Clay Cane is a New York City-based writer who is recognized for his contributions in journalism. Clay is a regular contributor for various print and online publications such as The Advocate and BET.com. He is the author of the highly anticipated novel Ball-Shaped World, which is a fictionalized account of the black and Latino ballroom scene. Also, he is the Entertainment Editor at BET.com and a member of New York Film Critics Online. He can be reached at claycane@gmail.com.


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    Friday, October 28, 2005

    The last time I went to CBGB’s I saw the amazing TAMAR KALI who is the punk rock version of Tina Turner. Her voice, energy and passion are unmatched. I encourage everyone to check her out if you can. Anyway, I go to CBGB’s excited to see another black rock artist - I was by myself because none of my friends could endure the trek on a Thursday night. The room was filled with alternative black rock folk -- NOT the crazy type ... you know, punk-rocked with blue hair and a listless look in their eyes that makes you think they tested every substance in the drug alphabet. Also, not neo-soul-ish type looking like they fart incense and piss ginger tea - just alternative in a natural way. I loved it ....


    I got there a little early so I casually walked around admiring the grit of CBGB’s. I locked eyes with a young woman - actually she locked eyes with me that screamed she wanted to grab my dick, bang me over the head with a club and bring me to her cave like a true a Neanderthal! I knew she wanted me with a stare that was "I just got of prison" intense. I’m a nice guy so I nodded, smiling at her – THE DOOR WAS OPENED.

    She motions for me to come over - I reluctantly walk over and she puts her hand out for me to shake. She says, "You're cute!" I laugh and thank her for the compliment getting a better look at her. She was a thick, tall, brown-skinned girl with so much make-up that she looked like she dipped her face in a bowl of light-brown chocolate frosting - Momma was painted! She had fire-engine-my-coochie-is-on-fire RED, RED, RED lipstick spread over her healthy lips ... I have a slight issue with women of color in hot-whore red lipstick... I think the skin tone throws it off -- earth tones ladies! But I digress ... she was tossing a crown of lovely locs down to her shoulders that were an odd contrast with pounds of make-up and hot-strumpet lipstick. She would've been more attractive if she wasn't BEAT FOR THE GODS (translation - too much make-up on!). Very interesting girl ... she pats a seat next to her and insists that I sit down.

    "Who are you here with?" She demands to know.

    "By myself."

    "Really? Do you have a girlfriend?" Her eyes spread over her face like two tablespoons of butter on Aunt Jemima pancakes waiting for my answer. This always confuses me when straight women ask me this ... my gay/bi boys know this feeling.

    I answer honestly, "No, I don't have a girlfriend." Her butter eyeballs melt and she asks my name. She tells me her name and for her own protection I will refer to her as "Mango Coochie" - you will see why. So she grills me in an intense interview session that made me feel slightly uncomfortable, but I thought it was cool that this woman was being so aggressive. I love women who are out of the box.

    After this heavy interrogation ... she confirms again that I don't have a girlfriend. I tell her no and laughing as I’m answering. She seemed to interpret my laugh as something that satisfied her and states extremely seriously, "Yeah, you look like you need some pussy." I'm thinking ... YOU DON'T KNOW THE HALF OF IT, LOVE JUICE!

    "Really? Why do you say that?" I ask ... knowing I was getting in dangerous territory asking questions.

    "I can just tell ... my coochie is really good." It takes a lot to throw me off with words (any of my friends know this), but Mango Coochie brought me RIGHT TOGETHER.

    "Really?" She glares at me like I was challenging the worth of her coochie. "Yes, it smells like MANGOS!"

    "Mangos?"

    "Yes, and I make the best mango pancakes. I'd like to make them for you!" I'm reeling now and trying to contain myself ... still wondering if I should tell her I’m not hetero. However, her intensity was so dramatic that I was intimidated by her, which NEVER happens. I start laughing hysterically and she uses my laugh as a cue to fall all over me and mash her bosom in my face. Her bosom that did ... I tell no lies ... smelled like fresh mangos -- picked from the tree of a colonized Jamaican plantation!!! I was DONE! She kept ramming her breasts on me and throwing her head back with wild laughs. I was waiting for her to tear off her denim skirt, wrap her legs around my neck and slam her mango coochie in my face!

    I tried to pull myself together and reclaim my personal space that was invaded by her mango bosom when I asked her, "So, why don't you have a boyfriend?"

    She quickly replies like she was waiting for that comment since the moment she locked eyes with me, "Because I’m the best girlfriend in the world!"

    "How so?"

    "I don't mind if my boyfriend fucks around -- as long as he tells me."

    "Really?" In my head I’m thinking - that isn't the best girlfriend in the world, that's the girlfriend with the lowest self-esteem in the world! "So does that mean you can fuck around too?" I ask.

    "No!" She corrects as if that would ruin her chances. "I'm a serial monogamist and women just can't do that." I almost wanted to explore that comment, but I knew that would get me into some overly revealing grounds with Mango Coochie. The show was getting ready to start and I wanted to be right up front so I could absorb every ounce of Tamar Kali. She gave me her number and questions, "Are you gonna call me? I really want to make you those pancakes!" I HATE lying ... I do, but Mango Coochie kind of scared me. That was my opportunity to say I was not one of the straights, but why should I ... why should I explain myself for the walking mango??? So, I lied and felt bad saying I would call her - but I was scared she might put some mango coochie curse on me! She was satisfied with my answer and stared at me throughout the night like she was ready to LICK me from my locs to my yellow goodness!

    I saw Mango Coochie dancing to the hard core soul-punk music .... I remember saying to myself, "She dances just like Molly Ringwald in the Breakfast Club on the staircase in the library!" I never called Mango Coochie ... I felt guilty because I could FEEL that she was waiting for my call with the pancakes on the grill and her coochie freshly marinated with mango! Oh, Mango Coochie …

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    Posted by Clay :: 12:10 AM :: 30 comments

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