BGOL TRUE confessions
- Thread starter BigDaddyBuk
- Start date
Dhustla I tip my hat to you....for continuously bumping this thread so i can waste a hours of my life on a saturday! AWESOME THREAD fellas! Keep em coming!
***bookmarked***
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This was a great thread.
Come on fam....dont let it die!!
X 2
I met a chick on onlinebootycall 2 years ago. She was 18 and I was 32. We just chatted but she seemed mad cool. We exchanged pics and shit. Anyway we started seeing each other around town. She has a fiancee' and they have a son. At the time me and my (now wife) were just starting out. 2 years pass I move in with my girl. A couple of months later who moves into the townhouse next to ours?
My OLBC buddy. After a few months we started fucking on the low. Now chick has a 19 year sister and a 39 year old mom,(THEY CAN ALL GET IT) but I'm not being greedy ,she swallows, nice ass and big titties, comes over as soon as my girl leaves( 4am). The trifiling shit is on my wedding day I was getting my dick sucked by her as a wedding present blew nut all down her throat. I said that that would be it but I fucked her this past Wednesday. Chick eats pussy and wants a threesome.
My OLBC buddy. After a few months we started fucking on the low. Now chick has a 19 year sister and a 39 year old mom,(THEY CAN ALL GET IT) but I'm not being greedy ,she swallows, nice ass and big titties, comes over as soon as my girl leaves( 4am). The trifiling shit is on my wedding day I was getting my dick sucked by her as a wedding present blew nut all down her throat. I said that that would be it but I fucked her this past Wednesday. Chick eats pussy and wants a threesome.
There's a place below for you! 
wild thread!!!!!
True story. My shit seems tame compared to some of you cats. I might not believe me either. But it's true.
Let that shit go playa, had a homeboy just go through some similar shit. Homeboy was fucking a chick he worked wit, fucked the chick the weekend he got married and kept fucking her. Fast foward 2 months they sneaking out of town and shit and he end up getting the chick pregnant. Now hes's divorced after a year and some change with a babymama.
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About 2004 I had two chicks I was fucking on a regular basis.
One was a good girl, a genuine good girl. I gave her a key to my crib, would leave her there while I was hustlin, leave her in the crib w/ money laying around and it would still be there when I got back. She cared for me, didn't take heed. But thats another story. Also, sexually she was somewhat of a novice. When we met she told me that she could only come when she was on her stomach..... That all changed.
Second chick had the best pussy I have had in my life, even to date. 3 kids, we met on the bus and she didn't live that far. Down the street. She was 3 years older than me, but I didn't give a fuck about that or that she had 3 kids, I was just fucking her. Rarely even saw her kids.
My confession is that I bought a dildo. I casually brought it up to both of 'em in convo and asked 'em about it. Chick w/ 3 kids wanted to try it, and so did my good girl. So I bought one.....
I end up using the same dildo on both chicks in the same day.
I know.......I ain't shit.
One was a good girl, a genuine good girl. I gave her a key to my crib, would leave her there while I was hustlin, leave her in the crib w/ money laying around and it would still be there when I got back. She cared for me, didn't take heed. But thats another story. Also, sexually she was somewhat of a novice. When we met she told me that she could only come when she was on her stomach..... That all changed.
Second chick had the best pussy I have had in my life, even to date. 3 kids, we met on the bus and she didn't live that far. Down the street. She was 3 years older than me, but I didn't give a fuck about that or that she had 3 kids, I was just fucking her. Rarely even saw her kids.
My confession is that I bought a dildo. I casually brought it up to both of 'em in convo and asked 'em about it. Chick w/ 3 kids wanted to try it, and so did my good girl. So I bought one.....
I end up using the same dildo on both chicks in the same day.
I know.......I ain't shit.
