“Harlem Rent Party” by Mabel Dwight
My buddy “David” sends me a text message.
“I’m having a sex party. You’re invited.”
You may remember David from an earlier post. I call him my sexy geek because he is an IT professional, real estate professor, has a big dick that looks a ripe banana, and can suck a mean dick. But I have never known him to have a sex party.
“Hey man, times are tight. I need the money.”
“Okay, I’ll try to make it.”
He is not the only one I know having sex parties not because they like sex but because they like money. There is this young guy I know who throws a sex party at least once a week to raise the funds to cover his apartment rent and other expenses. They are pretty perfunctory affairs — come in, give him $10, put your clothes in a plastic garbage bag, and sit around in your underwear in the dark eyeing the other guys there and waiting for the action to start.
I have never seen the host participate, although he is a hot guy with a friendly personality. He just sits at the door taking money and busy on his laptop trolling gay sex hookup sites so he can invite more fresh meat through the door.
Hey the dark clouds of the Bush Administration are still hanging over us. David is right — these are hard times and the unemployment rate for Blacks is above 15 percent. So I don’t blame these guys for what they do. A brother has to hustle.