Baba

Sometimes I forget what I’ve already posted. So if I’ve told this story, just read it and enjoy it again 🙂

I don’t know what his actual name was. Something African, but he went by Baba. (Ohhh, this just reminded me of Don Juan! I don’t think I’ve shared that story yet. Future post!) I met him at Habanos, I think, 6 or so years ago. Anyways, we ended up going to his apartment at the end of the night. He got the cab to stop at Burger King first, and then didn’t have enough money left to pay the cab and had to ask me for some.

His apartment was sparse at best. He had the smallest…tv…I’d ever seen. And he watched the one french channel available. While he ate his burgers, we chatted and he told me some stories about Africa, his ex, his daughter. Riveting stuff, but I just couldn’t wait to get that stanky burger king breath all over my face and in my vodka soaked mouth. We made our way to the bedroom. It had a bed in it. And us. Now, back to his small tv. Expectations were big (haha), based on my previous experience, and those persistent rumours I know you’ve all heard. He managed to lower my expectation, inch by lacking inch. But, hey, maybe he’s got skills, motion in the ocean and blah blah blah, right? We had sex twice. Well, he did.

In the morning, he woke me up with a breast massage. I don’t know how he knew that is my favourite way of being woken up when I’m hungover and already confused about where I am, let alone who is attached to the hand tweaking my nipple, but he knew. He wanted to have sex again. My words were something along the lines of “are you fucking kidding? I’m going the fuck home.”

Longest walk of shame EVER. First, I had to figure out where the fuck I was, and since it was a Friday at 9am, everyone I knew was at work and I was low on cash. I walked to the nearest bus stop, transferred buses downtown, and ended up 5 or so blocks from my house. It took me over an hour to get home. Not worth it.

And then this guy called me for months after! I kept running into him at the bar. It didn’t matter which one I went to, he was there. And even though I never answered his calls, he would ask me out every single time I saw him. He was persistent.

And there you go. The story of Baba.

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