... you gotta explain this one a little further for me
Damn i kno i got some shit to confess wen i think of somethin i'll post...but some of this shit is funny as fuck tho! Keep 'em comin
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Me and my boys used to sell dope in LA but the 1time was sinking niggaz, so we decided to catch a flight to st louis, we rented a car and went to stay in a hotel, then me an my nigga T Bone went to shoot up a block and make it our new slanging spot, this is back when we had jerry curls and shit, then we had
turned some of the st louis niggaz into crips, The only thing stopped us was when my nigga had got shot, cause the St Louis niggaz wanted their corner back, so when i went back to the hotel the feds kicked in the door and took us to jail, they tried to give me 57 years, my public defendent didnt care at all about me but the black gorilla family saved my life in those walls...
Ill never forget that summer vacation.........
turned some of the st louis niggaz into crips, The only thing stopped us was when my nigga had got shot, cause the St Louis niggaz wanted their corner back, so when i went back to the hotel the feds kicked in the door and took us to jail, they tried to give me 57 years, my public defendent didnt care at all about me but the black gorilla family saved my life in those walls...
Ill never forget that summer vacation.........
i love strippers...
for real...
they are consumate professionals in every which way...
i love strippers especially the ones from N.O...
Do not introduce her to your wife! Leave that threesome alone.
this thread is THE SHIT!!!!!!!
I, am a person who displays very little emotion, ever. I have gotten into countless arguments about this with my wife, who on the other end of the emotional spectrum wears her emotions on her sleeve. But, as I've been told, the things that you don't see when I'm awake find their own way out when I sleep.
I toss in my sleep every night. The feelings that I never share, as some form of punishment for keeping them bottled up inside, poke and prod me as I try to rest. The longer it's been held inside me, the harder it hits. My wife has told me of times where she tried to console me in my sleep, only to be thanked by a vicious punch to the jaw. She knows that it is something I would never do to her while I was awake (unless she pulls her gun on me again.... that story is for another time), so it's forgiven. But she also understands that I carry a lot of things around with me, that I never take out on anyone and never clue anyone in to. With that said, the prologue is over.
Something I lose sleep over:
1992, early fall, 6th grade, 12 years old, oldest of 5 (baby brother would be born 2 years later). It was one of those rare 3-Way Check Days. And, by three way I mean my moms welfare check (it was the first, so she got about $450 in food stamps, plus cash), my dads workman's compensation check (another $300), and since my dad sold heavy work - it being the 1st - this was a very good day.
About 6 o'clock in the evening, my dad is preparing to leave to go play the lottery. The street number, like what you would see in a movie, except the numbers were based on the actual lottery, not say the last 3 digits of the volume on the NYSE that day. I used to go play them too on occasion, Shit, I still remember the numbers he played: 236, 734, (straight .10, box .25) and 23 and 73 parlayed (50 cents each), under the tag TR-1. The tags as you can guess served 2 purposes, first as a way of keeping track who hit, and second in case they got raided (which they never did, never got robbed either). Old man Lamont (cat who ran the store) always used to offer me a job, never did take him up on that though.
Around the same time, my mom was getting dressed to go to the store, it was check day so we wanted take out. We were all going to get cheesesteaks and cheese fries (my brother wanted regular french fries, didn't like the aftertaste of the cheesewhiz). My dad leaves first, but before he goes, he leaves me with a 120 pack, tells me to keep it in my pocket and sit by the window in my bedroom. That way, if we get raided I can just toss the shit out the window. But, of course, serve anyone who I know that comes by. But do not break it open for a muthafucka coming to get one, if he don't want at least 2 let that shit go.
Dad leaves, might be gone 90 seconds, Mom is on her way to the door when someone starts banging at the door. Right after the banging I hear it, "POLICE!!!" They force open the door, right as my mother is trying to open it. Now, right after I talked to my dad I went downstairs to mess with my sisters, so, when the cops come in, where am I, not by the window where he told me to be, I'm in the living room with $120 worth of coke in my jeans.
