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Your Words Fucked Me Up | Mr. Prodg: New Chapter!

Your Words Fucked Me Up

Your Words Fucked Me Up
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A cup of hot chocolate, with whipped cream, ci...

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I was sitting in a coffee shop with a pad and a pen in the pre-dawn hours before the sun ascends. Sitting there sipping on hot chocolate to warm my core and also to warm my fingers which the cold has made sore. In comes a lady with whom I had a brief conversation, Ms Libra was her name and we said a word in passing … thoughts of contemplation.  I asked if we could talk sometimes; she answered without restrained advance “Give me your number and I’ll call you when I get a chance”.  Weeks went by and I went about my way not giving a second thought about the conversation that day.  Until the time I saw her come through the door; my memory was jogged.  Still waking up in the early morning, my mind was still fogged. She sat at the table where I was seated; I moved my pen and pad, the look on her face and the spark in her eye hinted that she was glad…indeed she was glad to see me … as I held my cup she said “I read your poem Mr. Man … your words really fucked me up”

At this point have this puzzling look on my face and I’m sure as you read this entry you’re making that very same face too.  So let me give you a little background … just a few weeks prior in comes little miss beauty; an object of desire approaches the counter-top, knowing what she wanted to get.  Ordering a donut, coffee, and a single cigarette; she converses with the shop lady before paying the price.  I – in the meantime – am looking at a view, quite nice, though she didn’t have on makeup, and had on pajamas to boot, I could see the shape of her ass … and it was quite cute.   I was finishing a poem when girly came in, she looked my way and saluted me with a grin, and we talked for less than a minute while I was still seated.  I wrote my number on the back of a poem that I’ve long since completed, I didn’t expect her to call, and she didn’t – no surprise.  I didn’t see or hear from her until that morning before sunrise, she pulled up a chair wanting to know the deal.  She told me “your words fucked me up” … I replied “for real?”

“At first”, she said, “I was gonna’ put your number to the side”  “I wasn’t even gonna’ call you”, she went on to confide.   “But on the other side of the paper I notices some writing”, her expressions she didn’t hide “And as I began to read, my eyes opened wide”, “The way you said you wanted to do this and that, and touch places here and there”,  “The way you wanted to hug body parts like a snug pair of underwear”, “The way you wanted to plant kisses on a woman’s behind”, “You wrote that you want to kiss places where the sun doesn’t shine”, “You wrote things thought by some and said by few”, “The way you wanted to touch a woman’s, ooh … and kiss a woman’s, ooh”, “Play with a woman’s, ooh … make love to a woman’s, ooh”, “And to imagine that thoughts like these could come from you” She went on to say how she connected to the words, written free.  “I know these were words written on paper, but I felt like you were speaking to me”, “And when I think of the words, then look at you … I say you’re something else”.  “Your words really fucked me up to the point where I had to touch myself”

She said “I got hot after reading just a little bit”, “I got wet and had to change my panties … ain’t that some shit!”  “Your rhyme was blowin’ my mind … couldn’t believe my eyes”, “Your words were really fucking with me in a way that no one else tries”.  And though there was a chill in the air – frost settling on window panes and she looked around and asked “is it hot or is it just me”.  She stopped for a moment …taking a look around the place.  Silent still … she took a moment to fan her face, she said “this made me horny, I had to admit” and “When I started reading I just couldn’t quit” “These were not words for those under a certain age” “And to be honest, I forgot there was a number on the back of the page”.  The look on her face changed from infatuation, from the time she came in, to a look of sinister plotting, adorned with a devilish grin.  She slid me her number with an area code and digits two plus five and said “why don’t you come fuck with me, and make your words come alive”.

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