trouble."
I pulled her panties to the side, and licked her lips, as if they were mine all along. Nairobi squirmed and gripped my hair, as I used my tongue to write out all of the things I wanted to do to her. She moaned for me to "take it," humming as my tongue danced between her thighs.Her humming grew louder as the flicking of my tongue got faster; she nearing her breaking point. With an arch in her back, she lifted her hips, shaking as the essence of the Motherland coated my mustache.
As she lay back, catching her breath, I went into my jeans to grab a condom. I found it, and as I rolled it on, I heard an all-too familiar sound. Nairobi, sideways panties and all, was snoring.....
Standing there, dick in-hand, I just shook my head. Struggling to keep my eyes from rolling around, I put on my clothes, grabbed my shoes and headed towards the door. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror, wearing disappointment and Nairobi all over my face.
Thank You, Bayou Classic. This is why I don't come home.
Originally from the City, I assumed the event planner / tour guide role. I took them on Bourbon (mistake), we ate A LOT and of course, we partook in the Bayou Classic activities. While tailgating before the game, we struck up a conversation with some SU grads, who were out there simply to make bad decisions. Nairobi, freshly divorced and the ringleader of the Bad Decision Makers, invited us to a rooftop party, and promised it would be the best way to end the weekend.
Later that evening, my cousin, his friend and I walked over to the NOPSI Hotel, and rode the elevator to the top floor. Nairobi, a few drinks in, waved us over to the bar, and had the bartender pour-up shots of Casamigos. Shot after shot, we vibed to the DJ, as Nairobi and I sang off-key, and talked about how the City had changed since Katrina. As we inched towards the divide between "drunk" and "wasted," Nairobi kissed me on the cheek, and said she had something to show me. With my hand in hers, we stumbled away from the bar, and headed towards her room.
After entering Room #604, I could only think of two things: (1) There are clothes everywhere. I mean, damn, it's like they got dressed in a tornado. Why did they pack so many outfits? I just....(2) Oh wow!
Nairobi started to [clumsily] peel out of her denim jumpsuit, and as she staggered towards me, I stood in amazement of her figure; my shirt now somewhere on the floor amongst the rest of the clothes. Stepping over the 27 pieces of clothing on the floor, she said to me, "You might've had good pussy before, but this....this is the Motherland."
[Oh, because her name is Nairobi, and it's in Africa. That's pretty clever.]
I lifted Nairobi onto the desk, and slowly began kissing and licking on her neck. She reached back and undid her bra, as I kicked-off my loafers and stepped out of my jeans. With her legs wrapped around me, I picked her up, and laid her on the bed. I licked and bit her breasts, as she sucked her fingers. I kissed down her stomach, and ran my tongue across the tattoo along her waistline; "Curiosity often leads to trouble."
I pulled her panties to the side, and licked her lips, as if they were mine all along. Nairobi squirmed and gripped my hair, as I used my tongue to write out all of the things I wanted to do to her. She moaned for me to "take it," humming as my tongue danced between her thighs.Her humming grew louder as the flicking of my tongue got faster; she nearing her breaking point. With an arch in her back, she lifted her hips, shaking as the essence of the Motherland coated my mustache.
As she lay back, catching her breath, I went into my jeans to grab a condom. I found it, and as I rolled it on, I heard an all-too familiar sound. Nairobi, sideways panties and all, was snoring.....
Standing there, dick in-hand, I just shook my head. Struggling to keep my eyes from rolling around, I put on my clothes, grabbed my shoes and headed towards the door. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror, wearing disappointment and Nairobi all over my face.
Thank You, Bayou Classic. This is why I don't come home.
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