Years later, I learn what the cops did next was illegal (well, the less obvious part anyway), they searched me and my sisters. Law at the time, stipulated that to search a minor DHS needs to be present, DHS was not there. They pulled the work out of my pocket and as they did this I begged and pleaded with them to take me and leave my family alone. I will never forget this, these 2 motherfuckers, a white bitch and a black dude. I swear, the only things I can't remember are the date this happened and the names of these 2 bacon smelling cocksucking sons of bitches. I stood in my kitchen where they held me and I cried, I begged them to just take me. You have what you came for, leave my family alone. I hope that no one reading this knows this pain, realizing that your childhood is gone and becoming a man, doing something that no man should ever have to do, and then seeing after doing it that it was all for nothing.
They put the plastic cuffs on my self, and real cuffs on my mother. Put us in the back of different prisoner wagons*, and took us both to the 22nd district at 17th and Montgomery. By the time I was outside of my house though, the tears had turned to acceptance of what was happening, but I was not prepared at all for what would happen next.
I was put in a sweatbox for a few minutes, I was asked my name, and then put in a personal car and driven to a neighbors house on my block. The reason for this is in the official report of what happened that night, the pack was found on my mother. In the official report, none of the children were searched because no Department of Human Services employee was present. In the official report, my mother had marked bills in her pocket courtesy of someone she served that night, when in fact she served no one and the money she had came from the fucking 3-2 center at 21st and Lehigh! And the funny thing is, they came for my dad, and they drove right the fuck past him. He told me the next day that 12 police cars, lights and sirens came flying right by him down montgomery avenue as he was leaving the house.
My mother was charged (per the official report, of course) with possession and intent to distribute a controlled substance, plead guilty, and spent 4 months in jail for my mistake. None of my family see it this way though, not even my mom. However, that shit haunts me to this day, and always will.
I sent my mother to jail, that is my confession.
*prisoner wagon - A term I picked up from my police officer wife, I don't hate the people who do her job, I hate the people who abuse her job.
I toss in my sleep every night. The feelings that I never share, as some form of punishment for keeping them bottled up inside, poke and prod me as I try to rest. The longer it's been held inside me, the harder it hits. My wife has told me of times where she tried to console me in my sleep, only to be thanked by a vicious punch to the jaw. She knows that it is something I would never do to her while I was awake (unless she pulls her gun on me again.... that story is for another time), so it's forgiven. But she also understands that I carry a lot of things around with me, that I never take out on anyone and never clue anyone in to. With that said, the prologue is over.
Something I lose sleep over:
1992, early fall, 6th grade, 12 years old, oldest of 5 (baby brother would be born 2 years later). It was one of those rare 3-Way Check Days. And, by three way I mean my moms welfare check (it was the first, so she got about $450 in food stamps, plus cash), my dads workman's compensation check (another $300), and since my dad sold heavy work - it being the 1st - this was a very good day.
About 6 o'clock in the evening, my dad is preparing to leave to go play the lottery. The street number, like what you would see in a movie, except the numbers were based on the actual lottery, not say the last 3 digits of the volume on the NYSE that day. I used to go play them too on occasion, Shit, I still remember the numbers he played: 236, 734, (straight .10, box .25) and 23 and 73 parlayed (50 cents each), under the tag TR-1. The tags as you can guess served 2 purposes, first as a way of keeping track who hit, and second in case they got raided (which they never did, never got robbed either). Old man Lamont (cat who ran the store) always used to offer me a job, never did take him up on that though.
Around the same time, my mom was getting dressed to go to the store, it was check day so we wanted take out. We were all going to get cheesesteaks and cheese fries (my brother wanted regular french fries, didn't like the aftertaste of the cheesewhiz). My dad leaves first, but before he goes, he leaves me with a 120 pack, tells me to keep it in my pocket and sit by the window in my bedroom. That way, if we get raided I can just toss the shit out the window. But, of course, serve anyone who I know that comes by. But do not break it open for a muthafucka coming to get one, if he don't want at least 2 let that shit go.
