He took his strong arm, slid it underneath me, grabbed my opposite hip, and in one motion, flipped me over. I landed right on my hands and knees instantly. I don’t even know how he did it. It was some Cirque du Soleil shit.
He was right in me, holding my waist with that good hand, smacking my ass with that little dead hand, and he was just fucking my pussy up. I could kind of feel him drooling, but I didn’t give a shit. As long as I didn’t have to see his Halloween sex faces, it was cool, because his dick was amazing.
He was saying all the normal things guys say during sex, then all of a sudden, the craziest fucking thing happened.
Roscoe: “Damn girl, you got some good pussy.”
His voice turned normal.
He went from his mush-mouth, long-ass vowel words you could barely understand, to talking like a normal man. And with a deep, sexy-ass Billy Dee Williams voice.
Roscoe: “Yeah Tiffany, you like this dick, don’t you, sexy girl?”
Hell yeah, I do!
I started feeling like, Okay, I must have magical powers, I can heal people with my pussy.
He kept talking normal, and then he came hard, and plopped down next to me. The sex had been amazing, but I was even more excited that I healed this motherfucker with my pussy! I got a magical unicorn pussy!
I got all sweet and turned to him.
Tiffany: “Roscoe, you were so good, you want something to drink, baby?”
Roscoe: “Yeah, baby, I’d love something to drink.”
I walked to the kitchen, and for real in my twenty-two-year-old brain, I honestly thought to myself, I fucking healed this guy. I made him healthy. This is the greatest ghetto fairy tale ever.
I poured him a nice, cold glass of water, and I stopped in the bathroom to fix my hair and look good for my newly healed man.
Tiffany: “Here you go, baby, here’s your water.”
Roscoe: “Tank youuu, Tiff-a-Knee.”
Oh, hell no! It wore off!
My magical pussy power is only temporary!
I was seriously depressed. I honestly thought for a second my pussy had powers and that I turned this incredibly sweet handicapped man into a normal boyfriend (except for that one arm, but still). Yes, I know that’s fucking nonsense, but I thought it.
Oh, well. He may not be healed, but handicapped or not, he can still fuck.
I was off work the next day and the day after that, so I made him call in to work sick, and I kept him at my place that whole time. We was fucking for two days straight. Sometimes sleeping and eating, but mainly fucking.
I did most of the cooking, but to his credit, he made sandwiches for us. But I didn’t go in there and watch him make them, because I didn’t want to see that dead baby hand on my food. I kept that image out of my mind.
Eventually, I took him back to his place, and I kept thinking this thought:
How can I take him around my friends?
On the one hand, I think I love this dude. He’s an amazing human and the best sex I’ve ever had—just so loving and caring. He was the shit to me, the awesomest in the world.
At the same time, he’s handicapped. There ain’t no way around that fact. I can’t take him around my friends. I can hear their voices in my head:
“You dating a handicapped guy who rides the bus? Is you serious? You getting community service for this? Did your probation officer tell you this counts or something?”
“Tiffany, you were an extra in an Xzibit video! Why are you messing with this guy? You could be fucking Xzibit! What’s wrong with you, Tiffany?”
“He can’t keep his drool in his mouth! He only got one arm that works! Bitch, what are you doing?”
Over and over it went, in my mind. There was no escaping the fact that I cannot date a handicapped guy.
? ? ?
I got to work the next day, and Roscoe was there. We’d had zero discussion of how we’d act at work. He was super-excited to see me and everything, and I mean super-excited. As he walked up, I could see his dick getting hard in his pants.
Tiffany: “Yo Roscoe, we gotta talk at lunch. We need to have a conversation.”
Roscoe: “Oh yeaaaa, we gunna talk awww right!”
He grabbed his dick and smiled at me.
Tiffany: “Don’t do that, Roscoe. A real talk. A conversation.”
Roscoe: “I know a place we can havva talk awwright. A goooood talk.”
Tiffany: “No, we’re going to meet in the Center Air, it’s a restaurant in the center of the airport. Meet me in the Center Air where everybody be at, we’ll meet right there.”
Lunch came around, and we met there and started talking. Roscoe was happy and serene and had no idea what was coming. I felt so bad.
Roscoe: “Tiff-a-Knee, youuu so booty-full to-day. I was thinking bout’chu all night lass night—”
Tiffany: “Roscoe, shh. Stop. We have to talk.”
I took a deep breath and launched in.
I told him I was shallow. I told him I was insecure. I kept talking about what a bad girlfriend I was, and how I wasn’t ready for a relationship. I said I knew he wanted me to be his girlfriend, but that maybe it would work in our next lifetime. I hit him with the Erykah Badu; maybe next lifetime we can have a better life. But I’m too immature right now. I probably rambled for twenty minutes, before he got it and stopped me:
Roscoe: “Are youu sayin’ youu can’t date meee?”
Tiffany: “Yes Roscoe, that is what I am saying.”
Roscoe: “What? Are you fuckin’ seer-ee-us? Are youu sayin’ youu don’t wanna be wiff me?”
Tiffany: “Not like that, Roscoe, I want to be your friend, I just can’t be your woman. I can’t be in a serious relationship with you. I don’t know how I can handle that.”
Roscoe: “Arrr youu sayin’ youu can’t be my gurl?”
Tiffany: “Yes Roscoe, that’s what I’m saying.”
He looked at me, and his face nearly broke my heart. It was the rawest look of pain and heartbreak I have ever seen on any face, ever in my life.
Roscoe: “Okay.”
I almost started crying, and I was so close to grabbing his hand and taking it all back, when he stood up.
Roscoe: “Well . . . FUCK YOU THEN! DATS WHY YER PUSSY GARBAGE!”
Tiffany: “WHAT???”
Roscoe: “YER PUSSY IS GARBAGE.”
Roscoe stormed off. I was in motherfucking shock. I wanted to yell something back at him, but there were people everywhere. And besides, what am I going to yell back? “Well you’re fucking handicapped!” or “My pussy IS NOT garbage!”?
I didn’t know what to say or do. I just sat there in shock, until my break was over. Then I went back to my counter.
When I got back to the ticket counter, he didn’t even want to throw my bags no more. He went down to the other end of the counter and threw somebody else’s bags. And he gave me the evil eye the rest of the day.
Then, I didn’t see him after that for a few days. I went to his bosses at work. They said, “We don’t know where Roscoe is, Roscoe just stopped coming to work.”
After a few weeks, I thought to myself, Damn, maybe I shouldn’t have broke up with him. Maybe that was my blessing from God. If he was my blessing and I shitted on my blessing, that’s not cool. I need to find him and talk to him.
I went back to the address where I’d picked him up for our date. The same girl with Down syndrome answered the door. She said Roscoe was gone.