I Wanna Fuck Erykah Badu So Bad That I Don’t


Unrelated (I hope), I remember when, after he’d been diagnosed with AIDS or maybe even after he died, it became ironically safe to talk about how gay Rock Hudson had been.

In this one particular story I read, Rock was popular for complaining that a lot of the guys he got with were so starstruck that they couldn’t get it up.

Similarly, but, again, like I said, I hope unrelated, I wanna fuck Erykah Badu so bad that I don’t wanna fuck her.

And don’t get me wrong: despite the fact that I usually like my women a little darker, Erykah’s exactly my physical type.

Have you seen that ass?


My Lord!

She must hafta beat niggas away from her!

Common, come on now, go! Follow Andre. He went that way.

But my problem with Erykah is the fact that I love her. That says something strange/interesting/bizarre/insert-your-own-dubious-tendency-here about me, huh?

Couldn’t fuck a woman because I’m in love with her.

And again, don’t get me wrong; I don’t know Erykah.

My issue is that she’s my absolute favorite female musical artist ever. She even leaves in the dust Aretha who, coincidentally, I’d still fuck.

Beyonce? Please. I’d take one half of her and leave Hov to the other half.

I go ass-to-mouth with Nicki.

I’d even fuck Taylor Swift provided that once my dick went through her entire body, there was a badder bitch, maybe P!nk, laying underneath to get the head.

And strangely, this aversion doesn’t spread to other disciplines. I met Toni Morrison in her 80th year and hoped in vain that she was taking my hints.

My second favorite female writer, Ayn Rand, I wouldn’t have fucked because I’ve never seen a decent picture of her even though I understand she was a huge fan of dick.

I wouldn’t fuck Diane Keaton either and she’s my favorite actress.

My second favorite actress, Frances McDormand, could get it right in the pussy.

But back to Erykah.

Eldridge Cleaver once wrote about James Baldwin – and I’ll paraphrase because I don’t have Soul On Ice right in front of me – I wish I could lay beneath his typewriter to read each freshly finished page… or something like that.

I feel the same way about Erykah’s music.

Her second album, Mama’s Gun, is one of the five best albums I’ve ever heard; right there alongside Marvin’s What’s Going On, Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon and Hov’s Reasonable Doubt or The Blueprint – depending on the day of the week.

And each Erykah song always hits me like it was written just for me.

A perfect example of her amazing dexterity would be a song like “Bag Lady” from the Mama’s Gun album. For the single version, she used the same sample Dr. Dre had just used for the song “Xxplosive” from his Chronic 2001 album, wisely understanding that radio listeners need something they can nod their heads to, being short on attention span, comprehension or intelligence.

However, for the album version, you really understand the song; what it means, what it’s intentions are. And it almost makes you… stop breathing.

So perhaps, being male and otherwise unable to express my appreciation for female perfection any other way, my thoughts turn to fuck.

And maybe that’s also why I fear I might not be able to do it; because I realize this desire is basic, fuckboy and lame.

Whatever the case, I would certainly eat the ass for hours.

I mean, shit, I’d have to do something.

About the Author

Dickie Bhee is a self-styled lunatic, a Renaissance showman, a Class A, Grade A buffoon, a nigga that believes in the greatness of Niggerhood a social gadfly and a genuine Man About Town. Also: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01E7NYMP4

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