Dad leaves, might be gone 90 seconds, Mom is on her way to the door when someone starts banging at the door. Right after the banging I hear it, "POLICE!!!" They force open the door, right as my mother is trying to open it. Now, right after I talked to my dad I went downstairs to mess with my sisters, so, when the cops come in, where am I, not by the window where he told me to be, I'm in the living room with $120 worth of coke in my jeans.
Years later, I learn what the cops did next was illegal (well, the less obvious part anyway), they searched me and my sisters. Law at the time, stipulated that to search a minor DHS needs to be present, DHS was not there. They pulled the work out of my pocket and as they did this I begged and pleaded with them to take me and leave my family alone. I will never forget this, these 2 motherfuckers, a white bitch and a black dude. I swear, the only things I can't remember are the date this happened and the names of these 2 bacon smelling cocksucking sons of bitches. I stood in my kitchen where they held me and I cried, I begged them to just take me. You have what you came for, leave my family alone. I hope that no one reading this knows this pain, realizing that your childhood is gone and becoming a man, doing something that no man should ever have to do, and then seeing after doing it that it was all for nothing.
They put the plastic cuffs on my self, and real cuffs on my mother. Put us in the back of different prisoner wagons*, and took us both to the 22nd district at 17th and Montgomery. By the time I was outside of my house though, the tears had turned to acceptance of what was happening, but I was not prepared at all for what would happen next.
I was put in a sweatbox for a few minutes, I was asked my name, and then put in a personal car and driven to a neighbors house on my block. The reason for this is in the official report of what happened that night, the pack was found on my mother. In the official report, none of the children were searched because no Department of Human Services employee was present. In the official report, my mother had marked bills in her pocket courtesy of someone she served that night, when in fact she served no one and the money she had came from the fucking 3-2 center at 21st and Lehigh! And the funny thing is, they came for my dad, and they drove right the fuck past him. He told me the next day that 12 police cars, lights and sirens came flying right by him down montgomery avenue as he was leaving the house.
My mother was charged (per the official report, of course) with possession and intent to distribute a controlled substance, plead guilty, and spent 4 months in jail for my mistake. None of my family see it this way though, not even my mom. However, that shit haunts me to this day, and always will.
I sent my mother to jail, that is my confession.
*prisoner wagon - A term I picked up from my police officer wife, I don't hate the people who do her job, I hate the people who abuse her job.
Listen to everybody that's telling you to let that shit go, playa. You ever heard the phrase, "too close to home"? You're only doing it because of the ease of getting some extra pussy that's within walking distance.
You know what, fuck it, you're gonna do what you want to do anyway. I'd probably be doing the same shit.
I like your stories man.You should write a book or something.True Story #2: Deja
NOTE: This will sound like I'm writing a story, but this shit really happened...
...
This was the next to the last woman that I met on 'teledate'. The very last woman I met ended up being my girlfriend of a year or so, with whom I moved to LA. That's another story.
I was in my third year at HU. I lived in a duplex with one of my best friends and a female room mate, and our place was spitting distance from campus. My entire crew was thriving socially. Even the homie roommate that didn't go to college seemed to be dong well. He'd tell me about how he and our lady room mate would have their midnight rendezvous on the regular.
Somehow, though, this social success was skipping me, and that tore me up.
So I met this chick on teledate who called herself Deja. For a guy in my situation, she seemed like a fantasy right out of a noir novel. She was a 'stripper' trying to get out of the game. She'd only met bad guys and had 'never talked to anybody like me before'. One conversation became two, and two became ten. Before you knew it, we were talking every night. When I came back from class, It was exciting to get those voice mails with, "I miss you" and, "Call me back, boo...", and blah, blah, blah.
Basically, simp bait.
Every time I wanted to meet, she had an excuse. "I've got to work late tonight", or "they wanted me to dance at club XXX but now I've got to dance at club YYY across town." This is difficult, when both of you rely on public transportation and me, on a measly undergrad budget, needed to schedule meetings and transportation with extreme financial prejudice.
