This is the part I remember the most, not just because of Roscoe’s horrible singing, but because of this white lady sitting in front of me. She kept looking back at me. I was drinking my wine and trying to enjoy the fact that my handicapped date was singing his heart out, but this white lady would not stop looking at me. Finally she turned around, looked me up and down, and said, “You are so strong.”
For real—she turned her whole chair around, and said—I am fucking quoting her, “You are so strong.”
I wanted to curl up under the table and die.
When Roscoe finished singing, everybody went nuts and cheered and screamed and clapped. You know how white people do, they just encourage and cheer anybody who lets it all hang out and just don’t give a fuck. Roscoe got excited by all this attention and sang another quick song. I can’t even remember what it was, I was still so mad and embarrassed about that comment from that bitch.
He finally came and sat down. He was sweating and all out of breath, because he basically just performed a concert. He took a long swig of his beer, reached over the table with his good arm, grabbed my hand with that strong hand, while his little dead hand rested on the table. He looked all deep into my eyes, and I was looking at him, and all I could think was that I wanted to kill the rest of my wine. I wanted to down the rest of it, but I didn’t want to seem like a lush. He was looking at me, and he said:
Roscoe: “Tiff-a-Knee, I juss wanna tell youuuu, I feel like I’m da luckiest man alive. If I die to-mar-oooow, it’d be my happiess day of my life. I’m serious, if I die to-mar-oooow, dat’s fine, dis da most wunnerful day. A girl as booty-full as youu to be out wiffa guy like me, is the most wunnerful day evaa of my life.”
Tiffany: “Oh, Roscoe, it’s no problem, we work together, we cool.”
Roscoe: “No, Tiff-a-Knee, you don’t unnerstan. Dis the most special day evaa. I want it to be magical for us.”
He started crying. Like, big-ass man tears coming out of his eyes. And then snot starts coming out of his nose. He just turned into a hot mess, as he told me I was so special and how amazing this day was for him. He took a minute to compose himself and said:
Roscoe: “I could die, it’s okay, I’m okay if I die now. Dat’s how special dis is to me, Tiff-a-Knee.”
Here I was, sitting in a crowded bar, with a man crying, snot coming out of his nose, and honestly, all I could think was one thing:
I’m going to fuck the shit outta Roscoe.
For real. That’s what I kept saying to myself, “I am going to fuck the shit outta Roscoe.”
First off, I’d never seen a man cry for me. I’d never seen a man express his love for me like this. Nothing like this had ever happened to me ever before.
I just thought to myself, Well, this is who I’m supposed to be with, obviously. This is who I’m supposed to spend my time with, this man who loves me so much and does so much for me and adores me like this. That’s right. I’m going to fuck him. I’m gonna fuck the shit out of Roscoe tonight.
I didn’t care about nothing else. Fuck that judgmental white lady. I downed my wine, we got another round, and then we went back to my place.
My date movie at the time was The Wiz. If I liked you, and I put on The Wiz, that was a good sign. And if you could sit and watch The Wiz through the Scarecrow part, I’m fucking. If you can sit through Michael Jackson’s scene, that’s it, it’s on.
Well, Roscoe did not sit through The Wiz. That’s because he was acting the whole thing out. HE KNEW ALL THE WORDS!
You know how white people do with The Rocky Horror Picture Show? Just like that.
Roscoe: “Come on, Tiff-a-Knee, come dance wiff me! Ease on down, ease on down da rooooaaaad!”
Oh my God, did he love this movie. It was like I dropped into some musical theater summer camp in my own house.
But you know what? I love that movie, too! Fuck it, I got up and danced and sang The Wiz with him.
By the time it got to the Lena Horne part, the end of the movie, it was time for business. I leaned in and gave him a little kiss on his cheek. He said:
Roscoe: “Ohhh Tiff-a-Knee, youu don’t wanna do dat, don’t do dat, Tiff-a-Knee. You don’t know what’chu gettin’ yursef into.”
I leaned in, gave him another kiss. He got all serious:
Roscoe: “Okay, Tiff-a-Knee, I seer-ee-us. I warned you and I not gunna warn you no more. Don’t do that, okay, you don’t know what you’re doing. I’m seer-ee-us, very seer-ee-us, Tiff-a-Knee.”
He smelled real good. Whatever it was, it was good, and it was kinda getting me horny.
I did not realize it at the time, but thinking back on it, I am pretty sure he was wearing the same cologne that Titus used to wear. He must have actually went and smelled that motherfucker, now that I think about it.
He did smell good, though. Except his breath smelled like corn chips, but that was normal for Roscoe.
“Whatever, Roscoe, you smell all good and stuff,” I said and leaned in again to give him another kiss.
He wasn’t kidding with that warning. Roscoe took that third kiss as his cue, and he straight went to work. He grabbed my face with that strong hand, and he started tonguing me down. Next thing I knew, all my clothes were off, he was stroking my face with his strong hand, still kissing me, while he’s putting on a condom with that little hand.
I was like, Oh shit! This motherfucker’s a professional fucker. Here I was, all proud of myself, thinking I was fixing to be his first. Yeah, I was fixing to blow his mind, but hell no! He’s been fucking all kinds of handicapped bitches or something, nurses or whoever, because ain’t no virgin on Earth have skills like this.
He finally got his T. rex arm to put the condom on, and he moved in. And yes, I know what you’re going to ask:
He had dick for days.
And for real . . . he tore it up.
He straight tore up the pussy. His dick game was off the chain!
He took control and laid me back and went to work, and it felt amazing. I was on my back in missionary, enjoying the hell out of this fuck. My pussy was feeling so good.
And then I opened my eyes.
Oh hell. I’m looking at him, and it’s like—his face is just twisted as fuck. It was so contorted and screwed up, it was horrifying to look at. You know when someone is concentrating, they make funny faces? Yeah, well, it was like a Halloween mask was doing that.
I closed my eyes in fright, but damn, it would start feeling really good down there, and then I would open my eyes again, and be like “Oh, no.” It was like a scary movie, except that my pussy felt great.
The thing that really messed me up was that he was holding himself up with that good arm, and his dead little baby hand was dangling over my face. And you know, it’s Roscoe, so he’s sweating and drooling and shit, and it’s dripping on my forehead.
The sweat and the drool, it was too nasty. I had to do something, but I didn’t want the sex to stop.
Tiffany: “Roscoe, hit this from the back.”
Roscoe: “Ohhhh, youuuu want me to tap dat azz from da back! YOU AIN’T GOTTA AXE ME TWICE!”