He told me once that his teeth are so sharp because he used to chew on tin cans when he was a child. I’m telling you, chile, his teeth are razors. He bites me everywhere from my neck to my breasts to my pussy to my ass, and I can’t stand it. In fact, after he finishes doing his dirt to me tonight, I’m thinking of telling him never to come by here again. It’s just not worth it.
One time he took me to the basement of my building, down by the furnace, and tied me to the ceiling pipes butt-naked. For a few minutes there I was scared shitless after he stuck some sort of metal tube in the furnace until it got red hot and threatened to brand me with it. He put it down after he made me beg him not to do it and then just spanked me with a hand paddle instead. Then he fucked me from behind while I struggled to get my hands loose. That’s when I knew this mutha-fucka was crazy.
I guess that’s just a part of the business—taking the good with the bad. I know I can’t do this forever, since there will come a time men won’t want me cause of floppy tits and a sagging ass. I’ve been making some investments here and there, and hopefully, a few years from now, I can quit and do something legitimate. Still not working a nine-to-five though. Fuck all that!
I will keep my head up, though. There’s no danger of developing eyestrain from looking on the bright side of things. So men, bring me your dreams, and I’ll make them all come true. If you need some help locating me, let your fingers do the walking. I’m listed in the yellow pages. Just look for the Dream Merchant.
The Pussy Bandit
“I was always told to eat everything on my plate.
Well, the bed is my plate.
Ladies, may I fellate?”
—The Pussy Bandit
No one knows his name or what he really looks like. In the middle of the night, he sneaks into his select choice of the evening’s dorm room, ready to strike. He feasts on his meal and then leaves as quietly as he came. He bequeaths a single long-stemmed rose on the pillow of yet another woman who’ll never be the same. The small New England university for women I attend is his hunting ground. Every student is his potential prey. No one ever complains, though. In fact, most women want him to stay.
We sit in our dorm rooms at night, giggling and wondering who’ll be next. We always make sure our coochies are clean in case it’s our turn to pass his taste test. It’s like jury duty. You never know when you’ll be called. Many of us lie awake at night listening for footsteps in the hall. Some call him crazy, others call him fine. I used to just hope and pray he would hurry up and get to mine.
You see, there are not many eligible black men in our small New England town. Often we find a few good men and have to pass them all around. Lots of women at the school wait their turn, saying, “Dammit! Hurry up and suck on this, you Pussy Bandit!”
I first heard of the Pussy Bandit my freshman year. I thought he was imaginary, an old wives’ tale, something for the freshman students to worry about, laugh about, joke about. It wasn’t until I was returning home late one evening from a midnight movie that I gave any credence to his existence. My roommate freshman year, Kelly, and I saw a man in black clothing climbing out the second-floor window of an upperclassman dorm. His face was covered with the kind of mask ninjas wear. He jumped from the window and landed on his feet behind a bush. He raced off into night, and to say the least, we were horrified. We rushed to the front door of the small dormitory and banged on it as loud as we could, almost knocking a glass pane out with our fists.
A girl on the bottom floor came out of her room with a short nightie on and opened the door for us. We both started yelling at her simultaneously, telling her what we had just witnessed and running down the hall toward the stairwell. She chased after us as we bounded up the stairs, rushing to the aid of what we just knew was a victim of some sort on the second floor. All sorts of bad things were rushing through my mind. Rape, robbery, even murder.
When we reached the second floor, I couldn’t help but notice the upperclassman who had opened the door was very calm while she followed behind us. She appeared to be giggling when she said, “Oh, calm down! It was just him!”
Kelly took the time out to ask her who she meant by him while I walked the hall, looking for the door that matched the window we saw him leap out of. I found it and started banging on it. A woman’s voice came through the door saying, “Just a second!”
She opened her door with a smile on her face, saying, “I’ve just been had by the Pussy Bandit!”
Kelly looked as if she might faint, and I said, “What the fuck?”
The upperclassman that opened the front door for us hollered out, “You go, gurl!” She pushed her way inside the other girl’s room, sat down on the dresser, and asked, “Was he all I have heard?
”
Kelly and I went in too, sat down on the bed, and didn’t utter a word. We wanted to hear what happened as much as the other girl.
The girl, who was named Mandy, started telling the tale of how the Bandit had crept into her window and eaten her out like all hell. She was so graphic and excited about all the details, I could have sworn she looked like she was under a spell.
After that night, I was no more good. Having my pussy eaten is like winning the grand prize on a game show. Just about every other day, I would hear about a girl who was eaten in this dorm or that dorm. I knew my chances were slim, since all freshmen have roommates. I spent the remainder of my freshman year taking long walks in the courtyard late at night, hoping he would change his pattern and suck on me under the moonlight. Nada!
I went to summer school just so I could stay around campus, figuring my chances would be better, since most women had gone home. Boy, was I wrong!
He seemed to hit every coochie-coo on campus but mine. Kelly finally got eaten, afterward telling me she told him, “It’s about dayum time!”
Sophomore year came and went faster than the speed of light. I had my own dorm room then, and a lot of sleepless nights. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t say a thing if he would just suck on my bones like a chicken wing. Still, nada!
I went home that summer ’cause I had a work-study job. I worried about whom was getting eaten while I was gone. Geesh, my clit was so hard.
Junior year rolled around, and on my face there was always a frown. I started trying to calculate how much pussy there could possibly be in such a small town. I knew I would be much more healthy, wealthy, and wise if I could just get his lips between my dayum thighs. Still, nada!
It was halfway through my senior year when he finally got to me. It’s time for the real deal, so fuck all this poetry!
It was winter break, and most of the students had already left for the holidays. I was one of the few ones left. I decided to stay and complete a term paper one of my English lit professors was sweating me for.