For the first month, this was okay with me. It satisfied a fantasy. Every night we spoke on the phone, we seemed more connected. Shit, we even fucked around on the phone. It was all part of the illusion, and from my years of dealing with phone-chicks, I knew exactly what to say and how to say it such that I was Denzel on the tele. That's all mattered.
During month two, I started to get antsy. The fellas were looking at me funny because I was treating this invisible chick like my lady. When cats were going out on dates, I'd skip out because I'd tell them that I had my own 'date', a meeting with a girl I spoke most enthusiastically about where our face-to-face meeting was always, "tomorrow, man. I'm tellin' you...tomorrow."
The irony is that all lies have a morsel of truth. I knew her telephone number, and she'd even given me her Bowie address once. At one point, Her birthday came. I was feeling romantic, and I wanted to surprise her. I'd managed a ride from my room mate and we went out with some bullshit present that I'd bought, but she wasn't home. I left it at the door, and the next day I got a call thanking me for it, so I knew that the address was real.
During Month THREE is when, as Chinua Achebe said, "Things Fall Apart". I was tired of the games and tired of the runaround, and she could sense it. Her promises of meeting up became more and more pleading. I started to believe her less an less. Her lies were confusing. My thinking was, "if she was playing me, why go on for this long? Why do we talk all the time, and what was the gain?" I started to let my emotional side go, and let my analytical mind kick in for the first time. Maybe she was sincere and I had really bad luck...
...but it was highly unlikely.
It was when she set up our last date that i decided to call her bluff. We spoke, and she said that she wanted me to catch the last train out to New Carrolton (a good hike from HU by train), then catch the last bus - a rural county bus - which would take me to a shopping complex near her house in Bowie. She'd meet me there and pick me up.
So I said, Fuck it. Whatever happens, I just wanted to test her character. At that point, that was all that mattered to me.
So I went. As the sun started going down in those summer hours, during that long ride I realized that I was putting a lot of faith in this person.
The shopping complex was thinning out, and I waited at the meeting point at the pay phone by the Taco Bell. I called, and she said she was waiting on her ride and she'd be by to pick me up shortly. One hour passed, then two. By this time, the entire place was deserted save for the occasional person going to the gas station across the street.
By midnight, I knew that she wasn't coming. We spoke on the phone, and she told me that she'd be there soon. By this time, I called my roommate to tell him the story, and he offered to come get me. Every hour, I'd call on the payphone with an update, and he'd offer to come out and I'd decline. I wanted to see this through. I needed to know if this chick that I spoke to for three months would really leave me sitting out here all night long at a fuckin' pay phone
By 1am, she was just like, "Go with your friend", and I'm like, "no, I want to really see what you're going to do." You see, I *had* to see what she was going to do. This was my first lesson out of naivety. Until this point, I didn't really realize what some people were capable of. It was then that I got my first lesson that some people really just don't give a fuck. It was a defining moment for me, my first REAL life college lesson.
I sat on that corner until the sun came up.
I caught the first bus back home, and, newly resolved, made my decision.
Deja called several times apologizing profusely, and I played along. We continued as if nothing happened. I'd already decided what i was going to do that weekend.
I borrowed a friend's car, but didn't tell her immediately. During the week, I purchased a cell phone, and got her comfortable with the transition of talking on that as opposed to the land line.
We'd made plans to talk that evening, but my plans were to drive out to the address that I'd been sitting on for months. Back then, I was a big comic book junkie, and brought a comic to read just in case I'd be out there a while. I remembered that her nephew liked comics, and in case I met him, I wanted to have something to give him.
She called me when I was in route, and I told her that I was going to buy groceries. She bought it, and carried on business as usual. By the time I made it to the dirt road leading to her 'neighborhood', I remember seeing a car pass by and I hoped that it wasn't her and her people. Her area, back then, was in the nascent stages of development when communities were being forced from rural simplicity to the Americana cut-n-pastes that they are today, so it was uncommon for two cars on roads like these to pass each other.
