Honey Dip 01

Honey Dip 01

I suppose they call me Honey Dip because I go a little over board when I order my breaded chicken tenders from any of the restaurants in Middleton. I'm not saying that all of the restaurants keep my photo on the wall like a FBI most wanted poster, but they might keep me in mind when the place their orders for dipping sauces because my side bag of honey dipping sauce is always as big as my main bag of chicken tenders. I know it's ridiculous and I'm trying to get help.

And let's pretend that I fully explained my constant battle of the belly bulge versus all of the honey dipped chicken I eat and move on. And while we're at it, let's pretend that I'm winning that battle and then drop the subject.

Hi, you can call me Honey Dip if you want to, but don't let your mind run sideways with visions of me running around the house in gold and black striped undies. My skin tone just doesn't support me with the wearing of clothing from the yellow spectrum, so get that yellow honey bee image out of your mind right now. By the way, that's how that Tranny Bumble Bee runs around her boyfriend's house, but that's their business and by that, I mean Bumble Bee may look cute in those costumes, but my hair is so much better and then let's drop that subject too.

Anyways, I have learned to choose my other battles carefully. I'm pretty conservative during the week when the roomie might be home or when his friend's might be over. Everyone knows immediately that I wear the wrong gender clothes, but no one will ever say that I'm a flaunt or a flirt, LOL, during the week. Weekends, of course, are another story, but during the week, you can gaze at my hair or my Rosey face, but my belly stays covered. LOL, and not just for the reasons we already agreed to never speak of because I swear, I am winning that battle.

So, what does the roomie, Frank, think about all this? LOL, who knows. For all of you who insist on flying a red eye, well, you can thank Frank for keeping the airplane full of jet fuel, like, OMG, at 3am! Whatever, right? In other words, the roomie is in bed by 8pm and he has no idea how often I get my chicken tenders and honey dipping sauce or how I get them.

And speaking of losing battles and lying about it, I constantly find myself doing battle with some of the roommate's friends. I mean, they are pretty cool about things and they don't call me out for dressing the way I dress and act, but they're guys, right?

Now, what do I mean by that? Well, I'm glad you asked about that and not about why all of my shirts break below my beltline.

As an example, Brad will take a dig or two at my life style, but he will whisper to me that the world wouldn't end if I came out of my bedroom while wearing something a little less proper. As a matter fact, it was Brad who started to arrive every Thursday evening with chicken tenders and honey dipping sauce as a way to lure me out of my bedroom. Every Thursday, like clockwork.

Well, I knew from the beginning that he wanted to dip his honey stick in my honey pot, but we both managed to keep things under control for the most part. And by that, I mean I managed to steer the situation in the right direction, for the most part, most of the time. And by that, I mean, sometimes I can't resist fresh chicken tenders because I know there is a promise of honey dipping sauce at the end of the rainbow, so I might get cozy with Brad when Brad shows up with a bag of hot chicken tenders just as the roomie is heading to bed. LOL, it's another of my constant battles.

I never thought of it as a battle, but I was convinced that it was a strategy on Brad's part to wear me down when he started to approach my closed bedroom door and knock to announce the arrival of his bait to get me out of the safety of my bedroom. I believe it was his strategy to increase the speed of which I exited my bedroom in the hopes that I might not slip on a pair of capri jammies or something and damn it, it eventually worked. Not that I just bounced out of my bedroom in just my undies or anything, but he eventually won that battle. Hey, I like my fem activewear and it mostly covers me up, so he won that one.

He even continued to win a few battles over the next couple of weeks, but that may have been more on me. He never came out and asked me directly to sit next to him on the couch, so when I scooted my TV table tray closer to his on that fateful Thursday night, well, that one was on me. I mean, he claimed it as his battle victory, but we needed to talk and I didn't want him to claim that he didn't hear me clearly.

"Don't read too much into this, Brad. This is exactly why people say that one thing leads to another, so we better think about things before one thing leads to another."

I mean, I had to say it, right? I freely admit that I scooted up closer to him on the couch, but that's not the whole picture. It's been about two months of "one thing" that was well on the way to leading to other things.

"Ah, come on, Honey Dip, we're just having fun and I promise, nothing is going to happen if you don't want it to happen."

I wouldn't argue with his statement of fun because it was exciting to be noticed, but still, right? He's the roommate's friend and every time I dip my chicken tenders into the honey dipping sauce, ugh, he gets a boner.

"Brad, stop acting like you want to do something with that thing. We're not that way, I'm not that way and you need to think twice about being that way."

