Her name was Denay and she had to be the finest girl in the club that night. I called her “friend,” but everyone else had some more clever connotations for the Harlem dimepiece. “Ay, aye, aye, aaaayyyeee!” was cool for starters. “Shawty with the phat ass,” was another one. She never would answer to comments like that and on this particular night, she looked like she got dressed in sin with a dress that hugged her curves so right that I wanted to call her mama.

The fates must’ve been in the air because as they would have it, Denay thought that I looked pretty official myself. She stalked me through the crowd to ask about my shirt. I replied to let her know that it was just something to wear. She smiled… I did too… and a whole lot of drinks were consumed! We enjoyed the next few hours on the dance floor, navigating in our own personal world. But I must say, in trying not to offend any born-and-bred New Yawkers, this:

“Y’all can’t dance…”

Now, that’s a gift… and a curse, but homegirl and I, on this night, made love in the club as a medley of past, present and future hits were blended in the most entertaining of ways. A few whispers, winks and subtle hip movements aligned our stars that pointed us back to her place. I’ve been there before, but on this go-’round, her house looked more fitting for a seance that some “Say Yes,” if you dig what I’m saying. I paid no mind as the candles tried to mask the faint scent of “chicken” that was left in the air.

Long story short, she put her hoodoo on me and left me floating higher than David Blaine on a plane with Mary Jane (say that 10 times fast). I got up to hop in the shower only to return to two books on the bed. One for me was George, Being George and the other was being read by my friend-turned-freak, who now rocked the iPod to tune me out from messing with her high. But I’m on cloud nine as well and couldn’t resist a good read. As I flipped through the pages, I could hear the annoying buzz of what sounded like electronic house music.

I couldn’t catch the beat but wanted to throw the iPod out the window. I leaned in closer only to see Denay giving me a guick, yet forcefully stern look. “I just wanted to know what you were listening to,” I say. “Rob Zombie,” she replies. Rob Zombie after sex? I thought to myself was… weird, but hey… I then look over with the corner of my eye to peep the book that she was reading and Hello, Beautiful fans, let me tell you, the shiite was straight out of Dungeons & Dragons, Kazaam or some shiite!

She put Harry Potter to shame as she said that she had a sexual position that, if done correctly, would unlock your “inner being” and allow one to “shrink the heads of your enemies.” Quickly I resumed reading my book, thinking, “What the fashagudidah am I going to do?” As “Living Dead Girl” bumped out of her headphones, Denay’s eyes began to roll into the back of her head. It wasn’t like… sexy… either. I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t the one who was crazy and did the ole’ yawn and stretch to sneak a peak.

Jumpin’ Jack Flash, I’ve canoodled a witch! Suddenly, Denay turns to me with a seductive smile and says, “Wanna go again?” and lightning flashed afterwards!!! I smile, albeit nervously, and nod in agreement. My mind kept saying stall, so I kissed, licked and rubbed without trying to start a fire. “I wanna try something,” she says. Suddenly, she pulls out this bag of magic dust, starts chanting while suggestively showing me her tongue and I’m halfway entertained. It felt like some shiite went down my throat and my head started to shrink. LOL!

Ladies, what do y’all think? Should I have stayed to see what next trick she had up her sleeve? Or was I right in pulling a Houdini? Speak on it!