Missy Pulls a Fast One

Y'all ain't gonna believe this when I get through but Missy seemed like a good ol' gal when I met her at JaeRae's. She had a big smile and a loud personality. She had that rode hard and put up wet look about her but I ain't one to judge.

Missy was a teacher in the city and recently divorced. She lived in an old brick house over in my old stomping grounds. It was a neighborhood with sidewalks and a little bit of character but was just a hop, skip and a jump from the ghetto.

I had to park on the street and haul my goods up her cement steps and into her small living room unlike parties I'd done for married ladies who'd had husbands that would help me. I set my card table up in the corner and began decorating it with a thick red tablecloth and candles that melted into a deliciously scented body oil.

Before I knew it, other teacher friends of Missy were filtering in and filling up her sectional faster than a church pew on Easter Sunday. They were squeezed in tight because her house was itty bitty but they didn't seem to mind. Everyone was in fine spirits. 

After a quick icebreaker, I went around the room with my vibrating massage glove and oil, letting each woman feel the nubs on their forearm. Told 'em to imagine how good it would feel if their special someone used it on their back. The ladies were eating it up along with my fuzzy navel flavored lube that they licked off of penis shaped pencil toppers. Everyone was giggling and sucking down cocktails.

There is always one woman who has to be the center of the room and at Missy's party it was Charlotte. Char, as her friends called her, was a terribly thin woman in her twenties who seemed to have a fondness for patchouli, piercings and interesting tattoos as well as a vast knowledge of romance enhancers. She seemed already three sheets to the wind when she walked through the door, heckling me before I even got started and then interrupting my little presentation countless times to ask questions and ultimately, and of course, not ordering a damn thing.

As the evening wrapped up and I began taking orders privately in Missy's back bedroom, I overheard Char talking about coke and I don't mean the fizzy kind. I soon realized they were snorting lines in the kitchen. I was completely flabbergasted having always held teachers in high esteem though I surely understand now the need for chemical alteration after spending too much time with children.

The women became a bit distracted and Missy didn't seem interested at all in settling up with me. She instead wanted to head downtown and hit some bars with her friends. She promised to call me the next day so we could wrap up. I knew this was a bad idea but agreed because her friends, with the exception of Char, had all ordered extravagantly and paid me so I was confident I would make a profit off the party. In fact, I already knew Missy was entitled to $100 in hostess gifts.

Over the following week or so, I tried repeatedly to close Missy's party to no avail. She would not return my calls or respond to my e-mails. Ultimately, I decided to submit the party orders so her guests who had paid would get their products in a timely fashion. I sent Missy a gift certificate for the $100 in hostess gifts she was entitled to and wrote her a letter thanking her for hosting.

Then the calls came and the scathing messages. It was like I'd pissed in her cornflakes! To say Missy was displeased and ungrateful would be an understatement. She had been waiting for payday on the first of the month – didn't I know teachers are only paid monthly? - and was livid that I had gone ahead and closed it never you mind the fact that her guests were surely wondering where I'd gone with their massagers, oils and lube. Missy was hollerin' like a stuck pig but I wasn't going to have any of that. I sent her one final message expressing my apology that she felt she had been cheated and left it at that. And I can't tell you how glad I am that my kids don't go to her school! Something to be said for moving out to the country.

My eyes had been opened wide by this experience and I learned never to let a hostess talk me into breaking my rules again. I also began to prejudge the people who booked parties with me just a little bit more. Judging a book by its cover? Not such a bad thing after all and that was the lesson that Missy taught me.