I have changed cellphones in the past year and lost some of my contacts. So when his number 202-688-XXXX pops up on my Droid no name is associated with it.
“How r u,” Mystery Texter texted me last August.
“Fine, who is this?” I text back.
“May I suck your dick and u fuck me.”
“If you tell me who you are.”
“A fan of that big dark dick.”
On and off over the next day or so he texts me back, asking to set up a time to hook up. But he never gives a name. So I quit texting back and ignore him and he goes away.
But a few weeks later he is back.
“Let me suck it and u hit it from the back,” he texts me out of the blue on a clear September day.
“In your area fuck me Immanuel.”
“Stop texting me,” I shoot back.
I’m so aggravated I find a private corner in my office building and dial the number. It goes straight to voice mail but it is a generic message. A feminine, robotic voice says the caller is not available and please leave a message. No name is given. So I hang up and don’t leave one.
I thought that was that but on Martin Luther King’s Holiday Mystery Stalker returned.
“Happy MLK Day”
This time I try to set a trap. I tell him Morgan and I want to have a threesome and fuck his bottom ass silly. As I guessed, being a dick-hungry bottom he took the bait hook, line and sinker.
But I ignore him which just got him hotter because over the next day he texted, “Address?” “Wassup?”
That’s when I came back at him again. “Who is this?” And again he refused to divulge his identity.
“Faggots Games. Faggot Games. Faggot Games,” I texted back. “Go play with another dude. this dick aint for you.”
“No problem. Plus already had it b4 a few times.”
“Cool so you got your memories,” I texted. “Obviously it wasn’t memorable enuf for me to remember you.”
“No actually I cut it off bc u talk too much and I didn’t say anything bad about u.”
“LOL…dude you aint’ even man enuf to say who you are. Typical bitter jaded Washington DC queen. Get the fuck off my phone and go wash your hair or something. Or buy some new pointed toed shoes.
He went for the jungular.
“LOL so funny not even me. U the one so messy that’s y u lost ur marriage fucking men behind her back and got caught. Enjoy another one of ur 5 min fake relationships.”
Damn, negro was not only dissing my ex-wife but my current partner Morgan too. I had to admit he had balls. But I wasn’t going to back off.
Hell, nobody was going to punk me on my own cellphone. Plus, ask Morgan or anybody who knows me. They will tell you I love to argue. Grandma always said with my motor mouth I should have been a lawyer or at least a preacher.
“Hey dude. I’m happy well adjusted good job good man. what about you. you don’t sound happy. And wow you sure are into what I do? That dick must have been good.”
“I’m very happy dick was average U hit me up. I didn’t hit you up.”
Oh no that motherfucker didn’t say my dick was average! I lit him up.
“Stop smoking crack. You messaged me first way back on Aug. 19 In five months you still haven’t said who the fuck you area. I bet your ass is getting wet right now. You like to play games I see.”
Okay, forgive me readers what I texted next. I was mad.
“Stick your fingers up your ass for me and lick them. Tell me how that shit tastes. Oh, it tastes like shit! Right!
“LOL,” he answered.
But you want to know something. The stalker stopped texting me. At least for now.
Readers the text conversations you just read are real, copied verbatim from Immanuel’s cellphone. Names have been changed to protect the innocent…okay, just kidding with that one.