It's only been an hour since we left Littlejohn. I made a quick pit stop to take care of a little hottie. I'm not that late.
The Tiger Belle and I made plans to meet up at the club and continue our mutual fascination since her breakup with Mikey. The Zoo is packed.
I pull right up front to my usual handicap spot. I pound up the bouncers at the door. They wave me in.
I'm on a search of my Tiger Belle. But first I need a drink. I head straight to the bar.
The Zoo has been my favorite spot since I came as a high school senior and got lucky with a dirty blonde.
It was Crazy Zack's then, but unknown to me, after freshman year, the owners changed the name.
As I look around at all the different species: wolves, bambies, lionesses, tigers, gazelles and hyenas. I now understand the name change.
Tonight with the lingering effects of Molly. I took a hit with the little hottie before our sexual session. I'm feeling like Mufasa, top of the food chain: King of the Zoo.
I'm drinking a Michelob Light (they don't sell Bulls, the Zoo's only shortcoming).
But I digress.
Trying to locate a tigress in this thick jungle of humanity will not be easy.
FUCK! This nigga never comes to the Zoo.
Looks like I'm not the only predator on the prowl for this endangered species.
Her boyfriend, Mikey or Michael, as he prefers, is in the house.
Mufasa against Tigger, who you got. I see her exiting the ladies' room.
I need to do something dramatic; not sure if they've talked and now are back together.
For a second, I thought I had it. I go for her like a hungry lion that has spotted his meal for the rest of the weekend. I'm fastly approaching, she still hasn't seen me.
Then, without warning: Ra Base, a one hit wonder, song plays. It Takes Two to Make a Thing Go Right. Oh no, not now. I hear her screams, which are like a dog whistle.
She immediately locates me as if she possesses some type of T.K. sonar. She isn't my delicious Tiger Belle, but Jennifer, a gorgeous long-legged tennis star.
Our song since freshman year is booming throughout the club. It doesn't matter if her boyfriend or my queen is present.
This sizzlin Floridian grabs my hand, leading me to the dance floor. Jen dances like a deranged stripper jacked up on cocaine.
Flailing her arms, shaking her ass and jogging in place. I just hold on for the ride. The thing is, we've never made love. We have slow danced, grinding on each other, but that's it. I love her spirit.
The major reason we have not consummated our friendship is because of her omni-present sidekick, Alley. She's a 6 foot 2 volleyball player, fellow Floridian and high school friends.
Alley always offers a cordial smile my way. However, I've caught her giving a jealous eye when our dance gets out of control.
We are usually the center of attention because Jennifer insists we go to the stage. We're dancing. She is in rare form.
Jen dons a white tube top, blue overalls that are short shorts and white cowboy boots.
I have to smile because she is such a committed dancer.
The Tiger Belle has spotted me and gives the sign language for shame. I shrug my shoulders and smile.
Jenny's eyes Steph's antics, puts her hands on my shoulders, turns, touches her toes, giving a Tina Turner-like shake of her bottom into my crotch.
The song ends. The tennis vixen turns, planting her mouth on mine, offering a taste of her delicious tongue.
"Love you T.K." She said.
I don't respond. Ours is an unspoken Zoo language. My rock hard cock against her tight ass, tells her: I love you too. I watch her walk to her girlfriend, who sneers at me.
I ignore Alley, focusing my attention on Steph. I give her the come hither finger. She offers a cute pout, shaking her head. I walk to her, taking her hand. I lead her to the dance floor.
Baby Face croons: I only think of you on two occasions, that's day and night.
"Where have you been?"
"Taking care of some business."
"I saw you flirting with some Skank during the autograph session. One of the Belle's said they saw you leave with her. So it looks like you were taking care of the Biker Bitch you left with."
"Baby, I… I."
"You even smell like her. Anyway, Michael is here."
About that time, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn. Tigger swings at me. Now let me just say: I'm 6 foot 3, 200 pounds, with not a four head but a five head.
Mikey is 5 foot 8, 160 pounds soaking wet. My Queen has slapped me harder in one of our sessions. The Great Oz must have loaned this cowardly Tigger a heart. He displayed courage, attempting to protect his woman.
Mikey connected, however, when my head barely moved. I offer a smile.
His eyes cast a terrifying look at a man who is painfully aware. He bit off more than he can swallow.
My automatic athletic reflexes kick in.
I give a quick right handed shove to his left shoulder, spinning him around. I put him in a choke hold from behind. A similar position was his Boo Thang hours earlier.
"Nigga, I'm gonna let you live tonight. Always remember, each time you kiss your bitch, you're gonna be sucking my dick."
The music has stopped. Steph is screaming at the top of her lungs:
"Kincaid put him down!!"
Mikey is dangling 6 inches off the ground. The music has stopped. All eyes are on us. I drop him; he falls to the floor. Stephanie goes to his aid. The bouncers make it over to me.
"Little man and I had a misunderstanding." I said.
They explain to Mikey that since he threw the punch; he has to leave. Tigger and his old lady exit stage left. I offer to buy a round for the bouncers. All four of us have a shot of Sex on the Beach.
"Thanks for coming to my rescue, guys."
"Kincaid, you had everything under control."
"I feel ya dawg. Thanks again."
Winning the fight but losing the war can be painful. The only antidote for the loss of a Tiger Belle. The slaying of a beautiful Bambi. I'm still Mufasa: King of the Zoo.
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