Ah, I don't know if I got my point across or not, but things started to change after that. I mean, one thing led directly to another, I think. Sitting side by side on the couch not only became the normal, but our leaning against each other turned into smushing. Careful dipping in honey sauce became less than careful and there were a few exchanges of cleaning around the corner of the mouth. Saying good night from the living room led to good nights at the front door.

I admit that we were in the "another thing" phase or close to it, but his honey stick had remained inside of its honey jar and my honey pot was still as sweet as ever. And nope, I wasn't sure which of my two honey pots he wanted at that time, but I had suspected that he wanted me to lick his honey stick clean because he never asked if I had any honey favored condoms in my bedroom.

Well, then I don't know for sure what happened, but here's what happened. I'm not saying that it was another battle strategy from Brad's side, but I can guarantee you that it wasn't a strategy from my side. I mean, it was a Saturday evening and way outside of our normal Thursday night chicken tenders and honey dipping sauce game night. I should have considered that he realized that he wasn't going to get me into my bedroom and that his SUV was the next best thing, but I didn't consider that.

When he texted me and asked to escort me through the Chicken Shed drive-through, well, I figured we would have our eats down by the river and that would be that. Well, that wasn't that, but it was where he came clean and defined my honey pot.

I mean, in the beginning it was that, but after we ate and cleaned up and kicked back to watch the river flow by, well, that became this and then this became that again and his strategy of redefining the "last thing it leads to" rose to the surface.

"So, Brad, you thought that if I wouldn't suck your dick in my bedroom, then I might do it down here by the river? Is that your strategy?"

"Don't be like that, Honey Dip. We've been dating all summer."

"Ah, this is barely a date. Do you have the chicken flu or something? This is the first time you're taken me out of the house!"

"Don't be like that, Honey Dip. We've been smooching on the couch all summer."

"Smushing! We have been smushing on the couch all summer."

"Don't be like that. Honey Dip. You've kept my honey stick ready to stir your honey pot all summer, so choke my chicken with your honey covered lips."

Huh? Maybe. And by that, I mean holy snap, he was not a happy camper as I clapped back to every comment he had. And by that, I mean his final comment was to push his cargo shorts down and let himself out. Oh, he has a lot to be thankful for, but all of my honey is untouched by mankind and going about things this way wasn't going to happen.

I ignored his manhood display and asked him to take me home. Well, he had the last clap back, I guess. He just leaned back and flexed it. I mean, WTF, right?

Needless to say, I opened his SUV door and got out. I mean, it wouldn't have been a really long walk home, you know, if it wasn't Saturday night because I like Denim skirts and fishnets on the weekends.

Fortunately, good fortune was on my side. My first good fortune was that I owed the house that Frank and I lived in, so Frank was going to need a new friend because Brad wasn't coming back over. My second good fortunate was quite surprising, but very timely. I mean, walking home dressed like I was certainly meant a bad day was headed my way, until I heard the soft voice come from out of a car window.

"We saw what just happened and we don't think you're going to make it all the home if you walk while you're dressed like that, so can we give you lift?"

I didn't know her personally, but I recognized her color scheme from Chang. It was Bumble Bee and as far as I was concerned at that moment, Bumble Bee was my savior.

"Oh, ah, hello, ah, thanks, but I narrowly escaped a forced sexually experience already, but thanks for the kind offer."

"LOL, come on queer, your passage will be safe with Nick and I. Besides, we're kind of the same and we're heading your way."

"Well, you don't know which way I'm heading. So, is Nick your boyfriend or your pimp?"

"Same thing. And we're heading out of the river park, same as you. Last chance, ah???"

"Honey Dip."

"Damn, Nick, you were right! You did smell honey."

Well, if I escaped one forced experience for the night, maybe I could escape another if I had too. I mean, that sounds about right, right?

The good news was they safely dropped me off at home and that Bumble Bee made a big point of us becoming friends. The bad news was that Nick the pimp knew where I lived, but he had a comforting appeal about him, you know, just how a pimp is supposed to make you feel. The worse news was that the roomie Frank moved out within a month because he was all upset about the goings on between Brad and I.

The questionable news was that Bumble Bee had a social proposition for me. It seems that she has a "spot" and there was another "spot" nearby that I would appreciate and maybe draw more suiters her way. All Nick's words of course, but he promised me that endless rainbow of chicken tenders and honey dipping sauce for one hour a weekend and all I had to do was enjoy them in my SUV.

Huh, right?

End Honey Dip 01