They didn't pause, and neither did I, though. I kept my eyes straight on the road, praying that they didn't see me.
When i pulled up in front of her house, I dialed her number. Her easy mirth plunged to shock when i told her that I was parked in front of her place. She was furious, and the words just tumbled out, "Why didn't you tell me you was coming?? You can't just show up! I ain't even there right now! I'm gone! I won't be back for hours."
It didn't matter, though. I was resolved. I just parked and told her that I'd wait. After about two hours, I knocked on the door and an older woman answered. I politely told her my name and my business there. She didn't recognize the name Deja at first, but she paused, drew in a breath, then started biting her lip. After a moment, she new what was going on. She called to a man in the house and said that somebody's here for (I can't remember her real name) "Shaneka". When the older man came to the door, he looked at me for a long time, listened to my story, realized that I was straight, and invited me inside.
The three of us sat at a dinner table in an uncomfortable silence. The woman, who I learned was her mother, offered me a drink. The father sat there, looking back and forth between the two of us, then told me that I needed to be prepared to deal with the fact that the girl I called Deja is a liar and that I needed to be ready for some disappointment.
Mind you, I didn't care if this girl looked like a model 10 at this point. I just wanted closure. I wanted to see this chick that had usurped three months of my life, face-to-face.
As told by them, she'd had multiple phones and amused herself with the phone lines. I looked on the wall and saw, just like she said, a wall mounted phone on the dining room wall. Below it was another phone resting on some odd table, undoubtedly one of the many phones to go with the one that Deja spoke to me on those late nights in her bedroom. The mother continued, saying that things like this had happened with her before, but never to this extent.
For what felt like an eternity, we sat waiting at that table until we heard a car pull up at the rear of the house, doors open, and several people make way to the back door.
The first one through was the nephew. I'd never seen him before, but as soon as the youngin' saw me, he looked at me, looked to the mom and dad, said, "Uh oh", and knowing the deal...shuffled off, stage left.
Bad sign.
Next came Deja. She was big. I mean REALLY big. Like 300lbs big. My face was blank. Nothing, at this point, surprised me anymore. The mother lowered her head and, i shit you not, the father actually SMILED and said, "Shaneka, this young man is here to see you."
Deja shock turned to anger, then righteous indignation. The profanity poured, and I was more shocked that she used that language in front of her family than at the fact that it was directed towards me. "You can't come to my fucking house! Fuck you! Fuck you!"
She sat down at the end of the table, the father sat, the mom went off somewhere else in the house. I never saw her again. The little nephew was off somewhere in my peripheral, smiling and laughing, but never bold enough to come to the table.
When she'd exhausted herself, Deja's furry turned to tears, then pleas, "I didn't mean to lie to you. I was gonna tell you but I didn't know what to say!" I caught feelings for you and...blah, blah, blah..."
The whole time, I didn't say a word. I just looked at her, then looked into myself, angry that I'd allowed my own weakness and solitude to bring me to this place at that moment. When she finished, she looked at me and asked me, "Aren't you gonna SAY something?".
I didn't think that there was anything to say. I waited there for a long moment. It was the nephew that I noticed more than anything else. I just didn't feel ANYTHING, except the nephew made me smile. I don't know what it was. I just saw a little geek kid caught up in all this drama, and I remembered that i had that damn comic book in my hand.
I stood up and told Deja that I wasn't angry. I told her that none of it mattered. As the father escorted me to the door, I stopped and gave that kid my comic. He smiled, and for some reason, that stuck with me. Deja was saying something at my back, but I couldn't tell you what the words were. They just faded into the noise of that evening, just like everything else.
I walked to my car, saw Deja, her dad, and her nephew standing at the porch like something out of an old slave movie, got in my car and drove away.
She called a few more times that week, but I never answered, and the calls eventually tapered off.
We never spoke again.
It would be another year before I used Teledate again.
I haven't gone through tha whole thread yet but hope you got more.Shit is real entertaining.
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